When Belgium was a tropical coral reef

PLANET BELGIUM
Part 2:
On the edge of a land mass

Four hundred million years ago, Belgium lay just below the equator. After a violent period of collisions and mountain formation, a quieter time dawned. Our land was eroding (not for the last time) into a plat pays and was largely submerged underneath a tropical sea with immense coral reefs. These would ultimately petrify and form the world-famous Belgian marble. Living beings, including the first plants, and in their wake the first insects and our distant ancestors, the tetrapods, ventured ashore.

Reinout Verbeke

PLANET BELGIUM,
the odyssey of our country

Our patch of land in the heart of Europe has been on an eventful journey that has taken around five hundred million years. A long time before it actually existed as a country, Belgium started out near the South Pole, crossed the equator and has docked – for the time being at least – in the Northern Hemisphere.

It was a voyage full of dramatic collisions that have made our country a geological El Dorado. Let's hitch a ride with geologists, palaeontologists and citizen scientists as they reconstruct the landscape and the life that once swam, crawled or flew in it. Get ready to go on the most in-depth journey through our country, in five parts. 

When you walk across the red marble floor of the Palace of Fine Arts (Bozar) in Brussels, or of Ghent's Book Tower or of the main building at Leuven railway station, you are actually stepping over coral reefs. Reefs that formed in our regions between 390 and 325 million years ago (in the late Devonian or early Carboniferous period). Back then, Belgium lay just below the equator and we had originally come from even further south than that. Plate tectonics caused our country to travel from near the South Pole all the way to the Northern Hemisphere. And halfway along that journey, Limburg and Wallonia were one massive reef. It was rather like the Great Barrier Reef in Australia – an elongated coral reef some distance from the coastline, with lagoons close to the mainland and atoll-like islands further out to sea. At its surface, the sea could get rather warm, reaching temperatures of 30 degrees Celsius or more, like in the tropics today... With clear blue water as pleasant as that, who wouldn't want to dive in?

But what you would you have seen if you had actually dived in? The first things you would have seen would have been stromatoporoids, an extinct group of large sponges that formed the basic structure of the reef. The pattern in which they grew looked rather like the Wi-Fi symbol on your mobile phone. On top of and in between the sponges nestled many species of corals. The corals were often in colonies and sometimes formed a honeycomb shape. But there were also corals that appeared singly, with conical calyxes. Every day, the species of coral that exist today produce a layer of calcium, creating a thicker layer each year due to seasonal changes in water temperature. One palaeontologist was clever enough to count the growth lines of calcium in existing and fossilised corals and found out that, in the middle of the Devonian period, a year consisted of about 400 days and of 390 days some seventy million years later, compared to 365 days today. So over time, the earth has been turning more and more slowly on its axis.

Belgium, 406 million years ago, on the newly formed continent of Laurussia (or Euramerica), created by the collision of Laurentia (present‑day North America and Greenland), Baltica (Northern Europe) and Avalonia (Northwestern Europe). These collisions caused the Caledonian mountain range to rise.

Belgium, 406 million years ago, on the newly formed continent of Laurussia (or Euramerica), created by the collision of Laurentia (present‑day North America and Greenland), Baltica (Northern Europe) and Avalonia (Northwestern Europe). These collisions caused the Caledonian mountain range to rise.

Belgium 375 million years ago, in calm waters. But the supercontinent Gondwana, from which we had broken off as Avalonia, is slowly but surely catching up with us from the south. (C.R. Scotese and GPlates)

Belgium 375 million years ago, in calm waters. But the supercontinent Gondwana, from which we had broken off as Avalonia, is slowly but surely catching up with us from the south. (C.R. Scotese and GPlates)


In the Belgian sea in the Devonian period, you would have seen sea lilies everywhere. They looked like flowers, but they were actually sea creatures known as filter feeders. Other filter feeders included brachiopods – that are attached by a stalk to a stony surface and often gather in groups. Among all these immobile fauna, there was also a lot of movement. You would have seen trilobites, the highly successful three-lobed invertebrates akin to today's insects, spiders and lobsters, crawling around and cephalopods passing by. Some of them lived inside a straight or slightly curved shell. This type of creature originated some 490 million years ago, but in the Devonian period, increasing numbers of them started to have beautiful coiled shells.

