BEAUTIFUL PATHOLOGY: QUENSTEDTOCERAS

What you are seeing here is a protuberance extruding from the venter of Quenstedtoceras cf. leachi (Sowerby). It is a pathology in the shell from hosting immature bivalves that shared the seas with these Middle Jurassic, Upper Callovian, Lamberti zone fauna from the Volga River basin. 

The collecting site is the now inactive Dubki commercial clay quarry and brickyard near Saratov, Russia. 

The site has produced thousands of ammonite specimens. A good 1,100 of those ended up at the Black Hills Institute of Geological Research in Hill City, South Dakota. 

Roughly 1,000 of those are Quenstedtoceras (Lamberticeras) lamberti and the other 100 are a mix of other species found in the same zone. These included Eboraciceras, Peltoceras, Kosmoceras, Grossouvria, Proriceras, Cadoceras and Rursiceras. 

What is especially interesting is the volume of specimens — 167 Quenstedtoceras (Lamberticeras) lamberti and 89 other species in the Black Hills collection — with healed predation injuries. It seems Quenstedtoceras (Lamberticeras) lamberti are the most common specimens found here and so not surprisingly the most common species found injured. 

Of the 1,000, 655 of the Quenstedtoceras (Lamberticeras) lamberti displayed some sort of deformation or growth on the shell or had grown in a tilted manner. 

Again, some of the Q. lamberti had small depressions in the centre likely due to a healed bite and hosting infestations of the immature bivalve Placunopsis and some Ostrea. 

The bivalves thrived on their accommodating hosts and the ammonites carried on, growing their shells right up and over their bivalve guests. 

This relationship led to some weird and deformities of their shells. They grow in, around, up and over nearly every surface of the shell and seem to have lived out their lives there. It must have gotten a bit unworkable for the ammonites, their shells becoming warped and unevenly weighted. 

Over time, both the flourishing bivalves and the ammonite shells growing up and over them produced some of the most interesting pathology specimens I have ever seen.    

In the photo here from Emil Black, you can see some of the distorted shapes of Quenstedtoceras sp. 

Look closely and you see a trochospiral or flattened appearance on one side while they are rounded on the other. 

All of these beauties hail from the Dubki Quarry near Saratov, Russia. The ammonites were collected in marl or clay used in brick making. The clay particles suggest a calm, deep marine environment. 

One of the lovely features of the preservation here is the amount of pyrite filling and replacement. It looks like these ammonites were buried in an oxygen-deficient environment. 

The ammonites were likely living higher in the water column, well above the oxygen-poor bottom. An isotopic study would be interesting to prove this hypothesis. 

There's certainly enough of these ammonites that have been recovered to make that possible. It's estimated that over a thousand specimens have been recovered from the site but that number is likely much higher. But these are not complete specimens. We mostly find the phragmocones and partial body chambers. Given the numbers, this may be a site documenting a mass spawning death over several years or generations.

If you fancy a read on all things cephie, consider picking up a copy of Cephalopods Present and Past: New Insights and Fresh Perspectives edited by Neil Landman and Richard Davis. Figure 16.2 is from page 348 of that publication and shows the hosting predation quite well. 

Photos: Courtesy of the deeply awesome Emil Black. These are in his personal collection that I hope to see in person one day. 

It was his sharing of the top photo and the strange anomaly that had me explore more about the fossils from Dubki and the weird and wonderful hosting relationship between ammonites and bivalves. Thank you, my friend!

THE MAGISTY OF 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. It is a view some of our ancestors were lucky to behold!

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.

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

ECHOES OF THE EOCENE: A WHALE BETWEEN WORLDS

Chrysocetus foudasil 

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

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

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

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

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

RED PANDAS: AN ANCIENT FAMILY IN THE TREETOPS

Red pandas may look like a charming mixture of fox, raccoon and teddy bear, but they are none of the above. 

The red panda, Ailurus fulgens, is the only living representative of the family Ailuridae—an ancient branch of the carnivore family tree with a fossil history stretching back millions of years.

Fossil ailurids first appeared during the Miocene Epoch. 

Their remains have been found across Europe, Asia and North America, showing that the family once enjoyed a much wider distribution than it does today. 

One spectacular relative was Simocyon batalleri, a puma-sized ailurid that lived in Spain during the Late Miocene. 

Fossils show that it possessed an enlarged wrist bone forming a “false thumb,” much like the one living red pandas use to grasp bamboo. 

Because Simocyon was not a dedicated bamboo eater, researchers think this useful bit of anatomy may have evolved for climbing before being repurposed as a dining utensil. Evolution is wonderfully thrifty that way.

Another extinct relative, Pristinailurus bristoli, lived roughly five million years ago in the forested landscape preserved at Tennessee’s Gray Fossil Site. 

Discoveries like this reveal that ancient red panda relatives once scampered through North American forests—not merely the misty mountains of Asia. Research on fossil ailurids and the false thumb

Today, wild red pandas inhabit cool temperate forests along the Himalayas and adjoining mountain ranges in Nepal, Bhutan, India, northern Myanmar and southwestern China. 

They depend on forests with dense bamboo growing beneath the canopy and spend much of their time climbing, feeding or sleeping draped comfortably across a branch. 

Despite belonging to the mammalian order Carnivora and possessing the digestive system of a meat eater, red pandas survive primarily on bamboo. They must eat a great deal of it because their bodies are not particularly efficient at extracting energy from such fibrous food.

Their long, ringed tails help them balance among the branches and can be wrapped around the body like a warm scarf in chilly mountain weather. Their reddish coats may also provide surprisingly effective camouflage among red mosses, lichens and shadowy tree trunks.

Red pandas are generally solitary, excellent climbers and capable of descending trees headfirst by rotating their ankles—an uncommon and very useful trick when your dining room is several metres above the ground. When alarmed, they may rear onto their hind legs to appear larger. 

It is a bold display from an animal weighing only about as much as a well-fed house cat.

Sadly, these remarkable survivors are endangered. Forest loss, habitat fragmentation, livestock pressure and poaching continue to threaten the remaining wild populations. 

The red panda is all that remains of a once widespread evolutionary dynasty—and a very good reason to protect the mountain forests it still calls home.

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.

LIMESTONE AND LIGHT: EGYPT BEFORE THE PHARAOHS

Much of Egypt’s history is carved in her rock. We think of Egypt as ancient—a land of pharaohs, pyramids, and hieroglyphs etched in stone—but the land itself tells a far older story. 

Long before kings rose and dynasties fell, before the Nile carved its fertile ribbon through desert sands, the foundations of Egypt were being forged deep within the Earth.

Egypt, officially the Arab Republic of Egypt, occupies the northeastern corner of Africa, with the Sinai Peninsula extending beyond the continental boundary into Asia. 

It is bordered by the Gaza Strip and Israel to the northeast, the Gulf of Aqaba and Red Sea to the east, Sudan to the south, and Libya to the west. To the north, the Mediterranean Sea opens toward Europe—Greece, Cyprus, and Turkey—while across the Red Sea lies Saudi Arabia and, beyond the Gulf of Aqaba, Jordan.

To understand Egypt’s true antiquity, one must look not to its monuments, but to its bedrock. 

Five hundred kilometres southwest of Cairo, the flat sabkha plains stretch toward the horizon, scattered with wind-polished pebbles and eerie limestone pillars—natural monuments of a different kind. 

This striking karst landscape, weathered by time and the desert’s relentless breath, tells of ancient seas, tectonic upheaval, and long-vanished ecosystems.

Once the breadbasket of the Pharaohs and now scarred by oil pipelines and rusted trucks, this land has seen empires rise and vanish. Beneath the sand and relics of human ambition lies a deeper record—a geological archive of oceans, volcanoes, and shifting continents.

