Strange Woman Abroad: Chongqing Ichnology Conference, Linshu Tracks, Shandong Province.

Hello, Dear Readers! It's about time that I resume my tale of my first paleontological trip to China for the Chongqing Ichnology Conference. We've been extremely busy since our helicopter trip into northern BC: we've been prospecting exposures of Late Jurassic-Early Cretaceous rock in creek beds, and we've also been preoccupied with the recent helicopter lift of our hadrosaur skeleton (a complete success.) We have a bit of down time before our return trip to China (which is good, as I seem to have caught the flu that is making its rounds around town), so now I can turn my attentions to sorting photos.

We are now at the morning of November 21st. The original plan was for us to visit the part of the Great Wall that was in driving distance to Beijing, but it snowed the night before so the roads were not considered passable. Instead, we went to the airport early. Almost eight hours early. The drive to the airport was very interesting. Actually, driving in China interesting, period. People on motorbikes dance in between vehicles going highway speeds with intricate choreography. I admit I was convinced our 15-passenger van was going to run over a biker on more than one occasion due to the traffic density and speed.

I thought these tiny bikes would not possibly stand a chance in the heavy traffic. Turns out I was wrong!

We made it to the airport without incident. What were we going to do for almost eight hours? We had nothing to worry about: Lida booked for us a private room in one of the airport restaurants where we could relax in absolute comfort. What was our version of relaxing? Each and every one of us (me, Rich, Martin, Hendrik, Julien, Daniel, and Lida) were either writing papers, working on paper reviews, or putting the finishing touches on our presentations for the conference. One catch for renting the room was that a certain amount had to be spent on food and drink. That was no problem for us: science is hungry and thirsty work, and we were there for two meals. We were also there for several playings of the looped background music: some techno club cacophony with the repetitive lyrics of "Are you ready to make some noise? Make some noise? Make some noise?"



Forgive me, Dear Readers, but there was no way I was going to put any effort into finding either the original or the longer playing version. Suffice to say I will NEVER get those lyrics out of my head. This is what I get for not having my audiobooks handy. We arrived in Linshu the evening of September 21, and were shuttled to our hotel.

We spent two days at the Linshu tracksites. Early Cretaceous in age, they boast an ichnofauna attributed to sauropods, ankylosaurs, stegosaurs, and small, medium, and large theropods. Our first stop was in a stone quarry on the outskirts of the populated areas. Once again we were greeted by our old friend the vertical track surface.

Tectonic action pushes once horizontal track surfaces vertical, and folded and faulted sediment layers are a common occurrence with vertical track surfaces.

At over six meters in height, we needed a way to get close enough to the surface to take photos, outline tracks, and do acetate tracings.

Free-climbing a vertical track face is not an option is one wants to collect useful data. Martin Lockley (left) was doing his best impression of a mountain goat to check out a contact between two rock layers when he and I were logging the stratigraphic section for the site.

Ichno-Geek Note: A stratigraphic section is the layers of rock that are deposited one on top of the other. These sections are diagrammed to show which rock layers came first, the grain size of the rock (fine or coarse), if there are any sediment deposition structures such as ripples or scour surfaces, and what the rocks contain (burrows, tracks, bones, wood, leaves, invertebrates, etc.) You cannot develop an accurate picture of the paleoenvironment in which these track-making animals lived without knowing under what conditions the track-bearing layers were deposited.

Once again we had access to ladders, but for documenting the large track surface featured above, we had something a bit more high-tech: we had a picker truck!

Martin Lockley and Rich McCrea taking 3D photogrammetry shots of one of the track surfaces.

While Daniel Marty and Hendrik Klein, did the primary documentation on the track face, and after Martin and I did the stratigraphic section, Rich and I decided to check out the rest of the bedding surfaces for additional tracks. I may have mentioned this before, but one of the great parts of vertical track faces is that multiple bedding surfaces can be exposed. It is not uncommon for one track surface to slough off only to reveal a completely new track surface underneath. I was still on the hunt for small tracks: invertebrates, birds, small reptiles, etc., and although I saw many finely rippled surfaces, rain drop casts, and many paired U-shaped burrows, bird tracks continued to evade me.

Likely Arenicolites, one of the U-shaped burrows that is commonly part of the Skolithos ichnofacies.

