Showing posts with label diversion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label diversion. Show all posts

Tuesday, March 31, 2026

Fish Creek Canyon

You never know where interesting geology will turn up. I've been poking around the Twin Cities for years and I'm still coming across places I'd never dreamed were there. Case in point: today's pictorial topic, Fish Creek Canyon. I know the name sounds like a place you might find in Montana or Idaho, where the water is cold, the fish are biting, and the bears are waiting for you to wander away from your cooler, but this particular Fish Creek Canyon is just about where St. Paul, Maplewood, and Woodbury meet. It's not a huge canyon, and I don't imagine the fish are very large these days, but it's the kind of little hidden backyard gem that makes exploring worthwhile. I visited it with a friend back in late November, not long before our on-off winter hit the "on" switch for the first time.

Down in the valley on a great fall day, with Fish Creek in view.

Fish Creek is spread across two city jurisdictions. Maplewood has Fish Creek Natural Area, which is mostly the heights above 494 on the south and east and Highway 61 on the west. If you scout around, you'll find that this is one of a handful of small bluff-top parks between Battle Creek Regional Park and 494 overlooking 61. Adjacent on the north is the actual canyon of Fish Creek, which is within St. Paul and owned by Ramsey County Parks but apparently not organized at the moment, per se. The area is also largely within Mississippi National River and Recreation Area (so I'm also *officially* curious). The bluff-top lands are well worth walking around in their own right. There are no official access points to the canyon from the bluff-top, but it is possible to reach the canyon via social trails, leading to a steep descent into the narrow valley.

The view from the bluff, with the November afternoon sun on a clear day.

The canyon itself is not vast or deep. The water power that carved the original ravine has long since dwindled to a hoppable creek. And yet, what the creek has cut for itself is such a perfect little feature, complete with a miniature waterfall.

You're walking along, and then the creek disappears.

A miniature waterfall.

There ought to be gnomes.

It widens a bit going down (note that this feature was put in by people, presumably for water management, although it's not bad for aesthetics, either).

The rock that has been cut through here is the St. Peter Sandstone in its case-hardened form, producing the steep-sided, narrow slot. If you've driven Highway 61 near here, you may have noticed how the St. Peter sinks out of view for most of the stretch between Battle Creek and Camels Hump in Cottage Grove. It's still there, it just only shows its face sporadically, and this is the most picturesque place to find it. Interestingly, the location of Frederick Sardeson's "Highwood" collecting locality for St. Peter Sandstone fossils was supposedly a little north of here, about a mile and a half south of Battle Creek Park on 61. This works out to about the area where the ravines now occupied by Highwood Avenue and Springside Drive empty out, so our old friend was successfully trying his luck out here back in the 1890s.

Sometimes the St. Peter feels like crumbling, and sometimes it feels like holding a wall.

Sunday, December 28, 2025

Ghost of Christmas Presents

My first love in science, the first thing that really interested me intellectually, was astronomy. It was early 1986, around the time I turned five. (I was a weird kid.) Anyway, I was really into Star Wars, and wanted to go to space and explore different planets. I had (and still have) a book, "Astronomy Today", with lots of great illustrations and diagrams; sure, I wasn't *reading it* reading it yet, but I got a lot out of those illustrations. Then I discovered that, contrary to the movies, we couldn't exceed the speed of light, so we were basically stuck here. It's a nice enough solar system, but, well, y'know... the realization was terribly disappointing, and space went from an obsession to a pleasant side interest (I still love going to the planetary science sessions when attending GSA annual meetings).

At the time, we had just moved to Tucson. There's a lot of difference geologically between southern Arizona and south-central Minnesota; for starters, a lot more of the geology is right there at the surface in Arizona, and a lot more of it is Mesozoic. Still, Arizona is not Dinosaur Central; it's more like a nice suburb. After nearly 40 years I can't say what it was about dinosaurs that caught my eye. Maybe it was the British Museum toys at the Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum. Whatever it was, the feedback loop started: kid shows interest, people around start feeding the interest, interest intensifies...

The step that sealed the interest in paleontology came at Christmas 1986. There was one rectangular gift with unusual heft. Under the wrapping paper was the Normanpedia, "The Illustrated Encyclopedia of Dinosaurs". Could I read it? Well, okay, sure, I was a great reader for five-and-a-half, but it's safe to assume it took some time and practice before I was conversant (and the book probably accelerated the process, so on top of his scientific accolades, David Norman can take some credit for improving at least one kid's  literacy). But don't forget the second word of the title! The restorations, the photos, the skeletal diagrams! I went through reams of paper tracing skeletons, then drawing outlines around them on the other side of the sheets. That way, there would be a skeleton on one side, a drawing on the other, and if I held the paper to the light, both of them would be there, skeleton revealed inside the body. I loved that book to death; it's in a box of mementos somewhere at home, dust jacket long gone, spine held together by heavy-duty tape, a slip of paper taped over the "dinosauroid" drawing because it creeped me out. I had to get a second copy in the Nineties because the first was falling apart. The second copy also started falling apart after about ten years, so now I'm on my third. Anyway, no particular moral or commentary or insight this time, just wanted to share some holiday nostalgia. See you in 2026!

Tuesday, December 16, 2025

What do Delaware, Hawaii, and Rhode Island have in common?

Answer: They are the only three U.S. states for which I can't find a record of a mastodon or mammoth.

