TRICERATOPS: HORNED GIANT OF THE LATE CRETACEOUS

Imagine standing on the edge of a warm, subtropical floodplain 66 million years ago. 

The air hums with insects, dragonflies dart over shallow pools, and cicada-like calls echo through the dense stands of magnolias and cycads. 

A herd of Triceratops horridus moves slowly across the open landscape, their massive, parrot-like beaks tearing into low-growing ferns and palm fronds. Each step sinks slightly into the damp soil, leaving broad three-toed tracks. 

The ground vibrates with the low, resonant bellows they use to keep in contact with one another, a chorus of sound that carries across the plain.

You might catch glimpses of other giants sharing the same world. Herds of hadrosaurs—Edmontosaurus—graze nearby, their duck-billed snouts sweeping back and forth through the vegetation like living lawnmowers. 

Overhead, toothed seabirds wheel and cry, their calls mixing with the shrieks of distant pterosaurs. And lurking at the edges of the scene, half-hidden among the trees, the apex predator Tyrannosaurus rex waits, its presence felt more than seen, a reminder that this landscape is ruled by both plant-eaters and their formidable hunters.

Triceratops was one of the last and largest ceratopsians, measuring up to 9 meters (30 feet) long and weighing as much as 12 metric tons. Its most iconic features were the three horns—two long brow horns above the eyes and a shorter horn on the nose—backed by a broad bony frill. These structures were likely used for defense against predators like T. rex, but also for display within their own species, signaling dominance, maturity, or readiness to mate.

Its beak and shearing dental batteries made Triceratops a highly efficient plant-eater. Unlike many earlier ceratopsians, it possessed hundreds of teeth stacked in dental batteries, capable of slicing through tough, fibrous plants like cycads and palms that flourished in the Late Cretaceous.

Triceratops lived at the very end of the Cretaceous, in what is now western North America, within the region known as Laramidia, a long island continent separated from eastern North America by the Western Interior Seaway. 

Alongside Triceratops, this ecosystem hosted a staggering diversity of dinosaurs, including ankylosaurs (like Ankylosaurus magniventris), duck-billed hadrosaurs, pachycephalosaurs, and smaller predators like Dakotaraptor. Crocodilians, turtles, and mammals also thrived in the wetlands and forests.

Fossil evidence suggests that Triceratops may have lived in herds, though adults are often found alone, hinting at possible solitary behavior outside of mating or nesting seasons. Juveniles, on the other hand, may have grouped together for protection.

Triceratops was among the very last non-avian dinosaurs before the mass extinction event at the Cretaceous–Paleogene (K–Pg) boundary, 66 million years ago. Their fossils are found in the uppermost layers of the Hell Creek Formation, placing them just before the asteroid impact that ended the Mesozoic. Triceratops mark the end of an era, as it were, representing both the culmination of ceratopsian evolution and the twilight of the age of dinosaurs.

Today, Triceratops remains one of the most recognizable dinosaurs in the world and a personal fav—its horns and frill embodying the strange beauty and raw power of prehistoric life. Standing face-to-face with a Triceratops skeleton in a museum is awe-inspiring, but to truly imagine them alive, you must step back into their world: warm floodplains, buzzing insects, herds of plant-eaters, and the constant tension of predators in the shadows.

MARINE PREDATOR OF THE DEEP: BLUE LIAS ICHTHYOSAUR

Ichthyosaur Vertebrae found by Lewis Winchester-Ellis

This well-preserved partial ichthyosaur was found in the Blue Lias shales by Lewis Winchester-Ellis. 

The vertebrae you see in the image here are from the tail section of this marine reptile.

The find includes stomach contents which tell us a little about how this particular fellow liked to dine.

As with most of his brethren, he enjoyed fish and cephalopods. Lewis found fishbone and squid tentacle hooklets in his belly. 

Oh yes, these ancient cephies had grasping hooklets on their tentacles. I'm picturing them wiggling all ominously. The hooklets were the only hard parts of the animal preserved in this case as the softer parts of this ancient calamari were fully or partially digested before this ichthyosaur met his end.

Ichthyosaurus was an extinct marine reptile first described from fossil fragments found in 1699 in Wales. Shortly thereafter, fossil vertebrae were published in 1708 from the Lower Jurassic and the first member of the order Ichthyosauria to be discovered.

To give that a bit of historical significance, this was the age of James Stuart, Jacobite hopeful to the British throne. While scientific journals of the day were publishing the first vertebrae ichthyosaur finds, he was avoiding the French fleet in the Firth of Forth off Scotland. This wasn’t Bonnie Prince Charlie, this was his Dad. Yes, that far back.

The first complete skeleton was discovered in the early 19th century by Mary Anning and her brother Joseph along the Dorset Jurassic Coast. Joseph had mistakenly, but quite reasonably, taken the find for an ancient crocodile. Mary excavated the specimen a year later and it was this and others that she found that would supply the research base others would soon publish on.

Mary's find was described by a British surgeon, Sir Everard Home, an elected Fellow of the Royal Society, in 1814. The specimen is now on display at the Natural History Museum in London bearing the name Temnodontosaurus platyodon, or “cutting-tooth lizard.”

Ichthyosaurus communis

In 1821, William Conybeare and Henry De La Beche, a friend of Mary's, published a paper describing three new species of unknown marine reptiles based on the Anning's finds.

Rev. William Buckland would go on to describe two small ichthyosaurs from the Lias of Lyme Regis, Ichthyosaurus communis and Ichthyosaurus intermedius, in 1837.

Remarkable, you'll recall that he was a theologian, geologist, palaeontologist AND Dean of Westminster. 

It was Buckland who published the first full account of a dinosaur in 1824, coining the name, "Megalosaurus."

The Age of Dinosaurs and Era of the Mighty Marine Reptile had begun.