Small rain drop casts on a fine-grained silty sandstone surface.

We were not completely skunked in our search for the small dinosaur ichnofauna: Rich came across one manus-pes set of a small quadrupedal herbivorous dinosaur. We exposed the rest of the surface in hopes of revealing a trackway, but only the one manus-pes set was preserved in any convincing detail.

The manus (top) and the pes (bottom) of a small quadrupedal herbivorous dinosaur. Sometimes we can't get more specific than that without a trackway showing multiple prints. Single tracks also don't tell you if you are dealing with a small adult track maker or a juvenile of an already known track maker.

Meanwhile, work was continuing on tracing the multiple trackways of a large quadrupedal track maker (the paper was submitted in May 2013 - stay tuned!)

Acetate tracings in progress, with Hendrik Klein.

Martin Lockley had also been checking out additional bedding surfaces for tracks, and made a fantastic find: didactyl (two-toed) theropod tracks!

Martin Lockley (on ladder) and Hendrik Klein measuring pace and stride of the didactyl tracks. Martin uncovered most of this surface after seeing the first track (next to Hendrik's hand). This is part of the paper that was submitted in May 2013, so I won't go into too many details here. I'll post a link to the paper once it is available online. Stay tuned!

We also found out there was a documentary being filmed about the discovery and research of the tracksites in the Linshu area. We were all interviewed, and asked to compare the tracks at this site to other track sites we had individually worked on around the world. These tracks are comparable in age to the Earliest Cretaceous track sites in western Canada, but they have a slightly different ichnofauna...at least it appears as such at this point in our research. This is one of the issues we are working on solving, thanks to recent (as in just this month!) discoveries of Late Jurassic-Early Cretaceous tracks in the Peace Region.

Rich McCrea being interviewed for the documentary, comparing the Linshu tracks to the Earliest Cretaceous tracks from south east British Columbia.

As an aside, I think I was asked one question that the other members of the field team were not. Once the scientific questions were done, the interviewer asked "Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?" I said that a personal question was fine. I had a feeling the question was related to my gender: at this point in the expedition I was the only woman on the field team. The interviewer asked "How will having a family impact your career as a scientist and field paleontologist?"

Good question.

Technically still of child-bearing age, I had given a lot of thought to this particular question. There is no doubt that having a child would drastically change the level of field work that I currently enjoy. I would be a fool to believe otherwise. That being said, I know of a few mothers who began bringing their offspring to field sites as soon as the babies could support their own heads, so it is not impossible to balance both a field career and raising a child. It also helps to have a husband who is a working team member.

It is a good thing that I had actually given the topic some thought, otherwise I might have gasped and gaped with all the grace of a beached fish. The best answer I could give was this: if we do decide to have kids, Rich and I will work as a team to make sure that both careers continue successfully, and that our kid would grow up thinking that going into the field looking for dinosaurs with Mom and Dad would be a normal part of the summer. The documentary people seemed both pleased and interested by this answer.

The acetate tracing was completed, and with help of the picker truck removed without incident.

Daniel Marty and Hendrik Klein take charge of their masterpiece.

We had a lot of interest from locals. We could not tempt these kids to come out of hiding.

Three children watching those strange paleontologists, with the didactyl track face in the background.

We were introduced to the man, a local farmer whose name I was not told, who first noticed the tracks on the exposed rock in the area.

Ray You (foreground) capturing a picture of Lida Xing (red coat) and the local farmer (right) who discovered the tracks in the area.

It is not just the quarry that has track surfaces: several outcrops in the surrounding farmlands were rich with dinosaur prints!

Meter stick for scale. Do you see the footprints?

That was a full Day One in the Linshu region.

Day Two began with a visit to a different quarry. We first investigated a natural mold trackway of a small tetradactyl (four-digit) track maker.

Rich McCrea off to scout out potential track-bearing surfaces.

The small, tetradactyl trackway. There was some discussion as to whether shallow manual impressions were preserved. Small ankylosaur? Small stegosaur? The work is in progress!

I took a stroll around this slab to the back surface to see if there were any natural casts (infills) preserved from a lower track surface. I was not disappointed!

Just above my field book is a tridactyl pes print. The rest of the tracks are obscured by overlying sediment layers.

The same natural cast track surface, cleaned up and tracks traced. It is very likely these tracks were made by a medium-sized ornithopod.