‘All of these are fauna you can recognise in marble floors, stairs, window sills and frames, if you have an eye for it,’ said the geologist Marleen De Ceukelaire. The two of us were standing on the monumental red marble staircase of the Institute of Natural Sciences with our heads down, scanning the steps with the lights of our smartphones in an attempt to spot examples of marine life that have been preserved for a good 380 million years. And as we examined each step, we saw them emerge: the outlines of brachiopods, cross-sections of corals, pieces of sea lily stems, while near the lift, a spiralling cephalopod has been immortalised. It is thought to be a Manticoceras, a relative of the later ammonites.

Red‑marble staircase of the Institute of Natural Sciences. (Photo: Danny Ghys)

Red‑marble staircase of the Institute of Natural Sciences. (Photo: Danny Ghys)

Beautiful cephalopod (related to the ammonites) in the Belgian red marble of the Institute of Natural Sciences. (Photo: Siska Van Parys)

Beautiful cephalopod (related to the ammonites) in the Belgian red marble of the Institute of Natural Sciences. (Photo: Siska Van Parys)

Marleen curates our national geological collections and co-wrote a standard work on Belgian marble. ‘Belgian marble exists in all sorts of shades of red, pink, grey and black and it is often intersected with jagged white lines or spots. These are made of calcite. The mineral has filled the empty spaces created in the limestone by tectonic processes or because soft organisms, such as sponges, after they die, leave a cavity in the sediment. Those bright white veins of calcite are what gives the marble its character.’

Marleen De Ceukelaire, curator of the geological collections of the Institute of Natural Sciences. (Photo: Danny Ghys)

Marleen De Ceukelaire, curator of the geological collections of the Institute of Natural Sciences. (Photo: Danny Ghys)

For a long time, Belgian marble was a booming business. Between 1850 and 1915, as many as 175 municipalities had one (or in many cases, several) marble quarries. During the Brussels International Exposition, a World's Fair held in Brussels in 1897, you could go and visit a palace in the Cinquantenaire Park that was completely dedicated to the Belgian marble industry. The red varieties, with names like Griotte (cherry red), Rouge Royal (red) and Byzantin (red-black), were eagerly extracted for use in monumental buildings at home and abroad. But the extraction of marble in what is now Belgium dates back many centuries: Louis XIV of France, the Sun King, had Belgian red marble incorporated into the hall of mirrors of his Palace of Versailles, among others, and the Romans were already adding bits of red, black and grey marble to their mosaics. Ex omnibus Belgae pulcherrimum marmor habent.

The red, pink and grey marble was formed in underwater mud mounds a little deeper in the sea. ‘Due to the unevenness of the sea floor, a mountain of mud formed over many years,’ said Marleen. ‘On that mound nestled a wide range of marine life. We have successfully identified hundreds of these underwater mounds in southern Belgium.’ Where the hill is formed, deep in the sea, there was little light, so light-avoiding iron bacteria thrived there. ‘They converted iron into iron oxide, or rust, in other words, and that's what gives our familiar marble that deep red colour. Slightly higher in the water column, pink marble was formed – fewer iron bacteria were present there because there was more sunlight. And at the top of the underwater mound, close to the surface – where there was even more light – there was the grey variety.’

The red‑marble quarry of Beauchâteau (Senzeille, Namur province), where the Rouge royal variety of marble was extracted. You can clearly see the dome shape: this was a mound of calcareous mud in the deeper waters of the Wallonian sea during the Late Devonian. (Photo: Reinout Verbeke)

The red‑marble quarry of Beauchâteau (Senzeille, Namur province), where the Rouge royal variety of marble was extracted. You can clearly see the dome shape: this was a mound of calcareous mud in the deeper waters of the Wallonian sea during the Late Devonian. (Photo: Reinout Verbeke)

Our red marble is legendary, but the black marble is truly unique. The pitch-black marble was not formed on those underwater hills, but in other places, such as lagoons near the mainland. There, organic material flowed into the shallow seawater. Just a few percent of organic carbon was enough to turn the limestone black. Because these places were oxygen-poor, little life thrived there and there are no fossils in the rocks. ‘Belgian black marble is the blackest in the world. Some Arab countries and the United States love it for their palaces and capitols.’