Ichthyosaurs have been collected in the Blue Lias near Lyme Regis and the Black Ven Marls. More recently, specimens have been collected from the higher succession near Seatown. Paddy Howe, Lyme Regis Museum geologist, found a rather nice Ichthyosaurus breviceps skull a few years back. A landslip in 2008 unveiled some ribs poking out of the Church cliffs and a bit of digging revealed the ninth fossil skull ever found of a breviceps, with teeth and paddles to boot.

Specimens have since been found in Europe in Belgium, England, Germany, Switzerland and in Indonesia. Many tremendously well-preserved specimens come from the limestone quarries in Holzmaden, southern Germany.

Ichthyosaurs ranged from quite small, just a foot or two, to well over twenty-six metres in length and resembled both modern fish and dolphins.

Dean Lomax and Sven Sachs, both active (and delightful) vertebrate paleontologists, have described a colossal beast, Shonisaurus sikanniensis from the Upper Triassic (Norian) Pardonet Formation of northeastern British Columbia, Canada, measuring 3-3.5 meters in length. The specimen is now on display in the Royal Tyrrell Museum of Palaeontology in Alberta, Canada. It was this discovery that tipped the balance in the vote, making it British Columbia's Official Fossil. Ichthyosaurs have been found at other sites in British Columbia, on Vancouver Island and the Queen Charlotte Islands (Haida Gwaii) but Shoni tipped the ballot.

The first specimens of Shonisaurus were found in the 1990s by Peter Langham at Doniford Bay on the Somerset coast of England.

Dr. Betsy Nicholls, Rolex Laureate Vertebrate Palaeontologist from the Royal Tyrrell Museum, excavated the type specimen of Shonisaurus sikanniensis over three field sessions in one of the most ambitious fossil excavations ever ventured. Her efforts from 1999 through 2001, both in the field and lobbying back at home, paid off. Betsy published on this new species in 2004, the culmination of her life’s work and her last paper as we lost her to cancer in autumn of that year.

Roy Chapman Andrews, AMNH 1928 Expedition to the Gobi Desert

Charmingly, Betsy had a mail correspondence with Roy Chapman Andrews, former director of the American Museum of Natural History, going back to the late 1950s as she explored her potential career in palaeontology. 

Do you recall the AMNH’s sexy paleo photos of expeditions to the Gobi Desert in southern Mongolia in China in the early 20th century? I've posted a picture here to jog your memory. Roy Chapman Andrews was the lead on that trip. The man was dead sexy. His photos are what fueled the flames of my own interest in paleo.

We've found at least 37 specimens of Shonisaurus in Triassic outcrops of the Luning Formation in the Shoshone Mountains of Nevada, USA. The finds go back to the 1920s. The specimens that may it to publication were collected by M. Wheat and C. L. Camp in the 1950s.  The aptly named Shonisaurus popularis became the Nevada State Fossil in 1984. Our Shoni got around. Isolated remains have been found in a section of sandstone in Belluno, in the Eastern Dolomites, Veneto region of northeastern Italy. The specimens were published by Vecchia et al. in 2002.

For a time, Shonisaurus was the largest ichthyosaurus known.

Move over, Shoni, as a new marine reptile find competes with the Green Anaconda (Eunectes murinus) and the Blue Whale (Balaenoptera musculus) for size at a whopping twenty-six (26) metres.

The find is the prize of fossil collector turned co-author, Paul de la Salle, who (you guessed it) found it in the lower part of the intertidal area that outcrops strata from the latest Triassic Westbury Mudstone Formation of Lilstock on the Somerset coast. He contacted Dean Lomax and Judy Massare who became co-authors on the paper.

The find and conclusions from their paper put "dinosaur" bones from the historic Westbury Mudstone Formation of Aust Cliff, Gloucestershire, UK site into full reinterpretation.

And remember that ichthyosaur the good Reverend Buckland described back in 1837, the Ichthyosaurus communis? Dean Lomax was the first to describe a wee baby. A wee baby ichthyosaur! Awe. I know, right? He and paleontologist Nigel Larkin published this adorable first in the journal of Historical Biology in 2017.

They had teamed up previously on another first back in 2014 when they completed the reconstruction of an entire large marine reptile skull and mandible in 3-D, then graciously making it available to fellow researchers and the public. 

The skull and braincase in question were from an Early Jurassic, and relatively rare, Protoichthyosaurus prostaxalis. The specimen had been unearthed in Warwickshire back in the 1950s. Unlike most ichthyosaur finds of this age, it was not compressed and allowed the team to look at a 3-D specimen through the lens of computerized tomography (CT) scanning.

Another superb 3-D ichthyosaur skull was found near Lyme Regis by fossil hunter-turned-entrepreneur-local David Sole and prepped by the late David Costain. I'm rather hoping it went into a museum collection as it would be wonderful to see the specimen studied, imaged, scanned and 3-D printed for all to share. Here's hoping.

Ichthyosaurus somersetensis Credit: Dean R Lomax

Lomax and Sven Sachs also published on an embryo from one of the largest ichthyosaurs known, a new species named Ichthyosaurus somersetensis.

Their paper in the ACTA Palaeontologica Polonica from 2017, describes the third embryo known for Ichthyosaurus and the first to be positively identified to species level. The specimen was collected from Lower Jurassic strata (lower Hettangian, Blue Lias Formation) of Doniford Bay, Somerset, UK and is housed in the collection of the Niedersächsisches Landesmuseum (Lower Saxony State Museum) in Hannover, Germany.

We have learned a lot about them in the time we've been studying them. We now have thousands of specimens, some whole, some as bits and pieces. Many specimens that have been collected are only just now being studied and the tools we are using to study them are getting better and better.