Hawaii is not exactly a surprise. Certainly proboscideans can swim, but if you want a large mammal that can swim halfway across the Pacific Ocean without dying, it's going to look and function suspiciously like a cetacean instead.

Delaware and Rhode Island, on the other hand, doubtless had mammoths and mastodons tromping over them at some point, because they're surrounded by states (and submerged coastal plains) that have their fossils. They're just both small states not blessed with the most helpful geology, and mantled by urbanization. Rhode Island gets an additional strike from being subjected to glaciers. Someday the fossils will turn up, though. Maybe there's already something; maybe somebody has a funny-looking doorstop they found in 1973 and never paid much attention to, or there's a notice in a local paper published in 1989 about a couple of campers who found a tooth and turned it over to a local historical society, or somebody will hop into the comments of this post and say, "Hey, ya numbskull, ya missed this!"

Now, the nitty-gritty: every once in a while I'd wondered how many states have records of mammoths or mastodons, and occasionally puttered in a source or two. This time I decided to be more thorough. I checked the Hay inventories, Neotoma (which has the old FaunMap contents), and the Paleobiology Database for starters. These three together narrowed down the list of absences to Delaware, Hawaii, New Hampshire, and Rhode Island. If you're curious: Hay didn't have mammoths or mastodons in those four plus Maine and basically omitted Alaska, but had all the rest plus the District of Columbia; Neotoma was missing the four plus Alabama, Mississippi, North Dakota, Vermont, and D.C.; and the PBDB was missing the four plus Connecticut, Louisiana, Massachusetts, Maine, New Jersey, North Dakota, Vermont, and D.C. This is why it's important to check multiple sources; no one source has everything.

Putting aside Hawaii, that left Delaware, New Hampshire, and Rhode Island to check out. Now was the time to drill into the resources of various search engines and museum databases/iDigBio. For the record, I leaned on Google Scholar, Google Books, and the news tab of regular Google (not Google News), with various permutations of "mammoth", "mastodon", "Mammuthus", and "Mammut" plus a state, with additional terms as necessary to knock out particularly obnoxious false positives. This eliminated New Hampshire, which now has a record from a find on land [note, 2026/06/02: nope, see comment below] after a couple of teeth found nearby offshore. For a short time I'd thought I'd found one for Delaware, thanks to a short piece in the Winter 1994 issue of "First State Geology" (p. 3). The article mentioned that Jeremy Cloutier of Milford had donated a mastodon tooth to the Delaware Geological Survey, but the tooth derived from offshore clam dredging and therefore doesn't count for our purposes. So, for now, we're still at Delaware, Hawaii, and Rhode Island. (Still a few field days 'til Christmas, if you're feeling like pulling off a Christmas miracle!)

"Archie", the world's largest mounted Columbian mammoth skeleton, on display in Elephant Hall, University of Nebraska State Museum.

Sunday, September 28, 2025

More odds and ends

At the moment I'm preparing the grand annual update to The Compact Thescelosaurus. If you've been following along over the past couple of years, it doesn't take being Sherlock Holmes to guess what it will be. Actually, it doesn't even take being 1940s Radio Program Watson to guess, but do act surprised. In completely unrelated news, there's a taxon published this week I recommend you see: the little croc Thikarisuchus xenodentes. (What, you were expecting the theropod?) T. xenodentes, from the Cenomanian-age Blackleaf Formation of Montana, had a sharply triangular skull in top view and strongly differentiated teeth, among them the expected bitey teeth at the very front and long, low, narrow teeth at the back. This small croc may have had a taste for plants, or perhaps sliced up insects.

Something we love around here at Equatorial Minnesota is historical content about Minnesota geology. You may be familiar with the Minnesota Geological Survey's publication archive. It turns out that there are a bunch of MGS field notebooks scanned and available via the University of Minnesota libraries. You can find notebooks there from paleontologists such as Frederick Sardeson, Robert Sloan, and Clinton R. Stauffer, all of whom curiously have last names starting with "S". (Also interesting: Sardeson's field notebooks all have the left-hand pages filled out, but right-hand pages are much less frequently used. Was Sardeson a lefty?) There are also materials from the Department of Earth and Environmental Science.

Do you prefer to see your geology in the field? I came across a nice section of the St. Peter through Platteville under the I-94 bridge, on the east bank of the Mississippi. I'd been there years before but don't remember being so impressed with it. Maybe it wasn't as well-exposed then, or maybe I just wasn't experienced enough to appreciate it. The Platteville interval at the top was definitely exposed, but maybe this lower exposure is the result of more recent erosion or something. It definitely bears further photography and investigation, as it has a great view of the Glenwood.

The important part looks like this.

And here's what it looks like if I annotate all over it. I'm not entirely confident with the thickness of the Hidden Falls Member; for some reason the Mifflin is really grungy here. The Glenwood bits are open to interpretation (the Nokomis gets "Glenwood/St. Peter" because it's technically in the Glenwood but can't be distinguished from the St. Peter in well logs or gamma logs). The Tonti Member makes up most of the St. Peter Sandstone, if you're curious. There may be some Carimona at the very top. 

Oh yeah, also saw Bridal Veil Falls nearby, which has, y'know, seen better days, but is still running, after a fashion.

