What neck-biting Tyrannosaurus sex tells us about speculation in palaeoart

Head and neck biting sexual behaviour in Tyrannosaurus rex. A novel, brutal and undeniably speculative reconstruction for tyrannosaurs, sure, but is it the result of pure, unbridled palaeoartistic license, or is there something more to it?

It seems that "speculation" is the current word on everyone's lips in palaeoartistic circles. Thanks largely to the enormous success of All Yesterdays, and the recent unveiling of its sequel, All Your Yesterdays, palaeoartists across the internet have been buzzing with excitement over the possibilities opened by speculative leaps of logic. This is undoubtedly a Good Thing. I wrote almost a year ago about why I thought All Yesterdays and the ideas it embodied were great, and a must-see for anyone interested in vertebrate palaeontology or palaeoart. I stand by that, and am certain that many of us in the palaeoart community have be positively influenced by this project in the way we recreate extinct species. All Yesterdays revelled in speculation about prehistory, arguing that we were not being open-minded enough about our depictions of animal appearance and behaviour. The crux, as anyone reading this probably knows, is that many 'traditional' palaeoart concepts are likely erroneous by being overly conservative, and thus 'fail' at both restoring ancient life and producing convincing looking animals. In addition, All Yesterdays highlighted a number of conventions which had become tropes within palaeoart, and argued palaeoartists produce far more accurate studies of extinct life when these clichés are broken, not to mention more interesting ones. What gave All Yesterdays such a strong message was that it, for the most part, was scientifically sound, cleverly turning conventions on their head or showing us logical, plausible ancient phenomena that we'd not imagined before.

For the All Yesterdays sequel, All Your Yesterdays, we see a minority of palaeoartists reaching further than it's predecessor dared, showing some very elaborate anatomies and lifestyles which may, in my opinion, go further than reasonable inference, even enhanced with speculation, may allow. Before we get any further, I want to stress that this post is not a review of All Your Yesterdays. I enjoyed the book, and think it's well worth seeking out for a look at for some excellent and thought provoking imagery. But yes, it does contain a few images which made me question this newfound speculative approach to palaeoart. We have to bear in mind that All Your Yesterdays was crowdsourced, the result of a contest for "original, creative concepts that are at least partially in-line with our current understanding of extinct animals" from Irregular Books. This is naturally going to draw a range of knowledge bases, some of which may be more comprehensive than others, and it may be that some of the more eyebrow-raising images therein are simple mistakes. I'm not going to name names here, because I gather the artists behind All Your Yesterdays were not aware that their work was going to be showcased as a 'significant' addition to the All Yesterdays canon, but I'll hint that molluscan salinity tolerances, the nesting habits in pterosaurs, the soft-tissues of spinosaurids, hadrosaurs and thyreophorans, and the evolution of viviparity were just some things which prompted this post. It's important to stress that problematic 'overspeculations' are not confined to a few pieces in All Your Yesterdays, but a small but noticeable chunk of post-All Yesterdays palaeoartworks which, arguably, jump the palaeoart shark. It's these artworks I want to focus on here.

Getting introspective with speculation
Chiefly, some artwork inspired by All Yesterdays seems to take license for increased palaeoartistic speculation as a sign that 'anything is possible in nature', without any real consideration for how likely some possibilities are. Other pieces showcase strange anatomies for the sole purpose of contrasting with more traditional standard depictions, without considering why such reconstructions are common in the first place. These works, presented as part of a movement that I think I understand and agree with, have gone beyond the science which has to underpin any recreation of an extinct being. The question is, how much speculation we can use before our work stops being palaeoart and starts being fantasy images starring extinct species?

Detail of neck biting Tyrannosaurus. I'm sure he's got a great personality.

Of course, I'm not the first person to ponder this. Indeed, the inspiration for this post, All Your Yesterdays, muses on this same issue:

"In short, speculation in palaeoart should be seen as a sliding scale. At which point does a speculation render itself too extreme? And is it even possible to reach said extreme given the ridiculous soft tissue structures and absurd behaviours present in the modern world? It is, in fact, surprisingly difficult to come up with a speculative piece of palaeoart that is unconditionally ridiculous (at least, so long as the basic rules of anatomy, biology and physics are applied, as they are in science-based reconstructions)."