Underground black‑marble quarry in Mazy (Namur province). (Photo: Reinout Verbeke)

Underground black‑marble quarry in Mazy (Namur province). (Photo: Reinout Verbeke)

While the rough blocks are still grey, once polished they become uniformly black. (Photo: Reinout Verbeke)

While the rough blocks are still grey, once polished they become uniformly black. (Photo: Reinout Verbeke)

Only one black marble quarry still exists today, in Mazy (in the province of Namur), and that is also the only marble quarry still operating in Belgium today. And whenever something is rare, it's also expensive. Belgian black marble was and is often still laid out in a chequerboard pattern with white Carrara marble from northern Italy.

Geologically speaking, the white marble is more entitled to be called ‘marble’ than its black counterpart from Belgium. Marble, by definition, is a type of metamorphic rock. That means that its crystal structure has changed due to the presence of tremendous pressure and heat: tectonic movements caused the rock to be pushed deep down into the Earth's crust. Belgian marble did not undergo those extreme conditions that existed in Carrara during the formation of the Apennines and the Alps. So our marble is actually an ordinary type of sedimentary limestone. ‘But we can hardly call our wonderful heritage stone 'Belgian limestone', can we?’ laughed Marleen. ‘Marble comes from the Greek marmaros, which means ‘shiny stone’, so in that sense, that name is correct, because the stone itself is polished until it becomes shiny.

Another limestone, one that just about everyone has in their home, is Belgian bluestone, or petit granit. If you look closely at your facing bricks, floor tiles or window sills made of bluestone, you will occasionally spot a fossil shell or a piece of coral and you'll definitely see lots of white flecks. These are remains of sea lilies, which 350 million years ago stood on the sea floor, filtering food particles from the water. They stood together in ‘gardens’, eventually forming thick packages that later petrified to limestone. Break such a piece of bluestone in half, and for a moment it will smell like rotten eggs – the odour of hydrogen sulfide (H2S), the gas left over after bacteria break down the remains of the sea lilies.

Belgian bluestone is facing competition from a similar greyish limestone from China, but the original stone from Belgium can look back on a rich history in architecture and is one of 55 internationally recognised Heritage Stones, alongside Belgian black marble and Lede stone. Four large bluestone quarries are still in operation near Soignies in the province of Hainaut.

One of the bluestone quarries in Soignies, Hainaut. (Photo: Reinout Verbeke)

One of the bluestone quarries in Soignies, Hainaut. (Photo: Reinout Verbeke)

The Age of Fishes

Force a palaeontologist to characterise the Devonian period (419 to 359 million years ago) in one word and he or she will say one word – ‘fish’. In the tropical oceans of the day, the species of fish became more diverse, complex and dominant. This was a key period in our human evolution, because human beings and all other tetrapods – amphibians, reptiles, birds and mammals – evolved from fish with sturdy fins that began to explore the crossover areas where land and water met. Two major innovations, even before the Devonian period, were the development of jaws and fins. Jaws may have been the most defining development, as they changed the face of living beings on Earth forever.

Fish were initially jawless. They had a round mouth with structures made of keratin, like lampreys have today. With those, they latch onto larger fish to tap blood, or they vacuum up food particles on the sea floor. Elongated fish of that type were very successful for many millions of years, but were outclassed during the Devonian period. Jaws had become an asset, because you could chew with them and use them to move much larger prey into the mouth.

How did those jaws evolve? Both jawbones and gills arose from a series of ‘gill arches’. The anterior of those arches formed the basis for the jaws and the remaining arches developed into gills. The fact that the front gill arches began to protrude forward a bit was an advantage as it allowed a fish to keep its mouth open. Water then flowed more easily through the gills, allowing the fish to absorb oxygen more effectively.

The three largest groups of vertebrates that exist today have jaws. The first of those are the cartilaginous fish, such as sharks and rays. And then there are the fish with a hard skeleton, the bony fish. Within the category of bony fishes, you have two groups. The ray-finned fish, which account for 99 percent of fish alive today, have thin rods that support the skin of the fins, but the fins themselves contain no muscle. The other bony fish are the lobe-finned fish. These fish are now rare and have stout, muscular fins (see the extra text at the end of this article: Extinct coelacanth re-emerges). It was from the latter group of rather plump fishes that all vertebrate tetrapods evolved.