Once some of the surrounding sediment was cleared away, the prints became more visible. I noticed that our group seemed smaller. Where did they go? They (Daniel Marty, Rich McCrea, Martin Lockley, Lida Xing) were checking out yet another track-bearing surface that preserved a trackway of a sauropod.

The lighting was not ideal for these shallow tracks, but Daniel Marty (black shirt) and Rich McCrea (grey shirt) lean over to get a closer look.

From bottom left to top right: Daniel Marty, Rich McCrea, Martin Lockley, Lida Xing.

In terms of field safety (besides the scrambling around vertical surfaces like so many mountain goats), we had to watch out for were wasps. The cold weather had slowed them down, but they were still technically active and were huddled together in small cracks and crevices on the track surfaces.

This wasp was not above stinging ichnologists who disturbed her sunning activities.

Before we left this tracksite to check out other exposures, I attempted an artsy photograph of the site...

...to be photo-bombed by Daniel Marty. I love working with people who have a sense of humor! If you are not enjoying yourself while you work, what it the point?

Try as I might, I was still not successful in finding any small vertebrate traces at these sites. My zeal to locate Early Cretaceous bird tracks did not go unnoticed, and the rest of the field team did their best to solve the nonbirdieness of the area.

Lida "finds" some webbed bird tracks for me to photograph.

On our way back to the city we stopped by the village to check out their open air market.

Ray You (right) chats with a vendor.

When our guides and local representatives saw that we were interested in local crafts, they took us to the Linyi Kingwillow Arts and Crafts outlet in Linyi City. If only I had luggage space: I do love wicker and willow furniture.

Kingwillow Crafts Center.

Baskets, chairs, tables, dressers...if it could be woven, it was here!

Including this large wicker bull! From left to right: City official, Julien Divey, Martin Lockley, Rich McCrea, Lisa Buckley, Hendrik Klein, Daniel Marty, and the owner of the Kingwillow company.

The next day was a travel day: on November 24 we traveled from Linyi City to Chongqing City, for three days at a unique tracksite.

Stay tuned for more ichnology fun!

S.W.

Five Souls On Board

There are certain aspects of my career about which I do not discuss with my parents in great gory detail. Not that the career of a field paleontologist is a sordid one by any stretch of the imagination (I have heard stories though...) but there is an element of risk involved, and I imagine that no parent wants to hear about their child entering risky situations.

Field paleontology, at least from my experiences in northeast British Columbia, is a tough job logistically and physically. To badly paraphrase one of the lines in Max Brooks' "World War Z", there are no difficulties - only challenges. The first challenge is the terrain itself. The natural resource industry has opened up access to a great deal of previously inaccessible terrain, but even with the scattered capillaries of access roads the ground is still difficult to survey. Roads take you only so far, meaning that access to a particular outcrop is gained through Good Olde Timey hiking. This brings up the second challenge: the wildlife. Pedestrian travel through the bush means coming into contact with the local inhabitants: (mountain) lions and black bears and grizzlies, oh my! Honestly, I am not worried by wildlife encounters. I don't naively tromp off into the bush smeared with bacon grease, but I don't have an illogical fear of wildlife. The resident critters are not out to get me: they would rather avoid that noisy ape crashing through the bush who smells of Deep Woods Off. We go into the wilderness prepared for an unpleasant encounter, and spray and bangers are an essential part of our field kit. 98% of my wildlife encounters have been amusing. During a three week foray into the alpine to document Early Cretaceous tracks, a juvenile Peregrine Falcon mistook our heads emerging over the crest of a hill as potential prey. We all looked up to see wings and talons screaming down on us. The falcon pulled up before impact when it realized it had made a big miscalculation in scale.

"Hmm...am I 100% sure those ape-things aren't edible?" Our Peregrine Falcon friend would hover above us while we took lunch above the tracksite. Photo credit: R. T. McCrea.

