Two Acres of Time: Unearthing the Ice Age at the Byron Dig 9780231556620

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TWO ACRES OF TIME \

TWO ACRES OF TIME Unearthing the Ice Age at the Byron Dig

richard s. laub

Columbia University Press New York

Columbia University Press Publishers Since 1893 New York Chichester, West Sussex cup.columbia.edu Copyright © 2023 Columbia University Press All rights reserved Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Laub, Richard S., author. Title: Two acres of time : unearthing the ice age at the Byron Dig / Richard S. Laub. Description: New York : Columbia University Press, [2022] | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2022011096 (print) | LCCN 2022011097 (ebook) | ISBN 9780231206723 (hardback) | ISBN 9780231556620 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Byron Dig (Project) | Paleoecology—Great Lakes Region (North America) | Paleoecology—New York (State) | Paleoecology—Quaternary. | Geology—Great Lakes Region (North America) | Geology—New York (State) | Geology, Stratigraphic— Quaternary. | Archaeology—New York (State) | Indians of North America. | Great Lakes Region (North America)—Antiquities. Classification: LCC QE720.2.N7 L38 2022 (print) | LCC QE720.2.N7 (ebook) | DDC 560/.450974792—dc23/eng20220718 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022011096 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022011097

Columbia University Press books are printed on permanent and durable acid-free paper. Printed in the United States of America Cover design: Phil Pascuzzo Frontispiece: Photo by David Cinquino

To Jack Holland and Mike Gramly, who held my hand at the beginning; to my wife, Roselyn, who held my hand throughout; and to the visionary founders of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences.

\

Contents

In Appreciation ix

Introduction Prologue

1

7

PART I: GETTING THERE

1

Discovery

11

Interlude 1: The American Mastodon 2

First Steps

31

3

Brigadoon

37

25

PART II: THE HEROIC AGE (1983–1990)

4

First Try, 1983

49

5

Emerging Patterns

58

6

Friday’s Footprint

73

Interlude 2: The Clovis People

94

7

Steady Going, and First Symposium

8

The Dig Matures (I)

9

The Dig Matures (II)

10

113

Calling Cards of Stone

120 136

101

viii Contents

PART III: NEW TERRAIN (1991–2001)

11

A Lucky Drought

151

12

Tools!

13

More Discoveries (I)

14

More Discoveries (II)

15

Of Death and Life 208

16

Second Symposium

161 171 188

215

PART IV: EXPLODING PITS (2002–2005)

17

Bonanza (I)

233

18

Bonanza (II)

19

Money Worries

241 252

PART V: WINDING DOWN (2006–2011)

20

Into the Shallows I—Disappointment

261

21

Into the Shallows II—A Stirring of Hope

22

A Bolt from the Blue

23

To Where All Things Must Come

24

Some Parting Thoughts

265

277 281

293

Appendix A. Human Teeth and a Rib from the Hiscock Site, by Douglas W. Owsley 301 Appendix B. Hiscock Radiocarbon Dates, Corrected for Isotopic Fractionation 305 Appendix C. Uncorrected Radiocarbon Dates for Hiscock Samples Cited in Appendix B 311 Appendix D. Bibliography of Scientific Publications About the Hiscock Site 313 Notes 319 Specimen Number Index 347 Index 351

In Appreciation

I

t isn’t possible to thank here the hundreds of people who have been part of the Hiscock project. Hopefully this book will to some degree serve that purpose. I will, however, mention a few whose contributions have been more behindthe-scenes: Robert Feranec and Jonathan Lothrop (New York State Museum) significantly improved the book through their review comments. Ronald Hatfield (Beta Analytic, Miami, Florida) and Thomas Stafford (Stafford Research Laboratories, Lafayette, Colorado) helped me to better understand details of radiocarbon dating. Ryan Austin (Archaeological Survey, University of Buffalo) produced the illustrations that reinforce points in the text. Finally, Heather Jones compiled the indices that provide the reader with a road map to the text.

TWO ACRES OF TIME \

Introduction

T

his book is about time and the changes it brings. Mostly it’s about how we read, from the land itself, the story of those changes. And it’s about a community of everyday people who came together to extract that story from the soil, as well as the individuals and institution whose support made their extraordinary achievement possible. The concept of “change” is at the core of this story. I speak here particularly of change that, for the most part, can only be perceived on a scale beyond that of a human lifetime. In the context of earth history, the landscape of the northern United States and Canada is quite young. It was formed during what we call the Ice Age, a series of advances and retreats of gigantic glaciers across much of the Northern Hemisphere that began some two to three million years ago and continues to this day. (We’re actually living in the latest period of retreat.)1 Features that we take for granted, such as the Great Lakes, Hudson’s Bay, Long Island, Niagara Falls, the Finger Lakes of central New York, and Cape Cod, did not exist until the end of the Ice Age.2 This is all the more remarkable because in comparison with 4.6 billion years of earth history, these changes came about during only the latest tick of the geological clock. Even the courses of the Missouri and Ohio Rivers were defined at this time by the southern margin of the great continental glacier, its high-water mark. And in fact, all of what we term “human civilization,” the clustering of people in large, organized communities supported by agriculture, has been limited to the period since the most recent glacial retreat from the midlatitudes about ten thousand years ago. As these geological and topographical changes were taking place, there were also changes of a biological nature. Some of the animals that populated the land

2 Introduction

0.1 The Northern Hemisphere during the last glacial maximum about 20,000–25,000 years ago. The combined region of northeast Siberia and Alaska, joined by sea-level lowering as the glaciers grew, is called “Beringia.” (Courtesy of E. James Dixon, Bones, Boats, and Bison: Archaeology and the First Colonization of Western North America [Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1999])

at this time would be familiar to us: white-tailed deer, caribou, beavers, snowshoe hares, and black bears. Others, however, would not. There were species alien to our experience, ones that ceased to exist as their world changed. While some lived more-or-less solitary lives or in small family groups, others roamed North America in large herds that must have been very obvious on the landscape, like the African savannah of today or the bison-covered plains of the early American West.

Introduction 3 

Many of the Ice Age animals were of “normal” size, but most notable to us, if we’d been there to see them, would be beasts of impressive dimensions. Among them were magnified versions of their more familiar modern relatives: giant bears, lions, and wolves. There were even beavers the size of a black bear. These large animals are collectively called “megafauna.” Some, like the caribou, still exist, but shifted their range farther north, tracking the shifting ecological zones to which they were adapted. Most, however, disappeared around the time of the last glacial retreat for reasons that remain a subject of debate among scientists. Of particular interest to our own species are the humans who inhabited the Americas at this time. We know that they were here through objects of their handiwork that occasionally turn up in the layers of sediment formed during this period. Who were they? Where did they come from? When did they arrive here?

w But how do we know that these creatures and people existed at all? And how did we learn about the way in which their archaic world changed into our modern one? Relics of that vanished world, recent by geological standards but ancient in the eyes of humans, were preserved through burial in the sediment that accumulates on the floors of ponds, streams, and even the oceans. Here they were locked away from scavengers, from decay, and from the climatic forces that would normally lead to their destruction. We become aware of them when they occasionally poke into our own time by eroding out of riverbanks or turning up accidentally through the activities of farmers and construction workers. Archaeological finds show that these “visitors” from the remote past were a source of wonder even in ancient times.3 And as we’ve come to understand that our world is a changing one, they’ve aroused our interest for what they can teach us about the conditions and events of antiquity. Americans mostly learned of these large Ice Age animals through discoveries at Big Bone Lick, Kentucky. This ancient and still extant salt lick attracted mammals well back into the Ice Age. Early explorers who followed the Ohio River into the continent’s interior found this site peppered with bones of mammoths, mastodons (at first identified as elephants), and other megafaunal animals. The first European known to have visited here, in 1729, was Captain Charles de Longueuil, the French commander of Fort Niagara. Others, both French and

4 Introduction

English, soon followed, and by the mid- to late 1700s the giant bones and teeth found here and at other localities had caught the attention and interest of many North Americans, including some of our early presidents.4 George Washington was shown such remains, found in 1780 in New York State, and commented that he had a similar tooth in his home. A publication by Thomas Jefferson concerning the bones of a giant ground sloth from a cave in what is now West Virginia appeared in 1799.5 Perhaps most notable for its size and abundant remains is what we now call the American mastodon, a distant relative of mammoths and elephants, and one of the iconic North American megafaunal species. (By the way, the fossils examined by Washington belonged to a mastodon.) At that time, insufficient material was available to allow a reconstruction of the animal’s appearance. Then, between 1799 and 1801, actual mastodon skeletons were found near Newburgh, in the Hudson River Valley of eastern New York. There was now enough material to assemble a display skeleton in Philadelphia, providing the first reasonably clear picture of the animal’s appearance and creating a tremendous stir among the early citizens of America.6 Jefferson, who had a strong interest in the emerging development of American paleontology, hoped that the Lewis and Clark Expedition of 1804–1806 would find mastodons and other large animals, known only from their bones, still living in the American West.7 Awareness of the Ice Age residents of this region is even reflected in the early popular literature of America. In his 1826 novel, The Last of the Mohicans, James Fenimore Cooper makes reference to mammoths and mastodons, and even to a belief that the American Indians had entered the New World from Asia at some time in antiquity.8

w This book concerns the discovery and study of an enormous trove of such relics, now in the care of the Buffalo Museum of Science, which began several decades ago and became the main focus of my own professional work. It is also about how these objects are slowly being coaxed to give up their secrets and bear witness to the changes of fauna, flora, culture, and environment stretching from the late Ice Age to our own time, a span of some thirteen thousand years. But not least, it is the story of the people who, over a period of three decades, wrestled those riches out of the ground and deciphered their stories. Some are

Introduction 5 

scientists and technicians, experts in a broad range of disciplines. Most, however, well over a thousand of them, are seemingly “everyday” people: farmers, lawyers, homemakers, doctors, students, teachers, retirees, teenagers, city dwellers, and country dwellers. In truth, though, they are not really your average people. These folks committed themselves to a challenge and grew larger in the process. They worked in the heat, in the rain, and in the mud for long, often exhausting hours. At times it was so hot that basins of ice water were kept nearby in which we soaked our bandannas and draped them over our necks. People were delegated to bring cups of water to those working in the pits to ensure they stayed hydrated. One downpour was so sudden and fierce that we were saturated before we could get to the shelter of our camp. A volunteer remarked with a laugh, “I don’t get this wet in a swimming pool!” At all times they understood that what was paramount was completing the work, caring for the specimens we found, and of course safety. Comfort was only a passing consideration. Yet, through all those years, and with all those hundreds of people, I can count on the fingers of one hand the times when anyone quit. And there would still be fingers left over. All of these people deserve accolades, something not possible in the confines of this account. Still, there will be times when I’ll focus on individuals because of the role they played in a particular event or because their special skills or personalities demand comment at a point in the story. Hopefully this is done in a way that does not seem to diminish through omission the contributions of others. In general, though, I’m more interested in relating how a distinctive culture evolved around a community in the field over the three decades of its existence—how it arose, how it functioned, and what happened when the time came for it to end.

w The stage on which this adventure played out is a bucolic pasture whose isolation and beauty added a quiet pleasure to the excitement of discovery. It lay on the edge of a peaceful village in a town called Byron, located between Buffalo and Rochester in western New York State. For this reason, our project came to be known as the “Byron Dig.” We named the spot where our work was carried out the “Hiscock Site,” in honor of the family on whose land it lay.

6 Introduction

Though it’s small and remote, Byron has its own history, institutions, and traditions, as well as a population that cares about them. It also contains some of the kindest people I have ever known. One of my hopes for this book is that it will succeed in conveying the flavor of this place and its residents. It’s important to know that such communities exist in America. A great many unlikely events transpired in the course of this project. Some of them almost defy belief for their nature, their timing, or both, and they add spice to an already remarkable story. Naturally, given three decades to work with, Lady Luck had many opportunities to pull off a trick or two. Is that what happened, or was it something else?9 I’ll leave that to the reader to judge. For those of us who unearth the past by digging into the ground, the distinction between sediment and time grows blurred. In moving the soil to reach deeper into the ground, we’re also removing layers of time and reaching deeper into the past. Conversely, there is a relationship between the passage of time and the accumulation of earth layers. This will become apparent as our story progresses, the story told by two acres of ground far out in the quiet countryside and what it contains . . . two acres of time.

Prologue

A

n eight-foot-square area lay marked off in the middle of the twoacre meadow. Volunteers had used trowels to peel away the soft, damp soil over several days, lowering the floor of the square by perhaps two feet. Still, we had not encountered the cobble-strewn surface that would tell us we’d reached the bottom. With less than two weeks available to dig, I needed to know how much work lay ahead of us in this part of the pasture in order to calculate a schedule for opening any additional pits. So I decided to sacrifice a small space in the corner, about a foot square, and began shoveling straight down. After a foot of digging there was still no sign of rocks. Another foot of digging gave the same result. Really worried now, I made one more thrust with the spade. This time I met resistance and heard a “clink.” Relieved, I lay on the pit floor and reached down into the narrow hole to feel the rock. But it wasn’t a rock. Instead, my hand traced a large, cylindrical object with a crack running along its length. A telephone pole or tree came to mind, except that this thing was rock-hard and perfectly smooth. The muddy water obscured my view, but when I sloshed it to the side I caught a glimpse of a yellowish-white object. Clearly this was a tusk. The idea that I had chosen a mere point in that large area that just happened to contain a tusk was incredible. But we didn’t yet know just how incredible. When we troweled the floor of the pit down to reach the tusk (for it was indeed a tusk), we found that there was something else at that spot . . . something completely unexpected.

chapter 1

Discovery

T

he phone rang in the Holland household in West Seneca, New York, a suburb of Buffalo.1 It was Thursday, September 24, 1959. Dr. Marian White, an archaeologist on staff at both the Buffalo Museum of Science and the University of Buffalo, was trying to reach Jack Holland (see figure 1.1). She needed his help with a project that had just come up, but he wasn’t home. Jack’s wife, Louise, transmitted the message when he returned from work at the Ford Motor Company Stamping Plant. Jack had moved to Buffalo from his hometown of Lockhaven, Pennsylvania, in 1953, where he’d worked at a chemical plant as an electrician. The pay was solid enough, but Jack yearned for more in life. He was restless. He wanted a more cosmopolitan environment, access to literature, contact with inquiring minds, and opportunities to learn. His boyhood was taken up with walking plowed fields in search of Indian artifacts, and now, in Buffalo, he had an opportunity to delve deeper into his passion—archaeology. Beginning in 1957 he began volunteering as an assistant to Dr. White in her excavations around western New York, seeking a better understanding of that region’s prehistory. Jack returned her call on Friday, but she was in the field and unavailable. The next day she reached Jack and explained what had happened. In the country town of Byron, some fifty miles east of Buffalo, Charles Hiscock had decided to make a pond to attract waterfowl. Charlie (as his friends called him) was a modern-day country squire. He and his wife, Charlotte, lived on a sizable and pleasant spread of fields and woods inherited from Charlotte’s family, the Steeles. Charlie had served as the clerk of Genesee County, sold insurance, and was well respected in the community.

12 Getting There

1.1 John D. (Jack) Holland. (Courtesy of the Buffalo Museum of Science)

It seems there was a low, damp meadow, some two acres in area, that wasn’t being used much these days except as a cow pasture. Most of it had been cultivated years back, but the western end was always too wet for farming. This meadow was fed by a spring, and Charlie got the idea to dam up the eastern outflow end and then widen the opening of the spring at the west end in order to flood the basin. The backhoe had begun pulling out soil from around the spring seep and, in the process, on Saturday, September 19, 1959, turned up some large bones and teeth. In this area it wasn’t unusual to dig up bones of domestic animals— horses and cows—that had been buried years ago and forgotten. These, however, were different. The teeth were enormous—large, blue-white oblongs up to eighteen centimeters (seven inches) long, with high ridges running across them. The bones were a brownish-gold color and much larger than those of any domestic animal. Hiscock and his wife were captivated by all the excitement surrounding this find. The digging stopped while they sought professional help. Eventually they contacted the Buffalo Museum of Science. White was asked to lend her expertise to the project, and on September 23 she visited the site with the museum’s director, Fred Hall, Dr. Virginia Cummings and Carol Heubusch (respectively

Discovery 13 

the museum’s curators of anthropology and geology), as well as staff members Pat Harding, Benny Hochmuth, and Charley Simmons. Jack, thirty-three at the time, was to join the work party the following Monday, September 28. His eleven-year-old son, Johnny, was allowed to play hooky from Public School 67 that day because, as his dad said, “What you’ll do this day is far more important than anything you’ll learn at school.” Johnny hid on the floor of the car as they drove by the school on their way to Byron. When they arrived at the site, they were filled in on what had transpired. A hole measuring perhaps twenty feet by eight feet had been dug by machine, and large clumps of earth lay in and around the excavation. These were cleared away with shovels by the museum party, who then began to systematically clean up the hole using trowels, exposing its wonderful trove of bones in the process. Ribs and a vertebra could be seen on the north edge. The diggers confirmed that they belonged to Mammut americanum, the American mastodon, a huge inhabitant of Ice Age North America. The hole immediately began filling with water (Mr. Hiscock’s idea had worked too well!), so pumps were kept running constantly during the digging, courtesy of the Iroquois Gas Corp. Decades later, Jack and his son still remembered the gray muck and rotting vegetation that encased the bones. It was a beautiful day, and Hiscock brought out ice cream bars for everyone. Here was Jack’s first look at the site. It lay toward the west end of a long basin among grassy fields. A deep hole had been dug by the machine. The pumps kept the water low enough to expose fragments of large bones on the floor of the pit, some of them covered by rags to keep them moist. Ancient rounded boulders peeked through the gray silt and gravel in which the bones were encased. Above this layer lay dark, organic soil that had accumulated after the Ice Age, including angular boulders that had probably been tossed down from the surrounding cultivated field after Europeans settled the land and cleared away the forest. The most remarkable member of the party was Carol Heubusch, the museum’s geologist. Having contracted polio as a child, she was paralyzed from the waist down. Yet there she was, pitching in as best she could. She had been brought down to the pit in her wheelchair and placed on a plastic sheet, from which she used a trowel to carefully clear away the soil from around the bones and boulders. She authored a brief article listing recent mammoth and mastodon finds in western New York that appeared later that year in the museum’s newsletter.2 The “Byron mastodon” was included in this tally.

14 Getting There

Jack couldn’t work at the site on Tuesday but returned on Wednesday, when it rained all day. Cows were grazing a few feet from the excavation site. In the interim, a wall had been cut in the earth, seven feet long, to make it easier to examine the layers. The topmost layer, which White named Zone A, was mucky earth with scattered boulders and abundant wood fragments below. It contained bones of deer and possibly other small animals. Below this was Zone B, a medium-gray layer of clay. Sizable pieces of wood lay near its top only, some poking down from Zone A. Deeper in this layer were slender plant fragments, thought to be grasses and perhaps twigs. Bones of deer-like animals occurred in the upper reaches of this unit. Finally, the basal layer was a fine, light-gray clay. Its top consisted of closepacked rocks forming almost a solid floor to a depth of 5 to 7.5 centimeters (2 or 3 inches). The mastodon bones lay on top of this stratum, covered by Zone B.3 Earlier in the reconnaissance, a fine, large tusk from the right side of a mastodon’s skull had been exposed. On that Wednesday, Jack uncovered a second tusk right next to the first (see figure 1.2), this one from the animal’s left side. White referred to a peculiar find, a possible “boar tusk,” that stood out in character from the rest of the bones. Eventually it proved to be something else, just as interesting and significant, but that story must wait until later. By this time it was clear that the site contained not the intact skeleton of a mastodon but fragmented mastodon bones, jumbled together with those of other animals. There seemed no purpose in widening the dig, as there was no way to tell how the bones extended. It was therefore decided to stop the excavation and evaluate what had been found. Mr. Hiscock gave permission for the bones to be brought to the museum for conservation and analysis. On October 5, Jack came to the Buffalo Museum to meet with Dr. White, who had laid out the entire collection of bones from Byron. As an archaeologist, she was particularly keen to learn if ancient humans had played a role in whatever processes had led to the bones being deposited there. One obvious clue would be cut marks on the bones, but she found none. She observed that the bones appeared abraded and felt this meant they had either been transported by water or scoured in place by shifting, rough gravel. It was also noteworthy that, while some of the bones were of an amber color, others were whitish, suggesting that different histories led to the deposition of various bones in the same place. It had been hoped that these bones would be given to the museum and become part of its collection. A letter from Carol Heubusch to Charlie Hiscock, dated

Discovery 15 

1.2 Dr. Carol Heubusch at the initial probing of the site site, 1959. (Courtesy of the Buffalo Museum of Science)

March 13, 1962, shows that two and a half years after the excavation the specimens were still in the museum’s care, receiving periodic treatment to stave off deterioration. No agreement on the ultimate disposition of the specimens was reached, however, between the scientists and Hiscock, so having been cleaned and reinforced with glue, the bones were returned to Byron where they remained with Hiscock for some twenty years.

w Meanwhile, White pursued various avenues to see what could be learned from the bones, the sediment samples collected with them, and her field observations. She went on November 5, 1959, to Albany to meet with William Fenton, the assistant commissioner of the New York State Education Department, along with the state botanist, the state archaeologist, and the assistant director and

16 Getting There

curator of zoology of the New York State Museum. With her she brought the specimens and her field notes. Presumably following this meeting, Donald Lewis of the New York State Museum examined ancient pollen encased in some of the sediment samples collected with the bones. On February 2, 1960, Lewis reported that the gray, clay-rich Ice Age layers were probably deposited in a cold, tundra-like environment, perhaps with a few scattered clusters of trees. White was also in contact with Dr. Ernest Muller of Syracuse University, who was researching how the glaciers changed the landscape of New York. In January 1960, Muller encouraged her to obtain a radiocarbon date for the mastodon. This would be a very expensive endeavor, but it was an important one, since it might shed light on the date by which the lake of meltwater that was dammed against the retreating ice sheet finally drained from the area. Muller was still arguing for carbon-14 dating in March 1961. In June of that year, Dr. Meyer Rubin of the U.S. Geological Survey informed Muller that he would work a date for the Byron bones into his research on the chronology of glacial advance and retreat in North America. In August, White sent some plant material from the site to the Isotope Geology Branch of the U.S. Geological Survey. This sample was found directly beneath and in contact with a mastodon hip bone. In December, the lab reported an age of 10,450±400 years for this material. It was assumed that this approximated the age of the mastodon bones. Jack stopped working as Dr. White’s field assistant in 1964 to pursue other interests. Besides tending to his family responsibilities, with the usual accompanying pleasures and heartbreaks, he became involved in “black powder” shooting, firing everything from old-style pistols to cannons in structured competitions. He joined the North-South Skirmish Association, and, under his leadership, his team, the “44th New York Volunteers,” took the national championship three years in a row.

w In late 1973, I arrived in Buffalo to take up the post of curator of geology at the Buffalo Museum of Science. As I familiarized myself with the local geology, I came across Carol Heubusch’s 1959 article. It mentioned that, as the magazine was going to press, a mastodon had been discovered in Byron. Being new to the office, and knowing how great an investment of time, effort, and money would

Discovery 17 

be required to properly excavate a mastodon or mammoth, I put this idea on the back burner—to possibly be considered sometime down the line. Meanwhile, the bones dug up on Charlie Hiscock’s property fourteen years before remained in a shed, only shown by him to the occasional curious neighbor. And there they might have remained to this day, except for a series of fortuitous happenings . . .

w In 1981, Dr. Richard Michael (“Mike”) Gramly was hired as curator of anthropology at the Buffalo Museum. Soon afterward, the archaeology bug again bit Jack Holland, and he returned to the museum in February 1982 to volunteer under Gramly. The new curator’s professional interests were wide-ranging. He had a special hunger, however, for North American Ice Age archaeology, seeking to learn about the first people to inhabit the New World, the Paleo-Indians. What did they look like? Where did they come from? How did they adapt to life in a land that until then had been as free from human presence as the surface of the moon before 1969? Ample evidence existed that these ancient people hunted animals as part of their food economy. Knowing that, what better place to seek traces of their presence, evidence of their activities, than near the fossil remains of an enormous animal such as a mammoth or a mastodon? Whether or not a band of Paleo-Indians was capable of killing such a behemoth, they might at least have scavenged the ample flesh or used the hide and bones for various needs. Archaeological finds up to this time had provided reasonable evidence that humans had preyed on mammoths. Proof for human predation on mastodons, however, had not yet been established. This distinction may seem odd, since both were large mammals bearing trunks and tusks. Yet, mastodons appear to have been associated with forests, while mammoths favored open, steppe-like habitats. Had early American humans developed techniques for hunting giant animals in both environments? When he learned that his new volunteer had been part of the original probing of the Byron mastodon site, Mike decided (no surprise!) to give that site a second look. On March 24, Mike and Jack went to Byron to visit Charlie Hiscock and examine the mastodon bones. By this time, Hiscock had come to realize that the

18 Getting There

great pile of bones sitting on the floor of his shed were serving no useful purpose, and he was pleased that someone was again taking a scientific interest in the site. He allowed the bones to be taken back to the museum for study. Mike examined them for cut marks that might have resulted from butchering and, like Marian White two decades before, found nothing unequivocal. On August 9, Mike and Jack returned to the site with three volunteers.4 The artificial pond that had resulted from the damming of the eastern outflow had been drained by breaching the blockage the previous week, but a layer of water still covered much of the cattail-fringed basin. To avoid sinking into the oozy mud that had accumulated on the pond floor in the intervening years, they laid plywood boards to serve as a walkway. In one of the drier areas, a few feet removed from the 1959 excavation, the party dug a rectangular pit, 1 × 1.5 meters (3.2 × 4.9 feet) wide. Its neat, vertical walls clearly showed the sequence of layers: oozy black muck grading downward into peaty soil (White’s Zone A), which in turn lay upon cobbles embedded in clay (the basal zone). Zone B, the medium-gray layer of clay, was for some reason missing here. Four bone fragments lay atop the Cobble Layer, on the floor of the pit, about seventy centimeters (twenty-eight inches) below the surface. One was from the right hind leg of a deer. Another was a piece of deer antler. The third was nondescript but its texture was suggestive of antler. The fourth was by far the largest and ultimately of greatest interest. It was a large portion of a caribou antler base.5 Today, caribou (Rangifer tarandus) are a quintessentially boreal species inhabiting the wilder regions of Alaska, Canada, and Greenland. Their range invades only the northernmost fringes of the lower forty-eight states. The fossil record, however, shows that this species extended much farther south under the harsh conditions attending the Ice Age. Caribou remains have been found in the southeastern corner of mainland New York State in Orange County,6 and Mike’s find showed that, during the Ice Age, caribou inhabited the western end of the state as well. But the pit revealed something else, something puzzling. In one corner, a low, uncemented wall-like feature of angular rocks lay on top of the Cobble Layer. It appeared to be human-made. Mike wondered if it had been set there by Marian White to wall up her excavation. Or perhaps it was a long-forgotten structure to facilitate access to “medicinal” spring waters. The answer would not come until several years of systematic excavation had gone by.

Discovery 19 

At this point, Mike had to make a decision. Clearly, it would be quite a job to continue excavating the site. Such a project would entail considerable cost in terms of time, labor, and money. Furthermore, the constant inflow of water would present a difficult logistical challenge. Finally, there were no clear archaeological signs, unless one counted that peculiar stone structure found in his test pit. On the available evidence, Mike concluded that the site was not archaeological but that it might be a suitable paleontological (fossil) site. Back at the museum, Mike asked me to come to his office, where he had laid out the bones that he’d borrowed from Hiscock. This was my first look at the specimens that had been collected during the 1959 reconnaissance, and I was impressed by the size of the trove. The counter was covered with bone fragments ranging from small to enormous. I could recognize rib and vertebra fragments, as well as hip bones. There were also very large teeth, some loose and some still socketed in fragments of the jawbones. Mixed in with this mastodon material were a few bones of smaller animals. Mike considered Byron to be a fossil site rather than an archaeological one, and he asked if I was interested in picking up the ball and seeing what could be done. In effect, would it be possible to persuade Hiscock to reconsider and to allow me to carry out an excavation on his land? I knew that the museum’s initial dealings with him had failed to bring about an agreement for further work, and I didn’t feel optimistic. Yet, with a foot now in the door, I thought it would be wrong to not at least see what could be done to bring this site back under scientific scrutiny. But there was another problem. My academic training and all of my research experience had focused on fossil corals. The excavation of bones buried in soil, and their conservation once they were brought into the museum, was not what my university education had prepared me for. This lack of experience was one reason why, although I had learned about the find at Byron soon after beginning my job at the museum, I had put it low on my to-do list, to be considered—maybe someday—in the future. Now, it seemed, the future had sneaked up and bit me on the nose. And making that decision was where one of those fortuitous circumstances that can change the course of history came about. Let me explain by stepping back a few years.

w

20 Getting There

Part of the process of orienting myself to my new job involved visits to other museums in the region. Because our museum has a historically significant collection of fossil fish, I went to Cleveland in 1979 to see its natural history museum, and, in particular, its famous fossil fish collection. The curator, Mike Williams, was cordial and patient with my questions. I was especially impressed by how the complex, often delicate fish skeletons had been skillfully exposed by clearing away the rock that had encased them for hundreds of millions of years. When I commented on this, Mike introduced me to the fossil preparator attached to his department. A skilled fossil preparator is, in my eyes, a magician and worth their weight in gold. You know those mounted dinosaur skeletons that draw people irresistibly to museums? Well, as you can imagine, those skeletons don’t occur that way naturally. Typically they’re disarticulated before burial by scavengers that tear apart the carcass and by moving water or shifting mud. Then, whatever is left is often flattened or otherwise distorted by movements within the earth. Finally, a river may cut a gorge, carrying away rock from the wall and with it part of the skeleton enclosed in that rock. The preparator, using tools with surgical skill, can remove the fossil bones from the encasing rock and put them back together as they had been in life. In rare instances even soft parts, or at least their images or impressions, may be preserved after tens of millions of years, and the preparator can use special techniques to bring them to light. Soon after I’d returned to Buffalo, a letter arrived from the Cleveland preparator. In it she explained that she had been planning to leave Cleveland. Seeing how impressed I was with the lab facilities there, and with her work, she asked if my museum would be interested in having her set up a paleontology lab, and she could then train me in its use and in preparation techniques. Hopeful, but with little confidence of success, I approached the museum’s new director, Dr. Robert Chenhall, with the preparator’s offer. I explained how important such a facility and training would be to collection care and research. To my delight he agreed, saying he would approach the board of directors with a request for funds. Soon afterward the Board approved the offer, and the preparator started work at the museum in January 1980. The lab construction and my training began in earnest. By the end of her eight-month tenure we had a facility capable of dealing with most any situation likely to come up.

Discovery 21 

w This made all the difference in my, and the museum’s, ability to handle its new challenge: Would it would be possible to persuade Charlie Hiscock to do an about-face on his earlier decision? The first step was a phone call to him to ask if I could meet with him at his home. His answer: “Yes.” So far, so good. On the drive to Byron I had a lot to think about. What was Charlie Hiscock like? How could I break through to him and establish a relationship of trust? Did he have an interest in science? Could I explain to him why it’s important that specimens like those that had been collected, and that might yet reside on his land, be entrusted to a public institution?7 As I drove, I eventually left the high-volume traffic of the urban areas and found myself in the quiet countryside. It was early autumn, and the miles of winding roads carried me up and down scenic hills and past pastures and farmland. While there were newer structures, many of the houses and farmsteads that I saw were clearly from the previous century. Byron is a small village, part of a town bearing the same name, lying a considerable distance from any major highway. It was historically centered on farming, and despite the inevitable intrusion of urban effects from Batavia and Rochester, it’s still a farming area. The West Shore Railroad once ran through here, and its former right-of-way has been converted into a popular walking path. The heart of the village features the Byron Hotel, an old brick building dating well back into the 1800s. Its top floor was once a dance hall, and the hotel is still a center of social activity, with people stopping by for a drink, a meal in the dining room, or gathering on the porch in the evening. The Byron Kiwanis Club, the main old-line fraternal organization, meets there. Diagonally across the street, Gillett’s Hardware, “The Nuts & Bolts of Byron” according to their sign, carries much of what is needed by the farmers and other residents. The neatly tended Byron First Presbyterian Church, erected in 1830, stands a block away from the four-corner intersection that marks the center of the village. Little has changed outwardly through the years; it remains as it has been for generations, a gathering place for much of the community.8 On the other side of the four corners is the Byron Volunteer Fire Department. This, along with the Rescue Squad, is a source of considerable pride for the people of the village. You can often see members in the open garage washing and maintaining the fire

22 Getting There

engines. Behind that is a large kitchen and meeting hall, the venue for frequent celebrations—weddings, anniversaries, and other special events. A bit farther down the road, the former German Lutheran Church building now houses the Byron Historical Museum, a well-kept testimony to the interest that the community has in its past. And just beyond that lies the Byron Cemetery, whose monuments proclaim the people and families whose lives were connected with this little place for well over 150 years. Beyond this core area of the village, woods and cultivated fields stretch in all four directions, insulating it to a degree from the hurly-burly of the wider world. Tucked away though it seems (and it must have seemed all the more so before the advent of the national highway system in the mid-1900s), Byron has not been isolated from the currents of our nation’s history. Seventeen Byron citizens lost their lives in the Civil War, out of a town population of around 1,600. Cleveland Gillett, great-uncle of the current owner of the store, went north during the Yukon Gold Rush in the late 1890s. One of the few who met with success, he is said to have claimed, “I won’t have to work very hard the rest of my life.” He lies at rest in the Byron Cemetery, where there is also a monument to those seventeen Civil War soldiers. I heard an interesting story that helps explain the stability of this rural community. In 1964, three men—Gerald Britt, his son Donald,9 and Donald’s former schoolmate Richard Glazier (later joined by James Vincent)—formed a partnership around a farming operation that they called L-Brooke Farms. Donald and Richard designed a beet harvester that attached to a New Idea Uni tractor for use on the farm. The harvester so impressed others that they began selling additional units to other beet growers. In 1969, a new corporation called Byron Enterprises was established by Donald, Richard, and James to provide employment for L-Brooke employees during the winter months. Meanwhile, the corporation obtained a dealer franchise for the New Idea Uni tractor. An important feature of this tractor was that it could be adapted for various functions. The partners received rights to produce a sweet-corn harvesting attachment for the unit, and demand for this new product was so great that a new manufacturing facility was constructed. In 1984, the company started making its own power unit along with equipment to harvest green beans and peas. After merging with a competitor, the corporation finally took the name Oxbo International. Oxbo is still headquartered in Byron, with additional factories

Discovery 23 

in Wisconsin and Washington. By partnering with a Dutch company it has expanded internationally with a larger product line. And all this began with the initiative of a small group of men in a tiny New York farming community. The Hiscock home lay about a mile from the heart of the village, with fields on all sides. It was a large old house with a couple of barns and smaller outbuildings. The house was cozy, with old-fashioned but well-kept furnishings. Charlie and his wife, Charlotte Steele Hiscock, lived here among surroundings and mementos that spoke clearly of earlier times. Charlotte was the daughter of Andrew G. Steele, who had been the previous owner of the land. She and her brother, John, had grown up on the farm. Charlie and John were close friends from boyhood, and when Charlie married Charlotte, the couple took up residence in the large old corner home on land that he had purchased from her father in 1935.10 It was here that I was to meet him. Charlotte was ailing, pretty much bedridden at this time, but Charlie invited me in for a chat. He was a lean old fellow in his seventies with an animated, almost boisterous manner about him. He took pride in his service during World War II (“I processed out the entire ____ Battalion when they returned home from the Pacific”) and as a former Genesee county clerk for more than a decade (1949– 1963). Charlie was well-known and active in the civic life of Byron and the wider region. Something of a country squire, he told me that he felt little need to travel beyond that area. For him, most everything he needed to be happy was right there. He had deep roots here, and his father, Dean, had worked at a hardware store that had once stood next to the Presbyterian Church. We went through the pleasantries of a first meeting. Then I, with little confidence in the outcome, broached the subject of those bones and the site itself. There was clearly something of considerable interest and scientific importance lying out in his field, I told him. It would be a shame to not investigate it. This, however, would require a considerable investment of time, money, and labor. For the results to be of any use to science, what was found would need to be carefully conserved and kept available indefinitely for researchers to examine. In short, whatever was found would have to be kept in a museum. How did he feel about this? To my amazement, Charlie immediately agreed that my idea was the proper course. He would allow me to excavate the site and to keep whatever was found for the museum. In addition, all the bones found in 1959, which had been lying on

24 Getting There

the floor of his shed since they were returned to him in the 1960s, would be given to the museum. In effect, Charlie agreed to everything necessary to commence a proper scientific investigation of the “Byron mastodon site.” Why did he do this? What caused such a dramatic change in his attitude? I wondered about that for a long time. I sensed that Charlie realized those bones weren’t serving much of a purpose just sitting there and had potential for doing greater good by being placed in public view in a museum. And finally, he probably relished the prospect of a dig on his land and the excitement that would engender. He may also have been just a little lonely.

w Now the ball was in our court. The first job had to be cleaning, conserving, and labeling those bones, teeth, and tusks from the 1959 reconnaissance. These tasks fell to Betty Knop, who had worked with Mike Gramly in his field investigations, and was now serving as a volunteer in my department. The jumble slowly began to take on the form of an organized collection that could be studied systematically. One day, while this work was progressing, I went into the lab and took a look at two of the larger bone specimens, each containing a hip socket. To be clear, most of the mastodon finds in this region consist of the skeleton, usually partial, of a single animal. Naturally, then, I assumed that I was holding the right and left hip sockets of the “Byron mastodon.” Imagine my surprise when I noticed that one socket was a bit larger than the other; I soon realized that they were both from the left side of the body! Despite the fact that they were from the same small area of the basin, it turns out we didn’t have just one skeleton of a mastodon but at least two! Now we really had a puzzle on our hands.

interlude 1

The American Mastodon

T

he American mastodon, technically Mammut americanum,1 is the most obvious and certainly the largest actor in our tale. Furthermore, it is the first American fossil to be given a formal scientific name.2 Because of its general popularity and broad public recognition, I personally choose to use the term mastodon for informal purposes. Please don’t let this be confusing; I do it in the same sense that we use the informal term deer to refer to a common animal rather than its technical name of Odocoileus. Mammut americanum belongs to a group of mammals called the Proboscidea. The name refers to their most distinctive bodily feature, the proboscis (or as we commonly call it, the trunk). The organ is actually a fusion of the elongated nose with the upper lip, and it serves as a tool for feeding, drinking, lifting, and touch sensing. Since the trunk consists entirely of soft tissue, it can be directly observed only in living elephants and in those few mammoths whose frozen carcasses have been discovered in Siberia and Alaska. In proboscidean species known only from their fossilized bones (and this includes the American mastodon), the presence of a trunk is attested to by the position of the large nasal opening high on the skull, centered between and slightly above the eyes. It has been suggested that proboscidean skulls, having this central opening, and with eye sockets not fully enclosed by bone, may be the source of the ancient Greek legend of Cyclops, the one-eyed giant who threatened Odysseus and his men. The Proboscidea have been traced back some fifty to fifty-five million years to the Eocene epoch of earth history. At this time, Moeritherium, a pig-sized mammal, aquatic or semiaquatic, lived in Africa. Though lacking a trunk, its skull and teeth had features linking it to later proboscideans.

26 Getting There

The only living proboscideans are the elephants. They belong to their own distinct family, the Elephantidae, which also includes the various species of mammoth (which all come under the genus Mammuthus). The Elephantidae branched from the main proboscidean line during the late Miocene epoch, about seven million years ago. However, the Mammutidae, the family of proboscideans that includes the American mastodon, constitutes a more primitive stock. They entered the fossil record during the early Miocene epoch, twenty to twenty-three million years ago, considerably earlier than the Elephantidae. The American mastodon itself is known only from North America, appearing in the fossil record about four million years ago. At first glance, a mastodon (or at least its reconstruction based upon the skeleton) looks very elephant-like. The two share a basic structural plan: a very large body held up by four pillar-like limbs, a large head supported by a very short neck, and of course that all-important trunk.3 Closer inspection, however, shows important differences among the mastodon, the living elephants, and the fossil elephants that we call mammoths. (For simplicity I’ll refer to the living elephants and the extinct mammoths as “elephantids.”) The most important differences concern the head. Here we find that the tusks of mastodons are rather thick compared with those of elephants and mammoths. Those of the mastodon exit the socket almost horizontally, whereas those of the elephantids exit almost vertically downward. These tusks, by the way, are actually much-elongated incisor teeth (equivalent to the lateral incisors in the front of our mouths). When they first erupt, they bear a small enamel cap at the tip. This is rarely seen since it wears off at an early stage through use of the tusk. What follows is, in effect, an ever-growing root, and this curved, broadening cylinder is what we term a tusk. Also, mastodons have a pair of tooth sockets at the front end of the lower jaw. In males these are occupied by relatively short, straight, tusk-like incisor teeth, of which one or both are commonly lost during later life. Interestingly, while females also have sockets, they do not develop these lower tusks. Elephantids have no lower incisor tusks.4 The skull and mandible, and the molar-like teeth (we’ll call them “cheek teeth”), display the most obvious differences (see figure Int1.1). To begin with, those cheek teeth, in both the mastodon and the elephantids, bear ridges running transverse to the tooth’s long axis (that is, extending from the tongue side to the cheek side). But that is where the similarity ends.

The American Mastodon 27 

Int1.1 Lower jaws of a mature Asian elephant (left) and an American mastodon (right); respectively, specimens G1828 and I5SE-185. (Courtesy of the Buffalo Museum of Science)

Mastodons’ cross ridges are high and relatively few, with broad, open valleys between them. Each ridge has a core of relatively soft dentine covered with a layer of hard enamel, as in our own teeth. As the ridges became worn, the dentine core was exposed along the crests. In contrast, each tooth in elephantids is made of numerous high transverse wafer-like structures, bound together by cementum. Each wafer consists of a ring of hard enamel surrounding a plate of relatively soft dentine. As the teeth were ground together, the dentine and cementum wore down faster than the harder enamel. This produced a flat, file-like grinding surface with thin, parallel enamel ridges and intervening narrow basins of dentine. The cheek teeth (which are a sequence of three deciduous or “baby” premolars, followed by three molars) of mastodons, and of mammoths and elephants, are inserted into the jaws in a novel way. Each tooth is formed individually in a chamber at the back of the jaw and moves forward to take its place in the dental battery.

28 Getting There

In 1966, R. M. Laws, a zoologist working in Uganda, introduced a relative age scale for African elephants (Loxodonta africana) based upon the schedule with which the six cheek teeth are inserted.5 Using a variety of age-related characteristics, he provided an estimate of chronological age (number of years old) for each of the thirty groups in his relative age sequence. He was thus able to determine that elephant A was older than elephant B and to give an estimate of how great the age difference was. This method has been applied to the American mastodon for the purpose of evaluating one animal’s age relative to that of another. The true age of the mastodon is not known, of course, but a relative age, comparing one animal with another, can be determined in terms of “African elephant years.” Thus, we can say that a given mastodon skeleton reflects an “African elephant age” of thirty-five years, for example, because the teeth that have been inserted are equivalent to those of an African elephant of that age.6 Mastodons chewed by moving the lower jaw laterally, grinding the lower teeth sideways across the uppers the way a cow or sheep chews.7 This is reflected in the fact that the upper and lower dental batteries do not align. The left and right upper tooth rows diverge so that they are wider apart toward the front of the mouth, while the lower tooth rows are parallel to each other. The lower and upper teeth can only occlude or interlock when the lower jaw is moved sideways. The elephantid head, however, has been highly modified for a different mode of chewing. The skull and mandible have been foreshortened and deepened to accommodate very high-crowned cheek teeth that, like those of a horse, can endure extensive grinding before being worn away. The main chewing muscles form something like a cradle to support the mandible and move it in a fore-to-aft chewing direction, which is quite different from that in the mastodon. Mastodons appear to have been primarily browsers. Chewed plant material sometimes found with their skeletons consists of conifer twigs and occasionally needles plucked from trees. However, their diet was actually broader than this suggests. A remarkable discovery in Ohio, reported in 1991, shows that mastodons also fed on leaves and twigs of hardwood trees, as well as soft, ground-dwelling plants such as moss, sedge, and water plants.8 In 1869, Joseph Leidy, professor of anatomy at the University of Pennsylvania and curator of the Academy of Natural Sciences in Philadelphia, reported a spectrum of texture for mastodon cheek teeth, ranging from “rugged” at one end to “smooth” at the other. In the former, features of the surface topography are more prominent, giving the teeth a rougher surface than the “smooth” teeth

The American Mastodon 29 

at the other end of the continuum.9 A study by Jeffrey Saunders suggests that rugged teeth were adaptations to a diet with a large component of pine, which accelerated dental wear. By inference, smooth teeth would be associated with a spruce-dominated diet.10 Their long jaws probably contained a similarly long tongue, one that researcher Jeheskel Shoshani estimated was seventy to ninety centimeters (twenty-eight to thirty-six inches) in length.11 He envisioned the tongue as prehensile, like that of a giraffe, extending to grasp and pluck vegetation. The long channel at the front of the lower jaw reinforces this idea of a long, slender, extensible tongue. Elephants, on the other hand (and mammoths, based on their stomach contents), are and were grazers, feeding on grasses and low-growing vegetation. Their tongues are relatively broad, and the front channel in the lower jaw is accordingly broader, in a shorter jaw, than that in the mastodon. Living elephants feed by cupping their extended tongue and using the trunk to place plant material on it. The tongue then draws back into the mouth where the vegetation is ground by the teeth and swallowed. Mammoths, at least those living in the higher latitudes, were covered with a heavy coat of fur. We know this from actual carcasses that have been occasionally exhumed through erosion of the frozen ground. An example is the Berozovka mammoth, discovered in eastern Siberia in 1900. Just as remarkable is eyewitness testimony from people who actually saw the living animals. This comes from paintings (see figure Int1.2) made by contemporary humans, most notably in Western Europe.12 But were mastodons similarly covered with a thick fur coat? No frozen carcass or ancient artistic depiction of an American mastodon has yet been found. So, although they are invariably reconstructed as furry (and I personally suspect that this is correct, at least for those in more northerly regions), we do not know for certain. There is, however, one reported case of possible mastodon fur. The find was made at a site in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. In 1981, Kurt Hallin and Diane Gabriel of the Milwaukee Public Museum reported soft tissue fragments adhering to a piece of mastodon skull and bearing matted fur.13 It included both short underfur hairs and longer guard hairs that reached 1.5 cm in length and were hollow and flattened. This type of fur most resembles that of semiaquatic animals, such as beavers and otters, in which it serves to trap a thin layer of insulative air around the body. If this is indeed mastodon fur, then the implication is that the animal spent much time in the water.

30 Getting There

Int1.2 Cave painting of a mammoth. Font de Gaume cave near Les Eyzies, France. (William H. Wise & Company)

Remains of the American mastodon are distributed broadly throughout North America, from the Atlantic to the Pacific coasts, and from Alaska south to central Mexico.14 Finds are most heavily concentrated in the Northeast, and this is thought to reflect the animal’s preference for forested areas. There is also a clustering in the far southeast in Florida. If we are really dealing here with a single species, as experts believe, then such a wide geographic range, extending north to south through multiple plant zones (and thus, food resources), is extraordinary. We normally associate only humans with that sort of range. Our species, however, can rely on the plasticity of human culture to help it adapt to different environmental challenges. That the American mastodon could, through its four-million-year existence, similarly adapt to such a wide range of climate, food sources, and topography, reveals it to be an unusually flexible and successful species. It adds a strong sense of challenge to understanding the reason for its extinction.

chapter 2

First Steps

O

nce 1982 turned to 1983, theoretical considerations became practical needs. Up to that time, all of my field collecting as a geologist had been done with a hammer and a chisel, which I would use to break fossils out of the rocks in road cuts and quarries. Now, however, I would be dealing with bones and other objects buried in soft soil. This type of work calls for completely different techniques. The tool of choice would be the mason’s trowel, a kite-shaped blade attached to a handle. Mike Gramly and Jack Holland explained to me the techniques for using this tool. The idea is to scrape thin sheets of sediment off the floor of the pit, in effect peeling away fine layers of time to reach into progressively deeper and older layers. A grapefruit knife could be used for finer work, clearing away soil immediately around objects of interest. (Still, there were times when the hammer and chisel were needed. Sometimes we encountered a bone lodged in the top of the basement layer, in sediment that could be rock-hard.) Before long, I became quite comfortable with troweling and developed techniques that worked well for me. In troweling down the floor, it’s also important to keep the pit walls as smooth and vertical as possible. Since the pits would be refilled upon completion of the field season, in future seasons we were likely to dig a pit next to an earlier one, and if the wall of the previous one wasn’t good and vertical, there was danger that in digging the neighboring pit we would intrude into already-dug earth. Similarly, there could be some soil left uninvestigated between the neighboring pits, and fossils within it would be missed. Developing a means of distinguishing the boundaries between pits dug at different times, and maintaining those boundaries, proved to be one of our greatest challenges.

32 Getting There

w As the weather became more agreeable, I visited the site accompanied by a member of the museum’s board. This was Herbert F. Darling Jr., the owner of Herbert F. Darling Inc., a large contract engineering company in Williamsville, New York. Herb was one of the more impressive people I’d met to that time in Buffalo. He is a tall, trim, outdoors-type of man, with a fine head of graying hair that made me envious. Always gentlemanly and with a ready grin, he had a strong interest in the natural world and its preservation. Like his father before him, Herb served in high positions on the board of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences, the organization that owned and governed the museum. He was extremely generous with his resources, offering any aid within his means in the furtherance of what he considered a worthy cause. Fortunately for me, he saw the exploration of this mastodon site in such a light. A tall old tree growing at the edge of the country road marked the entrance to the property in question. We pulled onto a graveled drive that wound through a thicket and opened onto a flat, grassy field. Then we walked down a slope, over a broad ditch, and onto a hilly, cultivated field. Those hills wrapped around a broad, shrub-fringed basin. They rose steeply at the far end of the basin and grew shallower toward the end facing the entrance to the property. The entire basin floor was a level plain. Toward the far end, the location of the 1959 reconnaissance, it was covered with dark, soupy mud that transitioned toward its nearer end to soil that was still damp but sufficiently dry to be colonized by herbaceous plants. In or soon after 1959, Charlie Hiscock had dammed up the nearer end of the basin through which accumulated spring water escaped, turning the meadow into a pond.1 Later, prior to his 1982 visit, Mike Gramly had the dam breached to allow the water to drain. This left behind the ooze that had accumulated during those two decades. Of course, this ooze wouldn’t support a man’s weight, so Herb and I laid down boards to stand on. A few yards into the flat I used a shovel to clear the mud from a small area. A short distance below the surface we found a considerable amount of wood. We had no idea how old it was at the time, but it was surely premodern. As an engineer, Herb was there to help figure out how to drain enough water from the basin floor to make it a firm surface to work on. Eventually, we decided it would be necessary to dig some low areas into the basin flat. Water would drain

First Steps 33 

from the soupy soil into those basins, from where it could then be pumped away from the work area, at least temporarily. I decided these low areas would take the form of a series of trenches at the periphery of the basin, near the base of the bordering hills. Herb agreed to provide a backhoe and a person to operate it for this purpose. In July of that year, before the scheduled trenching, I brought a couple of volunteers2 to accomplish a critical piece of work. In any type of scientific collecting it’s necessary to have a means to describe the exact location where an object was found.3 We would be working over a broad area as we dug various parts of the basin. To precisely map the location of each object collected, it was necessary to establish lines of latitude and longitude. This was done by pounding stakes into the ground to mark the intersections between those lines (see figure 2.1). The hilly ground surrounding the basin had been under cultivation recently. The steeper margin of the basin, however, was undisturbed, and had shrubs and a fringe of cattails. It was here that we established the baseline of our grid, pounding a row of 1.5-meter (five-foot) stakes into the ground at intervals of five meters (very close to sixteen feet). We named this the “1 (one)” line.

2.1 Stakes marking the grid, 1983. (Photo by Richard S. Laub)

34 Getting There

The next step was to run a line of stakes out from each of the baseline stakes. Each line was given a letter designation: A, B, C, etc. So, the second stake in the A line would be designated A2 and the third would be A3. Similarly, the stakes in the B line would be named B1, B2, B3, etc. (If you’re thinking of graph paper and the coordinates used to plot points, you’ve got precisely the idea. See figure 2.2.) But this task wasn’t as simple as it sounded. The basin floor was still a dark ooze with the consistency of partly clotted pea soup. The ditches hadn’t yet been dug, so the substrate remained saturated and impossible to negotiate on foot.

2.2 Grid nomenclature. “Grid north” (not geographic north) is conventionally toward the top of the diagram. Each grid square is named for the stake in its “grid southwest” corner. Here, grid square B1 has been divided into four quadrants. See chapter 4, notes 2 and 3, for details. (Photo by Richard S. Laub)

First Steps 35 

Our solution was to lay a series of planks along each line extending perpendicular to the baseline. My two companions walked out along these planks carrying an armful of five-foot wooden stakes along with a tape measure, sledgehammer, plumb bob, and marker. I was posted at the basin margin at one of the baseline stakes. There I’d set up a surveyor’s transit, borrowed from Herb, to sight a straight line in order to guide their direction and distance. When each five-meter increment had been reached, the two would pound a stake vertically into the basin floor, guided by a plumb bob, number it, and then pass the rear plank ahead of them so they could continue on, in leapfrog fashion. A short time after this, Herb delivered a backhoe on a large flat-bed truck to the Hiscock property. I met the equipment operator at the entrance to the drive. Once the backhoe was off the truck, the operator moved it along the drive and down to the basin. We then positioned the machine at the base of the margin slope, where its shovel arm could reach out onto the flat. I stood close to the shovel and watched carefully as it bit into the surface to dig out trenches along the perimeter of the basin. The earth was dumped in specific piles on the dry margin, each pile close to an identifying grid stake. My intent was to detect any bones that might come up and collect them, recording their position. However, I saw nothing. At the end of the work day, we had produced several trenches, aligned but discontinuous, along the perimeter of the damp far end of the basin. Later, my crew members and I mapped the location of each of the earth piles (we called them “tailings”), so that we could examine them for any missed specimens. A labeled stake was driven into each pile to identify it.

w Meanwhile, I scheduled the first field season for two weeks in the late summer (late August into early September). Now began the task of working out the logistics of maintaining a crew in the field during that time. Equipment was purchased: trowels, grapefruit knives, notebooks, pencils, markers, five-gallon carboys for holding water, lanterns and flashlights, plywood boards, etc. A propane camp stove would serve as our kitchen. An ancient wooden chest that I found in the museum’s Geology Department soon after I took over was appropriated to store the equipment that would be used down at the site.

36 Getting There

Through the museum’s newsletter I sent out a call for volunteers to help work the site. Before long I had received applications from thirteen people.4 In addition to these volunteers, the pioneer crew of the Byron Dig, James Robinson joined the group. James was one of Herb’s employees, and he’d been helping me in the field during the period of preparation and actual excavation. He assisted me in procuring equipment and taking it to Byron to be stored in the Hiscock barn. Using a trash pump borrowed from Herb, he removed the water from the ditches; this water was sent through a long stretch of hose to the far reaches of the site, far enough that it would take a while to find its way back to the work area. James and I became close. We had many companionable discussions on our trips to the site before the field season and over sandwiches while checking out the site and planning the pumping operation. After another year it was no longer possible for him to work with me, but to this day I associate him, gratefully, with those pioneering times. So the site was prepared, and we had equipment and people. We were finally ready to go.

chapter 3

Brigadoon

T

o work the site, we first needed to establish a home base in the field, the place where we would eat, sleep, and, when necessary, take shelter. It would also be a secure place to keep whatever specimens we collected before bringing them back to their permanent home at the museum. Perhaps you’ve heard of Brigadoon, the legendary Scottish village. According to the story, made popular in a Broadway musical, this village remained asleep and invisible, except for one day every hundred years, when it came to life. Then the inhabitants would work, play, love, argue . . . everything that we do. After that day, the town would go back to sleep and disappear for another century. In our case, when we would arrive on the first day of each field season, the site looked as though it had never been visited. There were only the open fields of high grass, with bordering thickets and hedgerows. But, within a few hours, there was a bustling camp, humming with people engaged in the life and tasks of a community. Several weeks later, after our season had ended, everything was gone—tents, tables, tarps, equipment, vehicles, and people—as though they had never been there. Only the trampled grass bore witness to our presence, and within a few weeks that, too, returned to its natural state. The site went to sleep for another year . . . our Brigadoon. In the beginning, we immediately saw that the logical place for our camp was the grassy field at the end of the drive coming off the road. It was a flat shelf, or terrace, perched above the site basin. A dense, surrounding thicket offered privacy and a degree of security. Its openness suggested that in the past it had been farmed. At this time, however, only the hills farther in, bordering the basin on three sides, were under cultivation, rented out to a local farmer by Charlie Hiscock.1

38 Getting There

w A peculiar water-filled channel separates the shelf from the basin and the hilly field around it. For years this arrow-straight feature was an enigma. Did it occur naturally, or had it been dug out by human hands? The ditch seems to emerge from a ghostly, winding channel on a field just to the south, imperceptible on the ground, but discernible in aerial photographs (see figure 3.1). Along its course it touches a projection from the basin and then continues parallel to the basin’s elongate “spout” until it reaches the road. John Steele, the son of the previous owner of the land, informed me that it was there as far back as he could recall (he estimated about 1917). Furthermore, the trend of this channel is very close to that of the major glacial landforms in the area and also to a series of sub-basins within the main site basin (see figure 7.3). All this seemed, at the time, to argue that the feature had a natural origin. Then, just as I was completing the manuscript for this book, I made the acquaintance of a farmer from the nearby town of Elba, who invited me to look over a field where he had found some interesting stone artifacts. As we crossed a bordering hedgerow, I noticed that the creek along which it ran was unusually straight. When I remarked on this, he told me that according to the abstract document for his property, the channel of what had been a low-grade, winding creek was dug out to form the straight ditch that I had noticed. This had been done in 1915 to make the water flow more freely and reduce the swampiness of the land. Records show that there was extensive work done at this time by the Western New York Farms Company to drain parts of the Tonawanda and Oak Orchard swamps in order to expand the acreage available for agriculture.2 This discovery helped explain our mysterious ditch. The timing would explain why John Steele’s recollection did not reach back that far. My hunch is that the ditch diverted water that earlier flowed through the longest side of the basin and eventually out through the extension that reaches toward the road (see figure 3.1). If I’m correct, the ditch was engineered to parallel the “spout” simply as the shortest course to divert the water. Why the line of sub-basins at the spout’s core trends similarly to the glacial landforms may somehow speak to the origin of the basin, an as yet unanswered question. If this interpretation is correct, it may explain some enigmatic features that puzzled me throughout the life of the project (see chapter 24).

Brigadoon 39 

3.1 Aerial view of site basin reconstructing the pre-1915 flow of water. (Photo by Richard S. Laub)

During the first field season, we established the main landmarks around which the camp would develop. On entering the camp from the drive, you would see cars parked in neat rows at the near end of the field and away from the living area. Our field toilets occupied a small alcove in the thicket bordering the parking area. Farther into the camp was the “washing table,” a plywood board on sawhorses that held water carboys for washing. Portable coolers held a supply of ice water. Our first-aid kit was also kept here, handy for dealing with splinters, cuts, and other minor problems. Several yards farther in from the washing table lay our fire pit. Knowing that we could expect mosquitoes, as we were living above a marsh, we hoped to mitigate the problem with a campfire.3 Starting as a small hearth, it was soon enlarged into a deep crater, perhaps 1.5 meters (five feet) in diameter, and lined with boulders. In the evenings, it was the center of social activity.

40 Getting There

Beyond this we set up a primitive arrangement of shade tarps, linked together, where we could eat our meals and rest out of the sun’s heat. Predictably, this structure blew down at least once each season when storms tore through. Once our funding grew more assured, we purchased a pair of commercially made canvas tarps with metal frames and support poles, which served us for many years, though they still took a beating from the storms that plagued us. Eventually picnic tables appeared under the tarps. The grassy ground, and sometimes the benches, provided comfortable places to snooze during breaks from work. Our field kitchen stood to the side of the shade tarps. Initially, it was sheltered under a large tarp set up as a lean-to. A plywood board supported by sawhorses was the kitchen counter. On it were more coolers with drinking water; other supplies were stored under additional tables. At first, we actually did cook there, taking turns, and later were served by a permanent volunteer chef. Meals were prepared on a propane stove, and ice chests served as our refrigerators. When this proved unsustainable, and we hired someone to do the cooking off-site, the kitchen became the area where meals were served on tables, buffet-style. Then, when storms caused the collapse and ultimate destruction of the field-kitchen-turned-buffet, we eventually bought a strong, custom-made canvas gazebo for serving meals. It was a good investment, weathering the worst that Mother Nature threw at us. Inside the gazebo tables were loaded with food at mealtimes. It was a well-established practice that, when the cooks drove in with the food, honking as they entered the camp, all free hands rushed to unload the vehicle and place the food and supplies where directed. A plywood board on hawsers, which stood next to the gazebo, held coolers filled with the most wonderful iced tea and lemonade (for which we often had to compete with the yellowjacket wasps). Once the signal was given by the cooks, the line started through the gazebo—in one side of the entrance flap bearing empty trays and out the other side carrying trays loaded with food. About half the field continued beyond these “public” areas, and that is where most of our crew pitched their tents (see figure 3.2). The variety of tents was remarkable and provided quite an education as to what worked well and what didn’t. When the camp was heavily populated, this area could look like a colorful country fair. My own tent, however, was set near the cooking area opposite the fire pit. This enabled me to keep tabs on comings and goings at the driveway and to sense what

Brigadoon 41 

3.2 View of camp, 1999. (Photo by Richard S. Laub)

was happening within the camp. My tent lay next to what was originally a small juniper, and it was my most visible measure of the passing years, for I watched it grow from an unimpressive, isolated shrub into an enormous green body, nearly a miniature forest. A second tent, between mine and the fire pit, held our more valuable equipment and also provided me with a semblance of privacy. Finally, beyond the camp, a supply depot was located at the entrance to the site basin itself. Consisting of a large tarp, and floored with plywood boards, it was set up as a lean-to for sheltering the supplies that we would use each day down on the flat. Handing out supplies from under the tarp to the crew members, as they filed past on the way down to work each morning, was one of the enduring rituals of the Byron Dig. This physical layout became fixed early in our history and, aside from a small amount of tweaking, remained unchanged throughout the decades that we worked and lived here. We found that it served well for both our operation and for everyone’s safety (no cars were allowed in the living area, for example). Furthermore, over time it bred a homelike familiarity, which was good for morale.

42 Getting There

One year I was given photographs taken from a private plane that passed over the site soon after our dig season had ended. I was astounded to see a giant C on the ground. This letter consisted of green grass outlined by bare earth or dead grass. I could find no way to explain it. Others with whom I shared it back at the museum were just as baffled. Then, after chewing on the problem for some time, we realized what we were looking at. It marked the location of the buffet tables in the cook tent and reflected the traffic pattern around them.4

w A culture that soon developed governed the life of this ephemeral camp through the years of its existence. Primarily, it stemmed from a need for discipline. After all, we were there for a specific purpose: to collect ancient relics, record their context in the sedimentary layers, and get them safely to the museum. If these treasures couldn’t be made secure once removed from the ground, then they would be better left where they were. But this culture also reflected the nature of the people themselves. The Byron Diggers were a self-selected group. To commit to “doing whatever I ask you to do as long as you feel physically capable of doing it” calls for a particular type of person. As well, to accept that you’ll be living and working with people with a wide range of backgrounds and ages, under sometimes very trying conditions, is not for everyone. Consequently, discord was rare—I might almost say nonexistent—in our community. The people who signed up as crew members all had a sense of curiosity, and they wanted to be directly involved in discovery. Some just wanted to see what it would feel like. Others wished to learn and to personally contribute to the creation of new scientific knowledge. What they shared was a seriousness of purpose and a willingness to sacrifice for the attainment of a common goal. Having these common traits forged a bond among the people and made my job much easier. A spin-off of this was something I particularly enjoyed about the residents of our Brigadoon. I saw very little age segregation. Young kids (initially the minimum age was twelve; later I raised it to thirteen as I came to appreciate the complexities of the site) worked and socialized freely with older, sometimes much older, people. The young respected the experience and judgment (and yarns) of the older folks. And the older folks respected the kids’ genuine interest in

Brigadoon 43 

learning and their willingness to work hard. Gathering for each new field season felt like a family reunion. The young could see their older friends again and share news. The older members enjoyed seeing their younger friends growing in physique and maturity. In later years, some of those “kids” would return with their spouse and children of their own. There was an understanding that we were all responsible for one another. In practice, this could be seen when the first day’s crew arrived at the site. The primary task, lasting the entire first day and part of the second, was to set up the camp and to get the site ready to be worked. The first thing we did (after checking the ground for poison ivy) was to set up our tents and install our belongings. It was a rule that once you finished taking care of your own tent, you helped anyone who was still getting themselves established. In that way, no one was left behind, and we were all ready at the same time to move on to the next job. Similarly, when a new person arrived in camp, usually the evening before their first day of work, people were expected to help them get set up and oriented to the camp. Water was a critical need for life in the field. We were camping in an area with no access to fresh water but needed a constant supply for drinking, cooking, and washing. I discussed this necessity with Charlie Hiscock, and he told me about Seven Springs, a type of private resort area at the east edge of Batavia (the nearest city), with which he was somehow connected. This place had natural springs, and I was allowed to fill our water carboys there. I tried this exactly once, finding the time to travel there and fill the containers prohibitive. Fortunately, a nearby Byron resident named Raymond Hart had a natural spring on his property, and with great kindness he gave us permission to take whatever water we needed. Nevertheless, we established a rule of using water sparingly. It minimized the time spent replenishing our supply, which meant time lost from the actual digging that we were there to do. This practice became a firm part of our culture. It stayed with us right to the very end of the project, by which time our numbers were such that we filled dozens of five-gallon carboys at a time to cover our needs in the field. The fire pit was a social mainstay of our evenings. From the earliest years of the project, we began the custom of building a fire after supper and gathering around it. Here we would relax after a hard day’s work and get to know each other better. Everyone, it seemed, had something to contribute to the experience. A love of the natural world was a commonality, and exploring it had endowed

44 Getting There

many of us with special skills. I’ll offer here two examples of people who were part of the Dig almost from the beginning. Jutta Dudley, a resident of Rochester, New York, had an extensive background in geology, which she taught at the high school and college levels. A  widely traveled person, her interests, energy, and organizational abilities eventually led to becoming president of the Rochester Academy of Science. At the Dig, these qualities made her not just a good digger and siever but also a highly capable recorder. (This person directs activity in the pit and records all the information about specimens as they’re collected. It’s certainly one of the most demanding jobs in the excavation project.) And, with her background, Jutta was a wonderful source of information at our campfires, including the stellar displays in the night sky above us. Morgan Jones is an attorney in Lockport, a city north of Buffalo. He’s had a long connection with the museum and served for several years on its board. An experienced camper, he’d developed a particular love of birding. He left our campfire one evening and wandered off into the darkness beyond. He wasn’t visiting the portable toilet, as we’d thought. It turned out that he had walked near the woods, where he made some special “hooting” noises. They were convincing enough to attract a young owl, which fluttered down to the ground and watched him for a short while before finally flying off. Singing immediately and naturally became an integral part of these campfires— often accompanied by a guitar, violin, or even a concertina. Sometimes an individual would just start singing and others would pick up the tune and join in. The singing could go on for hours, and there was nothing self-conscious about it. When we were really lucky one of our more talented musicians would bring sheet music filled with popular songs, and we would spend hours singing “Scarlet Ribbons . . . ,” “Ridin’ on the City of New Orleans . . . ,” “In a clearing stands a boxer . . . ,” “Or would you like to swing on a star . . . ,” “Virgil Caine is my name . . . ,” “Edelweiss . . . ,” “the Wiffenpoof Song.” I cherished those times and often reminisce about them. On those nights the firelight isolated us from our dark surroundings. The heavens were filled with stars, dominated by the Milky Way, with a bright planet, probably Jupiter, in the southwestern quadrant of the sky. Occasionally, above the northern horizon, we would see the aurora borealis, the northern lights. We could also track satellites moving across the sky. And, generally in

Brigadoon 45 

August, we would be entertained by the “shooting stars” of the Perseid meteor shower. Those nights of learning and personal discovery were part of the magic of the Byron Dig.

w Something else that I remember well, but certainly cherish less, were the storms. Our camp was on a rise that faced west, the direction of the prevailing winds. Consequently, we had no natural protection from the storms that blew in from that direction. We could see the dark clouds that heralded rain long before they arrived. Once alerted by them, we could only hope that the weather would slide off to our south or north, which it sometimes did. Usually, though, it hit us head-on. We prepared ourselves, just in case, by bringing our raincoats down to the site each morning in a large chest. For us, time was a vital resource. Each season’s digging had a set number of days allotted, and our accomplishments for the year would be determined by how fully and well we used that time. So, our intention was to continue working through all kinds of weather. Sometimes, however, the rain was so heavy and persistent that our recorders couldn’t effectively write, even in their waterproof notebooks. When that happened, we went back up to camp and took shelter in our vehicles. Thunder and lightning commonly accompanied these downpours, and then safety became a concern. I was aware that people had been killed by lightning strikes in the region, and this danger preyed on my mind. After all, we were in an elevated and open area with high trees nearby, a condition that invites such strikes. I considered installing a tower to catch and deflect lightning from our camp but thought better of it. Instead, we had a rigid rule that when rumblings and flashes occurred, everyone jumped into the nearest vehicle (all were left unlocked) and sheltered there until the all clear was given. If a storm started at night, which it often did, we got out of our tents and tried to sleep in our vehicles. For me, and I’m sure for most others, that was one of the hardest things we had to deal with. The power of some of these storms was awesome, and to see a black wall approaching inexorably from the west could be frightening. Our kitchen gazebo, once we had invested in an industrial-grade structure, managed to withstand

46 Getting There

all but the most ferocious gales, though its contents were sometimes upended. Tents were often flattened, but their stakes generally held them in place. However, tents that used more slender stakes and weren’t weighted down by heavy furnishings went traveling. Often, as we watched from the safety of our vehicles, tents would actually roll eastward over the ground, pushed by the wind like giant tumbleweeds, up onto the top of the bordering thicket. Our belongings inevitably became wet. Sleeping bags and luggage, anything left on the ground, would be soaked at the end of a significant storm. After a while I stopped bringing a suitcase and instead packed my belongings in two plastic totes, the same kind of wonderful storage containers in which we kept our specimens. The shade tarps were the most vulnerable part of our camp since they caught the wind like sails. The canvas was strong enough not to rip, but the guy ropes often pulled out of the ground and the structure would collapse. In the worst couple of storms we experienced, the metal poles were bent and had to be straightened as best we could manage. We—our belongings, our schedules, and sometimes even our safety—were completely at the mercy of the storms. Certainly, people living here during past millennia experienced the same conditions. How had they met those challenges, I wonder?

PART II

The Heroic Age (1983–1990)

T

he idea of a “Heroic Age” connotes an early, primitive, and sometimes mythological stage in the history of a nation or civilization. Even discounting the third adjective (“you couldn’t make this stuff up”), the first two certainly characterize the beginning years of the Byron Dig. Also, as the pioneering period, it saw the development of social customs and field practices that became firmly embedded in the culture. Many of the people who most influenced how the Dig would develop (to me they were heroes) came to us during those years. And, finally, this was when we got our first glimpses into the true nature of the Hiscock Site.

chapter 4

First Try, 1983

O

ur first try began with our arrival at the site in mid-August 1983, the beginning of a two-week field season that would run into early September. By this time, I had decided to name the site after the family that owned the property and had so generously allowed this project to come into existence. It would now be known as the Hiscock Site. The crew numbered just over a dozen volunteers,1 all completely green, and bound by only a thin wrapping of organization. However, recognizing the dimensions of the task ahead of us and the importance of doing things right motivated us all to a spirit of cooperation and discipline. Under James Robinson’s supervision we first set up a pumping system to dry out the basin as much as possible. A trash pump sucked water from one of the marginal trenches that had been dug earlier and pumped it through a series of plastic pipes away from the areas we planned to dig. Then we began to lay out the camp in rough order: setting up the crudest of shade tarps for protection, installing a primitive field kitchen, and selecting our tenting spots. A portable toilet, an essential component of the site, had fortunately been delivered beforehand and awaited us when we arrived. Later that day we would dig a campfire pit, surrounded by boulders, which would become the center of camp life for the next three decades. The site basin looked intimidating, but at least held the consolation of orderly rows of stakes that organized the flat into neat squares. To the side of the path into the basin we put up a tarpaulin lean-to as a shelter for the equipment we anticipated using: buckets, shovels, trowels, bags, and other containers for holding specimens. It was also the only real source of shade beyond the camp, should the need arise.

50 The Heroic Age (1983–1990)

With these tasks behind us, we went down to confront our challenge. In theory, I knew what had to be done, and I carried images in my mind of how to achieve it. Presented with the physical reality, however, I’m afraid that I acted with confusion and indecisiveness. Where to begin digging? I knew where Mike Gramly had placed his test pit and found a caribou antler, clearly an Ice Age relic. I also knew that he had believed he was digging close to where the original excavation had taken place in 1959. Digging near his pit would give us a good chance to find something and to link up with Marian White’s layer sequence. On the other hand, we were completely inexperienced, and I didn’t want to chance damaging ancient bones that might lie just beneath the surface. So I waffled. “Let’s start digging here,” I said, followed shortly by “No, let’s begin here” when I feared we were maybe too close to the earlier finds. After several minutes of this vacillating, Jack Holland (a veteran of many digs who had joined us for the start-up day) came over to me and very quietly said, “Dick, I suggest you just start digging anywhere. Otherwise, you’re going to lose your crew.” My face went red (or so I imagined). It was one of those pivotal moments in my life when so much of the future was determined. I immediately caught Jack’s subtle hint, pointed to a spot near where I stood, and announced, “OK, we’ll dig here.” I’ve always carried a burden of gratitude to Jack for that piece of guidance, and through the years he added many boulders to that burden. Once we were on the flat, I could see that the amount of ground in each fiveby-five-meter square, defined by the intersecting lines of stakes, was clearly too large to dig all at once; I divided it into four quarters (or quadrants), which I designated northwest, northeast, southwest, and southeast (see figure 2.2).2 The squares we would dig were marked off by tying strings between the stakes at ground level. The top few centimeters of disturbed earth were scraped off the surface by a shovel. Then we all gathered at the pit, and Jack Holland, the most experienced among us, demonstrated how to use a mason’s trowel, scraping away the earth in thin, horizontal layers to avoid damaging specimens that might lie hidden beneath the surface. The trowel, a kite-shaped steel blade attached to a handle, is used by masons to apply and smooth cement. In our case it’s used to peel away layers of earth, centimeter by centimeter, in order to lower the floor of the pit while (ideally) keeping it smooth and level. I’m sometimes asked why we don’t use shovels for this purpose, as the work would go much faster. The answer lies in something

First Try, 1983 51 

that all experienced excavators of fossils or artifacts know. While it’s exciting to find large things, objects that have true scientific importance are very often small. In part this is because such objects are so often missed in excavations, especially when they’re not expected. Consequently, it’s necessary to work slowly, scrutinizing every bit of earth as it’s lifted from the pit floor. Furthermore, using a trowel helps minimize the chance of damaging a specimen, compared to the coarser work of a shovel. Now the rest of us took our first halting steps into scientific excavation. We took turns troweling earth from the pit floor, pushing that earth through sieves in search of small objects, and labeling and packaging specimens. Within hours everyone began to comprehend what needed to be done and why. They developed an understanding sufficient to catch mistakes before they became serious and to suggest efficient ways to accomplish various tasks. Peeling sequential layers from a pit floor brings the worker further and further back into time. I remember how deeply impressed I was to think of this with each slice of the trowel. Few experiences have made me understand so well that I’m not an entity exclusive to myself. Rather, I’m part of a continuum of beings and events that arose, played their role in life, and then returned to stardust.

w We began working two quadrants—D4NW and C5NW—simultaneously, each marked off by strings tied between the corner stakes at ground level. Both were, as I’d intended, close enough to the 1959 dig area to give us a good chance of finding something, yet far enough away so that we might avoid damaging something significant due to our lack of experience. We immediately began finding fossils, frog bones, and fragments of mastodon bones. At the time these finds excited us, for we really didn’t know what the future held in store. The top layer was peat-like, a brown sediment with a high content of small wood and plant fragments. We named this the Dark Earth layer in our diagrams. Digging through this material was easy. Lifted by the trowel, it crumbled easily by hand into buckets. Each bucket was given a small tag naming the quadrant and the depth from which the sediment came. It was then passed up for sieving. A specimen found in place (rather than in the sieve) was recorded in the field book for that pit, stating its depth, lateral coordinates,3 and the layer in which it was found.

52 The Heroic Age (1983–1990)

As we troweled down through the upper earthy peat layer, reaching lower (and older) levels in pit C5NW, cobbles began to be exposed. Over the next several hours more and more came to light. Then we noticed that they were not arranged randomly. Instead, they formed a straight line! Soon we reached what we determined to be the “basement,” the surface that marked the deepest we would trowel. This surface consisted of rounded rocks in contact with each other (what we call “mutually supporting”), with fine, grey sediment filling the spaces among them. It resembled a cobblestone road (see figure 4.1). Digging into it, we found that the rocks became sparser (the rocks “floating” in the matrix) several centimeters below the top of the unit. This material, sometimes with abundant rocks, sometimes sparser, but always including the light grey, silty sediment, was found in all the pits we dug. Reaching it signaled that we had come to the bottom. Now we could see this ancient surface fully exposed on the pit floor. Pieces of wood and bone lay upon it. Some of the fragments were of mastodon bone, attesting to the fact that this was the first time in thousands of years that

4.1 “Cobblestone road” surface of basement, marking the top of the Cobble layer, 1986. (Courtesy of the Buffalo Museum of Science)

First Try, 1983 53 

daylight had shone upon this surface. It was a magical moment for all of us, I can assure you. What was most eye-catching was a ridge of stones, about 40 centimeters (16 inches) wide and 20–25 centimeters (8–10 inches) high, running in a straight line diagonally across the floor of the pit (see figure 4.2). The rocks were cobble-size (larger than a pebble, smaller than a boulder), angular (in contrast with the rounded cobbles forming the pit floor), and were not cemented. It was

4.2 Stone lineation, 1984. (Photo by Richard S. Laub)

54 The Heroic Age (1983–1990)

an astounding sight, a feature that we felt could only have been created by human hands. Lying, as it did, on a surface containing mastodon bones, it led us to conclude that it dated from the Ice Age. Of course, we wanted to see what happened to this feature beyond the pit, so we excavated the quadrant to its south, C5SW. Clearing the upper layer of peat away, we found that the stone lineation did, indeed, continue into this square, and in turn disappeared into the eastern wall. But there was something else in this pit. Running down the approximate middle of the quadrant floor was an old excavation, a narrow trench that extended for about 1.8 meters (six feet) before ending at the southern wall, beyond which it presumably continued into the next quadrant. It was sixty centimeters (two feet) deep and averaged eighty centimeters (just over thirty inches) wide. In the floor of this excavation were three smaller, separate holes with no discernible pattern. Along the western edge of the trench was displaced debris, presumably material that had been dug out from the hole. The trench lay three-quarters of a meter (only 2½ feet) from the stone lineation. Could it somehow be related to that structure? And how long ago had it been dug? Unfortunately, we were not equipped at that time to answer these questions. Through the years, however, our work provided insights into this intriguing feature. As they say, “Stay tuned.” Meanwhile, excavation in neighboring quadrants exposed more of the stone lineation. Altogether, thirty meters (one hundred feet) of the feature were revealed before it disappeared into undug quadrants of the grid’s southern reaches. It became clear that the trend of the lineation was toward the area of the 1959 dig. Was this a coincidence, or did some connection exist? Seven full quadrants, along with a small trench measuring 1 × 0.5 meter (about 40 × 20 inches), were excavated that year. All were in the vicinity of the path leading down onto the flat, and all were shallow. Bone fragments were found wherever we dug—nothing impressive but still indicative that the site had strong potential. In some cases there were tight clusters of specimens, which we photographed and then removed in plaster jackets.4 One such cluster included both elk and deer bone fragments. It also included the tip of a tusk,5 a source of gratification, since it confirmed we were on the right trail.

w

First Try, 1983 55 

Besides excavating the basin floor, we also scrutinized the piles of earth that had been dug out by the backhoe in the process of creating trenches around the perimeter for drainage. As I mentioned, I had been nervous about the disturbance this digging might cause, and I stood by as each bucketful was dug out in hopes of detecting any bones. I saw none. However, as my team went through these piles, wonderful things turned up, including three large mastodon teeth (all from the same spoil pile, so they came from the same limited area), as well as other bone fragments whose size indicated that they also belonged to mastodon. They were exciting finds, but we already knew that mastodon remains were to be found here. The piles also contained something we hadn’t anticipated: a large side-notched projectile point, the first clear evidence of human presence here. This specimen (see figure 10.4B), made from Onondaga chert that occurs in the local limestone, has been identified as belonging to the Heavy Based Side Notched Cluster, a type that is thought to date to the late Middle Archaic period, about 6,000–6,500 years ago.6 It indicates that people were present at this spot some three or four thousand years after the Ice Age ended and the mastodons disappeared. With such a wide historical range represented here, there would clearly be more to this site than we’d envisioned.

w Life that first year at Byron was quite primitive. Not only were we relative novices at digging, but this year marked our initiation into camping as a community in the open air. We had no natural shade, and so we used tent poles to hold up crude tarps to provide a minimum of shelter from the sun and rain. Volunteers took turns cooking meals over a propane camp stove. Water was probably our most critical need. People in the area, as mentioned in chapter 3, allowed us access to their wells until we eventually found a more convenient source. Other local residents brought over loads of vegetables for our meals, and still others allowed us to use their backyard swimming pools to cool off during breaks. Personal washing at the camp had to be very spotty in order to conserve water, and there was no facility for taking a bath or shower—a major consideration for people who stayed for a significant number of days. Eventually, those of us who fell into this group felt we really needed to do something. Asking around, we learned that there was a “hotel” in a nearby village that could probably provide

56 The Heroic Age (1983–1990)

shower facilities. This establishment turned out to be a country bar with rooms for rent upstairs. The evening we arrived, there was a raucous crowd standing about, drinking, and listening to a live band. I found the “innkeeper,” who agreed to let us take baths for $10 each. When my turn came I went upstairs and encountered some of the residents, none of whom looked to be at the top of their game. The bathtub was rust stained, but, frankly, we were too desperate to complain. I will say, though, that none of us went back for a second visit. Beginning that first year, every evening after a good supper we would gather at the campfire to talk, sing, and occasionally play musical instruments for hours. Most nights were clear, and we would watch for satellites and meteor showers and occasionally enjoy a display of the northern lights. These evening campfires became an integral part of the Dig and, through the years, the source of many friendships and memories for so many of us.

w On some evenings I would go over to Charlie Hiscock’s house and visit for a while. Charlotte wasn’t well enough to join us, so Charlie and I would usually sit alone drinking a cool lemonade or iced tea in his living room, surrounded by objects that reflected years, and even generations, of life in this small rural town. I queried him about many of them and loved learning firsthand about a way of life that I, a city boy, knew so little about. He took particular pride in his service during World War II, and I eventually learned that he had been awarded several medals. His term as clerk of Genesee County also came up in our conversations. Over time we developed a warm friendship, sharing with each other anecdotes from our personal lives. Charlie had a collection of musical tapes, and we would often sit and listen together to delightful, some might say naive, songs from years gone by. In return, I would sometimes bring along my violin and play (actually, scratch out) tunes that he requested. Back at the museum after the two-week dig season, we evaluated what had been accomplished. True, we’d found bone in every one of the eight pits we’d dug. And we’d found two intriguing features—the stone lineation and the buried excavation—in the process. Still, we hadn’t encountered anything like the concentration of large mastodon bones and teeth that had been found by Marian White and Carol Heubusch in 1959, and that was what we were ultimately after.

