Why Dinosaur Provincialism Matters

Hey there everypeoples. 

Yet another entry after a long gap. Usual excuse: busy with work which usually leaves me worn out. And frankly, blogging has kinda lost its fulfillment. I dunno, maybe once I start my job in Texas I’ll have stuff to actually post instead of inane ramblings. Anyway, onto business. 

Many people seem to think I hate dinosaurs. I don’t. Contrary to what you may have been led to believe, dinosaurs are just animals. They have no agency of they own. They exist according to the laws that govern all other life on our planet. No,I don’t hate dinosaurs. I hate their fans. 

I hate how they are a bunch of simping fanboys. I hate how they think prehistory begins and ends with dinosaurs. I hate how they aren’t content with dinosaur’s complete domination of paleontology, and so shit on other aspects of the fossil record. I hate how they always try to excuse that shitting on with “it’s just a joke” (right, because jokes can’t color people’s perception).  

I also hate their enablers in the media. I hate how it has made people think that dinosaurs are the only focus of paleontology. I hate that their quest for ratings means they only focus on excess and superlatives (the biggest, scariest, weirdest, etc), which in turn makes people care only for excess and superlatives. I hate how the media latches onto every little mundane dinosaur discovery, while other finds have to struggle just to get noticed. I hate how the media’s conditioning of people makes me question whether I should even try writing a book about California’s fossil record (because it contains very few dinosaurs, which seems to be all people care about).  

In short, I hate the people surrounding dinosaurs. But I do not hate the dinosaurs themselves. And even though people have ensured I can never have more than a casual interest in them, I can understand and appreciate their place in the history of life. In fact, I might even try doing a little field work of my own in the Mesozoic. But it is for a very specific and unique idea. Not because I think dinosaurs are SO CEWL and THE BESTEST THING EVAR!!!!! Not because I have finally accepted them as the only fossils worth attention. No, I might still do some genuine work on dinosaurs because of how they fit into what I think was the most interesting episode of their story: provincialism. 

I have said before that the reason I am more interested in the Cenozoic than the Mesozoic is because of all the fascinating things going on during that time. Constantly changing climates, geology, and geography caused twists and turns in evolution that had never been seen before. The Mesozoic, to me, is just boring by comparison. Really the only thing comparable is the endemism in the Hateg Basin. During the Cretaceous it was an archipelago (group of islands), so you had deviations from the norm, like dwarf dinosaurs and a giraffe-sized flying reptile as a top predator. But even that can’t hold a candle to the Cenozoic. However, the emerging idea of dinosaur provincialism is another matter. 

For those of you not in the know, the idea of dinosaur provincialism posits that dinosaur faunas differed from each other in a north-south pattern. Specifically,this includes the dinosaurs, other animals, and their ecosystems in North America during the Late Cretaceous period. Around 80 million years ago, North America was divided in two by a shallow seaway. The eastern continent was called Applachia and the western Laramidia. We don’t know much about Appalachia, but the rocks of Laramidia are abundant and productive. They tell us that something different was going on in the “lost continent”. 

However, it did take a while for us to notice. During much of the 20^th century, dinosaurs in the west were collected without much thought to how they were related to each other, or how they differed. The idea of was first proposed to describe slightly different dinosaur faunas in the latest Cretaceous (68-66 mya, known as the late Maastrichtian). Mainly, scientists observed that the fauna in the north (Montana, Wyoming, the Dakotas, and southern Canada) consisted of Tyrannosaurus rex, Triceratops, and the duckbill Edmontosaurus. But in the south, (Utah, New Mexico, and Texas) the fauna consists mainly of the sauropod Alamosaurus, the horned dinosaur Torosaurus, and a species of Tyrannosaurus (whether it’s T. rex or not is yet to be determined). Provincialism wouldn’t really catch on until more was found in older rocks, specifically around 75 mya (time known as the Campanian). There had been differences in the faunas found in Alberta, Montana, and New Mexico, but they weren’t readily apparent because the fragmentary fossils of the south were just referred to northern species. 

