Strange Animals Podcast

Show transcript:

Welcome to Strange Animals Podcast. I’m your host, Kate Shaw.

Monster month is upon us, and to kick us off I’ve got a fun episode about a supposed Bigfoot discovery called the Minnesota Iceman.

It happened in 1968, although the iceman had been around for a while as part of a traveling exhibition. But in 1968 a zoologist named Terry Cullen saw it at a livestock fair in Chicago. Curious and excited, Cullen talked to the owner of the exhibition, named Frank Hansen. Hansen said he wasn’t actually the iceman’s owner but that he was taking care of it for the owner.

Cullen contacted two cryptozoologists and urged them to look at the iceman, author Ivan Sanderson and zoologist Bernard Heuvelmans. Both wrote several influential books and basically founded modern cryptozoology, which of course is the study of animals that might or might not actually exist. Ivan Sanderson comes up in the podcast occasionally because he was everywhere back in the day, managing to have all sorts of sightings of mystery animals with absolutely no proof except for his own say-so.

But the iceman was clearly a real thing, because there it was. This is a good time to describe it, huh? It wasn’t a living animal but a dead one preserved in a block of ice. It was apelike but much larger than most apes with human-like proportions, and would have stood about six feet tall when alive, or 1.8 meters. The iceman’s face was somewhat flat in shape with pronounced brow ridges and a short snub nose. It had dark fur and enormous hands and feet, and while the ice obscured a lot of the details, both Heuvelmans and Sanderson got a good close look at it in Hansen’s home that December. The exhibition was on its winter break and Hansen kept it at his house in a refrigerated case. The body itself showed signs of injury, including a possibly broken arm and an eyeball dislodged from its socket.

Both Sanderson and Heuvelmans took photos and made careful drawings of the iceman. Heuvelmans, who was a zoologist, published a description of it in a Belgian scientific journal in 1969. He first suggested it was a new species of human that he named Homo pongoides, but later he changed his mind and decided it was probably more closely related to Neandertals.

Sanderson, meanwhile, was active in drumming up media interest. He also was sure it was a new species, but instead of Homo pongoides, he chose to call it Bozo. Yeah, Bozo. Sanderson published an article about the iceman in a 1969 issue of Argosy science fiction magazine, where he was an editor. In that article he suggests the iceman was the missing link between humans and apes. Remember what I’ve said about people claiming they’ve found the missing link? They either don’t know what they’re talking about or it’s a hoax. Sometimes both.

Sanderson also contacted John Napier, a primatologist who worked for the Smithsonian Institution and had a longstanding interest in the Yeti and other Bigfoot-type creatures, and suggested he investigate. Napier and the Smithsonian’s director, S. Dillon Ripley, also a Yeti enthusiast, were both interested. But when they asked to see the iceman, suddenly Hansen said nope, the iceman’s actual owner didn’t want anyone else looking at their…sideshow exhibit.

Later Hansen said Napier and Ripley could see it after all. But when they did, it was clear to them that it wasn’t a real animal. Napier said it looked like a latex model. Hansen promptly said that he’d hidden the original, worried that he would get in trouble if it turned out to be a type of human, and that Napier had actually viewed the model he’d replaced the actual iceman with. Sanderson and Heuvelmans did say that the photos Napier took looked different from their own photos and what they remembered. But Hansen wouldn’t let anyone see the original iceman, so the scientists’ interest waned and that was pretty much it.

So where did the iceman come from and where is it now? Surely by now some museum or university has bought the actual specimen and thawed it out to examine, right? Where’s the genetic profile? Why isn’t this thing in textbooks?

Soooo, well. Let’s start with where it came from. Hansen said the body had been discovered in Siberia by seal hunters, floating in a block of sea ice just off the coast. But he also said it had been found not by Russian seal hunters but by Japanese whalers. Okay, well, maybe he couldn’t remember exactly who found it. But wait. He also said it had been shot by a hunter in Minnesota. And he also said it was killed in Vietnam and smuggled into the United States during the war in a body bag. And he also said someone discovered it in Hong Kong in a deep freeze after it was confiscated by authorities from the seal hunters or possibly whalers.