First Try, 1983 57 

The only sizable mastodon bone fragments we’d found so far had been dredged up in the process of digging out the drainage trenches around the perimeter of the flat. Unfortunately, their original position, and the layer from which they came, were not precisely known. We could only hope that in next year’s field season we would find mastodon material in place. Then we would know with which layer of earth the mastodon remains were associated. In the meantime, the summary of my annual report to the museum stated, “The work was extremely fruitful, and should take six or seven more years to complete.” This proved to be a gross underestimate. It’s not my intention that this book should be a chronological account of the history of the Byron Dig. Despite the fact that each year had at least one signature event that warrants being told about, I don’t expect that they will have the same hold on you, the reader, as they do on me and the others who personally experienced them. Nevertheless, this first year and the two that followed are linked by a series of extraordinary events that will, I hope, lead you to forgive me for holding to the time sequence a bit longer.

chapter 5

Emerging Patterns

M

eanwhile, newspaper articles began to attract attention from the local community about what was going on at the Hiscock Site.1 And as word spread, people in the Batavia, Buffalo, and Rochester areas considered participating in future digs. Twenty-three volunteers committed to work during the two-week field season in 1984. Between the experience gained from the previous year, and the fact that the site was drying up nicely as the summer drew on, things were looking pretty good.

w Suddenly, disaster struck. Erie County found itself in a financial crisis and, as a consequence, sharply reduced its annual contribution to the support of the Buffalo Museum and the community’s other cultural institutions. There was virtually no money available for the upcoming dig. Still, the administration urged me to proceed with the plans, hoping that somehow a source of modest funding would be found. Then, an incredible bit of luck came along, and not a moment too soon. Two days before our dig was scheduled to begin I was called to the office of the museum’s director, Ernst Both. There I was introduced to Graham and Mary Jane Smith, a handsome middle-aged couple interested in making a donation to the museum. It happened that Graham was related to the Bennett family. Lewis J. Bennett and his son, Leslie, had both served on the board of directors of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences, the private organization that owns and runs the Buffalo Museum of Science.2 A quarry belonging to the elder Bennett was a rich

Emerging Patterns 59 

source of rare fossil arthropods called eurypterids or “sea scorpions.” Through his generosity, the Buffalo Museum of Science possessed the world’s largest collection of these remarkable specimens starting around the turn of the last century. Because of this historical family connection, Graham was specifically interested in making a modest contribution toward something tangible in the Geology Department. We sat in the boardroom and bandied about various ideas, such as purchasing a piece of equipment for the lab or a specimen to fill a gap in our collection. Because there were so many possibilities, we agreed that I would give the matter a bit more thought and planned to meet again a few days later. Then, as we were leaving the room (I have a vivid image of this stowed in my memory), I  very tentatively said to them, “You know, there’s a mastodon site that we began digging last year. We had planned to return there for another dig in a couple of days, but there’s no money available. By any chance, would you be interested in contributing to this year’s excavation?” Graham gave me a thoughtful look then asked how much money was needed. When I mentioned a dollar figure in the hundreds, he turned to Mary Jane and exchanged a few words with her. Then he said that, yes, they could provide that amount. Though I couldn’t know it at the time, the Smith Family Foundation would fund the Byron Dig continuously for the next nineteen years. Having predictable funding allowed me to confidently plan each year’s field and lab work. It also assured the volunteers that they could count on a dig each summer, so that they regularly blocked off those weeks on their calendar. This arrangement became the basis for a strong, reliable workforce—the engine that drove the Dig. When I think about the Smiths showing up right then, with the purpose they had in mind, and when I consider what might otherwise have never come to pass, I can assure you that some very strange thoughts about life and its peculiar turns come into my head.

w We were confident and excited as we commenced the 1984 field season. For those two weeks in August our field crew was substantially larger than in the previous year. It included Betty Knop, who had developed useful skills working in the geology lab, as well as James Robinson, my friend and right hand. Having found

60 The Heroic Age (1983–1990)

bone everywhere we’d dug last season, I had reason to hope that we’d produce results pleasing to the Smiths, and that they might consider funding our work in the future. Finally, we had a full-time volunteer cook who had actually received culinary training at one of the local colleges. This was the challenge we faced: In the previous year, we had restricted our digging to the marginal part of the basin. All of our pits had been shallow since the “basement,” the level below which fossils no longer occurred, lay close to the surface in that area. If we could find a place where the basement was deeper, and consequently the sediment column above it thicker, we could expect a vertical spreading out of the bones. The more recent ones would be closer to the surface. The older ones, including the mastodon bones, would be deeper. This awareness would make it easier for us to discern the various bone-bearing horizons. I set a crew to work closer to the basin center than where we had dug in the previous year. I wanted to see if, as I suspected, the sediment thickened in that direction. At the same time, I avoided going to the center itself, in case the depth there should prove unmanageable. For all I knew, it could be too thick there to complete a pit in the two weeks allotted. Also, what if it was so deep as to be unsafe for the trowelers? So I chose a happy medium, closer to, but not in, the center of the basin. At the same time, a second crew began troweling a pit on the basin margin, just to the north of where we had dug the previous year. Here, of course, I expected to reach the Cobble Layer at a shallow depth. The choice of this pit, G3SW, would prove fateful. Soon the stone lineation, continuing from the 1983 pit to the south, appeared in the shallow marginal pit. Then, within a couple of days of digging, at a depth approaching thirty centimeters, cobbles began to appear here and there on the floor of that pit, which told us that it was nearly completed. In the meantime, however, there were no signs of cobbles in the other pit, though approximately the same depth had been reached. Poking several centimeters deeper still showed no cobbles. I wasn’t surprised, as I expected them to be buried more deeply. But just how much deeper would it be? Were we looking at additional centimeters or meters before completion? If there was substantially more digging to do, could we finish it during this field season? How many trowelers would I need to assign in order to accomplish this part? I needed quick answers to these questions!

Emerging Patterns 61 

I transferred the crew for that pit elsewhere and entered the pit alone carrying a spade. The day was hot. A crude line of plywood boards gave access from the grassy area of the field to the marginal pit, seven meters (twenty-three feet) from where I stood. On one of the boards the pit recorder sat perched on a wooden box. Other boards held wheelbarrows over which pairs of sievers chatting quietly. Up at our camp the cook was preparing a meal.

w I chose a small spot in the northeastern corner of the quadrant and began digging a narrow hole in the floor of the pit, which at this time had a depth of about onethird of a meter (one foot). For a while I encountered only the same dark peaty earth that we’d found in the upper levels of the marginal pits. Soon, however, pieces of wood began to appear in the soil. By now I’d passed the sixty-centimeter (two-foot) mark, by which point we would surely have come to the cobbly basement layer at the margin. After another thirty centimeters I was still digging up only dark soil with wood fragments. Now I was worried. I felt as though I was floating in space with no landmarks to guide me. I knew where I had been, but where was I going? Could I assume that I would find the same cobbly basement here as at the margin of the basin? How and where would this cover of soft sediment end? On my next thrust of the spade I heard a “clink” as I hit something hard. Greatly relieved, I peered into the hole but could see only muddy water oozing in from the sides. So, I lay on the damp pit floor and extended my arm down into the hole. It was August 13. I reached below the accumulating ooze to feel the cobble that I’d struck. Only it wasn’t a cobble. It was a perfectly smooth, cylindrical surface, and I could feel a crack running along the axis of the cylinder. Could it be a tusk? But what were the odds that, in such a wide area, I would dig down so randomly and strike a tusk? Ridiculous! It seemed impossible. Scooping out as much water as I could, and pushing away the ooze, I caught a glimpse of a yellowish-white surface. It could only be a tusk! I called to the crew working at the other pit and told them the news. One by one they reached into the hole and felt the surface of the object. All agreed that it had to be a tusk. I then went up the hill to our camp so that our cook could share in this exciting moment.

62 The Heroic Age (1983–1990)

As we started back down, we saw the others waving their arms and jumping with excitement. One of them pointed to the ground and called, “Dick, look what’s coming out of the hole!” There on the surface next to the hole lay a large tooth. But it wasn’t from a mastodon. Its low crown distinguished it as a selenodont tooth, typical of cloven-hoofed mammals like deer, cows, and camels. I reached down and pulled out another. Then another. By the time we had finished, fifteen teeth lay at the side of the hole, as well as a large fragment of turtle shell.3 All had come from the floor of the hole, which couldn’t have measured more than a foot on a side. The depth was 110 centimeters, just a bit shy of four feet. The program for this field season was suddenly clear. We had to dig down to the basement of this pit and see what extraordinary secrets it held. We stopped work in the nearly completed marginal pit, covered its floor with plastic sheeting, and shoveled back the sediment that had already been dug out and sieved. In any case, we knew we were nearly finished with that pit, and this would allow us to fully complete the job at a later date. Then we brought all hands over to the “tusk” pit and began working steadily, spurred on by the knowledge that something special awaited us down there. Two days later, within thirty centimeters of the test hole, we uncovered one of the most peculiar-looking mammalian bones I can think of: an innominate, or pelvis4 It actually consists of three pairs of bones (paired left and right) that converge to form the left and right hip sockets, and it is also responsible for connecting the hind limbs to the vertebral column. It looked to me like a cross between a helmet and a mask. While of appreciable size, it was much too small for a mastodon. We suspected that it belonged to whatever creature lay below with the tusk, and this proved to be the case. Another ten centimeters down we encountered a layer we hadn’t seen before. It was brownish-gray and consisted of particles ranging from fine silt to gravel and pebbles. Small twigs suffusing this layer (but no sizable pieces of wood) eventually led us to call it the Fibrous Gravelly Clay (FGC). This contrasted with the overlying dark brown earth containing wood in its lower portions, which we had already recognized in the marginal pits. (We would soon learn that the FGC was the principal Ice Age fossil-bearing layer.) By this time we had dug deep enough to expose a small patch of the large, cylindrical object that my shovel had struck. No doubt about it—we had a tusk. We soon realized, given its size, that this one pit wouldn’t contain the entire

Emerging Patterns 63 

specimen. So, based on the orientation of the tusk, we began excavating the quadrant to the north three days after finding the surprise at the bottom of the test hole. When we finally reached the pit floor, there it was in all its glory, the left tusk of a male mastodon5 measuring 6 ½ feet (2.2 meters) along its curve. The wider end, containing the conical pulp cavity, was twenty centimeters (eight inches) in diameter. The tip had been damaged during the animal’s life, the broken edges then worn smooth by its feeding and other activities. That pointed end indeed entered the northern wall of the pit, as we’d expected. Not only that, but the tip curved eastward and penetrated into the adjacent quadrant. Rather than excavate a complete third quadrant to expose the rest of the tusk, we cut an alcove in the wall sufficient for our purpose. There we found something unexpected and unexplained. The tip of the tusk lay in a hole sixty centimeters (two feet) wide in the top of the Cobble Layer that reached about forty-five centimeters (1½ feet) deeper than the surrounding pit floor. We were baffled as to what this hole represented, but after recording and photographing it we set aside the issue for later. The tusk, by the way, belonged to a mastodon that had died toward the end of the winter season. How do we know its season of death? Well, that’s a tale for a little later in this book.

w Once the tusk was uncovered, it became clear where those teeth had come from. Against the concave side of the tusk lay the skeleton of an elk (see figure 5.1). While not quite complete, it was very extensive. The delicate skull had been broken apart in ancient times, explaining why most of the loose teeth we had pulled from the test hole were from the upper jaw. The skeleton was mostly a jumble of disarticulated bones. Yet some parts, including the left hind limb, remained completely articulated. The carcass seems to have decomposed in a restricted space that kept the bones from dispersing. Of course, as fate would have it, the elk skeleton extended into the eastern wall of the pit. So, as we’d done for the tip of the tusk, we excavated an alcove in the neighboring pit to expose the remainder of the skeleton. Then we field-jacketed it and removed it intact.

64 The Heroic Age (1983–1990)

5.1 Tusk (specimen G4NE-92) with wapiti skeleton lying against it, 1984. Tusk tip lies within an ancient hole in the basement level. Crossed strings mark the boundaries of the four quadrant pits containing the remains. (Courtesy of the Buffalo Museum of Science)

The fact that the elk skeleton lay at the same level as the tusk—in fact, right against it—led me to conclude that it was an Ice Age elk, more or less contemporary with the mastodon. I held this belief for a couple of years. Unfortunately, we had treated the bones while they yet lay in the ground with a preservative substance that interfered with radiocarbon dating, so it wasn’t possible to determine the age objectively.6 Over the next few years we found a good deal of elk material. In every case these bones and teeth were in the relatively young peaty deposits, never in the Ice Age layer. What was going on here? I decided it would be a good idea to revisit my conclusion about the elk skeleton’s age. At this point we had dug deep pits whose walls showed us, for the first time, a complete section of the layers filling the basin—in effect, the pages we would need to “read” in order to decipher the history of the site. That being the case, now is a good time to review those layers (see figure 5.2).

Emerging Patterns 65 

5.2 Wall of pit (1985) showing the simplified layering as we understood it at that time: (A) Dark Earth; (B) Woody Layer; and (C) Fibrous Gravelly Clay. A mastodon rib lies on top of the (D) Cobble Layer (the basement), which here lacks the “cobblestone road” appearance. (Photo by Richard S. Laub)

At the top lay a dark stratum of peaty sediment, rich in organic matter that included much small plant debris. Initially, we named this the Fine Peat but later changed it to the Dark Earth. Beneath it was more dark, peaty material, but this lower layer contained abundant pieces of wood, branches that had fallen into the basin and been incorporated

66 The Heroic Age (1983–1990)

into the sediment that was accumulating. This we named the Woody Layer. As time went on, we found that it actually had several component units. Beneath the Woody Layer was a sharp change in the sediment to a lighter color, a pale brownish-gray. Here was where we entered the Ice Age. This layer had a varied texture, with pebbles and sometimes cobbles mixed with finer grains that could range in coarseness from gravel to silt. Because of this mixture, and because the sediment usually contained short twig fragments (more on this later), it got the admittedly awkward name Fibrous Gravelly Clay. All three of these layers contain fossil bones and plants. The layer on which they lie, called the Cobble Layer, is devoid of fossils. Its upper surface (which we refer to as the “basement”) consists of coarse rocks encased in extremely fine silt or clay with a white or bluish-white color.

w Now, when we cut that alcove into the two neighboring pits to expose the entire assemblage of tusk and elk bones, we encountered something peculiar in the wall. A column-like feature of mixed sand and peat, ranging from 30 to 50 centimeters (12–20 inches) in width, rose 80 centimeters (about 32 inches) above the pit floor, penetrating the FGC and extending high into the Woody Layer. Its top lay in the Woody Layer, 20 centimeters (8 inches) below the base of the overlying Dark Earth. When we opened the field jacket to remove the elk skeleton, we found that, despite lying in the Ice Age layer, it was also embedded in very sandy material (though not peaty or as plant-rich as the pillar). I concluded that the sandy structure was a spring vent. The fact that it penetrated into the Woody Layer indicates that it was active during the time of the post– Ice Age virgin forest. That it ceased to flow before the end of that period is shown by its being buried by woody sediment. Several elongate elk bones in the upper portion of the column were oriented vertically, attesting to this being a spring vent with vertical water pressure. The presence of the freshwater snail Helisoma7 in the column supports this idea. Interestingly, a number of well-preserved elk bones were found lying horizontally just outside the top of the column. These, however, were not related to the elk bones down at the tusk level.8 So, assuming the elk skeleton dates to the time of the Woody Layer, how did it come to lie deep down at the Pleistocene level next to a mastodon tusk? My interpretation is that the carcass lay in a spring vent whose bottom reached

Emerging Patterns 67 

down to the Cobble Layer. I think the hole in the top of that layer, the hole into which the point of the tusk protruded, offered an area of low resistance through which ground water could flow. As this water emerged from the hole, it flowed horizontally along the interface between the cobbles and the overlying FGC. Then, finding a weak zone, it breached upward to the surface.9 Did the elk become trapped in the hole and die there? This seems unlikely considering the modest depth of the vent. This cluster of bones included all four limbs, pelvis, neck, and shattered skull. Missing was almost the complete trunk of the animal—the chest and abdomen (see figure 5.3). Another possibility is that the animal had been killed and

5.3 Diagram of wapiti skeleton in figure 5.1 showing bones that were present. Not shown are three left anterior ribs and one posterior rib (side undetermined) whose positions are not clear. (Illustration by Ryan Austin)

68 The Heroic Age (1983–1990)

butchered by a hunter. The trunk portion might then have been separated out for more immediate use and the limbs and skull placed in the cold spring water as a means of temporary refrigeration.10 The tusk and the elk skeleton are not the end of this story.

w It was time to remove the tusk from the pit. We dug away as much sediment as possible from along its sides, angling under the tusk where possible. We then cut tunnels through the strip of sediment on which the tusk was still resting so that it was now supported by only a few pillars. Then James, Betty, and I gently wiggled the tusk to break the seal between it and the underlying sediment. Once it was free, we lifted it and carried it to the side of the pit. There we handed it to three people kneeling above the wall of the pit, who wrapped it in heavy plastic to keep it moist until it could be attended to in the museum lab. The large field jacket containing most of the elk skeleton was similarly undercut, and we wrapped plaster-soaked bandages reaching as far as we could manage. Then we rolled it over and lifted it out of the pit. The exposed underside was covered, and the large package was wheelbarrowed up to our camp. While working with the elk skeleton, we noticed that one of the bones in the cluster was different from the rest. It seemed delicate and had a paler color, and so, if only in the interest of giving it special care, we collected and wrapped it separately from the rest. In the lab following the field season, we opened the package containing this specimen and immediately saw that it was something special. It was part of a limb bone of some sort. One end of the specimen, which was about sixteen centimeters (six inches) long, bore a complex, rounded articulating end that was very different from most mammal bones. A broad, flat-bottomed basin extended up along one side of the shaft. The other end was broken, and we could see that the bone was hollow and thin-walled. Clearly this belonged to a large bird, and comparing it with modern bones in the museum’s collection, and with illustrations, I felt it most resembled a vulture or condor. I was well out of my depth. Identifying bird bones is an arcane specialty that has been mastered by a limited number of scholars. Fortunately, one of the best had recently taken up residence at the New York State Museum in Albany. David Steadman had been hired as the curator of mammals and birds, and when I phoned him he immediately offered his assistance.

Emerging Patterns 69 

Dave’s special interest was (and still is) bird bones, and here he was truly magic. Very few scientists can identify specific birds from their bones, and Dave is among the best in the world. He’s gone on to comb island caves of the Caribbean and Pacific regions for bird bones, using them to reveal the story of humans first coming to these places and the effects they had on the native fauna. His work is the stuff of National Geographic films. Upon seeing this specimen, Dave phoned me from his lab with excitement in his voice. The bone,11 he said, was from the wing of a California condor. This species, the largest living land bird in North America, is today found only in California, where it is the subject of a program to save it from extinction. However, its range was once much greater. In the remote past, at the end of the Ice Age, the fossil record shows that it lived in the southernmost United States and along the Pacific coast up to northern California. Something had caused its range to shrink dramatically after that time. The Ice Age occurrences of this species were all in relatively warm or mild temperate regions. Our specimen, however, marked its northernmost occurrence about 1,600 kilometers (1,000 miles) north of the Gulf Coast sites in the eastern United States. Furthermore, at Hiscock the bird was located not far from the giant ice sheet that covered the northern part of the continent; the climate would have been boreal and under the influence of the glacier. Clearly, this bird was able to withstand a wider range of environmental conditions than we had understood. Dave concluded that the loss of range for this scavenging bird at the end of the Ice Age was not so much due to climate change but rather to the disappearance of large animal carcasses after most of the large mammal species became extinct. In each of the following two years, in pits adjoining the initial discovery, an additional California condor bone was found. In 1985, a coracoid, the bone that buttressed the shoulder joint against the breast bone, came to light, and in 1986 it was an ungual, the claw-bearing bone at the end of the foot.12 While the relationship between the first bone (the wing bone) and the post-Pleistocene spring vent had been uncertain, these two bones definitely were found in the FGC, showing that the bird had lived during the Ice Age. The Woody Layer yielded beautifully preserved plant remains. Most notable were pine cones that looked like they had just fallen off the tree, despite their considerable age (see figure 5.4). These proved to belong to the white pine, Pinus strobus, which formed a forest surrounding the Hiscock basin during the period immediately following the Ice Age. Smaller cones attested to the presence during the

70 The Heroic Age (1983–1990)

5.4 Conifer cones: (A) Jack pine (H3NW-75); (B) white spruce (G5NW-23); (C) white pine (H4SE-47); and (D) tamarack (G4NE-77). (Courtesy of the Buffalo Museum of Science)

same period of another conifer, the tamarack Larix laricina. The Ice Age deposit, the Fibrous Gravelly Clay, contained similarly beautiful cones of the white spruce, Picea glauca, and the jack pine, Pinus banksiana.13 Today these latter two trees are found almost exclusively north of the United States–Canada border, suggesting harsher climatic conditions in western New York during the late Ice Age.

w There is yet one more tale to relate about this cluster of quadrants. While troweling close to the test hole (where the tusk was first revealed), we encountered the top of a circular piece of wood. It was in the Woody Layer at a depth of 49 centimeters (about 19 inches). As we continued to lower the pit floor, the piece of wood continued down also. I assumed we had found a small tree preserved in growth position. That, however, proved to be wrong, for when we reached the bottom, just above the Cobble Layer, there were no roots. Instead, it was

Emerging Patterns 71 

a cylindrical log, 84 centimeters (33 inches) long and just over 10 centimeters (about 4½ inches) in diameter, with the bark intact. It stood perfectly vertical, and its top was flat, as though cut through by a carpenter’s saw (see figure 5.5). A wood specialist identified the log as white oak, and a sample sent from the lab yielded a radiocarbon date of 950±60 yrBP (years before present, which in radiocarbon parlance means before the year 1950).14 The growth rings were very closely spaced, indicating that it had grown slowly, probably in a forest where the light was subdued due to shading by a dense canopy of leaves. Interestingly, the eroded top of this log was at about the same level as the buried top of the nearby spring vent. This suggests that the two, and by extension the elk skeleton, may date to roughly the same age. At the time, I could only imagine that this log had been set there by hand. After all, it extended right through the Woody Layer and the underlying FGC, so it had been emplaced vertically downward. It must be a stake, I thought, hammered into the earth to support some sort of structure or perhaps to mark the location of something (the elk carcass?).

5.5 Log of white oak (G4NE-79) standing vertically (1984). (Photo by Richard S. Laub)

72 The Heroic Age (1983–1990)

Over the next few years, we found more buried vertical logs in the basin. In all cases the top of the log was truncated and in the Woody Layer, and the base reached down to, or nearly to, the Cobble Layer. I made a map of their distribution, hoping to find a pattern, but I could not see one. Finally, in 1989, we found another one of these vertical logs, also from a white oak tree.15 However, something about it was different. The base divided into two branches. Clearly, no one would hammer a stake with two ends into the ground. Was this a young tree in growth position? Were these roots? No, they were not. Our wood anatomy specialist determined that this splitting was not a root system at the base of a tree but the dividing of a branch. Puzzled as to how this could be, I asked, “Do you have any idea how a piece of wood, obviously not a stake, could come to be in this position?” Her response made it clear: “Could it be a branch that jammed into the ground when a tree fell?” Smacking my forehead in embarrassment, I realized that, of course, being the floor of a spring-fed basin, the ground must have been soft and damp for much of its history. Trees are always toppling over in a forest, and surely this had happened throughout the history of our site. (In fact, the peaty material forming the Woody Layer consisted of 20 percent to 40 percent organic matter,16 largely derived from wood that fell into standing water and slowly decayed there.) As I thought about it, I realized that in the five years since we found that vertical white oak log near the tusk, I had seen many pieces of wood buried in the layered sediment. Most were horizontal, showing they had lain flat on the substrate before being buried. Some, however, were set at an angle to the layers, and these had clearly been intruded from above. Ignoring these “intermediate” cases, my eye and mind had been caught by the dramatically vertical pieces of wood. I had failed to recognize that those ones were the end points of a continuum. Most wood broke off after falling from the tree and lay flat. Some penetrated the substrate at various angles. And a few pieces fell with enough force, and were sufficiently robust, that they punched vertically through the layers, stopping at the resistant Cobble Layer. I’d learned something important about the factors that had shaped our site through the millennia. More important, though, I’d learned something about my own thought processes and how they could trip me up. Fortunately, I had the opportunity to study the site during those additional years—that is, until that specimen turned up and caused me to question my interpretation. I learned a valuable lesson, but it would not be the last time I was temporarily fooled.

chapter 6

Friday’s Footprint

O

ur third assault on the Hiscock Site began in early August 1985, this time with nearly forty participants. Dave Steadman joined us, excited by the California condor find and the prospect of yet more discoveries in what had already proven a bone-rich site. His skill at identifying bones was astounding. He could tell you that this bone was from the upper part of a frog’s leg, or that one was the lower jaw of a shrew. And for now we had him here with us, part of our team. He provided instant gratification to the crew members for whom, until now, these were just interesting specimens that someone, someday, would identify in a museum lab. With Dave came another remarkable scientist. Dr. Norton Miller was the head of the New York State Biological Survey and technically Dave’s administrative superior. He was a little older than I, a fit-looking, seasoned field scientist with penetrating eyes, a short, neatly trimmed beard, and a bald head that only made him seem more authoritative. There was an assertiveness and sense of confidence about him that I, new to working with Ice Age animals and plants, sometimes found a bit discomfiting. Occasionally the two of us would (politely) butt heads over some issue. However, we soon settled into an accommodation. I recognized the rich body of knowledge he possessed and understood that he held many of the keys needed to unlock the secrets of our site. And in turn he understood that I was ultimately responsible for the functioning of the site and needed to gain a total understanding of what it had to tell us. Norton was a botanist, and could do with twigs, seeds, and cones what Dave could do with bones. He could also use microscopic pollen and spores found in the layers of soil to reconstruct the flora that cloaked ancient landscapes at the time that those layers were accumulating.

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As time went on, our relationship became quite cordial. Sometime around 2008 I was at the New York State Museum examining specimens for a research project, and Norton came into the room where I was working. He sat down and we had a very companionable talk, catching up on developments in one another’s personal and work lives. I could clearly see here the gentleman who stood behind the professional scientist and appreciated him even more for it. Three years later, I was shocked to learn that he had passed away in late 2011, following a long struggle with health issues that had been unknown to me. However, that was yet far in the future. In the meantime, he and Dave enthusiastically threw themselves into our efforts to see how the fauna, flora, and environment of the site had changed through the millennia since western New York had been released from the burden of the giant glaciers of the Ice Age. But back to the dig . . .

w You’ll recall that during the previous field season, when we’d begun digging near the basin margin, we had found a shallow basement where the layers were condensed into a thin stack. At the same time, we’d opened a pit toward the center of the basin; the basement there proved to be considerably deeper, so the individual layers could attain greater thickness. It was here that we found the tusk, and to our puzzlement, an elk skeleton lying against it. We could clearly make out the mastodon-bearing layer, a grayish, gravelly deposit that contrasted with the overlying brown, earthy peat. Best of all, we could relate the layers to those found by Marian White in her 1959 exploration. So now I decided to direct our first work to that deeper area. By opening two quadrants bordering those we had already dug, we would gain a broader view of the promising area where the tusk and elk had been found. And, my hopes were borne out. The upper earthy deposits yielded large bones and teeth of deer and elk, along with smaller remains of rodents, turtles, frogs, and birds (especially passenger pigeons). These animals inhabited the forest that cloaked the land after the Ice Age glacier had withdrawn about ten thousand years ago and before Europeans came to clear the trees about two hundred years ago. The environment was further reflected by seeds, numerous pieces of wood, and beautifully preserved cones from white pine, tamarack. and white spruce.

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Below this lay the grayish-brown, gravelly deposits formed during the Ice Age. A gratifying number of large mastodon bones and bone fragments were found in both pits. Among them was the broken-off end of a tusk from a female or a juvenile, forty-three centimeters (some seventeen inches) long and beautifully preserved. Another bone was a sternebra, part of the breastbone. A particularly impressive find was a nearly complete ulna, one of the two massive long bones that, side by side, make up the lower portion of the animal’s forelimb. (The upper end of the ulna forms the prominence that we call the elbow).1 A field photo from this season shows that ulna in the process of being excavated. The person doing the excavating was one of the volunteers, Herb Shulman, wearing his signature pith helmet. And therein hangs a tale worth telling.

w In the weeks leading up to the 1985 field season, I was soliciting volunteers to work on the dig. One day, when my office phone rang, the man at the other end said in a gravelly but quiet voice that he was interested in volunteering for the dig but, he cautioned me, there was something I needed to know: he was sixty-eight years old. Obviously, he wasn’t certain of how physically demanding the work and general conditions would be. I thanked him for his candor, and we discussed his background and interests. Herb Shulman was an engineer, retired from Bell Aerospace in Niagara Falls, New York. He was pretty handy with maintenance work and enjoyed the outdoors. His wife, Celeste, was also interested in being part of the dig. I gave the matter some thought. The living conditions were primitive, and the work was often arduous. Still, Herb seemed sincerely interested and had skills that could be handy in a pinch. So I suggested that he and his wife sign up for one day, and we would see how things went. Then he and I could decide if it would be wise for them to stay on. After the first day, I was convinced that Herb and Celeste would work out just fine. But I had greatly underestimated this understated fellow. For the next two decades, Herb proved to be one of the most valuable members of our crew, both for his engineering savvy and for the wisdom and horse sense he’d accrued through his life experiences. When any problem came up, he immediately applied his analytical prowess and know-how to solve it. We had been sieving by bending over a screen placed

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across a wheelbarrow, a physically uncomfortable position. Herb teamed up with two others to design and fabricate the sieve stands that we used for all future years of the dig. And when sieves were damaged, he took them home after the season and repaired them. Another problem he solved was how to store our plywood boards between field seasons. Piling them in stacks on the ground meant that they stayed damp; unable to fully dry, many of them began to mold and then disintegrate. Herb developed a way to store more than a hundred boards vertically and spaced apart for air flow, saving us untold expense and effort (see figure 6.1). Trowelers were required to kneel on small boards when working in the pit, and Herb found this difficult to do. He tried sitting on a low step stool, but the seat was often wobbly. He solved the problem by bolting step stools to kneeling boards, allowing him (and many others through the years) to sit comfortably without disturbing the pit floor.

6.1 Herb Shulman refitting our pole barn to store field equipment. (Photo by Richard S. Laub)

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Herb, who’d spent World War II flying over the Himalayas (the so-called “hump”) to transport supplies from India to China, became something of a father figure and close friend to many of us. The sight of his and Celeste’s tent, always pitched at the far end of the camp away from the noise of the evening campfires, was a source of comfort to me for two decades, until the demands of age led them to move near their children in North Carolina. But again, back to the dig . . .

w I mentioned some of the large, showy bones that we found in this deep area. However, it was becoming clear to me that the really important items (that is, scientifically informative) were often small and unimpressive. Perhaps this is because they’re often missed during the quest for large things or are set aside in museum collections with the intention of examining them later. This truth now came home to me again because the most significant find in this deeper area proved to be just such a specimen. Another California condor bone, described in chapter 5, was found. This small, scrappy-looking specimen was a partial coracoid, one of the bones that forms the shoulder and reinforces it during flight. Presumably it belonged to the owner of the wing bone we’d found near the tusk during the previous field season. In the following year (1986), in the same area of the site, we would find a third bone from this bird, an ungual, which in life was sheathed in a horn-like material to form one of the claws of the foot (see chapter 5, notes 11 and 12). Yes, the decision to dig in this area had been obvious. At the same time, though, I felt we couldn’t leave uncompleted the shallow marginal pit that we’d nearly finished during the previous year before abandoning it to work on the tusk. We had taken its floor down to where cobbles were being exposed everywhere, and there couldn’t be more than a few centimeters of sediment left covering the basement surface. So, on that first day of digging, once things were moving along in the deep area, I assigned a crew to dig out the backfill and finish up this shallow pit, quadrant G3SW. Work proceeded slowly because the trowelers were still inexperienced. Little of note was collected on that first day, just some snails and fragments of chert.

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There was still some work left to do in that shallow pit the next morning, so I assigned a crew and recorder to “mop up.” One of the trowelers, Bill Parsons, you’ll particularly want to meet at this point. Bill was an artist, and he had come to my office at the museum several months before the field season began to make a request. He wanted to experiment with engraving images on metal plates and then using them to press prints on sheets of paper. He asked if he could use some of the museum’s fossils as models. Bill, a medium-sized fellow with red hair, a close-cropped beard, and smiling eyes, was the proverbial starving artist. He had studied philosophy and Chinese in college. An Eagle Scout, he worked as “Mr. Nature” at local summer camps. Art, however, was his true passion, and he tried every which way to support himself with it. Now a bachelor in his mid-thirties, he was still struggling. He showed me shaded pencil drawings he’d made of a human skeleton and I was pretty much blown away by their quality. Clearly there was considerable talent here. I assigned him a desk in the Geology Department. And there, over the months, I watched in wonderment as, using fossils of an aquatic reptile skeleton, a sea lily, and a sea scorpion as models, he created beautiful works of art. While he was there, he became aware of the Ice Age site we were excavating, and his imagination was captured by the bones and tusk he saw us cleaning and conserving. And that’s how he came to be squatting in the northeast corner of quadrant G3SW with a trowel in his hand, helping to remove the last several centimeters of sediment covering the basement cobbles. The date was August 5.

w I was working at the deeper area of the site when I heard Bill shout, summoning me back to the shallow pit. Dave Steadman, who was with us that day, rushed over also. Bill was excitedly pointing to the pit floor. There, in the northeast corner of the pit, lay a flat piece of black chert.2 It was about 4 × 2 × 0.6 centimeters (1½ × ¾ × ¼ inches) in length, width, and thickness. The form was symmetrically leaf-like, with parallel sides and a concave basal end. The other end bore a point that was slightly off-center, with a wide notch on one side a short distance below the point (see figure 10.1A). Most telling, though, was the presence of a broad channel, or “flute,” on the central axis of

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both sides, beginning at the concave base and running about a third of the way up toward the pointed end. This was a “Clovis” fluted biface, a stone tool diagnostic of a late Ice Age cultural complex whose artifacts have been found over nearly all of North America, extending as far south as central Mexico and into South America. First recognized in the mid-1930s near Clovis, New Mexico (for which the culture was named), these finds were long believed to represent the earliest incursion by humans into the New World. More on that later. (Archaeologists disagree whether fluted points in the Northeast, like ours, are products of the same culture that produced the classic Clovis points in the West or, alternatively, if they were made by people closely related to, or recently descended from, the “true” Clovis folk. That issue being beyond the scope of this book, I will use the term “Clovis-like” here.)3 After that find, our perception of the site and the project was completely changed. Up to then we had considered this essentially a fossil dig. There was, of course, that post–Ice Age projectile point found in the backhoe tailings, but generations of “arrowhead collectors” already knew people were here after the Ice Age. This Clovis-like point, however, dated from the time of the mastodons and lay on a surface that had mastodon bone fragments. Clearly, humans had been here at the same time as the mastodons and caribou. We didn’t know what they were doing, but they were here just the same, and we were no longer “alone” with our Ice Age animals. It brought to mind Daniel Defoe’s classic tale, Robinson Crusoe. Shipwrecked and alone on an island for years, Crusoe had erased humans from all calculations of his future life. Then one day, walking on a beach, he came upon a bare human footprint, and his world was completely changed.4 And so was ours. No longer were we dealing with random ancient carcasses. These animals had shared the landscape, in some way, with human beings, and surely the two were aware of one another. Were they ships passing in the night, each going about their own business? Or did they interact? And, if so, in what ways? The tool itself displayed some interesting traits. First, it was not made from local rock. Instead, it consisted of Upper Mercer chert, whose nearest source is south-central Ohio, some 350 kilometers (over 200 miles) to the southwest. Its owner may have carried it from that distant place, or it may have been traded from there in stages, passing through the hands of different groups of people.

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In either case, it shows a link between central Ohio and western New York in that remote age. Second, the side notch below the tip was not accidental breakage. Rather, it had been produced deliberately, as shown by the small flakes that had been removed around it to shape the tool’s profile.5 The object had initially been made as a point for a spear that was probably propelled by a throwing-stick or atlatl. (It wasn’t an arrowhead. Use of the bow and arrow in this region did not become clearly evident until roughly 1,500 years ago, although it may have begun as much as 3,500 years ago.)6 Perhaps after the point had broken during use, it had then been reshaped into an alternative tool. This second stage in its useful life was as a cutting implement. Years after its discovery, this and other Ice Age artifacts from the site were subjected to usewear analysis by Dr. John Tomenchuk, an associate of the Department of Anthropology and Ethnology at the Royal Ontario Museum in Toronto.7 I’ll discuss in detail this remarkable scientist and his work a bit later. In any event, Tomenchuk found evidence that this tool had been used to cut fresh animal hide, ligaments, or meat. During use it also contacted bone, which left its edges polished. The sharpened notch and adjacent area suggest it served as a gutting knife, a device used to slit the hide of an animal without rupturing the internal organs, which would ruin the meat. After recording, collecting, and securing the artifact, we marked the spot where it lay. We then laid out three quarter-quadrants, radiating north, northeast, and east from that spot, and troweled them down to see what the surface surrounding the point would reveal. Bill worked in one of the quarters. Catherine Dufort, who, like Bill, had become a seasoned volunteer in our lab, worked in another. Meanwhile, Dave Steadman carefully probed the area immediately around the find for anything that might have been missed. It turned out that the artifact did not lie in isolation on the pit floor. A wonderful array of objects was scattered around it, some of which just might provide clues to its history (see figure 6.2). These included numerous bone fragments—most notably a cluster of vertebrae belonging to a large cervid, or deer-like animal, which we assumed was a caribou. There were also some wood branches lying a foot away from the point. The bones of the cervid generated considerable excitement for some people, who thought we’d found an Ice Age point and the bones of the animal it had been used to kill. Fortunately, this idea could be tested. Both the bones and the wood

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6.2 Floor diagram of pits surrounding our first Ice Age point (G3SW-13). (A) Fluted point; (B) radiocarbon-dated vertebra of deer-like animal (G3SW-24), part of bone cluster; and (C) radiocarbon-dated wood (G3SW-wood samples 7, 9). (Courtesy of the Buffalo Museum of Science)

could be radiocarbon dated. The artifact was of a type generally considered to date to about 10,800 to somewhat over 11,100 years old. If the cervid bones and the point belonged to the same historical event (a hunt), the bones should fall within the accepted age range for the artifact. Furthermore, the wood should date the surface on which it, the bones, and the point lay, confirming those dates. In the end, one cervid vertebra and two pieces of wood were dated. The date for the bone came back as 6,220±85 years BP. Clearly these bones were ancient, some 1,500 years older than the pyramids of Egypt. Still, they were too young,

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by some 4,000 years, to have anything to do with the Clovis point. They date to thousands of years after the end of the Ice Age and are almost certainly elk bones rather than caribou. And the wood? The dates for the two pieces, probably elm based on their microstructure, came back as 700±80 and 560±80 years old. The wood, like the bone, was unrelated to the point. What was going on here? Objects of widely different ages all lying on the same surface? The explanation is that this was a lag deposit, a shallow erosional surface on which objects settled as the overlying sediment layers were gently winnowed away. Consider an analogy: Imagine a harsh winter when snow continually accumulates near a sidewalk. A person drops a pen on the snow’s surface, and it’s soon buried by more snow. A week later a passing car strikes a piece of wood, knocking it from the roadway onto the snow pile. This, too, becomes buried under newer snow. A bit later a plastic bottle falls from a garbage truck and also lands on the snow bank, to be covered with yet more snow. We now have three objects, a pen, a piece of wood, and a plastic bottle, representing a sequence of three events in time, lying one above the other. As winter comes to an end, the snow bank begins to melt. The higher layer disappears first, and the plastic bottle it encased remains behind, settling to a lower level. Melting continues, and now the piece of wood and the plastic bottle are exposed together on the surface. Finally, the bottom layer melts away, and now the bottle, the wood, and the pen all come to lie on the same surface. The Clovis-like point, elk bones, and wood all lay on a shallow surface that must have been influenced by occasional changes in water level in the basin. These changes would have allowed accumulations of sediment (probably only thin layers), as well as the wearing away of those layers. The fact that the cervid bones remained in a cluster indicates that the erosion must have been a gentle winnowing rather than a strong lateral flushing. Events like this must have occurred many times during the history of the basin. We now came to understand that the structure of this site was complex. The fact that two objects lay near each other in the same layer did not necessarily mean that they were related historically. Radiocarbon dating would prove to be an essential tool for untangling the history preserved in these layers. A week after the discovery of the point, we found additional evidence of human presence here contemporary with mastodons. In one of the deep pits we

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were excavating toward the middle of the basin, a piece of shaped chert appeared in the Fibrous Gravelly Clay, the Ice Age layer. This one was the proximal (near, or hafted) end of a tool called a trianguloid end scraper, a scraping tool whose far end (the business end) had snapped off before it was lost or discarded so many millennia ago.8 The piece was made of local Onondaga chert. Other impressive specimens came to light that year. The massive mastodon forelimb bone (ulna) and beautiful end of a tusk, already described, gave us visually edifying items to show off. The most scientifically significant contributions, however, were the two Paleo-Indian artifacts and the new California condor bone we’d collected. These, again, bear witness to how the really important specimens were so often the small, unimpressive-looking ones.

w This year was when we began to really “translate” the layers of the site. We knew that the sediment filling the basin was arranged in several layers. And, of course, those layers grew younger from bottom to top, each containing its own particular assemblage of fossils. But just how old were each of these layers, and in what environments had they formed? To answer these questions, we began collecting pieces of wood from the various strata in order to radiocarbon date them. Where possible we identified them as well. Through the years we added many more radiocarbon dates, but the general age pattern established at this time has remained essentially unchanged.9 Meanwhile, Norton took a series of vertical sediment samples from a wall of one of the two deep pits (H5SW) that we’d opened toward the center of the basin.10 The basement (the Cobble Layer surface) was particularly deep here, nearly 1.8 meters (six feet) below the surface, so a considerable thickness of sediment was available for examining (see figures 6.3 and 6.4). From these samples Norton extracted microscopic pollen particles to obtain a very detailed picture of what plants were growing in the area at various times.11 We found that the Ice Age fossil-bearing layer (the FGC) contained short twigs of conifer (evergreen) and cones of white spruce and jack pine. Dating these “macrofossils” showed that the age of this layer extended from around 9,100 to somewhat over 11,500 radiocarbon years old. Norton’s pollen analysis of the Pleistocene sediments contributed much more information on their environment. He found that both the Cobble Layer

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6.3 Sedimentary layers of the Hiscock Site with their radiocarbon age ranges. Spaces between layers indicate gaps in the depositional record. (Figure modified from Richard S. Laub, “The Hiscock Site: Structure, Stratigraphy, and Chronology,” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 37 [2003], figure 3.)

(the fossil-free basement) and the FGC contained abundant pollen from grasses and sedges, herbaceous plants that probably fringed the margins of the ancient basin. Grasses, by the way, have stems that are cylindrical and hollow, while the stems of sedges are solid and triangular in cross-section. Other herbaceous plants were Potentilla and long-spined Compositae flowers. Spruce and pine were also present. Surprisingly, however, there was a relatively small proportion of tree pollen compared with the pollen of low-growing plants (herbs). During the late

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6.4 Wall in quadrant E10SE showing the full stratigraphy: (C) Cobble Layer; (P, F) pebbly and fine Fibrous Gravelly Clay; (Wo) Older Woody Layer; (Y) Yellow Clay; (Wy) Younger Woody Layer; and (D) Dark Earth. Vertical meter stick provides scale. (Photo by Richard S. Laub)

Ice Age, eastern North America was cloaked in conifer forest. Yet the Hiscock Site area seems to have been an exception. Why was this? Above this layer lay the post–Ice Age Woody Layer, with two components: macrofossils dated the older portion to roughly eight to nine thousand years ago, the period immediately following the Ice Age. Here, too, we found a persistence of conifer flora. The white spruce continued upward from the FGC. Now, however, the jack pine was gone, replaced by white pine and tamarack. Due to its very fine texture, we came to call this layer the older, “gelatinous” Woody Layer. The pollen contained in these ancient sediments again enriched our understanding of the plants of that time. There was a reverse shift in the arboreal and herbaceous plant ratio. Herbaceous sedges and grasses were still present, but now the landscape was dominated by trees. Pine was now more abundant than spruce. Tamarack and fir were also part of this evergreen forest. The sediment, equivalent to what we came to call the older Woody Layer, suggests that at this time, immediately following the Ice Age, this area was a quiet pond in encroaching forest.

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Following this exploration, we detected a major break of some six to seven thousand years in the sedimentary record. This gap was either due to erosion, a lack of deposition, or (as I suspect) a combination of both factors. There is one notable event, however, that is recorded from this interval. An apparent forest fire raged through the site three thousand years ago. It was recorded by the Yellow Clay, discontinuous patches of yellowish, greasy, ash-laden sediment containing burned bones of frogs, small mammals, and cervids. The abundant charcoal is derived from birch and elm, and probably other trees as well. After this long break, the record resumed about a thousand years ago with a younger peaty component of the Woody Layer. Conifers were now almost completely absent. Instead, the flora consisted of deciduous, or hardwood, trees, dominated by elm and ash and some oak. Beautifully preserved hickory nuts, beechnuts, and butternuts were numerous in this layer (see figure 6.5), and the western margin of the basin showed abundant rhizomes of Osmunda ferns. Dates were mostly in the range of five hundred to nine hundred years ago. Pollen remains recorded the presence of maple, hickory, beech, basswood, ash and elm. Large pieces of wood were abundant in this layer, indicating that the basin had become enclosed by forest, with dead trees and fallen branches contributing woody organic matter to the sediment accumulating in the waters of what had become a swamp. The Older and Younger Woody Layers, and the fossils they contained, recorded conditions in the virgin forest that cloaked the land after the retreat of the glaciers but before the appearance of European settlers. With little or no depositional break, the Woody Layer sequence grades upward to the youngest layer, the peaty Dark Earth layer. Here we found that

6.5 (A) Butternut (G7NW-2); (B) hickory nut (H1NE-128); and (C) acorn (H2SE-74). (Courtesy of the Buffalo Museum of Science)

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pieces of wood were scarce compared with the underlying Woody Layer. Those wood samples we dated proved to be around 250 years old, with some that are essentially modern. Elm and oak were identified among these wood fragments. Tree pollen had again become subordinate to herb pollen. Gramineae (grasses) and Ambrosia-type Compositae (ragweed) pollen had become important. This change appears to reflect the period of European settlement, when forest areas were cleared for lumber and agriculture.

w Related to the matter of European settlement, there is a very interesting document written by Asa Merrill that eloquently depicts his coming to what is now the Town of Byron in 1810. It is dated “Thanksgiving Day, 30th November, 1871,” and it was used to address the Genesee County Pioneer Society’s annual meeting the following year.12 Around 1790, as a very young boy, Merrill came from Connecticut to Oneida County, in central New York, with his parents and siblings. (Many of the early settlers of this region came from Connecticut.) In 1809, in his early twenties, he traveled by foot to the tract of land that would become Byron. It had not yet been surveyed and opened for official purchase, but a number of squatters had established themselves on plots of land that they hoped to purchase when it came available. Merrill selected the piece of land he wished to settle upon, returned east to sell property he had been farming, and returned to find that the property he had hoped to settle had been occupied and “booked” by another man. Merrill noted that this man had, as he put it, “felled a few trees and let in the sun.” He had also built a small log cabin, using elm and basswood. I find this depiction very evocative—a virgin forest whose canopy completely shaded everything until trees were cut down and the full sunlight fell on the ground for the first time in hundreds or perhaps thousands of years. These trees would have been growing at the time of the younger Woody Layer, and it’s interesting to see the concordance between the elm and basswood trees used by the squatter and the record of pollen and wood fragments that we found in that layer. Once the land had been largely cleared of trees, the relatively wood-free Dark Earth capped the layer sequence in the Hiscock basin pond.

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w Years later, Dr. John (“Jock”) McAndrews and I were talking during the field season. Jock is a botanist and an expert in interpreting the pollen records recorded at ancient sites. At the time, he was on the staff at the University of Toronto and the Royal Ontario Museum. He brought up something that he’d noticed lately in his pollen samples from Hiscock, something that puzzled him. For some reason there was a concentration of spruce pollen in his uppermost samples from the site, and he couldn’t glean where it came from. Generally, such a concentration would be expected in the deepest, Pleistocene, layer. I thought about this and suddenly a smile came to my face as I realized what had happened. During the early years of the Byron Dig, there was a relatively open area with low grasses at the end of the site closest to our camp (and farthest from where our efforts were concentrated). A few little spruce trees had somehow taken root here, along with other small trees and shrubs. Over time these conifer trees increased in number to form a dense little grove. It was this colonization event that was recorded in the highest levels of the stratigraphic column. Jock gave a laugh of professional delight and, I imagine satisfaction, at this demonstration of the accuracy and usefulness of his craft.

w I think of the sediment layers in the basin as the pages of a book. Of course, this particular book has more than half of it missing—roughly 7,000 “pages” between 8,000 and 1,000 years ago, a heartbreaking amount of information to forfeit. Evidence from other sites in the Northeast indicates that there were significant environmental changes during those years. For example, sometime around 7,500 to 8,000 radiocarbon years ago the forest covering the region changed from one dominated by evergreen trees, especially pine, to one characterized by mixed hardwood trees. As well, there was a sharp decline in hemlock trees around 4,800 years ago. Surely that meant changes for the animals that inhabited the forest. These events and others are generally not recorded in the layers preserved at Hiscock. However, because of a peculiarity of the basin and its history, we can still catch glimpses of what was living at the site during that missing interval. We owe

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this piece of luck to the fact that the basin was damp during much of its history; that means its accumulating sediments were soft. Consequently, even when sediment was not piling up in water, objects would occasionally be pressed or thrust into the soggy ground. This could happen through the force of gravity, as when branches fell from an overhanging tree, or it could also be through trampling by animals. Yet another cause could have been animals burrowing into the soil, with objects falling, or being dragged down, into those burrows. Branches that were thrust deep into the ground, probably by falling trees, include ash dating to 1,720±40 and 4,500±40 years ago and white oak at 7,435±95,13 demonstrating the presence of these trees during the missing interval. Charcoal from the Yellow Clay, which occurs as discontinuous lenses in the Holocene Woody Layer, shows that elm and birch lived in the vicinity of the basin about three thousand years ago, at the time of the forest fire recorded by this layer.14 (Sediment from the forest fire event that produced the Yellow Clay probably was able to accumulate by washing down from the slopes that the fire had denuded of trees and other plant cover.) A striking (literally) example of branches penetrating down into older layers was found during our 1995 field season. A piece of wood was encountered during troweling at the top of the Woody Layer at a depth of a foot (thirty centimeters). As it was firmly held in the ground, we left it in place and continued lowering the floor. The wood proved to be the top of a branch that continued downward into the underlying Pleistocene FGC and finally ended at the base of that layer, eighty-eight centimeters (thirty-four inches) below the ground, a total vertical penetration of thirty centimeters (two feet). The branch was about a meter (just over three feet) long, and it had thrust through the earth at a low angle. When the pit floor reached the bottom of the branch, we found two mastodon ribs, one crossed over the other. The branch had struck one rib and shattered it (see figure 6.6). The wood, which was from an ash tree, gave a radiocarbon date of 570±60 years BP, which converts to between AD 1295 and 1445 in calendar years. The mastodon rib that it shattered dated to 10,790±70 BP. There seemed something almost poetic in the intersection of these two events, the death of a mastodon and the falling of an ash tree, ten thousand years apart! Less frequently, a record of animal life from this missing interval was preserved. One example, of course, was the presence of an elk (wapiti) vertebra (see figure 6.2) found lying near the Clovis-like point already described, which was

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6.6 Late Holocene ash tree branch (E9NW-146) that struck a mastodon rib (E9NW-145) after penetrating the basin floor. (Photo by Richard S. Laub)

documented by a date of 6,220±85. And then there was the case of the dog, but that story will need to wait until a bit later. Stone artifacts are essentially indestructible, and a number of them, dated on the basis of their form, reflect the changing cultures that existed at this location even when there was no net accumulation of sediment. The large Middle Archaic projectile point, roughly six thousand years old, that we found in the tailings in 1983 is a case in point. While intrusion into lower (older) layers preserved some fossils that would otherwise have not survived, the location could also prove misleading. One example of that is what we called the “Ice Mouse”: In 2004, we found half of the lower jaw of a small rodent. The fact that it lay deep in the FGC, and that its color was identical to that of many specimens from this layer, led us to conclude that it was Pleistocene in age. This engendered considerable interest, as it would add a nice detail to the faunal picture of Hiscock during the Ice Age, especially since very small species are often missed at mastodon sites.

Friday’s Footprint 91 

We sent the specimen to an expert for identification, and it was determined to be from a southern flying squirrel (Glaucomys volans). An alarm bell went off in my head. This species had already been identified by Dave Steadman from the post–Ice Age deposits at the site. Was this a coincidence? Had this creature existed here during the Ice Age and then continued on for thousands of years? I decided to have the bone dated. The result indicated that the animal was 445±25 radiocarbon years old, clearly not an Ice Age resident.15 The jawbone had somehow been pushed down into a much older level than the Younger Woody Layer, where it belonged. Perhaps it had fallen into an animal burrow or been trampled down through the damp soil. This showed us the importance of radiocarbon dating to confirm the age and stratigraphic relationships of any suspicious specimens at the site.

w With the ending of this field season, the Byron Dig seemed to enter a new phase. It was beginning to mature, increasing in scale and drawing serious attention from scientists at other institutions. Perhaps the clearest indicator was that, at the urging of Dave, Norton, and some others, we decided to lengthen the field season from two to three weeks. Of course, this could only be accomplished with added support from the Smith Foundation, which Graham and Mary Jane generously provided. A number of scientists besides Dave and Norton came at this stage to give generously of their knowledge, resources, and labor. Notable among these were two Canadians, Drs. C. E. (“Rufus”) Churcher and Howard G. Savage, a zoologist and an anthropologist, respectively, from University of Toronto. (Toronto, with its internationally active Royal Ontario Museum, was a two-hour drive from Buffalo and a seemingly limitless source of research and human support. The latter developed in several cases into delightful opportunities for good fellowship and even friendships.) Tall, with an appealing mix of dignity and warm friendliness, Rufus was the zoologist par excellence on campus. He had grown up in England with a strong interest in natural history, and a later move by his family to Kenya broadened that interest with a fascination for African wildlife. Eventually, he settled on vertebrate paleontology for his profession, and he became the academic “parent” to a good many prominent scientists in that field.

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Howard, also English by birth, was first a pediatric physician. Years later, however, he switched his talents to develop what is surely North America’s preeminent teaching collection of animal bones. He built this collection over decades and taught a greatly admired faunal osteology course at the university for many years. When I met him, Howard was in his seventies but was still quite an active field man (as I had opportunities to see firsthand). He reminded me of Mr. Pickwick, with his glasses and small mustache. He spoke with a slight stammer, but it never stopped him from being an engaging conversationalist. For years, one of my great pleasures was a monthly drive to Toronto to revel in his lab and collection in the old Dairy Building off Spadina Circle, usually with several of my museum lab volunteers. During these visits I would use his reference material to identify problematic specimens from Hiscock. If we couldn’t identify a specimen using his collection, we could walk a few blocks to the museum, where we had access to the large bone collection in the Department of Mammals. Howard joined us for some digging at the Hiscock Site, and he was a wonderful addition to our crew. Not surprisingly, he was kept busy by the volunteers’ questions as bones turned up in their sieves. And he was a delight at the campfire, where he played his concertina to accompany our attempts at singing. Howard passed away in 1997, leaving a gaping void in the lives of all those who knew him. On our monthly junkets to Toronto we had come to learn so much from him, but we also developed a deep affection for his very special qualities. Among the many interesting people I met in Howard’s lab was Stephen Cox Thomas, one of his earliest students. Steve had parlayed his training into a career as a zooarchaeologist (also called a faunal osteologist). As such, he was skilled at identifying animal bones at archaeological sites and using them to enrich the understanding of how humans made use of those sites. Through the years, Steve has identified many bones for me, some of them quite unusual. His thoroughness is always a revelation. One five-page analysis of a bone he completed included references to candidate species that were eliminated in the process of concluding that the specimen was a right lower leg bone (a tarsometatarsus) belonging to a mallard or black duck. Another report of seven pages pegged a specimen as the breastbone (sternum) of a spruce grouse.

Friday’s Footprint 93 

Working with Steve has shown me the importance of subtle differences between the bones of different species. For example, we once collected a lower jaw that, to my eye, closely resembled that of a gray fox. When I brought it to Steve, though, he wasn’t quite so sure. In the mammal collection room of the Royal Ontario Museum, we compared it with bones of other mid-sized meat-eating mammals. Steve pulled out the jaw bone of a fisher, a large relative of the weasel, and I saw that the agreement was dead-on. Its size and shape were close to the gray fox, but the fox had a small rear tooth that was missing in both the fisher jaw and the Hiscock specimen. Also, in the fisher jaw, a broad basin on the rear outer surface, where a powerful chewing muscle attached, extended forward under the rearmost tooth. In the Hiscock specimen the basin extended to the same position. In the gray fox, however, it did not. Fishers, then, had populated our site in the past, but as yet there is no evidence of gray fox. From this vantage point I can clearly see how dramatically the Hiscock project was enriched by the participation of these scientists and so many others. The word “interdisciplinary” can seem cliché. However, it accurately characterizes the research process that has given us such a broad and deep understanding of the story that this little plot of land has to tell us.

interlude 2

The Clovis People

N

ow a bit about the culture from which that fluted point derives. A few years ago, just for the enjoyment of doing so, I was browsing through some of the older holdings in the research library at the Buffalo Museum of Science. This library has been acquiring since at least 1861 and, consequently, has resources unavailable in many larger and wealthier institutions. Pulling out vol. 3 of the Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences I came across an article by Augustus R. Grote, a director of the Society (which administers the museum) and one of its earliest members. Dated 1877, its title was “On the Peopling of America.”1 It was Grote’s contribution to what was then a growing debate among scholars concerning how and when humans first came to the Americas. It was influenced by the relatively recent recognition that ice had once covered much of the Northern Hemisphere. Grote was of the school that argued for Asia as the homeland from which the earliest Americans immigrated, a view almost universally held today. In recent years, in fact, genetic studies point to their place of origin as southeastern Siberia between the Altai Mountains and the Amur River. Contrary to current evidence, Grote believed that continental glaciation during the Ice Age had constituted a barrier to entry into the New World. This migration, he argued, must have occurred during the Pliocene, the geological epoch immediately preceding the Pleistocene. However, the archaeological and geological evidence shows convincingly that the ancestors of all modern American Indians entered the New World during the Pleistocene, probably sometime around fifteen thousand years ago, following a period of isolation in Beringia.2 (This does not include the Eskimos and Aleuts, who are products of a somewhat later immigration event.)

The Clovis People 95 

Hard evidence that people lived here at a time, and under conditions, very different from our own first appeared in 1927. That year, projectile points were found in New Mexico along with the remains of an extinct bison. These elongate, parallel-sided artifacts bore an axial channel, or “flute,” running from the base to near the tip. They were named “Folsom points,” for the town near which they were found. Five years later, somewhat similar points were found near Dent, Colorado, this time associated with mammoth. These, however, were thicker and a bit more crudely made, and the flute extended a much shorter distance from the base (see figure Int2.1). They were clearly related to the Folsom-type point but had distinct characteristics of their own. In 1936 and 1937, projectile points similar to those from Dent were found at a site called Blackwater Draw near Clovis, New Mexico. They lay beneath a break in the sedimentary sequence, above which were found Folsom points. Initially referred to simply as “Folsom-like” points, they and the points from Dent came to be perceived as something new. Following a 1941 conference held in Santa Fe, New Mexico, they were given a name of their own—“Clovis”—for the nearby

Int2.1 Clovis point from Dent Site, Colorado. (Copyright © Denver Museum of Nature and Science [catalogue no. A448.1; length 9.4 cm]).

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town.3 Furthermore, their position below the Folsom artifacts was taken to mean that they reflected an older presence, an opinion that has been supported by subsequent research. These finds established that there were people in the New World contemporary with extinct animals that had lived during the Ice Age, a significant advance in our understanding of their antiquity. By 1940,4 the term “Paleo-Indian” was being used to refer to these people, the Clovis, Folsom, and other cultures that were coming to be recognized. Since the introduction of radiocarbon dating around 1950, scientists have been able to establish a more precise time frame for Clovis; this culture is generally dated to approximately 11,500 to 10,800 radiocarbon years ago (about 13,400– 12,700 calendar years ago).5 It is notable that the earliest part of this range is based on two outliers: the Aubrey site in Texas and El Fin del Mundo in northern Mexico. A recent reevaluation of available Clovis dates6 concluded that the most reliable ones have a maximum range of 11,110±40 to 10,820±10 radiocarbon years BP (calibrated to 13,050 to approximately 12,750 calendar years7 BP). This is the result of conservative analysis, but if future work bears it out, then it seems the dispersal of the Clovis culture was a remarkably rapid event, accomplished in no more than three hundred years. The Clovis tool kit contained an assortment of stone artifacts, most commonly end scrapers, side scrapers, elongate blades, and gravers. More rarely preserved were tools made of bone, antler, and ivory. Some of these tools were expedient, made for use at the moment and discarded when no longer needed. Others were more formal, such as what may have been a carefully crafted wrench, made from mammoth bone, which was used for straightening spear shafts.8 This second category of bone tools also includes peculiar cylindrical rods that are either beveled at both ends or at one end with a point at the other. They have been found in many areas of the United States, and their function is uncertain. One interpretation is that some were foreshafts to which stone projectile points were attached; they were in turn inserted into the end of a spear shaft as needed. Others, which are pointed, may have themselves tipped a spear for deep penetration. It has also been suggested that the beveled end was inserted under the ligature binding a blade to a wood handle, tightening it during slicing operations.9 Of all these tools, the most iconic Clovis symbol is the projectile point that bears its name. This elongate artifact is not characterized by its form alone, but

The Clovis People 97 

also by the way in which it was prepared. It has roughly parallel sides that curve forward to a point. The base is concave to varying degrees, and the edges on the lower portion of the projectile point were ground to make them dull, presumably so they wouldn’t cut the binding that held it on the shaft. Most distinctive is an axial channel, or flute, that runs from the base for a short distance toward the tip, typically less than half the length. The artifact was made thin by removing flakes from one side of the surface completely to the other side, a process called overshot flaking or outre passé. The points found at Blackwater Draw, the first to be named “Clovis,” are the forms to which all others are compared. Points found at locations far from the type site can look remarkably similar. On the other hand, even Clovis points found close together can differ from each other in significant ways. A good example is eight points from the Naco site in Arizona. They were found with a mammoth skeleton and have been interpreted as reflecting a single hunting event, perhaps one from which the intended victim escaped and died later. The points in this group range in length from more than four inches (eleven centimeters) to two inches (just under six centimeters). The widths and profiles, however, show less variation. George Frison, a prominent student of Paleo-Indian archaeology, is of the opinion that “it may not be too strong a statement to say that the Clovis projectile point is the first piece of flaked-stone weaponry in the world that was well-enough designed to allow a single hunter a dependable and predictable means of pursuing and killing a large mammal such as a mammoth or bison on a one-to-one basis.”10 Which begs the question: “With what foods did the Clovis folk sustain themselves?” Perhaps because the first Clovis projectile points were found near mammoth bones, and several other such sites have been found, the culture came to be perceived as specializing in the hunting of large mammals. And, indeed, it seems clear that these people did hunt and/or scavenge mammoth, mastodon, and giant bison.11 However, other sites suggest that they also hunted or trapped smaller game. For example, Udora, a Paleo-Indian site in south-central Ontario roughly equivalent in age to Hiscock, contained the burned bones of caribou, arctic fox, and hare.12 At several sites on the Great Plains, including Blackwater Draw, turtles appear to have been on the menu. Clovis people were probably opportunistic hunter-gatherers who developed the ability to exploit as food whatever animals

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and plants they encountered. This included the largest mammals, when they could do so safely. The Clovis groups appear to have been nomadic, wandering in small bands to follow herds and avoid exhausting resources. The degree of wandering can be sensed from stone tools made from rock whose sources lay far from where those tools were found. A characteristic of Clovis culture is the use of high-quality chert for toolmaking, and the people were willing to go to great lengths, in travel and possibly trade, to obtain it. Distances of two to three hundred kilometers are not at all uncommon, and there are rare cases of as much as a thousand kilometers. In recent years, scholars have concluded that Paleo-Indians, presumably including Clovis groups, used watercraft of some type(s) for traveling on rivers, lakes, and along the coasts.13 This is based in part on the discovery of sites with artifacts that are separated from their rock source by what at that time would have been miles of ocean. More direct evidence is human remains found at the Arlington Springs site on one of the Channel Islands, off the coast of southern California. The remains date to 10,970±80 years BP, coeval with (though not necessarily belonging to) the Clovis culture. At this date the island lay five miles (eight kilometers) from the mainland coast. The Clovis culture existed at a transitional time, as the continental glacial front was retreating from its high-water mark. This episode of warming and glacial melting (the Bølling-Allerød chronozone) was interrupted at approximately 10,900 radiocarbon years BP (just after 12,000 calendar years ago) when a millennium-long event called the Younger Dryas brought about major changes in the Northern Hemisphere. In the North Atlantic region and its adjacent lands, conditions became colder. They were similarly cold along the southern edge of the North American ice sheet. In the Great Plains there appears to have been a period of drying, especially during the earlier portion of the Younger Dryas. The effects varied by region, but the picture is one of complex ecological changes. The Clovis folk straddled the boundary between the late Bølling-Allerød warm period and the early part of the cooler Younger Dryas. Consequently, they had to face and adapt to the changing conditions of this time. This is graphically represented by a Clovis-age exploratory well at the Blackwater Draw Clovis site in New Mexico.14 The well is interpreted as having failed to reach water.

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From where did the people who developed and practiced the Clovis culture come? No clear evidence of this culture has been found in the Old World or in North America north of the continental glaciers (that is, in eastern Beringia). This suggests to some scholars that the Clovis life-way originated somewhere in North America south of the Ice sheet and spread over the continent. In a 1987 paper, however, C. Vance Haynes at the University of Arizona observed nine traits that the Clovis culture has in common with Upper Paleolithic cultures in Eastern Europe,15 which suggests at least some sort of historical connection between the two regions. Were the Clovis people the earliest occupants of the Americas? For many years this was believed to be true. Their definitive artifacts have been found throughout areas of the United States and Canada that were ice-free in late Pleistocene times. They are also known from northern Mexico, Panama, and Venezuela, and Clovis-like points have been reported as far south as the Chilean province of Osorno, south of Santiago.16 However, other types of points may be contemporary with Clovis. One example is the Western Stemmed point, found in the Great Basin and the Northwest. Moreover, there are a growing number of sites that are now widely, though not universally, accepted as predating Clovis. The Schaefer and Hebior sites in Wisconsin, for example, appear to show exploitation of mammoth near the glacial front between 14,800 and 14,200 calendar years BP, a millennium earlier than Clovis. These are joined by other North American sites, among them Meadowcroft Rockshelter (Pennsylvania) and Page-Ladson (Florida), which have convinced many in the archaeological community of the presence of humans on the continent before Clovis time. What has been particularly startling, however, is the discovery of possible pre-Clovis human traces in South America. Most notable is the Monte Verde site in Chile. Here, artifacts of stone and wood are found in an archaeological context for which dates of approximately 14,600 calendar years BP have been obtained. If these dates and associations, so far to the south, are correct, then clearly the Clovis folk would not have been the first humans in the New World. What, then, can be said objectively about the status of Clovis in the record of human settlement of the Western Hemisphere? I think this has been well-expressed by Vance Holliday and Shane Miller, two students of this period: “Clovis is the oldest archaeologically visible, well-defined, and

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relatively homogeneous technocomplex in North America. It is also the most geographically extensive occupation of any time in the archaeological record of the Americas.”17 So, whether or not those people were truly the first to arrive, theirs was the earliest culture in the New World to leave a recognizable record that was extensive both geographically and chronologically. And that is clearly a measure of high success.

chapter 7

Steady Going, and First Symposium

T

he 1986 field season saw a quantum leap in the number of specimens, and particularly the large ones, that we collected. One reason was an increase in the number of volunteers, as excitement about the previous year’s discoveries spread by word of mouth and the media grew more interested. Another reason was that most of our digging was in deep areas, where the thick overlying layers could protect large bones through the millennia. This factor would be confirmed through our many future years of digging here. A few of our showier trophies that year included two enormous bones from the hip region of a mastodon.1 Technically called innominates, they are the two halves of a complex structure that forms the pelvis. They include the hip sockets, to which the rear legs attach. Each bone was well over a yard (about a meter) long. A bit smaller, but equally impressive, were two large shoulder blades.2 Both of these were from the right side and therefore from two different animals. Other interesting parts of mastodon skeletons came to light, including one side of a skull, a portion of a cheek bone, and a large tooth.3 As the mastodon remains found to this point were from adult animals, it was particularly gratifying when, on August 10, we found our first baby tooth.4 Less than an inch (about two centimeters) in diameter, it had been shed by an animal in its first year or two of life. We would ultimately find eleven more such teeth, technically called deciduous second premolars. A broad surface we cleared revealed a large cluster of mastodon vertebrae, ribs, and ankle bones, all well preserved. The cluster included a large slab from the side of a tusk (see figure 7.1). While we were intrigued by its size and shape, it would take fifteen years to understand its importance (see chapter 16).

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7.1 Mastodon bone cluster, quadrant G5NE. A large slab from the side of a tusk (specimen G5NE-230) is in the lower left. (Photo by Richard S. Laub)

By now we understood that something had drawn mastodons, young and old, to this site during the late Ice Age. What was it? Additionally, humans had been drawn here as well. Why? Was this a coincidence, or was there some connection? These questions were on our minds during the future years of our digging. It may seem that the only bones of interest came from mastodons, but that was hardly the case. Numerous fine bones and teeth belonging to deer and elk were

Steady Going, and First Symposium 103 

7.2 Contents of sieve bucket, sieve sample G8SW – 71–78 cm). Recognizable bones are all frog remains except (A) rodent tooth and (B) bird wing bone. Some broader pieces may be deer bone fragments. (Courtesy of the Buffalo Museum of Science)

found in the Woody Layer. These items, and remains of smaller animals including mammals, birds, reptiles and amphibians, began to give us a picture of the forest fauna that inhabited the region following the end of the Ice Age. Far and away, the most abundant bones were those of frogs and toads (see figure 7.2), items we came to call “frogments.” Considering how scattered they were, I suspect most were the by-products of the meals of snakes and other predatory animals. The presence of humans at this site was again documented by what is probably part of a projectile point5 found in the Ice Age horizon. Unfortunately, if there were Clovis-type flute channels on the original artifact, they have been lost by the breakage. The material from which it was made is local Onondaga chert.

w During this year we came to understand what the stone lineation represented. The previous year, a local farmer had come down to observe our work. In the pit where we had found the Clovis-like point, we had also exposed a segment of the stone lineation. He looked at it and said, “Hmm, that’s one of the drains the old-timers put in their fields.” I looked at the line of cobbles . . . then at him . . .

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then back at the cobbles. I couldn’t imagine what he was talking about. It seemed so improbable that a row of rocks could have anything to do with a drain. But not wanting to seem impolite, I thanked him for coming down and got back to work, promptly forgetting about his comment. I had noticed something interesting about the stone lineation, however. As the line of cobbles got close to the margin of the basin, the basement surface on which the stones lay did not grow shallower, as I would expect it to. Instead, it seemed to angle slightly deeper. Why this would be eluded me. Still, it planted an idea in my mind. What if, as the basement deepened, the stone lineation remained level? If that happened, then possibly one of the strata that overlay the basement surface would wedge under the stone lineation. In that case we just might find a fossil, bone, or plant lying under the lineation that we could date, which should give us the maximum age that the stone lineation could be, since the fossil must have already been in place before the cobbles were laid upon it. And that’s exactly what happened. On August 15, at a depth of forty-five centimeters (1½ feet), we found a wedge of the Woody Layer between the deepening Cobble Layer and the level stone lineation, and from it we removed a piece of elm wood.6 The next year we sent it in for radiocarbon dating and waited anxiously for the result. The age came back as 1,960±60 years old. So, clearly this could not be an Ice Age structure, since the date marked the oldest possible time for constructing the lineation. Its age must be from sometime after that date. With this revelation under my belt, I soon learned that early farmers would drain damp areas by digging a trench and filling it with coarse rocks. This structure, called a French drain, allowed water to flow through the coarse voids among the cobbles without causing the soft trench walls to collapse. In troweling out the pits, we had been removing the soil that had formed the walls of the drain, leaving behind the line of cobbles that had filled it. So, what we had thought was a topographically positive feature (a freestanding line of stones) was actually the infilling of a topographically negative feature, a ditch. I should have suspected earlier that something was amiss when I noticed that, as the sediment was removed from around the stones, some rocks would occasionally slump off the lineation. In 1983 we had collected a piece of wood that lay on top of the stone lineation and found it to be quite young: 270±60 years before present. This date is consistent with the view that the drain was made by early European settlers, the wood having been displaced by digging, and then later settled above the stones along with the backfill.

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w By this time we had gathered a considerable amount of information about the Hiscock Site. In 1985, soon after the end of the field season, Dave, Norton and I concluded that it was time to introduce the site to the larger scientific community. The museum and the Smith Foundation agreed. So, we began to plan a symposium. The word “symposium” is derived from a Greek term for a drinking party, where the sousing was commonly accompanied by music, entertainment, and conversation. Today it is used to connote a conference organized around a particular topic—a gathering for people with a common interest in the subject at hand. This symposium would bring together people from all over the United States and Canada to share information and ideas. The purpose was to present our site, and what we had learned about it over the past four years, to the wider scientific community. We also hoped to learn from the work of others at Pleistocene sites similar to ours.7 The gathering was scheduled for October 24–25, 1986, at the Buffalo Museum. By early that year, more than twenty scientists from as far as Arizona and British Columbia had agreed to attend and present papers at what would be called the “Smith Symposium.” Appropriately, this event would coincide with the 125th anniversary of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences, the civic organization that administered the museum. It was attended by 190 scientists, students, and members of the general public. The proceedings of the symposium, a permanent record of the presented talks, were published as a book that appeared two years after the gathering.8 It’s not feasible to provide here anything like a full review of its contents, but allow me to cite a few papers that served our purpose of giving the broader scientific community its first real picture of the Hiscock Site. Catherine Dufort, Bill Parsons, Mary DeRemer, and I summarized the geographic context of the site, giving an account of its layers, their ages, and the fossils and artifacts they had yielded to that point. Norton Miller presented the physical shape of the basin (its profile reminded me of Aladdin’s lamp) and the uneven surface topography of its basement (see figure 7.3). Since the ground surface was level, the basement, of course, determined how the thickness of the infilling sediments changed from place to place

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7.3 Hiscock basin showing contours approximating depth to interface between peat and underlying Pleistocene deposits and with excavated units superimposed. Conventional “grid-north” toward upper left. Similar directional trends between rows of sub-basins and nearby glacial features suggest glacial movement played some role in the origin of the basin. Base map by Norton Miller (Norton G. Miller, “The Late Quaternary Hiscock Site, Genesee County, New York: Paleoecological Studies Based on Pollen and Plant Microfossils,” in Late Pleistocene and Early Holocene Paleoecology and Archeology of the Eastern Great Lakes Region, ed. Richard S. Laub, Norton G. Miller, and David W. Steadman, 115–25. Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 33 [1988]). (Courtesy of the Buffalo Museum of Science)

in the basin. He had, by the way, determined sediment thicknesses by inserting slender steel rods into the ground until they would penetrate no farther and then carefully mapping the locations of those probes. Norton’s findings about the changing flora that had occupied the basin and its environs throughout its existence have already been discussed. A remarkable contribution was a pollen diagram, the first done for the site. It showed the changing percentages of (microscopic) pollen deposited in the basin by nearly four dozen plants, from the late Ice Age through to the present. This work was based on painstaking analysis of the numerous sediment samples we had collected in 1985. Norton also noted something puzzling, something he’d mentioned to us soon after completing his pollen analysis. The Northeast was cloaked in a conifer

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(evergreen) forest toward the end of the Ice Age. Studies within ninety kilometers (fifty-six miles) of the Hiscock Site all showed high proportions of tree pollen. Yet the pollen evidence shows that the area around our site was dominated by low, herbaceous plants, with probably only a scattering of trees. Why was Hiscock different? Dave Steadman’s contribution did for the ancient Hiscock fauna what Norton’s had done for the flora. Because my coauthors and I had covered in our presentation what little was known of the Ice Age fauna at that point, Dave concentrated on the Holocene (post–Ice Age) animals—the fishes, amphibians, reptiles, birds, and mammals that populated the virgin forest covering the land after the Ice Age. He stated that “the Holocene vertebrate fauna of the Hiscock Site is the richest assemblage from any North American peatland.” Our subsequent years of work have greatly expanded this remarkable collection. The Holocene fauna that Dave identified was heavily skewed toward mammals (twenty-one species) and birds (twenty-three species). Reptiles included four species of turtle and one snake. The hundreds of frog bones were lumped as Rana sp., an undetermined species of frog. Three small fish bones rounded out the list of vertebrates. Ten of the birds and five of the mammals had not previously been found as fossils in New York State.9 Dave felt that the absence of these species from earlier collections reflected “the scarcity of carefully collected microvertebrate sites rather than a true scarcity of fossils.” I’m afraid that this comment left my ego a bit distended. The mammal bones record in detail the furred inhabitants of the virgin forest. With the end of the Ice Age, the large herbivores were white-tailed deer and elk (the latter having been extirpated from New York State in the mid-1800s). There were also shrews (the tiniest of modern mammals) and two species of moles, snowshoe hares, and eastern cottontail rabbits. Most diverse and abundant were the rodents, including flying and climbing squirrels, chipmunks, woodchucks, muskrats, white-footed mice, meadow voles, southern bog lemmings, porcupines and beavers. Carnivores were there to prey on these animals. Dave identified the bones of a raccoon (actually an omnivore) and short-tailed weasel. Several years later, we identified another small carnivore, a mink, and a larger one, a fisher. This last animal is built on the model of a very large weasel and is especially adapted to prey on porcupines, remains of which are well represented at Hiscock, as are those of other mammals that constitute the fisher’s diet, reinforcing his opinion that many of the bones we found were the products of predation by carnivorous mammals and birds.

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Among the bird species was one whose bones were several times as abundant as those of all the other twenty-two species combined. The passenger pigeon, Ectopistes migratorius, was incredibly abundant in the eastern forests of North America; early European settlers estimated some flocks contained billions of birds. In the early nineteenth century, John James Audubon reported that a migrating flock in Kentucky took three days to pass overhead. We can’t be certain if these early reports were exaggerated, but the Hiscock evidence does indeed demonstrate the striking abundance of this bird. Its numbers declined through the second half of the 1800s, probably due to overhunting and habitat destruction. By the turn of the century, the species was gone from the wild, and the last surviving member died at the Cincinnati Zoo in 1914. Our excavations through the years turned up many smooth, gravel-sized pieces of milky quartz in the Holocene peaty deposits. Quartz is an especially hard, durable mineral. Normally, in nature, it becomes smoothed and rounded by rolling in the surf or in a river. The peat of the Older and Younger Woody Layers, in contrast, formed under very quiet conditions in a forest. This led us to conclude that the quartz objects were gastroliths, or gizzard stones. These bits of rock are swallowed by seed-eating birds and held in their gizzard, a muscular part of the digestive tract. There they tumble around, grinding seeds and other food into small particles that can be easily digested.10 We understood that, logically, a large proportion of these gastroliths would be from passenger pigeons. For me, the presentation by Daniel Fisher from the University of Michigan was unsurpassed for its elegance. Dan had developed a technique to determine the season of the year when a given mastodon died. (Just to be clear, we’re concerned here with the season when the animal died, not the year of its death or how long ago the animal lived.) He had also built a frame of reference that related this information to possible interactions with humans. Let me explain. Earlier scholars had shown that some mammalian teeth preserved cyclically organized internal growth increments like the rings of trees. Increments laid down in teeth that were growing at the time of an animal’s death might preserve information about the end of the animal’s life. In teeth, new increments are added on the wall of the pulp cavity, so that is where one would look for this information.

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Dan was able to recognize daily increments that grouped into fortnightly and annual bands of approximately 14 and 365 daily increments, respectively. (This approximation reflects variance from the physiological functions of the animal in real life.) Using the fortnightly bands as his working units, he was able to recognize the repeated transitions from winter to spring. By counting the bands from this transition, he could determine the season when any given band was deposited. Now, this incremental growth record can be found in any of the mastodon’s teeth. However, since each of the six tooth sets is added at a particular time during the animal’s life, it only retains a record of the years during which it was actively growing. Only the final set of teeth would display the last growth increments formed during the animal’s life. The tusk, however, grows continually from the time it’s inserted until the time of death. And so, it contains an incremental record of nearly an entire lifetime.11 Therefore, the increments forming the wall of the tusk’s pulp cavity were the last ones formed during its life, and they tell the season in which the animal died. Dan had sectioned the pulp cavity of the three tusks that had been collected at Hiscock by that time: the pair of tusks found in 1959 and the tusk found in 1984, the one whose point was sticking into an enigmatic hole in the surface of the Cobble Layer. All three of these tusks belonged to male mastodons. How do we know this? The axis of a female tusk lies within a single plane and curves only slightly. In male tusks the axis curves sharply, and is not contained in a single plane. If it were lying on a flat surface, the pointed end would protrude upward, away from that surface. Apparently this was the case even in very young males (see chapter 17). Also, in adult females the pulp cavity is about ten centimeters (four inches) in diameter, while in adult males it is about fifteen centimeters (six inches) wide. The two tusks from 1959, numbered BM-86 and BM-87 in the museum’s collection, had increments that matched precisely, indicating, not surprisingly, that they belonged to the same animal (see figure 7.4), since they had been found lying side by side. Death had come to this mastodon in the middle of the spring. The individual tusk found in 1984 (numbered G4NE-92), the one against which the elk skeleton lay, belonged to an animal that had died toward the end of the winter. Armed with this information, Dan was able to evaluate these three tusks in the context of seventeen other mastodons from the Great Lakes region that

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7.4 Matching growth increments in two tusks, BM-87 (left) and BM-86 (right), found in 1959 (see figure Int1.1). P, pulp cavity; D, dentine. (Daniel C. Fisher, “Seasons of Death of the Hiscock Mastodonts,” in Late Pleistocene and Early Holocene Paleoecology and Archeology of the Eastern Great Lakes Region, ed. Richard S. Laub, Norton G. Miller, and David W. Steadman, 115–25. Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 33 [1988])

he had examined earlier. He had found that these mastodons fell into two “seasonal modes.” One group of nine animals had died in latest winter to late spring, with one death in mid-summer. These remains showed no evidence of butchery by humans and appeared to be natural deaths. The other group of eight had died in the late fall to early winter. All of them showed signs of having been butchered by humans. Dan felt the evidence suggested that this latter group had been hunted and killed, rather than being scavenged after death. Why would the butchering of mastodons be concentrated in the cold time of year? His later work pointed to the opportunity to refrigerate meat in cold ponds for use during and immediately after the winter. The Hiscock tusks belonged to two animals whose deaths fell into the seasonal category that was not associated with predation by humans. Therefore, until further information about the history of the site comes to light, it seems their deaths were natural.