Link to Lomax Paper: https://journals.plos.org/plosone/article…

Link to Nathan's Paper: https://www.tandfonline.com/…/10.1080/03115518.2018.1523462…

Nicholls Paper: E. L. Nicholls and M. Manabe. 2004. Giant ichthyosaurs of the Triassic - a new species of Shonisaurus from the Pardonet Formation (Norian: Late Triassic) of British Columbia. Journal of Vertebrate Paleontology 24(4):838-849 [M. Carrano/H. Street]

STEGOSAURUS: PLATED GIANT OF THE JURASSIC

Few dinosaurs are as instantly recognizable as Stegosaurus, with its double row of towering bony plates and spiked tail. 

This impressive herbivore, whose name means “roofed lizard,” roamed western North America about 155–150 million years ago during the Late Jurassic. 

Fossils of Stegosaurus have been found primarily in the Morrison Formation, a magnificent rock unit famous for preserving one of the most diverse dinosaur ecosystems ever discovered.

Stegosaurus could reach up to 9 meters (30 feet) in length but had a disproportionately small head with a brain roughly the size of a walnut. 

Despite this, it thrived as a low-browser, feeding on ferns, cycads, and other ground-level plants using its beak-like mouth and peg-shaped teeth. Its most iconic features were the dermal plates, some nearly a meter tall, running down its back. Their function remains debated—some have proposed they were used for display, species recognition, or thermoregulation.

At the end of its tail, Stegosaurus bore four long spikes, known as the thagomizer. 

Evidence from fossilized injuries on predator bones suggests these were formidable weapons, capable of piercing the flesh of even the largest carnivores.

Stegosaurus did not live in isolation. It shared its world with a cast of iconic dinosaurs and other ancient animals:

• Sauropods such as Apatosaurus, Diplodocus, and Brachiosaurus dominated the floodplains, their long necks sweeping across the tree canopy.
• Predators like Allosaurus and Ceratosaurus stalked the ecosystem, preying on herbivores. The spikes of Stegosaurus would have been a key defense against these hunters.
• Ornithopods, including Camptosaurus and Dryosaurus, grazed alongside Stegosaurus, representing smaller, quicker plant-eaters.
• Early mammals, small and shrew-like, scurried through the underbrush, while flying pterosaurs soared overhead.
• Freshwater systems hosted fish, turtles, and crocodile relatives, rounding out the ecosystem.

Interesting Facts

• The brain-to-body ratio of Stegosaurus is one of the smallest of any dinosaur, fueling the myth that it had a “second brain” in its hips—an idea no longer supported by science.
• Tracks attributed to stegosaurs suggest they may have moved in small groups, possibly for protection.
• Despite its fearsome appearance, Stegosaurus was strictly an herbivore. Its teeth were too weak to chew tough vegetation, meaning it likely swallowed food in large chunks.
• And, being one of my best loved dinosaurs, I chose Stegosaurus as one of my logos for the Fossil Huntress. This gentle giant is one of my all time favourites!

Stegosaurus lived tens of millions of years before the rise of dinosaurs like Tyrannosaurus rex, and remains one of the most beloved prehistoric creatures. Its strange mix of delicate feeding adaptations and heavy defensive weaponry highlights the balance of survival in the Jurassic ecosystem.

For those that love paleo art, check out the work of Daniel Eskridge (shared with permission here) to see more of his work and purchase some to bring into your world by visiting: https://daniel-eskridge.pixels.com/

A DAY IN THE LIFE OF A HADROSAUR

Glorious Parasaurolophus art work by Daniel Eskridge

Morning mist curls along the banks of a wide, slow river. The air is heavy with the earthy scent of wet ferns and moss, tinged with the sweet tang of distant flowering trees. 

Sunlight filters through the canopy of towering conifers, catching the mist in golden rays that dance across the forest floor. 

In the dappled light, a herd of Edmontosaurus—duck-billed hadrosaurs—trundle slowly along the muddy bank. Their broad, flattened snouts graze the lush vegetation as they move, leaves crunching softly underfoot. 

Occasionally, one lifts its head, nostrils flaring as it senses the faint rustle of small mammals or the distant call of a Troodon hunting nearby. The low, resonant calls of the herd echo through the valley—a combination of hums, grunts, and whistling notes, a complex social language that signals alertness or contentment.

Around the herd, the world teems with life. Tiny lizards dart among fallen logs. Feathered dinosaurs like Caudipteryx flit through the branches, their wings rustling against the leaves. In the sky, pterosaurs wheel silently, shadowing the riverbanks, while fish occasionally leap from the water, disturbing the mirrored surface. 

A Tyrannosaurus stalks at a distance, its presence felt more than seen, tension rippling through the herd as they lift their heads in unison, scanning the forest edge. Yet for now, they continue to feed, grazing on conifers, ferns, and flowering plants, their broad dental batteries efficiently shearing tough plant material.

As the sun climbs higher, the herd’s rhythm shifts. Juveniles cluster together near the center of the group, protected by adults forming a loose perimeter. Mothers communicate constantly with low-frequency hums that travel through the ground, letting their young know it is safe to graze. Each hadrosaur maintains a personal space, yet the herd moves as a fluid unit, coordinated by sight, sound, and subtle gestures. 

Occasionally, two adults nuzzle briefly or bump heads—a gentle reinforcement of social bonds within the herd.

By midday, the river becomes a focal point. Hadrosaurs wade into shallow water, stirring the mud with their broad feet, creating a chorus of splashes and grunts. The water’s surface reflects the glittering canopy above, disturbed only by the occasional leap of fish or the landing of a pterosaur. 

Here, the herd drinks, cools down, and reorients itself to the sun’s angle. Younglings playfully chase each other through the shallows, their calls mingling with the rhythmic lapping of water. Predators lurk nearby, and the herd’s vigilance never wavers—any unusual sound or movement triggers a wave of alert postures, heads lifting in unison, tails flicking nervously.