In other words, Hansen was clearly just making all this up. But maybe he didn’t know where it came from. After all, he always said he wasn’t the iceman’s owner, although he wouldn’t say who the owner was, just that they were an “eccentric California millionaire.” He also claimed the specimen’s hairs and blood had been tested and came back with lots of anomalies, but he refused to let anyone have current samples and he conveniently didn’t have copies of the test reports.

In 2013 someone listed the iceman in an eBay auction. It was bought by the Museum of the Weird in Austin, Texas, where apparently it’s still on display. It looks like the photos and illustrations made by Heuvelmans and Sanderson, but it’s not a real animal. It’s a latex model, just like Napier suspected.

Back in the early 1970s, Napier had done some digging and discovered that in 1967, Hansen had commissioned a latex model of an ape-man from a company that made movie props.

It’s quite possible that there was more than one model of the iceman made, since obviously that would increase its earning power in sideshow exhibits. That would explain why the iceman Heuvelmans and Sanderson saw looked different from the iceman Napier and Ripley saw. Or the differences could have come about when the model was thawed for easier storage, then frozen again in ice when it was time to go back on tour.

Of course, some people refuse to believe that the iceman was a hoax. They believe Hansen really did switch out the actual real iceman with a model. They base this on the report by Heuvelmans and Sanderson that when they examined the iceman, there was a place where the ice had melted, exposing the skin, and they said they smelled putrefaction.

There are several possible explanations for this, however. Just as people see what they expect to see, people smell what they expect to smell. I’m sure that model didn’t smell great, either, especially after being exhibited all over the country all summer. My freezer smells kind of funny even though there’s literally nothing in it but ice. Any questionable whiffiness might have been interpreted as that of putrefaction. Or, of course Hansen might have thrown a piece of rotten meat in its case to make it smell more realistic.

Whatever the reason for the smell they reported, that’s a really slim reason to ignore all the evidence that points to the Minnesota iceman being a latex model. I mean, we actually have the model to look at, and we know Hansen commissioned a model right before the Minnesota iceman conveniently went on exhibition, and that was well before Napier even knew about it.

Everything points to a hoax, but really, you can’t exactly blame Hansen. He didn’t approach Sanderson and Heuvelmans, they approached him. Hansen was a showman, so he probably hoped that if he convinced the pair the iceman was real, it would lead to a lot more publicity and therefore more money for him. That was his job, after all, and it sounds like he was good at his job.

Thanks for your support, and thanks for listening!

Photos of a mangy fox that make it look like it has stripes:

Show transcript:

Welcome to Strange Animals Podcast. I’m your host, Kate Shaw.

Buderim is a small city in Queensland, Australia, right on the coast but extending up the side of a small mountain. It looks like an especially beautiful place in a beautiful part of the world, but in the 1990s it was in the news due to sightings of a strange animal.

The animal was dubbed the Beast of Buderim by reporters. It all seems to have started in 1993 when a local artist was driving with her husband and saw a striped animal run across the road. She thought for certain it was a Tasmanian tiger, more properly called a thylacine. When she got home, she drew what she’d seen. It looks like a foxlike animal with black stripes, a long whiskery muzzle, and a long thick tail.

In March of 1995 a local dentist and his ten-year-old daughter saw the animal while driving along the edge of the local rainforest one evening. It was dark but his headlights lit it up and he was able to give a good description of it. He said it was medium-sized, presumably meaning about the size of an average dog, and had stripes that were sort of like a tabby cat’s markings but somewhat like a brindled dog’s markings. He described its coat as goldy in color. He also said it had a pronounced bump above its eyes, although I’m not sure if he meant it had a bumped-up forehead or if he was referring to a brow ridge of some kind. The animal was standing on the road, but when the car approached, it arched its back and then ran into the trees.

Another sighting occurred in August of 1995, but not near Buderim. A man in Bundaberg, a city over 130 miles away from Buderim, or 210 km, was driving at night and had to brake hard to avoid hitting a gray kangaroo as it bounded across the road. A moment later a large animal leaped onto the road after the kangaroo. In the glare of the headlights, the man reported that the animal was sandy in color with stripes that started about halfway down its back, and that its eyes glowed green-yellow. It was big too, four or five feet long, or 1.2 to 1.5 meters, not even counting its long, thick tail. It also had long jaws that the man said reminded him of a crocodile’s when it snarled at him. It made another huge leap and disappeared into the brush.

