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Horse Domestication Story Gets a Surprising Rewrite

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Tuesday, November 19, 2024

The world we live in was built on horseback. Many people today rarely encounter horses, but this is a recent development. Only a few decades ago domestic horses formed the fabric of societies around the globe. Almost every aspect of daily life was linked to horses in an important way. Mail was delivered by postal riders, people traveled by horse-drawn carriage, merchants used horses to transport goods across continents, farmers cultivated their land with horsepower, and soldiers rode horses into battle.Scholars have long sought to understand how the unique partnership between humans and horses got its start. Until recently, the conventional wisdom was that horses were gradually domesticated by the Yamnaya people beginning more than 5,000 years ago in the grassy plains of western Asia and that this development allowed these people to populate Eurasia, carrying their early Indo-European language and cultural traditions with them.Now new kinds of archaeological evidence, in conjunction with interdisciplinary collaborations, are overturning some basic assumptions about when—and why—horses were first domesticated and how rapidly they spread across the globe. These insights dramatically change our understanding of not only horses but also people, who used this important relationship to their advantage in everything from herding to warfare. This revised view of the past also has lessons for us today as we consider the fate of endangered wild horses in the steppes. And it highlights the essential value of Indigenous knowledge in piecing together later chapters of the horse-human story, when domesticated horses moved from Eurasia into the rest of the world.On supporting science journalismIf you're enjoying this article, consider supporting our award-winning journalism by subscribing. By purchasing a subscription you are helping to ensure the future of impactful stories about the discoveries and ideas shaping our world today.The genus Equus, which includes horses, asses and zebras, originated around four million years ago in North America. Over the next few million years its members began dispersing across the Beringia land bridge between what is now Russia and Alaska and into Asia, Europe and Africa. Horses are among humanity’s oldest and most prized prey animals. Perhaps the first indisputable evidence for hunting with weapons by early members of the human family comes from horse-rich archaeological sites such as Schöningen in Germany, dating to some 300,000 years ago. The unique lakeshore environment there preserved not only the remains of a band of horses but also the immaculately crafted wood spears that humans used to dispatch them. For millennia wild horses remained a dietary staple for early Homo sapiens living in northern Eurasia. People were keen observers of these animals they depended on for food: horses featured prominently in Ice Age art, including in spectacular images rendered in charcoal on the limestone walls of France’s Chauvet Cave more than 30,000 years ago.Horses served as muses for Ice Age people, who captured their likenesses in spectacular works of art, such as the images in France’s Chauvet Cave that date to more than 30,000 years ago.Heritage Images/Getty ImagesTracking the transition from this ancient predator-prey connection to early domestication—which includes such activities as raising, herding, milking and riding horses—can be challenging. Researchers studying the deep past rarely have the luxury of written documents or detailed imagery to chronicle changing relationships between people and animals. This is especially true in the Eurasian steppes—the cold, dry, remote grasslands where scientists suspect that the first horse herders emerged, which stretch from eastern Europe nearly to the Pacific. In the steppes, cultures have long been highly mobile, moving herds to fresh pastures with the changing seasons. Their way of life left behind archaeological assemblages that can be shallow, poorly preserved and difficult to study. Indeed, much of what we know about the origins of horse domestication comes from a single, powerful scientific source: the bones of ancient horses themselves.But it wasn’t until much later that people domesticated horses, as evidenced by burials at sites such as Novoil’inovskiy in Russia dating to the early second millennium B.C.E.As an archaeozoologist, I seek to understand the origins of domestication through the study of horse bones from archaeological sites. In the early days of this kind of scientific inquiry into domestication, some researchers looked for patterns in the size, shape or frequency of these bones over time. The basic logic behind this approach is that if horses were living in close contact with people, their bones might have become more widespread or more variable in shape and size than in earlier periods, whether because people were breeding them for particular traits or because they were putting the horses to work in ways that altered the animals’ bodies over the course of their life, among other factors.Burials of horses and chariots establish that early domesticated horses were used for transport.But it turns out that looking for these types of patterns in the archaeological rec­ord is a little bit like reading tea leaves. Changes in the shape or number of horse bones found at ancient sites could be caused by any number of other things, from environmental change to shifting human diets or even sampling errors. At best, these indicators give us only an indirect way to trace the origin of herding or riding.A stronger, more scientific understanding of horse domestication began to take shape in the 1990s. Building on the work of some earlier scholars, archaeologist David Anthony of Hartwick College in New York State and his colleagues identified direct evidence for domestication in horse remains, publishing their findings in Scientific American. When horses are used by people for transportation, they sometimes develop a particular pattern of damage on their teeth from the equipment that is used to control them. This damage, known as bit wear, can often be seen on the lower second premolar of horses ridden with metal mouthpieces, or bits. Anthony and his colleagues found bit wear in an ancient horse from a Ukrainian site known as Deriyevka, which was thought to have been home to an archaeological culture known as the Yamnaya people. Although the Deriyevka horse had not been directly dated, its association with the Yamnaya culture suggested that herders in the Eurasian steppes might have been raising and riding domestic horses by the fourth millennium B.C.E. or even earlier.The Deriyevka horse seemed to tie together a number of loose threads in scientists’ understanding of ancient Eurasia. Beginning after 6,000 years ago, during a period called the Eneolithic (also sometimes known as the Copper Age), large human burial mounds known as kurgans appeared across much of eastern and central Europe and the western steppes. Over the years many archaeologists and scholars hypothesized a connection linking kurgans, the spread of Indo-European languages and the first horse domestication. Specifically, they proposed that the Yamnaya people tamed horses in the Black Sea steppes and then swept across Eurasia on horseback, bringing their burial customs and an early form of Indo-European language—which is believed to have given rise to many languages spoken today, including English. On the heels of Anthony’s discovery, this framework, known as the kurgan hypothesis, gained wide currency in academic literature and popular consciousness.Unfortunately, the Deriyevka horse was not what it seemed. A decade later direct radiocarbon dating of the remains showed that the animal wasn’t nearly as old as Anthony thought. Instead it had lived and died sometime in the early first millennium B.C.E., when domestic horses and horseback riding were already widespread and well documented. But rather than rejecting the kurgan hypothesis entirely, archaeologists continued to explore other animal-bone assemblages from the western steppes dating to around the same period, searching for horse bones to validate the idea. During this search one site in particular drew renewed interest: Botai, located in northern Kazakhstan.Botai sits some distance east of the Yamnaya homeland. Despite lacking any obvious cultural connections to the Yamnaya, Botai is also located in the western steppes, and like Deriyevka, it dates to the fourth millennium B.C.E. Most interesting, the animal-bone assemblage recovered from excavations at Botai contained huge numbers of horses. In fact, among thousands of animal bones from Botai, almost all were from horses. Working with these materials, archaeologists began to discuss the relevance of Botai’s horses to the question of early domestication.Early on, the Botai domestication debate was a spicy one. First Anthony and his colleagues suggested that the strange surface shape of some Botai teeth was also a form of bit wear, hinting that the Botai horses were ridden. Soon, though, Sandra Olsen, now at the University of Kansas, identified the same features in wild horses, meaning they could not be taken as proof of domestication on their own. Scholars also looked at contextual aspects of the Botai site, including the architectural layout, speculating that post holes and backfilled pit houses filled with organic material could be leftover traces of corrals and corral cleaning.Still, other scientists remained skeptical—for good reason. Some Botai horses were found with harpoons directly embedded in their ribs, obviously killed by hunters. An even bigger problem with connecting Botai to domestication, though, was the age and sex patterns among the animals found at the site. In a managed herd of horses, those chosen for slaughter are either very young or very old because breeding-­age animals are needed to ensure the herd’s fertility and survival. Marsha Levine and her colleagues pointed out, however, that Botai’s bone assemblage consisted mainly of the remains of mostly healthy adults. Moreover, the site contained large numbers of breeding-age females, as well as some fetal and neonatal horses from pregnant mares. The slaughter of these animals would be devastating to the fertility of a domestic herd, but evidence of it is common in archaeological sites where wild animals were hunted for food.This healthy disagreement over domestication at Botai was temporarily quashed in 2009, when a high-­profile publication in the journal Science brought together new evidence apparently showing that people from Botai milked and rode horses. The authors looked at the shape of the bones of horses at Botai and argued they were similar to the modern domestic horse, Equus caballus. Using emerging techniques for the study of ancient biomolecules, scientists also analyzed ceramic shards from Botai and found residues that seemed to have come from ancient horse fats. These residues, though not diagnostic of milk on their own, had anomalous isotope values, suggesting they could have originated from milk.The most important new argument, though, was that some Botai horses displayed a different kind of tooth damage that the researchers said could be more securely linked to use of a bridle. With new results from Botai strengthening con­fidence in the idea of horse domestica­­tion during the fourth millennium B.C.E., the kurgan hypothesis returned to paradigm status.In the decade and a half since Botai revived the kurgan hypothesis, our archaeozoological tool kit for understanding ancient horses has grown by leaps and bounds. And one by one these new techniques and discoveries have begun to erode the connections between Botai and horse domestication. In a recent study, my colleagues and I analyzed dozens of wild horses from Ice Age sites across North America. Our research showed that the key features interpreted as evidence of bridle and bit use at Botai were probably the result of natural variation rather than horse riding or horse equipment.Moreover, we now know that many other aspects of horse riding can leave a recognizable signature in an animal’s teeth and bones. Halters, saddles and harnesses can make distinctive marks. And different activity patterns, from heavy exertion to confinement, also have identifiable impacts. For instance, the pressure from mounted riding or from pulling a carriage or chariot can each cause unique problems in a horse’s vertebral column or lower limbs. Even early veterinary practices such as dentistry are sometimes visible in the archaeological rec­ord. So far none of these more reliable indicators of domestication have been found in Botai horses.Horses from the site of Botai are now known to have belonged to a wild horse species, Przewalski’s horse, that was hunted for food. Conservation efforts are currently underway to restore this highly endangered species.Sven Zellner/Agentur Focus/ReduxWe can also look to DNA for clues. Improvements