FOSSILS, FISH AND FLAMING VOLCANOES: INTERIOR BC'S HISTORIC PAST

A Bird's Eye View of BC's Interior

Once upon a geologic time—about 52 million years ago—British Columbia wasn’t the mountain-studded landscape we know today. 

Instead, imagine a steaming chain of tropical islands floating in a warm inland sea, alive with crocodiles, palm trees, and enough volcanic activity to make any self-respecting geologist swoon.

Welcome to Eocene British Columbia—where the rocks are hot, the fossils are cool, and the story of our province’s ancient past stretches like a spine from north to south, stitched together by layers of lakebed shales and volcanic ash.

Let’s start at the McAbee Fossil Beds, just outside of Kamloops. This UNESCO-designated site is a world-class window into the Eocene Epoch. 

The rocks here formed at the bottom of an ancient lake, gently collecting the remains of leaves, insects, and fish that fluttered or flopped in at inconvenient moments. The preservation is exquisite—delicate leaf veins, dragonfly wings, even the odd fish fin are preserved in glorious, paper-thin shale. It’s like nature’s own scrapbook from the dawn of modern ecosystems.

McAbee Fossil Beds with Dr. Lawrence Yang's Crew

These fossils tell us that McAbee was once warm and lush, home to dawn redwoods, ginkgo trees, and the ancestors of modern maples. 

You can see the wonderfully distinct hoodoos up above the fossil site and in this photo, you can see Dr. Lawrence Yang and crew from a field trip we did there a few years ago.

But McAbee didn't look at all like this when the fossils were laid down. 

Picture tropical rainforests thriving where today you find sagebrush and rattlesnakes. 

Yes—Kamloops was once the Kamloops Rainforest. Try putting that on a postcard.

And McAbee isn’t alone. It’s just one stop on an ancient island arc that spanned the province. 

Head north to Driftwood Canyon near Smithers, where paper-thin fossils of fish and insects record a similar story of subtropical serenity. 

A Tasty Selection of Eocene Fossils from BC

Go south to Quilchena, where you’ll find the same lacustrine (lake-formed) layers yielding fossilized leaves and fish that look like they could still dart away if you poked them. The preservation is outstanding. 

Keep going across the border to Republic, Washington, and you’re still following the same Eocene lake chain—like geological breadcrumbs leading back to a time when the west coast was a simmering stew of volcanoes and freshwater basins.

Two of my favourite Eocene fish fossils from the region are Eohiodon, a genus related to the modern mooneye, found at McAbee and Princeton. And Amyzon aggregatum, a type of sucker fish found in the varved lake sediments near Horsefly.

British Columbia has never been shy about rearranging itself. Back in the Eocene, the region was being pulled, pushed, and smushed by tectonic forces. Volcanic eruptions blanketed lakes with fine ash—excellent for fossil-making but less great for anyone hoping for a sunny day at the beach. 

Over time, these lakes filled with sediment, entombing plants, fish, and insects beneath fine-grained layers that later hardened into shale.

The result: a geological photo album spanning millions of years, now tilted and lifted into the dry hills around Kamloops.

I have only visited once since the Bonaparte First Nation took over management of the McAbee Fossil Beds. I brought them some fossils, scientific papers and shared stories of the history of the site from a paleo perspective. I shared about the folks who first leased the land and worked to expand the site, Dave Langevin and John Leahy. The many field trips there by members of the Vancouver Paleontological Society and other groups. The site has a rich fossil history deep in time but also in the last 30 years.  

Eocene Fossil Fish from McAbee

They graciously allowed me to bring some folk up to explore and shared their desire to create a visitor and research center, enhancing public programming with Indigenous cultural activities. 

The Nation aims to highlight the scientific and cultural significance of the area, with a long-term goal of making it a premier Indigenous destination. 

Kneeling in that parched, golden landscape, it’s hard to imagine it once echoed with the croaks of ancient frogs and the buzz of tropical insects. 

But each fossil leaf, precious fossilized feather, March Fly and dragonfly wing at McAbee whispers the same improbable truth: British Columbia was once a lush archipelago of volcanic islands in a balmy world, a far cry from today’s ski slopes and spruce forests.

These sites hold a special place in my heart as they are some of the few that I visited as a teen with my mother and sister. I made repeated trips over the years as the Chair of the Vancouver Paleontological Society, but those early memories are especially dear to me.

As I drive through the Thompson Plateau and see those striped outcrops of shale, I give them a thoughtful nod. They’re the leftovers of a long-vanished paradise that remains a fossil treasure trove today. 

A DELIGHTFUL VISIT AND UNEXPECTED METASEQUOIA

Metasequoia sp., collection of Judy Hill

There is something deeply comforting about encountering a familiar fossil in the company of wonderfully engaging friends.

Yesterday delivered both gifts at once. I wandered into the Judy Hill Gallery on Vancouver Island—a place I enjoy visiting to soak in its stunning collection of Pacific Northwest Coast art and to chat with the gallery’s warm, knowledgeable team.

As we talked, Judy Hill herself brought out a remarkable treasure: a beautifully preserved Metasequoia fossil.

Its story is as intriguing as the specimen itself. Originally collected under the assumption it might be a petroglyph—its true origins a mystery—it was entrusted to Judy for safekeeping.

Of course it was. Judy is the heart and soul of the Judy Hill Gallery in Duncan, British Columbia, a family-run haven that has championed Indigenous art for more than 30 years. She is as lovely as she is learned, known not only for her expertise but for the kindness, generosity, and deep respect she brings to every relationship.

Perhaps because of this, people bring their curiosities, their heirlooms, and their unusual finds to her, knowing they will be honoured and protected.

And so, in the quiet magic of an impromptu morning visit, this Metasequoia sp. fossil came into view—another beautiful piece of natural history finding its way, as so many treasures do, to Judy’s caring hands. 

Metasequoia, McAbee Fossil Beds

The fossil is an ancient cousin to one of the many native trees on Vancouver, the lovely conifer Metasequoia glyptostroboides — the dawn redwood. 

Of this long lineage, the sole surviving species in the genus Metasequoia and one of three species of conifers known as redwoods, is Metasequoia glyptostroboides. Metasequoia are the smaller cousins of the mighty Giant Sequoia, the most massive trees on Earth. 

As a group, the redwoods are impressive trees and very long-lived. The President, an ancient Giant Sequoia, Sequoiadendron giganteum, and granddaddy to them all has lived for more than 3,200 years. While this tree is named The President, a worthy name, it doesn't really cover the magnitude of this giant by half.   

This tree was a wee seedling making its way in the soils of the Sierra Nevada mountains of California before we invented writing. It had reached full height before any of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, those remarkable constructions of classical antiquity, were even an inkling of our budding human achievements. And it has outlasted them all save the Great Pyramid of Giza, the oldest and last of those seven still standing, though the tree has faired better. Giza still stands but the majority of the limestone façade is long gone.

