FEED ME, SEYMOURIA: PERMIAN SHENANIGANS

Seymouria baylorensis

Feed me, Seymouria!" No, not the man-eating plant from Little Shop of Horrors — though life in the Early Permian had its fair share of drama. 

Meet Seymouria baylorensis, an evolutionary troublemaker that spent decades confusing us by looking suspiciously reptilian while secretly being an amphibian.

Named for Seymour, Texas, where its fossils were first discovered in the famous Permian red beds of Baylor County, Seymouria baylorensis lived roughly 280 million years ago. 

At that time, North America sat much closer to the equator, and the landscape was a seasonally dry floodplain threaded with rivers and ponds. Dragonflies zipped through the warm air, sail-backed predators such as Dimetrodon prowled the landscape, and amphibians of every shape and size made the most of a world still finding its footing after life first ventured onto land.

At around 60 centimetres (two feet) in length, Seymouria was no giant, but it had presence. With sturdy limbs, a robust body, and well-developed vertebrae, it looked every bit like an early reptile striding confidently across the Permian countryside. For years, scientists classified it as exactly that — one of the first true reptiles.

Plot twist: it wasn't.

The answer came, as it so often does in paleontology, from the youngsters. Juvenile Seymouria fossils revealed evidence of aquatic beginnings, including features associated with external gills. While the adults may have spent much of their lives exploring the drier side of the floodplain, their early life stages still depended on water.

Seymouria baylorensis

Rather than being an early reptile, Seymouria turned out to be a close amphibian relative experimenting with a more terrestrial lifestyle. It was an evolutionary in-betweener — an amphibian dressed in reptilian clothing, testing out what life away from the pond might have to offer.

I have a soft spot for these wonderfully awkward creatures. We often imagine evolution as a neat procession: one group gives rise to another in a tidy, orderly fashion. The fossil record cheerfully disagrees. It is filled with experiments, side branches, doors that lead off to nowhere and organisms trying on new adaptations like last season's fashions.

Seymouria was one of those experiments.

Nature is less interested in our categories than we are. Evolution tinkers. It improvises. It throws ideas at the wall and occasionally comes up with something extraordinary.

So, should some little darling ask whether Seymouria was an amphibian or a reptile, you can smile knowingly and say, "Well, that's where things get interesting." 

Because 280 million years ago, on the sun-baked floodplains of what is now Texas, Seymouria baylorensis was busy blurring the lines.

And let's be honest, any fossil that gives people an excuse to mentally picture a two-foot-long Permian amphibian belting show tunes while trundling across a Texas floodplain is a win in my books. 

Evolution isn't always neat and tidy. Sometimes it's just 280 million years of Permian shenanigans.

SPISULA FOSSIL CLAMS FROM HAIDA GWAII

Some lovely Spisula praecursor (Dall) fossil clams from the Skonun Formation of Haida Gwaii, British Columbia, captured from the Miocene when this coastline looked very different from today. 

These fossil bivalves belong to the surf clam lineage, a group well adapted to shallow, energetic marine environments with shifting sands and strong wave action. 

Their robust, equivalve shells and streamlined form speak to a life spent burrowed just beneath the sediment surface, filtering seawater for food while riding out constant motion above.

The Skonun Formation preserves a rich snapshot of nearshore marine life along the northeastern Pacific margin during the Miocene, roughly 23 to 5 million years ago. 

At that time, Haida Gwaii lay along an active tectonic edge, with sediments accumulating in coastal and shelf settings influenced by currents, storms, and abundant nutrient flow. 

Fossils such as Spisula praecursor help us reconstruct these dynamic environments, offering clues about water depth, substrate type, and even paleoclimate.

These particular specimens came from a single block only accessible on a falling tide. Timing, as ever, was everything—and the tide had other ideas. 

The excavation involved equal parts determination and seawater, leaving both collector and fossils thoroughly soaked. Still, there is something fitting about getting wet while freeing marine clams from their ancient shoreline, a small reminder that fieldwork often mirrors the environments we are trying to understand.

ANCIENT ELEGANCE: UINTACRINUS OF KANSAS

There is a particular kind of quiet magic in the world, the sort that sends a small shiver of awe through you when all the elements of deep time align. 

Every so often, nature grants us a perfect moment: minerals seep gently into ancient flesh, sediments cradle a creature’s delicate form, and the slow choreography of preservation captures a life in astonishing detail. 

For me, nothing embodies that magic quite like crinoids. These elegant echinoderms—equal parts flower and animal—feel like whispers from an ancient sea, caught forever in stone.

The specimen before us is no exception. If you lean in close and let your eyes wander across its intricate geometry, you will find yourself face to face with a stunning representative of Uintacrinus socialis. 

This Upper Cretaceous beauty, hailing from the Santonian roughly 85 million years ago, was first named nearly a century and a half ago by O.C. Marsh in honour of the Uinta Mountains of Utah. 

This specimen hail from the soft chalky layers of the Smoky Hills Niobrara Formation in central Kansas—a region that once lay beneath the warm, shallow waters of the Western Interior Seaway. Here, entire colonies of Uintacrinus drifted like living chandeliers, their feathery arms extended into the sun-dappled currents.

Crinoids are the quiet dancers of the animal kingdom. Although they appear plant-like—an underwater blossom swaying gracefully in the tide—they are very much animals, part of the illustrious echinoderm clan that includes sea stars, brittle stars, and urchins. 

Imagine a lily turned sentient: a cup-shaped central body holding a mouth on its upper surface, surrounded by delicate, branching arms that sweep food particles from the water. 

And, in true echinoderm fashion, add an anus inconveniently positioned right beside the mouth. Evolution, it seems, has a sense of humour.

The anchored species, traditionally called sea lilies, rise from the seafloor on slender stalks composed of stacked calcite rings—columnals—that resemble beads fallen from some ancient necklace. In shallower waters, the stalks can be short and sturdy, but in deeper seas they may stretch a metre or more, holding the crinoid aloft like the mast of a living ship, swaying gently with each passing current.

Yet most crinoids in today’s oceans are not anchored at all. The feather stars, or comatulids, break free from their juvenile stalks and spend their adulthood drifting, crawling, or even swimming with slow, balletic strokes of their arms. 

They cling to rocks and coral with tiny curved structures called cirri—delicate as eyelashes yet strong enough to grip firmly in swirling water. These cirri also allowed many fossil crinoids to hold fast to the Cretaceous seafloor, weathering tides and storms in the vast expanse of the Western Interior Seaway.

Like all echinoderms, crinoids exhibit pentaradial symmetry: a five-fold architecture expressed in their plates, arms, and feeding grooves. The aboral, or underside, of the calyx is encased in a mosaic of calcium carbonate plates that form their internal skeleton—robust enough to fossilize beautifully. 

The top surface, the oral area, is mostly soft tissue in life, opening into five deep ambulacral grooves where tube feet once reached outward like tiny graceful fingers. Between these lie the interambulacral zones, together forming the elegant star-like pattern that both living and fossil crinoids display.

Their fossil record is ancient and abundant. Crinoids first appear in the Ordovician over 450 million years ago—unless one counts Echmatocrinus, that strange and controversial form from the Burgess Shale whose affinities still spark debate among paleontologists. 

Through the Paleozoic, crinoids flourished in such numbers that their disarticulated columnals often blanket limestone beds. In some places, these columnals form the very fabric of the rock itself, creating entire cliffs built from the remnants of ancient underwater meadows. To run your fingers along such a rock is to touch a community that lived hundreds of millions of years before humans ever drew breath.

