Bone Appetite
Filed: June 27, 1998 - By ANDY KEHE
Californian staff writer
e-mail: akehe@bakersfield.com

The day's hunt in the hills northeast of Bakersfield had reached its fourth sun-drenched hour, and Bob Ernst was finally onto something bad to the bone.

Perched on top of ragged chunks of dirt with hammer and chisel in hand and his legs crossed, Ernst zoned in on an undisturbed area like a bloodhound with a snootful, an angler with a nibble, a gambler with a hunch, a 49er with an itch.

The all-out digging of the previous three hours became more discriminate. Thirteen-million-year-old shark teeth, once the object of his desire, were being tossed aside like yesterday's laundry. All they represented to him now were clues that the shark's dinner was nearby maybe a small whale, a sea lion, perhaps. Maybe a dolphin or a sea turtle.

The area we know now as rural northeast Bakersfield was once home to them all, and when they died, their bones and teeth came to rest in compacted beds that run through 400 acres in the hills west of Round Mountain Road owned by Ernst and excavated daily by the retired, 60-year-old fossil collector.

To date, he has collected more than 2 million specimens of Middle Miocene era (12 to 15 million years ago) marine and land mammal life, including teeth from 15 species of shark; bone and teeth from four species of sea lion; and about 100 species of other fish and animals. More than half of the specimens he finds, such as teeth and bone fragments from a desmostylus an odd-looking, toothy species of marine hippo are from animals that are extinct.

What he suspected he'd find this hour were fragments of whale skull, possibly an extinct species of sperm whale that once roamed these waters. The tell-tale sign was the abundance of shark teeth and whale bone uncovered in the 2-by-2-foot section he was digging out.

A skull was here," he said, quietly, his eyes focused down on the ground. "Now whether the sharks have disassembled it or whether it's buried in here, we don't know. But it gives us incentive to keep moving.

As it turned out, what the tanned, burly man was onto had more bite than bone to it. But as he held up a jagged tooth from a rare flesh-eating sea lion, he couldn't help but revel in the uniqueness of his find.

"Oh, this is very exciting," he said in his nasally tone, grinning broadly under his bushy grey moustache. For the time being, the motivation to find a whale skull had vanished. "It's really rare only 10 have ever been found. People back east would (go nuts) over this."

Much to the envy of paleontologists worldwide, Ernst makes discoveries like this almost every day. Now it's the skull to go along with the tooth of an extinct palagioarctus thomasi (carnivorous sea lion) he wants. Nobody's ever found one. Let the hunt resume.

Ernst is not your typical retiree, although like a lot of others he has chosen to spend his twilight years playing by the seashore. Only he never leaves Bakersfield. And he never gets wet. Actually things are pretty dead where he goes very dead.

Yet Ernst has never felt more alive. For his own personal playground, Ernst wallows in what 12 million to 15 million years ago was shallow water and coastline of the Temblor Sea, which eventually dissolved due to movements of the Pacific and North American plates.

"Whales, dolphins, sea lions, turtles they had to have land mass to reproduce," said Ernst, who has thoroughly researched theory and animal bone structure of the mid-Miocene era. "That tells us we had to be on a coastline or very close."

Ernst lives near Foothill High School but his 400 acres west of Round Mountain Road are part of a 110-square mile, fossil-rich outcropping that locals, scientists and land planners have known for some time as Sharktooth Hill (there is also a specific hill in the area named Sharktooth Hill due to its resemblance to a shark tooth). Scientists also know the 110-square-mile area as Round Mountain Silt.

While there are other small outcroppings in the state yielding marine fossils, Round Mountain Silt is considered by scientists to contain one the most fertile and accessible marine-fossil-bone beds from the mid-Miocene period known to man.

"There's been at least 130 species of dead land and marine animals identified from there, so all tolled, that's the biggest list of animals from any deposit that age in the Pacific Realm," said Larry Barnes, a paleontologist with the Natural History Museum of Los Angeles County. "That makes it very important scientifically."