In the early 2000s, paleontologists began to intensely prospect the Kaipaowits formation of south-central Utah. Not only were the rocks of the right age (76 mya), but they were extremely productive. So productive that after only 20 years it already rivals the legendary Dinosaur Park formation of Alberta (which is contemporary with the Kaiparowits). The dinosaurs coming out were not just new species, but species utterly different from what had been found before. Species found there and nowhere else. This brought back the idea of provincialism with a vengeance. 

Fossils from other parts of Laramidia were reassessed, and many were found to be distinct enough to be their own species. That is when the pattern began to emerge that different species were only found in specific areas. Some are more provincial than others. So far the duckbills (hadrosaurs in science-speak) show the least degree of provincialism. Parasaurolophus and Gryposaurus span from Alberta to Utah and New Mexico; Kritosaurus ranges from New Mexico to Texas. Tyrannosaurs are mildly provincial, with some overlap (but that overlap seems to follow the north-south divide). Ceratopsians, the horned dinosaurs, are the most provincial. So far every region boasts its own species of ceratopsians, with virtually no overlap. 

Why is this the case? What was causing this division of faunas? What barriers existed that permitted such high levels of endemism? That is one of the great mysteries driving the investigation of provincialism. And as we delve deeper, the more questions arise. For example, Gryposaurus monumentensis from Utah (Kaiprowits Formation) has an extremely robust skull, not just for Gryposaurus but of duckbills in general. It is so robust that when it was officially published it was described as being “The Arnold Schwarzenegger of duckbills”. This robust skull was due to heavy muscles associated with chewing. Basically, it evolved to be an eating machine.  

Another duckbill from Texas is even more deviant. It’s upper jaw curves sharply downward, so much so that it was named Angulomasticator, which means “bent chewer”. Both of these duckbills are found in the south. Why did the southern duckbills develop such extreme feeding adaptations? Were plants in southern Laramidia tougher than in the north? Were plants not as nutrient rich, thus they needed ways to process vast quantities of vegetation? Did these feeding adaptations contribute to duckbill’s larger size in the south? (Oh yeah, judging from these social media posts hadrosaurs in southern Laramidia got bigger than the already sizable ones in the north).

The tyrannosaurs present another puzzle. In northern Laramidia, in the Dinosaur Park formation of Alberta, there were two species of tyrannosaur: Gorgosaurus and Daspletosaurus. So far this is unique in Lamidia, where every other section has just one species. Was it a matter of living space? After the Interior Seaway dried up there was much more landmass, and this increased landmass had two species of tyrannosaur: Tyrannosaurus rex and Nanotyrannus lancensis (yeah, I still consider Nanotyrannus a separate species, mainly because I’m not convinced we understand histology as well as some people think we do). Was available space the reason for higher diversity of tyrannosaurs in the north? Or were there other factors? 

The ceratopsians have their own diversity issue. For a long time, it was thought that the Dinosaur Park Formation of Alberta boasted the greatest diversity of ceratopsians in the world. To date eight species have been named from the unit. However, once paleontologists began factoring in biostratigraphy this diversity shriveled. It was discovered that there were no more than twoor three species living together at a time throughout the formation. This was more in line with what we saw in the rest of Laramidia. At least until the Kaiparowits Formation entered the picture. 

The Kaiparowits Formation has had tight stratigraphic control since serious work on it began. Most fossils come from the middle member, and most species of been found throughout, suggesting the fauna was pretty stable. To date, 3 species of ceratopsians of been named from the Kaiparowits: Utahceratops, Kosmoceratops, and Nasutoceratops. This already gives the Kaiparowits the record for highest ceratopsian diversity. Except if the IDs on these specimens are to be believed, then the Kaiparowits would have an unprecedented 4 or 5 species of ceratopsians living together. 

