A Bootfull of Pollywogs

Sunshine and springtime were rare bedfellows where I grew up. One day when I was four, my mother took me into the forest a few blocks from home. She had heard that the “Frog Pond," as it was known, was brimming with tadpoles. Cinching the deal that fateful day were scattered, caressing rays of sun.

After the short forest walk, I ran excitedly to the water’s edge and squatted down, staring intently. It took me a few moments to grasp the fact that each of the frenetic black blobs was a distinct life form. Wearing tall, black rubber boots, I stepped tentatively into the pond, captivated by the larval swarm. Bending over, I scooped up several with my hands to get a closer look. Bulging eyes, blob-like bodies, and long, slimy, transparent tails working madly against my fingers.

Captivated, I inched my way out further until, suddenly, the water overtopped one of my boots. I gasped at the chill now engulfing my foot. (Many years later, my mother told me that she started to object but thought better of it.) I hesitated briefly, imagining the tadpoles now darting around inside my boot, and then took another willful step into the muck. The second boot was now flooded.

I was in it now, sharing this pond-universe with thousands of frogs-to-be. Stepping gingerly so as to avoid any inadvertent amphibicide, I eventually found myself at the pond’s center, the water slightly above waist level. The sense of wonder and the smile across my face grew in tandem as I picked up handful after handful of squirming tadpoles. Immersed in that miniature sea of pollywogs, I felt, perhaps for the first time in my life, a deep and ecstatic sense of oneness with the world.

Through the late 1960s and 1970s, I escaped into that forest on the west side of Vancouver, British Columbia whenever possible, usually in the company of my friend Tim (TJ). Our local elementary school backed up against the forest, and the administrators established an “Adventure Playground” amidst a stand of hemlock, cedar, and Douglas fir abutting one of the playing fields. At recess and lunch, we would sprint for this natural wonderland, where a giant overturned cedar stump became cave, castle, and space ship.

As teenagers, the boundaries of our forest excursions expanded exponentially as we discovered the full, 2000-acre extent of the “University Endowment Lands,” more recently dubbed "Pacific Spirit Regional Park." (For us, it was simply “the woods.”) Canine companions joined us for this phase. I had a German shepherd named Rocky and Tim had Raisin, a poodle-Siberian husky mix that resembled a four-legged ball of steel wool. (When asked about the breed, TJ would offer the same straight-faced reply: “Purebred Pooberian.”)

Vision is the least intimate of human senses. In the forest, Tim and I were embraced by the sweet, almost citrusy fragrance of Douglas fir; the thick, moist air of late fall that turned breath visible; the deep qworking of ravens perched high on cedar boughs; and the tangy sumptuousness of fresh-picked huckleberries. This multisensory milieu offered a safe place, a cocoon within the world, for adolescent males to talk out their social angst and ponder the future. Needless to say, the dogs loved it too, relishing the endless array of textures and scents. As we explored more and more trails—with names like Sasamat, Hemlock, and Salish—we had no idea that this place was imprinting on our hearts and minds, that our pores were soaking up every moment.

Often we avoided trails entirely, preferring to bushwhack through the dense coastal foliage, clambering over rotting logs and navigating rock-strewn streams thick with skunk cabbage, nettles, salal, and ferns. On these meandering excursions, the forest took on a wild and unpredictable flavor, with amazing discoveries possible at any moment: teeming ant colonies; deep and murky ponds shaped like Japanese soaking tubs; raucous, foul-smelling bird rookeries; and humongous stumps, old growth ghosts. Hours later, humans and canines alike emerged from the forest filthy, exhausted, and exhilarated.

After a big winter snowfall (also a rare occurrence), the forest was transformed yet again. Blinding whiteness blanketed every branch, twig, and needle. A deep, cathedral-like silence settled over our refuge. With light hearts, we crunched through the heavy snow, stopping occasionally to lounge in the bare zone beneath one of the bigger trees.

In our mid teenage years, testosterone overdoses manifested in the forest as a risky game dubbed “Deelo Wars.” A deelo (etymology uncertain) was any piece of wood that you could heft at someone else. In essence the strategy amounted to abandoning the cover of tree or bush just long enough to fling large sticks at several of your closest friends. Of course, they were busy doing the same—every man for himself. All of us sustained a few direct hits, but I’m happy to report that no serious injuries resulted. (And no, I don’t recommend trying this at home!)