‘Inside their fins, lobe-finned fish already have the basic structure of our arms and legs,’ said Sébastien Olive, a palaeontologist at the Institute of Natural Sciences. They have one solid bone (upper arm/upper leg), two smaller bones (forearm/lower leg), small bones (wrist/ankle) and then the fingers or toes.’ Within the evolution that led to the development of tetrapods, Tiktaalik roseae is perhaps the most famous intermediate form: its fossil skeleton was described in 2006 by the team of American palaeontologist Neil Shubin. Tiktaalik was 2.5 to 3 metres long and lived 383 million years ago in the tropical swamps of northern Canada. As a reminder, the US, Canada and Greenland were ‘neighbouring countries’ of Belgium at the time. All four territories were located together on the great continent of Laurussia (or Euramerica) that straddled the equator.

Sébastien: ‘We find fossils of the first tetrapods in places that used to be shallow, such as marshes and tidal areas. In locations like that, stronger, more flexible fins are advantageous when you have to squeeze your way through aquatic plants and you can also use them to push yourself up in shallow water.’

Tiktaalik roseae. (Maggie, CC BY-NC-ND 2.0)

Tiktaalik roseae. (Maggie, CC BY-NC-ND 2.0)

The knights
in armour
of the sea

I'm standing with Sébastien at the edge of a road in Strud, a small, unremarkable village near Namur. We're looking at a tiny quarry from which the village's inhabitants extracted 365 million-year-old limestone to build their homes. ‘I'm certain that the walls of those houses will contain some first-class fossils,’ he laughed. We climb up the steep flank and loosen boulders at the top with our geological hammer, before reducing them down in size and inspecting them with a magnifying glass.

What are we looking for? Armoured fish or placoderms – the first fish to have jaws. A whole host of armoured fish species swam around in our seas, from tiny bottom feeders to giant apex predators. They all had heads and chests covered with bony plates, which fossilised. Their more flexible tail consisted of cartilage, topped with scales, and usually decayed. As for their appearance, armoured fish looked rather like knights in armour of the sea. One of the most impressive species was Dunkleosteus terrelli. A recent study identified that at 4.6 metres, they were half as long as previously thought. Nevertheless, you still wouldn't wish to encounter an armoured fish while on a dive in the sea during the Devonian period. Its bite has been estimated at five thousand newtons, twice as powerful as a T. rex bite.

In that unsightly quarry in Strud between 2004 and 2015, Sébastien and colleagues found a range of fauna and flora that lived in and near freshwater during the Late Devonian period: early tetrapods, early crustaceans, early plants and possibly one of the oldest insects... And they also found baby placoderms of different types in one place. So this must have been a nursery, in a tributary of a river, where armoured fish dropped their eggs or bore their young alive. After about two hours of digging, we found pieces of armour from a smaller placoderm, a scale from a giant lobe-finned fish and a spine of a primitive fish that looked like a shark. Not a bad catch for two hours of tapping away at the rock face.

Nevertheless, we didn't share the same amount of good luck experienced by a pair of citizen palaeontologists in 2017 – in Lompret quarry in southern Hainaut, right next to the village of Chimay, which is famous for its abbey-brewed beer, they found a complete set of armour from an armoured fish. ‘There was no stopping our enthusiasm as we uncovered bone plate after bone plate,’ said Natalie Tolisz, during my conversation with her at a meeting of citizen palaeontologists. Natalie and her husband Kevin Houben donated that spectacular find to the collections of the Institute of Natural Sciences. A fossil must have been added to a public scientific repository before scientists can officially study it and that study is now under way. ‘It may actually be a new species,’ Kevin reveals. So an important discovery is in the making, and one that resulted from scratching for fossils weekend after weekend in a quarry, purely out of passion. And Natalie and Kevin are not the only ones to feel that passion – every weekend, many dozens of citizen scientists rescue palaeontological heritage from the path of relentless bulldozers.

In 2017, a couple of citizen paleontologists came across the complete armour of a large armoured fish in the Lompret quarry. The find is stored in six drawers like these. Large armoured fishes such as Dunkleosteus were the top predators of the Late Devonian. (Photo: Reinout Verbeke)

In 2017, a couple of citizen paleontologists came across the complete armour of a large armoured fish in the Lompret quarry. The find is stored in six drawers like these. Large armoured fishes such as Dunkleosteus were the top predators of the Late Devonian. (Photo: Reinout Verbeke)

Once pieced together, the skull should look roughly like this. (Photo: Thierry Hubin)

Once pieced together, the skull should look roughly like this. (Photo: Thierry Hubin)

Pioneers on land

Illustration of the ‘giant fungus’ Prototaxites growing along the ground. In other publications this organism is depicted standing upright.