The story begins deep in time, during the Archaean Eon, when the Earth’s crust was first beginning to cool, between 4 and 2.5 billion years ago. The rocks from this period, preserved as ancient inliers in Egypt’s Western Desert, are among the oldest on the African continent. Later, during the Proterozoic, when oxygen was only just beginning to fill the planet’s atmosphere, new rocks were laid down in the Eastern Desert—igneous and metamorphic foundations formed when bacteria and marine algae were the dominant life on Earth.

These ancient crystalline roots form the basement complex upon which Egypt’s later history—both geological and human—would unfold. 

Over this foundation lie younger Palaeozoic sedimentary rocks, followed by widespread Cretaceous outcrops that speak of warm inland seas and lush river deltas. 

Still younger Cenozoic sediments record the rhythmic rise and fall of global sea levels—cycles of transgression and regression that alternately drowned and exposed the land. 

Each layer marks a new chapter in the story of water, time, and transformation. It is from these Cenozoic limestones, formed some 50 million years ago in the shallow seas of the Eocene epoch, that the stones of the Great Pyramids were quarried. Composed largely of the fossilized remains of ancient marine organisms—especially the large, coin-like foraminifera known as Nummulites—these rocks are both geological and biological archives. 

Every pyramid block is built from the remains of an ancient ocean, each fossilized shell a fragment of life that once thrived beneath the waters of the long-vanished Tethys Sea.

The pyramids of Giza, with their luminous exteriors of fine-grained white limestone from the quarries of Tura, stand as enduring testaments to human ingenuity and Earth’s deep-time creativity. They are monuments raised from the bones of microscopic life, shaped by hands that would have been surprised to know they were building with the remnants of a vanished world.

From the glittering deserts of Giza to the fossil beds of the Fayum, Egypt’s landscapes tell stories written in stone—of ancient oceans, shifting continents, and the eternal dialogue between life, death, and time. The Great Pyramid may have been built for eternity, but its foundations were set in motion eons before humanity’s first spark.

Beneath the gaze of the Sphinx and the shadow of Khufu’s towering pyramid, the story of Egypt’s limestone deepens. Those pale, gleaming blocks that once caught the desert sun are more than architectural marvels—they are the fossilized remains of an ancient sea, built from the microscopic shells of creatures that lived and died millions of years before the first pharaoh dreamed of eternity.

It is here, in the very stone of the Great Pyramid, that Egypt’s human history meets Earth’s geological past.

FOSSIL STARFISH: AN ANCIENT STAR IN A CHANGING SEA

Fossil Sea Star

Starfish—or, more accurately, sea stars—look almost too geometrically tidy to be real. 

Their familiar five-pointed form resembles a symbol drawn by hand, yet sea stars are living animals with hundreds of hydraulically operated tube feet, light-sensitive eyespots at the tips of their arms and the remarkable ability to regenerate damaged tissue. 

Some can even push their stomach outside their body to digest prey. Nature, as usual, saw no reason to stop after inventing something elegant.

Sea stars belong to the class Asteroidea within the phylum Echinodermata. They are related to brittle stars, sea urchins, sand dollars, sea cucumbers and crinoids. Their closest living relatives are generally considered to be the brittle stars of the class Ophiuroidea; together, sea stars and brittle stars form the Asterozoa. 

Sea stars move using a water vascular system that powers their tube feet, while brittle stars generally travel by flexing their slender, sharply defined arms.

The evolutionary story of these animals reaches back nearly half a billion years. Star-shaped echinoderms called asterozoans appear in Lower Ordovician rocks more than 480 million years old. Some early forms belonged to extinct groups such as the somasteroids, which possessed a mixture of features associated with later sea stars and brittle stars. 

Fossils from the Early Ordovician Fezouata Biota of Morocco have helped us examine this important stage in asterozoan evolution. Molecular and fossil evidence indicates that the sea-star and brittle-star lineages had separated by approximately 477 million years ago.

Ancient sea stars did not necessarily look exactly like the species crawling through modern tide pools. 

Many Palaeozoic forms possessed narrow arms, small central discs and arrangements of skeletal plates unlike those of their living descendants. 

Sea stars survived several major extinction events, although the end-Permian mass extinction approximately 252 million years ago profoundly reorganized marine ecosystems. Most of the sea stars alive today belong to evolutionary groups that diversified during the Mesozoic.

Despite their long history, complete fossil sea stars are rare. Their bodies are supported by thousands of small calcite plates called ossicles, connected by soft tissues and ligaments. Soon after death, those tissues decay and the skeleton usually collapses into a jumble of pieces. 

Finding an articulated fossil sea star therefore means that the animal was buried quickly—perhaps by a storm deposit, underwater sediment flow or sudden pulse of fine mud—before currents and scavengers could dismantle it. A complete sea star is less a routine fossil than a small geological miracle.

On and around Vancouver Island, fossil sea stars occur within the Upper Cretaceous Nanaimo Group. Specimens have been collected from the Northumberland Formation at Manning and Collishaw Point on Hornby Island (known locally as Boulder Point), where fine marine mudstones and carbonate concretions preserve a diverse deep-water community. 

These roughly Late Campanian deposits have produced sea stars alongside ammonites, bivalves, gastropods, sea urchins, fish, and shark teeth.

These fossils tell us that starfish were already established members of the northeastern Pacific ecosystem while mosasaurs still hunted offshore. Their rarity also makes fragments important: isolated marginal plates, arm ossicles and other skeletal pieces may not produce the dramatic outline of a complete star, but they can still reveal which groups lived in an ancient sea. They are a wonderful fossil to find and oh, so pleasing to behold!

Elsewhere in the Pacific Northwest, asteroid fossils and isolated ossicles occur in marine sedimentary formations in Washington and Oregon. Cenozoic units. Washington’s Lincoln Creek Formation preserve evidence of sea stars within the rich marine communities that occupied the northeastern Pacific during the Eocene and Oligocene. 

Together with the marine formations of southwestern Vancouver Island, these rocks record changing coastlines, ocean temperatures and seafloor habitats over tens of millions of years.

Worldwide, fossil sea stars have been recovered from Ordovician rocks in Morocco, Europe, North America and Australia; Silurian deposits in Britain; the Devonian Hunsrück Slate of Germany; Jurassic marine beds in Europe; Cretaceous deposits in Lebanon and North America; and younger Cenozoic rocks on several continents. Exceptional deposits sometimes preserve whole animals, while more ordinary marine rocks yield scattered ossicles. Because these tiny elements are easily overlooked, the history of sea stars is undoubtedly richer than the visible fossil record suggests.

Today, approximately 1,900 species inhabit every ocean, from tropical reefs and temperate tide pools to polar waters and the deep sea. They include heavily armoured forms, delicate mud-dwellers, cushion stars and many-armed giants. 

Along the British Columbia coast we find the ochre sea star, Pisaster ochraceus; the mottled star, Evasterias troschelii; the leather star, Dermasterias imbricata; and the extraordinary sunflower sea star, Pycnopodia helianthoides, which may possess more than 20 arms.

Sea stars are not merely colourful tide-pool decorations. Many are influential predators that regulate mussels, clams, barnacles, snails and sea urchins. 

The ochre sea star helped inspire the ecological concept of a “keystone species”: an animal whose influence on its community is far greater than its abundance might suggest. Sunflower sea stars perform a similarly important role by consuming sea urchins that would otherwise overgraze kelp forests.

That ecological balance was shaken in 2013, when sea star wasting disease swept along the Pacific coast from Mexico to Alaska. 

On Vancouver Island, diseased stars were observed around Bamfield and Ucluelet on Vancouver Island's far western shores and later around Nanaimo and Nanoose. More than 20 species were affected. Infected animals developed lesions, twisted their arms unnaturally, lost limbs and eventually disintegrated into pale masses of decomposing tissue.