I departed Vancouver in the mid 1980s to attend graduate school in Toronto, eventually earning a Ph.D. and becoming a dinosaur paleontologist. Tim, meanwhile, headed off to become an airline pilot. In the decades since, I’ve been fortunate enough to search for fossils in such far-flung locales as Zimbabwe, Mexico, and Madagascar. Cumulatively, I’ve spent years living in tents in remote places that most people refer to as “badlands.” While hunting ancient dinosaurs, I’ve had face-to-face encounters with an assortment of living creatures, among them bear, elephant, hyena, cobra, moose, and crocodile. But the senses with which I have experienced these places and their inhabitants were attuned in that second growth temperate forest on Vancouver’s west side. Together with family camping trips, those countless treks in the Endowment Lands fostered in me a persistent passion for nature, undoubtedly influencing my career path. In recent years I’ve come to realize that I cannot help but take that Pacific Northwest forest with me wherever I go. It is an indelible part of who I am, more like a lens on the world than a collection of memories.

I become afraid when I think about the present generation of children growing up largely without such experiences. Kids today spend about 90% less time outdoors than their parents did. Absorbed in the virtual reality of glowing screens, youngsters are missing the natural wonders around their homes—yes, even in urban settings. For the health of children, and the health of the places they live, we need to re-engage children with nature and give them abundant, direct, multisensory, hands-on experience.

Many more kids need to feel the sensation of a bootfull of pollywogs.

Images: All images are of Pacific Spirit Regional Park. Image Credits (top to bottom):

1. justlist-it.com

2. panoramio.com

3 & 4. digitallery.blogspot.com

Planting Trees, Saving Salmon

One weekend late in 2011, Jade and I decided to get our hands dirty on behalf of the local salmon. Then we welcomed them back home!

Many readers will have heard of, or even visited, Muir Woods National Monument, a spectacular stand of old growth redwoods a few short miles north of San Francisco. The forest is watered by Redwood Creek, which originates close by at the top of Mount Tamalpais, the dominant landmark of Marin County. The creek nourishes the Monument before completing its short, riffling journey to the Pacific Coast at Muir Beach.

Jade Digging

Redwood Creek is home to (locally endangered) Steelhead Trout and (federally endangered) Central Coast Coho Salmon. Just 25 minutes north of the Golden Gate Bridge, this Northern California creek also bears the distinction of being the southernmost watershed in North America to host stable runs of these anadromous fishes. Most autumns, toward the end of the dry season, the connection between creek and ocean is severed at Muir Beach by a massive sandy berm. During this period, spawning salmon gather out in the bay, waiting for the first downpours to fill the creek, break through the berm, and re-establish access to their natal creek.

Over the past few decades, fewer and fewer salmon have arrived in the creek each year to spawn. Much of the problem has been mismanagement of the waterway near the ocean. The once extensive system of wetlands, lagoon, and dunes were heavily disturbed by agriculture, construction, and recreation. So the National Parks Service, with help from the Golden Gate National Parks Conservancy, has undertaken a major multi-year, multi-million-dollar project to reclaim the original character of the creek, re-routing the waterway to make it more salmon friendly, removing nonnative plant species, and planting many thousands of native plants. Much of this work is being done by enthusiastic volunteers.

On this particular Saturday, Jade and I joined in on the fun, planting Elderberry and California Blackberry. Other volunteers that day were also planting California Wax Myrtle and Small-Fruited Bulrush. Each plant had been lovingly grown nearby at a native plant nursery. Literally hundreds of volunteer hours go into collecting the seeds and plants, sowing and transplanting the nascent plants, and then planting them in their new homes. It takes a community.

Jade with Deer Exclosure Completed: A Job Well Done

Jade and I were each given a name tag, gloves, and a digging tool. After a short orientation, we were then handed some seedlings and told where to plant them. Here’s the drill. Dig a hole deep just enough to cover the roots, remove the plant from its plastic protective casing, carefully place it in the hole, and fill the remainder with dirt. Make sure you level off the dirt at the end; a depression at the base of the plant traps too much water; a mound of dirt doesn’t allow enough water to reach the plant. After completing this process with seven or so seedlings in a small area, cover that area with a loose matrix of sticks to prevent deer from grazing away all your hard work (and that of the volunteers before you).

