Nearly here. The Tucson containers have been unloaded in Bristol and my crates are currently being tampered with by Simon. Once he's finished, he'll kindly condense and ship them up to Edinburgh.
All being well, they should be on the pavement outside the shop sometime on Tuesday. And then an hour or so later, inside the shop.
It's a busy few days for me, but I enjoy them. Unpacking all the stuff I bought in January and February that I've almost forgotten about. Working out prices, making new labels, and getting things on the shelves.
Friday, 27 March 2009
Monday, 23 March 2009
On the sea shore
For Ada Lovelace Day...
Mary Anning was, for a long time, an unsung heroine of palaeontology. She lived in early 19th Century Lyme Regis, Dorset, on England's fossil-rich South coast. Her parents were poor, and her father supplemented his income making furniture by collecting and sellng fossils. There was a small tourist trade in fossils at the time, and Mary and her brother took to the beaches to help their father.
The fact that seven of Mary's brothers and sisters did not live past early infancy allows some insight into the circumstances of the time, and Mary was only eleven when her father died, leaving the family in even more desparate circumstances.
While Mary would have been selling her early finds to tourists, the science of palaeontology was by now beginning to find its feet. Fossil enthusiasts began to seek out fossil hunters to quickly expand their collections and understanding of their importance. It wasn't long before Mary was supplying these budding palaeontologists with material and they began to provide her with a steadier income.
Mary made some very significant finds, including the first complete ichthyosaur skeleton, a plesiosaur and even a pterosaur. Her family recieved a welcome financial hand from one of her customers, who sold his collection to help support Mary's work. It wasn't until much later in life that she began to recievemore official recognition for her discoveries. She was awarded regular funding for her contributions to science and, just before her death in 1847, was granted honourary membership of the Geological Society. Honourary only, as she was a woman.
The famous tongue twister 'She sells sea shells...' is thought to be about her.
Mary Anning was, for a long time, an unsung heroine of palaeontology. She lived in early 19th Century Lyme Regis, Dorset, on England's fossil-rich South coast. Her parents were poor, and her father supplemented his income making furniture by collecting and sellng fossils. There was a small tourist trade in fossils at the time, and Mary and her brother took to the beaches to help their father.
The fact that seven of Mary's brothers and sisters did not live past early infancy allows some insight into the circumstances of the time, and Mary was only eleven when her father died, leaving the family in even more desparate circumstances.
While Mary would have been selling her early finds to tourists, the science of palaeontology was by now beginning to find its feet. Fossil enthusiasts began to seek out fossil hunters to quickly expand their collections and understanding of their importance. It wasn't long before Mary was supplying these budding palaeontologists with material and they began to provide her with a steadier income.
Mary made some very significant finds, including the first complete ichthyosaur skeleton, a plesiosaur and even a pterosaur. Her family recieved a welcome financial hand from one of her customers, who sold his collection to help support Mary's work. It wasn't until much later in life that she began to recievemore official recognition for her discoveries. She was awarded regular funding for her contributions to science and, just before her death in 1847, was granted honourary membership of the Geological Society. Honourary only, as she was a woman.
The famous tongue twister 'She sells sea shells...' is thought to be about her.
Thursday, 19 March 2009
Mother-of-pearl Day
Ammonite fossils sometimes show a mother-of-pearl like layer where the aragonite of the original shell has not changed to calcite, as usually happens. Light reflecting from the thin layers of aragonite undergoes an interference which leads to a beautiful spectrum of colour display.
Ammonites from Majunga in Madagascar can show this effect and those of a South Dakota locality, and there are some Somerset ammonites which can display fine colour too, but by far the best examples come from Placenticeras ammonites in 70 million year old rocks in Alberta, Canada. Here the stone is called ammolite (among other names) and the better grades of ammolite show a fantastically intense, opal-like colour.
Colour ranges across the spectrum, but greens and reds are most common. The purply-blues are rare, and fetch a bit more money. The highest grade gems can be pretty expensive, but it is possible to get nice colour at a reasonable price. Complete ammonites can be found, though they are rare and can take hundreds of hours of painstaking preparation to reveal the colour fully. Needless to say, the ammonites cost tens of thousands of dollars.
Ammolite has been officially classified as a gemstone, though quite what that means I don't know. Nobody's officially classified me as anything. Something to do with grading? Marketing? What I do know is that it looks great. It's one of my favourite stones. I try not to take stones home, but with ammolite I find it very difficult to part with some pieces. I buy mine from a good friend, who collects, cuts and polishes it himself. Not many people are allowed to collect the material, and it's also very difficult to actually find it. Can be dangerous, too - the best stuff is found on the steep, scree covered banks of a torrential river, accessible only for a short period of the year. A large part of the formation is found on a Kainah tribal reservation, and permission to collect is controlled.
The Blackfeet consider the stone to help with the buffalo hunt and call it buffalo stone. There aren't many buffalo near where I live, but I may try it out on some cows. I won't actually hunt them, though. Maybe just sneak up on them.
I've been selling ammolite in the shop for a decade now, and people love it. It took me a while to get round to selling jewellery, but now it's a jewellery line that is memorably different and it's been doing well. This year I picked out a few pendants but also got a bunch of pieces that I will get made into pendants and rings. It takes a bit of time to get them done that way, but is worth doing.
