The Pits

As I, giddy with excitement, boarded the Archaeological Minivan of Science, I realized that I had no idea what to expect of actual fieldwork. I had extrapolated fantastic visions of spelunking inside the ribcage of Magic (the flesh-laden elephant corps circa 1980’s), but what was in store was more exciting than my wildest dreams.

We were there to dig pits.

When our car ride of Anth-jokes and squabbling over music concluded we went for a quick tour through the site, where I had my first real experience with an archaeological pit. Pushing through the tall grass, I came about 10 centimeters from stepping in Magic’s excavation pit from last year; now flooded with stagnant dead-elephant water.

Regardless of the humor that stems from a digging up a dead elephant, archaeological pits deserve a second thought. The reason for their existence is to allow archaeologists to catch a glimpse of a different time. Whether it’s a Neanderthal burial, or a field of dead zoo-animals, the basic principal remains the same: Digging up the past also destroys it, so you’d better get as much information out as possible. This thought is perturbing to me, since it’s too easy to imagine myself blowing the most important find of a site.

Fortunately, in reality things are almost never that glum. When we got to dig our test pits (TPs) we were quickly instructed in all of the proper archaeological methods. Recording the local of an artifact when you find it, and not (albeit hard to resist) immediately yanking it out of the ground to clutch feverously, is just one of many methods we learned.

TPs are simple shovel-dug holes in the ground that allow you to see under the soil you’re standing on, yet they are more complicated than something so simple should ever be. White and King (2007:113) say that “[TPs] are small, square to round excavations generally measuring 40 to 50 cm (1.3 to 1.6 ft) across, with maximum depth depending on local geomorphology and the likely depth of cultural deposits”. Getting down to a depth where “cultural deposits” are likely seemed easy, until “local geomorphology” got in the way. It was often in the form of giant rocks that screeched loudly when hit with your shovel, and got stuck in the mud when you tried to remove them. Occasionally “local geomorphology” took the shape of thick roots that crisscrossed your TP, which made digging much more arduous than originally expected. Just being able to dig down a meter can be physically challenging, as it forced some of us to lie down and continue to dig while at 90º. The most challenging problem I encountered was a tightly buried burlap sack I found at about half the desired depth of my TP. This sack, although technically part of the “cultural deposits”, was immovable and ended up completely thwarting the path of my shovel. No matter how hard I tried it was impossible to puncture, or even dig around this frustration.

As I sweated with annoyance at this sack, my brain began to freeze up. How could a “cultural deposit” in my pit be hindering my attempts at finding something important? In a flash, the futility of trying to understand archaeology strictly in terms of “local geomorphology” and “cultural deposits” dawned on me. You can’t just read a book and then traipse onto the field knowing exactly what to do. Archaeology isn’t astrophysics or theoretical mathematics, no; it’s real science. You have to be able to adapt your theories in a pinch, stay scientific in the most difficult situations, and be able to evaluate whether or not to continue to struggle with a burlap sack. I’m glad to have learned this early on so I can later squeeze as much information as possible out of instructional archaeology texts, and use that information as a frame, not as rule.

It’s amazing what you can learn from a pit.

Works Cited:

White, G. and T. King

2007. The Archaeological Survey Manual. Walnut Creek: Left Coast Press.

Can we do better than Google?

If we were to file our Parc Safari data, would it go under "A" for "African Animals?" Or "Animals (African)"? Or maybe "Q" for "Quebec" (subsection "Africa")? Could the excavation of a zebra in Hemmingford, Quebec ever make a lick of sense without extensive context?

In 2004, a group of archaeologists met in a National Science Foundation-funded workshop to develop a concept that seems paradoxically fantastical and obvious: a centralized cyberinfrastructure, a working database of all archaeological data, ever, in the history of the world. Obvious because, as you the reader knows, all the most efficient organizational systems use online technology; fantastical because Keith Kintigh’s 2006 report on the workshop barely scratched the surface of the logistical nightmare that this theoretical database would be.