Plenty of other sightings have been reported from around Buderim and other parts of Queensland, with the most recent in 2014 turning out to be a mangy fox. This is the same area where a different striped animal, usually called the Queensland tiger, was first reported in 1871 and occasionally spotted afterwards. Sometimes people confuse the Beast of Buderim and the Queensland tiger. We talked about the Queensland tiger in an episode a long time ago—I don’t remember which one, but I do remember there not being much evidence that it was a real animal.

Some people think the Queensland tiger is a descendant of an extinct animal called Thylacoleo [thyla-CO-leo], while the Beast of Buderim is supposed to be a thylacine.

Thylacoleo is sometimes called the marsupial lion, although it looked much different than a lion. It had a strong kangaroo-like tail that it could use as a balance to help it stand on its hind legs. Its front legs were extremely strong and it actually had a semi-opposable thumb that helped it grab onto prey. Its front claws were retractable like a cat’s claws too, an excellent example of convergent evolution. All these traits also meant that Thylacoleo could climb extremely well. It might not have been a very fast runner, though, and some researchers think it was an ambush predator, possibly dropping down from trees onto its prey. The largest species, Thylacoleo carnifex, stood over two feet tall at the shoulder, or 71 cm, and was heavy for its size.

Not only that, Thylacoleo had massive jaws with huge weird teeth. Its cheek teeth were enormous, basically just one giant tooth on each side. Its other teeth were much smaller in comparison and not very strong, but those giant cheek teeth and its strong jaws meant that Thylacoleo could bite right through meat and bones with no problem.

We don’t know for sure what Thylacoleo looked like, but we do have two separate pieces of rock art that probably depict it. They show it with pointed ears instead of rounded ones and stripes on its back.

Thylacoleo was an apex predator in the food web of Australian megafauna during the Pleistocene, and like many of the megafauna predators in other parts of the world, Thylacoleo required giant prey. When its prey started to go extinct due to climate change toward the end of the ice age, along with the arrival of humans who hunted megafauna efficiently, eventually Thylacoleo didn’t have anything to eat. It was too well adapted for killing large prey to switch over to smaller prey, and more nimble small predators out-competed it. We’re not sure when it went extinct, but the best guess right now is about 30,000 years ago and possibly 40,000 years ago. It’s definitely not alive today, no matter how awesome that would be.

But that’s all beside the point, because most people who have reported sightings of the Beast of Buderim say it looks like a thylacine. We talked about the thylacine in episode one and then I’ve hardly mentioned it, so let’s learn a bit about it now.

Unlike Thylacoleo, the thylacine went extinct less than a century ago, and we know exactly what it looked like, where it lived, and why it went extinct. We have photographs and even video of living thylacines kept in captivity. The last thylacine reported in the wild was shot and killed in 1930, while the last captive specimen died in 1936. People have reported sightings since, but no definitive proof of a living thylacine has been found despite lots of people searching for it. It was officially declared extinct in 1982.

The thylacine looked superficially like a canid and was about the size of a big dog, with a long body and long, somewhat cat-like tail although the tail was stiff, not flexible like a cat’s. The thylacine was tan or brown in color with darker stripes that started just behind the shoulders and continued down the hindquarters and down the tail. It had large, somewhat rounded ears, a long muzzle, and jaws that could open extremely wide.

The thylacine looks like it should be a scary animal, and European settlers certainly acted like it was a monster that killed sheep and other large livestock. In reality, though, it was a timid animal with weak jaws that mostly ate small animals like a flightless bird called the Tasmanian native hen. It would definitely kill domestic chickens but it certainly wasn’t killing sheep. It also couldn’t run very fast, although it could stand on its hind legs for short periods of time.

That didn’t stop the Tasmanian government from offering a bounty for dead thylacines. Bounties started as early as 1830 and a century later the thylacine was extinct. Hunting was only part of the problem, though. Habitat loss was an increasing issue as more and more wild land was converted to farmland, and introduced predators like foxes and dogs competed for food and sometimes killed the thylacine. The thylacine’s preferred prey was also declining in numbers for the same reasons. As if that wasn’t bad enough, a disease similar to distemper decimated wild and captive thylacines, possibly because the remaining population was weakened by a lack of genetic diversity.