And yet, crinoids endure. They survive today in tropical reefs, deep ocean slopes, and soft-bottomed basins, their lineage stretching unbroken from those early Paleozoic seas to the modern oceans. 

Some cling to the seafloor in twilight depths; others drift like feathered ghosts, arms unfurling in silent, rhythmic pulses. 

When a fossil like Uintacrinus socialis emerges from the chalk of Kansas or the limestone of Utah, we are granted a rare window into that vanished age. 

And for those of us who spend our days searching riverbeds, quarries, and sea cliffs for such wonders, as I am sure you do, it is for the thrill of having a satisfying split and letting the past shine through.

That, to me, is pure magic.

FERNIE, BRITISH COLUMBIA: FOSSIL AMMONITE AS LARGE AS A SMART CAR

Titanites occidentalis, Fernie Ammonite

The Fernie ammonite—long known as Titanites occidentalis—has officially been given a new name: Corbinites occidentalis, a fresh genus erected after a meticulous re-evaluation of this Western Giant’s anatomy and lineage. 

What hasn’t changed is its breathtaking presence high on Coal Mountain near Fernie, British Columbia, where this colossal cephalopod has rested for roughly 150 million years.

This extraordinary fossil belongs to the family Lithacoceratinae within the ataxioceratid ammonites. 

Once thought to be a close cousin of the great Titanites of Dorset, new material—including two additional large specimens discovered at nearby mine sites—reveals ribbing patterns and growth-stage features that simply didn’t match Titanites. 

With these multiple overlapping growth stages finally available, paleontologists had the missing pieces needed to correct its identity.

So, Titanites occidentalis no more—meet Corbinites occidentalis, a giant ammonite likely endemic to the relatively isolated early Alberta foreland basin of the Late Jurassic.

Fernie, British Columbia, Canada

The Fernie ammonite is a carnivorous cephalopod from the latest Jurassic (Tithonian). 

The spectacular individual on Coal Mountain measures 1.4 metres across—about the size of a small car tire and absolutely staggering when you first see it hugged by the mountainside.

The first specimen, discovered in 1947 by a British Columbia Geophysical Society mapping team at Coal Creek, was initially mistaken for a “fossil truck tire.” 

Fair enough—if a truck tire had been forged in the Jurassic and left on a mountaintop. It was later described by GSC paleontologist Hans Frebold, who gave it the name Titanites occidentalis, inspired by the giant ammonites of Dorset. 

For decades, that name stuck, even though paleontologists suspected the attribution was shaky due to poor preservation of the holotype’s inner whorls.

Recent discoveries of two additional specimens at Teck Resources’ Coal Mountain Mine finally provided the evidence needed for reassessment. 

With intact inner whorls and beautifully preserved ribbing—including hallmark variocostate and ataxioceratoid ornamentation—researchers Terence P. Poulton and colleagues demonstrated that the Canadian ammonite does not belong in Titanites. 

Their work (Volumina Jurassica, 2023) established Corbinites as a brand-new genus, with C. occidentalis as its type and only known species.

These specimens—one exceeding a metre, another about 64 cm—confirm a resident ammonite population within this basin. And as of now, these giants are unique to Western Canada.

A Journey Up Coal Mountain

If you’re keen to meet Corbinites occidentalis in the wild, you’ll want to head to Fernie, in southeastern British Columbia, close to the Alberta border. 

As your feet move up the hillside, you can imagine this land 10,000 years ago, rising above great glaciers. Where footfalls trace the steps of those that came before you. This land has been home to the Yaq̓it ʔa·knuqⱡi ‘it First Nation and Ktunaxa or Kukin ʔamakis First Nations whose oral history have them living here since time immemorial. Like them, take only what you need and no more than the land offers — packing out anything that you packed in. 

Active logging in the area since 2021 means that older directions are now unreliable—trailheads have shifted, and a fair bit of bushwhacking is the price of admission. Though clear-cutting reshaped the slope, loggers at CanWel showed admirable restraint: they worked around the fossil, leaving it untouched.

The non-profit Wildsight has been championing efforts to protect the ammonite, hoping to establish an educational trail with provincial support and possible inclusion under the Heritage Conservation Act—where the fossil’s stewardship could be formally recognised.

HIKING TO THE FERNIE AMMONITE (IMPORTANT UPDATE: TRAIL CLOSED)

From the town of Fernie, British Columbia, you would traditionally head east along Coal Creek Road toward Coal Creek, with the ammonite site sitting 3.81 km from the road’s base as the crow flies. 

The classic approach begins at a roadside exposure of dark grey to black Cretaceous plant fossils, followed by a creek crossing and a steep, bushwhacking ascent.

However — and this is critical — the trail is currently closed.

The entire access route runs straight through an area of active logging, and conditions on the slope are extremely dangerous. Between heavy equipment, unstable cutblocks, and altered drainages, this is not a safe place for hikers right now.

Conservation groups, including Wildsight, continue working toward restoring safe public access and formalising the site under the Heritage Conservation Act. 

Their long-term goal is to reopen the trail as a designated educational hike with proper signage, but at present, the route should not be attempted. 

Once logging operations move out of the area and safety assessments are done, the possibility of reopening may return.

For now, the safest—and strongly recommended—way to view this iconic fossil is via the excellent cast on display at the Courtenay & District Museum on Vancouver Island, or at the Visitor Information Centre in Sparwood.

Photo credit: Vince Mo Media. Vince is an awesome photographer and drone operator based in Fernie, BC. Check out his work (and hire him!) by visiting his website at vmmedia.ca.

NA GEH! OODLES OF FOSSILS IN VIENNA

There are museums that politely suggest you admire science from a respectful distance… and then there are places like Vienna’s Naturhistorisches Museum, which wraps you in dark polished wood, marble staircases, glass cabinets and enough deep-time wonder to make you forget what century you’re in.

When I work in Eastern Europe, I route through Vienna just to visit this lovely place.

The Natural History Museum in Vienna opened its doors in 1889, originally built to house the extraordinary collections of the Habsburg dynasty. 

Those collections were built over centuries by emperors, archdukes, scholars and enthusiastic royal collectors who apparently looked at the world and collectively decided, “Yes, we shall keep all the shiny things.” 

Their vast holdings included rare gemstones, exotic animal specimens, fossils, minerals, scientific instruments, archaeological treasures and meteorites gathered from across Europe and far beyond. 

Expeditions, trade networks and scientific exchanges fed the ever-growing imperial cabinets of curiosity. By the 18th and 19th centuries, the Habsburgs were assembling one of the most significant natural history collections in the world — equal parts science, prestige and unapologetic treasure hoarding. 

Thankfully for the rest of us curious raccoons disguised as adults, those treasures eventually became one of the world’s great natural history museums — a sprawling celebration of fossils, meteorites, minerals, evolution and the glorious weirdness of our planet.

And ohhh, the atmosphere.

Some museums feel sleek and modern, all chrome and touchscreens. Vienna feels like stepping into the study of a Victorian natural philosopher who perhaps owned twelve magnifying glasses and definitely had strong opinions about trilobites. 

The galleries glow warmly beneath ornate ceilings, the old wood display cases creak with history, and every cabinet seems to hold another marvel waiting quietly behind glass. It smells faintly of polished timber, old books and discovery.

You wander from hall to hall half expecting Charles Darwin to appear around a corner muttering, “Na geh!” because someone has mislabeled a brachiopod.