in ancient-DNA sequencing now allow scientists to reconstruct partial or whole genomic sequences from archaeological remains. Analysis of DNA from ancient people and animals has yielded some rather remarkable findings, documenting, for example, the migration of Yamnaya people from eastern Europe as far east as Siberia and Mongolia during the late fourth millennium B.C.E. These same techniques have shown no evidence of interaction between Yamnaya people and Botai, however.Likewise, new techniques for recovering ancient proteins from human dental plaque have shown no evidence of horse milk in the diet of the people who lived at Botai. In fact, horse milk apparently didn’t become widespread in western Asia until the first millennium B.C.E., 3,000 years after the Yamnaya and Botai.The most devastating blow to the kurgan hypothesis came accidentally from a 2018 genomic study by Charleen Gaunitz of the University of Copenhagen, Ludovic Orlando of the Center of Anthropobiology and Genomics of Toulouse in France and their colleagues that showed Botai horses were not the ancestors of domestic horses at all. Rather they were members of another horse species that still survives today, known as Przewalski’s horse. Przewalski’s horse is a close relative of domestic horses but one that has never been managed as a domestic animal in recorded history.Recent archaeological and genetic insights into horse domestication have relevance for understanding the horse human relationship today. Discoveries of an ancient saddle and other tack in Mongolia show that steppe cultures helped to invent technology that is still in use.Some scientists remain convinced that Botai has some connection to early domestication but now suggest that the site represents an earlier, failed effort at taming and control of Przewalski’s horse. In their 2018 study, Gaunitz and her colleagues went so far as to argue that modern Prze­walski’s horses might be the escaped descendants of domesticated Botai horses, a conclusion that many others in the scientific community felt was unsupported.The Botai debate has had important real-­world impacts for Przewalski’s horse. In the 20th century Przewalski’s horses went extinct in the wild, and zoo populations dwindled almost to the single digits. In recent decades these horses have returned from the brink through a careful captive-breeding program, and they have been reintroduced into some areas of Central Asia. This past June a new band of Przewalski’s horses from the Prague Zoo was released into the grasslands of central Kazakhstan, marking the first return of this species to the region in two centuries.In the long term, the success and funding of such conservation projects may hinge heavily on public support, making it imperative to get the story straight. Media attention around Botai has sometimes generated headlines suggesting that Przewalski’s horses “aren’t wild after all” and are instead domestic escapees. Narratives like these are no longer supported by the archaeological data and can imperil ongoing protection, conservation and restoration of habitat for this highly endangered species.Despite some lingering controversy over Botai, the available data emerging from new scientific approaches to studying the past paint a much clearer picture of horse domestication than we’ve ever had before. The recent spate of genomic sequencing and radiocarbon dating of horse bones from across Eurasia has all but disproved the kurgan hypothesis. Such data show us that important cultural developments in the fourth millennium B.C.E.—including the Yamnaya migration and the dissemination of kurgans and Indo-­European culture—probably took place many centuries before the first horses were domesticated, aided by the spread of other livestock such as sheep, goats and cattle and the use of cattle to pull wagons. Meanwhile many steppe people still hunted wild horses for meat.New genomic analyses led by Pablo Librado of the Institute of Evolutionary Biology in Barcelona and Orlando indicate that the ancestors of modern domestic horses originated in the Black Sea steppes around 2200 B.C.E., nearly 2,000 years later than previously thought. Although we do not yet know exactly the details of their initial domestication, it is clear based on the timing that these horses belonged to post-Yamnaya culture. Patterns in the ancient genomes suggest that in the early centuries of domestication, the horse cultures of the western steppe were selectively breeding these animals for traits such as strength and docility.Horses have figured prominently in the traditions and values of the Lakota and many other Native Nations across the Great Plains and Rockies.Courtesy of the Global Institute for Traditional SciencesThis revised timeline for horse domestication is part of a growing body of evidence that casts the Yamnaya legacy in a new light. Early Indo-European cultures such as the Yamnaya are sometimes portrayed in popular culture in a nationalist manner, with links drawn between their supposed domestication of the horse, impressive transcontinental migrations, and cultural dominance. Now science indicates that the Yamnaya probably didn’t domesticate horses at all, and their migrations were not necessarily heroic conquests. For example, new genomic data show that by around 5,000 years ago Yamnaya migrants reached as far as central Mongolia, where they are known as the Afa­nasievo culture. Although these migrants may have helped spread sheep, goats and cattle into East Asia, initially it seems their impact was limited to a few mountain regions of the eastern steppe. After the Yamnaya arrival, it would be almost 2,000 years before horses showed up in the region. And genomic analyses suggest that their Afanasievo descendants had little lasting genetic effect on later populations.The revelation that people domesticated horses much later than previously thought resolves what was always a nagging problem with the kurgan hypothesis. If horses were domesticated in the Eneolithic, why did it take centuries for much of their impact to show up in the archaeological record? Under the kurgan model, researchers often framed horse domestication as a gradual development to explain why it took so long for horses to move beyond the steppes and revolutionize trade and conflicts, for instance. When we look at our records of the past with this revised time frame for horse domestication in mind, there appears to be the rapid, disruptive and dynamic development we expected to see after all.In our new understanding it seems that almost as soon as people tamed horses, they began using them for transport. Some of the earliest robust archaeological evidence of horse domestication comes from burials of horses paired with chariots dated to around 2000 B.C.E. at sites associated with Russia’s Sintashta culture. Radiocarbon-dating and genetic records show that within only a few centuries domestic horses spread over huge swaths of the Eurasian continent. In some cases, their expansion was peaceful: as availability of horses grew across the steppes, new people incorporated horses, herding and transport into their way of life. In other instances, domesticated horses reached new locales through destructive conquests by marauding charioteers. Some cultures riding this wave of horse-drawn expansion were Indo-European; others weren’t.A nomadic family corrals livestock on horseback in Central Mongolia.Timothy Allen/Getty ImagesBy the middle of the second millennium B.C.E., horsepower had reached civilizations from Egypt and the Mediterranean to Scandinavia in the north and Mongolia and China in the east. In many cases, the arrival of horses upended the balance of power. For example, when horses first arrived in China during the late Shang dynasty, around 3,200 years ago, they were mostly a novelty for the elite. But within little more than a century a rival power, the Western Zhou, was able to marshal its strength and skill in chariotry to bring a dramatic end to Shang rule. In very short order, horses went from being a steppe curiosity to the foundation of authority for one of the largest civilizations of East Asia.In addition to clearing up these early chapters of the human-horse story, scientific archaeology has also uncovered connections between the horse cultures of the distant past and our world today. Archaeological discoveries and genomic data from the steppes and deserts of Central Asia are revealing the ways that horses and horseback riding helped humans form networks, trade routes and empires linking the ancient world in new ways.On horseback, people traveled steppe networks and the Silk Roads to move goods, plants, animals, ideas and even early pandemic diseases across Eurasia and beyond. These emerging transcontinental connections can be directly observed in the archaeological record. In Mongolia, a royal tomb from the early steppe kingdom of the Xiongnu dating to somewhere around 100 B.C.E. was found to contain a silver plate with a picture of the Greek demigod Hercules on it. Historical records document expeditions from China to Central Asia’s Ferghana Valley in search of horses, an early step in the formation of the Silk Roads trade routes, and during the height of the Tang Dynasty, a thriving trade sent horses from the Tibetan Plateau and the Himalaya to lowland China in exchange for tea. Recent DNA sequencing of the plague-­causing bacterium Yersinia pestis suggests that the earliest strains of the virus that devastated Europe first emerged deep in deserts, mountains and steppes of Central Asia before spreading along the horse-powered steppe corridors and Silk Roads in the early 14th century.The corridors and connections that ancient equestrians forged persist today: Ancient travel routes across the Mongolian steppe are now receiving makeovers with Chinese financing to serve as high-speed highways for motor vehicle transit. Even the state highway I take for my daily commute in Boulder, Colo., got its start as a 19th-century postal road.New archaeology discoveries show that steppe cultures helped to invent or spread important technologies that improved control over horses and are still used today. In Mongolia, my collaborators and I have discovered immaculately preserved ancient tack from some 1,600 years ago. This riding technology, which includes a wood frame saddle and iron stirrups, shows that steppe cultures helped to develop these equestrian devices, which gave riders greater seat stability and the ability to brace or stand in the saddle—significant advantages when it came to mounted warfare. These tools became a standard part of horse equipment in cultures all over the world, from the caliphates of Islam to the Viking explorers of the high Arctic.Archaeological science also allows us to trace the spread of domesticated horses out of Eurasia as people transported them to such places as the Sahel savanna of Africa, the Great Plains of North America, the Pampas of South America, and even island nations of Australasia and the Pacific, where horses shaped cultures across more recent periods. This work is showing some surprising results.Recently I worked with a large team of scientists, scholars and Indigenous knowledge keepers to see what archaeology, genomics and Indigenous knowledge systems could tell us about the history of domesticated horses in the U.S. The prevailing view among Western scientists was that Native American peoples did not begin caring for horses until after the Pueblo Revolt of 1680, when Pueblo people in what is now New Mexico overthrew Spanish colonizers. Through our collaboration we found that Native nations from across the Plains and Rockies adopted horses at least a century earlier than was ever chronicled in European historical records. This finding confirms perspectives preserved in some oral traditions and Tribal histories and mirrors our scholarship from similar archaeological contexts in Patagonia.Many Indigenous horse cultures, for whom a connection with horses is a source of strength, resilience and tradition, are now drawing on collaborative and interdisciplinary archaeological scholarship in their efforts to correct narratives, conserve traditional horse lineages and secure a place for horses in our changing world.In many ways, the disappearance of horses from daily life in the past century has been as rapid and jarring as their initial domestication 4,000 years ago. In most corners of the world speedy mechanization has replaced trails with pavement and horse transport with engine-powered or electric alternatives. These days, along the Front Range of the Rockies, people wearing jeans and cowboy hats once designed for life in the saddle are more likely to be found shopping at Whole Foods than slinging lassos.But the threads linking our ever changing present to the distant past are never far if you know where to look. Resolution of some of the most urgent problems of the 21st century—from saving endangered species to conserving cultural knowledge and traditions—will require a clear-headed and scientifically grounded understanding of the millennia-long relationship between human and horse.