Aside from their good looks (which can really only get you so far), they are resistant to fire and insects through a combined effort of bark over a foot thick, a high tannin content and minimal resin, a genius of evolutionary design. 

While individual Metasequoia live a long time, as a genus they have lived far longer. 

Like Phoenix from the Ashes, the Cretaceous (K-Pg) extinction event that wiped out the dinosaurs, ammonites and more than seventy-five percent of all species on the planet was their curtain call. The void left by that devastation saw the birth of this genus — and they have not changed all that much in the 65 million years since. Modern Metasequoia glyptostroboides looks pretty much identical to their late Cretaceous brethren.

Dawn Redwood Cones

They are remarkably similar to and sometimes mistaken for Sequoia at first glance but are easily distinguishable if you look at their size (an obvious visual in a mature tree) or to their needles and cones in younger specimens. 

Metasequoia has paired needles that attach opposite to each other on the compound stem. 

Sequoia needles are offset and attached alternately. Think of the pattern as jumping versus walking with your two feet moving forward parallel to one another. 

Metasequoia needles are paired as if you were jumping forward, one print beside the other, while Sequoia needles have the one-in-front-of-the-other pattern of walking.

The seed-bearing cones of Metasequoia have a stalk at their base and the scales are arranged in paired opposite rows which you can see quite well in the visual above. Coast redwood cone scales are arranged in a spiral and lack a stalk at their base.

Although the least tall of the redwoods, it grows to an impressive sixty meters (200 feet) in height. It is sometimes called Shui-sa, or water fir by those who live in the secluded mountainous region of China where it was rediscovered.

Fossil Metasequoia, McAbee Fossil Beds

Metasequoia fossils are known from many areas in the Northern Hemisphere and were one of my first fossil finds as a teenager. 

And folk love naming them. More than twenty fossil species have been named over time —  some even identified as the genus Sequoia in error — but for all their collective efforts to beef up this genus there are just three species: Metasequoia foxii, Metasequoia milleri, and Metasequoia occidentalis.

During the Paleocene and Eocene, extensive forests of Metasequoia thrived as far north as Strathcona Fiord on Ellesmere Island and sites on Axel Heiberg Island in Canada's far north around 80° N latitude.

We find lovely examples of Metasequoia occidentalis in the Eocene outcrops at McAbee near Cache Creek, British Columbia, Canada. I shared a photo here of one of those specimens. Once this piece dries out a bit, I will take a dental pick to it to reveal some of the teaser fossils peeking out.

The McAbee Fossil Beds are known for their incredible abundance, diversity and quality of fossils including lovely plant, insect and fish species that lived in an old lake bed setting. While the Metasequoia and other fossils found here are 52-53 million years old, the genus is much older. It is quite remarkable that both their fossil and extant lineage were discovered in just a few years of one another. 

Metasequoia was first described as a new genus from a fossil specimen found in 1939 and published by Japanese paleobotanist Shigeru Miki in 1941. Remarkably, the living version of this new genus was discovered later that same year. 

Professor Zhan Wang, an official from the Bureau of Forest Research was recovering from malaria at an old school chum's home in central China. His friend told him of a stand of trees discovered in the winter of 1941 by Chinese botanist Toh Gan (干铎). The trees were not far away from where they were staying and Gan's winter visit meant he did not collect any specimen as the trees had lost their leaves. 

The locals called the trees Shui-sa, or water fir. As trees go, they were reportedly quite impressive with some growing as much as sixty feet tall. Wang was excited by the possibility of finding a new species and asked his friend to describe the trees and their needles in detail. Emboldened by the tale, Wang set off through the remote mountains to search for his mysterious trees and found them deep in the heart of  Modaoxi (磨刀溪; now renamed Moudao (谋道), in Lichuan County, in the central China province of Hubei. He found the trees and was able to collect living specimens but initially thought they were from Glyptostrobus pensilis (水松). 

A few years later, Wang showed the trees to botanist Wan-Chun Cheng and learned that these were not the leaves of s Glyptostrobus pensilis (水松 ) but belonged to a new species. 

While the find was exciting, it was overshadowed by China's ongoing conflict with the Japanese that was continuing to escalate. With war at hand, Wang's research funding and science focus needed to be set aside for another two years as he fled the bombing of Beijing. 

When you live in a world without war on home soil it is easy to forget the realities for those who grew up in it. 

Zhan Wang and his family lived to witness the 1931 invasion of Manchuria, then the 1937 clash between Chinese and Japanese troops at the Marco Polo Bridge, just outside Beijing. 

That clash sparked an all-out war that would grow in ferocity to become World War II. 

Within a year, the Chinese military situation was dire. Most of eastern China lay in Japanese hands: Shanghai, Nanjing, Beijing, Wuhan. As the Japanese advanced, they left a devastated population in their path where atrocity after atrocity was the norm. Many outside observers assumed that China could not hold out, and the most likely scenario was a Japanese victory over China.

Yet the Chinese hung on, and after the horrors of Pearl Harbor, the war became genuinely global. The western Allies and China were now united in their war against Japan, a conflict that would finally end on September 2, 1945, after Allied naval forces blockaded Japan and subjected the island nation to intensive bombing, including the utter devastation that was the Enola Gay's atomic payload over Hiroshima. 

With World War II behind them, the Chinese researchers were able to re-focus their energies on the sciences. Sadly, Wang was not able to join them. Instead, two of his colleagues, Wan Chun Cheng and Hu Hsen Hsu, the director of Fan Memorial Institute of Biology would continue the work. Wan-Chun Cheng sent specimens to Hu Hsen Hsu and upon examination realised they were the living version of the trees Miki had published upon in 1941. 

Hu and Cheng published a paper describing a new living species of Metasequoia in May 1948 in the Bulletin of Fan Memorial Institute of Biology.

That same year, Arnold Arboretum of Harvard University sent an expedition to collect seeds and, soon after, seedling trees were distributed to various universities and arboreta worldwide. 

Today, Metasequoia grow around the globe. When I see them, I think of Wang and all he went through. He survived the conflict and went on to teach other bright, young minds about the bountiful flora in China. I think of Wan Chun Cheng collaborating with Hu Hsen Hsu in a time of war and of Hu keeping up to date on scientific research, even published works from colleagues from countries with whom his country was at war. 

Deep in my belly, I ache for the huge cost to science, research and all the species impacted on the planet from our human conflicts. Each year in April, I plant more Metasequoia to celebrate Earth Day and all that means for every living thing on this big blue orb.  

References: 

• https://web.stanford.edu/group/humbioresearch/cgi-bin/wordpress/?p=297
• https://humboldtredwoods.org/redwoods

Lead Photo Credit: This lovely Metasequoia sp. is in the collections of Judy Hill—gallery owner, connector, and a steadfast advocate for Indigenous artistry. To visit the gallery virtually, head to: https://www.judyhillgallery.net. It is a visual feast!