The fossil galleries are particularly lovely — packed with ancient beasts, delicate shells, Ice Age mammals and creatures that once swam through vanished seas long before the Alps rose skyward. 

There are towering dinosaur skeletons, marine reptiles, fossil fishes and beautifully preserved ammonites curled like ancient cosmic cinnamon buns. It is the sort of museum where you start by casually admiring one fossil and forty-five minutes later find yourself emotionally attached to a prehistoric sea urchin.

“Schau ma mal,” you tell yourself. Just a quick peek at one cabinet.

Three hours later you are still there squinting lovingly at Devonian fish while whispering “Oida…” under your breath and wishing you hadn't worn new shoes. 

And then there are the meteorites.

Vienna houses the largest meteorite display collection in the world, which is frankly a wildly unfair flex. Cabinet after cabinet gleams with stones that fell from space — fragments of asteroids older than Earth itself. Tiny iron worlds. Chondrites filled with the building blocks of planets. Visitors quietly shuffle about trying to process the fact that they are standing inches away from objects that travelled millions of kilometres through the cold dark vacuum before crash-landing on our little blue world.

Austrian grandmothers somewhere nearby are probably saying, “Heast, des is jo uralt,” and honestly, they are not wrong.

Beyond the fossils and meteorites, the museum sprawls into galleries devoted to minerals and gemstones, anthropology, human evolution, Ice Age life, prehistory and the natural sciences. Statues and allegorical figures throughout the museum celebrate scientific discovery itself — a reminder that this grand building was created during a time when humanity was enthusiastically cataloguing the world and trying desperately to understand its place within it.

What I adore most about the Naturhistorisches Museum is that it still feels wonderfully human. You can breath in the history, the lived in, built out over time of the place. 

It has not polished away its age or character. The old cabinets remain. The labels feel delightfully scholarly. The architecture insists you slow down and look carefully. It reminds you that science is not only data and specimens — it is curiosity, wonder and generations of people trying to piece together the story of life on Earth.

Also, somewhere between the ammonites and the Ice Age mammals, there is a very real chance you will become emotionally overwhelmed and need a coffee and a sachertorte immediately. 

This is Vienna. It is practically the law.

If you find yourself in Vienna, give yourself several hours here — preferably with comfortable shoes and absolutely no rigid schedule. Drift through the galleries. Open every mental drawer of curiosity you possess. Admire the gemstones. Stare at meteorites. Fall in love with an ammonite. Get delightfully lost among the wooden cases and ancient bones. 

This is a museum built by many hands with care and loads of love! As the Austrians say: “Passt scho.” Everything is exactly as it should be.

Natural History Museum, Burgring 7, 1010 Vienna, Austria

Photo Credit: Nowaczyk #2685053829

SKATE SKIING THROUGH THE MISSISSIPPIAN

Trilobite and Sea Scorpion Fossil Trackways

This curious wee slab is absolutely alive with movement from the Mississippian seas, laid down some 359.2 to 318.1 million years ago when strange arthropods were bustling about the seafloor like tiny armoured Roombas on a mission. 

What makes this block especially tasty to the fossil-loving eye is that it preserves both a lovely Cruziana trilobite trackway alongside what may be a eurypterid — a sea scorpion — or horseshoe crab trackway, all dancing together across the same bit of ancient seabed. 

It is a proper prehistoric traffic jam.

Now, when we say Cruziana, we are not talking about the trilobite itself, but the style of the trace fossil — the shape and pattern left behind by the critter as it shuffled, ploughed, scraped or scooted along the sediment. 

In this case, we see elongate, bilaterally symmetrical furrows preserved along the bedding plane with repeated oblique striations running at jaunty little angles. 

I always picture some tiny Paleozoic artist armed with a wee putty knife making rhythmic cuts through wet clay. Alternatively, imagine an overly enthusiastic trilobite showing off its Olympic-level skate skiing skills across the seabed. 

Sadly, no medals were awarded in the Carboniferous. While Cruziana traces are most commonly linked to trilobites, other arthropods could make similar marks, so there is still a little mystery woven into the mud.

Trilobite and Sea Scorpion Fossil Trackways

The study of trace fossils is called ichnology — from the Greek ichnos, meaning “track” or “footprint” — and it is one of the best ways we have of decoding the behaviour of ancient life long after the critters themselves have vanished.

Trace fossils are marvellous things because they preserve behaviour rather than bodies. 

These are the footprints, furrows, resting spots and feeding trails of ancient marine life — little snapshots of daily business on the ocean floor hundreds of millions of years ago. 

They tell us who was bustling about, how they moved, where they paused, and sometimes even what mood they might have been in. 

Alright, perhaps not mood exactly, but definitely purpose. 

Every groove and scratch here records a living creature interacting with its world in real time, long before dinosaurs, birds or mammals ever appeared on the scene.

This busy little block — measuring 4 1/2" x 3 1/2" x 1 1/4" — comes from the Tar Springs Formation of Perry County, Indiana, USA, and resides in the collections of the deeply awesome David Appleton.

The Tar Springs Formation stretches across parts of southern Indiana and is known both from surface outcrops and subsurface deposits extending from central Martin County southwestward toward the Ohio River. 

In Indiana, the formation is primarily shale, though scattered limestone beds and chunky local sandstone lenses also appear, including the handsome Tick Ridge Sandstone Member described by Gray in 1986. Thickness varies considerably, from about 70 feet (21 m) to more than 150 feet (46 m) in places like central Posey County and southwestern Gibson County. 

Where the formation thickens, sandstone tends to dominate, hinting at shifting ancient shorelines, changing currents and the restless pulse of long-vanished Carboniferous seas.

MOONFISH & LIMESTONE DREAMS: A MENID FROM MONTE BOLCA

This glorious discoidal darling is Mene rhombea, an extinct moonfish from the legendary Monte Bolca deposits of northeastern Italy. 

She lived during the Mid-Eocene, roughly 45–50 million years ago, at a time when the world was warmer, crocodiles lounged much farther north, and lush tropical seas covered parts of Europe. 

The specimen in the photograph lives today in the paleontology collection of the Senckenberg Nature Museum in Frankfurt am Main, Germany — and honestly, it looks like it could flick its tail and swim straight off the slab.

And what a slab it is.

The limestone matrix from Monte Bolca is world-famous for preserving fish with extraordinary fidelity. Bones, fin rays, eye sockets, delicate spines — all frozen in exquisite detail like nature’s own lithographic masterpiece. 

You can see the elegant curve of the spinal column, the sharply compressed body, and those wonderfully dramatic pelvic fins trailing beneath like ribbons on a ballroom gown. If fish held fashion week during the Eocene, Mene rhombea would have strutted the runway in Milan and stolen everyone’s espresso.

Modern moonfish — relatives within the family Menidae — still swim in tropical Indo-Pacific waters today, though they are nowhere near as flamboyant as some of their fossil cousins. 

The living species, Mene maculata, has the same deep, compressed body shape that lets it pivot and glide through reefs with remarkable agility. Their fossil kin tell us this lineage has been around for quite some time.

The family Menidae first appears in the fossil record during the Paleocene and flourished through the Eocene. Their fossils are known from Europe, Asia, and parts of North America, but nowhere are they more spectacularly preserved than at Monte Bolca. 

This locality is one of the great Lagerstätten of the world — a fossil site with exceptional preservation — preserving a tropical marine ecosystem shortly after the extinction of the non-avian dinosaurs.

