Finders keepers
Discovering Whatcom’s preserved natural treasures
By: Halley Buxton
From Baker to the bay, Bellingham is nestled in natural conditions that produce trinkets and oddities in every nook — if you know where to look. From parks in the middle of town to distant waterfalls, our city is teeming with fossils waiting to be unearthed.
Whatcom County and its surrounding landscapes are punctuated with hills and mountains of the Chuckanut Formation, known for its unique pattern of folded sedimentary layering. Chris Clare, a local fossil-hunting hobbyist, explained the area’s prominence of plant fossils after our introductory expedition to Whatcom Falls Park.
“My understanding is that all this land, all this rock, was originally down south near the equator and it was a tropical climate as a result. The Chuckanut Formation was formed off this huge river basin…so [it] laid down this sedimentary rock and all these plant fossils over millions and millions of years. The continents shifting and tectonic plates shifting put that rock underground, folded it in a lot of weird ways,” Clare said. “What’s cool is that a lot of Bellingham is built on that formation, so they could be anywhere. I found them even at Glass Beach.”
Clare became hyper-fixated on fossils in the spring of 2023, from their combined lifelong love of “Jurassic Park” and a needed distraction from their personal life.
“I thought fossils were super rare…I didn’t know that I lived in an area [where] they were common,” Clare explained. “All you need is a screwdriver and a hammer…I also like to use a knee pad if I’m going to be down on the dirt because my knees hurt. Water, obviously, supplies. Usually, a little towel to wrap them up in. But really, it does not take a lot. Just basic stuff that you already have – and that’s what’s cool, it’s accessible.”
{photo of Clare showing me something}
Clare’s advice to first-time fossil hunters is to do your research – look online for areas where you can or can’t keep specimens and the type of rocks to look for. As we went on our brief expedition, he pointed out the fossil-prone sedimentary rocks as crumbly, dark gray-colored stones with webs of cracks. We also looked for black spots, or concentrated areas of coal – a sign that plant matter had been turned to carbon in the same process that makes fossil imprints.
“It also smells a certain way, kind of earthy… ‘When in doubt, smell the rock.’ I’ve read online that people taste the rock,” Clare said. “I don’t taste the rocks. I’ll leave that to the professionals.”
After a few minutes of poking through roots on a ledge near the falls, Clare came away with a rock split with the image of a fern leaf. The plant fossils in the area are dated to be from the Eocene Epoch, between 30 and 60 million years old.
“When I first found out that’s how old they were, I had this weird reaction, like, ‘Oh, lame’ because I was hoping it would be older,” Clare said. “But now I think it’s even cooler because it’s an era that gets less attention than it maybe should, just because it’s not as bombastic as the Jurassic Period.”
{insert one of me looking at fern - maybe one w Clare in it?}
This small, clear print of an ancient fern was enough to thrill me regardless of its age. I was enraptured, tracing it with my finger and taking a photo to send to my mom. I asked Clare what it’s like for them to find a fossil after a year of practicing the hobby.
“I mean, I’m just ecstatic. I remember the first time that [my partner] and I cracked open a rock at Racehorse [Falls] and we found stuff in it,” Clare said. “I didn’t know if we were actually going to find anything. It was like, ‘Holy shit!’ It’s a huge rush of excitement and reward. It makes me keep wanting to open up the next rock.”
Since Whatcom Falls is a city park, keeping fossils found there is not permitted. But after joining Clare to find that first fern, I was determined to collect a fossil for myself in an area said to be brimming with them.
After driving up winding roads and over the train tracks of Deming, Washington, I soon needed to refuel– gas for the car and a popsicle for me. The green hills rose around me as I drove past pastures parallel to the Nooksack, catching glimpses of its dancing waters between the trees. Forty minutes outside of town, I was parking at the lower trailhead of Racehorse Falls.
With a hammer and screwdriver peeking out from my backpack, the trail greeted me with the shade of tall alder trees and the distant sound of running water. After climbing over felled logs for a short distance, I detoured to the river’s shoreline. Cottonwood puffs floated through the air like snow in the sun as I walked into the clearing. The scene was magical, but I was skeptical — it seemed too sandy for the type of rock I was looking for.
I picked my way closer to the water and began noticing broken stones balanced on logs and boulders, dotted with the carbon print of leaves and twigs dating back millions of years. Previous visitors had left their finds like scattered breadcrumbs for hopeful fossil hunters. I snapped some pictures but was antsy to start the search for some of my own. What if it had all already been uncovered?
The sudden power of breaking rocks with my bare hands was addictive. Some stones would crumble at the slightest touch, while others took pressure from my tools along their thin cracks before splitting. Once I started, I didn’t want to stop. Each rock became a treasure chest with the potential for anything to be inside.
As my eyes trained to recognize the right rocks and where to break them, I found more and more traces of flora in each stone. Their details were fascinating, with veins millions of years old etched in the layers. I took photos as I went, but I had a goal – I wanted to find a fern of my own to kick off my collection.
On I went, crumbling rocks left and right, disturbing an anthill and apologizing, standing in the river when it got too hot and leaving behind my own trail of interesting finds. A little less than an hour in, I discovered a rock with parallel cracks running through its dark mass and propped it on my knee to take photos of each layer.
Finally! My own delicate fern-like fossil, smaller than the one at Whatcom Falls, but no less beautiful. I was thrilled at the discovery and carefully stowed the pieces in a towel to prevent breakage.