Archaeological and genetic discoveries topple long-standing ideas about the domestication of equines

The world we live in was built on horseback. Many people today rarely encounter horses, but this is a recent development. Only a few decades ago domestic horses formed the fabric of societies around the globe. Almost every aspect of daily life was linked to horses in an important way. Mail was delivered by postal riders, people traveled by horse-drawn carriage, merchants used horses to transport goods across continents, farmers cultivated their land with horsepower, and soldiers rode horses into battle.

Scholars have long sought to understand how the unique partnership between humans and horses got its start. Until recently, the conventional wisdom was that horses were gradually domesticated by the Yamnaya people beginning more than 5,000 years ago in the grassy plains of western Asia and that this development allowed these people to populate Eurasia, carrying their early Indo-European language and cultural traditions with them.

Now new kinds of archaeological evidence, in conjunction with interdisciplinary collaborations, are overturning some basic assumptions about when—and why—horses were first domesticated and how rapidly they spread across the globe. These insights dramatically change our understanding of not only horses but also people, who used this important relationship to their advantage in everything from herding to warfare. This revised view of the past also has lessons for us today as we consider the fate of endangered wild horses in the steppes. And it highlights the essential value of Indigenous knowledge in piecing together later chapters of the horse-human story, when domesticated horses moved from Eurasia into the rest of the world.


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The genus Equus, which includes horses, asses and zebras, originated around four million years ago in North America. Over the next few million years its members began dispersing across the Beringia land bridge between what is now Russia and Alaska and into Asia, Europe and Africa. Horses are among humanity’s oldest and most prized prey animals. Perhaps the first indisputable evidence for hunting with weapons by early members of the human family comes from horse-rich archaeological sites such as Schöningen in Germany, dating to some 300,000 years ago. The unique lakeshore environment there preserved not only the remains of a band of horses but also the immaculately crafted wood spears that humans used to dispatch them. For millennia wild horses remained a dietary staple for early Homo sapiens living in northern Eurasia. People were keen observers of these animals they depended on for food: horses featured prominently in Ice Age art, including in spectacular images rendered in charcoal on the limestone walls of France’s Chauvet Cave more than 30,000 years ago.

Illustrations/images in France’s Chauvet Cave of horses

Horses served as muses for Ice Age people, who captured their likenesses in spectacular works of art, such as the images in France’s Chauvet Cave that date to more than 30,000 years ago.

Heritage Images/Getty Images

Tracking the transition from this ancient predator-prey connection to early domestication—which includes such activities as raising, herding, milking and riding horses—can be challenging. Researchers studying the deep past rarely have the luxury of written documents or detailed imagery to chronicle changing relationships between people and animals. This is especially true in the Eurasian steppes—the cold, dry, remote grasslands where scientists suspect that the first horse herders emerged, which stretch from eastern Europe nearly to the Pacific. In the steppes, cultures have long been highly mobile, moving herds to fresh pastures with the changing seasons. Their way of life left behind archaeological assemblages that can be shallow, poorly preserved and difficult to study. Indeed, much of what we know about the origins of horse domestication comes from a single, powerful scientific source: the bones of ancient horses themselves.

Bones in a burial site

But it wasn’t until much later that people domesticated horses, as evidenced by burials at sites such as Novoil’inovskiy in Russia dating to the early second millennium B.C.E.

As an archaeozoologist, I seek to understand the origins of domestication through the study of horse bones from archaeological sites. In the early days of this kind of scientific inquiry into domestication, some researchers looked for patterns in the size, shape or frequency of these bones over time. The basic logic behind this approach is that if horses were living in close contact with people, their bones might have become more widespread or more variable in shape and size than in earlier periods, whether because people were breeding them for particular traits or because they were putting the horses to work in ways that altered the animals’ bodies over the course of their life, among other factors.