There’s a misconception among the Indiana Jones-loving masses that archaeology is a finite field, that almost everything to be dug up has been dug up, and that the whole discipline will one day go the way of the CD (that is, obsolescence). An understandable assumption, perhaps, when the only exposure one has had is a dusty black-and-white photo of the pitted, ravaged Valley of the Kings, but a very untrue assumption all the same. After all, as long as the world spins, things will get buried. As long as there is archaeology, there is new data. And as long as there is research, there is a very real need for easy access to old data.

In the information age, it seems easy to say, “well, let’s throw it online!” Surely after the database is designed and the bugs are exorcised, it will be a self-sustaining system, with all new information sliding neatly into its categories like books on a library shelf. And therein lies the first roadblock.

What is unique about archaeology is that data – the hard facts and the numbers – does not lose its importance, no matter how much new data is discovered. You can only excavate a site once (unless something has gone very wrong), and thus whoever got there first will be the effective data master forever. Even after the archaeologist’s death, new archaeologists will be referring back to those numbers and those pictures for as long as there is interest in that civilization. And since archaeology has existed in some form since the European Renaissance, the collective archaeological record is not only vast, but almost entirely in print.

And it is by no means enough to transcribe the data into electronic form. The ideal database is one that facilitates cross-referencing, which leads to the problem of standards. According to J.D. Richards’ From Anarchy to Good Practice, the documentation standards that exist now, adopted by archaeologists under pressure from libraries and museums of the world, are more guideline than law: “Guides to Good Practice, or Best Practice, but not Required Practice”. Without standards, the decisions you make on how narrow your animal categories will be (i.e. ungulates vs. artiodactyla vs. deer) or what side you support in the metric/imperial war will inevitably clash with the decisions of at least one of your colleagues, and researchers tend to panic when faced with a clash.

Richards goes on to question the real need for standards, using an example that very few people couldn't identify with: in the age of Google, we are all too used to the “type-and-hope” method of research; that is, plugging something into a search engine and praying that something at least mildly relevant comes back. And usually, it works. A truly standardized database would likely operate on a “point-and-click” basis, wherein the user would narrow down categories to find what he or she was looking for. Such a system that could comfortably accommodate all the vast and varied data accumulated over decades would have to be detailed to the point of inscrutability. To simplify the system bears the risk of shuffling aside inconvenient data that refuses to fall neatly into a category. The designers of this database would be walking a very, very thin line. The "Metadata" (the details of how a database is arranged) would have to be very controlled to avoid the comedy cliché of the filing system that, in a quest for maximum efficiency, has become too detailed to be at all useable.

During our discussion, the point was made that, once the database is in wide use, it puts pressure on academics to publish quickly. It would be difficult to take one’s sweet time in writing a dissertation when eager colleagues could easily access your data and begin their own inquiries. It also raises new ethical questions concerning the importance of disclosure in a new age of instant data-sharing.

The website “tDAR” (the Digital Archaeological Record) is the first attempt at a realization of the theoretical database. It is quite new and displays this not-exactly-inspiring disclaimer above the search bar:

“As this is a beta release, we will appreciate your tolerance of any problems you encounter and encourage you to send comments, suggestions and bug reports to [address].”

Out of curiosity, this humble blogger entered “tiwanaku” into the search bar, reasoning that surely the name of such an important site would return a wealth of information. I must say, I was mildly shocked when only a single result appeared. Either the young tDAR is not looking to pressure archaeologists into contributing, or there is a resounding lack of interest from the wider community. Either way, at this point, this isn’t the database we’re looking for. (We don’t need to see its identification. We can go about our business. Move along.)

Despite all this, both the NSF-funded forum and Roberts are convinced of the need for a database. To them, the benefits outweigh the risk. As a student of archaeology who is quite often fed up with the existing online resources, I do hope their vision becomes reality sooner rather than later.

Kintigh, Keith. "The Promise and Challenge of Archaeological Data Integration." American Antiquity 71.3 (2006): 567-578. Web. 11/05/10.

Richards, J.D. (2009) From anarchy to good practice: the evolution of standards in archaeological computing. Archeologia e Calcolatori, 20 . pp. 27-35.

The Good, The Bad and The Muddy: Ethics for Archaeologists.

