FOSSILS OF EGYPT: TRACING LIFE FROM LAND TO SEA

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

LURKING IN THE LATE CRETACEOUS: RAJASAURUS

Rajasaurus narmadensis

In the humid, fern-thick forests of Late Cretaceous India — about 67 million years ago — a flash of red moves between the tree trunks.

Think oxidized iron and dried blood — deep crimson-orange broken by pale white striping and bold black bands along the flanks and tail. 

In dappled forest light, those stripes would fracture the animal’s outline, a trick modern tigers use to unnerving effect. Camouflage is not new. Evolution figured that out long before mammals started prowling.

This is Rajasaurus narmadensis, the “king lizard of the Narmada,” known from the Lameta Formation of central India. 

At roughly 6–7 meters long and weighing perhaps a metric ton, it was not the largest theropod of its time — but it did not need to be. It was built for hunting.

Rajasaurus belongs to the Abelisauridae, a clade of short-snouted, deep-skulled theropods that dominated the southern continents of Gondwana. If you squint, you can see its relatives in Madagascar’s Majungasaurus, Argentina’s Carnotaurus, and Africa’s Rugops. These animals were the southern answer to the tyrannosaurs of the north.

Unlike the long-snouted, banana-toothed elegance of Tyrannosaurus rex, abelisaurids had blunt, boxy skulls and often elaborate cranial ornamentation. Rajasaurus sported a single low horn or dome on its forehead — not a unicorn spike, but a thickened bony crest. 

It likely served for display, species recognition, or perhaps ritualized head-shoving contests. Theropods were dramatic. This is not speculation; this is pattern recognition across deep time.

Its forelimbs? Tiny. Comically so. Abelisaurids doubled down on arm reduction — evolution looked at the T. rex blueprint and said, “Let’s go smaller.” The arms were functionally irrelevant in prey capture. This was a head-driven predator. And what a head it was.

Rajasaurus lived in interesting times. Late Cretaceous India was not yet welded to Asia. It was a drifting island continent, sliding northward across the Tethys Ocean. The climate was warm, seasonally dry, punctuated by monsoonal rains. River systems braided across floodplains. Forests of conifers, palms, and flowering plants thickened along waterways. Ferns and horsetails crowded the understory.

Sharing that forest were enormous titanosaurian sauropods, including forms like Isisaurus and Jainosaurus. Long-necked, barrel-bodied giants moved in herds, stripping vegetation and reshaping the landscape as they fed. Their hatchlings and juveniles would have been very much on Rajasaurus’s radar.

Small ornithischian dinosaurs darted through the brush. Crocodyliforms basked along muddy riverbanks. Turtles paddled in oxbow lakes. Mammals — small, mostly nocturnal insectivores — kept wisely out of sight.

Pterosaurs likely wheeled overhead. Insects buzzed. The forest was noisy, layered, alive.

And somewhere within it, Rajasaurus was listening.

Abelisaurids had thick necks and reinforced skulls. Biomechanical studies of relatives like Majungasaurus suggest a predatory style focused less on bone-crushing bite force and more on repeated, slashing bites combined with powerful neck musculature. Think controlled violence rather than single catastrophic impact.

Rajasaurus likely relied on ambush. In dense forest cover, speed over short distances would matter more than marathon endurance. Its hind limbs were strong and proportioned for bursts of acceleration.

Picture it waiting — body low, tail held rigid for balance. A subadult titanosaur lingers near the herd’s edge. A misstep. A moment of distraction. The red-and-white predator explodes from cover.

The jaws close around soft tissue — flank, neck, perhaps hind limb — and then release. Another strike. And another. Blood loss and shock do the rest. Abelisaurids may not have grappled like dromaeosaurs or crushed like tyrannosaurs, but they were efficient.

And they were persistent.

There is even evidence of cannibalism among some abelisaurids (looking at you, Majungasaurus), so it’s not unreasonable to suspect Rajasaurus would not waste protein when opportunity presented itself. 

The predators of the Late Cretaceous were not sentimental.