Why was the diversity so high? It’s especially weird when you consider the San Juan Basin of New Mexcico. Barely over 200 miles away, rocks of the same age as the Kaiparowits have produced only one species of ceratopsian (yes, there are Navajoceratops and Terminocavus, but those are based on fragmentary remains so we don’t know if they are just variations or species of Pentaceratops. Even if they are valid, they are separated stratigraphically, which would mean there was still only one species at a time). It’s the same with the Two Medicine Formation in Montana and the Aguja Formation in Texas. Is this due to some environmental factors? Or is it simply collection bias? After all, not as much work has been done in the other formations. But, there is clearly something going on in the Kaiparowits that made it very favorable to ceratopsians. We need to find more in the rest of Laramidia to answer this question and others. 

Now, I have laid out the scientific reasons why dinosaur provincialism is important. But I’d be remiss if I didn’t admit to also having a personal one. As I grew up and learned more about the fossil record, my main focus shifted to mammals and the Cenozoic era. But I still maintained an interest in dinosaurs (though the fanboys and media have made that appreciation difficult at times). At first I had only known about Alberta and the Dinosaur Park Formation. this was no accident, since it was the most thoroughly searched and studied. But then I began to learn about the different dinosaurs (or not so different, since fossils were at first just referred to northern taxa) of New Mexico and Texas. I have always been drawn to what is different and outside the mainstream. So, these different faunas were right up my alley. I even thought of one day looking for dinosaurs in New Mexico and Texas. 

When the idea of dinosaur provincialism began to pick up steam, I was ensnared. Back when I had delusions of starting my own museum, I had wanted to create a provincial collection. Regional museums hold significant collections from their own immediately relevant areas. But there wasn’t any single collection in an institution covering the scope of dinosaurs in Laramidia. I had designs of making that a reality. Of course those designs never came to pass. But four years ago I started volunteering with the Denver Museum of Nature and Science. Their dinosaur curator, Joe Sertich, heads up the Laramidia Project, an ambitious research and collecting program exploring Laramidia during the Late Cretaceous. They have been collecting in Utah and New Mexico, with eyes on Colorado and Texas. 

 Sertich and the Denver Museum are by far the closest anyone has come to realizing my vision of a provincial dinosaur collection. However, they’re mainly focused on the south. I feel to really get an idea for Laramidia and provincialism ( and round out their already amazing collection) they could use some stuff from the north. I have told people that the Two Medicine Formation is the only thing I would actually go to Montana for. Mainly, because it ties in to dinosaur provincialism (plus I’m a sucker for all those gnarly centrosaurines). And the guy who I’m going to go work for in Texas says he knows someone who works that formation and so might be able to get me in. If true, then I could get the Denver Museum some of those sweet northern Laramidian dinosaurs.  

Now, trying to initiate fieldwork myself would no doubt be a daunting task. I’ve never considered myself leadership material. Managing a group of people would certainly be challenging for one with my less than steller people skills. There is all the planning involved including a crapload of logistics. I don’t know how to get funding of any kind. “In over my head” would probably be an understatement. But I’d try anyway. Not just for the museum who gave me my big break. But because I think provincialism is that important.  

The work on Laramidia is only just beginning. So much so it’s still in the “naming new species” phase. There is so much to uncover. The main attraction is the slice of time around 75 million years ago. But there are rocks from before and after that. We need it all to understand how Laramidia came to be and where it went after that “golden period”. The individual formations have enough to keep researchers occupied but they need to be considered in relation to each other. I’m already doing my part (hopefully can do more). Again, this is easily the most interesting and dynamic thing going on in the world of dinosaurs. It’s not about how big and scary and awesome they are. It’s not just exploring the basics like what they ate or how they grew. It is about their world and how they lived in it. And if it can get a mammal obsessed person like me to dig into it (pun not intended), then it’s certainly worth exploring. 

Till next time!