One interesting thing about the thylacine is that both males and females had a pouch. Like other marsupials, the female’s pouch was where her babies finished developing after they were born. Her pouch was under her tail and opened toward the rear of the body, as in wombats, which is somewhat rare. It contained four teats. The male’s pouch was in the same place and is called a scrotal pouch. The male could withdraw his scrotum into the pouch to protect it when he was traveling through tall brush.

The thylacine only survived in Tasmania until its recent extinction. It had once been common in mainland Australia too but probably went extinct there at least 2,000 years ago and probably closer to 3,000 years ago. There’s no conclusive proof that it survived in Australia until modern times and no conclusive proof that it lives there now. But Queensland is in Australia and that’s where the beast of Buderim has been sighted. Could the beast be a relict population of thylacines?

The August 1995 sighting at first seems plausible, since it’s so detailed and the description matches the thylacine. But remember, the thylacine wasn’t a very fast animal, mostly ate quite small prey like birds the size of chickens, and didn’t seem to be very aggressive. It certainly wouldn’t be chasing a full-grown male gray kangaroo, as the witness reported. The eastern gray kangaroo is a large, muscular animal that can bound extremely quickly, up to 40 mph, or 64 km/hour, and has sharp claws on its hind feet. A male can stand 6 ½ feet tall, or almost 2 meters.

Aside from humans, the gray kangaroo’s only living predator is the dingo, a canid introduced to Australia by humans over 8,000 years ago. We talked about it in episode 232. The dingo is usually tan or reddish in color and it carries its tail low, not curved upward. It also has pointed ears.

It doesn’t have stripes, though, and the stripes are a common detail in all the beast of Buderim sightings. But there are a number of possible solutions that don’t involve thylacines. The dentist’s sighting from 1995 might easily have been a big domestic cat. The dentist even reported that it had tabby-cat markings and that it arched its back when it saw the car. Size can be hard to estimate in darkness, especially when you’ve seen something unexpected.

The artist’s sighting in 1993 is less detailed. We have her drawing of the animal but we don’t know whether she saw it in daytime or at night. She saw it run across the road, which means that even if it was broad daylight she probably didn’t get a great look at it. I suspect a lot of the details she included in her drawing were things she expected to see, not things she actually necessarily saw. That doesn’t mean she was lying, just that her brain was filling in details without her even being aware of it. I think she saw a fox.

As for the August 1995 sighting, where the animal was chasing a kangaroo, I think that witness saw a dingo.

But wait, you may be thinking, neither foxes nor dingos have stripes! We’ve established their lack of stripes already.

To solve the mystery of the stripes, we have to look at another reported sighting. This is the most recent one, from 2014. The animal in question turned out to be a mangy fox, but it also definitely looked like it had stripes. We know because the witness got photographs, and the photographs show a scruffy fox with a thin tail and what look like thin dark stripes along its sides. All the beast of Buderum witnesses described their animals as looking brindled, and the marking known as brindled in dogs and a few other animals consist of thin dark stripes that are fairly close together.

Many things can make an animal look like it has brindled stripes, including poor coat quality, a coat that’s damp from rain or fog, or a coat that’s so thick it’s almost quilted and is therefore likely to appear unusual in bright headlights. The August 1995 sighting happened in wintertime in Australia, when a dingo might be expected to have a thick undercoat.

Whatever the animals were that witnesses reported, I don’t think they saw thylacines. That doesn’t necessarily mean they didn’t see something mysterious, though. There might be some rare striped animal in Queensland that gets seen occasionally and mistaken for a thylacine. It’s just much more likely that foxes, dingoes, and other known animals are the actual Beast of Buderim. But I would love to be proven wrong!

Thanks for your support, and thanks for listening!

Further reading:

Scientists solve a shark murder mystery

Stone Age Animal Urine Could Solve a Mystery about Technological Development

South African rock art possibly inspired by long-extinct species

The porbeagle shark [photo by Andy Murch, taken from this site]:

Dicynodont fossils and their possible art interpretation by the San people:

Show transcript:

Welcome to Strange Animals Podcast. I’m your host, Kate Shaw.

It’s finally monster month, and I’m looking forward to sharing lots of fun mystery animals and animal mysteries over the next four weeks.