Phylogenetically, Rajasaurus sits within Abelisaurinae, closely related to Majungasaurus of Madagascar and South American forms such as Carnotaurus sastrei. This distribution tells a broader tectonic story — these predators evolved across the southern fragments of Gondwana before continental breakup isolated their lineages.

India’s northward drift preserved a snapshot of this southern evolutionary experiment just before the asteroid impact that would end the non-avian dinosaurs.

Rajasaurus lived within a few million years of that event. Which means this red-striped hunter walked forests that would soon vanish under global firestorms, impact winter, and ecological collapse.

The gorgeous illustration you see here is by the supremely talented Daniel Eskridge, licensed for use. Appreciate you, Daniel. 

Timing, as ever, is everything.

OWLS: MASTERS OF THE HUNT

They move through the night as if stitched into it, seamless and soundless. You don’t hear an owl arrive. 

You feel it—the brief shift in the air above your head, a whisper of movement. It always feels me with a sense of awe. 

The silence is part of the hunt. Each feather, soft-edged and velvet-fringed, pulls the air apart without letting it stitch back into a sound. It is the most refined stealth technology evolution ever produced.

Out of the dusk they come, low and spectral. A heart-shaped face turns like a satellite dish, searching, mapping the world not with sight but with sound—every rustle of vole or beetle sketched in invisible lines. 

In Kwak’wala, the language of the Kwakwaka’wakw peoples of northern Vancouver Island, both an owl and a carved owl mask are called, Da̱xda̱xa̱luła̱mł, (though I have also heard them called Gwax̱w̱a̱lawadi, names that carries deep layers of meaning within their sounds. 

Snowy Owl

Amongst the Kwagu’ł and cousin Kwakwaka’wakw First Nations (those who speak Kwak'wala), the owl is often regarded as a messenger between worlds—a being that moves freely between the realm of the living and the spirit world. 

Its nocturnal calls are heard as sounds of the forest but also messages from ancestors, guiding, cautioning, or reminding listeners of their connection to those who came before. 

The owl’s ability to see in darkness and to travel silently through the night makes it a symbol of perception, transformation, and spiritual awareness, woven into the ceremonial stories and teachings that link human life to the greater cycles of nature and the unseen.

The Barn Owl, Tyto alba, pale as old linen and light as breath, drifts over stubble fields and meadows on a night wind. Its back is mottled with gold and grey, a shimmer of faded ochre dusted with starlight, while its underparts are moon-pale, unmarked. To see one cross a field in darkness is to glimpse a ghost that has learned to eat.

Barn Owls wear the night differently from their kin. Where they are gold and ivory, the Great Grey Owl, Strix nebulosa, is a storm of silver mist and charcoal, all rings and ripples of smoke. The Snowy Owl, Bubo scandiacus, gleams white as an Arctic sunbeam, each feather edged in ink like frost-shadow on snow. 

The Tawny Owl, Strix aluco, one of my favourite woodland companions, takes the colour of leaf litter and bark, warm brown and russet, perfectly disguised against a tree trunk’s skin. 

The diversity of owl plumage tells the story of their worlds—the open field, the frozen tundra, the dense woodland—and of their mastery of concealment. 

Every pattern is a negotiation with light and habitat, a balance between being unseen and seeing everything.

The eyes, of course, are what we remember. They are not round but tubes, locked in place by bone, forcing the head to turn instead. Two great wells of amber, gold, or black glass, evolved to harvest every drop of night. Behind them, the facial disc funnels sound to asymmetrical ears—one higher than the other, tuned to triangulate the faintest scurry in the dark. 

An owl hears in three dimensions; it knows precisely not just where a mouse is, but how far beneath the snow or under the leaf mould it crouches. 

The result is a predator with seemingly supernatural powers. The flight is the confirmation.

Yet for all their modern perfection, owls are ancient creatures. Their lineage stretches far back into the Oligocene and beyond. 

The earliest fossils we can confidently call owls—members of the order Strigiformes—appear around 60 million years ago, just after the age of dinosaurs gave way to the age of mammals. 

One of the oldest known is Ogygoptynx wetmorei, found in the Paleocene deposits of Colorado, a time when tropical forests spread across what is now the Rocky Mountain region. 