As afternoon wanes, the herd moves toward forested areas, seeking shade. The scent of resin from conifers mingles with the damp earth, masking the smell of predators. The larger adults lead, while subadults and juveniles follow, practicing the complex patterns of herd movement they will rely on for survival. 

The subtle vibrational signals—footsteps, tail swishes, body shifts—help coordinate the group over distances that the eyes alone cannot manage. Within these social structures, older hadrosaurs seem to guide the young, showing where the most nutritious plants grow and signaling which areas are safe.

By evening, the forest becomes alive with nocturnal creatures. Crickets and insects add a constant hum to the air, while small mammals rustle in the underbrush. The herd settles in a sheltered clearing, forming protective clusters. 

Some adults lower themselves to rest, heads tucked under broad forelimbs, while juveniles huddle close, still vocalizing softly, practicing the calls they will use to communicate when they reach adulthood. 

The sounds of the night—rustling leaves, distant predator calls, and the gentle low-frequency hums of the hadrosaurs—create a layered, symphonic soundscape of life at the end of a Cretaceous day.

The world of hadrosaurs was far from solitary—their forests, riverbanks, and floodplains teemed with life, forming a complex and interconnected ecosystem. While the herd grazed, the air vibrated with the calls of feathered dinosaurs like Microraptor flitting between branches, occasionally diving to snatch insects from the foliage. Small mammals—ancestors of shrews and multituberculates—scuttled across the forest floor, their tiny claws stirring the moss and fallen leaves.

Predators lurked at every edge. Tyrannosaurus and Albertosaurus prowled open plains and forest margins, stalking both hadrosaurs and smaller herbivores. Juvenile hadrosaurs, particularly vulnerable, relied on the protective circle of adults, whose heads, tails, and bodies created a living barrier. Even crocodilians patrolled the rivers, their eyes breaking the water’s surface as they waited for an unwary hadrosaur to drink or bathe.

But the landscape was not only danger and vigilance. Insects buzzed among flowering angiosperms, pollinating as they fed, while dragonfly-like odonates skimmed over ponds and streams. Frogs croaked from the damp undergrowth, adding a pulsing rhythm to the daily soundscape. Trees, ferns, and cycads provided more than food; their dense canopies offered shelter from predators and sun, while fallen logs and leaf litter created microhabitats for countless invertebrates.

Seasonal changes added another layer of complexity. During rainy months, riverbanks became muddy feeding grounds, leaving tracks that we find and study today. 

In drier periods, herds migrated across plains and valleys, guided by the scent of water and fresh vegetation. The interplay of predators, prey, plants, and smaller animals created a dynamic, constantly shifting stage where survival depended on vigilance, cooperation, and adaptability.

Through fossil evidence—trackways, bone beds, and stomach content analysis—we can reconstruct this rich tapestry. Imagining the sensory richness: the smell of resin and damp soil, the low hum of a herd communicating, the distant roar of predators, and the flash of feathered wings overhead, gives life to a world that has been silent for 66 million years. 

In that world, hadrosaurs were central actors in a vibrant, thriving ecosystem. Hadrosaurs were not solitary wanderers but highly social beings, capable of complex communication, coordinated group behavior, and protective care of their young. 

The hadrosaurs you see in this post are Parasaurolophus — one of the last of the duckbills to roam the Earth and their great crests were the original trumpets. We now know that their bizarre head adornments help them produce a low B-Flat or Bb. This is the same B-Flat you hear wind ensembles tune to with the help of their tuba, horn or clarinet players.

I imagine them signaling to the troops with their trumpeting sound carried on the winds similar to the bugle-horn call of an elephant.

Imagining a day in their life—from morning grazing along rivers to evening rest in the forest—reveals the richness of their world, teeming with interactions and sensory experiences that echo across millions of years.

For those that love paleo art, check out the work of Daniel Eskridge (shared with permission here) to see more of his work and purchase some to bring into your world by visiting:https://daniel-eskridge.pixels.com/

WARRIOR CRABS: KU'MIS

Look how epic this little guy is! 

He is a crab — and if you asked him, the fiercest warrior that ever lived. While that may not be strictly true, crabs do have the heart of a warrior and will raise their claws, sometimes only millimetres into the air, to assert dominance over their world. 

Crabs are decapod crustaceans of the Phylum Arthropoda. 

In the Kwak'wala language of the Kwakwaka'wakw of the Pacific Northwest, this brave fellow is ḵ̓u'mis — both a tasty snack and familiar to the supernatural deity Tuxw'id, a female warrior spirit. Given their natural armour and clear bravery, it is a fitting role.

They inhabit all the world's oceans, sandy beaches, many of our freshwater lakes and streams. Some few prefer to live in forests.

Crabs build their shells from highly mineralized chitin — and chitin gets around. It is the main structural component of the exoskeletons of many of our crustacean and insect friends. Shrimp, crab, and lobster all use it to build their exoskeletons.

Chitin is a polysaccharide — a large molecule made of many smaller monosaccharides or simple sugars, like glucose. 

It is handy stuff, forming crystalline nanofibrils or whiskers. Chitin is actually the second most abundant polysaccharide after cellulose. It is interesting as we usually think of these molecules in the context of their sugary context but they build many other very useful things in nature — not the least of these are the hard shells or exoskeletons of our crustacean friends.

Crabs in the Fossil Record

The earliest unambiguous crab fossils date from the Early Jurassic, with the oldest being Eocarcinus from the early Pliensbachian of Britain, which likely represents a stem-group lineage, as it lacks several key morphological features that define modern crabs. 