To conclude the educational odyssey that has been this class, we discussed the complex issue of ethics in archaeology. This semester we have learned how to identify, plan, map and execute a successful archaeological excavation, so it seems fitting that our field season comes to close with a discussion about ethics behaviour and professionalism. While ethics are important in any professional discipline, in archaeology ethics are essential because we frequently require access to sensitive cultural material, like human remains, around which issues like ownership and preservation revolve.

Bergman and Doershuk define ethics as “what is good and bad and what compromises moral duty and obligation” (2003, 86). We expanded this definition and decided that for an archaeologist, ethical behaviour is to identify the potential stakeholders involved, their mandates and cooperate with them while still achieving the research goal. We determined that at any one time there are at least three stakeholders involved, the archaeologist, the landowner (whether it be the federal government or a private owner) and the descendent group. In Cultural resource management the client also has a significant stake. As a result, to act ethically one must take into consideration the interests of all the stakeholders involved.

For an archaeologist, the primary objective of an excavation is to obtain as much information about a site as possible, while operating within the law and cooperating with other stakeholder interests. Archaeologists are often ascribed the identity of being “stewards of the archaeological record” (Groarcke and Warrick, 2006, 165) we preserve it, interpret it and can make accessible to the greater public. Does this make our interests more important than those of the other stakeholders? Here in lies the challenge. Whose interests matter more? Does research take precedence over site preservation? Should the wishes of descendent group be more important then those of the landowner? Should all stakeholders be equal? There is no easy answer; yet each excavation team will have to take some form of action.

Ethics are also significant when extracting value from archaeological data. Oral histories from a descent group could contextualize data in way that academic deductions could not. Alternatively, the academic record can identify inaccuracies in the oral history. The oral history of Parc Safari is a good example. Although the site is less than thirty years old, discrepancies have been discovered between the oral history and the material we have excavated. If there is a conflict in interpretation, whose story is chosen as correct?

We also discussed the importance of avoiding biases and considering alternative opinions when interpreting archaeological data. Even within the same stakeholder group differences of opinion can exist. We discussed the divisions between academic and Cultural resource management (CRM) (Bergman and Doershuk 2003,1). CRM archaeological consulting is a relatively new development in the field of archaeology that is concerned with extracting archaeological data as a business. The difference between CRM and academic archaeology is that CRM is conducted to assess cultural remains within sites designated for future development. The result can be a salvage excavation to extract data from a site before potentially damaging construction or development takes place. The data derived from archaeological consulting has, in the past, been deemed as “grey literature”(and has been regarded as less important than the data from academic archaeological research). We discussed the possibility of using grey literature as a source of information for future academic research. Grey literature is a valuable resource, encouraging its use in academia could assist in discouraging the endurance of negative professional stereotypes.

We concluded our discussion by determining that archaeologists of any profession have an obligation to engage neutrally, preferably in the political arena where all stakeholders’ voices can be heard. It is important to remember that the archaeological record is publicly owned; because archaeologists have the privilege of first contact with the archaeological record there is substantial pressure to ensure that our choices and actions comply with the accepted ethical standards of the time. And let’s be honest, complying with ethical standards is a small price to pay for the fun of getting dirty in an excavation pit.

Works Cited:

Bergman, C.A & J.F Doershuk, 2003. Cultural Resource Management and the Business of Archaeology. In Ethical Issues in Archaeology, edited by L.J Zimmerman, K.D Vitelli, and J. Holloway-Zimmer, 85-98. New York: Altamira Press.

Groarke L. and G. Warrick, 2006. Stewardship gone astray? Ethics and the SAA. In The Ethics of Archaeology: philosophical perspectives on the archaeological practice, edited by C. Scarre and G. Scarre, 163-177. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Digitize This!! (oh wait, i already did)

Since our days in the field have unfortunately come to an end, Parc Safari 2010 has begun the process of discussing the possibilities of digital archaeology. As a group, we came to the consensus that in order for digital archives to be legible, standards must be applied to allow for comparability. Furthermore, metadatas must be created to facilitate useful comparisons based on ontologies. Our discussion this week turned to the effect of new technologies on field methods. While these technologies do allow for increased data acquisition, they must be taken up with a grain of salt.