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Among the other presentations was one that intrigued me because of its promise of a new scientific tool. This one was given by Mark Erickson of St. Lawrence University, and it dealt with “bugs.” Scientists who dig old things out of the ground always wonder about the environment in which those things lived or, in the case of artifacts, were being used. In most instances, that information is obtained by “reading” the layer of sediment in which they are buried, something that almost always involves a certain amount of guesswork. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if those layers contained little notes that said, “I was deposited in the deep part of a quiet forest pond” or “I formed in a peat bog under hanging vegetation”? Mark’s research concerned animals called oribatid mites (see figure 7.5). These microscopic relatives of spiders are all around us, but because they’re smaller than a grain of sand we’re generally oblivious to their existence. It had been noted by earlier workers that certain species favor particular environments, becoming

7.5 Oribatid mite. From J. Mark Erickson, “Fossil Oribatid Mites as Tools for Quaternary Paleoecologists: Preservation Quality, Quantities, and Taphonomy.” In Laub, Miller, and Steadman, Late Pleistocene and Early Holocene Paleoecology and Archeology of the Eastern Great Lakes Region, Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences, vol. 33 (2003). (Courtesy of the Buffalo Museum of Science)

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incorporated like sediment grains in the soils that form in those environments. Mark investigated the associations of these tiny animals with given types of sediment accumulating in a New Jersey pond. In the process, he showed that oribatids can serve as indices of the environments in which the various layers formed. We could, then, potentially say that layer A was deposited in the deeper parts of a pond and that layer B formed close to the shore. In a way, these mites can be used as environmental indicators the way pollen grains are. However, pollen grains are generally carried by the wind from surrounding trees and plants. The mites, on the other hand, are grounded in the soils where they prefer to live, except when they’re washed away like any other sediment grain can be. This makes oribatids, when they occur in quantity, very promising for those of us who want to associate a given layer with its environment. Other contributions, all uniformly excellent, discussed the climatic and glacial changes in eastern North America as the Ice Age came to an end and how those changes affected the terrain, the flora, and the fauna. There were also descriptions of other North American fossil-bearing Ice Age sites for comparison with Hiscock. Rounding out the picture of the eastern Great Lakes area at the end of the Ice Age were several archaeological studies inquiring into human life on the landscape that had been exposed by the retreat of the glaciers. This event can be thought of as the debut of the Hiscock Site, positioning it firmly under the eyes of the global scientific community, a fact that greatly enriched the quality of scholarly input for our project.

chapter 8

The Dig Matures (I)

T

he Byron Dig was now widely known, and it had caught the attention of scholars who studied the changing faunas, floras, cultures, and environments that followed the glacial withdrawal from northeastern North America. The 1987 season drew about fifty volunteers; by 1990, we were more than one hundred. This period brought in many people who would become regulars for decades to come. It also saw volunteers from as far afield as Poland, England, and Finland. Not surprisingly, the significant participation of Canadian scientists in the Smith Symposium brought large numbers of their countrymen— professionals, students, and other regular folk—to work and live with us. This influx of volunteers naturally enriched life at the dig. The evening campfires were full of wide-ranging discussions, and the music and singing became even more enjoyable. Frivolity helped ease the necessary seriousness of our work. One wag compiled a series of truly witty comic books called It Came from Byron, which were modeled after the wildly popular cartoons of Gary Larson. The humor struck home since it portrayed our own personal field experiences. I recall an occasion when, as we worked down at the site, a volunteer came to me and said, “Rich wants you to come over. He’s found something important.” So I went to the deep pit in which Rich Hamell, an instructor at a Rochester college, was digging. He was hunched over, presumably working on something in the ground. When I called to him, he turned to face me, and he was wearing the silliest mammoth mask imaginable. To this day the memory still brings a chuckle. This large coterie of veterans was critical to the operational success of the dig. There was both a sizable area and appreciable volume of sediment to explore, and this exploring had to be done with the utmost care. Such a task called for an immense amount of labor (for example, 2,400 worker-hours for

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the 1990 Byron Dig), but how could large workforces that frequently numbered well over a hundred people in a field season be managed? We accomplished this by having the growing body of experienced diggers each take one or more new volunteers under their wing and train them. This training generally began at the sieves, where novices were taught how to recognize bones, teeth, chert, plant parts, and the many other items that constitute the alphabet with which the site’s history was written. As these beginners accumulated the necessary body of knowledge and practice, those who wished to were allowed to trowel in the pits under close supervision. Eventually, those newbies themselves became veterans and teachers. The years 1987 and 1988 saw many improvements to our procedures. To begin with, at the urging of Dave and Norton we expanded our field season from two to three weeks beginning in 1987. I had been worried that this extension would simply spread our workforce thinner over the longer period, but that did not happen. The influx of new volunteers kept our daily crews at a good size. We had been doing our sieving through screens set atop wheelbarrows. This was convenient, as the “waste” soil that accumulated in the barrows could be easily emptied onto the growing dump piles when the barrow was full. However, leaning over the low screens was hard on people’s backs, which wasn’t conducive to the careful scrutiny that sieving requires. (Remember, many of the most important specimens are quite small.) So, several of our people—Herb Shulman, Tim McConnell, and Rich Hamell— designed and built a simple rectangular stand on four long legs, high enough to be comfortable for standing sievers and with the proper dimensions to support our square sieves. A clothespin was attached to one of the legs for holding the tag that came out of the sieve bucket for the particular sample being worked on. More and more of these stands were built, of varying heights, to accommodate sievers of different sizes, from shorter thirteen-year-old kids to those well over two meters (well over six feet) tall. In the early years, when a bucket was passed up from the pit to be sieved, its label bore rather sketchy information about the sediment it contained: the name of the quadrant, the depth from which the content came, and the date. Now we began putting more detailed data on the tags: (1) the quadrant name, (2) the area of the pit from which it came, (3) the range of depth from which the soil came, (4) the date, (5) the name of the troweler (so they could be alerted if something of importance was found in their bucket), and (6) the word “sieved.” The tag was placed in a sealed bag with any material saved from the sieve. With  this

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information, the original position of any important specimens that came up in the sieve bucket could be reconstructed. At first, our practice had been to stand directly on the pit floors, something attested to by the numerous footprints visible in early photos of the dig. When we kneeled, we would use a pad or small board to keep our knees from getting muddy. Still, our feet were pressing into the soft floor of the pit. Our buckets, too, stood directly on the pit floor. I had always been concerned about this setup, realizing that a bone might lie just under a thin veneer of soil, and that it could be inadvertently crushed or scraped by a footstep. Also, by pressing down on the soft surface, we were disrupting the sediment below, if only slightly. It just didn’t seem that it needed to be this way. So, sometime during this period we began using small boards (we called them “kneeling boards”) when working in the pit. The rule became “Our feet never touch the ground.” Each troweler would select two or three boards to place on the pit floor, and they would keep their feet, knees, and bucket on those boards at all times. Some would be placed strategically like stepping stones to allow trowelers to move around the pit as needed. We soon had, and maintained, dozens of these small boards, which lay imbricated in long rows, along with the empty buckets, on the plywood walkways that paved our working areas, ready to be grabbed as needed (see figure 8.1). Another major change came with the way that people were assigned their job (or initial job) for the day. For the first few seasons we would gather in the morning beside the pits to be dug that day, and I would ask, in effect, “Who would like to do this? Who would like to do that?” I wanted people to be comfortable with their tasks, though I made sure that each person was up to that particular job. Nevertheless, this approach burned up valuable time, and I also felt it lent an air of disorganization to the process. Consequently, I began to absent myself from part of the evening campfire in order to lay out job assignments for the next day. I took the time to evaluate the best person for each position: who was a capable troweler (and a strong troweler when we needed to make time), what people would work well together at the sieves, and who would be the most reliable recorders and recording assistants. My concern that this approach would seem dictatorial to the volunteers proved groundless. They appeared to appreciate the more organized approach and to enjoy learning each morning what they would do. The absence of choice was softened, to a degree, by each person knowing that they could ask for a change later in the day if they felt one was needed.

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8.1 Excavation scene at Hiscock in 1996, showing trowelers in the pits, recorders and recording assistants seated outside the pits, and sievers on the periphery (far right). (Courtesy of Sam Golden)

The upshot was that, within a very few years, we had a large number of trained, motivated volunteers. And even more, their shared experiences of contributing to important discoveries, enduring long hours of heavy labor, and bearing up under hot and stormy conditions, bonded them as a team. They genuinely liked one another and looked forward to their yearly reunion. One could see this by watching them in action. For example, on the first day of each season, a bridge was constructed and laid over a channel of water to give us access to the site basin. It consisted of four eight-foot plywood boards laid in a row to form a thirty-two-foot line. They were supported by pairs of aluminum tubes clipped together in a clever system designed by some of our more engineering-savvy crew members. It took twenty people, moving in lockstep, to carry this structure and maneuver it into position, all the while avoiding soupy holes that would swallow the unwary up to their thighs.

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A storm could undo much of a day’s work, flooding the basin to the point that the deepest pits were completely submerged in a lake on whose surface our carefully laid plywood walking boards floated. As soon as the sky cleared, the volunteers left their shelters to return to the basin. They immediately began pumping, bailing, and retrieving and repositioning boards until the work site was as good as new. On one such occasion we had left the pump elevated on a stand in the middle of a pit. As luck would have it, an unusually lengthy downpour ensued. We needed to leave the site and take shelter in Charlie’s barn. When we returned several hours later, we found that the dig site was so badly flooded that the pits could not be seen. They were discernible only by the pump, which stood above the water on the stand. The lake that now covered the basin could only be cleared by turning on that pump, which was in the middle of the flooded pit. No help for it . . . I waded into the water up to my hips, fully clothed, to reach the pump and turn it on. There was a major capital improvement in 1990, when the museum’s board of managers decided to have a pole barn1 built at the site. Up to this time, all our equipment was stored at the Hiscock homestead in a utility barn/garage. This required us to truck the plywood boards, wheelbarrows, and everything else that wasn’t kept at the museum up the road between our camp and work site. Having this structure adjacent to our camp made life much more manageable, since as the dig grew, the arsenal of equipment necessarily increased as well.

w In every sense, the most momentous change to the Byron Dig came on the first day of the 1988 field season. This was when the person who most characterized and influenced the culture of our “community in the field” came to our camp. In the beginning, we had done our own food shopping and meals were prepared in camp by members of our crew. We learned to deal with the periodic destruction of our field kitchen by the fierce storms that blew through the region. As our crews grew larger, though, it became more difficult to manage the volume of cooking that was required with the limited equipment available. So, we hired a Byron resident to cook meals in her home and bring them to our camp. Things worked out very well for a couple of years until she told us that her husband was being sent to China for a year on a job assignment, and the

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whole family was going along. We had grown accustomed to no longer needing a field kitchen and to having reliable food service that was immune to the vagaries of weather. Therefore, I cast about for a replacement. I did find a person who was interested in the job, but she lived too far away, in my opinion, to make the arrangement practical. Then I was told about someone who had moved to Byron a few years before and who did lots of cooking and catering for community events. Perhaps she would be interested. Her name was Laura Platt. She lived nearby in the village, and I decided to contact her. On the first day of the 1988 field season, as we were setting up our tents and laying out the camp, I saw a young woman standing in the midst of the action, looking around, speaking with the crew members, and taking notes. I thought this could only be Laura. And so it was. For the next twenty-four years, Laura, her family, and her home were indistinguishable from the Byron Dig. They included “Big” Doug, her towering husband, who was a mechanical wizard. And there were their three children: Doug Jr. (“Relatively Little Doug,” not quite into his teens but already almost my size), Tina, a cute nine-year-old, and Stefanie, who was about two at this time. The extended Platt family adopted us. Laura’s parents and her siblings were frequent visitors to our camp, her sister Patty particularly pitching in with the cooking. In truth, though, there was more “family” involved than just her own. Laura and Doug were active in the Byron Presbyterian Church, the volunteer fire department, and the rescue squad. Though relatively new to Byron, they seemed to know literally everyone, and their home was open, twenty-four hours a day, to one and all. It was a rare event to not find their friends and neighbors sitting around the kitchen table to chat, watch TV, or just to be in a homey environment. Every day Laura and her crew brought us breakfast, lunch, and supper, plus midmorning and midafternoon snacks. She was our message center and weather reporter. If someone’s tent was soaked or wrecked in a storm, their wet belongings went into her dryer, and they slept in the Platt house until things could be put back together again. On dangerously hot days, Laura would bring us a large basin filled with ice water. The rags soaking in that water went on our heads and around our necks to keep us cool as we worked down on the site. And, of course, the family’s backyard pool was always open to us for cooling-off sessions during our lunch break and after supper.

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Perhaps nothing reflected Laura’s kind nature more than her effect on animals. When her close friend, Pam, and her family would come to Byron for a summer visit, they brought their pets. Oscar, their dachshund, was extremely nervous around strangers, and he would bark incessantly. Through soothing language and tones, Laura would soon have him calmed down enough to lie down and allow himself to be patted. The most memorable case, though, was a full-grown wild duck that had been injured and was taken in by the Platts. Only a few days later, I came to the house to discuss some business, and there was Laura, holding this wild duck in her arms like a baby, the duck resting its head on her shoulder. She explained that the duck, which was now living in their house, would let her chase it into the bathroom, knowing that Laura would be able to corner her there. The duck would then be picked up and held, which was what she wanted Laura to do in the first place. (I’m not making this up!) So, for the next twenty-four years, the Byron Diggers and the Platt family were effectively one tribe, sharing elation in times of triumph, grief in times of tragedy, and everything in-between. It would have been, otherwise, a very different dig . . . a much poorer dig.

chapter 9

The Dig Matures (II)

I

n this “coming-into-maturity” phase of the project, roughly 1987 through 1990, the general structure of the basin grew clearer to us, and many of its important features came to light. Although we continued exploring the shallow marginal (and very critical) area, most of our digging was now in the central part of the basin. We exposed the floor about fifteen meters (fifty feet) eastward from the spot where we first tested the deeper regions.1 Here we found that the basin floor was anything but even (see figure 9.1; see also figure 21.2). There were numerous deeper areas, essentially smaller basins in the floor of the larger basin. Many of these abysses were elongate, even serpentine, in shape, with depths often greater than 120 centimeters (about four feet). During these years, we developed a more detailed understanding of the layers filling the basin. We grew aware that, in many places, the lower part of the Woody Layer had its own particular character: a very fine-grained, cohesive peat that could be pulled apart in gelatin-like blocks. According to Norton Miller, this sediment was typical of what would accumulate in very quiet, perhaps deep, parts of a pond. Radiocarbon analysis dates this layer to the eight-thousandyear-old range, at least six thousand years older than the coarser, more “typical” Woody Layer that directly overlies it. We dubbed the former the Gelatinous Woody Layer, in recognition of its peculiar texture. Often, for simplicity’s sake, we would refer to it as the older Woody Layer.2 Another page of the record that we recognized during these years is the Yellow Clay. This was a very peculiar, thin layer with a clayey texture. Its finegrained sediment matrix had a greasy feel to it, and it contained numerous small bones. These bones, mostly from frogs, but also birds, smaller mammals, and fragmentary deer bones, often had a pale gray cast to them. This showed that they

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9.1 E10SE eastern wall showing pinch-out of strata against rising basement surface. A vertical meter stick stands in center. (Photo by Richard S. Laub)

had been calcined, changed chemically through burning, and associated with them were found abundant pieces of charcoal. This layer, which occurred sporadically at the base of the younger Woody Layer (but above the Gelatinous Woody Layer),3 represented a burning event, apparently a forest fire. The conflagration had raged through the basin about three thousand years ago,4 a date pinned down by two radiocarbon analyses of charcoal from the layer. It must have killed smaller animals, such as frogs and toads, and probably some larger animals such as deer that could not get out of its way. Soil from the slopes washed into the basin to form a layer of sediment because the forest that had earlier anchored and protected it was gone. An interesting aspect of this layer is that it was deposited during the sixthousand-year gap between the older and younger Woody Layers and thus gives us a glimpse of life that would otherwise be missing. Besides showing that the general components of the fauna were similar to those of the younger Woody Layer, there was also information on the nature of the forest. Frances B. King of

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the University of Pittsburgh’s Archaeobotany Laboratory was able to identify the two dated pieces of charcoal as birch (the older specimen) and elm (the younger one). Another point is that, because the Yellow Clay was deposited on an eroded surface, the fire that produced it affected much older sediment and its contents. An example is a mastodon bone5 that lay in the top of the Fibrous Gravelly Clay but was covered by the basal Woody Layer. The surface that faced upward was calcined from burning and fragmented, and a large patch of yellow clay lay but a few centimeters away from it. Evidently, the top of the bone had been burned by the fire that raged through the site thousands of years after it had been deposited there.

w For some time we were aware that the fossil-bearing Ice Age layer of FGC contained an abundance of short, thin twigs (see figure 9.2). In many areas these twigs were so abundant they resembled straw on an untidy barn floor. In those

9.2 Pleistocene sediment containing twig fragments believed to be mastodon digesta. (Photo by Richard S. Laub)

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early days of exploring, this observation was shoved into my mind’s attic and stored away while I absorbed the larger features of the site. Eventually, I began to examine these twigs more closely. We took three samples of the Fibrous Gravelly Clay from separate areas of the site where the twigs were common and gently disaggregated the sediment samples in water. We found that the twigs, all free of bark, had a wide range of thicknesses, but nearly all shorter than three centimeters. When laid out, this gave them a peculiarly uniform appearance. Twigs on a forest floor would, it seemed to me, be more random in length. These almost appeared to have gone through some sort of filter that excluded any longer fragments. What was going on here? The twig fragments were identified as belonging to conifer (evergreen) trees, either spruce or tamarack. (Their structure didn’t make it clear which they were.)6 Most had come from the slender tips of branches. The ends were mostly blunt, rather than wedge-shaped, indicating that they had been chopped through rather than torn or shredded. Putting two and two together, my lab volunteers and I made an appointment to visit the Buffalo Zoo elephant house and its keepers. Over several memorable visits, we were able to learn details about their remarkable charges. They took us right into the cage for an intimate look at the elephants. We could see how they used their trunks adeptly to explore their surroundings (and us). More to the point of our work, we could peer into the animal’s mouth and see that the relatively small space was dominated by the soft tissues of gum, cheek, and tongue, despite the large tooth crowns. We could also see that the tusks, which are, after all, teeth,7 are anchored in the gums like the other teeth and extend from the mouth. (They don’t go through a hole in the cheek, which is how I used to imagine them as a little boy.) Most useful to our purpose, however, was a gift of two fecal boli. These spherical waste droppings consisted almost entirely of pieces of timothy hay, the main fodder given to the animals at that time of year. One bolus came from Lulu, a thirty-eight-year-old female. The other came from Surapa, a six-year-old female. Taking these fascinating objects back to our lab at the museum, we removed a sample from each and disaggregated them gently in water. Remarkably, the timothy hay remained completely recognizable; it appeared only to have been chopped into small segments. Apparently, this is typical of elephant digestion—beets and

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even tomatoes (and sometimes hats from unwary visitors) can pass through an animal’s alimentary tract and come out little changed. We found that the hay fragments all fell within a narrow size range, few exceeding three centimeters in length. The close correspondence in size distribution and physical condition between the Hiscock samples and the contents of the elephant feces led us to conclude that the twigs were probably the digestive products of mastodons—feces of live animals, and stomach and intestinal contents of dead ones—that had been dispersed and incorporated into the surrounding sediment.8 Conifer twigs and needles may not have been all that the mastodons were eating, just the component of their diet that was most readily preserved. Similar short pieces of plant material have been reported with mastodon skeletons since 1818, and were inferred to represent the animal’s last meal. Our study and subsequent observations in the field supported these earlier suggestions. Probably the most elegant study of what is almost certainly digesta found with a mastodon skeleton was published three years before our own.9 This particular animal had fed on sedges, pigweed, (probably) clover, and water vegetation. Its diet consisted of low-growing plants, in contrast with the trees that our Hiscock mastodons had been feeding on, exclusively or in part. This variation shows how widely adapted the species was, an asset that allowed it to range across multiple latitudinal plant zones, from the Canadian evergreen forests south to the subtropics of Mexico.

w Other unusual features of the sedimentary record here also called for explanation. In the fossil-bearing Pleistocene layer, bone color varied from dark brown to a brownish-yellow, almost golden, hue. Usually bones in a given area had the same color. We were baffled, then, to find white bones together with dark brown ones in a single quadrant pit. With further digging we found that ten of the paler bones formed a tight cluster near the edge of a probable spring vent that extended deep into the underlying Cobble Layer.10 This case and other similar ones led me to believe that the paleness reflects the influence of spring water moving through the sediment, which somehow had a bleaching effect on the bones.

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There is strong evidence that the FGC had been disturbed during its depositional history, and many of the rocks, bones, and artifacts contained within it displaced from their original positions. In some cases, mastodon bones were found directly under boulders, sometimes boulders of considerable size (see figure 9.3). As these large rocks are presumed to have settled out of the melting glacier, before the area was habitable by large animals, they would have been present in or near the basin before the mastodon bones were deposited. Consequently, at least some of these rocks must have moved from their original resting places to where we found them while mastodons were present.

9.3 Partial mastodon vertebra, G6SE-59, overlain by boulder. The remainder of it, G6SE-38, lay 40 cm to the side. (Photo by Richard S. Laub)

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Another point is that, of the hundreds of mastodon (and other) bones in the Fibrous Gravelly Clay, almost none are articulated. I am aware of only two bones that were found in their original anatomical relationship to one another: the rear-most neck vertebra of a mastodon and its front-most chest vertebra.11 Other than this example, all Ice Age skeletons that had come to lie on the basin floor had been completely disaggregated, their bones dispersed, before finally being buried. They’re best compared to several sets of pick-up sticks all mixed together on a table. It’s been possible in a few cases to match pieces of an individual bone that had been separated before burial and see how much dispersion there was. For example, the shaft of a mastodon humerus, an enormous bone from the upper forelimb of the animal, was found in 1987. Missing was the upper growth cap of the bone where it articulates with the shoulder blade. In the following year, we found what almost certainly was that upper cap, lying about five meters (sixteen feet) from the humerus shaft. The cap had been connected to the shaft by a layer of cartilage, which had decomposed after death. Something (what?) had separated the shaft and cap.12 Another example: Two pieces of a mastodon rib were found 3.25 meters (about 10½ feet) apart. When the pieces were brought together (see figure 9.4), they fit perfectly. A football-shaped hole lay along the break, a token of the force, whatever its nature and origin, that broke this bone, which was five centimeters (two inches) thick. Perhaps the clearest evidence of mixing can be seen in the contents of a small field jacket placed around a fragile bone fragment to protect it. As the jacket and its contents were lifted, a Clovis-like point lay exposed immediately beneath the bone. In an effort to date the artifact, radiocarbon analysis was done on the bone and three of many twig fragments contained within the field jacket. Though all had been in contact, the dates proved to be widely different. The bone came in at 10,850±140 radiocarbon years BP. The three twigs dated respectively to 10,465±110, 10,240±120, and 10,220±120 radiocarbon years BP.13 Statistically, there is no overlap between the bone date and that of the two younger twigs; they are of completely different ages. What could have caused this mixing? The most likely agent is bioturbation, meaning disturbance caused by the activity of living things. The floor of this spring-fed basin appears to have been rather soupy, at least at times, when the

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9.4 Refit segments of mastodon rib, F9NW-118 and F9SW-113, found 3.5 meters apart. (Photo by Richard S. Laub)

mastodons were active here, and the great beasts must have churned the substrate considerably. This lesson showed us that bones, artifacts, and other objects that lay close together in the Ice Age unit are not necessarily related in terms of their history. They could have been separated in time by hundreds of years or belonged to different animals.

w Another factor complicated our attempts to read the history of this layer. We already knew from our encounter with the “stakes” that proved not to be stakes that objects from younger times had occasionally intruded down into older layers. We also learned that what was true of wood branches could also be true of bones. One example of that was the jaw of a rodent we found, the “Ice Mouse,” described in chapter 6. Its position deep in the FGC and its “Pleistocene-like” color had led us to believe that it belonged to the Ice Age. Radiocarbon dating, however, showed that it had been intruded and actually belonged to the forest fauna found in the younger Woody Layer.14

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A second example came fairly early in the project (in 1987) when we found the lower jaw of a deer embedded completely in the Fibrous Gravelly Clay.15 On the face of it, it should have meant it was an Ice Age deer. However, since we had not found deer material in this layer up to that time, I became suspicious. The only way to be certain of its age was to date it, which we did the following year. The age came in as 7,880±90 radiocarbon years BP. Clearly the object postdated the layer and had been intruded into it. So, we can’t take for granted that bones or artifacts appearing in the FGC are necessarily over ten thousand years old. Of course, it’s reasonable to assume that a mastodon bone, a caribou antler, or a fluted point found in that layer did indeed originate there. On the other hand, where there is any doubt, it needs to be resolved by radiocarbon dating, an expensive but necessary precaution.

w I may seem to emphasize the Ice Age layer and its contents almost to the exclusion of the overlying Holocene peaty layers. And, frankly, when we began this project, my mind was on the bones found twenty-four years earlier and on “digging up that mastodon.” Within a very few years, however, we found that the younger layers (if one can call deposits reaching back as far as 8,500 years “young”) were exceedingly rich and had important stories of their own to tell. The peat deposits had formed in quiet water, so their fossils were almost always well preserved and sometimes quite beautiful. Ancient plants could be in remarkably good condition, with nuts and seeds looking as though they had just dropped from a tree. Occasionally (though rarely), an entire deer or elk limb was fully articulated, and the complete skull of a yearling elk was found intact, with the bone plates that comprised it still unfused.16 Every class of vertebrate—fish, amphibian, reptile, bird, and mammal—was found in these peats. In fact, the older and younger Woody Layers and the Dark Earth (the layer marking European settlement) were richer in bones and in species by multiples in comparison with the Fibrous Gravelly Clay. They also had their share of artifacts, from stone projectile points used in the primeval forest to a fascinating array of pottery, bullets, and everything else pertaining to the European settlers. Having learned that the peats told a 9,000-year story about changing faunas, floras, cultures, and environments, we consequently treated these levels with the same care and attention as the glacial levels below them.

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w The areas where we were now digging, and especially the deeper parts, held many well-preserved mastodon bones whose great size impressed us with how massive these long-dead animals were. I’ve already mentioned some—the two innominates and the huge, thick humerus, which, even lacking its upper articular plate, measured eighty-three centimeters (just under a yard) in length. There were long, curving ribs. One,17 from the shoulder region of the animal, measured 1.5 meters (four feet) along its arch and a maximum width of 17.5 centimeters (seven inches). Another such rib18 bore a large injury or infection near its upper end. Vertebrae were common and also of great size. Those near the shoulder had great dorsal projections (the neural spines) more than a foot long. These projections anchored back muscles and formed a sort of hump in this region of the body. Shoulder blades, large triangular structures, needed to be treated with special care because of their broad areas of thin bone. Once field-jacketed, the weight was such that each was moved up to camp on a board resting atop a wheelbarrow. We commonly found that much of the delicate expanse of a shoulder blade had been broken away before it was finally buried, which was probably due to trampling or scavenging. What remained was an elongate piece of bone, just over half a meter (about two feet) long, consisting of the robust central ridge (the “spine”) with the shoulder socket at its end. With the end of the Ice Age, deer and elk replaced the mastodon as the large herbivores in this region, and their fossils were obvious and plentiful in the Holocene peaty layers. There were ribs, vertebrae, limb bones, jaws . . . and even some complete antlers. It was during this period of the Dig that we found an object so bizarre that it still defies understanding. Here is how I recall its discovery: It was the final day of digging in the 1987 field season. We had excavated eight full and one quarter quadrants, an extraordinary number, and had been rewarded with many fine specimens. We were working intensely on finishing up the final pit, and I wandered over to another quadrant that had been completed for a final look before we began backfilling it. From the northern wall of this pit projected a half-meter (two-foot) length of tusk, still solidly embedded. We had left it because it didn’t seem possible to remove it safely. However, I was uncomfortable about safely reburying it and

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hoping we’d be able to collect it from the other side of the wall in a later year. Eventually, we developed a technique to deal securely with such cases, but at this stage we were still fairly inexperienced. Squatting on the floor, I used my hand to dig out sediment from around the tusk, reaching as far into the wall as I could. Eventually, I found that I could wiggle it ever so slightly. Apparently that was enough to break the seal, and I drew it slowly from the wall (see figure 9.5). I stood there holding a nearly straight tusk more than 1.4 meters (4½ feet) long.19 Most of the broader end was gone, with only a portion of the pulp cavity remaining. The pointed end showed ancient evidence of physical damage.

9.5 (Left) Tusk (H6SW-154) beveled along entire length during excavation; (right) fully exposed tusk. String marks location of anterior end of pulp cavity. (Courtesy of the Buffalo Museum of Science)

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What was most remarkable, however, was that the entire length of the tusk was beveled flat. Nearly half its thickness had been worn away, so its cross-section was shaped like a capital letter D rather than being circular. On the flat surface, the conical growth increments of the tusk were clearly displayed. The beveled surface included the pulp cavity that, in life, would have been embedded in the jaw of the animal. This indicates that, however the reshaping happened, it took place after the animal’s death. Because the beveled surface of this tusk had faced upward, I had initially believed that it reflected ancient erosion of that surface while the specimen was partly buried (and protected) in sediment. In the following years, however, additional tusks, both male and female, were found at Hiscock with beveling that affected all or most of their length. Some of these tusks lay with the beveled surface facing downward, nullifying my idea about erosion. I have been unable to find a record anywhere of similarly beveled tusks. Was this shaping the product of some natural agency that presently eludes us, or was it done on purpose by humans? The puzzle remains to be solved.

w Little things DO mean a lot. If one thing was driven home to me by the Byron Dig project, it’s the importance of the small specimens that lie in the shadows of massive bones. Their overwhelming significance at Hiscock is undeniable. In our excavations, we made a point of collecting all bones and bone fragments without prejudging their importance. That evaluation would be left until they were in the museum and could be examined under proper conditions. In some cases the recognition of important specimens didn’t come until years later, and I’ve no doubt that for others, their day in the sun will come generations after ours. That is what a museum collection is all about. Here are some small but noteworthy specimens found in this period of the dig: During the first few years, we found only two Pleistocene animals at the site: mastodon and caribou. Then, in 1989, we found a tooth20 from a large Ice Age deer-like animal. The tooth size indicated something considerably larger than a caribou, possibly an elk or moose. Comparisons with material in other museums showed that the tooth belonged to a stag-moose (sometimes called an elk-moose;

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its technical name is Cervalces scotti). We have since found only three additional teeth belonging to this species. The animal, which became extinct at the end of the Ice Age, was slightly larger than the modern moose, with longer, lankier legs. Its snout was more like that of a modern elk (wapiti); it didn’t have a moose’s more bulbous proboscis. Most distinctive were its antlers. They consisted of a pair of cylindrical beams, extending horizontally to either side of the skull, then flaring into a complex structure consisting of a series of spikes projecting upward and laterally, and a forward-directed palm-like sheet. In the same year we found, again in the FGC, a tiny bone fragment that puzzled me more than any other small bone from the site (see figure 9.6). It was about one centimeter (less than half an inch) in length, with a roughly rounded end and a small, smooth spur angling upward from the side. The other end of the bone had broken away.

9.6 Hare metatarsal (H6SE-167) from the Fibrous Gravelly Clay. (Courtesy of the Buffalo Museum of Science)

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This specimen most resembled the upper (attached) end of a rib and, if so, it clearly came from a small animal. But, try as I might, I could not find even an approximate match. Something was wrong here. Yet the specimen, offering the prospect of a small Pleistocene mammal, was too important to ignore. After several years of sporadic attempts at identification, I decided to see what Steve Thomas could do with it. Eventually his answer came. The specimen was from a hare, similar and possibly identical to the snowshoe hare, Lepus americanus. It was not a rib. Rather, it was the top portion of a metatarsal, a bone in the hind foot to which the fifth toe was attached. We had not only added a new name to Hiscock’s Pleistocene bestiary, but it was also the first report of an Ice Age lagomorph, or rabbit-like mammal, in New York State. (It certainly wasn’t a surprise to learn that such animals inhabited Ice Age New York, though being a first find for the state is always nice.) But just a minute. . . . Hadn’t we found that not all specimens in the Fibrous Gravelly Clay were Pleistocene? Hadn’t the “Ice Mouse” jaw proven to be only a few hundred years old when radiocarbon-dated? Hadn’t we concluded that it was a case of intrusion from above into soft sediment? Could this be another such misleading occurrence? The antiquity of this tiny foot bone would have remained in doubt—without sacrificing the entire specimen for radiocarbon analysis—were it not for another bone found several years later.21 A complete shinbone of a snowshoe hare, found in the FGC, yielded a radiocarbon age of 9,940±40 years BP (11,610–11,240 calendar years ago), just past the end of the Ice Age. It, and other Pleistocene occurrences in southern Ontario and central Pennsylvania, lend credence to the antiquity of the tiny foot bone. We continued, of course, to find interesting mastodon remains, including the tiny tooth that would have belonged to a yearling. In 1989, however, something truly unusual turned up—a straight ivory object, eight centimeters (three inches) in length, tapering smoothly to a point, and hollow at its wider end (see figure  9.7). I might have considered this to be a chin tusk, but it had a compressed, rather than circular, cross-section. It was clearly some sort of tooth, but it was unlike anything I’d ever seen. The mystery of this object was solved by a fortuitous event. Around this time I grew interested in answering some questions I had about mastodon dentition. One concerned whether chin tusks were found only in males or in females as well. Another had to do with how the size of chin tusks changed with the age of the animal. A third issue was the way that mastodons moved their jaws when chewing.

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9.7 Baby mastodon deciduous upper tusk (G6NE-170) in two lateral views. (Courtesy of the Buffalo Museum of Science)

To research these issues I needed to examine as many mastodon specimens as possible. This work took me to many museums, where I studied fossil material in displays and in storage. Before long I found myself in a paleontologist’s paradise: I was given access to a large storage room deep within the American Museum of Natural History that held that institution’s collection of mastodons, mammoths, and other proboscideans. As a boy growing up in New York City, the museum had been my favorite place. My parents used this destination to teach me how to find my way around

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the city by subway (“As long as you have a mouth, you’ll never get lost”), and I gained my early understanding of paleontology under the tutelage of the museum’s curators and laboratory staff.22 Wandering through this marvelous space, I saw, on racks and in cabinet drawers, the products of more than a century of collecting by the museum’s scientists. These objects represented the reservoir of specimens from which was selected items to be put on display for the public’s edification and education. There were skulls and jaws, some separate and some joined. There were isolated teeth and the various bones of the body. There were also unopened field jackets whose contents I could only guess at. Working my way through this marvelous candy store I came upon the skull of an extremely young animal. (I don’t recall at this time whether it was a mastodon or a mammoth.) Just peering out of their sockets was a pair of tusks. Lo and behold, they were straight, smoothly pointed, and laterally compressed, a perfect match for our enigmatic specimen. The size and dentition of the skull told me that this was an extremely young animal and that these were the juvenile upper tusks, which would eventually be shed and replaced by permanent curving tusks. Beyond any reasonable doubt, our Hiscock specimen was the deciduous (baby) tusk of an extremely young mastodon. Why it was the only one that we were to find in all our years of digging seemed inexplicable to me. Further work at the site, however, has given me an idea about this that I’ll share a little further down the road (see chapter 24). Small specimens in the Holocene peat have not, generally, caused so much excitement. They’re the remains of a forest fauna (and flora) that is similar to those of north temperate regions of our own day and are therefore fairly familiar. I must say, though, that I got a kick out of finding the wing bone of a Canada goose (Branta canadensis) in the Gelatinous Woody Layer. This bird is almost impossible to avoid in my hometown of Amherst, New York, and it was edifying to learn that it was also here in our region eight to nine thousand years ago.23 Exceptions to this low-excitement rule were two small teeth24 from a carnivorous mammal, which we found in 1990. They foreshadowed one of the most unusual discoveries of the dig, one we wouldn’t understand for a few more years. But be patient, please. . . . I’ll tell that story a little later in the book. Meanwhile, a group of small specimens stand apart in terms of significance. They consequently deserve a chapter of their own . . . the next one.

chapter 10

Calling Cards of Stone

T

he Ice Age projectile point (see figure 10.1A) exposed by Bill’s trowel in 1985 under such fortuitous circumstances was a thirteen-thousandyear-old calling card. Unconsciously but effectively its owner was telling us, “I came here but could not wait for you. So I’ve left this token of my passing from which you may learn a little of who I was, and perhaps what my hopes were.” That Clovis-like point revealed in broad terms the culture to which its owner belonged and when he lived. And because it was made of rock from 350 kilometers (about 220 miles) away in central Ohio, it tells us something of his travels—or at least his geographical connections. At the end of its useful life, this object was serving not as a spear point but as a slicing tool. Polish along its modified business end shows that it had been cutting hide, meat, or ligaments; in the process, it also came in contact with bone. The flutes or channels at the opposite end bear markings that suggest this artifact was hafted to a handle of bone or ivory. Ultimately, we would find seven more of these projectile points (see figure 10.1), more correctly described as fluted bifaces:1 three more during the first sequential period (ending in 1990) of our narrative and an additional four by the end of the project. I think it’s best at this time to break out of the chronology briefly in order to provide a better understanding of these objects and what they tell us. That we can say so much about this artifact, and about others that I’ll soon discuss, must be credited to three remarkable scientists: Christopher Ellis (University of Western Ontario, London, Ontario), John Tomenchuk (Royal Ontario Museum, Toronto, Ontario), and John D. (Jack) Holland (Buffalo Museum of Science). They published a paper analyzing those Pleistocene stone artifacts that had been collected up to 2003.2

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10.1 Fluted bifaces from Hiscock. (A) G3SW-13; (B) H6SW-1; (C) G6SE-53; (D) G7NE-62; (E) G8SW-534; (F) J3NE-30; (G) E6NE-65 (shoulder of a biface); (H) H2SE-72. (Courtesy of the Buffalo Museum of Science)

Chris has been working with other archaeologists for years to organize Ice Age projectile points in the Northeast into groups, or types, based on their form and how they were manufactured. They’ve also been trying to arrange those types into a chronological sequence. Jack we’ve already met, at the beginning of our story. He was the volunteer archaeologist (unfortunately, “was” is appropriate here  .  .  . Jack passed away in December 2014) who played such an important role in the initial dig at the Hiscock Site back in 1959. Jack grew interested in determining the source (or provenience, as archaeologists like to call it) of the rock from which stone artifacts were made and using this information to trace the wanderings or trade routes of their owners. As his primary tool in this enterprise, he developed the preeminent reference collection of chert from all over North America. Scholars would come to the Buffalo Museum of Science to find matches for the rock that comprised their specimens, and Jack was often consulted for his expertise in making those matches. It was this skill that Jack put to use in interpreting the Hiscock Site’s Ice Age stone tools.

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Finally, there’s John Tomenchuk. John is an unusual case, having been trained in both archaeology and engineering. As an archaeologist he can identify an artifact, its age, and the culture that created it. As an engineer he can evaluate the forces that acted on the artifact, the directions of those forces, and sometimes the nature of the material on which the artifact was used. These factors fall under a category called “use-wear,” and that is John’s forte. It’s not always possible, of course, to ferret out all this information. Success depends on how well the artifact is preserved—how complete it is and how much it has been abraded. Still, it’s ironic that often more can be learned from a broken artifact than from one that is complete. This lesson, the value of (ancient) damage to artifacts and fossils, is one I’ve learned and relearned through my work at the Hiscock Site. It’s nice to find a whole mastodon skeleton, completely articulated and with the bones in pristine condition. More is learned, however, when the bones bear ancient damage. Perhaps they were trampled long after the animal died and decomposed. Maybe they were gnawed by predators or scavengers. Or their surface could display cut marks from a hunter butchering a carcass. It all comes down to this: breakage is data. Let’s now consider what these three men were able to tell us about the Ice Age stone artifacts we’d collected up to the time that their paper was published: On a morning two years after the first point had been discovered in 1985, several others and I were standing in a new quadrant holding shovels. Stakes had been emplaced to mark the corners, and we were shaving off the top several centimeters of soil to remove probably disturbed material before setting the trowelers to work. Suddenly, I heard a quiet voice next to me: “Doc . . .” Tom Piwowarski, a young fellow new to the dig, who had already shown himself to be a strong, capable worker, was pointing to the ground. There lay a small, flat piece of shiny black rock (see figure 10.1B). It was the lower portion of a Clovis point,3 parallel-sided, with a concave base, and bearing the axial channels or flutes typical of the breed. The rock itself was local Onondaga chert. It was hard to understand how it had come to rest high above the Ice Age horizon in the layer formed during the period of European occupation. It couldn’t have washed down a slope from the surrounding field because there was no slope close enough for this to have happened. Perhaps it had been picked up by a passerby who didn’t recognize its true nature and tossed it down onto the marsh flat.

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In any case, this artifact was the basal or hafted end of a fluted biface that had been made from Onondaga chert, the variety of stone available most locally. From the fracture pattern, John inferred that “a combined twisting and bending force broke the point, assisted by only a nominal axial compressive load.” This and other distinctive fracture features led him to believe the biface had been used as something other than a projectile point. Bone polish on the fluted areas of the piece indicated to him that it had been hafted to bone or ivory. Two more years passed, and a third fluted biface was found (see figure 10.1C). This specimen4 was mentioned in chapter 9 (see note 13) as having come to light when I lifted a small field jacket from a damp area. It, too, had been made from Onondaga chert. John interpreted this artifact as “the recycled snapped tip of a once larger point which lost its base in use, and then had a rough but serviceable basal concavity added.” In other words, having broken close to the tip, this remnant was refluted at the hafted end. He further observed that one edge (the longer preserved one) showed five times as much wear as the opposite (shorter) edge and was therefore used preferentially, suggesting it served as a knife blade. The next in this series of fluted bifaces (see figure 10.1D) was found in 1990, the following year.5 I was troweling with two others in a pit when a worker called to me from a nearby sieve stand. He brought over an object that was clearly cultural and part of a projectile point of some sort. A few minutes later, while the sensation of this discovery was still settling in, the same worker called out, “Would you like the rest of it?” He handed me a smaller piece that precisely fit on the end of the first, making an almost complete fluted point. I grabbed the troweler in whose bucket the artifact was found, an old retired chemist much loved by all of us for his mischievous sense of humor, and planted a big kiss on his stubbly cheek. This artifact was different from the others in several ways. It was more slender, and the “business end,” rather than terminating in a point, resembled the tip of a slot-head screwdriver. For technical reasons it was not possible for John to do a thorough use-wear analysis on this artifact. He noted, however, that the lateral edges showed wear comparable to those tools that had been used as knives. Interestingly, this tool was not made from local Onondaga chert. It was sandy colored, not black or dark gray like its predecessors. It proved to be made of quartzite, a rock that began as sandstone and was subsequently subjected to intense heat and pressure by forces within the earth that made it much more

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compact and solid. (To give you an idea of what I mean, sandstone breaks around the grains, while quartzite breaks through the grains.) Quartzite is not native to western New York. Its closest natural source is the Adirondack region of New York, 240 kilometers (about 150 miles) to the east. The Canadian Shield, some 400 kilometers (about 250 miles) north of Byron as the crow flies, and on the other side of Lake Ontario, is another neighboring source. It is, of course, possible that the quartzite had been brought south from the Canadian Shield by the advancing glacier and left behind when it retreated. So, it could be companion to the many transported granitic boulders found in the area, including on the floor of the Hiscock basin, providing a local source for the artifact. At this point, we still do not know for certain. We already saw that the first fluted point that we found was made of rock from central Ohio, to the southwest, rock that could not have been transported here by the glacier. Assuming that the quartzite tool had a similar history, it reinforces the view that the Clovis folk, as individuals or groups, ranged over wide areas, either in terms of their migrations or their trade networks. Three years passed without any more points coming to light. Then, in 1993, Bill Parsons, Gary Herrnreiter, and I were troweling together in the upper part of the FGC. We had worked our way down only a few centimeters into the unit when, from behind me, I heard a quiet “Uh-oh.” I turned to find Gary pointing to a flat piece of Onondaga chert that he had just exposed. In overall dimensions it was the largest “Clovis” point that we would find.6 The specimen terminated not in a sharp point but in what resembled a Phrygian cap—a curving projection overhanging a rounded notch (see figure 10.1E). This artifact, like the first one that we found, appeared to have been formed into a gutting knife. Tomenchuk found a polished zone at the prominent notch that had been knapped just below the end of the tool that indicated hides or ligaments were cut by this tool. Polish and scratches on the fluted area implied that the tool was hafted to bone or antler. The dimensions of these two presumed gutting knives, and the width of the polish zone, were revealing. If they were, indeed, gutting knives, then they appear to have been used on animals smaller, and with thinner hides, than proboscideans.7 Caribou would be a likely candidate. Clovis points are not completely uniform in appearance, differing especially in thickness, concavity of the base, and degree of flaring from that base. Informed by the work of earlier researchers, two Canadian archaeologists, D. Brian Deller

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and Chris J. Ellis, have focused on making sense of the ways in which these artifacts and associated tools vary.8 They defined three “complexes” on the basis of artifact form and the processes used in manufacturing the tools. The source of stone used for raw material, and settlement and mobility patterns, also play a role in their classification. These complexes are called Gainey, Parkhill, and Crowfield. Deller and Ellis believe them to represent a time sequence, extending from about 11,000 to 10,400 radiocarbon years BP, with Gainey being the oldest and Crowfield the most recent. In their analysis of the Hiscock fluted bifaces, Ellis, Tomenchuk, and Holland consider these artifacts to fit best into the Gainey (oldest) grouping, with an estimated age of 11,000 to 10,700 BP. Interestingly, in comparing the Hiscock fluted bifaces with others in the region, the closest similarity in form was with those of the Shoop Site in Dauphin County, Pennsylvania, some 330 kilometers (200 miles) to the south. The resemblance is greater than with nearby Ontario specimens. Three more fluted bifaces were found after the completion of the study by Ellis and his two colleagues. While we don’t have detailed analyses of the sort presented for the other five points in their paper, these specimens are of considerable interest in their own right, so I’ve added them here for completeness of the account. In 2004, a strapping young fellow named Seth Fleahman, relatively new to the project, called out in excitement that he’d found a stone tool.9 It lay in the FGC and, sure enough, it was a fluted biface (see figure 10.1F). More specifically, it was a significant part of the pointed end that had been broken straight across from a larger tool, still preserving the distal end of a flute channel. Where the point of the tool had been, a tiny spike had been knapped, producing a tool for engraving narrow grooves in wood or bone. Jack Holland determined that it had been made from the Onondaga chert that is abundant in the area. Three years later, sievers found the basal corner, or “shoulder,” of another fluted point, made from what appeared to be Onondaga chert (see figures 10.1G and 10.2). It preserved a remnant of a flute scar. Both the basal and lateral edges had been dulled, probably to prevent their cutting the binding that tied the point to a shaft. This grinding was done in the last stage of producing a point and shows that the specimen was from a completed tool, rather than a fragment broken off in the process of shaping the tool.10 It’s remarkable, and fortunate, that so small a piece retained enough features to allow its identification as part of a “Clovis”

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10.2 Diagram of a fluted point showing location of E6NE-65, a shoulder fragment. (Photo by Richard S. Laub)

point. It isn’t possible to be certain that this piece was not from one of the other Hiscock fluted bifaces we found at the site. The final point (see figure 10.1H) came to light in 2010, the penultimate year of the Dig. This specimen11 was found fairly close to the basin margin, ironically in a stratigraphic context similar to that of our first fluted biface (the one found in 1985). It was also close to the spot where that specimen was found, about six meters (twenty feet) away. In this shallow area there was no FGC preserved, so the artifact lay immediately above the Pleistocene Cobble Layer, again just like the first point. This was the base of a fluted point, much like one of those found in the earlier years. The two lateral surfaces and basal concavity had been ground to dull them, suggesting that, like the previous specimen, the tool from which it had broken had been completely formed. Also like the previous specimen (the basal corner/ shoulder), it appeared to have been made from Onondaga chert.

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Fluted bifaces may be the signature artifacts of Clovis sites, but several other sorts of stone artifacts were found in the Pleistocene level. We can be reasonably confident that these are Clovis, or at least Paleo-Indian, because they’re tool types known from other Paleo-Indian sites. The first of these specimens12 appears to be the midsection of a bifaced point made from Onondaga chert. It may well have been from a fluted point but, if so, it broke beyond the flute, so we can’t be certain. Following its presumed use as a point, or perhaps a knife, the artifact’s near (broader) break was used for scraping. Finally, an arc-shaped concavity was knapped onto that near edge. This left a narrow projection that was used as a reamer. That this small piece of chert was crafted to serve three successive purposes highlights how economically these people treated their stone tools, conserving them for as much use as they could provide. A second artifact13 appears to be part of a trianguloid end scraper, a tool commonly associated with Clovis sites, which was used in a forward scraping motion. It is the proximal (or near) end of the tool, the part that was held, or perhaps attached to a handle of some sort. The distal end had snapped off. Tomenchuk was surprised to find that each of the tool’s three edges worked a “single substance of uniform hardness, rather than several substances of different hardnesses.” The material on which the tool was used could have been hydrated (moist) antler or certain varieties of hardwood. These authors identified a third artifact14 as a graver or micropiercer. It was a thin, five-sided disc bearing several small points, or spurs, around its perimeter. They interpreted it as having served as a compass-like device, pivoting around one stationary point while a neighboring point inscribed a shallow, perhaps ornamental, circle around it. The object was formed from Lockport chert; like Onondaga chert, it is found locally but is of poorer quality. Finally, Jack described another trianguloid endscraper.15 Made of local Onondaga chert, it had been resharpened a number of times, and damage had occurred in the hafting area. As Jack states at the end of his article about these last two artifacts (see notes 14 and 15), the Paleo-Indian tool assemblage at the Hiscock Site “reflects processing of materials rather than the killing of prey.” Later on in the history of the Hiscock project, a small piece of probable Onondaga chert from the FGC was found, suggestive of an artifact.16 The object was thin and plate-like, with two parallel flat surfaces. Its profile was like a

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slightly obtuse letter L, its two “limbs” measuring 1.5 and 1.3 centimeters (just over and under half an inch) in length. This left a nearly 90º concavity on one side, which suggests a spokeshave, a tool used to smooth the surfaces of rod-shaped objects such as spear shafts. However, a slight projection in this concavity implied that smoothing a cylindrical object may not have been its purpose. The end of the one limb was fairly thick, bearing several flake scars, and might have been used as a narrow scraper. Surely, one of the most intriguing artifacts to come from the Pleistocene deposits here was a bead (see figure 10.3) that appeared to be made of grayish sandstone.17 It was roughly circular in cross-section, measuring slightly under one centimeter (1⁄3 inch) in diameter, with an extremely narrow, centered cylindrical canal. The bead separated into two pieces, exposing the interior of the canal. Examining it, John observed that the canal had been formed by drilling a coneshaped depression from each side, causing them to meet in the center. This was presumably done to avoid shattering the bead while drilling. While this bead was found in the FGC, it was only a few centimeters (one to two inches) below the top of the layer. Because of its position, we can’t be certain it didn’t move there from a younger, overlying layer. Still, Mike Gramly

10.3 Sandstone bead from Fibrous Gravelly Clay. (A) facial view; (B) fracture surface showing lumen. (Photo by Richard S. Laub)

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has reported a similar stone bead from a Paleo-Indian site in Massachusetts, so a Pleistocene age for our bead would not be inconsistent.18

w After the eight field seasons of this Heroic Age, 1983–1990, we had accumulated four “Clovis” points, each with its own peculiar traits and story. Yet more would come in the following years. But we knew that people of other, later cultures had lived near or passed through the site during the ten thousand years following the Ice Age. We’d learned this during the first year of digging when that large Holocene projectile point was found in one of the dirt piles dug out from the marginal drainage ditches. Sporadically through the following years of the dig, other post–Ice Age points (and one preform) were added to our inventory, showing repeated human presence here after the Ice Age and before the advent of European settlement at the beginning of the nineteenth century. That interval is divided into two stages: Archaic and Woodland. The former denotes (in broad terms) the earlier period, one devoid of pottery except at its very end and characterized by a hunting and gathering subsistence rather than agriculture. This ran from roughly ten thousand to three thousand years ago. It was followed by the Woodland stage, during which time pottery was used extensively and agriculture gradually developed. People lived in larger groups and formed villages. The end of the Woodland stage is placed at the time of European contact, three to four hundred years ago. These artifacts have been analyzed by Douglas J. Perrelli (University of Buffalo Archaeological Survey), and the following account is drawn from his study, which is cited in appendix D. Let’s look at these artifacts, from oldest to youngest: The most ancient artifact (see figure 10.4A), dating from the later part of the Early Archaic, was found during a fieldwalk, a systematic search of the hills surrounding the basin. It is a Bifurcated Base point19 and is approximately 8,900–8,600 years old; it represents the earliest culture on record at the Hiscock Site following the end of the Ice Age. A Heavy Based Side Notched point (see figure 10.4B), thought to date to 6,300–5,700 years ago (Middle Archaic), was the one discovered in a dirt pile in 1983, the Dig’s first year (see note 6 in chapter 4).

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10.4 Holocene projectile points from Hiscock: (A) C29275; (B) C24955; (C) TT10SE-10; (D) G3NW-503; (E) C31803; (F) J4SE-13; and (G) J7SW-3. (Courtesy of the Buffalo Museum of Science)

A crudely formed point (see figure 10.4C) was found while excavating in an area just outside the main Hiscock basin. Identified as a Lamoka stemmed point, it dates to about 5,500–4,500 years ago, or Late Archaic. A well-formed stemmed point (see figure 10.4D), with an acutely triangular blade, is a Susquehanna Broad, a variety that has been dated to somewhat before 1,000 BC. It lies in the transitional period between the Archaic and Woodland stages of Northeastern history. A volunteer wandering the slopes around the basin during a lunch break found a nearly complete projectile point (see figure 10.4E). This piece has been tentatively identified as an Orient Fishtail, dated to 3,200–2,700 years ago, a few hundred years younger than the Susquehanna Broad. It also belongs to the transitional period between the Archaic and Woodland stages. An artifact (see figure 10.4F) made from Onondaga chert, identified as a cache blade tentatively belonging to the Meadowood phase, was found in the Woody Layer. Meadowood falls from slightly less than 3,000 to approximately 2,500 years ago (Early Woodland). The youngest point (see figure 10.4G) is an unstemmed, triangular artifact identified as a Madison type, ranging in age from approximately 1,000 to 300 years ago (Late Woodland).

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The circumstances surrounding one of these discoveries, the Susquehanna Broad point, offers a valuable teaching moment, so I’ll take the liberty of going into greater detail. We had laid out a quarter quadrant (125 × 125 cm, roughly four by four feet), and it was worked partly down by several trowelers kneeling outside the pit. Eventually, it became too deep to trowel from outside the pit, but there was room for a single troweler to work inside. For this I chose a volunteer whose day job, as they say, was working as an executive in a major real estate company. Jim had shown himself to be a steady, reliable worker, and so I confidently left him to trowel this pit alone, supervised by a recorder. I asked him to let me know when he had reached the Cobble Layer. After a while he called me over from a nearby pit where I was digging. He felt the pit was completed and asked me to check it. It did, indeed, look quite good, but I noticed a slight “belly” (bulge) toward the base of the eastern wall and asked him to carefully work that area until the wall was perfectly flat and vertical. Then I returned to my own pit. A short while later I heard noise at his pit and, looking over, saw several people standing above Jim, talking excitedly. Jim called, “Come look at this!” and I went over to see what was going on. There, barely projecting from the neatened part of the wall, just above the pit floor, was the base of a beautiful projectile point. It proved to be the Susquehanna Broad. It had been hidden by that slight bulge and was only revealed when Jim shaved the wall to perfect flatness. The sweep of time subsequent to the Ice Age saw a sequence of different human societies occupying or passing through this area. Their ages range from Early Archaic to Late Woodland, and each had its own distinctive cultural markers. The pre-pottery Lamoka people, for example, habituated streams and small lakes or the shallow areas of larger lakes. Many of their artifacts are for fishing, though they also hunted and gathered plants. A so-called “beveled adze” is peculiar to their sites and was presumably used in woodworking. Fishing also played an important role in the culture of the Susquehanna folk. These people, like the Lamoka, lacked ceramic pottery. They did, however, make pots of soapstone. The Meadowood people also made pots of soapstone. In addition, they produced ceramic pottery and used smoking pipes. The distribution of artifacts suggests an interesting contrast between how people used the Hiscock basin in the late Pleistocene as opposed to during the

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following millennia. Information comes from two sources: artifact abundance and artifact distribution. First, more artifacts were deposited on the basin floor during the final 1,500 years of the Pleistocene than during the following 9,000 years of the Holocene. This does not include the (putative) bone tools, which would dramatically increase the weight on the Ice Age side of the scale. The implication is that human activity in the basin itself was generally more frequent and intensive during the Pleistocene than was the case afterward, at least until the advent of European settlers. Second, Pleistocene lithics are scattered all over the basin floor, and the same can be said for the bone tools.20 On the other hand, the seven Holocene projectile points, as well as the small number of other Holocene artifacts, generally have a more peripheral distribution within and outside the basin, suggesting that human activities during the Holocene were more focused outside the basin, probably on the high, drier surrounding areas. One could imagine some of the Holocene projectiles being shot at prey from the perimeter, or even being carried into what was then a swamp by wounded animals. All or nearly all of the Pleistocene points found here have been modified into tools that served other purposes. Perhaps the Ice Age visitors to the site were performing “domestic” tasks on a basin floor that was at times emergent and clear of trees. Hunting may have taken place outside of the basin, or it may have been convenient to retrieve points used to kill animals in the basin. The Holocene projectile points, on the other hand, have not been obviously modified from their original form and, as mentioned above, were presumably part of a projectile at the time of their loss.

chapter 11

A Lucky Drought

U

ntil now we had been blocked from working the perpetually wet area in the northwestern portion of the grid, an area we could never pump sufficiently dry for digging. We weren’t too worried about this because lots of rich ground was available in the more manageable middle and southern sections of the site. Then came the summer of 1991. Never had we seen it so dry here. The surface of our campsite was baked rock hard. Insects seeking moisture swarmed to the seams of our water containers. It was hard to remember what a puddle looked like. The broad parts of the northwest grid were also exposed to the air, the water having evaporated away. We finally had an opportunity to explore this hitherto forbidden region. And we took it. In our main focus area we established a row of four grid squares running from west to east and began digging. Initially the results were disappointing, with relatively few specimens coming up as we worked through the Holocene peats.1 Then we entered the Fibrous Gravelly Clay. This layer was thick, and in some cases pits approached a depth of almost two meters (six feet) before we hit the basement. Now came gratification in the form of large, showy mastodon bones and teeth. A lower jaw fragment from this pit precisely fit the roots of a large right-hand molar that we’d found two years earlier, some three meters (ten feet) away, in the bordering pit to the south. Another large molar, this from the pit we were now working, appeared to be the left-hand mate of the aforementioned tooth.2 These two items certainly provided a graphic picture of how much the bones and teeth had been dispersed in ancient times after the skeletons had come apart.

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There were other large finds (as you’ll soon see). But elegant and important small specimens also came to light. Some examples: Another tooth of Cervalces scotti, the stag-moose, added to the precious few specimens we’d already found of this extinct moose-sized animal.3 Beautifully preserved cones of Pinus banksiana, the jack pine,4 show that the climate of western New York was similar to that of central Canada toward the end of the Pleistocene. One day in early August I was called over to the I5SE pit, which was at the eastern end of the four-pit row. The troweler, a red-haired physician named Bernie Groh, had begun to expose a baffling cluster of mastodon teeth near one corner of the pit. I asked him to clear them carefully and to continue taking the pit surface down evenly while keeping the teeth covered with moist rags. After considerably more troweling he had exposed a complete, enormous lower jaw of a mastodon (see figure 11.1). (Right next to it lay a perfectly preserved mastodon atlas, the neck bone that connected to the back of the skull.) To that point we had found little to match the jaw’s complexity and fine preservation. It measured about a meter (three feet) in length. Everything was there: three teeth in each side, the rear ascending branches that articulated with the

11.1 Mastodon mandible (I5SE-185) exposed on pit floor, 1991. (Photo by Richard S. Laub)

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skull (one of them entering the pit wall), the smooth groove in the chin area to accommodate what must have been a long, slender tongue. Everything. It sat there on the pit floor looking like something being displayed on a shelf. As this magnificent specimen was being exposed, we received some distinguished and unusual visitors. The Dalai Lama had declared 1991–1992 to be the International Year of Tibet. Four Tibetan Buddhist monks came to Buffalo to create a mandala, a sacred and exquisite “painting” composed grain by grain of multicolored sand, at the museum. Being in town while we were in the field, they favored us by coming out to see what was going on. With them were Ernst Both, the museum’s director, and Herbert Darling, chairman of the board. We also had Doris Hiscock, widow of Charlie Hiscock and the donor of the Hiscock Site. The monks couldn’t have timed their visit better, and they all gave expressions of astonishment when they saw the jaw and understood what it represented (see figure 11.2). On August 13, after recording the data for this specimen in the field book, we prepared to remove it from the pit. As a precaution I took some critical measurements of the specimen and photographed it. Just in case . . . Normally, when such

11.2 Doris Hiscock, Charles Hiscock’s second wife, with Tibetan Buddhist monks visiting the site, 1991. (Photo by Richard S. Laub)

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a specimen is about to be removed from the ground it would be field-jacketed to reinforce it. This can be messy, and sometimes the specimen can be damaged when the jacket is being removed in the lab. Because the jaw appeared good and solid, I yielded to temptation and decided to remove it without jacketing. Bad decision. Bill Parsons and I cleared as much sediment as possible from beneath the jaw in order to free it. Grasping the base, we wiggled it gently to break the suction of the damp substrate. We then lifted it together, one on either side. So far, so good. Then we moved it to a soft cushion that had been placed on the floor of the pit. The cushion protected the base of the jaw from being abraded, but it didn’t provide enough support. As soon as we set it down, the two halves separated from each other at the chin, rolling apart while still in our hands. Bill and I looked at each other in chagrin, but what was done was done. Fortunately, the separation was clean, and with the measurements I’d taken for guidance we would be able to set the two halves back together perfectly. Once we were back at the museum, Gary Herrnreiter made a strong base to hold the jaw in its proper configuration, and it has sat happily and attractively on it ever since. The topography of the basement in the areas where we were digging brought some of the pits to considerable depths, which was advantageous in more ways than one. The partition walls in these deep pits allowed us to collect a very thick stack of sediment samples, an archive of the complete series of layers. In the course of troweling each pit, we naturally destroyed the relationships between the layers of sediment (though we made a record of this with diagrams, notebook entries, and photographs). By taking this archival sample of all the layers, from a single point, we provided a means for future researchers to physically handle the same soil that we had. This stack of samples, and several others that were taken through the years, are stored at the museum for future reference. This sampling paid an almost immediate dividend. Based on material from one of the sediment blocks, Jock McAndrews, the botanist from the Royal Ontario Museum who had joined our project, was able to determine that the Pleistocene twig fragments were spruce, not tamarack. Also, by standing a perforated barrel in one of the deepest pits once it was completed, we established a sump. When arriving at the site in future years, we could insert the intake hose of the pump into that barrel and use it to draw water from the site to a depth that hadn’t been previously possible. Now we had

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a means of drying out the soggy northwest portion of the basin, making it as accessible for digging as the rest of the site. The mastodon jaw may have been the showiest piece of that year, but scientifically it was not the most important one, not by a long shot. Two specimens, found at either end of the row, would send us off on a line of research that was unquestionably one of the most important aspects of the project. On August 5, in the westernmost pit of the four-pit row, we collected a beautiful ivory fragment, the end of a tusk (see figure 12.1A) that probably belonged to a young mastodon. The point bore a small, perfectly flat beveled surface, unlike the more rounded wear surfaces that result from the use of a tusk during an animal’s life. Furthermore, there was a narrow, secondary bevel truncating one edge of this larger flat surface. It’s difficult to imagine how this could have been formed naturally. Nine days later, in the easternmost of those four pits (the one containing the lower jaw, and the day after we had removed it), we found a peculiar, parallel-sided bone fragment measuring thirteen centimeters (slightly over five inches) in length (see figure 12.1B). It appeared to be a piece of mastodon rib, split parallel to its plane to expose the grainy texture of the inside. One end of it tapered abruptly into a cylinder that ended in a rounded surface. This end looked as though it had somehow been smoothed and shaped after the piece had broken from the rib. I’ll elaborate on the significance of these two specimens in the next chapter. One more discovery during our maiden voyage into the northwest grid bears mentioning here because it was so unexpected. It was a day toward the end of July. While troweling well down in the FGC, just under a meter (nearly three feet) below ground, I was startled to expose a pointed piece of wood. It was just under six centimeters (2½ inches) long and had clearly broken from a longer piece. Around it lay numerous mastodon bone fragments. If this was, as it seemed, a wooden artifact dating from the Ice Age, it would indeed be a rarity, and would raise many an eyebrow. The point was waterlogged and soft, and I feared it might dry out and be damaged if not handled carefully. So, after sealing it in an airtight plastic bag, I brought it back to the museum at the first opportunity. There it was photographed, and precise drawings from multiple perspectives were made of it by Susan Quinby, one of our technical artists. Just over a week later, and seven meters (about twenty-three feet) away, we made a second discovery—a very revealing one. It was another piece of wood.

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This one, however, was fifty-two centimeters (a bit over twenty inches) long and 5.5 centimeters (a little over two inches) in diameter. It completely lacked any bark. The object was perfectly vertical in the ground, beginning some four centimeters (1½ inches) above the Woody Layer and extending entirely through that deposit. Its base extended several centimeters into the underlying FGC, and it was definitely pointed. Without a doubt, this was a stake. It clearly postdated the Woody Layer by at least a brief period of time and must have been emplaced by human hands. Frank Telewski, a botanist who was then serving as director of the Buffalo and Erie County Botanical Garden, determined that both the point and the stake consisted of hardwood, from the type of trees that Norton Miller’s studies had shown to have cloaked the area during the time when the younger Woody Layer was being deposited.5 These objects therefore postdated the Ice Age by thousands of years. Furthermore, he said, both had been sharpened by a steel implement, not a stone tool. These two stakes, one of which had probably been removed in the past, breaking off the point and leaving it behind, must have been emplaced after most of the trees had been cleared from the immediate area and when that part of the basin had been sufficiently dried (presumably by the French drain) to be walked upon. This would have been the time of European settlement, sometime after 1800. Any portion of the complete stake that had extended higher than the exposed surface of that time (in the lowest part of the Dark Earth Layer) would have rotted away to ground level. By this time it was clear that there must have been human activity on the hilly field, activity that was in some way related to the bones and artifacts found on the basin floor. Surely, some archaeological record must be preserved on those uplands. Camping, butchering prey, processing meat and hides, and perhaps manufacturing tools would more likely have been done in the higher, drier areas than in the wet basin. True, we wouldn’t expect to find very old bones there; the hilltops are exposed areas where organic remains would likely dry up and crumble to dust. However, we might reasonably hope for objects of stone or ceramic. With this in mind, about forty volunteers met me at the site in early October, when the western New York weather was still friendly. Our purpose was to do a field walk, an organized search of the high areas around the basin to see what might be found there. These fields had been under cultivation for years, and

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generations of plows had exposed, reburied, and reexposed objects lying within roughly a foot below the ground: the plow-zone. This walk was a good way to try to get a synopsis of the sorts of cultures and activities that had been present here through the ages. Although these objects would naturally have been displaced to some degree from their original positions on the field, they sometimes formed clusters that would suggest areas of concentrated activity. A month earlier, several volunteers and I had pounded stakes into the soil of the surrounding hills to make a sparse grid. This area was tied to the main grid on the Hiscock basin floor, extending it out onto the high areas. It would allow us to precisely mark the location of objects found in our field walk, just as we did for those found on the basin floor. A field walk is, I must say, great fun. It’s what hobbyists do when they look for arrowheads in a cornfield. The difference in our case was in scale and organization. An individual artifact hunter can’t really scrutinize an entire field alone. Patches of ground will surely be missed, and others will be gone over two or three times. But a large group of people, arranged in a purposeful pattern and trained to recognize particular materials, with tasks divided among them, can harvest a large number of significant items that would otherwise remain undetected. Half of us were stationed on the hills bordering one side of the basin; the rest were on the other side. Each party formed a long line that swept over the ground, shoulder to shoulder, scanning for any noteworthy objects. Those in the line carried red surveying flags to mark the location of specimens we spotted. Three people followed behind the line, measuring the distance and direction of each find from the nearest grid stake, recording this on a tag that was placed in the specimen bag, and then collecting the specimen in a plastic bag. After a while, a pattern began to appear. Looking behind our moving lines, we could see the red flags clustering on the highest areas to either side of the basin. This was especially the case on the north side, which was rife with ceramic fragments, all dating from historical (post-1800) times. These lay in a fairly tight area near where aerial photography showed vegetation somewhat paler than its surroundings, suggesting disturbed or maybe thinner soil. Perhaps there had been a human-made structure at this spot, causing the soil here to be less nutritious. (Based on this factor, aerial photography led to the discovery of major archaeological sites in Europe during the last century.) Certainly the concentration of brick fragments here, and in parts of the basin nearest this area,

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would be consistent with such a structure. Unfortunately, probing during later years did not reveal any structure at this spot, and historical artifacts, while present, were much less abundant on the hills to the south of the basin. Kevin Smith, the museum’s curator of anthropology, had been doing an archaeological survey of the neighboring Spring Creek drainage area. In the summer of 1992, he joined me in leading some productive field walks. He then examined and identified the artifacts from these surveys. Among a large number of chert artifacts were several of particular interest. A multi-sided core bore the scars of numerous sharp flakes that had been struck off all around the sides. A stemmed (and therefore probably hafted) knife blade was sharpened on both sides of its cutting edge. There was also a particularly fine artifact, technically called a stemmed unifacial scraper, that had been designed for both end scraping and side scraping.6 It is difficult to assign an age to the stone artifacts, although the core and scraper in particular would not be inconsistent with a Paleo-Indian tool kit. Two projectile points, however, were less ambiguous. I still recall Marcia Richmond, one of our older volunteers, calling me over to a low area among the knolls to show me the beautiful Early Archaic Bifurcated-Base point mentioned in chapter 10 among the Holocene points. This testified to human presence here less than two thousand years after the Ice Age had ended. The other is a fragment of a fluted point, a definite Ice Age artifact.7 The historical ceramics were of various types, and this collection was greatly enlarged when a later museum archaeologist, Elizabeth Peña, led an excavation in 2002 on the knoll where ceramics had been most highly concentrated on the surface. The varieties included stoneware, redware, creamware, and especially pearlware colored in various shades of blue. Two of the pearlware shards, both under four centimeters (1½ inches) in maximum dimension, were particularly informative. The first (see figures 11.3C and D)8 had been recognized by a high-school intern with archaeological interests who was doing volunteer research in my department. The task I assigned her was to look through the ceramics and see if she could find any that fit together. Our hope was to obtain a fuller understanding of the kinds of household dishware represented by this clutch of fragments. Turning one over to its unglazed side, she found the remnant of a stamp: RRANTED ST. It was possible to match these letters with the maker’s mark of English ceramic manufacturers James and Ralph Clews of Cobridge, Staffordshire.

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11.3 Historical artifacts: (A, B) parts of a clay pipe (E9SE-13, 15); (C, D) pearlware ceramic, outer and inner surfaces, preserving maker’s mark (O18SW-42); and (E) pearlware ceramic depicting ship’s mast with hanging banners (SF91-17), possibly from a Lafayette commemorative plate. (Courtesy of the Buffalo Museum of Science)

Their mark was WARRANTED STAFFORDSHIRE, and the company manufactured ceramics between 1818 and 1834. The second pearlware shard (see figure 11.3E)9 called for some very skillful observation on the part of the people who studied the collection, Catrina Caira and Sarah Jones, both archaeologically trained volunteers in my department. Recognizing a series of rectangular flags hanging from a rope tied to a ship’s mast, with a cloud in the background, they matched it with images of plates made to commemorate the landing of General Lafayette at New York City’s Castle Garden in 1824 during a visit at the invitation of President Monroe. The range of production dates for these two ceramic sherds only tells us the earliest date they could have been deposited at the site—1818 for the Staffordshire piece and 1824 for the Lafayette commemorative plate. Of course, both objects could have been in the possession of the settlers who left them many years after their manufacture. There is, however, a third item that may more closely mark the presence of early settlers at the site. This ceramic object, which Catrina and Sarah were able to identify, was not dinnerware. Rather, it was a clay smoking pipe, excavated from the basin floor

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during the 1996 field season. It consisted of two pieces: the base of the bowl with the near part of the stem attached, and a large portion of the bowl wall (see figures 11.3A and B).10 Its decorative pattern, called Hunter’s Well, was produced between 1820 and 1840. The impermanence of a long-stemmed clay pipe makes it likely that this date range approximates the time that it was deposited here and thus before the land was officially sold in 1863. Though they were settled on, or at least using, property that did not belong to them at that time, the people who left these artifacts were not paupers. Rather, they owned a reasonable stock of belongings and were seeking to establish themselves on land of their own. These people were the forebears of the current residents of Byron and its environs.

chapter 12

Tools!

B

ack in the lab, following the season’s excavation, we could examine and evaluate what had been collected. Once we’d gotten ourselves organized, I pulled out the two peculiar specimens mentioned in chapter 11 (see figure 12.1). One, you’ll recall, was the end of a young mastodon’s tusk with a distinctive double bevel at the tip.1 The other was a mastodon rib fragment, split axially along its wider diameter.2 The split surface of this latter specimen exposed spongy bone of the rib’s interior, while the other side featured the relatively smooth, dense bone of the rib’s outer surface. Numerous bone and ivory fragments had been found at Hiscock up to that point. These two items, however, drew my attention because their appearance seemed so unnatural. The rib fragment particularly caught my eye. One end tapered smoothly to form a narrow projection. While one surface of the rib fragment was flat (having been split along the bone’s axis), the projection itself was cylindrical. Furthermore, its end was rounded, like that of a broom handle, and bore clear evidence of concentrated wear. It looked to me like something that might have been shaped by human hands, like a tanged object intended to fit into some sort of socket. If I was reading this object correctly, I was in over my head and needed help. I contacted Dr. Peter Storck, curator of New World archaeology at the Royal Ontario Museum in Toronto, and a noted Paleo-Indian researcher, and asked for his help. He expressed interest in examining the object, so in mid-December I drove from Buffalo to Toronto. With me I brought the bone fragment. (I left the tusk tip in Buffalo to avoid the potential problem of transporting what might look like protected elephant remains across an international border.)

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12.1 The first two bone tools recognized at Hiscock: (A) tusk tip I4SW-575, inset shows detail of facet at its end with another narrower facet (arrow) beveling its edge. (B) rib fragment I5SE-213. (Courtesy of the Buffalo Museum of Science)

On seeing the rib fragment, Storck reacted with excitement. He introduced me to his colleague, John Tomenchuk (mentioned above in connection with the first-found fluted biface), who had collaborated with him on studies that required a unique set of skills. Before me stood a short, stocky fellow, probably in his late forties, with a radio announcer’s voice clear and precise, and an air of unpretentious competence. Having been trained as an archaeologist, he was familiar with tools made and used by ancient people; but he also had a background in mechanical engineering, which enabled him to analyze breakage and other damage to objects from archaeological sites. Employing these two viewpoints allowed him to determine if ancient objects might have been shaped by human hands and if there was evidence of how they were used. John’s excitement easily matched Peter’s. He felt it very unlikely that this object had been shaped through natural means. He was convinced that it had been modified by human hands for use as an expedient tool, meaning it had probably been found in ancient times at or near the site, was quickly shaped for a particular task, and then discarded once that task had been completed. It would be like the branch you pick up in the woods and sharpen to skewer a marshmallow for toasting. This is in contrast to a formal tool, which would be shaped with considerable care and used multiple times until it either wore out or was lost.

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A major concern was to preserve this rare and important specimen by coating and impregnating it with a consolidant. So, in mid-January, I returned to Toronto with the bone tool and took it to the University of Toronto’s Isotrace Laboratory, where a small sample of the untreated, and therefore uncontaminated, bone was removed for radiocarbon dating. We would wait several months for the report. I then took the specimen back to Peter’s lab, where a technician conserved it by placing it in a chamber containing thin glue. A vacuum pump evacuated the air from the chamber, drawing the glue into all the spaces within the bone. Now this ancient object was reinforced, and solid enough to be handled safely. At this point we were on the alert for other bone tools in the collection. There was, of course, the beveled tusk tip from the field season that had just ended. There were also several specimens from the previous (1990) field season that had seemed suspicious. Foremost among them was a symmetrically pointed bone that just hadn’t looked natural to me.3 It was reasonable to suspect there might be more specimens of interest. So, later that month, John and the technician who had conserved the bone tool came to the Buffalo Museum to examine these specimens and generally scope out the collection. Based on what John saw, we, along with the museum’s director, Ernst Both, felt that a formal survey of the collection was needed, and clearly John was the one to do the job. We then began a search for funding to support a residency at the museum so that this task could be accomplished. In 1994, the Smith Foundation agreed to fund a seven-month period for John to work at the museum. From April to June, and again from September to December, he would be working in our lab and examining the Ice Age bones from Hiscock for any indications that they might have been modified and used by ancient people. He also joined more than two hundred volunteers who worked at the site during our 1994 field season. This was an extremely exciting time in the Geology Department. In a room behind the collection storage area John set up his microscope, a small library, and other tools of his trade. I would often take him a specimen to get his opinion about some peculiarity. And he would often come to show me and the lab volunteers a specimen bearing breaks, edges, or color patterns that offered a peek at life in the Ice Age. John managed to go through only 20 percent, about three hundred in total, of the Pleistocene bones from Hiscock. In the process, though, he identified

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thirteen bone tools and analyzed the way(s) they may have been used. Some appeared to have served to resharpen stone tools by chipping small flakes from their edges.4 A large proportion bore features indicative of scraping, cutting, or piercing soft tissue (such as animal hide). Since these were informal tools made to serve an immediate purpose after which they would be discarded, it stands to reason that these tasks were being performed there, at the site, some thirteen thousand years ago. John found surprising and telling features on some of the objects. One specimen, an elongate, tabular splinter of tusk ivory,5 had apparently been shaped for use as a forceful penetrating device (perhaps a lance point or an awl). It was eventually discarded and left in a damp place where it picked up a brownish stain. Subsequently, it was retrieved and used to penetrate a soft, flexible substance (animal hide?) This added polish to the pointed end and wore away the stain from some of the surfaces. Another specimen, a chunk of tusk ivory,6 was described to me by John as almost a Rosetta Stone for understanding the bone tools. Flakes had been struck off both sides at one end to create an edge that rose from opposite directions to form a low point in the middle. The pattern of flake removal made it highly unlikely that this piece achieved its form through natural means. It was almost certainly shaped by human hands. Furthermore, the normally white ivory bore patches of black, brown, and blue. This mottling, and especially the blue, with its altered surface texture, indicated that the object had been burned at temperatures typical of an open campfire. Polish on the flaked edge was of a nature that indicated use on a soft, pliable substance (meat or hide). John identified another bone tool7 that particularly intrigued me, in part due to its comparison with the one just described. Made from a mastodon rib fragment, it was much smaller than the ivory cutting tool. Yet, though one was of bone and the other of a larger piece of ivory, they shared a remarkably similar form, and he attributed similar uses to them. He noted that the dark stain covering most of the bone specimen had been at least partly removed from the cutting edge, indicating that it had lain on the basin floor long enough to acquire a stain before being picked up and used as a tool. This rib fragment bore a distinct bevel along one edge, and on this bevel were seven striations, actually furrows, oriented perpendicular to the edge. The striations occupied a space less than 1 mm (less than 1/25 inch) across, showing the direction in which the tool was moved during at least one phase of its use.

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I have often employed this item as an example when warning workers to be careful in handling specimens. How easily that series of microscopic striations, so valuable for understanding the history of this item, could have been wiped out through carelessness. In a brief article8 published shortly after his residence at the museum, John listed the thirteen bone tools he’d recognized up to that point and inferred some of their functions: chopping, pressure flaking, prying, and piercing. At least a few of the specimens appeared to have been used for skinning and hide-work. Significant to our understanding of the role the Hiscock Site played in the lives of these ancient people, it appears that, whether or not some of the bones were taken directly from the carcasses of recently deceased animals, others were already lying on or beneath the basin floor when they were picked up and shaped into tools. This is something John mentioned often in our discussions. In this sense, Hiscock can be thought of as a bone quarry, a place where these people knew they could collect bones as useful items, just as they could go to certain outcrops9 in the area to quarry chert as raw material from which to make stone tools. Meanwhile, we had received the radiocarbon date for the tanged rib fragment, the specimen that had first convinced John that there were bone tools at Hiscock. The date was 10,990±100 years BP, placing it comfortably within the generally accepted period for the Clovis culture at that time. (However, there is a caveat. This date marks the time of the animal’s death, not necessarily when the bone was formed into a tool. If it was still in good condition when found, it could have been shaped years later.) Having in hand a well-documented artifact connecting humans and mastodons in the Great Lakes area, John, Peter, and I focused our early efforts on publishing it as an introduction to the wider collection of Hiscock bone tools.10 We determined, first of all, that this specimen had been made from a piece of mastodon rib. Why a rib? The relationship of the dense, layered bone that formed its outer surface and the internal spongy bone indicated a rib fragment rather than a piece of limb bone. And why mastodon rather than mammoth? To that time and ever since, no mammoth remains had been recognized at Hiscock. But couldn’t it have been made of mammoth bone obtained elsewhere and then transported by its owner to the Hiscock Site? This situation is unlikely—the specimen’s features show that it had been fairly fresh at the time it was made into a tool. The relatively low degree of deterioration it had undergone before being worked was more consistent with having been found and picked up at the site because of its useful form.

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John’s analysis showed that the smoothly tapered end would have been too weak to use either as a perforator or to pry flakes from a stone tool. It appears to be a tang, which would have been inserted into a socketed handle. It had been deliberately shaped by a hard-edged scraping tool and, rather than being aligned with the central axis of the bone, tapered asymmetrically. This shape took advantage of the thickest and strongest part of the bone, which was also offset from the central axis. The tang tapered to a rounded end. This rounding, John noted, was due to plastic deformation of the bone fibers, which, again, indicated that the bone was still fairly fresh. That the bending was limited to the tip, rather than extending farther up along the tang, suggested that something was constraining the tapered bone. John suggested it might have been some sort of binding for the purpose of fitting it tighter in the socket. The tip damage also indicates force directed along the axis of the object. The other end of the specimen was dominated by a fracture that extended forward at a narrow angle to the bone axis. This fracture, whose surface rotated through about 45⁰, was caused by one side of the scraper’s end catching on a flexible but tough material, probably animal hide, while axial force was being applied. John described to me his image of the hunter testing the integrity of the newly cracked blade by exerting opposing pressure on either side of the blade’s edge, resulting in the loose piece being torn away. All of these observations suggested that the bone had served as a hide scraper held in a socketed handle; when it was damaged in use, it was ultimately discarded. Sometime after the study of this specimen was completed, an unexpected discovery helped carry our findings further. I was working in the museum’s collection room and for some reason took out a specimen that had been collected during the 1992 field season, a year after the tanged mastodon rib tool. I was looking at this bone, a neural spine from the shoulder region of a young mastodon (see figure 12.2A).11 (A neural spine is a dorsal process on a vertebra for the attachment of back muscles. It’s one of the bumps you can feel extending in a row down your back. Its base divides in two like the legs of a person straddling a ditch, and the gap between the limbs forms the neural canal, a tunnel for the passage of the spinal cord.) The bone was stained dark brown. It had become detached from the spoolshaped body of the vertebra so that it was shaped like the letter Y, with a long

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12.2 (A) Mastodon vertebral spine (F8NW-75) with hollowed-out base. (B) CAT scan of same showing features of hollowed base. (Courtesy of the Buffalo Museum of Science)

stalk and two short, branching limbs. The anatomical front surface just above (that is, dorsal to) the top of the neural canal was eroded, exposing the spongy bone of the interior. What caught my eye was an elongate hole in the midst of this worn area. The hole led to a tunnel, and examining it under a light I was struck by how smooth the inner wall was. Peering farther in I saw that the end of the tunnel was remarkably, I would say unnaturally, round, looking as though it had been shaped by the end of a miniature broomstick. Now, of course, I wanted to know what the internal structure of an undisturbed shoulder vertebra was like. So I sectioned several Hiscock mastodon shoulder vertebrae and X-rayed one from a modern elephant. I found that they all did indeed possess a cavity in this area of the neural spine, apparently a space that held marrow. In its natural state, however, the cavity was filled with fine bony fibers (called trabeculae).