Most Jurassic crabs are only known from dorsal — or top half of the body — carapaces, making it difficult to determine their relationships. Crabs radiated in the Late Jurassic, corresponding with an increase in reef habitats, though they would decline at the end of the Jurassic as the result of the decline of reef ecosystems. Crabs increased in diversity through the Cretaceous and represented the dominant group of decapods by the end.

We find wonderful fossil crab specimens on Vancouver Island. The first I ever collected was at Shelter Point, then again on Hornby Island, down on the Olympic Peninsula and along Vancouver Island's west coast near Nootka Sound. They are, of course, found globally and are one of the most pleasing fossils to find and aggravating to prep of all the specimens you will ever have in your collection. Bless them.

LIVING FOSSILS: METASEQUOIA

Autumn is a wonderful time to explore Vancouver. It is a riot of yellow, orange and green. The fallen debris you crunch through send up wafts of earthy smells that whisper of decomposition, the journey from leaf to soil.

It is a wonderful time to be out and about. I do love the mountain trails but must confess to loving our cultivated gardens for their colour and variety. 

We have some lovely native plants and trees and more than a few exotics at Vancouver's arboreal trifecta — Van Dusen, Queen E Park and UBC Botanical Gardens. One of those exotics, at least exotic to me, is the lovely conifer you see here is Metasequoia glyptostroboides — the dawn redwood. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dawn Redwood Cones with scales paired in opposite rows

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

Metasequoia has paired needles that attach opposite to each other on the compound stem. Sequoia needles are offset and attached alternately. Think of the pattern as jumping versus walking with your two feet moving forward parallel to one another. 

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

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

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

Fossil Metasequoia, McAbee Fossil Beds

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Today, Metasequoia grow around the globe. When I see them, I think of Wang and all he went through. He survived the conflict and went on to teach other bright, young minds about the bountiful flora in China. I think of Wan Chun Cheng collaborating with Hu Hsen Hsu in a time of war and of Hu keeping up to date on scientific research, even published works from colleagues from countries with whom his country was at war. Deep in my belly, I ache for the huge cost to science, research and all the species impacted on the planet from our human conflicts. Each year in April, I plant more Metasequoia to celebrate Earth Day and all that means for every living thing on this big blue orb.  

References: 

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

LOWER LIAS LYTOCERAS AMMONITE

A superbly prepped and extremely rare Lytoceras (Suess, 1865) ammonite found as a green ammonite nodule by Matt Cape in the Lower Lias of Dorset. 

Lytoceras are rare in the Lower Lias of Dorset — apart from the Belemnite Stone horizon — so much so that Paul Davis, whose skilled prep work you see here, initially thought it might be a Becheiceras hidden within the large, lumpy nodule. 

One of the reasons these lovelies are rarely found from here is that they are a Mediterranean Tethyian genus. The fossil fauna we find in the United Kingdom are dominated by Boreal Tethyian genera. 

We do find Lytoceras sp. in the Luridum subzone of the Pliensbachian showing that there was an influx of species from the Mediterranean realm during this time. This is the first occurrence of a Lytoceras that he has ever seen in a green nodule and Paul's seen quite a few. 

This absolutely cracking specimen was found and is in the collections of the awesome Matt Cape. Matt recognized that whatever was hidden in the nodule would take skilled and careful preparation using air scribes. Indeed it did. It took more than five hours of time and skill to unveil the lovely museum-worthy specimen you see here. 

We find Lytoceras in more than 1,000 outcrops around the globe ranging from the Jurassic through to the Cretaceous, some 189.6 to 109.00 million years ago. Once this specimen is fully prepped with the nodule material cut or scraped away, you can see the detailed crinkly growth lines or riblets on the shell and none of the expected coarse ribbing. 

Lytoceras sp. Photo: Craig Chivers

If you imagine running your finger along these, you would be tracing the work of decades of growth of these cephalopods. 

While we cannot know their actual lifespans, but we can make a healthy guess. 

The nautilus, their closest living cousins live upwards of 20 years — gods be good — and less than three years if conditions are poor.

The flanges, projecting flat ribs or collars, develop at the edge of the mouth border on the animal's mantle as they grow each new chamber. 

Each delicate flange grows over the course of the ammonites life, marking various points in time and life stages as the ammonite grew. There is a large variation within Lytoceras with regards to flanges. They provide both ornamentation and strength to the shell to protect it from water pressure as they moved into deeper seas.

The concretion prior to prep

This distinctive genus with its evolute shells are found in the Cretaceous marine deposits of: 

Antarctica (5 collections), Austria (19), Colombia (1), the Czech Republic (3), Egypt (2), France (194), Greenland (16), Hungary (25), Italy (11), Madagascar (2), Mexico (1), Morocco (4), Mozambique (1), Poland (2), Portugal (1), Romania (1), the Russian Federation (2), Slovakia (3), South Africa (1), Spain (24), Tanzania (1), Trinidad and Tobago (1), Tunisia (25); and the United States of America (17: Alaska, California, North Carolina, Oregon).

We also find them in Jurassic marine outcrops in:

Austria (15), Canada (9: British Columbia), Chile (6), France (181), Germany (11), Greenland (1), Hungary (189), India (1), Indonesia (1), Iran (1), Italy (50), Japan (14), Kenya (2), Luxembourg (4), Madagascar (2), Mexico (1), Morocco (43), New Zealand (15), Portugal (1), Romania (5), the Russian Federation (1), Slovakia (1), Spain (6), Switzerland (2), Tunisia (11), Turkey (12), Turkmenistan (1), Ukraine (5), the United Kingdom (12), United States (11: Alaska, California) — in at least 977 known collections. 

References:

Sepkoski, Jack (2002). "A compendium of fossil marine animal genera (Cephalopoda entry)". Bulletins of American Paleontology. 363: 1–560. Archived from the original on 2008-05-07. Retrieved 2017-10-18.