Burials of horses and chariots

Burials of horses and chariots establish that early domesticated horses were used for transport.

But it turns out that looking for these types of patterns in the archaeological rec­ord is a little bit like reading tea leaves. Changes in the shape or number of horse bones found at ancient sites could be caused by any number of other things, from environmental change to shifting human diets or even sampling errors. At best, these indicators give us only an indirect way to trace the origin of herding or riding.

A stronger, more scientific understanding of horse domestication began to take shape in the 1990s. Building on the work of some earlier scholars, archaeologist David Anthony of Hartwick College in New York State and his colleagues identified direct evidence for domestication in horse remains, publishing their findings in Scientific American. When horses are used by people for transportation, they sometimes develop a particular pattern of damage on their teeth from the equipment that is used to control them. This damage, known as bit wear, can often be seen on the lower second premolar of horses ridden with metal mouthpieces, or bits. Anthony and his colleagues found bit wear in an ancient horse from a Ukrainian site known as Deriyevka, which was thought to have been home to an archaeological culture known as the Yamnaya people. Although the Deriyevka horse had not been directly dated, its association with the Yamnaya culture suggested that herders in the Eurasian steppes might have been raising and riding domestic horses by the fourth millennium B.C.E. or even earlier.

The Deriyevka horse seemed to tie together a number of loose threads in scientists’ understanding of ancient Eurasia. Beginning after 6,000 years ago, during a period called the Eneolithic (also sometimes known as the Copper Age), large human burial mounds known as kurgans appeared across much of eastern and central Europe and the western steppes. Over the years many archaeologists and scholars hypothesized a connection linking kurgans, the spread of Indo-European languages and the first horse domestication. Specifically, they proposed that the Yamnaya people tamed horses in the Black Sea steppes and then swept across Eurasia on horseback, bringing their burial customs and an early form of Indo-European language—which is believed to have given rise to many languages spoken today, including English. On the heels of Anthony’s discovery, this framework, known as the kurgan hypothesis, gained wide currency in academic literature and popular consciousness.

Unfortunately, the Deriyevka horse was not what it seemed. A decade later direct radiocarbon dating of the remains showed that the animal wasn’t nearly as old as Anthony thought. Instead it had lived and died sometime in the early first millennium B.C.E., when domestic horses and horseback riding were already widespread and well documented. But rather than rejecting the kurgan hypothesis entirely, archaeologists continued to explore other animal-bone assemblages from the western steppes dating to around the same period, searching for horse bones to validate the idea. During this search one site in particular drew renewed interest: Botai, located in northern Kazakhstan.

Maps show wild horse dispersal from North America, domestication and initial waves of domestic horse dispersal from the Black Sea Steppe, and continued global dispersal by land and sea.

Botai sits some distance east of the Yamnaya homeland. Despite lacking any obvious cultural connections to the Yamnaya, Botai is also located in the western steppes, and like Deriyevka, it dates to the fourth millennium B.C.E. Most interesting, the animal-bone assemblage recovered from excavations at Botai contained huge numbers of horses. In fact, among thousands of animal bones from Botai, almost all were from horses. Working with these materials, archaeologists began to discuss the relevance of Botai’s horses to the question of early domestication.

Early on, the Botai domestication debate was a spicy one. First Anthony and his colleagues suggested that the strange surface shape of some Botai teeth was also a form of bit wear, hinting that the Botai horses were ridden. Soon, though, Sandra Olsen, now at the University of Kansas, identified the same features in wild horses, meaning they could not be taken as proof of domestication on their own. Scholars also looked at contextual aspects of the Botai site, including the architectural layout, speculating that post holes and backfilled pit houses filled with organic material could be leftover traces of corrals and corral cleaning.

Still, other scientists remained skeptical—for good reason. Some Botai horses were found with harpoons directly embedded in their ribs, obviously killed by hunters. An even bigger problem with connecting Botai to domestication, though, was the age and sex patterns among the animals found at the site. In a managed herd of horses, those chosen for slaughter are either very young or very old because breeding-­age animals are needed to ensure the herd’s fertility and survival. Marsha Levine and her colleagues pointed out, however, that Botai’s bone assemblage consisted mainly of the remains of mostly healthy adults. Moreover, the site contained large numbers of breeding-age females, as well as some fetal and neonatal horses from pregnant mares. The slaughter of these animals would be devastating to the fertility of a domestic herd, but evidence of it is common in archaeological sites where wild animals were hunted for food.

This healthy disagreement over domestication at Botai was temporarily quashed in 2009, when a high-­profile publication in the journal Science brought together new evidence apparently showing that people from Botai milked and rode horses. The authors looked at the shape of the bones of horses at Botai and argued they were similar to the modern domestic horse, Equus caballus. Using emerging techniques for the study of ancient biomolecules, scientists also analyzed ceramic shards from Botai and found residues that seemed to have come from ancient horse fats. These residues, though not diagnostic of milk on their own, had anomalous isotope values, suggesting they could have originated from milk.

The most important new argument, though, was that some Botai horses displayed a different kind of tooth damage that the researchers said could be more securely linked to use of a bridle. With new results from Botai strengthening con­fidence in the idea of horse domestica­­tion during the fourth millennium B.C.E., the kurgan hypothesis returned to paradigm status.

In the decade and a half since Botai revived the kurgan hypothesis, our archaeozoological tool kit for understanding ancient horses has grown by leaps and bounds. And one by one these new techniques and discoveries have begun to erode the connections between Botai and horse domestication. In a recent study, my colleagues and I analyzed dozens of wild horses from Ice Age sites across North America. Our research showed that the key features interpreted as evidence of bridle and bit use at Botai were probably the result of natural variation rather than horse riding or horse equipment.

Moreover, we now know that many other aspects of horse riding can leave a recognizable signature in an animal’s teeth and bones. Halters, saddles and harnesses can make distinctive marks. And different activity patterns, from heavy exertion to confinement, also have identifiable impacts. For instance, the pressure from mounted riding or from pulling a carriage or chariot can each cause unique problems in a horse’s vertebral column or lower limbs. Even early veterinary practices such as dentistry are sometimes visible in the archaeological rec­ord. So far none of these more reliable indicators of domestication have been found in Botai horses.

A group of horses grazing in a field

Horses from the site of Botai are now known to have belonged to a wild horse species, Przewalski’s horse, that was hunted for food. Conservation efforts are currently underway to restore this highly endangered species.

Sven Zellner/Agentur Focus/Redux

We can also look to DNA for clues. Improvements in ancient-DNA sequencing now allow scientists to reconstruct partial or whole genomic sequences from archaeological remains. Analysis of DNA from ancient people and animals has yielded some rather remarkable findings, documenting, for example, the migration of Yamnaya people from eastern Europe as far east as Siberia and Mongolia during the late fourth millennium B.C.E. These same techniques have shown no evidence of interaction between Yamnaya people and Botai, however.

Likewise, new techniques for recovering ancient proteins from human dental plaque have shown no evidence of horse milk in the diet of the people who lived at Botai. In fact, horse milk apparently didn’t become widespread in western Asia until the first millennium B.C.E., 3,000 years after the Yamnaya and Botai.

The most devastating blow to the kurgan hypothesis came accidentally from a 2018 genomic study by Charleen Gaunitz of the University of Copenhagen, Ludovic Orlando of the Center of Anthropobiology and Genomics of Toulouse in France and their colleagues that showed Botai horses were not the ancestors of domestic horses at all. Rather they were members of another horse species that still survives today, known as Przewalski’s horse. Przewalski’s horse is a close relative of domestic horses but one that has never been managed as a domestic animal in recorded history.

Photograph of an ancient saddle

Recent archaeological and genetic insights into horse domestication have relevance for understanding the horse human relationship today. Discoveries of an ancient saddle and other tack in Mongolia show that steppe cultures helped to invent technology that is still in use.