Illustration of the ‘giant fungus’ Prototaxites growing along the ground. In other publications this organism is depicted standing upright.

Life in the sea had become a fascinating spectacle, but what was there to experience on land? Well, a complete change of circumstances for one thing. When we were part of Gondwana, a gigacontinent at the South Pole, and also when we broke off from it around 480 million years ago to form the microcontinent Avalonia, the land's surface was a wilderness with no living beings. But in the period when Avalonia migrated northwards during the Ordovician and subsequent Silurian periods, fungi and plants set ‘foot’ on land wherever they could. They were the ones that formed the first ecosystems on land.

The first land plants, descendants of green algae in the water, were mosses: liverworts, hornworts and other mosses. They managed to move further and further away from lakes and rivers by retaining water themselves and anchoring themselves with hair-like roots. But they lacked any extensive vascular system, therefore had no highway for nutrients. One of the first plants that did have a stem and a vascular system was Cooksonia. This little plant was no taller than your little finger and had a branched stem with spore-bearing capsules at its end. It was the mosses and mini vascular plants, like Cooksonia, that gave the land a colour it never had before – green. Fossils of Cooksonia are rare, but you can find them just about all over the world. They therefore not only grew on ‘our’ continent of Laurussia, which was situated in the tropical belt, but also on the more southerly megacontinent Gondwana, which had a more temperate climate. The earth now had texture for the first time.

From the Devonian period onwards, the vascular plants continued to develop and our planet gained its first trees, with leaves, roots and a woody structure. Until well into the Devonian period, the tallest organism on land was not a plant, but an organism as much as eight metres tall and one metre wide: Prototaxites. According to some palaeontologists, it was a fungus with an extremely tall or long fruiting body, but according to other experts, it was a lichen – a very successful collaboration between an alga and a fungus. These organisms were certainly bizarre: they took the form of poles that towered above the low vegetation, or grew horizontally across the soil.

The land became greener and, competing for light, which was needed for photosynthesis, plants worked their way upwards. It was in the late Devonian period that the first tall trees came into being, one example being Archaeopteris: up to several tens of metres tall, with an internal structure of wood and sturdy roots that locked the tree firmly into the subsoil. The iconic 'giant fungus' Prototaxites became extinct towards the end of the Devonian period. Was it driven out by the growing army of tall trees?

A new type of soil from which to grow

Meanderende rivier.

Meandering river. (Charbonet Sidney, USFWS on Pixnio)

Meandering river. (Charbonet Sidney, USFWS on Pixnio)

Colonisation of the land by plants drastically changed the subsoil of the continents by causing much more fine-grained sediment to be formed. It had always been there, ever since there had been rocks. Those rocks weathered and together with silt and clay, the finest-grained materials released due to weathering flowed unrestrained into the sea, where it accumulated in the deeper, calm areas of the sea. The heavier products of erosion such as sand, pebbles and cobbles invariably ended up in shallower waters.

Silt and clay can do something that sand cannot – they can stick. As plants were now growing close to waterways, they formed a dam that captured the silt and clay particles being carried along in the water. The particles not only stuck to the plants but also to each other and over time, this resulted in thick deposits – banks of fine-grained sediment. These, in turn, forced the water into a slalom of outside and inside curves. The rivers, which previously flowed wide and in a criss-cross pattern to the sea – with several streams chaotically cutting across each other, like in a delta – now meandered much more neatly in a single channel. Meandering bodies of water are therefore a relatively recent phenomenon in the history of our planet.

Plants do much more than capture silt and clay, however. They are key players in weathering: their roots worm their way into rock crevices and the pressure makes the cracks bigger. Their roots also secrete organic acids, which dissolve minerals. That mechanical and chemical weathering helps break down rocks, after which even more products of erosion flow out to sea and get caught at bends along the way, forming mud.

Plants are also self-cultivating: fallen leaves and dead roots form humus, enriching the soil with nutrients such as nitrogen, potassium and calcium. During floods, nutrient-rich mud flowed over the banks and covered the neighbouring land. This created the first floodplains, which served as the breeding ground for the first forests. Mud and plant growth went hand in hand and reinforced each other.

Researchers at Cambridge established this by determining the proportion of mudstone (lithified silt and clay) that existed during the Silurian and Devonian periods. Between 450 million and 400 million years ago, the proportion of mud on Earth multiplied tenfold. And the correlation was clear: the greater the amount of mudstone, the more plants with vascular systems and roots had developed.