Paleobiology Database - Lytoceras. 2017-10-19.

Systematic descriptions, Mesozoic Ammonoidea, by W.J Arkell, Bernhard Kummel, and C.W. Wright. 1957. Treatise on Invertebrate Paleontology, Part L. Geological Society of America and University of Kansas press.

SEA OTTERS: PLAYFUL TUMBLERS IN KELP

In a kingdom of waves and drifting kelp, the sea otters reign—rolling, tumbling, and spinning like acrobats in the surf. 

With shells for drums and sunlight for spotlight, they turn survival into play, joy into power. Tiny jesters of the ocean, yet fierce enough to hold an entire ecosystem in their grasp.

Sea otters (Enhydra lutris) are more than just charismatic charmers of the Pacific Coast; they are living links to an ancient evolutionary journey. Their playful demeanor hides a lineage that stretches back millions of years, into a fossil record that tells a story of transformation from river to sea.

The tale begins with their ancestors in the family Mustelidae—the same diverse group that gave us weasels, badgers, martens, and wolverines. The earliest otter-like mustelids appeared around 18 million years ago in the Miocene. Among them was Enhydriodon, a giant otter that roamed rivers and wetlands of Eurasia and Africa, weighing over 200 pounds—far larger than today’s sea otters.

By the late Miocene to early Pliocene, otter evolution was branching out. Fossils of Enhydra, the direct ancestor of modern sea otters, show up in the North Pacific around 5 million years ago. Unlike their freshwater kin, these otters were already well adapted to marine life: short, robust limbs for swimming, strong jaws for crushing mollusks, and teeth built for a diet of hard-shelled prey.

By the Pleistocene (2.6 million to 11,700 years ago), sea otters had fully taken to the sea. They developed one of nature’s thickest pelts—up to a million hairs per square inch—allowing them to survive frigid northern waters without relying on the blubber used by seals and whales. Fossil remains and genetic studies suggest that their range was once broader than it is today, extending along vast stretches of the North Pacific Rim.

These adaptations made sea otters not only survivors but keystone species. By preying on sea urchins, they keep kelp forests thriving, shaping entire marine ecosystems with their appetites. Without them, underwater forests collapse into barren urchin wastelands. With them, the kelp sways tall and green, sheltering fish, seabirds, and countless invertebrates.

It is a joy to watch them crack open a clam on its belly or twirl through kelp in a flurry of bubbles. 

From Miocene rivers to Pleistocene shores, for me sea otters embody resilience and adaptation, carrying forward the legacy of their fossil kin.

Sea otters are tender and attentive parents, especially the mothers who cradle their pups on their bellies as they float in the swells. 

A newborn pup’s fur is so dense and buoyant that it cannot dive, so the mother becomes both raft and refuge. 

She grooms the pup constantly, blowing air into its coat to keep it dry and warm, and when she needs to forage, she may wrap her young in strands of kelp to keep it from drifting away. 

This intimate bond, played out on the rolling surface of the sea, is one of the most endearing sights in the animal kingdom—proof that even in the wild’s ceaseless struggle for survival, tenderness finds its place. 

We call these playful relatives, ḵ̓asa, in Kwak'wala, the language of the Kwakwakaʼwakw (those who speak Kwak'wala), First Nations along the Pacific Northwest Coast.

NOOTKA: FOSSILS AND FIRST NATIONS HISTORY

Nootka Fossil Field Trip. Photo: John Fam

The rugged west coast of Vancouver Island offers spectacular views of a wild British Columbia. Here the seas heave along the shores slowly eroding the magnificent deposits that often contain fossils. 

Just off the shores of Vancouver Island, east of Gold River and south of Tahsis is the picturesque and remote Nootka Island.

This is the land of the proud and thriving Nuu-chah-nulth First Nations who have lived here always. 

Always is a long time, but we know from oral history and archaeological evidence that the Mowachaht and Muchalaht peoples lived here, along with many others, for many thousands of years — a time span much like always. 

While we know this area as Nootka Sound and the land we explore for fossils as Nootka Island, these names stem from a wee misunderstanding. 

Just four years after the 1774 visit by Spanish explorer Juan Pérez — and only a year before the Spanish established a military and fur trading post on the site of Yuquot — the Nuu-chah-nulth met the Englishman, James Cook.  

Captain Cook sailed to the village of Yuquot just west of Vancouver Island to a very warm welcome. He and his crew stayed on for a month of storytelling, trading and ship repairs. Friendly, but not familiar with the local language, he misunderstood the name for both the people and land to be Nootka. In actual fact, Nootka means, go around, go around. 

Two hundred years later, in 1978, the Nuu-chah-nulth chose the collective term Nuu-chah-nulth — nuučaan̓uł, meaning all along the mountains and sea or along the outside (of Vancouver Island) — to describe themselves. 

It is a term now used to describe several First Nations people living along western Vancouver Island, British Columbia. 

It is similar in a way to the use of the United Kingdom to refer to the lands of England, Scotland and Wales — though using United Kingdom-ers would be odd. Bless the Nuu-chah-nulth for their grace in choosing this collective name.  

An older term for this group of peoples was Aht, which means people in their language and is a component in all the names of their subgroups, and of some locations — Yuquot, Mowachaht, Kyuquot, Opitsaht. While collectively, they are the Nuu-chah-nulth, be interested in their more regional name should you meet them. 

But why does it matter? If you have ever mistakenly referred to someone from New Zealand as an Aussie or someone from Scotland as English, you have likely been schooled by an immediate — sometimes forceful, sometimes gracious — correction of your ways. The best answer to why it matters is because it matters.

Each of the subgroups of the Nuu-chah-nulth viewed their lands and seasonal migration within them (though not outside of them) from a viewpoint of inside and outside. Kla'a or outside is the term for their coastal environment and hilstis for their inside or inland environment.