The third challenge is personal: one has to be physically (and mentally) able to break new ground while prospecting. Prospecting in northeast BC is not the same as a hike on a groomed forested trail. There are creek and river crossings, moraines and eskers to scale, bogs/marshes/beaver dams to slog, as well as trackless bush through which to whack. What looks like an easy hike on a Google Earth image more often than not turns into a six hour detour due to the ever-changing terrain (the link takes you to the abstract for an article in Canadian Geographic by Leslie Anthony, where our prospecting-by-raft expedition involved a six hour portage due to an unexpected rock fall in a river.) Trees fall. Industrious beavers transform low areas into a several kilometer long marsh. I now have a pair of boots that I use solely for bog and marsh crossings to save all of my field boots from smelling like the inside of Vulcan's toilet. This is done while not only packing your personal gear but packing all the gear you need for dealing with a fossil.

I personally love these challenges. I am far more comfortable in the wilderness than an urban setting, and don't become anxious if I am without of Internet or phone access for weeks. The hard work not only keeps me in good shape, but it also gives me an excellent reason to stay active during the non-field season. If I drop the ball physically, not only do I make it harder on myself once the field season arrives, but I increase the physical burden on my team: it's my responsibility to ensure that I am not physically the weakest link on an expedition.

No matter how long someone can hike with a full pack, there are areas that need assessing within a time frame too short to slog in on foot. If the budget allows, we take helicopter flights to extremely remote areas. As we never have the budget for a machine to be parked on stand-by at our drop off point or to fly in-and-out every day, we schedule a pick-up date and time and wave the pilot a cheery goodbye for hours, days, or weeks (depending on the length of the expedition.)

One of the most frequent comments I hear when people find out I've spent some time in a helicopter is "Oh wow, you're so lucky!" People charter helicopter trips for fun, and when you have a pilot who likes to show you some of the cool geographic features of an area close-up it's a blast. You get to see landscape that you would not otherwise ever see. The specific detail that I keep from my parents? Helicopter trips are one of those potentially risky situations.

Parents also don't want to hear about that one sedimentology professor who shared a lot of field tales of him and his colleagues, and that about 30% of the people he had worked with in the field had their stories end with "...and he died in a helicopter crash during a survey of [insert remote location here]." Keep in mind that these stories hail from the 1960s - 70s, and I imagine that quality control for both the pilots and the machines has increased since. Risky or not, if we have an opportunity to fly into an area that we would not otherwise get to on foot, we jump at the chance. My poor parents always tell me to be careful in the helicopter. That makes me giggle, because I'm sure they are imagining either that a) without that warning I'm going to ride the machine by holding onto the landing skids, or b) by me sitting in the helicopter thinking safe thoughts will be the only factor standing between a safe trip and a trip that ends in a burning pile of wreckage.

I recently returned from a prospecting trip into a fairly remote area in northern BC. It was only a day trip, but any time we go into a remote location by helicopter Rich and I pack what we call the "Oh S**T" bag. The O.S. bag contains everything we would need to survive for a few days without too much hardship if the helicopter is not able to return to pick us up (e.g. due to bad weather.) Our O.S. bag contains two hiking tarps, our bivy sacks, sleeping bag liners, a water purifier, light prepackaged snacks (to keep down food prep odors) and a light source. Our regular packs have all of our first aid material, satellite phone, bear deterrents, and rain gear.

We were up and ready to go at 5:00am and met the rest of our party at the airfield before 6:00am. We were hitching a ride with another crew that was going into the same area for road maintenance work. Gearing up for a helicopter flight always involves the safety orientation (e.g. where is the emergency locator stored?) and then the packing of the machine (bear bangers and any compressed liquids do not fly in the cockpit). We buckled ourselves in and donned our headphones and microphones. This allows us to communicate over the roar of the engines. I listened to the pilot go over his pre-flight reporting. This includes giving the location of take-off and coordinates for landing, among other logistics, and the crew manifest. The pilot then closed off the crew manifest report with this statement before take-off:

"Five souls on board."

Hearing myself and the rest of the passengers referred to as "souls on board" was a sobering moment that cut through the excitement of the helicopter flight. Sobering is the best word I can use to describe the momentary feeling. It was odd, and difficult for me to articulate because of its fleeting nature. While I plan for several eventualities that we could potentially encounter when in the Wild, there are several for which I cannot plan. For some scenarios all I can do is mitigate the severity of the situation rather than prevent it. An overly cranky bear that I inadvertently scare. A misstep on a ledge or a loose boulder. A drastic change in the weather. A freak mechanical failure of whatever machine in which I happen to be riding.