Thought as it was Mothers Day this weekend, I'd pick a gem as a theme today...
Wednesday, 11 March 2009
Hands off approach
Last week, I overheard a comment as a couple of people were leaving the shop. It's one I've heard a few times before, and went a little along the lines of:
'I don't think they should be allowed to take things from the Earth. It's like shells, isn't it?'
I can understand the conservational principles behind the thinking, but cannot agree with the sentiment. Firstly, there's a significant difference between the shell trade and fossils. Without knowing a great deal about the shell business I can't say what standard practice is, but there is at least the potential for dealers being pro-active - actually killing lots of cuddly little slime-lumps to sell their homes to somebody. Rather than just filling a bucket with shells from the beach after a high tide, for example. I don't know if this goes on or not and I don't want to be in any way accusatory, but my point is that with fossils, it can't. Nobody can go out with a shotgun, a flask of coffee and a couple of cheese and pickle sandwiches on a day's trilobite hunting. Beaten to the punch by hundreds of millions of years.
A common comment in the shop is 'Why aren't all these things in museums?'. I'm pretty sure I've addressed this issue in an earlier post. If I can be bothered, maybe I'll go and have a look later, and edit this. Would be a good exercise in posting a link, which I should get round to. (Stone sentinels - ooh, look, I could be bothered). Anyway, there's clearly a link with these lines of thinking. With one, an assumption of intrinsic scarcity leading to the feeling that everything should be locked away and looked after by somebody for the greater good. And with the other, perhaps, the feeling of collective ownership, or ownership by 'the planet' leading to a feeling of suspicion of those exploiting a common resource. Both 'hands off those fossils' lines of thinking, in different ways.
As I said, I have addressed the former point already, but one moment of tv annoyed me greatly. Let me vent for a second. Tony Robinson's Time Team archaeology program had a sideways dip into matters palaeontological a few years ago. Early in this programme, they stated that they knew very little about the subject, and less about the commercial side to the subject. Yet later on they were scathing and condemnatory about a little 'Mom and Pop' store they came across selling fragments of dinosaur bone and eggshell. They were horrified that anyone should be selling this precious and rare material, and were outraged that it wasn't all safely locked away in a museum somewhere. I don't think there would have been many museums that would have taken that stuff if they had offered to drop it on their doorstep. It's purely commercial material, of little or no scientific value. And they ought to have done a little research into that before writing off a whole industry like that.
On to the second 'pillaging the Earth' line. If fossils weren't collected then nobody would see them. Nobody would learn from them. Nobody would be able to appreciate their beauty. Those that are lying around on the surface may be seen by a few diligent beachcombers or desert wanderers, but would eventually be destroyed by the elements. Those buried within the rocks, the vast majority, would stay there, benefitting no-one, until the rock is eroded. However many fossils are found and collected (and sold), most will remain hidden from view.
One issue that I should probably raise here is the possibility that the Earth would 'feel' the loss of the stones. I mean as some sort of sentient being. Mother Earth. I've said before that I hold very strong atheist views, so this doesn't hold any water for me. Gaia Theory is a fascinating topic, and one I'll save for another post, but I would contend that it's a form of religion for scientists. Poor Mother Earth would also then presumably feel the loss of metal ores, oils and gases by that measure. In which case the loss of a few fossils here and there is small beer.
'I don't think they should be allowed to take things from the Earth. It's like shells, isn't it?'
I can understand the conservational principles behind the thinking, but cannot agree with the sentiment. Firstly, there's a significant difference between the shell trade and fossils. Without knowing a great deal about the shell business I can't say what standard practice is, but there is at least the potential for dealers being pro-active - actually killing lots of cuddly little slime-lumps to sell their homes to somebody. Rather than just filling a bucket with shells from the beach after a high tide, for example. I don't know if this goes on or not and I don't want to be in any way accusatory, but my point is that with fossils, it can't. Nobody can go out with a shotgun, a flask of coffee and a couple of cheese and pickle sandwiches on a day's trilobite hunting. Beaten to the punch by hundreds of millions of years.
A common comment in the shop is 'Why aren't all these things in museums?'. I'm pretty sure I've addressed this issue in an earlier post. If I can be bothered, maybe I'll go and have a look later, and edit this. Would be a good exercise in posting a link, which I should get round to. (Stone sentinels - ooh, look, I could be bothered). Anyway, there's clearly a link with these lines of thinking. With one, an assumption of intrinsic scarcity leading to the feeling that everything should be locked away and looked after by somebody for the greater good. And with the other, perhaps, the feeling of collective ownership, or ownership by 'the planet' leading to a feeling of suspicion of those exploiting a common resource. Both 'hands off those fossils' lines of thinking, in different ways.
As I said, I have addressed the former point already, but one moment of tv annoyed me greatly. Let me vent for a second. Tony Robinson's Time Team archaeology program had a sideways dip into matters palaeontological a few years ago. Early in this programme, they stated that they knew very little about the subject, and less about the commercial side to the subject. Yet later on they were scathing and condemnatory about a little 'Mom and Pop' store they came across selling fragments of dinosaur bone and eggshell. They were horrified that anyone should be selling this precious and rare material, and were outraged that it wasn't all safely locked away in a museum somewhere. I don't think there would have been many museums that would have taken that stuff if they had offered to drop it on their doorstep. It's purely commercial material, of little or no scientific value. And they ought to have done a little research into that before writing off a whole industry like that.