After more than a decade of investigation, researchers identified the culprit as a strain of the bacterium Vibrio pectenicida, designated FHCF-3, as a causative agent of wasting disease in sunflower sea stars. Scientists detected it in the animals’ coelomic fluid—the internal fluid that functions in some respects like blood—and then cultured the bacterium and reproduced the disease experimentally. The results were published in Nature Ecology & Evolution in 2025.

The sunflower sea star suffered catastrophic losses, with billions believed to have died and populations falling by more than 90 percent in many parts of its range. 

Our records and many a beach walk show a striking increase in areas where the species was absent after the outbreak, including waters around Vancouver Island, the Strait of Georgia, Barkley Sound and parts of the central and northern coast. It was a tragic loss. The species is now assessed as Endangered in Canada and Critically Endangered globally.

Warming seas may make conditions more favourable for some Vibrio bacteria and can place additional stress on their hosts, although temperature is not the only factor governing outbreaks. Sea stars also face marine heatwaves, ocean acidification, declining oxygen, pollution, habitat disturbance and changes to their food webs. The loss of major predators such as Pycnopodia helianthoides can allow sea urchin populations to expand, contributing to the destruction of kelp forests and transforming entire coastal ecosystems.

Sea stars have endured almost 500 million years of continental movement, changing oceans and mass extinction. Their fossils prove that the star-shaped body plan is one of evolution’s great survivors. Yet their antiquity does not make them invulnerable. 

The same animals whose delicate skeletons so rarely remain intact in stone are now reminding us, in living waters along Vancouver Island and the wider Pacific coast, just how quickly an ancient ecological relationship can come apart.

A LEAP THROUGH DEEP TIME: FROGS IN THE FOSSIL RECORD

Frogs have been hopping, swimming and making an astonishing amount of noise for their size for a very long time. 

Their earliest frog-like relatives include Triadobatrachus massinoti, a small amphibian from Madagascar that lived about 250 million years ago during the Early Triassic. 

By the Early Jurassic, roughly 190 million years ago, frogs such as Prosalirus bitis possessed elongated hind limbs, reinforced hips and shortened bodies better suited to leaping.

Their fossil record is rather patchy. Frog skeletons are small, lightly built and inclined to fall apart after death—excellent for jumping, less impressive for becoming immortalized in stone. Many fossil frogs are therefore represented by isolated hip bones, vertebrae and limb fragments.

British Columbia has produced Quaternary frog and toad remains from Bear Flat in northeastern BC. Researchers identified bones belonging to Rana, the group containing the true frogs; Bufo, a traditional grouping of toads; and other members of the order Anura. 

These fragments help us reconstruct the amphibian communities that inhabited western Canada before and after the great advances of glacial ice.

Vancouver Island has also produced fossils bearing the frog name—but belonging to an entirely different branch of the animal kingdom. 

Fossil frog crabs are marine crustaceans named for their broad, frog-like appearance and digging adaptations, not for any amphibian ancestry. 

In 2020,  Torrey Nyborg, Loma Linda University and team described a new genus Amphoranina from Eocene and Oligocene deposits of Washington State and Vancouver Island. The well-preserved specimens represent two new species, Amphoranina blandi and Amphoranina multispinata. The genus appears to have been endemic to the northeastern Pacific during the middle to late Paleogene. 

Torrey does some wonderful research on fossil crabs from the Pacific Northwest and further afield. 

He was also on the team with Jan Fischer and Margorie Johns who published on the recent late Eocene chimaroid egg capsule from lower Carmanah Group strata on the far western shores of Vancouver Island, British Columbia. 

This is the fourth Paleogene chimaeroid egg capsule discovered from the Pacific Northwest. All four fossils were fossilized in tectonic foreland basins in bathyal water depths, which perfectly correlates with the known bathyal habitats and nesting sites of extant rhinochimaerids.

If you're reading this, Torrey, great to see your breadth of work. As a friendly nudge, there is a lobster from Tyaughton I am still looking to see you publish on.

Today, frogs and toads belong to the order Anura—meaning “without a tail.” More than 8,000 living species are currently recognized, ranging from fingernail-sized rainforest frogs to hefty bullfrogs and wonderfully peculiar burrowing forms.

So, British Columbia’s fossil record offers both genuine frogs and frog crabs: one built to leap, the other built to scuttle—and neither especially interested in clearing up the confusion.

Lead Image: Asset ID: 2780548337

FOSSIL HUNTRESS PODCAST: DEAD SEXY SCIENCE

Geeky goodness from the Fossil Huntress. If you love paleontology, you will love this stream. Dinosaurs, trilobites, ammonites—you'll find them all here!

Close your eyes & fly with me as we head out together to explore Earth's rich history written in her rock. Travel to extraordinary places, sacred sites & unearth mysteries millions of years old on the Fossil Huntress Podcast.

This stream is for those who share an enduring passion for our world's hidden treasures, its wild places & want to uncover her beauty stone by stone.

This is the story of the making of our Earth and the many wonderful creatures who have called it home.

Join in the exploration of the fascinating science of paleontology — that lens that examines ancient animals, plants & ecosystems from wee single-celled organisms to big & mighty dinosaurs. Save the stream to your favorites to listen while you drive, head out fossil collecting or snuggle in for the night!

​To listen now, visit: https://open.spotify.com/show/1hH1wpDFFIlYC9ZW5uTYVL

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.

HEROES, VILLAINS AND FOSSILS: HORNBY ISLAND HISTORY

Villains, tyrants and heroes alike are immortalized in the scientific literature as researchers don each new species a unique scientific name — and rename geographic sites with a settlers' mindset. 

If you pick through the literature, it is a whose who of monied European explorers literally making a name for themselves, sometimes at great cost to their rivals. 

This truth plays out on British Columbia's West Coast and gulf islands and on Hornby Island, in particular. 

The beautiful island of Hornby is in the traditional territory of the Pentlatch or K’ómoks First Nation, who call it Ja-dai-aich, which means the outer island — a reference to Hornby being on the outside of Denman Island off the east coast of Vancouver Island. 

The island is a mix of beach and meadow, forest and stream. While I often walk the lower beachfront, this island boasts a lovely and very walkable mixed forest that covers its higher ground. 

If you explore here, off the beaten path, you will see a mix of large conifers — Western Hemlock, Grand Fir and Lodgepole Pine on the island. Of these, the Western Red Cedar, Thuja plicata, is the most prized by First Nations. It is the Tree of Life that provides bountiful raw materials for creating everything from art to homes to totems and canoes. 

If you explore these forests further, you will also see wonderful examples of the smaller Pacific yew, Taxus brevifolia, a wee evergreen that holds a special place in the hearts of First Nations whose carvers use this wood for bows and paddles for canoes.

Many spectacular specimens of arbutus, Arbutus menziesii, grow along the water's edge. These lovely evergreens have a rich orange-red bark that peels away in thin sheets, leaving a greenish, silvery smooth appearance and a satiny sheen. Arbutus, the broadleaf evergreen species is the tree I most strongly associate with Hornby. Hornby has its fair share of broadleaf deciduous trees. Bigleaf maple, red alder, black cottonwood, Pacific flowering dogwood, cascara and several species of willow thrive here.

There are populations of Garry oak, Quercus garryana, with their deeply lobed leaves, on the southern end of the island and at Helliwell Provincial Park on a rocky headland at the northeast end of Hornby. 

Local First Nations fire-managed these stands of Garry oak, burning away shrubs and other woody plants so that the thick-barked oaks and nutritious starch-rich plants like great camas, Camassia leichtlinii, could thrive without any nutrient competitors. 