ECHOES IN STONE: WASHINGTON GEOLOGY

Washington State Forest

Two hundred million years ago, what we now call Washington wasn’t Washington at all. 

It was two drifting islands — fragments of a wandering continent slowly inching their way west across the ancient ocean. 

They were vagabonds, carried on tectonic currents until, at last, they collided with the North American continent and made themselves at home.

That restless motion has never stopped. The land still breathes — slow, tectonic breaths that subtly reshape the surface of the Pacific Northwest. Every so often, that breath shudders. 

We feel it in an earthquake, a reminder that the forces that built the land are still at work, deep below our feet. The great plates grind and twist, pushing mountains skyward and sliding California ever so slightly toward the North Pole. Hello, Baja-BC.

It’s this long, dynamic dance — the great continental waltz — that sculpted the ridges, folded valleys, and mountain walls we see today. And it’s also what preserved an ancient world beneath our boots: the subtropical swamps and deltas of the Chuckanut Formation, a geological tapestry stretching some 3,000 metres thick along Chuckanut Drive near Bellingham.

Islands Riding Tectonic Plates

Layer upon layer of sandstone, siltstone, mudstone, and conglomerate record the rhythms of rivers that once coursed through a lush, steaming delta. The lower strata date back roughly 56 million years, at the very end of the Paleocene. 

The upper layers push into the early Eocene, a time when Earth was warmer and wetter than it has been since. Imagine, if you can, not the misty evergreens and glacial peaks of today, but a subtropical floodplain, dense with palms, ferns, and broad-leaved trees. 

Picture the bayou country of the Lower Mississippi, but stretching across what is now the Pacific Northwest.

This was a land of life. Ancient trees towered overhead. Vines tangled in the swamp air. The Chuckanut flora tells us of a greenhouse Earth — plants whose modern cousins thrive in Central America and southern Mexico flourished here, under the same sun that today glints off Mount Baker’s glaciers. 

Every fallen branch, every leaf buried in fine silt became part of the rock record, sealing in the whispers of an ancient climate: its humidity, rainfall, and heat.

But the plants are only part of the story. In rare and beautiful moments, the Chuckanut Formation captures motion — the fleeting steps of animals caught forever in stone. These are the Sumas Eocene trackways, discovered after landslides near Sumas in 2009. 

The Ancient Bayou of Washington State 

Among them are footprints from small shorebirds, the imprints of early equids, and tracks of curious, blunt-footed herbivores belonging to the now-extinct Orders Pantodonta and Dinocerata. 

Together, they sketch a portrait of life 50 million years ago: herds and flocks wandering the muddy margins of rivers, where soft sediment briefly held their weight before drying, hardening, and turning to stone.

One of the most striking finds is that of a delicate shorebird trackway, each print barely larger than a thumbprint, pressed into what was once the bank of a lazy river. 

It’s joined by faint impressions from an early horse-like mammal and, in other sites such as Racehorse Creek, the formidable three-toed stamp of Diatryma — a flightless bird taller than a man, and every bit as formidable as its dinosaurian cousins.

These fossil trackways are precious not just for their rarity but for what they reveal: a moment of life, caught mid-step. Unlike bones, which tell us who lived here, tracks tell us how they lived — where they walked, how they moved, even how they interacted. They are the fossilized choreography of an ancient ecosystem, preserved in mud and time.

Mt. Baker, Washington

These traces are studied and safeguarded by researchers such as George Mustoe and his colleagues, who carefully collected the Sumas trackways and brought them to the Burke Museum in Seattle. 

There, under controlled light and the quiet reverence of display cases, visitors can stand face-to-face with the footprints of creatures that trod the Pacific Northwest long before the Cascades rose above the horizon.

The landscape along Chuckanut Drive may look serene now — the sandstone cliffs honeycombed by ferns, the sea glittering beyond. 

But beneath every weathered ledge and outcrop lies a record of turbulence and transformation: continents colliding, mountains rising, rivers changing course, and life adapting in the wake.

This is land that is now forests and tides, but was once swamps and subtropical rain. The fossils remind us that the ground beneath us has always been moving, always changing, and always keeping its secrets — until the rock, split open by time or by curiosity, whispers them back into the light.

THE GREAT CLALLAM BAY FOSSIL HEIST

Vertipecten fucanus (Dall, 1900)

Some water-worn samples of the bivalve Verdipectin fucanus, Clallam Formation, Clallam Bay, Washington State. Miocene.

It all began one gloriously sunny summer weekend when the planets aligned, the calendar gods smiled, and my mother and I were simultaneously free. 

Naturally, this meant one thing: we were going fossil hunting. I still get out collecting regularly but back in the day it was every weekend of the year with the bigger trips planned a few years in advance. 

Many of those were "reckie trips" scouting out new localities. The Olympic Peninsula was duly scouted and now it was back to the regular haunts. 

We rattled down through Port Angeles and set up camp at the Lyre River—mosquitoes, campfire smoke, and all the rustic feels. 

I took Mom on a grand tour of my favourite haunts: Majestic Beach (where we found some amazing fossil whale verts), a private-land site with ghost shrimp claws and urchins (with permission), and finally down to Clallam Bay and its dreamy beach exposures.

The Clallam Formation stretches along the north coast of the Olympic Peninsula, tracing the rugged edge of the Strait of Juan de Fuca from Slip Point at the eastern end of Clallam Bay to the headland of Pillar Point. Here, sandstone beds push the coastline outward in a subtle bulge, their weathered flanks dropping abruptly to a broad, wave-washed bedrock platform.

Pillar Point, Clallam Bay

Imagine standing on that foreshore: waves crash rhythmically against the stone, sending up bursts of cool spray. The surf’s deep, steady thunder pulses underfoot, while the sharper cries of gulls wheel above, carried on the wind. 

The air is rich with the briny scent of kelp and cold saltwater, a sharp, clean smell that settles in the back of the throat. Each retreating wave leaves a gleaming sheen on the rock, swirling with foam before sliding back to the sea.

Its cliffs and tidal benches have long drawn geologists—and especially paleontologists—who were captivated by the formation’s abundance of beautifully preserved fossils. 

William Healey Dall, a pioneering American geologist and paleontologist whose career spanned more than six decades. Dall loved to explore this rugged bit of coastline, studying and describing many of the mollusks now known from the Clallam Formation, adding his work to the early scientific tapestry woven from these windswept rocks.

He became one of the most prolific describers of North Pacific mollusks, naming hundreds of new species—from marine snails and clams to chitons—many of which still bear the names he assigned or honour him through genera such as Dallina and Dallididae. His work laid much of the early scientific foundation for the paleontology of the Pacific Coast.

Retracing his footsteps and to catch the tides just right, we collected in the early afternoon, blissfully unaware that we were setting up the perfect comedy plot twist. 

After a full day of hauling home the ocean’s Miocene leftovers, we decided to stash some of our fossil booty under a log—just until morning. A little paleo treasure cache. Perfectly safe. Nothing could possibly go wrong.

