HORSESHOE CRABS: LIVING FOSSILS

Horseshoe crabs are marine and brackish water arthropods of the order Xiphosura — a slowly evolving, conservative taxa.

Much like (slow) Water Striders (Aquarius remigis), (relatively sluggish) Coelacanth (Latimeria chalumnae) and (the current winner on really slow evolution) Elephant Sharks (Callorhinchus milii), these fellows have a long history in the fossil record with very few anatomical changes. 

But slow change provides loads of great information. It makes our new friend, Yunnanolimulus luoingensis, an especially interesting and excellent reference point for how this group evolved. 

We can examine their genome today and make comparisons all the way back to the Middle Triassic (with this new find) and other specimens from further back in the Ordovician — 445 million years ago. 

These living fossils have survived all five mass extinction events. They are generalists who can live in shallow or deep water and will eat pretty much anything they can find on the seafloor.

The oldest horseshoe crab fossil, Lunataspis aurora, is found in outcrops in Manitoba, Canada. Charmingly, the name means crescent moon shield of the dawn. It was palaeontologist Dave Rudkin and team who chose that romantic name. Finding them as fossils is quite remarkable as their shells are made of protein which does not mineralized like typical fossils.

Even so, the evolution of their exoskeleton is well-documented by fossils, but appendage and soft-tissue preservation are extremely rare. 

A new study analyzes details of the appendage and soft-tissue preservation in Yunnanolimulus luoingensis, a Middle Triassic (ca. 244 million years old) horseshoe crab from Yunnan Province, SW China. The remarkable anatomical preservation includes the chelicerae, five pairs of walking appendages, opisthosomal appendages with book gills, muscles, and fine setae permits comparison with extant horseshoe crabs.

The close anatomical similarity between the Middle Triassic horseshoe crabs and their recent analogues documents anatomical conservatism for over 240 million years, suggesting persistence of lifestyle.

The occurrence of Carcinoscorpius-type claspers on the first and second walking legs in male individuals of Y. luoingensis tells us that simple chelate claspers in males are plesiomorphic for horseshoe crabs, and the bulbous claspers in Tachypleus and Limulus are derived.

As an aside, if you hadn't seen an elephant shark before and were shown a photo, you would likely say, "that's no freaking shark." You would be wrong, of course, but it would be a very clever observation.

Callorhinchus milii look nothing like our Great White friends and they are not true sharks at all. Rather, they are ghost sharks that belong to the subclass Holocephali (chimaera), a group lovingly known as ratfish. They diverged from the shark lineage about 400 million years ago.

If you have a moment, do a search for Callorhinchus milii. The odd-looking fellow with the ironic name, kallos, which means beautiful in Greek, sports black blotches on a pale silver elongate body. And their special feature? It is the fishy equivalent of business in the front, party in the back, with a dangling trunk-like projection at the tip of their snout and well-developed rectal glands near the tail.

As another small point of interest with regards to horseshoe crabs, John McAllister collected several of these while working on his MSc to see if they had microstructures similar to trilobites (they do) and whether their cuticles were likewise calcified. He found no real calcification in their cuticles, in fact, he had a rather frustrating time getting anything measurable to dissolve in acid in his hunt for trace elements. 

Likewise, when looking at oxygen isotopes (16/18) to get a handle on water salinity and temperature, his contacts at the University of Waterloo had tons of fun getting anything at all to analyze. It made for some interesting findings. Sadly, for a number of reasons, he abandoned the work, but you can read his very interesting thesis here: https://dr.library.brocku.ca/handle/10464/1959

Ref: Hu, Shixue & Zhang, Qiyue & Feldmann, Rodney & Benton, Michael & Schweitzer, Carrie & Huang, Jinyuan & Wen, Wen & Zhou, Changyong & Xie, Tao & Lü, Tao & Hong, Shuigen. (2017). Exceptional appendage and soft-tissue preservation in a Middle Triassic horseshoe crab from SW China. Scientific Reports. 7. 10.1038/s41598-017-13319-x.

ORANGUTANS: THE FOREST PHILOSOPHERS

High in the emerald canopy, a branch sways and sunlight spills through a mosaic of leaves. There—an orangutan moves with unhurried grace, her long auburn hair catching the light in fiery streaks. 

She pauses, selecting a cluster of figs with deliberate fingers, inspecting each one as though weighing its worth. 

A peel, a bite, a slow, thoughtful chew. She shares these and some tasty leaves with her young who stays close, learning the art of foraging.

Beneath them, the forest hums—cicadas buzz, hornbills beat their wings overhead, and the musk of damp bark and fruit hangs heavy in the air. 

Today, orangutans (Pongo pygmaeus of Borneo and Pongo abelii of Sumatra, with the recently described Pongo tapanuliensis in Sumatra as well) are the only great apes found outside Africa. 

They are primarily arboreal, moving through the canopy with long, flexible arms and an ease born of a life spent above ground. 

Solitary compared to their African cousins, orangutans live in loose social networks, with males maintaining large territories and females caring for their young for up to eight years—the longest period of maternal dependence of any non-human primate. 

Their diet is largely fruit-based, supplemented by leaves, bark, insects, and occasionally small vertebrates.

The story of orangutans stretches back several million years. Their genus, Pongo, is part of the great ape family Hominidae, which also includes chimpanzees, gorillas, and humans. Fossil evidence shows that orangutans were once far more widespread than their current island ranges. 

During the Pleistocene (about 2.6 million to 11,700 years ago), Pongo species were found across much of Southeast Asia, from southern China to Java. Fossilized teeth and jaw fragments discovered in caves in Vietnam, Laos, and China reveal a larger-bodied orangutan relative, sometimes referred to as Pongo weidenreichi or Pongo hooijeri. These orangutans thrived in forested environments but declined as habitats shifted and humans expanded.

The deeper roots of orangutans trace back to the Miocene epoch (about 23 to 5 million years ago), often called the "Golden Age of Apes." 

During this time, Asia hosted a rich diversity of hominoids. Among the most important to orangutan ancestry are species of the genus Sivapithecus, found in the Siwalik Hills of India and Pakistan. 

Fossils of Sivapithecus dating from 12 to 8 million years ago reveal striking similarities in facial structure to modern orangutans: a concave face, oval-shaped orbits, and narrow interorbital distance. These features strongly suggest that Sivapithecus was a direct ancestor—or at least a very close relative—of modern orangutans.

In contrast, other Miocene apes such as Gigantopithecus blacki, the largest primate ever known, were distant cousins. Fossils of Gigantopithecus, discovered in China and Southeast Asia, show a massive ape up to three meters tall, likely related to orangutans but representing a side branch that went extinct around 300,000 years ago.

Today’s orangutans are the last survivors of a once-diverse Asian ape lineage. Their survival is precarious: deforestation, palm oil plantations, and hunting have driven populations into sharp decline. Where once their ancestors ranged across a continent, now only fragmented pockets of forest in Borneo and Sumatra hold these remarkable primates. 

SHAGGY TITANS OF THE GRASSLANDS: BISON

Bison move across the prairie like living storms, vast and steady, with the weight of centuries in their stride. 