Or maybe you'd like some historical trivia? One of the things I wanted to find more about for the Mammoth Cave National Park paleo inventory was whatever became of the type specimen of Lithodrumus veryi, a Mississippian coral possibly collected from the park. It was described in 1904 by George Greene and the specimen has been lost to science since at least 1944. Greene's collection went first to the American Museum of Natural History and then to the National Museum of Natural History, but Lithodrumus veryi apparently went missing, as Easton (1944) couldn't find it at the AMNH. Just a few days ago I was looking up images of tabulate corals when I came upon a post at Louisville Fossils and Beyond that stated one cabinet had not been sold, and its contents were eventually going to the Indiana State Museum. Hope springs eternal! I've sent a message to the Indiana State Museum to see if perhaps L. veryi's type is there.

It's supposed to look like this (Greene 1904: Plate 49). Have you seen it, by any chance?

So that's what's going on around here. (Oh, that and some unusually intense bot "readership", or the whole of Hong Kong has suddenly discovered a passionate interest in the Ordovician fossils of Minnesota and Elliot Formation prosauropods. Maybe I'm cynical.) Tune in for the next post!

References

Allen, H. J., E. W. Wilberg, A. H. Turner, and D. J. Varricchio. 2025. A new, diminutive, heterodont neosuchian from the Vaughn Member of the Blackleaf Formation (Cenomanian), southwest Montana, and implications for the paleoecology of heterodont neosuchians. Journal of Vertebrate Paleontology e2542185. doi: https://doi.org/10.1080/02724634.2025.2542185

Easton, W. M. 1944. Revision of Campophyllum in North America. Journal of Paleontology 18(2): 119–132.

Greene, G. K. 1904. Contribution to Indiana palæontology 1(17): 168–175.

Sunday, August 17, 2025

Minnesota Spring Inventory

While working on something else recently, I stumbled on the Minnesota Spring Inventory. More importantly, especially in terms of time consumption, the inventory also has a great interactive map.

See any patterns?

You can zoom and select any point, or if you are interested in a particularly named spring you can type the name in the search bar to find it. Clicking on a point gives a pop-up box with information about the spring, and sometimes there are one or more links to photos.

For example, this is Big Spring at Beaver Creek State Park.

Incidentally, it looks like this. Highly recommended!

If you're curious about what the various data fields are measuring, the rules and guidelines used for documenting Minnesota springs are in this document.

If you're curious about natural or human features, there's a lot of interest to be had playing around with the map. Why human features? Springs that flow reliably and with a significant volume are great places to live, especially in the days before municipal waterworks, and many of these are of archeological and historical interest. For example, fooling around in the Minnesota River Valley area, I stumbled on one called Sacred Heart Geyser with this note: "Water was bottled and shipped to Chicago about 1900."

Obviously springs are significant natural features as well, but not only as just springs. At a glance at the map, for example, it's very easy to pick out the karst terrain of Minnesota. They can also be used as proxies for geological horizons. Springs form where groundwater isn't moving down, but laterally out of a surface. One of the biggest reasons why groundwater isn't moving down is because the flow is interrupted by a change in lithology. Maybe there's porous sandstone over non-porous shale, or limestone with fractures over shale, or pretty much anything over shale. Groundwater hits the non-permeable surface and spreads laterally, and if it runs into open air before it finds a path downward, a spring may form. (Or just a seep, which is more diffuse and less powerful.) As noted in the document, there are several geological contacts that are prone to this in Minnesota, such as glacial drift over the Decorah Shale and the Magnolia Member of the Platteville over the more shaley Hidden Falls Member. Many of the springs in Minneapolis and St. Paul are probably at one of these two contacts. (Less scientifically, springs in some settings will be found with exposed bedrock, and anywhere you've got exposed bedrock and flowing springs has a good chance of interesting geological and scenic viewing...*)

(*as always, land ownership restrictions and common sense about terrain awareness apply) 

Saturday, July 5, 2025

Odds and Ends

Several items worth a brief comment...

Minnesota state fossil

By Minnesota law, Castoroides ohioensis, the "giant beaver", became Minnesota's state fossil on July 1, 2025. C. ohioensis is a rare case of a write-in winning (the original slate of candidates did not include it). Call me a lot of things (crazy, no fun, pessimistic about human nature), but I have a hard time believing the giant beaver won based on its merits as a fossil found in Minnesota, as opposed to a bunch of people on the Internet thinking it would be funny for Minnesota's state fossil to be a giant beaver. Which, I suppose, is a reasonable response to the idea of state symbols in general and state fossils in particular.

Enigmacursor

Speaking of pessimism, no sooner are all previous names for Morrison Formation "hypsils" declared dubious than a paper by the same authors comes out naming... a new Morrison Formation "hypsil". (Not the first time this kind of thing has taken place, but usually the declaration of invalidity and the new name come in the same paper.) Anyway, the new one is Enigmacursor mollyborthwickae, based on a partial skeleton from Colorado featuring vertebrae, ribs, and most of the girdles and limbs. It's not one of the more famous (well, "famous", but bear with me) unnamed Morrison specimens like BYU ESM 163R or "Barbara" but instead was recovered a few years ago. (Some days it feels like famous unnamed specimens *never* get described, but I digress.) Given the matter of chimeric specimens discussed in the Nanosaurus paper, a quarry map would have been a nice inclusion. E. mollyborthwickae looks and phylogenetically acts about the way you'd expect out of a Morrison "hypsil". I wouldn't expect that it actually *is* the closest relative to Yandusaurus hongheensis among all dinosaurs known to date (for one thing, that's putting a lot of faith in Yandusaurus, one of those dinosaurs that seems more complete and better known than it is), but that's about where Morrison "hypsils" always turn up.