Our first mystery is from an article titled “Scientists solve a shark murder mystery.” The word solve is doing a lot of heavy lifting in this case, but let’s find out what happened to the shark.

The shark in question was a porbeagle shark, a type of mackerel shark that can grow as much as 12 feet long, or over 3.5 meters, and is gray and white in color. It lives in cold water in the North Atlantic and around Antarctica, and it eats fish and cephalopods like squid. It hardly ever bothers people although people like to eat it, and in some regions it’s been so overfished that the species is listed as endangered.

The porbeagle is especially unusual because it’s able to thermoregulate to some degree, like the basking shark and some other sharks that we talked about in episode 353, about warm-blooded fish. The porbeagle is actually really good at keeping its brain, eyes, and internal organs warm, which is why it’s so successful in cold water. It can live to be at least 65 years old.

There’s still a lot we don’t know about the porbeagle, including where exactly it lives and how far it migrates throughout the year. A team of scientists has been tagging porbeagle sharks with little transmitters, like shark Air Tags, to find out where the sharks travel and other information, like how deeply they dive and what the water temperature is. The transmitter is attached to a shark’s fin and is designed to stay in place for a year, then detach and transmit all the information it’s gathered as soon as it floats to the water’s surface.

In October 2020, the scientists captured an 8-foot, or 2.5 meter, female porbeagle and fitted her with a transmitter before releasing her again. They were especially happy to see that she was pregnant, partly because the porbeagle is endangered and reproduces slowly, partly because they were interested to find out where a pregnant shark traveled.

About six months later, in April 2021, the tag began to transmit its information. It was too early for it to have detached on its own, but sometimes something happens to a tag and it ends up removed from the shark before it’s scheduled to.

The team’s lead scientist, Brooke Anderson, examined the transmitter’s information and knew something weird had happened to the shark. Everything seemed normal until about a week before the tag began to transmit, when the tag indicated a slight but steady increase in the temperature of its surroundings, even though it was still deep underwater. Anderson suspected that the shark had been killed and eaten at that point, and the tag ended up inside the body of another animal that was able to thermoregulate. When the transmitter was expelled from the predator’s body, it floated to the surface and did what it was designed to do, transmit its saved information.

But while the porbeagle isn’t a huge shark, it’s still big and dangerous. It’s also a fast swimmer. Something really big had to have attacked the shark.

The first thing Anderson suspected was an orca, but she and her team immediately rejected that theory. Orcas are mammals, which means an orca’s internal temperature is much higher than the tag had recorded. That narrowed the suspects down to another shark that’s able to thermoregulate, but it also had to be a really big shark. They decided in the end that the porbeagle was probably eaten by a great white.

Next, we need to learn a little about the rock hyrax, because a deposit of ancient rock hyrax urine is helping scientists learn more about our own prehistoric ancestors.

The rock hyrax looks like a weird rodent but it’s actually more closely related to dugongs, manatees, and elephants. I’m literally not even kidding. Hyraxes are native to Africa although the rock hyrax also lives in parts of the Middle East. It’s also called the dassie. It’s a chonky animal with a short tail and thick fur, small rounded ears, and nails instead of claws. Even a big male rock hyrax grows less than two feet long, or 50 cm, about the size of a small marmot or groundhog, which it resembles superficially. It eats plants.

The rock hyrax lives in family groups of one male and several females, along with their young offspring. It doesn’t dig a burrow but lives in holes and shelters it finds already dug, including caves, and that brings us to the sort-of mystery.

Like many animals, the rock hyrax tends to pee in the same place every time it needs to go, and a group of hyraxes living in the same shelter tend to all pee in the same place. A good shelter, like a cave, will get used by generation after generation of hyraxes. The rock hyrax is well adapted to dry areas and its kidneys are efficient. It doesn’t need a lot of water. As a result, its urine tends to be fairly thick and it also hardens quickly when exposed to the air.

In other words: rock hyraxes have been peeing in one part of Boomplaas Cave in South Africa for at least 50,000 years, and that urine is preserved in thin layers that contain pollen and other clues about the climate over the last 50 millennia. The urine can be carbon dated, too. That means scientists can cut samples from that huge deposit of ancient urine, determine how old each layer is, and examine the pollen trapped inside to learn what kind of plants were growing in the area at the time. That helps them determine what the climate was like, which in turn helps them learn more about the ancient humans who lived in the area too.