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Furthermore, this space, or lumen, pinches out dorsally in both the mastodon vertebrae and in the elephant shoulder vertebra. In contrast, in our specimen the closed end of the space was smoothly rounded and dome-like. It was evident that something had modified the interior of our specimen. To get a clearer view of the puzzling hollow in our specimen, I took it to Oishei Children’s Hospital in Buffalo. There Dr. Jerold Kuhn, head of Radiology (and the husband of one of our volunteers, Tina), arranged for the bone to be examined using a CAT (computed axial tomography) scan. This technique produces X-rays through specified planes within an object, allowing a cross-section of that object to be seen without physically intruding into and damaging it. It can also form a large series of parallel cross-sections that can be put together with the aid of a computer to produce a three-dimensional view of the internal structure. I was startled by what we found (see figure 12.2B). The hollow space was smooth-walled and regular in form, completely devoid of bone trabeculae. Its closed (anatomically dorsal) end was, as we had seen through the hole, smoothly rounded. However, this was not the true end of the cavity. Rather, the marrow space extended another 1.6 centimeters (2⁄3 inch) beyond the rounded end visible from the outside. In other words, the upper end of the hollow space that we could see was not natural. In the CT scan, the cross-section of this rounded end to the tunnel was optically dense. It appeared to consist of crushed bone spicules with impacted silt grains. Another feature of interest was that the tunnel wall on the front (anatomically anterior) side had been beveled so that it thinned downward toward the opening. This would allow a straight object inserted in the tunnel to clear a sill formed by the roof of the neural canal, which would otherwise obstruct it. In other words, a long object inserted into the tunnel could extend out beyond the forked end of the bone. I learned this bone had been modified in four steps: (1) A hole was produced just above the forked end, (2) the bony spindles within the now-exposed marrow cavity were reamed out; (3) the anatomically anterior wall of the marrow cavity was shaved so as to angle downward and forward; and (4) the bony spicules at the back (dorsal) end of the resulting tunnel were crushed and impacted with silt particles to form a smooth, concave shell, separating the tunnel from the rest of the marrow cavity. The whole picture suggests that this was a socketed handle, such as we had envisioned in working with the tanged rib fragment. It was designed to hold a

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tanged object that would project out at an angle over the sill formed by the roof of the neural spine. It would have been used in such a way that the force was directed along the line of the handle and blade, causing the tang to push backward into the socket space, crushing the bone spicules at its rear and impacting them with silt from what must have been a damp, gritty environment. The neural spine was radiocarbon-dated to 10,810±50 years BP; like the tanged rib fragment, that range is comfortably within the accepted period when the Clovis, or Clovis-related, people were present here. Statistically, that is, within the uncertainty range for their radiocarbon dates, it’s possible that these two tools were contemporaneous, though they need not have been. One thing is clear: whatever was inserted in the bone socket handle, it was not the rib fragment that we studied. Its tang is not long enough to have reached the back of the socket cavity to produce the false, rounded wall of crushed spicules and silt. I suspect, though, that the service element may have been a similar bone blade. If these bone tools, or at least some of them, were being used for cutting and scraping animal flesh and hides, might they still retain a trace of the organic matter with which they came in contact? One of the specimens, a large, oval flake of ivory,12 had several small pieces of foreign material adhering to it. Through the courtesy of the Buffalo Police Department, a sample of it was examined using the Fourier transform infrared spectroscopy (FTIR) technique. It was determined that the material was indeed organic and consisted of more than one kind of substance. A further stage of analysis was done by my colleague, Dr. Ken Tankersley, in his lab at the State University of New York College at Brockport. (Ken is a highly accomplished archaeologist who specializes in the study of Paleo-Indians. He also brings to his research significant skills in chemistry.) Using gas chromatography– mass spectrometry, he found that our mystery substance produced no reading. Because plant hydrocarbons are within the sensitive range of this instrument, he suggested that the adherent was of animal, rather than plant, origin. The conclusion that it was animal was further supported by ultraviolet mass spectrometry, which should have detected plant chemicals but failed to record anything. Ken attempted to dissolve some of the material, but found that it was highly resistant to even very strong solvents. This result would be expected if it consisted of fatty material rather than blood protein. In a final step, a sample of the adherent was taken to the University of Buffalo’s South Campus Instrumentation Center. There the director, Peter Bush,

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examined it under a powerful scanning electron microscope. This was done in tandem with energy-dispersive X-ray spectroscopy, a process that identifies chemical elements and their relative abundance. The specimen was high in carbon, consistent with being organic. Furthermore, a tiny area of this particle had a considerable concentration of calcium and phosphorous, probably a minute crumb of bone.13 So all in all, while the conclusions remain abstract, they’re consistent with Tomenchuk’s proposal that these tools were used in butchering and related activities. The presence of Ice Age bone tools is surely one of the most distinguishing features of the Hiscock Site. Lithic (stone) artifacts of this age have been found in almost every corner of North America. However, organic matter, in this case bone, antler, and ivory, require specific physical and chemical conditions to be preserved. Fortunately, this site offered just the right circumstances, allowing us to see a wider range of cultural manufacture and use than is usually the case.

chapter 13

More Discoveries (I)

W

ith the opening of access to the grid-north area, and crews that were fast gaining experience, the period from 1991 to 2001 brought remarkable discoveries and a deeper understanding of the site’s structure. The recognition of bone tools, which are rare in North American Ice Age sites, was perhaps the most significant of the discoveries. However, there were others of importance. I’ll relate here several of them, some of which presented a complete surprise when they, in effect, rose up out of the swamp to bite us. First, we’ll need to step back to 1990. We were working in a moderately shallow pit at what was then the eastern edge of the excavated area. I recall a peculiar long, narrow pile of gritty clay and cobbles that extended through the eastern half of the pit, resting on the basement surface. We never figured out what it was, but clearly it represented some sort of past disturbance of the sediment, perhaps digging or burrowing. Because its top extended up into the lower part of the Dark Earth layer, it seems likely that this disturbance happened sometime during the early stage of European settlement. Sieving sediment from near the end of that pile, we found a small tooth1 that clearly came from a meat-eating mammal. Making note of it as potentially something new (I probably considered a fox the most likely candidate), we labeled and packaged it for future examination. No further bones attributable to this animal, whatever it was, came to light during the next (1991) field season. This was probably because that unusually dry summer saw us working a distance away, in the north area of the grid. In 1992, however, we returned to the vicinity of our 1990 pits and discovered a large number of bones and teeth belonging to a new mid-sized meat eater. By far, the

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greatest number of these specimens came from the western half of grid square G8. Because of their nature and location, we believed (correctly, it turns out) that they belonged to the owner of that 1990 tooth. Naturally, I went to Howard Savage for help. After examining selected specimens and comparing them with material in his bone lab, he suggested we take a short walk to the Royal Ontario Museum. There we dove into the extensive bone collection in their Vertebrate Zoology department. Howard felt strongly that we were dealing with the remains of a dog. The second neck vertebra, the axis, was probably our strongest cue. The proportions of this bone2 were distinctly different from those of the same bone in a coyote. Now it was time to determine the age of these remains. Early in 1993 we sent off a sample from a tibia (shin bone)3 that was included in this collection. Two months later we received the lab report. The radiocarbon date was 5,110±150 years BP. In calendar years, this translates to approximately 6,000 years old, placing it historically in the Middle Archaic period. I asked Howard if he would study and report on these bones and, to my delight, he agreed to take up the challenge. Before he could get very far in the project, however, his health began to decline, limiting his ability to work on this project. Howard passed away on March 16, 1997.4 It was a heavy personal blow for me. The almost-monthly drives to Toronto, our pleasant conversations over tea and cookies, and the generous way he shared his knowledge and resources had made him an important part of my life. The large community of his colleagues and friends recognized how much they had lost with his passing, and a moving memorial was held on the University of Toronto campus in his honor. Stephen Cox Thomas, his former student and a professional faunal archaeologist in his own right, took up the project. Steve visited the Buffalo Museum to search through the Hiscock collection for more bones from this mystery animal. Eventually, a total of seventy-two bones, bone fragments, and teeth were collected between 1990 and 1996. While more than 80 percent came from two adjoining quadrants, G8SW and G8NW, the complete assemblage had been dug out of nine quadrants covering an area 17.5 × 10 meters (56 × 32½ feet). Many of the bones are no larger than your thumbnail and are witness to the skill of the Hiscock volunteers. Now Steve settled in to see what he could learn about the animal (or animals) they belonged to.5 First of all, he determined that these remains probably represented a single creature because no bone or tooth was duplicated (for example, there were not

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two or three left thigh bones). The development of the bones and teeth showed that it was a mature animal, more than a year old, and probably quite a bit beyond that. Based largely on the length of the tibia, Steve found that it had stood approximately forty-six centimeters (1½ feet) high at the shoulder. The skeletal structure showed that the animal belonged to the genus Canis (wolf, coyote, or dog), eliminating the various species of fox as a possibility. Dental features, as well as historical occurrences, eliminated the coyote and red wolf from among the candidates, leaving dog and gray wolf. However, the Hiscock animal, though fully mature, was much smaller than even a small gray wolf. Consequently, Steve concluded that the animal was a domestic dog. This was a remarkable and completely unexpected discovery. We knew, of course, that people were present at Hiscock during the Archaic stage of prehistory, but the evidence came from projectile points. We did not expect to learn about their activities and domestic life. And to find remains of their domestic animals was only a little less likely than finding human remains. What were these dog bones doing here? Scrutinizing each bone, Steve found that some bore cut marks, which indicated that the carcass had been dismembered and the meat removed. Apparently, however, bones were not broken for the removal of marrow and grease. This is unusual for an Archaic site, where such breakage is common in the context of a subsistence event. Apparently the dog remains were at least partially eaten but not exploited fully for nutrition. There is no clear evidence that the bones were scavenged by other dogs or by wild animals, indicating that the remains were buried or secured in some other way. The absence of root etching suggests they were interred well below the surface or in a body of water. The total picture shows some degree of care given to these remains, as might be expected if they were part of a ceremonial practice. Steve speculated that this find might represent an early case of dog sacrifice and feasting, a practice so widespread among Native Americans in the Northeast that it seems likely to extend back to antiquity. Some ancient dog burials have been interpreted as ceremonial in nature and, if the Hiscock animal is such a case, this extremely rare find is the oldest-known example in upstate New York.6 The 1996 field season stays in my mind as a time of many unusual finds. To mention only a few, there was a large male tusk with an unusually tight curve, another tusk that had apparently broken off just outside its socket in the animal’s skull, and the clay pipe mentioned in chapter 11.7 Nothing, however, prepared me

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for what came out of the ground on July 28 and the journey it would lead me on over the next several years. Early in the field season we began working a half-pit, E9SW(S1/2). (The northern half of this quadrant had already been excavated the year before.) When the trowelers entered the Woody Layer they began to find deer bones concentrated in the eastern portion of the pit. As they continued down, the bones became quite numerous, forming a tight concentration in a two-footwide area in the northeastern corner. It almost seemed as if they’d been stacked together in ancient times, or perhaps they were enclosed in a sack that had decomposed long ago.8 This corner continued to deepen, and the clustering became even more obvious. It was taking a long time to work these bones, tying up a troweler, a recorder, and a recorder’s assistant, who labeled and packaged the specimens. Each bone, for its entry in the field book, needed to be oriented and identified using its anatomical features. There was room for only one person to work on this trove, so I took over the job. And because there were so many specimens with so much data to record, I decided to work alone in the pit until those bones were cleared, to avoid overloading the recorder and assistant. Our goal was to finish this complex of bones as quickly and completely as possible. The process took several days. I made myself as compact as possible to fit into the small space, but the corner containing the bones grew deeper and wetter as I progressed. At a point while I was engrossed in this work, someone called to me from behind. It was Hezi Shoshani, standing next to the recorder and assistant. One of the world’s authorities on elephants (and surely number one in that select group when it came to enthusiasm), Hezi had brought his class from Wayne State University in Detroit to volunteer at the site for several days.9 They had all been working at the sieves, he explained, when one of his students brought something to his attention. He had been forcing Fibrous Gravelly Clay through the sieve when his eye was caught by a lump of sediment. Perhaps it was the angle of the light, but he noticed a peculiar texture on its surface. Unsure if it was anything significant, the student hesitated to bother me. Yet something told him it should not be ground through the sieve, so he showed it to Hezi, who in turn brought it to me. (The student’s name, Kirk Yousif, is recorded in the field book entry in recognition of his care and judgment.) On a lump of soil, about the size of a young child’s fist, was a grainy, oblongshaped impression, about 1 × 1.5 centimeters (1⁄3 × 2⁄3 inches) in size (see figure 13.1).

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13.1 Fibrous Gravelly Clay with impression of ancient fabric (E9SW-215). (Photo by Richard S. Laub)

On its surface were two sets of lines crossing each other at an angle to form a fine-grained mesh. I immediately thought it must be the impression of a piece of textile. Yet it was in Ice Age sediment. The sieve tag placed it in the upper FGC, just below its contact with the overlying Woody Layer. Then I wondered if it might be an impression of the seat of my pants, or perhaps my knee carelessly pressed against the pit floor or wall. In the tight confines in which I was working, this would not be surprising. Wonder of wonders, I was wearing corduroy trousers, so that complication could be dispensed with. Then I checked a rag draped over the wall that was used to keep exposed bones damp. The texture was too fine, but I nonetheless cut off a sample and placed it in a small plastic bag to be kept with the specimen once we packed it.10 The specimen itself we treated with glycerine to retard drying. Then we placed it in a sealed plastic bag, supporting the bag and specimen in a protective “boat” made of aluminum foil, and got it into a refrigerator as quickly as possible. Immediately after the dig season I contacted Dr. James Adovasio of the Mercyhurst Archaeological Institute at Mercyhurst College (now University) in Erie,

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Pennsylvania. Jim is a noted archaeologist with a special interest in “perishable artifacts,” items that normally decompose too quickly to be preserved through natural processes and so are therefore rarely found at archaeological sites. They include such things as leather, paper, feathers, to some degree wood and, in this case, fabric. Jim agreed to take a look at our specimen, and in late August, just two weeks later, I made the trip down to see him. We met in his lab with two of his colleagues from the Institute. With care drawn from many years of dealing with one-of-a-kind finds, Jim placed the specimen on a microscope stage and peered through the lenses. A moment later he looked up at me and said, “This is aMAzing.” He confirmed that it was a preserved image (actually a positive cast, rather than a negative mold) of textile, but he went beyond that. What was represented here was a twined (a technical term) piece of basketry or textile. Specifically, its type was Close Diagonal Twining, Z-Twist Weft. Each weft (the moving, horizontal strand) was passed around pairs of warps (the stationary vertical strands), rather than individual warps. This method resulted in the oblique orientation of the lineations in the impression. It had a selvage, an edge formed by the fabric itself in a way so it would not unravel. Jim felt it was probably a piece of a bag or cloth, but the remnant was insufficient to be more precise. A few crumbs of the original fabric material were retrieved from the impression. These showed that it had been made from plant fibers rather than animal hair. Of greatest concern was preserving this very important and delicate specimen. Excessive moisture, sudden drying, or too much rubbing—any number of things could efface or destroy it. We needed to make sure that its structure was somehow permanently recorded in the event that something happened to the object itself. Eventually, I contacted the Canadian Conservation Institute in Ottawa and was directed to the National Research Council Canada (NRC) in the same city. The NRC had made advances in the use of laser technology to record 3-D images. In January 1997, I flew with the specimen to Ottawa where, at the NRC lab, it was laser-scanned to produce a faithful computer image of the fabric cast. The numerical data derived from this process recorded the cast’s structure in all three spatial dimensions, and they are now stored at that lab to ensure a permanent record.

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The specimen was then turned over to the Canadian Conservation Institute where, after an extensive series of experiments on sediment samples from Hiscock, it was found that slowly drying the specimen in air was the best means of preservation. Following this work, the lump of sediment, with its precious image, was packed in a carefully padded case and returned to the museum, where it now resides. Having established that it really was a remnant of ancient textile, and having diagnosed the nature of the weave, it remained to determine its age. On the face of it, one would think that it dated to the Ice Age since it was contained within Ice Age sediment. In fact, Jock McAndrews analyzed the pollen in association with the impression and found it consistent with the Pleistocene. Still, the specimen lay at a very shallow depth within the FGC, only a few centimeters from its top. As we had learned, and would continue to see, the damp nature of the Hiscock basin substrate throughout much of its history gave ample opportunity for objects of a given age to be intruded into deeper, and therefore older, levels. Could that be the case here? We had hoped that the few surviving microscopic crumbs of fabric fibers could yield enough carbon to be dated. Unfortunately, that didn’t prove to be the case. Instead, a twig fragment and a piece of plant tissue were taken from the sediment lump, close to the fabric impression, and sent off for radiocarbon dating. The age of the twig came back as 10,180±50 radiocarbon years BP, while the plant tissue was 7,950±50 radiocarbon years BP, clearly showing that there had been mixing at that shallow level within the clay. The twig could confidently be attributed to the clay, though toward its younger end. On the other hand, the plant tissue fell out at the youngest end of the dates for the older Woody Layer. If the tissue could be mixed into the Pleistocene sedimentary layer, then so could the fabric fragment, and it, too, might date to the early Holocene.11 At this point there is no way to be certain. So, what can be said about this remarkable and improbable discovery? In the definitive publication about the fabric impression,12 Jim and his colleagues noted that the skill reflected in its manufacture shows that the person who made it was not new to the task. Rather, he or she was using a sophisticated, established technique and was the inheritor of a “mature perishable technology.” They point out that we now know that weaving technology dates back more than twenty thousand years in Central Europe. Still, its history in the New World

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is poorly understood. Did America’s most ancient human inhabitants bring a knowledge of weaving with them from the Old World, or was it developed here de novo? If these people lived highly mobile lives, as is generally assumed, would they have had the time and opportunity for weaving to be a significant occupation? Adovasio and his colleagues concluded that, regardless of uncertainty as to its precise age, the Hiscock specimen is “one of the oldest evidences of perishable fiber technology in eastern North America.” Furthermore, even if the younger of the two radiocarbon dates is correct, this find is “the oldest example of [the technique of] twining within the Northeast.” At the end of the day, it’s important to remember that this improbable discovery would never have been made if not for the sharp eye and good judgment of Hezi Shoshani’s student.

w Just before the discussion of the fabric impression, I had mentioned a number of interesting specimens found that year (1996). One was a short section of a male tusk. In my annual report for that year, I had written that immediately under this tusk lay “a beautifully preserved portion of the root of a conifer tree [that] was found in Pleistocene spring sands.” We had never found anything like this root, and having the tusk segment lying directly upon it puzzled me. At Hiscock, “conifer” meant “Pleistocene,” or at latest early Holocene, but the superposition of the tusk should mean the former. I wondered if the tusk might have been placed by a Paleo-Indian to weigh down the root in water, perhaps to keep its fibers pliable for use in weaving or binding. It was the kind of free-flying speculation that was invited by so many finds at Hiscock. But a discovery made during the following year (which I’ll now describe) would show that, like so many of those speculations, it was wide of the mark. The tusk and root lay very close to the pit’s southern border, and the quadrant on the other side of that border, designated square E8SW, had not yet been dug. So, the following year we cleared it off and began to excavate it. Within several days we had troweled through the Dark Earth and the underlying Woody Layer. As expected, we then encountered the Pleistocene FGC. However, over much of the pit we found that the Woody Layer was resting on a pale gray, gritty, almost sandy material that, in my diagrams, I labeled “spring sand.”

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What stopped us short at this point was the appearance of dark, circular features, each roughly two centimeters (an inch) in diameter, on the floor of the pit immediately below the Woody Layer. At first we saw only a few of these, but as the work progressed we realized that they were all over the floor. On closer inspection, they proved to be wood, presumably the cross-sections of small trees. We seemed to have found a cluster of saplings standing in place. And, being beneath the Woody Layer, they must be Pleistocene. Jock McAndrews was with us on that day, and he identified the wood as spruce, which is what we would expect. I wanted to see just how much of the trees had been preserved, so I called over Herb Shulman. Herb, you may recall, was our octogenarian engineer, a fellow who would always find the most efficient, commonsense way to perform a task and carry it out to perfection. I asked him to very carefully expose some of these presumed trees by gently troweling away the sediment in which they were buried. I wanted to see what was going on beneath the pit floor. Herb settled himself on one of his inventions—a stool bolted to a kneeling board. Then he began slowly and carefully picking away at the sediment, first forming a trench some distance from a small group of dark circles and then gradually moving closer to them. There was no hurry. . . . At all costs, we wanted to avoid damaging what might have proved to be delicate specimens. Hours later, Herb had finished. He’d dug a foot below the pit floor (where the circular wood cross-sections had appeared) and cleared the sediment from three small trees (see figure 13.2). One of them, in the middle of the hole, had its root system exposed as far down as he’d dared to go without damaging the delicate structure. They were extending straight down and continued into the bottom of the hole. Surely, I felt, we’d discovered a grove of small, presumably young, Ice Age trees still in growth position! As it turned out, though, I was wrong. But the truth was even more interesting than my initial assumption. A month after the field season I sent off samples from two of the spruce trees for dating. The results came back a few months later. We had expected the age of the trees to be in the range of ten to eleven thousand years old. Instead, the average of three radiocarbon dates from the two trees13 was 415±30 years BP. Converting this date to calendar years shows they were growing on the Hiscock basin floor not during the Ice Age but somewhere between AD 1429 and 1621. Let’s take in the whole picture: Somewhat over five hundred years ago a grove of spruce saplings were growing on a surface sixty centimeters (two feet) below

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13.2 Exposed base of young spruce tree in growth position, one of many, in quadrant E8SW. (Photo by Richard S. Laub)

the current water level, and their roots were extending at least another thirty centimeters (one foot) deeper to reach water. Jock’s examination of their growth rings showed they’d lived for about fifteen years. Basically, there was a drought severe enough to lower the water level in our spring-fed basin by just under a meter (three feet), and it lasted for at least fifteen years. The effect this dry period would have had on the local fauna, flora, and human population must have been truly harsh. I asked a local archaeologist what the record showed for that time in western New York. Her answer was that there was “a significant increase in the level of violence.” Small villages were coalescing into larger towns fortified with several concentric log palisades encircling them. It’s interesting that around the time was when the Iroquois Confederacy is thought to have begun to develop. In 1994, a remarkable paper14 was published reporting a record of tree rings of the northern white cedar (Thuja occidentalis) in southern Ontario, a region close to western New York. (The analysis of tree rings shows changes in the rate of growth over various periods of time and can be a valuable source of information

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about climate changes and patterns.) This paper showed the changing growth rates of this single species within a defined area going back to AD 600. The lowest growth rates in the 1,397 years recorded in this ring chronology occurred between 1475 and 1500, possibly when our treelets were growing at Hiscock. Kelly and his colleagues attributed this period of low growth to elevated temperatures. Other researchers reported a drop in growth rate during the same period for this species in southwestern Quebec and for spruce in northern Quebec.15 The reasons given for growth decline in these other studies vary. Kelly and his colleagues felt it was temperature-related. Whatever the correct explanation may be, at Hiscock I feel there’s strong evidence of an extended drought at this time.

w From the earliest phase of the Hiscock project, I’d wondered why this spring-fed basin drew mastodons in such numbers. Even before we began to dig, the 1959 reconnaissance had yielded two left hip sockets (of different sizes) among the mastodon bones found within the limited area that had been probed. And, as dig season followed dig season, the abundant bones littering the floor of the site added to the impression that a lot of mastodons had come here, and a lot had died here. So, what drew them to this spot? Could it have been to drink the water? Why here in particular, when there were huge lakes (the postglacial ancestors of Erie and Ontario) and doubtless associated wetlands within easy reach? In 1987, I came across a magazine article16 by Gary Haynes, an anthropologist at the University of Nevada (Reno), about the behavior of African elephant populations under conditions of severe drought. The elephants would gather in areas where they had been accustomed to find water. With no ponds on the surface, they would actually dig down until they reached the water table. Then, lowering their trunks into the hole, they would drink their fill. If the seepage was slow, they were effectively tethered to the newly dug hole, or well, until either the drought ended or they expired. At these times of competition over water, mortality can be considerable, the wells becoming scenes of shoving and fighting among animals desperate to drink. Less bulky and weaker elephants, especially the young, are at a disadvantage, and many die for lack of water. Smaller species, such as zebras, are also frequently excluded from the wells.

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Was this the explanation for the large number of bones, preponderantly mastodon, at our site? A normally spring-fed basin would attract animals during times of drought. And, the hole in the Cobble Layer that we’d found in 1984, in association with our first tusk, could have been at least the start of a well. But what was the whole picture? I was still bothered by those presumed large water sources that must have been in the area. Then, in 1993, we came across something very unusual. In one of our pits, the top of the Cobble Layer surface (the basement) was a classic “cobblestone road,” with rocks tightly pressed against each other. But it appeared as though something had taken a huge bite out of this layer (see figure 13.3), leaving a profound embayment in the shallowing basement surface that reached a depth of eighty-five centimeters (about thirty-four inches) below the top of the Pleistocene deposits. Further, the Fibrous Gravelly Clay that covered the cobbles was in turn overlain by a cobbly spoil pile, ten to fifteen centimeters (four to six inches) thick, of material that had been presumably dug from the embayment.17

13.3 Edge of ancient dig-out in the Cobble Layer, quadrant H7NW. Cobble Layer surface is nicely exposed on right. (Photo by Richard S. Laub)

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On the floor of this embayment lay a beautiful female tusk.18 Its end, which continued into the western wall, was extremely worn, but the rest of it was in fine condition, with very little evidence of weathering. In fact, chemical preparation of a sample from the tusk (for dating) showed that its protein was still mostly preserved. This suggested that it had been buried soon after being deposited in the cavity. The average of three radiocarbon dates on the tusk, 11,033±40 years BP, gives an approximate date for the digging of the embayment. Like that 1984 hole in the Cobble Layer, this one showed that something, or someone, had dug into the basement in the distant past. Both intrusions had been made during the Pleistocene, since the excavations were backfilled with sediment containing Ice Age bones. The difference was that, while the 1984 excavation was a round hole, dug vertically downward, what we had here was not a hole but a deep cut dug laterally into the wall of a depression. It could not have been a water-seeking well. It must have been something else. But what? In both cases it was reasonable to assume that the digging had been done when the water level in the basin was significantly lower than normal—that is, during a drought. As mentioned, the floor of the excavated embayment lay just under three feet below the top of the Pleistocene strata. Since that top is an erosional surface, the water level in the basin must normally have stood at least that high. This implies a minimal lowering of the water table by nearly three feet, meaning a very severe drought. In a paper published in 1991,19 C. Vance Haynes (University of Arizona) presented evidence for widespread drought in the western United States at the end of the Pleistocene. This paleoclimatic event occurred during the time of the Clovis culture and centered around eleven thousand radiocarbon years ago. The age of the ancient depression we found, based on the tusk dates, suggests that similar conditions prevailed at Hiscock at around the same time. Two other scientists, Elena Ponomarenko (Canadian Museum of Civilization) and Alice Telka (Paleotec Services, Ottawa), found additional evidence for occasional low-water events, or even drying out, in the Hiscock basin during the late Pleistocene.20 This evidence was based on chemical analysis of the FGC and identification of plant and insect remains contained within it. For example, they found parts of the terrestrial dung beetle, Aphodius, which they surmised was drawn by the abundant mastodon feces in this layer. In 1997, I invited Gary Haynes, the author of that article on elephant behavior under environmental stress, to visit the museum. I wanted to get his views, as an

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expert on elephant die-off sites, about what was going on at Hiscock during the Pleistocene. In the process, I showed him pictures and field diagrams of the digout area from 1993. He told me that it resembled excavations made by elephants digging for minerals in the soil (while the vertical hole found in 1984 was like the wells dug by elephants seeking water in times of drought). Haynes agreed that both these features indicated a significantly lowered water table at the site.21 Haynes’ observation about elephants digging for minerals helped widen my eyes to another possibility, one for which I was already developing an appreciation. Shortly before his visit, Ken Tankersley expressed an interest in analyzing the mastodon bones to see if their fluoride content might provide a means to determine their age relative to each other. The bones were found to have a very high concentration of fluoride.22 The source of this fluoride appeared to be groundwater washing over and through the bedrock immediately below the Pleistocene sediments. This bedrock belongs to the Salina Group, a body of dolomite-rich limestone that was deposited during the Late Silurian Period of geological history. The Salina rocks formed in a large, tropical inland sea whose circulation was restricted by various barriers. Evaporation of seawater precipitated enormous volumes of evaporite minerals, especially halite (or table salt—NaCl) and gypsum-like anhydrite (CaSO4), which settled into the accumulating sediment. The fluoride was produced in the same way. So, through being fortuitously deposited upon these particular rocks, the Hiscock sediments, especially the lower (Pleistocene) ones, were enriched by mineral-bearing groundwater. This made Hiscock a “salt lick,” something that was recognized and reported at the same time by Ponomarenko and Telka, and by John McAndrews.23 Salt licks are places where the water or the soil is rich in minerals that animals crave because they are critical for their diet. These localities draw herbivores the way that a salt block attracts cows in a pasture. The animals drink the water and ingest the soil to extract the nutrient minerals and, of course, eliminate the indigestible portion of the soil through defecation. Ponomarenko and Telka point out that sodium, an element that is particularly critical to herbivores, is present in unusually high concentrations in the Cobble Layer and the Fibrous Gravelly Clay. Mastodons, then, were coming to the Hiscock Site not to (or at least not only to) quench their thirst, but also to dig out and eat the mineral-rich soil exposed on its floor, particularly at times of low water. Subsequent to finding the 1993

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dig-out, others have been found in the basin. In fact, the topography of the Cobble Layer surface has numerous trench-like features. It would not be out of line to suggest that they reflect lateral digging by mastodons over much of the basin floor. During some of their visits to the site, mastodons appear to have been under stress. The digging of vertical holes suggests this theory, but there is other evidence for it as well. Gary Haynes observed that elephants often fight when food or water is in short supply, and in shoving and colliding with each other they can break off pieces of tusk.24 At places where these confrontations have occurred, broken tusk tips and other fragments are very common. It is significant, then, that more than sixty broken-off tusk tips have been found at Hiscock. Whatever environmental challenges these reflect—shortage of water, scarcity of food, or something else—mastodons were coming to Hiscock because it was a source of nutrients that they craved. We can’t be certain, though, that these challenges resulted in mass deaths. The abundance of bones could as easily be a consequence of animals coming to the site with great frequency. If one or two died there every few years (during the hundreds of years represented by the FGC), this number would explain what we found. These dig-outs, then, are among the most distinctive features at Hiscock— perhaps the most informative for understanding its Pleistocene history. An interesting observation is that some of these ancient diggings, by weakening the fabric of the Cobble Layer, created areas of low resistance for the flow of ground water. During the Holocene, thousands of years later, artesian springs were remobilized. Some of them emanated from these ancient, buried dig-outs, working their way up through the peats of the Woody Layer and leaving stringers and pods of sand to trace their progress. The sand enclosing the elk skeleton that was found lying against a tusk in 1984 was certainly such a case.25 All in all, the specimens and insights provided by this period of the dig were many. I would be delinquent, though, if I didn’t mention a few individual specimens, each of them small, that are of more than casual importance in portraying the history of the site. In 2001, the final year of this period, we turned up something completely new—a laterally compressed canine tooth that was unlike anything we’d ever found before. It lay deep within the FGC, so we concluded that it dated to the Pleistocene.

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Then we found another small tooth deep in the Fibrous Gravelly Clay. It was quite different from the first but every bit as unfamiliar. This one had a rectangular crown—1.67 × 1 centimeters (two-thirds of an inch by just less than half an inch)—with six cusps aligned in two parallel, lengthwise rows. It was distinctive enough to allow me to speculate as to its owner. The tooth had a form called “bunodont,” or “hilly-toothed.” It had an intriguing resemblance to a mastodon tooth, but the cusps were more distinct and separated than in the latter. And, of course, this tooth was far, far smaller than a mastodon tooth. It and the canine were types of teeth that I would expect to see in a pig-like animal.26 In an Ice Age deposit in the Northeast, the most likely candidate would be a peccary, a type of creature already known to have lived here at this time. Peccaries are related to pigs but have a long and distinctly separate evolutionary history. They are classified in their own family, Tayassuidae, as opposed to the Suidae, or pigs proper. Peccaries differ from pigs in having vertical canines (rather than pigs’ outwardly curved ones), fusion of the radius and ulna bones of the lower forelimb (they’re separate in pigs), and in several other points. Following the field season, I took the two specimens to the Rochester Museum and Science Center to compare them with local Pleistocene specimens in their collection. The Rochester material belonged to a peccary called Platygonus. A comparison told me that we had indeed found peccary teeth. However, our teeth were significantly larger, our rectangular tooth was from a juvenile animal, and our two specimens came from different individuals. (This last point was not surprising, as they had been found 14.5 meters, or about forty-seven feet, apart.) Needing further help, I sent the teeth to Dave Steadman, who was now working at the Florida State Museum in Gainesville. There he and his colleague, Richard Hulbert, were able to use one of the most extensive Ice Age mammal collections in the country for comparison. The canine was indeed from a peccary, but it could not be identified beyond that. The other tooth, however, was from a juvenile Mylohyus, the long-nosed peccary.27 Mylohyus was about the size of a small white-tailed deer. It had longer legs and a significantly more elongate snout than Platygonus, which is the other late Ice Age peccary found in eastern North America. This was the first time Mylohyus had been found in New York State. Previously, it was known only as far north as southern and eastern Pennsylvania, some 300 kilometers (185 miles) or so south of Hiscock. The year before, we had found, in two pieces, a small, slender mammalian leg bone within the Fibrous Gravelly Clay.28 This specimen, mentioned in chapter 9,

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proved to be a tibia, equivalent to our shin bone, of a snowshoe hare, Lepus americanus. Its radiocarbon date was 9,940±40 years BP, placing it at the very end of the Ice Age. (Recall that, about a decade earlier, we had found a tiny, puzzling bone fragment in the Pleistocene deposits, which was ultimately identified by the zooarchaeologist Steve Thomas as a foot bone from a probable snowshoe hare.) It’s interesting that Dave Steadman had earlier recognized this species among bones from the post–Ice Age Woody Layer, suggesting that it had made it through the environmental transition and remained in the area. Both the Mylohyus and the Lepus remains mark the first recognition of these species in Ice Age New York State. These discoveries also rounded out our Pleistocene fauna collection: mastodon, caribou, stag-moose, California condor, giant beaver, long-nosed peccary, and snowshoe hare. The presence of a large, powerful predator, probably grizzly bear, is hinted at by the way that many of the large Pleistocene bones have been gnawed. In 2000, the same year when the hare limb bone was found, we collected a small triangular tooth from the early Holocene Gelatinous Woody Layer.29 It clearly belonged to a carnivore, but it took some time before we determined just what species owned that tooth. As with the peccary teeth, we had never seen one like it before. Several years later I was in one of the collection rooms of the museum’s Vertebrate Zoology Division. Here, drawers full of disarticulated animal skeletons served as a library for anyone wishing to identify the owner of an isolated bone or tooth. At the rear of this room stood the mounted skeleton of a black bear (Ursus americanus). Whatever my errand had been on that day, I went over to examine the bear skeleton, just for the pleasure of doing so. Looking at the teeth, my attention was drawn to one in the lower jaw. Somehow it reminded me of that pesky tooth that we’d found in 2000. Returning to the Geology Division, I retrieved the Hiscock tooth and brought it back to the bear skeleton. BINGO! It was a perfect match. What we’d found was a fourth premolar from the middle of the lower jaw of a black bear.30 This tooth represented the largest carnivore species yet found at Hiscock. Its presence had been speculated about by Dave Steadman years earlier in the first Smith Symposium,31 when we as yet had no tangible evidence. Now we had that evidence, but it consisted, and still consists, of only this one small tooth. Without it, though, we would have no way to be certain that this large and imposing animal had been here.

chapter 14

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THE BASINS AND HOW THEY FILLED

Besides the many remarkable specimens discovered, this period of the Dig, from 1991 to 2001, also provided most of our insights into the site’s geology. By this I refer to the sediment layers (in effect, the pages of our record), and to the shape of the depressions that they fill. I also have in mind the various agencies that affected the fossils and rocks within those layers, both before and during their burial. Understanding these is necessary if we want to recreate the vanished stages on which our animals, plants, and people acted out their lives and ultimately left the traces of their passing. From early in this period we could see that the basement was shallowing eastward and southward. Were we reaching the limits of the basin in which we had been digging for a decade? There was still the north to explore, but we were faced with the possibility that in the next few years we would exhaust the deep areas, where the layers were thick enough to hold and protect large specimens. The prospect of small, “scrappy” fragments in lag deposits on a shallow basement surface wasn’t very encouraging. And then 1994 brought another of those many surprises that we have experienced in this project. As we pushed our excavation toward the southeast, the farthest corner of our work area struck the edge of another depression, where the basement began to deepen and layers began to thicken again. The next few years confirmed that we were entering another large basin.1 By 1998 it became apparent that this second basin (I prefer to call it a sub-basin of the whole Hiscock basin) was centered on a Pleistocene spring vent toward which the basement surface sloped downward from all sides.

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Just west of this, between the “old” and “newer” sub-basins, was an intriguing cluster of mastodon ribs and tusks. This grouping was by far the greatest concentration of intact ribs found to that date at the site, and it’s possible that they belonged to a single animal.2 The tusks included three male and four female specimens. One of the male tusks3 was unusually large, certainly one of the largest ever found in New York State. Our digging also probed the slope bordering the Hiscock basin floor to see how the layers changed as they rose out of the basin toward the surrounding hills.4 It was clear that the Cobble Layer was rising gradually toward those hills. The surprising decline of the Cobble Layer surface (the basement) toward the basin margin that we had observed in earlier years probably indicates that the true edge of the basin floor was covered by debris that washed down the slopes through the years. Clearly more work is needed to understand this transitional area. We also encountered evidence of how the Fibrous Gravelly Clay filled in the irregular contours of the basement surface. In chapter 9 I mentioned two fragments of a single mastodon rib (see figure 9.4) that were found about 10½ feet (3.25 meters) apart. These two pieces were presumably lying on the basin floor at the same time. The deeper piece, at a depth of 90 centimeters (almost three feet), was covered by 16 centimeters (just over five inches) of FGC. The shallower one, at a depth of only 71 centimeters (28 inches) below the ground, had none above it, and was in direct contact with the overlying Woody Layer. This tells us that the shallower areas of the basement did not accumulate much sediment until the deeper parts were filled. No great surprise there. In a more graphic case, six Paleo-Indian artifacts were distributed across a channel-like depression in the basement (see figure 14.1). All lay in the FGC. Those on the margins of this channel rested on or slightly above the Cobble Layer, while those closer to the channel’s axis had twenty to forty centimeters (eight to sixteen inches) of sediment between them and the underlying basement. In effect, these six artifacts formed a chain that was festooned across the channel, as it were, anchored on the shallow basement surface at the margins and draped across the deeper parts within the channel. Assuming that all of these specimens came to rest within a brief time period, this indicates that the deep channel had already been partly filled in at the time the artifacts were deposited. Both examples show that deposition of the FGC was muting the topographical relief of the basin floor.

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14.1 Artifacts in Fibrous Gravelly Clay festooned across depression in the Cobble Layer, quadrants F7SW and F7SE. Top image shows the projected vertical profile; the bottom image shows the plan view with contours on the Cobble Layer surface. (Richard S. Laub and Arthur E. Spiess, “What Were Paleoindians Doing at the Hiscock Site,” in Late Pleistocene and Holocene Paleoecology and Archaeology of Western New York State, ed. Richard S. Laub, Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 37 (2003): 261–71; courtesy of the Buffalo Museum of Art)

ORIGIN AND ENVIRONMENT OF THE FIBROUS GRAVELLY CLAY

The Ice Age fossils and artifacts were nearly all contained within the FGC. The key to learning their history and the environment in which they had been deposited required an understanding of this layer. How had the FGC been formed, and in what sort of environment? Yet, to this point, we really knew very little about this critical layer. It had been pegged by knowledgeable scientists who had visited the site as a “spring deposit,” but what did this mean? And was it correct?

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To grasp the meaning of the FGC required several different approaches. One helpful way to understand a sediment is to sieve it, dividing its grains into their various size categories. Are most of the grains coarse or fine? Is each size category throughout the sequence about evenly represented? A sample of the FGC and Cobble Layers were subjected to this analysis. Both proved to be poorly sorted, meaning that a wide range of particle sizes was present, from very fine to very coarse. (Consequently, neither had been transported far by water or wind, since that would tend to winnow away the finer particles and leave behind the larger ones.) The main difference between them was that the Cobble Layer had a higher proportion of grains in the finer size classes.5 Also, the clay had a pale brown color compared to the light gray of the cobbles. Field observations were also revealing. For example, in 1994, we excavated a quadrant, F7SW, in which the basement reached considerable depth in certain areas. To reach the basement we dug through a large amount of FGC. Then, with the pit’s completion, I began to diagram the layers in each wall. In the western wall the Cobble Layer rose to a shallow depth at the northern end. Here it was so shallow that the FGC pinched out, and the Woody Layer rested directly upon the Cobble Layer. Working my way south, away from the pinch-out, I expected to find the clay exposed in the wall, and to be able to distinguish it from the Cobble Layer. To my surprise, I could not recognize it. Yet it had to be there, since we had dug out a considerable amount of FGC, especially near the western wall, before reaching the basement. Looking more closely, I noticed a subtle color difference in the wall below the Woody Layer. To the north the sediment was bluish-gray in color. Toward the south the face of the wall was more brownish-gray. The sediment’s texture appeared the same; the only difference was the color. Then I noticed that short twig fragments were embedded here and there in the brownish sediment, but they were completely absent from the more bluish sediment. Systematically, I examined the boundary between these colors and found it to be sharp and well defined. When I incorporated it into my wall diagram, it showed a thick body of brownish FGC steeply overlapping the blue-gray Cobble Layer and ultimately pinching out a short distance before the northern wall. The angle of overlap reached as high as 62⁰. This struck me as too steep an angle for the Cobble Layer to not have slumped if it had been underwater while the clay was being deposited on it. I felt that the latter must have been deposited at the same time that the former was being eroded.

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Then there are the boulders. These large rocks clearly came from the north, encased in the advancing glacier. They had become rounded through action of the ice, grinding them against each other and upon the rocky surface beneath the glacier. Most are limestone of a type that outcrops along the Niagara Escarpment, 16.5 kilometers (about 10 miles) to the north, and were probably plucked from the high-standing ridge as it was overridden by the ice sheet. There are also crystalline (or in broad terms, “granitic”) boulders that must have come from the Canadian Shield, the geological core of North America. The nearest portion of the Shield lies 165 kilometers (about 100 miles) to the north. As the glacial front melted, the boulders were left behind, some in the meltwater that pooled in front of the retreating ice. These rocks and other debris, down to the finest “rock flour,” are what we believe formed the Cobble Layer. Though they clearly originated in the Cobble Layer, we often found boulders lying on the basement floor, embedded in the FGC. We sometimes even found several centimeters of it, and even an Ice Age bone, underlying a boulder (see figure 9.3). This means that these finer sediments and bones must have already been in place before the boulder came to rest above them. As the Cobble Layer underlies the clay, and is therefore older than it, the boulders must have somehow been removed from the Cobble Layer and subsequently incorporated into the clay layer. It’s interesting to see how these limestone and “granitic” boulders have fared while being buried in the proglacial debris (see chapter 21, note 19, point b). The former often are etched through the dissolving action of groundwater. In one case, while troweling in the pebbly type of FGC I turned over a flat limestone slab and found that the underside was covered with numerous small depressions. Looking at the surface on which it had lain, I realized that each of those depressions corresponded to a pebble on that surface (see figure 14.2). This was a beautiful example of pressure solution. Limestone is soluble in water (just look at old grave markers made of marble and limestone in the damp northeastern states), and that solubility increases under pressure. The weight of overlying sediment had caused the bottom of this flat piece of limestone to dissolve, conforming to the pebbly surface beneath it. In some cases, the limestone boulders and cobbles have undergone even more extensive solution, freeing fossils and minerals that had been encased in them

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14.2 Underside of limestone slab (right) and surface on which it lay (left), illustrating pressure solution. Depressions in slab correspond to the underlying pebbles. (Photo by Richard S. Laub)

(see figure 14.3). It was not uncommon to find fossil corals and even mineral crystals loose within the FGC. Identical fossils and minerals can be found to the north in the Silurian-age limestone of the Niagara Escarpment, vivid evidence of glacial transport from that direction.6 The results of the sieving and the field observations are consistent with the FGC having been somehow derived from the Cobble Layer. The latter was deposited and remained in an oxygen-poor environment, such as the bottom of a quiet proglacial lake. The brownish color of the former, by contrast, signals that it had been oxidized through contact with the air or with oxygenated water, which oxidized iron present in the sediment. The most likely mechanism for reworking the Cobble Layer sediments into FGC is mastodons. The animals digging out and ingesting the sediments for their salts, and then defecating them out again (along with some of the conifer twigs they had eaten) could account for this, given the hundreds of years represented by the FGC.

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14.3 Four limestone cobbles in Fibrous Gravelly Clay, as found (F6SE-98). (Photo by Richard S. Laub)

Transition from Pleistocene FGC to Holocene Peat What happened at the time of the switch from deposition of the FGC during the Pleistocene to peat deposition during the Holocene? In what way(s) did the conditions at Hiscock change? Was there a period of emergence during which some of the FGC sediments were eroded from the floor of the basin? Or was there a period of nondeposition while the basin floor was still submerged, followed by the formation of peat due to a change of environment? Or, yet again, might there have simply been a (geologically) instantaneous environmental transition that brought about a sudden change in what was being deposited?

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And beyond this, how much time is represented by the boundary between the FGC and the Woody Layer? In 1996 we encountered a truly remarkable situation while digging; if it didn’t answer these questions, it certainly provided an important piece to the puzzle. We were pressing eastward into the deepening, fossil-rich area where we’d found tusks and numerous mastodon ribs the year before. Vince Martonis hammered stakes into the ground to define the four corners of the quadrant we would dig. The depths to which they went indicated a deep pit, with the exception of the stake in the southeastern corner. Oddly, it didn’t go in nearly as far as the other three stakes. Had it hit a rock? After a couple of more swings with the sledgehammer we decided to leave the stake as it stood. The pit was strung up, and we began digging. After several days of troweling, while working in the Woody Layer I came upon a small patch of ivory splinters. It was unusual, though not unprecedented, to find ivory in the Holocene Woody Layer. Sometimes frost action can cause vertical displacement of buried objects. So, leaving the splinters in place, covered by a damp cloth, I moved away and continued troweling down the surrounding floor. To my surprise the patch of ivory persisted, continuing deeper to take on the form of a column of ivory splinters. What in the world could this be? After digging down several more centimeters, it became clear that I was working on the splintered point of a large tusk. (Vince’s stake had been blocked when it struck the side of the tusk, fortunately doing little damage. He’d shown good judgment in knowing when to stop but nonetheless received a bit of good-natured ribbing.) The pointed end of the tusk rose out of the FGC and penetrated twentythree centimeters (roughly nine inches) up into the overlying Woody Layer (see figure 14.4). The splintering was limited to the portion within the Woody Layer. Somehow, this part of the tusk had protruded from the FGC for some time before the Woody Layer covered it. How long, and in what way, had it been exposed? Perhaps the basin dried up, leaving the tip exposed to the air. Or perhaps the basin remained submerged, but the tusk was only partly buried when the FGC stopped accumulating. As for how long, there was sufficient time for the tusk tip to splinter but not enough for it to fall apart. Some of the splinters had slid off the tusk tip before it was finally buried, but they remained in contact with the tusk about ten centimeters (four inches) below its tip, due to the support of the surrounding peat. This suggests to me that

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14.4 Tusk (E9NE-713) in Fibrous Gravelly Clay, whose plaster-jacketed tip extended 23 cm into overlying Woody Layer. (Photo by Richard S. Laub)

splintering was occurring at the same time that the lower Woody Layer was accumulating around the end of the tusk. By extension, it would mean that very little time (whatever that means in a geological sense) elapsed before the exposed tusk tip was buried in the Holocene peat, something that could only have happened in water. If this is correct, water must have remained in at least part(s) of the basin during the transition from FGC to peat deposition. It would be interesting if experiments could provide some idea of how long the deterioration of a tusk takes. That would tell us how much time transpired between the end of FGC deposition and the beginning of the period of peat formation. If I’m correct that the FGC was formed by reworking of the Cobble Layer, and that mastodons played a role in that process, then the transition from one type of sediment to another may mark the end of the mastodon presence here, rather than purely a climatic change. With the huge beasts no longer browsing on the neighboring trees and trampling saplings, the forest would have finally closed in around the basin, and abundant plant debris would have begun to accumulate in the water.

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Four years after that mastodon tusk episode, I was mapping the walls in a completed pit.7 At the northern wall I found that I couldn’t recognize the boundary between the FGC and the Woody Layer. In this area the FGC was relatively fine, and it was overlain by the (also fine) Gelatinous Woody Layer. So, as in the earlier case where I had trouble finding the lower boundary of the FGC (in contrast with the upper boundary, in this case), I began to slowly and carefully examine the wall along an imaginary vertical line, looking for subtle changes that might mark the transition. But, before I go on, let me inject a word about “index fossils.” They are the preserved remains of ancient animals and plants that lived during (geologically) brief episodes of time, such that finding one in a rock layer tightly defines that layer’s age. For example, finding a Triceratops fossil tells us that the layer in which it lies dates to the Late Cretaceous Period. Index fossils are a boon to geologists who seek to understand the order of the rock layers in newly explored areas. Actually, in view of their value, it’s surprising that this concept was first recognized so recently. From the late 1700s, William Smith, an English surveyor, observed that, using key fossils, particular rock strata could be traced over wide areas of the country. Furthermore, he found that the fossil assemblages of the various strata always occurred in the same vertical order. In effect, index fossils are like the index words at the top of a dictionary page. It was at this point that Mr. Smith’s “Principle of Fossil Correlation” came to my aid. As I worked my way upward centimeter by centimeter through the FGC, I saw short conifer twigs, mastodon digesta, protruding from the wall. Then, at about seventy centimeters (twenty-eight inches) below the ground, those twigs disappeared. They were replaced by brown, papery plant fragments, possibly seed covers, which I recalled having found in the base of the Woody Layer while troweling in this pit. There was something else here: tiny, very smooth pieces of white quartz. We were used to finding these in abundance in the Woody Layer, an anomaly considering its quiet depositional environment where other mineral matter was quite rare. A few years before, John Tomenchuk had argued that these were gizzard stones (gastroliths), pieces of gravel swallowed by birds and held in a pouch in their digestive tract for grinding up food. This made perfectly good sense to me. If I had to depend solely on the physical appearance of the sediment in the wall, I never would have recognized that boundary. Apparently, at least in this

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portion of the basin, the depositional conditions changed little between the Pleistocene and the start of the Holocene. This wall, and the episode of the splintered tusk tip, suggested to me that pond-like conditions persisted during this time, reinforcing the idea that initially the critical change was the disappearance of mastodons and their effect on the environment. It was gratifying to see how well Mr. Smith’s principle worked in my time of need.

RECOGNIZING COMPLEXITY IN THE SEDIMENT UNITS

A very interesting layer came to our attention during this phase of the Dig. In 1992, we had recognized a yellowish clay-like deposit within the Woody Layer.8 We named this, not too imaginatively, the “Yellow Clay.” It contained numerous bones, many belonging to frogs, but also included birds, small mammals, and deer. Often, these bones bore a grayish mottling called calcining, which commonly reflects burning. A year later we encountered the deposit again. This time our crew included an Ontario archaeologist, Jeff Bursey, whose field experience proved invaluable. He pointed out that the Yellow Clay had a greasy feel, probably due to ash content. This, along with the calcined bones and the presence of charcoal, made it likely that it was deposited during or immediately after a forest fire. The clay and some of the bones would have been washed down from the surrounding slopes after they were denuded by burning. The abundance of bones immediately below and within the layer reflected the high mortality caused by the disaster. How long ago did the fire occur? Following the 1993 field season, I sent two samples of charcoal, one from the base of the Yellow Clay and one from its top, for radiocarbon dating. The results came back a month later: The sample from the base of the burn layer was 3,130±60 radiocarbon years old. The sample from the top of the layer dated to 2,870±70 radiocarbon years ago.9 So this fire overran the site roughly 3,000 years ago. As a special bonus, through the samples’ microstructure, we were able to learn what kind of trees had produced these two samples of charcoal. Frances B. King of the Archaeobotany Lab at the University of Pittsburgh determined that the charcoal from the base of the Yellow Clay had come from a birch tree. The piece from the top of the layer was from an elm.

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Here, then, was one instance where we were granted a peek at the site during the 6,000- to 7,000-year gap in the sedimentary record between the older and younger Woody Layers. Not only could we see a horrendous event that transpired here, but some of the animals and plants that witnessed it as well. The FGC also revealed more variety to us. We were already aware that this fossil- and artifact-bearing Ice Age deposit consisted of a pebbly and a fine phase, often seen in the pit walls as distinct layers—coarse below, fine above (see figure 6.4).10 Now, as we worked in previously inaccessible areas, we found that in the northwest part of the grid the fine FGC was a light green color and contained odd, rough-textured concretions (see figure 14.5). These chemically formed rocks embedded in the clayey matrix took on many forms, from round to highly elongate. Also, many short twig fragments protruded from them, apparently engulfed by the growing concretions. As uninteresting as they seemed initially, these peculiar rocks turned out to hold important secrets about the site’s environment during the late Ice Age. More about this later.

TAPHONOMIC AGENCIES

The term taphonomy refers to breakage and all other processes that affect a fossil between the time an animal or plant dies and when it’s picked up as a specimen by some lucky scientist or amateur. These processes can include damage by scavengers, petrification, dissolution, color changes, chemical changes, distortion by pressure or movements within the earth, and many other physical and chemical alterations. As you can imagine, our work at Hiscock offered numerous opportunities to see the effects of taphonomy, of which I’ll share a few now. That the bones deposited at Hiscock had been scattered after the deaths of their owners was obvious since the earliest years of our work. Now, however, the role of scavengers in causing this became more obvious. In one case we found three mastodon metapodials (foot bones)11 in two adjoining pits, each bearing clear evidence of having been gnawed. The gnawing was concentrated on the lower end of each bone. (The feet of dead animals are among the first areas attacked by scavengers, as they are very accessible.) Nearby was that thick rib mentioned earlier (see figure 9.4), which was broken in two by what must have been a very powerful bite.12 There are many other examples of scavenged bones

14.5 Concretions from Fibrous Gravelly Clay containing conifer twig fragments. (A) J3SW-62; (B) H3SW-74; (C) J4SW-50. (Courtesy of the Buffalo Museum of Science)

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in the Ice Age level (figure 17.2 shows an impressive case), but these earlier ones made it clear that large carnivores of some sort were manhandling and scattering those bones. To a degree, this phenomenon can be seen in the Holocene bones as well. On a July day during the 1994 dig season, we uncovered a female tusk13 amid a jumble of ribs and other mastodon bones. On cleaning and preserving it back in the lab, we were surprised to find that its side had a large hole in it. I couldn’t quite grasp what caused this, but I came up with some (in retrospect) truly improbable explanations. We learned one thing, though: whatever the source of the damage, it had been inflicted long after the Pleistocene. I had dug out the sediment filling the hole and sent it to Jock McAndrews to examine in his Toronto lab. He reported back that the pollen it contained was typical of the Holocene horizon and particularly characteristic of the trees growing here thousands of years after the Ice Age. But what had damaged this tusk in such a peculiar way? Soon the clues began to appear. That same year we found a group of specimens (mentioned in chapter 6) that shed light on this mystery. Apparently an ash tree (Fraxinus nigra) had fallen and jammed a branch (dated to 590±60 years BP) into the soft soil of the basin during the time of the younger Woody Layer. This branch smashed a buried mastodon rib dated to 10,790±70 years BP. Had I not seen the branch in contact with the shattered rib, I would have had no way of knowing how the bone had been damaged. Here, then, was a probable explanation for that enigmatic hole in the tusk. It had been produced by a branch thrust into the ground (and into the tusk) with the weight of a falling tree behind it. This time, however, the branch was not preserved. We could only perceive this likely scenario through the nearby evidence. And there was more such evidence here as well. Only a few feet away, in the same pit as the female tusk and the crossed ribs, lay the end of a large male mastodon tusk.14 Because of its size and position it protruded into the eastern wall of the pit; we needed to excavate the half-quadrant to the east in order to fully expose it. Once the digging was complete, we saw that the tusk was not intact. There was a break in the middle, so while the two sections remained in contact, there was movement between them when we tested the tusk. This presented

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a challenge when we engineered a method to remove the huge specimen from the pit. (It measured more than two meters (6.5 feet) along its curve. For some reason, although we had collected many sizable mastodon bones over the preceding years, this one brought home to me for the first time how truly enormous the animal was.) How had the tusk been broken? The accumulating evidence made me conclude that it must have been damaged by the shock from a heavy tree falling on the soft sediment in which it was buried. The force would have penetrated through 0.7 to 0.9 meters (2½ to 3 feet) of overlying soil, breaking this massive tusk in two, though that encasing soil kept the two segments in their original positions. Digging in this area in subsequent field seasons, we found large pieces of wood in the Woody Layer that testified that sizable trees had fallen here.15 So, falling trees had broken or otherwise affected at least some of the bones buried at Hiscock. In 1998, we were digging in an isolated quadrant some distance from our main work area. The largest specimen in the Pleistocene level of this pit was a real mess—shattered and distorted. The damage to a specimen can often provide more information than an undamaged one would, so this pile of rubble was treated with great care. Trenching around it we isolated the object on a pedestal of sediment, and then, securing it in a plaster jacket to keep all the pieces in place, we lifted it from the pit floor. Upon returning to the museum, Pat Karaszewski, the head of our lab, opened the field jacket, exposing the sorry specimen. She cleaned it carefully and suffused it with Butvar glue to keep each bone fragment in place so that the whole unit could be lifted and examined. We could see that it was a thoracic vertebra, one from the chest region of a mastodon. Now able to view the object from all sides, it was obvious that this normally thick, robust bone had been squashed as flat as a pancake. The degree of damage was clear as we compared it with an equivalent, undamaged vertebra from Hiscock (see figure 14.6). What could have caused such extreme trauma to this bone? There was no evidence of significant tree falls in this area. It didn’t lie under a boulder, and in any case we’d found plenty of bones under boulders that showed no particular damage. The most logical explanation to me was that it was stepped on and crushed by something very heavy, probably a mastodon. This would be in keeping with the picture of extensive mastodon traffic and activity in the basin that has developed through our research.

14.6 Crushed mastodon thoracic vertebra (F6SE-50) with corresponding undistorted specimen for comparison. (Courtesy of the Buffalo Museum of Science)

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Two years later, we found more evidence of trampling. A large, flat mastodon bone fragment, over two centimeters thick, had been crushed flat, with broad cracks all over its surface.16 It had originally been part of a robust, cylindrical limb bone of a mastodon, something that became clear when we closed up all the cracks to bring the bone back to its original shape. Like the vertebra, it had almost certainly been trodden on and crushed by a mastodon, there being nothing else nearby that could offer an alternative explanation. Trampling, then, was a factor here, too. So, an inventory of the taphonomic agencies, those that affected the fossils at this site between the death of the organism and the time it was unearthed, would include (1) scavenging; (2) tree falls; (3) trampling; and (4) manipulation by humans. It would also include (5) abrading of the surface by movement within the gritty sediment and (6) cracking of the bone surfaces due to drying out in ancient times. These are just the causes of physical change. There was also chemical change brought about by (1) decomposition of organic matter within the bones and wood; (2) surface staining by various chemicals in the groundwater; (3) burning, whether by natural agencies like the forest fire, or perhaps by human activity; and (4) doubtless other factors that haven’t yet occurred to me. Each of these changes teaches something not only about the history of the fossil, but also about physical and chemical conditions at the site through time. The lesson can’t be emphasized often enough: “Breakage is data.”

w I mustn’t end my account of this period of the Dig without mentioning the deluge of ʼ92. We had often been the victims of downpours. Though July and August were the dry season, there seemed to be an endless parade of black clouds blowing in from the west, and each time we saw them approaching we could only hope they would skirt us. When they didn’t, the results were often dramatic and sometimes humorous. In one of the early years, the rain came too suddenly, and too fiercely, for us to have time to get back up to camp, so the thirteen of us rushed to the tarp at the edge of the basin that sheltered our equipment. Somehow we all managed to squeeze, in a twisted mass of humanity, into that small space, when suddenly

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a stream of water began pouring on us through an unnoticed hole in the tarp. We were laughing too hard to cry. But 1992 was special. One particular day we were expecting rain. The weather forecast had warned us, and we could see it coming. Because every opportunity to dig needed to be taken advantage of, I asked the crew to dress for rain and be prepared to work in it as long as we could. Our field notebooks and label paper were all waterproof, so we would work until the recorders could no longer write. I prepared myself by putting on my rain pants and jacket, the first time I’d ever used them. With those on, and my high rubber barn boots, I felt pretty secure. Then came the rain. The workers plied their trade bravely, and much work was accomplished. The recorders and their assistants had the worst of it—keeping their backs to the rain and wind and growing more chilled because they had to remain stationary. Meanwhile, my feet, inside the boots, began to feel wet. Soon they seemed to be sloshing in water. But that was impossible. How could the rain get into those boots? It was thus that I came to understand that rain pants were not supposed to be tucked into boots! The rainwater that landed on my pants was carried down into my boots as sure as if it was following a gutter downspout. It was a valuable lesson that I needed to learn only once. Meanwhile, it was clear that the crew were reaching the end of their rope. The recorders and assistants were having difficulty writing, and it was challenging for the trowelers and sievers to look for specimens in the downpour. It was near break time, so I called Laura and asked her to bring our lunch. The campsite was a quagmire, leaving the pole barn the only possible place to eat. We shifted around the equipment stored there so that our very large crew could get under the welcoming roof. Each of us squeezed in wherever there was room, and Laura brought in a large pot of steaming vegetable soup. The feeling of relief, security, and well-being was indescribable as we slurped that wonderful hot soup and felt the chill dissipate from our bones. I looked around and got the greatest pleasure seeing a peaceful look on everyone’s face, despite the wet hair and dripping rain gear. After the storm passed, we went outside to survey our home. There was not a dry spot in the camp. Tents were flooded and great puddles lay everywhere. We all tended to our own tent as needed, with the help of those few whose tents had bested the rain. As for the soggy ground in the camp, I had a brainstorm. Earlier

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that summer I’d attended a Renaissance fair with my family. Reconstructing life as it was in rural Elizabethan England, the inhabitants had scattered reeds on the ground to make it smell sweet and also presumably to hide the filth. I knew we had an abundant supply of reeds down on the site, so I directed the crew to bring up as many bundles of the plants as they could and scatter them on the floor of the camp to provide dry places for walking. Bad mistake! A foul smell rose from the ground as the reeds decomposed in the puddles. The stench became unbearable and, realizing my error, we reversed course and removed the hundreds of reeds scattered throughout the camp. Meanwhile, the long drive that connected our camp with the road was soaked and rutted. The gravel reinforcing it was of little help, and it was necessary to push vehicles as they tried to negotiate the drive in order to leave the camp. At this point the Byron Highway Department came to our rescue. They scattered gravel on the drive and then worked to consolidate it with a steam roller. I’m not making this up: as the huge vehicle rolled along the drive, the ground surface actually moved in waves, so saturated was the underlying soil. We then hired a local man with a tractor to scatter coarser road metal on the drive, raising its surface. This seemed to resolve the problem of driving between the camp and the road, and we congratulated ourselves on finally resolving our watery troubles. Things were finally back to normal. Or so we thought . . . That evening, people walking to the portable toilets at the edge of the camp suddenly found that they were up to their ankles in water as they approached the structures. We couldn’t figure out what was going on until someone walked out along the drive and found the problem. The topography of the ground was such that, normally, water flowing down the slope on the south side of the drive would drain across it and disperse into the thicket on the north side. Now, however, the added gravel had raised the level of the drive so that it formed a dam. The water from the slope was now diverted to flow along the drive, right down to the toilets. At this point, I called our friend and neighbor, Corky Shaw, the man who could do anything. He immediately understood what was going on. He installed a conduit pipe that allowed the dammed-up water to flow under the raised drive and into the thicket, as it had done before; once again, all was right with the world.

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This has been an account of the all-important second phase of the Byron Dig. The first phase, spanning 1983 to 1990, introduced us to the principal elements of the site—the layers and their contents—and allowed us to establish a vocabulary for recording and communicating what we saw. This second phase, 1991 to 2001, brought us a deeper understanding of how all the parts of the site related to each other and what taphonomic forces had been at work. We were about to enter the relatively brief but highly exciting third phase of the Dig. Before moving on with that part of the narrative in chapter 16, however, I need to touch on some important events tangential to the actual digging.

chapter 15

Of Death and Life

T

he Byron Dig was a scientific research project. It was also the story of a large number of men and women coming together, over a long period of time, to contribute to this effort. It was, in a sense, a microcosm of life, with many opportunities to experience, directly or vicariously, the good and the bad that fell to each other’s lot. Through the twenty-nine years it lasted, I watched people I’d met as children grow into adults and have kids of their own. A few of our volunteers went on to gain professional standing that led to employment in prominent scientific and educational institutions. At the same time, too many people whom I’d gotten to know, and for whom I’d developed strong feelings, passed from this life. I offer here two stories, of death and of life, from this period of the Dig.

TINA MARIE PLATT (1979–1997)

In mid-February 1997, I received a phone call from a close friend of Doug and Laura Platt. He sounded agitated and emotional. Tina, the Platts’ older daughter, had been walking home the previous night along the main road through Byron, following a date with her boyfriend. It had snowed recently, and she stepped off the sidewalk to avoid a puddle. Meanwhile, a young man from a neighboring village was driving home. He reached over to change a musical tape, and the rest of his body shifted in sympathy with this movement, causing the car to swerve slightly. It was just enough to fatally strike the young woman walking along the side of the road. It was February 15, a month and a day past Tina’s eighteenth birthday. I drove to Byron to lend what support I  could

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15.1 Tina Platt. (Courtesy of the Platt family)

as the family dealt with one of the most heartbreaking things that can be experienced—the loss of a child. Tina was a little kid when I first met her, nine years earlier. She would help her mom in various ways to manage the enormous task of providing for our crew as we lived and worked in the field 2.5 kilometers (about a mile and a half) from their home in the village. I carry a mental image of her from when she was still quite young. I was walking through the Platts’ living room and saw Tina, from the back, sitting in a chair and cradling her baby sister, Stefanie, in her arms while her mom was working in the kitchen. And sometimes I would open my tent to find a sandwich bag full of chocolate chip cookies that Tina had baked and left, as a gift, on my sleeping bag. Tina was athletic—an enthusiastic member of the Byron-Bergen High School girls’ softball team, the Bees. She added a delightful spark to our weeks in the field each year. And now, suddenly, this lovely girl was gone.

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At a farewell gathering in the funeral home in nearby Leroy (Laura’s home town), I stood with the family and their many friends as people tried to bring some measure of comfort to Laura, Doug, and their extended family. Laura’s father, Bob, seemed to be fighting back tears. He remarked that this was the first truly bad thing that had ever happened to their family. And I could believe that. Laura, her parents, and her four siblings, as best I could see, enjoyed a loving relationship and an active, giving life filled with crowds of admiring friends. Doug and Laura asked me to say a few words about Tina at the memorial service that was held in Byron. I was deeply touched but also a little worried. What could I say on such an occasion that would be meaningful and helpful to the family, and what could I offer to a community that had known Tina far longer than I had? When the time came for me to speak, I walked to the podium. I was still ill at ease about doing right by these people, by this young lady, but most of all, by Laura and Doug, who sat in the front row, their arms around one another. I also hoped that my emotions wouldn’t overcome me as I spoke. I told the congregation that I had first met Tina when she was a cute little kid. Very soon, I saw that she had developed into a very pretty teenage girl. Finally, before I knew what had happened, she had become a beautiful young woman. And now, she would always be that young woman because that is how we would all remember her. Then, I took a chance. I didn’t know how the congregation or the family would react, but it needed to be said: I pointed out that not one but two lives had ended on that night. The young man, in that moment of changing the tape in his car, did nothing that I, and many others, haven’t done. Yet that moment doubtless ended the life he’d been living and set him on a new, sadder course. My heart went out to him as well. When I left the podium, an official from Tina’s high school came up to me, shook my hand, and with a choked voice said, “Thank you for saying that.” This seems like the end of the story, and perhaps it is. However, let me relate something that happened the next day. You can make of it what you wish. I went to work at the museum on the day following the memorial service. Upstairs in the Geology Division it seemed like normal times again as I spoke with my staff and volunteers about the day’s tasks. There were a lot of pigeons perched on the windowsills outside our offices and labs. This was not, in itself, unusual, as it was a convenient place for them to rest, something they often took advantage of.

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Then I noticed one that stood out from the others, a bird that was pure white. I had never seen one like it there before. As I gazed, it flew off the sill and out of sight. I never saw it, or another like it, outside our windows again.

WEDDING

Life brings the bad, and life brings the good. I chose to break with chronological order in this chapter, beginning with a tragedy so that I could, hopefully, soften it with a joyful happening. Bill Parsons was one of the project’s most active volunteers. He also became a close friend. An accomplished artist, highly intelligent, and with a strong philosophical bent, he’s a gregarious person to whom people are easily drawn. Yet, with all his strengths, he had remained a bachelor. This was not by choice but simply the luck of the draw. He clearly attracted attention from quite a few ladies, but with youth behind him and middle age approaching, the right one still had not come along. Then 1993 arrived. We had discovered that big lateral “bite” out of the Cobble Layer—the one that Gary Haynes had equated with the features that African elephants produce when digging into salt-rich soil at mineral licks. And in the deepest part of that ancient excavation lay exposed part of a tusk.1 We could tell by the diameter of its pulp cavity that it belonged to a female, and we estimated that about half of it continued through the wall and into the adjacent quadrant. I tried to wiggle the tusk, hoping that it was loose enough to draw smoothly out of the wall, but it wouldn’t move. It would require additional digging to get it safely out of the pit. For this task I chose Bill and a new volunteer, Kris Walck. Kris had already impressed me with her ability as a field worker. A soft-spoken but strong worker, she showed good judgment in anything I’d assigned her to do. The floor of the pit sloped downward to the wall where the tusk was embedded, making it difficult to find a good position for digging. I recall Bill, at one point, lying on his side with one leg pressed up against a wall board for support. Then, after a while, they announced that the tusk was becoming loose enough to wiggle. It was time to record the specimen’s position—its depth, coordinates, orientation, and the layer in which it lay—in the field book. That being

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done, it could be lifted. With Bill at one end and Kris at the other, it came out smoothly, a short but well-preserved female mastodon tusk sporting a beautiful pale gold color. Sometime during the months following that field season, Bill came in to the Geology Division to do some illustration work for me. Usually cheerful, he seemed even more so that day. He told me that he had been dating someone and that it was going especially well. Who was she? It was Kris. Apparently the two of them had bonded over that tusk. Several months later, I learned just how strong that bonding had been when Bill asked me if he and Kris could be married at the Hiscock Site during the coming field season. Deeply moved at the thought, I immediately said, “Of course.” A date was set, some logistics worked out so as not to disrupt what, after all, we were there to do in the first place, and then the happy couple began to plan for their special day. They chose Sunday, July 31, which was a week into the dig season. Mercifully, the weather was beautiful. We stopped work toward midday in order to set up folding chairs in the open area between the fire pit and the wash-up table. We also placed tables for refreshments. A blue shade tarp was erected as a canopy for the ceremony, with a bouquet attached to each of the two front poles. All (or most) of us went to our tents and changed from field clothes to something more clean and appropriate. A wave of excitement was moving through the camp. Guests began to arrive, and it was a challenge to keep the parking organized. As space in the camp became exhausted, cars parked along the roadside. Bill posed smiling in a white shirt and tie between two close friends, Greg Van Splunder and Kevin Cantwell, who were both in black bow ties and Indiana Jones–style field hats. Everyone was mixing, chatting, and waiting for the minister to arrive. And waiting . . . and waiting. Where was the minister? Had she forgotten the date? Was she unable to find the camp (which would be understandable)? People were getting antsy, and the couple even more so. Finally, the object of our anxiety arrived and there was a collective sigh of relief. The minister began getting things organized for the ceremony. And then came a series of scenes that have stuck with me, and I’m sure others, through the years. Around two hundred people had gathered in our camp to share these wonderful moments. There were family members of both the bride and the groom, their friends from near and far, staff from the museum, and of course, dig volunteers.

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For us diggers, it was intriguing to see a place that we associated with physical labor and primitive living conditions converted to the scene of one of life’s most memorable and personal happenings. Bill stood with the minister in front of the canopy. The assembled guests were taking seats, and conversation was toning down. Suddenly, from behind the guests came the skirl of bagpipes. We all looked to see Kris, beautifully dressed in a white gown. Behind her walked a tall volunteer who had become close with Bill and Kris, and who now was piping her to her wedding. She walked to the canopy where the minister and her husband-to-be waited (see figure 15.2). Bill’s brother, who had traveled from California for this event, stood beside him as his best man, and I was also honored to stand with him. On the other side of the minister was Mig Johnson, a wonderful lady (and dig volunteer) whom I’d known from my early years in Buffalo. Mig had been widowed many years before. When she learned that Bill and Kris were to be married, she said to Bill, “I think it’s more important that you have this than I,” and she took off her wedding ring and gave it to him for Kris. That band of gold became a symbol of generosity and friendship, and I’m sure it meant a great deal to the couple.

15.2 Bill Parsons and Kris Walck at their wedding in our field camp, 1994. (Photo by Richard S. Laub)

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Bill gave a brief but emotional speech to all who were gathered there in the camp to share this day. And then he and Kris were joined by the minister in matrimony. A long greeting line formed, allowing each guest to extend good wishes to the newly married couple. Then everyone gathered at the tables to chat and enjoy refreshments that Laura had prepared and have some wedding cake that was made by Laura’s friend, Faline Tyler. Gradually, the guests moved to their cars and drove away, and the newlyweds went their own way to start their new life together. As for the rest of us, we changed back to our “real” clothes and headed down to the site to continue the day’s work. Bill occasionally reminds me that after their twenty-four-hour honeymoon, Kris had to go back to her day job. And so, he said, “I returned to the camp the next night and found myself sitting at the campfire listening to stories about our wedding from folks that, in the dark, didn’t realize I was already back at the dig.” Bill and Kris’s story got another major bounce five years later. Kris delivered two beautiful baby girls, fraternal twins. Now they were not only husband and wife but daddy and mommy, too. They had brought new life into the world, and we, their digging friends, have delighted through the years in watching those little girls grow.

chapter 16

Second Symposium

Q

uite a few years had gone by since the museum convened a gathering, or symposium, of scientists to discuss the Hiscock Site and its place among similar sites in North America. In part, that event had been aimed at bringing Hiscock to the attention of the broader scientific community. At the time (1986), we had completed only four field seasons, and though we’d gathered much information and demonstrated the great potential of the site, Hiscock could occupy only a portion of the stage. Most of the presentations dealt with similar sites and issues that we hoped would lead to a better understanding of our own. By the end of the 1990s, we had amassed a much larger and richer collection, along with piles of data for interpreting those specimens and the site as a whole. I don’t recall just who it was that had made the suggestion (probably Ernst Both, or by then his successor as director, Michael Smith), but sometime in 1999 we decided it was time for another symposium. The Smith Foundation readily agreed to fund this second gathering, so appropriately it was called the Second Smith Symposium. In contrast with the first symposium, this one, which would be held at the Buffalo Museum on October 14–15, 2001, was to deal entirely with the Hiscock Site. By the end of 1999, most of the topics to be presented had been assigned to various scientists. Ultimately, forty-two specialists participated in the research whose results would be presented at the symposium. Afterward, they would write papers on their findings, which would be published and serve as a permanent record of the event. As well as funding the gathering, the Smith Foundation agreed to cover the cost of publishing the proceedings.1

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Excitement built up over the next two years. Two more years of fieldwork and lab studies produced more specimens, data, insights, and questions. Logistics and schedules were worked out. A large exhibit of especially interesting Hiscock specimens was prepared. Correspondence flew back and forth between the participants. And, of course, scientists came to the museum to examine the Hiscock collection and associated data. One such visit particularly stands out in my mind. Bruce Rothschild (at that time affiliated with Pittsburgh’s Carnegie Museum of Natural History) is a noted paleopathologist; he studies fossilized bones for evidence of injury or disease. I invited him to examine the Hiscock bones, both Pleistocene and Holocene, and report on what he found. During his visit he systematically went through the cases full of bones, making notes. He seemed pleased that he was finding enough material for his presentation. Then he picked up a large mastodon metacarpal (see figure 16.1) with a look of astonishment on his face. Pointing to a crescent-shaped groove just above the bone’s lower articulating surface, he said, “This animal had tuberculosis!” It was, he said, the first time that the disease had been detected in a prehistoric proboscidean mammal. Now Bruce wanted to determine how common this disease was among mastodons. To do this, he needed to examine as many skeletons as possible. He owned a small private plane, and he and his wife used it to travel across the continent, as far as British Columbia, to accomplish this goal. When he returned from inspecting other collections, he told me that, based on the proportion of cases where this diagnostic feature occurred, it indicated that essentially 100 percent of the late Ice Age mastodons of North America were infected with tuberculosis. Clearly, it wasn’t killing them all, but it was likely weakening them, and the disease could conceivably have played some role in their ultimate extinction. What was most significant in this regard was that it demonstrated that the ecological structure of North America at that time allowed a disease to infect not only members of a species in a limited area but to spread through that species across an entire continent. So, even before the conference began, we anticipated a truly major revelation. And then, a little more than a month before the event, came the horror and infamy of September 11. Coordinated attacks on the World Trade Center in New York, on the Pentagon, and a failed third attempt against the Washington, DC,

16.1 Mastodon metacarpal bone (G6NE-186). Crescent-shaped depression (arrow) shows animal was infected with tuberculosis. (Courtesy of the Buffalo Museum of Science)

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area, stole the lives of nearly three thousand men, women, and children. Those of us who lived through that terrible time and the weeks that followed, when there were still more questions than answers, remember the insecurity our nation felt, and not least about travel. There was a possibility that the symposium would be derailed by the withdrawal of presenters and general audience members. Fortunately, however, very few people did so, and on October 14 the gathering opened with 145 people in attendance. The schedule consisted of a morning and an afternoon session on each of the two days. The first morning, a Sunday, dealt with the setting and nature of the Hiscock Site and environmental changes within the broader region. Ernest Muller, Parker Calkin, and Keith Tinkler discussed how the landscape in which the Hiscock Site lies was influenced by the bedrock that had been overridden by the advancing glacier and even further by the deposits left behind after the ice sheet’s retreat. They drew attention to the site’s position in a gap between two elongate wetlands—the Lake Wainfleet-Tonawanda basin that stretches west beyond the Niagara River and the Tcakowageh wetland (the Byron-Bergen Swamp) that extends about nineteen kilometers (twelve miles) to the east. I suspect that this gap was a migration route for animals and people traveling both north-south and east-west. Hiscock was strategically located at the nexus of these routes.2 Thompson Webb and a number of colleagues, including Norton Miller, used pollen data to reconstruct climatic changes in western New York. Mean annual temperature warmed sharply between 13,000 and 11,800 calendar years ago, about the time the Fibrous Gravelly Clay (FGC) was being deposited. This is in contrast with a long-recognized cooling trend in the North Atlantic Ocean, but accords with evidence of warming in the Midwest at this time. The greatest change occurred in the winter months. Beyond this time, the average annual temperatures remained warmer and relatively stable. Temperature seasonality (the difference between winter and summer) was greatest before the end of the major warming period at twelve thousand calendar years ago, and it was higher during the early Holocene than late in that period. Annual precipitation was significantly lower than today’s values during the late Pleistocene and early Holocene until about eight thousand years ago, and then it rose to approximately modern levels. I offered a talk on the layers of the site and their ages, including the gaps in the sedimentary record. It was here that I reported the apparent profound

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fifteenth-century drought recorded by buried spruce trees at Hiscock (discussed in chapter 13). I also offered explanations of the various biological and geological (that is, taphonomic) agencies that affected the fossils from the time they were first deposited, which was necessary for an understanding of the site’s history. Don Owens, a soil scientist, described the soil composition of the Hiscock Site, including texture, color, composition, and how the various soils were formed. He noted that the small size and topography of the drainage basin with which the site is associated indicates that the influence of water flow was weak and that any resulting transport of bones would have been on a small scale. Norton Miller and Richard Futyma gave the final presentation of the morning session. They sought to supplement the missing intervals of Hiscock’s environmental record with pollen data from three nearby deposits, all in Genesee County. Divers Lake, twenty-six kilometers (sixteen miles) to the west, showed a lowered water table at nine thousand years BP, which seems to be the case at Hiscock. This site also had a full sedimentary sequence for the roughly six-thousand-year middle and late Holocene gap that occurs at Hiscock. The additional sites supported the view that Hiscock is unique in the late glacial Northeast in having a very high ratio of herb to tree pollen. I led off the Sunday afternoon lineup with a description of the site’s Ice Age fauna. This included mastodon, caribou, stag-moose, giant beaver, long-nosed peccary, hare, and California condor. I also included passenger pigeon, but as explained a little further on, I now suspect that this was an error. Because they account for more than 90 percent of the Ice Age bones, mastodons loomed large in my lecture. One observation was that no mammoth remains have been recognized at Hiscock despite mammoth having been present elsewhere in western New York at approximately the same time that mastodons were visiting our site.3 I’ve always found this to be remarkable. It’s a place where mastodons had been coming, and occasionally dying, for hundreds of years. Yet we have no indication that mammoth visited Hiscock during the period represented here. Why? They clearly lived in the broader region at about the same time. Is it possible that they had disappeared in the interval between the freeing of the area from ice and glacial lakes and the start of the Hiscock record? Alternatively, could they have somehow been excluded by mastodons? My personal hunch is that what was happening was ecological. Mammoths are thought to have been primarily grazers, drawn to open areas of grasses and herbs.

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Mastodons, on the other hand, seem to have been browsers, favoring forested environments. The evidence indicates that, at the time of the Hiscock Pleistocene record, the Northeast was largely cloaked with conifer forest and parkland. Although there were probably open areas to accommodate the culinary needs of mammoths, by and large it appears to have been mastodon territory. During his visit to the museum, Gary Haynes had suggested that I try to estimate how many of the mastodon bones originally deposited at the site had survived to be collected. It was something that should have occurred to me but didn’t, so I was fortunate to benefit from his extensive field experience.4 The idea was to first determine how many bones should be present, based on an estimate of the number of animals that are buried at Hiscock. Then we compare this with the number of bones actually found. (For practical reasons, these comparisons are made for individual types of bones, such as ribs, limb bones, or vertebrae.) Using counts of specific bones and teeth available at that time, I had determined that the minimum number of individual animals present was ten. (Today that number is thirteen.)5 Since each animal had seven neck vertebrae, there should ideally have been seventy preserved. Instead, we could account for only a quarter of that number. A similar proportion, 20 percent, of the lumbar (lower back) vertebrae were present. Only 12 percent of the expected number of ribs were found. The metapodial foot bones are grossly underrepresented, at only 8 percent. This, however, is not completely unexpected, since the foot areas of a carcass are among the first attacked by scavengers due to their accessibility. Clearly, the great majority of bones originally deposited on the floor of this basin had not survived to the present. Some had been carried away or gnawed to pieces by scavengers. Others, exposed too long to the air, dried, split, flaked apart, and crumbled to dust. These and other taphonomic agencies took their toll. This line of inquiry did, however, produce a puzzling but very suggestive surprise. Shoulder blades are, for the most part, rather fragile, yet 60 percent of them had survived. On the other hand, mastodon limb bones are dense and heavy, not easily crushed or likely to wash away. Yet only 5 percent of their expected number remained. How to explain their contrasting, and seemingly counterintuitive, fates? Haynes had pointed out that, at the Colby mammoth site in Wyoming, shoulder blades show the highest level of survival of all the larger bones, just as

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found at Hiscock. He speculated that they may have been selected and used by humans as “cache guards” to help cover stored meat. As for the limb bones, I find the near absence of these large, heavy, solid objects difficult to explain without human involvement. One possible explanation is that many were shattered, probably using boulders, to produce sharp flakes of cortical bone to be used for cutting. On the other hand, Haynes reports that at elephant kill sites, pygmies remove the larger limb bones (humerus and femur) to extract oils from them. Perhaps a similar process took place at Hiscock, on the surrounding hills, where the bones would ultimately crumble to dust. In both these cases we see the possibility, or even likelihood, of humans having played a role in influencing the bone representation pattern. The presence of bone tools has already demonstrated that influence.

w In my talk I had listed the Ice Age animal species that are preserved in the deposits of the Hiscock Site. I suspect, however, that I made one mistake. I had included the passenger pigeon, Ectopistes migratorius, based on a bone belonging to this bird that we’d found deep in the FGC.6 Its color, identical to that of most bones found in that layer, seemed to confirm its vintage. I was aware that this species was abundant at the site in the overlying Holocene deposits (the Woody Layer), but its position in the deposits and its color convinced me that its owner was indeed contemporary with the mastodons. However, three years after the second symposium we would find a rodent jaw completely encased in the FGC and with a color that also “looked Pleistocene” (see chapter 6). Steve Thomas identified it as belonging to the southern flying squirrel (Glaucomys volans), a species already known from the Hiscock Holocene beds. Radiocarbon dating showed it to be around five hundred years old, an age appropriate for the younger Woody Layer. Clearly, then, it had been intruded. If that was the case, might our supposed Ice Age passenger pigeon have been similarly misinterpreted? A radiocarbon date would settle the issue, of course, but that would require sacrificing a large portion of this small bone fragment. In the absence of any other bones belonging to this bird in the FGC, I concluded that it, too, had been intruded. So, I struck it from the roster of Hiscock Pleistocene animals, at least for now.

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w Next, Dan Fisher and his colleague David Fox discussed their examination of the growth increments of four female mastodon tusks from Hiscock. (The technique that Fisher had developed for doing this is described in chapter 7.) From this information they determined that these animals had expired in different seasons of the year, rather than during a single mortality event. With one exception, none of the examined tusks showed mortality in the late fall or early winter, when Fisher’s butchered mastodon carcasses clustered. Their finding accorded with what Fisher found in his earlier study of male mastodon tusks for the first Smith Symposium. Taking the analysis a (huge) step further, they used the chemistry of these growth increments to track changes in climate, the diet of the individuals, and their nutritional status—an altogether remarkably intimate look at the biology of animals that expired millennia ago. Haynes used his extensive experience with elephant mass-death sites in Africa to reconstruct what was going on at the Hiscock Site so long ago. He highlighted, in particular, the ancient excavations we had found, comparing them with pits or wells dug by modern elephants to obtain water or minerals from the soil. The broken-off tusk tips found at such modern sites, generally a consequence of competitive behavior in a stressed population, are matched by numerous mastodon tusk tips at Hiscock. He emphasized that modern elephant trackers are able to read the condition and predict the behavior of an elephant population by such signs, as well as by evaluating the fecal droppings scattered all over such sites. He spoke confidently of Clovis people using the same observations to interpret the condition of mastodons at the Hiscock Site. It’s interesting that he felt the evidence argued in favor of environmentally caused mortality rather than human involvement. This view is supported by Fisher’s findings on the animals’ season of death. The nature of Pleistocene artifacts and animal remains at Hiscock inclined Haynes to believe it was occasionally visited by nonresident foraging groups or task forces, drawn to the site to carry out particular tasks, after which they moved on until they again needed to visit the site. Hezy Shoshani’s presentation concerned two unusual mastodon bones, a basihyal and a stylohyal,7 which were located at the base of the animal’s tongue.