Tyrannosaurus

Meanwhile, on the reincarnation of the Dinosaur Mailing List, the Dinosaur Mailing Group, the hot topic has been Tyrannosaurus and nanotyrants. Some things never change, after all. It's not a spontaneous irruption, but driven by Gregory Paul's new review of latest Cretaceous western North American tyrannosaurs. This follows on the paper a couple of years ago proposing to split T. rex into three species. Paul further revises Tyrannosaurus in this paper, supporting not only the removal of Nanotyrannus lancensis, but also Stygivenator molnari. (If you remember using the word "aublysodont" seriously, you know what's up, and there's an excellent chance you're also at least 40.) These two species are interpreted as having crossed over from Appalachia (the eastern half of North America) with the dwindling of the Western Interior Seaway, which is a fascinating idea worth further consideration.

Will it settle anything? I don't expect it to. At this point it feels like everyone is well beyond being burned out on the topic and is firmly set in their ways. It doesn't help that Nanotyrannus, along with spinosaurs and exaggerated dinosaur sizes, is one of the most obnoxious long-running issues among dinosaur enthusiasts, providing further incentive to stay the heck away. It's a pity, though, because there's something something weirdly Alioramus-y going on with some of these specimens, and all we ever do is circle around the same couple of points we always have.

Probably 25 years ago or more I posted something on the DML about a taxonomic discussion, and another member suggested we'd be better off not using the names at all and just using specimen numbers. I thought it was crazy at the time since they're a lot harder to keep track of, but with time I'm definitely coming around to the idea.

Lithodendron

The second issue of Lithodendron, Petrified Forest National Park's journal, has just come out. Contributions to this issue include a report of a large silesaurid (and coelophysoid) from the park, and the printing of a previously unpublished stratigraphic study of the park from 1940 (always good to see formerly overlooked research get published!).

Cenozoic Life and Mesozoic Life in the National Parks coloring books

Finally, some uncomplicated fun: We've recently produced coloring books of Cenozoic and Mesozoic life in the National Parks to go with the Prehistoric Life in the National Parks coloring book from a few years back. They feature a mix of artwork from the original coloring book plus newer pages. The links above will take you to the data store pages for the two books, which can be downloaded freely as pdfs. Parks with notable Cenozoic or Mesozoic fossils may also have physical copies available.

References

Maidment, S. C. R., and P. M. Barrett. 2025. Enigmacursor mollyborthwickae, a neornithischian dinosaur from the Upper Jurassic Morrison Formation of the western USA. Royal Society Open Science 12(6):242195. doi: https://doi.org/10.1098/rsos.242195

Paul, G. S. 2025. A presentation of the current data on the exceptionally diverse non-tyrannosaurid eutyrannosaur and tyrannosaurini genera and species of western North America during the End Cretaceous North American Interchange. Mesozoic 2(2): 85–138. https://doi.org/10.11646/mesozoic.2.2.1

Sunday, May 11, 2025

The downside of reef building?

I was reviewing text for a website a few weeks back dealing with aspects of the history of life, and a couple of things struck me about biological reefs. First, a quick look at reef-builders through time (a useful overview can be found here if you'd prefer more flesh on the bones, or corallites or shells or whatever may be more appropriate):

The first multicellular reef-builders were the archaeocyathan sponges, who flourished briefly in the Cambrian but did not even make it to the end of the period. Corals, in the form of rugose and tabulate corals, spread in the Ordovician but took a while to make reefs. They were joined by stromatoporoid sponges (layered like stromatolites, spelled like stromatolites, but not stromatolites) and various microbes, with the Devonian being an apex of reef-building. The classic stromatoporoid-tabulate reefs of the Devonian went kaput in the End-Devonian extinction. Permian reefs were a conglomeration of just about everything that couldn't get out of the way: various algae, sponges, bryozoans, and other less obvious things. This assortment bought it at the end of the Permian. False starts with scleractinian corals in the first part of the Mesozoic gave way to the rudist bivalves in the Cretaceous. The rudist reefs went out with non-avian dinosaurs, marine reptiles, pterosaurs, ammonites, and so forth at the end-Cretaceous extinction. Finally we get to the big scleractinian coral reefs in the Cenozoic, with some sponge and oyster reefs and such for variety.

So far, a typical pattern: group of organisms branches into reef building, reefs spread and become ecologically complex, reefs flourish for a while, mass extinction wipes out reefs. Then after a hiatus reefs become fashionable again, with some other group laying the foundation for a new iteration, and the cycle continues. A couple of observations come to mind. First, reefs seem to be an obvious evolutionary path for immobile marine invertebrates. It may take some time, but some group always takes up the baton after another falters.

Then, the other shoe. What happens to the previous reef-builders? Seen any archaeocyaths lately? Any vacation packages advertising stromatoporoid reef visits for their island getaways? Run across any rudists while snorkeling? Could it be that once a group goes all-in on the reef habit, it's stuck with it?

Furthermore, reefs have a habit of getting smacked in mass extinction events. Does a reef inherit a narrowing range of environmental restrictions from its components as its complexity increases? Does it become vulnerable to unpredictable instability, such as some minor constituent going through a bad patch leading to collapse via a Rube Goldbergian-cascade of events? More broadly, does reef building amount to an evolutionary Faustian bargain, in which a group becomes dominant for a while by locking itself into a doomed arrangement? (Granted, we're all doomed in the final analysis, but some of us are more obviously doomed than others.) Or am I just playing the gloomy Minnesotan?