On that day over the span of a few hours, the volunteers planted 310 plants and made 35 deer “exclosures.” Thus far, project volunteers have planted almost 6000 of a total of 9000 plants targeted for volunteer groups, so a lot of work remains to be done. I can vouch from firsthand experience that the work is both fun and rewarding. I felt great getting my hands dirty restoring the watershed and helping to save the salmon. Jade loved it too, and we both look forward to more volunteer planting.

Ane Rovetta, Animated Storyteller

We topped that Saturday off by attending the “Welcome Back Salmon” event at Muir Beach. Festivities included a ceremonial campfire with members of the Federated Indians of Graton Rancheria (living descendents of the Coast Miwok). There was also storytelling and native craft making under the capable and passionate direction of Ane Rovetta. Jade and I returned home late afternoon exhausted and exhilarated, with a deeper sense of place and an even stronger feeling that we need to help conserve, restore, and protect our place.

As indigenous peoples have shown us for generations, topophilia—a love of place—blossoms only if individuals spend abundant time outdoors, learn something of the workings of their native place, and work to take care of it. Only with this intertwined combination of firsthand knowledge, experience, and service can one nurture emotional attachments to local life and landscapes. And at this pivotal juncture in human history, there’s never been a greater need for a topophilia revolution. So think about your local opportunities to get outside and get connected. Oh, and don’t forget the kids!

Ceremonial Salmon Art

I’ve heard that the salmon did return to Redwood Creek, not in great numbers but they’re still making the upstream journey. I plan to take Jade out soon to try and find them. Traveling thousands of miles and then navigating their way back to their place of birth, these amazing fishes have much to teach us about possessing a true sense of place.

The Gaia Hypothesis

I wrote the following brief essay in response to literary agent John Brockman's annual question. This year's question was, "What is your favorite deep, elegant, or beautiful explanation? Check out answers from other members of the Edge clan here.

___________________

For my money, the deepest, most beautiful scientific explanation is the Gaia hypothesis, the idea that Earth's physical and biological processes are inextricably interwoven to form a self-regulating system. This notion—the 1965 brainchild of chemist James Lovelock, further co-developed with microbiologist Lynn Margulis—proposes that air (atmosphere), water (hydrosphere), earth (geosphere or pedosphere) and life (biosphere) interact to form a single evolving system capable of maintaining environmental conditions consistent with life. Lovelock initially put forth the Gaia hypothesis to explain how life on Earth has persisted for 4 billion years despite a 30% increase in the Sun’s intensity over that same interval.

But how does Gaia work? Lacking a conscious command-and-control system, Lovelock and Margulis demonstrated that Gaia uses feedback loops to track and adjust key environmental parameters. Take oxygen, a highly reactive by-product of life, generated and continually replenished by photosynthetic algae and plants. The present day atmospheric concentration of oxygen is about 21%. A few percentage points lower and air-breathing life forms could not survive. A few percentage points higher and terrestrial ecosystems would become overly combustible, prone to conflagration. According to the Gaia hypothesis, oxygen-producing organisms have used feedback loops to maintain atmospheric oxygen between these narrow limits for hundreds of millions of years.

James Lovelock

Similar arguments, backed by an ever-growing body of research, can be made for other atmospheric constituents, as well as for global surface temperature, oceanic salinity, and other key environmental metrics. Although the Gaia hypothesis highlights cooperation at the scale of the biosphere, researchers have documented multiple examples showing how cooperation at one level could evolve through competition and natural selection at lower levels. Initially criticized by serious scientists as new-age mumbo-jumbo, Lovelock’s radical notion has increasingly been incorporated into scientific orthodoxy, and key elements are now often taught as “Earth Systems Science.” One timely lesson resulting at least in part from Gaian research is that food web complexity, including higher species diversity, tends to enhance ecological and climate stability.

So, while Earth may inhabit a “Goldilocks zone,” neither too close nor too far from the sun, life’s rampant success on this “pale blue dot” cannot be ascribed to luck alone. Life has had a direct hand in ensuring its own persistence.

Science has not yet fully embraced the Gaia hypothesis. And it must be admitted that, as an explanation, this idea remains incomplete. The insights cascading from Gaia are unquestionably deep and beautiful, uniting the whole of the biosphere and Earth’s surface processes into a single, emergent, self-regulating system. Yet this explanation has yet to achieve the third milestone defined in this year’s Edge Annual Question—elegance. The Gaia hypothesis currently lacks the mathematical precision of Einstein’s E=Mc². No unified theory of Earth and Life has been presented to explain why life stabilizes more than it destabilizes.

