BETWEEN FOUR JUNCTIONS

James Ormiston

In the Footsteps of the Dinosaur Baron of Transylvania

If there’s one thing I haven’t done much of in my life, it’s travelling abroad. I can count on one hand the number of countries I’ve been to outside of the UK, and two of those (Switzerland and Germany) don’t count as I saw little more than their airports whilst waiting to go elsewhere. This leaves three countries I can say I have visited properly. France (for a wedding), Sardinia (for a music festival), and Romania. France and Sardinia were wonderful; whether I was wandering the streets of Paris, admiring the majesty of Mont Blanc from the edge of Lake Annecy, or dancing to drum & bass on a sunny beach in San Teodoro. But my time in Romania was special for an entirely different reason.

I was there ‘on business’. Those who know me are probably aware of my background in palaeontology, which I studied at the university over the road for four years. We had many opportunities to work in the field during this time, but these were always UK-based (Arran, the Peak District, the Isle of Wight and so on). When one imagines a palaeontologist digging up fossils, it’s usually in a scene of remote badlands somewhere in Midwestern America. As geologically varied and fascinating as our nation undoubtedly is, the allure of fossil hunting abroad is hard to resist when given the opportunity. In my case, I was able to join an expedition to Hunedoara County in Western Romania. I remember almost jumping in my seat upon receiving the email advertising the trip.

Although maybe not the best known country for fossils, Romania has a rich and intriguing palaeontological history. When discussing this history there is one name that pops up over and over again. That name is Baron Franz Nopcsa. Nopcsa (born in 1877) was a palaeontologist, adventurer, soldier, spy, and at one point had his eye on the throne of Albania after helping win its independence from the Turks by smuggling weapons. His story is an extraordinary one, and his contributions to the study of fossils were in large part thanks to his prolific writing, innovative theories, lavish illustrations and immense collection of specimens. Shortly before his death aged 55, growing debts forced him to sell this collection to London’s Natural History Museum.

The dinosaurs he studied were unusual. In the area surrounding the city of Hațeg, the Carpathian Basin, he named a number of new species which were much smaller than expected. The rocks of this area indicate that during the Cretaceous period it was a large island in the (long extinct) Tethys Sea, and it was suggested that living on an island caused the dinosaurs there to evolve to smaller sizes. This is now called the “island rule”, which states that the sizes of animals change depending on the resources available. But Hațeg Island wasn’t just home to tiny dinosaurs, it was also a place ruled by some of the largest pterosaurs to ever exist. Pterosaurs, flying reptiles like the famous Pteranodon (the term

“Pterodactyl” is a misnomer), had wingspans of up to six or seven metres. These were large animals, but one group of them (called the azhdarchids) were so large that scientists are still trying to figure out how they got off the ground with wingspans exceeding ten metres. Hatzegopteryx thambema was one of these giants, and it lived alongside the dwarf dinosaurs of Cretaceous Transylvania, perhaps even preying on them.

So, for someone studying palaeontology, a trip to Transylvania is much more than a chance to see some spooky castles. Not only did the rocks of Hațeg chronicle one of the most interesting ecosystems ever discovered, but they also recorded the dinosaurs’ demise. A number of locations in the area straddle the boundary between the Cretaceous and the Paleogene, marked with an invisible signpost in the form of high amounts of iridium. Iridium is seldom found on Earth, it mostly comes from space rocks. This layer records the moment the dinosaurs were wiped out by a cosmic impactor so large that when one end of it contacted the ocean, the other was still at the altitude at which most airliners fly.

I arrived in the historic city of Cluj Napoca at about 2am after flying via Munich from London Heathrow (hence Germany doesn’t count). After leaving the airport we approached the nearest taxi and, completely failing to correctly say the Romanian for “Can you take us here please,” showed the driver the address of our hostel. He replied simply with “No problem” and loaded us up. What followed was a 65mph rollercoaster through the mostly empty streets with loud rock music playing on the radio and a phone in each of the driver’s hands; one with the GPS, and one for arguing with someone back at the garage.

After some much-needed sleep and an early start we set off on the long journey to our field site, where we would spend the next week or so. Cluj Napoca had a strange juxtaposition that became apparent as we left it in daylight. On one hand were the grand old buildings and churches representing a vibrant cultural history, but here and there were also monuments to the Iron Curtain in the form of imposing, grey, utilitarian blocks of flats. Both were soon behind us as we snaked through the rolling hills and rural towns on the way to Hațeg. Romania is a bit like Italy in that it is often very hot in the summer, there is an abundance of orange-roofed houses, and the language shares some similarities too. Two differences are that you’re more likely to be eating a soup of some kind than a pizza, and there are Dacia cars all over the roads.

Digging up fossil bones is somewhat romanticised by Hollywood. If you’ve seen the first Jurassic Park film you probably remember seeing Dr. Grant and his team nonchalantly whisking sand off a complete raptor skeleton, as if they’re uncovering a lost toy in an attic. In reality it can be extremely difficult and time-consuming work, even without taking the outdoor conditions into account. I have friends who have been to Svalbard to dig up marine reptiles and had tents snowed under, toilets blown over, the occasional polar bear encounter, and so on. But the rewards for this toil can be great indeed, and we knew there were some amazing things to be found, so we jumped into our walking boots immediately and got to work.