All Your Yesterdays, p. 7  

These words contrast with a few comments online. Amid the near-universal acclaim for All Yesterdays, one or two (and three, four, five) folks have made about palaeoartistic speculation running away with itself, a far cry from the suggestion that palaeoart can never, so long as basic science is followed, be too ridiculous. It seems there's some need, then, for discussion about the appropriateness of speculation in palaeoart: how it should inform our work, how far we can take it, and whether all speculations are equal. After ruminating on this for a couple of days, it seems that the best way to tackle this is by dividing palaeoartistic speculation into three categories (as with any classification of an organic, creative process, are best perhaps viewed as major points a continuum), which I'll call primary, secondary and tertiary. These distinctions effectively denote how far depicted ideas stray from actual data. We'll outline these types of speculation first, and then discuss their use below.

Primary speculations
Speculations directly based on fossil data, whereby the evidence for a behaviour, event or anatomical feature is reasonable, but details may be murky and require some imagination to restore. Gut content, pathological bones and complex track sites are good examples of evidence which can be used to inspire palaeoart using primary speculation. We may not know the entire truth behind these fossils, but we can whittle it down to a few very likely possibilities. Basic elaboration of predicted integument of an animal - making fluffy integuments long or short, altering distribution and so forth - would be an example of primary speculation on anatomy, as would adding things like wattles, skin-folds and other likely anatomical details to reconstructions. With primary speculations, we can be more-or-less entirely confident that we're displaying a degree of truth in our work.

Secondary speculations
Speculations not directly supported by fossil data, but operate within our spectrum of knowledge to maintain a degree of plausibility. This may include extrapolation of common behaviours and, to a limited extent, elaborate anatomies from closely related animals to reconstructed species. Extrapolating some behaviours from or close ecological, anatomical or biomechanical analogues may fall into this camp too. Ritualised behaviours (below), unusual ways of dying and foraging on unexpected food sources are good examples. Depicted behaviours may serve to show the function of prominent anatomies. Slightly unusual interpretations of integument and other body tissues (perhaps as responses to climate, seasons, sexual selection etc.) probably fall into this category, so long as they are consistent with the integuments known within a 'reasonable' phylogenetic bracket. In short: speculations which adorn fossil species with features so fundamental to animal existence that, even in the absence of fossil data, we can be confident they occurred in deep time.

Ritualised courting chaoyangopterid pterosaurs, Lacusovagus magnificens. Did pterosaurs do this? There's no direct fossil evidence for it, but the abundance of ritualised mating behaviour in modern animals suggests we can be relatively confident that they, and other fossil species, used complex ritualised behaviour. This undoubted speculation gains indirect support from the broad array of sociosexual devices we see on many fossil species, and hints of ancient sexual dimorphism, both of which indicate sexual behaviours were as complex and sophisticated in prehistory as they are today. Image from Witton (2013).

Tertiary speculations
Speculations operating completely outside, and sometimes contradicting, fossil data. May rely entirely on application of very specific modern animal behaviours and anatomies to fossil species, often transferring rare, sometimes highly specialised lifestyles to fossil animals. There is no particular logic or reason behind these applications: they are entirely arbitrary. In other cases, complex biologies and life histories are invented for fossil taxa. Creation of soft-tissue anatomies without, or in spite of, consideration of underlying musculoskeletal system and/or soft-tissue fossil data. Reliant on the absence of data concerning fossil species, because 'anything is possible'. Hypothetical examples of such speculations are things like lactating dinosaurs, notosuchians with trunks, an egg-laying Deinotherium, hadrosaurs with antler-like structures growing atop their crests. Jaime Headden's woolly ankylosaur, his cautionary 'mess of speculation', is a knowing graphic example of tertiary speculations gone mad.