Their dark eyes hold a quiet, unwavering depth—as if they’ve looked into the heart of time itself and carry its secrets in silence. Look into the eyes of this fellow and tell me you do not see his deep intelligence as he gives the camera a knowing look.

Shaggy fur ripples in the wind, rich and earthy, brushed by sun and shadow, a cloak woven from wilderness. When they breathe, clouds rise in the cold air, soft and ephemeral, like whispered promises that vanish but leave warmth behind.

There is something profoundly romantic in their presence: strength wrapped in gentleness, endurance softened by grace.  To watch them is to feel the wild itself lean closer, reminding us of a love as vast as the horizon, as eternal as the ground beneath our feet.

When we think of bison today, images of great herds roaming the North American plains come to mind—dark, shaggy shapes against sweeping prairies. But the story of bison goes back far deeper in time. 

These massive grazers are part of a lineage that stretches millions of years into the past, their fossil record preserving the tale of their rise, spread, and survival.

Bison belong to the genus Bison, within the cattle family (Bovidae). Their story begins in Eurasia during the late Pliocene, around 2.6 million years ago, when the first true bison evolved from earlier wild cattle (Bos-like ancestors). 

Fossils suggest they descended from large bovids that roamed open grasslands of Eurasia as forests retreated and cooler, drier climates expanded.

The earliest known species, Bison priscus, or the Steppe Bison, was a giant compared to modern bison, sporting long horns that could span over six feet tip to tip. These animals thrived across Europe, Asia, and eventually crossed into North America via the Bering Land Bridge during the Pleistocene Ice Age.

The fossil record of bison stretches back about 2 million years in Eurasia and at least 200,000 years in North America, where they became one of the most successful large herbivores of the Ice Age. Fossil evidence shows that at least seven different species of bison once lived in North America, including the iconic Bison latifrons with its massive horns, and Bison antiquus, which is considered the direct ancestor of the modern American bison (Bison bison).

Some of the richest fossil bison deposits come from Siberia and Eastern Europe – home to abundant Bison priscus fossils, often preserved in permafrost with soft tissues intact. They are also found in Alaska, USA and in Canada's Yukon region – where Ice Age bison fossils are found alongside mammoth, horse, and muskox remains.

The Great Plains of the United States and Canada are rich in Bison antiquus and later species, often in mass bone beds where entire herds perished. We also find their remains in California and the American Southwest at sites like the La Brea Tar Pits. La Brea preserves bison remains from the Late Pleistocene and their museum of the same name has a truly wonderful display of Pleistocene wolves. Definitely worthy of a trip!

One particularly famous fossil site is the Hudson-Meng Bison Kill Site in Nebraska, where remains of over 600 Bison antiquus dating to about 10,000 years ago provide a window into Ice Age hunting practices and herd behavior.

By the end of the Ice Age, many megafauna species disappeared, but bison endured. Bison antiquus gradually gave rise to the modern American bison (Bison bison), which still carries echoes of its Ice Age ancestors. Though smaller than their Pleistocene relatives, today’s bison remain the largest land mammals in North America.

ICE, SNOW AND RHINOS: EPIATHERACERIUM ITJILIK

Julius Csotonyi © Julius Csotonyi

Up in the High Arctic, where the wind cuts clean across a stark polar desert and the ground remembers a very different world, and a most unexpected creature has stepped back into the light.

From ancient lakebed sediments at Haughton Crater on Devon Island in Nunavut comes a beautifully preserved whisper from the Early Miocene — a recently described species of rhinoceros, Epiatheracerium itjilik. 

And not just any rhino, but the northernmost one ever found.

Rhinoceroses, those sturdy browsers we tend to associate with sunbaked savannahs, have a far deeper and more adventurous story. Their lineage stretches back more than 40 million years, once roaming across much of the globe — Europe, North America, Asia — a sprawling dynasty of more than 50 species, now reduced to just five.

Marisa Gilbert and Dr. Danielle Fraser

This Arctic cousin lived some 23 million years ago, in a landscape that would feel almost unrecognizable to us today. 

Where there is now permafrost and silence, there were once temperate forests and freshwater lakes — a place of browsing mammals and quiet, green abundance. 

And this rhino? A curious one.

Smaller, lightly built, and notably hornless, Epiatheracerium itjilik would not have carried the imposing silhouette we imagine. Instead, it likely moved with a gentler presence through its forested home, leaving behind a remarkably complete fossil — nearly 75% of its skeleton recovered, including diagnostic bones such as the teeth, mandibles and parts of the cranium in stunning three-dimensional detail.

Its name, itjilik, meaning “frosty” in Inuktitut, is a fitting nod to both its Arctic resting place and the collaboration with Inuit knowledge holders who helped shape its story. Science, at its best, is a shared endeavour — and this discovery carries that spirit forward beautifully.

Dr. Natalia Rybczynski and Dr. Mary Dawson

By placing this species within the rhino family tree, researchers have uncovered new clues about ancient migration routes — suggesting that rhinoceroses once wandered between Europe and North America via Greenland, long after we thought such pathways had closed.

Even more tantalizing, fragments of ancient proteins have been recovered from its tooth enamel, stretching the limits of how far back we can trace molecular echoes of life. 

These are the quiet revolutions — the kind that reshape how we understand the great unfolding of mammals across time.

Lead Image: Epiatheracerium itjilik standing at the edge of a pool of water in a forested lake habitat, Devon Island, by the superbly talented Julius Csotonyi (© Julius Csotonyi). Here he has chosen to show the plants and animals based on fossils found at the site, including the transitional seal Puijila darwini.

Second Image: Marisa Gilbert (left) and Dr. Danielle Fraser with the fossil of Epiaceratherium itjilik laid out in the collections of the Canadian Museum of Nature. Photo by Pierre Poirier © Canadian Museum of Nature.

Third Image: Dr. Natalia Rybczynski and Dr. Mary Dawson sift fossils at Haughton Crater. Photo by Martin Lipman © Canadian Museum of Nature.

SEAGRASS, SASS AND SIRENIA

Meet one of the ocean’s more charming lawnmowers — the dugong — an endearing aquatic vacuum with a taste for seagrass and a lineage that runs far deeper than its gentle gaze might suggest.

Like their rounder, paddle-tailed cousins, the manatees, dugongs belong to the order Sirenia — a small but storied group of marine mammals that made the rather bold decision to abandon land for a life at sea. 

They are the last whisper of a once more diverse clan that included the enormous Steller’s sea cow, Hydrodamalis gigas, a North Pacific giant hunted to extinction in the 18th century with disheartening efficiency.

Now, if you’re ever sizing one up in the shallows, there’s a tidy little trick to telling them apart. 

Dugongs sport elegant, whale-like fluked tails with pointed tips, built for steady cruising. Manatees, by contrast, carry broad, paddle-shaped tails — think beaver, but supersized and decidedly less industrious on land.

Dugongs glide through warm coastal waters of northern Australia and across the Indian and Pacific Oceans, favouring sheltered bays, lagoons, and estuaries where seagrass meadows flourish. 