It is to their kla'a that I was most keen to explore. Here, the lovely Late Eocene and Early Miocene exposures offer up fossil crab, mostly the species Raninid, along with fossil gastropods, bivalves, pine cones and spectacularly — a singular seed pod. These wonderfully preserved specimens are found in concretion along the foreshore where time and tide erode them out each year.

Five years after Spanish explorer Juan Pérez's first visit, the Spanish built and maintained a military post at Yuquot where they tore down the local houses to build their own structures and set up what would become a significant fur trade port for the Northwest Coast — with the local Chief Maquinna's blessing and his warriors acting as middlemen to other First Nations. 

Following reports of Cook's exploration British traders began to use the harbour of Nootka (Friendly Cove) as a base for a promising trade with China in sea-otter pelts but became embroiled with the Spanish who claimed (albeit erroneously) sovereignty over the Pacific Ocean. 

Dan Bowen searching an outcrop. Photo: John Fam

The ensuing Nootka Incident of 1790 nearly led to war between Britain and Spain (over lands neither could actually claim) but talk of war settled and the dispute was settled diplomatically. 

George Vancouver on his subsequent exploration in 1792 circumnavigated the island and charted much of the coastline. His meeting with the Spanish captain Bodega y Quadra at Nootka was friendly but did not accomplish the expected formal ceding of land by the Spanish to the British. 

It resulted however in his vain naming the island "Vancouver and Quadra." The Spanish captain's name was later dropped and given to the island on the east side of Discovery Strait. Again, another vain and unearned title that persists to this day.

Early settlement of the island was carried out mainly under the sponsorship of the Hudson's Bay Company whose lease from the Crown amounted to 7 shillings per year — that's roughly equal to £100.00 or $174 CDN today. Victoria, the capital of British Columbia, was founded in 1843 as Fort Victoria on the southern end of Vancouver Island by the Hudson's Bay Company's Chief Factor, Sir James Douglas. 

With Douglas's help, the Hudson's Bay Company established Fort Rupert on the north end of Vancouver Island in 1849. Both became centres of fur trade and trade between First Nations and solidified the Hudson's Bay Company's trading monopoly in the Pacific Northwest.

The settlement of Fort Victoria on the southern tip of Vancouver Island — handily south of the 49th parallel — greatly aided British negotiators to retain all of the islands when a line was finally set to mark the northern boundary of the United States with the signing of the Oregon Boundary Treaty of 1846. Vancouver Island became a separate British colony in 1858. British Columbia, exclusive of the island, was made a colony in 1858 and in 1866 the two colonies were joined into one — becoming a province of Canada in 1871 with Victoria as the capital.

Dan Bowen, Chair of the Vancouver Island Palaeontological Society (VIPS) did a truly splendid talk on the Fossils of Nootka Sound. With his permission, I have uploaded the talk to the ARCHEA YouTube Channel for all to enjoy. Do take a boo, he is a great presenter. Dan also graciously provided the photos you see here. The last of the photos you see here is from the August 2021 Nootka Fossil Field Trip. Photo: John Fam, Vice-Chair, Vancouver Paleontological Society (VanPS).

Know Before You Go — Nootka Trail

The Nootka Trail passes through the traditional lands of the Mowachaht/Muchalat First Nations who have lived here since always. They share this area with humpback and Gray whales, orcas, seals, sea lions, black bears, wolves, cougars, eagles, ravens, sea birds, river otters, insects and the many colourful intertidal creatures that you'll want to photograph.

This is a remote West Coast wilderness experience. Getting to Nootka Island requires some planning as you'll need to take a seaplane or water taxi to reach the trailhead. The trail takes 4-8 days to cover the 37 km year-round hike. The peak season is July to September. Permits are not required for the hike. 

Access via: Air Nootka floatplane, water taxi, or MV Uchuck III

• Dan Bowen, VIPS on the Fossils of Nootka: https://youtu.be/rsewBFztxSY
• https://www.thecanadianencyclopedia.ca/en/article/sir-james-douglas
• file:///C:/Users/tosca/Downloads/186162-Article%20Text-199217-1-10-20151106.pdf
• Nootka Trip Planning: https://mbguiding.ca/nootka-trail-nootka-island/#overview

MIGWAT: SLEEK, PLAYFUL SEALS

Seals—those sleek, playful creatures that glide through our oceans and lounge on rocky shores—are part of a remarkable evolutionary story stretching back millions of years. 

Though we often see them today basking on beaches or popping their heads above the waves, their journey through the fossil record reveals a dramatic tale of land-to-sea adaptation and ancient global wanderings.

Seals belong to a group of marine mammals called pinnipeds, which also includes sea lions and walruses. All pinnipeds share a common ancestry with terrestrial carnivores, and their closest living relatives today are bears and mustelids (like otters and weasels). Their ancestors walked on land before evolving to thrive in marine environments.

The fossil record suggests that pinnipeds first emerged during the Oligocene epoch, around 33 to 23 million years ago. These early proto-seals likely lived along coastal environments, where they gradually adapted to life in the water. Over time, their limbs transformed into flippers, their bodies streamlined, and their reliance on the sea for food and movement became complete.

In Kwak'wala, the language of the Kwakwaka'wakw of the Pacific Northwest, seals are known as migwat, and fur seals are referred to as xa'wa.

STROMNESS: SHACKLETON'S LAST HOPE AT THE END OF THE WORLD

The air reeks of rust, salt, and old oil as you step onto the weathered ground of Stromness, an abandoned whaling station on the northern coast of South Georgia Island in the storm-lashed South Atlantic. 

A cautious fur seal lifts its head from the surf, nostrils flaring, eyes bright and unblinking — the true heirs of this desolate shore.