The accretion of mud not only changed the land but also the air. When plant remains are covered by clay, they do not decay. As a result, the CO2 absorbed by the plants remained trapped in the subsoil and did not return to the atmosphere. In all parts of the world, mud therefore came to form a huge reservoir of CO2. Today, clay traps one fifth of our annual carbon dioxide emissions.

Fertile floodplains with constant vegetation were the first environments in which animals could survive. After plants and fungi, arthropods – the group of insects and spiders – ventured ashore as the land offered sources of food. In turn, lobe-finned fishes increasingly pushed their way further and further onto dry land and natural selection led to the development of legs that can carry the body and breathing with lungs. The closest ancestors of tetrapods had already developed double breathing: in addition to gills, they now possessed lung-like structures that extracted oxygen from the air whenever the water had become too deoxygenated.

A choking and ice-cold ending

Oxygen-poor oceans were common during the Devonian period and towards the end of that era, around 372 million years ago, the world's oceans were so anoxic that it led to a mass extinction. The Kellwasser crisis, as palaeontologists call it, is one of the great five mass extinctions that complex life on Earth has experienced. The loss of biodiversity was of the same order as the one that took place at the end of the Cretaceous Age, some 66 million years ago, which led to the famous extinction that finally killed the non-flying dinosaurs.

The Kellwasser crisis is easily recognisable in layers of rock by the sudden occurrence of black shale in the form of hardened, fine-grained sea floor with increased levels of organic matter. These point to the lack of oxygen in the oceans. Among the victims were the main reef builders of the Devonian period, the corals and stromatoporoids. But many other forms of marine life were also severely hit, including brachiopods, trilobites, ammonites, conodonts and armoured fishes. ‘Oxygen-deficient zones in seas and oceans still exist to this day,’ said the palaeontologist Stijn Goolaerts of the Institute of Natural Sciences, who has launched a research project into the Kellwasser crisis in Belgium. ‘Usually, these zones are local, short-lived and exist in only one section of the water column. Only when those oxygen-deficient zones increase in area and number, persist for a long time and begin to encompass larger portions of the water column, do they make life impossible.’

During the Kellwasser crisis, the lack of oxygen lasted several hundred thousand years, and manifested itself in two pulses, the second being the most pervasive. At the quarry in Lompret, where Natalie and Kevin found their large armoured fish, you can extract plenty of samples from that interval.

So how did those oceans become deoxygenated? Perhaps it was due to algal blooms growing in overdrive. Due to the advent of land plants, many more nutrients flowed seawards. Rivers carried fertile soil that contaminated the seas and oceans, causing massive algal blooms. When those algae died and sank to the bottom, so much oxygen was consumed by bacteria during the decomposition of those algae that other organisms that needed oxygen suffocated.

Scientists have other possible explanations for the Kellwasser extinction, including massive volcanic activity in Siberia, which would have blown large amounts of greenhouse gases into the air, altered the climate, and also, among other things, increased the quantity of algal blooms in the oceans. This may also have been accompanied by a change in our orbit around the sun. Periodically, the Earth has a circular orbit rather than the usual elliptical one (the Milankovitch cycles) and orbits that are more circular lead to a more stable climate and slower ocean circulation. This means that oxygen-poor oceans will then remain oxygen-poor for longer. ‘No global extinction is due to one individual cause’, said the geologist Xavier Devleeschouwer of the Institute of Natural Sciences. ‘The combination of causes is what makes the cocktail toxic and pushes entire ecosystems over the edge.’

Thirteen million years after the Kellwasser ecological disaster, life received a second uppercut: a global cooling known as the Hangenberg Event. ‘The earth tumbled from a warm period into an icehouse. The world changed dramatically, with ice caps at the poles. We can see geological traces of that in South America – the moraines. These consist of the debris that a glacier carries with it as it moves and leaves behind when it melts or retreats.’

360 million years ago, at the end of the Devonian. The world shifts into an icehouse state, with ice caps forming on Gondwana — an ice age that will last more than a hundred million years. In our region, within the tropical belt, the climate remains warm. (C.R. Scotese and GPlates)

360 million years ago, at the end of the Devonian. The world shifts into an icehouse state, with ice caps forming on Gondwana — an ice age that will last more than a hundred million years. In our region, within the tropical belt, the climate remains warm. (C.R. Scotese and GPlates)


How the earth ended up in an ice age is again up for debate. Was it caused by increasing plant growth on land? Plants remove CO2 from the air, thereby causing a reverse greenhouse effect. But that seems too simple an explanation. One thing is certain – the ice caps caused sea levels to drop, leading to another ecological shift in the oceans. The Hangenberg cooling was now shaking things up on land as well. Palaeontologists therefore think that there must be at least one more cause. They have evidence of an enduring hole in the ozone layer, resulting in increased UV radiation and damage to the DNA of land-based organisms.