It is fitting that during our discussion of the uses of technology in archaeology we should find ourselves with a perfect example of technology as a hindrance. Corroborating Backhouse’s claim “digital data is almost always useless because it generally has no contextual information with it”, the data points recorded by the total station lost some of their significance due to a misinterpretation of context (Backhouse 2006, 53). In order to understand this example, we need to go back in time to Parc Safari, week 8: after setting up the total station over our datum, a tedious process of leveling then adjusting then leveling again, we realized that our labour had been in vain because the stick on which the total station prism is mounted had been forgotten. Luckily, the total station is a technology designed to be adaptable; instead of using the prism to locate data points, a laser can be aimed directly at points to record their location. Since we had already plotted the location of each corner of PSTR1, we could use one of these corners for a temporary datum. This is where the problem came in: we knew that PSTR1 comprised of points 12,13,14,15 but we had not recorded in our notebooks the location of each of these points. So we made the assumption (which turned out to be incorrect) that the points must have been taken in either a counter-clockwise or clockwise manner, such that the northwest corner of PSTR1 would always be point 14. We then continued to plot all of the points for week 8 from point 14, which was actually the southwest corner of PSTR1. The result when Colin mapped the total station points of PSTR1 was a crooked map. In this way, our data suffered because we failed to record its context.

Total Station at northwest corner of PS2010TR1

Another limitation of digital archaeology is apparent in this example: that of digital maps. As Zubrow points out, the perceived reality of digital maps are often greater than is justified (Zubrow 2006, 22). Since our skewed map of PSTR1 is constructed of data points plotted by a sophisticated technology, somebody not involved in the project may view it as a completely accurate depiction. Unlike hand-drawn maps, which show the hand of the artist who produced them, digital maps have the appearance of being a “disembodied view from nowhere” (Zubrow 2006, 22). In reality, however, (like hand-drawn maps) digital maps “are located in culture, space and time” (Zubrow 2006, 22).

Map of PS2010TR1

Despite these limitations digital maps, and digital archaeology in general, provide useful tools for the archaeologist. As Chris pointed out, a hand-drawn map cannot be published in a paper thus necessitating its conversion to a digitized form. Not only does this conversion take time, it also “removes the data one more step away from the individual who made the observations in the first place. An interpretation on site recorded on paper is reinterpreted in post-excavation, introducing data irrelevance and data inaccuracy” (Backhouse 2006, 53). Furthermore, digitizing these maps allows a degree of play with archaeological data. In Bevan and Conolly’s survey of Kythera, Greece, for example, maps of terrain at multiple scales were layered over one another – a technique only made possible with GIS (2004, 132). By creating a mult-scalar map Bevan and Conolly were able to determine terrain curvature. In other words, which valleys appear as valleys at multiple scales? In a somewhat dated article, Dibble and McPherron seem to prophecy Bevan and Conolly’s approach when they write: “the fact is that we can and will explore more possible relationships when data manipulation is made much easier” (1989, 437). Since the possible questions an archaeologist can ask are increased by digital archaeology, “digital developments create or at least influence the creation of theory” (Zubrow 2006, 11).

The use of technology in archaeology offers more efficient, more sophisticated, and faster methods for use in data acquisition, analysis and archiving. Some of these possibilities have been described here. It is important to remember that without standards for recording such data it can become a drop of water in the ocean that is the archaeological record. It is also significant to acknowledge the effect that these new methodologies can have on archaeological theory.

Works Cited: Backhouse, P. 2006. “Drowning in Data? Digital data in a British contracting unit”. In: Daly, P. and Thomas L. Evans (eds.), Digital Archaeology – Bridging Theory and Method. New York: Routledge, pp. 50-59

Bevan, A. and J. Conolly. 2004. GIS, Archaeological Survey, and Landscape Archaeology on the Island of Kythera, Greece. Journal of Field Archaeology 29, 123-138.

Dibble, H.L. and S.P. McPherron. 1989. On the Computerization of Archaeological Projects. Journal of Field Archaeology 15, 431-440.