Monte Bolca itself is something of a celebrity in palaeontology circles. For over four centuries, collectors and scientists have marvelled at its fossil fishes. The deposits formed in quiet lagoonal waters associated with ancient coral reefs. 

Fine carbonate mud settled gently to the seafloor, rapidly burying organisms in low-oxygen conditions that discouraged scavengers and decay. The result? Fossils so detailed you half expect them to blink.

Mene rhombea is instantly recognizable by its highly compressed, almost circular body shape and broad triangular tail. That shape was no accident. Like many reef-associated fishes, this body plan allowed quick manoeuvring through tight underwater spaces — handy when weaving through coral heads while trying not to become lunch for some enthusiastic Eocene predator with teeth the size of butter knives.

What I love most about these fossils is how modern they feel.

We often imagine prehistoric life as strange, lumbering, and alien, but many Eocene fishes would look perfectly at home in today’s tropical seas. 

Standing before this fossil in Frankfurt, you are peering into an ocean only slightly different from our own — one filled with reef fish, rays, crustaceans, sharks, and the bustling energy of marine ecosystems recovering and diversifying after the great extinction at the end of the Cretaceous.

And here she remains.

Forty-five million years later, pressed delicately into limestone, elegant,  dramatic, still the prettiest fish in the room

OCEAN SUNFISH: MOLA MOLA

Mola mola (Linnaeus, 1758)

Meet the mighty Mola mola — the ocean’s giant floating dinner plate with the personality of an overgrown puppy and the body plan of a fish someone clearly stopped designing halfway through. 

This massive, docile sunfish is one of the two heaviest bony fish alive today, rivalled only by its equally peculiar cousin, the southern sunfish. 

Imagine a Volkswagen Beetle crossed with a pizza crust and you are delightfully close to the truth.

The Molidae family first flapped onto the evolutionary scene between 45 and 35 million years ago — long after the dinosaurs had shuffled off this mortal coil and back when whales still sported legs and looked suspiciously like wolves testing out a new aquatic lifestyle. 

Their ancestors were adorable pufferfish-like oddballs, chunky little reef dwellers built like armoured dumplings. 

Those early pioneers eventually gave rise to Mola around 23 to 20.4 million years ago. Their cousins, the wonderfully bizarre Ranzania, appeared a bit later, around 16 to 13.8 million years ago. 

A third modern genus, Masturus, remains frustratingly absent from the fossil record. 

Somewhere out there, hidden in ancient sediments, is the fossil equivalent of a missing puzzle piece waiting for some lucky fossil hunter to stumble upon.

Now here is where things get wonderfully absurd. Baby mola are tiny. Ridiculously tiny. Dozens of newborns could fit in the palm of your hand, each scarcely larger than a pea and looking more like nervous confetti than future leviathans. 

As youngsters, they are intensely curious and occasionally swim up to humans for a wee investigative nibble. My own mother was sampled by one as a girl while travelling. One tiny tooth embedded itself in her leg and worked its way out weeks later like the world’s most polite shark attack. She still tells the story fondly, which says a great deal about both her and the fish.

As adults, however, mola abandon all restraint and become absolute units. Most tip the scales at 247 to 1,000 kilograms — roughly one-and-a-half cows or one very surprised grizzly bear. The heavyweight champion so far is a bump-head sunfish, Mola alexandrini, caught off Japan in 1996. 

That magnificent beast weighed an astonishing 2,300 kilograms (5,070 pounds) and stretched nearly 2.72 metres long. That is less “fish” and more “sentient manhole cover with fins.”

Their sheer bulk and thick hide discourage many predators, though younger fish are still vulnerable to bluefin tuna and mahi-mahi. Adults, meanwhile, occasionally end up on the menu for orca, sharks, sea lions, and sadly, humans. In parts of Japan, Korea and Taiwan they have historically been eaten, though thankfully the European Union has banned the sale of mola species from the family Molidae.

And then there are the names. Oh, the names. No fish on Earth seems to have inspired quite so much international confusion.

The scientific name mola comes from the Latin for “millstone,” which is honestly fair. They do look like giant grinding stones with fins glued on as an afterthought. 

Their English name, sunfish, comes from their habit of basking at the surface like retirees on holiday in Palm Springs. Across Europe, many names translate loosely to moonfish — the Dutch maanvis, Portuguese peixe lua, French poisson lune, Spanish pez luna, Italian pesce luna and many others — all nodding to that glorious moon-shaped silhouette.

The Germans, never ones to sugarcoat things, also call it Schwimmender Kopf — “swimming head.” Accurate. Slightly rude, but accurate. The Polish samogłów means “head alone,” which again feels unnecessarily personal. 

Scandinavian languages gift us klumpfisk or “lump fish,” while the Finnish möhkäkala roughly translates to “chunky blob fish,” which sounds less like a species name and more like playground bullying. I am Norwegian on my Mother's side and am going to have to fail my relations on their truly uninspired use of names here.

The Chinese name, fān chē yú 翻車魚, means “toppled wheel fish,” which may be my favourite of all. Somewhere, someone looked at a mola and thought, “Ah yes. An overturned wagon wheel with opinions.”

By any name, these gentle giants continue to drift through tropical and temperate seas around the world, basking in the sunlight, nibbling jellyfish, and confusing humanity with their glorious evolutionary weirdness

FOSSIL FLOWERS AND POLLINATORS

Flower encased in amber

Plant fossils are found coast-to-coast in Canada, from 45-million-year-old mosses in British Columbia to fossil forests on Axel Heiberg and Ellesmere islands in the Canadian Arctic.

The early angiosperms developed advantages over contemporary groups — rapid reproductive cycles —  which made them highly efficient, adapting well to "weedy" growth. These modifications, including flowers for the attraction of insect pollinators, proved advantageous in many habitats.

Interaction between plant and pollinator has been a driving force behind the astounding diversification of both flowering plants and insects. 

Together, they tell one of the most interesting co-evolutionary stories on Earth, and one of vital importance to us. We must give thanks to our precious bees for their work pollinating about one-third of our diet and adding nutritious and delicious fruits and vegetables to our menu. 

Some of the earliest known flowering plants are found in northeastern British Columbia coalfields. Late Cretaceous (about 101–66 million years ago) floras of the Dawson Creek area of British Columbia, and Milk River, Alberta, reveal increasing dominance by angiosperms. 

These fossils, while generally resembling some living angiosperms, represent old, extinct families, and their relationships to living groups remain unclear.

Early pollinators co-evolved with flowering plants

At the end of the Cretaceous, the climate cooled, inland seas covering much of western Canada drained, and dinosaurs became extinct. 

At the boundary between the Cretaceous and Paleogene is evidence of extinction amongst land plants, too. 

During this interval of mass extinction, the Earth was struck by a massive meteorite. The fallout from this impact is preserved in boundary sediments in southern Saskatchewan as a pale clay, rich in rare earth elements such as iridium.

In the early Paleogene period (66–56 million years ago), we entered the age of mammals. Paralleling the rise of mammals is the rise of modern flora, which consists overwhelmingly of our glorious flowering plants. One of the most prolific fossil sites for Paleogene flowering plants, fruits and seeds is the Messel pit in Germany. In 2012, a research group found over 140 different plant species, 65 of which were previously unknown.

Early Paleogene fossils are found over much of Alberta —  Red Deer River, Lake Wabamun coalfields and Robb to Coal Valley coalfields —  and southern Saskatchewan —  Eastend area to Estevan coalfield —  to as far north as Ellesmere Island. 