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They were part of the hyoid apparatus, a complex of bones and cartilage, which is involved in feeding, production of sound, and in modern elephants, water storage. He reconstructed the mastodon’s hyoid apparatus, based on comparison with living elephants, as consisting of five bones: a single basihyal, a pair of thyrohyals, and a pair of stylohyals. With five hyoid bones to each mastodon, it’s puzzling that only two have been found over the entire site. Fifteen years earlier, at the 1986 symposium, Dave Steadman first depicted the richness of Hiscock’s post-Pleistocene vertebrate fauna. This time around he focused on up-dating the bird record, which he described as the richest post-Pleistocene fossil avifauna in northeastern North America. Dave recognized thirty-eight species of birds, representing five different feeding guilds.8 Of the 461 bones he identified, nearly two-thirds belonged to a single species, the passenger pigeon (Ectopistes migratorius). This supports accounts from pioneering Europeans in the Northeast of incredibly large flocks of this bird. Noting the relative abundance of owls at Hiscock, he suggested that these predators roosted in trees above or at the edge of the basin, and that they were responsible for the accumulation of most of the bones of small and medium-sized animals at the site. If this is so, the remarkable diversity of the Hiscock avifauna reflects, in part, the gathering of various prey birds, many of whom may have occupied other habitats. The final talk of the Sunday afternoon session was given by Steve Thomas, who described, for the first time, his remarkable study of the ancient dog remains that was discussed in chapter 13. Monday morning, October 15, featured the third session, “Miscellaneous Studies.” This series of six talks covered an assortment of topics, all dealing with Hiscock, but without fitting into the rubrics of the other three sessions. Cregg Madrigal spoke about a remarkable aggregation of 213 deer bones that had been found in the southern half of quadrant E9SW during the 1996 field season. Nearly all were clustered in a corner of the pit, a highly unusual configuration. His analysis showed they belonged to at least two individuals. The great majority of bones came from one animal, a juvenile that may have been killed by a predator. By the way, it was these bones that I had been excavating when that ancient fabric impression, discussed in chapter 13, had been discovered in a sieve. It had come from this same pit and, in fact, from the same location as the deer bones, leading me to wonder if the bones and fabric might have been somehow historically connected.

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Evidence of disease and injury are preserved in a number of Hiscock bones, and Bruce Rothschild showed unusual skill in detecting and interpreting this evidence. He noted that while it occurs in deer, elk, rodent, and frog remains, as well as those of mastodon, the incidence of pathology was relatively rare. His most exciting find, however, concerned his discovery of tuberculosis in a Hiscock mastodon, mentioned earlier in this chapter, and his subsequent conclusion that this disease had infected virtually the entire species across the continent. This find was the first demonstration of a Pleistocene pandemic, a disease infecting a species not only locally but on a continental scale. It’s likely to find its way into the debate surrounding the cause of the late Ice Age extinctions of large mammals. Mark Erickson and his students carried further a project he had presented in the first symposium. They demonstrated that oribatid mites, spider relatives so small as to essentially be sedimentary particles, could be used to reveal the environments in which the sediments that contained them were deposited. They were able to recognize eight ecological groups of oribatids at Hiscock, and they used them to interpret environments represented by various Hiscock sediments. These were all located in the peats of the Woody Layer and Dark Earth. Unfortunately (but interestingly), no oribatid mites were found in the FGC. The next two presentations offered, in my opinion, the key to understanding what was happening at the Hiscock Site during the late Pleistocene. Jock McAndrews wondered, as I had from early on, what drew mastodons to that Site. They were digging holes in the basin floor, but were they really trying to reach water at times of drought? Surely there were reliable sources of water available to them, wedged as the site was between two giant glacial lakes, Erie and Iroquois. He gave some new and well-reasoned ideas to explain this mystery. The previous day Haynes had argued that, besides seeking access to water, the mastodons could have been digging those holes to ingest the salt-rich soil (and salty water) of the site. Jock broadened this approach. He noted that the FGC was deposited during the time when spruce forests dominated the local landscape, yet it contained a superabundance of herbs such as sedges, grasses, composites, and rosaceous plants. The only woody material consisted of barkless conifer twigs and spruce needle tips. He concluded that the FGC is mostly mastodon dung. Not only does it contain the upland plants that they ate, but it also comprises the clay and gravel that were consumed to detoxify the gummy, resin-laden spruce, pine, and juniper, which most other animals could not eat.

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So, while these animals might indeed have been attracted by the salt from underlying bedrock that suffused the sediment and water, they were also ingesting the sediment to broaden the range of plants they could exploit for food. But Jock took things a step further. Over a period of centuries, all this digging by mastodons would have deepened, or maybe even formed, the spring basin. This idea didn’t really register with me at the time, but subsequent work at the site (explained later in the chapter) has made it far more appealing. He finished by tracing the post-Pleistocene floral changes, ending with the effects of European settlement. Toward the end of the morning came what was, to me, one of the most remarkable talks of the symposium. Elena Ponomarenko and her colleague Alice Telka reported on a chemical analysis of the Pleistocene deposits and their contents, confirming what Haynes and McAndrews had concluded about Hiscock mastodons craving the minerals in the substrate. The soil and spring water of the basin at the time that the mastodons were resident did indeed have a high level of salinity. This was shown, first of all, by a high concentration of sulfates and chlorides (basically, salts) in the Cobble Layer and FGC. Two other observations added shape to the ancient conditions: (1) Framboidal pyrite (microscopic clusters of pyrite crystals resembling raspberries—from framboise in French) occurs on some mastodon bone surfaces, indicating they were submerged in salty, sulfate-rich water. The brown surficial staining on most mastodon bones is a result of their being submerged in salty water containing the fresh excrement so common at elephant water holes. (2) The oddly shaped silica-rich concretions so common in parts of the FGC showed that salty water had periodically lain stagnant on the basin surface.9 So, the site appears to have been used as a salt lick by Ice Age herbivorous animals who may have drunk the saline water but whose main purpose was ingesting the mineral-rich soil.10

Salt licks are most heavily used in the springtime, when herbaceous plants are markedly low in sodium content; the mineral lick salts are therefore an important dietary supplement. Ponomarenko and Telka examined twenty conifer twigs and found that they had all been cropped by mastodons between the early spring and

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the beginning of the summer. This nicely matches what Fisher found recorded in the tusks of two male and four female Hiscock mastodons. Their deaths ranged from late winter, through the spring, and into the summer, a very neat convergence of botanical and osteological observations supporting the hypothesis of what it was that drew mastodons to Hiscock. This Monday morning session finished with a description of how the ancient textile impression we’d found in 1996 was conserved. The presentation was given by the specialists who had done the work: Judith Logan and two of her colleagues from the Canadian Conservation Institute in Ottawa, Ontario. I’ll grant that this process, involving several modes of drying, measuring moisture and organic content, and the use of a small arsenal of high-tech machines, may not sound enthralling. As one who lived it from the day of discovery, however, I can assure you that it had all the elements of a thriller. There was no more unusual specimen found during the twenty-nine years of the project. And there was none that could have been more easily destroyed. Just consider that it was about to be ground through a sieve just before Hezy Shoshani’s sharp-eyed student caught a glimpse of a curious spot of texture. At any time after that it could have dried and cracked, or been washed out through overmoistening. The story played out between Erie (Pennsylvania), Ottawa, and Buffalo, with Judith Logan and her colleagues applying the most advanced methods to finally stabilize this precious object to where it can be lifted by hand and examined. After lunch came the final session, dealing with the archaeological record of Hiscock. I think this was probably the most anticipated group of talks. Everyone was curious to know what had been learned, and what could be reasonably surmised, about the people who visited this locality at various times during prehistory. The main focus was on the Paleo-Indians, the supposed earliest humans to inhabit the area, the fluted point makers who were contemporary with the mastodons and other extinct animals. We were not disappointed. Right at the top came two remarkable talks that set forth details of both the stone and bone artifacts left by Pleistocene people who had visited Hiscock. We’ve already seen what Chris Ellis, John Tomenchuk, and Jack Holland had to say about the Paleo-Indian points and other artifacts. They discussed not only the forms of the fluted points (at least the five that had been found by that time), but also evidence of how they had been used and even the sources of rock from

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which they were made. In comparing their shape characteristics, or typology, with those of points from other sites in the broader region, they found, surprisingly, that the greatest similarity was with those from the Shoop Site in Dauphin County in central Pennsylvania, approximately 300 kilometers (about 180 miles) to the south-southeast. Interestingly, 98 percent of the Shoop Site lithic assemblage is made from Onondaga chert closely resembling that found in western New York. Taken together, these observations strongly suggest an ancient cultural connection between the two sites.11 Then John Tomenchuk reported on his study of Pleistocene bone tools from Hiscock. By now he had identified at least seventeen cases where mastodon bone and ivory, as well as antler (presumably from caribou), appeared to have been modified by people to serve as tools of various kinds. To find such perishable items at an archaeological site is rare, and to find them in such quantity is even more so. Because most of these appeared to have been expediently produced, that is, to serve an immediate need rather than to be part of a tool kit, their interpretation as artifacts was controversial. It would be impractical to duplicate here the many fascinating observations on these specimens that John made, but let me mention two that have strong relevance for interpreting the site. First, the condition of most of these artifacts indicates that the bones and ivory had been scavenged from the environment rather than removed from the carcasses of butchered animals. For example, several had been stained all over, presumably from having lain in water rich in organic matter from mastodon defecation. The stain had then been partly worn away at the “service” areas, the edges or points that had experienced the most wear during use. This suggests that the visitors knew beforehand that this was a sort of bone quarry where they could collect objects useful as raw material to make tools. Conceivably, they also produced tools that were more formal in nature, which they carried away with them when they left the site. Second, John interpreted the tools in this assemblage as having been used for equipment maintenance (e.g., resharpening stone tools), butchery, hide-working and, in the case of a split tusk (in the lower left of figure 7.1), digging.12 He also noted that the tool assemblage, including some of the lithic artifacts, suggest the Paleo-Indians at Hiscock were probably hunting and processing animals more the size of caribou than mastodon. If his interpretations are correct (and I believe they are), the bone tools provide our best understanding of why these Clovis people came to Hiscock.

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Arthur Spiess and I drew from the various lines of evidence to address that question: “What were Paleo-Indians doing at the Hiscock Site?” During the late Pleistocene, Hiscock’s location was in a gap breaching a 153-kilometer (95-mile) stretch of wetlands. The site’s position, and the fact that it was a mineral lick, would likely have attracted migrating animal herds. As well, it would have drawn people whose subsistence depended upon those herds. The nature of the artifact assemblage and mastodon season of death suggested that people were here hunting smaller animals, perhaps caribou.13 But they were also clearly exploiting the site as a source of raw material, using mastodon bone and ivory, and caribou antler, for making tools. The paucity of mastodon limb bones seems otherwise difficult to explain. Thus, Hiscock was a bone quarry, a new type of Paleo-Indian site. The bone tools were not randomly distributed. Some clustered at diverticulae, or deep embayments in the basin margins. At least one of these embayments had already been partly filled with FGC at the time that it was visited by people using bone and lithic tools (see figure 14.1). Perhaps such areas were used as work stations because they put relatively deep water within easy reach.14 There was another interesting concentration that we mentioned in our talk. Of eleven tusks that had been found by that time, seven were tightly clustered in the southeastern end of the excavated area. They lay on the isthmus separating the two sub-basins and within the smaller, more eastern one.15 The only explanation that occurred to me was that they had been concentrated here by human hands, perhaps to serve as smooth, hard work surfaces. A few more years of digging, however, presented another, I think better, explanation. More on that in the next chapter. Jim Adovasio discussed what we can, and cannot, say about the remarkable impression of ancient textile that had been collected in 1996. It had been made from plant material, and it preserved details of the weave pattern, as well as part of a selvage border. Its age is uncertain. Though it lay in the uppermost part of the FGC, radiocarbon dates of associated material are around ten thousand years BP (for a twig of mastodon digesta) and eight thousand years BP (for a small piece of plant tissue). Clearly, there had been mixing in the area of its deposition. My personal hunch is that the younger date is closer to the true age of the fabric. Whatever the age, our little specimen is in the distinguished company of a small number of other bits of perishable technology from east of the Mississippi River that date to shortly after the end of the Ice Age.

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The final presentation, by Peter Storck and Jack Holland, sought to place the Ice Age people at Hiscock in the context of the wider Paleo-Indian record of the eastern Great Lakes area. They argued that the fluted points and bone tools at the site are more or less of the same age and reflect a single culture. That culture, based on the form of the fluted points and the radiocarbon dates of the bone tools, would have been the Gainey phase. Gainey, which was first recognized in Michigan, is generally viewed as the earliest Paleo-Indian presence in the region. The Gainey sites have not been studied in depth, and Stork and Holland felt that the large trove of data and specimens from Hiscock was thus especially valuable for understanding this culture. At the time of their presentation, only one Gainey site, Udora (in Ontario), had produced tangible indications of Gainey subsistence. Hiscock, with its caribou remains, worked antlers, and mastodon bones, and even bovid (probably musk ox or bison) blood residue on a fluted point, was the only other locality in the lower Great Lakes with the potential to show how humans had used and interacted with animals. Following each session (except “Miscellaneous Studies”) there were sum-ups and analyses given by discussants, prominent scientists highly respected in their relevant fields. And, after all presentations had been given, there was a brief but lively session for members of the audience to put in their own two cents. We let it be known that the proceedings of the symposium, like those of its 1986 predecessor, were to be published as a book.16 This gathering, and the book that documented it (which appeared two years later), beautifully integrated what was known about the Hiscock Site to that point. Furthermore, this information, presented orally and in written form, was the product of some of the finest scholars working on the changes undergone by this region with the withdrawal of the great continental glacier. Personally, having all this knowledge parade in review before me brought an important point into focus. With all the remarkable features of the Hiscock Site, the two that are most emblematic of the site are the mastodon dig-outs and the Pleistocene bone tools. Now began the real work—producing a printed volume that would serve as a permanent record of what was revealed at the symposium. Soon manuscripts and illustrations began coming in from the presenters, and from that point most of my effort went into reading and editing these submissions, sending them back to the authors for revision, and then going over them again. Eventually, by

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mid-2003, I had a coherent assemblage of twenty-two papers, and six sum-ups written by discussants, which I sent off to the publisher. Toward year’s end a shipment of heavy cartons arrived at the museum. You can imagine my excitement as I opened one and took out a copy of the Second Smith Symposium volume.17 It had the same format as the first (1988) volume, with Bill Parsons’s wonderful pen-and-ink drawing, the logo of the Byron Dig, gracing the cover. I hungrily leafed through it, this incarnation of so many years of field and lab work, discussions and collaborations with colleagues, organizing the gathering, and finally the arduous work of preparing the volume itself. It took me a long time to come back down from the clouds. Tragically, the volume was never seen by the man most responsible for its coming to be. Graham Wood Smith, who with his wife Mary Jane had supported the Dig for so many years, and who endowed this symposium, its predecessor, and the publication of both proceedings volumes, passed away on May 28, 2003, after an extended illness. I had at least the consolation of including a memorial to Graham at the beginning of the volume. As I prepared this testament to our benefactor, aspects of his personality and activities were revealed to me that I had not understood before. I knew that Graham and Mary Jane were philanthropic, but I had no idea of the breadth of their giving. The reason for this was that Graham was not interested in self-promotion. In fact, much of what he and Mary Jane did on civic and personal levels was accomplished anonymously. How I wish that he could have seen the book that he and Mary Jane had made possible.

chapter 17

Bonanza (I)

A

t the end of the 2001 field season something peculiar happened. Though we didn’t realize it at the time, it portended the start of a new and very exciting era in the history of the Dig: Before backfilling the pits on the final day, Robert Harris and Bob Semrau would cut plywood boards to fit tightly against the walls. These boards separated completed pits from neighboring ones that were not yet excavated. As the pit floors were seldom level, it was necessary to cut the lower edge of each board to adjust for the topography of the wall’s base. This year, four deep notches were cut in the bottom of a particular board, the one lining the western wall of J3SE in the grid northwest. This was to accommodate four bones that protruded from the Fibrous Gravelly Clay in the lower portion of that wall, which were too deeply embedded to be safely removed. Before backfilling the pit, these bones were each padded with cloth and then covered with a plywood box that extended out from the wall board. In theory, this protected them from the backfill dumped into the completed pit, and it would allow them to be removed once they had been exposed when the neighboring pit was eventually dug. The following year (2002) the quadrant from which those bones protruded, J3SW, was one of the first that we tackled. A few small specimens came out of the Dark Earth, primarily muskrat with some turtle and bird material. The Woody Layer produced bird, turtle, and some cervid bones, along with butternuts. Frog bones were notably scarce, reinforcing our impression that the water in this northwestern part of the grid was disagreeable (or worse) for the amphibians. On the third day of digging we found, in the Woody Layer, a complete brick,1 dipping at a steep angle. It was, according to Jock McAndrews, a modern,

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wire-cut brick. Presumably it had been tossed down from the hill at some time in the past and sank in the soupy sediment. Then, at about fifty-five centimeters (twenty-two inches) in depth, we entered the Ice Age layer. For several days this pit was quiet, depressingly so. Yet we knew that something lay waiting for us below. After going through fifty more centimeters of largely unproductive FGC, we came down to a hole in the eastern wall board. This was one of the notches that had been cut to allow for a bone protruding from the other side of the wall (see figure 17.1). Digging a bit farther we found a large segment of mastodon rib, about half a meter (1½ feet) long, oddly split at one end. Within the next three days we had exposed and collected the remaining three bones that had been left in the wall the previous year. First came a complete mastodon rib that stretched nearly a third of the distance across the pit. Next was a sixty-centimeter (two-foot) mastodon radius, a long bone from the lower part of the animal’s forelimb. Last was the partial shaft of a mastodon’s anterior rib.

17.1 Four openings in the board lining a pit wall, from which specimens boxed up the previous field season in the neighboring pit were drawn out. (Photo by Richard S. Laub)

Bonanza (I) 235 

While all this was going on along the eastern wall, the rest of the pit was being troweled down, centimeter by centimeter. As we entered the lower level of the FGC, the pit seemed to explode with specimens. Rather than turning up individually, large bones were being exposed in groups. It got to the point that it was difficult to find a spot to stand in. This was the richest pit, in terms of bone coverage of the floor, which we’d yet encountered. It became like a game of pick-up sticks—we needed to figure out the order to remove each bone from its cluster so as not to damage others. The Harold C. Brown Company could truly take pride in the yield of the pit they had sponsored. This quadrant had been “adopted” by this company, a Buffalo financial service firm, as part of the fundraising efforts during the later years of the Dig. As everywhere else in this layer, the great majority of bones belonged to mastodon. There were numerous ribs, both complete and fragmentary. A large shoulder blade had lost most of its sheet of bone, leaving only the robust axial ridge with the shoulder socket at one end. Two vertebrae, one the rearmost of the neck, the other at the frontmost of the shoulder region, are the only Pleistocene bones we’ve ever found at Hiscock that were still articulated as they were in the living animal.2 There were also several teeth, including a baby tooth, as well as broken-off tusk tips and a chin tusk. A mastodon rib fragment,3 pointed at one end, may have been humanly modified. Not every specimen came from a mastodon, however. An apparent antler fragment indicates the presence of a cervid, probably caribou, though conceivably stag-moose, and two rib fragments are of a form also suggesting a caribousize animal.4 One specimen provides a good example of the challenges presented by this extraordinarily rich pit. An upper tusk of a female mastodon lay close and parallel to the western wall. Its broader end extended into the northern wall, where it was surrounded by boulders. This part of the tusk, of course, contains the pulp cavity, the growing end that had been set in the animal’s upper jaw. The walls of this conical cavity, invisible within the northern wall, could be expected to taper to a feather-thin edge, requiring very careful digging by hand to avoid damage. All in all, it was going to be a scary specimen to extract. What made things even more difficult was the lack of any comfortable way to position myself (I was the designated troweler for removal of this specimen). The pit floor was a mass of puddles, boulders, and bones, with no place near the

236 Exploding Pits (2002–2005)

specimen to kneel or squat. To get access to the specimen at the necessary angle I would need to somehow lie stretched out on the pit floor. But how and where could I do this? Eventually, there was nothing I could do but place a kneeling board on top of a boulder and lie prone on the pit floor with my stomach resting on that board, my legs stretched out behind me (with my toes on another kneeling board), and my hands prying sediment out from around the tusk as far back as I could reach into the wall. But there still remained a significant length of the tusk wedged into the pit wall and among the boulders. Having removed all the sediment that I could, I began to very gently rock the tusk back and forth. Soon I found that I could make it wiggle ever so slightly. The seal had been broken, so I began to wiggle it a little more forcefully. It eventually got to the point where I could slide the tusk smoothly from its sheath. And there it was, a beautiful, perfect tusk, just over a meter (3½ feet) long, with a gently curving axis.5 The jumble of bones extending into adjacent pits included a complete mastodon humerus, the long bone from the upper forelimb, which had been so deeply gnawed that the scavenger could only have been a bear (see figure 17.2). Grizzly bear (Ursus arctos) remains have been found in Pleistocene deposits in the Lake Simcoe area of southern Ontario6 (about 160 kilometers [98 miles]) to the northwest, and the environment of the time being similar, it seems likely that this species was the culprit. The mastodon bone came from a mature animal, as the

17.2 Extensively gnawed mastodon humerus (J2SE-58). (Courtesy of the Buffalo Museum of Science)

Bonanza (I) 237 

growth plates had fused to the shaft. Yet it was significantly smaller than another humerus7 found much earlier whose growth plate had not yet fused. This leads me to believe that the scavenged humerus came from a female mastodon. As we progressed through this part of the grid over the next few years, the same pattern prevailed. It was common to have bones projecting from the walls as the pits were being backfilled at the end of the season. We used the same technique of padding and boxing up those specimens to protect them until they could be collected the following year. By the end of 2005, six quadrant pit floors in this particular area were either carpeted with large bones or else partly covered with spillover from adjacent pits. The bones, again nearly all mastodon, represented every part of the body from head to tail. Long bones of the limbs, however, were notably (and enigmatically) scarce, as they had been everywhere else at the site. The zenith of the Byron Dig, in terms of pit floors paved with Pleistocene bones, was 2003. The Fibrous Gravelly Clay of quadrant I2NE was even more densely packed than J3SW, the pit that had so surprised us the previous year. A mastodon shoulder blade found in this pit bore what may have been an injury on its anatomically outside surface, just above the shoulder socket. The feature showed as a circular pit with a gradually sloping wall toward the shoulder socket and a steep wall on the opposite side. It might have been made by the tip of a tusk penetrating the muscle from a direction in front of and slightly below the victim’s head. This pit and its walls are perfectly smooth, implying that the animal survived the trauma and the injury healed. If the victim was a male, the injury could have been incurred in a musth battle, combat during mating season with another male, or simply an earlier fight over position around the spring.8 Clusters of what looked like bone hash9 embedded in the top of the Cobble Layer proved to be fragmented pieces from the “spongy” portions of mastodon skulls. In elephants, and presumably in mastodons, the braincase is not much larger than that of a human. The size and shape of the enormous skull, then, is not solely to encase the brain but to provide anchorage for muscles to support and manipulate the tusks and trunk. The skull is built out with large volumes of thinwalled bony chambers, and those of our mastodons were crushed and ground up by taphonomic processes. These clusters of bones needed to be excavated with great care, troweling a trench around the perimeter and gradually cutting closer to the fragments until the shape of the grouping had been clearly defined. A plaster jacket was then

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formed over and around the cluster, providing strength and stability, so that it could be rolled over and jacketed underneath as well. Back in the lab, Pat Karaszewski carefully removed the jacket, cleaned away the sediment, and reinforced the bone with glue-like consolidant. Gary Herrnreiter built stands to support the clusters and allow them to be handled. I must say that seeing the transition from delicate bone rubble to a robust specimen that can be handled and examined still seems to me a minor miracle. Just as exciting as these and other specimens, I believe, was finding what in a sense we’d been seeking all these years, the key to the Hiscock Site. Our records indicate that the memorable date was August 7, 2003, during the middle week of that season. The field book records that Morgan Jones, who was troweling that day in the I2NE quadrant, encountered a pocket of “fibrous material and pebbles” in a channel deep within the basement surface. The pocket, twenty centimeters (eight inches) in diameter, lay almost at the center of the quadrant, at the head of a channel cut fifty centimeters (twenty inches) below the surrounding surface of the Cobble Layer and running into the eastern wall of the pit. It proved to be filling the top of a tube that extended at least another forty-two centimeters (nearly seventeen inches) deeper.10 Morgan had found the primary spring vent—the one that had drawn animals to this basin during the Ice Age (see figure 17.3). This spring had been the main source that brought minerals up from the underlying bedrock to make this a salt lick. And it was what had kept the site wet ever since then, preserving the marvelous treasures interred in it. The startling concentration of bones at this spot indicates that the animals, primarily mastodons, were paying a lot of attention to the spring vent. This gives some insight into that cluster of tusks to the southeast, at the opposite end of the grid (see chapter 16). You may recall that I’d surmised they had been gathered by people, perhaps to use as smooth, hard, working surfaces. Their proximity to a significant spring vent (see figure 17.4), though not as large as the present one, suggests that this concentration, too, reflects the animals’ focusing activities close to a water source. In this year (2003), five upper tusks were exposed in three adjoining pits. All belonged to male animals. One, apparently belonging to a very young male, was especially interesting.11 This was not a deciduous (baby) tusk, like the one found earlier. Rather, it was a permanent tusk with the same distinct curving pattern

17.3 The main spring vent of the site exposed in the top of the Cobble Layer, 2003. (Photo by Richard S. Laub)

17.4 Distribution of upper tusks (dots) and spring vents (triangles). Note concentration of tusks near two large spring vents (large triangles). (Photo by Richard S. Laub)

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typical of the giant male tusks we’d found in abundance. This one, however, was a miniature version of those others. It is the only one like this we’ve found here and, indeed, the only one I have ever seen. It indicates that the wide multidirectional curve of the male tusk is not a consequence of its size (relative to the shorter, less curved female tusks). Rather, its geometry is determined at an early developmental stage by the animal’s gender. How many individual mastodons are represented by this great accumulation of bones, teeth, and tusks near the spring vent? We can get at least an idea of the minimum number of animals by counting the upper tusks. Including the pair found in the 1959 reconnaissance pit (which was close to the spring source) there are ten tusks12 that can be categorized as follows: from a “large” male, three each are from the left and right sides, and one is from an undetermined side; from a “small” male, the one tusk found was determined to be from the right side; and from a “large” female, the two tusks found could not be placed for certain on either side. The minimum number of individuals represented by the upper tusks is six: four “large” males, one “small” male, and one female. Two complete lower jaws are included in this trove of mastodon remains, and from them we can obtain an approximate age for their two owners.13 One was an animal of advanced age, the equivalent of approximately forty-seven African elephant years. The other was younger, about twenty-eight years old. With this dense concentration of bones, you would think that at least some would be struck and damaged as we pounded in the wooden stakes to mark the pit corners. And, in fact, there was such a case. When we approached the floor of the Harold C. Brown pit in 2002, I was horrified to see that the southwest corner stake had gone right through a complete mastodon shoulderblade.14 The stake went into a large, horseshoe-shaped notch that emarginated the thin blade of the bone. I thought to gather the fragments broken off by the stake in hopes that they could be reassembled in the lab and glued back onto the scapula. But there were none to be found. There was only the broken shoulder blade, the stake, and the notch through which the stake went. Once the troweling had progressed enough in this spot, we were able to simply slide the scapula out from around the stake. We never did find any fragments. I could only conclude that this large bone had been broken in antiquity (meaning some thirteen thousand years ago) before finally being buried and that the stake had gone through the broken area, narrowly missing the bone itself. To this day I still find it too great a coincidence (or stroke of luck) to believe, but I can find no other explanation.

chapter 18

Bonanza (II)

I

n the previous chapter I described the extraordinarily rich array of Pleistocene bones and teeth, particularly mastodon, found in the northwestern corner of the grid in the immediate area of the main spring vent. (Incidentally, it’s noteworthy that the Holocene peat deposits, which represent a very different environment, were not similarly rich here. I believe this reflects how the hydrology of the place changed after the Ice Age, with spring activity probably having weakened.) In my mind, the delightfully crammed pits characterize this era of the Dig. A number of individual specimens, remarkable and important in their own right, however, were found during these years. Some lay among the sea of mastodon bones, others in pits outside this concentration. It’s to them that I’ll devote the current chapter. The group next best represented is the cervids—caribou and stag-moose— whose bones and teeth were scattered among the mastodon remains. A caribou antler base, J4SE-33, provided the oldest radiocarbon date we’ve obtained from Hiscock: 11,575±35 BP. A second antler base, J4NE-49, gave the youngest date for Hiscock caribou, 11,040±40 BP. Taken at face value, the first date implies that caribou were among the pioneer animals making use of the site after the glacier’s withdrawal. The second date shows that this species was still here around the time that mastodons began to visit Hiscock.1 Perhaps this later date approximates a regional change from predominant tundra to forest conditions. The field records show that a few caribou (and possibly stag-moose) limb bone fragments had been found close to the main spring vent, scattered among the crowd of mastodon bones.2 They are not obvious in other areas of the site. The appreciable number of caribou antlers found here, though they were mostly shed antlers, imply that these animals did frequent the Hiscock

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basin area. So, it’s rather surprising that more postcranial bones have not been found. Cervid limb bones would have been a good source of marrow for Ice Age hunters, and one might reasonably wonder if those around the spring vent reflect butchering activity there, or perhaps on the elevated area adjacent to it. In this connection, a very interesting fragment of a hollow cervid limb bone had been collected several years earlier (see figure 18.1). It lay about eight meters (26 feet) from this cluster near the spring vent, more toward the axis of the basin. The bone displayed a classical spiral fracture, meaning that the broken ends follow a smooth curve that spirals around its long axis. This indicates that the bone had been fresh and moist at the time of breakage—what one would expect if it had come from a freshly killed animal and was broken to extract marrow. The specimen was examined by Arthur Spiess from the Maine Historic Preservation Commission, a noted expert on caribou. Art reported that it was part of a femur (thigh bone) matching that of a female caribou in his collection. While he noted that wasn’t possible to discount its belonging to a wapiti (elk), its position extremely deep in the Pleistocene layer made that unlikely.

18.1 Split Pleistocene limb bone, probably caribou (I4NE-72), showing a spiral fracture. (Courtesy of the Buffalo Museum of Science)

Bonanza (II) 243 

18.2 Incisor tooth of giant beaver (BM-281) collected in 1959 reconnaissance of site. (Courtesy of the Buffalo Museum of Science)

Also, recall the curved tooth found in the 1959 reconnaissance, whose finders wondered if it was a boar tusk (see figure 18.2). It proved to be an upper incisor of Castoroides, the giant Ice Age beaver.3 It presumably came from the vicinity of the spring, as that was where the digging took place. We’ve insufficient information to say what the relationship of this fossil is to the spring source. Might it have been used as a tool by one of the Clovis people? The only other giant beaver material we’ve recognized at the site is a fragment of an incisor, and a possible tibia (shin bone) fragment,4 both found a considerable distance from the main spring area. If this animal made use of the site, then some of the Pleistocene bone fragments that we’ve considered mastodon may instead belong to Castoroides. A pretty convincing bone tool is a dorsal spine from a mastodon shoulder vertebra.5 It is broken at about mid-length and bears a narrow, perfectly cylindrical tunnel, centered in its cross-section, and running along its axis to a depth of about 2.5 centimeters (one inch). The tunnel may have been a socket for holding an awl or other piercing tool. It’s reminiscent of another mastodon vertebral

244 Exploding Pits (2002–2005)

spine mentioned earlier (see figure 12.2). That one, however, bore a much broader tunnel, which was directed at a small angle to the bone’s axis, and would have held a much larger blade or service element. Uncontestable tools were found during this period of the Dig. A novice volunteer named Seth Fleahman was working in a quadrant in the shallowing north, just beyond the rich bone clusters around the spring vent. We really didn’t expect anything spectacular to come from here. Then, about four days into digging this pit, Seth peeled away a section of fine Fibrous Gravelly Clay and exposed a dark gray piece of flat stone. He, the recorder, and others in the pit instantly recognized what they had—a Paleo-Indian fluted biface (see figure 10.1F), the sixth found to that date—and called me over.6 After recording its positional measurements and other data, I lifted it for a closer look. It was the pointed end of a fluted biface that, according to Jack Holland, had been made from local Onondaga chert. The wider, hafted portion was gone, with only the end of the flute remaining. At the pointed end there had been flaked a small triangular spike. Apparently a spear point had been broken, and the tip was then modified into some alternative kind of tool, perhaps a scribe for graving marks onto wood or bone. How this artifact came to rest here we do not know. Perhaps it was carelessly dropped. It doesn’t seem to have been exhausted, as the spike was still wellenough defined and the edges were still sharp. It conformed to the use pattern we’d seen so far among the Hiscock fluted bifaces. All (or nearly all) had been reworked and given a new purpose beyond their use as a spear point. Another Paleo-Indian stone tool7 did come from the proximity of the spring vent. This was even more interesting, as it wasn’t a fluted point. The tool was identified by Jack as a trianguloid end scraper. Part of the hafting area displayed ancient damage, and the tool had been resharpened multiple times. This scraping tool, not uncommon at Paleo-Indian sites, was made of Onondaga chert, the local rock source for toolmaking. The post–Ice Age Woody Layer also contributed archaeological items of interest. While working in the “quiet” pits along the northern edge of the grid, well away from the bone-choked Pleistocene layer to the west, my wife Roselyn was troweling in the Woody Layer. Ten centimeters (four inches) below its top she encountered a piece of chert that had clearly been shaped (see figure 10.4F). It proved to be the Meadowood “point” (actually a preform, an intermediate stage in the process of shaping a tool) mentioned earlier, in chapter 10. That piece

Bonanza (II) 245 

spoke to human presence here during the early Woodland cultural stage. Jack determined that this nearly three-thousand-year-old artifact had been made from local Onondaga chert. This period also gave us a “first” for the site. It, too, was a Holocene artifact from the Woody Layer, but it wasn’t a projectile point. The object (see figure 18.3A) was cylindrical, approximately 3.3 centimeters (about 1¼ inches) long, and distinctly tapered at one end. It looked definitely artifactual, and we tentatively pegged it as an awl, a tool used to bore holes in wood or hide. It was the first such tool we’d ever found here, and its study took a very peculiar turn. The piece clearly didn’t consist of wood, so I assumed it had been made from bone. On returning to the museum following the dig, I placed the awl in a small vial of water and refrigerated it to slow any deterioration. Some chalk was placed in the water to buffer it, preventing it from chemically leaching the specimen. I intended to remove a small portion of the specimen for radiocarbon dating. Before this could be done, however, the specimen split neatly in two across its axis, something I found surprising, as no bone I’d ever handled behaved that way. Now I was really puzzled, so at the next opportunity I took it to the

18.3 Holocene artifacts: (A) awl (H3NW-65); (B) stone bead (E5NE-13); and (C) bone needle (H2SE-11). (Courtesy of the Buffalo Museum of Science)

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Instrumentation Lab at the University of Buffalo. There the director, Peter Bush, examined its chemistry using EDX (energy-dispersive X-ray spectroscopy), a technique that reveals the chemical elements comprising an object and their relative abundance. We expected to find a predominance of calcium and phosphorous, the main components of bone. However, while calcium was the most abundant element, there was no evidence of phosphorous. Instead, the other elements, in order of diminishing abundance, were silicon, aluminum, and sulfur. Peter asked me if I was certain that the object was bone, and I couldn’t confidently say that it was. His opinion was that mineral matter was somehow involved in the makeup of this specimen. But what else could it be? Later that month I took the specimen to the Geology department at the University of Buffalo where it was examined by Joaquin Cortes, a visiting petrologist temporarily on the geology faculty. My purpose was to have it analyzed by X-ray diffraction, a technique that would give us a clearer idea of what minerals comprised the specimen. Having evaluated the object and the EDX results, Cortes wrote back saying that he felt an X-ray diffraction analysis would not work, “since the specimen is unlikely to be a mineral but a combination of amorphous [non-crystalline] materials and perhaps some metamorphic minerals that probably are related to leaching or a skarn process. . .” After evaluating the minerals that could give results like those from the EDX analysis, he had concluded that the artifact actually consisted of a mixture of minerals, probably wollastonite (CaSiO₃) and calcite (CaCO₃), which originated through a process called “skarn formation.” A skarn is a mixture of minerals typically formed when limestone is chemically changed by the intrusion of hot liquid from deep within the earth. This introduces additional chemical elements, altering its relatively simple mineral makeup (calcite) into something more complex. Rocks that have been changed through enormous heat or pressure within the earth are called metamorphic rocks. This class of rocks is not native to western New York, where the bedrock consists of layered sedimentary rock. So from where did this piece of skarn come? Metamorphic rocks in this region occur across Lake Ontario in the Canadian Shield, the ancient core of the continent. North of western New York, the southern edge of the Shield runs roughly along a line extending between the Muskoka area just east of Georgian Bay and the Thousand Islands, where Lake Ontario drains into the St. Lawrence River. This line lies about 260 kilometers (about 155 miles) straight north of Toronto. The Adirondacks are a protrusion of the

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Canadian Shield extending into northeastern New York State. They lie on about the same latitude as Byron, and about the same distance eastward. Whoever made this tool could have obtained it from somewhere on the Canadian Shield (or in the Adirondacks). Interestingly, Cortes said that skarn rocks occur in the Canadian Shield near the town of Madoc, which lies near the edge of the Shield, on about the same longitude as Rochester, New York. In a nutshell, whether from the Shield or the Adirondacks, the source of native skarn is a considerable distance from Byron. There is one other possibility. During the Ice Age, the glacier bulldozed rock debris southward, sometimes hundreds of kilometers. That’s why granitic boulders, originally from the Canadian Shield, are often found in our lower latitudes. Conceivably, a piece of skarn could have made its way to our region in this manner and was then found by an ancient American, who modified it into a tool, ultimately discarding or losing it near where we collected it. The plant record also contributed generously during these years. During the 2005 field season, besides finishing up the extraordinarily rich area near the western margin spring vent, we also continued our series of pits along the relatively quiet northern end of the basin. On an early August day I was recording at one of these pits, and Seth, who had finished removing the FGC, was probing the basement to be sure nothing had been intruded into it. In the southwestern corner, just two centimeters (less than an inch) below the top of the Cobble Layer, he encountered a large piece of wood. This was curious; we don’t expect to find large pieces of wood in the Pleistocene and certainly no wood in the Cobble Layer. So Seth stretched his considerable length across the pit floor and began digging to expose more of the wood. To our surprise, it remained whole and continued downward. Eventually it reached a length of 55 centimeters (just under 2 feet), ending on a layer of cobbles 167 centimeters (about 5½ feet) below ground level. It had been split lengthwise into a D-shaped cross-section, and bark covered its rounded side. It was clearly a large tree branch that had jammed nearly vertically, and quite deeply, into the damp earth. The wood proved to belong to an ash tree (Fraxinus).8 Radiocarbon dating showed it to have died between 4,980 and 5,310 years BP, roughly the time of the dog whose remains we had found several years before. This intruded specimen, protected from erosion, gave us yet another picture of what was happening here roughly 2,000 to 8,000 years ago, when the site does not have a preserved sedimentary record. Clearly, large trees were growing close enough to the basin that

248 Exploding Pits (2002–2005)

some of their branches could fall into the soupy sediment of the swamp that occupied this spot at that time. A few days later a similar discovery was made, this time near the western margin of the basin. We found another log,9 this one lacking bark, standing vertical and completely embedded within the Cobble Layer. Its radiocarbon date indicated that the ash tree to which the branch belonged had died between 1,720 and 1,540 calendar years ago (between AD 230 and 410), again providing insight into a poorly represented part of the stratigraphic record. So, through those several thousand years, ash trees had continued to grow at the site. The pit10 containing this second intruded branch also revealed an impressive, tight cluster of straight branches in the Woody Layer. Most of the branches were parallel to one another and lay almost parallel to the basin margin. Such a feature calls for an explanation. One possibility is that it represents a marginal beaver lodge, although no gnawing was seen on the ends. Another is that it represents a cache of wood stored by beaver for eating. Teeth and occasional bones of these animals are reasonably common in the Woody Layer, so it wouldn’t be surprising to find traces of their handiwork. In a neighboring pit a branch, lying horizontally, was unearthed that same year from the FGC. Measuring thirty-two centimeters (about one foot) in length, and 4.5 centimeters (a little under two inches) in diameter, the specimen completely lacked bark. It immediately caught our attention because one end had been shaped to a point.11 We had previously found pointed wooden stakes that clearly had been emplaced by European settlers about 150 to 200 years ago. This one, however, was different. When later that year we sent a sample to be radiocarbon-dated, the lab report gave an equivalent calendar age of between 5,290 and 4,860 years BP. The tree had been alive when Egypt was being ruled by its earliest dynasties. Jock McAndrews identified it as having come, again, from an ash tree. Was this really a stake formed by human hands? It doesn’t show a pattern of gnawing that one would expect from a beaver-chewed log. Yet its proximity to what may be the remains of a marginal beaver lodge calls for caution and further study. If it proves to be artifactual, it will provide another piece to the picture of what was happening here during the Middle Archaic occupation of the virgin forest. The botanical finds included elegant little items as well. Among them were Pleistocene spruce cones, not unknown to the site, but still always a treat

Bonanza (II) 249 

to uncover. There were, however, some particularly surprising and delicate specimens. Two bulbous objects proved to be seed capsules of Chelone (see figure 18.4A). Remarkably, they were green and supple when first unearthed from the FGC, indicating deposition in late summer.12 Every bit as exciting was a small sprig of conifer twigs still bearing needles (see figure 18.4B).13 Still green when it was first unearthed, it soon lost its color. It was clearly something extraordinary, but was it really ancient? Did it really date to the Ice Age, or might it be much younger, something that was simply intruded somehow from a higher, younger layer? How could it be so old and yet green? (We found the seed pods two years later, so the green color elicited some doubt as to its age.) To get an answer, we sent off three needles for radiocarbon dating. The results came back with an age of 9,090± 40 years BP, which translates to between 10,260 and 10,200 calendar years ago. It really was old, dating to the early Holocene, just past the end of the Ice Age. It had come from the quadrant containing the spring vent, an area that must have seen considerable sloshing about by mastodons.

18.4 (A) Chelone sp. seed capsule (J2NE-73) and (B) spruce twig with needles (I2NE-83) from the Fibrous Gravelly Clay. (Courtesy of the Buffalo Museum of Science)

250 Exploding Pits (2002–2005)

This  presumably caused our little treasure to be quickly buried and preserved through those ten millennia.14 As I thought about it, I came to suspect (and still do) that it was akin to the short twig fragments that suffuse the FGC—a sample of digesta in which the needles had somehow survived. This would not be surprising. The food taken in by elephants often is little changed after it passes out the back end of the digestive tract. Even tomatoes can come through unaltered except for some physical breakage. Still, if this really was mastodon digesta, it would mean that these animals survived in the Northeast several centuries beyond when they were thought to disappear. It stood as companion evidence to the two conifer twigs found in 1990, which also yielded radiocarbon dates in the late 9,000’s. On the final day of the 2002 field season, we found what was undoubtedly one of the most surprising and puzzling specimens ever to come from this site. A series of three quadrants were dug along the northern edge of the basin. The floor of one of these pits deepened toward its southeastern corner, and there, deep within the FGC, we found a spruce log, nearly two feet long. It lay on its side, devoid of bark, with just the stubs of several branches protruding.15 Nothing like it had ever been found here. To this point, all wood encountered in the Ice Age layer (other than what had been intruded from above) consisted of short sections of conifer twigs, probably from the digestive tracts of mastodons. This, however, was something quite different. A radiocarbon date of 11,020±50 BP confirmed that it had not been intruded but belonged to the time when this layer was being deposited, the time of the mastodons. How had it gotten into the basin, and why weren’t there more like it? Later in the year, Carol Griggs, a paleobotanist working at Cornell University, examined the log. She was struck by the stubbiness and irregularity of the branches, something that suggested to her that it came from a tree whose branches were repeatedly being browsed and allowed to regenerate. This is consistent with our view that the Hiscock basin lay in a conifer forest, surrounded by a clearing formed by mastodons feeding on the nearest trees. The absence of undisturbed trees close to the basin edge means that large pieces of wood would not normally have made their way onto the basin floor—only the twigs carried in by mastodons in their digestive tracts. So, how did it get into the basin? Was it somehow carried by a mastodon . . . or by a human? Was there some other agency that could have moved it toward

Bonanza (II) 251 

the basin? What does the absence of bark tell us? We may never find a definitive answer to these questions, but the log itself adds some intriguing possibilities to what was going on here so long ago. For a number of years we had been aware that the archaeological record of the Hiscock Site included a significant historical (“European”) component. This became obvious in the early 1990s, when our field walks turned up numerous old ceramic fragments on the surrounding hills. Relics of European settlement would, of course, occasionally appear in the basin sediments as pieces of brick, ceramic, bullets, and other things. The age of the Hunter’s Well clay pipe mentioned earlier in this book (see chapter 11) could be gratifyingly constrained to a twenty-year period in the early nineteenth century. It was during the very exciting 2002 field season that the museum’s anthropologist, Dr. Elizabeth Peña, carried out a week-long excavation on one of the bordering hills (see chapter 11). She chose an area where our field walks had shown ceramics to be particularly concentrated, and she and her crew collected many historical items. These included glass, brick fragments, and buttons, as well as shards of glazed ceramic pearlware and creamware. It was at this time that the shard (see figures 11.3C, D) bearing the maker’s mark of an English manufacturer was collected.16 Nearby there was a small “disturbed” spot revealed by aerial photography. An earlier museum anthropologist had suggested this could mark a building foundation, which would have caused the soil to be shallow and less nutrient rich. No evidence of a building was found, however, leaving the origin of this strange feature unclear.

chapter 19

Money Worries

A

change overcame the Byron Dig during this phase of its history. It was heralded in the same setting as another major development so many years earlier—in the museum director’s office. To explain how this came about it’s necessary to step back a few years to 1999. I had been attending an administrative meeting at the museum, and at its end our director, Michael Smith, asked me to come to his office. Mike had taken the helm of the museum four years previously. Right from the start he had been very vocal not only about the importance he placed on collections but also the value of interpreting and building those collections through scientific research. He gave a lot of attention and encouragement to the Byron Dig as part of that philosophy, and on several occasions came out to visit the site and chat with us at our campfire. Asking me to sit down, Mike came straight to the point. Funding of the Dig by the Smith Family Foundation was going to end. After fifteen years, Graham and Mary Jane Smith had decided it was time for their foundation to go in other directions. They had made it clear that this change did not mean the relationship was over—they could be approached for smaller needs. However, the regular annual funding of the project’s expenses would need to end. Mike had arranged a soft landing. The Smiths would provide some money over the next three years, progressively smaller sums, while the museum and I sought other ways to keep the Dig going. I was thankful for the gracious way in which Graham and Mary Jane had effected what they clearly felt was a necessary financial change. And in fact, in 2001 (the final year of support), they also agreed to fund the second symposium

Money Worries 253 

on the Byron Project, including the publication of its proceedings volume. Still, I was faced with a difficult situation. The success of the Dig was in no small way due to our large crew of seasoned volunteers. They were held together by their confidence that there would be a field season each year. With future funding now uncertain, I could no longer assure them, year to year, that there would be an upcoming field season. Logically, they would make plans for other ways to spend their summers, and I couldn’t be certain how many of them would be available when I succeeded in finding funds. It seemed that the wisest approach would be to seek funding from many small sources. While some might come up dry, others could prove productive. Hopefully I would succeed in finding enough money each year to keep the Dig going in some form. My first plan was to apply to various small foundations in the western New York region. I focused on those which, by their nature, might have an interest in what we were doing. There were also a few with which some of our volunteers had personal connections. For the next several years, this provided a nucleus of money around which I could build a field fund through additional sources. I also did something I’d hoped never to do. I explained the situation to the volunteers and asked them to consider making a contribution of any amount toward the coming season’s funding. I arranged with the museum’s business office to provide me with a periodic accounting of what had come in, without telling me the names of donors. In this way, I felt people would feel free to donate any amount they wished, or to not donate at all. Their work alone was donation enough. One volunteer, Linda Pratt, who came each year from her home in southern Ohio, came up with a novel way to contribute. She produced a delightful video consisting of scenes from the Dig, and the proceeds from its sale went into our field fund. It also provided a wonderful trove of memories for so many of us who had lived this adventure. Another idea I instituted was the “Adopt-a-Pit” program. For a contribution of $2,500, a company, organization, or even an individual could sponsor the excavation of a specific pit for that year. Following the field season they would receive a detailed report of the results, including a diagram of the layers, a list of the significant specimens found in those layers, and a commentary on how these finds affected our

254 Exploding Pits (2002–2005)

understanding of the site. In addition, an exhibit case featuring the major finds from their pit, and bearing their name, was placed on display in the museum. Two companies decided to participate in this opportunity: the Turner Construction Company, which was then doing a major project in downtown Buffalo,1 in 2000, and the Harold C. Brown Company, a long-established Buffalo financial services firm,2 in 2002. A few years after the Smiths’ formal support of the Dig had ended, the museum opened a full exhibit hall devoted to the Hiscock Site. Aside from the gratification that it gave me, I realized that it offered a new opportunity to draw money to the project. Mightn’t there be companies or organizations willing to pay something to have their names posted in a highly visible space within the museum? The Byron Dig exhibit lay just off the museum’s Great Hall. It was an area that enjoyed lots of traffic and offered the potential for just that sort of exposure. I was able to persuade the administration to place a kiosk in the entrance of the exhibit for this purpose. Now, where were those names going to come from? There was only one way that this was going to work. Companies were not going to come to me—I would have to go to them. As crazy as it may seem, I began going into the city’s shops and offices, where I delivered my pitch: “Hello. I’m with the Buffalo Museum of Science [something that almost always brought favorable attention and a willingness to listen]. Would you be interested in having the name of your company posted for a year in a highly visible area of the museum?” As often as not, the person was curious about what it would cost. I told them that the minimum amount was $180, and for a greater contribution their name would be listed in a progression of higher categories. The lowest category was “Snowshoe Hare”; above that were “Caribou,” “Giant Beaver,” and “Stag-Moose,” with “Mastodon” at the top. I was initially embarrassed to make these cold calls, but very soon I realized that I had something of value to offer and need not be ashamed to ask for money in return. In most cases, of course, my offer was declined, but almost always in a cordial, even friendly manner. I was pleasantly surprised to find that a good number of people chose to sign up. We had opened a new income stream for the Dig budget and also drew more attention to what we were doing. Each year a new sign in the entrance to the hall would list the companies supporting the work that led to the discovery of the impressive specimens on display there.

Money Worries 255 

Yet another approach was a series of pancake breakfasts or whole luncheons, a common means in small towns to raise money for a good cause. These meals offered an opportunity for friends and neighbors to get together, and in this case the good cause was the Byron Dig. We held these events in the hall of the Byron volunteer fire department. Laura and her friends prepared the food. There would be a large display of some particularly showy specimens dug out of the ground just a short distance away. These trophies enabled us to generate excitement among our guests about what was happening right in their own town. Sometimes we held prize drawings at these lunches. People would purchase tickets and then use them to bid on items and services donated by merchants, placing however many tickets they wished in a bag next to the prize they hoped to win. A ticket was drawn from each bag to determine the winner of that particular item. These fundraising events in Byron had an unexpected benefit. Some of the guests, learning more about the Dig and seeing some of the specimens firsthand, asked to join us in our work. I’ll mention here just two of the highly talented people who came to us in this way. Dave Rigerman lives in a neighboring town, and he is as handy a fellow as one could imagine. At this time he was working as the chief mechanic for a major school district and had done work for his church as complicated as installing an elevator. Whatever repairs we needed done, he knew how to do them, and he had all the needed tools. Be it carpentry, small engine repair, or welding, Dave was our go-to guy. This big, good-natured fellow would be with us every year until the Dig came to an end, and he remains a personal friend. Then there was Dale Smathers. Like Dave, he worked in construction and was exceptionally handy. However, while Dave is gregarious, Dale was a quiet man, a bit shy, and I would go so far as to say humble. He had an appreciation for nature; he was active in the local society that provided stewardship of the nearby Byron-Bergen Swamp, a 2,000-acre preserve containing a remarkable flora and fauna. Dale looked for any opportunity to serve the Dig. He provided his generator to charge our power tools and batteries and placed reflective markers on the road to make it safer to enter the drive to the site. He knew that one of my greatest concerns was ensuring that the camp had a reliable supply of potable water, and

256 Exploding Pits (2002–2005)

he used his truck to haul water from his land to help keep us supplied. I recall him saying, “You don’t have to worry about the water supply, Dr. Laub. I’ll take care of that.” Dale’s ankle had been surgically fused. Nevertheless, he persisted in being active. Unable to squat in the pits as a troweler, he stood working at the sieves for hours like everyone else. I admired his humility, competence, and appreciation of nature, and we would sometimes snatch spare moments to chat about our families and life in general. You may have noticed my speaking of Dale in the past tense. In the fall of 2008 I received a call from his wife, Angela, telling me that Dale was seriously, probably terminally, ill. A short time later I drove to his home in Byron to see him. Dale was there, sitting in the living room that he’d built with his own hands. We talked together briefly, his strength clearly not up to more than that. I left his house with a sense of helplessness, not feeling that my visit had provided the comfort I’d tried to bring. Then the western New York winter set in. In early February, I received another call from Angela. Dale had passed away. Though he’d been part of our fellowship for a relatively short time, all of us felt a sharp loss. And I, once again, learned the importance of appreciating each person while we have them. Don and Marilyn Britt (see chapter 1) played major leadership roles in Byron’s political, social, and agricultural life, as well as that of the surrounding area. They had long been partial to the Dig, often bringing local produce to our camp for meals. Also, for years we would arrive at the start of the field season to find our campsite mowed, and only later did we learn that it had been Don who’d secretly done the deed. I went to the Britts for advice about local organizations and foundations that might be approached for financial support. They gave me a list that only people deeply embedded in the heart of the community could have come up with and, to my embarrassment, pitched in a more-than-generous contribution of their own. They then brought a small group of prominent Genesee County citizens to the museum to get a firsthand look at the collection that had been amassed from the Hiscock Site. One of these visitors was a tall gentleman with a warm smile who listened with particular attention and asked probing questions. He was introduced to me as Barber Conable. Barber had been the congressman who represented western Rochester and its surroundings, as well as four other

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counties in western New York, for twenty years in the U.S. House of Representatives. He had retired from Congress in 1985 following a highly distinguished period of service and was soon afterward appointed president of the World Bank. He had also served on the Board of Regents of the Smithsonian Institution. Over the next three years Barber contributed generously to the Dig through his family foundation. During this time I was privileged on several occasions to visit his home in the rural village of Alexander, New York, where we chatted about Native American artifacts and artwork and what we were learning through our work at the Hiscock Site. We also touched on the role that museums played in the life of our region and his concerns about the challenges some of them faced. He paid a number of visits to the site during the field season to watch the process of excavation. The last of these was in 2002, while I was supervising the excavation of the anomalous large spruce log, mentioned in the previous chapter, from the Fibrous Gravelly Clay. I remember being pleased that he was present for this surprising discovery. However, he was concerned about possibly distracting us from our work at a critical time, so he excused himself and departed. Some months later, in 2003, I learned from the Britts that Barber had been taken seriously ill while in Florida. For several weeks I checked with them on his condition. We were encouraged at one point when he seemed to rally, and hoped that the worst was over. But it was not to be. In early December they told me that Barber had succumbed to his illness and passed away on November 30. It often happens, sadly, that we gain important insights into a person only after they’re gone. Here was no exception. Where was this powerful congressman, head of the World Bank and regent of the Smithsonian Institution, laid to rest? In a tiny country cemetery in Alexander, looking west over a creek and a broad field toward the village that had been his home. He shares this ground with Civil War veterans, their graves marked by starshaped medallions. His own marker is a black stone bench for the comfort of those who might visit. On it he chose to tell us what, for him, stood out in his life. He had served as a marine in World War II, seeing action at Iwo Jima, and in the Korean War, rising to the rank of colonel. This is noted by a medallion from the Veterans of Foreign Wars, and its inscription, “Col. US Marine Corps WWII, Korea.” He also felt deeply that, to serve effectively as a congressman, he needed

258 Exploding Pits (2002–2005)

to work with all members of the House, opponents as well as allies. His personal creed is recorded on the bench: “Reach out!”—B.B.C. In these ways, with the support of caring people, and with contributions directly from the museum, it was possible to keep the Hiscock project going despite the loss of reliable funding. And during these final years there were yet more discoveries that would be made.

chapter 20

Into the Shallows I—Disappointment

A

t the end of the 2005 season we found ourselves coming out of the deep and highly productive area around the main spring vent. The pits there had been full of well-preserved bones because animals had concentrated their activity around the spring, and the deep layers associated with it afforded good protection for larger bones. Now we were back in relatively shallow parts of the site where specimens should generally be smaller and more fragmentary. The previous several years had spoiled us badly. Nevertheless we understood that, scientifically, the most important specimens were often small, the kind commonly missed in excavations that focus on retrieving whole skeletons, for example. In this connection I think of the ancient fabric impression and the tiny foot bone of an Ice Age hare. Neither was much over a centimeter wide, and yet each was a source of important new information. Were more such discoveries still ahead of us? And were there perhaps more deep areas of the site yet to be discovered? The map that Norton Miller had produced early in the Dig, based on probing with metal rods, showed variations in the thickness of the peat, reflecting irregularities in the basement surface. Specifically, this map (see figure 7.3) indicated a row of large depressions at the far end of the basin, closer to our campsite (right side of the map). I had always felt these large areas promised more riches once we had exhausted the areas in the grid-north, where we had been working (left side of the map). But was my interpretation correct? To find out I called on Jock McAndrews for help. We would survey the unexplored areas of the basin and see just what was going on, and then I could plan the work of the next several years.

262 Winding Down (2006–2011)

With some of our volunteers, I spent several days extending the grid over the whole remainder of the basin by pounding stakes into the ground and labeling them. Then, on an appointed day, we met Jock and a couple of his students at the site. We went over the entire southern area of the grid, Jock twisting a large screw-like auger into the ground at each stake and pulling up a sample of the sediment. To my surprise, there was no sign of any Fibrous Gravelly Clay . . . only peat overlying the cobble layer. I was puzzled and disappointed. I had planned that I and my successors, whoever they might be, would have those new basins to explore for years to come. But apparently they were an illusion. Undoubtedly there are more specimens, surely including some important ones, to find in the rest of the basin. However, they would probably be small and fragmentary (since shallowly buried) and sparsely distributed. Finding them would require much more extensive digging than in the richer northern area. Disappointment or not, though, it’s always an advantage to work with reality. It has a solid handle that you can grab, while fantasy offers only empty air. The next year, 2006, would undoubtedly make it clear what we could expect in the future. At the start of that season, the western marginal area on which we planned to focus was too wet for digging, so we opened two pits along the dry northern edge of the basin. Their peat layers held a pretty standard forest fauna: bones of cervids, small mammals (rodents, insectivores), birds (including passenger pigeon and a claw from a hawk or owl), and a few frog remains. The Pleistocene level produced only small bones and fragments. Within a day the basin had dried sufficiently to allow us to begin a pit in a more promising spot, closer to the western margin. It bordered a quadrant that had reached depths as great as 150 centimeters (about five feet), and so we hoped it would offer an opportunity to further explore this intriguing depression. As expected, the pit was deep and had a large number of (small) specimens. The Woody Layer bore a rich forest fauna, including both halves of the lower jaw of a fawn and the pathologically distorted molar of an elk.1 Human presence in the ancient forest was documented by the broken-off tip of a projectile point made from chert that does not appear to be local.2 The Ice Age specimens were all small. They had settled in the deeper part of the pit, the northwestern corner, and included a baby mastodon tooth and a beautifully preserved spruce cone.3 There were also two unconfirmed archaeological specimens: a possible stone graver and bone tool.4

Into the Shallows I—Disappointment 263 

When this deep pit was completed, our two handy Roberts (Harris and Semrau) went to work converting it to a wet-sieve station. They constructed a complex foundation so strong that it could probably support a small house. On this they laid an eight-foot-square (almost exactly 2.5 x 2.5 meters, which worked out well) plywood platform with a gap down the middle. Two sieve stands were posted on this surface, and marine pumps sent water through hoses for the wet-sieving. The exhausted sediment and water found their way into the plywood gap, gradually filling the pit and saving us the need to refill it at the end of the season. That completed pit also formed a handy sump for draining groundwater from the surrounding quadrants. We took advantage of this system to open a nearby mucky quadrant lying closer to the basin margin. The peats produced a nice assortment of bones and an abundance of Osmunda (royal fern) rhizomes, but nothing to set our imaginations on fire. And the finds in the Fibrous Gravelly Clay were particularly meager.

w One special feature of this season was “the Grotto.” It was necessary to store the specimens we collected in shady spots before they were brought up to camp at the end of the day. This had usually been done under the shade tarp that sheltered our equipment beside the path down to the basin. We kept them in plastic totes labeled “Large Specs.,” “Small Specs.,” and “Special Specs.” (The special ones would receive immediate attention in the lab after the season ended.) Now that most of our work was in the northern area, it was inconvenient to carry specimens back to the tarp as they accumulated at the sieves or the pit recording stations. We found that an area of the dense thicket bordering the basin in the north had a natural entrance to a sheltered enclosure; a grapevine overlaying its surface added to the shade provided by nearby trees. It was a small cave, one formed by plants rather than rock, and it afforded a lovely little spot for protecting the specimen containers from the sun that beat fiercely down on us through most of the day. It also gave shelter to workers who needed a few minutes to cool off. Over the next few years, wear and tear took its toll as the grapevine covering thinned out. By that time, however, our operations had moved more toward the south, and we didn’t require that shade in the north. Still, among us “the Grotto” was spoken of in tones of fondness and nostalgia.

264 Winding Down (2006–2011)

w By and large I felt 2006 had been a disappointing season. True, the peats of the Dark Earth and Woody Layer remained a reliable source of nice specimens. The large Ice Age bones, however, were few, limited to a quadrant in the northwest on the edge of the spring-vent cluster. It had been a tradition, each spring, to hold a gathering of the volunteers. On these occasions they could see what had been collected during the field season and hear what new information we’d obtained. I would hand out an updated topographic map showing the main Ice Age finds and how they fit into the overall picture. I would usually include a Bill Parsons drawing in a corner to highlight one or two of the more impressive specimens. In our gathering for the spring of 2007, however, there was no such drawing. The 2006 season seemed to confirm my fears. The exciting years were behind us, and from now on we would need to be content with small finds, probably nothing much different from what we’d already collected. This year, I felt, had given us no significant specimens, and the future probably had no further major discoveries in store. I was wrong on both counts. We had actually collected some of the most interesting material of the entire Dig, though it would be a couple of years before I realized this. And the best part was that the coming years would give us discoveries of major importance.

chapter 21

Into the Shallows II—A Stirring of Hope

T

he year 2007, following our “disappointing” season, brought back a sense of excitement. Intriguing objects began to parade out of the ground, and these finds continued into subsequent years. Let’s review the main items by category.

ARTIFACTS

New projectile points added to the record of what people were present here and when they were here. A small piece of Onondaga chert from the Fibrous Gravelly Clay, not much wider than a centimeter (under half an inch), appeared in a sieve in 2007. Initially, our attention was drawn to it solely because it was flaked chert from an Ice Age context. On examining it closely, however, I realized that it was actually the lower corner, or shoulder, of a fluted point (see figures 10.1G and figure 10.2). The giveaway was that part of the flute channel was still present.1 Three years later, yet another fluted point, our eighth, was found.2 This one was the entire base, including the two shoulders and the lower part of the flute channel (see figure 10.1H). In both it and the other Clovis-like specimens the side and basal edges had been ground to dull them by the people who made them thirteen thousand years ago. Presumably this was to prevent the ligature binding the blade to its shaft from being cut by a sharp edge. This practice indicates that the artifacts had been broken during use as spear points or perhaps knives, rather than being accidentally damaged during manufacture. In the same year as that second find, on the final day of digging, a pit was being worked on the northern edge of the basin. We were still in the Dark Earth

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and knew that, before leaving for the season, we would need to line the pit with a plastic sheet to preserve it for the next season. I was probably busy recording the walls of a completed pit nearby when I noticed Ritch Miller walking toward me. (An avid leader of the Boy Scouts of America, Ritch had been part of the Dig almost from its beginning and brought his entire family into the project. Sadly, he would pass away just a few years later. He was buried in his Scout uniform.) An object on one of the screens had caught the eye of a siever, and Ritch brought it for me to see. It was a complete projectile point but not a type we had ever seen here before (see figure 10.4G). That itself wasn’t surprising since the Dark Earth had not produced any projectile points, at least none that were in place. The thin, acute, triangular blade lacked any stem for hafting to a shaft. Its small size indicated that it had tipped an arrow rather than a spear. It proved to be a Madison point, a type widespread in eastern North America from roughly AD 1000 to 1600. This point was especially welcome, as it anchored the younger end of our prehistoric Holocene sequence, which now extended from shortly after the end of the Ice Age right up to the era approaching European contact. A fair number of the bones we found are, in my opinion, good candidates for being tools. Determining whether they are, however, demands the type of scrutiny that John Tomenchuk gave to those Ice Age specimens that he presented in the second Smith Symposium. One of these bones3 was so distinctive that I gave it more than the usual amount of attention. It was part of a mastodon shoulder blade, including the thick-rimmed shoulder socket itself with a thinner slab of bone still attached. That slab had a broad triangular edge that must have been sharp when it first broke from the whole shoulder blade. Now, however, the edge was dulled and rounded. Overall, the outline of this object is almost identical to that of two of the bone tools that John had described in his symposium article, one a mastodon rib fragment, the other a tusk fragment.4 I mapped the location of scratch marks on its surface, and they proved to be clustered close to the edges of the blade. It looked to me like a tool used for chopping and slicing, its edges worn from these uses. Its age came in as 10,520±40 radiocarbon years BP, somewhat younger than the date range generally associated with the Clovis culture, but (obviously) still during the time of mastodon presence at the site.

Into the Shallows II—A Stirring of Hope 267 

I get particular enjoyment from those rare insights that tell something a bit more personal about these ancient people’s activities than hunting and (possibly) warfare. Of course, some of the bone tools do this nicely for the Pleistocene component, but we had rarely found such clues in the Holocene Woody Layer. Happily, this phase of the Dig provided at least two such opportunities, giving a peek at the people inhabiting the virgin forest. A small triangular piece of rock (see figure 18.3B), about one centimeter (just under half an inch) across, had been found well down in the Woody Layer. It featured a very precise hole, just 1.8 millimeters (a very small fraction of an inch) in diameter, and appears to have been worn ornamentally as a bead—a token of humankind’s timeless urge for self-decoration. In addition, a slender, cylindrical piece of bone (see figure 18.3C) came from the crumbly (probably younger) Woody Layer. This object, 1.25 centimeters (half an inch) long, with longitudinal striations, is clearly cultural. It’s reminiscent of the other cylindrical artifact from the Woody Layer (see chapter 18) found in 2005, but that one was considerably thicker, and I assumed it was a perforating awl. This specimen is much more slender, so it may have served as a needle, perhaps for sewing pieces of leather together to make garments. If there was once an eye for that possible needle, it has unfortunately not survived. Sometimes a natural object can look like an artifact and vice versa. Distinguishing between the two can be difficult, or in the absence of the necessary technology, seem impossible. The Pleistocene bone tools (and some putative bone tools) are an example of this situation. Another example, this time from the Holocene, follows. In 2007, we were working through the Woody Layer in a northern pit. Eleven centimeters (a bit over four inches) into this layer we uncovered a slab of wood.5 The piece was extraordinary—flat and large, measuring about 81 × 28 centimeters (32 × 11 inches). It lay in isolation; nothing like it had ever been found at Hiscock. We could think of no way that it could be natural, and so suspected that it had been shaped by human hands for some purpose. We carefully padded the surface of the slab with damp paper and then covered it with sheets of plaster-soaked cloth to reinforce it. We flipped it over and covered the underside, leaving a protective layer of sediment against it. When we unpacked the object in the lab following the field season, it proved to be uniformly no more than a couple of centimeters (one inch) thick. The surface did not appear to be polished or deliberately smoothed in any way—just flat.

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Jock McAndrews identified it as having come from a slow-growing ash tree. A one-gram sample was submitted for radiocarbon dating and the report came back with an age of 1,580±40 radiocarbon years BP, making its calendar age somewhere between AD 400 and 570. The surface of the slab was parallel to the internal growth surfaces of the wood. Had it been shaped by human hands, or could it have somehow formed naturally? Three years later, near the western margin of the pit, thirteen large and medium slabs of wood were found within a single quadrant, in the crumbly (younger) Woody Layer. They immediately called to mind that earlier large slab from the north end of the grid, and like it, the planes of these slabs were parallel to the tree’s internal growth surfaces. Examining a sample, Jock reported that the structure of the wood was ring-porous and that it was probably ash (like that earlier slab). Some of the rings, he said, were extremely close spaced. This shows that the tree had been slow-growing, another trait it shared with that earlier slab. It could indicate that the trees grew in a very dense forest, with only low levels of light penetrating. Despite the similarities between these items and the 2007 slab, they were not contemporary. One of the slabs6 produced a radiocarbon date of 290±30 rcyBP, which equates to a calendar age somewhere between AD 1500 and 1660. This slab, and presumably the others in the cluster, was therefore a millennium younger than the slab from the north (and also around the age of the Madison projectile point). It was growing near the time of early contact in North America between Native Americans and Europeans. This, and the absence of obvious carving marks, suggests to me that all of these slabs of ash wood were formed through natural processes. A possible mechanism for producing these slabs would be the exfoliation of very large trees as they decomposed. And, in fact, in 2010 we encountered a very long log that extended across the entire floor of a pit (quadrant E7NE, at a depth of thirty centimeters [one foot]). This trunk, approximately twenty-five centimeters (ten inches) in diameter, began to exfoliate as we exposed it, with curved sheets of wood separating off along the growth surfaces. I suspect we were witnessing the mechanism behind those remarkable slabs of ash. If this is correct, then the size and broad curvature of both the 2007 slab and those found in 2010 suggests they came from very large trees. This, and the evidence that they were slow-growing, suggests to me that they stood in forests where these good-sized trees were wide spaced, and shade from the overhead canopy of branches and leaves suppressed the development of ground cover.

Into the Shallows II—A Stirring of Hope 269 

BONES AND PLANTS

Of course, numerous Ice Age bones and teeth were collected during this period of the Dig. Three, however, stand out as particularly important. Only one is from a mastodon. A magnificent mastodon tooth7 produced the youngest date for this species at the site: 10,430±60 BP. This is equivalent to a calendar age between 12,670 and 12,060 years old. The second specimen is truly unusual—a forked bone with its two limbs meeting at an acute angle, hollow and open along what we’ll call the top surface (see figure 21.1). It’s fairly small, with an overall length of seven centimeters (just under three inches). I concluded that because of its symmetry the bone must have

21.1 Juvenile lower jaw, possibly of long-nosed peccary (F5SE-117). (Courtesy of the Buffalo Museum of Science)

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come from the midline of a smallish mammal, and eventually I settled on the mandible (lower jaw). This bone would be hollow due to the mandibular canal running below the teeth. Now, in most of the Hiscock Pleistocene mammals the mandible is in two separate halves that interlock in the front of the jaw but readily separate when the skeleton disarticulates. In this specimen, however, the two halves of the mandible are smoothly fused into a symphysis in the area equivalent to our chin, forming what looks like a single bone. Assuming conservatively that it belongs to something already known from the site, this greatly limits the candidates. It is far too small to have come from a baby mastodon. On the other hand, in 2001 a deciduous (baby) tooth belonging to a Mylohyus, the long-nosed peccary, had been discovered well to the north. It is possible, though it must yet be confirmed, that our mystery bone is the lower jaw of this peccary, and its elongate form and fused symphysis are consistent with this idea.8 These two specimens, tooth and jaw, were located approximately eighteen meters (nearly sixty feet) apart. If they actually do belong to the same individual, it would reflect a remarkable amount of dispersion during the Pleistocene history of the site. The third specimen is a caribou antler base.9 This specimen, from the same pit as the bone needle and cluster of ash slabs, was added to our collection of very puzzling objects. Why are nearly all of these fragments from the base of the antler and specifically from the same portion of the base? Why do all of these bases share so many unusual features—absence of the brow tine (the horizontal process that protrudes from near the base) and an attachment end that is rounded and burnished? Are they artifactual, modified by humans for some purpose? Or, like the wood slabs, might there be a natural explanation? A fragment of this antler was radiocarbon-dated to 11,160±50 rcyBP, equivalent to a calendar age of 13,160–12,950 years old. There was another case of coinciding dates, this time from the Woody Layer. Rhizomes of the royal fern (Osmunda) had been known from the site ever since they were identified by Norton Miller in his pioneering paleobotanical paper in the first Smith symposium. They occur in the younger Woody Layer, especially on the western portion of the grid. In 2010, an unusually dense cluster was found, and one of the rhizomes10 was sampled for radiocarbon dating. Its age came back as 430±30 rcyBP (calendar age AD 1430–1480). This closely matches the dates of the small spruce trees that had been found in 1996 (see chapter 13). These, you will recall, were buried in life position where they had apparently taken root

Into the Shallows II—A Stirring of Hope 271 

and grown during an extended period of drought. Might there be a connection between the ferns and the buried spruce trees?11 I recently posed this question to Jock. Ferns had been among the first organisms to colonize the lands devastated by the Cretaceous-Tertiary extraterrestrial impact and resulting wildfires around the time of the dinosaurs’ extinction. Might these ferns have been part of a pioneering ecosystem following the major drought that I believe the buried spruces represent? Jock felt it was a reasonable hypothesis. He noted that Osmunda is a perennial plant that favors damp, acidic, organic soil and that it could thrive on a fluctuating water level.

AN EPIPHANY

In the history of the Byron Dig, our understanding of the site would occasionally take a quantum leap forward. One was the discovery of the first Ice Age projectile point, which told us that humans were here at the same time as the mastodons, and prompting the question of what they were doing there. Another was Gary Haynes’s recognition that mastodons were digging holes in the floor of the Hiscock basin. Yet another was the demonstration by Elena Ponomarenko and Alice Telka, and by Jock McAndrews (in separate papers in the second Smith symposium), that Hiscock had been a mineral lick during the Pleistocene, helping to explain what attracted mastodons to the site. In this final period of the Dig, another of these profound epiphanies came, though it took some time for me to recognize its importance and implications. After 2006 and 2007, convinced that we had exhausted the deep, rich areas, we were probing peripheral regions in the northern, western, and southern parts of the grid. The 2008 season saw us digging in the south to complete the end of a diverticulum, with results that were nice but not terribly impressive. While there we opened another pit nearby12 since our sieve stations could easily service both quadrants. Working through the Holocene peat in this pit, we of course encountered a forest fauna of birds, frogs, snakes, and especially deer. There were also broad patches of Yellow Clay, relics of the forest fire that raged through here three millennia ago. When we reached the base of the Holocene deposits, we found a healthy bed of Fibrous Gravelly Clay. To our delight, mastodon bones and antler fragments began to turn up in abundance. Just like old times!

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Then, as we troweled deeper, the tops of boulders began to appear at around sixty-five to seventy centimeters (twenty-five to twenty-eight inches). This was to be expected. What we had not expected, though, was that they were only coming up in the eastern and southern portions of the pit. In the northwestern area the FGC persisted, first the fine-grained variety, and then, as we worked deeper, the pebbly kind. To our amazement, we didn’t reach the basement near the northwestern stake until a depth of 122 centimeters (four feet)! Had we somehow run into a whole new basin? We would need to wait until next year to see what was going on by opening the bordering pits.

w At last the 2009 field season came. In the first week we opened three quadrants (to the west, northwest, and north) bordering the plunging basement of the previous year. Upon completing these three conjoined pits, we were confronted with a huge dig-out, by far the largest we had yet encountered. During the Ice Age, the Cobble Layer had been excavated to depths reaching over 120 centimeters (four feet) in not only these three quadrants but also in the one to the (grid) south that we had dug the previous year. And, there were indications that the excavation extended yet farther toward the west and possibly toward the north. I was struck by the magnitude of this depression, which was unlike anything I’d seen here before. From the south a boulder-strewn surface descended in steep steps down to the deepest part of the basin, with a broad, smoother surface sloping down from the east. As I surveyed this area from above with Kevin Cantwell, his eyes suddenly focused on a spot in the distance. “Dick, I think that’s a vertebra.” He clambered down the slope to the pit floor, and sure enough, he marked a mastodon vertebra for the trowelers to excavate. In fact, the FGC that had filled in this depression during the Pleistocene contained many items of interest. One was that peculiar forked bone mentioned earlier in this chapter, that may be the lower jaw of a juvenile Mylohyus (long-nosed peccary). Physically, the most impressive bone was a complete butterfly-shaped mastodon atlas, the large neck vertebra that attaches to the base of the skull.13 Other noteworthy specimens included antler fragments, a rare cervid (presumably caribou) rib fragment,14 and foot bones15 from what appears to be a very young mastodon. There are also a number of possible bone tools.

Into the Shallows II—A Stirring of Hope 273 

I had never seen pit floors like the ones now exposed. The FGC would be expected to lie neatly upon the Cobble Layer, yet in some places this relationship seemed to be inverted. Twig-rich FGC would abut laterally, and even be overlain by, what seemed to be rolls or curls of sticky, clayey silt belonging to the Cobble Layer. At first I could make no sense of what I was seeing. It was then that I realized this was a (very) large mastodon dig-out, and that the ripples and curls probably reflected mastodons digging into the silty clay of the cobble layer and pulling up the sticky sediment with their tusks. I had long been skeptical of Jock’s assertion that, if they hadn’t actually created the Hiscock basin, mastodons had at least deepened and widened it.16 Now, seeing this enormous dig-out, and the elongated trenches that characterize the basement surface throughout the excavated basin (see figure 21.2), Jock’s hypothesis at last made sense to me. The following year, 2010, provided an opportunity to expose a westward extension of that large dig-out by excavating quadrant F5SW. Here we found numerous cobbles and boulders perched on and embedded in the top of the FGC. My sense is that these large rocks were loosened as the mastodons dug in

21.2 Contour map of basement surface as of 2000, showing elongate features. Arrow marks denote excavation shown in figure 13.3.

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the cobble layer, and then fell into the dig-out, which was becoming covered with a reworked Cobble Layer and mastodon digesta. (That covering is what we named the FGC.) This pit yielded the possible bone tool consisting of a mastodon shoulder socket and attached bone that was mentioned earlier. There were also a number of smaller bones that may have been culturally modified. One of them17 is an oblong, tabular piece of (possible) mastodon bone, four centimeters (1½ inches) long and beveled and burnished at one end. It was radiocarbon dated at 11,420±50 years rcyBP (calibrated calendar dates of 13,350–13,210 BP), which is near the earliest part of the Clovis period. Of course, this date marks when the animal died. If it is correctly interpreted as a bone tool, it is not necessarily when it was made and used. It could have been picked up and used by someone at a much later date. I’ll mention one more piece from this pit, another possible artifact that came to rest in the dig-out. It’s a small, flat piece of chert18 with flake scars all around its perimeter. Two adjacent scars were formed at such a high angle that a narrow spike projects between them. To me it suggests a graver, a tool made to scrape narrow grooves in wood or bone. Experienced archaeologists who examined this piece were not convinced that it was a manufactured tool because the spike did not show obvious signs of polish or other wear. Still . . . During this period our work included quadrants more in the southern part of the grid, closer to where we had begun exploring the basin back in 1983. Consequently, it was no surprise that we occasionally encountered segments of that puzzling stone lineation that proved to be the remains of a French drain. These stretches, of course, lined up precisely with those that we had exposed so many years ago. One portion of the lineation, exposed in 2010, extended through the southwestern corner of quadrant H2SE. Its southerly end matched up with the low pile of boulders that Mike Gramly had found in a corner of the test pit he had dug back in 1982, when he had first visited the site. Its northerly end, seemingly the terminus of the lineation, penetrated H2SW, where it appeared in the Woody Layer as a jumble of boulders in the northeastern corner. What the latter represented is unclear. The main spring vent, whose flow this drain was presumably intended to control, lay seven meters (twenty-three feet) to the north, and perhaps these boulders were intended to temper the force of the water flow before it entered the drainage ditch.

Into the Shallows II—A Stirring of Hope 275 

It isn’t possible to offer (and I suspect many readers would not tolerate) a comprehensive account of the finds made during this episode of the Dig. I’ve therefore limited myself to those items that play an important role in our understanding of the site’s history. A number of finds that relate to the geology and structure of the site, such as figure 21.3, hold my interest, but I don’t assume

21.3 Wall of E6NE, with rotted boulder (arrow) resting on Fibrous Gravelly Clay, covered by Woody Layer. (Photo by Richard S. Laub)

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this to be true for everyone. Consequently, I’ll relegate them to a chapter note19 should readers choose to indulge (recommended). An amusing event nicely showed the point we’d now reached in the Byron Dig project. In one of the more southerly 2009 quadrants,20 a thick, dense covering of plant roots had taken hold on the surface and needed to be removed. We accomplished this with drywall saws (far more effective than the grapefruit knives we’d used in earlier years). After a day of cutting the roots out in blocks, we reached the Dark Earth and started troweling. On the first day of digging, a couple of the sievers came to show me something that had turned up. They had been processing a bucket of sediment from thirty-six to forty-two centimeters below the ground surface (meaning below the top of the plant roots we had removed), and they’d found two of our sieve tags. They were dated 1995 (fourteen years earlier), and the name of the troweler, Jack Meeks, had been written on the tags. These must have been discards that had blown from the receptacles in which they were temporarily accumulated until they could be dumped into a trash can. Looking up, I saw that the very same Jack Meeks was standing at a sieve within arm’s reach of me. I can assure you that he, I, and everyone else there shared a hearty laugh over this incredible coincidence. But beyond this, I realized we were at a stage where we ourselves had become part of the archaeology of the site.

chapter 22

A Bolt from the Blue

T

he occasion was the 2009 annual spring conclave of Byron diggers, held at the museum. We had stoked ourselves from the beautiful array of refreshments that Laura had laid out, and had finished catching up on each other’s doings over the past several months. Now everyone grabbed a chair and sat to hear me relate what had been accomplished during the previous field season, and what we had learned in the subsequent months of going over the collection. I began by asking this question: “What is one notable species whose bones we have not found at the Dig?” To answer this question, I had to take us back two field seasons, to “the summer of our disappointment.” The reader will recall that in that year, 2006, all signs pointed to our having exhausted the areas where we could hope to find large, well-preserved bones. As well, the additional basins to the south that we had looked forward to exploring seemed to have betrayed their promise. In unpacking and processing the haul for that year, we had found two peculiar teeth associated with the Fibrous Gravelly Clay. These teeth were small . . . clearly not mastodon. Instead, their size and proportions brought to mind the sheep teeth we’d found here from time to time. One was square in cross-section, and had a pair of broad roots, parallel to each other. The other was much more slender, round in cross-section, and had only one root. In the first tooth the crown had been worn down sufficiently to expose the top of the root cavity. I wasn’t impressed by the fact that that they were from the Pleistocene horizon, because demonstrably intruded younger specimens were common enough in this level.