Speculations, what are they good for?
If these are the tools of the speculative palaeoartist, what are their application? Anyone familiar with palaeoartistic practises will recognise that the former two grades of speculation are standard tenets of palaeoart. Such speculations provide our leaps of logic into prehistory and, without them, palaeoart would be an pretty limited endeavour, probably entirely formed of musculoskeletal reconstructions. It's important to recognise that such speculations were not originated by All Yesterdays, as primary and secondary speculations have always been used in palaeoart. The masterstroke of All Yesterdays was to show how primary and secondary speculations could be bolder and more imaginative than most mainstream palaeoart suggested. The result is artwork which is both interesting, unique and supported by actual data.

The image at the top of this post is the result of such an inference. It's well known that many large theropods engaged in head-biting behaviour, and some specimens of Tyrannosaurus (including BHI 3033, better known as the common T. rex museum mount 'Stan') bear particularly extensive damage to their posterior skulls. The inference made here is that Tyrannosaurus engaged in aggressive head and neck biting during copulation, a widely seen behaviour among vertebrates that can often involve substantial damage to the head and neck of the female, sometimes leading to death. I'm not the first to envision this behaviour for tyrannosaurids. Tanke and Currie (1998) suggested nuptial biting as a cause of tyrannosaurid head pathologies but suggested it was refuted by the apparent small size (50% of full size) of many tyrannosaurids with head wounds. Of course, it now seems that dinosaurs became sexually mature when only half grown (Erickson et al. 2007), so this hypothesis may be back on the table. The resultant image is a radical and speculative depiction of Tyrannosaurus behaviour, but one that has a foot firmly set in science.

Cast of the skull of Tyrannosaurus 'Stan', BHI 3033, at in the Oxford University Museum. Stan's skeleton is particularly damaged around the posterior head and neck region, with a probable tooth wound penetrating it's braincase, a smashed postorbital bar (a dorsal projection of tyrannosaur skulls which anchored neck muscles) and broken neck vertebrae. Photograph by Marc Vincent, from Love in the Time of Chasmosaurs.

The same cannot be said for tertiary speculations. Some inferences made at this level are so far removed from actual data that they have little or no evidence to support them, and thus abandon the scientific basis which should underpin any palaeoart. Others may disagree, but I think good palaeoart, like good science, is led primarily by evidence, not speculation. This most obviously impacts tertiary speculations which arise, it seems, for the sole purpose of overturning convention. "This animal is always shown like/doing this... what if it looked like/did THIS SHOCKING THING?!??" While there's nothing wrong with trying to keep palaeoart fresh, we should remind ourselves that not everything common in palaeoart is a trope or meme, or the product of unimaginative artists. Sometimes, that's just how animals were, and conventions are based in very sound evidence. Deviating from these conventions is a move away from data, which is the exact opposite of what we want to be doing here.

Other tertiary speculations apply highly unusual behaviours borrowed from modern animals, or those which are entirely made up, to fossil species for no clear reason. This can be effective on occasion, presenting a fossil species in a radical light which may make us reconsider our preconceived notions of that species, but I'm generally not a fan. Why, of all the behaviours that we can imagine or observe in in the modern day, should we chose that specific animal as a model? And do we really expect the rarest, most elaborate and weirdest behaviours to be present in specific fossil animals? Are we actually predicting that extinct animals behaved (often adorned with the same colour schemes and patterns) exactly like these aberrant modern animals? We'll score far more science points if we apply more widespread behavioural phenomena to our palaeoart. This doesn't mean we have to confine ourselves to dull behaviours like travelling and foraging, because we can also rely on primary and secondary-level speculations to give us behaviours like resting, taking care of personal hygiene, reproducing, interacting with one another and so on. Likewise, lots of interesting anatomies can be extrapolated from the fossil record itself. In sum, while we should take inspiration from modern taxa, arbitrarily 'transforming' fossil animals into ancient versions of modern species stretches credibility quite far, and is perhaps a rather unscientific approach to our work (this point echoes one made earlier, also in response to some art in All Your Yesterdays, at Laelaps).