Zubrow, E.B.W. 2006. In: Daly, P. and Thomas L. Evans (eds.), Digital Archaeology – Bridging Theory and Method. New York: Routledge, pp. 10-33.

Packing it in. Or, how to excavate TR2 in one afternoon.

Last Friday was our last day in the field. The occasion brought the two groups together, produced several finds, and created a general excitement as we collectively tried to get as much done as we could before we packed it in for the term. As we worked quickly under a slightly overcast sky and brisk weather, we were very aware of the time constraint—as Chris and Colin put it, everything that we did that day needed to be finished. That day.

This week the group split up to maximize our time at the site and the first task at hand was to continue exposing the extended portion of our first trench (PS2010 TR1) since Group A had further exposed portions of several bones. Several bones were unearthed, including a rather large, short, and squat femur which soon became one of the biggest finds of the day.

At the same time, we continued test the subsurface deposits between our first trench (PS2010 TR1) and the Watusi unit, using the same method described in last week’s blog post—a simple and inexpensive coring device. As previously mentioned, we do not yet have a clear idea of the stratigraphy of all areas of the site since many of the layers have been disturbed by the construction of the road. The Parc Safari site was thus a good place to get an idea of the three-dimensional matrix of an archaeological site: most of the site consists of sediment and soil deposits (most of them anthropogenic, or altered by human activity) or constructions (the road), with scant artifacts. While it is largely an additive deposit, consisting of the various layers of animal burials and deposited refuse, there is a considerable amount of deposit subtraction that has occurred through the construction of the road (Kvamme 2005, 425). This post-depositional disturbance accounts for the mixed surface finds that we encountered in our trenches, close to the road.

The crew took turns coring, finding a similar stratigraphy to what had been encountered in the Watusi Pit. Making our way slightly northeast to TR1, we took several samples and found the same thing each time: past the top layer of vegetation there was (1) a loose organic layer, with some roots and grass, (2) a more densely packed layer of soil, and (3) a final layer somewhere between the dirt and clay.

One last core was left, close to TR1, and it was my turn to have a go. It was a bit tougher than I thought it would be, but after briefly contemplating jumping on the handles and treating it like a pogo stick, I gave it one last good shove and in the ground it went. This one was slightly different. After the topsoil there was simply the loosely packed organic layer and the more densely packed layer of soil—so now we have an idea of where the stratigraphy changes in that portion of the site.

To get a better idea of the subsurface deposits, next year’s team may be able to use the brand-spanking new Ground Penetrating Radar (see previous post); however, this year it was not at our disposal. We did have one last project at hand, though—as we were simultaneously continuing to excavate/map TR1 and coring, we began and completed our second trench, PS2010 TR2.

The location of this second 50cm x 2m trench was determined by a hypothesis that Chris and Colin had about the mapping of methane emissions by the geography department. If the methane emissions could be proven to be higher near units that contained bone, then there might be a correlation between the methane level in the soil and animal remains, thus allowing us to include chemical mapping in our arsenal of terrestrial remote sensing techniques.

Chris and Colin seemed to be on to something, and we eagerly excavated the unit next to Peeper 3. Being careful to follow the Golden Rules, we unearthed an array of individual bones, including a tailbone in the southwest portion of the trench. After carefully mapping in our finds, our instructors nearly had to pull us away from our trowels to pack up. It appears as if you really do find everything on the last day…

That lion will have to wait for next year.

Kvamme, K. 2005. Terrestrial Remote Sensing in Archaeology. In: Maschner, H.D.G., Chippindale, C. (Eds.), Handbook of Archaeological Methods. Lanham, MD: AltaMira Press, pp. 423-77.

Roskams, S. 2001. Excavation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Stein, J.K., 1986. Coring Archaeological Sites. American Antiquity 51, 505-527.

Coring & Augering

Generally, my opinion of the Park Safari and its excavators is that we are all a rugged bunch. We dutifully and energetically attend to our trench as we did our first test pits.

But say we were not able to dig our systematic test pits and were unaware of the basic stratigraphy of the site- what then? There are a variety of other methods used to examine the innards of a site without actual excavation, saving both cost and time.