Until the samples were tested in 2022, the changes in South Africa’s climate over the last 50,000 years wasn’t well known. Now we have an unbroken record of the climate. The main problem is that the urine smells really, really bad. Like, really really bad. But it’s worth it, for science.

Let’s finish with another mystery from South Africa. Around 200 years ago, between 1821 and 1835, some artists among the San people painted an interesting animal on a rock wall. It’s not the only part of the painting, which contains art of other animals and various cultural elements, but it’s the only animal that can’t be identified as something real.

Of course, you can’t study art the same way you’d study a fossil. If you draw a dragon from your imagination, that’s art. If a scientist comes along 200 years later and tries to claim that dragon was based on a real animal that had four legs and two wings and could breathe fire, they’re misunderstanding what art is. But if that same scientist looked at your drawing along with the journal you kept at the same time telling about how you visited the zoo, they might suggest that your drawing was inspired by the crocodiles and monitor lizards you saw.

That’s what Julien Benoit thinks about the painting of an animal referred to as the horned serpent. The San have lived in that particular part of South Africa for longer than hyraxes have been peeing in Boomplaas Cave, and their culture is rich and in many ways unchanged from that of their ancient ancestors. They know everything about their land, including all the animals that live there now and a lot that used to live there.

The horned serpent painting is a long-bodied animal that doesn’t actually look like a serpent or an animal with horns. It very clearly has legs even though they’re short, and its body is thick but with a long thin tail and a small head with downward pointing tusks. If the animal was painted near somewhere that you’d expect to find walruses, everyone would assume it’s a walrus. But it’s not a walrus, or probably not, and the painting doesn’t resemble anything that actually lives in South Africa.

However, Benoit suggests that it does resemble an animal that used to live in what is now South Africa, the dicynodont. It had downward-pointing tusks, a thick body, and fairly short, strong legs. It ate plants and was very common in the area when it was alive—but it went extinct over 200 million years ago.

Clearly, as ancient as the San culture is, they weren’t around in the Triassic, so how could they possibly have known about dicynodonts? The answer is pretty simple. Dicynodonts were so common that their fossils are regularly found in the Karoo Basin of South Africa, including well-preserved skulls eroding out of the ground.

The San would have undoubtedly come across these fossils. They even have myths about huge animals that once roamed the area but that died out long ago, and archaeologists have found collections of fossils made by the San centuries ago. Benoit thinks the so-called horned serpent is an artistic depiction of a dicynodont, with elements taken from the fossils and from myth.

In other words, basically, the San people understood paleontology and extinction long before Europeans figured it out.

Thanks for your support, and thanks for listening!

Further reading:

Wolves on rise in France as bears wreak mountain havoc

Can Brown Bears Survive in the Pyrenees?

Show transcript:

Welcome to Strange Animals Podcast. I’m your host, Kate Shaw.

On the evening of August 4, 2019, two hikers set up camp in the Pyrenees Mountains. Laurent and Frédéric were familiar with the area and had plenty of experience hiking and camping. Once their camp was ready for the night, they took off their boots and socks and sat down to eat dinner and relax at a small campfire. If you’ve ever camped after a long hike, you’ll know that this is the best time of the day, when you can rest and air out your boots.

After only a few minutes, though, the two heard grunts and growls in the darkness not far from their camp. They were concerned, but they had a fire and most animals won’t approach a fire. But the sounds got closer and closer.

Then the animal roared—and it sounded like it was much closer than before. Laurent and Frédéric remembered that bears have become more common in the Pyrenees in the last few decades, and rather than take their chances with a hungry bear, they decided it was time to go. They shoved their bare feet into their boots, left everything behind, and raced back down the trail.

It was late when they made it to the village of Germ so the hikers took refuge in a church where they spent the night. In the morning they hiked back up to their campsite to retrieve their belongings, expecting it to be trashed by a bear hunting for food. But everything was where they’d left it.

Some people assumed the hikers had panicked over nothing, but the men were adamant that they’d heard something roaring as it came closer. In a news interview they said the final roar, the one that made them grab their boots and run, lasted several seconds and was so loud they could actually feel it in their chests.