These floras reveal a variety of flowering plants, including members of the sycamore, birch and walnut families, but the most abundant fossil plants are the katsuras and the dawn redwood, now native only to southeastern Asia.

In the mid-Paleogene period (56–34 million years ago) brief climatic warming coincided with the rapid diversification of flowering plants. Eocene fossils in British Columbia (Princeton, Kamloops and Smithers areas) reveal increasing numbers of modern plant families, with extinct species of birch, maple, beech, willow, chestnut, pine and fir.

Fossil Leaves, Princeton, British Columbia, Canada

Exceptionally well-preserved fossil forests found on Axel Heiberg and Ellesmere islands in the Canadian Arctic illustrate clearly the contrast between modern Canadian vegetation and the floras of a much warmer past. 

These fossil forests, 40 to 60 million years old, consist of large stumps, many over 1 m in diameter, preserved where they grew, still rooted in ancient soil.

Thick mats of leaf litter that formed the forest floor reveal the types of plants inhabiting the forests.

Lush redwood and cypress swamps covered the lowlands, while the surrounding uplands were dominated by a mixed conifer and hardwood forest resembling that of modern eastern North America. Even accounting for continental drift, these forests grew well above the Arctic Circle, and bear witness to a time in Canada's past when a cold arctic climatic regime did not exist.

Around 45-50 million years ago, during the middle Eocene, a number of freshwater lakes appeared in an arc extending from Smithers in northern British Columbia, south through the modern Cariboo, to Kamloops, the Nicola Valley, Princeton and finally, Republic, Washington.

The lakes likely formed after a period of faulting created depressions in the ground, producing a number of basins or grabens into which water collected — imagine gorgeous smallish lakes similar to Cultus Lake near Chilliwack, British Columbia.

The groaning Earth, pressured by the collision of tectonic plates produced a series of erupting volcanoes around the Pacific Northwest. These spouting volcanoes blew fine-grained ash into the atmosphere and it rained down on the land.

Eocene Plant Fossils, McAbee, BC

The ash washed into the lakes and because of its texture, and possibly because of low water oxygen levels on the bottoms that slowed decay beautifully preserved the dead remains of plant, invertebrate, and fish fossils —  some in wonderful detail with fascinating and well-preserved flora.

Near the town of Princeton, British Columbia, we see the results of that fine ash in the many fossil exposures. The fossils you find here are Middle Eocene, Allenby Formation with a high degree of detail in their preservation. Here we find fossil maple, alder, fir, pine, dawn redwood and ginkgo material. 

The Allenby Formation of the Princeton Group is regarded as Middle Eocene based on palynology (Rouse and Srivastava, 1970), mammals (Russell, 1935; Gazin, 1953); freshwater fishes (Wilson, 1977, 1982) and potassium-argon dating (Hills and Baadsgaard, 1967).

Several species of fossilized insects can be found in the area and rare, occasional fossil flowers and small, perfectly preserved fish. More than 50 flowers have been reported (Basinger, 1976) from the Princeton chert locality that crops out on the east side of the Similkameen River about 8 km south of Princeton, British Columbia.

The first descriptions of fossil plants from British Columbia were published in 1870–1920 by J.W. Dawson, G.M. Dawson, and D.P. Penhallow. Permineralized plants were first described from the Princeton chert in the 1970s by C.N. Miller, J.F. Basinger, and others, followed by R.A. Stockey and her students. W.C. Wehr and K.R. Johnson revitalized the study of fossils at Republic with the discovery of a diverse assemblage in 1977.

In 1987, J.A. Wolfe and Wehr produced a United States Geological Survey monograph on Republic, and Wehr cofounded the Stonerose Interpretive Center as a venue for public collecting. Systematic studies of the Okanagan Highlands plants, as well as paleoecological and paleoclimate reconstructions from palynomorphs and leaf floras, continue to expand our understanding of this important Early Eocene assemblage.

One of the sister sites to McAbee, the Driftwood Canyon Provincial Park Fossil Beds, offers an honours system for their site. Visitors may handle and view fossils but are asked to not take them home. 

Both Driftwood Canyon and McAbee are part of that arc of Eocene lakebed sites that extend from Smithers in the north, down to the fossil site of Republic Washington, in the south. 

The grouping includes the fossil sites of Driftwood Canyon, Quilchena, Allenby, Tranquille, McAbee, Princeton and Republic. Each of these localities provides important clues to our ancient climate.

The fossils range in age from Early to Middle Eocene. McAbee had a more temperate climate, slightly cooler and wetter than other Eocene sites to the south at Princeton, British Columbia, Republic in north-central Washington, in the Swauk Formation near Skykomish and the Chuckanut Formation of northern Washington state. The McAbee fossil beds consist of 30 metres of fossiliferous shale in the Eocene Kamloops Group.

The fossils are preserved here as impressions and carbonaceous films. We see gymnosperm (16 species); a variety of conifers (14 species to my knowledge); two species of ginkgo, a large variety of angiosperm (67 species); a variety of insects and fish remains, the rare feather and a boatload of mashed deciduous material. Nuts and cupules are also found from the dicotyledonous Fagus and Ulnus and members of Betulaceae, including Betula and Alnus.

We see many species that look very similar to those growing in the Pacific Northwest today. You can find well-preserved specimens of cypress, dawn redwood, fir, spruce, pine, larch, hemlock, alder, birch, dogwood, beech, sassafras, cottonwood, maple, elm and grape. If we look at the pollen data, we see over a hundred highly probable species from the site. Though rare, McAbee has also produced spiders, birds (and lovely individual feathers) along with multiple specimens of the freshwater crayfish, Aenigmastacus crandalli.

For insects, we see dragonflies, damselflies, cockroaches, termites, earwigs, aphids, leafhoppers, spittlebugs, lacewings, a variety of beetles, gnats, ants, hornets, stick insects, water striders, weevils, wasps and March flies. The insects are particularly well-preserved. Missing are the tropical Sabal (palm), seen at Princeton.

200 km to the south, fossil leaves and fish were first recognized at Republic, Washington, by miners in the early 1900s. We find the impressive Ensete (banana) and Zamiaceae (cycad) at Eocene sites in Republic and Chuckanut, Washington. 

Many early workers considered these floras to be of Oligocene or Miocene age. C.A. Arnold described Canadian occurrences of conifers and Azolla in the 1950s. Palynological studies in the 1960s by L.V. Hills, G.E.Rouse, and others and those of fossil fish by M.V.H. Wilson in the 1970–1980s provided the framework for paleobotanical research at several key localities.

With the succession of ice ages that swept down across North America in the Pleistocene, there were four intervening warm periods. These warmer periods help many species, including the genus Oenothera, enjoy four separate waves of colonization — each hybridizing with the survivors of previous waves. This formed the present-day subsection Euoenothera. The group is genetically and morphologically diverse and contains some of the most interesting of the angiosperms.

Today, there are about 145 species of herbaceous flowering plants in the genus Oenothera, all native to the Americas. It is the type genus of the family Onagraceae. We know them by many names — evening primrose, suncups, and sundrops  —  but they are not closely related to the true primroses (genus Primula).

Oenothera flowers are pollinated by insects, such as moths and bees. One of the most interesting things I have learned (thank you, Jim Barkley) is a clever little evolutionary trait exhibited by the beach evening primrose, Oenothera drummondil. 

These lovelies can actively sense and respond to the buzzing of bees. Marine Veits et al. were able to show that this species has evolved to respond to the sound of bees by producing nectar with a higher sugar concentration, certainly yummy by bee standards — therein attracting more pollinators and increasing the plant species reproductive success.