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Eventually, I asked one of our lab volunteers to compare them with known sheep and goat teeth so that we could enter a definite identification in the Hiscock specimen database. To my surprise, the person reported that they’d been unable to find a match. My own efforts to do so also failed. Whatever they belonged to, it wasn’t a sheep or goat. I don’t recall just what the reason was; probably I felt I’d exhausted all the likely possibilities, but sometime in early 2008 I went to the University of Buffalo Dental School, where I showed the two teeth to one of the professors, Mary Bush. “Can you tell me what kind of teeth these are?” I asked. “Well, yes,” she replied, “they’re a lower molar and a lower premolar.” I pushed further: “I mean, from what species do they come?” “Oh, they’re human,” she said, as though it was obvious.1 I was completely floored. Of course, we knew that humans had visited the site throughout the millennia recorded here. At times they may have even lived close by the basin. But, until now, we had found none of their physical remains. A little later I happened to be looking at an old museum exhibit that had been placed in storage for some years, which was now temporarily on public display. It was what we call an “exploded” display of a human skeleton, with all of the bones laid out in their anatomical position. Looking at the topmost rib, I noticed that it had a distinct sickle-like curve. This brought to mind something I’d seen in the storage-case drawer containing the two human teeth. Returning to the collection room, I looked again at the drawer and, sure enough, there was a fragment from one of those uppermost human ribs.2 Four years before the discovery of these human remains, a tooth3 was found in the Dark Earth. It lay farther north on the grid, similarly close to the western basin margin. Based solely on the layer in which it was found, its date could be fairly recent, possibly not over two hundred years old. I had tentatively identified it as belonging to a pig, as pig teeth can be superficially similar to those of humans. But with the recognition of human remains at the site, I reconsidered this idea. It may not be prudent to assume that the age of this individual tooth, and that of the more southerly cluster of human remains, can be confidently determined by the layers in which they were buried. Both finds were fairly close to the western margin of the basin, and we know that debris had been washed or otherwise moved from the higher surrounding ground down to the edges of the basin floor. Therefore, it’s possible that these particular fossils were similarly transported

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downslope, settling and being buried on whatever surface was exposed at the time. We also know that bones and teeth have been intruded into the soft, damp substrate from higher (younger) levels. With these factors in mind, it’s clear that the age of the human remains at Hiscock could only be determined by radiometric dating. In connection with the question of age, William Ritchie, a former New York State archaeologist, has noted that human skeletal remains at sites of the Lamoka culture can feature extensive tooth wear, sufficient to expose the root canal.4 This was the case with the Hiscock molar in the southern cluster, and a Lamoka point has indeed been found at our site. Whoever these people were, and whenever they were there, what caused these remains to be preserved at this location? Was there a village or campsite somewhere nearby? If so, had the inhabitants buried their deceased on the elevation above the basin? (It’s difficult to imagine interring someone on the damp basin floor.) Were the two individuals represented here, based on their different locations, members of the same social group? Alternatively, could they be widely separated in time, and have come to rest near each other through sheer coincidence? Might there be a historical connection between the owner of the two teeth and rib fragment found in quadrant H2NE and the Holocene awl and needle-like bone artifacts (see figures 18.3A, C) that were found only a meter or so away? Could those artifacts be remnants of otherwise perishable grave offerings? Douglas Owsley, a forensic anthropologist at the Smithsonian Institution, examined the teeth and bone fragment. His analysis appears in appendix A of this book.

chapter 23

To Where All Things Must Come

B

y the fall of 2010 it was clear that change was in the wind. I’d had a sense of this for some time, but now it was unmistakable. Multiple factors—finances, the directions the museum was taking, my personal situation, I would dare say even geology—had converged to tell me that the end was approaching. The 2011 field season, our twenty-ninth, would be our last, and that’s what I placed at the heading of the call mailed out to volunteers: “The Final Byron Dig.” The response was immediate, emotional, and in some cases even angry. How was it possible to allow the Byron Dig to end? It took an effort to convince some of our people that this was not something to be taken personally, that it was part of the natural trajectory of a large-scale project. At the orientation meeting held, as usual, at the museum a week before the dig began, I tried to convey how extraordinary it was that we’d staved off the inevitable for so long. Opening day went as it always had. Gary, Bill, and I picked up the loaner dump truck at the Darling engineering yard, met other diggers at the museum to load up equipment, and then drove to the site, where the crew members for that day were waiting outside the gate. Within an hour or so our tents were up, and we had eaten the lunches we’d brought from home. One team carried the dozens of plywood boards, wheelbarrows, and other heavy equipment down to the basin’s edge, while another finished setting up the camp. Bill got the pump system going so we could start moving water off the basin floor. Laura brought snacks for a half-hour break. Then we began laying out the plywood boards on the dry areas of the basin to form walkways and working platforms. By day’s end the site was ready to be worked and, exhausted, we

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went up the hill to our camp for supper. Everything went according to our well-established routine. It was all the same . . . and yet it was different. In my mind, and I’m sure in those of the veterans, what we did and what we saw was flavored by the realization that we would not be doing this again. This season was the final time we would view these scenes and interact with these people in the same way. As each worker completed their days of commitment and prepared to leave the site, the parting was long and often emotional, since we were uncertain when, or if, we would meet again.1 Fortunately, the tasks at hand, and discoveries both anticipated and realized, kept our minds from dwelling on this. If anything, we each tried to squeeze as much feeling and fellowship out of the moments as we could. Our work, initially, was focused in the southern area of the grid, just north of where we had dug during our first year, 1983. In comparison with past years the finds were, forgive the cliché, underwhelming. The Holocene peats yielded a musket ball and the mandible of a mink, among other things.2 One instructive item, the neck vertebra of an elk,3 was found covered by the Gelatinous (older) Woody Layer and embedded in the top of the Fibrous Gravelly Clay. Its radiocarbon date of 7,580±40 rcyBP, equivalent to a calendar age of 8,420 to 8,340 years BP, conformed with and confirmed the expected early Holocene age of this finegrained peat. We did encounter our old friend, the stone lineation, cutting through the extreme southwestern corner of one pit.4 This, the remains of a French drain used to control water build-up near the main spring source, was coextensive with the rest of the lineation that we’d exposed in 1983 and subsequent years. In the southern wall of the pit was a large lens of grey sediment and cobbles that appeared to be a spoil pile produced when the drain had been dug, many years ago. The Pleistocene layer in this area was productive but, again, not very impressive. Some of the diggers commented on this as we worked through the pits, expressing disappointment. I felt bad and was concerned about morale. This was our last year, they were working hard, and I wanted them to have a sense of satisfaction. Still, we could only collect what chance had placed in the ground long ago, and we were certainly not coming up with any treasures. I remember troweling on the edge of one of the pits and encountering what, for this particular time, was a sizable bone,5 though it was only about thirteen centimeters (five inches) across. It proved to be the front portion of a mastodon

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lunar, a wrist bone shaped like the head of an axe, and not in the greatest shape. There were some good-natured wisecracks about this bone being the prize of the season. I tried not to show it, but for the first time I was coming to feel at peace with the ending of our project. For so long it had felt like a glorious undertaking. Not too many years before, I’d overheard Bill Parsons saying to a new volunteer, “The Byron Dig is magic,” and in all honesty I didn’t consider that an exaggeration. I had come to think of the project almost as a human being, something to be protected, something that I had come to love as I did those who shared it with me. But now, in this year, it felt like the Dig had entered its declining years, coming into a condition of dotage. I didn’t want it to become an object of pity. Perhaps it was best that it end here. On that same day, July 22, I assigned Michael Moreland, a long-time Byron digger from Pittsburgh, to do some troweling. He had always been a good, reliable worker, a fine asset to our group. This was his final day, and I wanted him to have an opportunity to do what he most enjoyed. After a while, the recorder for his pit called me over. Mike had found something. There, beginning to peek out from the grey Pleistocene sediment, was the unmistakable whiteness of tooth enamel. I entered the pit to examine the object with Mike. After probing around its perimeter we could see that it was a complete tooth.6 I left Mike to finish exposing it and measuring its location, and then I dictated the orientation data for the recorder to enter into the field book. Mike, in his last hours at Byron, had found a whole mastodon molar from the left side of the lower jaw. It was certainly the showiest piece of the season, and I couldn’t be happier that he had ended his work on such a high note. Mike left that day in great spirits with a wonderful feeling of accomplishment. As things progressed in the south, we opened two more pits farther north, near the western margin of the basin. One was a half-quadrant, near Mike Gramly’s 1982 test pit. The other was H1NE, a full quadrant, and it was one of the most difficult squares to set up for excavation. First of all, much of its eastern wall lay in two of the channels dug out by the backhoe in 1983 to enable us to drain the basin. It made that portion of the quadrant prone to slumping, which indeed it did, so it had to be shored up with boards. Because of its nearness to the main spring, the sediment was extremely soupy. It was a struggle to lay plywood boards around the quadrant’s perimeter

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in order to pound in the stakes and connect them with strings. Finally, because it was so close to the western boundary of the basin, it actually intruded into the slope. With its unusual location, this quadrant also provided us with some unusual specimens. One was an incisor (front tooth) of a horse,7 clearly from the time of European settlement. Then there were two corn cobs. One 8 had been found in sediment filling a muskrat burrow that intruded into the Woody Layer. Radiocarbon dating showed it to be essentially modern, meaning that it was living within approximately the past sixty years. Besides accruing what new specimens and information we could during this final field season, our most important mission was to leave the site in a condition that would enable professional researchers, someday, to pick up where we had left off. The primary means to do this was to create a permanent (or at least long-lasting) record of our grid’s position. As the years went by, the stakes would rot or be knocked over by wandering animals, as we had seen in the past. On those that survived, the writing that indicated their position in the grid would fade and disappear. We accomplished this purpose in two ways. First, at each of ten key intersections of the grid, Dave Rigerman built a permanent structure consisting of hydraulic cement with a vertical metal rod in its core. Second, we brought a specialist in from the Department of Geography, University of Buffalo, to take and record high-resolution GPS (Global Positioning System) coordinates for each of these intersections. With these devices in place, the Hiscock Site will someday continue telling its story, with a smooth transition from what had been revealed during our time working there.

w The morning of our final day of digging dawned and progressed as our final days always had. The pumping crew set the pumps to clearing away the water that had accumulated during the night. Everyone was out of their tents by six thirty, when Laura’s truck arrived with breakfast. After eating and cleaning up we gathered under the shade tarps for work assignments. Deb Lovallo, a former teacher, had brought a set of hand signs to add a bit of levity to this poignant day: “All eyes on me!” “Quiet, please.” “Line up here!”

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Everyone pretty much knew the drill, but it brought some humor to the occasion that I, at least, needed. We wheelbarrowed the equipment chests, recording chests, and water coolers down to the site, brought down the lighter equipment from the tarp at the basin’s edge, and set to work. Our crews spent the next several hours “mopping up,” finishing the final pits.9 Meanwhile, the two Roberts (Harris and Semrau) were lining the pit walls in preparation for back-filling. This work continued until lunchtime, when we went up to camp for an hour’s respite. After lunch came the bull-work of shoveling away the huge piles of soil that had accumulated at the sieves over the previous three weeks. Following this, the plywood boards that had constituted our walking and working surfaces were carried, four people to a board, from the basin, along with all other remaining equipment. With no trace of our presence remaining, the marsh was free to return to its original state. Now the time had come for one of the rituals of the Byron Dig—the final dinner of the season in camp and an evening of singing and fellowship around the fire. Laura and her helpers brought a sumptuous feast, along with one of their trademark themed cakes for the enjoyment of all the diggers, present and past, who could be there. We were joined by guests from the Byron community who had become close to the project, people such as Don and Marilyn Britt and Corky and Pat Shaw. Those of us who had worked that day cleaned up at the washing stand and disappeared into our tents. We emerged in clothes that were not coated with FGC—a very unfamiliar and not-unpleasant feeling. There was an air of accomplishment, of having completed a monumental task to which we all had contributed. Then, after a period of greeting and mixing, I called for everyone to gather so that I could express my thanks and invite all to partake of the feast. I had done this many times before, and it should have been routine. Scores of people, all of whom I had worked with for years, and carried in my heart, stood before me to hear what I had to say. I began with, “Well, we’ve finally come to this time . . .” and could say no more. I was powerless to speak without losing control of my emotions, and I dropped my gaze to the ground for a few seconds to recover myself. I took a deep breath, and when I looked up, all eyes were on me, concerned and thoughtful. I could tell that everyone was thinking the same thing—this was the end of something that had meaning for us all. I don’t recall just what I said at that point, but the feeling was universal: “Let’s enjoy this final

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evening together, revel in each other’s company, in guitar and violin music, in singing, and in star-gazing, and make this a time to remember.” And that’s just what we did. As darkness came on, those of us who remained gathered chairs in a large circle around the campfire and began to talk quietly among ourselves. Snacks were brought out from the cook tent for sharing, and there was quiet strumming of a guitar or two. A few of us would gather around the musicians to sing, and when the better-known songs came up pretty much everyone joined in. Stories were told, thoughts were shared, jokes were cracked. As the evening wore on, the wiser heads began to peel off, some to their cars for a late ride home, others to their tents for a good night’s sleep. Gradually the circle grew smaller, drawing closer to the fire. And after a while, the fire was securely put out, and the camp grew quiet. Morning came, and we gathered to be divided into task groups, some to bring the plywood boards up to the storage barn, others to disassemble the camp. With years of practice under our belts, it went smoothly. The job completed, we all now stood in an empty field that had been our home for three weeks, anticipating what was to come, an ice cream party at Laura’s to take the edge off the day’s heat, and then a last farewell. Before we got into our vehicles to leave the site for the final time, one of our crew, Ellen Bartlett, asked if she could say a few words. A teacher in her professional life, Ellen had spent many years working at the Dig. She came from a small town in central New York called Walton, a place that, though far from Byron, had given a surprising number of excellent, long-standing volunteers to the Hiscock crew. We stood, about twenty-five of us, in the middle of the field to hear what Ellen had to say. She spoke with feeling about what the Dig, and the people she’d worked with, had meant to her. I was moved by her words, and I’m certain that I was not alone in this. Soon after, we sat at Laura’s and gorged on ice cream. We simply enjoyed being together in a relaxed atmosphere, with the season’s labor now successfully completed. Then we shook hands, hugged, and said good-bye until circumstances would allow us to come together again.

w

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In the fall, Ellen sent a letter expressing her feelings, accompanied by many photos. With her permission, I present it here: The sun has risen, but I float in that dreamy state between true sleep and wakefulness . . . A sound penetrates deep into my brain and I smile . . . The pumps have started. I stretch and sit up, scrabbling around in my tent, trying to get dressed before the call . . . but I don’t quite make it. There it is . . . “Rise and shine everybody! It’s a beautiful day out here at the dig.” I smile again, partly at the comforting predictability, partly because I am exactly where I want to be today. I unzip the tent and climb out; around me others are stirring and soon there will be a chorus of zippers. I walk across the dewy grass. Nods of quiet good mornings are exchanged with the others, who are standing around in the misty morning’s early light. Hands clutch warm cups of coffee, long-sleeved shirts ward off the chill that surely won’t last. After a quick trip to the little blue house, a stop at the wash stand and a search of my car for dishes I join the others gathered at the picnic tables. Laura will be here soon, in fact, here she comes now . . . HONK, HOOONK!! Anticipation builds, several people help unload the car . . . pancakes, eggs and sausage, coffee . . . It’s going to be a gooood day. With plates piled high, we turn toward the dining area to find a spot to eat . . . Where to sit this morning? Who haven’t I talked to yet this week? Where is there room and which bench is the most comfortable? After the first few bites are put away the conversation starts up in earnest . . . Laughter spills out and is echoed from table to table . . . How many of us are this happy at breakfast at home? Quickly now we finish up, grab boots, put on sunscreen. Dick will be doing roll call in a minute . . . You don’t want to be late. He stands there with his list in hand, the conversation quiets, someone laughs and is hushed. He speaks . . . “Please respond orally when I call your name.” How many Orallys can there be in one group? What a bunch of comedians. Everyone is here; now for the day’s assignments. Trowelers, sievers, recorders and carpenters are given their respective tasks. Who wants to do camp watch? Each one has an important part. Now we line up by Dick’s tent. Tool chests are loaded into wheelbarrows, recording chests are handed out, the

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water cooler is assigned; two people grab the rain coat basin. Everyone else joins in the parade to the swamp. Here and there a straggler comes from a car or port-a-john. The crunch of gravel is heard under booted feet, small white clouds smudge the blue sky, a warbler sings from the reeds. It’s warming up already; what a glorious day. Heading into the swamp itself you are at first assaulted by the smell of sulfur but after a while it becomes part of the day’s perfume. “Watch your step. It’s a little slippery on the boards right now.” The pumps are going but the pits still have too much water to get in. There are buckets left from last night at some of the sieve stands. Rinse water is already in place. We start to distribute items from the equipment tarp: strainers, freezer containers, Whirl-pak bags, and meter sticks. At the pits buckets stand in rows, tool chests are aligned, recording chests are positioned. “Are there enough boards and kneeling pads?” “Ahhhh someone quick . . . tell the new kid” . . . “Don’t touch the stake!” All is set. The sump pump slurps away and the floor of the pit looks pretty good. “Recorder, may we enter the pit?” “Yes you may.” “Trowelers, make sure you turn that trowel over.” “Careful, there was something there in the floor . . . by that plastic knife . . . It might be a rib.” “Should we get a compass reading before we take it out?” “Wait a minute  . . . Gee, not again  . . . it’s sucker wood!” “Are you serious?” “OK, back on your heads.” “I’ve got a bucket.” “Northeast corner, Dark Earth, 12 cm.” “I’ll take that bucket.” “Make sure you get the sieve tag.” “Turn that trowel over.” “Anybody want a drink?” “Sure, if you’re buying.” And down into the Woody Layer and then the Fibrous Gravelly Clay, until finally the Cobble Layer is reached. “Do you need an assistant recorder?” “Not unless these guys move faster . . . Well, yes, I guess someone could make more sieve tags.” “I think we have a specimen.” “What is the orientation?” “Was it found in place?” “Disturbed by trowel?” “What about the troweler?” “Yes, he is disturbed too.” “What?” “Careful . . . keep your feet on the boards.” “TURN YOUR trowel OVER.” “Watch that line-level . . .” “I’ve got a bucket.” “And over at the sieve stand . . . Which side do you want?” “Where is the clothes pin?” “Are you sure there was a tag in that bucket?” “Here it is . . . Is this bone?” “Can you stick your fingernail in it?” “What time do you think it is?” “Who has a watch?” . . . “Is this chert?” “Rinse it off. Yes, I think it is  . . . Nice cleavage . . .” “Which bucket shall we do next? . . . “If you tip the screen

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like this it’s easier” . . . “We’d better shovel soon or an avalanche will cover our feet.” . . . “Don’t bang the bucket on the screen.” . . . “Make sure you put the tag in the trash.” “Break time!” “Is it 10 already?” It’s warming up. We march up to camp, following the well-worn path of dry, brown grass. Laura’s helpers beat us there with a snack . . . pineapple upside-down cake, my favorite, and I was all set just to have fruit today . . . well . . . there is fruit in this . . . Mix some lemonade and ice tea . . . get in the shade . . . stretch your legs, read the paper . . . more sunscreen, dampen the bandana . . . roll down the car windows . . . leave one layer [of clothing] at the car . . . “Time to go” . . . “Is everyone OK with their assignment?” “Who were you working with?” “They have camp watch.” . . . “OK, you go over here . . . No, wait, why don’t the three of you join together?” . . . And the work continues . . . the pump starts up again . . . the sun climbs higher . . . frog bones . . . rodent teeth, cervid rib, bird bones.” “Look at the color!” . . . The cattails wave gracefully in the breeze . . . slightly hypnotic . . . a dragonfly floats by . . .” This is definitely mastodon bone . . .” Guess what WE found in the sieve?” “Who was the troweler?” . . . Anybody would have missed that!” . . . My feet are getting tired. My knees hurt . . .” “Do you want a break?” “No, I’m all right.” . . . The pace is a little slower, the sun marches across the sky unaware of the work below. The conversations are astounding in variety  .  .  . books read, family issues, education, theories in science, vacations, religion, fashion   .  .  .” Five minutes until lunch . . . pass the word.” . . . “Tuck the bag inside the top screen, we’ll finish this later.” “Empty the trash and put the Whirl-pak bags in the basins . . . over in the grotto.” Tired workers walk up the hill. Everyone looks about the same, slightly sunburned, more than a little muddy, worn clothes, but smiles of contentment. You couldn’t pay us to do this work, but we gladly do it for free. This is one of the few places I’ve ever been where there really is equality for all. Who you are outside of the Hiscock Site has little effect on your value here. Teachers, lawyers, students, engineers, professors, ministers, clerks, artists, chemists . . . and yet we work shoulder to shoulder, sometimes elbow to elbow with very few complaints . . . It all works, in part because of our wonderful director, in part because of the kind of people who come here. Statistically speaking . . . they are all above average. The question has been asked more than once. “Could it be . . . that instead of

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being a paleo-archaeological dig  .  .  . this is some kind of a psychological experiment?” How many people can you get to commit to days of standing in muck, pushing dirt through a screen, writing numbers and letters on little bits of paper . . . and have them be happy about it??? It does sound a bit absurd. This time I take off my boots and socks and put on sandals; my feet need a break. And this time I scrub my hands, forget about getting your nails clean. I rinse my face with my bandana and drape it across my neck again. Cool drops run down my back and give a little comfort. Vegetable soup, potato salad, green Jell-O, rolls, bread of every kind, cheeses, cold cuts, applesauce, potato chips, pickles  . . . If you walk away from lunch hungry it’s your own fault. “Yes, I have extra plates, here you go.” I fill my cup again with the tea/lemonade mix, watching for yellow jackets who want some too. Conversations begin, lag, and pick up again as appetites are satisfied. A few people stretch out on a bench; others sag into their chairs, hats and bandanas over faces. A few minutes’ nap will be refreshing or at least make the next session possible. Some people read for a while, others talk quietly. “Be ready in five minutes.” “Really? Yes, I guess so.” There are volunteers for camp watch now. I grab my boots, slather on the sunscreen, run to the port-a-john and remember my hat. Should I take my camera this time? Why not? “Back to your stations!” No rushing this time, from 2 to 4 is the longest part of the day. It’s getting really hot; I think I’m getting sunburned. I did put sunscreen on, didn’t I . . . or was that yesterday, last week, last year? There is a timeless quality to the days at the dig. Which year did the tents blow away, when did we dig up the reallllly big tusk . . . “I’ve got a bucket.” “Go ahead . . .” “SE corner, Woody, 28 cm.” Work in the pits slows as the trowelers struggle with Fibrous Gravelly Clay. The bucket vultures circle. “Don’t lean on the stake.” “Make sure everyone gets water.” There are bits of dirt in the bottom of the cups, added fiber? The work continues, the conversations are quieter, even the dragonflies slow down. A plane flies low overhead, are they looking at us? Four o’clock finally arrives. We trudge slowly up to camp. Every step is measured, no one rushes anywhere. Get a drink, grab some watermelon, pull your chair into the shade and take a seat. Rest and cool off. Don’t fall asleep, there isn’t time. “Let’s go!” It’s the final round for the day.

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Is it clouding up? A little sprinkle begins, do we need raincoats? Nope, just enough to cool it off for a few minutes. That was refreshing. The sun comes back but it is lower in the sky now. We take a collective breath and push to the finish. Just a few more buckets for the day. My hands are sore now against the screening. Trowelers are trying to find a comfortable position to work in; knees and backs have that dull ache. “Even up the floor in that corner.” “Do a wall scraping over there.” “Is that a bone by the pump?” “That’s enough in there!”  .  .  . “OK, then, I’ve got a bucket.” “Northwest, Fibrous Gravelly Clay, 34 cm.” . . . “15 minutes until dinner” . . . Fill one more bucket, shovel out under your sieve stand, start picking up, everything has a place, scrape the boards, empty the rinse buckets. “Hey, trowel in a bucket!” “OK, OK” . . . Load up the wheelbarrows, laughter and a helping hand. The pumps are turned off, the site is in order; the equipment tarp looks shipshape. The [map] scrolls are put away and the procession heads for the top of the hill. It’s time to get “really” clean. Dinner might even call for a clean shirt. Good-natured ribbing takes place at the wash stands. Everyone looks tired, dirty and happy. Smiles are commonplace. We feel like we are part of something important. Are you ready? Here comes Laura. Help unload the car. It’s stuffed shells, garlic bread and summer squash. Plates are filled and there is still enough. She is a magician, part of the dig mystery. Everyone eats their fill. “I keep saying I have to cut back, it’s a good thing my pants have an elastic waist.” “Who wants to do dishes?” Hands are raised and a happy volunteer gets clean hands and a shower. Everyone else gradually leaves the tables. A few head home, some good-byes are said, others will return in the morning. The rest of us pick up our dishes and grab a heavier shirt. The sun is lower and it’s cooling off. We pull our chairs up to the fire. “Are there mosquitoes tonight?” “I haven’t seen any.” The fire is crackling brightly, no smoke tonight either, another log is added, it sizzles and pops. A guitar is brought out and a few rounds of songs are sung. Several people leave the circle for their tents. The conversations are quieter; the circle shrinks again and draws closer to the flames. “Look, a falling star . . . a satellite . . . There should be an iridium flare . . . There it is!!” Only a couple of people are left. “Is it time? I guess so.” The rinse water is dumped into the embers, steam hisses and then fades away.

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The night is calm. The moon is coming up; maybe I won’t need a flashlight to find my way to the tent. A chorus of snores surrounds me. I zip into my tent and then into my sleeping bag. It is cool enough to sleep tonight . . . The cicadas are rasping away . . . The world around me stills . . . I fall into a contented slumber . . . Tomorrow will be another day at the dig. If I had known it would end so soon . . . How can I say that after 18 years? Yet somehow I wasn’t ready for this. I wish I had taken more pictures, I should have written more down . . . I wish I’d talked to more people . . . I am so thankful for all the dig has given me . . .

chapter 24

Some Parting Thoughts

T

hrough the years I’ve thought about what makes the Hiscock Site distinctive. It has mastodon remains, and notably those of many mastodons. But mastodon sites are not uncommon, especially in the Northeast. And there are a (very) few other sites where more than one mastodon was preserved, such as Snowmass Village, Colorado (2010–2011); Boney Spring, Missouri; Big Bone Lick, Kentucky; and the famous La Brea Tar Pits of California. The Clovis-type points (more accurately known as bifaces, since most appear not to have been projectile points in final use) are certainly not unique to Hiscock. Such artifacts have been found all across North America. In rare cases (e.g., the Kimmswick Site, Missouri) they are associated with mastodon remains, as at Hiscock. Granted, the Hiscock bifaces belong to the relatively small percentage of these artifacts that were found in their original positions, rather than displaced by plows or other sorts of erosion. Hiscock does have a remarkably rich Holocene (post–Ice Age) fossil fauna, especially birds, as Dave Steadman has shown. But again, there are other sites with comparable abundance (e.g., the Dutchess Quarry Caves of southeastern New York). Further, I suspect that many northeastern peat bogs, if explored with similar intensity, would prove quite rich in Holocene vertebrate remains. To me there are two standouts at Hiscock: mastodon dig-outs and Pleistocene tools made from bone (by which I also mean ivory and dentine). We’ve identified four locations, and possibly seven, in this relatively small area where something dug large holes in the basin floor during the Ice Age. Mastodons appear to have been the agents of this digging. Furthermore, the basement topography of the basin, and what we know of elephant behavior through the

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work of such researchers as Gary Haynes, strongly suggests that quite a lot of substrate was moved by the mastodons who visited this site. Bone tools are rare in Ice Age archaeological sites in North America. In part, this may be due to an absence of conditions needed for the preservation of bone, ivory, and dentine. It may also reflect the difficulty in identifying informal, perhaps single-use, bone tools and distinguishing them from bone fragments shaped through natural processes. Haynes, who has extensively studied elephant die-off sites in Africa, has argued that those natural processes are capable of producing objects that can mimic simple bone tools. His call for caution should be taken seriously. Seventeen objects from the Hiscock Site have been formally reported as bone tools. All of them are described and analyzed by John Tomenchuk in his paper in the second Smith symposium. In going through each year’s collection I have encountered and noted additional specimens that I feel are good candidates to add to the assemblage. More recently, Mike Gramly examined the entire Pleistocene component of the Hiscock collection and produced a catalogue listing more than a thousand specimens that he believes are bone artifacts.1 These all warrant study by a person with John’s qualifications.

w In one of my articles in the second Smith symposium (see chapter 16), I wondered why we had found no mammoth remains at the Hiscock Site, despite the continued presence of mastodon here throughout many hundreds of years. In a negative sense, I suppose this could be considered another standout for the site. We know that mammoth were in the region following the withdrawal of the continental ice sheet. One mammoth2 found south of Seneca Lake, about 150 kilometers (90 miles) southeast of Byron, yielded a radiocarbon date of 10,890±50 years BP, comfortably within the range of mastodon dates from Hiscock. So, it appears that the timing of the mammoth’s disappearance from the region is not an explanation for their absence from Hiscock. A more likely reason, I suspect, is ecology, the surrounding forest discouraging incursions by the steppe-adapted mammoths of the time. In other words, mammoth are absent from the Hiscock basin because it was too deep into mastodon country to be accessible to them.

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w In 2010, I happened to tune in the television program 60 Minutes when the host announced a fifteen-minute feature called “The Secret Language of Elephants.” It was mostly an interview with the researcher Andrea Turkalo, who has devoted years to observing a population of forest elephants (Loxodonta cyclotis) in central Africa, near the border between Cameroon and the Central African Republic.3 Watching this brief documentary, I felt as though the Hiscock Site as it was during the Pleistocene had come alive. In contrast with the more familiar African elephant (Loxodonta africana), which favors open savannahs, forest elephants inhabit heavily treed, canopied areas. In this sense, theirs resembles our concept of the mastodon lifestyle. The researcher had set up an observation post at the edge of a forest clearing that contained, of all things, salt-rich pools. Thus, the site was a mineral lick, identical to our understanding of our Ice Age basin. And as with Hiscock, the salty minerals originated in a bed of dolomitic limestone that underlay the seep. Large numbers of elephants (adult males and females, along with juveniles—I counted at least twenty animals in one scene) come down to wallow and to drink the saline water. The muddy ground over which they wander is constantly being churned up. In several spots there are “wells” that the elephants had dug in the mud to reach deeper water in which the minerals are more highly concentrated. They also ingested soil, as Jock McAndrews had argued our mastodons did, to obtain minerals that would aid in the digestion of forest plants in their diet. My eye was caught by a zone surrounding this mineral seep that was devoid of trees, with a spotty ground-covering of low, grassy plants. This area was clearly subject to extensive trampling and the bordering forest was presumably held back through browsing by the elephants. This, then, may explain why our basin is nearly devoid of large pieces of wood, although it existed in a region cloaked with conifer forest. The forest edge, held at bay by mastodon traffic and activity, lay far enough from the basin that trees would not normally fall into the water. The large spruce log that we found deep in the Fibrous Gravelly Clay in 2002 (see chapter 18) must have come from that forest, and you’ll recall that it bore the bases of numerous branches that could have been browsed. Playful (and sometimes serious) wrestling between elephants, especially younger ones, was common at the African mineral seep, and in the context of Hiscock this could explain the numerous broken-off chin tusks of juvenile

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mastodons and tusk tips of older ones. Sadly, even the occasional death of an elephant was portrayed, testifying to how bones found their way into the churned-up sediment. This modern analog resembles Hiscock in yet another way, and it may throw light on an additional aspect of our site. The African water hole is visited only by forest elephants, not by the more familiar savannah-adapted African elephant. The pattern mirrors the complete absence of mammoth from the Hiscock Site, even though they were contemporary elsewhere in the region with the Hiscock mastodons.4 Farther east in the Central African Republic, where forest and savannah form a mosaic pattern, Loxodonta cyclotus and L. africana do sometimes co-occur.5 By analogy, this supports the idea that the distributions of mastodon and mammoth were environmentally controlled, and that the absence of mammoth from Hiscock is an ecological effect.

w I’m intrigued when I think of factors that have, let’s say, “disorganized” the Hiscock record, so that it does not present a neat picture with everything in its proper place. These include disruption in a horizontal direction, often accompanied by physical damage to the bones, as well as disruption in a vertical direction. Paradoxically, these factors have actually proven to be strong assets of the site. The scattered, intermingled distribution of the mastodon bones, most of them fragmented and worn, was a source of disappointment until we realized what a boon this condition really was. Individual mastodon skeletons are not rare. While they are usually incomplete, there are a (very) few cases where all the bones are present. These include the Warren mastodon (Newburgh, New York), which can be seen at the American Museum of Natural History in New York City, and the Hyde Park mastodon (Hyde Park, New York), which is on display at the Museum of the Earth in Ithaca, New York. These skeletons, both complete and incomplete, tell us what mastodons looked like, where and when they lived (or more correctly, died), and how their anatomy varied within the species. However, in addition, the jumbled and damaged Hiscock mastodon remains offer valuable information about just what was happening at the site. Here the bones of many animals were scattered and

Some Parting Thoughts 297 

intermixed. Most show some degree of breakage, cracking, exfoliation, abrasion, and in some cases reshaping, all attesting to natural and cultural agencies having been at work here. Vertical disruption, the intrusion of fossils from the surface on which they were originally deposited downward into lower (older) levels, means that we can’t be certain of a fossil’s age based solely on the layer in which it is found. However, this problem has also helped to fill in some gaps in the chronological record of the site. When a fossil is thrust into damp soil, or perhaps a burrow, we are spared its loss even though the sediment that would have ordinarily encased it no longer exists. There are anomalies in what we find that are highly suggestive. The gross underrepresentation of mastodon limb bones is hard to explain through normal processes of decomposition or water transportation. This seems true especially in light of the relative abundance of less robust bones. On the other hand, might these dense bones have been shattered to provide sharp, bony blades for the Ice Age hunters? This is one of several potential explanations related to human activity. The paucity of juvenile mastodon skeletal remains is a puzzle. We know there were very young animals present, based on the occurrence of teeth and chin-tusk tips. Were these juveniles hunted preferentially by either people or predatory animals, their carcasses then being hauled off somewhere? Only one deciduous (baby) upper tusk has been found (see figure 9.7). It seems unlikely that others were missed by us. On the other hand, these short, straight, robust, pointed objects would seem to have had many uses for itinerant people living off the land.

w The distinctive “cobblestone road” appearance of the basement surface in many places, recognized from the earliest years of the Dig, is an obvious feature of the site. It clearly resulted from erosion of the upper Cobble Layer, winnowing away the fine matrix so that the cobbles settled upon each other to form a sort of armor. This must have occurred at least 11,500 (radiocarbon) years ago, before the deposition of the Fibrous Gravelly Clay that overlies that cobbly surface. It suggests a period of strong water flow that may have coincided with the drainage of a meltwater lake dammed against the withdrawing glacial front.

298 Winding Down (2006–2011)

But how can we explain the evidence of gentle winnowing in later times, when the power of water had diminished? The Pleistocene fluted biface lying on the same surface as a cluster of 6,200-year-old elk bones and pieces of wood less than 1,000 years old exemplifies this (see figure 6.2). The likelihood that the arrow-straight channel separating our camp from the site (see chapter 3) was engineered to diminish swampiness in that part of the basin offers a possible answer. I assume that the original flow was along the greatest length of the basin, emptying through the spout-like extension that reaches the road (see figure 3.1). During wetter periods water could have overflowed from this marshy area into the alcove where our excavation was concentrated, effecting erosion sufficiently gentle to leave existing bone clusters intact.

w Earlier I alluded to the weather challenges we often faced. To see the approach of a fierce storm from the safety of a sturdy building can be exciting. To see it when one is exposed and out in the open can be truly frightening. The solid wall of black storm clouds that bore down on our camp on a day in 2008 gave me quite an education in that regard. In the heartbreaking devastation that remained after it passed, even the sturdy metal poles of our industrial-grade shade tarps had been bent at crazy angles, and their joiners snapped. We were powerless to wish away the furies of nature. However, we at least had the shelter of our vehicles and, if necessary, an inhabited village nearby. When I think of the people who were here during the Pleistocene, I wonder how they felt when confronted with monstrous forces beyond their control. We understand the source and meaning of these furious gales. They presumably did not. I think it likely that they conceived of beings controlling storms and other factors affecting their survival, beings that could somehow be communicated with and appealed to. And, in fact, some finds at Paleo-Indian sites hint at this.6 The idea that they were completely without hope under such circumstances must have been unthinkable for them. And, wanderers that they were, could they not have been aware of the endless realm of ice that at that time lay less than 200 miles (320 kilometers) to the north? What role must that have played in their understanding of the natural and spiritual worlds?

Some Parting Thoughts 299 

w The nature of the Hiscock project, specifically the complexity of the site and the many years we spent exploring it, helped me learn a lesson of great value to a scientist. There were many occasions where the interpretation of a particular find seemed to me deceptively obvious. My erroneous conclusion that the elk skeleton that we found in 1984, lying against a mastodon tusk, dated to the Ice Age is one example. However, the luxury of being able to return to Hiscock year after year provided the opportunity to detect patterns that had not at first been clear to me, patterns that contradicted my initial conclusions. As my knowledge of the site broadened, I was able to develop alternative explanations that were more in accord with what I observed. This drummed home the need for me to revisit my conclusions and to continue testing them in the light of new data. It has been a humbling and very valuable experience—a gift, really. And, perhaps paradoxically, it has been one of the most satisfying aspects of my career.7

w Well, there it is. I’ve laid before you, the reader, the broad history of the Byron Dig: the site, the people who lived the project, the thirteen-thousand-year record that they won from the earth, and the story that we believe this record tells. The saga began with the pioneering work of Marian White, Fred Hall, and Carol Heubusch in 1959, ran through Mike Gramly and Jack Holland’s revisiting of the site in 1982, and then continued through twenty-nine years of systematic digging by over a thousand volunteers. What is the tangible legacy of all this effort? Two things: a collection and the scientific writings that interpret it. An organized collection comprising tens of thousands of specimens now resides in a public institution, the Buffalo Museum of Science, whose mandate is to secure it for the benefit of all generations to come. It constitutes a library, not of books, but of bones, teeth, antlers, plants, artifacts, rocks, and sediment samples. Integral to this collection, this library, are the data recording the context in which each object finally came to rest ages ago—its position on the grid, depth,

300 Winding Down (2006–2011)

orientation, the layer encasing it, and any additional noteworthy information. Such documentation gives life to a collection. Without it these specimens would be mere curios lining cabinet drawers. The papers written about the site and its contents stand as an already sizable literature (see appendix D). It is my hope that coming generations of researchers will continue to study the collection and expand that literature. And, if the history of science and museums is any guide, those future scholars will be asking questions of this collection that we can’t even conceive of today. As for me, aside from wonderful memories and relationships, the legacy is unending amazement that a story of such dimensions could be encompassed by a mere two acres of time.

appendix a Human Teeth and a Rib from the Hiscock Site DOUGLAS W. OWSLEY

CURATOR AND DIVISION HEAD FOR BIOLOGICAL ANTHROPOLOGY

National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution This survey examined three human teeth and an incomplete rib from the Hiscock paleontological site. The objective is to provide information on morphology, pathology, and the number of individuals represented, documentation fundamental for addressing questions regarding the mystery behind their unanticipated presence. We do not know why these skeletal elements are present at this Late Pleistocene–Holocene site. Stratigraphy provides clues as to relative dating but not precisely how old these remains are. H2NE-62 This right mandibular molar root was found 63 to 66 cm below ground level in the Fibrous Gravelly Clay. It shows near complete loss of the crown due to abrasive attrition. Extreme (stage 8)1 wear resulted in a mesial (anterior) to distal (posterior) slope with more pronounced loss of the distal half of the crown. Residual enamel with a height of 1.2 to 1.5 mm is present along the mesial crown margin. This margin has a wide interproximal wear facet measuring 4.6 mm in width. Distally, the cervical region of the root has a deep, concave wear facet with all enamel worn away. The root is small, suggesting a female individual. The mesial root has a maximum length of 13.6 mm and a width of 9.3 mm. The distal root has a maximum length of 10.5 mm and a width of 9.5 mm. Close spacing of the two roots makes

302 Human Teeth and a Rib from the Hiscock Site

it unlikely that the tooth was a first molar. Root lengths and comparatively close bifurcation spacing between the mesial and distal roots are consistent with a second molar. The maximum root bifurcation width is 1.2 mm. The presence of mesial and distal interproximal wear facets rules out the possibility of it being a third molar. Both root pulp chambers were exposed by extreme, likely rapid, tooth wear, which resulted in a periapical abscess. This portion of the tooth could have been shed naturally due to accompanying destruction of the alveolar socket. However, this diseased tooth may have been present in the socket at the time of death, as it seems to match additional human remains found in unit H2NE at about the same stratigraphic level. H2NE-67 This right mandibular second premolar was found 72 cm below ground level in the fine FGC. The crown shows stage 5 wear with a slight mesial inclination and a subtle interproximal wear facet with a width of only 3 mm, less than that observed on the heavily worn second molar. The distal interproximal wear facet has a width of 4.6 mm and a height of 1.9 mm. The occlusal surface margin of this facet is deeper, suggesting that the adjacent molar contact had a degree of mesial inclination. Crown measurements are 8.7 mm buccal-lingual (B-L) and 7.5 mm mesial-distal (M-D), the latter value reflecting a reduction in length due to interproximal wear. (The original measurement would have been about 8.1 mm.) The root length is 14 mm. Calculus has formed along the mesial-lingual cemento-enamel junction. This accumulation measures 4 mm in length and 2.3 mm in height. The tooth was healthy and shows no signs of having been lost in life. Although likely coincidental, interproximal wear facets on the second premolar and second molar are comparable when the second molar is placed in contact with a pronounced mesial inclination. This association implies that the first molar was lost early in life and that the second molar drifted forward. This degree of positional shifting is possible, but somewhat extreme, such that the contact facet was likely caused by the first molar. H2NE-54 An incomplete left first rib was found 71 cm below ground level in the basal Woody Layer with fine FGC below it. The head, neck, and sternal end of the rib are missing due to postmortem breakage judging from the appearance of

Human Teeth and a Rib from the Hiscock Site 303 

the broken ends. Although incomplete, quality of the preserved bone, light brown in color, is good. This segment has a chord length of 49 mm, a maximum anterior-posterior width of 15 mm, and a maximum superior-inferior thickness of 4.6  mm. Subtle superior surface ridging from muscle attachments, and the general size of the bone, are indicative of a small adult woman. This rib fragment and the two H2NE teeth likely represent a single individual, a small woman aged approximately twenty-seven to thirty-nine years, depending on the rate of tooth wear, which was probably rapid from abrasive contaminants in the diet. The recovery context provides no definite evidence for the presence of a disturbed burial, but the presence of two teeth and a postcranial bone makes it possible that undiscovered bones are present in unexcavated units. J2SE-3 A nearly complete right mandibular first molar of a second individual, aged fifteen to twenty-four years, was found only 5 to 14 cm below ground level in the Dark Earth layer in the northwestern corner of the unit. Root development is complete, and the crown has cusp flattening with beginning dentin exposure (stage 3 wear). Subtle mesial and distal interproximal wear facets are present. There is no pathology or dental calculus. The crown has two large enamel fractures of unknown origin that occurred long ago. The fracture in the mesial-lingual crown and adjacent root has blackstained enamel and dentin. The distal margin of the crown has a tiny enamel chip fracture that occurred during life. The black stain is unlike the H2NE teeth and rib, a color contrast reflecting different microenvironments that affected preservation and color. The stratigraphic context suggests a much more recent date for the J2SE-3 first molar. This tooth measures 11.7 mm B-L by 10.9 mm M-D with maximum mesial and distal root lengths of 14.3 mm and 12.6 mm, respectively. The greater spread of the mesial and distal roots is indicative of a first molar; the maximum spread is 3.5 mm. There is no apparent reason for the loss of this healthy tooth. Based on a metric comparison between the two represented individuals, this tooth is larger, suggesting a male individual who was younger than the female one. An Unresolved Question What is the age of these human remains? Because the site was damp during much of its history, fossils commonly intruded into lower levels, a factor that can give

304 Human Teeth and a Rib from the Hiscock Site

an erroneous impression of a greater age. If the two deeply buried teeth and the rib fragment came to rest in the basin after being transported from the nearby slope, their vertical position could suggest a date different from their actual age. We remain uncertain as to the antiquity of the human remains. They could date to the early Holocene, which is likely, or the very late Pleistocene. Acknowledgments Kathy Leacock, Director of Collections, and Kacey Page, Collections Manager, Buffalo Museum of Science, graciously provided access to the collection and field records.

appendix b Hiscock Radiocarbon Dates, Corrected for Isotopic Fractionation

TABLE B.1  Fibrous

Gravelly Clay

Field number

Lab number

Material

—

USGS W-1038

twigs, plant material

E9NW-145

CAMS-27143

mastodon bone

10,790±70

E9SW-2152

CAMS-75232

twig

10,180±50

2

CAMS-75233

plant tissue

E9SW-215

Radiocarbon date 10,450±4001

7,950±50

E11NW-71,72

CAMS-77488

hare bone

9,940±40

F5SW-57

Beta-300617

mastodon bone

10,520±40

F5SW-97

Beta-300618

mastodon(?) bone

11,420±50

F7SE-129

CAMS-17407

mastodon bone

10,630±80

F8NW-75

CAMS-62560

mastodon bone

10,810±50

G2NW(N1/2)-19

Beta-236608

mastodon tooth

10,430±60

G5SE-138

Beta-24412

mastodon bone

10,515±120

G6SE-52

NZA-1106

mastodon bone

10,850±140

G6SE-52

NZA-1107

conifer twig A

10,240±120

G6SE-52

NZA-1108

conifer twig B

10,220±120

G6SE-52

AA-4943

conifer twig C

10,465±110

AA-6970

conifer twig A

10,945±185

G7NE-ss1

AA-6971

conifer twig B

10,545±160

G7NE-ss3

AA-6968

conifer twig A

10,705±80

G7NE-ss3

AA-6969

conifer twig B

9,475±95

G7NE-ss3

CAMS-6340

conifer twig C

9,260±70

G7NE-ss3

CAMS-6341

conifer twig C

9,150±80

G7NE-ss3

mean of 2 dates

conifer twig C

9,205±50

G7NE-ss1

3

(continued)

TABLE B.1  Fibrous

Gravelly Clay

Field number

Lab number

Material

G7NE-104

Radiocarbon date

AA-6977

bone

4

11,390±80

H5SW

Beta-28829

jack pine cone

11,135±100

H5SW4

Beta-28830

jack pine cone

11,200±100

H5SW-407

Beta-16736

numerous small twigs

11,250±140

H7NW-181

GX-22038-AMS

mastodon tusk

10,930±70

H7NW-181

CAMS-30528

mastodon tusk

11,100±80

H7NW-181

CAMS-30529

mastodon tusk

11,070±70

H7NW-181

mean of 3 dates

mastodon tusk

11,033±40

I2NE-83

Beta-199770

conifer needles

9,090±40

I3NE-164

CAMS-72353

caribou antler

11,450±50

I5SE-213

TO-3194

mastodon bone

10,990±100

J4NE-49

CAMS-105852

caribou antler

11,040±40

J4SE-33

CAMS-94852

caribou antler

11,575±35

J5SW-38

Beta-172323

spruce wood

11,020±50

1

As corrections for isotopic fractionation were not routinely done before the late 1980s, this date is probably uncorrected. 2 From sediment containing the fabric impression. 3 ss indicates a sediment sample. 4

These dates were published by Norton Miller, “Late-Pleistocene Cones of Jack Pine (Pinus banksiana) at the Hiscock Site, Western New York,” Current Research in the Pleistocene 7 (1990): 95–98. The cones are illustrated in his article in the first Smith symposium, which was published in Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 33: 86, figures 10 and 11. It is not clear which date belongs to which cone.

TABLE B.2  Older

Woody Layer1

Field number

Lab number

Material

E5NE-26

Beta-300619

spruce wood

8,560±40

E6SW-8

Beta-309839

unidentified bone

7,060±40

E7NE-107

Beta-306800

wapiti bone

7,580±40

F6NE-51

CAMS-27142

wapiti bone

8,620±50

2

Radiocarbon date

G6SE-ss

Beta-34287

peat

8,520±95

H5SW-ws183

Beta-15962

spruce wood

8,610±80

H5SW-ws19

Beta-16734

spruce or tamarack wood

8,720±80

H5SW-140

Beta-16735

spruce or tamarack wood

8,660±100

1 Because this unit is not always recognizable by its sediments, some samples are assigned to it based on their ages. 2 ss indicates a sediment sample. 3 ws indicates a wood sample.

TABLE B.3  Woody

Layer (Undifferentiated)

Field number

Lab number

Material

F5SE-88

Beta-306801

ash wood

5,160±40

FF9NW-ws2

Beta-27836

ring-porous hardwood

870±100

G2NE(SE1/4)-ws4

Beta-24413

elm(?) wood

1,960±60

G3SW-ws7

Beta-15960

ring-porous hardwood

G3SW-ws9

Beta-15961

ring-porous hardwood

G4NW-ws15

Beta-17912

white pine wood

8,650±120

G4NW-ws21

Beta-17911

spruce wood

8,120±120

G5NW-ws5

Beta-16733

ash(?) wood

680±80

G5SW-ws9

Beta-17914

wood

470±90

H2SE-25

Beta-294298

ash wood (slab)

290±30

H2SE-33

Beta-294299

royal fern rhizome

430±30

1

1

Radiocarbon date

700±80 560±80

H5SW-ws14

Beta-16054

wood

530±50

I3SW-86

Beta-306803

elm wood

960±30

J6NW-47

Beta-244681

ash wood (slab)

1

ws indicates a wood sample.

1,580±40

TABLE B.4  Yellow

Clay

Field number

Lab number

Material

G8SE-58

Beta-67292

elm charcoal

2,870±70

G8SE-90

Beta-72664

birch charcoal

3,130±60

TABLE B.5  Dark

Radiocarbon date

Earth

Field number

Lab number

F3NW-wsA1

Beta-15958

ring-porous hardwood

270±60

H5SW-45

Beta-15963

white oak wood

250±50

1

Material

Radiocarbon date

ws indicates a wood sample.

TABLE B.6  Layer

Field number

Lab number

Uncertain

Material

Radiocarbon date

G3SW-24

Beta-24411

wapiti (?) bone

G4NE-wsB1

Beta-15959

white pine wood

G5NW-ss12

Beta-19887

mixed wood and bark

9,490±130

G5NW-ss1

Beta-19886

small coniferous twigs

10,230±150

H2SE-423

Beta-294300

caribou antler

11,160±50

H3NW-85

Beta-211702

ash wood

4,430±50

Beta-300620

wood

3,870±30

K7NE(N1/2)-26

Beta-34781

wood

K-8SW-284

Beta-196850

charcoal

H3NW-85 4

1

6,220±85 9,340±100

360±75 2,280±40

ws indicates a wood sample. ss indicates a sediment sample. 3 Lying on the Cobble Layer, covered by the Woody Layer; presumed to remain after the Fibrous Gravelly Clay was eroded away. 4 From elevated ground surrounding the basin floor. 2

TABLE B.7  Holocence

Field number

Lab number

E8SW-75

CAMS-430711

E8SW-75

1

E8SW-77 1

Spring Sand

Material

Radiocarbon date

spruce wood

380±50

CAMS-42814

spruce wood

440±50

Beta-109588

spruce wood

420±40

Duplicate test run due to anomaly with one of the associated standards.

TABLE B.8  Intruded

Field number

Lab number

Material

Radiocarbon date

E9NW-146

Beta-90010

ash wood

570±60

F5NE-144

Beta-24410

deer bone

7,880±90

G4NE-79

Beta-16938

white oak wood

G5SW-ws111

Beta-17913

wood

3,120±130

G8SW-1412

TO-3647

dog bone

5,110±150

H1NE-14

3

950±60

Beta-306802

corn cob

128.9±0.5

H4NW-ws31

Beta-34288

white oak wood

7,435±95

I2SE(S1/2)-73

Beta-210371

ash wood

1,720±40

I3NW-38

UCIAMS-35587

southern flying squirrel bone

J5SE-25

Beta-210372

ash wood

1

445±25 4,500±40

ws indicates a wood sample. This is one of 72 dog bones and teeth found scattered over a wide area and in several different layers (see chapter 13). It was found in the Yellow Clay but is assumed to have been displaced into that unit based on its age and the fact that these dog remains are concentrated in the Woody Layer. 3 In a back-filled burrow within the Woody Layer. The report indicates an age of post-zero BP (modern; lived within the past 60 years). 2

appendix c Uncorrected Radiocarbon Dates for Hiscock Samples Cited in Appendix A1

Field number

Lab number

Uncorrected date

—

W-1038

E5NE-26

Beta-300619

10,450±400 8,530±40

E6SW-8

Beta-309839

6,990±40

E7NE-107

Beta-306800

7,540±40

E8SW-77

Beta-109588

460±40

E9NW-146

Beta-90010

590±60

F3NW-wsA

Beta-15958

310±60

F5SE-88

Beta-306801

5,190±40

F5SW-57

Beta-300617

10,460±40

F5SW-97

Beta-300618

11,360±50

FF9NW-ws2

Beta-27836

920±100

G2NE(SE1/4)-ws4

Beta-24413

1,980±60

G2NW(N1/2)-19

Beta-236608

G3SW-ws7

Beta-15960

G3SW-ws9

Beta-15961

590±80

G4NE-79

Beta-16938

1,010±60

G4NE-wsB

Beta-15959

9,360±100

G4NW-ws15

Beta-17912

8,690±110

G4NW-ws21

Beta-17911

8,120±120

G5NW-ws5

Beta-16733

700±80

G5NW-ss1

Beta-19887

9,500±130

G5NW-ss1

Beta-19886

10,200±150

G5SW-ws9

Beta-17914

500±90

10,350±60 720±80

(continued)

Field number

Lab number

Uncorrected date

G5SW-ws11

Beta-17913

3,180±130

G6SE-ss4

Beta-34287

8,570±90

G8SE-58

Beta-67292

2,880±70

G8SE-90

Beta-72664

3,180±60

H1NE-14

Beta-306802

132.5±0.52

H2SE-25

Beta-294298

280±30

H2SE-33

Beta-294299

520±30

H2SE-42

Beta-294300

11,070±50

H3NW-85

Beta-211702

4,500±50

H3NW-85

Beta-300620

3,940±30

H4NW-ws3

Beta-34288

7,470±95

H5SW-ws14

Beta-16054

580±50

H5SW-ws18

Beta-15962

8,640±80

H5SW-ws19

Beta-16734

8,740±80

H5SW-45

Beta-15963

280±50

H5SW-140

Beta-16735

8,630±100

H5SW-407

Beta-16736

11,250±140

I2NE-83

Beta-199770

9,100±40

I2SE(S1/2)-73

Beta-210371

1,720±40

I3SW-86

Beta-306803

980±30

J5SE-25

Beta-210372

4,500±40

J5SW-38

Beta-172323

11,010±50

J6NW-47

Beta-244681

1,580±40

K7NE(N1/2)-26

Beta-34781

K-8SW-28

Beta-196850

410±75 2,270±40

ss indicates a sediment sample; ws indicates a wood sample 1 See Paul F. Karrow, “The Setting and Nature of the Hiscock Site,” in Late Pleistocene and Holocene Paleoecology and Archaeology of Western New York State, ed. Richard S. Laub, Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 37 (2003), 64, on the importance of providing uncorrected dates. These results are shown here when they were included in the laboratory report. 2 Report indicates an age of post-zero BP (modern; lived within the past 60 years).

appendix d Bibliography of Scientific Publications About the Hiscock Site

The entries in this bibliography are scientific articles dealing specifically with the Hiscock Site. They do not include publications on broader subjects that contain information about Hiscock. Adovasio, J. M., Richard S. Laub, Jeffrey S. Illingworth, John H. McAndrews, and David C. Hyland. “Perishable Technology at the Hiscock Site.” In Laub, Late Pleistocene and Holocene Paleoecology and Archaeology of Western New York State, 272–80. Anderson, David G. “The Hiscock Site Archeological Record.” In Laub, Late Pleistocene and Holocene Paleoecology and Archaeology of Western New York State 301–3. Caira, Catrina, and Sarah Jones. “Historical Archeology of the Hiscock Site, Northeastern Genesee County, New York.” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 40 (2011): 15–27. Chadwick, James M. “Tuberculosis Found in Mastodon Makes the Case for Hyperdisease in Megafauna.” Mammoth Trumpet 18, no. 4 (2003): 19–20. Churcher, Charles S. “The Late Quaternary Hiscock Site, Genesee County, New York: Paleoenvironmental Reconstruction and Commentary on Mastodon Behavior.” In Laub, Late Pleistocene and Holocene Paleoecology and Archaeology of Western New York State, 149–45. Dincauze, Dena F. “Geoarcheological and Stratigraphic Aspects of the Hiscock Site.” In Laub, Late Pleistocene and Holocene Paleoecology and Archaeology of Western New York State, 304–5. Ellis, Christopher J., John Tomenchuk, and John D. Holland. “Typology, Use, and Sourcing of the Late Pleistocene Lithic Artifacts from the Hiscock Site.” In Laub, Late Pleistocene and Holocene Paleoecology and Archaeology of Western New York State, 221–37. Erickson, J. Mark, R. Booth Platt Jr., and Douglas H. Jennings. “Holocene Fossil Oribatid Mite Biofacies as Proxies of Paleohabitat at the Hiscock Site, Byron, New York.” In Laub, Late Pleistocene and Holocene Paleoecology and Archaeology of Western New York State, 176–89. Fisher, Daniel C. “Seasons of Death of the Hiscock Mastodonts.” In Laub, Miller, and Steadman, Late Pleistocene and Early Holocene Paleoecology and Archaeology of the Eastern Great Lakes Region, 115–25. Fisher, Daniel C., and David L. Fox. “Season of Death and Terminal Growth of Hiscock Mastodons.” In Laub, Late Pleistocene and Holocene Paleoecology and Archaeology of Western New York State, 83–101.

314 Bibliography of Scientific Publications About the Hiscock Site Gramly, Richard Michael. An Inventory of Artifacts within the Hiscock Site Collection, Town of Byron, Genesee County, New York. Self-published through Persimmon Press, 2017. Haynes, Gary. “Were There Mastodon Die-Offs at the Hiscock Site?” In Laub, Late Pleistocene and Holocene Paleoecology and Archaeology of Western New York State, 102–13. Holland, John D. “New Data on Late-Pleistocene Lithic Artifacts from the Hiscock Site (Western New York).” Current Research in the Pleistocene 21 (2004): 46–47. Jacobs, Sandra. “Seasons of Life in Western New York.” Mammoth Trumpet 5, no. 4 (1989): 1, 4–5. Karrow, Paul F. “The Setting and Nature of the Hiscock Site.” In Laub, Late Pleistocene and Holocene Paleoecology and Archaeology of Western New York State, 63–66. Laub, Richard S. “The Hiscock Site (Western New York): Recent Developments of Pleistocene and Early Holocene Interest.” Current Research in the Pleistocene 7 (1990): 116–18. Laub, Richard S. “A Window on the Ice Age.” The Epoch 22 (alumni newsletter, Geology Department, University of Buffalo) (1993): 1–3. Laub, Richard S. “The Pleistocene/Holocene Transition in Western New York State: Fruits of Interdisciplinary Studies at the Hiscock Site.” In Great Lakes Archaeology and Paleoecology: Exploring Interdisciplinary Initiatives for the Nineties, ed. Robert I. MacDonald, 155–67. Waterloo, ON: University of Waterloo, The Quaternary Sciences Institute, 1994. Laub, Richard S. “The Hiscock Site (Western New York): Recent Developments in the Study of the Late-Pleistocene Component.” Current Research in the Pleistocene 12 (1995): 26–29. Laub, Richard S. “Taphonomic Effect of Tree-Falls: Examples from the Hiscock Site (Late Quaternary, Western New York State).” Current Research in the Pleistocene 13 (1996): 71–72. Laub, Richard S. “Misleading Stratigraphic Relationships at the Hiscock Site (Late Quaternary, Western New York State).” In Contributions to the Natural Sciences and Anthropology: A Festschrift in Honor of George F. Goodyear, ed. Ernst E. Both, 193–202. Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 36 (1998). Laub, Richard S. “A Second Dated Mastodon Bone Artifact from Pleistocene Deposits at the Hiscock Site (Western New York State).” Archaeology of Eastern North America 28 (2000): 141–54. Laub, Richard S. “Observations on Damage to Mastodon Ribs at the Hiscock Site (Western New York State).” Current Research in the Pleistocene 18 (2001): 86–88. Laub, Richard S. “The Paleoindian Presence in the Northeast: A View from the Hiscock Site.” In Ice Age Peoples of Pennsylvania, ed. Kurt Carr and James Adovasio, 105–21. Harrisburg: Pennsylvania Historical and Museum Commission, 2002. Laub, Richard S., ed. Late Pleistocene and Holocene Paleoecology and Archaeology of Western New York State. Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 37 (2003). Laub, Richard S. “The Hiscock Site: Structure, Stratigraphy and Chronology.” In Laub, Late Pleistocene and Holocene Paleoecology and Archaeology of Western New York State 18–38. Laub, Richard S. “The Pleistocene Fauna of the Hiscock Site.” In Laub, Late Pleistocene and Holocene Paleoecology and Archaeology of Western New York State, 69–82. Laub, Richard S. “The Influence of Pleistocene Biogenic Excavations on Holocene Hydrology at the Hiscock Site (Western New York State).” Current Research in the Pleistocene 20 (2003): 44–46. Laub, Richard S. “The Hiscock Site: Some New Developments.” Current Research in the Pleistocene 21 (2004): 57–59.

Bibliography of Scientific Publications About the Hiscock Site 315  Laub, Richard S. “An Unusual Erosional Feature on Late-Pleistocene Mastodon Tusks from the Hiscock Site (Western New York State): Cultural or Natural?” Current Research in the Pleistocene 22 (2005): 81–82. Laub, Richard S. “New Developments Concerning the Pleistocene Component of the Hiscock Site (Western New York State).” Current Research in the Pleistocene 23 (2006): 119–21. Laub, Richard S. “A Cautionary Note on North American Late-Quaternary biogeography.” Current Research in the Pleistocene 24 (2007): 172–75. Laub, Richard S. “Reevaluation of the Pleistocene Fauna of the Hiscock Site Based on Evidence of Intrusion.” Current Research in the Pleistocene 25 (2008): 179–81. Laub, Richard S. “New Data on Holocene Fossil Mammal Occurrences at the Hiscock Site and Its Environs, Western New York State.” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 38 (2009): 33–42. Laub, Richard S. “Observations from the Hiscock Site (New York) Bearing on a Possible Late-Pleistocene Extraterrestrial Impact Event.” Current Research in the Pleistocene 27 (2010): 168–71. Laub, Richard S. “New Late-Pleistocene Lithic Artifacts from the Hiscock Site, Western New York State.” Current Research in the Pleistocene 28 (2011): 55–57. Laub, Richard S. “A Hiscock Primer.” Proceedings of the Rochester Academy of Science 20, no. 1 (2012): 2–9. Laub, Richard S., Mary F. DeRemer, Catherine A. Dufort, and William L. Parsons. “The Hiscock Site: A Rich Quaternary Locality in Western New York State.” In Laub, Miller, and Steadman, Late Pleistocene and Early Holocene Paleoecology and Archeology of the Eastern Great Lakes Region, 67–81. Laub, Richard S., Catherine A. Dufort, and Donna J. Christensen. “Possible Mastodon Gastrointestinal and Fecal Contents from the Late Pleistocene of the Hiscock Site, Western New York State.” In Studies in Stratigraphy and Paleontology in Honor of Donald W. Fisher, ed. Ed Landing, 135–48. New York State Museum Bulletin 481 (1994). Laub, Richard S., and Gary Haynes. “Fluted Points, Mastodons, and Evidence of Late-Pleistocene Drought at the Hiscock Site, Western New York State.” Current Research in the Pleistocene 15 (1998): 32–34. Laub, Richard S., and John H. McAndrews. “Pleistocene Giant Beaver (Castoroides ohioensis) from the Hiscock Site, Western New York State.” Current Research in the Pleistocene 14 (1997): 143–45. Laub, Richard S., and Arthur E. Spiess. “What Were Paleoindians Doing at the Hiscock Site In Laub, Late Pleistocene and Holocene Paleoecology and Archaeology of Western New York State, 261–71. Laub, Richard S., John Tomenchuk, and Peter L. Storck. “A Dated Mastodon Bone Artifact from the Late Pleistocene of New York.” Archaeology of Eastern North America 24 (1996): 1–17. Logan, Judith A., Malcolm Bilz, and Jane Sirois. “The Feasibility of Preserving an Impression in Mud: Study of Soil Samples from the Hiscock Site.” In Laub, Late Pleistocene and Holocene Paleoecology and Archaeology of Western New York State, 212–18. Madrigal, T. Cregg. “Taphonic Analysis of a Partial Deer Skeleton from the Hiscock Site.” In Laub, Late Pleistocene and Holocene Paleoecology and Archaeology of Western New York State, 161–70.

316 Bibliography of Scientific Publications About the Hiscock Site McAndrews, John H. “Postglacial Ecology of the Hiscock Site.” In Laub, Late Pleistocene and Holocene Paleoecology and Archaeology of Western New York State, 190–98. McAndrews, John H., and Janet Y. Chau. “Fossil Gizzard Stones of Passenger Pigeon.” Newsletter of the Ontario Field Ornithologists 24, no. 1 (2006): 14–15. Miller, Norton G. “The Late Quaternary Hiscock Site, Genesee County, New York: Paleoecological Studies Based on Pollen and Plant Microfossils.” In Laub, Miller, and Steadman, Late Pleistocene and Early Holocene Paleoecology and Archeology of the Eastern Great Lakes Region, 83–93. Miller, Norton G. “Late-Pleistocene Cones of Jack Pine (Pinus banksiana) at the Hiscock Site, Western New York State.” Current Research in the Pleistocene 7 (1990): 95–98. Miller, Norton G., and Richard P. Futyma. “Extending the Paleobotanical Record at the Hiscock Site, New York: Correlations Among Stratigraphic Pollen Assemblages from Nearby Lake and Wetland Basins.” In Laub, Late Pleistocene and Holocene Paleoecology and Archaeology of Western New York State, 43–62. Muller, Ernest H., and Parker E. Calkin. “Late Pleistocene and Holocene Geology of the Eastern Great Lakes Region: Geologic Setting of the Hiscock Paleontological Site, Western New York.” In Laub, Miller, and Steadman, Late Pleistocene and Early Holocene Paleoecology and Archeology of the Eastern Great Lakes Region, 53–63. Muller, Ernest H., Parker E. Calkin, and Keith J. Tinkler. “Regional Geology of the Hiscock Site, Western New York” In Laub, Late Pleistocene and Holocene Paleoecology and Archaeology of Western New York State, 3–10. Owens, Donald W. “Sedimentary Analysis of the Hiscock Site.” In Laub, Late Pleistocene and Holocene Paleoecology and Archaeology of Western New York State, 39–42. Perrelli, Douglas J. “Holocene Projectile Points and Bifaces from the Hiscock Site, Byron, New York.” Bulletin of the New York State Archaeological Association (in press). Ponomarenko, Elena, and Alice Telka. “Geochemical Evidence of a Salt Lick at the Hiscock Site.” In Laub, Late Pleistocene and Holocene Paleoecology and Archaeology of Western New York State, 199–211. Rothschild, Bruce M. “Pathology in Hiscock Site Vertebrates and Its Bearing on Hyperdisease Among North American Mastodons.” In Laub, Late Pleistocene and Holocene Paleoecology and Archaeology of Western New York State, 171–175. Rothschild, Bruce M., and Richard S. Laub. “Hyperdisease in the Late Pleistocene: Validation of an Early 20th Century Hypothesis.” Naturwissenschaft 93, no. 11 (2006): 557–64. Rothschild, Bruce M., and Richard S. Laub. “Epidemiology of Anuran Pathology in the Holocene Component of the Hiscock Site: Rare or Not Survived.” Journal of Herpetology 47, no. 1 (2013): 169–73. Saunders, Jeffery J. “Knickerbocker Tales.” In Laub, Late Pleistocene and Holocene Paleoecology and Archaeology of Western New York State, 155–58. Shoshani, Jeheskel. “Mammut Hyoid Elements from the Hiscock Site: Description and Implications.” In Laub, Late Pleistocene and Holocene Paleoecology and Archaeology of Western New York State, 114–120. Smith, Kevin P., and Richard S. Laub. “The Late-Pleistocene/Early-Holocene Transition in Western New York: A Reexamination of the Ritchie-Fitting Hypothesis.” Current Research in the Pleistocene 17 (2000): 75–78.

Bibliography of Scientific Publications About the Hiscock Site 317  Steadman, David W. “Vertebrates from the Late Quaternary Hiscock site, Genesee County, New York.” In Laub, Miller, and Steadman, Late Pleistocene and Early Holocene Paleoecology and Archeology of the Eastern Great Lakes Region, 95–113. Steadman, David W. “Long-Term Change and Continuity in the Holocene Bird Community of Western New York State.” In Laub, Late Pleistocene and Holocene Paleoecology and Archaeology of Western New York State, 121–32. Steadman, David W., Richard S. Laub, and Norton G. Miller. “The Late Quaternary Hiscock Site, Genesee County, New York: Progress Report.” Current Research in the Pleistocene 3 (1986): 22–23. Steadman, David W., and Norton G. Miller. “California Condor Associated with Spruce-Jack Pine Woodland in the Late Pleistocene of New York.” Quaternary Research 28 (1987): 415–26. Storck, Peter L., and John D. Holland. “From Text to Context: Hiscock in the Paleoindian World.” In Laub, Late Pleistocene and Holocene Paleoecology and Archaeology of Western New York State, 281–300. Tankersley, Kenneth B., Kenneth D. Schlecht, and Richard S. Laub. “Fluoride Dating of Mastodon Bone from an Early Paleoindian Spring Site.” Journal of Archaeological Science 25 (1998): 805–11. Thomas, Stephen Cox. “Mid-Holocene Dog Remains from the Hiscock Site.” In Laub, Late Pleistocene and Holocene Paleoecology and Archaeology of Western New York State, 133–48. Tomenchuk, John. “Analysis of Pleistocene Bone Artifacts from the Hiscock Site.” In Laub, Late Pleistocene and Holocene Paleoecology and Archaeology of Western New York State, 238–60. Tomenchuk, John, and Richard S. Laub. “New Insights into Late-Pleistocene Bone Technology at the Hiscock Site, Western New York State.” Current Research in the Pleistocene 12 (1995): 71–74. Webb III, Thompson, Bryan Shuman, Philip LeDuc, Paige Newby, and Norton G. Miller. “Late Quaternary Climate History of Western New York State.” In Laub, Late Pleistocene and Holocene Paleoecology and Archaeology of Western New York State, 11–17. Wright, Henry T. “Frozen Plain: Studying Hiscock.” In Laub, Late Pleistocene and Holocene Paleoecology and Archaeology of Western New York State, 306–8.

Notes

INTRODUCTION

1.

2.

3.

4.

5. 6. 7. 8.

Ice ages have occurred sporadically throughout earth history, traceable at least as far back as two billion years ago. The current ice age is the culmination of a global cooling trend that began about thirty-five to forty million years ago, in the middle of what is popularly called the Age of Mammals (which succeeded the Age of Dinosaurs). At some point a figurative threshold was crossed when the amount of winter snow that accumulated at the poles exceeded the amount that melted in the summer, leading to a net accumulation of snow and ice. The geological time unit for which this glaciation has been most intensively studied is called the Pleistocene epoch, spanning from about 2.6 million years ago until about 11,700 years ago. It was followed by the Holocene epoch, in which we live today. How these familiar geographic features were shaped by the Ice Age is shown in one of the favorite books of my youth, which was written by a Columbia University professor: Armin K. Lobeck, Things Maps Don’t Tell Us (New York: Macmillan, 1956), x, 159. Fossils collected by Indians in New Mexico a thousand years ago are described on pages 132–33 of George G. Simpson, “The Beginnings of Vertebrate Paleontology in North America,” Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 86, no. 1 (1942): 130–88. – Simpson, “The Beginnings of Vertebrate Paleontology,” 130–88. Willard R. Jillson’s 1936 book, Big Bone Lick, cited in Simpson’s bibliography, gives an extensive account of the history and influence of the remarkable Kentucky site that so influenced the earliest American and European interest in ancient vertebrates. “A Memoir on the Discovery of Certain Bones of a Quadruped of the Clawed Kind in the Western Parts of Virginia,” Transactions of the American Philosophical Society, no. 4: 246–60. These events are vividly described and illustrated by Taylor Morrison in his popular book The Great Unknown (Boston: Walter Lorraine, 2001). Keith Thomson, “Marginalia: Jefferson’s Old Bones,” American Scientist 99, no. 3 (2011): 200–203. In chapter 21, Cooper states, “ ‘The lad will be an honor to his people,’ said Hawkeye, regarding the trail with as much admiration as a naturalist would expend on the tusk of a mammoth or the rib of a mastodon.” In chapter 33, he reflects on the ideas that his

320 Introduction

9.

countrymen had concerning the Asiatic origins of the American Indians when he alludes to “those oriental images that the Indians have probably brought with them from the extremes of the other continent, and which form of themselves a link to connect the ancient histories of the two worlds.” James Fenimore Cooper, The Last of the Mohicans (Philadelphia: H. C. Carey and I. Lea, 1826). One of my favorite authors, Isaac Asimov, discussed such improbable occurrences (and whether they truly are improbable) from a rational standpoint. See his essay, “Pompey and Circumstance,” which appeared in his 1972 book, The Left Hand of the Electron (Garden City, NY: Doubleday). 1. DISCOVERY

1.

2.

3.

4. 5. 6. 7.

This narrative is based largely on the notes of Dr. Marian White, the University of Buffalo archaeologist who led the initial reconnaissance of the Hiscock Site in 1959. It also benefits from an interview with John D. (“Jack”) Holland and his son John on June 5, 1998. At the time, the two Hollands were the only known surviving participants in that excavation. Jack, who passed away on December 16, 2014, is a good example of an amateur developing into a major contributor to science. A brief biography of this remarkable and accomplished man was published by William E. Engelbrecht and Lisa M. Anselmi, “Jack Holland: Pioneer Chert Collector,” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 38 (2009): 13–16. Carol A. Heubusch, “Mastodons and Mammoths in Western New York.” Science on the March 40, no. 1 (October 1959): 3–9. This article reported finds made since 1922, when Chris A. Hartnagel and Sherman C. Bishop published “The Mastodons, Mammoths and Other Pleistocene Mammals of New York State,” New York State Museum Bulletin 241–42. As near as I can determine, Dr. White’s Zone A is equivalent to the peat that constitutes the uppermost portion of the sediment layers. In our work, we referred to these as (from top to bottom) the Dark Earth and the Woody Layers, which is discussed later in the text. The Woody Layer is actually a composite of several units and encompasses a record of nearly ten thousand years. White’s Zone B appears to be what we called the Fibrous Gravelly Clay, the fossil-bearing Ice Age unit. Zone C was our Cobble layer, the generally barren stratum that constitutes the basement of the site. The three volunteers were Betty Knop, Zygmunt Bieniulis, and Kathy Sulecki. Specimen BM-97 (cataloged as E26280). R. E. Funk and D. W. Steadman, Archaeological and Paleoenvironmental Investigations in the Dutchess Quarry Caves, Orange County, New York (Buffalo, NY: Persimmon, 1994), v, 125. The “scientific method” is the process by which scientists investigate a problem and draw conclusions about its solution. One of its key requirements is that other scientists are able to reproduce the procedure used by the initial investigator in order to see if they arrive at the same result. If their result is different, then clearly the problem needs to be restudied. In the present context, research on the material collected at Byron can only be verified if other scientists have reliable access to that same material. This can only be assured if the specimens reside in a permanent institution dedicated to caring for them and making them available for study. I like to think of a museum as a library of specimens.

Interlude 1. The American Mastodon 321  8. 9.

10.

The First United Presbyterian Church of Byron was established as a congregation in 1818. Don Britt and his wife, Marilyn, became strong friends of our project from its earliest years. One of my first recollections of Don was when he came to our camp toward evening carrying a large carton of corn for supper. At the end of each season I would stop at their house on the way home to say goodbye and to give them a summary of what had been accomplished. Tragically, Don passed away in 2012, far too early, leaving a gaping hole in the Byron community. Catrina Caira and Sarah Jones, “Historical Archeology of the Hiscock Site, Northeastern Genesee County, New York,” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 40 (2011): 18. INTERLUDE 1. THE AMERICAN MASTODON

1.

2.

3.

4.

The American mastodon was first given a formal Linnaean species name by Robert Kerr in 1792, when he designated it as Elephas americanus (meaning, “American elephant”). Subsequent scholars recognized that this animal was different from the known elephants, so the generic name Elephas was inappropriate. Consequently, the name Mammut was substituted by Blumenbach in 1799 and then Mastodon by Rafinesque in 1814 (based on an informal usage by the French naturalist Georges Cuvier several years earlier). Since the name Mammut predates the name Mastodon, the species is correctly called Mammut americanum. George G. Simpson discusses this history on page 150 of his 1942 paper, “The Beginnings of Vertebrate Paleontology in North America,” which appeared in Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 86, no. 1: 130–88. “The Beginnings of Vertebrate Paleontology in North America,” 186, comment in Simpson’s bibliographic citation of Robert Kerr’s The Animal Kingdom or Zoological System, of the Celebrated Sir Charles Linnaeus; Class I. Mammalia, vol. 1 (London, 1792). Based on the lengths and cross-sectional areas of their limb bones, paleobiologist Pat Shipman concluded that the mastodon and the North American mammoth named Mammuthus columbi were more heavily built than the living African elephant by a factor of two to two and a half. Further, the mastodon, for its dimensions, was more heavily built than the mammoth. See Pat Shipman, “Body Size and Broken Bones: Preliminary Interpretations of Proboscidean Remains,” in Proboscidean and Paleoindian Interactions, ed. John W. Fox, Calvin B. Smith, and Kenneth T. Wilkins (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 1992), 75–98. All mastodon skeletons that I have studied, in which chin tusks were present, belonged to male animals. None of the female skeletons had chin tusks. This led me to infer that only males had them, though they were often lost as the animal grew older. In three studies I used CT scans to examine the internal structure of several mastodon mandibles (lower jaws), as well as that of a modern elephant jaw. An internal dental canal runs along the axis of the jaw, and it contains the blood vessels and nerves that service the cheek teeth. In mastodons, an extension of this canal reaches forward to the tooth socket at the end of the jaw. In males, the chin tusks, when still present, are set in those sockets. Females apparently lack chin tusks, and yet the canal extension persists to the empty tooth socket. This suggests there was some sort of soft dental tissue present, but that

322 Interlude 1. The American Mastodon

5. 6.

7.

8.

9.

10.

11.

12.

it did not develop into a hard tooth structure. Living elephants, of course, do not develop chin tusks, and an examination of the mandible of a female Asian elephant showed that it does not have a forward extension of the dental canal. These studies can be found in Current Research in the Pleistocene 16 (1999): 124–25; also see vol. 19 (2002): 106–8 and vol. 26 (2009): 159–62. The mandible of a juvenile mastodon, specimen 2332 in the collection of the Carnegie Museum of Natural History, actually preserves the cusps on a deciduous chin tusk. R. M. Laws, “Age Criteria for the African Elephant, Loxodonta a. africana,” East African Wildlife Journal 4 (1966): 1–37. Daniel Fisher, a paleontologist at the University of Michigan, has refined a technique for determining the true biological age of a mastodon by examining the growth increments in its tusk. By comparing this with the stages of tooth insertion, he tells me that he finds mastodons “ran through their teeth” a bit more rapidly than do elephants. So, for example, a mastodon with an “African elephant age” of thirty years may actually have been twenty-six or twenty-seven years old. When the lower jaw is moved to the side, the ridges of each tooth pass neatly into and across the valleys of the tooth above it, producing a grinding action. See Richard S. Laub, “The Masticatory Apparatus of the American Mastodon (Mammut americanum),” in Palaeoecology and Palaeoenvironments of Late Cenoziic Mammals, ed. Kathlyn M. Stewart, and Kevin L. Seymour (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1996), 375–405. The study appears in Bradley T. Lepper, Tod A. Frolking, Daniel C. Fisher, Gerald Goldstein, Jon E. Sanger, Dee Anne Wymer, J. Gordon Ogden III, and Paul E. Hooge, “Intestinal Contents of a Late Pleistocene Mastodont from Midcontinental North America,” Quaternary Research 36 (1991): 120–25. The very different plant diet available to mastodons farther south, in Florida, is considered by Lee A. Newsom and Matthew C. Mihlbachler, “Mastodon (Mammut americanum) Diet Foraging Patterns Based on Analysis of Dung Deposits,” in First Floridians and Last Mastodons: The Page-Ladson Site in the Aucilla River, ed. S. David Webb (Dordrecht: Springer, 2006), 263–331. Joseph Leidy, “The Extinct Mammalian Fauna of Dakota and Nebraska, Including an Account of Some Allied Forms from Other Localities, Together with a Synopsis of the Mammalian Remains of North America,” Journal of the Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia 7 (1869): 1–472. Jeffrey J. Saunders, “North American Mammutidae,” in The Proboscidea: Evolution and Palaeoecology of Elephants and Their Relatives, ed. Jeheskel Shoshani and Pascal Tassy, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996), 271–79. Without a careful comparison of the Hiscock mastodon teeth with those from sites where the paleobotany is known, I don’t feel confident characterizing our specimens as specifically either rugged or smooth. I will say, though, that a cursory examination suggests something in-between. This will be an interesting analysis for the future. See page 118 in Jeheskel Shoshani, “Mammut Hyoid Elements from the Hiscock Site: Description and Implications,” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 37 (2003): 114–20. Following are some nice examples: R. Dale Guthrie, Frozen Fauna of the Mammoth Steppe (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1990), 26; Jeheskel Shoshani and Daniel C. Fisher,

2. First Steps 323 

13.

14.

“Extinction of the Elephant’s ‘Ancestors,’ ” in Elephants: Majestic Creatures of the Wild, ed. Jeheskel Shoshani (Emmaus, PA: Rodale, 1992), 64–65; and Claude E. Benson, “The Tragedy of the Mammoth,” in vol. 1 of Wonders of the Past, ed. J. A. Hammerton (New York: Wise, 1952), 109. The reports appear in two abstracts: Kurt F. Hallin and Diane Gabriel, “The First Specimen of Mastodon Hair,” Geological Society of America 34th Annual Meeting of the Rocky Mountain Section, Abstracts with Program 13, no. 4 (1981): 199; and Kurt. F. Hallin, “Hair of the American Mastodont Indicates an Adaptation to a Semiaquatic Habitat,” American Zoologist 23, no. 4 (1983). This account is also based upon correspondence with Kurt Hallin. In 1990, Jeheskel Shoshani produced a map that summarized the geographical distribution of American mastodon finds. The map appears here: “Distribution of Mammut americanum in the New World,” Current Research in the Pleistocene 7: 124–26. 2. FIRST STEPS

1.

2. 3.

4.

The spring-fed basin as it looked in 1959 can be seen on pages 70–71 in Richard S. Laub, Mary F. DeRemer, Catherine A. Dufort, and William L. Parsons, “The Hiscock Site: a rich late Quaternary locality in western New York State,” in Late Pleistocene and Early Holocene Paleoecology and Archeology of the eastern Great Lakes Region, ed. Richard S. Laub, Norton G. Miller, and David W. Steadman, Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 33 (1988): 67–81. The two volunteers were Betty Knop and Peter Bush. Objects collected at this sort of site may be related to one another in various ways. They might be separate fragments of a larger object (that is, they physically fit together). Or, they might be separate bones that belong to the same individual. Yet again, it’s possible that they’re connected in time, belonging to a single event. Knowing where each object lay relative to others at the time it was found can provide clues for these relationships. Sometimes, demonstrably related objects are found far from one another, which means that some process was at work to cause such dispersion. For example, separate artifact concentrations in different parts of a site might represent visits to that site by different groups of people at different times, or they might reflect several groups camping there at the same time. Now, if two fragments of the same projectile point occur at two of those concentrations, that strongly suggests that those two spots were occupied at the same time, as if two different families picnicked at a park on the same day. Mike Gramly found such conjoinable fragments at the Vail Site in Maine, enabling him to link what he interpreted as a killing ground with an encampment (see R. M. Gramly, “The Vail Site—A Palaeo-Indian Encampment in Maine,” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 30 [1982]). The need to carefully record the location of a collected object is also related to the scientific method’s demand that results be reproducible by other researchers (see note 7 in chapter 1). The pioneer volunteers were Loren Babcock, Peter Bush, Mary DeRemer, Charles Fassel, Deborah Fassel, Jacob Hirschfelt, Lisa Hirschfelt, Jack Holland, Edwine Kimberly, Betty Knop, Stefana Paskoff, Pat Rabin, and Sonia Walker.

324 3. Brigadoon

3. BRIGADOON

1.

2.

3.

4.

John Steele, Charlotte Hiscock’s brother, expressed surprise that the basin and (presumably) the camp area were devoid of crops. He recalled the area being uniformly under cultivation as far back as 1917. The far end of the basin being so wet, however, it seems doubtful that the planting extended quite that far. This work is commemorated by a historical marker located in Elba, New York, where Route 98 crosses Oak Orchard Creek. It is also described on pages 133–42 in a book marking the 175th anniversary of the Town of Elba, New York, by Scott D. Benz and Earl C. Roth, which was published in 1995. Mosquitoes were only a problem for the first couple of hours after the sun had set and the cool of night was coming upon us. The campfire afforded little protection at this time, and we relied on mosquito repellant and covering up with clothing. We were pleasantly surprised, though, at the absence of mosquito activity during the daytime. We were completely unmolested as we worked down on the marsh flat. Here’s what we came to realize. The C lay in the middle of the camp where the kitchen gazebo was placed. The three tables were arranged in a U shape that opened toward the entrance. Every day, dozens of us would walk in, some going around the outside of the table formation and others going around the inside. The grass beneath the tables, of course, was protected and remained green, but the grass around the tables was trampled. Once the gazebo and tables were removed when the camp was struck at season’s end, the flattened path around the tables was fully visible from the air. 4. FIRST TRY, 1983

1.