Some scientists remain convinced that Botai has some connection to early domestication but now suggest that the site represents an earlier, failed effort at taming and control of Przewalski’s horse. In their 2018 study, Gaunitz and her colleagues went so far as to argue that modern Prze­walski’s horses might be the escaped descendants of domesticated Botai horses, a conclusion that many others in the scientific community felt was unsupported.

The Botai debate has had important real-­world impacts for Przewalski’s horse. In the 20th century Przewalski’s horses went extinct in the wild, and zoo populations dwindled almost to the single digits. In recent decades these horses have returned from the brink through a careful captive-breeding program, and they have been reintroduced into some areas of Central Asia. This past June a new band of Przewalski’s horses from the Prague Zoo was released into the grasslands of central Kazakhstan, marking the first return of this species to the region in two centuries.

In the long term, the success and funding of such conservation projects may hinge heavily on public support, making it imperative to get the story straight. Media attention around Botai has sometimes generated headlines suggesting that Przewalski’s horses “aren’t wild after all” and are instead domestic escapees. Narratives like these are no longer supported by the archaeological data and can imperil ongoing protection, conservation and restoration of habitat for this highly endangered species.


Despite some lingering controversy over Botai, the available data emerging from new scientific approaches to studying the past paint a much clearer picture of horse domestication than we’ve ever had before. The recent spate of genomic sequencing and radiocarbon dating of horse bones from across Eurasia has all but disproved the kurgan hypothesis. Such data show us that important cultural developments in the fourth millennium B.C.E.—including the Yamnaya migration and the dissemination of kurgans and Indo-­European culture—probably took place many centuries before the first horses were domesticated, aided by the spread of other livestock such as sheep, goats and cattle and the use of cattle to pull wagons. Meanwhile many steppe people still hunted wild horses for meat.

New genomic analyses led by Pablo Librado of the Institute of Evolutionary Biology in Barcelona and Orlando indicate that the ancestors of modern domestic horses originated in the Black Sea steppes around 2200 B.C.E., nearly 2,000 years later than previously thought. Although we do not yet know exactly the details of their initial domestication, it is clear based on the timing that these horses belonged to post-Yamnaya culture. Patterns in the ancient genomes suggest that in the early centuries of domestication, the horse cultures of the western steppe were selectively breeding these animals for traits such as strength and docility.

A Native American woman petting a horse outdoors

Horses have figured prominently in the traditions and values of the Lakota and many other Native Nations across the Great Plains and Rockies.

Courtesy of the Global Institute for Traditional Sciences

This revised timeline for horse domestication is part of a growing body of evidence that casts the Yamnaya legacy in a new light. Early Indo-European cultures such as the Yamnaya are sometimes portrayed in popular culture in a nationalist manner, with links drawn between their supposed domestication of the horse, impressive transcontinental migrations, and cultural dominance. Now science indicates that the Yamnaya probably didn’t domesticate horses at all, and their migrations were not necessarily heroic conquests. For example, new genomic data show that by around 5,000 years ago Yamnaya migrants reached as far as central Mongolia, where they are known as the Afa­nasievo culture. Although these migrants may have helped spread sheep, goats and cattle into East Asia, initially it seems their impact was limited to a few mountain regions of the eastern steppe. After the Yamnaya arrival, it would be almost 2,000 years before horses showed up in the region. And genomic analyses suggest that their Afanasievo descendants had little lasting genetic effect on later populations.

The revelation that people domesticated horses much later than previously thought resolves what was always a nagging problem with the kurgan hypothesis. If horses were domesticated in the Eneolithic, why did it take centuries for much of their impact to show up in the archaeological record? Under the kurgan model, researchers often framed horse domestication as a gradual development to explain why it took so long for horses to move beyond the steppes and revolutionize trade and conflicts, for instance. When we look at our records of the past with this revised time frame for horse domestication in mind, there appears to be the rapid, disruptive and dynamic development we expected to see after all.

In our new understanding it seems that almost as soon as people tamed horses, they began using them for transport. Some of the earliest robust archaeological evidence of horse domestication comes from burials of horses paired with chariots dated to around 2000 B.C.E. at sites associated with Russia’s Sintashta culture. Radiocarbon-dating and genetic records show that within only a few centuries domestic horses spread over huge swaths of the Eurasian continent. In some cases, their expansion was peaceful: as availability of horses grew across the steppes, new people incorporated horses, herding and transport into their way of life. In other instances, domesticated horses reached new locales through destructive conquests by marauding charioteers. Some cultures riding this wave of horse-drawn expansion were Indo-European; others weren’t.

Photograph of a nomadic family corrals livestock on horseback

A nomadic family corrals livestock on horseback in Central Mongolia.

Timothy Allen/Getty Images

By the middle of the second millennium B.C.E., horsepower had reached civilizations from Egypt and the Mediterranean to Scandinavia in the north and Mongolia and China in the east. In many cases, the arrival of horses upended the balance of power. For example, when horses first arrived in China during the late Shang dynasty, around 3,200 years ago, they were mostly a novelty for the elite. But within little more than a century a rival power, the Western Zhou, was able to marshal its strength and skill in chariotry to bring a dramatic end to Shang rule. In very short order, horses went from being a steppe curiosity to the foundation of authority for one of the largest civilizations of East Asia.

In addition to clearing up these early chapters of the human-horse story, scientific archaeology has also uncovered connections between the horse cultures of the distant past and our world today. Archaeological discoveries and genomic data from the steppes and deserts of Central Asia are revealing the ways that horses and horseback riding helped humans form networks, trade routes and empires linking the ancient world in new ways.

On horseback, people traveled steppe networks and the Silk Roads to move goods, plants, animals, ideas and even early pandemic diseases across Eurasia and beyond. These emerging transcontinental connections can be directly observed in the archaeological record. In Mongolia, a royal tomb from the early steppe kingdom of the Xiongnu dating to somewhere around 100 B.C.E. was found to contain a silver plate with a picture of the Greek demigod Hercules on it. Historical records document expeditions from China to Central Asia’s Ferghana Valley in search of horses, an early step in the formation of the Silk Roads trade routes, and during the height of the Tang Dynasty, a thriving trade sent horses from the Tibetan Plateau and the Himalaya to lowland China in exchange for tea. Recent DNA sequencing of the plague-­causing bacterium Yersinia pestis suggests that the earliest strains of the virus that devastated Europe first emerged deep in deserts, mountains and steppes of Central Asia before spreading along the horse-powered steppe corridors and Silk Roads in the early 14th century.

The corridors and connections that ancient equestrians forged persist today: Ancient travel routes across the Mongolian steppe are now receiving makeovers with Chinese financing to serve as high-speed highways for motor vehicle transit. Even the state highway I take for my daily commute in Boulder, Colo., got its start as a 19th-century postal road.

New archaeology discoveries show that steppe cultures helped to invent or spread important technologies that improved control over horses and are still used today. In Mongolia, my collaborators and I have discovered immaculately preserved ancient tack from some 1,600 years ago. This riding technology, which includes a wood frame saddle and iron stirrups, shows that steppe cultures helped to develop these equestrian devices, which gave riders greater seat stability and the ability to brace or stand in the saddle—significant advantages when it came to mounted warfare. These tools became a standard part of horse equipment in cultures all over the world, from the caliphates of Islam to the Viking explorers of the high Arctic.

Archaeological science also allows us to trace the spread of domesticated horses out of Eurasia as people transported them to such places as the Sahel savanna of Africa, the Great Plains of North America, the Pampas of South America, and even island nations of Australasia and the Pacific, where horses shaped cultures across more recent periods. This work is showing some surprising results.

Recently I worked with a large team of scientists, scholars and Indigenous knowledge keepers to see what archaeology, genomics and Indigenous knowledge systems could tell us about the history of domesticated horses in the U.S. The prevailing view among Western scientists was that Native American peoples did not begin caring for horses until after the Pueblo Revolt of 1680, when Pueblo people in what is now New Mexico overthrew Spanish colonizers. Through our collaboration we found that Native nations from across the Plains and Rockies adopted horses at least a century earlier than was ever chronicled in European historical records. This finding confirms perspectives preserved in some oral traditions and Tribal histories and mirrors our scholarship from similar archaeological contexts in Patagonia.