David R. Greenwood, Kathleen B. Pigg, James F. Basinger, and Melanie L. DeVore: A review of paleobotanical studies of the Early Eocene Okanagan (Okanogan) Highlands floras of British Columbia, Canada, and Washington, USA.

Sauquet H, von Balthazar M, Magallón S, et al. The ancestral flower of angiosperms and its early diversification. Nat Commun. 2017;8:16047. Published 2017 Aug 1. doi:10.1038/ncomms16047

Marine Veits  Itzhak Khait  Uri Obolski, et al. Flowers respond to pollinator sound within minutes by increasing nectar sugar concentration. https://doi.org/10.1111/ele.13331

ETHELDRED BENETT: ENGLISH GEOLOGIST & CITIZEN SCIENTIST

In the early days of paleontology, men were men, and women, quite frankly, were not paleontologists, geologists, members of the Royal Society nor welcome in a male dominated science community. 

Until they were. And sometimes quite by accident.

Meet Etheldred Benett, an early English geologist often credited with being the first female geologist — a fossil collector par excellence.

If you happened to join us for today's VIPS talk with Phil Hadland, Collections & Engagement Curator of Natural Sciences at the Hastings Museum & Art Gallery, UK, on 101 Fossils of Folkstone, you will have heard him mention her in his talk.

She was also credited with being a man  —  the Natural History Society of Moscow awarded her membership as Master Etheldredus Benett in 1836. The confusion over her name (it did sound masculine) came again with the bestowing of a Doctorate of Civil Law from Tsar Nicholas I.

The Tsar had read Sowerby's Mineral Conchology, a major fossil reference work which contained the second-highest number of contributed fossils of the day, many of the best quality available at the time. Forty-one of those specimens were credited to Benett. Between her name and this wonderous contribution to a growing science, the Russian Tsar awarded the Doctorate to what he believed was a young male scientist on the rise. 

He believed in education, founding Kyiv University in 1834, just not for women. He was an autocratic military man frozen in time — the thought that this work could have been done by a female was unthinkable. Doubly charming is that the honour from the University of St Petersburg was granted at a time when women were not allowed to attend St. Pete's or any higher institutions. That privilege arrived in 1878, twenty years after Nicholas I's death.

Benett took these honours (and social blunders) with grace. She devoted her life to collecting and studying fossils from the southwest of England, amassing an impressive personal collection she openly shared with geologist friends, colleagues and visitors to her home. Her specialty was fossils from the Middle Cretaceous, Upper Greensand in the Vale of Wardour — a valley in the county of Wiltshire near the River Nadder.

Etheldred was a local Wiltshire girl. Born Etheldred Benett on 22 July 1775 at Pyt House, Tisbury, Wiltshire, the eldest daughter of the local squire Thomas Benett. Etheldred's interest was cultivated by the botanist Aylmer Bourke Lambert (1761-1842), a founding member of the Linnean Society. 

Benett's brother had married Lucy Lambert, Aylmer's half-sister. Aylmer was a Fellow of the Royal Society and the Society of the Arts. He was also an avid fossil collector and member of the Geological Society of London. The two met and got on famously.

Aylmer kindled an interest in natural history in both of Benett's daughters. Etheldred had a great fondness in geology, stratigraphy and all things paleo, whilst her sister concentrated on botany. Etheldred had a distinct advantage over her near contemporary, the working-class Mary Anning (1799-1847), in that Benett was a woman of independent wealth who never married — and didn't need to — who could pursue the acquisition and study of fossils for her own interest.

While Anning was the marine reptile darling of the age, she was also greatly hindered by her finances. "She sells, seashells by the seashore..." while chanted in a playful spirit today, was not meant kindly at the time. Aylmer's encouragement emboldened Etheldred to go into the field to collect for herself — and collect she did. Profusely.

Benett’s contribution to the early history of Wiltshire geology is significant. She corresponded extensively with the coterie of gentlemen scientists of the day —  Gideon Mantell, William Buckland, James Sowerby, George Bellas Greenough and, Samuel Woodward. She also consorted with the lay folk and had an ongoing correspondence with William Smith, whose stratigraphy work had made a favourable impression on her brother-in-law, Aylmer.

Her collections and collaboration with geologists of the day were instrumental in helping to form the field of geology as a science. One colleague and friend, Gideon Mantell, British physician, geologist and palaeontologist, who discovered four of the five genera of dinosaurs and Iguanadon, was so inspired by Benett's work he named this Cretaceous ammonite after her — Hoplites bennettiana.

Benett's fossil assemblage was a valuable resource for her contemporaries and remains so today. It contains thousands of Jurassic and Cretaceous fossil specimens from the Wiltshire area and the Dorset Coast, including a myriad of first-recorded finds. The scientific name of every taxon is usually based on one particular specimen, or in some cases multiple specimens. Many of the specimens she collected serve as the Type Specimen for new species.

Fossil Sponge, Polypothecia quadriloba, Warminster, Wiltshire

Her particular interest was the collection and study of fossil sponges. Alcyonia caught her eye early on. She collected and recorded her findings with the hope that one of her colleagues might share her enthusiasm and publish her work as a contribution to their own.

Alas, no one took up the helm — those interested were busy with other pursuits (or passed away) and others were less than enthusiastic or never seemed to get around to it.

To ensure the knowledge was shared in a timely fashion, she finally wrote them up and published them herself. You can read her findings in her publication, ‘A Catalogue of Organic Remains of the County of Wiltshire’ (1831), where she shares observations on the fossil sponge specimens and other invert goodies from the outcrops west of town.

She shared her ideas freely and donated many specimens to local museums. It was through her exchange of observations, new ideas and open sharing of fossils with Gideon Mantell and others that a clearer understanding of the Lower Cretaceous sedimentary rocks of Southern England was gained.

In many ways, Mantell was drawn to Benett as his ideas went against the majority opinion. At a time when marine reptiles were dominating scientific discoveries and discussions, he pushed the view that dinosaurs were terrestrial, not amphibious, and sometimes bipedal. Mantell's life's work established the now-familiar idea that the Age of Reptiles preceded the Age of Mammals. Mantell kept a journal from 1819-1852, that remained unpublished until 1940 when E. Cecil Curwen published an abridged version. (Oxford University Press 1940). John A. Cooper, Royal Pavilion and Museums, Brighton and Hove, published the work in its entirety in 2010.

I was elated to get a copy, both to untangle the history of the time and to better learn about the relationship between Mantell and Benett. So much of our geologic past has been revealed since Mantell's first entry two hundred years ago. The first encounter we share with the two of them is a short note from March 8, 1819. "This morning I received a letter from Miss Bennett of Norton House near Warminster Wilts, informing me of her having sent a packet of fossils for me, to the Waggon Office..." The diary records his life, but also the social interactions of the day and the small connected community of the scientific social elite. It is a delight!

Though a woman in a newly evolving field, her work, dedication and ideas were recognized and appreciated by her colleagues. Gideon Mantell described her as, "a lady of great talent and indefatigable research," whilst the Sowerbys noted her, "labours in the pursuit of geological information have been as useful as they have been incessant."

Benett produced the first measured sections of the Upper Chicksgrove quarry near Tisbury in 1819, published and shared with local colleagues as, "the measure of different beds of stone in Chicksgrove Quarry in the Parish of Tisbury.” The stratigraphic section was later published by naturalist James Sowerby without her knowledge. Her research contradicted many of Sowerby’s conclusions.