Brown bears were once fairly common in the Pyrenees but by 1991 they had all been killed, mostly by hunters. Habitat loss was also a factor as people built more roads and houses in the mountains. In 1995 a conservation program brought three bears from Slovenia to start a reintroduction program, and the way people acted, you’d think someone had released a thousand rabid weasels into their homes.

Sheep and cattle farmers, and people who think the wilderness belongs to humans and humans only, protested the reintroduction of the bears, and one of the bears was shot and killed. This is despite the fact that farmers whose livestock are killed by bears get paid a lot of money by the French government. Approximately 1,000 sheep a year are killed in the Pyrenees—not by bears, but by pet dogs running loose.

Conservation efforts continued despite protests and finally, by 2020, there were 64 bears living in the Pyrenees Mountains. The number may be a little larger—some estimates are as high as 100—but conservationists have difficulty counting the bears properly because protesters threaten them and in one case actually set a conservationist’s car on fire.

The Pyrenees mountain range more or less divides France from Spain. It’s older than the Alps and especially known for its spectacular waterfalls. Many plants and animals that live in the Pyrenees are found nowhere else in the world, but unfortunately hunting and habitat loss have driven many of them to extinction. The Pyrenean ibex, a type of wild goat, went extinct in the year 2000.

Conservationists have introduced a related animal, the western Spanish ibex, to help keep the mountain ecosystems healthy. The bears now living in the mountains are similarly important to the ecosystems. Conservationists are frustrated by protesters who don’t want bears in the mountains at all, especially considering that the Great Pyrenees dog was developed in the area to protect livestock from bears and other predators. Some shepherds in British Columbia, Canada, where both black bears and grizzlies live, successfully use Great Pyrenees dogs to guard their flocks from bears. Grizzlies are a subspecies of brown bear.

But let’s go back to Laurent and Frédéric’s scary camping trip. Did they really encounter a bear or could it be something else?

Bears are generally quite shy animals who avoid people when they can. Unlike black bears, which don’t growl, brown bears do make growling and grunting sounds occasionally. Males will growl or even roar at other males during mating season in spring and early summer, signaling aggression and the willingness to fight. A brown bear will sometimes growl or roar at a person to warn them away too. So it’s possible the hikers heard a bear who wasn’t interested in their food but just wanted them out of its territory.

There’s another possibility, though, and it’s an animal that’s much more common in the Pyrenees Mountains than bears are. The wild boar lives throughout the Pyrenees, especially in forested areas and meadows. It’s mostly nocturnal and is usually shy of humans, and its numbers have increased considerably since its main predator, the wolf, was driven to extinction in the mountains and elsewhere in the 1930s.

An estimated two million wild boars live in France, including the Pyrenees. The most common time for people to encounter wild boars is at dusk, which is exactly when the hikers heard the growling. But wild boars are just pigs, right? Pigs oink, right?

This is what an aggressive wild boar sounds like:

[boar growl]

A boar will growl to warn other boars that there’s danger nearby and to signal aggression. That would explain why the hikers heard grunts and growls, which finished in a loud, angry roar. It would also explain why the campsite was undisturbed. Wild boars mostly eat plants, including roots, nuts, and fruit, although they’ll also eat carrion and the occasional small animal if they can catch it. Unlike a bear, which almost always wants to eat people food when it can, a wild boar is a lot less interested in people food. If the hikers did hear a boar instead of a bear, once they ran away the boar was probably satisfied and just went around finding its natural food in the area as usual.

Wild boars have been introduced to parts of North and South America, Australia, and other places where they’ve become an invasive species. The wild boar is native to Europe and Asia, though, so the ones in the Pyrenees are right where they belong. The only real issue is the lack of natural predators to keep the boar population at a healthy level.

The good news is that wild boars aren’t usually as aggressive as they can sound, as long as they’re not cornered. The two hikers were probably not in any danger after all. Still, it’s better to be safe than sorry when you get roared at by a large creature in the dark.

Thanks for your support and thanks for listening!

Further reading:

A possible home for a bizarre Carboniferous animal: is Typhloesus a pelagic gastropod?

Typhloesus

An artist’s rendition of what Typhloesus might have looked like [pic taken from the Nix Illustration link above]:

Show transcript:

Welcome to Strange Animals Podcast. I’m your host, Kate Shaw.