On to the second 'pillaging the Earth' line. If fossils weren't collected then nobody would see them. Nobody would learn from them. Nobody would be able to appreciate their beauty. Those that are lying around on the surface may be seen by a few diligent beachcombers or desert wanderers, but would eventually be destroyed by the elements. Those buried within the rocks, the vast majority, would stay there, benefitting no-one, until the rock is eroded. However many fossils are found and collected (and sold), most will remain hidden from view.
One issue that I should probably raise here is the possibility that the Earth would 'feel' the loss of the stones. I mean as some sort of sentient being. Mother Earth. I've said before that I hold very strong atheist views, so this doesn't hold any water for me. Gaia Theory is a fascinating topic, and one I'll save for another post, but I would contend that it's a form of religion for scientists. Poor Mother Earth would also then presumably feel the loss of metal ores, oils and gases by that measure. In which case the loss of a few fossils here and there is small beer.
Tuesday, 3 March 2009
In the field
I did my geology degree at Glasgow University. At the time, the course provided more hours spent in the field than any other in Britain. Geological field trips are far from random. Destinations are selected very carefully.
Obviously, the geology and exposure of the area is important, but first and foremost is the weather. Geology can only properly be studied in temperatures that will make your nose turn black and fall off, fingers curl into pitiful talons and eyes freeze to icy marbles. Wind is vital - it has to be fierce, and, ideally, unpredictable. The cardinal rule, though, is that precipitation must be heavy and near constant. Gaps between raindrops, hailstones or snowflakes must only be enough to allow sheltered breathing.
This, perhaps, is why Scotland has been the source of so many key figures in the development of the science. During my time at Glasgow University we covered a great deal of Scottish soil. And saw very few days of clement weather. That said - our final year trip was from a choice of three. One to Ireland, one to the North of Scotland, where I had recently spent 6 weeks mapping, and one to the South of Spain. I went to Spain. It was very hot, very sunny, and there were a lot of bars fighting for the custom of a big group of sun-scorched students. The one downside of the trip - mammoth minibus journeys in baking heat, jolting around pitted, narrow, twisting and precipitous mountain roads. With hangovers.
My mapping project aside, the most memorable Scottish trip was to the Ardnamurchan peninsula. It's a truly lovely place, but, at least while we were there, not blessed with the most welcoming climate. It rained, snowed, hailed and was incredibly windy throughout, save for one memorable instant. the hotel we were staying in laid on packed lunches for the students every day. They tried to give us a little variety, but clinging to a rocky hillside in a howling hailstorm I remember not being overly pleased to be trying to spread a frozen block of butter onto a cream cracker with a flimsy plastic knife, with the reluctant lump of cheese-ice scowling at me before flying into the gale.
Later that day, though, the rain stopped, the wind died and a bright warm sun appeared from nowhere. It went quiet, and then we heard a muffled thundering noise. We looked around as the sound grew louder, and then around the bend in the valley came a huge herd of red deer. They ran right past, metres away, and disappeared over the small hill behind us. It was a magical moment, broken only when the rain resumed its war of attrition, very shortly after.
Obviously, the geology and exposure of the area is important, but first and foremost is the weather. Geology can only properly be studied in temperatures that will make your nose turn black and fall off, fingers curl into pitiful talons and eyes freeze to icy marbles. Wind is vital - it has to be fierce, and, ideally, unpredictable. The cardinal rule, though, is that precipitation must be heavy and near constant. Gaps between raindrops, hailstones or snowflakes must only be enough to allow sheltered breathing.
This, perhaps, is why Scotland has been the source of so many key figures in the development of the science. During my time at Glasgow University we covered a great deal of Scottish soil. And saw very few days of clement weather. That said - our final year trip was from a choice of three. One to Ireland, one to the North of Scotland, where I had recently spent 6 weeks mapping, and one to the South of Spain. I went to Spain. It was very hot, very sunny, and there were a lot of bars fighting for the custom of a big group of sun-scorched students. The one downside of the trip - mammoth minibus journeys in baking heat, jolting around pitted, narrow, twisting and precipitous mountain roads. With hangovers.
My mapping project aside, the most memorable Scottish trip was to the Ardnamurchan peninsula. It's a truly lovely place, but, at least while we were there, not blessed with the most welcoming climate. It rained, snowed, hailed and was incredibly windy throughout, save for one memorable instant. the hotel we were staying in laid on packed lunches for the students every day. They tried to give us a little variety, but clinging to a rocky hillside in a howling hailstorm I remember not being overly pleased to be trying to spread a frozen block of butter onto a cream cracker with a flimsy plastic knife, with the reluctant lump of cheese-ice scowling at me before flying into the gale.
Later that day, though, the rain stopped, the wind died and a bright warm sun appeared from nowhere. It went quiet, and then we heard a muffled thundering noise. We looked around as the sound grew louder, and then around the bend in the valley came a huge herd of red deer. They ran right past, metres away, and disappeared over the small hill behind us. It was a magical moment, broken only when the rain resumed its war of attrition, very shortly after.