Their bodies are beautifully fusiform — streamlined, torpedo-shaped — lacking both dorsal fins and hind limbs, a design tuned for efficient, unhurried grazing. 

Watching them feed is rather like observing a very polite underwater gardener. They uproot entire seagrass plants, roots and all, leaving tidy feeding trails etched into the seabed.

Seagrass is their preferred fare — low in fibre, rich in nitrogen, and delightfully easy to digest — but they are not above the occasional culinary detour. Algae, invertebrates, sea squirts, shellfish, and even the odd jellyfish have all made appearances on the menu. Opportunistic, but with standards.

Their story stretches back into deep time. The earliest sirenians appear in the Early Eocene, roughly 50 million years ago, when warm, shallow seas lapped across what is now North Africa and the Tethys Sea. 

Fossil forms such as Prorastomus from Jamaica and Pezosiren — a delightfully awkward, semi-aquatic walker — show us the transition from land-dwelling herbivores to fully marine grazers. 

By the Oligocene and Miocene, dugong relatives were widespread, leaving their bones scattered through marine sediments across the Caribbean, North and West Africa, Europe, South Asia, and Australia. Today, their fossilized ribs and dense limb bones — wonderfully heavy for ballast — turn up in ancient seagrass deposits, a quiet record of long-vanished coastal meadows.

And here’s the bit that always gives me pause — these gentle giants can live more than 70 years. Seventy years of slow drifting, grazing, and surfacing for breath. 

They are large, unhurried, and, by all appearances, somewhat ill-equipped for drama: poor eyesight, no real defensive arsenal, and an unfortunate resemblance to a floating buffet.

And yet… they endure.

Though their numbers are in decline — habitat loss, boat strikes, and human pressures taking their toll — dugongs persist in these warm, shallow seas, carrying with them a lineage that has weathered tens of millions of years of planetary change. 

Quiet, resilient, and utterly enchanting.

PSEUDOTHURMANNIA: CRETACEOUS AMMONITE

Meet Pseudothurmannia — one of those marvellous Cretaceous ammonites that looks as though nature spent extra time on the details. 

This extinct cephalopod belongs to the subclass Ammonoidea and is tucked neatly within the family Crioceratitidae, part of the wonderfully curly branch of ammonites known as the Ancylocerataceae. 

A proper pedigree, if ever there was one.

Now, have a look at those shell lines — the intricate, looping seams known as sutures. These are no random squiggles. 

They are the biological fingerprints of ammonites, each species carrying its own signature pattern. To the trained eye, they tell time as neatly as any watchmaker. 

Compare the sutures of this beauty with its kin, and we know Pseudothurmannia cruised ancient seas during the Early Cretaceous, from the Hauterivian through to the Barremian, some 132 to 125 million years ago.

Like its modern cousins — squid, cuttlefish and octopus — this fellow was no passive floater. Hidden within that elegant shell was a sharp, beak-like jaw surrounded by a ring of grasping tentacles. Those arms were built for business, used to seize prey from the water column: plankton, small fish, crustaceans and whatever else wandered too close.

And catching a fish while swimming is no easy business. Try it yourself and report back. Ammonites, however, were masters of the ambush — swift, buoyant, and gloriously well-equipped for life in the open sea. 

For millions of years, they were among the great success stories of the oceans… until, of course, the curtain came down at the end of the Cretaceous.

Within their shells, they had a number of chambers, called septa, filled with gas or fluid that were interconnected by a wee air tube. By pushing air in or out, they were able to control their buoyancy in the water column. 

They lived in the last chamber of their shells, continuously building new shell material as they grew. As each new chamber was added, the squid-like body of the ammonite would move down to occupy the final outside chamber.

Shells of Pseudothurmannia can reach a diameter of about 4–12 centimetres (1.6–4.7 in). They show flat or slightly convex sides, with dense ribs and a subquadrate whorl section.

We find fossils of Pseudothurmannia in Cretaceous outcrops in Antarctica, Czechoslovakia, France, Hungary, Italy, Japan, Morocco, Spain, Russia and the United States. The specimen you see here is in the collection of the deeply awesome Manuel Peña Nieto from Córdoba, Spain and is from the Lower Cretaceous of Mallorca.

ANCIENT SWAMPS AND SOLAR FLARES

If fossil fuels are made from fossils, are oil, gas and coal made from dead dinosaurs? Well, no, but they are made from fossils. 

We do not heat our homes or run our cars on dead hadrosaurs. Instead, we burn very old plants and algae. 

It sounds much less exciting, but the process by which algae and other plant life soak up the Sun's energy, store it for millions of years, then give it all up for us to burn as fuel is a pretty fantastic tale.

Fossil fuel is formed by a natural process — the anaerobic decomposition of buried dead organisms. These plants and algae lived and died many millions of years ago, but while they lived, they soaked up and stored energy from the sun through photosynthesis. 

Picture ancient trees, algae and peat soaking up the sun, then storing that energy for us to use millions of years later. 

These organisms and their resulting fossil fuels are millions of years old, sometimes more than 650 million years. That's way back in the day when Earth's inhabitants were mostly viruses, bacteria and some early multi-cellular jelly-like critters.

Fossil fuels consist mainly of dead plants – coal from trees, and natural gas and oil from algae, a diverse group of aquatic photosynthetic eukaryotic organisms I like to think of as pond scum. These deposits are called fossil fuels because, like fossils, they are the remains of plants and animals that lived long ago.

If we could go back far enough, we'd find that our oil, gas, and coal deposits are really remnants of algal pools, peat bogs and ancient muddy swamps. 

Dead plants and algae accumulate and over time, the pressure turns the mud mixed with dead plants into rock. Geologists call the once-living matter in the rock kerogen. If they haven't been cooked too badly, we call them fossils.

Kerogen is the solid, insoluble organic matter in sedimentary rocks and it is made from a mixture of ancient organic matter. A bit of this tree and that algae all mixed together to form a black, sticky, oily rock. 

The Earth’s internal heat cooks the kerogen. The hotter it gets, the faster it becomes oil, gas, or coal. If the heat continues after the oil is formed, all the oil turns to gas. The oil and gas then seep through cracks in the rocks. Much of it is lost. 

We find oil and gas today because some happened to become trapped in porous, sponge-like rock layers capped by non-porous rocks. We tap into these the way you might crack into a bottle of olive oil sealed with wax.

Fossil fuel experts call this arrangement a reservoir and places like Alberta, Iran and Qatar are full of them. A petroleum reservoir or oil and gas reservoir is a subsurface pool of hydrocarbons contained in porous or fractured rock formations. 

Petroleum reservoirs are broadly classified as conventional and unconventional reservoirs. In the case of conventional reservoirs, the naturally occurring hydrocarbons, such as crude oil or natural gas, are trapped by overlying rock formations with lower permeability. 

In unconventional reservoirs, the rocks have high porosity and low permeability which keeps the hydrocarbons trapped in place, so these unconventional reservoirs don't need a rock cap.