Slightly later, in the early Eocene, we meet Berruornis from France and Primoptynx from Wyoming—owls large and powerful, already showing the curved talons and forward-facing eyes that mark their descendants.

The fossil record reveals that the ancestors of modern owls were even larger and, in some cases, more diurnal than today’s secretive forms. 

The Miocene produced giants like Ornimegalonyx oteroi of Cuba—standing nearly a metre tall, possibly flightless, stalking prey through forest shadows. Europe once hosted Strix intermedia, and North America its share of extinct Tyto species, some with wingspans rivaling modern eagles. 

By the Pleistocene, many of the owl forms we know today had already arrived: Snowy Owls gliding over Ice Age steppes, Barn Owls haunting caves where mammoth bones lay.

Those caves, in fact, preserve some of our best records of owl life. Owls, being generous regurgitators, leave behind pellets—compressed bundles of fur and bone that fossilize beautifully in dry shelters. 

Through these, we reconstruct vanished ecosystems: field mice of species long extinct, voles that once roamed British lowlands before the sea cut us from the continent. Each pellet is a time capsule, the residue of a meal but also of a habitat. These little truth revealing pellets are a delight to find (don't be squeamish!) and pull apart as they tell us as much today as they do from the past. 

There’s something wonderfully contradictory about owls in prehistory: creatures so adapted to darkness, yet so enduring in stone. The silent of their wings does not fossilize, but echoes persist in bone and pellet and in the gouge marks of their claws on ancient prey. 

In the fossil layers of Rancho La Brea in California, the tar pits have trapped the remains of owls that hunted across the Late Pleistocene grasslands—Barn Owls and Great Horned Owls (Bubo virginianus) caught in the sticky legacy of bitumen. 

In Europe, the famous Messel Pit of Germany has yielded exquisite Eocene specimens, complete with impressions of feathers and talons—evidence that the essential owl form has changed little in 50 million years. 

Once you reach perfection, evolution tends to leave you alone.

Their success lies in specialisation: asymmetrical hearing, silent flight, low metabolic rate, unmatched night vision. Yet their story is also one of vulnerability. The very silence that serves them in the wild renders them invisible to us until they are gone. Barn Owl numbers have fallen in much of Europe as hedgerows vanish and grasslands are ploughed. 

In contrast, urban owls like the adaptable Great Horned Owl have expanded their ranges, turning city parks into hunting grounds. Some species are reclaiming ancient territories; others fade into absence, leaving only their echoes and fossils behind. Where I live on Vancouver Island, I can hear their call in the night and early morning as they send out their plaintive calls for a mate.

So much of what makes an owl remarkable—the hush of its wings, the glimmer of its eyes, the shape of its face—seems almost designed for myth. We have read them as omens, messengers, symbols of wisdom or death. But the truth, as the fossil record reminds us, is simpler and deeper. 

Owls are survivors, engineers of silence that have watched the world change for sixty million years. When one glides over a moonlit field, I stand in humility watching its perfect design and adaptation to this world and its connection to realms I can only dream of.

THE CURIOUS TALE OF THE FOSSIL RHINO

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

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

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

The Dirty Thirties & The Great Depression

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

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

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

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

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

A Rhinoceros Frozen in Lava

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

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

Diceratherium tridactylum (Marsh, 1875)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Know Before You Go

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

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

The Burke Museum 

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

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

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

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

Lincoln, Roosevelt and Recovery from The Great Depression

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MISTY SHORES AND DAPPLED LIGHT: HAIDA GWAII

Misty shores, moss-covered forests, dappled light, and the smell of salt air—these are my memories of Haida Gwaii, a land where ancient stories are written in stone.

Formerly known as the Queen Charlotte Islands, the archipelago of Haida Gwaii lies at the far western edge of Canada, where the Pacific Ocean meets the continental shelf. 

These islands—steeped in the rich culture of the Haida Nation—are not only a cultural treasure but a geologic and paleontological wonderland.

Geologically, Haida Gwaii is part of Wrangellia, an exotic tectonostratigraphic terrane that also includes parts of Vancouver Island, western British Columbia, and Alaska. The region's complex geological history spans hundreds of millions of years and includes volcanic arcs, seafloor spreading, and the accretion of entire landmasses.