Thursday, 26 February 2009
A downward spiral
Ammonites are often the first thing people thing of when fossils are mentioned. Their spiral-shelled form is iconic in palaeontology; memorably beautiful, appealing to artists and mathematicians alike.
They appeared in the Devonian, and died out alongside the dinosaurs during the extinction event at the end of the Cretaceous, 65 million years ago. Meantime, they survived two big extinctions, at the ends of both the Permian and Triassic. Tough cookies.
They are incredibly useful stratigraphic markers, providing clues as to the age of the rock layers they are found in, and by extension, helping show relationships between bodies of rock in different parts of the world.
The name ammonite comes from the Egyptian god Amun, who was, towards the latter part of his career as a deity, depicted as having the head of a ram. Rams, as most of you will know, have nice, tightly coiled spiral horns, and the resemblance to ammonites is obvious. See how convoluted I've managed to make this explanation? Pliny the Elder named the fossils he was finding after the horns of Amun. Pliny the Younger named them poo-stones (in Greek) and got a clip round the ear.
Going off at a bit of a tangent for a second, here, I love how the ancient Egyptians gave their gods animal heads. Real character. Maybe there were some that didn't get much press that had other animal body parts. A god with the legs of a chicken? The arms of a bear?
It is often assumed that the closest living relative of ammonites is the nautilus, and it's easy to see why. Most recent study, though, suggests that the octopus may be the true relative. Now a god with an octopus for a head - there's a winner. Don't think Cthulhu counts...
There's a fair bit of mythology attached to the ammonite. St Hilda of Whitby in the middle 600s AD was supposed to have killed all of the snakes in the area by decapitating them with her whip - the ammonites found around the Yorkshire coast were assumed to be the remains. Local craftsmen have carved heads on them to form lucky snakestones for centuries. In 5th Century India, ammonites were regarded as the embodiment of a god, 17th Century Germans considered them a charm against witchcraft, and many North American plains tribes carried them for good luck, too.
For me, though, they are simply one of the most appealing forms in nature. There's something magical about the spiral.
Monday, 23 February 2009
All the pretty fishes
The Green River Formation of Southwest Wyoming is has to be one of the favourite fossil localities of every fossil dealer on the planet. The many layers of micrite - muddy limestone - that compose the formation contain fossil fish of exquisite detail and in numbers that would make your eyes bulge from your head, pop and dribble down the front of your shirt.
And not just fish - bats, birds, reptiles and even a small horse have been found. These are rare, though, and fetch tidy sums. The beauty of the site is that it offers so much high quality material that there is sufficient to supply the academics with as much as they could possibly need whilst also providing a fantastic commercial line for the fossil trade.
The site(s) have been very well studied over the years and a great deal is known about the geological history. The rocks were laid down as a series of lakes, shifiting over time from about 58 million years ago for perhaps 15 million years. By far the most common fish found is the Knightia, below left, a relative of the modern herring, followed by Diplomystus, above right. Most of the fossil-bearing layers date to around the 50 million mark. There are 10 or 11 private quarries, many offering digging expeditions, and also a National Park, where some of the rarer material is carefully protected.
The amount and quality of the fossil material in the Green River Formation allows great insight into the environment of the area at the time. Leaves, seeds and even flowers from a number of plants can be found, and a good idea of the fauna is preserved within the rock - a snapshot of the area's wildlife.Wyoming weather permits only a few months fossil hunting each year and the professional diggers make the most of it. They have to strike a delicate balance between keeping their potential finds intact whilst also shifting tons of rock about with heavy machinery. The more valuable finds are often from deposits from the edges of the lakes - mammals, birds, reptiles - and this material is also the hardest to access.
I've been invited to go digging a number of times. I'd love to go, but it would be difficult to justify financially, as I see the dealers at the Tucson show and buy from them there. One day, though.
Friday, 20 February 2009
Bright sparks
Yesterday was curtailed by a power cut. The joy often experienced by those excused work by elements beyond their control is not necessarily shared by small traders.
I had some customers in, and they stuck around for a while, as they had some questions about ammonite hunting. I showed them how it was usually possible to see the edge of the shell protruding from a nodule, and where the collector would then place the chisel to try to open it. By torchlight.
Yet again there are roadworks outside the shop - not sure why this time. On this occasion they drilled through an electricity cable, cutting off power to the bookshop next door. When my lights went off, I went next door to find that Mike had already been without electricity for a while and had done the sensible thing. Headed to the pub. I followed suit.
It can be exasperating, losing trade as a result of the ineptitude of others, especially when it's such a frequent occurrence.
Got to learn to stop griping about this stuff - back to geology next time.
I had some customers in, and they stuck around for a while, as they had some questions about ammonite hunting. I showed them how it was usually possible to see the edge of the shell protruding from a nodule, and where the collector would then place the chisel to try to open it. By torchlight.
Yet again there are roadworks outside the shop - not sure why this time. On this occasion they drilled through an electricity cable, cutting off power to the bookshop next door. When my lights went off, I went next door to find that Mike had already been without electricity for a while and had done the sensible thing. Headed to the pub. I followed suit.
It can be exasperating, losing trade as a result of the ineptitude of others, especially when it's such a frequent occurrence.