Many Indigenous horse cultures, for whom a connection with horses is a source of strength, resilience and tradition, are now drawing on collaborative and interdisciplinary archaeological scholarship in their efforts to correct narratives, conserve traditional horse lineages and secure a place for horses in our changing world.

In many ways, the disappearance of horses from daily life in the past century has been as rapid and jarring as their initial domestication 4,000 years ago. In most corners of the world speedy mechanization has replaced trails with pavement and horse transport with engine-powered or electric alternatives. These days, along the Front Range of the Rockies, people wearing jeans and cowboy hats once designed for life in the saddle are more likely to be found shopping at Whole Foods than slinging lassos.

But the threads linking our ever changing present to the distant past are never far if you know where to look. Resolution of some of the most urgent problems of the 21st century—from saving endangered species to conserving cultural knowledge and traditions—will require a clear-headed and scientifically grounded understanding of the millennia-long relationship between human and horse.

Read the full story here.
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Don’t Think Too Hard About Gum

When you chew gum, you’re essentially gnawing on plastic.

At the turn of the 20th century, William Wrigley Jr. was bent on building an empire of gum, and as part of his extensive hustle, he managed to persuade the U.S. Department of War to include his products in soldiers’ rations. His argument—baseless at the time—was that chewing gum had miraculous abilities to quench thirst, stave off hunger, and dissipate nervous tension. But he was right: Scientists have since found that gum chewing can indeed increase concentration, reduce the impulse to snack, alleviate thirst, and improve oral health.Perhaps that’s why people around the world have had the impulse to gnaw on tacky materials—roots, resins, twigs, blubber, tar made by burning birch bark—for at least 8,000 years. Today, gum is again being marketed as a panacea for wellness. You can buy gum designed to deliver energy, nutrition, stress relief, or joint health; scientists are even developing gums that can protect against influenza, herpes, and COVID. Ironically, this new era of chewing gum is manufactured with a distinctly modern ingredient, one not usually associated with wellness: plastic.By the time Wrigley began his business venture, Americans had grown accustomed to chewing gum sold as candy-coated balls or packaged sticks. The base of these chewing gums was made from natural substances such as spruce resin and chicle, a natural latex that Aztecs and Mayans chewed for hundreds if not thousands of years. Unfortunately for 20th-century Americans, the chicozapote trees that exude chicle take a long time to grow, and if they are overtapped, they die. Plus, cultivated trees don’t produce nearly as much chicle as wild trees, says Jennifer Mathews, an anthropology professor at Trinity University and the author of Chicle. In the 1950s, chicle harvesters began struggling to meet demand. So gum companies turned to the newest innovations in materials science: synthetic rubbers and plastics.Today, most companies’ gum base is a proprietary blend of synthetic and natural ingredients: If a packet lists “gum base” as an ingredient, that gum most likely contains synthetic polymers. The FDA allows gum base to contain any of dozens of approved food-grade materials—substances deemed either safe for human consumption or safe to be in contact with food. Many, though, are not substances that people would otherwise think to put in their mouth. They include polyethylene (the most common type of plastic, used in plastic bags and milk jugs), polyvinyl acetate (a plastic also found in glue), and styrene-butadiene rubber (commonly used in car tires). The typical gum base contains two to four types of synthetic plastics or rubbers, Gwendolyn Graff, a confectionery consultant, told me.Everything we love about gum today is thanks to synthetic polymers, Graff said. Polyvinyl acetate, for example, strengthens the bubble film. “If you blow a bubble, and it starts to get holes in it and deflate, that’s usually an indicator that it doesn’t have polyvinyl acetate,” Graff said. Styrene-butadiene rubber creates a bouncy chewiness that makes gum more likely to stick to itself rather than to surfaces like your teeth. Polyethylene can be used to soften gum so it doesn’t tire out your jaw. Gums with only natural polymers “can feel like they're going to fall apart in your mouth,” Graff said.Plastic gum, though, also falls apart, in a way: Gum chewing has been linked to microplastic ingestion. In a study published in December, U.K. researchers had a volunteer chew on a piece of gum for an hour, spitting into test tubes as they went. After an hour of gum chewing, the saliva collected contained more than 250,000 pieces of micro and nano plastics—comparable to the level of microplastics found in a liter of bottled water. In a study presented at a recent meeting of the American Chemical Society (which has not yet been peer-reviewed), a graduate student’s saliva contained elevated microplastic levels after she chewed several commercially available gums, including natural ones. The research on gum chewing and microplastics is still limited—these two papers effectively represent analysis of just two people’s post-chew saliva—but gum chewing has also been correlated with higher urine levels of phthalates, plastic-softening chemicals that are known endocrine disruptors.Scientists are still learning about the health impacts of microplastic ingestion, too. Microplastics find their way into all kinds of foods from packaging or contamination during manufacturing, or because the plants and animals we eat absorb and ingest microplastics themselves. As a result, microplastics have been found in human livers, kidneys, brains, lungs, intestines, placentas, and breast milk, but exactly how our bodies absorb, disperse, and excrete ingested plastic is not very well studied, says Marcus Garcia, who researches the health effects of environmental contaminants at the University of New Mexico. Some research in mice and cultured cells hint that microplastics have the potential to cause damage, and epidemiological research suggests that microplastics are associated with respiratory, digestive, and reproductive issues, as well as colon and lung cancer. But scientists are still trying to understand whether or how microplastics cause disease, which microplastics are most dangerous to human health, and how much microplastic the body can take before seeing any negative effects.The answer could affect the future of what we choose to eat—or chew. Ingesting tiny plastic particles might seem inevitable, but over the past 10 years or so, Americans have grown understandably fearful about bits of plastic making their way into our food, fretting about microwaving food in plastic containers and drinking from plastic bottles. Gum has, for the most part, not triggered those worries, but in recent years, its popularity had been dropping for other reasons. In a bid to reverse that trend, gum companies are marketing synthetic gum as a tool for wellness. Just like Wrigley, they are betting that Americans will believe in the power of gum to soothe nerves and heal ailments, and that they won’t think too hard about what modern gum really is. For anyone worried about swallowing still more plastic, after all, gum is easy enough to avoid.

A marine biologist discovered something incredible in a beer bottle on the seafloor

This story was produced in collaboration with The Dodo. One morning this week, Hanna Koch was snorkeling in the Florida Keys when she came across a brown beer bottle on the sea floor. Koch, a marine biologist for Florida’s Monroe County, picked up the bottle, planning to carry it with her and later toss it […]

This story was produced in collaboration with The Dodo. One morning this week, Hanna Koch was snorkeling in the Florida Keys when she came across a brown beer bottle on the sea floor. Koch, a marine biologist for Florida’s Monroe County, picked up the bottle, planning to carry it with her and later toss it out.  Through her dive mask, Koch peered inside to make sure it was empty.  That’s when she saw an eyeball.  “There was something staring back at me,” Koch told me.  It wasn’t just one eyeball, actually — but dozens. Inside the bottle was an octopus mom with a brood of babies. “You could see their eyes, you could see their tentacles,” Koch said in a recent interview with Vox and The Dodo. “They were fully formed.” Instead of taking the bottle with her and throwing it away like she initially intended, Koch handed it to her colleague, another marine biologist, who carefully placed it back on the sandy sea floor. Based on the images and video, Chelsea Bennice, a marine biologist at Florida Atlantic University, said the animal was likely a species of pygmy octopus — making this whole encounter even cuter.  On one hand, it’s hopeful to find life — an octopus family! — living in rubbish. “One man’s trash is another octopuse’s nursery,” as University of Miami environmental scientist Jennifer Jacquet told me when I showed her the photos. Her graduate student, Janelle Kaz, said it’s actually not uncommon for octopuses to take up residence in beer bottles. “They are highly curious and opportunistic,” Jacquet said.  But it’s also a reminder that, as Florida ecosystems decline, there are fewer and fewer places for wildlife to live. Overfishing, pollution, and climate change have devastated near-shore habitats in the Keys — and especially coral reefs — in the last few decades.  The irony, Koch told me, is that she runs a state-funded project in Monroe County to create “artificial reefs:” structures, often made of concrete, to enhance the habitat for fish, lobsters, and other sea creatures. And she was actually snorkeling that morning to figure out where to put some of the structures.  “This octopus found artificial habitat to make its home,” Koch said. “I was just like, ‘Wait momma, because I’m going to put out some better habitat for you — something that someone can’t pick up and throw away.’”