The next morning, we strolled back down the beach, coffees in hand, ready to retrieve our hoard like triumphant pirates.

Enter: A very enthusiastic gaggle of high school students.

There they were, marching toward us, each clutching a fossil like they’d just won the geological lottery. “Look what we found!” they cried, beaming, displaying our carefully cached treasures.

Yes. Our stash. Our carefully curated, lovingly positioned, absolutely-not-meant-for-public-consumption stash.

But honestly? They were so thrilled, we couldn’t help but be charmed. Besides, most of what I collect ends up in museums or teaching collections anyway. These young fossil hunters had simply… expedited the process. Efficient, really.

We gathered the Verdipectin together for one glamorous group photo, wished the kids well, and sent them off with pockets full of deep time. 

And our grand prize for the weekend? Some very fetching water-worn whale vertebrae—one of which was briefly enscripted into service as the crown of the King of the Lemon People, while my mother created elaborate beach sculptures to our shared amusement.. All in all, a perfect weekend.

Image: Vertipecten fucanus (Dall, 1900) is the most characteristic mollusk in assemblages from the Clallam Formation.

FOSSILS OF EGYPT — TRACING ANCIENT LIFE FROM SEA TO SAND

Spinosaurus, Fukui Prefectural Dinosaur Museum

Egypt is often celebrated for its pyramids and pharaohs, but beneath those golden sands lies a much older and equally astonishing legacy — the fossil record of a land that has shifted from lush tropical forests to inland seas and back again.

From the Western Desert to the Fayum Depression and Wadi Al-Hitan (the Valley of the Whales), Egypt’s rocks preserve nearly 100 million years of life on Earth, from the Cretaceous dinosaurs that roamed its river plains to the Eocene whales that swam through the Tethys Ocean.

Over the past few posts, we've looked at the geological wonders of Egypt. Here is a deeper look at some of the many interesting fossil species to be found in this rich paleontological playground.

Petrified Wood — A Forest Turned to Stone

Across Egypt’s deserts, the ground often glitters with fossilized trees. The Petrified Wood Protectorate near New Cairo, along the Cairo–Suez road, and wide stretches of the Western Desert are carpeted in ancient trunks and branches turned to stone.

These fossil forests are vivid evidence that much of Egypt was once a humid, tropical landscape, rich with vegetation. The trees, buried in sediments and permineralized over millions of years, became exquisitely preserved in silica. Today, their polished cross-sections shimmer with bands of reds, browns, and golds — a striking reminder of the region’s deep ecological transformations.

Reptiles of the Fayum — Turtles, Crocodiles, and Giants — The Fayum Depression has yielded a wealth of Eocene reptile fossils that speak of a warm, watery world teeming with life. Land tortoises like Testudo ammon roamed the ancient floodplains, while river turtles such as Podocnemis blanckenhorni and Stereogenys pelomedusa swam through slow-moving channels. 

Even more dramatic are the remains of Gigantophis, one of the largest snakes ever discovered, and Tomistoma, a crocodile-like predator from the Qasr al-Sagha Formation. These reptiles hint at an ecosystem that blended mangroves, lagoons, and river deltas — a mosaic of habitats where both freshwater and marine species thrived.

Birds of an Ancient Delta — The Fayum’s fossil beds also record an impressive diversity of Eocene and Oligocene birdlife. The ancient wetlands once supported ospreys (Pandionidae), flamingos (Phoenicopteridae), herons, cranes (Gruidae), cormorants (Phalacrocoracidae), and even the massive shoebilled stork (Balaenicipitidae).

These avian fossils, comparable to species found today around Lake Victoria and the Upper Nile, suggest a vibrant, subtropical ecosystem rich in lakes and marshes — a far cry from the arid desert we see today.

Mammals of the Fayum — Whales, Elephants, and Early Primates

The mammalian fossils of Egypt are among the most extraordinary in the world. In the Fayum Depression and at Wadi Al-Hitan, paleontologists have uncovered a sweeping record of evolution from land to sea and from primitive mammals to the ancestors of modern species.

At Wadi Al-Hitan, skeletons of early whales — Basilosaurus isis, Dorudon atrox, and Phiomicetus — preserve a pivotal evolutionary moment when whales transitioned from walking on land to swimming in the sea. Their long, streamlined bodies and tiny hind limbs are beautiful testaments to nature’s adaptability.

Meanwhile, the terrestrial Fayum deposits reveal a menagerie of early mammals:

• Arsinoitherium, a massive, rhinoceros-like creature with twin horns;
• Moeritherium, a semi-aquatic ancestor of elephants and manatees;
• Palaeomastodon and Phioma, early proboscideans bridging the gap to modern elephants;
• and Megalohyrax, a giant relative of today’s small hyrax.

Carnivorous mammals also prowled these Eocene landscapes — species like Apterodon, Pterodon, and Hyaenodon, formidable predators of their time.

The Fayum Primates — Our Ancient Cousins — Among the Fayum’s most scientifically valuable discoveries are the fossils of early primates, bridging the gap between ancient prosimians and modern monkeys and apes.

From the lower sequence, we find forms like Oligopithecus savagei and Qatrania wingi, while the upper sequence preserves Catopithecus browni, Proteopithecus sylvia, and the well-known Apidium and Parapithecus species.

Perhaps most famous is Aegyptopithecus zeuxis, a small tree-dwelling primate with forward-facing eyes and a relatively large brain. It is often cited as one of the earliest known ancestors of modern Old World monkeys and apes — and, by extension, of humans.

These fossils from the Jebel Qatrani Formation provide an unparalleled window into primate evolution roughly 35 to 30 million years ago, when Africa’s tropical forests were home to our distant kin.

Dinosaurs of the Cretaceous Desert — Long before the whales and primates, Egypt’s landscape was dominated by Cretaceous dinosaurs. The Bahariya Formation and Nubian Sandstone have yielded fossils of immense sauropods and ferocious theropods, painting a vivid picture of life 95 million years ago.

Among the stars of this ancient cast are:

• The long-necked Aegyptosaurus and Paralititan, massive plant-eating sauropods;
• The sleek, predatory Bahariasaurus, Carcharodontosaurus, and Deltadromeus;
• The semi-aquatic Spinosaurus, with its iconic sail-backed spine — perhaps one of the most famous dinosaurs to ever emerge from African rock; and Mansourasaurus, a titanosaur discovered more recently, helping to link Africa’s late Cretaceous fauna with those of Europe and Asia.

These finds demonstrate that Egypt was once a fertile delta world of rivers and floodplains, where dinosaurs thrived long before the Sahara turned to sand.