A counterargument could be made that tertiary speculations allow us to imagine how sophisticated and complex ancient worlds were but, again, I question this. Like any guesswork, they're of questionable significance. Unknowns are unknowns. Tertiary-grade restorations are as likely to be incorrect as accurate. These depictions may fire the imagination briefly, but the flames are tiny compared to those fuelled by cool ancient behaviour derived from actual evidence. It's one thing to see a shocking piece of palaeoart, but quite another to realise that there's actually tangible evidence behind it. Rather than pondering the great unknowns of deep time when confronted with a tertiary speculation, I frequently react with the opposite approach, thinking about what we can actually deduce about a given issue, and what a more likely interpretation may be.

Why I find tertiary speculations frustrating. The fossil record is full of interesting animals with known interesting behaviours, like these burrowing Oryctodromeus, and yet they are frequently overlooked in palaeoart for entirely speculative renditions of familiar taxa. Check out this post for more on this animal and it's need for a PR campaign.

This brings us to a more pragmatic bugbear about tertiary speculations. Extremely speculative palaeoartworks are actually fairly common, at least online, while innumerable cool palaeontological topics with a significant factual basis are completely ignored. Why use art to make rather hollow points about unknown topics when there's plenty of art to be made concerning subjects we do know about? Even familiar animals have unusual, rarely-depicted behaviours which we can infer from fossils with minimal amounts of speculation (such as the tyrannosaurs above), not to mention the shedloads of fossil species which are wholly unrepresented in art (and yes, I'm well aware of the hypocrisy of saying this in a post featuring Tyrannosaurus), many of which are also known to have interesting and unusual behaviours. Heck, it's common knowledge that palaeoart is heavily biased towards a few taxa, so just showing some of these rarely seen animals would be a thought-provoking, cliché-busting achievement in itself. Is it not better, as scientific illustrators, to base our work on what we know rather than what we don't?

Which leads to...
So, yes, despite being an advocate of using speculation in palaeoart, I'm not a huge fan of the extreme and uncontrolled speculation we're seeing creeping into modern portfolios. This may sound like I'm jumping off the All Yesterdays bandwagon, but I don't think I am. Most of our best palaeoartists - including those behind All Yesterdays - use speculation of primary or secondary grade, and are more notable for avoiding clichés and artistic conventions than they are for presenting highly speculative lifestyles and anatomies in fossil species. They elaborate existing knowledge to create more convincing depictions of fossil animals, and apply detailed research of the fossil record to show us sights we've never seen before. Some of their work may seem outlandish and brash, but it's actually far more measured than it looks.

I'm sum my point up as this. While we should be using speculation to push palaeoart to its limits, we need to know both which bits we can push, and when to stop before our speculations get the better of our work. This doesn't deny us licence to make our reconstructed ancient worlds amazing and interesting and, in fact, it may make our work more striking. It's one thing to see an outlandish reconstruction of the past, but all the more poignant when we realise the weird, strange or even shocking visage before us is based on truths, and not just imagination.

References

• Erickson, G. M., Rogers, K. C., Varricchio, D. J., Norell, M. A., & Xu, X. (2007). Growth patterns in brooding dinosaurs reveals the timing of sexual maturity in non-avian dinosaurs and genesis of the avian condition. Biology Letters, 3(5), 558-561.
• Tanke, D. H., & Currie, P. J. (1998). Head-biting behavior in theropod dinosaurs: paleopathological evidence. Gaia, 15, 167-184.
• Witton, M. P. (2013). Pterosaurs: Natural History, Evolution, Anatomy. Princeton University Press.

Skin-deep: the 'One Skin Fits All' approach to integument reconstruction in palaeoart

The snowy, chilly plains of Maastrichtian Alaska, where Pachyrhinosaurus perotorum roamed. But were they scaly like other ceratopsids, or covered in protofeathers, as shown here?

So... no pressure here, then. I innocently replaced my festive Facebook profile picture with some detail from the painting above last Sunday (07/01/13) and quickly found a storm (well, gusty conditions) of discussion, 'likings' and shares, with several folks mentioning their anticipation of this post to see what all the fuss is about. The Facebook responses have been interesting and mixed: nods of approval, some head-slapping 'why didn't I think of that', a revelation that Tom Hopp already did this last year and, perhaps more predictably, scepticism from a number of individuals who consider the whole concept very silly indeed. In short, there seems to be a certain amount of expectation in the air about this image, and I wouldn't be surprised if some virtual beer bottles are hurled at me across the Internet should this explanation not prove convincing. Here's hoping I've done my homework properly, then.