Sunday, April 27, 2025

Arcola Bluffs Day Use Area

It's been a good while since our last St. Croix post, hasn't it? I wanted to let you in on a fun place I recently visited for the first time; Arcola Bluffs Day Use Area. This site is not widely known; there's this article (with much more artistic photos than my own), an NPS cultural landscape assessment from 2018 that weighs in at 204 mb (NPS 2018; absolutely worth it if you want a thorough understanding of the site, and also includes a section on Fairy Falls), and then some short pieces here and there, and that's about it. Visiting it, though, you'll discover great geology, views of the river and the historic Soo Line High Bridge, forest and prairie settings, and some evocative ruins.

Monday, January 27, 2025

On fossils in metamorphic rocks

One of the introductory-level bits of information people learn about fossils is that fossils are found in sedimentary rocks, not igneous rocks or metamorphic rocks. This works as a first-order approximation, but... it's not strictly true. For example, among igneous rocks, there are some that overlap sedimentary rocks, e.g., pyroclastic flows, ash beds, and so on. You can certainly find fossils in those. There are also occasional impressions of things in basalt flows; tree trunk molds are most common, and at least one rhino (the famous "Blue Lake rhino"; e.g., Beck 1937) has been captured this way. Tree molds are also interesting for testing our conventional definitions of paleontology in other ways: Because of the rapid cooling and hardening of the basalt, tree molds are essentially instant fossils. The rock can't get much more lithified, after all (especially compared with Quaternary sedimentary slop), yet modern examples haven't put in the time that frequently quoted definitions insist on for fossils, such as 10,000 years. In my day job we talk about paleontological resources as evidence of life in a geological context, so there is no cutoff. Where was I? Oh, yes. Basically, you can get fossils in igneous rock if the rock was playing by sedimentary rules when it formed. Don't expect them in intrusive igneous rocks, though, except in xenoliths of sedimentary host rock (e.g., McCracken et al. 2000, also featuring cores!).

For metamorphic rocks, most of us with paleontological experience will make exceptions for low-grade metamorphics: quartzites, slates, low-grade marbles, things like those. In fact, a lot of rocks commonly called "marbles" are just limestones that can hold a polish. Get much beyond that, and surely the temperature, pressure, chemically active fluids, and mineralogical changes will destroy any unsuspecting crinoid or brachiopod, right?

Well...

Obviously, the answer is "not always", otherwise there wouldn't be a post.

Reports of fossils in metamorphic rocks even as far gone as eclogite (Cavrgna-Sani et al. 2010) or migmatite (Hill 1985; the rock you get when it stops screwing around with metamorphism and gets down to serious melting, but doesn't finish) pop up every so often in the literature as a thin thread of geological quasi-Forteana. The "thin thread" is because they are not common. If they *were* common, they wouldn't be worthy of comment. You don't get a paper out of announcing that there are crinoid columnals in the Decorah Shale. Bucher (1953) is perhaps the most significant reference on the subject, and includes a good bibliography, but through no fault of its own is now more than 70 years old and likely to only get older. Labora-López et al. (2015) adds a few more recent references in its discussion, although it has its own purposes that do not include being a thorough review and update of Bucher (1953).

Aside from being a curiosity, fossils in metamorphic rocks are useful for providing age controls that are notoriously absent from many metamorphic units, and sometimes can help with correlations. Other interpretations are limited by distortion or general poor preservation of the fossils, and by the topic of Labora-López et al. (2015), the loss of information from the sedimentary matrix itself.

One interesting aspect evident from Bucher's lists is that the fossils are not necessarily confined to animals with hard parts that are particularly resistant to replacement (e.g., crinoids). There are recrystallized bivalves, for example. Of course, bivalve replacement is hardly unusual in itself, as shells of bivalves and other mollusks are prone to replacement anyway thanks to the poor stability of aragonite over geologic time, which is why their fossils are so often molds and casts. Some fossils have been replaced by more exotic materials, including echinoderm ossicles replaced by diopside and epidote in a contact metamorphism zone.

Why have fossils in metamorphic rocks not attracted much attention? A not-insignificant part of the problem is people haven't generally been looking for them. As noted by Bucher (1953), paleontologists weren't looking because they assumed that metamorphism destroyed fossils, metamorphic rocks are a pain in the neck to work with compared to sedimentary rocks, and the fossils that have been found in metamorphic rocks are not of great quality, so why bother? Meanwhile, the hard-rock specialists weren't looking because they were hard-rock specialists and weren't interested in fossils.

Still, though, even if this means that fossils are actually some order of magnitude more abundant in metamorphic rocks than generally thought, they aren't exactly falling out of schists and gneisses. Bucher had an elegant proposal: he suggested that most metamorphic rocks of appropriate age to have fossils of things like brachiopods, crinoids, and mollusks are derived from rocks that were deposited in settings with few fossils to begin with. The exact language used is more complicated and bound up in pre-plate-tectonic thought and geosynclines (well, it was 1953, after all), but you get the point: It's hard to have metamorphosed fossils if you don't have fossils to start with. Another rule of thumb Bucher proposed is that fossils can persist if metamorphism does not involve mechanical effects and the fossils are much larger than the size of newly formed minerals. The chances aren't great, but if you're face to face with a metamorphic rock that began as a sedimentary rock of Phanerozoic age, there might just be a stubborn brachiopod or crinoid in there.