Got to learn to stop griping about this stuff - back to geology next time.
Friday, 13 February 2009
Nesting
Yesterday marked the 200th birthday of Charles Darwin and I had an omelette for tea. Okay, so there's not really a direct link, but on the same day I saw an online poll asking the age-old question - 'Which came first - the chicken or the egg?'
There is no reason to be discussing this any more, as various beasties were laying eggs long before the chicken crossed the road. Dinosaur shell material and complete eggs from a number of sources have been on the commercial market for a while. Eggs from localities in Hunan and Mongolia were relatively common a few years ago, but Chinese legislature has made the exporting of the material illegal and supplies already outside of the country are beginning to dwindle. Shell from the Patagonian sauropod Saltasaurus was easy to source until another recent law change, but complete eggs were always much less available. Other shell sources included a small French locality and I think a Spanish one, but I haven't seen anything from there for a while.
The little theropod Oviraptor got its name from a famous misunderstanding. A find from a Mongolian site showed the remains of the dinosaur over a clutch of what was assumed to be ceratopsian eggs and it was thought the raptor had died getting some lunch. The name means 'egg thief'. A long time later further finds and new preparatory techniques showed the eggs to be those of the raptor and the maligned dinosaur had been nesting rather than pinching the eggs.
A prehistoric mis-trial.
Tuesday, 10 February 2009
The wait
After locking down the lids on my crates on the 5th of February, I now have to wait until the first week of April to actually see what I've bought again. It's a long and frustrating wait. All the British dealers and many of the other Europeans group together to share containers.
The containers arrive towards the end of the show, and once loaded are taken by road to Los Angeles. From there they go by rail to Houston, and from there by ship to Bristol. Then comes the usual customs hold up, which can take as long as two weeks, before the containers are unloaded and the individual crates go their separate ways.
This year will be the first with nice shiny plastic crates. It was always a chore to build up the wooden ones in the hot sun, and I was very glad not to have that waiting for me this year. As it turned out, I ended up building up two crates for other people, but at least mine were easy...
I'll at least benefit at this end. It was a bit of a scramble to take apart the wooden ones on the pavement outside the shop, and the new ones will make it a lot easier.
Wednesday, 4 February 2009
Tuesday, 3 February 2009
Another postcard
All done bar the baking here in Tucson. Lids on the crates are locked down, paperwork is all done. Now I have a little time to get some heatstroke.
I never remember how to translate farenheit to celcius, but it's in the 80s now. Hot enough to be difficult walking around, sitting, talking etc. I should go around with the camera for a while, but it seems like too much hard work.
The hotel I stay in, along with a lot of the dealers I know, is not the most exciting place. We're bordered on one side by the freeway, another by a building site, another by a dust bowl of a dry river, and finally by a Denny's diner and a petrol station. Perfect. Today Denny's had the weird idea of serving free breakfast from 6 until 2pm. Which meant massive queues for 8 hours, and a huge turnout of Tucson's many interesting characters. And a few police cars.
Sunday, 1 February 2009
A postcard
It's Sunday morning in Tucson. Two busy buying days behind me now, and a day to slow down a little and take stock. I run around picking out lots of stuff, then often have to wait a couple of days (or more) to find out exactly what I've spent. Which can be a problem. More than once I've found myself short of a fair bit of cash.
So - today I'll try to round up the various piles of fossils sitting in hotel rooms, tents and cars around the city. And put them in a big plastic crate. I've bought two collapsable shipping crates this year - will be a big help. I used to have to build up wooden one each time, and dissemble them on the pavement outside the shop. A real pain sometimes, and though I got it down to a reasonably quick time, it was still not something to look forward to on a very warm day.
So far, so sunny. It hasn't rained here since before Christmas. Doesn't seem like it's about to start.
Friday, 23 January 2009
Time to go
The annual US buying trip is nearly here. I leave on Sunday morning, with the shop in capable hands. I stop over in New York to stay with friends every year, which has a few benefits - I see friends, get over the jet lag, and get to buy a few clothes and the like. And I can also time my arrival in Arizona a little better.
Usually I can get off the plane, check into the hotel and still have a couple of hours of time to see the most important suppliers. A good number of dealers will sell the bulk of their stock before the show officially opens. It's very annoying when this happens, so I try to get in as early as possible. Not always easy, and I'll often miss out on something.
I've been going for 10 years now, I think, and it has gradually become more of a chore, but it's always good to see the people. And I'll always be able to find some new and interesting stock lines.
Usually I can get off the plane, check into the hotel and still have a couple of hours of time to see the most important suppliers. A good number of dealers will sell the bulk of their stock before the show officially opens. It's very annoying when this happens, so I try to get in as early as possible. Not always easy, and I'll often miss out on something.
I've been going for 10 years now, I think, and it has gradually become more of a chore, but it's always good to see the people. And I'll always be able to find some new and interesting stock lines.
Wednesday, 21 January 2009
King of the bugs
Trilobites are fantastically important fossils. They appear, already fairly complex animals, in the earliest Cambrian and their evolutions can be seen throughout the entire Palaeozoic era. They suffered a knock in extinction event that closed the Cambrian, and were dwindling through the Silurian and Devonian, before reaching exctinction at the end of the Permian.