Egypt’s Fossil Sites — Portals Through Time — Key fossil localities across the country continue to reveal Egypt’s ancient ecosystems:

• Wadi Al-Hitan — Eocene marine fossils, including whales and sea cows.
• Fayum Depression — rich terrestrial and freshwater deposits with early mammals and primates.
• Bahariya Formation — famous for Cretaceous dinosaurs and early vertebrates.
• Jebel Qatrani Formation — Oligocene primates and proboscideans.
• Qasr el Sagha Formation — reptiles, turtles, and early crocodilians.
• Upper Cretaceous Phosphates and Variegated Shale — marine invertebrates and early fish.
• Moghra Oasis — Miocene fossils bridging the gap between ancient and modern fauna.
• Queseir Formation — Upper Cretaceous (Campanian) deposit in the Kharga oasis of the Southwestern Desert where the first side-necked turtle Khargachelys caironensis can be found

Egypt’s fossils offer a spectacular narrative of evolution, climate, and change — from swampy Cretaceous river deltas to lush Eocene seas and forests, to the deserts we see today. 

Each discovery connects the story of Earth’s deep past with the land of the Pharaohs, revealing that Egypt’s most enduring monuments are not her pyramids, nor her simple blocks of stone, but the fossils buried them

Image Credit: Spinosaurus at the special exhibit of Fukui Prefectural Dinosaur Museum by Palaeotaku CC BY 4.0

WADI AL-HITAN: VALLEY OF THE WHALES

Fossil Whale Skeleton, Wadi Al-Hitan

Egypt’s Eocene limestones captivate geologists and paleontologists from around the world. 

These pale, fossil-rich rocks hold the story of an ancient sea and the remarkable creatures that once swam through it.

Modern fieldwork in the Fayum Depression, Wadi Al-Hitan — the Valley of the Whales — and the outcrops near Giza and Cairo is revealing how the shoreline of the Tethys Ocean shifted over tens of millions of years — and how life adapted as land and sea traded places again and again.

Researchers from the Egyptian Geological Museum, the University of Michigan, and Cairo University are combining cutting-edge tools with time-honored field methods. Satellite imaging and drone photogrammetry provide sweeping, high-resolution views of the fossil beds, while detailed stratigraphic logging, sediment sampling, and fossil excavation bring the story into focus layer by layer.

Fossil Whale from Wadi Al-Hitan

The work reveals a stunning environmental transformation. 

The lower rock units record shallow marine deposits packed with Nummulites, corals, and mollusks — life that thrived in the warm, clear waters of the early Eocene Tethys. 

Above these layers, the sediments change in both color and character, grading upward into deltaic and freshwater deposits filled with the fossils of turtles, crocodiles, and early land mammals. It is a geological diary of Egypt’s slow emergence from sea to land.

Wadi Al-Hitan — The Valley of the Whales

Wadi Al-Hitan — The Valley of the Whales

Nestled deep in Egypt’s Western Desert, about 150 kilometers southwest of Cairo, lies Wadi Al-Hitan, one of the world’s most extraordinary fossil sites. 

Once part of the vast Tethys seaway, this now-arid valley was a shallow coastal lagoon some 40 to 50 million years ago, during the Eocene.

Here, teams of paleontologists meticulously map and preserve the articulated skeletons of ancient whales — including Basilosaurus isis and Dorudon atrox — whose bones often lie exactly where the animals came to rest on the seafloor. 

Over time, they were entombed in fine-grained sandstone and limestone, preserving everything from vertebrae and skulls to delicate ribs and vestigial hind limbs.

The surrounding rocks tell a parallel story. Their alternating layers of sandstone, marl, and limestone record shifts in sea level and climate — tidal flats giving way to open marine conditions, then to lagoons choked with vegetation and early mangroves. 

Geochemists analyze the isotopic composition of these sediments to reconstruct ancient seawater temperatures and salinity, while microfossil specialists examine foraminifera and ostracods under the microscope to determine just how deep and warm the waters once were.

Wadi Al-Hitan — The Valley of the Whales

Wadi Al-Hitan’s fossil bounty extends beyond whales. 

The valley has yielded remains of sharks, sawfish, rays, sea cows (Sirenia), turtles, crocodiles, and even early land mammals, offering a vivid snapshot of an ecosystem in transition — one of the last great marine habitats before North Africa began its slow drift toward desert.

The Valley of the Whales is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, protected both for its breathtaking fossil record and its haunting desert beauty. 

Walking through it feels like time travel: the sandstone cliffs glow golden in the sun, and the bones of whales lie half-exposed in the sand — silent witnesses to a vanished ocean. It is a peaceful place to visit. Bone dry, barren but with a rich history.

Fossil Whale from Wadi Al-Hitan

Every fossil, every layer of sediment adds a new brushstroke to the portrait of Egypt’s Eocene world — a subtropical paradise where whales swam through mangroves, coral reefs teemed with life, and the ancestors of modern elephants grazed along the shore.

Beneath the desert sands, these rocks still whisper the story of 50 million years of evolution, of seas that rose and fell, and of creatures that bridged the worlds of land and water — all written in stone.

Photo Credits: Wadi al-Hitan | Wikimedia Commons

FOSSILS BENEATH THE SANDS: ANCIENT LIFE IN THE GIZA PLATEAU

Fossil Sand Dollar in Limestone

Long before the Nile carved its fertile valley, and before the pyramids rose from the desert sands, Egypt was home to warm tropical seas and lush river deltas teeming with life. 

The rocks surrounding the Giza Plateau preserve fragments of that distant world, offering a window into the deep past beneath one of humanity’s most iconic landscapes.

The limestone used to build the pyramids—particularly the Eocene formations around Giza, Cairo, and Fayum—is packed with marine fossils. 

Most abundant are Nummulites, the large disc-shaped foraminifera that make up much of the Tura limestone. But they are not alone. 

These fossil beds also contain echinoids (sea urchins), gastropods (snails), bivalves (clams), and coral fragments,  showing us the ecosystems that thrived in the shallow, sunlit seas that once lapped across northern Africa some 50 million years ago. 

Just southwest of Giza, the Fayum Depression preserves one of the world’s most remarkable fossil records of Eocene and Oligocene life. 

Eocene Whale, Basilosaurus isis

Here, paleontologists have unearthed the remarkable remains of early whales such as Basilosaurus isis and Dorudon atrox — ancient giants that once ruled the warm, tropical waters of the Tethys Ocean some 40 million years ago. 

These were not the whales we know today, but their distant ancestors, caught in a fascinating stage of evolution as land-dwelling mammals made the final leap to a fully aquatic life.

Basilosaurus, whose name means “king lizard” (a misnomer given before its true identity as a mammal was known), stretched over 18 meters long. 

Its serpentine body, lined with powerful vertebrae, suggests it swam with sinuous, eel-like motions, prowling the ancient seas for prey. Alongside it swam Dorudon, smaller but no less important — a sleek, dolphin-sized whale with sharp conical teeth, thought to have been a juvenile form of Basilosaurus until later discoveries revealed it was a species in its own right.

Both species had vestigial hind limbs — tiny, fully formed legs complete with toes — a beautiful anatomical echo of their terrestrial past. They are some of the clearest fossil evidence of the evolutionary transition from land mammals to marine cetaceans.