Fossil Fuels: Coal

Coal is an important form of fossil fuel. Much of the early geologic mapping of Canada — and other countries — was done for the sole purpose of mapping the coal seams. 

You can use it to heat your home, run a coal engine or sell it for cold hard cash. It's a dirty fuel, but for a very long time, most of our industries used it as the sole means of energy. 

But what is so bad about burning coal and other fossil fuels? 

Well, many things...

Burning fossil fuels, like oil and coal, releases large amounts of carbon dioxide and other gases into the atmosphere. 

They get trapped as heat, which we call the greenhouse effect. This plays havoc with global weather patterns and our world does not do so well when that happens. 

The massive end-Permian extinction event, the worst natural disaster in Earth's history — when 90% of all life on Earth died —  was caused by massive volcanic eruptions that spewed gas and lava, covering the Earth in volcanic dust, then acid rain. Picture Mordor times ten. This wasn't a culling of the herd, this was full-on decimation. I'll spare you the details, but the whole thing ended poorly.

Dirty or no, coal is still pretty cool. It is wild to think that a lump of coal has the same number of atoms in it as the algae or material that formed it millions of years ago. Yep, all the same atoms, just heated and pressurized over time. When you burn a lump of coal, the same number of atoms are released when those atoms dissipate as particles of soot. 

You may wonder what makes a rock burn. It's not intuitive that it would be possible, and yet there it is. Coal is combustible, meaning it is able to catch fire and burn. Coal is made up mostly from carbon with some hydrogen, sulphur — which smells like rotting eggs — oxygen and nitrogen thrown in.

It is just that the long-ago rain forest was far less dense than the coal you hold in your hand today, and so is the soot into which it dissipates once burned. The energy was captured by the algal pool or rain forest by way of photosynthesis, then that same energy is released when the coal is burnt. So the energy captured in gravity and released billions of years later when the intrinsic gravity of the coal is dissipated by burning. It's enough to bend your brain.

The Sun loses mass all the time because of its process of fusion of atomic content and radiating that energy as light. Our ancient rain forests and algal pools on Earth captured some of it. So maybe our energy transformations between the Earth and the Sun could be seen more like ping-pong matches, with energy, as the ball, passing back and forth.

As mass sucks light in (hello, photosynthesis), it becomes denser, and as mass radiates light out (hello, heat from coal), it becomes less dense. Ying, yang and the beat goes on.

AMMONITES IN CONCRETION

At first glance they look like ordinary stones—rounded, weathered, unassuming. 

But then you notice the delicious hints: a spiral ghosting through the surface, a faint rib, a seam where time is ready to split wide open—it's magic!

Ammonites, long extinct cephalopods, so often appear this way because, shortly after death, their shells became chemical centres of attraction on the seafloor. 

As the soft tissues decayed, they altered the surrounding sediment, triggering minerals—often calcium carbonate or iron-rich compounds—to precipitate rapidly around the shell. 

This early cementation formed a concretion, a protective stone cocoon that hardened long before the surrounding mud was compressed into rock. 

While everything around it flattened, cracked, and distorted under pressure, the ammonite inside remained cradled and whole.

What you see here is a gathering of these time capsules: a cluster of ammonites preserved in their concretions, each one split or weathered just enough to reveal the coiled story within. 

Some are neatly halved, spirals laid bare like fingerprints from ages past; others are only just beginning to show themselves, teasing their presence beneath rough stone skins. 

Together, they tell a familiar fossil-hunter’s tale—of patience, sharp eyes, and the thrill of knowing that this unassuming rock holds an ancient ocean inside.

IN THE FIELD WITH ANY RANDALL: KITSILANO FOSSIL SITE

In the Field with Vancouverite Geoscientist Andy Randell — We were super excited to spend a day with the awesome possum that is Andy Randell filming fossils in the field.

We braved the wet and cold on this fine day to head out in search of fossil plants along the Kitsilano foreshore.

And find them we did! 40 million-year-old pretty as you please plant fossils

The Kitsilano fossil plant sites are intriguing as they hold a mystery... why ONLY plants and NO animal fossils? Nary an insect, mammal or reptile to be found. 

We did find some truly lovely plant fossils that speak to a warmer, wetter environment than the Kitsilano we know today. 

Andy shared that the sediments that lay on the foreshore along Kitsilano Beach are thought to be from the Upper Eocene / Early Oligocene in age (38 to 28 million years old), although opinion varies on the exact age with some folk thinking they may be as much as 40 million-years-old. 

The rocks here are layered in stacks of sand, silt and mudstones associated with a lowland estuarine or deltaic environment. If you look closely, you can see signs of the water meandering into channels and ponds of still water. 

The area would have formed a basin, surrounded by mountains that were drained by rivers into this area. It seems that there are no indications of any marine incursions in the sediment pile, and so the area is assumed to have remained stable for some time.

Plant fossils are common in these beds and are often well preserved. The most common are broadleaved deciduous species such as beech, oak, chestnut and hazel, although several coniferous species are known including redwoods (Sequoia), larch, pine and spruce. The deciduous trees like low, moist landscapes which fit with the basin model. The coniferous species likely lived on the surrounding hills where the ground was somewhat drier and their remains transported by rivers into the depositional basin.

There are also regular signs of burning in the fossils – indicating some kind of forest fire events that must have occurred with some frequency.

You will want to catch his wonderfully engaging interviews. Andy is a professional geologist living in Vancouver who is tailoring his career to bring change to the minerals exploration industry. 

Since 2014, he has established his consulting business, SGDS Hive, which takes on graduate geoscientists and mentors them through a variety of exploration projects to help engage and educate the next generation of geologists. 

Andy is the engine behind Below BC, a non-profit society that provides outreach to the public around Earth Science topics, which now serves several thousand people in British Columbia each year. 

His love of geology and palaeontology started early. Andy is a wealth of knowledge on fossil plants. Growing up on the Isle of Wight, he studied plants that are remarkably similar to those we looked at today—and he is a natural behind the lens!

We were joined by my good friend Lauren, the deeply awesome John Fam, Vice-Chair of the Vancouver Paleontological Society & his two boys, Oliver & Liam. 

It was Liam's first fossil field trip & my 7-month old Flat Coat Retriever's first foray into the field. Both Liam and Coco had a grand time! He found fossils that she inspected and on occasion took a wee bite of to see what all the fuss was about.

We were blessed to have David, Andy's partner, teacher & botany buff, along with their two palaeo puppers — Daisy & Dobby — to complete our escort.

With Andy's guidance, everyone found fossil material and learned a lot about how these fossils were originally laid down in a river system.

A huge thank you to Gabriel Mesquita our talented cinematographer! It was a cold, wet day and the entire crew were troopers. If you are planning to visit the Kitsilano foreshore to look for fossils, know that the stairwell access at the base of Dunbar/Alma Street has been washed away. 

You'll want to head to Waterloo Street and make your way to the beach on the rather steep stairwell found there. Surface collecting is fine at this site. Wear rubber boots and know that the rock is very slippery.