W. D. Hamilton

Evolutionary biologist W. D. Hamilton once compared Lovelock’s insights to those of Copernicus, adding that we still await the Newton who will define the laws of this grand, seemingly improbable relationship. Hamilton himself became deeply engrossed in seeking an answer to this question, developing a computer model that seemed to show how stability and productivity could increase in tandem. Were it not for an untimely death, Hamilton might have emerged as that modern-day Newton, becoming, in the words of author Tim Flannery, “the most revered biologist of all time.”

Lynn Margulis

The cultural implications of Gaia also continue to be debated. Arguably the most profound implication of Lovelock’s idea is that Earth, considered as a whole, possesses many qualities of an organism. But is Gaia actually alive, akin to a single life form, or is it more accurate to think of her as a planet-sized ecosystem? Lynn Margulis argued strongly (and convincingly, to my mind) for the latter view. Margulis, whose work revolutionized evolutionary biology at the smallest and grandest of scales, died recently. Always the hard-nosed scientist, she once said,

“Gaia is a tough bitch — a system that has worked for over three billion years without people. This planet's surface and its atmosphere and environment will continue to evolve long after people and prejudice are gone.”

While not disagreeing with this blunt assessment, I find considerably greater inspiration in Gaian thinking. Indeed I would go so far as to suggest that this idea can help shift the human perception of nature. In the modernist perspective, the natural world is little more than a collection of virtually infinite resources available for human exploitation. The Gaian lens encourages us to re-envision Earth-bound nature as an intertwined, finite whole from which we evolved, and in which we remain fully embedded. Here, then, is a deep and beautiful perspective in desperate need of broad dissemination.

Image Credits

James Lovelock: www.guardian.co.uk

W. D. Hamilton: www.psychology.wikia.com

Lynn Margulis: www.blogs.scientificamerican.com

Holiday Nature Connection

While out walking on this day, the shortest of the year, I began thinking about how grown-ups might be connecting kids with nature this time of year. To my mind, finding ways to help children make meaningful connections with (nonhuman) nature is one of the most pressing challenges of the 21st Century, rivaling global warming, habitat loss, and species extinctions. After all, how can we possibly live sustainably in a place we don’t care about? And why would we care unless we have meaningful experiences in that place, and know something of how it works and how it came to be?

Jade out having fun in Nature!

On the one hand, the holiday season would seem to offer great opportunities for making nature connections, since kids have time off school and other activities. On the other, adults are often running around working, shopping, and/or staggering from party to party. Then there are the obstacles of winter, like finding sufficient daylight and warmth. How many kids are going to be passionate about turning off the screens to face the frigid temperatures outdoors? Yet, I know that there are millions of people who will be out there connecting their kids to nature this holiday season. What I—and, my assumption is, many others—want to know is, What are they doing?

Before getting to that question, let me return for a minute to technology. Many people in the children-and-nature movement see technology as the enemy—the evil that now enslaves children for 7-10 hours a day in front at screens. But, let’s be frank. Technology isn’t going away; indeed it’s only going to accelerate, at least for the foreseeable future. So, perhaps ironically, I’m convinced that we need to come up with creative ways to use technology to aid the cause of nature connection. And that, my friends, brings me to Twitter.

I recently joined the Twitterverse, which, for me, felt like a big move. But I have to say, the decision was a great one, and I haven’t looked back. Not only have I shared ideas with many like-minded (and not so like-minded) people. I have learned about cutting edge news and events that I undoubtedly would have missed if I hadn’t been tossing out the occasional tweet.

Jade and friend Tessa camping.

So here’s what occurred to me while out walking (which, by the way, research suggests is the best time to think). Let’s find out how people are connecting kids to nature this holiday season by putting out a call on Twitter. So here goes:

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE WAY TO CONNECT KIDS TO NATURE DURING THE WINTER HOLIDAY SEASON?

It might be something you’ve done before, something you’re doing this year, or something you dream of doing (e.g., surfing off the coast of Maui on Christmas day). Stargazing, beach walking, snowball fights, snowboarding, a visit to the local natural history museum—it’s all fair game.