Sea Lion Bites Surfer Amid One of the Worst Outbreaks of Domoic Acid Poisoning That California Wildlife Rescuers Can Remember

Sea lions, dolphins and birds are sick and dying because of a toxic algae bloom in Southern California—and animal care organizations are overwhelmed by the scale

Volunteers with the Channel Islands Marine & Wildlife Institute in Santa Barbara, California, rescue a sick sea lion that's likely suffering from domoic acid poisoning. David Swanson / AFP via Getty Images It started as a normal surf session for RJ LaMendola. He was roughly 150 yards from the beach in Southern California, riding the waves and enjoying the peaceful solitude. But the situation quickly turned violent when a sea lion emerged from the water and charged at LaMendola. The 20-year surfing veteran tried to remain calm as he frantically paddled back to shore, but the sea lion was behaving unusually—“like some deranged predator,” LaMendola wrote in a widely shared post on Facebook. The sea lion made contact, delivering a hard bite on LaMendola’s left buttock that pierced through his wetsuit. “Never have I had one charge me, especially at that ferocity, mouth open,” LaMendola tells the Ventura County Star’s Stacie N. Galang and Cheri Carlson. “It really was out of, like, a horror movie.” Eventually, LaMendola made it back to the sand and drove himself to a nearby emergency room. After being treated, he contacted local wildlife authorities. The most likely explanation for the sea lion’s abnormally aggressive behavior? The creature was probably suffering from domoic acid poisoning, which results from toxic algae blooms. Across Southern California, authorities are grappling with one of the worst outbreaks of domoic acid poisoning they’ve ever seen. Dozens of sea lions and dolphins have been affected by the condition in recent weeks, reports the Los Angeles Times’ Summer Lin. Birds are also turning up dead, according to the Los Angeles Daily News’ Erika I. Ritchie. At least 140 sick sea lions are being cared for at the Marine Mammal Care Center in San Pedro, per the Los Angeles Times, because they have a 50 to 65 percent chance of surviving if they receive treatment. Roughly another 45 are being cared for at the Pacific Marine Mammal Center in Laguna Beach, reports the Los Angeles Daily News. SeaWorld San Diego has rescued another 15 this year, reports KGTV’s Jane Kim. Other sea lions have been found dead on area beaches. “This morning, we had three calls within 30 minutes of daylight breaking,” Glenn Gray, CEO of the Pacific Marine Mammal Center, told the Los Angeles Daily News on March 18. “That’s the magnitude of it.” Members of the public are being urged to report any sick, distressed or dead animals they find on the beach. Beachgoers should also stay away from the animals and give them space. David Swanson / AFP via Getty Images Dozens of dolphins, meanwhile, are washing up dead or close to death on beaches. Veterinarians are euthanizing the dolphins, because they rarely survive domoic acid poisoning, per the Los Angeles Times. “It’s the only humane option,” says John Warner, CEO of the Marine Mammal Care Center, to the Westside Current’s Jamie Paige. “It’s an awful situation.” A similar outbreak occurred in 2023, killing more than 1,000 sea lions. But officials say this year is shaping up to be worse. The harmful algae bloom started roughly five weeks ago. During a bloom, environmental conditions cause microscopic phytoplankton to proliferate. Some species of phytoplankton produce domoic acid, which then accumulates in filter-feeding fish and shellfish. Marine mammals become sickened when they eat the affected fish and shellfish. (Humans can also get sick from eating contaminated fish, shellfish and crustaceans.) In marine mammals, symptoms of domoic acid poisoning include seizures, lethargy, foaming at the mouth and a neck-craning behavior known as “stargazing.” Biting incidents—like the one LaMendola endured—are rare, but sickened animals have been known to behave aggressively. “The neurotoxin is crippling and killing sea lions and dolphins,” says Ruth Dover, managing director of the nonprofit Channel Islands Marine & Wildlife Institute, to the Ventura County Star. The bloom likely started when cold water from deep in the Pacific Ocean rose to the surface in February. Now, it also appears to be spreading closer to the shore. Researchers are monitoring the bloom, but so far, they have no indication of how long it will last. Authorities say toxic algae blooms are getting worse and happening more frequently because of climate change, agricultural runoff and other human-caused factors. This is the fourth straight year a domoic acid-producing bloom has developed off Southern California, as Dave Bader, chief operating officer of the Marine Mammal Care Center, tells KNX News’ Karen Adams. “We don’t know what the long-term impacts will be for having so many consecutive years of this toxic bloom,” Bader adds. “But [dolphins are] a sentinel species. They’re telling us about the health of the ocean, and when we see marine life dying, and we’re seeing it in increasing levels with more frequency, the ocean’s telling us something’s off.” The ongoing outbreak is taking its toll on Southern California veterinarians, volunteers and beachgoers. The incidents are particularly heartbreaking for lifeguards, who typically comfort dying dolphins—and keep beachgoers away—until authorities can arrive. Members of the public are encouraged to report any distressed, sick or dead animals they find on the beach. And, more importantly, they should leave the animals alone. Authorities say pushing a sick creature back into the ocean will likely cause it to drown. Dolphins also become especially agitated when they’re out of the water and people are around—to the point that they can die from fear. “People need to leave them alone and not crowd around them,” Warner tells the Los Angeles Times. “Selfies kill animals, so use your zoom, and stay away.” Get the latest stories in your inbox every weekday.

Deep Sea Mining Impacts Still Felt Forty Years On, Study Shows

By David StanwaySINGAPORE (Reuters) - A strip of the Pacific Ocean seabed that was mined for metals more than 40 years ago has still not recovered,...

SINGAPORE (Reuters) - A strip of the Pacific Ocean seabed that was mined for metals more than 40 years ago has still not recovered, scientists said late on Wednesday, adding weight to calls for a moratorium on all deep sea mining activity during U.N.-led talks this week.A 2023 expedition to the mineral-rich Clarion Clipperton Zone by a team of scientists led by Britain's National Oceanography Centre found that the impacts of a 1979 test mining experiment were still being felt on the seafloor, a complex ecosystem hosting hundreds of species.The collection of small "polymetallic nodules" from an eight-metre strip of the seabed caused long-term sediment changes and reduced the populations of many of the larger organisms living there, though some smaller, more mobile creatures have recovered, according to the study, published in Nature journal."The evidence provided by this study is critical for understanding potential long-term impacts," said NOC expedition leader Daniel Jones. "Although we saw some areas with little or no recovery, some animal groups were showing the first signs of recolonisation and repopulation."Delegations from 36 countries are attending a council meeting of the U.N.'s International Seabed Authority in Kingston, Jamaica this week to decide whether mining companies should be allowed to extract metals like copper or cobalt from the ocean floor.As they deliberate over hundreds of proposed amendments to a 256-page draft mining code, environmental groups have called for mining activities to be halted, a move supported by 32 governments and 63 large companies and financial institutions."This latest evidence makes it even more clear why governments must act now to stop deep sea mining before it ever starts," said Greenpeace campaigner Louise Casson.While few expect a final text to be completed by the time the latest round of talks ends on March 28, Canada's The Metals Company plans to submit the first formal mining application in June.On Friday, delegates will discuss what actions should be taken if an application to mine is submitted before the regulations have been completed.TMC said at a briefing last week that it had a legal right to submit an application at any time and hoped that the ISA would bring clarity to the application process.TMC says the environmental impact of deep sea mining is significantly smaller than conventional terrestrial mining."You just have to move a lot less material to get the same amount of metal - higher grade means better economics, but also means lower environmental impacts," said Craig Shesky, TMC's chief financial officer.(Reporting by David Stanway; Editing by Saad Sayeed)Copyright 2025 Thomson Reuters.