The painting in question shows a family of the Alaskan centrosaurine Pachyrhinosaurus perotorum, a species notable for its existence in rather chilly, latest Cretaceous climates at palaeolatitudes of 80-90°. It differs from other pictures of this species by having its Muskox Quotient upped by 500%, replacing the scaly hides of more traditional Pachyrhinosaurus reconstructions with a blanket of fuzz analogous to the fuzzy, unkempt feathers of modern ratites. Fuzzy polar dinosaurs are not unusual in palaeoart nowadays and they result in animals that look immediately more at home in icy, subfreezing climates than their scaly brethren. This image, however, directly contradicts what most folks will say we know about horned dinosaur integument. Some comments on Facebook have already wheeled this argument out: known ceratopsian integuments were predominately scaly, so the concept of a shaggy pachyrhinosaur is nonsense, right? Well, I'm going to argue here that it's not, or at least not a concept that is easily dismissed. Before we go any further, it's worth stressing that I'm not presenting this image as the new 'standard' for Pachyrhinosaurus perotorum: I don't know of any new evidence that confirms the shaggy hides shown here, be it soft-tissue remains of ceratopsids or a new interpretation of dinosaur evolution that suggests super-fuzzy ornithischians were common. Nor, for that matter, do I have the heads up on research indicating that latest Cretaceous Alaskan palaeoclimates were much lower than expected. Instead, across four points, I'm going to argue that, based on what we know of dinosaur evolution, the responses of modern animals to their environments, and - importantly - the vast gulf of unknown data regarding dinosaur appearance, that this concept is as plausible as our scaly variants and, in some respects, may be more plausible. On the way, I'm going to suggest that, as with some other considerations in palaeoart, we may be too conservative when it comes to depicting animal integuments, because we focus too much on their evolutionary relationships without considering their likely adaptations to habitats and lifestyles. Hmm... this is all starting to sound very All Yesterdays, isn't it? That's not a coincidence.

1) Ornithischians were fuzzy, and some were probably fuzzier than others.
First up, the least controversial pin in this case. Thanks to Tianyulong and the early ceratopsian Psittacosaurus, we know that ornithischians were covered in more than just scales, the former being covered in filamentous structures akin to early feathers and the latter possessing long quills (Mayr et al. 2002; Zheng et al. 2009) Accordingly, it's now fairly fashionable, and by no means unreasonable, to restore even large ceratopsids with at least a smattering of quills across their bodies like those seen on Psittacosaurus, reflecting a relict integument from an earlier phase of their evolutionary history. It naturally follows that we should expect some taxa to have been more densely adorned with filaments and quills than others, just as fur and feathers are of variable densities in modern species. Accordingly, while a shaggy pachyrhinosaur is certainly at the 'extreme' end of our predictions for an ornithischian integument, it does not directly contradict anything we know regarding dinosaur evolution. Ceratopsids probably had the appropriate genetic blueprints to produce a shaggy animal, so long as the right conditions promoted its expression. There is a question of how appropriate it is to cover a ceratopsid in shaggy integumentary structures however, in light of preserved skin impressions of other ceratopsids. How likely is it that any horned dinosaurs were fuzzy?



Fossil integument of Chasmosaurus belli. From Sternberg 1925.

2) Is the extrapolation of preserved integuments to other species that reliable, really?
Skin impressions and the remains of other integumentary structures are Holy Grails to palaeoartists, and we use them extensively in restoring extinct animals. Through phylogenetic bracketing, or use of their basic phylogenetic proxy when less data is available, we stretch these remains over entire clades so that the known integument of one species becomes the norm for an entire group - what I'll call 'One Skin Fits All' approach. Thus, because we have scaly skin impressions for three ceratopsids - Centrosaurus, Triceratops and Chasmosaurus (see image, above, of the latter. From Sternberg 1925), it's assumed that scales were common to the entire clade. There's nothing necessarily wrong with this assessment and, one may argue, it's the most parsimonious way to interpret this data. A stick in the mud, however, is that another dataset, the diversity of integuments in modern animals, suggests that integuments can vary wildly within groups, and that we could be vastly underestimating the integumentary variation in extinct animals.