First and most simply are the techniques of augering and coring. These methods originated in the geology when it was used to understand the fluvial deposits in the Mississippian Delta region in 1935 (Stein 1986, 506). Once applied to archaeology in the same region, it was used to discern cultural from non-cultural deposits in an area of interest as well as compared to the geological findings to establish a relative chronology. Following the advent of radiocarbon dating, coring and augering became more of a resource for gathering testable material below the surface.

Augering is the more destructive of the two, requiring a drill of varying sizes bored into the ground and returning the soils from below. It can pull up in bucket sized increments the layers which it has disturbed, but they are by no means intact and sufficient for accurate study. To penetrate to large depths of several meters a motorized drill is often used to power the auger.

Alternatively coring involves small tubes- about 3cm in diameter- to be pushed into the ground at predetermined depth intervals and shaken forth to pull up a sliver, albeit a compacted one, of earth representing the stratigraphy of the ground below. It is officially defined by Stein as “a continuous section of sediment or rock obtained by using a hollow cylinder called a corer” (1986, 505). If to be used with radiocarbon or chemical testing, this sample preserves more accurately the layers below.

Similarly, soil testing is common practice in locating indications of human activity; phosphate testing is used to locate where the original chemistry of an area has been disturbed by either fire pits or concentrations of human activity, as when nutrients are removed from the soil by activity, or added in with refuse decomposition (Roskams, 55). At Park Safari we based the site of the trench (PS2010TR-1) on readings taken from the methane peepers set up by the McGill Geology department.

If we were completely unaware of the stratigraphy at the Park Safari graveyard, coring would act as an inexpensive and expedient method for understanding the layers we would encounter upon digging: these would be the organic layer, the mineral layer, and then the yellowish clay layer indicating artifact sterility. Were we to come upon a deposited layer, or animal remains, it would indicate a ‘cultural’ layer, which would then be plotted to a map for overall reference. Our overall picture of the graveyard, however, is severely lacking; there are no known burial sites except for those which have already been uncovered and in the middle of the western field stands what believed to be an old structure and our only indications are from the methane emission readings. A systematized augering test done at intervals through the mounds and vegetation would illuminate concentrations of articulated or non-articulated bones, therefore grave sites (like of lions).

In the last few decades a range of machines have been developed that create images of the sub-surface, blasting far beyond the WWII era aerial photography techniques of mapping. As they lay far beyond our budget, I include only a most special machine in this short post: Ground Penetrating Radar (GPR). The cause of a local stir both within and without the department of Anthropology, a newly acquired (or currently being acquired, depending on tense implications, and $$ allocations) GPR machine. In simple terms, GPR functions by sending microwave pulses (300-500MHz) below the surface, and creates an image based on velocity reduction of the wave once it has passed through a denser object (Kvamme 2005, 436-7). This method is highly depended on soil types and water content; our flooded trench, for example, would indicate we stand upon a rocky pond. On some days, indeed this is what I’ve come to believe too. But there is a lion in there somewhere.

Kvamme, K. 2005. Terrestrial Remote Sensing in Archaeology. In: Maschner, H.D.G., Chippindale, C. (Eds.), Handbook of Archaeological Methods. Lanham, MD: AltaMira Press, pp. 423-77.

Roskams, S. 2001. Excavation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Stein, J.K., 1986. Coring Archaeological Sites. American Antiquity 51, 505-527.

Lions and Curses and Nazis, oh my!

Can you see that storm a brewin'?

Archaeologists deal with some pretty dramatic circumstances. According to a History Channel documentary I happen to own, we are constantly in danger of noxious gases, earthquakes, attacks by local landowners, curses and Nazi’s. I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried. These may be legitimate worries though, since I too feel like I’ve finally earned my archaeologist’s fedora. For the last few weeks, we at Parc Safari have had to deal with the worst of the worst. We have had (gasp) inclement weather.

All joking aside, the weather has actually been pretty poor in Montreal of late. And apart from making my teeth chatter and my llama-wool socks wet, the rain has been a bit of a problem on site. In fact, only last week group B was forced to come home in the middle of a field day, despite Chris and Colin’s promises that we (like the US Postal Service) would not be deterred by rain nor snow nor sleet.