ECHOES FROM THE EOCENE: A WHALE BETWEEN WORLDS

Chrysocetus foudasil 

The impressive skull you see here belongs to Chrysocetus foudasil a member of the Basilosauridae, an ancient family of fully aquatic early whales known as archaeocetes. Though it still bore vestigial hind limbs, it no longer depended on land—a critical evolutionary step from its semi-aquatic ancestors such as Ambulocetus and Protocetus.

Basilosaurids like Chrysocetus, Dorudon, and Basilosaurus ruled the seas of the late Eocene, occupying ecological roles much like today’s dolphins and orcas. 

Basilosaurus grew into a serpent-like giant over 15 meters long, while Dorudon was smaller, sleeker, and likely faster. Chrysocetus was somewhere in between—mid-sized, streamlined, and adapted for powerful undulating swimming.

These early whales represent a pivotal stage in cetacean evolution. They bridge the gap between the land-dwelling artiodactyl ancestors (even-toed ungulates like deer and hippos) and the fully marine mysticetes (baleen whales) and odontocetes (toothed whales) that would later diversify in the Oligocene.

Looking at their remains, we are seeing a window into our world when whales were still learning to be whales—a fleeting evolutionary moment preserved in Moroccan stone, where golden bones tell the story of an ocean in transition.

TERTAPODS AND THE VERTEBRATE HAND

The irresistable tetrapod Tiktaalik

In the late 1930s, our understanding of the transition of fish to tetrapods — and the eventual jump to modern vertebrates — took an unexpected leap forward. 

The evolutionary a'ha came from a single partial fossil skull found on the shores of a riverbank in Eastern Canada. 

Meet the Stegocephalian, Elpistostege watsoni, an extinct genus of finned tetrapodomorphs that lived during the Late Givetian to Early Frasnian of the Late Devonian — 382 million years ago. 

Elpistostege watsoni — perhaps the sister taxon of all other tetrapods — was first described in 1938 by British palaeontologist and elected Fellow of the Royal Society of London, Thomas Stanley Westoll. Westroll was an interesting fellow whose research interests were wide-ranging. He was a vertebrate palaeontologist and geologist best known for his innovative work on Palaeozoic fishes and their relationships with tetrapods. 

Elpistostege watsoni

As a specialist in early fish, Westoll was the perfect person to ask to interpret that single partial skull roof discovered at the Escuminac Formation in Quebec, Canada. 

His findings and subsequent publication named Elpistostege watsoni and helped us to better understand the evolution of fishes to tetrapods — four-limbed vertebrates — one of the most important transformations in vertebrate evolution. 

Hypotheses of tetrapod origins rely heavily on the anatomy of but a few tetrapod-like fish fossils from the Middle and Late Devonian, 393–359 million years ago. 

These taxa — known as elpistostegalians — include Panderichthys, Elpistostege and Tiktaalik — none of which had yet to reveal the complete skeletal anatomy of the pectoral fin. 

Elpistostege watsoni

None until 2010 that is, when a complete 1.57-metre-long articulated specimen was found and described by Richard Cloutier et al. in 2020. 

The specimen helped us to understand the origin of the vertebrate hand. Stripped from its encasing stone, it revealed a set of paired fins of Elpistostege containing bones homologous to the phalanges (finger bones) of modern tetrapods and is the most basal tetrapodomorph known to possess them. 

Once the phalanges were uncovered, prep work began on the fins. The fins were covered in wee scales and lepidotrichia (fin rays). The work was tiresome, taking more than 2,700 hours of preparation but the results were thrilling. 

Origin of the Vertebrate Hand

We could now clearly see that the skeleton of the pectoral fin has four proximodistal rows of radials — two of which include branched carpals — as well as two distal rows organized as digits and putative digits. 

Despite this skeletal pattern — which represents the most tetrapod-like arrangement of bones found in a pectoral fin to date blurring the line between fish and land vertebrates — the fin retained lepidotrichia (those wee fin rays) distal to the radials. 

This arrangement confirmed an age-old question — showing us for the first time that the origin of phalanges preceded the loss of fin rays, not the other way around.

E. watsoni is very closely related to Tiktaalik roseae found in 2004 in the Canadian Arctic — a tetrapodomorpha species also known as a Choanata. These were advanced forms transitional between fish and the early labyrinthodonts playfully referred to as fishapods — half-fish, half-tetrapod in appearance and limb morphology. 

Up to that point, the relationship of limbed vertebrates (tetrapods) to lobe-finned fish (sarcopterygians) was well known, but the origin of major tetrapod features remained obscure for lack of fossils that document the sequence of evolutionary changes — until Tiktaalik. While Tiktaalik is technically a fish, this fellow is as far from fish-like you can be and still be a card-carrying member of the group. 

Tiktaalik roseae

Complete with scales and gills, this proto-fish lacked the conical head we see in modern fish but had a rather flattened triangular head more like that of a crocodile. 

Tiktaalik had scales on its back and fins with fin webbing but like early land-living animals, it had a distinctive flat head and neck. He was a brawny brute. The shape of his skull and shoulder look part fish and part amphibian.

The watershed moment came as Tiktaalik was prepped. Inside Tiktaalik's fins, we find bones that correspond to the upper arm, forearm and even parts of the wrist — all inside a fin with webbing — remarkable! 

Its fins have thin ray bones for paddling like most fish, but with brawny interior bones that gave Tiktaalik the ability to prop itself up, using his limbs for support. I picture him propped up on one paddle saying, "how you doing?" 

Six years after Tiktaalik was discovered by Neil Shubin and team in the ice-covered tundra of the Canadian Arctic on southern Ellesmere Island, a team working the outcrops at Miguasha on the Gaspé Peninsula discovered the only fully specimen of E. watsoni found to date — greatly increasing our knowledge of this finned tantalizingly transitional tetrapodomorph. 

E. watsoni fossils are rare — this was the fourth specimen collected in over 130 years of hunting. Charmingly, the specimen was right on our doorstop — extracted but a few feet away from the main stairs descending onto the beach of Miguasha National Park. 

L'nu Mi’gmaq First Nations of the Gespe’gewa’gi Region

Miguasha is nestled in the Gaspésie or Gespe’gewa’gi region of Canada — home to the Mi’gmaq First Nations who self-refer as L’nu or Lnu. The word Mi’gmaq or Mi’kmaq means the family or my allies/friends in Mi'kmaw, their native tongue (and soon to be Nova Scotia's provincial first language). They are the people of the sea and the original inhabitants of Atlantic Canada having lived here for more than 10,000 years. 

The L'nu were the first First Nation people to establish contact and trade with European explorers in the 16th and 17th centuries — and perhaps the Norse as early as the turn of the Millenium. Sailing vessels filled with French, British, Scottish, Irish and others arrived one by one to lay claim to the region — settling and fighting over the land. As each group rolled out their machinations of discovery, tensions turned to an all-out war with the British and French going head to head. I'll spare you the sordid details but for everyone caught in the crossfire, it went poorly.

North America Map 1775 (Click to Enlarge)

Cut to 1760, the British tipped the balance with their win at the Battle of the Restigouche, the last naval battle between France and England for possession of the North American continent — Turtle Island. 

