The point is simply this; it only took one “off paradigm” remark to turn an intelligent, generally pleasant scientist into a confused, yet pompous, theory thrower. If I had actually believed that sauropods ate fish, and decided to take the time to conduct research on that subject (studied their dentition in detail, cross-sectioned large Jurassic coprolites, studied the biomechanics of the neck, the structure of the brain and eyes), and wrote an article claiming to have proved the possibility of that  particular behavior, I have no doubt that others including the good professor would have conducted their own research to test the seemingly outlandish hypothesis; often with the intention to disprove the hypothesis. Eventually, the mere speculation, or joke in this case, would lead to a plethora of detailed scientific papers all of which would attempt to answer the age old question of whether “sauropods could go fishing or preferred a diet of seaweed”! So, to sum it up, despite the infallibilities of speculation, it has a positive side. Especially, when it comes to dinosaur research where we can not directly observe the animals in the field.

          After all, we once thought that all dinosaurs were sluggish, cold-blooded brutes, which could barely move until the sun warmed up their body temperature. That was at least, until a young heretic, by the name of Bob Bakker, resurrected the ideas of Sir Richard Owen (and others) (Bakker, 1986). Now, his "wild" speculation, now based upon a hoard of his (and many others) detailed scientific research, has caused most of the paleontological community to believe dinosaurs were warm blooded, agile, aggressive, creatures.

          Of course, now, we can't even keep their damn feet on the ground. We have gone from the staunch doctrine of the cold blooded dinosaur to the totally opposite pole. We have 85 foot long Barosaurus (another sauropod) rearing up on its hind legs to defend it's young with a tiny thumb claw as a weapon, Allosaurus traveling in packs to devour adult, 120 foot long Diplodocus, T. rexes running faster than a city bus, Triceratops smart enough to encircle their young like a wagon train against a party of raiding Indians, and many other very “interesting” hypothesis and speculations. Some of these may become theories with substantial evidence; others may drift out of favor until the next piece to the puzzle is found, regardless of which, always be sure to remain skeptical of any established position... particularly in the field of paleontology.            

          Aside from all the human discrepancies and weaknesses a paleontologist must face, they must also be ready to embattle the weather on a routine basis. I've already alluded to how the Paleobug enables one to block out most ill weather conditions, but sometimes it is difficult, and in many cases impossible to do so. The paleontologists schedule is frequently wrought with chaos for a variety of different reasons (so one must be flexible), but the weather conditions are often the cause for this scheduling madness. Essentially, Mother Nature dictates our timetables.

          For example, one day while working at the Sandy Site and enjoying the day, our collection was interrupted by a series of terrible thunderstorms.  We could see them off in the distance, quickly rolling along and building strength. As the dark anvil clouds began to grow, we rapidly began packing our things, and finished up what we had been working on. Soon, with a crash of thunder and a nearby blaze of lighting, the rainstorm was upon us... pounding the ground with its incredible fury. As it turned out, we had just enough time to throw our gear in the truck and get out of the quarry before the rain struck. In the badlands, any degree of rainstorm can make the roads impenetrable.

          Thunderstorms are just one of our environmental worries however. Often, it is the heat which is the most wearing. In the badlands, the temperatures can easily reach 110 degrees. Without shelter on the sandy hillside, the sun becomes a menace to both humans and fossilized bone. Sunburn, heatstroke, dehydration, and fatigue are constant enemies. When it becomes dreadfully quiet and the winds calm to 0 mph, you know you’re in for a long day. Even 80 degrees can feel like 100 in the dry, still air. Of course, it gets even hotter in the Sahara, Gobi, and Valley of the Moon deserts, some of the more recent places paleontologists have found themselves in.

          When the wind calms and the sun blazes, the next plague a digger faces are a swarm of mosquitoes, biting flies, and ear gnats. Without the wind to drive them away, they attack mercilessly, biting into any exposed flesh. It never fails that these denizens of the parasite world, feel the need to explore your inner ear canal, as if it was their own personal journey to the center of the Earth. Trying to concentrate on the delicate work of excavation while being bombarded by kamikaze bugs is quite frustrating.

          The minutes stretch into hours, the hours into days, and the days into weeks. You stubbornly stare at your watch until time seems to stand still. Then, all of a sudden, something in the back of your mind says, "slow down and focus". You take your X-acto blade or dental pick, lift off a few grains of sand, and unearth the tiniest fraction of bone. All of a sudden, the flies seem to disappear, the sun cools down a piece, the frustration is gone, and all your energies focus on this beautiful piece of once living art.

          You slowly peel back the layers of mud and sand, sometimes one grain at a time. As more of the bone is exposed, you begin to wonder, "What bone is it? A claw? A phalanx? A skull piece?" You wonder. "What type of animal did this come from? How did it live? How did it die?" As your anticipation grows and these questions form, you realize that the sun hasn't struck this bone for over 65 million years! That you are the first person to ever view its brownish curves!

          There is no feeling in the world more inspiring then the joy of discovery. As the eyes grow wide in dinner plate curiosity, and questions asked are now slowly being answered, your mind's eye pictures the animal from which it came. Not as something dead and static, but alive and vibrant. You picture the life this creature once had and the eventual demise leading the bone, or tooth, to your palm. As you look up from your early Christmas present and view the vast expanse of badlands surrounding you, witness the skies and their swirling clouds above, you realize just how small you are in the big picture. You understand just how much this planet and its creatures have changed. It is humbling, exhilarating, exciting, and curiously enlightening all at the same time, worth every ounce of discomfort caused by the weather, the bugs, the media, the expectations, or your peers.

          In many respects digging for dinosaurs is just like fishing. You carefully select the right rod and lure, cast out your line, and gently work the bait waiting in anticipation. The mind is desperately focused and alert, tracing the currents and subtle movements of the hook, with only the hands delicately maneuvering the rod. Everything is still and silent, with only the freight train of anticipation welling up inside you. Then, the line starts to jiggle (you see a bit of bone), until you get a strike (the bone appears to be important). The fish/the fossil, tries to prevent capture by swerving in directions you didn't think possible. You carefully work the rod/the dental pick, this way and that trying to anticipate its movements. It bends, it twists, struggles against your every attempt to capture its grace, its beauty. Until, at last, the fish/the fossil is free from the water/the rock and into your collecting bag. A bone is to a paleontologist as a 10 lb. trout is to a fisherman.

          Sometimes you wind up with a minnow, sometimes a whale, but you’re always hoping for the whale. As your breath returns you cast your line out again. The big one is close... you can feel it deep within your bones. Maybe under the next inch of rock, perhaps the next grain of sand.