So they were around for a very long time, about 300 million years, were very widespread, abundant in life and in the fossil record, and were constantly changing as they moved into a wide variety of lifestyle niches. These all help the trilobite to become a very important date marker for stratigraphy. If you find an identifiable species of trilobite, there's a good chance you'll be able to have a reasonable stab at the age of the rocks you found it in. They are also good indicators of plate tectonic movements. I studied the cladistics of a family of trilobites for my final year university project. Basically, a tool to try to establish a 'family tree'. Their migratory trends helped provide information on the closure of the Iapetus Ocean.
One of the best known trilobites is the one shown above - Elrathia kingi. It's found in such numbers and in such great condition in the Wheeler Shale deposits of Utah that it has become a fossil shop staple across the world.
I buy them in Tucson, and in a couple of different sizes on matrix as well as bagged loose examples. They are carefully graded and sorted according to size - saves me a lot of trouble...They are relatively easy to collect. The shale is quite soft and the fossils weather out of the stone. In the right places, they can often be found lying on the surface. Mostly, though, splitting the shale in a quarry will provide a decent number of good examples in a short space of time. Elrathia were used for jewellery by Native Americans living in the area, and it's easy to see why. Their size, shape and detail mean they lend themselves perfectly to this use. I've also heard they had been used as a form of currency at one point.
They're a great example of their kind, and likely the starting point for many a collection. They aren't very big, maybe up to 4cm commonly, and are so abundant as to be inexpensive. There are plenty of collectors that collect only trilobites, and I'll bet almost every one of them has an Elrathia in their collection.
Monday, 19 January 2009
A light dusting
On Saturday Ryan had a discussion about the age of the Earth with a Creationist. This doesn't happen very often, and I was sorry to have missed it. Creationism is essentially an adherance to a literal interpretation of the bible's description of the formation of the Earth.
At some point, somebody sat down and counted any mention of periods of time in the old testament and added them together, coming up with a figure of some 6,000 years. I've heard variations on this, but 6-10 thousand years seems to be the norm. So - the thinking is that it took god seven days to make the Earth, and everything in it, and that was about 6,000 years ago.
This is contrary to SO much empirical evidence that it's barely worth going into it, but as a palaeontologist, fossils are a pretty good clue. Many Creationists argue that all the fossils to be found on Earth were deposited during the flood that put Noah and his ark into action. But that's silly.
In any case, the age of the Earth is a subject that has fascinated science for a l-o-n-g time. It's likely people have been thinking about how old the planet is for a lot longer than 6,000 years, at the very least. Dogs were domesticated more than 6,000 years ago. Decidedly human - Homo sapiens - fossils have been dated at over 100,000 years old, and it's thought the divergence from our closest relative would have occurred at around the 200,000 year mark.
There were a couple of documented musings on the age the Earth in the early 11th Century, and a good number of stabs at finding an age scattered through history - with some ingenious but inaccurate experiments - but it wasn't until the principle of radiometric dating was established that things began to come together. This is the measurement of time by studying the radioactive decay of elements from one form to another. Carbon dating is a form of this, though only accurate to about 40,000 years.
Current thinking puts the Earth at around 4.55 billion years old. Difficult to out this into context, as we don't really have an average lifespan to look to, but with a bit of luck we're not quite into the retirement years yet. At the very least it should last until I've managed to watch the fifth series of The Wire.
As a footnote, our visitor on Saturday provided his coup de grace to put poor scientist Ryan's risible fact-based arguments to the sword:
'When you see footage of the astronauts landing on the moon, the dust on the surface isn't deep enough for it to be any older than 6,000 years old.'
Well, as everybody knows, this is entirely due to diligent hoovering.
At some point, somebody sat down and counted any mention of periods of time in the old testament and added them together, coming up with a figure of some 6,000 years. I've heard variations on this, but 6-10 thousand years seems to be the norm. So - the thinking is that it took god seven days to make the Earth, and everything in it, and that was about 6,000 years ago.
This is contrary to SO much empirical evidence that it's barely worth going into it, but as a palaeontologist, fossils are a pretty good clue. Many Creationists argue that all the fossils to be found on Earth were deposited during the flood that put Noah and his ark into action. But that's silly.
In any case, the age of the Earth is a subject that has fascinated science for a l-o-n-g time. It's likely people have been thinking about how old the planet is for a lot longer than 6,000 years, at the very least. Dogs were domesticated more than 6,000 years ago. Decidedly human - Homo sapiens - fossils have been dated at over 100,000 years old, and it's thought the divergence from our closest relative would have occurred at around the 200,000 year mark.
There were a couple of documented musings on the age the Earth in the early 11th Century, and a good number of stabs at finding an age scattered through history - with some ingenious but inaccurate experiments - but it wasn't until the principle of radiometric dating was established that things began to come together. This is the measurement of time by studying the radioactive decay of elements from one form to another. Carbon dating is a form of this, though only accurate to about 40,000 years.
Current thinking puts the Earth at around 4.55 billion years old. Difficult to out this into context, as we don't really have an average lifespan to look to, but with a bit of luck we're not quite into the retirement years yet. At the very least it should last until I've managed to watch the fifth series of The Wire.