Only about 260 acres (1.1 km2) of undisturbed stands of older forests have been identified on Hornby. They amount to roughly 3.5% of the island's surface area. There are roughly 1,330 acres (540 ha) of older second-growth stands on the island, roughly 19% of the island.

Most of the trees you see on the island are Douglas fir, Pseudotsuga menziesii, an evergreen conifer species in the pine family. My Uncle Doug recognized this tree species because of how much the bark looks like bacon — a food he loved. The common name is a nod to the Scottish botanist, David Douglas, who collected and first reported on this large evergreen.

Captain George Vancouver's Commission to Lieutenant

Sadly for Douglas, it is Archibald Menzies, a Scottish physician, botanist, naturalist — and David's arch-rival, whose name is commemorated for science. 

He is also credited with the scientific naming of our lovely arbutus trees. 

Menzies was part of the Vancouver Expedition (1791–1795) a four-and-a-half-year voyage of exploration commanded by Captain George Vancouver of the British Royal Navy.

Their voyage was built on the work of James Cook. Cook was arguably the first ship's captain to ensure his crew remained scurvy free by implementing a practice of nutritious meals — those containing ascorbic acid also known as Vitamin C — and meticulous standards for onboard hygiene. 

Though he did much to lower the mortality rate amongst his crew, he made some terrible decisions that led to his early demise. Cook was the poster child for British colonialism and Valentine's gone horribly wrong. He was attacked and summarily killed on February 14, 1779, during his third exploratory voyage in the Pacific. Having foolishly considered the "natives" as specimens and not human beings, he met his end while attempting to kidnap the Island of Hawaii's monarch, Kalaniʻōpuʻu. 

During the four and a half year Vancouver Expedition voyage, the crew and officers bickered amongst themselves, circumnavigated the globe, touching down on five continents. Little did they know, for many of them it would be the last voyage they would ever take. 

The expedition returned to a Britain more interested in its ongoing war than in Pacific explorations. Vancouver was attacked by the politically well-connected Menzies for various slights, then challenged to a duel by Thomas Pitt, the 2nd Baron of Camelford. 

The fellow for whom the fair city of Vancouver is named never did complete his massive cartographical work. With health failing and nerves eroded, he lost the dual and his life. It was Peter Puget, whose name adorns Puget Sound, who completed Vancouver's — and arguably Cook's work on the mapping of our world.

And while it is now called Vancouver the city has many names as it falls within the traditional territory of three Coast Salish peoples — the Squamish (Sḵwxwú7mesh), Tsleil-waututh and Xwméthkwyiem ("Musqueam"—from masqui "an edible grass that grows in the sea"), and on the southern shores of Vancouver along the Fraser River, the Xwméthkwyiem.

If you would like to explore more of the history of eponymous naming from Linnaeus to Darwin, to Bowie himself, take a boo at a new book from Stephen B. Heard, "Charles Darwin's Barnacle and David Bowie's Spider. It is fresh off the press and chock full of historical and pop-culture icons.

References: The City of Vancouver Archives has three George Vancouver documents of note:

• The Commission, dated July 10, 1783, appointing him fourth Lieutenant of the HMS Fame (this is the official document confirming a field commission given to him May 7, 1782)
• A letter to James Sykes (a Navy Agent in London) written from the ship Discovery (not the same Discovery used by Cook) while in Nootka Sound near the end of Vancouver’s exploration of the West Coast, October 2, 1794. Vancouver states that they have determined that the Northwest Passage does not exist, which was one of the main goals of his voyage
• A letter to James Sykes written from Vancouver’s home in Petersham, England, after his voyage, October 26, 1797 

TINY DINOSAUR WITH BIG SECRETS: ALNASHETRI

Alnashetri cerropoliciensis

Slip back 90 million years and wander the sun-baked floodplains of Patagonia, where the giants get all the glory—but it’s the tiny, fleet-footed oddballs that hold the real secrets.

Meet Alnashetri cerropoliciensis, a delicate little dinosaur with a big story to tell. We’re talking under two pounds soaking wet—lighter than your average house cat—but armed with clues powerful enough to untangle one of palaeontology’s most puzzling lineages: the alvarezsaurs.

These were no ordinary theropods. Picture a bird-like body, teeth reduced to tiny pegs, and arms so short they seem almost comical—until you notice the business end: a single, oversized claw built for digging. Think ant-eater, but make it a dinosaur.

For decades, alvarezsaurs have been a bit of a head-scratcher. Beautiful fossils from Asia told part of the tale, but their South American cousins? Fragmentary, elusive, maddeningly incomplete. Then along comes Alnashetri—a near-complete skeleton pulled from the fossil-rich beds of La Buitrera—and suddenly the story sharpens into focus.

And what a twist it is.

This wee creature shows us that alvarezsaurs didn’t shrink because they specialized—they were already pint-sized before evolving their quirky, ant-snuffling toolkit. Longer arms, bigger teeth—Alnashetri still carries the echoes of its less specialized ancestors. It’s evolution mid-sentence, frozen in bone.

Even better, it’s fully grown. No baby here. Just a tiny adult navigating a world of much larger predators with speed, stealth, and a very particular taste in snacks.

The real magic? This fossil acts like a Rosetta Stone for the group, giving scientists a reference point to decode those scrappy, half-told specimens tucked away in collections around the world. Suddenly, the family tree starts to make sense.

And the plot thickens.

Rather than evolving in one place and spreading outward, these curious little dinosaurs likely trace their roots back to Pangaea—before the continents tore themselves apart. As the landmasses drifted, so too did their descendants, leaving behind a scattered but connected fossil trail across the globe.

So here we have it: a tiny dinosaur rewriting a very big story. A cheeky wee dino challenging what we thought we knew!

Reference: https://www.nature.com/articles/s41586-026-10194-3

RACCOONS: ADORABLE TINY HANDS AND QUESTIONABLE INTENTIONS

There are few creatures quite as charming—or as suspiciously competent—as the raccoon.

With its black mask, ringed tail and remarkably nimble front paws, the northern raccoon, Procyon lotor, looks rather like a small bear dressed for a burglary. This is misleading. 

Raccoons are not bears, although they belong to the same broad branch of the carnivore family tree. 

Their closest living relations are other members of the family Procyonidae, including coatis, ringtails, cacomistles, olingos and kinkajous.

Together, they form an impressive clan of climbers, fruit thieves, insect hunters and nocturnal specialists, most of which live in the Americas.

The fossil story of raccoons is surprisingly patchy. Small, forest-dwelling omnivores do not always leave us a generous fossil record. 

Their bodies are easily scattered, their habitats are not always ideal for fossilization, and they rarely have the decency to perish in large numbers somewhere convenient for future palaeontologists.

The wider raccoon family appears in the North American fossil record during the Early Miocene, more than 16 million years ago. 

By the Late Miocene, recognizably raccoon-like procyonids were padding through North American forests. Fossils assigned to the genus Procyon—the group containing living raccoons—are known from the Late Miocene and Pliocene. 

A newly described species, Procyon garberi, lived in Florida during the Late Miocene, showing that true raccoons were already experimenting with their familiar body plan millions of years before anyone invented the locking garbage bin. 

By the Pleistocene—the great Ice Age—raccoons were widespread across North America. 

Several fossil raccoons once given separate species names, including Procyon priscus, Procyon simus and the delightfully compact Procyon nanus, were later interpreted as variations of the living northern raccoon, Procyon lotor. 

If that interpretation is correct, modern raccoons were sharing the continent with mammoths, mastodons, giant ground sloths, sabre-toothed cats and dire wolves. 

Those giants disappeared. The raccoon remained.

This probably had much to do with flexibility. Raccoons are spectacularly unfussy omnivores. 