She wrote and privately published a monograph in 1831, containing many of her drawings and sketches of molluscs and sponges. Her work included sketches of the fossil Alcyonia (1816) from the Green Sand Formation at Warminster Common and the immediate vicinity of Warminster in Wiltshire.

Echinoids and Bivalves. Collection of Etheldred Benett (1775-1845)

The Society holds two copies, one was given to George Bellas Greenough, and another copy was given to her friend Gideon Mantell. This work established her as a true, pioneering biostratigrapher following but not always agreeing with the work of William Smith.

If you'd like to read a lovely tale on William's work, check out the Map that Changed the World: William Smith and the Birth of Modern Geology by Simon Winchester. It narrates the intellectual context of the time, the development of Smith's ideas and how they contributed to the theory of evolution and more generally to a dawning realization of the true age of the earth.

The book describes the social, economic or industrial context for Smith's insights and work, such as the importance of coal mining and the transport of coal by means of canals, both of which were a stimulus to the study of geology and the means whereby Smith supported his research. Benett debated many of the ideas Smith put forward. She was luckier than Smith financially, coming from a wealthy family, a financial perk that allowed her the freedom to add fossils to her curiosity cabinet at will.

Most of her impressive collection was assumed lost in the early 20th century. It was later found and purchased by an American, Thomas Bellerby Wilson, who donated it to the Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia. Small parts of it made their way into British museums, including the Leeds City Museum, London, Bristol and to the University of St. Petersburg. These collections contain many type specimens and some of the very first fossils found — some with the soft tissues preserved. When Benett died in 1845, it was Mantell who penned her obituary for the London Geological Journal.

In 1989, almost a hundred and fifty years after her death, a review of her collection had Arthur Bogen and Hugh Torrens remark that her work has significantly impacted our modern understanding of Porifera, Coelenterata, Echinodermata, and the molluscan classes, Cephalopoda, Gastropoda, and Bivalvia. A worthy legacy, indeed.

Her renown lives on through her collections, her collaborations and through the beautiful 110 million-year-old ammonite you see here, Hoplites bennettiana. The lovely example you see here is in the collection of the deeply awesome Christophe Marot.

Spamer, Earle E.; Bogan, Arthur E.; Torrens, Hugh S. (1989). "Recovery of the Etheldred Benett Collection of fossils mostly from Jurassic-Cretaceous strata of Wiltshire, England, analysis of the taxonomic nomenclature of Benett (1831), and notes and figures of type specimens contained in the collection". Proceedings of the Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia. 141. pp. 115–180. JSTOR 4064955.

Torrens, H. S.; Benamy, Elana; Daeschler, E.; Spamer, E.; Bogan, A. (2000). "Etheldred Benett of Wiltshire, England, the First Lady Geologist: Her Fossil Collection in the Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia, and the Rediscovery of "Lost" Specimens of Jurassic Trigoniidae (Mollusca: Bivalvia) with Their Soft Anatomy Preserved.". Proceedings of the Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia. 150. pp. 59–123. JSTOR 4064955.

Photo credit: Fossils from Wiltshire.  In the foreground are three examples of the echinoid, Cidaris crenularis, from Calne, a town in Wiltshire, southwestern England, with bivalves behind. Caroline Lam, Archivist at the Geological Society, London, UK. http://britgeodata.blogspot.com/2016/03/etheldred-benett-first-female-geologist_30.html

MASSIVE EXTINCT CERVID: THE IRISH ELK

Irish Elk, Megaloceros giganteus

Imagine cresting a windswept hillside in the fading amber of a Pleistocene sunset. 

The tall grass parts in slow ripples, stirred by a warm evening breeze—then by something far larger. An Irish Elk steps into view, a towering ghost from deep time, its silhouette edged with gold.

This magnificent deer—Megaloceros giganteus—was not, in fact, strictly Irish, nor truly an elk. 

It was a giant among cervids, a member of a lineage that roamed from Ireland to Siberia across vast Ice Age steppes. But Ireland’s bogs preserved their remains so exquisitely that the name stuck, and so did the awe.

Irish Elk fossils appear in abundance in the peatlands of Ireland, the loess plains of Eastern Europe, and far into Central Asia. Their lineage traces back to the genus Megaloceros, a group of large deer that emerged around two million years ago. 

What made M. giganteus the superstar of its clan? Two words: monumental antlers.

Irish Elk, Muséum National d'Histoire Naturelle, Paris

Spanning up to 3.7 metres (twelve feet) from tip to tip, the antlers were not simply oversized decoration—they were evolutionary billboards, broadcasting strength, health, and genetic prowess. They also had a hand in their fossil fame. 

When these massive antlers were unearthed centuries ago, early naturalists were convinced they belonged to mythical beasts or antediluvian monsters. 

The truth turned out to be even better: a deer so grand it nearly defied imagination.

Despite their size and majesty, Irish Elk were true deer, closely related to fallow deer and part of an ancient and diverse cervid family. Their bodies were robust, their legs strong and built for open ground, where visibility mattered and where their spectacular antlers could be displayed in their full glory.

But evolution is a dance with the environment, and as the Pleistocene climate fluctuated, the lush grasslands they depended on began to shrink. Their decline wasn’t sudden but drawn out, a slow waltz toward extinction.

The last of these giants fell only a short time ago. We do not know the exact date but the fossils share their stories as more and more are found. The youngest known fossils come from Siberia and date to about 7,700 years ago—well after most Ice Age megafauna had disappeared. 

Irish Elk, Natural History Museum London

By then, humans were spreading across Eurasia, climates were shifting, and dense forests were overtaking open plains. 

A giant deer with enormous antlers was increasingly out of place in a world thick with trees and rife with hunters.

Climate change, habitat loss, and possibly selective hunting all nudged the Irish Elk toward its final chapter. 

They are one of these species that have been talked about as contenders for using DNA to bring them back. 

Today the Irish Elk lives on in museum halls, in bog-darkened bones, and in our imaginations—a giant stepping through grass, pausing on a Pleistocene hillside as if it might turn its head toward us at any moment. There are several Irish Elk in collections and on display at museums around the world where you can view them at your leisure. 

A particularly impressive specimen is on view at the Muséum National d'Histoire Naturelle, Paris. The museum is a personal favourite of mine and worthy of a visit for its rich history and marvelous fossils, including the Irish Elk you see in the photo above. There are also wonderful examples in the British Museum in London, also worthy of a visit. 

The sheer grandeur of their size is sure to impress you! These beauties are a reminder that the world once held creatures both familiar and impossibly grand.

Illustration Credit: The lead image above was created by the supremely talented Daniel Eskridge, Paleo Illustrator from Atlanta, Georgia, USA. I share it here with permission as I have licensed the use of many of his images over the years, including this one. 

To enjoy his works (and purchase them!) to adorn your walls, visit his website at www.danieleskridge.com

DINOSAUR RIDGE: DENVER, COLORADO

Tucked along the Front Range of the Rocky Mountains, just outside Denver, Colorado, lies one of the world’s most famous fossil localities: Dinosaur Ridge. 

This epic landscape is a place where deep time is etched into stone, where dinosaurs left their mark 150 million years ago, and where modern visitors can step directly into prehistory. It is a little like heaven!

The ridge is part of the Morrison Formation, a Late Jurassic rock unit renowned for its abundance of dinosaur fossils. Many of the first specimens that shaped our understanding of North American dinosaurs—including Stegosaurus, Apatosaurus, Diplodocus, and Allosaurus—were discovered here in the late 1800s during the feverish days of the Bone Wars — the famous fossil hunting fighting days of Cope and Marsh. 