References

Beck, G. F. 1937. Remarkable west American fossil, the Blue Lake Rhino. The Mineralogist 5(8): 7–8, 20–21.

Bucher, W. H. 1953. Fossils in metamorphic rocks: a review. Bulletin of the Geological Society of America 64: 275–300.

Cavargna-Sani, M., J. L. Epard, and W. L. Taylor. 1997. Discovery of fossils in the Adula nappe, new stratigraphic data and tectonic consequences (Central Alps). Bulletin de la Société vaudoise des Sciences Naturelles 92: 77–84.

Hill, M. L. 1985. Remarkable fossil locality: crinoid stems from migmatite of the Coast plutonic complex, British Columbia. Geology 13: 825–826.

Laborda-López, C., J. Aguirre, and S. K. Donovan. 2015. Surviving metamorphism: taphonomy of fossil assemblages in marble and calc-silicate schist. PALAIOS 30: 668–679.

McCracken, A. D., D. K. Armstrong, and T. E. Bolton. 2000. Conodonts and corals in kimberlite xenoliths confirm a Devonian seaway in central Ontario and Quebec. Canadian Journal of Earth Sciences 37(12): 1651–1663.

Tuesday, January 14, 2025

Journey Somewhat Nearer to the Center of the Earth: fossils in cores

Most of the time, when people are looking for fossils, they find them at the surface or just below. However, this is hardly the limit of where they can be found. After all, a fossiliferous formation found at the surface in one location may be buried hundreds to thousands of feet beneath other rocks and sediments somewhere else, and it doesn't stop being fossiliferous just because it's buried that far down. It just becomes much less accessible. We can get glimpses of the buried fossils through core samples.

Sunday, December 1, 2024

Secrets of "Secrets Of The Dinosaur Mummy", or: How I Got An IMDb Entry

A few days back I did something I hadn't done since 2008: I watched "Secrets of the Dinosaur Mummy". This was mostly because I had a friend over and wanted to show her what the Leonardo thing was all about, along with my minor claim to small-screen fame. Obviously going that road brought out the memories, so I thought maybe it was time to have a look back. Getting the "Truth in Advertising" out of the way up-front: I don't actually have a lot of secrets about "Secrets of the Dinosaur Mummy", but I do know a title when I see one!

It turned out to be unexpectedly difficult to get a good photo of the cover, being moderately glossy and dark, but you get the idea. One of these two blurbs is good for a chuckle, given the prominence of the speaker in the documentary.

Tuesday, July 30, 2024

Silver Creek Cliff geology

For obvious reasons, this blog has featured plenty of sedimentary rocks, but hardly a crystalline rock (one notable exception being World of Stone, which also allowed me to title a post after an obscure George Harrison song; no particular reason although in hindsight I might have been feeling down at the time). I just got back from a trip to Duluth and the North Shore and discovered my phone had secretly and unexpectedly created this grand panorama of a spectacular roadcut, so I thought I'd mix up the usual topics:

Definitely worth the click to embiggen

This location is the north end of the Highway 61 tunnel at Silver Creek Cliff, where there is a fun roadside pullout with information about the construction of the tunnel (and the former route of Highway 61, which went where the walking path is now and looks like it would have been extremely narrow). What we're looking at is a sequence of events in the old Midcontinent Rift, 1.1 billion years ago. There is an annotated photo showing part of the roadcut here, but most of the different things are easy to spot without too much guidance. On the right, the somewhat pinkish rocks beginning above the road are flows of andesite, a type of volcanic igneous rock. The andesite is cut off by a stark, irregular contact with a dark blue-gray rock; the contact begins near the blue minivan and rises going to the right. The darker rock is diabase, an igneous rock that intrudes into existing rock underground and has a similar composition to basalt. The diabase makes up most of the roadcut, but you may notice a weird "scar" running through it. It begins, from the perspective of the flat image, just right of the right-most metal structure on our side of the road (the one right of the street light pole) and rises to the right until it is lost under vegetation. This "scar" is laced with light-colored rocks. It represents diabase that has been altered by faulting, with new minerals forming in the fault gouge. Thus, the sequence of events is: 1) eruption of andesite; 2) intrusion by diabase; 3) faulting and mineralization within the diabase.

The key part of the panorama, showing the andesite, diabase, and fault.

Sunday, June 23, 2024

Campus fossils of the University of Michigan

For the previous week I was attending the North American Paleontological Convention, held this year in Ann Arbor, Michigan by the University of Michigan. While walking and wandering on the campus, it became clear that many of the buildings include fossiliferous rock, so I began to look for interesting examples.

Like that. That's interesting. (coin in all examples with coins is a US quarter)

Sunday, March 24, 2024

A Brief Digression on the Art of Identifying Fossils

If you let it get around that you have some knowledge of fossils, inevitably somebody is going to ask you to identify something. I'm sure everyone in this position has the usual gripes about "dinosaur eggs" or "dinosaur hearts" or "dinosaur skulls" that are really just regular humble rocks viewed through bifocals of hope and inexperience. The only skills and resources needed here are tact and diplomacy, to work the conversation in such a way that it comes to an expedient close without unnecessarily cheesing off the hopeful inquirer (and recognizing that sometimes it's just not possible to have a productive interaction with somebody who insists they have dinosaur eggs).