As a footnote, our visitor on Saturday provided his coup de grace to put poor scientist Ryan's risible fact-based arguments to the sword:
'When you see footage of the astronauts landing on the moon, the dust on the surface isn't deep enough for it to be any older than 6,000 years old.'
Well, as everybody knows, this is entirely due to diligent hoovering.
Monday, 12 January 2009
The Comeback Kids
There was a bit in the paper last week about to ongoing discussion about the possibilities of 'bringing back' mammoths, using intact dna samples and elephant surrogacy over a series of generations. I love this subject, but it is a little divisive.
My view is that I'd love to see a living mammoth, or woolly rhino, or giant ground sloth, or glyptodont. A safari park of them. Obviously, Jurassic Park has kind of covered this ground, but while the quality of any dino dna so far discovered is far from the quality needed to make the film a possible reality, there have been samples from relatively recent extinctions that might allow their emergence from extinction's recycle bin.
So - it's a possibility. Maybe not right at the moment, but it could happen. Soonish. Then we come to the ethical arguments, for and against.
Some are appalled at the idea and say that's it's playing god. Meddling where we shouldn't. Aside from being profoundly atheist, I'd say that we have been 'playing god' ever since we began lighting fires, shaping tools, using medicines. Where is the line drawn? Genetically modified food crops? Organ transplants? Stem cell research?
Where science and scientists can do something of benefit, I think they should. And seeing a mammoth would benefit me. I realise this sounds flippant, but there is a little more to it. What happens when an extant animal we love becomes extinct? With captive breeding programs and global awareness of the threat of exticition far more advanced than a few decades ago, it may seem a remote possibility that we'll lose tigers, gorillas, pandas or manatees from the planet, but it's not that unlikely. What about thylacines? Wasn't very long ago. Would bringing them back be playing god?
Introducing alien animals and plants to new environments can ahve some drastic consequences for the current inhabitants. Ask an Australian. I'm talking about rabbits and cane toads here... So there might be a call for caution before unleashing a bunch of cave bears in Manchester city centre, but this is a relatively small point.
I say bring back the giant hairy beasts of the recent past. Please?
My view is that I'd love to see a living mammoth, or woolly rhino, or giant ground sloth, or glyptodont. A safari park of them. Obviously, Jurassic Park has kind of covered this ground, but while the quality of any dino dna so far discovered is far from the quality needed to make the film a possible reality, there have been samples from relatively recent extinctions that might allow their emergence from extinction's recycle bin.
So - it's a possibility. Maybe not right at the moment, but it could happen. Soonish. Then we come to the ethical arguments, for and against.
Some are appalled at the idea and say that's it's playing god. Meddling where we shouldn't. Aside from being profoundly atheist, I'd say that we have been 'playing god' ever since we began lighting fires, shaping tools, using medicines. Where is the line drawn? Genetically modified food crops? Organ transplants? Stem cell research?
Where science and scientists can do something of benefit, I think they should. And seeing a mammoth would benefit me. I realise this sounds flippant, but there is a little more to it. What happens when an extant animal we love becomes extinct? With captive breeding programs and global awareness of the threat of exticition far more advanced than a few decades ago, it may seem a remote possibility that we'll lose tigers, gorillas, pandas or manatees from the planet, but it's not that unlikely. What about thylacines? Wasn't very long ago. Would bringing them back be playing god?
Introducing alien animals and plants to new environments can ahve some drastic consequences for the current inhabitants. Ask an Australian. I'm talking about rabbits and cane toads here... So there might be a call for caution before unleashing a bunch of cave bears in Manchester city centre, but this is a relatively small point.
I say bring back the giant hairy beasts of the recent past. Please?
Thursday, 8 January 2009
Space rock
I sell a fair bit of meteorite material. Mostly it comes from a relatively small number of well-known sites. At the moment, I have examples from six meteorites localities, which is more than I would usually.
Briefly, a meteorite is a lump of stone or metal, or both, that has come from Outer Space. Where aliens live. Most meteorites that fall, over 90%, are stony ones - chondrites and further subdivisions - that are mostly composed of silicate minerals, similar to many terrestrial rocks.
Most meteorites that are found are iron, with about 6% nickel. The reason for this discrepancy is that iron meteorites are easier to detect (with metal detectors) and easier to identify. Chondrites are stones, and look like other stones with a slight sheen. There are a small percentage that are a combination of metal and mineral, too. Some pallasites contain beautiful green olivine crystals.
It's easier to find meteorites in places where anything different sticks out. A desert, an icy plain, or a small country pub, for example. In the desert, anything that's not sand is worth a second look. If I spent any amount of time in the desert, I'd be very keen to look at something that wasn't sand, and would consider walking a few hundred yards to do so. You get the idea.
When a meteorite falls - and a few hundred do each year, at least - it often breaks up before hitting the surface, and doesn't usually do as much damage as you'd think. A lot of the more commerically available material comes from sites where there was a relatively big fall, and a large scattering of material. Meteorites are usually named after the places they are found - Campo del Cielo in Argentina and Sikhote Alin in Russia provide a lot of nice iron meteorites, while a lot of chondrite stuff comes from North West Africa (and is called NWA).