Consider the different varieties of fluff, fur, feathers, hair, bristles and other fuzzes in a group of modern animals and then think how a future palaeoartist would reconstruct all varieties of that group if they only had access to only one or two examples of integument. Perhaps all reconstructions of bovids would have woolly coats like those of sheep, or, conversely, the sparse, almost naked skin like a water buffalo? We may deck all primates out in the long capes of colobus monkeys, all pigs with boar-like fur, or cover every inch of birds with feathers. We know such approaches are wrong because these groups demonstrably show variation in the distribution, length and structure of their varying integuments, and yet we maintain a One Skin Fits All' approach to fossil clades. We can't even play the 'extremely close relationship card' in this game as the likes of woolly mammoths, and the fuzzy Sumatran and woolly rhinos, show vastly different integuments to their closest, naked relatives.

One could counter this point by arguing that the relative abundance of scaly remains in certain dinosaur lineages suggest that most, if not all members of that clan were scaly. Perhaps, but we should consider both the sample sizes here and the taphonomic window through which fossils are passed to the modern day. We have, at best, skin impressions from a handful of species compared to the group diversity, so statistical support for the 'One Skin Fits All' approach is low. Moreover, which types of skin are more likely to be preserved? Taphonomic observations on modern animals suggest that fur and feathers are easily removed from carcasses by biological or physical processes, so their preservation potential in ancient animals is low outside of fossil Lagerstätten. Is it a coincidence that the only skin impressions we find outside of Lagerstätten are scaly, leathery hides? I don't have the answer to that question, but it's worth chewing over.

With all this in mind, I wonder if applying the fossil integuments of one species to all its relatives, even close ones, is a questionable practise. I'm not saying that skin impressions are useless and that we should pay them no attention, but we should remember that they only highlight possibilities and perhaps some degree of probability for integumentary structures in a related species. They may well also have no bearing whatsoever on the appearance of their relatives. We're dealing with a great amount of unknown data when reconstructing ancient integuments, and we know how complex this issue is through modern species. When applying this thought to horned dinosaurs, we can say that the scaly skin impressions we have for a few species demonstrate that some bore scales, but we cannot rule out the possibility that others were covered in entirely different structures, like the quills and fuzz that seem deeply rooted in dinosaur ancestry. It does seem likely that many centrosaurines heads, including Pachyrhinosaurus, bore heavily keratinised scales and pads (Hieronymus et al. 2009), but, of course, this doesn't tell us much about the rest of the body. The majority of skin in Pachyrhinosaurus could be scaly, fuzzy, or anywhere inbetween. Without skin impressions to directly tell us the integument of specific species, there's no way to be sure. We need to be careful that we do not afflict ourselves with palaeoartistic phyloblindness here, by only considering these animals as denizens of cladograms and evolutionary hypotheses. Phylogenies may tell us what is possible for integument reconstructions, but other factors may help us decide is more probable.

3) Phylogeny is far from the only factor controlling integument, and can be readily overruled
It's funny to think that, for all the time we spend looking at the phylogenies of extinct animals, we're often missing much about the raw power that drove their evolution: adaptation. This is probably because we're lacking so much anatomical detail in their fossils that their responses to even broad environmental changes are largely undetectable, so understanding why they change through time is not always as certain as how. Nevertheless, we can be sure that different environments drove modification to the anatomy of extinct lineages on small and large scales, and integuments were likely to be one of the most affected tissues. Animal integuments are critical interfaces between body and environment, and have to be appropriately adapted for given habitats. This is a readily observable phenomenon in modern animals, because their integuments reflect all sorts of environmental factors including sun exposure, temperature, local vegetation types, water availability, parasite prevalence, and their local predators. Presumably, this is why such variation in integument exists in even closely related species. But we frequently reconstruct fossil species as if they all live in the same place. Sedimentological and isotope data reveals that closely related ancient species sometimes lived in starkly contrasting settings, but because we frequently take the 'One Skin Fits All' approach, our animals look very similar, irrespective of the requirements of their habitats.