Moreover, the same bone beds that are yielding remains of sharks, sea lions, whales and dolphins are yielding bones and teeth from many species of land mammals, including elephants, camels, horses and deer. This phenomenon suggests, as a popular theory goes, that a river flowed into the sea from the northeast and carried bones from animals that had died in the river. Over millions of years of storms and seismic uplifting, land mammal and marine bones and teeth have been jumbled together and have been lifted toward the surface.

"Every time you turn over a clump of dirt, you never know what you're gonna find," Ernst said, clad in nothing more than T-shirt, shorts, cap and tennis shoes with no socks. "You can go days and not find anything and then all of the sudden you find something really big. That's what's so interesting about it. That's the beauty of it." As well as the danger.

Sharktooth Hill is often identified as a source for valley fever. But neither Ernst, his wife, Mary, nor anyone else in his family has ever contracted the disease. So he digs away oblivious to the threat.

He clings to the notion that he is not in danger because he is working some 25 feet below where the fever spores flourish in 8 to 10 inches of topsoil. But Barnes acknowledges that the valley fever threat exists on Sharktooth Hill and wherever ground squirrels are churning up topsoil.

"You can get it whether you're digging topsoil in Texas or Riverside, and, yes, you can get it on Sharktooth Hill," said Barnes, who excavates the hills almost every chance he gets. "I've had valley fever, but I caught mine in Fresno. Anytime you're digging and the wind is blowing, there's always a chance."

Coming from a farming family which owned 17,000 acres in San Luis Obispo County, Ernst follows a long line of fossil hunters who have sampled the area, going back to the first in the 1850s who happened to stumble upon the bone beds while surveying for the railroads.

He's been digging for 35 years, almost daily during the last 10 since retiring from a career selling office supplies. With money acquired through the sale of family property in San Luis Obispo, Ernst first began buying up private property on Sharktooth Hill 10 years ago and to date has invested $180,000 for his 400 acres. He says the fact that the area is fossil-rich has nothing to do with the value of the land being assessed at $500 an acre, although he has had offers for four times that much from a man in New York who is well aware of money the fossils could bring.

Ernst is not the only one making discoveries on the hill, although he is the only one making daily discoveries. Excavating parties from the Natural History Museum of Los Angeles County, the California Academy of Science, the Smithsonian Institute, the Sharktooth Hill Foundation and Bakersfield College, among others, engage in occasional digs.

But what disturbed Ernst was the realization that most of those specimens unearthed by parties from those institutions were being taken out of the county. Keeping the fossils here for local residents to enjoy is one reason why he bought property on the hill and why he and geologist Mike Metz started Buena Vista Museum of Natural History at 1201 20th St. in Bakersfield, where many of Ernst's most important discoveries are either on display or are being carefully cleaned and reconstructed by volunteers.

"These fossils have a heritage here and this is where they should stay," Ernst said when the topic of conversation switches to others excavating the hill.

Because all the property on Sharktooth Hill is privately owned, including 188 acres by the Kern Community College District, legal access is limited to those invited by property owners.

Those fortunate enough to tag along with Ernst for a day are in for a unique history lesson of mind-boggling dimensions.

The journey to one of Ernst's four quarries each professionally dug 25 to 30 feet from the surface down to where the bone bed rests begins down the road from Gordon's Ferry. A tire trail bobs and weaves over hills and valleys and through acres of dove weed, turkey melon, waving wild oats and cattle that have wandered over from Steve Smoot's ranch. Hillsides in all directions are scarred by old digs, some dating to the turn of the century. Ernst has a job to do, though, before embarking on the day's dig stopping to feed about two dozen cottontails that have grown accustomed to his generosity.

After a few miles, the truck rolls downhill into what Ernst calls his "west" quarry an L-shaped area about as long as a football field but not quite as wide.

At first glance, there doesn't seem to be much to get excited about. Ernst has dug away at the quarry bed much in the same way one would etch a garden out of a lawn. A distinct, albeit jagged, line with large dirt clods piled up on one side of the line clearly distinguishes between where he has been and what he has not yet turned over.

But at closer look, fascination and wonder set in as the shocking realization comes that Ernst is rejecting 13 million- to 15 million-year-old chunks of vertebra as fast as he finds them.