Depending upon where they live and what is in season, they may eat berries, grapes, apples, nuts, acorns, corn, insects, worms, crayfish, frogs, fish, eggs, small animals and carrion. 

They generally consume more invertebrates than vertebrates, but the governing principle appears to be: “Is this edible, and can I get my little hands on it?” 

In towns and cities, the menu may expand to include garden produce, pet food, compost and whatever treasures have been placed inside a container clearly labelled “raccoon enrichment puzzle.” In my garden, they leave the tomato plants alone but eat most everything else.

Their native range stretches from southern Canada through most of the United States and Mexico into Central America. They inhabit deciduous and mixed forests, wetlands, river valleys, coastal areas, farmland, suburbs and cities. 

Woodlands near water are particularly good raccoon country because they provide food, climbing trees and hollows for dens.

Raccoons have also been introduced to parts of Europe and Asia, including Germany and Japan, where some populations have become invasive. Their great adaptability, while admirable from a raccoon’s point of view, can create serious problems for native wildlife. Raccoons raid bird and turtle nests, compete for den sites and may carry diseases and parasites. Cute does not mean ecologically harmless. Nature is under no obligation to keep those two categories separate.

The raccoon’s scientific name, Procyon lotor, roughly means “washing procyon.” This refers to the famous habit of dipping and manipulating food in water. 

Raccoons are not necessarily washing dinner because they have suddenly become concerned about hygiene. 

Their front paws contain an extraordinary concentration of sensory receptors, allowing them to examine objects through touch. Moisture may enhance the sensitivity of the skin, helping them feel and manipulate their food.

In other words, they are not politely washing supper. They are inspecting it with wet fingers.

Each front paw has five long digits. Raccoons do not have opposable thumbs, but they can grasp, pry, turn and open objects with astonishing skill. They can manipulate latches, lift lids and occasionally solve problems that humans believed had already been solved by purchasing a more expensive garbage bin.

I had a midnight explorer who used to come for a visit and search about the place when I lived near a park. I would see signs of mischief but never the burgular.

Now, I have a family living in the tree next door. Mamma takes her kits out early in the morning to forage.

Their hind feet can rotate substantially, allowing them to climb down trees headfirst. This is an excellent adaptation for life in the forest and a deeply unsettling skill to witness at two o’clock in the morning.

Baby raccoons are called kits. They are born with faint masks and tail rings already visible, although their eyes remain closed for the first few weeks. A mother usually raises her kits alone, teaching them where to den, what to eat and, presumably, how to stand perfectly still on a fence while making prolonged eye contact with the homeowner.

Raccoons are primarily nocturnal, but I have been seeing them more and more in the day.

A nursing mother, a hungry youngster or an animal disturbed from its den may forage in daylight. As with all wildlife, however, raccoons should be admired from a respectful distance. They can defend themselves vigorously and may carry rabies in some regions.

There is something deeply impressive about an animal that survived the climatic upheavals of the Ice Age and then adapted to highways, suburbs, streetlights and wheelie bins.

The mammoths vanished. The sabre-toothed cats vanished. The giant ground sloths vanished.

The raccoon looked at the changing world, flexed its tiny fingers and said, “Interesting. Does this lid come off?”

MASSETOGNATHUS: PREHISTORIC FOOD PROCESSOR

Massetognathus pascuali

There are fossils that appear fierce. There are fossils that look dignified, mysterious or magnificently prehistoric.

And then there is this charming little Massetognathus pascuali at the Natural History Museum Abu Dhabi, displayed vertically with his head raised and his forelimbs tucked neatly before him, as though he has just spotted an old friend approaching.

“Oh, hey guys! You made it.”

His actual sex is unknown, of course, but he has such a cheerful, expectant air that I immediately began thinking of him as a little fellow waiting to greet visitors. 

His upright position is a museum display choice rather than a reconstruction of his normal posture in life. 

Massetognathus travelled on all four limbs, but the arrangement gives us a wonderfully clear view of his compact skeleton—and an unexpectedly endearing introduction to one of the most important chapters in mammalian evolution.

Massetognathus pascuali lived in what is now northwestern Argentina during the Triassic Period, roughly 235 million years ago. At that time, the continents were joined into the supercontinent Pangaea, dinosaurs were only beginning their long evolutionary rise, and true mammals had not yet appeared.

Massetognathus was not a dinosaur. It was a cynodont: a member of the great synapsid lineage that also contains mammals and their extinct relatives. More specifically, it belonged to a group of plant-eating cynodonts called traversodontids.

This does not mean that Massetognathus was our direct ancestor. Evolution is rarely a tidy ladder leading solemnly toward us. It is an exuberantly branching family tree filled with cousins, experiments and entire lineages that flourished before disappearing. Massetognathus occupied one of those neighbouring branches on the mammalian side of the ancient amniote family tree.

Still, its anatomy helps us understand the wider evolutionary world in which recognizably mammalian features were developing.

The name Massetognathus is particularly appropriate. It is derived from words referring to a “chewing-muscle jaw,” and chewing was very much this animal’s specialty. 

Unlike reptiles that simply seized food and swallowed it in large pieces, traversodontid cynodonts possessed differentiated teeth that could process vegetation inside the mouth.

At the front were incisors for nipping. Farther back were enlarged, broad postcanine teeth with complex crowns that met one another to crush and shear food. 

These expanded teeth are often described as gomphodont—essentially “molar-like”—although they were not identical to the molars of modern mammals.

This was serious dental equipment.

Massetognathus probably fed largely on the leaves, stems and other available plant material of Triassic Gondwana. Its broad skull, powerful jaw muscles and specialized teeth suggest a generalized herbivorous diet. 

Like a determined little prehistoric food processor, it could bite vegetation into smaller, more manageable pieces before swallowing it. 

Studies of traversodontid skulls and limbs estimate that the largest adults of M. pascuali may have weighed somewhere between about 17 and 40 kilograms, although younger individuals were considerably smaller. The broad range reflects both growth and the difficulty of estimating body mass in animals with no exact living equivalent.

This was not, then, a mouse-sized creature scurrying unnoticed beneath dinosaur feet. A large adult may have been closer in mass to a medium-sized dog, though built very differently: low-bodied, sturdy and equipped with a disproportionately robust head.

Dog-sized (think border collie, beagle or small Labrador) but not dog-like. Its proportions were very different. 

It had a long, low body, relatively short limbs and a large, sturdy head—so imagine something between a stocky dog and an oversized badger, equipped with broad teeth for grinding Triassic vegetation.

Its limbs also tell an evolutionary story. 

Research suggests that the forelimbs retained a posture intermediate between sprawling and fully upright beneath the body, while the hind limbs were held more directly underneath it. Massetognathus occupied a fascinating anatomical middle ground—not half reptile and half mammal, which would be misleading, but an animal with its own successful combination of inherited and newly evolving characteristics.

The preserved skeletons of Massetognathus pascuali come primarily from the Chañares Formation of Argentina. 

These rocks have yielded an extraordinary community of Triassic vertebrates, including dicynodonts, predatory cynodonts and early archosaur relatives close to the ancestry of dinosaurs.

Many Chañares animals were preserved within volcanogenic concretions. Volcanic activity produced enormous quantities of ash, and water moving across the landscape may have carried ash and sediment into low-lying areas. Animals buried in this material sometimes became enclosed within mineral-rich nodules, protecting their bones for more than 230 million years.

Massetognathus is especially valuable because numerous individuals representing different stages of growth have been discovered. These fossils allow researchers to investigate how its skull changed as the animal matured. 

Young individuals were not miniature copies of adults: their skull proportions, teeth and jaw structures altered as they grew, providing evidence about feeding, development and life history.