Tweet your answer to #HolidayNature by Wednesday, January 4^th, 2012, so that others can find out what you’re up to. Please include @DrScottSampson in your tweet so that I can track all the submissions.

I will tally and blog about the results, choosing what I think are the Top 10 best answers. And if, as anticipated, the material warrants, I’ll write up an article and submit it for publication so that many other folks can benefit from your collective creativity and wisdom!

Jade on one of our birding trips

Please get the word out through the Twitterverse asap so that we can get some amazing feedback. I already have my first response, from Michael Barton (@darwinsbulldog), who wrote, “Last year we visited a local state park on Christmas day and I said we should do so every year...”

As for me, well, let me throw my hat into the ring too. Jade, my 9-year-old daughter pictured in the accompanying photos, is passionate about birds (you know, living dinosaurs), so we'll be heading into the local hills, or perhaps down to the lagoon, to do some birding.

So, what are you doing to connect your kids to nature this holiday season? Let the masses know! And please follow me on Twitter (@DrScottSampson). I promise many future tweets on nature connection!

Dinosaur Train Gets Into Nature!

When I was initially invited to get involved with PBS KIDS Dinosaur Train a few years ago, I was very skeptical about working on a TV series that might further addict children to screens. After all, my focus as a science communicator is all about getting kids outside. However, following some negotiations with the Jim Henson Company (which produces the show), it was agreed that I would add an enthusiastic tag line at the close of every episode (the final version being the brainchild of my wife Toni): “Remember, get outside, get into nature, and make your own discoveries!”

At the time I had no idea if a television program could induce kids to turn off the TV and head outdoors. However, based on the hundreds of comments I’ve received from parents, I’m now convinced. I regularly hear about boys like Tommy who are always heading outdoors to dig for fossils (makes me wonder about the holes in the backyard . . .), and girls like Mary who have become avid birdwatchers (that is, dinosaur observers!). A nationwide Dinosaur Train geocaching program was added, which has also been very successful at getting kids to explore their local areas.

By the time we began production on Season 2 of Dinosaur Train, the Henson Company and PBS KIDS were equally excited about the idea of getting kids outside. Indeed it was decided that nature connection would become one of the show’s primary themes. As a result, the animated kid characters, led by Buddy the T. rex and Tiny Pteranodon, have formed their own nature club (the “Nature Trackers”) and now spend much of their time making natural history collections and firsthand observations about their surroundings.

Some kids at the beach being filmed making nature art.

Along with cool new dinosaurs, featured topics for connecting kids to nature now include plants, insects, stars, rocks, and nature art. In the interstitial portion of each episode, which I have the pleasure of hosting, we’re encouraging kids more than ever to explore local nature. In Season 1, all of the interstitials were shot on green screen in a Hollywood studio—hardly the ideal setting for encouraging nature exploration. But for Season 2, we’re featuring shoot locations out in nature (e.g., redwood forests, beautiful beaches, and tidepools burgeoning with animals), as well as in museums, often showing real children connecting to real nature!

Check out some of the new episodes and songs here, including a very cute tune called “Get Into Nature.” The award-winning website will soon be bolstered with all kinds of activities to help parents connect their kids to the natural world. Dinosaur Train has even partnered with the Cornell Lab of Ornithology to help foster an entire generation of kid birdwatchers! Currently, the show is viewed in more than 9 million households a month, and appears to be gaining steam! So stay tuned and get onboard!

The Dinosaur Train Film Crew!

(The show's creator, Craig Bartlett, is second from the left in the back row.)

Deep Technology

What do kingfishers, Namibian beetles, and humpback whales have in common? Do the members of this unlikely trio serve as the namesakes of professional sporting teams? Have their genes been spliced together to make a super-cucumber? Nope. All three have inspired new human technologies.

Kingfishers are expert predators who dive into the water to catch fish. A Japanese engineer was tasked with solving the problem of thunderous claps generated by the Shinkansen bullet train as it emerged from tunnels. He decided to look to nature for answers, and came across the kingfisher, which also must pass from one medium (air) to another (water) at high speed. The nosecone of the speedy train was redesigned to mimic the bird’s elongate beak, and the result was not only much quieter, but 10% faster and 15% more efficient in its electricity consumption.