2.

The “charter crew” are named here (in alphabetical order), in recognition of their status as pioneers: Loren Babcock, Peter Bush, Mary DeRemer, Charles Fassel, Deborah Fassel, Jacob Hirschfelt, Lisa Hirschfelt, Jack Holland, Edwine Kimberly, Betty Knop, Stefana Paskoff, Pat Rabin, James Robinson, and Sonia Walker. We were also frequently joined by my wife, Roselyn, who put her drafting skills to work producing professional-quality diagrams of the pit floors and the objects exposed on them. A word about the vocabulary of our grid system (see fig. 2.2): Our grid was not aligned with the cardinal compass directions. This is because the location of the baseline (called the 1 line) from which we extended perpendicular rows of stakes out onto the basin flat, was chosen according to topography (see also the mea culpa below). It ran along the basin margin at the foot of the bounding hill. Arbitrarily, I designated the wall of each grid square closest to north as the “northern” wall (the others being, of course, “eastern,” “southern” and “western”). Also arbitrarily, I chose to name each grid square by the coordinate of the stake in its “southwestern” corner. The “east-west” lines were given letter names, and the “north-south” lines were designated by numbers. The quarter-size pits that we typically dug were designated by the corner of the grid square they occupied (e.g., G3NW). Fortuitously, each of these smaller squares, which we called quadrants, measured 2.5 meters on a side, which is almost exactly eight feet. That was helpful because the plywood walking boards with which we surfaced our working areas fit precisely along the side of each quadrant square.

5. Emerging Patterns 325 

3.

4.

5. 6.

Mea culpa: Beginning the project, I adjusted our compasses for magnetic declination. Eight years later I found that I had erred in doing this, rotating the compass dial clockwise rather than counterclockwise. The result is that all compass measurements taken up until then were 16º too far to the east. For example, an eastern quadrant line recorded as N40ºW is actually N56ºW. The same holds for specimen measurements. Rather than changing all previous records, I chose to keep the same compass settings throughout the rest of the project. The coordinates are similar to those on a graph. In this case they were the number of centimeters from two adjacent walls, e.g., twenty-seven centimeters east of the western wall and forty-two centimeters north of the southern wall. Field-jacketing is the process of making a rigid case around a specimen so that it can be removed from the ground intact. It can also be used to recover a group of specimens in a way that preserves their original configuration. The method involves placing a protective layer of paper or cloth around the specimen and then covering it with plaster-soaked rags. This work is done in stages as more and more of the matrix is cleared from around and below the specimen, until the entire package can be lifted, turned over, and completed on the underside. The method goes back at least to the 1800s, when serious dinosaur hunting got underway in the American West. Specimen F3NW-13. The age and cultural assignment are according to Kevin P. Smith, Neil O’Donnell, and John D. Holland in their 1998 article, “The Early and Middle Archaic in the Niagara Frontier: Documenting the ‘Missing Years’ in Lower Great Lakes History,” published in the Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 36. It is described on page 44 and appears in plate 6, and it is designated with Anthropology catalogue number C24955. 5. EMERGING PATTERNS

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

7.

For example, Batavia’s Daily News on August 26 and November 8. George F. Goodyear, “Society and Museum,” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 34 (1994). These teeth are designated G4NE-0 in the Buffalo Museum of Science’s collection. The turtle plate and the end of the lower jaw of a mammal were assigned the same number. Specimen G4NE-32c. Specimen G4NE-92. Radiocarbon dating is based on the observation that unstable carbon-14 decomposes to stable nitrogen-14 at a constant rate. Carbon-14 is taken in by living organisms in the same proportion as stable carbon-12, which exists in the atmosphere. Once the organism dies, no further carbon is taken in, so the proportion of carbon-14 in its tissues (including bones and teeth) decreases at a predictable rate. The longer ago that it lived, the lower the proportion of carbon-14 that remains. This predictability allows a determination of how long ago the organism died. Because the preservative with which we treated the bones contained “new” carbon from plant cellulose, it disrupted the carbon-14:carbon-12 ratio, spoiling the opportunity to use this technique to determine the age of the specimens. Specimen G5NW-24.

326 5. Emerging Patterns 8. 9. 10.

11.

12. 13.

14.

15.

16.

At least one of the bones in this upper level is anatomically a duplicate of a bone in the assemblage down at the tusk level. Hence, they belonged to two different animals. The springs emerging at the floor of the basin are artesian. For a discussion of the site’s hydrology, see Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 37 (2003): 31, 34–35. Daniel Fisher at the University of Michigan has suggested that Paleo-Indians cached the butchered remains of mastodon in ponds in the late fall and early winter for this purpose. Specimen no. H5SW-19. This is the lower half of a humerus, the bone located between the shoulder and the elbow. For more detail, see D. W. Steadman and N. G. Miller, “California Condor Associated with Spruce-jack Pine Woodland in the Late Pleistocene of New York,” Quaternary Research 28 (1987): 415–26. This article also includes a map of the condor’s Ice Age distribution. These are, respectively, specimens H5SW-272 and G5NE-136. These plant fossils were studied and interpreted by Norton Miller, the head of the New York State Museum’s Biological Survey, and a colleague of David Steadman. Norton’s definitive analysis of the Hiscock Site’s ancient plants (including their pollen record) appeared in Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 33. More about his work later. The ± value (60 in this case) is a conventional measure of uncertainty for the date. It represents a range within which there is a 68 percent probability (statistically one standard deviation) that the true age is located. The uncertainty is based on the counting errors of the combined measurements of 1) the unknown sample that is being dated, 2) background, and 3) a modern carbon-14 reference standard. In this particular case, the age range lies between 890 and 1,010 years before 1950. By doubling the ± value to 120, the probability that the true age falls within that range becomes 95 percent. (We get more certainty about the true age by broadening the range within which it falls.) Therefore, a bone dated 7,500±50 BP and another dated 7,700±60 BP could actually have the same age. This is because, with 95 percent accuracy, the first and seemingly younger bone could actually be as old as 7,600 BP (adding 50 × 2 to 7,500), while the second and seemingly older bone could potentially be as young as 7,580 BP (subtracting 60 × 2 from 7,700). Thus, the ranges containing the true age for each of the two bones overlap. There are several cases of individual Hiscock specimens that were dated more than once, illustrating the type of variation that can occur in radiocarbon dating. An example is a mastodon tusk, H7NW-181, for which one lab gave two radiocarbon ages: 11,100±80 BP and 11,070±70 BP. A second lab determined an age of 10,930±70 BP for the same tusk. Averaging several dates for a single specimen can improve the accuracy of the age estimate. In this case, the three dates average to 11,033±40 BP. Specimen H4NW-wood sample 3. The wood was dated to 7,435±95 radiocarbon years BP, meaning that its eroded top was at a level where the sediment was about that old. (It is also possible that, after the emplacement of the branch, the ground surface and the top of the branch were eroded down to a lower, and thus older, level.) In either case, the truncated top of the branch marks a level that should be no younger than the age of the intruded wood. The same, of course, would be true of the nine-hundredyear-old white oak log found near the tusk in 1984. J. H. McAndrews, “Postglacial Ecology of the Hiscock Site,” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 37 (2003): 193 (figure 2—a pollen diagram).

Interlude 2. The Clovis People 327  6. FRIDAY’S FOOTPRINT

1. 2. 3. 4.

5.

6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15.

Specimens G5NW-285 (tusk), H5SW-275 (sternebra), and G5NW-286 (ulna). Specimen G3SW-13. For a discussion of this issue, see C. J. Ellis and J. C. Lothrop, “Early Fluted-biface Variation in Glaciated Northeastern North America,” PaleoAmerica 5, no. 2 (2019): 121–31. Yes, I know the print didn’t actually belong to “Friday,” the native Crusoe would later rescue and make his companion. But if this slight distortion of the story’s sequence helps clarify my point, I hope I may be forgiven for assuming that liberty. See Christopher J. Ellis, John Tomenchuk, and John D. Holland, “Typology, Use and Sourcing of the Late Pleistocene Lithic Artifacts from the Hiscock Site,” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 37 (2003): 221–37, figure 1b for greater detail. See K. Snarey and C. Ellis, “Evidence for Bow and Arrow Use in the Small Point Late Archaic of Southwestern Ontario,” Journal of the Ontario Archaeological Society 85–88 (2010): 21–38. Ellis, Tomenchuk, and Holland, “Typology, Use and Sourcing of the Late Pleistocene Lithic Artifacts from the Hiscock Site,” 221–37. Specimen H5SW-212, illustrated in Ellis, Tomenchuk, and Holland, “Typology, Use and Sourcing of the Late Pleistocene Lithic Artifacts from the Hiscock Site,” 227. Many of the dates, and the layers with which they’re associated, can be found in Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 37: 37–38. The sampling location is shown in Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 33: 84. The results of Miller’s pollen analysis appear in figure 2 of his article in Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 33: 83–93. It appears on pages 62–67 in the commemorative book 175 Years of Byron, marking the sesquicentennial anniversary of the town’s establishment. The ash specimens are I2SE(S1/2)-73 and J5SE-25, respectively. The white oak is H4NWwood sample 3. The elm is specimen G8SE-58 and is dated 2,870±70 BP; the birch is specimen G8SE-90 and is dated 3,130±60 BP. Specimen I3NW-38. I discussed this issue in “Reevaluation of the Pleistocene Fauna of the Hiscock Site Based on Evidence of Intrusion,” Current Research in the Pleistocene 25 (2008):179–80.

INTERLUDE 2. THE CLOVIS PEOPLE

1.

2.

An indication of the library’s importance can be seen in a line from the Society’s constitution, adopted on November 21, 1861: the object of the organization “shall be the promotion and study of the Natural Sciences through the formation of a museum and library.” Grote was one of its earliest members and directors. His article appears on pages 181–86 of the volume. “Beringia” refers to northeastern Siberia, Alaska, and the land bridge that connected them as sea levels dropped during glacial growth (see figure 0.1). The results of these studies are summarized in an article by Ted Goebel, Michael R. Waters, and Dennis H. O’Rourke, “The Late Pleistocene Dispersal of Modern Humans in the Americas,” Science 319, no. 5869 (2008): 1497–1501.

328 Interlude 2. The Clovis People 3. 4.

5.

6.

7.

8. 9.

10.

11.

See H. M. Wormington, Ancient Man in North America, 4th ed. (Denver, CO: Denver Museum of Natural History, 1957). Frank H. H. Roberts, “Developments in the Problem of the North American PaleoIndian,” Smithsonian Miscellaneous Collections 100 (1940): 51–116. Variants of this spelling, specifically “Paleoindian” and “Palaeoindian,” are common in the literature. D. Shane Miller, Vance T. Holliday, and Jordan Bright, “Clovis Across the Continent,” in Paleoamerican Odyssey: ed. Kelly E. Graf, Caroline V. Ketron, and Michael R. Waters (College Station: Center for the Study of the First Americans, Texas A&M University, 2013), 207–20. Michael R. Waters, Thomas W. Stafford Jr., and David L. Carlson, “The Age of Clovis— 13,050 to 12,750 Cal Yr. B.P.,” Science Advances 6, no. 43 (2020): eaaz0455. This represents a slightly older and broader range than was reported by Waters and Stafford in an earlier paper they published—“Redefining the Age of Clovis: Implications for the Peopling of the Americas,” Science 315 (2007): 1122–26. Because the concentration of carbon-14 in the atmosphere has varied slightly over time, scientists have compared growth increments in trees and corals, whose ages are known, with the radiocarbon dates obtained from those increments. This calibrated scale of “calendar” dates then converts radiocarbon-derived ages to actual numerical ages. C. Vance Haynes and E. Thomas Hemmings, “Mammoth-Bone Shaft Wrench from Murray Springs, Arizona,” Science 159 (1968): 186–87. See R. Lee Lyman and Michael J. O’Brien, “A Mechanical and Functional Study of Bone Rods from the Richey-Roberts Clovis Cache, Washington, U. S. A,” Journal of Archaeological Science 25 (1998): 887–906. While these osseous rods have always been associated with Clovis sites, an interesting case from Canada shows the need for care in assessing such objects. A pointed bone rod from southern Saskatchewan, which had been suspected of being Clovis in origin, yielded a calibrated (“calendar”) age of 8,400 BP. That time was based on a conventional radiocarbon date around 7,600 radiocarbon years BP, several thousand years younger than Clovis. The object and its history are discussed by Katy Dycus, “The Grenfell Bone Rod—Testing the Record,” Mammoth Trumpet 31, no. 4 (2016): 1–3, 8–9. George C. Frison, “North American High Plains Paleo-Indian Hunting Strategies and Weaponry Assemblages,” in From Kostenki to Clovis: Upper Paleolithic-Paleo-Indian Adaptations, ed. Olga Soffer and N. D. Praslov (New York: Plenum, 1993), xx, 237–49. Besides hafting, experiments suggest that a mechanical effect of fluting was to cause the base to absorb some of the stress caused by impact. This relieved some stress at the tip and reduced the chance of the point breaking. See K. A. Thomas, B. A. Story, et al., “Explaining the Origin of Fluting in North American Pleistocene Weaponry,” Journal of Archaeological Science 81 (2017): 21–30. This study is discussed by Katy Dycus, “To Flute, or Not to Flute,” Mammoth Trumpet 35, no. 2 (2020): 5–8. In a detailed analysis, Daniel Fisher considered the question of whether Paleo-Indians in the Northeast were hunting, or scavenging, mastodons, and he concluded that at least some of the animals in his sample had been hunted. See Daniel C. Fisher, “Mastodont Procurement by Paleoindians of the Great Lakers Region: Hunting or Scavenging?” in The Evolution of Human Hunting, ed. M. H. Nitecki and D. V. Nitecki (New York: Plenum, 1987), 309–421.

7. Steady Going, and First Symposium 329  12.

13.

14.

15.

16.

17.

Peter L. Storck and Arthur E. Spiess, “The Significance of New Faunal Identifications Attributed to an Early Paleoindian (Gainey Complex) Occupation at the Udora Site, Ontario, Canada,” American Antiquity 59, no. 1 (1994): 121–42. William Engelbrecht and Carl Seyfert, “Paleoindian Watercraft: Evidence and Implications,” North American Archaeologist 15 (1994): 221–34. See also Margaret A. Jodry, “Envisioning Water Transport Technology in Late-Pleistocene America,” in Paleoamerican Origins: Beyond Clovis, ed. Robson Bonnichsen, Bradley T. Lepper, Dennis Stanford, and Michael R. Waters (College Station: Center for the Study of the First Americans, Texas A&M University, 2005), 133–60. C. Vance Haynes Jr., Dennis J. Stanford, Margaret Jodry, et al., “A Clovis Well at the Type Site 11,500 B.C.: The Oldest Prehistoric Well in America,” Geoarchaeology, An International Journal 14, no. 5 (1999): 455–70. C. Vance Haynes Jr., “Clovis Origin Update,” The Kiva 52, no. 2 (1987): 83–93. He enumerates these traits as “large blades, end scrapers, burins, shaft wrenches, cylindrical bone points, knapped bone, unifacial flake tools, red ochre, and circumferentially chopped tusks.” For a stunning visual example, see Gary Haynes, Mammoths, Mastodons, and Elephants (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991). Figure 6.13 shows the famous bone tool from the Murray Springs Clovis site interpreted as a shaft-straightening wrench (see note 8). Figure 6.14 shows two strikingly similar bone tools from an Upper Paleolithic site in Czechoslovakia. C. Vance Haynes Jr. has guided me to a few relevant papers on these occurrences: Zulema S. Seguel and Orlando Campana von Vriessen, “Presencia de megafauna en la Provencia de Osorno (Chile) y sus posibles relaciones con cazadores superiores (The presence of big game animals in the Province of Osorno [Chile] and its possible relationships with big game hunters),” Actas y Trabajos del Premer Congresa de Arqueología Argentina (1975): 237–43; Lawrence J. Jackson, “A Clovis Point from South Coastal Chile,” Current Research in the Pleistocene 12 (1995): 21–23; Georges A. Pearson and Joshua W. Ream, “Clovis on the Caribbean Coast of Venezuela,” Current Research in the Pleistocene 22 (2005): 28–31; and Donald Jackson, Cesar Mendez, Roxana Seguel, Antonio Maldonado, and Gabriel Vargas, “Initial Occupation of the Pacific Coast of Chile During Late Pleistocene Times,” Current Anthropology 48, no. 5 (2007): 725–31. Vance T. Holliday and D. Shane Miller, “The Clovis Landscape,” in Paleoamerican Odyssey, ed. Kelly E. Graf, Caroline V. Ketron, and Michael R. Waters (College Station: Center for the Study of the First Americans, Texas A&M University, 2013), 221–45. In The Last of the Breed, Louis L’Amour wrote about an American Air Force pilot who was a Sioux Indian. He was captured by the Soviets, imprisoned in Siberia, but he escaped. His trek across Siberia to the Bering Strait was eerily evocative to me of what people living off the land in an almost unpopulated continent may have experienced. 7. STEADY GOING, AND FIRST SYMPOSIUM

1.

Specimens G5SE-139 and G5NE-176, respectively, from the left and the right side of the pelvis, probably belonged to a single animal. A sample of the first of these (numbered G5SE-138) was radiocarbon-dated, yielding an age of 10,515±120 years BP. This equates with a calendar age somewhere between 12,188 and 12,624 years.

330 7. Steady Going, and First Symposium 2. 3. 4.

5.

6. 7.

8.

9.

10. 11.

Specimens F5NW-27 and G5SE-278. Specimens G5NE-193, G5SW-96, and G5NE-141, respectively. Specimen F5NW-14. During its lifetime a mastodon got six sets of teeth (a series of six teeth in each corner of the mouth). Each newly inserted tooth was larger than its predecessor, with the crown ranging in length from approximately two centimeters (less than an inch) in the first tooth to about eighteen centimeters (seven inches) in) in the last tooth. Specimen G5SW-101. See Christopher J. Ellis, John Tomenchuk, and John D. Holland, “Typology, Use and Sourcing of the Late Pleistocene Lithic Artifacts from the Hiscock Site,” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 37 (2003): 224, figure 2c. G2NE(SE1/4)—wood sample 4. Norton had observed the similarity of the Fibrous Gravelly Clay sediment to spring sediments he’d worked with. Consequently, we were particularly interested in including sites in which mastodon remains were associated with ancient spring deposits. The book is Late Pleistocene and Early Holocene Paleoecology and Archeology of the Eastern Great Lakes Region, ed. Richard S. Laub, Norton G. Miller, and David W. Steadman, Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 33 (1988). The new birds included the cuckoo, Cooper’s hawk, northern flicker, yellow-bellied sapsucker, downy woodpecker, common raven, gray catbird, common grackle, Virginia rail (or possibly sora), and solitary sandpiper. The new mammals were the star-nosed mole, hairy-tailed mole, short-tailed weasel, northern flying squirrel, and varying hare. John H. McAndrews and Janet Y. Chau, “Fossil Gizzard Stones of Passenger Pigeon,” Newsletter of the Ontario Field Ornithologists 24, no. 1 (2006): 14–15. The tusk of the upper jaw is actually an incisor tooth that becomes elongate and grows continually. As with most mammals, a deciduous (baby) tusk appears first. Shed early in life, it is replaced by a permanent (adult) tusk. Therefore, the latter contains a record of all but the animal’s earliest years. 8. THE DIG MATURES (I)

1.

A pole barn is a simple, unheated, utilitarian structure with a dirt floor. Poles serve as the framework and the walls are wood boards. Its purpose is to shelter equipment from the elements. 9. THE DIG MATURES (II)

1. 2.

3. 4.

I’m speaking here of the spot where, in 1984, I had dug a deep test hole and struck the top of a tusk. The spotty occurrence of this layer is mapped in Richard S. Laub, “The Hiscock Site: Structure, Stratigraphy and Chronology,” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 37 (2003): 22, figure 6. The distribution of the Yellow Clay is mapped in Laub, “The Hiscock Site,” 23, figure 7. Two radiocarbon dates give the age of this event: a piece of charcoal (specimen G8SE90) from the base of the Yellow Clay yielded an age of 3,130±60 radiocarbon years BP. A second piece of charcoal (G8SE-58), from the top of the layer and in the same quadrant, dated to 2,870±70 radiocarbon years BP.

9. The Dig Matures (II) 331  5. 6.

7. 8.

9. 10.

11. 12. 13. 14. 15.

16. 17. 18. 19.

20. 21. 22.

Specimen F8SE-21, a mastodon metacarpal, from the forelimb of the animal. The identification was done by Donna J. Christensen, a wood anatomy expert at the U.S. Department of Agriculture in Madison, Wisconsin, based on examination of three twigs. She suggested (and is almost certainly correct) that the branches and logs that we found buried vertically in our pits were not stakes emplaced by people, but rather had been thrust into the ground naturally by falling trees. The tusks of an elephant are equivalent to our upper lateral incisors, the broad, shovel-like teeth that are the second on either side of the midline of our mouth. Our study of these twigs was published several years later: R. S. Laub, C. A. Dufort, and D. J. Christensen, “Possible Mastodon Gastrointestinal and Fecal Contents from the Late Pleistocene of the Hiscock Site, Western New York State,” New York State Museum Bulletin 481 (1994): 135–48. B. T. Lepper, T. A. Frolking, D. C. Fisher, et al., “Intestinal Contents of a Late Pleistocene Mastodont from Midcontinental North America,” Quaternary Research 36 (1991): 120–25. I described this occurrence in Laub, “The Hiscock Site,” 29. See also figures 13 and 14 in the same article for examples of the color contrast and the locations of spring vents at the site. Comparison of the chemical composition of pale and dark mastodon bones at the site is discussed by Elena Ponomarenko and Alice Telka, “Geochemical Evidence of a Salt Lick at the Hiscock Site,” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 37 (2003): 202–203. Respectively, specimens J3SW-158 and J3SW-142. The humerus shaft is specimen H6SW-147; the articulating cap is H6NW-107. The dated bone fragment and the three twigs are curated collectively as specimen G6SE-52, while the Clovis-like point is G6SE-53. The point is illustrated in figure 10.1C. Specimen I3NW-38. Specimen F5NE-144, a lower jaw belonging to an immature deer. A diagram showing its relationship to the various layers can be seen in Richard S. Laub, “Misleading Stratigraphic Relationships at the Hiscock Site (Late Quaternary, Western New York State),” in Contributions to the Natural Sciences and Anthropology: a Festschrift in Honor of George F. Goodyear, ed. Ernst E. Both. Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 36 (1998): 200, figure 11. This remarkable skull, specimen no. H5SE-70, was found in 1987. Specimen G7SW-123. Specimen H6SE-69. The tusk and the beveling phenomenon are discussed in Richard S. Laub, “An Unusual Erosional Feature on Late-Pleistocene Mastodon Tusks from the Hiscock Site (Western New York State): Cultural or Natural?” Current Research in the Pleistocene 22 (2005): 81–82. Specimen G6NE-192, part of a premolar from the lower jaw. Specimen E11NW-71/72. It is illustrated in Richard S. Laub, “The Pleistocene Fauna of the Hiscock Site,” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 37 (2003): 80, figure 15. I must mention in this connection my “family” in the American Museum’s Department of Invertebrate Paleontology: Donald Squires (assistant curator and my mentor), Frank Lombardi (fossil preparator), Bob Adlington (photographer), Mel Henkley (maintenance), and Morris (I never learned his last name; also in maintenance). The department was presided over by Norman Newell, one of the most highly respected paleontologists

332 9. The Dig Matures (II)

23.

24.

of that time, and the supervising professor of the renowned Stephen Jay Gould and Niles Eldredge, whom I also met there. This bone, an ulna, was identified by Dave Steadman; it was assigned field number G6SE28. To confirm its age, and to ascertain that it was not intruded, will require radiocarbon dating. Specimens H8SW-67 and G7SW-34. 10. CALLING CARDS OF STONE

1.

2.

3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9.

10.

11. 12. 13.

To call these objects “Clovis points” implies they were spear points hafted to the end of an elongate shaft. We can’t be certain, however, that these particular specimens were designed for that purpose and, indeed, it’s clear that most or all of them were not being used as spear points at the time they were lost or discarded. It is safer and more accurate to call them fluted bifaces, meaning they had been sharpened on both surfaces and bore channels (“flutes”) along their long axis, presumably to facilitate hafting to a handle. C. J. Ellis, J. Tomenchuk, and J. D. Holland, “Typology, Use and Sourcing of the Late Pleistocene Lithic Artifacts from the Hiscock Site,” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 37 (2003): 221–37. Ellis, Tomenchuk, and Holland, “Typology, Use and Sourcing of the Late Pleistocene Lithic Artifacts from the Hiscock Site,” 224, figure 1c. Ellis, Tomenchuk, and Holland, “Typology, Use and Sourcing of the Late Pleistocene Lithic Artifacts from the Hiscock Site,” 224, figure 2b. Ellis, Tomenchuk, and Holland, “Typology, Use and Sourcing of the Late Pleistocene Lithic Artifacts from the Hiscock Site,” 224, figure 2a. Ellis, Tomenchuk, and Holland, “Typology, Use and Sourcing of the Late Pleistocene Lithic Artifacts from the Hiscock Site,” 224, figure 1a. Ellis, Tomenchuk and Holland,“Typology, Use and Sourcing of the Late Pleistocene Lithic Artifacts from the Hiscock Site,” 226 (footnote). D. B. Deller and C. J. Ellis, “Early Palaeo-Indian Complexes in Southwestern Ontario,” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 33 (1988): 251–63. Detailed illustration in Richard Laub, “New Developments Concerning the Pleistocene Component of the Hiscock Site (Western New York State),” Current Research in the Pleistocene 23 (2006): 120, figure 1A–D. Specimen E6NE-65 (Anthropology catalogue no. C30364), illustrated in Richard S. Laub, “New Late-Pleistocene Lithic Artifacts from the Hiscock Site, Western New York State,” Current Research in the Pleistocene 28 (2011): 56, figures 1E and 1F. For comments on edge grinding as indicative of the final stage of tool manufacture, see Olaf H. Prufer and Raymond S. Baby, Palaeo-Indians of Ohio (Columbus: The Ohio Historical Society, 1963), 11. Specimen H2SE-72, illustrated in Laub, “New Late-Pleistocene Lithic Artifacts,” 56, figure 1A-C. G5SW-101, illustrated in Ellis, Tomenchuk, and Holland, “Typology, Use and Sourcing of the Late Pleistocene Lithic Artifacts from the Hiscock Site,” 224, figure 2c. H5SW-212, illustrated in Ellis, Tomenchuk, and Holland, “Typology, Use and Sourcing of the Late Pleistocene Lithic Artifacts from the Hiscock Site,” 227, figure 4.

11. A Lucky Drought 333  14.

15.

16. 17. 18. 19.

20.

While this specimen, F7SW-169 (museum catalogue no. C30361), was described by Ellis, Tomenchuk, and Holland in the article in note 2 of this chapter, it was illustrated by Holland in “New Data on Late-Pleistocene Lithic Artifacts from the Hiscock Site (Western New York),” Current Research in the Pleistocene 21 (2004): 47, figures 1E–G, with additional comments. Specimen I2SE-87. See Holland, “New Data on Late-Pleistocene Lithic Artifacts from the Hiscock Site (Western New York),” 46–48, figures 1A–D. Here it is designated by its museum catalogue number, C30362. Specimen F7SW-173. The nearest sandstone, the Whirlpool Formation, is located nearly thirty kilometers (about 18 miles) to the north. See R. M. Gramly, The Sugarloaf Site: Palaeo-Americans on the Connecticut River (Buffalo, NY: Persimmon Press, 1999). It is described by Kevin P. Smith, Neil O’Donnell, and John D. Holland (1998) in “The Early and Middle Archaic in the Niagara Frontier: Documenting the ‘Missing Years’ in Lower Great Lakes Prehistory,” in Contributions to the Natural Sciences and Anthropology: a Festschrift in Honor of George F. Goodyear, ed. Ernst E. Both. Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 36 (1998): 29, plate 3. The distributions of Pleistocene lithic and bone artifacts as of 2003 can be seen in figures 6 and 7 in Richard S. Laub and Arthur E. Spiess, “What Were Paleoindians Doing at the Hiscock Site?,” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 37 (2003): 261–71. 11. A LUCKY DROUGHT

1.

2. 3. 4. 5.

6. 7.

This relative sparseness of small bones, in particular frogs, was a generally repeating pattern in the Holocene peats of the grid’s northwest. I suspect it had something to do with the chemistry of the water, as frogs generally did not thrive in these pits. On the other hand, we did find some very interesting material, such as elk antler bases (specimens I5SE-62 and I5SW-11). There was also some fine plant material in the Woody Layer, including a butternut (I4SE-7), also known as a white walnut, and a complete white pine cone (I5SW-15). The right-hand tooth and its matching jaw fragment are specimens H4NW-76 and I4SW-593, respectively. The other tooth, the probable partner to H4NW-76, is I4SW-597. Specimen I5SE-203. For example, specimens I4SW-513, I5SE-140. The point, designated by field number I4SW-510, consisted of ring-porous hardwood, characteristic of oak, elm, ash, hickory, or chestnut. (I’m betting on elm or ash, which have been identified in abundance in the Woody Layer.) The stake, I5SE-104, consisted of diffuse porous hardwood, which might be maple. I have discussed and illustrated these artifacts in “Misleading Stratigraphic Relationships at the Hiscock Site (Late Quaternary, Western New York State),” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 36 (1998): 198, 199, 200. This scraper bears catalogue no. C29430 in the museum’s Anthropology collection. This fluted point fragment is listed as C29611 in the museum’s Anthropology collection.

334 11. A Lucky Drought 8.

9. 10.

This and the pearlware shard whose description follows were described and illustrated by Catrina Caira and Sarah Jones, “Historical Archaeology of the Hiscock Site, North-Eastern Genesee County, New York,” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 40 (2011): 15–27, figure 9. Caira and Jones, “Historical Archaeology of the Hiscock Site, North-Eastern Genesee County, New York,” figure 10. Caira and Jones, “Historical Archaeology of the Hiscock Site, North-Eastern Genesee County, New York,” figure 12. 12. TOOLS!

1.

2. 3.

4. 5. 6.

7.

8.

9. 10. 11.

12. 13.

This specimen is illustrated by John Tomenchuk in “Analysis of Pleistocene Bone Artifacts from the Hiscock Site,” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 37: 243 (figure 4A) and 244 (figure 5A), where it is also analyzed. Subsequent references to Tomenchuk, unless otherwise indicated, are to this article. This specimen is illustrated in Tomenchuk, 243 (figure 4D) and p. 244 (figure 5D), where it is also analyzed. Specimen G7SW-168. A second specimen, H4NE-37, was a curving antler fragment with a rounded, apparently burnished base and a distinct point. A third, H4NE-48 (from the same quadrant as the antler fragment) was an elongate, tabular piece of smoothly pointed ivory. Both these H4NE specimens are illustrated in Tomenchuk, 241 (figures 2A and B) and 242 (figures 3A and B). This includes specimen I4SW-575, the tusk end mentioned in note 1. Specimen H4NE-48, described in note 3. Specimen H6NW-122, figured by Tomenchuk, 243 (figure 4H) and 244 (figure 5H). In this article (page 242) he describes it as a bifacially flaked (it was sharpened by striking flakes off both sides) and ground tusk fragment. Specimen E9NW-142, figured by Tomenchuk on 243 (figure 4F) and 244 (figure 5F). The beveled edge and its striations referred to are shown in Tomenchuk’s article, figures 16 and 17. John Tomenchuk and Richard S. Laub, “New Insights into Late-Pleistocene Bone Technology at the Hiscock Site, Western New York State,” Current Research in the Pleistocene 12 (1995): 71–74. For example, Divers Lake in Genesee County, New York, which lies twenty-six kilometers (about sixteen miles) west of Hiscock. R. S. Laub, J. Tomenchuk, and P. L. Storck, “A Dated Mastodon Bone Artifact from the Late Pleistocene of New York,” Archaeology of Eastern North America 24 (1996): 1–17. This specimen is described in this publication: R. S. Laub, “A Second Dated Mastodon Bone Artifact from Pleistocene Deposits at the Hiscock Site (Western New York State),” Archaeology of Eastern North America 28 (2000): 141–54. It is shown in Tomenchuk’s article, 243 (figure 4B) and 244 (figure 5B). Specimen F7SE-120, illustrated by Tomenchuk, 243 (figure 4E) and 244 (figure 5E). The images can be seen in Richard S. Laub and Arthur E. Spiess, “What Were Paleoindians Doing at the Hiscock Site?,” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 37 (2003): 264 (figure 4).

13. More Discoveries (I) 335 

13. MORE DISCOVERIES (I)

1. 2. 3. 4.

5. 6.

7.

8.

9.

Specimen H8SW-67, a fourth premolar from the lower jaw. Specimen G8SW-163. Specimen G8SW-141. It is illustrated in Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 37: 136, figure 2. A very moving and well-deserved memorial gathering was held in Howard’s honor in the chapel at the University of Toronto, and I was fortunate to be able to attend. The seats were filled with prominent academics and other professionals, amateur naturalists and archaeologists, and students of this great scientist and teacher. He is interred in Spring Creek Cemetery in Mississauga, Ontario, and his tombstone acclaims him as a pioneer in faunal osteology, the study of animal bones from archaeological sites. Stephen Cox Thomas, “Mid-Holocene Dog Remains from the Hiscock Site,” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 37 (2003): 133–48. Genetic studies indicate that dogs likely accompanied Ice Age immigrants to the New World, though tangible archaeological evidence of this has eluded researchers. One tantalizing hint is possible dog-like “kennel damage” to bones at a mammoth site reported by Jeffrey J. Saunders and Edward B. Daeschler, “Descriptive Analyses and Taphonomic Observations of Culturally Modified Mammoths Excavated at ‘the Gravel Pit,’ near Clovis, New Mexico in 1936,” Proceedings of the Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia 145 (1994): 1–28. The oldest reasonably complete dog remains known at this date are several skeletons, apparently interred deliberately, from the Koster and Stilwell II sites in Illinois. These date to around 8,800 radiocarbon years BP (about 10,200–9,600 calendar years BP), the early Archaic, soon after the end of the Pleistocene. These occurrences are analyzed by Angela Perri, Chris Widga, Dennis Lawler, Terrance Martin, et al., “New Evidence of the Earliest Domestic Dogs in America,” American Antiquity 84, no. 1 (2019): 68–87. An interesting review of this subject is presented by Floyd Largent, “America’s Lost Dogs,” Mammoth Trumpet 35, no. 1 (2020): 1–4. More recently a bone fragment from the southeast Alaskan coast was confirmed through genetic analysis to belong to a dog, and was dated to 10,150 ± 260 calendar years BP. See Flavio Augusto da Silva Coelho, Stephanie Gill, Crystal M. Tomlin, Timothy H. Heaton, and Charlotte Lindqvist, “An Early Dog from Southeast Alaska Supports a Coastal Route for the First Dog Migration Into the Americas,” Proceedings of the Royal Society B 288, no. 1945 (2021). These are, respectively, specimens E9NE-713, E8NW-85, and E9SE-13/15. The first of these was especially noteworthy in that, as a result of the natural curve of the tusk, the tip extended twenty-three centimeters (about nine inches) up into the overlying Woody Layer (see chapter 14). This striking assemblage of deer bones was studied by T. Cregg Madrigal. His observations and conclusions appeared in “Taphonomic Analysis of a Partial Deer Skeleton from the Hiscock Site,” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 37 (2003): 161–70. Jeheskel (Hezi) Shoshani initially came to my attention when he attended the first Smith Symposium in 1986. For most of his life, he had been fascinated with elephants, I suspect stemming from his initial career as a zoo attendant in Israel. He went on to obtain a doctorate and taught for many years at Wayne State University in Detroit. Participating during several seasons at Hiscock, he would regale us at the evening campfires with tales,

336 13. More Discoveries (I)

10.

11.

12.

13. 14.

15. 16. 17. 18. 19.

20. 21.

22.

some humorous and some hair-raising, of his adventures in Africa, where he would go to be closer to elephants. These trips were generally to Eritrea and Ethiopia. He eventually took a university teaching position in Eritrea and then shifted to a similar position in Ethiopia. Tragically, he died in 2008 as a result of a terrorist bombing in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. In the Preface to his book First Peoples in a New World (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2009), archaeologist David Meltzer described a similar situation—the discovery of human fingerprints in a pre-Clovis context at Pendejo Cave, New Mexico. When a newspaper reporter asked him if he felt the interpretation of this find, in an excavation directed by a colleague of his, was valid, Meltzer replied, “You’re not going to convince me until you’ve fingerprinted the crew.” In this context, it’s important to remember that the tight cluster of deer bones near which the fabric impression was found was also partly embedded in the Fibrous Gravelly Clay, even though evidence indicates that it was deposited at the time of the (older?) Woody Layer. The fabric, in fact, may have actually lain among those bones, and it’s interesting to speculate that bones and fabric are in some way historically related. It would be interesting to date one of the deer bones and see how close it is to the age of the plant tissue sample. James M. Adovasio, Richard S. Laub, Jeffrey S. Illingworth, John H, McAndrews and David C. Hyland, “Perishable Technology from the Hiscock Site,” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 37 (2003): 272–80. Specimens E8SW-75 and E8SW-77. The dates were 380±50 BP and 440±50 BP for the first specimen and 420±40 BP for the second specimen. P. E. Kelly, E. R. Cook, and D. W. Larson, “A 1397-Year Tree-Ring Chronology of Thuja occidentalis from Cliff Faces of the Niagara Escarpment, Southern Ontario, Canada,” Canadian Journal of Forest Research 24, no. 5 (1994): 1049–57. I refer to these cases in “The Hiscock Site: Structure, Stratigraphy and Chronology,” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 37 (2003): 18–38. Gary Haynes, “Where Elephants Die,” Natural History 96, no. 6 (1987): 28–33. See also Richard S. Laub, “The Pleistocene Fauna of the Hiscock Site,” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 37 (2003): 69–82, figures 5 and 6. Specimen H7NW-181. C. V. Haynes, “Geoarchaeological and Paleohydrological Evidence for a Clovis-age Drought in North America and Its Bearing on Extinction,” Journal of Quaternary Research 35, no. 3 (1991): 438–50. Elena Ponomarenko and Alice Telka, “Geochemical Evidence of a Salt Lick at the Hiscock Site,” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 37 (2003): 199–211. Richard S. Laub and Gary Haynes, “Fluted Points, Mastodons, and Evidence of Late-Pleistocene Drought at the Hiscock Site, Western New York State,” Current Research in the Pleistocene 15 (1998): 32–34. The results of the study were published in Kenneth B. Tankersley, Kenneth D. Schlecht, and Richard S. Laub, “Fluoride Dating of Mastodon Bone from an Early Paleoindian Spring Site,” Journal of Archaeological Science 25 (1998): 805–11.

14. More Discoveries (II) 337  23. 24. 25.

26. 27.

28. 29. 30.

31.

John H. McAndrews, “Postglacial Ecology of the Hiscock Site,” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 37 (2003): 190–98. Gary Haynes, “Were There Mastodon Die-offs at the Hiscock Site?,” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 37 (2003): 102–13. Another example is described and discussed in Richard S. Laub, “The Influence of Pleistocene Biogenic Excavations on Holocene Hydrology at the Hiscock Site (Western New York State),” Current Research in the Pleistocene 20 (2003): 44–46. The canine is specimen J3SE-80; the other tooth is specimen I6NW-139. They can be seen in figure 12 of Laub, “The Pleistocene Fauna of the Hiscock Site,” 69–82. Steadman and Hulbert determined that the canine was a permanent (adult) tooth from the upper jaw of a peccary that could not be identified. The other specimen was a “cheek” tooth from the side of the jaw—technically, a deciduous lower left fourth premolar, meaning a baby tooth located in the middle of the left lower jaw. It may have been shed during the animal’s life. The numbers for these specimens, two pieces of the same bone, are E11NW-71 and E11NW-72. They can be seen in figure 15 of the article cited in note 17 for this chapter. Specimen E11SW-112. The tooth is discussed and illustrated in Richard S. Laub, “New Data on Holocene Fossil Mammal Occurrences at the Hiscock Site and Its Environs, Western New York State,” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 38 (2009): 33–42, figure 1 (as museum catalogue no E27553). David W. Steadman, “Vertebrates from the Late Quaternary Hiscock Site, Genesee County, New York,” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 33 (1988): 111. Carnivore remains are, as a rule, much less common at paleontological sites than those of herbivores. That’s because, in a natural environment, it takes many herbivores to fill the nutritional needs of one meat eater (around a ratio of 20: 1). Also, the remains of many individual herbivores can result from the hunting activities of a single carnivore. On the other hand, that carnivore will produce only one skeleton at the time of its demise. This ratio holds only for warm-blooded animals, whose relatively fast metabolism requires large amounts of fuel. Cold-blooded predators, such as spiders, require much less food and, therefore, a much smaller supply of prey. 14. MORE DISCOVERIES (II)

1.

2.

This second basin was hinted at by Norton Miller’s topographic mapping of the base of the peaty deposits back in the mid-1980s. The new basin we were now entering appears near the top center of this map. The map is figure 1 in Norton G. Miller, “The Late Quaternary Hiscock Site, Genesee County, New York: Paleoecological Studies Based on Pollen and Plant Macrofossils,” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 33 (1988): 83–93. Of the twelve ribs, seven bore distinct crush or puncture marks. I attributed these to carnivore scavenging, but that may not be the final word in their interpretation. See Richard S. Laub, “Observations on Damage to Mastodon Ribs at the Hiscock Site (Western New York State),” Current Research in the Pleistocene 18 (2001): 86–88.

338 14. More Discoveries (II) 3. 4.

5. 6.

7. 8.

9. 10.

11. 12. 13. 14.

15. 16.

Specimen E10SE-86. The pits dug on the slope are C0SE(S1/2), C1SW(S1/2), and C1SE(S1/2). These showed that the Cobble Layer rose very gradually (about 5º) toward the surrounding hills. It was covered by a grayish silty clay layer that grew more yellowish toward its top where oxygen had infiltrated, likely through worm burrows and root intrusions. Ivory fragments within it indicate that it belonged to the Pleistocene. Above this layer was a deposit similar to the Dark Earth, though not as “earthy” (organic) as its equivalent in the basin. See figure 5 in Richard S. Laub, “The Hiscock Site: Structure, Stratigraphy and Chronology,” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 37 (2003): 18–38. Among the corals were a halysitid (specimen E6SW[N1/2]-47 and a heliolitid (specimen J6NW-120). Among the mineral crystals were elegant little cleavage octagons of fluorite, which have been known, when found elsewhere, to make people believe they had found diamonds. This was quadrant E11NW, a pit sponsored by the Turner Construction Company through the “Adopt-a-Pit” program described in chapter 19. By 1989, with the recognition of the Gelatinous Woody Layer, we had already become aware that the “Woody Layer” was more complex than it had seemed at first. The peat of the GWL was very fine-grained, and did not contain the abundant large wood fragments typical of the rest of the Woody Layer. Dates obtained from it fell in the 8,000- to 9,000year range, much older than the rest of the Woody Layer. These three units, the Gelatinous (or “older”) Woody Layer, the Yellow Clay, and the younger Woody Layer record the period of the virgin forest that cloaked the Northeast between the end of the Ice Age and the appearance of European settlers. The dated specimens are G8SE-90 (from the bottom of the layer) and G8SE-58 (lying at the top of the unit, and covered by the Woody Layer). I believe that this distinction is due to the coarser grains (pebbles and cobbles) having settled lower than the finer ones (sand and silt) due to mixing of the damp sediment by animal traffic and perhaps other agencies. Specimens E9NW-125, E9NW-128, and E9SW-31. This rib, whose two fragments were found 3.25 meters (about 10 feet) apart, was cited earlier as an example of how we can measure dispersion of the bones. Specimen F8SE-79. Specimen E9NW-73. In the following two years, we dug toward the east, and each year we found another large male mastodon tusk. Each of these massive specimens required nine people to lift it out of the pit and slide it onto a reinforced pallet waiting on the ground above. An example is specimen E10SW-60, a log 2.4 meters (eight feet) long. Specimen D11NW-16. It is shown in figure 16b in Richard S. Laub, “The Hiscock Site: Structure, Stratigraphy and Chronology,” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 37 (2003): 18–38. 15. OF DEATH AND LIFE

1.

Specimen H7NW-181, referred to in chapter 12 in connection with dating this dig-out.

16. Second Symposium 339 

16. SECOND SYMPOSIUM

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8. 9.

10.

The Second Smith Symposium proceedings appeared as The Hiscock Site: Late Pleistocene and Holocene Paleoecology and Archeology of Western New York State, ed. Richard S. Laub. Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 37 (2003). This geographical relationship can be seen in figure 8 of Ernest H. Muller, Parker E. Calkin, and Keith J. Tinkler, “Regional Geology of the Hiscock Site, Western New York,” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 37 (2003): 3–10. Accounts of mammoth remains from Buffalo and nearby Lewiston are given in C. A. Hartnagel and Sherman C. Bishop, “The Mastodons, Mammoths and Other Pleistocene Mammals of New York State,” New York State Museum Bulletin 241–242 (1922). These two locations’ latitudes are similar to that of Byron. Thus, they and Hiscock would have been exposed by glacial retreat and become habitable by animals at roughly the same time. The Randolph mammoth was found in 1934 farther south in western New York, near the Pennsylvania border: Donald W. Fisher, “Prehistoric Mammals of New York,” New York State Conservationist (February–March 1955): 18–22. Also farther south was the 1999 discovery of mammoth remains near Watkins Glen, at the south end of Seneca Lake in the Finger Lakes region. See Amanda Erwin Grundmann, “Taphonomy of the Proboscideans at the Chemung Mastodon Site,” Palaeontographica Americana 61 (2008): 369–84. George McIntosh of the Rochester Museum and Science Center informs me that, in the 1990s, mammoth teeth and a tusk were found at Dresden, farther north along the west shore of Seneca Lake. Some of these specimens are now in that museum’s collection. He had put this technique to good use, comparing bone representation patterns at proboscidean fossil sites in North America, northern Siberia, and Western Europe with a modern elephant die-off site in Zimbabwe: Gary Haynes, Mammoths, Mastodonts, & Elephants: Biology, Behavior, and the Fossil Record (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 252–59. Four mature females and eight mature males based on upper tusks; one yearling based on half of a lower jaw, F8NW-10. Numerous juvenile teeth suggest additional animals, but these have not been included in the count because of difficulty in determining if some were shed during life. The passenger pigeon bone, a partial coracoid (shoulder bone) is specimen H3SW-78. It can be seen in figure 13 of Richard S. Laub, “The Pleistocene Fauna of the Hiscock Site,” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 37 (2003): 69–82. The basihyal is specimen G7NW-129; the stylohyal is G8SW-127. They are shown in figures 1A and 1B of “Mammut Hyoid Elements from the Hiscock Site: Description and Implications,” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 37 (2003). These feeding guilds include aquatic omnivore, nonpasserine granivore, nonpasserine insectivore, passerine omnivore, and raptor or scavenger. The Nova Scotia Museum of Natural History, in Halifax, contains mastodon remains from a site at Milford, Nova Scotia. Associated with them are concretions similar in form to those from Hiscock (see figure 14.5) that were analyzed by Ponomarenko and Telka, suggesting that Milford, too, was a mineral lick. On page 195 and in table 2 of his symposium paper, McAndrews reported the mineral concentration in spring water from Hiscock and, for comparison, from the Big Bone

340 16. Second Symposium

11.

12.

13.

14.

15.

16.

17.

Lick Site in Kentucky. Hiscock proved to be higher in calcium and sulfates, while Big Bone Lick was higher in sodium and chlorine. High sulfate and chloride levels are typical of salt licks. In their symposium article, Ponomarenko and Telka showed that the salt content was highest in the Pleistocene horizon at Hiscock. In his paper in the first Smith Symposium, Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 33 (1988): 265–80, Mike Gramly had hypothesized three Paleo-Indian bands with separate ranges in New York State, based on rock types used in manufacturing their artifacts. This tusk is G5NE-230. It is shown in Tomenchuk’s article in the second Smith Symposium (“Analysis of Pleistocene Bone Artifacts from the Hiscock Site,” in Late Pleistocene and Holocene Paleoecology and Archeology of Western New York State, ed. Richard S. Laub, 238–60), where the means by which it was shaped is also suggested. There is a bone fragment, probably from a rib, that bears a cut mark where Tomenchuk found that several passes had been made along an incision by a tool. The specimen, G8SW-146, is of a size suggestive of mastodon. Unfortunately, it contained insufficient collagen to be radiocarbon dated. At the time I thought that these diverticulae might have been dug into the basin margin by these people to make work areas. Now I’m more inclined to believe that they were flooded areas that had been dug out by sediment-eating mastodons, although Paleo-Indians could have been using them for work areas. This can be seen in figure 10 of Richard S. Laub and Arthur E. Spiess, “What were Paleoindians doing at the Hiscock Site?,” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 37 (2003): 270. Let me admit here that my narrative of the talks presented at this symposium was largely based upon their published version in the symposium proceedings. I have vivid recollections of certain presentations, but my memory will serve me just so far . . . Richard S. Laub, ed., The Hiscock Site: Late Pleistocene and Holocene Paleoecology and Archaeology of Western New York State. Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 37 (2003). 17. BONANZA (I)

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

7. 8.

Specimen J3SW-22. Specimens J3SW-142 and J3SW-158. Specimen J3SW-106. These are, respectively, specimens J3SW-141, J3SW-132, and J3SW-148. Specimen J3SW-186. See R. L. Peterson, “A Well-Preserved Grizzly Bear Skull Recovered from a Late Glacial Deposit Near Lake Simcoe, Ontario,” Nature 208, no. 5016 (1965): 1233–34. See also W. M. Tovell and R. E. Deane, “Grizzly Bear Skull: Site of a Find Near Lake Simcoe,” Science 154, no. 3745 (1966): 158. Specimen H6SW-147, found in 1987. The scapula is specimen I2NE-173. Daniel Fisher has shown indications of musth-related injury in a male mastodon from eastern New York State in this article: “Taphonomy

18. Bonanza (II) 341 

9. 10.

11. 12. 13.

14.

and Paleobiology of the Hyde Park Mastodon,” Palaeontographica Americana 61 (2008): 197–289. An example is I2NE-198. When we dug beyond that wall in the following year, we found that the channel was closed off by a steep rise, so that the channel, and the spring vent at its head, lay in the floor of a deep basin. Specimen I2NE-105. The male tusks include BM-86 and BM-87 (those found in 1959), I2NW-44, I2SE-113, I2NE170, I2NE-187, I3NW-117, and I2NE-105. The female tusks are J3SW-186 and I3NW-110. Each of these lower jaws is preserved as a separated pair of rami, the left and right half of the jaw. The specimens belonging to the older animal are J3NW-53 and J3NW-55, and the others are I2NW-120 and I2NW-129. Their biological ages were determined using Laws’s method, which was described in interlude 1 of this book. Specimen J2SE-99. 18. BONANZA (II)

1.

2.

3.

4. 5.

6. 7.

8.

While these two radiocarbon dates appear (and may well be) far apart, the level of uncertainty associated with such dates calls for caution in interpreting them. Converting these “radiocarbon ages” into actual calendar years, we find that there is a 95 percent probability that the true age lies between 13,950 and 13,150 years for the apparently older antler, while that for the apparently younger antler lies between 13,200 and 12,650. Thus, there is a statistical overlap of fifty years, presenting a (very) small possibility that these two animals lived at around the same time. Frankly, the more radiocarbon dates we have in hand, the more confident we can be about drawing conclusions. The date for the younger antler is very close to that of H7NW-181, a female mastodon tusk dated to 11,033±40 BP, our oldest date on confirmed mastodon material. The limb bone fragments include specimens I2SE-59, I3NW-25, I3NW-28, and H3NW-79 and H3NW-87 (two pieces of the same bone). All are from the lower portion of the forelimb, particularly near the elbow. Specimen BM-281, bearing catalogue number E27100. It is discussed in Richard S. Laub and John H. McAndrews, “Pleistocene Giant Beaver (Castoroides ohioensis) from the Hiscock Site, Western New York State,” Current Research in the Pleistocene 14 (1997): 143–45. Specimens E8NE-119 (tooth) and G4NW-101 (possible tibia fragment). Specimen I3NW-155 (catalogue no. E27515). See figures 1E–H in Richard S. Laub, “New Developments Concerning the Pleistocene Component of the Hiscock Site (Western New York State),” Current Research in the Pleistocene 23 (2006): 119–21. See figures 1A–D in “New Developments Concerning the Pleistocene Component of the Hiscock Site (Western New York State).” Specimen I2SE-87 (catalogue no. C30362). It was illustrated and described by John D. Holland, “New Data on Late-Pleistocene Lithic Artifacts from the Hiscock Site (Western New York),” Current Research in the Pleistocene 21 (2004): 46–48, figures 1A–D. Specimen J5SE-25. The radiocarbon date from which these calendar dates were determined is 4,500±40 years BP (corrected).

342 18. Bonanza (II) 9. 10. 11.

12.

13.

14.

15. 16.

Specimen I2SE-73. Its radiocarbon date is 1,720±40 years BP. Quadrant I2SE(S1/2); the cluster of wood extended into quadrant H3NW. Specimen H3NW-85. The field notes do not give the actual layer in which the specimen lay (a serious mistake on the part of the recorder who, mea culpa, was me). However, the several specimens from this pit taken before and after it were from the Fibrous Gravelly Clay, so in all likelihood that is the source of the specimen. In any event, it dates from the middle of the great gap in the stratigraphic record at the site and was clearly spared from destruction by virtue of having been buried, or intruded, below the level of erosional destruction. They were identified by Edward Fuchs, a botanist at the Buffalo Museum of Science. The specimen was preserved with Parylene at the Mercyhurst Archaeological Institute’s conservation lab, so it can now be handled as though it were a modern plant. Like the seed pods, this specimen was conserved with Parylene. During the previous year a similar specimen (J2SE-47) had been found in the neighboring pit to the north, lying at a similar depth. The field notes indicate we were not confident about just what that specimen represented, so it was doused with glycerin to keep it moist, and at the present time it is stored in a refrigerator for safekeeping. A year after specimen I2NE-83 was collected, another twig with conifer needles, specimen I3NW-37, was found in the Fibrous Gravelly Clay in the quadrant touching to the east, and thus also close to the spring vent. Specimen (J5SW-38). The all-important maker’s mark was found by an intern who volunteered her time to go through Dr. Peña’s material. Its identity was determined by Catrina Caira and Sarah Jones, whose report on the historical specimens from the Hiscock Site appeared in “Historical Archaeology of the Hiscock Site, North-Eastern Genesee County, New York,” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 40 (2011): 15–27. 19. MONEY WORRIES

1.

2.

The Turner Company adopted quadrant E11NW, in the southeastern grid area. More than one hundred measured specimens came from this pit, the most significant being a complete leg bone of a snowshoe hare (Lepus americanus) found in two pieces, E11NW71 and E11NW-72. This specimen was dated to 9,940±40 radiocarbon years BP, the tail end of the Ice Age, and one of the youngest dates from the Fibrous Gravelly Clay. It is illustrated in Richard S. Laub, “The Pleistocene Fauna of the Hiscock Site,” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 37: 80, figure 15. The Harold C. Brown Company adopted quadrant J3SW, near the western margin of the basin. I selected this pit for them because bones protruding from it at the time the pit to its east was completed in the previous year showed that it had promise. In fact, it proved to be the first of the unusually rich pits in the vicinity of the main spring vent that would be discovered in 2003. Here was the female mastodon tusk that I wrestled out while lying on my stomach. Here also were the only articulated mastodon bones ever found at Hiscock—a seventh neck vertebra adhering to a first chest vertebra. The display exhibiting the major finds from this pit was truly impressive.

21. Into the Shallows II—A Stirring of Hope 343 

20. INTO THE SHALLOWS I—DISAPPOINTMENT

1. 2. 3. 4.

The two halves of the fawn jaw bear field numbers H3NE-53 and H3NE-69. The distorted elk molar is H3NE-57. Specimen H3NE-32. The artifact is less than one centimeter (half an inch) long and razor sharp. The tooth, a dP3 (the second that would appear in the jaw of a young mastodon) is specimen H3NE-83. The spruce cone is H3NE-82. Specimens H3NE-102 and H3NE-92, respectively. 21. INTO THE SHALLOWS II—A STIRRING OF HOPE

1.

2. 3.

4.

5. 6. 7.

This is the seventh Clovis point specimen from the site. (The possibility that it’s part of one of the other Clovis points cannot be confidently excluded at this juncture.) Detailed illustrations are in R. S. Laub, “New Late-Pleistocene Lithic Artifacts from the Hiscock Site, Western New York State,” Current Research in the Pleistocene 28 (2011): 55–57, figures 1E–F. Detailed illustrations in Laub, “New Late-Pleistocene Lithic Artifacts from the Hiscock Site, Western New York State,” figures 1A–C. Specimen F5SW-57. A very similar object, made from the shoulder socket of a mammoth, is illustrated by Floyd Largent in “Lange/Ferguson, a Clovis Mammoth-Butchery Site in the South Dakota Badlands,” Mammoth Trumpet 36 (2021): 5–7. Specimens E9NW-142 and H6NW-122, respectively, shown in figures 4 and 5 of John Tomenchuk, “Analysis of Pleistocene Bone Artifacts from the Hiscock Site,” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 37 (2003): 238–60. Specimen J6NW-47. Specimen H2SE-25. Specimen G2NW(N1/2)-19. This very large specimen is an upper third molar, the last tooth that the animal would get during its lifetime. It was found in a very puzzling context, lying on top of the Cobble Layer, and completely enclosed by the crumbly (probably younger) Woody Layer. Fibrous Gravelly Clay covered only part of the pit floor. The top surface of the tooth was just thirty-nine centimeters (about fifteen inches) below ground level. Being so close to the basin margin, it’s hard to believe that the specimen was not exposed to the air before the Woody Layer was deposited, not to mention during times of low water, such as when spruce trees grew on the basin floor during the fifteenth century AD. Yet, it is in almost pristine condition. If I may indulge in some fanciful speculation, might something this prominent, lying in the shallow water near the basin’s edge, have been visible to human inhabitants of the virgin forest? Perhaps relevant to this is a possible mastodon rib fragment, specimen H5NW-27, found near the interface between the Pleistocene Fibrous Gravelly Clay and the Holocene Woody Layer. One end bears gnaw marks matching the incisor teeth of a modern beaver, Castor canadensis. This species has been found only in the Holocene deposits at Hiscock, and the likelihood is that the gnawed end had protruded a bit above the top of the FGC at the time that it was discovered by a beaver during the Holocene.

344 21. Into the Shallows II—A Stirring of Hope 8.

9. 10. 11.

12. 13. 14. 15.

16. 17. 18. 19.

When the peccary tooth was identified as belonging to Mylohyus, the long-nosed peccary, I was struck by the fact that this species had never before been reported so far north. In a brief article (“A Cautionary Note on North American Late-Quaternary Biogeography,” Current Research in the Pleistocene 24: 172–75), I wondered publicly about assuming that this peccary actually lived here based on a single tooth. Some interesting coincidences had given me pause: The nearest occurrences of Mylohyus to Hiscock were in southern and eastern Pennsylvania, respectively, 300 and 375 kilometers to the south. Between these locations lies the Shoop Paleo-Indian site, whose Clovis points (according to Ellis et al. in the second Smith symposium) constitute the closest match in form to those at Hiscock. Furthermore, the stone tools from the Shoop site are made from a variety of Onondaga chert most similar to that found in western New York. This suggests that Ice Age people migrated between southern Pennsylvania and western New York. If so, then might this tooth have been transported north by those humans, perhaps as an object of some personal or spiritual significance? If the small jaw referred to here does belong to a juvenile Mylohyus, then I will feel more receptive to concluding that this species lived here. Specimen H2SE-42. Specimen H2SE-33. Of course, this dated rhizome is only one of many that have been found here. Because they are all concentrated at the west portion of the grid, I suspect they are more or less contemporaneous. However, more of them would need to be dated before any meaningful historical conclusions could be drawn. Quadrant E6NW. Specimen F6SW-49. Specimen F5SE-140. Two bones were found separately: the separated lower epiphyseal bone plate of a metapodial (F6SW-14) and the main shaft of a phalanx (E5NE-48) lacking its epiphyseal cap. The lack of epiphyseal fusion in these two bones suggests an early stage of development. See John H. McAndrews, “Postglacial Ecology of the Hiscock Site,” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 37 (2003): 190–98. Specimen F5SW-97. Specimen F5SW-67. Several finds of a geological nature made during the last period of the Dig are here related: (a) E6NE yielded up a fossil chain coral (specimen 115 from this pit) from the Fibrous Gravelly Clay. This fossil, technically called a halysitid, dates to over four hundred million years ago and is most typical of the rocks exposed along the Niagara Escarpment, about sixteen kilometers (roughly ten miles) to the north. It nicely documents the transport of debris by the southward-moving ice sheet. (b) In the same quadrant, the Woody Layer contained a boulder resting on the FGC (figure 21.3). In troweling through this layer, the boulder was manifested as a concentration of noncohesive gravelly material that could be cut through as easily as loose sediment. The boulder, which consisted of granitic minerals,

24. Some Parting Thoughts 345 

20.

appeared as a distinct body in the wall of the completed pit, its disintegrated crystals held together by the surrounding sediment. Like all other crystalline boulders it had decomposed in the chemical environment of the peat while, in contrast, the limestone boulders buried here have been much less affected. (Geologists call this material, the product of disintegrated granite, grus.) (c) A number of observations had led me to believe that the original perimeter of the Ice Age basin floor had been covered by an apron of colluvium, debris carried down from the surrounding elevations, in the intervening years. Therefore, there should be explorable areas under the present slopes bordering the basin. That this is true was seen in quadrant H1NE, whose (grid) western side extended into the basin margin and contained a significant layer of FGC. Quadrant F6SW would prove to be part of the enormous dig-out we discovered that year. 22. A BOLT FROM THE BLUE

1. 2. 3. 4.

Specimens H2NE-62 (the molar) and H2NE-67 (the premolar). Specimen H2NE-54. Specimen J2SE-3. See William A. Ritchie, The Archaeology of New York State (Fleischmanns, NY: Purple Mountain Press, 1994), 46. 23. TO WHERE ALL THINGS MUST COME

1.

2.

3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9.

As it happens, we have retained connections. Byron diggers, at least those in western New York, gather each year for a luncheon and catch-up session. For several years there was even a campout at Laura’s house. Respectively, specimens E2NW-1 and D3NW-34. Some other interesting items from the peat are several pathological frog bones and some fragments of chert that may (or may not) be debitage, waste from the shaping or resharpening of stone tools. Specimen E7NE-107. The stone lineation was found in quadrant E4SE. Specimen E7NE-77. Specimen D3NW-49. Specimen H1NE-1. Specimen H1NE-14. My records show that the final working pit was E6SW. 24. SOME PARTING THOUGHTS

1. 2.

R. M. Gramly, An Inventory of Artifacts within the Hiscock Site Collection, Town of Byron, Genesee County, New York (Persimmon, self-published, 2017), 50. This is the Chemung mammoth, its age cited by Carol B. Griggs and Bernd Kromer, “Wood Macrofossils and Dendrochronology of Three Mastodon Sites in Upstate New York,” Palaeontographica Americana 61 (2008): 49–61. It is interesting that at this same

346 24. Some Parting Thoughts

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

small site were the contemporary remains of a mastodon, an uncommon instance of these two proboscideans occurring together. The following account is based upon this program, with details and clarifications provided by Dr. Peter H. Wrege, director of the Elephant Listening Project at Cornell University. His organization is compiling a “dictionary” of the sounds with which these forest elephants communicate. See “Wood Macrofossils and Dendrochronology of Three Mastodon Sites in Upstate New York.” The co-occurrence of mastodon and mammoth at that site is further discussed by Jennifer H. Hodgson, Warren D. Allmon, Peter L. Nester, James M. Sherpa, and John J. Chiment, “Comparative Osteology of Late Pleistocene Mammoth and Mastodon Remains from the Watkins Glen Site, Chemung County, New York,” Palaeontographica Americana 61 (2008): 301–67. See Samrat Mondol, Ida Moltke, John Hart, Michael Keigwin, Lisa Brown, Matthew Stephens, and Samuel K. Wasser, “New Evidence for Hybrid Zones of Forest and Savanna Elephants in Central and West Africa,” Molecular Ecology 24 (2015): 6134–47. At a late Paleo-Indian site (presumably post-Clovis) in Ontario at least seventy-one lithic artifacts had been deliberately broken into more than three hundred fragments (D. Brian Deller and Christopher J. Ellis, “Evidence for Late Paleoindian Ritual from the Caradoc Site [AfHj-104], Southwestern Ontario, Canada,” American Antiquity 66, no. 2 (2001): 267–84). Michael Gramly reported what he interpreted as fragments of deliberately broken atlatls, devices used to increase the force projecting a spear, that had been piled together in association with a mastodon carcass (see R. Michael Gramly, Archaeological Recovery of the Bowser Road Mastodon, Orange County, New York (North Andover, MA: Persimmon, 2017), 149. A detailing of several misinterpretations I made in the field, and how I came to recognize them, appears in R. S. Laub, “Misleading Stratigraphic Relationships at the Hiscock Site (Late Quaternary, Western New York State),” Bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences 36 (1998): 193–202. APPENDIX A: HUMAN TEETH AND A RIB FROM THE HISCOCK SITE

1.

B. H. Smith, “Patterns of Molar Wear in Hunter-Gatherers and Agriculturalists,” American Journal of Physical Anthropology 63, no. 1 (1984): 39–56.

Specimen Number Index

Note: Specimen numbers do not appear in the text except in figure captions and notes. References to specimens in the text can be recognized by the descriptor in the index or by using the associated note numbers to verify their identities. See also appendices B and C. A448.1 (Clovis point), 95(fig.) BM-86 (mastodon tusk), 109, 110(fig.), 238, 240 BM-87 (mastodon tusk), 109, 110(fig.), 238, 240 BM-97 (caribou antler base), 18 BM-281 (giant beaver tooth), 243, 243(fig.) C24955 (Heavy Based Side Notched point), 55, 145, 146(fig.) C29275 (Bifurcated Base point), 145, 146(fig.) C29430 (lithic scraper), 158, 333n6 C29611 (fluted point), 164, 333n7 C30361 (graver), 143 C30362 (trianguloid end scraper), 143, 244 C30364 (shoulder of a biface), 137(fig.), 141–142, 142(fig.) C31803 (projectile point), 146(fig.) D3NW-34 (mink mandible), 282 D3NW-49 (mastodon molar), 283 D11NW-16 (crushed mastodon limb bone), 204 E2NW-1 (musket ball), 282 E5NE-13 (stone bead), 245(fig.)

E5NE-48 (mastodon foot bone), 272, 344n15 E6NE-65 (shoulder of a biface), 137(fig.), 141–142, 142(fig.) E6SW(N1/2)-47 (fossil coral), 193, 338n6 E7NE-77 (mastodon lunar), 282–283 E7NE-107 (elk vertebra), 282 E8NE-119 (giant beaver tooth), 243 E8NW-85 (broken male mastodon tusk), 173 E8SW-75 (spruce tree), 179–180 E8SW-77 (spruce tree), 179–180 E9NE-713 (male mastodon tusk with splintered point), 173, 195–196, 196(fig.), 198 E9NW-73 (broken male mastodon tusk), 201–202 E9NW-125 (mastodon metapodial), 199 E9NW-128 (mastodon metapodial), 199 E9NW-142 (rib fragment with beveled edge), 164, 266 E9NW-145 (mastodon rib), 89, 90(fig.) E9NW-146 (ash branch), 89, 90(fig.) E9SE-13, 15 (clay pipe fragments), 159(fig.), 159–160, 173, 251 E9SW-31 (mastodon metapodial), 199 E9SW-215 (fabric impression), 174–178, 175(fig.), 223, 228, 261 E10SE-86 (large male mastodon tusk), 189

348 Specimen Number Index E10SW-80 (log), 202 E11NW-71, 72 (snowshoe hare shinbone), 133, 186–187, 342n1 E11SW-112 (black bear tooth), 187 E26280 (caribou antler base), 18 E27100 (giant beaver tooth), 243, 243(fig.) E27515 (mastodon shoulder vertebra), 243–244 E27553 (black bear tooth), 187 F3NW-13 (mastodon tusk), 54 F5NE-144 (deer jawbone), 128 F5NW-14 (mastodon baby tooth), 101 F5NW-27 (mastodon shoulder blade), 101 F5SE-117 (peccary lower jaw), 269(fig.), 270 F5SE-140 (cervid rib fragment), 272 F5SW-57 (mastodon shoulder blade), 266 F5SW-67 (flaked chert), 274 F5SW-97 (beveled bone), 274 F6SE-50 (crushed mastodon thoracic vertebra), 202, 203(fig.) F6SE-98 (limestone cobbles), 194(fig.) F6SW-14 (mastodon foot bone), 272, 344n15 F6SW-49 (mastodon atlas), 272 F7SE-51 (artifact), 190(fig.) F7SE-120 (ivory flake), 169–170, 190(fig.) F7SE-129 (artifact), 190(fig.) F7SW-130 (artifact), 190(fig.) F7SW-161 (artifact), 190(fig.) F7SW-169 (graver), 143, 190(fig.) F7SW-173 (shaping/smoothing tool), 143–144 F8NW-10 (juvenile mastodon lower jaw), 220 F8NW-75 (mastodon neural spine), 166–168, 167(fig.) F8SE-21 (mastodon metacarpal), 122 F8SW-79 (female mastodon tusk), 201 F9NW-118 (mastodon rib), 127(fig.) F9SW-154 (mastodon rib), 127(fig.) G2NE(S1/4) - wood sample 4 (elm), 104 G2NW(N1/2)-19 (mastodon molar), 269, 343n7 G3NW-503 (Susquehanna Broad point), 146, 146(fig.)

G3SW-13 (projectile point), 78–80, 81(fig.), 137(fig.) G3SW-24 (cervid vertebra), 80–82, 137(fig.) G3SW-wood sample 7, 80, 81(fig.), 82 G3SW-wood sample 9, 80, 81(fig.), 82 G4NE-0 (turtle plate and mammal teeth), 62 G4NE-32c (cervid innominate), 62 G4NE-77 (tamarack), 70(fig.) G4NE-92 (mastodon tusk), 63, 109 G4NW-101 (giant beaver tibia fragment), 243 G5NE-136 (California condor ungual), 69, 77 G5NE-141 (mastodon tooth), 101 G5NE-176 (mastodon innominate), 101 G5NE-193 (mastodon skull fragment), 101 G5NE-230 (split mastodon tusk), 102(fig.), 227 G5NW-23 (white spruce), 70(fig.) G5NW-24 (snail), 66 G5NW-285 (mastodon tusk), 75 G5NW-286 (mastodon ulna), 75, 83 G5SE-138 (mastodon innominate sample), 101 G5SE-139 (mastodon innominate), 101 G5SE-278 (mastodon shoulder blade), 101 G5SW-96 (mastodon cheek bone), 101 G5SW-101 (projectile point), 103, 143 G6NE-170 (baby mastodon tusk), 133–135, 134(fig.) G6NE-186 (mastodon metacarpal with signs of tuberculosis), 216, 217(fig.) G6NE-192 (cervid tooth), 131 G6SE-28 (Canada goose ulna), 135, 352n23 G6SE-38 (mastodon vertebra), 125(fig.) G6SE-52 (bone fragment and twigs), 126 G6SE-53 (Clovis-like point), 126, 139, 146(fig.) G6SE-59 (mastodon vertebra), 125(fig.) G7NE-62 (projectile point), 137(fig.), 139 G7NW-2 (butternut), 86(fig.) G7NW-129 (mastodon basihyal), 222–223 G7SW-34 (carnivore tooth), 135 G7SW-123 (mastodon rib), 129 G7SW-168 (pointed bone), 163 G8SE-58 (elm charcoal), 89, 121, 198, 327n14 G8SE-90 (birch charcoal), 89, 121, 198, 327n14 G8SW-71-78 cm (sieve sample), 103(fig.) G8SW-127 (mastodon stylohyal), 222–223

Specimen Number Index 349  G8SW-141 (dog shin bone), 172 G8SW-146 (bone fragment with cut mark), 340n13 G8SW-163 (dog neck vertebra), 172 G8SW-534 (projectile point), 137(fig.), 140 G8SW-704 (sandstone bead), 144, 144(fig.) G1828 (elephant mandible), 27(fig.) H1NE-1 (horse incisor), 284 H1NE-14 (corn cob), 284 H1NE-128 (hickory nut), 86(fig.) H2NE-54 (human rib fragment), 278–279, 302–304 H2NE-62 (human molar), 278–279, 301–302, 304 H2NE-67 (human premolar), 278–279, 302, 304 H2SE-11 (bone needle), 245(fig.), 267, 279 H2SE-25 (wood slab), 268 H2SE-33 (royal fern rhizome), 270 H2SE-42 (caribou antler base), 270 H2SE-72 (projectile point), 137(fig.), 142 H2SE-74 (acorn), 86(fig.) H3NE-32 (projectile point), 262, 343n2 H3NE-53 (fawn lower jaw), 262 H3NE-57 (elk molar), 262 H3NE-69 (fawn lower jaw), 262 H3NE-82 (spruce cone), 262 H3NE-83 (baby mastodon tooth), 262 H3NE-92 (bone tool), 262 H3NE-102 (stone graver), 262 H3NW-65 (awl), 245(fig.), 245–246, 279 H3NW-75 (jack pine), 70(fig.) H3NW-79 (cervid limb bone), 241 H3NW-85 (pointed ash branch), 248, 342n11 H3NW-87 (cervid limb bone), 241 H3SW-74 (concretion with conifer twig fragments), 199, 200(fig.) H3SW-78 (passenger pigeon partial coracoid), 221 H4NE-37 (pointed antler fragment), 334n3 H4NE-48 (pointed ivory), 164, 333n4 H4NW-76 (mastodon molar), 151, 333n2

H4NW-wood sample 3 (white oak), 72, 89, 326n15 H5NW-27 (mastodon rib fragment), 343n7 H5SE-70 (elk skull), 128 H5SW-19 (California condor wing bone), 69, 77 H5SW-212 (trianguloid end scraper), 83, 143 H5SW-272 (California condor coracoid), 69, 77 H5SW-275 (mastodon sternebra), 75 H6NW-107 (mastodon humerus cap), 126 H6NW-122 (flaked tusk fragment), 164, 266, 334n6 H6SE-69 (mastodon rib), 129 H6SE-167 (hare metatarsal), 132(fig.), 132–133 H6SW-1 (projectile point), 137(fig.), 138–139 H6SW-147 (mastodon humerus shaft), 126, 237 H6SW-154 (beveled tusk), 130(fig.), 130–131 H7NW-181 (female mastodon tusk), 183, 211–212, 326n14, 341n1 H8SW-67 (carnivore [dog] tooth), 135, 171 I2NE-83 (spruce twig), 249, 249(fig.), 342n13 I2NE-105 (juvenile male mastodon tusk), 238, 240 I2NE-105 (mastodon tusk), 238, 240 I2NE-170 (mastodon tusk), 238, 240 I2NE-173 (mastodon scapula showing possible injury), 237 I2NE-187 (mastodon tusk), 238, 240 I2NE-198 (mastodon skull fragment), 237–238 I2NW-44 (mastodon tusk), 238, 240 I2NW-129 (mastodon lower jaw), 240 I2SE-59 (cervid limb bone), 241 I2SE-73 (ash branch), 248 I2SE-87 (trianguloid end scraper), 143, 244 I2SE-113 (mastodon tusk), 238, 240 I2SE(S1/2)-73 (ash branch), 89 I3NW-25 (cervid limb bone), 241 I3NW-28 (cervid limb bone), 241 I3NW-37 (conifer twig), 342n14 I3NW-38 (flying squirrel jawbone; “Ice Mouse”), 90–91, 127, 221

350 Specimen Number Index I3NW-110 (female mastodon tusk), 240 I3NW-117 (mastodon tusk), 238, 240 I3NW-155 (mastodon shoulder vertebra), 243–244 I4NE-72 (cervid limb bone), 242, 242(fig.) I4SE-7 (butternut), 333n1 I4SW-510 (wood point), 156, 333n5 I4SW-513 (jack pine cone), 152 I4SW-575 (tusk tip), 155, 162(fig.), 164 I4SW-593 (mastodon jaw fragment), 151 I4SW-597 (mastodon tooth), 151, 333n2 I5SE-62 (elk antler base), 333n1 I5SE-104 (wooden stake), 156, 333n5 I5SE-140 (jack pine cone), 152 I5SE-185 (mastodon mandible), 27(fig.), 152(fig.), 152–154 I5SE-203 (stag-moose tooth), 152 I5SE-213 (mastodon rib fragment), 155, 162(fig.) I5SW-11 (elk antler base), 333n1 I5SW-15 (white pine cone), 333n1 I6NW-139 (peccary tooth), 186 J2NE-72 (Chelone sp. seed capsule), 249, 249(fig.) J2SE-3 (human tooth), 278–279, 303 J2SE-47 (seed capsule), 342n13 J2SE-58 (mastodon humerus), 236(fig.), 236–237 J2SE-99 (mastodon shoulder blade), 240 J3NE-30 (projectile point), 137(fig.) J3NW-53 (mastodon lower jaw), 240 J3NW-55 (mastodon lower jaw), 240

J3NW-120 (mastodon lower jaw), 240 J3SE-80 (peccary tooth), 185–186, 270, 344n8 J3SW-22 (brick), 233 J3SW-62 (concretion with conifer twig fragments), 199, 200(fig.) J3SW-106 (pointed mastodon rib fragment), 235 J3SW-132 (cervid rib fragment), 235 J3SW-141 (cervid antler fragment), 235 J3SW-142 (mastodon vertebra), 126, 235 J3SW-148 (cervid rib fragment), 235 J3SW-158 (mastodon vertebra), 126, 235 J3SW-186 (female mastodon tusk), 236, 240 J4NE-49 (caribou antler base), 241, 341n1 J4SE-13 (cache blade), 146, 146(fig.) J4SE-33 (caribou antler base), 241, 341n1 J4SW-50 (concretion with conifer twig fragments), 199, 200(fig.) J5SE-25 (ash branch), 89, 247 J5SW-38 (spruce log), 250–251 J6NW-47 (wood slab), 267–268 J6NW-120 (fossil coral), 193, 338n6 J7SW-3 (Madison point), 146, 146(fig.) O18SW-42 (pearlwear ceramic), 158–159, 159(fig.), 251 SF88-1 (Orient Fishtail point), 146, 146(fig.) SF91-17 (pearlwear ceramic), 159, 159(fig.) TT10SE-10 (Lamoka stemmed point), 146, 146(fig.)