Like discarded cigarette butts, whole shark teeth litter the entire quarry bed. "We already have so much of this stuff, so there's no need for any more," Ernst said, while assuming his chiseling position on a soft pillow his left knee grinding into the tailings so hard that whole sections of skin have worn away. "I usually throw whale verts back behind me and if anybody from the museum wants to pick them up later they can.

"I could come back two or three lifetimes and not even touch what I own now there's that much stuff in these hills."

Ernst has the quarries professionally dug out with loaders, and over time excavates two separate layers: First a younger layer containing more complete skulls and skeletons that settled about 4 feet above and a few hundred thousand years after the lower layer. He then will dozer down to the lower layer, which is more compact and far more jumbled, but still capable of yielding important discoveries.

"Most significant finds are found in the layer above the (jumbled) bone bed," he said. "But I still love to dig out the bone bed and you can still find new things nobody's ever seen before."

Both layers are littered with shark teeth because, like today's species, sharks of the mid-Miocene era lost as many as 15 teeth a day out of their conveyor-belt-like jaws.

Ernst said he once found 187 shark teeth in an 18-inch-by-18-inch area. He keeps most of the teeth so that later he and museum volunteers can assemble shark teeth kits for school children visiting the museum. Or he might drop off a few to the kids he passes every day selling orange drinks by the side of the road. "They call me the "shark man" or "Sharkie," he said, proudly.

Collecting shark teeth was the incentive at first, Ernst acknowledges, but soon after that the focus turned to bones and skulls and identifying as many new species of animals as possible. To date, he has unearthed eight previously undiscovered species.

Still, a shark tooth discovery like the one he made recently unleashes a kind of joy few ever get to experience.

Before the rains chased him off the day before, Ernst believed he had discovered evidence that a large shark tooth might be nearby an ear bone of sea lion with a hole in it. Ernst confirmed his hunch in the presence of Barnes and visitors from Los Angeles, pulling a perfectly preserved 5-inch tooth from the bone bed not a foot away from where the ear bone was found. He believes it came from about a 50-foot carcharocles megalodon the predecessor to today's smaller great white shark. "That was neat, man," he said. "It's one of the most exciting, thrilling moments a person could have."

Ernst has collected about 100 big teeth from megalodons, each valued at about $500. He says it's difficult to place a value on his discoveries because people have been known to pay thousands of dollars for mere castings of what have been taken out of the bone beds. He decided about 10 years ago, however, to discontinue all-out marketing of his finds, although he acknowledges that he will part with a specimen if the price is right.

"Every man has his price," he said. "I know I've got mine.

"The Japanese, particularly, are after it, constantly. For years, they have offered doubled what anybody else would and if I didn't have another source of income (sale of family land), I'd be tempted."

For this hot Tuesday dig, Ernst had brought out the heavy artillery a Makita jack hammer powered by a Honda ES 6500 generator mounted on the bed of a dusty tan Ford Ranger pickup, itself an informal showcase for discovery. Casually sharing bed space with the generator are boxes and cans full of rare bone and shark teeth. In one paint can, for instance, there's a can of WD-40 and a box of Smead folder separators nestled against 15-million-year-old ear bone and small whale vertebras. Without hesitation, Ernst reaches in and passes them out like candy.

"Go ahead, take what you want," he says to his two first-time digging companions. "We can always find more shark teeth."

The 8-to-12-inch bone bed lies about 2 to 3 inches below the quarry floor and angles at a constant 6 to 8 degrees. With the jack hammer, Ernst can more easily break away large portions of the bone bed without seriously breaking up anything that might be intact below. He then takes a seat in the dirt tailings he has swept away with a shovel and then chisels under the bone bed. Prying upward, large blocks of dirt break away, usually with some sort of treasure inside be it a shark tooth, a skull fragment, a rib bone or a vertebra. To get at them, he simply breaks apart the clod with a mallet.

Ernst has loosened about a 15-foot section of bone bed and within minutes, the quest for the unusual has swept over the newcomers, who, following their mentor's lead, are now chucking aside shark teeth and 20-pound chunks of whale vertebra in hopes there'll be something more significant in the vicinity.