The Geological Survey of Canada (GSC) has long been fascinated with these remote islands. 

Their geologists and paleontologists have led numerous expeditions over the past century, documenting the diverse sedimentary formations and fossiliferous beds. 

Much of the foundation for this work was laid by Joseph Frederick Whiteaves, the GSC’s chief paleontologist in Ottawa during the late 19th century.

In 1876, Whiteaves published a pioneering paper on the Jurassic and Cretaceous faunas of Skidegate Inlet. This work firmly established the paleontological significance of the archipelago and cemented Whiteaves’ reputation as a global authority in the field. His paper, "On the Fossils of the Cretaceous Rocks of British Columbia" (GSC Report of Progress for 1876–77), remains a key early reference for West Coast palaeontology.

Later, Whiteaves would go on to describe Anomalocaris canadensis from the Burgess Shale—an “unlike other shrimp” fossil that would later be recognized as one of the most extraordinary creatures of the Cambrian explosion.

Whiteaves' early work on the fossil faunas of Haida Gwaii, particularly in the Haida Formation, created a foundation for generations of researchers to follow.

One of our most memorable fossil field trips was to the Cretaceous exposures of Lina Island, part of the Haida Formation. We considered it one of our “trips of a lifetime.” 

With great sandstone beach exposures and fossil-rich outcrops dating from the Albian to Cenomanian, Lina Island offered both scientific riches and stunning natural beauty.

Haida Fossil Fauna

Our expedition was supported and organized by John Fam, Vice Chair of the Vancouver Paleontological Society, and Dan Bowen, Chair of the British Columbia Paleontological Alliance and the Vancouver Island Paleontological Society. 

Their dedication to fostering collaborative research and building relationships with local Haida communities was key. 

We were warmly welcomed, and field trips to fossil sites were arranged in partnership with community members and cultural stewards.

The Haida Formation yielded beautifully preserved specimens embedded both in bedding planes and in concretions—hard, rounded nodules that often house exceptionally preserved fossils. 

Collecting in the mists along the foreshore, our finds included:

• Douvilleiceras spiniferum
• Brewericeras hulenense
• Cleoniceras perezianum
• Fossil cycads, evidence of rich Cretaceous plant life

These fossils offered a rare glimpse into an ancient marine ecosystem that once teemed with life. Douvilleiceras, a spiny ammonite, is particularly striking. 

Douvilleiceras spiniferum, Haida Gwaii

This genus, first identified by Whiteaves from Haida Gwaii, ranges from the Middle to Late Cretaceous and has been found across Asia, Africa, Europe, and the Americas.  

The Haida specimens, from the early to mid-Albian, to my eye are the most beautiful—and beautifully preserved.

  Douvilleiceras is one of my favourite ammonites of all time and I was blessed to find several good examples of that species from our expeditions to these fossil-rich outcrops.

All of the fossils I collected from Haida Gwaii have been skillfully prepped and donated to the Haida Gwaii Museum in Skidegate, British Columbia. 

It is a privilege to contribute in a small way to the scientific and cultural understanding of these extraordinary islands.

References and Further Reading:

Whiteaves, J.F. (1876). On the Fossils of the Cretaceous Rocks of British Columbia. Geological Survey of Canada, Report of Progress.

Jeletzky, J.A. (1970). Paleontology of the Cretaceous rocks of Haida Gwaii. Geological Survey of Canada, Bulletin 175.

Haggart, J.W. (1991). New Albian (Early Cretaceous) ammonites from Haida Gwaii. Canadian Journal of Earth Sciences, 28(1), 45–56.

Haggart, J.W. & Smith, P.L. (1993). Paleontology and stratigraphy of the Cretaceous Queen Charlotte Group. Geological Survey of Canada Paper 93-1A.

Carter, E.S., Haggart, J.W., & Mustard, P.S. (1988). Early Cretaceous radiolarians from Haida Gwaii and implications for tectonic setting. Micropaleontology, 34(1), 1–14.