In the aftermath of two major waves of extinction, one due (among other things) to oxygen depletion in the oceans and one due (among other things) to global cooling, the Devonian period came to an end and the Carboniferous period began. Life was going through a bottleneck, but came through as it always does. This new era would give the planet its first truly impressive forests, which would later petrify into coal. For us human beings, this was a blessing, as the resulting coal was the driving force behind the Industrial Revolution, but it was also a curse, as the burning of fossil fuels caused the global warming we are witnessing today. The creatures that were swarming, crawling and flying around in those primaeval forests of the Carboniferous period defy imagination. It was certainly no place for anyone with a phobia of spiders or insects!

EXTINCT COELACANTH
RE-EMERGES

If you take a behind-the-scenes tour of the Institute of Natural Sciences in Brussels, you will come across an unusual tank in one of the repositories containing ‘recent vertebrates’. In that tank, preserved in alcoholic formalin, lies a coelacanth of about two metres in length. It's quite a fright! When looking the primordial fish in the eye, I'm almost as overwhelmed as the South African biologist James L. B. Smith was. In 1939, he went to see the first captured coelacanth at the small East London Museum run by the curator Marjorie Courtenay-Latimer. ‘That first sight hit me like a white-hot blast and made me feel shaky and queer, my body tingled. I stood as if stricken by stone,’ he wrote. The fish seems to come from another era and in some respects, that is true.

Coelacanths – a group of lobe-finned fish – had been known about for a century by then, but only from fossils from the early Devonian period, some 415 million years ago. And people thought that this group of creatures had died out, along with the dinosaurs. In 1938, however, Courtenay-Latimer received a telephone call from a fisherman asking her to come see an unusual catch – a strange, bluish fish with fins that looked like limbs. She sensed that it was something special. As she didn't have a cold store, she had the fish stuffed by a taxidermist. James Smith recognised it as a coelacanth and named the species Latimeria chalumnae, after Marjorie's family name. One of the top taxonomic finds of the 20th century is still located in that small museum in South Africa.

The coelacanth is a so-called living fossil, though that is a term that evolutionary biologists prefer to avoid because it plays into the hands of creationists: ‘No evolution, you see!’ The Coelacanth Genome Project being carried out by the Broad Institute (MIT and Harvard) also confirmed that their genes generally evolve more slowly than those of other vertebrates. This helps to explain why they have more or less retained their external characteristics for hundreds of millions of years. Coelacanths live in caves five hundred metres below the surface of the sea and even deeper: perhaps the stability of those environments reduced the selective pressures driving evolutionary change. But for evolution-deniers, one slow-evolving swallow does not make a spring. Evolution is never totally absent and that also applies to other living fossils, such as the horseshoe crab, the nautilus, the ginkgo and the brachiopods. In that regard, they are like houses in Bruges: the façade and building plan may hardly have changed, but the inside has adapted itself to changes in circumstances during the course of many millions of years.

The Institute of Natural Sciences is reconstructing the wanderings of the patch of land we know today as Belgium: from the South Pole to the place where we're located today. A series on our country's unique geology in five longreads, five podcast episodes (in Dutch) and five posters.

Every two months in 2026 a new episode will appear on
www.naturalsciences.be/r/planetbelgium

With support from the Wernaers Fund of FNRS.

A heartfelt thanks to, among others:

  • Geologist Kris Piessens (Institute of Natural Sciences) for inspiration and guidance
  • Geologists Jacques Verniers and Stephen Louwye (UGent) and biologist Koen Martens (Institute of Natural Sciences) for reviewing
  • Sound designer Joris Van Damme and musician Bart Couvreur for the podcast
  • Illustrator Vinciane Decamps (Vinch Atelier) for the posters
  • Videomaker Stijn Pardon (Institute of Natural Sciences) for the trailer
  • Kwinten Deschepper for the design of this longread
  • Mathilde Antuna for pictures and videos at Strud quarry.