Hot Fuzz: a reference to the condensing breath of the animal, the controversial concept depicted here, or just an excuse for a bad pun? Whatever: it's an excuse to link to this clip from Hot Fuzz: Best. Granny. Kick. Ever.

Behaviour may also have an effect on integument. Sun-shy, non-aggressive and cursorial animals may well bear thinner integuments than slower, frequently exposed or bad-tempered species, for instance. Morphology, too, will have an influence, with larger animals having lessened needs for insulation or being capable of carrying heavier, armoured hides. These are all things palaeoartists should be considering when reconstructing extinct animals: they should look adapted to the lifestyles we predict for them, rather than being based on phylogenetic hypotheses alone. Perhaps some desert-living dinosaurs had elephant-like, deeply wrinkled skin to help heat dissipation, while smaller desert-dwellers had extremely short feathers, or none at all, to prevent overheating. Maybe large theropods had heavy scales on their faces to defend themselves during bouts of head biting. We don't know for sure, but we can be certain that these species had to be appropriately adapted for wherever and however they lived. In short, we need to be wary reconstructing our ancient species by cladogram alone, and realise that integuments, and soft-tissue anatomies in general, should reflect a combination of phylogenetic data and possible adaptations to habitats and lifestyles. This, undoubtedly, involves some of the 'informed speculation' that has been discussed so much with All Yesterdays, but the results are more consistent with our knowledge of modern animals and evolution generally, and arguably producing a more convincing look into the ancient world ('convincing' is the right word here: I'm not sure we're ever going to get 'accurate' results in this game). In fact, after mulling this over for some time, I find the typical and conservative, 'One Skin Fits All' approach much harder to defend than the more open minded, environmentally-influenced reconstructions argued for here.

Bringing this back to our fuzzy pachyrhinosaurs, we again have to question the how applicable the currently available ceratopsid skin impressions are to this Alaskan species. The scaly hides of Chasmosaurus, Centrosaurus and Triceratops represent animals living in more southerly regions than Pachyrhinosaurus, which were at least temperate to subtropical in climate. The former two taxa also lived somewhat before Pachyrhinosaurus, when global temperatures were, on average, a little warmer. These sub-arctic coastal plains encountered by Pachyrhinosaurus perotorum, by contrast, were much cooler, and sometimes genuinely cold. Accordingly, the selection pressures on integument may have been very different for P. perotorum compared to these warm-climate ceratopsids, and we have to wonder how suitable the skin impressions of Chasmosaurus et al. are for reconstructions of Pachyrhinosaurus. We wouldn't, after all, expect the integument of a yak to resemble that of a African buffalo, or consider the fur of a lithe gazelle a suitable model for mountain goat fur. With this philosophy in mind, the question of shaggy pachyrhinosaurs shifts focus from arguments about the cladograms and the skin impressions of their relatives, and on to whether or not Late Cretaceous Alaska was cold enough to promote the development of an extreme integument adaptation in a large dinosaur species.

4) Late Cretaceous Alaska: a struggle for any tourist board
Although nowhere near as bleak as our modern Alaska, the dinosaur faunas inhabiting the northern reaches of latest Cretaceous Alaska would have experienced fairly grim weather for much of the time, perhaps akin to that experienced by modern animals living on the northwest coast of Canada or the more depressing parts of Scotland. In a recent review based on palaeobotanical data from the Cretaceous Arctic, Spicer and Herman (2010) suggested that uppermost Cretaceous Alaska experienced mean average temperatures around 6°C, with summer months attaining a comfortable 14.5°C, but winter months dropping to an average of -2°C. The Pachyrhinosaurus perotorum-bearing Prince Creek Formation may have been a little cooler than other parts of the Late Cretaceous arctic circle, with a mean average temperature between 2.5-5°C. Winter lasts a long time at 80-90° latitude, with 5 of darkness bracketed by 2 months of twilight. A permanent cloud cap over the Late Cretaceous Arctic (detected by the oversize nature of the fossil plant leaves from Cretaceous Alaskan localities) acted as a atmospheric blanket for the region, prohibiting temperatures from plummeting below freezing low for long period. The lowest temperatures - perhaps -10°C - may not have lasted more than a few weeks. Evidence for deep freezes is absent however, with neither the sedimentological or palaeobotanical record indicating nothing more severe than week-long frosts and light freezes. Despite this, rain and snow were probably common, with relative humidity averaging about 80% and even the driest months of the year experiencing over 180 mm of rain. The collective three wettest months, by contrast, collected almost 800 mm. (To put this in perspective, rain-soaked England has an average annual rainfall of 854 mm, according to the UK Met Office [via Wikipedia]). Such a climate was capable of supporting a rich array of plantlife, and evergreen taiga-like forests were common, as were swamps, rivers and other bodies of water. Such conditions seem fairly common right the way through Late Cretaceous Alaska, with conditions a full 8° south of the Prince Creek Formation seeming similarly cold and wet. I should add that this consideration of ancient Alaska  isn't particularly controversial, the palaeobotanical data mentioned here matching palaeoclimate models based on isotope records, animal distribution and sedimentology.