It is an unfortunate fact that excavation relies heavily on our ability as field workers to actually see the unit. When the weather is poor, the rain poses some problems. What my fellow students and I recently realized is that rain makes the soil deposits wet (an incredible revelation, I know). This made using a flow diagram, such as the one we were given (to determine the composition of deposits) more difficult. It was harder to differentiate between layers by colour for instance. What I mistook for a change in stratigraphy turned out to be what Colin called a “tub ring”. The rising water table and rainwater left a ring of discolouration on the walls of the unit after we finished bailing.

On the other hand, the rain would have been fortuitous if we had we been using a Munsell chart to determine colour. This is because the rain would have "moistening it until it no longer darkened" which is the proper technique for Munsell. Unfortunately our Munsell chart chips are not waterproof making them useless in the rain. In better conditions a field worker is expected to record not only the colour and soil type (which we tried to do) but also the inclusion size and surface details of each stratigraphic layer (Roskams 2010). We did not make note of the inclusion size but we did, as I will discuss later, map in ‘surface details’.

On a side note: an interesting fact I learned through the readings is the difference between soil and deposit. Soil is created in situ, if you will, by organic means whereas a deposit is brought into it's current location via natural forces like flooding and erosion or by human means (Roskams 2010), such is the case for Parc Safaric where backhoes and large machinery were likely used. But I digress...

Wet weather, along with a high water table also made it difficult to excavate. Not only were the sides of the unit highly unstable but seeing the bottom of the unit was near impossible for group B. According to Colin they could not bail fast enough to keep a dry bottom. I think underwater salvage archaeology is incredibly interesting, but that’s not what we are supposed to be doing here at Parc Safari!

Thankfully, all was not lost. We were not going to throw in the metaphorical trowel. We were better than that as archaeologists, gosh darn it! Given that group B could not actually excavate, they retreated honorably into drier conditions for a lab-style lesson. We in group A managed to practice a few skills that didn’t involve digging too much deeper. Since we uncovered a few more bones (including what is part of an axis) and rocks it was decided that drawing the unit was the next step. Interestingly, we also uncovered a large embedded piece of heavy-duty metal cord.

Chris and Colin led us in a quick lesson on how to draw and map a unit. I have had plenty of practice on mapping, from my field school this summer but only in the base-line drawing method. Chris and Colin proposed three alternative ways to map a site or unit.

1. Hip chains

This method involves using a forestry tool called a hip chain. It is a biodegradable rope material that is released from a canister hung off of a person’s hip. Like a pedometer, hip chains measure distance, though in metric terms instead of steps to help an archaeologist map a large unit or entire site.

2. Triangulation

This method is used to determine the location of a point by measuring angles to it, from known points at either end of a fixed baseline, rather than measuring distances to the point directly. To use this method you anchor your two tapes at known points (in our case the corners of a unit). Then you level them with line levels and you measure the distance of each to the object. You record this. Then you scale the measured distances with a compass and draw circle segments; the point where your segments intersect is where your new previously unknown point is. Plot this on lattice graph paper.

3. Drawing screen

This method is very useful for smaller units or those that have a large quantity of material to draw. It involves putting a physical screen over the unit, which corresponds to a metric grid system and plotting the results on lattice graph paper.

The method we used on Friday was the base-line method of drawing. A ‘base line’ is set up along one axis of the unit, using a tape measure along the string. A second tape measure is used to ‘eye-ball’ a point (on a bone, interesting feature etc) that you want to draw, and the distance from the baseline is used. Often a plumb-bob is used for deeper units to help with the estimating. The coordinates are then called out to someone who has a scaled map set up on lattice graph paper and the points are plotted.

He's down there somewhere...

Weather is something we as archaeologists have no control over. We can pray to the (undead) spirit of Lewis Binford all we want but sometimes the day just turns out soggy. We are a resilient type of academic, willing to brave the elements, but we are also bright enough to know when to pack it in. No, we have not found lion yet. I want to believe he’s there though, waiting in our watery unit, biding his time.