In the hills of Italy, wolves returned from the brink. Then the poisonings began

Strict laws saved the country’s wolves from extinction. Now conservationists believe their relaxation could embolden vigilantesHigh on a mountain pass near the town of Cocullo in central Italy lay six black sacks. Inside were nine wolves, including a pregnant female and seven youngsters – an entire pack. They had eaten slabs of poisoned veal left out a few days earlier, dying over the hours that followed, snarls of pain fixed on their faces.Three griffon vultures and two ravens were also killed, probably alongside more animals that went into hiding, dying out of sight. Poison creates a succession of death, spreading through entire food chains and contaminating land and water for years. Continue reading...

High on a mountain pass near the town of Cocullo in central Italy lay six black sacks. Inside were nine wolves, including a pregnant female and seven youngsters – an entire pack. They had eaten slabs of poisoned veal left out a few days earlier, dying over the hours that followed, snarls of pain fixed on their faces.Three griffon vultures and two ravens were also killed, probably alongside more animals that went into hiding, dying out of sight. Poison creates a succession of death, spreading through entire food chains and contaminating land and water for years.The incident in 2023, was described as “culturally medieval” by national park authorities. “It was a bad day for the whole team,” says Nicolò Borgianni, a vulture field officer with Rewilding Apennines, who still remembers what a beautiful May day it was when the animals perished: alpine flowers poking through the grass and snow still dusting mountain peaks on the horizon from the 1,300-metre viewpoint. “But there are many cases like this one.”The bags containing nine wolves poisoned in Cocullo. No one was prosecuted for the deaths. Photograph: HandoutLike all poisoning events in this area, no one was prosecuted. The corpses were disposed of and life moved on. Now the ground is grubbed up from wild boars digging their snouts in the dirt looking for bulbs to eat.Downgrading wolf protection is a misguided decision. It offers no real help to rural communitiesIn the 1970s, wolves were on the brink of extinction in Italy, but thanks to strict protections and conservation efforts, there are now more than 3,000 of them. In many areas of Europe, farmers are having to learn to live alongside wolves again as they return to places they have been absent from for hundreds of years – and many are concerned that they prey on livestock. The story unfolding in this small valley in Italy is being repeated all over Europe. “Farmers feel abandoned by government, so they solve their problems on their own,” says Borgianni.From March 2025, the EU is relaxing its protections from “strictly protected” to “protected”, which means if wolves are perceived as a threat to rural communities, states can organise culls. Poisonings such as the one in Cocullo will remain illegal, but conservationists fear the relaxation of protections will empower vigilantes.Angela Tavone, a communications manager from Rewilding Apennines, is worried this will create more “chains of death” like the one two years ago. “Groups of farmers can feel more free to act against wolves because of the change in the EU law,” she says.Angela Tavone and Nicolò Borgianni inspect a horse skull. Photograph: Luigi Filice/The GuardianWhoever killed the wolf pack in 2023 failed to keep wolves away. Months later, another pack moved in. Nearly two years later, on that same spot, there are half a dozen wolf droppings, some just a few weeks old. The pack’s territory overlaps with mountain pastures used for cattle and sheep in spring and summer. Wild boar makes up most of the wolves’ diet here, but you can also spot hairs from cows or horses in the droppings. Borgianni estimates about 10% of their diet is livestock. One pack monitored by scientists in the region appeared to be eating closer to 70% during winter.Vultures are often the sentinels of a poisoning event. The Apennines has the highest number of GPS-tagged vultures in a single population, so observers know something is wrong if their tags stop moving. “If you investigate, you find these incidents,” says Borgianni. They are social animals and up to 60 birds can feed on a single carcass, so dozens can be wiped out quickly. Since 2021 the Rewilding Apennines team has picked up 85 carcasses across all species.An Apennine wolf pup carrying part of a red deer in Abruzzo, Italy. One poisoning event can kill a whole pack. Photograph: Nature Picture Library/AlamyPredator poisoning is an issue across Europe – and the world – but we know little about the extent of it, because animals generally die out of sight. Farmers say these apex predators threaten their livelihoods – and resolving the conflicts is complex.Down in the valley, Cristian Guido’s family farm and restaurant Il Castellaccio back on to fresh mountain pastures. Twenty years ago, when he started farming, there were not many wolves around. Two nights ago, CCTV cameras captured a pair of wolves wandering through the yard. Guido can sometimes hear them howling from the woods by the farm.Cristian Guido at his family farm and restaurant. Photograph: Luigi Filice/The GuardianFrom May, his 90 sheep go up into the hills every day to fatten on the succulent grasses, and come down in the evenings. One day last October, 18 of them didn’t come back. Guido believes wolves were to blame, perhaps chasing the sheep off a cliff.I find wolves beautiful, but I keep asking for help. It is just not possible to keep them awayThere was no evidence they had been killed by a wolf (there often is not) so he got no compensation. Now, when he takes his animals up in the morning, he doesn’t know if they will all come back. “I fear that will happen again,” he says.He is not alone. “Other farms suffered the same loss,” he says. In the past few years, half a dozen dead wolves have been hung up by roads and bus stops by people protesting at their return.“I find wolves beautiful, but I keep asking for help. It is just not possible to keep them away. And I’m aware if you shoot them, you will get more and more damage,” he says. Guido believes protections for wolves should not have been downgraded, but that farmers must be given more support.The bones of a horse in ⁨Cocullo⁩, ⁨Abruzzo. Photograph: Luigi Filice/The GuardianThis would include making compensation easier to claim and quicker to be distributed. There should be more support for farmers constructing wolf-proof fences near their properties, he believes.Research this year looking at wolf-farmer conflicts in northern Greece found wolves were often scapegoats for deep-rooted issues, such as financial challenges, poor government policies on protection of livelihoods, a changing climate, lack of services and rural depopulation. “Our findings emphasise that while wolves impact farmers, economic and policy-related factors play a greater role,” the researchers concluded. The study found fair compensation schemes were essential for coexistence.These findings are echoed by a coalition of NGOs, including BirdLife Europe, ClientEarth and the European Environmental Bureau, which say that instead of providing support for farmers living alongside wolves, the EU has allowed them to be culled. “Downgrading wolf protection is a misguided decision that prioritises political gains over science and will further polarise the debate,” say the NGOs. “It offers no real help to rural communities.”Virginia Sciore is a farmer with 150 goats grazing on pastures in the Morrone mountains. Since 2018 she has lost five goats. “You can see in the eyes of the goats they are terrified – something happened in the mountain,” she says. Sometimes, she finds a collar or tuft of hair, but usually they disappear without a trace, so she doesn’t claim compensation. “I don’t know if it was a wolf,” she says.“The majority of farmers don’t believe in coexistence,” Sciore says. “They have stories about wolves that have been imported. They want to believe these things. People are angry and it’s projected on to the wolf.”Virginia Sciore has lost five of her 150 goats since 2018. Photograph: Angela Tavone/Rewilding ApenninesThe conflict over wolves comes amid a wider shift away from environmental protections across Europe. Last year, EU leaders scaled back plans to cut pollution and protect habitats after angry protests from farmers, as a law to restore nature was turned into a political punching bag. “It’s a low moment historically to face this issue,” says Tavone.The Cucollo incident was a turning point for the Rewilding Apennines team. In response, they created their first anti-poison dog unit. A malinois dog called Wild – who at six months old is still in training – will, in the coming months, sniff out potential poisoning incidents.As spring approaches, so too does the most dangerous time for poisoning events, as farmers look to protect young and vulnerable livestock. Catching poisoning incidents quickly is key – and Wild will help with that. Those fighting to protect wildlife are increasing their efforts. “The war is still going on,” says Tavone.The mountains around Cocullo⁩. As spring approaches, poisoning events usually spike as farmers try to protect young animals. Photograph: Luigi Filice/The Guardian

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