I recently discovered the excellent Nix Illustration blog, which is about scientific illustration and palaeontology. I’m finding so many fun topics that I keep going back to it, so I hope you don’t mind another invertebrate mystery I learned about from the site. There are links in the show notes if you want to read the original blog posts.

This month’s mystery is Typhloesus wellsi, sometimes referred to as the “alien goldfish” because of its shape and its peculiar anatomy. It definitely wasn’t a fish. It lived around 324 million years ago and was first discovered in the early 1970s in Montana, in the middle of North America. It grew up to four inches long, or 10 cm, and was shaped not like a real goldfish but kind of like a goldfish cracker. Its body was roughly cylinder-shaped, and it had a vertical tail fin and a pair of fin-like lobes on its sides that are referred to as keels. But it didn’t have eyes or, as far as scientists can determine, an anus. It did have a mouth and gut cavity–but it also had something truly unexpected and mysterious in its body, a pair of disc-shaped organs that contained a lot of iron but whose function is completely unknown and unlike anything scientists have ever seen.

Those initial specimens also contained lots of conodont teeth, which led scientists to hope they’d finally discovered the conodont animal. We’ve talked about conodont teeth before, but it’s been quite a while ago. Conodont animals were incredibly common for around 300 million years, and their teeth are found throughout the world. Technically they’re not teeth but tooth-like structures called conodont elements, some of them microscopic, some of them almost an inch long, or 2 cm. Each animal had three types of conodont elements, and they interacted in a way that we don’t fully understand since they were completely different from modern animal mouthparts.

Until the 1980s, no one knew what the conodont animal looked like. The only fossils we had were the tiny teeth. Then some body impressions of the conodont animal were discovered. Now we know it was shaped like an eel and grew up to 20 inches long, or 50 cm. We also know it had large eyes, a notochord (or primitive spine), and fins on the tail end. It was probably related to hagfish and lampreys and may have looked similar, although not everyone agrees with this classification.

Whatever the conodont animal was related to, Typhloesus definitely wasn’t one. It turns out that the conodont teeth associated with Typhloesus fossils were actually in its gut, after the alien goldfish ate a conodont animal.

So scientists were back to square one. What was Typhloesus?

In 2022, a study of several specimens revealed a clue. Typhloesus had a radula. That’s a mouthpart that resembles a tooth-studded tongue. Snails, for instance, use tiny radulas to scrape algae and other food off of rocks. True radulas are a trait of mollusks, which means Typhloesus was most likely an early mollusk, maybe even a gastropod like snails and slugs.

That’s a start to classifying Typhloesus, but it doesn’t explain the pair of weird disc-shaped organs. It’s called a ferrodiscus and we still don’t know what it was for. Because of its placement just under the midgut and its high concentration of iron, which would have made it quite hard in comparison to most of the rest of its body, the ferrodiscus might have had something to do with digestion. Then again, it might have had something to do with chemoreception, which is probably how Typhloesus found its food. Some modern mollusks have a chemoreceptor organ under the radula, but it’s mainly a bundle of nerve cells and not any kind of weird iron discs. We just don’t know what the ferrodiscus was.

Typhloesus probably swam around until it encountered a small animal like a conodont, and then it would stick its radula out like a spiky tongue and use it to grab the animal. Typhloesus had no anus, so after it digested its meal it just spat out the indigestible parts. It might also have been a scavenger that used its radula to pull pieces off of a dead animal to eat.

Not every scientist agrees that Typhloesus was a mollusk. Only mollusks have true radulas, although not all mollusks have them, but other animals have evolved similar structures. Typhloesus is so different from known mollusks, living and extinct, that scientists can’t definitively determine what it was related to. It had no gills and no notochord, so we know it had to be an invertebrate. Some cnidarians, which include jellyfish and sea anemones, have no anus, but Typhloesus has even less in common with that phylum of animals than it has with mollusks. Some flatworms have no anus, but again, Typhloesus doesn’t seem to have a lot of other traits in common with flatworms.

Until we learn more about it from studying well-preserved fossils, we can only speculate about where Typhloesus fits in the tree of life and what the ferrodiscus actually was. Mysteries like this are part of the challenge of science, and part of the fun too.

Thanks for your support, and thanks for listening!