The bones of these ancient whales have been found in exquisite detail at Wadi Al-Hitan, the Valley of the Whales, a UNESCO World Heritage Site in Egypt’s Western Desert. There, under the scorching desert sun, hundreds of skeletons lie preserved in golden sandstone, exactly where these animals once swam and died. 

The surrounding sediments also hold fossils of early elephants, crocodiles, turtles, and primitive primates, painting a vivid picture of Egypt as a subtropical shoreline rich with mangroves and marine life.

Even closer to Cairo, smaller outcrops of Eocene limestone reveal the same story on a smaller scale—an abundance of microfossils and shell fragments that speak of warm, nutrient-rich waters. These deposits connect the geological dots between Egypt’s marine past and the materials used to build its ancient monuments.

In a poetic sense, the very stones of Giza are part of Egypt’s fossil heritage. The blocks that form Khufu’s pyramid are the lithified remains of ancient organisms that once thrived in the Tethys Sea.

The desert that now seems so still was once a shallow sea teeming with life — a sea whose memory remains written in stone. Every block is a fossil bed in miniature, a silent record of a vanished ocean that endures now as the foundation of one of the greatest wonders of the world.

THE PYRAMIDS OF GIZA: FOSSILS IN BUILDING STONE

Built to endure the tests of time, the pyramids of Giza stand as some of the oldest and last remaining wonders of the ancient world. 

Rising from the desert sands of Egypt’s Giza Plateau, these monuments were constructed from a masterful blend of limestone, granite, basalt, gypsum mortar, and baked mud bricks—materials quarried both locally and from distant sites along the Nile, including the red granite of Aswan.

Their smooth, once-glimmering exteriors were clad in fine-grained white limestone quarried from Tura, just across the river. This stone was prized in antiquity for its purity and brilliant color, chosen for the facing stones of Egypt’s wealthiest tombs. 

But beyond its beauty lies a story much older than any pharaoh. The Tura limestone is made almost entirely of the fossilized shells of Nummulites—single-celled marine organisms whose remains whisper of Egypt’s ancient seas.

First described by Lamarck in 1801, Nummulites are large foraminifera—amoeba-like protists with calcareous, chambered shells (or “tests”). In life, they resembled tiny white discs, their interiors patterned like concentric rings of a sliced tree or the cross-section of a shell. 

During the early Cenozoic, millions of these creatures thrived in the warm, shallow waters of the Tethys Sea. When they died, their calcium carbonate shells settled to the seafloor, accumulating over millennia. Layer upon layer, they were compacted and cemented by time and pressure into limestone—the same rock later quarried to build the tombs of kings.

Nummulites Foraminifera Fossil

It is astonishing to imagine that the Great Pyramid of Khufu (or Cheops), the largest and oldest of the Giza pyramids, built during Egypt’s Fourth Dynasty around 2560 BCE, is composed largely of the fossilized remains of microscopic life forms that lived some 50 million years earlier. 

The pyramid itself—a monument to human ambition—is, quite literally, built from the remains of ancient seas.

Nummulites are commonly found in Eocene to Miocene marine rocks across southwest Asia and the Mediterranean region, including the fossil-rich Eocene limestones of Egypt. In life, they ranged in size from a mere 1.3 cm (0.5 inches) to an impressive 5 cm (2 inches), and in some Middle Eocene species, up to six inches across—astonishingly large for single-celled organisms. 

Their size reflects an evolutionary adaptation: by expanding their surface area, they enhanced diffusion, allowing for more efficient nutrient exchange across the cell membrane. Many also harbored symbiotic algae, much like modern reef-dwelling foraminifera, further fueling their growth through photosynthesis.

Nummulites Foraminifera Fossil

These fossils, once the inhabitants of the ancient Tethys, later became both material and metaphor for Egyptian civilization. Nummulite shells were sometimes used as coins, and their very name—derived from the Latin nummulus, meaning “little coin”—speaks to this connection between life, economy, and art.

The Great Pyramid’s inner chambers tell a different geological story. The central burial chamber housing the pharaoh’s sarcophagus was constructed from massive blocks of reddish-pink granite transported from Aswan, nearly 900 kilometers upriver. This stone, denser and stronger than limestone, helped support the immense weight of the pyramid’s structure.

In 2013, archaeologists made a discovery that breathed life back into these ancient logistics: a 4,600-year-old papyrus scroll found in a cave some 700 kilometers from Giza. 

The document—addressed to Ankh-haf, half-brother of Pharaoh Khufu—records the journey of a 200-man crew tasked with transporting limestone from the Tura quarries to the Giza Plateau. After loading the stone blocks onto boats, the workers sailed down the Nile, where as many as 100,000 laborers waited to haul the two- to three-ton blocks up earthen ramps toward the construction site. It is a rare and poetic glimpse into one of humanity’s most ambitious building projects—and into the transformation of fossil limestone into enduring architecture.

Even in antiquity, the project stirred strong opinions. Writing centuries later, the Greek historian Herodotus visited Egypt and chronicled Khufu’s reign in his Histories. He described Khufu as a cruel tyrant who closed temples, oppressed his people, and forced them into servitude. According to Herodotus, 100,000 men labored in three-month rotations to quarry and transport the stone, while another decade was spent constructing the grand causeway leading to the pyramid—a feat of engineering almost as impressive as the monument itself.

Modern estimates suggest that 5.5 million tonnes of nummulitic limestone, 8,000 tonnes of granite, and 500,000 tonnes of gypsum mortar were used to complete the Great Pyramid. Whether viewed as an act of divine devotion, human hubris, or cruel genius, its creation also represents one of the largest—and most extraordinary—paleontological extractions in history.

For within its weathered stones, the fossils of an ancient sea still rest, silent witnesses to both deep time and the enduring reach of human imagination.

FOSSILS, GLACIERS AND GRIZZLIES: MOUNT ROBSON

Mount Robson

If mountains could preen, Mount Robson would be standing in front of a mirror right now, admiring its reflection in Berg Lake and saying, “Yes, I am the tallest peak in the Canadian Rockies, thank you for noticing.” 

Rising to 3,954 metres, this snow-crowned monarch of the Rockies reigns over Mount Robson Provincial Park—a UNESCO World Heritage Site and one of the most geologically fascinating places in British Columbia. 

It’s a paradise for hikers, geologists, paleontologists, and anyone who’s ever wanted to meet a marmot that looks mildly unimpressed by your trail snacks.

Mount Robson, rises from the Traditional territories of several First Nations, including the Secwépemc (Shuswap), the Ktunaxa, the Lheidli T’enneh, and the Aseniwuche Winewak peoples. 

For millennia, these Nations have travelled, hunted, and held ceremony in the shadow of this sacred mountain, which marks a meeting place of waterways, trade routes, and stories. 