So the Prince Creek palaeoenviroment wasn't exactly an ideal holiday spot, but was it 'extreme' enough to promote the evolution of an fuzzy coat in a 1.5-2 tonne dinosaur species? Given the dense furs we see in large mammals found in similar climates, I think it's certainly a possibility. It would certainly be far weirder if polar dinosaurs of the Late Cretaceous didn't respond to their climate somehow, and a thick coat of protofeathers is one possible adaptation to their cool, wet habitat. A layer of insulating fat would be another (cue an image of some tubby pachyrhinosaurs). Of course, the picture may be different if these animals hibernated or migrated in and out of Alaska annually, enjoying the brief mild period before heading south to escape the winter. The latter is perhaps the most widely discussed concept, but direct evidence for such migrations in Alaskan dinosaurs is as sparse as evidence for their fluffy integuments or fat layers. In the concept proposed here, the protofeather coat may have acted as an insulator against the cold, prevented wind, rain and snow from hitting the naked skin of the animal, or both. The latter function would benefit from the coat being thick and fluffy, but this may not have lead to overheating even in a big animal like Pachyrhinosaurus: the ragged, loose coats of hot-climate adapted ratites appear similarly thick and massive without overheating their owners. Perhaps the concept of shaggy coats in these Alaskan dinosaurs doesn't seem so as implausible as it may first appear, then.

To bring this more-mammoth-than-intended essay to a close, then, I again stress that I'm not saying 'this is what Pachyrhinosaurus looked like!', but attempting to present it as a product of both its phylogenetic history, its environment and habits, and not simply reconstructed via a cladogram. I think there's a lot of scope for these sorts of palaeoartistic renditions, even it does mean more reliance on the 'informed speculation' principle of All Yesterdays. Of course, this whole argument flows back to the core idea behind the All Yesterdays movement: the conservative, 'One Skin Fits All' approach to integument reconstruction is just as likely to be wrong as our more speculative concepts, but at least the use of informed speculation lines the reconstruction up with our knowledge of modern animal diversity.

References

• Hieronymus, T. L., Witmer, L. M., Tanke, D. H. and Currie, P. J. 2009. The facial integument of centrosaurine ceratopsids: morphological and histological correlates of novel skin structures. Anatomical Record, 292, 1370–1396.
• Mayr, G., Peters, D. S., Plodowski, G. and Vogel, O. 2002. Bristle-like integumentary structures at the tail of the horned dinosaur Psittacosaurus. Naturwissenschaften 89, 361–365.
• Spicer, R. A. and Herman, A. B. 2010. The Late Cretaceous environment of the Arctic: A quantitative reassessment based on plant fossils. Palaeogeography, Palaeoclimatology, Palaeoecology, 295, 423–442.
• Sternberg, C. 1925. Integument of Chasmosaurus belli. The Canadian Field-Naturalist, 39, 108-1 10.
• Zheng, X., You, H., Xu, X. and Dong, Z. 2009. An Early Cretaceous heterodontosaurid dinosaur with filamentous integumentary structures. Nature, 458, 333–336.