The majority of meteorites are thought to date to the time of formation of the planets of this solar system, which puts them around 4.55 billion years old. They had been lazily floating around for a long time before crashing to Earth. In the film Armageddon, Bruce Willis selfishly prevents a huge lump of rock from landing on the Earth. Think what we could have done with all that rock! We could have build a nice castle.
Wednesday, 7 January 2009
How old?
It's late on Monday afternoon, and guy walks in from the cold, rubbing his hands.
'I just found £20 in the street. I think when you find money like that, the person didn't lose it. They could afford it. And I needed it. There's something more to it, isn't there?'
'I can see why that's a good view for you to take, certainly.'
'Well, there would be no point in handing it in to the police, would there?'
'No.'
He looks around.
'I've never been in here before - walked past a fair few times. You must be into crystals and all that.'
'Well, I'm from a geological background. Get a lot of customers for crystal healing reasons, if that's what you mean.'
'Mmm. Yes.
It's amazing, the timescales here, isn't it? Millions of years.'
'It is, but I'm kind of used to thinking in those terms. Puts us in our place, a little. Makes us seem a little more insignificant.'
'Ah, but everything is significant, isn't it? The smallest ant, every leaf on every tree is significant. Just think - everything is supposed to be expanding. Since the Big Bang, everything is supposed to be moving apart. Yet our Milky Way is moving towards the Andromeda system. What does that mean? It's like a magnet, isn't it? Two poles move together, then suddenly - bang - they pull towards each other, don't they?
'Well... Not quite...'
'And how long has the universe been expanding - how long has it been around? Nobody knows!'
'Well, actually...'
'And how long did it take the Earth to form, from molten rock? Millions of years? But what's millions of years compared to billions of years? Eh? It's like seven days. So it took seven days to create the Earth, didn't it? Think about that!'
He turns and leaves.
'Hmm.'
'I just found £20 in the street. I think when you find money like that, the person didn't lose it. They could afford it. And I needed it. There's something more to it, isn't there?'
'I can see why that's a good view for you to take, certainly.'
'Well, there would be no point in handing it in to the police, would there?'
'No.'
He looks around.
'I've never been in here before - walked past a fair few times. You must be into crystals and all that.'
'Well, I'm from a geological background. Get a lot of customers for crystal healing reasons, if that's what you mean.'
'Mmm. Yes.
It's amazing, the timescales here, isn't it? Millions of years.'
'It is, but I'm kind of used to thinking in those terms. Puts us in our place, a little. Makes us seem a little more insignificant.'
'Ah, but everything is significant, isn't it? The smallest ant, every leaf on every tree is significant. Just think - everything is supposed to be expanding. Since the Big Bang, everything is supposed to be moving apart. Yet our Milky Way is moving towards the Andromeda system. What does that mean? It's like a magnet, isn't it? Two poles move together, then suddenly - bang - they pull towards each other, don't they?
'Well... Not quite...'
'And how long has the universe been expanding - how long has it been around? Nobody knows!'
'Well, actually...'
'And how long did it take the Earth to form, from molten rock? Millions of years? But what's millions of years compared to billions of years? Eh? It's like seven days. So it took seven days to create the Earth, didn't it? Think about that!'
He turns and leaves.
'Hmm.'
Monday, 5 January 2009
Tap tap tap tap
January. And the beginning of the longest quiet spell in the shop. It's never totally predictable, but every January sees the beginning of a three month period with a dramatic drop in footfall and accompanying trade. It's welcome in a way, after the relative bustle of the Christmas run-in, but also it's the time of year I can no longer put off the things I have been avoiding. I am a very good procrastinator.
Paperwork, tidying the stock room, breaking rough rock and other delights await. I can also have a much better idea of how much money I'll be able to take to America to spend on stock, so I can start making a more detailed shopping list. It's going to be an expensive trip this year, with the way the pound has fallen against the dollar. At least it's a few months until the Euro buying trip. Some time for the pound to crawl out of its corner after a little wound-licking.
The money I take over December dictates what I can spend in Tucson. I need to spend a fairly large amount to financially justify the trip, but it's very important for the business that I go. There are a few stock lines that I only buy there, once a year, and while I could proabbly get them through a UK based dealer, I would be paying far more and not getting to hand pick each specimen. So - quality and price would suffer.
Usually, I have a list of essentials that I need to buy first, then see what's left afterwards for anything new and interesting. I always come back with something different for the more regular customers.
So. Time to make the list. Well - tomorrow maybe.
Paperwork, tidying the stock room, breaking rough rock and other delights await. I can also have a much better idea of how much money I'll be able to take to America to spend on stock, so I can start making a more detailed shopping list. It's going to be an expensive trip this year, with the way the pound has fallen against the dollar. At least it's a few months until the Euro buying trip. Some time for the pound to crawl out of its corner after a little wound-licking.
The money I take over December dictates what I can spend in Tucson. I need to spend a fairly large amount to financially justify the trip, but it's very important for the business that I go. There are a few stock lines that I only buy there, once a year, and while I could proabbly get them through a UK based dealer, I would be paying far more and not getting to hand pick each specimen. So - quality and price would suffer.
Usually, I have a list of essentials that I need to buy first, then see what's left afterwards for anything new and interesting. I always come back with something different for the more regular customers.
So. Time to make the list. Well - tomorrow maybe.
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