"See, you got it," he said of the fever.

The hours passed and the bones and teeth piled up. Long stretches of silence were broken only by the sounds of the jack hammer or somebody muttering, "Hey, what's this?"

"The only thing that keeps me company up here sometimes is the cattle wailing," he said.

Once Ernst makes a significant discovery on the hill a skull or skeleton fragments that are lying close to each other (a phenomenon known as "association") he will notify Metz, who will then organize a posse of trained museum volunteers. The group is then taken to the quarry where they encase the discovery in cement and burlap after first trenching around it.

The discovery is lifted out and taken back to the museum where at some point the encasing will be carefully broken down, the bones extracted and repositioned, possibly for display.

Because of hot weather and the threat of grazing cattle crushing the bones, there is reason to move quickly.

"Once it's exposed, we have a certain time frame we need to get up there and get it removed," Metz said. "Generally, I try to take five to eight people up with me. Any more than that and we are stepping on each other."

If Ernst or Metz are not able to identify the specimen, specialists are consulted. In its short three years, the Buena Vista Museum has developed a beneficial trading and consulting relationship with many museums throughout the country.

About 150 people from all walks of life donate time to the museum and Ernst's discoveries, but despite the available help, storage rooms are full of encased discoveries, including a complete sea lion, that have yet to be processed.

"I could stop right now and it'll be 10 years before they catch up," said Ernst of the work facing the volunteers. "We really need to get more people in here."

The museum features hundreds of specimens, all from the Bob and Mary Ernst collection, starting with an impressive display of shark teeth, including mako, cow shark, horn shark, tiger shark, dogfish shark and megalodon.

There are jaws, teeth and other bone fragments from dolphins, sperm and baleen whales, leatherback turtles, turtles, deer, elephant, horse, camel and even crocodile.

Two of the prize pieces are recent finds an extinct species of Manatee (sea cow) and a sea lion that stretches about 6 feet long.

The discovery of the carnivorous sea lion tooth was the most significant find of the day in the west quarry, although several sea lion canine teeth, a tooth from a sharp-toothed prosqualodon (an extinct, long-billed dolphin) a 9-inch rounded tip of a sea lion jaw and, yes, fossilized sea lion poop were uncovered as well.

The digging party moved about a half-mile away to the "north" quarry where the chances were better, Ernst said, for discovery of more intact skulls and jaws.

Within a matter of minutes, several large bones from various dolphin species are uncovered, simply by removing about one-half-inch of dust with a whisk broom.

"Oh God, that's a jaw from a dolphin, a big one," Ernst said, after coming over to inspect what one of the newcomers had uncovered. "That's a beautiful jaw, Jesus."

The jaw of the errebundas another extinct species of a long-billed dolphin measured about 18 inches in length and featured a distinct row of holes for the teeth, which were not found.

Ernst, who for most of the day had been hammering away with crude tools, broke out the small stuff Exacto knife, dental plaque remover, a dime store half-inch paint brush to carefully trench around the jaw and expose the tooth holes without compromising the jaw's integrity.

"It's a good piece," Ernst said after a closer examination. "We have a couple (of skulls) at the museum now. It's a good find, not in very good shape, but a very rare specimen."

The hour was late, and the wind and sun had taken its toll, but just like hitting a jackpot or hooking into a hiding place for fat rainbow trout, discoveries like that one rekindle energy and inspire to hunt for more.

Just as Ernst was protecting the jaw discovery with a glazey substance called Glyptal and a few car tires to keep the cows away, a 2-foot chunk of rib was uncovered again simply by sweeping away top soil about 5 feet from the jaw. "Nice piece," Ernst remarked. "Museum quality."

After it, too, was entrenched and protected, the day's dig come to a halt with a couple of ice cold drinks and slices of melon both as sweet as the big discoveries of the day.

The next day, Ernst was back up on the hill, back on the seat of his shorts, shoveling away old tailings to make room for new discoveries.

Something, no doubt, bad to the bone.

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