Index

acorn, 86(fig.) Adirondacks, 246–47 Adlington, Bob, 331n22 Adovasio, James, 175–78, 228 agriculture, 1, 38, 87, 145, 324n1 American mastodon. See mastodon American Museum of Natural History, 134–35, 296, 331n22 amphibians, 128, 233. See also frog; toad animals, 339–40n10; early fossil discoveries, 3–4; Hiscock Site as rich assemblage of Holocene vertebrate fauna, 107; Ice Age fauna and megafauna, 1–4, 187, 219. See also names of specific animals antlers. See caribou; elk; stag-moose Archaic period, 145–47, 158; and dog remains, 172–73; and projectile points, 145(fig.), 145–46; and sharpened ash branch, 248 arctic fox, 97 Arizona, Naco site, 97 articulated bones, 235, 342n2 artifacts and artifact candidates, 128, 162; antlers as material for, 227, 229, 270 (see also bone tools and tool candidates); awls/piercing implements, 164–65, 243, 245(fig.), 245–46, 267, 279; beads, 144, 144(fig.), 245, 245(fig.); bone tools (see bone tools and tool candidates); bricks and brick fragments, 157, 233–34, 251; bullets, 128, 282; buttons, 251; ceramics, 128, 147, 157–59, 159(fig.), 251, 342n16; and channel-like depression in basement,

189, 190(fig.); chert as material for (see chert, as tool material); clay pipe, 159(fig.), 159–60, 173, 251; Clovis points (see Clovis points); Clovis tool kit, 96–98 (see also Clovis points); creamware, 158, 251; Crowfield complex, 141; cutting implements, 80, 96, 136, 140, 164, 169; cylindrical rods of uncertain purpose, 96; deliberately broken artifacts, 346n6; and differing human activity in the Pleistocene vs. Holocene, 147–48; difficulty in distinguishing artifacts from natural objects, 267, 294; and European settlement, 128, 156–59, 248, 251 (see also specific artifacts under this heading); examination of tools by FTIR spectroscopy, UV mass spectrometry, and scanning electron microscope, 169–70; from excavations of previous years, 276; fabric impression in Fibrous Gravelly Clay, 174–78, 175(fig.), 223, 228, 261; and Fibrous Gravelly Clay, 190; and field walks near Hiscock Site basin, 156–60; fluted bifaces (see fluted bifaces); and foraging, 222; funding for study of, 163; Gainey complex, 141, 229; graver/ micropiercer, 143, 244, 262, 274; Hiscock Site assemblage reflecting material processing rather than killing of prey, 143, 227; and Hiscock Site used as bone quarry/source of tool material, 165, 227, 228; Holocene artifacts, 145–48, 146(fig.),

352 Index artifacts and artifact candidates (continued ) 155–59, 159(fig.), 245, 266, 267; and hunting or scavenging, 81, 97, 147–48, 170, 227–28, 297, 328n10 (see also hunting; projectile points); informal tools (expedient tools quickly discarded), 162, 164, 294; knowledge gained from breakage, 138; modern artifacts, 233–34; multisided core, 158; musket ball, 282; needle, 245(fig.), 267, 279; and non-resident foragers visiting Hiscock Site, 222; objects modified from original use, 80, 136, 140, 143, 148, 244, 332n1; organic material adhering to tools, 169–70; Parkhill complex, 141; pearlware, 158, 159, 159(fig.), 251, 342n16; perishable artifacts, 170, 176, 227 (see also bone tools and tool candidates; fabric impression in Fibrous Gravelly Clay); Pleistocene artifacts, 83, 136–45, 137(fig.), 142(fig.), 144(fig.), 148, 161–70, 189, 222, 226–27, 244, 262, 271 (see also bone tools and tool candidates; projectile points); pointed wooden stakes, 155–56; projectile points (see projectile points); radiocarbon date for sharpened ash branch, 248; radiocarbon dates for bone tools, 165, 266, 274, 328n9; radiocarbon dates for fabric impression, 177, 228; scraping tools, 83, 96, 143, 158, 164, 166, 169, 244; sharpened ash branch, 248; skarn as material for, 246–47; and topography of Hiscock Site, 189; usewear analysis, 80, 138–40, 143, 164–65, 227 ash (Fraxinus nigra), 89, 201; branches penetrating deeper layers, 89, 90(fig.), 201, 247–48; radiocarbon dates, 247–48, 268, Appendix B, Appendix C; sharpened ash branch, 248; slab of wood, 268; and younger Woody Layer, 86 atlatl, 80, 246n6 Audubon, John James, 108 awls, 164–65, 243, 245(fig.), 245–46, 267, 279 Babcock, Loren, 323n4, 324n1 Bartlett, Ellen, 286–92 basketry, 176

basswood, 86, 87 beads, 144, 144(fig.), 245, 245(fig.) bear, 187; black bear, 2, 187; giant bear, 3; grizzly bear presence inferred from gnawed bones, 187, 236–37; grizzly bear remains found in nearby Pleistocene deposits, 236; mastodon humerus gnawed by, 236–37 beaver, 107; and Ice Age, 2; mastodon rib gnawed by, 343n7; and parallel ash branches in Woody Layer, 248. See also giant beaver (Castoroides) beechnuts, 86 Bennett, Leslie, 58 Bennett, Lewis J., 58–59 Beringia, 94, 327n2 Bifurcated Base point, 145, 158 Big Bone Lick, Kentucky, 3–4, 293, 319n4, 339–40n10 Big Bone Lick (Jillson), 319n4 bioturbation, 126–27 birch, 89; and evidence of forest fire, 86, 122, 198; radiocarbon dates, 198, Appendix B, Appendix C birds, 74, 107, 128, 271; and Dark Earth Layer, 233; feeding guilds represented, 223, 339n8; gastroliths (gizzard stones), 108, 197; hawk or owl claw, 262; identification of, 68–69, 92, 223; small animal bones possibly left at Hiscock Site by birds of prey, 223; species found at Hiscock Site, 108, 223, 330n9; wing bone, 103(fig.); and Woody Layer, 233; and Yellow Clay, 120, 198. See also California condor; Canada goose; owl; passenger pigeon bison, 95, 97, 229 black bear: and Ice Age, 2; tooth, 187 Blackwater Draw, New Mexico, 95, 97, 98 bleaching of bones, 124. See also color of fossils Blumenbach, J. F., 321n1 boats: prehistoric watercraft, 98 Bølling-Allerod chronozone, 98 bone tools and tool candidates, 161–70, 162(fig.), 167(fig.), 227, 262, 266, 272, 274, 293, 294; bone needle, 267; bone tools clustered at diverticulae, 228; bone tools rare in Ice

Index 353  Age sites, 171, 294; caribou antler base, 270; conservation of, 163; and deepest part of basin, 272, 274; difficulty in distinguishing artifacts from natural objects, 267, 294; dorsal (neural) spine from mastodon shoulder vertebra, 243–44; Gainey phase artifacts, 229; giant beaver tooth, 243, 243(fig.); Hiscock Site used as bone quarry/source of tool material, 165, 227, 228; and human remains, 279; mastodon bone beveled and burnished at one end, 274; mastodon ribs, 155, 161–62, 162(fig.), 164–66, 235, 266; mastodon shoulder blades/ sockets, 266, 274, 343n3; mastodon tusks, 161, 162(fig.), 227, 266; mastodon vertebrae, 166–69, 167(fig.), 243–44; and paucity of mastodon limb bones at Hiscock Site, 221; radiocarbon dates, 165, 266, 274, 328n9; socketed bone handle made from neural spine, 166–69, 167(fig.); special conditions required for preservation, 170. See also artifacts and artifact candidates Boney Spring, Missouri, 293 Both, Ernst, 58, 153, 163 boulders at Hiscock Site, 13–14, 272–74; and campfire pit, 39, 49; and Canadian Shield, 247; decomposed boulder, 275(fig.), 344–45n19; and dig-outs in Cobble Layer, 273–74; female tusk surrounded by, 235–36; and Fibrous Gravelly Clay, 273–74, 275(fig.); fossils overlain by, 125, 125(fig.), 192, 202; and French drain, 274; granitic boulders, 192, 247, 344–45n19; limestone boulders, 192, 193(fig.), 345n19; and tool production, 221; transported by glaciers, 125, 192, 247; and White’s Zone A, 14 Branta canadensis. See Canada goose bricks and brick fragments, 157, 233–34, 251 Britt, Donald, 22, 256, 285, 321n9 Britt, Gerald, 22 Britt, Marilyn, 256, 285, 321n9 Buffalo Museum of Science, 4, 136; and analysis of bone tools, 163; board members, 32, 44, 58; and discovery of Hiscock Site, 12–15; Hiscock Site

collection, 299–300; Laub at, 16–17; paleontology lab, 20; reference collection of chert, 137; research library, 94; Smith Symposium of 1986, 105–12; Smith Symposium of 2001, 215–30 Buffalo Zoo, 123 bullets, 128 burrows, and displacement of fossils, 89, 91, 171, 284, 338n4 Bursey, Jeff, 198 Bush, Mary, 278 Bush, Peter, 169–70, 323n4, 324n1 butternuts, 86, 86(fig.), 233, 333n1 buttons, 251 Byron, New York, 5–6, 21–22, 87 Byron-Bergen Swamp, 218 Byron Dig: artifacts found (see artifacts and artifact candidates); base camp described, 37–42, 41(fig.), 324n3; campfire pit, 43–44, 49, 56, 113; choice of digging locations, 50, 60, 74; culture of dig community, 5, 42–45, 55–56, 113–14, 117–19, 211–14, 285–92, 345n1; daily activities (Bartlett’s account), 287–92; excavation tools and techniques (see excavation tools and techniques); field walks near Hiscock Site, 156–60, 251; food preparation, 35, 40, 55, 60, 117–19; fossils found (see fossils at Hiscock Site; names of specific plants and animals); funding (see funding for Byron Dig and related research); “the Grotto,” 263; maturing of dig, 91, 113–35; and mosquitoes, 324n3; preparations for end of project, 284–85; preparations for next season (backfilling pits, protecting unexcavated specimens), 233, 234(fig.), 237; preparations for yearly dig, 43, 49, 116, 281–82; and rainstorms (see rainstorms); safety, 45; and shallower parts of Hiscock Site, 261–76; and Smith Symposium of 1986, 105–12; and Smith Symposium of 2001, 215–30, 266; spring conclaves, 264, 277; support from local community, 55–56; volunteers (see volunteers; names of specific volunteers); water supply, 43, 55–56, 255–56. See also Hiscock Site Byron Enterprises, 22

354 Index Caira, Catrina, 159, 342n16 calcined bones, 120–22, 198, 204 California, La Brea Tar Pits, 293 California condor, 83, 187, 219; coracoid, 69, 77; diminished range following disappearance of large animal carcasses, 69; as Ice Age bird, 219; range at end of Ice Age, 69; ungual, 69, 77; wing bone (lower half of humerus), 69, 77 Calkin, Parker, 218 Canada, Udora site, 97 Canada goose (Branta canadensis): ulna, 135, 352n23 Canadian Conservation Institute, 176, 177 Canadian Museum of Civilization, 183 Canadian Shield, 192, 246–47 Cantwell, Kevin, 212, 272 caribou (Rangifer tarandus), 80, 235, 242(fig.); antler bases, 18, 241, 270; antlers, 227, 241, 341n1; antlers or antler bases possibly used as tools, 227, 229, 270; gutting knives possibly used on caribou hides, 140; hunting and processing of caribou-sized animals, 97, 140, 227, 228, 242; as Ice Age mammal, 2, 3, 187, 219; Ice Age range, 18; limb bones, 241, 242, 242(fig.); and PaleoIndians, 97, 140, 227–29, 242; radiocarbon dates, 241, 270, 341n1, Appendix B, Appendix C; rib fragments, 272. See also cervid bones carnivores: and disaggregation and dispersal of bones, 201; as less common at paleontological sites than herbivores, 337n31; teeth, 135, 171–72. See also names of specific carnivores Castoroides. See giant beaver ceramics, 128, 147, 157–59, 159(fig.), 251, 342n16 Cervalces scotti. See stag-moose cervid bones, 233, 235, 241, 242; cervid vertebrae (most likely elk), 80–82, 81(fig.), 89; limb bones (most likely caribou), 242(fig.); and northern edge of basin, 262; radiocarbon dates, 81; rib fragments, 272. See also caribou; deer; elk; stag-moose

channel. See under topography of Hiscock Site Channel Islands, 98 charcoal, 86, 89, 121–22, 198, 327n14; identification of trees, 122, 198; radiocarbon dates, 121, 198, 327n14, Appendix B, Appendix C Chelone, seed capsules, 249, 249(fig.) chemical analysis of Pleistocene deposits, 225 Chenhall, Robert, 20 chert, as tool material, 98, 274; Lockport chert, 143; Onondaga chert, 55, 83, 103, 138–43, 146, 227, 244, 245, 344n8; reference collection, 137; and similarity of Hiscock and Shoop Site points, 227, 344n8; Upper Mercer chert, 79. See also projectile points Chile, Monte Verde site, 99 chin tusk. See under mastodon tusks chipmunk, 107 Christensen, Donna J., 331n6 Churcher, C. E. (Rufus), 91–92 clay pipe, 159(fig.), 159–60, 173, 251 climate: Bølling-Allerod chronozone, 98; climate changes in Northern Hemisphere, 98; climate changes in western New York, 218; and Clovis culture, 98; and large number of mastodons drawn to Hiscock Site, 181–85; and mastodon tusk growth increments, 222; Younger Dryas, 98. See also drought; environment and ecology of Hiscock Site Close Diagonal Twining textile, 176 clover, and mastodon diet, 124 Clovis people, 94–100, 183, 242; and bone tools, 274; and changing climate, 98; diet, 97–98; discovery/identification of, 95–96; dispersal of Clovis culture, 96, 140; and giant beaver tooth, 243; and Hiscock Site used as bone quarry/source of tool material, 165, 227, 228; and Hiscock Site used to process caribou-sized animals, 227, 242; as nomads, 98; and observing the condition of mastodons at Hiscock Site, 222; origins of, 99; time frame for culture, 96; tool kit, 96–98; and watercraft, 98

Index 355  Clovis points, 95(fig.), 95–97, 138–40, 145, 332n1, 343n1, 344n8; Clovis-like projectile points, 78–80, 81(fig.), 82, 126, 136 Cobble Layer, 18, 52(fig.), 52–54, 64(fig.), 84(fig.), 85(fig.), 182–83, 196; analysis of pollen from, 83, 84; and basement of dig, 66; channel-like depression in basement, 189, 190(fig.), 238, 341n10; characteristics of, 52, 66, 297; chemical analysis, 225; color of cobbles, 191; and deglaciation, 192; as devoid of fossils, 66; dig-outs in, 182(fig.), 182–85, 211, 271, 271–74, 293–94; fallen logs penetrating to, 72, 247–48; Fibrous Gravelly Clay derived from, 193, 196; and flow of groundwater, 185; fossils on, 52; hole in Cobble Layer discovered (1984), 63, 64(fig.), 67, 109, 182, 183, 184; and layers diagrammed in F7SW quadrant, 191–92; and mastodon skull, 237; mastodon tusk in basement layer hole, 63, 64(fig.), 67; and mixing of layers, 273; origin and environment of, 192, 193, 297–98; sediments likely reworked by mastodons, 193, 273; sieve analysis of grain size, 191; and spring vent, 66–67, 124; and topography of Hiscock Site, 189, 338n4 (see also topography of Hiscock Site); upper surface as the “basement,” 66; and White’s Zone C, 320n2. See also stratigraphy of Hiscock Site Colby mammoth site, Wyoming, 220 colluvium, 345n19 Colorado, Snowmass Village site, 293 color of fossils, 12, 14, 90, 120; bleaching of bones, 124; color of calcined bones, 120, 198; and human teeth, 303; and “Ice Mouse,” 90, 127, 221; and passenger pigeon bone, 221; Pleistocene fossil colors, 12, 124, 212; surface staining, 164, 166, 204, 225, 227; and taphonomy, 199 color of sedimentary layers, 66, 191, 338n4 common grackle, 330n9 common raven, 330n9 Compositae flowers, 84, 87, 224

Conable, Barber, 256–57 conifer cones, 69–70, 70(fig.), 74, 152; jack pine cones, 152; radiocarbon dates, 83; spruce cones, 248, 262; white pine cone, 333n1 conifers: conifer root and tusk superposed, 178; and Fibrous Gravelly Clay, 84; and late Ice Age Northeast, 85, 220, 250; and mastodon diet/digesta, 123, 124, 193, 197, 220, 224–25, 250; and post–Ice Age Northeast, 106; radiocarbon dates, 250, Appendix B, Appendix C; sediments ingested by mastodons to detoxify conifers, 224–25; sprig of needle-bearing twigs, 249, 249(fig.); and Woody Layer, 85. See also fir; hemlock; jack pine; pine; spruce; tamarack; white pine Cooper, James Fenimore, 4, 319n8 Cooper’s hawk, 330n9 coral fossils, 193, 338n6, 344n19 corn cob, 284; radiocarbon dates, Appendix B Cornell University, 250 creamware, 158, 251 Crowfield complex, 141 CT scan: mastodon mandibles and elephant jaw, 321n4; mastodon vertebral spine, 167(fig.), 168 cuckoo, 330n9 culture of Byron Dig community, 5, 42–45, 55–56, 113–14, 117–19, 345n1; daily activities (Bartlett’s account), 287–92; and last field season, 285–86; wedding at Hiscock Site, 211–14 Cummings, Virginia, 12–13 cut marks, 14, 18, 138, 173, 340n13 Cuvier, Georges, 321n1 Cyclops, 25 Daeschler, Edward B., 335n6 Dark Earth Layer, 62, 65(fig.), 85(fig.); age of, 84(fig.); bird remains in, 233; characteristics of, 51, 65; and European settlement, 128; human remains in, 278, 303; muskrat remains in, 233; oribatid mites as environmental indicators, 224;

356 Index Dark Earth Layer (continued ) projectile points in, 266; radiocarbon dates, Appendix B, Appendix C; richness of assemblage, 128; and signs of disturbance of sediment, 171; tree remains in, 87; turtle remains in, 233; and White’s Zone A, 320n2 (see also Zones A, B, and C of Marion White). See also stratigraphy of Hiscock Site Darling, Herbert F., Jr., 32, 35, 36, 153 deer, 74, 102, 107, 271; aggregation of 213 deer bones, 223; antler fragment, 18; calcined bones, 120; and Cobble Layer, 18; deer and elk replacing mastodons as large herbivores after the Ice Age, 129; fawn jawbone, 262; and forest fire, 120–21; intruded deer jaw, 128; radiocarbon dates, 128, Appendix B; right hind leg fragment, 18; and Woody Layer, 174; and Yellow Clay, 120, 121, 122. See also white-tailed deer Defoe, Daniel, 79 Deller, D. Brian, 140–41 de Longueuil, Charles, 3 DeRemer, Mary, 105, 323n4, 324n1 diet: of beaver, 248; bird feeding guilds at Hiscock Site, 223, 339n8; birds and gastroliths (gizzard stones), 108, 197; birds of prey and small animal bones at Hiscock Site, 223; and detoxifying conifer diet, 224; of elephant, 29, 123–24; feet of dead animals attacked by scavengers, 199, 220; of humans, 17, 97–98, 145, 147, 228, 242; of mammoth, 219–20; of mastodon, 28–29, 121–24, 193, 220, 224–26, 250; mastodon digesta in Fibrous Gravelly Clay, 122(fig.), 122–24, 193, 197, 250, 274; and mastodon dung as chief component of Fibrous Gravelly Clay, 224; and mastodon tusk growth increments, 222; season of conifer ingestion by mastodons, 225–26 digesta, mastodon, 122(fig.), 122–24, 193, 197, 250, 274

dig-outs in Cobble Layer, 182–85, 193, 211, 271–74, 293–94, 340n14; and spring basin as potentially formed by mastodons, 273–74 disease. See tuberculosis dispersal of bones at Hiscock Site, 126, 151, 199, 201, 270 Divers Lake pollen data, 219 diverticulae (embayments in basin margin), 182–83, 228, 271, 340n14. See also dig-outs in Cobble Layer dog, 223; earliest remains in North America, 335n6; and Ice Age immigrants to New World, 335n6; neck vertebra, 172; Oscar the dachshund, 119; radiocarbon dates, Appendix B; teeth, 171–73; tibia, 172–73 downy woodpecker, 330n9 drainage at Hiscock Site. See hydrology of Hiscock Site drought: buried spruce saplings recording drought of the 15th century, 180–81, 219, 270–71; and dig-outs in Cobble Layer, 182–85; drought of field season 1991, 151–60; and large number of mastodons drawn to Hiscock Site, 181–85; and royal fern rhizomes, 271 duck: lower leg bone, 92 Dudley, Jutta, 44 Dufort, Catherine, 80, 105 dung, mastodon, 224, 225, 227 dung beetle, 183 Dutchess Quarry Caves, New York, 293 ecology of Hiscock Site. See environment and ecology of Hiscock Site Ectopistes migratorius. See passenger pigeon elephant, 26; braincase, 237; chemistry of elephant water holes, 225; compared to American mastodon, 26–29, 27(fig.), 321n3; diet, 29, 123–24; elephant behavior, 181, 184, 211, 293–94; and elephant kill sites, 221; excavations by, 184; fecal boli, 123; hyoid apparatus, 223; lack of chin tusks, 322n4; Loxodonta africana

Index 357  (African elephant), 295, 296; Loxodonta cyclotis (forest elephant), 295, 296; Lulu the elephant, 123; mandible, 27(fig.); mass death sites, 222, 294; and mineral licks, 184, 211, 295; and modern analog to Hiscock Site, 295–96; neural spine anatomy, 167–68; relative age scale based on cheek teeth, 28; Surapa the elephant, 123; tusks broken during fights, 185 Elephantidae, Family, 26 elephantids, 26–29, 30(fig.) El Fin del Mundo site, Mexico, 96 elk, 54, 74, 102, 107, 128, 185; antler bases, 333n1; cervid vertebrae (most likely elk), 80–82, 81(fig.); deer and elk replacing mastodons as large herbivores after the Ice Age, 129; elk skeleton and spring vent, 66–68, 67(fig.), 185; elk skeleton lying against mastodon tusk, 61–64, 64(fig.), 66–68, 74, 185, 299; elk vertebra near Clovis-like point, 81, 81(fig.), 89; innominate (pelvis bone), 62; neck vertebra, 282; and peaty deposits, 64; radiocarbon dates, 81, Appendix B; teeth, 62, 262; yearling skull, 128. See also cervid bones elk-moose. See stag-moose Ellis, Christopher, 136–37, 141, 226, 344n8 elm: and Dark Earth Layer, 87; and evidence of forest fire, 86, 121, 122, 198; radiocarbon dates, 198, Appendix B, Appendix C; and younger Woody Layer, 86 environment and ecology of Hiscock Site, 294; change from tundra to forest conditions, 241; and conifer forest, 85, 220, 250; and early Holocene, 85; and era of European settlement, 87; forest edge held at bay by mastodon activity, 250, 295; and Gelatinous Woody Layer (older layer), 85; high herb-to-tree pollen ratio, 84–85, 87, 107, 219; and late Ice Age, 16, 84–85, 106–7; oribatid mites as environmental indicators, 111–12, 224; and pollen data on missing intervals, 219;

and virgin forest of the Northeast, 338n8; and younger Woody Layer, 86. See also climate; pollen Eocene, order Proboscidea in, 25 Erickson, J. Mark, 111, 224 erosion, 82, 86, 122, 192, 298 European settlement, 87, 104, 128; artifacts, 128, 156–59, 159(fig.), 248, 251, 282; and signs of disturbance of sediment, 171 eurypterids (sea scorpions), 59 excavation tools and techniques, 31, 35, 116(fig.), 179; compass measurements, 325n2; difficult pits, 235–37, 283–84; diggers, 44; dig practices, 51–52, 114–15; and drainage issues at Hiscock Site (see hydrology of Hiscock Site); excavation of broken male tusk, 201–2; excavation of female tusk, 235–36, 342n2; excavation of large male tusks, 338n14; excavation of mastodon mandible, 154; excavation of mastodon shoulder blades, 129; excavation of mastodon skull fragments, 237–38; field jackets (see field jacket); grapefruit knife, 31, 276; grid system, 33–34(figs.), 33–35, 324n2; improvements of 1987 and 1988 field seasons, 114–15; job assignments, 115–16, 284, 287, 289; mason’s trowel, 31, 50–51, 114; preparation for end of Byron Dig project, 284–85; preparation for next season (backfilling pits, protecting unexcavated specimens), 233, 234(fig.), 237; preparation of site, yearly, 43, 49; preparation of site (1983), 31–36; preservation of fabric impression, 175–77; and rainstorms, 205; recording data on specimens, 44, 45, 51, 114–15, 323n3; removing plant roots, 276; shade, 49, 55, 263; sievers, 44, 75–76, 114, 174; sieves, 50, 51, 114; sieve stands, 76; storage of equipment, 49, 76, 76(fig.), 117, 330n1; tailings, 35; temporary storage of specimens, 263; training of volunteers, 50–51, 114, 116; trowling stools and boards, 76, 115, 179; wet-sieve station, 263

358 Index fabric impression in Fibrous Gravelly Clay, 174–78, 175(fig.), 223, 228, 261; radiocarbon dates, 177, 228 Fassel, Charles, 323n4, 324n1 Fassel, Deborah, 323n4, 324n1 feeding guilds (birds), 223 Fenton, William, 15 ferns, 86, 263, 270, 344n11; radiocarbon dates, 270, Appendix B FGC. See Fibrous Gravelly Clay Fibrous Gravelly Clay (FGC), 65(fig.), 75, 85(fig.), 122–26, 128, 190–98; absent from southern area of grid, 262; age of layer, 83, 84(fig.); artifacts found in, 83, 144, 144(fig.), 189; and bone color, 124; boulders embedded in, 192; boundary with Woody Layer, 197; and California condor bones, 69; chemical analysis, 225; climate during deposition, 218; color of clay, 191, 193; color of fine layer, 199; and coral fossils freed from limestone boulders by groundwater, 193; derived from reworking of Cobble Layer, 193, 196; described, 66; and dig-outs in Cobble Layer, 182, 271–74; disarticulated bones in, 126, 151–52; and diverticulae (embayments in basin margin), 228; and end of mastodon presence at Hiscock Site, 196–98; evidence for disturbance during depositional history, 125–27; fabric impression in, 174– 78, 175(fig.), 223, 228, 261; fallen branches penetrating through to, 89; fine and pebbly layers, 85(fig.), 199, 272, 338n10; fossils affected by forest fire, 122; and hare, 132(fig.), 132–33; human remains in, 277–79, 301–3; and “Ice Mouse,” 90–91, 133, 221; intruded fossils and artifacts, 89–91, 127–28, 144, 221, 248; and layers diagramed in F7SW quadrant, 191–92; and mastodon bones, 75, 151, 189, 234–40 (see also names of specific mastodon bones); mastodon digesta in, 122(fig.), 122–24, 193, 197, 250, 274; mastodon dung as chief component of, 224–25; mineral crystals in, 193; and

mixing of layers, 273; oribatid mites not found in, 224; origin and environment of, 190–98; and passenger pigeon bone, 221; and peccary tooth, 185–86; and pine cones, 70, 70(fig.), 83, 248; plant remains in, 249, 249(fig.); as principal Ice Age fossilbearing layer, 62, 83, 190; radiocarbon dates, 342n1, Appendix B, Appendix C; sharpened branch in, 248; sieve analysis of grain size, 191; silica-rich concretions in, 225; and snowshoe hare bones, 186–87; and spring sediments, 190, 330n7; and spring vent, 124–25; spruce log in, 295; and stag-moose, 131–32; and topography of Hiscock Site, 189, 190(fig.); transition from Fibrous Gravelly Clay to Holocene peaty layers, 194–98; twig-containing concretions in, 199, 200(fig.); and White’s Zone B, 320n2 (see also Zones A, B, and C of Marion White). See also stratigraphy of Hiscock Site field jacket, 126, 154, 196(fig.); and damaged specimens, 202, 237–38; process described, 325n4 field seasons of Byron Dig: 1983–1990 seasons, 47–148; 1983 (first season), 35–36, 49–57; 1984, 58–72; 1985, 73–93, 136; 1986, 101–4; 1987, 113, 114, 129–30; 1988, 114, 117–18; 1989, 133; 1990, 113, 114, 117, 171; 1991–2001 seasons, 151–207; 1991 (drought year), 151–60, 171–72; 1992 (rainstorm), 204–6; 1994, 163, 188–89, 191, 201; 1995, 89; 1996, 173–74, 178, 223; 1998, 202; 2001, 233; 2002, 233–37; 2002–2005 seasons, 233–58; 2003 (zenith year), 237–40; 2005, 247, 261–62; 2006, 262–64; 2007, 265, 267; 2008, 271–72; 2009, 272, 276; 2010, 273–74; 2011, 281–86; lengthened field season, 91, 114 field walks near Hiscock Site, 156–60, 251 fir, and Woody Layer, 85 fire. See calcined bones; charcoal; forest fire at Hiscock Site fish, 107, 128; artifacts related to fishing, 147 fisher, 107; jaw bone, 93

Index 359  Fisher, Daniel, 322n6; and caching of butchered mastodon remains in cold water, 110, 326n10; determining the season of death of mastodons, 108–10, 222, 226; and hunting or scavenging of mastodons by Paleo-Indians, 110, 328n11; and musth-related injuries, 340n8; and Smith Symposium of 1986, 108–10; and Smith Symposium of 2001, 222 fishing, 147 Fleahman, Seth, 141, 244, 247 Florida, Page-Ladson site, 99 Florida State Museum, 186 flowers, 84, 87, 224 fluoride, 184 fluted bifaces, 136, 137(fig.), 139–43, 158, 226–27, 229, 265, 298; “biface” as more accurate term than “point,” 332n1; mechanical effect of fluting, 328n10; projectile points modified for other uses, 136, 140, 244, 332n1 flying squirrel, northern, 330n9 flying squirrel, southern (Glaucomys volans), 107; “Ice Mouse,” 90–91, 127, 133, 221; jawbone, 90–91; radiocarbon dates, 127, Appendix B Folsom points, 95 Font de Gaume cave painting, 30(fig.) foot bone. See hare; mastodon foot bones; snowshoe hare forest fire at Hiscock Site, 86, 89, 120–22, 198, 271; radiocarbon dates, 121, 198. See also Yellow Clay fossils at Hiscock Site, 74–75, 107–8; articulated bones, 235, 342n2; and bioturbation, 126–27; bleaching of bones, 124; bones concentrated near spring vents, 238, 239(fig.), 240; calcining of bones, 120–22, 198, 204; collection at Buffalo Museum of Science, 299–300; color of fossils (see color of fossils); conservation of fossils from 1959 reconnaissance dig, 24; and cut marks, 14, 18, 138, 173, 340n13; decomposition of matter within

bones and wood, 204; disaggregation and dispersal of bones, 126, 151, 199, 201, 270; and drought year 1991 (accessible northwest grid portion), 151–55; and erosion, 82, 86, 292; evidence of disease and injury in Hiscock bones, 129, 216, 217(fig.), 224, 237, 340n8; fallen logs and branches penetrating deeper layers, 70–72, 71(fig.), 89, 90(fig.), 201, 247–48, 295, 331n6; Fibrous Gravelly Clay (FGC) as principal Ice Age fossil-bearing layer, 62, 83, 190; fossils dating from time of missing layers, 89–91, 121–22, 198–99; fossils lying on Cobble Layer, 18, 52; fossils possibly transported from nearby higher ground, 278–79; horizontal and vertical displacement of fossils, 296–97; importance of small fossils, 131–35, 261; index fossils, 197–98; information from damage to specimens, 199–204; intruded/ displaced fossils (see intrusion); lag deposits, 82, 188; low level of transport of bones by water, 219; mammoth bones not found at Hiscock Site, 165, 219–20, 294; proportion of originally deposited mastodon bones recovered at Hiscock Site, 220–21; radiocarbon dates (see radiocarbon dates for Hiscock Site fossils); refit of fossil fragments, 126, 127(fig.), 151, 189, 201; and refrigeration of meat in cold water, 68, 110, 326n10; and scattered distribution of mastodon bones, 126, 151, 296–97; small animal bones possibly left at site by birds of prey, 223; and taphonomy (see taphonomy); underrepresentation of mastodon limb bones, 221, 228, 237, 297; and Woody Layer plant remains, 69–70, 70(fig.); and Yellow Clay, 198. See also names of specific plants and animals Fox, David, 222 framboidal pyrite, 225 Fraxinus nigra. See ash French drain, 104, 156, 274, 282

360 Index Frison, George, 97 frog, 51, 74, 103, 103(fig.), 107, 271; calcined bones, 122; and northern edge of basin, 262; scarcity in northwestern part of grid, 233, 333n1; and Yellow Clay, 120, 121, 122 frost, and displacement of fossils, 195 FTIR spectroscopy, 169 funding for Byron Dig and related research, 163, 252–58; and Byron Dig exhibit, 254; companies sponsoring individual pits, 235, 253–54, 342n1, 342n2; and Smith Family Foundation, 58–60, 91, 252–53; and volunteers and community members, 253–57 Gabriel, Diane, 29 Gainey phase, 141, 229 gastroliths (gizzard stones), 108, 197 Gelatinous Woody Layer. See Woody Layer, older gender distinctions in mastodons, 26, 109, 240, 321–22n4 geology of Hiscock Site, 106(fig.), 188–98, 190(fig.), 194(fig.), 218, 326n9. See also boulders at Hiscock Site; hydrology of Hiscock Site; springs and spring vents; stratigraphy of Hiscock Site; topography of Hiscock Site giant bear, 3 giant beaver (Castoroides), 187, 219, 243; as Ice Age mammal, 3, 219; incisor, 243, 243(fig.); incisor fragment, 243; tibia fragment, 243 giant ground sloth, 4 giant lion, 3 giant wolf, 3 glaciation and deglaciation, 1; boulders transported by glaciers, 125, 192, 247; and caribou, 241; and disturbance of fossils and sedimentary deposits, 125; and geology of Hiscock Site, 106(fig.), 192, 193, 218; possible proglacial lake at Hiscock Site, 16, 193; transport of debris, 193, 344n19; transport of quartzite rocks, 140 Glaucomys volans. See flying squirrel, southern

Glazier, Richard, 22 GPS coordinates for Hiscock Site grid, 284 grain size distribution (Fibrous Gravelly Clay and Cobble Layer), 191 Gramly, Richard Michael (Mike), 24, 299; and catalogue of bone artifacts, 294; and conjoinable projectile point fragments, 323n3; and deliberately broken tools, 246n6; and drainage issues at Hiscock Site, 32; and excavation techniques, 31; and Paleo-Indian bands in New York State, 340n11; and second look at Hiscock Site (1982), 17–19, 50, 274; and stone beads, 145–46 granitic boulders, 192, 247, 344–45n19 grasses, 224; and Dark Earth Layer, 87; pollen in Cobble Layer and Fibrous Gravelly Clay, 84; and Woody Layer, 85 gravers/micropiercers, 143, 244, 262, 274 gray catbird, 330n9 grid system. See under excavation tools and techniques Griggs, Carol, 250 grizzly bear (Ursus arctos), 187, 236–37. See also bear Groh, Bernie, 152 Grote, Augustus R., 94 Grotto, the, 263 groundwater: and etching of limestone boulders, 192, 193(fig.); and salt lick, 184; and surface staining, 204; and weakened Cobble Layer, 185. See also hydrology of Hiscock Site; springs and spring vents hairy-tailed mole, 330n9 Hall, Fred, 12, 299 Hallin, Kurt, 29 halysitid, 338n6, 344n19 Hamell, Rich, 113, 114 Harding, Pat, 13 hare, 2, 107, 219, 261; as Ice Age mammal, 219; metatarsal, 132(fig.), 132–33; and PaleoIndians, 97; varying hare, 330n9. See also snowshoe hare

Index 361  Harold C. Brown Company, 235, 240, 254, 342n2 Harris, Robert, 233, 263, 285 Hart, Raymond, 43 hawk, 262, 330n9 Haynes, C. Vance, 183, 329n15, 329n16 Haynes, Gary, 181, 183–85; and dig-outs in Cobble Layer, 211, 271, 294; and elephant kill sites, 221; and elephant mass-death sites, 222, 294; and Hiscock Site as a salt lick, 224; and mastodon dung as chief component of Fibrous Gravelly Clay, 224; and mastodon tusks indicating stressed population, 222; and non-resident foragers visiting Hiscock Site, 222; and proportion of total mastodon bones found, 220–21 Heavy Based Side Notched point, 145–46 Hebior site, Wisconsin, 99 heliolitid, 338n6 Helisoma. See snail hemlock, 88 Henkley, Mel, 331n22 herbivores: deer and elk replacing mastodons as large herbivores after the Ice Age, 129; as more common at paleontological sites than carnivores, 337n31. See also names of specific herbivores Herrnreiter, Gary, 140, 154, 238, 281 Heubusch, Carol, 56, 299; article of 1959 on mammoth and mastodon bones in western New York, 13, 16; and discovery of Hiscock Site, 12–15, 15(fig.) hickory nuts, 86, 86(fig.) Hirschfelt, Jacob, 323n4, 324n1 Hirschfelt, Lisa, 323n4, 324n1 Hiscock, Charles, 32, 43, 153; and discovery of Hiscock Site, 11–14; fossils stored by, 17; Laub and, 23, 56; and permission for excavation of Hiscock Site, 19, 21, 23–24; and permission for study of Hiscock Site fossils, 14; and second look at Hiscock Site (1982), 17–18 Hiscock, Charlotte Steele, 11–12, 23, 56

Hiscock, Doris, 153 Hiscock Site: artifacts (see artifacts and artifact candidates); Byron Dig project at (see Byron Dig); chemical analysis of Pleistocene deposits, 225; described, 5–6, 13, 32, 105–6, 106(fig.); as devoid of crops, 324n1; differing human activity in the Pleistocene vs. Holocene, 147–48; discovery of site (1959), 11–24, 15(fig.), 243; diverticulae (embayments in basin margin), 182–83, 228, 271, 340n14; drainage issues (see hydrology of Hiscock Site); and drought year 1991 (accessible northwest grid portion), 151–60; ecology of (see environment and ecology of Hiscock Site); end of mastodon presence impacting vegetation and sedimentation, 196–98; environment of (see environment and ecology of Hiscock Site); and European settlement, 104, 156; evidence of drought, 180–81; evidence of human presence, 55, 78–83, 103, 110, 136–48, 155– 56, 161–70, 174–78 (see also artifacts and artifact candidates; bone tools and tool candidates; projectile points); evidence of past disturbance of sediment, 54, 125–27, 171 (see also intrusion); field walks near basin, 156–60, 251; forest fire at, 86, 89, 121–22, 198; fossils (see fossils at Hiscock Site; names of specific plants and animals); geology of, 106(fig.), 188–98, 190(fig.), 194(fig.), 218; grid system, 33–34(figs.), 33–35, 324n2; high herb-to-tree pollen ratio, 84–85, 87, 107, 219; high mortality of animals due to fire at, 121, 198; hole in Cobble Layer (discovered 1984), 63, 64(fig.), 67, 109, 182, 183, 184; hydrology of (see hydrology of Hiscock Site; springs and spring vents); hypotheses about site’s appeal for mastodons, 181–85, 224–26 (see also salt lick); hypotheses about site’s attractiveness for humans, 228; Ice Age

362 Index Hiscock Site (continued ) climate at, 16, 69, 70; Ice Age vegetation at, 16, 83–85; initially considered as fossil site, not archaeological site, 19, 79; and lag deposits, 82, 188; large number of mastodons drawn to site, 181–85; location between wetlands, 218; mastodon digouts (see dig-outs in Cobble Layer); and migration route, 218, 228; mosquitoes at, 324n3; old excavation, 54, 56; permission for excavation, 19, 21, 23–24; pollen diagram, 106–7 (see also pollen); post–Ice Age forest surrounding Hiscock basin, 69–70, 74, 85; post–Ice Age pond or swamp at, 85, 120, 128; preparation for end of Byron Dig project, 284–85; preparation for next season (backfilling pits, protecting unexcavated specimens), 233, 234(fig.), 237; preparation of site, yearly, 43, 49; preparation of site (1983), 31–36; proglacial lake at, 16, 193; publications about, Appendix D; radiocarbon dates for Hiscock Site fossils (see radiocarbon dates for Hiscock Site fossils); rainstorms, 40, 45–46, 117, 204–6, 298; relationships between collected objects at, 323n3; relict of earlier field season, 276; as salt lick, 184–85, 193, 224–26, 228, 238; second basin/ sub-basin, 188–89, 337n1; shade, 49, 55, 263; soil characteristics, 219, 224, 225; spring basin possibly formed by mastodon activity, 225, 273–74; as spring-fed basin, 180, 182, 185; “spring sand,” 178; spring vent (see springs and spring vents); stone lineation, 18, 53(fig.), 53–54, 56, 103–4, 274, 282; stone lineation explained, 103–4; stratigraphy (see stratigraphy of Hiscock Site); test dig of 1959, 12–15, 15(fig.), 32, 243; test dig of 1982, 18–19, 50, 274; Tibetan monks’ visit to, 153, 153(fig.); topography of (see topography of Hiscock Site); used as bone quarry/source of tool material, 165, 227, 228; used for processing animals, 143, 227, 242; water-filled channel

at, 38, 39(fig.), 298; water source, 43, 55–56; wedding at, 211–14. See also Byron Dig; environment and ecology of Hiscock Site; hydrology of Hiscock Site; stratigraphy of Hiscock Site; topography of Hiscock Site Hochmuth, Benny, 13 Holland, John D. (Jack), 12(fig.), 31, 320n1; and analysis of Pleistocene artifacts, 136–37, 141, 244; background, 11; and choosing first digging location, 50; and discovery of Hiscock Site (1959), 11, 13–16; and Gainey phase artifacts, 229; as pioneer volunteer, 323n4, 324n1; and projectile point material, 245; and reference collection of chert, 137; and second look at Hiscock Site (1982), 17–18; and Smith Symposium of 2001, 226–27; and training volunteers, 50 Holland, John (son of Jack), 13, 320n1 Holland, Louise, 11 Holliday, Vance, 99 Holocene, 107, 319n1; climate changes in western New York, 218; differing human activity at Hiscock Site in the Pleistocene vs. Holocene, 147–48; fossils dating from time of missing layers, 89–91, 90(fig.), 121–22, 198–99; and gastroliths, 108; Holocene artifacts, 145–48, 146(fig.), 155–59, 159(fig.), 245(fig.), 245–46, 266, 267; Holocene peaty layers and their fossils, 107, 108, 128–29, 135 (see also Dark Earth layer; Woody Layer); Holocene projectile points, 145–48, 146(fig.); Holocene Spring Sand radiocarbon dates, Appendix B; modern artifacts, 233–34; pollen data on missing intervals, 219; transition from Pleistocene Fibrous Gravelly Clay to Holocene peaty layers, 194–98. See also European settlement; forest fire at Hiscock Site; Native Americans horse incisor, 284 Hulbert, Richard, 186, 337n27 human remains, 277–79, 301–4 humans. See artifacts and artifact candidates; Clovis people; European settlement;

Index 363  Native Americans; Paleo-Indians; projectile points hunting, 17; and Archaic period, 145–46; and artifacts, 81, 97, 147–48, 170, 227, 228, 297, 328n10 (see also projectile points); butchering, 68, 110, 138, 156, 170, 227, 242; and caribou-sized animals, 97, 227, 228; and cut marks (see cut marks); and differing human activity at Hiscock Site in the Pleistocene vs. Holocene, 147–48; and large animals, 17, 97, 110, 328n11; and marrow from cervid limb bones, 242; and mastodon season of death, 110; and meat placed in cold water for refrigeration, 68, 110, 326n10; and small animals, 97 Hyde Park mastodon, 296 hydrology of Hiscock Site, 32–33, 106(fig.), 241; channel-like depression in basement, 189, 190(fig.), 238, 341n10; and deluge of 1992, 206; drainage trenches dug by backhoe, 33, 35, 55, 283; and drought of 1991, 151; flooding of site during rainstorms, 117, 206; French drain, 104, 156, 274, 282 (see also stone lineation); and preparing site for excavation, 18, 32–33, 36, 49, 55; spring vents (see springs and spring vents); sump for draining groundwater, 154–55, 263, 288; topography of drainage basin and low level of transport of bones, 219; water-filled channel separating camp from dig site, 38, 39(fig.), 298; water pumped from site using trash pump, 36, 49. See also springs and spring vents; topography of Hiscock Site Ice Age, 319n1; artifacts (see artifacts and artifact candidates); California condor range during, 69; caribou range during, 18; climate at Hiscock Site, 16, 69, 70; and conifer forests of eastern North America, 85, 220, 250; early fossil discoveries in North America, 3–4; fauna and megafauna at Hiscock Site, 187, 219 (see also California condor;

caribou; giant beaver; hare; long-nosed peccary; mastodon; stag-moose); fauna and megafauna of North America, 1–4, 187; and Fibrous Gravelly Clay, 66, 190; Fibrous Gravelly Clay as principal Ice Age fossil-bearing layer, 62, 83, 190; and geology and topography of North America, 1; map of North America at Last Glacial Maximum, 2(fig.); and popular literature, 4; and productive excavations of 2002–2005, 234–40; vegetation at Hiscock Site, 16, 83–85, 220, 250. See also Fibrous Gravelly Clay; glaciation and deglaciation; Pleistocene “Ice Mouse,” 90–91, 127, 133, 221 Illinois, Stilwell II Site, 335n6 index fossils, 197–98 innominates (pelvis bones). See mastodon innominates: elk, 62; mastodon, 101, 129 insectivores: feeding guilds (birds) at Hiscock Site, 339n8; found at northern edge of basin, 262 intrusion: burrows and the displacement of fossils, 89, 91, 171, 284, 338n4; color changes in strata due to oxygen infiltration in worm burrows and root intrusions, 338n4; and frost action, 195; horizontal and vertical displacement of fossils, 296–97; and human remains, 303–4; intruded deer jaw, 128; intruded elk skeleton, 66–67; intruded logs and branches, 70–72, 71(fig.), 89–90, 90(fig.), 201, 247–48, 295, 331n6; intruded passenger pigeon bone, 221; intruded southern flying squirrel bone (“Ice Mouse”), 90–91, 127, 133, 221; intruded tusk with splintered end, 195; and lag deposits, 82; and mixing of layers, 125–27; and skarn formation, 246. See also Appendix B; digouts in Cobble Layer jack pine (Pinus banksiana), 70, 70(fig.), 152; absent from Woody Layer, 85; radiocarbon dates, 83, Appendix B

364 Index jawbone or mandible: mastodon mandible compared to Asian elephant, 27(fig.). See also deer; fisher; flying squirrel, southern; long-nosed peccary; mastodon mandible; mink Jefferson, Thomas, 4 Jillson, Willard R., 319n4 Jim (volunteer), 147 Johnson, Mig, 213 Jones, Morgan, 44, 238 Jones, Sarah, 159, 342n16 Karaszewski, Pat, 202, 238 Kelly, P. E., 181 Kentucky, Big Bone Lick, 3–4, 293, 319n4, 339–40n10 Kerr, Robert, 321n1 Kimberly, Edwine, 323n4, 324n1 Kimmswick Site, Missouri, 293 King, Frances B., 121–22, 198 Knop, Betty, 24, 59, 68, 323n4, 324n1 Koster Site, Illinois, 335n6 Kuhn, Jerold, 168 La Brea Tar Pits, California, 293 Lafayette commemorative plate, 159 lag deposits, 82, 188 lagomorphs, 133. See also hare; rabbit; snowshoe hare Lake Wainfleet-Tonawanda basin, 218 Lamoka people, 147, 279 Lamoka stemmed point, 146, 279 L’Amour, Louis, 329n17 larch. See tamarack Larix laricina. See tamarack laser-scanning, and preservation of fabric cast, 176–77 Last Glacial Maximum: map, 2(fig.) The Last of the Breed (L’Amour), 329n17 The Last of the Mohicans (Cooper), 4, 319n8 Laub, Richard: and bone tools, 161–62, 165–68; Britts (Don and Marilyn) and, 256; and choosing digging locations, 50, 60; and dig job assignments, 115–16; early career at

Buffalo Museum of Science, 16–17, 20; and excavation of mastodon mandible (1991), 154; and excavation of mastodon tusk (1984), 68; Gramly (Mike) and, 19; Hiscock (Charlie) and, 23, 56; initial awareness of Byron fossils, 16–17, 19; and knowledge gained from breakage of artifacts or fossils, 138; learning excavation techniques, 31; Miller (Norton) and, 73–74; and origins of Byron Dig, 19–24; and paleontology lab at Buffalo Museum of Science, 20; Parsons (Bill) and, 211, 213; and Platt family, 118–19, 208–11; and rainstorm of 1992, 205; Robinson (James) and, 36; Savage (Howard) and, 172; Smathers (Dale) and, 255–56; and Smith Symposium of 1986, 105; and Smith Symposium of 2001, 218–19, 228; Tomenchuk (John) and, 163 Laub, Roselyn, 244, 324n1 Laws, R. M., 28 L-Brooke Farms, 22 Leidy, Joseph, 28 lemming, 107 Lepus americanus. See snowshoe hare Lewis, Donald, 16 Lewis and Clark Expedition, 4 limb bones. See cervid bones; deer; dog; giant beaver; mastodon limb bones; snowshoe hare limestone, 184; fossil corals freed from limestone boulders by groundwater, 193; limestone boulders, 192, 193(fig.); and skarn formation, 246–47 lions, giant, 3 literature, references to Ice Age fauna in, 4 Lockport chert, 143 Lombardi, Frank, 331n22 long-nosed peccary (Mylohyus): as Ice Age mammal at Hiscock Site, 219; jawbones, 269(fig.), 269–70, 272; tooth, 186, 270, 344n8 Lovallo, Deb, 284 Loxodonta africana (African elephant), 295, 296. See also elephant Loxodonta cyclotis (forest elephant), 295, 296

Index 365  Madison point, 146, 266 Madrigal, Cregg, 223 mammals, 128; calcined bones, 122; species found at Hiscock Site, 219, 330n9; and Yellow Clay, 122. See also names of specific mammals mammoth: associated with steppe-like habitats, 17, 294; Berozovka mammoth, 29; cave paintings of, 29, 30(fig.); compared to American mastodon, 26–29, 321n3; diet, 219–20; early discoveries in North America, 3; and Family Elephantidae, 26; fur coat, 29, 30(fig.); literary references to, 4; mammoth bones not found at Hiscock Site, 165, 219–20, 294; mammoth sites, 220, 339n3; and Paleo-Indians, 17, 97; Randolph mammoth, 339n3 Mammut americanum. See mastodon Mammutidae, Family, 26 mandible. See jawbone or mandible maple, and younger Woody Layer, 86 Martonis, Vince, 195 mastodon (Mammut americanum), 25–30, 222, 320n2, 321n1; age at death, 240; apparent high mortality at Hiscock Site, 181; associated with forests, 17, 30; caching of butchered mastodon remains in cold water, 68, 110, 326n10; chewing technique, 28; Cobble Layer sediments likely reworked by, 193; compared to mammoths and elephants, 26–29, 27(fig.), 321n3; determining biological age of, 322n6; diet, 28–29, 122–24, 193, 220, 224–25, 250; difference between males and females, 26, 109, 321–22n4; and dig-outs in Cobble Layer, 182–85, 193, 211, 229, 271–74, 293–94, 340n14; dung as chief component of Fibrous Gravelly Clay, 224–25; end of mastodon presence at Hiscock Site, and transition from Fibrous Gravelly Clay to peaty layers, 196–98; and environmentally caused mortality, 181–82, 222; extinction of, 216; and Family Mammutidae, 26; feces

and defecation, 193, 224–25, 227; fossils at Hiscock Site (see specific bones following this heading); gender differences, 26, 109, 240, 321–22n4; geographic range, 30; Hyde Park mastodon, 296; as Ice Age mammal, 3–4, 187, 219; injuries possibly sustained during musth battles, 237, 340n8; large number of mastodons drawn to Hiscock Site, 181–85, 224; length of survival in the Northeast, 250; literary references to, 4; mastodon digesta in Fibrous Gravelly Clay, 122(fig.), 122–24, 193, 197, 250, 274; mastodon sites in the U.S., 29–30, 293 (see also Big Bone Lick, Kentucky); minimum number of individual animals estimated at Hiscock Site, 220, 240; musth battles, 237, 340n8; and Order Proboscidea, 25–26; and Paleo-Indians, 17, 67–68, 79, 82–83, 97, 110, 165, 222, 328n11; probable fur coat and implications for mastodons’ affinity for water, 29; proportion of originally deposited bones recovered at Hiscock Site, 220–21; radiocarbon dates, 16, 89, 201, 266, 269, 274, 341n1, Appendix B, Appendix C; relative age scale based on cheek teeth, 28; and salt lick, 184–85, 193, 271; season of death, 108–10, 122, 222, 226; sediments ingested to detoxify conifer diet, 224–25; signs of possible butchering by humans, 67–68, 110; species name, 321n1; spring basin potentially formed by mastodon activity, 225, 273–74; tongue, 29; and tuberculosis, 216, 217(fig.), 224; Warren mastodon, 296; youngest date for species at Hiscock Site, 269. See also following headings mastodon basihyal, 222–23 mastodon bones (unspecified), 13, 14, 51, 52, 55, 57; bone cluster in quadrant G5NE, 102(fig.); calcined bones, 122; and drought year of 1991, 151; early fossil discoveries in North America, 3–4; Heubusch article of 1959 on mammoth and mastodon remains in western New York, 13; paucity

366 Index mastodon bones (unspecified) (continued ) of juvenile mastodon remains, 297; proportion of originally deposited bones recovered at Hiscock Site, 220–21; radiocarbon dates (see under mastodon); scattered, intermingled distribution of, 126, 151, 296–97; surface staining, 204, 225; trampling of bones, 202–4, 203(fig.); used as tools, 274 (see also under specific bones following this heading) mastodon foot bones: gnawed metapodial, 199; lunar, 282–83; metacarpals, 122, 216, 217(fig.); proportion of bones founds, 220; and scavengers, 220; and tuberculosis, 216, 217(fig.); ulna, 83; young mastodon, 272. See also mastodon limb bones mastodon hyoid apparatus, 223 mastodon innominates (pelvic bones), 101, 129 mastodon limb bones, 236(fig.); damaged by trampling, 204; dispersion of humerus shaft and cap, 126; gnawed by scavengers, 236(fig.), 236–37; humerus, 129; and productive excavation of 2002, 234, 236, 236(fig.); ulna, 75; underrepresentation of, 221, 228, 237, 297. See also mastodon foot bones mastodon mandible: and age of mastodons at death, 240; chewing technique, 28; and chin tusks, 321–22n4; compared to Asian elephant, 27(fig.); excavation of, 152–54; internal structure, 321–22n4; skull and mandible, 26–27, 27(fig.), 29, 101; teeth and mandible, 152(fig.), 152–54; tooth sockets, 26 mastodon ribs, 129, 235; beveled and striated rib fragment, 164–66; cluster of ribs between sub-basins, 189, 337n2; concentration of intact ribs, 189; pointed rib, 235; possible tool with similar outline to other bone tools, 266; and productive excavation of 2002, 234–35; proportion of ribs found, 220; radiocarbon dates, 89, 201; refit fragments of single rib, 126, 127(fig.), 189, 201; rib damaged by fallen tree branch,

89, 90(fig.), 201; rib fragment gnawed by beaver, 343n7; rib showing injury or infection, 129; and scavengers, 337n2; split rib, 155, 161–62, 162(fig.); tools made from, 155, 161–62, 162(fig.), 164–66, 235, 266 mastodon shoulder blades, 129; damaged by stakes marking pit corners, 240; high proportion of total found, 220–21; injuries evident in, 237; and musthrelated injuries, 340n8; and productive excavations of 2002 and 2003, 235, 237; radiocarbon dates, 266; used as “cache guards,” 221; used as tools, 266, 274, 343n3 mastodon shoulder socket (possible bone tool), 274 mastodon skull, 101; skull and mandible, 26–27, 27(fig.), 29, 101; “spongy” portions found (“bone hash”), 237–38 mastodon stylohyal, 222–23 mastodon teeth, 101, 133–34, 269; baby teeth, 101, 133, 235, 262; cheek teeth, 26–28; and determining mastodons’ seasons of death, 108–10; molars, 151, 283, 343n7; and productive excavation of 2002, 235; radiocarbon dates, 269, Appendix B, Appendix C; relative age scale based on cheek teeth, 28; right-hand molar, 151; six sets of teeth over mastodon’s lifetime, 109, 330n4; and structure of mandible, 321–22n4; teeth and mandible, 152(fig.), 152–54; tusk as incisor tooth, 26, 330n11 mastodon tusks, 7, 14, 26, 54; age of mastodons determined by tusk growth increments, 322n6; beveled tusks, 130(fig.), 131, 155, 161, 162(fig.), 163; broken-off chin tusks possibly indicating wrestling between mastodons, 295–96; broken tips indicating stressed population, 222; and changes in climate, 222; chin tusks, 235, 295–96; chin tusks apparently absent in females, 26, 321n4; concentration between sub-basins, 189, 228, 238; concentration near spring vents, 239(fig.); deciduous (baby) tusks, 133–35, 134(fig.), 297, 330n11;

Index 367  and determining mastodons’ seasons of death, 109–10, 222; and diet and nutritional status, 222; excavation of broken male tusk, 201–2; excavation of female tusk, 235–36, 342n2; excavation of large male tusks, 338n14; female tusk on floor of embayment, 183; and fighting or wrestling, 185; gender differences, 26, 109, 240, 321–22n4; geometry of, 109, 240; as incisor teeth, 26, 330n11; and initial probing of site, 15(fig.); ivory splinters in Woody Layer, 195–96; and number of mastodons at Hiscock Site, 240; and productive excavations of 2002 and 2003, 235–36, 238, 240; and pulp cavity, 63, 109, 130(fig.), 130–31, 211, 235; radiocarbon dates, 341n1, Appendix B, Appendix C; surface staining, 164; tools made from, 161, 162(fig.), 227, 266 (see also beveled tusks under this heading); tusk with elk skeleton, 61–64, 64(fig.), 66–68, 74, 185, 299; tusk growth pattern, 109–10, 110(fig.); tusk with hole in side, 201; tusk with splintered tip extending into Woody Layer, 173, 195–96, 196(fig.), 198; wedding inspired by, 211–12 mastodon vertebrae, 101, 125(fig.), 126, 129; articulated bones, 235, 342n2; atlas, 272; and deepest part of basin, 272; neural spine, 166–69, 167(fig.); proportion of vertebrae found, 220; tools made from, 166–69, 167(fig.), 243–44; vertebrae damaged by trampling, 202–4, 203(fig.) McAndrews, John (Jock), 88, 154, 295; and analysis of pollen associated with fabric impression, 177; and analysis of pollen from tusk with hole in side, 201; and Fibrous Gravelly Clay as mostly mastodon dung, 224–25; and Hiscock Site as attractive to mastodons, 184, 224–25, 271; identification of ash branch, 248; identification of ash slabs, 268; identification of modern brick, 233–34; identification of spruce saplings, 179, 180; and mineral concentration in Hiscock

Site spring water, 339–40n10; and royal fern, 271; and Smith Symposium of 2001, 224–25; and spring basin as potentially formed by mastodons, 225, 273–74; and survey of southern area of grid, 261–62 McConnell, Tim, 114 McIntosh, George, 339n3 Meadowcroft Rockshelter site, Pennsylvania, 99 Meadowood phase, 146, 147 Meadowood point, 244 meadow vole, 107 Meeks, Jack, 276 megafauna of North America, 3–4. See also names of specific animals Mercyhurst College/University, 175–76 Merrill, Asa, 87 Mexico: and Clovis culture, 96; El Fin del Mundo site, 96 Middle Archaic period, 172; and dog remains, 172–73; and human presence at Hiscock Site, 55; and projectile point, 55; and sharpened ash branch, 248 migration routes, 218, 228 Milford site, Nova Scotia, 339n9 Miller, Norton, 73–74, 156; as botanist, 73; identification of royal fern rhizomes, 270; and lengthened field season, 91; pollen studies, 83, 106–7, 218; and Smith Symposium of 1986, 105–6; and Smith Symposium of 2001, 218, 219; and stratigraphy of Hiscock Site, 120, 330n7; and topography of Hiscock Site, 105–6, 106(fig.), 261, 337n1 Miller, Ritch, 266 Miller, Shane, 99 Milwaukee Public Museum, 29 mineral lick, 228; and elephant behavior, 184, 211, 295; and low sodium content of herbaceous plants in springtime, 225; at Milford, Nova Scotia, 339n9; mineral concentration in Hiscock Site spring water, 339–40n10. See also salt lick mink, 107; mandible, 282

368 Index Miocene, and family Elephantidae, 26 Missouri, Kimmswick Site, 293 mites. See oribatid mites Moeritherium, 25 mole, 330n9 Monte Verde site, Chile, 99 moose. See stag-moose Moreland, Michael, 283 moss, and mastodon diet, 28 mouse, 107 Muller, Ernest, 16, 218 music, 44, 56, 113, 286 musket ball, 282 musk ox, 229 muskrat, 107, 233 musth battles, 237, 340n8 Mylohyus. See long-nosed peccary Naco site, Arizona, 97 National Research Council Canada (NRC), 176 Native Americans: Archaic period, 145(fig.), 145–47, 158, 172–73, 248; diet, 145; differing human activity at Hiscock Site in the Pleistocene vs. Holocene, 147–48; and dogs, 173; and drought, 180; and human remains, 277–79; Lamoka culture, 147, 279; Meadowood phase, 146, 147, 245; Woodland period, 145–47, 245. See also Clovis people; Paleo-Indians needle, 245, 245(fig.), 267, 279 Newell, Norman, 331n22 New Mexico: Blackwater Draw, 95, 97, 98; and discovery of Clovis points, 95, 97 New York: climate changes in western New York, 218; Dutchess Quarry Caves, 293; mammoth and mastodon bones in, 13, 16; Niagara Escarpment, 192, 193, 344n19; Paleo-Indian bands in, 340n11; and PaleoIndian migrations, 344n8; Pleistocene climate, 152, 218 New York State Museum, 16 Niagara Escarpment, 192, 193, 344n19 northern flicker, 330n9

northern flying squirrel, 330n9 northern white cedar, 180–81 Nova Scotia, Milford site, 339n9 Nova Scotia Museum of Natural History, 339n9 NRC. See National Research Council Canada oak: and Dark Earth Layer, 87; and younger Woody Layer, 86 Ohio, material for projectile points from, 79–80, 136 Oishei Children’s Hospital, 168 Onondaga chert, as projectile point or tool material, 55, 103, 138–43, 146, 244, 245; and similarity of Hiscock and Shoop Site points, 227, 344n8 Ontario, Udora site, 97 oribatid mites, 111(fig.), 111–12, 224 Orient Fishtail point, 146 Osmunda. See royal fern Owens, Don, 219 owl, 223, 262 Owsley, Douglas, 279 Oxbo International, 22–23 Page-Ladson site, Florida, 99 Paleo-Indians, 17, 228; and caribou, 97, 140, 229, 242; Clovis people (see Clovis people); and concentration of mastodon bones, 238; deliberately broken artifacts, 346n6; diet, 17, 97–98, 228, 242; differing human activity at Hiscock Site in the Pleistocene vs. Holocene, 147–48; and dogs, 335n6; and embayments in basin margin possibly used as work stations, 228; evidence of human presence at Hiscock Site, 55, 78–83, 103, 110, 136–48, 155–56, 161–70, 174–78 (see also artifacts and artifact candidates; bone tools and tool candidates; projectile points); Gainey phase, 141, 229; and Hiscock Site used as bone quarry/source of tool material, 165, 227, 228; and Hiscock Site used to process caribou-sized animals, 227, 228; human activity on high ground

Index 369  near basin, 156; and hunting or scavenging large animals, 97–98; and hunting small animals, 97, 222, 227–28; and marrow from cervid limb bones, 242; and mastodons, 82–83, 97, 110, 221, 328n11; mastodon shoulder blades used as “cache guards,” 221; migration between southern Pennsylvania and western New York, 344n8; migration into North America, 94; non-resident foragers visiting Hiscock Site, 222; and observing the condition of mastodons at Hiscock Site, 222; and paucity of mastodon limb bones, 228; Pleistocene artifacts (see artifacts and artifact candidates); pre-Clovis cultures, 99; radiocarbon dates for Clovis culture, 96; and refrigeration of meat in cold water, 68, 110, 326n10; spiritual beliefs, 298, 344n8; three bands hypothesized in New York State, 340n11; and watercraft, 98. See also artifacts and artifact candidates; bone tools and tool candidates; hunting; projectile points Paleotec Services, 183 Parkhill complex, 141 Parsons, Bill, 78, 140, 283; drawings, 78, 230, 264; and extracting mastodon mandible, 154; and final season at Hiscock Site, 281; and projectile point discovery (1985), 78, 136; and Smith Symposium of 1986, 105; and Smith Symposium of 2001, 230; wedding at Hiscock Site, 211–14, 213(fig.) Paskoff, Stefana, 323n4, 324n1 passenger pigeon (Ectopistes migratorius), 221; fossil possibly displaced into Fibrous Gravelly Clay, 221; fossils discovered at Hiscock Site, 74, 108, 221, 223; and northern edge of basin, 262; and Smith Symposium of 2001, 219 Patty (sister of Laura Platt), 118 pearlware, 158, 159, 159(fig.), 251, 342n16 peaty deposits, 54, 61, 128; artifacts in peaty deposits, 128; and contours of Hiscock basin, 106(fig.); and Dark Earth Layer, 51–52, 65, 86; and deer and elk bones

and antlers, 64, 129; and gastroliths, 108; radiocarbon dates, Appendix B; and richness of Hiscock Site vertebrate assemblage, 107, 271; and southern area of grid, 262, 271; and test dig of 1982, 18; and topography of Hiscock Site, 190(fig.), 261– 62; transition from Pleistocene Fibrous Gravelly Clay to Holocene peaty layers, 194–98; and Woody Layer, 65–66, 72, 86, 108, 120. See also Dark Earth Layer; Woody Layer, older; Woody Layer, younger peccary, 187; Platygonus at Rochester Museum and Science Center, 186; teeth, 185–86, 337n27. See also long-nosed peccary pelvis bones. See mastodon innominates Peña, Elizabeth, 158, 251 Pennsylvania: Meadowcroft Rockshelter site, 99; Shoop Site, 141, 227, 344n8 Perrelli, Douglas J., 145 Picea glauca. See white spruce pig, 186 pigweed, and mastodon diet, 124 pine: and Fibrous Gravelly Clay, 84; and mastodon diet, 29; and Woody Layer, 85. See also conifers; white pine pine cones. See conifer cones Pinus banksiana. See jack pine Piwowarski, Tom, 138 plants: buried fallen logs and branches (see under trees); end of mastodon presence at Hiscock Site impacting vegetation and sedimentation, 196–98; Fibrous Gravelly Clay plant remains, 84–85; Ice Age vegetation at Hiscock Site, 16, 83–85; mastodon digesta in Fibrous Gravelly Clay, 122(fig.), 122–24, 193, 197, 250, 274; and peat deposits at Hiscock Site, 128; radiocarbon dates, Appendix B, Appendix C; superabundance of herbs in Pleistocene at Hiscock Site, 84–85, 87, 107, 219, 224; and textiles, 176; Woody Layer plant remains, 69–70, 70(fig.), 74, 85. See also Compositae flowers; conifer cones; pollen; trees; names of specific plants and trees

370 Index Platt, Doug, 118, 210 Platt, Doug, Jr., 118 Platt, Laura, 118–19, 205, 210, 214, 277, 281, 284, 285, 286, 287, 291 Platt, Stefanie, 118, 209 Platt, Tina, 118, 208–11, 209(fig.) Platygonus, 186. See also peccary Pleistocene, 319n1; artifacts, 83, 136–45, 137(fig.), 142(fig.), 144(fig.), 148, 161–70, 189, 222, 226–27, 244, 262, 271 (see also projectile points); chemical analysis of Pleistocene deposits, 225; dates of, 319n1; differing human activity at Hiscock Site in the Pleistocene vs. Holocene, 147–48; and dig-outs in Cobble Layer, 183 (see also dig-outs in Cobble Layer); drought, 183; extinction of large mammals, 224; fauna and megafauna of North America during, 1–4, 187 (see also black bear; California condor; caribou; deer; giant beaver; grizzly bear; long-nosed peccary; mammoth; mastodon; Paleo-Indians; snowshoe hare; stag-moose); and human migration, 94; late Pleistocene climate in western New York, 152, 218; transition from Pleistocene Fibrous Gravelly Clay to Holocene peaty layers, 194–98; tuberculosis pandemic, 216, 224. See also Fibrous Gravelly Clay Pliocene, and human migration, 94 pole barn, 117, 330n1 pollen, 106(fig.); analysis of pollen from tusk with hole in side, 201; and Dark Earth Layer, 87; high herb-to-tree pollen ratio at Hiscock Site, 84–85, 87, 107, 219; modern spruce pollen at Hiscock Site, 88; and Pleistocene sediments, 83–84; pollen data from nearby deposits, 219; pollen diagram for Hiscock Site, 106–7; and test dig of 1959, 16; and younger Woody Layer, 86 Ponomarenko, Elena, 183, 184, 225, 271, 340n10 porcupine, 107 Potentilla, 84

Pratt, Linda, 253 pressure solution, 192, 193(fig.) Proboscidea, 25 proglacial lake, 16, 193 projectile points, 55, 78–80, 81(fig.), 82, 103, 126, 128, 136–42, 137(fig.), 142(fig.), 226–27, 262; arrow tips, 266; “biface” as more accurate term than “point,” 332n1; bifaces in North America, 293; Bifurcated Base point, 145, 158; bovid blood residue on fluted point, 229; Clovis points (see Clovis points); and Dark Earth Layer, 266; fluted bifaces, 136, 137(fig.), 139–43, 158, 226–27, 229, 244, 265, 298, 328n10, 332n1; Folsom points, 95; and Gainey phase, 229; Heavy Based Side Notched point, 145–46; Holocene projectile points, 145–48, 146(fig.); Lamoka stemmed point, 146, 279; Madison point, 146, 266; Meadowood “point” (preform), 244; mechanical effect of fluting, 328n10; modified for other uses (see artifacts and artifact candidates: objects modified from original use); Onondaga chert as material for, 55, 103, 138–39, 141–43; Orient Fishtail point, 146; other points contemporary with Clovis points, 99; quartzite as material for, 139–40; shoulder of fluted point, 265; significance of first point found, 55, 271; similarity to points from Shoop Site, Pennsylvania, 227, 344n8; Susquehanna Broad point, 146, 147; Upper Mercer chert as material for, 79; use-wear analysis, 138–40; Western Stemmed point, 99 publications, scientific, about Hiscock Site, Appendix D quartz, and gastroliths, 108, 197 quartzite, as material for projectile points, 139–40 Quinby, Susan, 155 rabbit, 107 Rabin, Pat, 323n4, 324n1

Index 371  radiocarbon dates for Hiscock Site fossils, Appendix B, Appendix C; antler base, 270; ash branches, 247–48; ash slab, 268; calibration of dates, 328n7; caribou antlers, 241, 270, 341n1, Appendix B; cervid bones (probably elk), 81–82; charcoal, 121, 198, 327n14; for Clovis culture, 96; dates for Hiscock Site layers, 83–87, 84(fig.), 120–21; dating method described, 325n6; deer jaw, 128; and dig-outs in Cobble Layer, 183; dog, 172; and drought, 183; elk vertebra, 89–90, 282; and evidence for disturbed layers/mixing of material, 126–28; and fabric impression, 177, 228; and Gainey complex artifacts, 141; “Ice Mouse,” 127; mastodon bones, 16; mastodon bones possibly used as tools, 165, 266, 274; mastodon ribs, 89, 165, 201; mastodon shoulder blade, 266; mastodon teeth, 269, Appendix B, Appendix C; mastodon tusks, 341n1, Appendix B, Appendix C; oldest date at Hiscock Site, 241; oldest date for mastodons at Hiscock Site, 341n1; royal fern, 270; snowshoe hare, 133, 187, 342n1; spruce grove, 179, 270; spruce log missing bark, 250; spruce twig with needles, 249; and stone lineation, 104; uncertainties in dates, 326n14, 341n1; white oak log, 71; wood, 81–83, 89; youngest date for mastodons at Hiscock Site, 269 Rafinesque, C. S., 321n1 ragweed, 87 rainstorms, 40, 45–46, 117; deluge of 1992, 204–6; deluge of 2008, 298 Randolph mammoth, 339n3 Rangifer tarandus. See caribou raven, 330n9 refrigerating meat in cold water, 68, 110, 326n10 reptiles, 107, 128. See also snake; turtle ribs. See caribou; cervid bones; human remains; mastodon ribs Rigerman, Dave, 255, 284 Ritchie, William, 279

Robinson, James, 36, 49, 59, 68, 324n1 Robinson Crusoe (Defoe), 79 rodents, 74, 103(fig.); “Ice Mouse” (southern flying squirrel), 90–91, 127, 133, 221; and northern edge of basin, 262. See also names of specific rodents rosaceous plants, 224 Rothschild, Bruce, 216, 224 royal fern (Osmunda): and drought, 271; radiocarbon dates, 270, Appendix B, Appendix C; rhizomes, 263, 270–71, 344n11 Royal Ontario Museum, 80, 136, 154, 161, 172 Rubin, Meyer, 16 Salina Group, 184 salt lick, 3–4, 224–26; Big Bone Lick, Kentucky, 3–4, 293, 319n4, 339–40n10; and dig-outs in Cobble Layer, 211, 224; and elephant behavior, 295; and low sodium content of herbaceous plants in springtime, 225; and mastodon presence at Hiscock Site, 184–85, 193, 224, 271; and migrating animal herds, 228; at Milford, Nova Scotia, 339n9; mineral concentration in Hiscock Site spring water, 339–40n10; and primary spring vent, 238; season of greatest use, 225 Saunders, Jeffrey, 29, 335n6 Savage, Howard G., 91–92, 172, 335n4 scavengers, 199, 201, 204; feet of dead animals attacked by scavengers, 199, 220; humans as scavengers, 17; and mastodon humerus, 236(fig.), 236–37; and mastodon ribs, 337n2. See also California condor Schaefer site, Wisconsin, 99 scientific method, 320n7 sedges, 224; and mastodon diet, 28, 124; pollen in Cobble Layer and Fibrous Gravelly Clay, 84; and Woody Layer, 85 sedimentation. See stratigraphy of Hiscock Site Semrau, Bob, 233, 263, 285 September 11, 2001, 216, 218 Seth (Fleahman), 141, 244, 247

372 Index Shaw, Corky and Pat, 285 Shipman, Pat, 321n3 Shoop Site, Pennsylvania, 141, 227, 344n8 short-tailed weasel, 330n9 Shoshani, Jeheskel (Hezi), 29, 174, 178, 222–23, 226, 335n9 shoulder. See mastodon shoulder blades; mastodon shoulder socket shrew, 107 Shulman, Celeste, 75, 77 Shulman, Herb, 75–77, 76(fig.), 114, 179 sieve. See excavation tools and techniques sieve analysis of grain size, 191 Silurian Period, 184, 193 Simmons, Charley, 13 Simpson, George G., 321n1 skarn rocks, 246–47 skull. See elk; mastodon skull sloth, 4 Smathers, Angela, 256 Smathers, Dale, 255–56 Smith, Kevin, 158 Smith, Michael, 252 Smith, William, 197, 198 Smith Family Foundation, 59, 91, 163, 215, 252–53 Smith, Graham and Mary Jane, 58–60, 91, 230, 252–53 Smith Symposium of 1986, 105–12, 187, 223 Smith Symposium of 2001, 215–30, 252–53, 266, 294 snail (Helisoma), 66 snake, 107, 271 Snowmass Village, Colorado, 293 snowshoe hare (Lepus americanus), 107, 133; foot bone, 133, 187; and Ice Age, 2, 187; radiocarbon dates, 133, 187, 342n1; shinbone, 133, 186–87, 342n1. See also hare soapstone pots, 147 soil at Hiscock Site, 219, 224, 225. See also stratigraphy of Hiscock Site solitary sandpiper, 330n9 southern bog lemming, 107 southern flying squirrel. See flying squirrel, southern

Spiess, Arthur, 228, 242 springs and spring vents, 185; artifacts found near spring vents, 244; and bleaching effect on bones, 124; bones concentrated near spring vents, 238, 239(fig.), 240–42, 261; and channel-like depression in basement, 341n10; discovery of first spring vent, 66–67; Fibrous Gravelly Clay as spring deposit, 190; and fossils found in reconnaissance dig of 1959, 243; and French drain, 274; high level of salinity at Hiscock Site, 225; primary spring vent, 238, 239(fig.), 241, 274; spring basin possibly formed by mastodon activity, 225, 273–74; springs as artesian, 326n9; spruce twig with needles near spring vent, 249; and sub-basin at Hiscock Site, 188 spruce: and Fibrous Gravelly Clay, 84, 295; and mastodon diet, 29, 123, 250; modern spruce pollen at Hiscock Site, 88; Pleistocene twig fragments, 154; radiocarbon dates, 250, 270, Appendix B, Appendix C; spruce cones, 248, 262; spruce forest around Hiscock Site, 224; spruce log missing bark, 250–51, 257, 295; spruce saplings and drought, 179–80, 180(fig.), 270–71; spruce twig with needles, 249(fig.); twigs in mastodon digesta, 250. See also conifers; white spruce spruce grouse, 92 Squires, Donald, 331n22 squirrel, 107 Staffordshire ceramics, 158–59 stag-moose (Cervalces scotti), 187, 219, 241; described, 132; as Ice Age mammal, 187, 219; possible antler fragment, 235; possible limb bone fragments, 241; teeth, 131–32, 152 stakes, pointed, 155–56 star-nosed mole, 330n9 Steadman, David, 293, 332n23, 337n27; and field season of 1985, 73–74, 78, 80; fossil identification skills, 73–74; identification of bird species, 68–69, 223, 332n23; identification of flying squirrel, 91; identification of peccary teeth, 186,

Index 373  337n27; identification of snowshoe hare, 187; and lengthened field season, 91; overview of species identified by, 107; and Smith Symposium of 1986, 105, 187; and Smith Symposium of 2001, 223; speculations on black bear, 187 Steele, Andrew G., 23 Steele, John, 23, 38, 324n1 Steele family, 11, 23 sternebra, 75 Stilwell II Site, Illinois, 335n6 St. Lawrence University, 111 stone lineation (wall-like rock feature), 53(fig.), 274, 282; discovery of (1982), 18; and excavations of 1983, 53(fig.), 53–54, 56; explanation for, 103–4; and spring vent, 274, 282. See also French drain Storck, Peter: and analysis of bone tools, 161–63, 165; and Gainey phase artifacts, 229 storms. See rainstorms stratigraphy of Hiscock Site, 14, 18, 65(fig.), 83–87, 84(fig.), 85(fig.), 120–22, 121(fig.), 338n4; age of layers, 83–87, 84(fig.); archival sample of layers, 154; basement (upper surface of Cobble Layer), 52, 66, 189, 190(fig.), 192; chemical analysis of Pleistocene deposits, 225; Cobble Layer, 18, 52(fig.), 52–54, 66, 192, 338n4 (see also Cobble Layer); colors of layers, 66, 191, 338n4; complexity in sediment units, 198–99; Dark Earth Layer, 51, 62, 65, 65(fig.) (see also Dark Earth Layer); and dig-outs in Cobble Layer, 273–74 (see also dig-outs in Cobble Layer); and drought of the 15th century, 219; and end of mastodon presence at Hiscock Site, 196–98; and erosion, 192; Fibrous Gravelly Clay (FGC), 62, 66, 122–26, 190–99 (see also Fibrous Gravelly Clay); gap between older and younger Woody Layers, 18, 84(fig.), 86, 88, 121–22, 199, 219; and geology and topography of Hiscock Site, 188–90; and index fossils, 197–98; lag deposits, 82, 188; layers diagrammed in F7SW quadrant,

191–92; and mastodon diet, 274 (see also digesta, mastodon); mixing of layers, 177, 228, 273–74; and oribatid mites as environmental indicators, 111–12, 224; perimeter of Ice Age basin floor covered by colluvium, 345n19; sediments likely reworked by mastodons, 193, 273; signs of past disturbance of sediment, 54, 125–27, 171 (see also intrusion); and southern area of grid, 262; “spring sand,” 178; and spring sediments, 330n7; and spring vent, 66–67; and test dig of 1959, 14; and test dig of 1982, 18; transition from Fibrous Gravelly Clay to Holocene peaty layers, 194–98; Woody Layer, 66, 120 (see also Woody Layer); Yellow Clay, 120–21 (see also Yellow Clay); Zone A, 14, 18, 320n2; Zone B, 14, 18, 320n2; Zone C, 320n2 Suidae, Family, 186 sump for draining groundwater, 154–55, 263, 288 Susquehanna Broad point, 146, 147 Susquehanna people, 147 symposium. See Smith Symposium of 1986; Smith Symposium of 2001 Syracuse University, 16 tamarack (Larix laricina), 70, 70(fig.), 74; and mastodon diet, 123; radiocarbon dates, Appendix B, Appendix C; and Woody Layer, 85 Tankersly, Ken, 169 taphonomy, 199–204, 219; chemical changes, 204; cracking of bones due to drying out, 204; defined, 199; feet of dead animals attacked by scavengers, 199, 220; gnawed bones, 187, 199, 236(fig.), 236–37; manipulation by humans, 204; and mastodon skull, 237–38; overview of taphonomic processes, 199, 204; and proportion of total mastodon bones found, 220; scavenging, 199, 201, 204; surface abrasion from movement within sediment, 204; trampling of bones, 202–4, 203(fig.); tree falls, 201–2, 204

374 Index Tcakowageh wetland, 218 teeth: carnivore teeth, 135, 171–72; and determining mastodons’ seasons of death, 108–10; relative age scale based on cheek teeth, 28; tusk as incisor tooth, 26, 330n11. See also black bear; cervid bones; dog; elk; giant beaver; horse incisor; human remains; long-nosed peccary; mastodon teeth; peccary; stag-moose Telewski, Frank, 156 Telka, Alice, 183, 184, 225, 271, 340n10 Texas, and Clovis culture, 96 textiles, 174–78, 175(fig.), 223, 228, 261 Thomas, Stephen Cox, 92–93; identification of dog remains, 172–73, 223; identification of flying squirrel, 221; identification of hare fossil, 133, 187 Tibetan monks, visit to Hiscock Site, 153, 153(fig.) Tinkler, Keith, 218 toad, 103, 121 Tomenchuk, John, 136, 138–41, 165; analysis of bone tools, 162–66, 170, 227, 294; and gastroliths, 197; and Smith Symposium of 2001, 226, 266; use-wear analysis of artifacts, 80, 138–40, 143, 164–66, 227 topography of Hiscock Site, 32, 105–6, 106(fig.), 188–90, 190(fig.), 261, 338n4; basement topography, 106(fig.), 154, 188–89, 190(fig.), 261, 273(fig.); channellike depression in basement, 189, 190(fig.), 238, 341n10; deepest part of basin, 272; and dig-outs in Cobble Layer, 272–74, 293–94, 340n14 (see also dig-outs in Cobble Layer); diverticulae (embayments in basin margin), 182–83, 228, 271, 340n14; perimeter of Ice Age basin floor covered by colluvium, 345n19; primary spring vent, 238, 239(fig.), 241, 274; second basin/subbasin, 188–89, 337n1; water-filled channel separating camp from dig site, 38, 39(fig.), 298. See also springs and spring vents trees: and Dark Earth Layer, 87; and drought, 180–81; end of mastodon presence at

Hiscock Site impacting vegetation and sedimentation, 196–98; evidence for slow growth due to low light in dense forest, 268; exfoliation of large decomposing trees, 268; fallen logs and branches penetrating deeper layers, 70–72, 71(fig.), 89, 90(fig.), 201, 247–48, 295, 331n6; and Fibrous Gravelly Clay, 199; high herb-totree pollen ratio at Hiscock Site, 84–85, 87, 107, 219; mastodon digesta in Fibrous Gravelly Clay, 122(fig.), 122–24, 193, 197, 250, 274; and older Woody Layer, 85; and Pleistocene climate of western New York, 152; pointed wooden stakes, 155–56, 333n5; pollen diagram, 106–7; post–Ice Age forest surrounding Hiscock basin, 69–70, 74, 86; radiocarbon dates for charcoal, 121, 327n14, Appendix B, Appendix C; radiocarbon dates for wood samples, 71, 81–83, 89, 180, Appendix B, Appendix C; slabs of wood, 267–68; spruce grove and drought, 179–80, 180(fig.); transition from conifers to hardwood trees, 86, 88; tree falls damaging bones, 201–2, 204; tree ring analysis, 180–81; twig-containing concretions in Fibrous Gravelly Clay, 199, 200(fig.); and Yellow Clay, 89; and younger Woody Layer, 86. See also charcoal; conifer cones; conifers; pollen; names of specific trees trowel. See excavation tools and techniques trunk, and order Proboscidea, 25 tuberculosis, 216, 217(fig.), 224 Turkalo, Andrea, 295 Turner Construction Company, 254, 342n1 turtle, 74; and Dark Earth Layer, 233; and Paleo-Indian diet, 97; turtle shell, 62; and Woody Layer, 233 tusks. See mastodon tusks Tyassuidae family, 186 Tyler, Faline, 214 Udora site, Ontario, 97 ultraviolet mass spectrometry, 169

Index 375  University of Buffalo, 169–70, 320n1 University of Nevada, 181 University of Pittsburgh, 122, 198 University of Toronto, 91 University of Western Ontario, 136 Upper Mercer chert, as material for projectile points, 79 Ursus arctos. See grizzly bear U.S. Geological Survey, 16 Van Splunder, Greg, 212 varying hare, 330n9 vertebrae. See dog; elk; mastodon vertebrae Vincent, James, 22 Virginia rail, 330n9 vole, 107 volunteers, 4–5, 116(fig.), 116–17, 174; Ellen Bartlett’s account of dig experience, 287–92; and extended field season, 114; and field season of 1983 (first season), 35–36, 49, 323n4, 324n1; and field season of 1984, 58; and field season of 1985, 73–78, 80; and funding issues, 253; improvements to dig made by volunteers and other helpers, 32–33, 75–76, 114; influx of volunteers beginning in 1987, 113–14; job assignments, 115–16, 284, 287, 289; recruitment of, 35, 255–56; and reliable funding from Smith Family Foundation, 59; sketches of specific volunteers and other helpers, 11, 32, 36, 44, 73–78, 91–92, 118–19 (see also names of specific people); and spring gatherings to discuss previous finds, 264, 277; training, 50–51, 114, 116; youth and older volunteers, 42–43. See also culture of Byron Dig community; field seasons of Byron Dig; names of specific people Walck, Kris, 211–14, 213(fig.) Walker, Sonia, 323n4, 324n1 wapiti. See elk Warren mastodon, 296 Washington, George, 4 water. See hydrology of Hiscock Site

Wayne State University, 174 weasel, 107, 330n9 weather at Hiscock Site. See rainstorms weaving, 177–78, 228. See also textiles Webb, Thompson, 218 wedding at Hiscock Site, 211–14 Western Stemmed point, 99 White, Marian, 50, 56, 74, 299, 320n1; and discovery of Hiscock Site, 11, 12, 14–16 white-footed mouse, 107 white oak, 70, 71(fig.), 72, 89, 326n15; radiocarbon dates, Appendix B, Appendix C white pine, 69, 70(fig.), 74; radiocarbon dates, Appendix B; and Woody Layer, 85, 333n1. See also conifers; pine white spruce (Picea glauca), 70, 70(fig.), 74; radiocarbon dates, 83. See also conifers; spruce white-tailed deer, 2, 18, 107 Williams, Mike, 20 wing bone. See birds; California condor Wisconsin, Schaefer and Hebior sites, 99 wolves, giant, 3 wood. See trees woodchuck, 107 Woodland period, 145–47, 245 Woody Layer: age of younger and older layers, 84(fig.), 85; artifacts in, 267; and beaver activity, 248; bird remains in, 233; boulders in, 344n19; boundary with Fibrous Gravelly Clay, 197; brick in, 233–34; butternuts in, 233, 333n1; cervid remains in, 233; characteristics of, 120; deer and elk bones and teeth in, 102–3, 174; described, 66; dog remains in, Appendix B; fallen branches penetrating through, 89, 202; fallen logs in, 70–72, 71(fig.); fossils in western marginal area, 262; gap between older and younger Woody Layers, 18, 84(fig.), 86, 88, 121–22, 199, 219; human remains in, 302; ivory splinters in, 195–96; and layers diagrammed in F7SW quadrant, 191–92;

376 Index Woody Layer (continued ) older and younger layers (see Woody Layer, older; Woody Layer, younger); oribatid mites as environmental indicators, 224; parallel ash branches in, 248; plant/tree remains in, 69–70, 72, 74, 85, 86, 197 (see also names of specific plants under this heading); radiocarbon dates, Appendix B, Appendix C; richness of assemblage, 128; royal fern rhizomes in, 270; snowshoe hare bones in, 187; and “spring sand,” 178; and stone lineation, 274; turtle remains in, 233; white pine cone in, 333n1; and White’s Zone A, 320n2; and Yellow Clay, 198 (see also Yellow Clay). See also stratigraphy of Hiscock Site Woody Layer, older (Gelatinous Woody Layer), 85(fig.); age of layer, 84(fig.), 85, 120; and black bear, 187; boundary with Fibrous Gravelly Clay, 197; and Canada goose, 135; characteristics of, 120, 338n8; and elk vertebra, 282; and gastroliths, 108; as layer immediately following Ice Age, 85; plant remains in, 85; radiocarbon dates, 338n8, Appendix B, Appendix C; richness of assemblage, 128; and virgin forest of the Northeast, 338n8

Woody Layer, younger, 85(fig.); age of layer, 84(fig.), 85; and gastroliths, 108; and “Ice Mouse,” 91, 127; richness of assemblage, 128; slabs of wood in, 268; tree remains in, 86; and virgin forest of the Northeast, 338n8 Wrege, Peter H., 346n3 Wyoming, Colby mammoth site, 220 yellow-bellied sapsucker, 330n9 Yellow Clay, 85(fig.), 198; age of layer, 84(fig.), 121; and calcined bones, 120–22, 198; characteristics of, 120–21, 198; charcoal in, 86, 89, 121–22, 198, 327n14; dog remains in, Appendix B; and forest fire, 86, 89, 121–22, 271; radiocarbon dates, Appendix B, Appendix C (see also charcoal); small bones in, 86, 120–21, 198; tree remains in, 89, 121, 198; and virgin forest of the Northeast, 338n8. See also stratigraphy of Hiscock Site Younger Dryas, 98 Yousif, Kirk, and fabric impression, 174, 178, 226 Zones A, B, and C of Marion White, 14, 18, 320n2