The bittersweet British victory sparked the American War of Independence. 

For the next twenty years, the L'nu would witness and become embroiled in yet another war for these lands, their lands — first as bystanders, then as American allies, then intimidated into submission by the British Royal Navy with a show of force by way of a thirty-four gun man-of-war, encouraging L'nu compliance — finally culminating in an end to the hostilities with the 1783 Treaty of Paris. 

The peace accord held no provisions for the L'nu, Métis and First Nations impacted. None of these newcomers was Mi'kmaq — neither friends nor allies.

It was to this area some sixty years later that the newly formed Geological Survey of Canada (GSC) began exploring and mapping the newly formed United Province of Canada. Geologists in the New Brunswick Geology Branch traipsed through the rugged countryside that would become a Canadian province in 1867. 

It was on one of these expeditions that the Miguasha fossil outcrops were discovered. They, too, would transform in time to become Miguasha National Park or Parc de Miguasha, but at first, they were simply the promising sedimentary exposures on the hillside across the water —  a treasure trove of  Late Devonian fauna waiting to be discovered.

In the summer of 1842, Abraham Gesner, New Brunswick’s first Provincial Geologist, crossed the northern part of the region exploring for coal. Well, mostly looking for coal. Gesner also had a keen eye for fossils and his trip to the Gaspé Peninsula came fast on the heels of a jaunt along the rocky beaches of Chignecto Bay at the head of the Bay of Fundy and home to the standing fossil trees of the Joggins Fossil Cliffs. 

Passionate about geology and chemistry, he is perhaps most famous for his invention of the process to distil the combustible hydrocarbon kerosene from coal oil — a subject on which his long walks exploring a budding Canada gave him a great deal of time to consider. We have Gesner to thank for the modern petroleum industry. He filed many patents for clever ways to distil the soft tar-like coal or bitumen still in use today.

He was skilled in a broad range of scientific disciplines — being a geologist, palaeontologist, physician, chemist, anatomist and naturalist — a brass tacks geek to his core. Gesner explored the coal exposures and fossil outcrops across the famed area that witnessed the region become part of England and not France — and no longer L'nu.

Following the Restigouche River in New Brunswick through the Dalhousie region, Gesner navigated through the estuary to reach the southern coast of the Gaspé Peninsula into what would become the southeastern coast of Quebec to get a better look at the cliffs across the water. He was the first geologist to lay eyes on the Escuminac Formation and its fossils.

In his 1843 report to the Geologic Survey, he wrote, “I found the shore lined with a coarse conglomerate. Farther eastward the rocks are light blue sandstones and shales, containing the remains of vegetables. In these sandstone and shales, I found the remains of fish and a small species of tortoise with fossil foot-marks.”

We now know that this little tortoise was the famous Bothriolepis, an antiarch placoderm fish. It was also the first formal mention of the Miguasha fauna in our scientific literature. Despite the circulation of his report, Gesner’s discovery was all but ignored — the cliffs and their fossil bounty abandoned for decades to come. Geologists like Ells, Foord and Weston, and the research of Whiteaves and Dawson, would eventually follow in Gesner's footsteps.

North America Map 1866 (Click to Enlarge)

Over the past 180 years, this Devonian site has yielded a wonderfully diverse aquatic assemblage from the Age of Fishes — five of the six fossil fish groups associated with the Devonian including exceptionally well-preserved fossil specimens of the lobe-finned fishes. 

This is exciting as it is the lobe-finned fishes — the sarcopterygians — that gave rise to the first four-legged, air-breathing terrestrial vertebrates – the tetrapods. 

Fossil specimens from Miguasha include twenty species of lower vertebrates — anaspids, osteostra-cans, placoderms, acanthodians, actinopterygians and sarcopterygians — plus a limited invertebrate assemblage, along with terrestrial plants, scorpions and millipedes.

Originally interpreted as a freshwater lacustrine environment, recent paleontological, taphonomic, sedimentological and geochemical evidence corroborates a brackish estuarine setting — and definitely not the deep waters of the sea. This is important because the species that gave rise to our land-living animals began life in shallow streams and lakes. It tells us a bit about how our dear Elpistostege watsoni liked to live — preferring to lollygag in cool river waters where seawater mixed with fresh. Not fully freshwater, but a wee bit of salinity to add flavour.  

• Photos: Elpistostege watsoni (Westoll, 1938 ), Upper Devonian (Frasnian), Escuminac formation, Parc de Miguasha, Baie des Chaleurs, Gaspé, Québec, Canada. John Fam, VanPS
• Origin of the Vertebrate Hand Illustration, https://www.nature.com/articles/s41586-020-2100-8
• Tiktaalik Illustration: By Obsidian Soul - Own work, CC BY 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=47401797

References & further reading:

• From Water to Land: https://www.miguasha.ca/mig-en/the_first_discoveries.php
• UNESCO Miguasha National Park: https://whc.unesco.org/en/list/686/
• Office of L'nu Affairs: https://novascotia.ca/abor/aboriginal-people/
• Cloutier, R., Clement, A.M., Lee, M.S.Y. et al. Elpistostege and the origin of the vertebrate hand. Nature 579, 549–554 (2020). https://doi.org/10.1038/s41586-020-2100-8
• Daeschler, E. B., Shubin, N. H. & Jenkins, F. A. Jr. A Devonian tetrapod-like fish and the evolution of the tetrapod body plan. Nature 440, 757–763 (2006).
• Shubin, Neil. Your Inner Fish: A Journey into the 3.5 Billion History of the Human Body.
• Evidence for European presence in the Americas in AD 1021: https://www.nature.com/articles/s41586-021-03972-8

BE STILL MY HEART: ANAHOPLITES PLANUS

There are fossils that whisper and then there are those that positively sing.

This interesting beauty is a splendid specimen of Anahoplites planus (Mantell, 1822), drawn from Albian-aged sediments at Courcelles-sur-Voire in the Aube region of north-central France. 

And sing, it does! There are so many things going on here!

Roughly 105 million years ago, when warm Cretaceous seas spread across much of Europe, this elegant cephalopod cruised ancient waters with all the poise of a creature that knew it wore excellent tailoring.

Anahoplites, first named by Sowerby in 1815, is a delightfully refined genus of hoplitid ammonite. 

Its shell is compressed and neatly streamlined, with flat flanks, a narrow venter — sometimes grooved, sometimes smooth — and graceful, flexuous ribs rising from modest umbilical tubercles before ending in a fringe of fine ventrolateral nodes. In short: less brute force, more couture. 

Its sturdier cousins in the Hoplitinae favour broader whorls and heavier ornament, but Anahoplites has always struck a finer silhouette.

Today, the genus sits comfortably within the subfamily Anahoplitinae, a taxonomic reshuffle that recognises its more delicate build and distinct style. We find these beauties in Middle to Late Albian rocks from England across Europe and eastward toward the Transcaspian reaches near the Caspian Sea — proof that good design travels.

And what a setting this fossil calls home. The Aube department lends its name to the Albian Stage itself, established by d’Orbigny in 1842. 