In Secwépemctsin, the mountain is known as Yuh-hai-has-kun, often translated as “The Mountain of the Spiral Road,” a reference to the swirling clouds that frequently wrap around its summit. 

To the First Nations of the region, Mount Robson is a living ancestor, a keeper of weather and water, whose glaciers feed the rivers that sustain salmon, elk, and human life far downstream.

Approaching Mount Robson

But this majestic mountain has a deeper past long before the first humans walked her hills. 

Mount Robson’s story begins more than half a billion years ago, long before its current icy grandeur. Back in the Cambrian and Ordovician, the area that would become the Rockies was a shallow tropical sea—think Bahamas, but with trilobites instead of tourists. 

Fossils near Mount Robson include Ediacaran fossils and Lower Cambrian trilobites. Ediacaran fossils, some of the oldest in the Royal BC Museum's collection, are found at Salient Mountain in Mount Robson Provincial Park. 

The area is also known for well-preserved olenellid trilobites (a personal fav) described by Walcott, which represent a unique subfauna from the upper Lower Cambrian 

Over time, layer upon layer of marine sediments accumulated, forming limestones, dolostones, and shales. These rocks would later be crumpled, twisted, and thrust skyward when the North American plate collided with terranes drifting in from the Pacific.

Mount Robson Park

Those ancient seabed layers form the foundation of Mount Robson itself. The upper slopes consist largely of Cambrian limestone and dolomite, while the base is built of older Precambrian rocks. 

It’s an upside-down cake of deep time—geological inversion courtesy of mountain-building forces so dramatic they’d make a soap opera blush.

Where there’s ancient limestone, there are often fossils—and Robson doesn’t disappoint. Fossilized trilobites, brachiopods, and stromatolites (those beautiful layered mounds built by ancient bacteria) have been found in the area, silent witnesses to an oceanic past. Some outcrops near the park boundary preserve the remains of early marine life forms from the Paleozoic Era—creatures that swam when this landscape was still submerged under saltwater.

While Mount Robson isn’t as famous for its fossil beds as nearby sites like the Burgess Shale in Yoho National Park, paleontologists have long been drawn to the region. Early researchers such as Charles Doolittle Walcott (the same fellow who discovered the Burgess Shale in 1909) made expeditions through the Rockies, mapping, collecting, and occasionally cursing the local mosquitoes. 

More recent work by Canadian geologists and Parks staff continues to uncover fossils that add texture to the province’s complex geological story—a story that stretches from ancient coral reefs to modern alpine tundra.

For those itching to get a closer look (without lugging a rock hammer through a vertical kilometre of switchbacks), Mount Robson Provincial Park offers guided tours and interpretive programs during the summer months. 

Mount Robson

The Robson Visitor Centre—perched right at the base of the mountain—features displays on geology, local fossils, and glaciology. 

Knowledgeable staff can point out safe and accessible fossil-bearing outcrops nearby, though collecting is not permitted within the park.

If you’re keen to dig deeper (figuratively, not literally), groups such as the British Columbia Paleontological Alliance and the BC Fossil Management Office occasionally host field trips and educational events. 

Joining a local paleontology club or volunteering with a regional museum is another way to learn the ropes and handle fossils ethically. You’ll meet passionate experts who can tell a trilobite pygidium from a bit of gravel at ten paces—a skill worth cultivating.

Of course, not all of Mount Robson’s treasures are fossilized. Wildlife photographers come here for the living wonders: mountain goats balancing on impossible ledges, black bears grazing on huckleberries, and elk posing like they’ve just wandered off a nature calendar. 

In the alpine meadows, hoary marmots whistle warnings, Clark’s nutcrackers chatter in the pines, and if you’re lucky, you might glimpse a bald eagle soaring against the glacier-blue sky.

Black Bear

In late summer, the wildflowers turn the meadows into a painter’s palette—Indian paintbrush, fireweed, and glacier lilies sway in the breeze, each one a living descendent of ancient lineages that have persisted through ice ages and uplift. 

It’s hard not to be moved by that sense of continuity, from fossilized coral reefs to alpine blooms, from trilobites to grizzlies.

Mount Robson is a place that humbles even the most talkative geologist. It’s a cathedral of stone and time, shaped by forces far beyond us. 

Whether you come to hike the Berg Lake Trail (currently undergoing restoration after flood damage), marvel at Emperor Falls, or simply sit beside the Fraser River’s headwaters and listen to the water’s cold, glacial song—do so with curiosity and care.

The fossils here remind us that worlds come and go, seas rise and vanish, and yet life continues to adapt, to thrive, and to leave behind beautiful traces.

So pack your camera, your curiosity, and maybe a sense of humour—because if there’s one thing Mount Robson teaches us, it’s that deep time has a way of putting all our little worries into perspective.

Remember, it is illegal to collect or remove any fossils, plants, or rocks from provincial and national parks in Canada. So pack a camera with a good macro lens for any goodies you do find. If you find something significant, report it, but do not collect it. The Fossil Management Office would love to hear of your find. You can reach them at www.gov.bc.ca. If you have GPS in your phone, you can also drop a pin to mark the spot.

• Link to Recreational Fossil Management Guidelines: chrome-extension://efaidnbmnnnibpcajpcglclefindmkaj/https://www2.gov.bc.ca/assets/gov/farming-natural-resources-and-industry/natural-resource-use/land-water-use/crown-land/fossil-management/guidelines_for_recreational_collecting.pdf

BONES, BREATH AND BUFFALO: JOURNEY OF BISON BISON

Across the open grasslands, the earth trembles. A low rumble builds into a rolling thunder as a herd of bison surges across the plain—massive, shaggy, and magnificent. 

Their dark eyes glint beneath heavy brows, breath rising in clouds against the dawn. Each hoof step on the prairie is both ancient and new as the ever-evolving story of the bison unfolds.

The bison—Bison bison—are North America’s great survivors, the largest land mammals on the continent today. Once numbering in the tens of millions, they roamed from Alaska to Mexico, shaping entire ecosystems with their grazing patterns. Their wallows created microhabitats for wildflowers, insects, and birds, while their hooves churned the soil, spreading seeds and rejuvenating the grasslands.

But the story of the bison stretches far deeper into time. Their lineage reaches back more than two million years. Fossils of ancestral species such as Bison priscus, the steppe bison are found across the Pleistocene strata of North America, Europe, and Asia. 

These Ice Age giants crossed the Bering Land Bridge during glacial periods, eventually giving rise to Bison antiquus, a species that roamed the Great Plains alongside mammoths, mastodons, and saber-toothed cats. 

In places like Natural Trap Cave in Wyoming, Rancho La Brea in California, and the Old Crow Basin in Yukon, their bones tell stories of migration, climate change, and resilience.

When the last Ice Age faded, Bison antiquus evolved into the modern plains and wood bison we know today. 

For thousands of years, Indigenous Peoples have lived in relationship with these animals—honouring them as a source of food, clothing, tools, and shelter—and as sacred relatives. 