Cradled between three natural harbours on the west side of Stromness Bay, this bleak outpost is far more than a scattering of ruins. It was once the last lifeline for Sir Ernest Shackleton and his men in 1916 — a place where survival and history collided.

The story begins in a less noble chapter. In 1907, a floating factory anchored in Stromness Harbour, followed by a permanent land station in 1912. From then until 1931, Stromness was alive with the grim industry of whaling — the hiss of steam, the gut-wrenching stench of blubber boiling in great iron vats, and the cries of seabirds feasting on discarded scraps. 

After the decline of whaling, the station limped on as a ship repair yard, machine shop, and foundry until 1961, when it closed for good. The ocean winds and glaciers began their slow reclamation, while fur seals, elephant seals, and penguins turned the place into their own unruly kingdom.

Yet Stromness is etched into human memory not for its industry, but for Shackleton’s desperate gamble.

In 1914, as World War One erupted in Europe, Shackleton launched the grandly named Imperial Trans-Antarctic Expedition. 

His dream: to cross the Antarctic continent from sea to sea. His reality: a voyage into the most terrifying ocean on Earth, where waves rise like moving mountains and winds scream like banshees.

On 5 December 1914, Shackleton and his crew set out aboard the Endurance. By January 1915, deep in the Weddell Sea, the ship was trapped fast in the ice. The men camped on the shifting floes until the vessel was crushed and abandoned. For months, they drifted at the mercy of the pack ice, surviving on penguin and seal meat, their beards iced, their bodies wasted.

Shackleton made a choice: salvation lay 800 miles away across the stormy Southern Ocean. With Frank Worsley and Tom Crean, he boarded the tiny lifeboat James Caird — just 22 feet long (6.7 m). Launched on 24 April 1916, they battled hurricane winds, ice-cold spray, and waves tall enough to swallow ships whole. Their world was endless gray: salt-stung eyes, frozen fingers, and the unrelenting stink of wet wool and despair.

For fifteen days the Caird clawed its way across the most dangerous waters on Earth. By 8 May, the jagged cliffs of South Georgia appeared through the fog. Hope. Yet hurricane-force winds barred any landing. Shackleton’s men clung to life offshore, the boat threatening to dash to splinters against black rock. Only after the seas relented did they stagger ashore, frostbitten, skeletal, and shaking.

Landing was only the beginning. Stromness lay on the opposite side of the island — across mountains no man had crossed before. For 36 hours, Shackleton, Crean, and Worsley pushed across glaciers and jagged peaks, their clothes stiff with salt, their bodies burning with exhaustion. At last, they stumbled into Stromness, collapsing at the door of the manager’s house — the so-called “Villa,” a modest dwelling that seemed palatial compared to the wreck of their journey.

Ernest Shackleton

From there, Shackleton wasted no time. He dispatched a boat to retrieve the men left behind and began organizing the rescue of those stranded on Elephant Island. 

Three times, sea ice turned him back. Finally, with the help of the Chilean government, Shackleton secured the tug Yelcho, commanded by Captain Luis Pardo. On 30 August 1916 — four and a half months after Shackleton had left — every last man was rescued. Not one life lost.

Today, Stromness lies silent beneath the shriek of gulls and the thunder of surf. Its corrugated-iron buildings are collapsing, their skeletal frames streaked orange with rust. 

The air carries the sharp tang of sea spray, mingled with the faint ghost of oil and smoke. A small whalers’ cemetery nearby holds just fourteen markers, mute reminders of another era.

In recent years, efforts have been made to stabilize the Villa and clear dangerous debris, allowing visitors to tread safely where Shackleton once staggered. 

Standing here, amidst ruin reclaimed by seals and snow, you feel the weight of history. Stromness is more than an abandoned station — it is a monument to human endurance against an unforgiving ocean that has swallowed countless ships and men whole.

WEST COAST OYSTERS: T'LOXT'LOX

One of the now rare species of oysters in the Pacific Northwest is the Olympia oyster, Ostrea lurida, (Carpenter, 1864).  

While rare today, these are British Columbia’s only native oyster. 

Had you been dining on their brethren in the 1800s or earlier, it would have been this species you were consuming. Middens from Port Hardy to California are built from Ostrea lurida.

These wonderful invertebrates bare their souls with every bite. Have they lived in cold water, deep beneath the sea, protected from the sun's rays and heat? Are they the rough and tumble beach denizens whose thick shells tell us of a life spent withstanding the relentless pounding of the sea? Is the oyster in your mouth thin and slimy having just done the nasty—spurred by the warming waters of Spring? 

Is this oyster a local or was it shipped to your current local and, if asked, would greet you with "Kon'nichiwa?" Not if the beauty on your plate is indeed Ostrea lurida. 

Oyster in Kwak'wala is t̕łox̱t̕łox̱

We have been cultivating, indeed maximizing the influx of invasive species to the cold waters of the Salish Sea for many years. 

But in the wild waters off the coast of British Columbia is the last natural abundant habitat of the tasty Ostrea lurida in the pristine waters of  Nootka Sound. 

The area is home to the Nuu-chah-nulth First Nations who have consumed this species boiled or steamed for thousands of years. Here these ancient oysters not only survive but thrive — building reefs and providing habitat for crab, anemones and small marine animals. 

Oysters are in the family Ostreidae — the true oysters. Their lineage evolved in the Early Triassic — 251 - 247 million years ago. 

In the Kwak̓wala language of the Kwakwaka'wakw, speakers of Kwak'wala, of the Pacific Northwest and my family, an oyster is known as t̕łox̱t̕łox̱. 

I am curious to learn if any of the Nuu-chah-nulth have a different word for an oyster. If you happen to know, I would be grateful to learn.

SHAGGY TITANS OF THE GRASSLANDS: BISON

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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