Here, the stratotype succession includes the Argiles tégulines de Courcelles, some 82 metres of clay-rich deposits, overlain by the Marnes de Brienne, a further 43 metres of marl. Their boundary is marked by a hardened bed, clear in the field to those with sharp eyes and muddy boots.

This particular shell, measuring 113 mm across, did not rest alone on the seafloor. It became a tiny apartment block after death. 

Two forms of bryozoans encrust its surface, joined by an oyster and industrious serpulid worms, all leaving their marks upon those handsome flanks. Even in death, it was prime real estate.

Lovingly prepared using potash by José Juárez Ruiz of Spain, this fossil now offers us not just the form of one ammonite, but a snapshot of an ancient community. 

One shell. Many stories. And my, what a beauty.

THE CURIOUS TALE OF THE FOSSIL RHINO

The Miocene pillow basalts from the Lake Roosevelt National Recreation Area of central Washington hold an unlikely fossil. 

What looks to be a rather unremarkable ballooning at the top of a cave is actually the mould of a small rhinoceros, preserved by sheer chance as its bloated carcass sunk to the bottom of a shallow lake just prior to a volcanic explosion.

We have known about this gem for a long while now. The fossil was discovered by hikers back in 1935 and later cast by the University of California palaeontologists in 1948. 

The Dirty Thirties & The Great Depression

These were the Dirty Thirties and those living in Washington state were experiencing the Great Depression along with the rest of the country and the world. Franklin D. Roosevelt was President of the United States, navigating the States away from laissez-faire economics. 

Charmingly, Roosevelt would have his good name honoured by this same park in April of 1946, a few years before researchers at Berkeley would rekindle interest in the site.

Both hiking and fossil collecting was a fine answer to these hard economic times and came with all the delights of discovery with no cost for natural entertainment. And so it was that two fossil enthusiast couples were out looking for petrified wood just south of Dry Falls on Blue Lake in Washington State. 

While searching the pillow basalt, the Frieles and Peabodys came across a large hole high up in a cave that had the distinctive shape of an upside-down rhinoceros.

This fossil is interesting in all sorts of ways. First, we so rarely see fossils in igneous rocks. As you might suspect, both magma and lava are very hot. Magma, or molten rock, glows a bright red/orange as it simmers at a toasty 700 °C to 1300 °C (or 1300 °F to 2400 °F) beneath the Earth's surface.

A Rhinoceros Frozen in Lava

During the late Miocene and early Pliocene, repeated basaltic lava floods engulfed about 63,000 square miles of the Pacific Northwest over a period of ten to fifteen million years. After these repeated bathings the residual lava accumulated to more than 6,000 feet.

As magma pushes up to the surface becoming lava, it cools to a nice deep black. In the case of our rhino friend, this is how this unlikely fellow became a fossil. Instead of vaporizing his remains, the lava cooled relatively quickly preserving his outline as a trace fossil and remarkably, a few of his teeth, jaw and bones. The lava was eventually buried then waters from the Spokane Floods eroded enough of the overburden to reveal the remains once more.

Diceratherium tridactylum (Marsh, 1875)

Diceratherium (Marsh, 1875) is known from over a hundred paleontological occurrences from eighty-seven collections.

While there are likely many more, we have found fossil remains of Diceratherium, an extinct genus of rhinoceros, in the Miocene of Canada in Saskatchewan, China, France, Portugal, Switzerland, and multiple sites in the United States.

He has also been found in the Oligocene of Canada in Saskatchewan, and twenty-five localities in the United States — in Arizona, Colorado, Florida, Nebraska, North Dakota, Oregon, South Dakota, Washington and Wyoming.  

Diceratherium was a scansorial insectivore with two horns and a fair bit of girth. He was a chunky fellow, weighing in at about one tonne (or 2,200 lbs). That is about the size of a baby Humpback Whale or a walrus.

Back in the Day: Washington State 15 Million-Years Ago

He roamed a much cooler Washington state some 15 million years ago. Ice dams blocked large waterways in the northern half of the state, creating reservoirs. Floodwaters scoured the eastern side of the state, leaving scablands we still see today. In what would become Idaho, volcanic eruptions pushed through the Snake River, the lava cooling instantly as it burst to the surface in a cloud of steam. 

By then, the Cascades had arrived and we had yet to see the volcanic eruptions that would entomb whole forests up near Vantage in the Takama Canyon of Washington state. 

Know Before You Go

You are welcome to go see his final resting site beside the lake but it is difficult to reach and comes with its own risks. Head to the north end of Blue Lake in Washington. Take a boat and search for openings in the cliff face. You will know you are in the right place if you see a white "R" a couple hundred feet up inside the cliff. Inside the cave, look for a cache left by those who've explored here before you. Once you find the cache, look straight up. That hole above you is the outline of the rhino.

If you don't relish the thought of basalt caving, you can visit a cast of the rhino at the Burke Museum in Seattle, Washington. They have a great museum and are pretty sporting as they have built the cast sturdy enough for folk to climb inside. 

The Burke Museum 

The Burke Museum recently underwent a rather massive facelift and has re-opened its doors to the public. You can now explore their collections in the New Burke, a 113,000 sq. ft. building at 4300 15th Ave NE, Seattle, WA 98105, United States. Or visit them virtually, at https://www.burkemuseum.org/

Photo: Robert Bruce Horsfall - https://archive.org/details/ahistorylandmam00scotgoog, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=12805514

Reference: Prothero, Donald R. (2005). The Evolution of North American Rhinoceroses. Cambridge University Press. p. 228. ISBN 9780521832403.

Reference: O. C. Marsh. 1875. Notice of new Tertiary mammals, IV. American Journal of Science 9(51):239-250

Lincoln, Roosevelt and Recovery from The Great Depression

Rural Tennessee has electricity for the same reason Southeast Alaska has totem parks. In order to help the nation recover from The Great Depression, President Franklin D. Roosevelt, created a number of federal agencies to put people to work. From 1938-1942 more than 200 Tlingit and Haida men carved totem poles and cleared land for the Civilian Conservation Corps in an effort to create “totem parks” the federal government hoped would draw travelers to Alaska.

This odd intersection of federal relief, Alaska Native art and marketing is the subject of Emily L. Moore’s book “Proud Raven, Panting Wolf: Carving Alaska’s New Deal Totem Parks.”

This effort to bring poles out of abandoned villages includes the Lincoln Pole being moved to Saxman Totem Park by the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC), who established the Saxman Totem Park in 1938.  

The top carving on the Lincoln Pole bears a great likeness of Abraham Lincoln. According to the teachings of many Tlingit elders, this carving was meant to represent the first white man seen in Tlingit territory in the 18th century.  

A century later, in the 1880s, one of my ancestors from the Gaanax.ádi Raven clan of the Tongass Tlingit commissioned the pole to commemorate our ancestor's pride to have seen this first white man—which has become a Gaanax.ádi crest—using a photograph of Abraham Lincoln as the model. 