More recently, researchers have even looked inside the skull using neutron tomography. This non-destructive imaging technique can reveal internal spaces associated with the brain, nerves and blood vessels without requiring anyone to dismantle a priceless Triassic cynodont—which is generally considered good museum manners. 

Such studies help us to investigate sensory biology and the neurological evolution of non-mammalian cynodonts.

We cannot say exactly what covered the body of Massetognathus. 

Close mammalian relatives are often reconstructed with whiskers or fur, but direct evidence for these features in this particular animal is lacking. It may have possessed some form of hair-like covering, or it may not have looked quite as cuddly as modern illustrations suggest. 

Fossils give us bones and teeth with remarkable fidelity, but soft tissues frequently keep their secrets.

Even without an approved fluffiness rating, however, this specimen is irresistibly engaging.

Mounted upright at the Natural History Museum Abu Dhabi, the little skeleton seems to have paused in the middle of its 235-million-year journey to welcome us. 

The pose may not represent how Massetognathus stood in life, but it succeeds in doing something important: it encourages us to stop, look closely and form a connection with an animal from a world almost beyond imagining.

Behind that appealing face is a beautifully adapted Triassic herbivore. Its strong jaws and broad teeth reveal increasingly sophisticated food processing. Its limbs preserve a stage in the changing locomotion of cynodonts. Its skull contributes to our understanding of brains and senses along the broader mammalian evolutionary line.

He may look as though he is waiting for friends, but Massetognathus pascuali has actually been waiting to tell us a much larger story—one about chewing, changing bodies and the wonderfully tangled family history that eventually produced mammals.

And after 235 million years, it would be rude not to say hello.

Scientific background: body-mass and dietary study in Acta Palaeontologica Polonica, original postcranial study archived by the Biodiversity Heritage Library, and recent traversodontid research and references from the Asociación Paleontológica Argentina.

Lead Image: Asset id: 2757017201. Abu Dhabi UAE 8th Feb 2026: A Massetognathus pascuali fossil at the Natural History Museum Abu Dhabi highlights this Triassic cynodont and its role in early mammal evolution

WHAT IS A FOSSIL? A MESSAGE FROM DEEP TIME

Pick up a fossil and you are holding evidence of a life.

Not merely an old rock. Not an attractive geological paperweight. Not something the Earth made solely to tempt us into climbing unstable slopes in inappropriate footwear.

A fossil is a message from the past.

It may be a bone, tooth, shell or leaf. It may be the delicate impression of a feather, the tunnel left by a burrowing animal or the footprints of a creature that crossed a muddy shoreline hundreds of millions of years ago.

It may even be fossilized dung.

The fossil record has never been overly concerned with dignity.

Together, fossils preserve the history of life on Earth: its astonishing experiments, spectacular successes, evolutionary detours and occasional catastrophes. They introduce us to organisms no human ever saw alive and to ecosystems that vanished long before our own species appeared.

But what exactly qualifies as a fossil—and how can something as fleeting as a footprint survive for millions of years?

Let us begin at the beginning.

SO, WHAT IS A FOSSIL?

Dinosaur Footprints near Tumbler Ridge, BC

A fossil is naturally preserved evidence of past life. That definition is deliberately broad because life leaves evidence in many different ways.

A fossil can be part of an organism’s body, such as a bone, tooth, shell, leaf or piece of wood. It can also be a mark made by an organism while it was alive: a footprint, burrow, feeding trail, nest or bite mark.

The organism itself does not necessarily need to be present.

This is one of the most important things to understand about fossils. We often picture a magnificent dinosaur skeleton standing in a museum, every rib neatly arranged and every tooth poised for drama. Yet complete skeletons are extraordinarily rare. Most fossils are fragments: a single tooth, part of a shell, a scrap of leaf, one vertebra or a dark smudge of carbon in the rock.

Some fossils are so small that thousands could sit comfortably on the head of a pin. Others belong to animals that stretched longer than a city bus.

All of them are evidence.

We divide fossils into two major categories: body fossils and trace fossils. The distinction is simple, but it opens the door to an astonishing variety of preservation.

BODY FOSSILS: WHEN PART OF THE ORGANISM REMAINS

A body fossil preserves part of the organism itself—or a direct impression, mould or cast of its remains.

The most familiar body fossils include:

• Bones
• Teeth
• Shells
• Exoskeletons
• Scales
• Wood
• Leaves
• Seeds
• Pollen
• Spores

Cenoceras Fossilized Shell Material

Hard parts are much more likely to enter the fossil record because they resist decay longer than soft tissues. Teeth are especially durable. A vertebrate animal may lose and replace thousands of teeth during its lifetime, greatly improving the odds that at least a few will survive long enough to become fossils.

This is one reason isolated fossil teeth are much more common than complete fossil animals. Nature produces teeth generously and skeletons only once per customer.

Shells also have an excellent chance of preservation. Ancient seafloors could accumulate the remains of countless brachiopods, molluscs, corals and other marine organisms. Over time, those shells became part of the sediment and, eventually, part of the rock itself.

The most durable portions of an organism dominate the fossil record. According to the National Park Service overview of body fossils, bones, teeth, shells, mineralized plates and wood are preserved far more frequently than skin, organs, flowers or fruit.

This creates an immediate problem.

The fossil record is not a complete census of everything that ever lived. It has a built-in preference for organisms with hard parts, those living in places where burial could occur and those fortunate enough to die under favourable conditions.

A clam living on a muddy seafloor has a better chance of becoming a fossil than a soft-bodied creature living on a windswept mountain. This does not mean the mountain creature was less important. It was simply less likely to leave us its forwarding address. We find many more of the durable creatures than we do the squishy. 

TRACE FOSSILS: WHEN BEHAVIOUR BECOMES STONE

Theropod Track, Thailand

Trace fossils preserve evidence of what an organism did rather than the organism’s actual body.

They are also called ichnofossils, from the Greek word ichnos, meaning track or trace. Scientists who specialize in studying them are called ichnologists.

Trace fossils include:

• Footprints and trackways
• Burrows and tunnels
• Trails
• Resting impressions
• Nests
• Root traces
• Feeding marks
• Bite marks
• Borings in shells or wood
• Coprolites, or fossilized dung
• Regurgitated material
• Gastroliths associated with an animal

A body fossil can tell us that an organism existed. A trace fossil may reveal what it was doing.

A line of footprints can show whether an animal walked on two legs or four. The distance between prints can help researchers estimate speed. Several parallel trackways may suggest that animals moved together, although such interpretations must be made carefully.

A burrow can reveal how an animal moved through sediment, searched for food or protected itself. Bite marks can document interactions between predator and prey. A resting impression can preserve the outline of an animal settling momentarily onto a soft surface.

Trace fossils often remain in the substrate where the behaviour originally occurred. Unlike bones, which may be carried away by water, scavengers or gravity, a burrow generally records activity at that exact location.

This gives trace fossils an extraordinary quality. They preserve moments. An animal stepped here. A worm burrowed here. Something bit this shell.

A dinosaur crossed this stretch of wet sediment, placing one foot after another beneath a sky no human would ever see. The animal continued on. The moment passed. But the ground remembered.

YES, FOSSILIZED POO IS A REAL FOSSIL

Coprolites are fossilized faeces, and they are among some of our most personal treasures.

They vary enormously in size and appearance. Some resemble pellets, spirals or lumpy stones. Others are difficult to distinguish from ordinary rock without examining their shape, contents or chemical composition.

Coprolites can preserve:

• Bone fragments
• Fish scales
• Plant fibres
• Seeds
• Pollen
• Insect remains
• Parasite eggs
• Chemical evidence of diet

They can help researchers determine whether an animal ate meat, plants, insects, fish—or almost anything unfortunate enough to fit inside it.