A dime-sized Namibian beetle inhabits a harsh desert setting that receives less than half an inch of rain each year. Intrepid biologists found that the beetle meets its water needs with the help of a specially designed shell. Microscopic bumps on the outer surface capture moisture from fog to create water droplets, which then travel along water-repellent channels directly to the animal’s mouth. MIT engineers mimicked this design to create a new, highly efficient water harvesting material that combines a Teflon-like, water-repellent surface with water-attracting bumps.

The flippers of humpback whales are lined along the leading edge with irregular bumps, which, at first blush, would seem an odd design for a limb that must maneuver a giant animal through water. However, an enterprising engineer tried adding similar looking tubercles to blades, conducted wind tunnel tests, and found that, among other benefits, the design reduced drag by almost one third. Today, bumpy, whale-inspired blades can be found in everything from wind turbines to HVAC systems to computer fans.

I could cite literally hundreds of additional high tech examples founded on Nature’s genius. Don’t believe me? Check out the amazing database at AskNature.org.“Biomimicry” (from bios, meaning life, and mimesis, meaning to imitate), is a nascent, vibrant and rapidly growing field that seeks innovative answers to human problems by turning to Nature. The most famous example is Velcro, inspired by burrs that stuck tenaciously to the canine companion of a Swiss engineer.

Contrary to popular belief, evolution is not a random process. It is highly creative, constantly seeking solutions through a trial-and-error process that successfully marries organisms to environments. The core idea of biomimicry is that nature has already solved most of the problems now faced by human engineers and designers. By tapping into these solutions, or “adaptations,” we’re learning to harness energy like a leaf, create color like a butterfly, grow food like a prairie, and recycle our wastes like a swamp. “We live on a wildly diverse planet surrounded by genius,” says Janine Benyus, founder and leader of the biomimicry movement [1].

Got a pressing problem to solve? Just ask nature!

The new web home of this movement is biomimicry.net, where you’ll find business applications—people engaged in creating new, sustainable technologies inspired by nature—and a range of education programs (organized within the Biomimicry Guild and the Biomimicry Institute, respectively). Under the new umbrella organization “Biomimicry 3.8” (in reference to 3.8 billion years of life’s evolution on Earth), this entrepreneurial organization has an explicit bias toward ecologically and socially sustainable solutions, steering away from, say, military applications like weaponry and armor.

Today, when speaking of cutting edge technology, we often refer to “high technology.” I like to refer to nature’s technological solutions as “deep technology,” the result of evolutionary R&D conducted over billions of years of deep time. My strong hunch is that the future “sweet spot” of technology will be at the interface of high-tech and deep-tech. Here we will eventually learn to model not just our materials and gadgets, but entire societies after Nature’s wisdom. In such a place, buildings would behave like trees, grabbing energy from the sun and regulating temperatures without expensive heating and cooling. Such innovations are already well underway in the world of architecture. Ultimately, linked to networks of other buildings, both homes and businesses, cities could become much like ecosystems, funneling local resources where they’re needed and using the waste from one sector as the raw materials of another. This would be biomimicry scaled up to civilization proportions. A dream? Yes, but a glorious and attainable one.

A few weeks ago, I had the pleasure of attending a day-long education workshop spear-headed by the Biomimicry Institute. I was fascinated to learn how fast and how deeply this young field is making inroads into K-12 and higher education. I was also impressed by the passion of biomimicry practitioners. A number of pioneering teachers are quickly finding ways to place biomimicry at the heart of the curriculum. Today, you can even attain a masters degree in this area. No question. Biomimicry is a powerful lens through which to view science education, encouraging children and adults to new creative heights inspired by the nonhuman world around them.

Nevertheless, what excites me most about biomimicry is the revolutionary shift in perspective it leads us toward. No longer merely something to learn about, the living world is suddenly transformed into something to learn from. No longer merely a bunch of material resources, Nature becomes mentor and model. Deep technology and biomimicry are potent tools that unite the evolutionary epic with a sustainable future, helping us navigate our way back to a home fully embedded within the natural world.