All these things and more could happen. However, all of the "What ifs?" would not be enough to keep me from the enjoyment of remote field work. The work contains risks, but they are calculated risks. Every trip yields new information that fills in yet one more piece of the puzzle for what is known of paleontology in BC and western Canada, and I plan to survey the wilderness until I am physically unable to do so. This actually keeps me from taking unnecessary risks: if I do something completely bunny-brained and permanently hurt myself, I will have done the Darwin Award version of removing myself from field work.

My parents can rest assured that I won't be bungee jumping out of helicopters or poking wolverines with pointy sticks. There is too much ground to cover before enfeeblement sets in.

Back to it!

S.W.

(Commercial) Fossil Fuel

Once again I feel as though I can't take my eyes off the Internet for a second. Tuesday morning (July 30) is the first time in 24 days that I have had to thoroughly check the fossil-related news since being out in the field and being immersed in the Tumbler Ridge Aspiring Geopark Symposium.

What headlines do I see on scrolling through the news? "Clashing Titans for Sale: Dinosaur Skeletons Headed to Auction, Not Museum." appeared in the New York Times. Cue the Everlasting Head-desk.

Many dinophiles have heard of "The Fighting Dinosaurs." Discovered in 1971 by the Polish-Mongolian Palaeontological Expedition, this evocative specimen depicts mortal combat between the Mongolian dinosaurs Velociraptor and Protoceratops, and was part of a past exhibition of the American Museum of Natural History.

Besides the visual impact, fossils such as these have great scientific importance. Much of the behavior we of dinosaurs (and other extinct animals) we infer from very detailed studies of their anatomy. With modelling technology becoming more accessible, new hypotheses on dinosaur movement and behavior are being presented and tested in the literature. [Warning: Shameless ichnology plug! One of the reasons I enjoy dinosaur ichnology is because dinosaur tracks and trackways are preserved behavior: if you want to know how an animal moves and places its limbs, you cannot ignore ichnology.] Specimens such as the Fighting Dinosaurs have the potential to show us the end results of an interaction between predator and prey, and these specimens are not common.

No other specimen has come as close as the Fighting Dinosaurs to preserving the aftermath of dual death scene. A new specimen is on the paleontological radar, and, like the recently completed Tarbosaurus case (shameless link to my previous posts here and here, which also contain several links to the media reporting on the case), it is garnering attention for all the wrong reasons.

Here is the website for the specimen now known as the Dueling Dinosaurs, which contains the background of the discovery (unfortunately none of the links to the supporting documents work at the time of this posting), and some of the speculation surrounding the specimen. The specimen was discovered on private land in deposits of the Hell Creek Formation of Tyrannosaurus rex and Triceratops horridus fame. Most of the media on this story emphasizes the purported scientific importance of the specimen. All of the media reports on the fate of the specimen: it is destined for auction at Bonhams New York on November 19, and the estimated price tag is between $7-$9 million USD.

Unlike the Tarbosaurus case, there is no last-minute restraining order or court ruling that will return the specimen to the public trust. Because the specimen was discovered on private land, it is perfectly legal in the United States for landowners to sell vertebrate fossils found on their private land. [Note: Public lands are controlled by the Bureau of Land Management.] Even a specimen of Archaeopteryx caught in the act of giving live birth to a Tyrannosaurus is not be immune to being offered for sale, or from subsequently being purchased by someone with a Bag of Holding as a pocketbook.

There are two points in this particular case that raise my hackles. First, there is a great deal of speculation (a.k.a. hype) on the supposed importance of the specimen, but there is absolutely no scientific documentation to support these claims. None of the links to the PDFs lead anywhere (and as of 2pm on 05-08-13 the site is currently offline), so there is no way for a curious researcher to examine what has been collected or noted to date. A brief look at the affiliations of those making the grand statements of significance shows us that they are associated in some way with the discovery, preparation, and marketing (for lack of a better term) of the fossil. To date, there are no peer-reviewed scientific publications on the specimens. Thomas Carr, a paleontologist who does extensive work in the Hell Creek Formation, states in his interview (follow the link) that there likely will not be any scientific study on the specimen, depending on the final purchaser.
Why not? If the ceratopsian preserved in the "Dueling Dinosaurs" specimen block is indeed a new horned dinosaur, it will need a full diagnostic work-up and publication (and no, someone stating in a news article or auction house website that it is a new species does not constitute peer-review.) If the speculations are correct, it would need to be described as a type specimen. Type specimens need to be archived in a public institution (e.g. museum, university) that a) guarantees access to any researcher who wants to study the specimen and b) is committed to storing the specimen in perpetuity. I can't stress enough the importance of this last statement. If I paint "Tuxedo Cat Bathing Her Nethers During My Last Dinner Party", that piece of work may change ownership many times during its existence. It could be damaged, stolen, or lost (likely without mourning from the art community in the case of the above mentioned work).