Today, Dinosaur Ridge serves as both an outdoor museum and a natural classroom, where geology and paleontology meet fresh mountain air.

The main attraction is the Dinosaur Ridge Trail, a 1.5-mile paved walk (shuttle service is also available). Along the way, interpretive signs and viewing points highlight the ridge’s fossil treasures:

• Dinosaur tracks: Hundreds of fossilized footprints line the sandstone, most famously those of Iguanodon-like ornithopods and fearsome carnivorous theropods. Standing where a dinosaur once strode is both humbling and exhilarating.
• Ripple marks and mud cracks: These ancient impressions show that the area was once a shallow shoreline, where dinosaurs waded and water receded, leaving behind patterns still visible millions of years later.
• Bone quarries: Exposed rock layers reveal the same fossil-rich beds where early paleontologists extracted bones of long-necked sauropods and armored Stegosaurus.

The site also features striking geology, with tilted rock layers rising dramatically at an angle, giving visitors a clear glimpse into Earth’s shifting crust.

The Visitor Center Experience

Before or after the trail, the Dinosaur Ridge Visitor Center is worth a stop. Inside, you’ll find fossil replicas, hands-on activities for kids, and exhibits that tell the story of the dinosaurs and the scientists who first uncovered them. The staff and volunteers—many of them seasoned interpreters—bring the ridge’s history to life with enthusiasm.

What It Feels Like to Be There

Visiting Dinosaur Ridge gives all the "feels" you could ever ask for in a paleo field trip. The air is filled with the mingled scent of sagebrush and sun-warmed stone, while meadowlarks call from the surrounding grasslands. Standing beside a line of fossilized tracks, you can almost hear the splash of giant feet in mud, the rustle of prehistoric vegetation, and the low rumble of sauropods moving in herds. 

The contrast between Denver’s skyline in the distance and the Jurassic world beneath your feet makes for a surreal and unforgettable moment.

Planning Your Visit

• Location: Just off C-470 near Morrison, Colorado, about 25 minutes from downtown Denver.
• Best time to go: Spring and fall for cooler weather, though summer mornings can be pleasant.
• Accessibility: The paved trail is walkable, with shuttles available for those who prefer not to hike.
• Events: Check the Dinosaur Ridge website for guided tours, fossil festivals, and kids’ programs.

To stand on those rocks is to place yourself in a continuum of discovery, from the dinosaurs themselves, to the fossil hunters of the 19th century, to today’s scientists still uncovering new secrets. 

Whether you’re a lifelong paleontology fan or just curious about Earth’s story, Dinosaur Ridge offers a rare chance to literally walk in the footsteps of giants.

OIL IN WATER BEAUTY: FOSSILS OF FOLKSTONE

Sheer beauty — a beautiful Euhoplites ammonite from Folkstone, UK. I've been really enjoying looking at all oil-in-water colouring and chunkiness of these ammonites.

Euhoplites is an extinct ammonoid cephalopod from the Lower Cretaceous, characterized by strongly ribbed, more or less evolute, compressed to inflated shells with flat or concave ribs, typically with a deep narrow groove running down the middle.

In some, ribs seem to zigzag between umbilical tubercles and parallel ventrolateral clavi. In others, the ribs are flexious and curve forward from the umbilical shoulder and lap onto either side of the venter.

Its shell is covered in the lovely lumps and bumps we associate with the genus. The function of these adornments are unknown. I wonder if they gave them greater strength to go deeper into the ocean to hunt for food. 

They look to have been a source of hydrodynamic drag, likely preventing Euhoplites from swimming at speed. Studying them may give some insight into the lifestyle of this ancient marine predator. Euhoplites had shells ranging in size up to a 5-6cm. 

We find them in Lower Cretaceous, middle to upper Albian age strata. Euhoplites has been found in Middle and Upper Albian beds in France where it is associated respectively with Hoplites and Anahoplites, and Pleurohoplites, Puzosia, and Desmoceras; in the Middle Albian of Brazil with Anahoplites and Turrilites; and in the Cenomanian of Texas.

This species is the most common ammonite from the Folkstone Fossil Beds in southeastern England where a variety of species are found, including this 37mm beauty from the collections of José Juárez Ruiz.

GHOST CATS OF THE AMERICAS: COUGARS

Cougar, Puma concolor

Cougars are amongst the most elusive and adaptable predators in the Western Hemisphere. 

Sleek, solitary, and powerful, these big cats have a long evolutionary history and play a crucial role in the ecosystems they inhabit, including the dense rainforests of Vancouver Island.

Cougars, Puma concolor, belong to the Felidae family, which includes all wild cats, big and small. Their ancestors originated in Eurasia, but the earliest true cougars appeared in North America around 6 million years ago, during the late Miocene epoch.

Fossil evidence tells us that the cougar lineage diverged from its closest relative—the cheetah—millions of years ago. Interestingly, genetic research has shown that cheetahs once roamed North America before going extinct there. 

Today’s cougar is a descendant of that shared lineage and is thought to have recolonized North America from South America following the extinction of native North American cats during the last Ice Age—about 10,000 years ago.

Cougars have one of the widest ranges of any terrestrial mammal in the Western Hemisphere. Their habitat stretches from the Canadian Yukon all the way to the southern Andes in South America.

Despite this vast range, cougars are solitary and territorial animals, preferring rugged terrain, dense forests, or rocky mountains where they can stalk prey in relative seclusion. They are excellent climbers, swimmers, and can leap over 20 feet in a single bound.

Vancouver Island, off the coast of British Columbia, is home to one of the densest cougar populations in North America. Despite being separated from the mainland, cougars are thriving here thanks to the island’s abundant black-tailed deer population and remote, forested habitat.

On the north island, they are called badi, in Kwak'wala, the language spoken by my Kwakwaka'wakw family on my father's side.

There are some resident cougars in my neighbourhood on Vancouver Island. They hunt our small island deer, the Columbian black-tail deer. When we find the deer remains, there is generally a high overhang above the spot where they were taken down, suggesting that these were ambush kills. 

While 80-90% of their diet is deer, locals feast on raccoons, beavers, rabbits and rodents. And, interestingly, not the local cats and dogs. Our neighbour was driving home and saw one of the cougars nose to nose with her cat. It was a scene of curiosity but not predation.

Estimates vary, but wildlife biologists believe there are between 600 and 900 cougars on Vancouver Island. Given the island’s size (about 32,000 square kilometres), this is considered a high density for such a large predator.

Cougars are at the top of the island’s food chain. Wolves, which often compete with or challenge cougars on the mainland, are largely absent from the island. That, combined with plentiful prey, gives cougars a unique ecological niche here.

Though rarely seen by humans, cougars occasionally make headlines on the island due to their stealthy presence in rural or suburban areas. 

Cougars are not currently endangered, but they face growing pressures from habitat loss, road networks, and conflicts with humans. 

As apex predators, they play a vital role in keeping ecosystems balanced by controlling prey populations and influencing the behaviour of other species.

On Vancouver Island, conservationists and wildlife agencies monitor cougar populations and educate the public about coexistence. This includes safe hiking practices, securing livestock and pets, and respecting the wild spaces these animals need to survive. 

Fortunately, there are still vast tracks of forest and unpeopled places for them to wander and call home. Well, mostly unpeopled, as these are some of my favourite spots to hike as well.

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.