References

1. Benyus, Janine (1997). Biomimicry: Innovation Inspired by Nature. New York, NY, USA: William Morrow & Company, Inc.

Image Credits (from top to bottom):

1) AnneofCarversville.com

2) mnn.com

3) AskNature.org

4) isd1xinxinliu.blogspot.com

A Feathered Terror From Utah

This week, another “new” dinosaur was officially announced to the world. Like several other discoveries over the past few years, this one was unearthed from rocks of the Late Cretaceous Kaiparowits Formation in Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument (GSENM), southern Utah. Over the past decade, the Kaiparowits Basin Project, which I have the pleasure of heading up, has yielded about a dozen new dinosaur varieties from these sediments, amongst them duck-billed hadrosaurs like Gryposaurus and horned ceratopsians like Kosmoceratops. Thanks to the work of geologists and paleobotanists, we know that these animals lived about 76 million years ago in a wet, often swampy setting about 100 km from the coast of an inland sea.

Over the past decade, tantalizing bits and pieces of a small, carnivorous “troodont” theropod have been found in the Kaiparowits Formation. Closely akin to Velociraptor, troodonts are a clan of feathered “raptors” with sickle claws tipping the second toe of each foot. They were lightly built runners with some of the largest brains for their body size of any dinosaur. Most of our GSENM troodont fossils have consisted of random teeth, augmented by a few isolated skull and limb bones. But a couple of years ago, graduate student Michael Knell from Museum of the Rockies in Bozeman, Montana—while working in GSENM with Monument Paleontologist Alan Titus—found a partial skeleton that turned out to belong to this mystery theropod.

A team of workers consisting of Lindsay Zanno (University of Wisconsin-Parkside), David Varricchio (Montana State University), Patrick O’Connor (Ohio University), Alan Titus, and Michael Knell has just published their conclusions about this ancient little beast in the online journal PLoS ONE [1].

Talos, as it was dubbed, is the first troodont to be named from North America in more than 75 years. (In Greek mythology, Talos was a winged bronze figure who protected the island of Crete by throwing large stones at invading ships.) The vast bulk of fossils attributed to this group have been found in Asia, including the famous sleeping dinosaur (Mei long), as well as many eggs and nests. With few exceptions, the remains of North American troodonts have tended to be much scrappier. In life, Talos would have been about 6 feet long, but most of that length consisted of neck and tail, so the animal would have weighed in at a paltry 80 lbs or so. Mike Knell’s key specimen consists of most of the back limb plus a few other odds and ends. Most striking of all is the virtually complete foot with the lethal-looking claws.

One of those claws shows distinct signs of injury, a visual diagnosis that was confirmed with CT scanning of the bones. Particularly since the remainder of the foot was uninjured, this finding suggests that, at least occasionally, troodonts put their sickle claws “in harm’s way,” as Zanno colorfully puts it. Although it has long been assumed that these claws were used as predatory weapons, Talos offers the first fossilized evidence of such behavior. Whatever the cause of the injury, this particular animal survived for some time after the initial trauma and infection.

Many readers of this blog will know that Late Cretaceous North America was subdivided into a pair of landmasses—Laramidia in the west and Appalachia in the east—by high sea levels that flooded the central region of the continent. For about 25 million years, Laramidian dinosaurs evolved in isolation from the rest of the world. Most remarkable is the fact that this diminutive landmass, less than one fifth the size of present day N. America, hosted at least two distinct dinosaur faunas: one in the north and another in the south. Talos provides yet another unique addition to the southern fauna, deepening the mystery of how so many dinosaur varieties managed to co-exist on such a small chunk of real estate.

Finally, I have to thank the Talos authors, who have graciously called the second half of Talos’ name “sampsoni.” I am honored to have this little predator named after me, and had to chuckle when I heard the news. Until recently, the name Troodon was known only to professional paleontologists and a few die-hard kid enthusiasts. However, millions of fans of the PBS KIDS series Dinosaur Train (for which I serve as the science advisor and host) are now well aware of Troodon, because these animals run the famous train, and frequently tell anyone who will listen, “We are the smartest dinosaurs, ya know!”

The bones of Talos will be on exhibit for the first time in the brand new Museum of Natural History of Utah in Salt Lake City (previously the Utah Museum of Natural History), which is set to open to the world on November 17^th!

References

1. Zanno LE, Varricchio DJ, O’Connor PM, Titus AL, Knell MJ (2011) A New Troodontid Theropod, Talos sampsoni gen. et sp. nov., from the Upper Cretaceous Western Interior Basin of North America. PLoS ONE 6(9): e24487. doi:10.1371/journal.pone.0024487