For many Plains Nations, the bison are central to Creation stories and cultural teachings, symbolizing abundance, respect, and balance with the natural world. 

Every part of the animal is used, and ceremonies of gratitude ensure the cycle of life continues in harmony.

Bison are once again returning to their ancestral lands. Through restoration projects and conservation efforts across North America, herds now graze protected grasslands and reserves. 

Restoration Projects in North America

In Canada, my home, we have both caribou and Bison Restoration Projects ongoing:

Poundmaker Cree Nation (Saskatchewan)

Poundmaker Cree Nation reintroduced plains bison (Bison bison bison) to their traditional territory in 2019. 

The herd represents both cultural renewal and food sovereignty, reconnecting community members to traditional practices and ceremonies involving the buffalo.

Tsuut’ina Nation (Alberta)

The Tsuut’ina Nation has long maintained a strong relationship with bison, working to conserve prairie grasslands and re-establish herds that support ecological balance and cultural revitalization. Their herd is used for both ceremonial and educational purposes.

Łutsel K’e Dene First Nation (Northwest Territories)

Łutsel K’e Dene Guardians work alongside Parks Canada to protect the Atsabya tué, or wood bison, Bison bison athabascae, populations within and around Thaidene Nëné National Park Reserve—an Indigenous Protected and Conserved Area (IPCA).

Piikani Nation & Kainai (Blood Tribe), Blackfoot Confederacy (Alberta)

Members of the Blackfoot Confederacy are deeply involved in the Iinnii Initiative, an international partnership to restore iinnii (bison) to their ancestral range on both sides of the US–Canada border. Their work reconnects land, language, ceremony, and ecological stewardship.

Saulteau and West Moberly First Nations (British Columbia)

These Nations co-lead the Klinse-Za Caribou and Bison Restoration initiatives in the Peace Region. Their conservation leadership helped bring the local wood bison population back from near extinction through habitat protection and collaborative management.

Our neighbours to the south in Montana, South Dakota and Wyoming are making considerable restoration efforts. To all who are doing this important work, I raise my hands in thanks.

WINGS OVER SOLNHOFEN: GRACEFUL PTERODACTYLUS SPECTABILIS

Pterodactylus antiquus 

Imagine the warm, shallow lagoons of what is now southern Germany during the Late Jurassic, some 150 million years ago. 

The air hums with the buzz of ancient insects, and along the silty shores of the Solnhofen archipelago—an island paradise trapped in time—a delicate shadow flits overhead. 

It’s Pterodactylus spectabilis, one of the earliest and most iconic of the pterosaurs.

Unlike the later, giant azhdarchids that would dominate the skies of the Cretaceous, Pterodactylus was petite and elegant. With a wingspan of about 1.5 metres, it would have weighed less than a modern crow. Its long, narrow jaws bristled with fine, conical teeth—perfect for snapping up fish and small invertebrates from the shallows or even catching insects mid-flight.

The fossils of Pterodactylus spectabilis are beautifully preserved in the fine-grained limestone of Solnhofen, Bavaria—the same deposits that yielded Archaeopteryx. 

Pterodactylus by Jean Hermann, 1800

These ancient lagoon sediments captured everything from the membranes of its wings to delicate impressions of skin and muscle. 

The exquisite preservation has allowed us to study details of its anatomy rarely seen in other pterosaurs, including evidence of pycnofibers—fine, hair-like filaments that may have helped insulate its small, warm-blooded body.

As a member of the order Pterosauria, Pterodactylus represents one of the earliest experiments in vertebrate flight. Its elongated fourth finger supported a broad membrane that stretched to its hind limbs, forming a living kite of bone and skin. 

The genus was first described in 1784 by the Italian naturalist Cosimo Alessandro Collini, later named by Georges Cuvier, who recognized it as a flying reptile—a revelation that forever changed how scientists imagined prehistoric life.

Pterodactylus spectabilis remains tell us of early flight and exceptional preservation and beauty—a window into a lagoon world where reptiles ruled the air long before birds had truly taken wing.

Image One: Holotype specimen of Pterodactylus antiquus, BSP AS I 739. Original photograph by Steven U. Vidovic, David M. Martill in http://www.plosone.org/article/info%3Adoi%2F10.1371%2Fjournal.pone.0110646 Modified by Matthew Martyniuk: Cropped, color adjusted. Top central portion of non-fossil-bearing slab digitally altered to remove portion of ruler.

Image Two: Jean Hermann - Taquet, P., and Padian, K. (2004). "The earliest known restoration of a pterosaur and the philosophical origins of Cuvier’s Ossemens Fossiles." Comptes Rendus Palevol, 3(2): 157-175.

First of two life restorations of Pterodactylus antiquus by Jean Hermann of Strasbourg, sent to George Cuvier in 1800.

ROADSIDE FOSSILS: TRIASSIC PAPER CLAMS FROM PINE PASS

Triassic Paper clams, Pardonet Formation

In the rugged foothills of Pine Pass, near the small northern British Columbia town of Chetwynd, the rocks tell a story from over 200 million years ago—a story written in shell just a short walk from the main road. 

Here, in outcrops of the Pardonet Formation, the remains of once-living bivalves called paper clams—or “flat clams”—paint a vivid picture of life in the Late Triassic seas.

During the Triassic, roughly 237–201 million years ago, these delicate-shelled bivalves of the genus Moinotis, specifically Moinotis subcircularis, thrived in shallow marine environments. 

Their thin, flattened shells resemble wafer-like sheets, earning them the common name “paper clams.” 

Despite their fragile appearance, they were ecologically tough, colonizing vast seafloor regions after the Permian-Triassic mass extinction—Earth’s most catastrophic biodiversity crisis. In the wake of devastation, paper clams became pioneers in new marine ecosystems, spreading widely across the Triassic world.

At Pine Pass, the Pardonet Formation captures this resilience in stone. The strata—composed mainly of silty shales and fine-grained sandstones—represent an ancient seabed deposited along the western margin of Pangea. These rocks are part of the larger Western Canada Sedimentary Basin and are well known for their rich fossil assemblages, including ammonoids, conodonts, and marine reptiles. Yet, among these Triassic relics, it’s the paper clams that often dominate.

A short scramble up the rocky slope near the highway reveals bedding planes glittering with thousands of tiny, overlapping shells. They lie perfectly preserved, their paper-thin forms cemented into the matrix as though frozen in a whisper of time. Each shell records a pulse of ancient life in a warm, shallow sea teeming with invertebrates.

Our field stop at Pine Pass was a spontaneous detour en route to a paleontological conference in nearby Tumbler Ridge—a region equally famed for its dinosaur tracks and marine fossils. What was meant to be a quick roadside break became a fossil feast. 

Within minutes, we were crouched among the rocks, gently tracing our fingers over Moinotis subcircularis—delicate, symmetrical, and as hauntingly beautiful as the day they settled on the Triassic seafloor.