The difficulty lies in identifying the producer. Unless a coprolite is found directly associated with a particular animal, assigning it to a species can be challenging. Size, shape, contents and geological context may narrow the possibilities, but we must resist the temptation to point dramatically at every ancient dropping and declare, “Tyrannosaurus!”

Not every large coprolite came from the most famous carnivore available.

Still, fossilized dung offers something bones alone cannot: evidence of a meal passing through an animal’s digestive system. Coprolites are trace fossils that can provide direct clues about ancient diets.

One creature’s private moment has become everyone’s scientific business. Deep time can be terribly indiscreet.

DOES A FOSSIL HAVE TO BE TURNED TO STONE?

No. “Fossil” describes evidence of past life, not one particular style of preservation.

Some fossils are petrified or mineralized. Others preserve original material. Fossils can occur as impressions, carbon films, moulds, casts or remains trapped in substances such as amber, tar or ice.

Let us look at a few possibilities.

Permineralized Fossils

Bones and wood contain microscopic spaces. After burial, mineral-rich water may move through the sediment and deposit minerals inside those spaces.

This process is called permineralization.

The original structure may remain while its pores become filled with minerals such as silica, calcite or iron compounds. The result is denser and heavier than the original material but can preserve remarkable internal detail.

Petrified wood is a beautiful example. Its tissues may become mineralized so precisely that growth rings and cellular structures remain visible.

Replacement Fossils

In some fossils, the original biological material dissolves and is gradually replaced by minerals. The new mineral preserves the form—and sometimes even the microscopic structure—of the original organism.

It is rather like replacing a building one brick at a time while somehow retaining its shape.

Moulds and Casts

Imagine a shell buried in sediment.

The sediment hardens around it, but the shell later dissolves, leaving an empty impression. This cavity is a mould. If minerals or sediment later fill that mould and harden, they create a cast: a three-dimensional replica of the original shell.

An internal mould can form when sediment fills the inside of a shell and hardens before the shell disappears. Such fossils are sometimes called steinkerns, a German term meaning “stone kernel.”

Nothing of the original shell may remain, yet its shape survives. The body is gone. The absence has become the fossil. 

Compression and Carbon Films

McAbee Fossil Plants

Plants and soft-bodied organisms may be buried and flattened beneath accumulating sediment. Pressure drives away liquids and gases, sometimes leaving a thin film rich in carbon.

These fossils can appear as dark, delicate outlines on the rock. Leaves may preserve their veins. 

Fish may retain the shapes of scales and fins. Soft-bodied animals can sometimes be recorded in astonishing detail.

They are the geological equivalent of silhouettes—life pressed into stone. Some of the lovely specimens we find at the Eocene McAbee Fossil Beds near Cache Creek, British Columbia, are a great example.

Amber Preservation

Amber begins as sticky resin produced by ancient trees. Small organisms such as insects, spiders, mites and fragments of plants can become trapped in the resin. As the resin is buried and chemically altered over time, it becomes amber.

Amber can preserve extraordinary detail: hairs, wings, compound eyes and delicate structures that would normally decay rapidly.

It can even preserve tiny moments of behaviour. Organisms have been found trapped while feeding, mating, carrying pollen or interacting with parasites.

Amber is not a perfect time capsule, however, and it has not provided usable dinosaur DNA. The mosquitoes of Jurassic Park remain unemployed. If you are looking for some superb examples of amber preservation, check out the collection of Harry Tabiner in the UK. He has a remarkable eye and enviable collection, which he shares online.

Ice, Dryness and Natural Tar 

Cold, arid or oxygen-poor conditions can dramatically slow decay. Mammoths preserved in frozen ground may retain hair, skin, muscle and stomach contents. Natural tar deposits can preserve vast collections of bones, although the remains themselves may be stained, altered or compressed.

These forms of preservation remind us that a fossil does not need to resemble a traditional stone skeleton. Fossilization is not a single recipe. It is a vast collection of unlikely outcomes.

WHAT ABOUT FOOTPRINTS? HOW CAN A HOLE BECOME A FOSSIL?

A footprint fossil begins with a perfectly ordinary step.

An animal walks across a surface soft enough to receive an impression but firm enough to retain its shape. Mud and damp sand are excellent candidates.

The track must then be buried before wind, waves, rain, other animals or enthusiastic members of the herd destroy it. A new layer of sediment settles over the surface, filling and protecting the impression.

With continued burial, both layers may harden into rock. Millions of years later, erosion separates them again. One surface may preserve the original footprint as a depression. The layer that filled the print may preserve a raised natural cast.

Tracks are not simply stamps of the foot. The animal’s weight can deform layers beneath the surface, producing structures known as undertracks. These may be less anatomically precise than the original print but can still record the passage of the animal.

Interpreting tracks requires caution. Wetness, sediment texture, erosion and the animal’s movement can all alter a footprint’s appearance. The same animal could leave surprisingly different tracks after walking only a short distance.

We must study the track, the sediment and the entire trackway—not merely find three vaguely pointed marks and immediately summon the media.

HOW OLD DOES SOMETHING HAVE TO BE BEFORE IT BECOMES A FOSSIL?

You may have heard that a fossil must be at least 10,000 years old.

That figure is commonly used as a practical dividing line in educational materials and some regulatory contexts, but nature has not installed an official fossil clock that rings at midnight on an organism’s ten-thousandth birthday.

We may use terms such as subfossil for relatively recent remains that are not fully fossilized or that retain considerable original material. The terminology can vary depending on the field, material and legal jurisdiction.

Age alone is not the only consideration. Geological context, preservation and scientific usage all matter.

An ammonite shell 100 million years old is unquestionably a fossil. A mammoth tusk 30,000 years old is also a fossil, even if some of its original material remains. Very recent bones from an archaeological site may be described as remains rather than fossils.

The boundary is useful, but it is not a magical transformation.

ARE ALL FOSSILS VISIBLE?

Not remotely. Some of the most important fossils on Earth are microscopic.

Microfossils include fossilized pollen, spores, algae, bacteria, protists and the tiny shells or skeletal elements of marine organisms.

They may be smaller than a grain of sand, yet they occur in enormous numbers and can be tremendously useful. Because some microscopic organisms evolved rapidly and lived across wide geographic areas, their fossils can help scientists date and correlate rock layers.

Microfossils also reveal ancient environments. Different species lived under different conditions, so their presence can provide clues about water depth, temperature, salinity, oxygen levels and climate.

Oil and gas exploration has long relied on micropalaeontology to interpret underground rock layers. A microscopic fossil no larger than a speck of dust may help identify the age and environment of rocks buried kilometres beneath the surface.

Dinosaurs receive the posters. Microfossils quietly organize geological time. Alas, always the bridesmaid, never the bride... Dinos get all the love.

CAN MOLECULES BE FOSSILS?

Ancient life can sometimes leave chemical evidence even when no recognizable body or trace remains.

These signals are often called chemical fossils or biomarkers.

Certain molecules are associated with particular groups of organisms or biological processes. Modified versions of those compounds may survive in ancient rocks, providing evidence that particular kinds of life were present.

Stable isotope patterns can also carry biological information. Living organisms use elements in ways that can leave characteristic chemical signatures in their tissues or surrounding sediments.

Chemical fossils require careful interpretation because geological heat, pressure and contamination can alter molecular evidence. But when combined with other data, they can help scientists investigate some of the earliest chapters in the history of life.

Sometimes life leaves a bone. Sometimes it leaves a footprint. Sometimes it leaves little more than chemistry.

IS A DINOSAUR SKELETON IN A MUSEUM MADE OF REAL FOSSILS?

Sometimes entirely. Sometimes partly. Sometimes hardly at all.

