Search the Community

My last fossil hunt was May 23, so it had been a while. I was hopeful that with all the time, some fossils might show, but I never think I’m gonna find em’. Monday (9/12) was shapin’ up to be a perfect day. High temp of 84 degrees, dew point and relative humidity in the 40s with a slight southern breeze . . . nice. River height less than one foot. If the weather held, I was goin in. Fossil huntin’ isn’t “fun” for me. It’s a mission. It’s remote. It’s a long hike in and a long hike out. I train for it. I hike several days a week. The training is mission critical and gives me confidence I can cover the ground with a heavy pack. Safety is my main concern, I wanna get in and out of there in one piece. The weather is holding, so I’m goin’ in. I gear up, fuel up, leave the next morning at dark-thirty and arrive at Checkpoint Charlie at sunrise. I shake down the gear, take a compass bearing and set out for the ridge line. This ain’t no game. I’m ready for it. It had been a while and the biota was overgrown, waist high grass, deep thicket. I had flagged the way in on a previous mission, so when I got through the initial thicket and saw the tape, I was in business. The flagging sped up the hike. Before long, I was at the creek bank. I had traversed this drop-in many times, but I take nothing for granted; every step is an important one. I touched down on the creek bed. I paused and looked around. Dropped all the gear. Took a long swaggle of water. I tightened the belt, righted the gear, geared back up and set forth down the creek. It was good to be back with the silence and the raptors. I thought, after all this time, no one has found “Spooky Creek.” I figure they’ll find it soon enough. The creek bed was covered with dirt, in some places dry caked mud. It was dry for the most part, making it easier to cover the ground. Along with the dirt and mud, early fall leaves sparsely covered the bed making it tricky to see any fossils. I thought, this ain’t gonna be easy. I see wild hog tracks everywhere. I could see where they were wallowing in the mud. Spooky Creek had become their playground. I’d crossed paths with these beasts on a few occasions, they represent a chief safety concern. I see an old creek bank slump, another major safety concern. I found it disconcerting to see the hog tracks and the slump side by side. I kept on. The further I went the deeper the dirt. I thought about it . . . and reasoned there had been just enough rain to deposit, but not enuf rain to wash the sediment away. It never crossed my mind. I kept on. The fossils were scarce. I passed fossil wood, fossil oysters and I collected a nice little ammonite frag and a large baculite. I knew I was in a fossil rich environment, I knew they were there, but they were covered by sediment and cloaked by the leaves of early fall. I kept on. I found a fossil I thought might be a Tylosaur humeri – wasn’t for sure. I don’t remember picking it up. I do remember taking a look at it, saw it had a familiar morphology and I remember tucking it away deep in the pouch. I got to the end of the creek and sat down in the shade to eat lunch. It was good to be back with the silence. I considered my options. I figured I’ll come back after a couple good rains, no doubt I’ll have better luck. I, told self . . . “you’ve had a good run here, you’ve found a lot of fossils and you’ve learned what it sought to teach you. The hogs, they own that creek now, that’s their kingdom; it ain’t safe . . . time to let this fossil huntin’ thing go and find a new adventure.” The next day, while hosin’ off the gear, I saw a fossil tucked away in the pouch. I’d forgotten all about it. I dug it out. When I got back to the desk, I looked at it under magnification; indeed a fossil. I compared it to the first Tylosaur humeri; indeed a Tylosaur humeri. I thought what luck . . . again. It was slightly smaller and not as robust as the first humeri with a different color and density. I call it Tylosaur Junior. Attached are some pics.