Type materials need stability and permanence. If I designate a new type of footprint, it is my responsibility as a researcher to choose a repository that is committed to archiving that specimen for the long haul. Ideally, 100 years from now a researcher should be able to easily locate the repository for that specimen. There is absolutely no guaranteed stability to commercially purchased/privately owned fossils. What happens if the owner dies, and the specimen is not willed to a public institution, or their progeny cares not for fossils? What if it is sold and its location becomes unknown? What if it is stolen? Will it be stored responsibly? Also, how was the specimen collected? What data, if any, were documented? What will happen to the data and associated specimens encountered during the excavation of the specimen?

Second, while no laws are being broken, I have huge ethical reservations about all that has transpired in this specimen going to auction. My stance is this: fossils are a part of the history of each and every one of us. They arose, flourished, and fell long before the creatures who would inevitably develop the distinctions between private and public land evolved. No one person has the ethical right to profit from the sale of my heritage, your heritage. We all share this heritage because it is the common heritage of our planet.

"Hold on, Strange Woman!" I hear some of you exclaiming, "How is a private person owning a fossil any different from a museum owning a fossil?"

Good question. Natural history museums hold fossil specimens in trust for the people, and are staffed with people who have been trained in the art and science of fossil conservation. I can only speak for myself, but I would not have the hubris to claim that I own a single fossil within the walls of my institution. My only claim is one of responsibility. I am responsible for the long-term care of each specimen and all the data that are associated with it. I am responsible for making these specimens available for research. I am responsible for ensuring that the research done on each specimen is done with care and diligence. I am responsible for developing the interpretive material that goes out on display for the public to see. I do not (for hyperbolic example) take the fossils under my care home and stroke them covetously in the flickering candlelight. They are neither curiosities nor porcelain collectibles. They are our past.

"Hold on again, Strange Woman!" some may be puzzling, "why doesn't a natural history museum just buy the fossil? Wouldn't that be the responsible thing to do if researchers feel so strongly about the specimen going to auction?"

Ah, if only! Back in the early days of the Bone Wars and the first exploration of places such as Dinosaur Provincial Park, museums contracted commercial fossil collectors to acquire specimens for their museums. Museums are one of the many scientific institutions that are feeling the vice-grip of budget cuts, and many are struggling to retain their own academic staff and research/collecting programs, never mind finding funds to purchase specimens. The private owners have reportedly accrued over $250,000 USD in costs related to the removal of the specimen, yet the specimen has been offered to museums for a mere $15 million.

This specimen is not being sold for cost recovery. It was not offered to well-known museums at what could be considered a donation price. This is turning fossils into profit, plain and simple. And, someone will inevitably purchase the specimen, ensuring that the cycle of collecting fossils solely for profit continues.

To those who have pockets deep enough to consider dropping $6 - $9 million on a single specimen, I truly believe there are more effective ways to leave lasting impressions on society that are fossil related. Natural history museums and research programs are struggling. These very museums create the excellent fossil displays that inspire young and old alike. They inspire the next generation of paleontologists and fossil enthusiasts. There are countless imaginative ways in which to redirect the funds that go to the purchase of fossils, including:

- renovating and upgrading a public display gallery,
- upgrading and expanding a fossil repository,
- funding a chair in paleontology research,
- funding a research program,
- funding a paleontological expedition, the results of which would be scientifically studied and publicly displayed,

and many others.

I see great potential for benefactor sciences. The benefactor makes an ethical and long-lasting contribution to paleontology - paleontology that might not otherwise be done without such support. The future stability of the museum is strengthened, as well as their ability to continue with high-quality scientific investigations and public outreach. Most important, the fossils collected as a result of benefactor science are spared the fate of the fickle commercial market. This is win-win-win.

What are your thoughts on encouraging benefactor science? Any ideas?

Until next time,

Strange Woman.