Then there's the real thing. I get a few requests for identification every month, sometimes through work, sometimes submitted by blog readers to my email. This can be a challenge, especially for work, since the National Park Service can boast an impressive sweep of geologic time and diversity of fossils. I can be looking at photos of Devonian marine invertebrates one week and Cenozoic plant fossils the next. Then, of course, there's dealing with the fossils I find; I've had several in the past few months that were clearly something of interest but were also outside of my experience. It's been a long, long time since someone could be familiar with every kind of described fossil. What is one to do?

If identifying fossils is something that interests you beyond picking up a few names, you can learn from fossil and rockhound communities (online and in person). You're also going to be in for some self-teaching. Fossil identification has never been a huge field and has dwindled (for one thing, biostratigraphy is no longer as important for industry). Whether identifying fossils for someone else or yourself, the first thing you'll want is references with lots of good pictures. A good field guide to fossils, like the National Audubon Society's version, is a handy starter to at least get you into the correct phylum. Many times, that's all you need or want; for groups that require thin sections to identify, or groups where you get a lot of internal casts, "bryozoan" or "snail" is often enough, maybe with some morphological jargon. Depending on how much attention people have given your local rocks, there may be specialist books (like this one), online guides, or both. A "Roadside Geology"-type book may also be helpful in providing background information on your rock formations, which is useful for figuring out more specialized publications. (Or sometimes not, if people can't agree on what to call the rocks!) Similarly, if you are interested in specific kinds of fossils (e.g., shark teeth), there may be dedicated references available.

A few other observations:

  • A lot of things simply aren't identifiable very far: too weathered, too fragmented, too much covered by matrix, weird cross-sectional view, etc. That's just the breaks.
  • Photos in field guides and other sources are generally of the best specimens, with museum-quality preparation. The average person is probably not going to be that lucky and probably doesn't have access to those skills. This is something that needs to be taken into account when making identifications. When I work on paleontological resource inventories, I like to include "typical" images of fossils so park staff will have a better idea of what to expect.
  • Good photos and illustrations are not available for every species (especially older names in areas where not much work has been done), and what is out there will not generally cover every potential view.
  • A further complication when hunting reference images is changes in taxonomy. For some groups (I'm thinking especially of brachiopods at the moment), species have switched genera several times. To further complicate things, not all authors will catch on, and some will simply disagree. Hardcore identification may require becoming familiar with name changes, because the images you need to find may be under an unexpected name. This is, needless to say, very frustrating.
  • Unless you've gotten involved in high-stakes fossil identification, there's no shame in revising identifications as you get more experience. When you start off, you'll have a natural bias to identify things in terms of the first things you learned to identify. You may also tend to identify things as more rare or unusual options, or make identifications to genus or species when you'd be better off sticking at a higher level, or have other biases due to inexperience. When I started with Decorah fossils, I had a hard time with trilobites and basically pretended they didn't exist until I got an eye for them. (A little bit of the buried edge of a small ribbed brachiopod shell can look a lot like the margin of a buried pygidium, especially when you don't know what you're doing.) Similarly, despite what this blog might suggest, it took me a long time to get an eye for stromatolites.
  • It's good to know about common types of pseudofossils, especially if your area has a particular specialty.

Sunday, February 11, 2024

Finding waterfalls

A couple of months back, a friend pointed out a news items covering a slot canyon in Crosby Farm Park, so we decided to see if we could find it. We were successful in locating what's also called Homer's Odyssey (must be a pun based on the proximity to Homer Street), and it turned out to be one of the most unusual natural features of the Twin Cities. It's certainly worth a visit the next time you're in the park, although I can imagine it could be difficult to access during a year when it rains more than once every three months or so.

Approaching the entrance.

Looking back through the slot.

Inside the feature, which is kind of like a tall roughly cylindrical void.

Looking up at the top.

The canyon is almost like someone took a knife and cut straight down. Granted, it's not as if fresh St. Peter Sandstone shows much in the way of resistance to erosion, but I do wonder if there was a pre-existing weakness that focused this erosion so narrowly. Maybe there were voids in the sandstone or something similar?

Active waterfalls, waterfalls reduced to a trickle, and former waterfalls are scattered all over the Twin Cities metro. Some former falls, like the one in Cottage Grove Ravine Park or the abandoned falls northeast of Minnehaha Falls, have been high and dry for a long time due to the loss of their water source in the mists of time, but many have lost their flow due to drainage control measures in the past 150 years or so. Some could be reanimated with different priorities, while others have been buried or destroyed.

And even the best of them sometimes get caught short in droughts, as Minnehaha Falls shows in early October 2022.

Even beyond the named falls, there are many small-scale unnamed or obscure features. If you're looking to find some for yourself, you can often guess general areas to look from topo maps: look for valleys crossing steep contours. That's a telltale sign that a creek once crossed a bluff, or something similar. Or, if you'd rather try immediate adventure, get on one of the gorge trails (e.g., the Winchell Trail in Minneapolis or the unnamed goat path equivalents on the St. Paul side) and just keep your eyes open; they're there.

The falls in the Grotto, exiting the University of St. Thomas.

This is on the Minneapolis side, just across from E 36th Street. I've never heard that this one had a name, so it may well not have been doing more than a trickle when Minneapolis was developed, but it would have been substantial at one time.