It is important not only for these various readings of the crests but also because it claims Gaanax.ádi clan territory before the first Europeans and budding Americans came to these shores—territory that Tlingit carvers who were re-carving the pole in the 1940s were trying to assert to the U.S. government as sovereign land.

Interestingly, another pole in that same park is the Dogfish Pole, carved for Chief Ebbits Andáa, Teikweidi, Valley House. The Chief Ebbits Memorial Pole—the Dogfish Kootéeyaa Pole—was raised in 1892 in Old Tongass Village in honour of a great man, Head Chief of the Tongass and my ancestor. It was then moved, re-carved and re-painted at Saxman Totem Park in 1938 as part of Roosevelt's program—and it due to be re-carved again this year. 

It tells the story of his life and the curious way he became Ebbits as he was born Neokoots. He met and traded with some early American fur traders. One of those traders was a Mister Ebbits. The two became friends and sealed that friendship with the exchanging of names.  

If you would like to read more about that pole and others, I recommend, The Wolf and the Raven, by anthropologist Viola Garfield and architect Linn Forrest (my talented cousin), published in 1961 and still in print as I ordered a copy for a friend just this year.

BRONZE FROM THE DEVONIAN: PARALEJURUS

This bronzed beauty hails from an early chapter in Earth’s story — a Middle Devonian treasure, Eifelian in age, some 395 million years old. 

Meet Paralejurus rehamnanus (Alberti, 1970), collected from the fossil-rich outcrops near Issoumour, Alnif, in Morocco, where the desert keeps a rather fine archive of ancient seas.

It was the glow of this specimen — that rich, burnished bronze — that first caught the eye of collector and increasingly talented macro photographer, David Appleton. 

At first glance, one might suspect a bit of artistic licence in preparation. That golden sheen seems almost too lovely to be true. But lean in close — as David has — and the story shifts. 

The colour runs through the fossil itself, threading into the surrounding matrix in delicate mineral veins. There are repairs, yes — quite normal for Moroccan trilobites — but the finish here is something rather special. Many specimens from this region carry that classic bronze-on-black palette, but seldom with such confidence.

And what a form it has.

Paralejurus is one of those trilobites that seems to understand aesthetics. Its body is long and gently oval, the exoskeleton arched like a well-made shield. The cephalon — its head — is a smooth, domed half-moon, elegant in its simplicity. Those large compound eyes, capped with crescent-shaped lids, are particularly fetching — you can almost imagine them catching the Devonian light.

Just behind the glabella, there’s a subtle transition — a quiet little occipital node — before the body gives way to that glowing thorax. 

Ten narrow segments make up this middle section, wrapped around a broad, raised axial lobe, or rhachis, giving the whole creature a pleasing sense of structure and strength.

At the rear, the pygidium is broad and beautifully fused — a smooth, unified shield. Unlike its cousins in the genus Scutellum, whose tail segments are etched with distinct furrows like icing on a well-decorated cake (and yes, that comparison may say more about me than the trilobite), Paralejurus opts for a more seamless design. It’s less pastry, more plate armour — efficient, protective, and rather Roman in its sensibility.

Along the sides, the axial regions rise gently, and from them radiate a series of fine furrows — twelve to fourteen delicate lines that complete the poetry of its form. It is, quite simply, a beautifully built animal.

Members of the genus Paralejurus lived from the Late Silurian into the Middle Devonian, wandering ancient seafloors across what is now Africa and Europe. They grew to about nine centimetres in length, though our bronzed friend here is a more modest 5.3 cm — compact, but no less charming.

Trilobites, of course, are among the earliest animals to sport hard skeletons, and they took full advantage of that evolutionary innovation. 

They flourished, diversified, and ruled the oceans for nearly 300 million years — from the Cambrian explosion through to their final curtain call at the end of the Permian, some 252 million years ago.

Now, all that remains are their mineralized echoes — these exquisite forms in stone — each one a small, perfect window into a vanished world.

And this one? A little bronze jewel from a Devonian sea, captured beautifully through David Appleton’s lens.

WHAT KILLED THE DINOSAURS?

Sixty-six million years ago, on an otherwise unremarkable day at the close of the Cretaceous, the world changed in an instant.

If you had been standing in what is now the Yucatán Peninsula in Mexico, you would not have had time to wonder. 

A mountain-sized asteroid—roughly 10 to 12 kilometres across—tore through the atmosphere at extraordinary speed, brighter than the Sun and hotter than anything on Earth’s surface. In a heartbeat, it struck with a force equivalent to billions of nuclear bombs.

This was the Chicxulub impact.

The collision blasted a crater over 180 kilometres wide, vaporising rock, igniting forests, and sending a shockwave racing across continents. The sky itself seemed to fall. Molten debris—ejecta—was hurled high into the atmosphere before raining back down across the globe, each fragment glowing with the heat of re-entry. For a brief and terrible moment, much of the planet’s surface may have experienced searing temperatures, as if placed beneath a planetary broiler.

But the true devastation unfolded more slowly.

Fine particles—dust, ash, and sulphate aerosols—were lofted into the upper atmosphere, forming a thick veil that blocked sunlight. Photosynthesis faltered. Plants withered. Food webs, delicately balanced and deeply interconnected, began to collapse. The great non-avian dinosaurs, who had dominated Earth for over 160 million years, found themselves in a world that no longer supported them.

This was not a single bad day. It was the beginning of a prolonged ecological crisis.

We call this mass extinction event the Cretaceous–Paleogene, or K–Pg boundary. It marks the end of the Age of Dinosaurs and the dawn of a new world—one that would eventually be shaped by mammals, birds, and, much later, us.

The evidence for this catastrophic impact is written in stone.

All around the world, from Italy to Alberta, a thin layer of sediment marks this boundary. Within it lies an unusually high concentration of iridium, a rare element on Earth’s crust but common in asteroids. Shocked quartz—minerals fractured under immense pressure—and tiny glass spherules formed from vaporised rock tell the same story: something extraordinary happened here.

For decades, scientists debated alternative explanations. Volcanic activity, particularly the vast eruptions that formed the Deccan Traps in India, certainly played a role in altering the climate. These eruptions released enormous quantities of greenhouse gases and aerosols, stressing ecosystems long before the asteroid arrived.

But the consensus today is clear. The asteroid impact was the decisive blow—the coup de grâce in an already struggling world.

And yet, not everything perished.

Some creatures endured. Small mammals, tucked into burrows. Crocodilians, patient survivors of changing waters. Birds—the living descendants of theropod dinosaurs—weathered the storm and carried their lineage forward into the skies of a quieter, recovering world.

It is a humbling thought.

The forests returned. Life, as it always does, found a way to reassemble itself—different, reshaped, but resilient. The absence of the great dinosaurs opened ecological space, allowing mammals to diversify and, over millions of years, to evolve into forms both strange and familiar.

Including us.

So when we ask, “What killed the dinosaurs?” the answer is both simple and profound. A rock from space changed the course of life on Earth.

If you'd like to listen to stories like this on a podcast or stream them on video (sometimes only audio from my podcast and sometimes with visuals), head on over to www.fossilhuntress.com to link to YouTube or the Fossil Huntress Podcast.