ANCIENT ELEGANCE: UINTACRINUS OF KANSAS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That, to me, is pure magic.

DIGS, DISCOS AND DINOSAURS: FOSSIL PREP IN MIAMI

Phillip and Patricia Frost Museum PaleoLab

If you find yourself wandering through downtown Miami with a coffee in one hand and a healthy appreciation for ancient dead things in the other, make your way to the Phillip and Patricia Frost Museum of Science. 

Tucked inside this sleek, sunshine-soaked palace of science is one of my favourite museum features anywhere — a living, breathing fossil lab called The Dig. And yes, it is exactly as wonderful as it sounds.

And now, the Frost Museum has dug up something especially exciting — the PaleoLab. 

Visitors can watch a chasmosaur emerge from its rocky tomb alongside a still-unidentified hadrosaur slowly revealing itself bone by bone beneath the careful hands of fossil preparators. 

That is the sort of sentence that makes paleontology folk spill their tea with excitement.

This is not one of those dusty back-room museum spaces where fossils disappear behind closed doors, never to be seen again. 

Oh no. 

The Frost Museum throws open the curtains and lets visitors peer directly into the delicate, painstaking work of paleontology in real time. 

You can watch South Florida’s first research paleontology program in action as Fossil Preparation Technicians meticulously clean and prepare fossils collected in the field by Curator of Vertebrate Paleontology Dr. Cary Woodruff and his team.

Tiny air scribes buzz softly as technicians remove stubborn matrix grain by grain. Brushes sweep delicately over bones that have not seen daylight in tens of millions of years. 

It is equal parts science, surgery, archaeology, and wizardry. One wrong move and a specimen that survived asteroid impacts, shifting continents, and geological chaos could snap like a stale biscuit. No pressure there then.

The stars of the show are often Florida’s ancient marine fossils — enormous prehistoric fish, marine vertebrates, and beautifully preserved skeletons pulled from sediments that tell stories of warm shallow seas teeming with life millions of years ago. 

Florida may not be the first place folk think of when they picture fossils, but the Sunshine State is an absolute treasure chest of ancient marine life. 

During much of the Cenozoic, much of Florida lounged beneath warm tropical seas while giant sharks, dugongs, whales, rays, and schools of strange prehistoric fish cruised overhead like some beautifully chaotic underwater ballet.

And here is the lovely bit: you are not just staring at fossils trapped behind glass after all the fun is done. You are witnessing the actual process of discovery and preparation. 

Fossils emerge slowly from stone like ancient secrets, finally deciding they are ready to gossip.

The Dig also leans beautifully into hands-on learning. Visitors can explore tactile displays and even try digital fossil preparation activities themselves. 

Which is excellent because many of us secretly believe we could prepare fossils professionally after watching exactly six minutes of someone else doing it. The digital prep stations are a wonderfully safe way to test that theory without accidentally obliterating a 15-million-year-old fish skull.

The museum itself sits at 1101 Biscayne Boulevard in downtown Miami, all gleaming architecture and waterfront views. 

It is worth setting aside a good chunk of your day because Frost Science is packed with delights beyond paleontology — aquariums, planetarium shows, and enough science goodness to make your inner nerd very happy indeed.

If you go, check museum hours and tickets ahead of time as lab activity schedules can vary. And do give yourself time to linger at The Dig. 

There is something deeply magical about watching ancient life emerge slowly from stone under the careful hands of modern scientists. 

One moment, you are standing in humid, modern Miami, surrounded by traffic and palm trees… and the next, your mind is drifting through vanished seas filled with horned dinosaurs, hadrosaurs, giant fish, and creatures that vanished millions of years before humans arrived to marvel at them.

. . . . . 

As a funny aside, the last time I found myself in Miami, I was only meant to be passing through on my way to Nassau and Mayaguana Island. A missed connecting flight forced an unexpected overnight stay. 

The hotel clerk informed me — somewhat suspiciously — that only one room remained available on the 22nd floor. There was a great deal of awkward hesitation and “Are you sure?” energy at the front desk, which naturally made me think the room might be haunted, flooded, or home to a mildly aggressive iguana. 