Another area is south of Minnehaha Park, in the Coldwater Spring/dog park area. There is a secluded active waterfall southeast of Coldwater that has cut a modest slot in the St. Peter; again I'm not sure if it has a widely circulating name. Novelty Falls on the bluffs north of the dog park is very difficult to notice when the falls aren't falling; observation of the bluffs suggests there are several other places that may get mini-falls if there is a lot of rain or meltwater. Marks of water erosion at the top of the bluffs and water-worn hollows at the base will show you where flow has occurred.

A close view, low and up into the chute of the Coldwater waterfall. It's rather more impressive in person, as it tends to photograph poorly due to the confines of the site and the limited foot space. (Note that this area below the bluff has a tendency to become a respectable swamp following anything stronger than a light rain.)

Novelty Falls itself wasn't running in November, but these bluffs are very interesting!

They are also present on the south side of the Mississippi; for example, the Brickyard trail in Lilydale Regional Park passes right by one:

Here pictured during one of the few days this "winter" when there was snow on the ground.

(And yes, I am well aware that this blog has never covered the Brickyard...)

Friday, December 15, 2023

10 years of Equatorial Minnesota

So... turns out I've been doing this 10 years. The very first post on Equatorial Minnesota went out December 15, 2013. Here we are, 409 posts and one surprisingly sprawling Compact Thescelosaurus later. I'm hoping there will be many more posts to come, because I still have many ideas, even if the pace has slowed down (lots of other things going on).

For fun, here are some posts from the first five full years that I'm particularly fond of, for various reasons:

2014:

2015:

2016:

2017:

2018:

Sunday, December 10, 2023

Release the robotic Pleurocystites!

Speaking of paleobiology, here's a fun story that crossed my desk recently...

If you've ever seen a fossil of Pleurocystites or its ilk, you've probably wondered what the heck it was doing in life (and perhaps how disturbing it may have looked while doing it). What once was confined to the realm of speculation now takes a step, or more accurately a kind of thrash, into the 21st century with the "Rhombot", a robotic pleurocystitid detailed in Desatnik et al. (2023).

The rhombots use the basic form of a pleurocystitid: central capsular body (theca), two short appendages (brachioles) at one end, one long appendage (stem) at the other end. The body plan is scaled-up in comparison to the real thing, and, of course, it is made of various artificial materials (many of which are not rigid, hence the "soft robotics" tag) rather than pleurocystitid stuff.

Pleurocystitids, thrashing their way from Ordovician seafloors to the modern day via the rhombot (Figure 1, Desatnik et al. 2023) (CC BY-NC-ND-4.0).

Granted, a rhombot is not a direct replica of a Pleurocystites. Assuming the living thing did indeed use its stem for propulsion, what can we gather from a robotic equivalent? First off, the rhombot was much more efficient with the stem moving it from behind rather than pulling it along. (This seems like a common-sense conclusion on first principles, so it's good to see it confirmed.) The stem also was more effective when used with a stiff sweep, rather than working with a sinuous motion. Finally, there was an optimal length for the stem (Desatnik et al. 2023). I encourage you to go to the linked article and see the movies of rhombots in action; they are not the most graceful robots, but pleurocystitids were probably not the most graceful animals.

References

Desatnik, R., Z. J. Patterson, P. Gorzelak, S. Zamorad, P. LeDuca, and C. Majidi. 2023. Soft robotics informs how an early echinoderm moved. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences 120(46):e2306580120. doi: https://doi.org/10.1073/pnas.2306580120.

Sunday, October 29, 2023

Fossils at Airports

This year's annual Society of Vertebrate Paleontology meeting was held in Cincinnati, and I was quite pleased to be greeted in Concourse B of Cincinnati/Northern Kentucky Airport by a mastodon skeleton.

This seemed like a good omen.

This is hardly the only airport to have fossils. Sometimes they are part of the building stone; at Minneapolis–St. Paul International Airport, for example, you can hardly walk around without seeing fossils in the (non-local) flooring stone. Most of the fossils are bits and pieces of shells, but there are some nice coiled cephalopods, and if you have time they're certainly worth a pause. (It would be fun to do a thorough photographic inventory, but I imagine it would probably have to be explained so as not to appear nefarious.)

Two cephalopods with part of my foot for scale.

A generous assortment of large fossil debris.

In other cases the fossils are on display, as at Cincinnati. One of my favorite examples is the Brachiosaurus at Chicago O'Hare. I've become fairly familiar with this mount over the years since I first saw it on the way to Mongolia, as O'Hare has been practically a required stop on my trips east from MSP.

On this visit in 2019 the brachiosaur was decked out in Chicago Bears livery for the NFL's centenary.

Back to Cincinnati. (Well, not literally; the airport is actually across the Ohio River in Kentucky.) In the mastodon photo above another skeleton can be seen in the distance. I'd been in a hurry when I arrived, so I hadn't explored farther, but made it a point to do so when I departed. It turned out there were five more mounts in the concourse, which makes me wonder if there were any in Concourse A. The animals chosen for exhibit are all typical Ice Age fauna of the area (in fact, all have been found at Big Bone Lick not too far down the river). One notable absence, if only by name, was the giant beaver Castoroides ohioensis, so I kind of hope there were more in Concourse A.

Cervalces scotti, the "stag-moose"; think of a moose with fancier antlers.

A dire wolf pursues an extinct peccary.

A giant ground sloth; the mounts are convenient to walk around, particularly nice for appreciating the unusual anatomy of this animal.

A Smilodon smiling.