Complete dinosaur skeletons are rare. Museum mounts are often composites, combining fossil bones from more than one individual of the same species. Missing elements may be reconstructed as casts.

In some displays, the original fossils are too heavy, fragile or scientifically valuable to suspend in a dramatic pose. Museums may mount lightweight replicas while keeping the genuine fossils safely stored for research.

This does not make the display fake. A high-quality cast reproduces the shape and surface detail of the original fossil while protecting irreplaceable material. Casts can also be shared with museums, schools and researchers around the world.

Labels generally explain which elements are original fossils and which are reconstructed. It is always worth looking.

The glamorous skeleton towering over the gallery may be a carefully assembled ambassador for a far more fragmentary animal.

IS EVERY OLD BONE A FOSSIL?

No. Sometimes an old bone is just that, an old bone. Not a fossil. Age and appearance alone do not prove that something is fossilized. Modern bones can become stained by soil and minerals, making them look ancient. Conversely, genuine fossils do not always appear dramatically different from ordinary bone.

Identification may involve examining:

• Geological context
• Colour and density
• Surface texture
• Internal structure
• Mineral composition
• Associated fossils
• Degree of mineralization
• Evidence of recent organic material

And no, licking it is not the preferred scientific method but, I confess, it is helpful in the field. Not fully diagnostic, but helpful. I have a good friend Skippy who swears by it.

There is an old field trick based on the idea that porous fossil bone may stick slightly to the tongue, but modern bone can do the same, as can many ordinary rocks. The technique is unhygienic, unreliable and particularly regrettable when the mystery specimen is not bone at all.

Use a hand lens. Use comparative anatomy. Use laboratory analysis. Leave your tongue out of the peer-reviewed methodology.

WHY ARE FOSSILS SO RARE?

To become a fossil, an organism must pass through a series of improbable filters. Fossils are not rare per se, as I can think of localities with hundreds spread across the surface and more beneath, but they are rare in the sense that only a small percentage of the organisms that have lived have been preserved this way. To become a fossil is a bit of a process, as you might expect. 

First, the organism, dino, plant, or what have you, must die in a place where preservation is possible.

Then its remains must escape scavengers, decay, trampling, weather and destruction. They must be buried. The sediment must remain intact as it becomes rock. The fossil must survive heat, pressure, chemical alteration, faulting, erosion and the slow recycling of Earth’s crust.

Finally, it must become exposed—or be reached by excavation—at precisely the right time for someone to recognize it. Too early, and it remains buried. Too late, and erosion destroys it.

The fossil record is therefore both magnificent and profoundly incomplete.

Most organisms that ever lived left no known fossil. Entire species may have appeared, flourished and vanished without preserving a trace that we have yet discovered.

Soft-bodied organisms are especially underrepresented. Environments such as mountains, forests and tropical soils generally offer fewer opportunities for long-term preservation than lakes, river floodplains and marine sediments.

When we reconstruct ancient ecosystems, we are working with survivors of a second kind—not organisms that survived extinction, but evidence that survived geology.

IS A FOSSIL THE SAME THING AS A ROCK?

A fossil is preserved within a geological material, and many fossils have been heavily mineralized, but “fossil” and “rock” are not interchangeable terms.

A rock forms through geological processes and may contain fossils. A fossil is evidence of past life preserved within rock, sediment, amber, ice or another natural context.

The distinction can become wonderfully complicated.

A fossil shell may retain original shell material. A petrified log may be almost entirely mineral. A mould contains none of the organism but preserves its shape. A trace fossil may consist entirely of disturbed sediment.

So, is a fossil a rock? Sometimes it has effectively become one. But what makes it a fossil is not simply its material. It is the biological information it carries.

WHAT CAN ONE FOSSIL TELL US?

Far more than its name. A fossil’s anatomy may reveal how an organism moved, fed or defended itself. Growth rings can record seasons or age. Microscopic wear on teeth may reveal diet. Bone injuries can preserve evidence of accidents, disease, combat and healing.

The surrounding sediment can tell us whether the organism lived in a river, desert, forest, lake or sea. Associated fossils help reconstruct the plants, animals and microorganisms sharing that environment.

Chemical analysis may reveal temperature, water conditions, migration or food-web relationships. Footprints may preserve speed and direction. Burrows can reveal oxygen levels in ancient sediments. Coprolites can contain the remains of a final meal.

Even the way a body was buried matters. Were the bones scattered by a river? Gnawed by scavengers? Transported by waves? Buried in a sudden flood?

The study of what happens to an organism between death, burial and discovery is called taphonomy. It helps palaeontologists separate evidence of how an animal lived from evidence of what happened after it died. A fossil is not simply an object. It is a scene containing clues.

WHAT IS NOT A FOSSIL?

Not every interesting pattern in rock was created by life.

Mineral crystals, concretions, sedimentary structures and weathered rocks can resemble eggs, shells, bones, skin, feathers or entire mysterious creatures. These geological look-alikes are sometimes called pseudofossils. Or, leaverits, as in leave it right there. 

Manganese minerals can grow in branching patterns resembling ferns. Concretions can look remarkably like eggs. Layered rocks may split into shapes suggesting shells or leaves. Some rocks possess suspiciously skull-like features and an unreasonable amount of charisma.

The human brain excels at recognizing familiar forms. This tendency, called pareidolia, helps us see faces in clouds, animals in tree bark and dinosaurs in the landscaping gravel.

None of this makes an unusual rock uninteresting. A pseudofossil can still be geologically beautiful.

It simply tells a different story.

THE FOSSIL RECORD IS BIASED

The fossil record is sometimes imagined as a great stone library containing the complete history of life.

It is more like a library after fire, flood, renovation, several lost catalogues and four billion years of questionable management.

Some chapters are richly detailed. Others contain a few scattered sentences. Entire volumes are missing.

Organisms with shells, bones or teeth are more likely to be preserved than soft-bodied organisms. Aquatic environments are generally better represented than upland habitats. Abundant and widespread species have a greater chance of discovery than rare, geographically restricted ones.

Even human activity introduces bias. Fossils are more likely to be discovered where rocks are exposed, where researchers can travel and where scientific work has been funded.

Palaeontologists must account for these biases when interpreting patterns of diversity, evolution and extinction. An absence of fossils does not necessarily prove that an organism was absent. It may mean that the right rocks were not deposited, did not survive or have not yet been explored.

The fossil record is incomplete. But incomplete does not mean useless. It means we must read it carefully.

A FOSSIL IS A RELATIONSHIP

There is another way to think about fossils. A fossil is not merely a thing that was once alive. It is the relationship between life and the Earth that preserved it. The organism contributed its body or behaviour. The environment supplied mud, sand, ash, resin, ice or minerals. Time transformed the evidence. Erosion returned it to the light. Then someone noticed.

That final part matters. A fossil can lie exposed among a thousand ordinary stones and remain silent until a curious person stops, looks closely and asks a question.

What made this shape? Why is this shell inside a mountain? Who walked here? What kind of world once existed beneath my feet? Every fossil discovery begins with attention. And many great specimens have been found by folk of all ages (many of them too young to vote) who take notice of the world around them.

A MESSAGE THAT SURVIVED

To hold a fossil is to hold a contradiction. It is evidence of death that teaches us about life. It is a motionless object that may record movement. It is a fragment capable of revealing an ecosystem.

It is ancient, yet newly discovered.

The animal, plant or microorganism did not set out to leave us a message. The footprint was not made for our benefit. The shell did not settle onto the seafloor hoping to appear one day in a museum drawer.

And yet the evidence survived.

Across burial, mineralization, shifting continents, rising mountains and relentless erosion, something remained.

A tooth.

A leaf.

A burrow.

A trail across the mud.

A tiny, stubborn piece of deep time waiting for someone to recognize it.

That is a fossil.