What they neglected to mention was that directly above my room sat the hotel disco, where enthusiastic dancers in stilettos were hammering the floorboards like caffeinated woodpeckers attempting to excavate for oil. 

After lying awake for an hour trying to determine why the ceiling was experiencing tectonic activity, I finally gave up, got dressed, strolled upstairs, and joined the party. 

Which, honestly, feels very much in keeping with Miami’s general energy. That city is relentless. Resistance is futile...

DINOSAUR RIDGE: DENVER, COLORADO

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Visitor Center Experience

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

What It Feels Like to Be There

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

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

Planning Your Visit

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

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

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

ORANGUTANS: THE FOREST PHILOSOPHERS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TERTAPODS AND THE VERTEBRATE HAND

The irresistable tetrapod Tiktaalik

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

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

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

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

Elpistostege watsoni

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

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

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

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

Elpistostege watsoni

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

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

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

Origin of the Vertebrate Hand

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

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

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

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

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

Tiktaalik roseae

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

North America Map 1775 (Click to Enlarge)

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

The bittersweet British victory sparked the American War of Independence. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

North America Map 1866 (Click to Enlarge)

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

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

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

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

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

References & further reading:

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

FOSSIL HUNTRESS PALEONTOLOGY PODCAST

Step into deep time with The Fossil Huntress Podcast—a journey through the ancient heartbeat of our planet.

Close your eyes and imagine the world as it once was: strange seas teeming with ammonites and trilobites, ichthyosaurs and mosasaurs, fern-filled forests echoing with the footsteps of dinosaurs, and sun-warmed badlands whispering secrets from ages long past.

Together, we’ll explore Earth’s great fossil treasures—places where time slows and stone remembers. From sacred landscapes to world-famous dig sites, each episode unearths the science and stories that connect us to all who have ever lived, swum, or flown across this incredible planet.

This is a podcast about discovery, deep history, and the wonder of life itself. I'll share what you want to bring with you to enjoy your time in the field and adventure stories from my time there. 

From the tiniest single-celled ancestors to the mighty creatures that once ruled the Earth, you’ll hear how fossils tell the tale of change, resilience, and renewal—the discoveries that had me whoop with joy and the crushing defeat of a poorly split piece of shale.

So grab your curiosity, favourite the show, and come fossil-hunting through time with me—one ancient adventure at a time for some family-friendly fun. 

Head on over to the Fossil Huntress Podcast on Spotify, Apple or your favourite streaming service. The latest episode answers the question, "What Killed the Dinosaurs?" Currently streaming in 116 countries. 

SMILODON NORTH OF THE 49TH PARALLEL

This fierce predator with the luxurious coat is Smilodon fatalis — a compact but robust killer that weighed in around 160 to 280 kg and was 1.5 - 2.2 metres long.

Smilodon is a genus of the extinct machairodont subfamily of the felids. It is one of the most famous prehistoric mammals and the best known saber-toothed cat. Although commonly known as the saber-toothed tiger, it was not closely related to the tiger or other modern cats.

Up until a few years ago, all the great fossil specimens of this apex predator were found south of us in the United States. That was until some interesting bones from Medicine Hat, Alberta got a second look.

A few years ago, a fossil specimen caught the eye of researcher Ashley Reynolds as she was rummaging through the collections at the Royal Ontario Museum in Toronto. 

Back in the 1960s,  University of Toronto palaeontologist C.S. Churcher and his team had collected and donated more than 1,200 specimens from their many field seasons scouring the bluffs of the South Saskatchewan River near Medicine Hat, Alberta.

Churcher is a delightful storyteller and a palaeontologist with a keen eye. I had the very great pleasure of listening to many of his talks out at the University of British Columbia and a few Vancouver Paleontological Society meetings in the mid-2000s. 

"Rufus" was a thoroughly charming storyteller and shared many of his adventures from the field. 

He moved out to the West Coast for his retirement, first to Gabriola Island then to Victoria, but his keen love of the science kept him giving talks to enthralled listeners keen to hear about his survey of the Dakhleh Oasis in the Western Desert of Egypt, geomorphology, stratigraphy, recent biology, Pleistocene and Holocene lithic cultures, insights learned from Neolithic Islamic pottery to Roman settlements.

The specimens he had collected had been roughly sorted but never examined in detail. Reynolds, who was researching the growth patterns and life histories of extinct cats saw a familiar-looking bone from an ancient cat's right front paw. That tiny paw bone had reached through time and was positively identified as Canada's first Smilodon.

These Apex Predators used their exceptionally long upper canine teeth to hunt large mammals. 

Isotopes preserved in the bones of S. fatalis in the La Brea Tar Pits in California tell us that they liked to dine on bison (Bison antiquus) and camels (Camelops) along with deer and tapirs. Smilodon is thought to have killed its prey by holding it still with its forelimbs and biting it. And that was quite the bite!

Their razor-sharp incisors were arranged in an arch. Once they bit down, the teeth would hold their prey still and stabilize it while the canine bite was delivered — and what a bite that was. They could open their mouths a full 120 degrees.

Smilodon died out at the same time that most North and South American megafauna disappeared, about 10,000 years ago. Its reliance on large animals has been proposed as the cause of its extinction, along with climate change and competition with other species. 

APEX HUNTER OF ITS TIME: ANKYLORHIZA

Back in the 1880s, from fragments of bone weathered by time and tide, a most curious creature emerged into scientific view — an ancient toothed dolphin later named Ankylorhiza tiedemani. 

Its name, drawn from the Greek ankylo — bound or fused — and rhiza — root — hints at one of its more unusual traits: teeth with mostly single, fused roots. 

A formidable grin, and not at all what we might expect from the dolphins we know today.

We often think of dolphins as gentle, clever denizens of the sea. 

But cast your mind back to the Oligocene, and a rather different picture takes shape. Here was a hunter — swift, powerful, and armed with a mouthful of sharp teeth. Ankylorhiza tiedemani stood as the largest member of the Odontoceti — the great lineage of toothed whales that includes dolphins, porpoises, sperm whales, beaked whales, river dolphins, pilot whales, and their kin — all hunters of prey larger than plankton, all bearing teeth instead of baleen.

More clues surfaced in the decades that followed. Fragments in the 1970s and 1990s, and then something far more revealing — a nearly complete skeleton, now resting at the Mace Brown Museum of Natural History. A beautifully preserved skull, ribcage, much of the vertebral column, and even a solitary flipper. 

Rare treasures, these, for creatures of the sea. 

Together, they whisper a clearer story: a 4.8-metre predator, tracing its lineage back some 35–36 million years, diverging from baleen whales yet evolving strikingly similar features through convergence.

This was no languid swimmer. Some 24 million years ago, Ankylorhiza coursed through ancient seas with speed and purpose. 

Its body tells the tale — a narrow tailstock, additional tail vertebrae, and a shortened humerus in its flippers. Like modern dolphins, it likely powered itself with strong, rhythmic thrusts of its flukes, adjusting its course with hydrofoil-like flippers. 

Beneath the skin, robust muscles anchored to a relatively rigid torso — a design honed for movement, for pursuit, for the hunt.

The fossil record, however, does not always give up its secrets easily. Eocene whale skeletons show us the early transition from land to sea — limbs shrinking, bodies streamlining. 

But Oligocene specimens are rare, and with them, much of the story of how whales mastered fluke-powered swimming has remained elusive. 

Did these early dolphins possess the same refinements for speed? For a long time, we could only speculate.

Then came the work of Robert Boessenecker and colleagues. Their study of this remarkable skeleton reveals an animal poised between worlds — its forelimb structure bridging stem cetaceans and modern whales, its spine showing the beginnings of rigidity at the tail while retaining flexibility through the lower back. 

A body in transition, yet already capable.

And what a role it played. Its skull, teeth, vertebrae, and size all point to a macrophagous predator — one that hunted large prey and moved with relative speed. 

In life, Ankylorhiza may well have filled a niche much like that of today’s killer whales — an apex hunter of its time, commanding the ancient seas with quiet authority.

A fossil, yes — but also a story. One of innovation, convergence, and the relentless shaping of life in motion.