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The Change from the Supercritical Fluid-Melt System into the Under-Critical Stage: The Zinnwald Example

DOI: 10.31038/GEMS.2025741

Abstract

In this contribution, we demonstrate that samples from the Zinnwald greisen deposits also contain diamonds that crystallized under crustal conditions. The occurrence of diamond whiskers in quard and lonsdaleite in fluorite opens a wide field of sophisticated research.

Keywords

Raman spectroscopy, Supercritical fluids, Formation of diamonds in crustal regions, Diamond whiskers

Introduction

The study of some samples (quartz, cassiterite, zinnwaldite, fluorite) from the famous tin deposit of Zinnwald (Sn-W-Li deposit at the German/Czech border in the eastern Erzgebirge) has shown by the occurrence of diamond, diamond whiskers, and lonsdaleite, that these normally mantle-type minerals occur in relatively surface-near mineralization and are not uncommon [1-6]. Further studies on the Zinnwald mineralization, including the host granite, showed that the whole palette of carbon minerals is typical and present. In the past, the study of graphite and related minerals was ignored. As a result, many fundamental minerogenetic aspects could, therefore, not be correctly interpreted. The Formation of diamond and SiC whiskers (in quartz and beryl) clearly demonstrates the formation on the spot [1]. That means the formation occurs directly on the Earth’s crust, which is traditionally not possible. Furthermore, the here-described graphite or carbon differs from classic graphite (e.g., from Madagascar) by the extreme Raman band at low frequencies, which, according to Shea and Wall (2012) [7], are radial breathing modes (RBM). Such graphite nanotubes can include and transport a variety of components, including NaSn2F5, boron, and many others. The Formation of diamonds and Co. in the crustal range needs an acceptable explanation. Is the input of supercritical fluids and melts coming from the mantle range into the crust responsible for the exceptional mineralization? Is the transition from the supercritical stage to the critical and under-critical stages connected with pressure shock wave-like cavitation processes? Is the formation of spherical lonsdaleite crystals in fluorite with a diameter of about 40 µm or diamond whiskers in quartz with lengths up to 200 µm so feasible?. The following new observations on the Zinnwald samples, presented here, should help address these questions.

Sample Material and References

Granite Sample

The sample is a halogen-enriched topaz-albite granite from the Zinnwald tin-tungsten mining district (sample ZW212) of the Variscan age [8-10]. A detailed description of this and related samples and the results of fluid and melt inclusion studies can be found in Webster et al. (2004) [11] and Thomas et al. (2005) [12]. At that time, it was already clear that there was a two-stage formation of the granite, at least. The second phase exhibits a high fluorine content in the melt (~6% F). Topaz shows three different morphologic types: fine needles of topaz crystals, intergrowth of topaz, fluorite, and cryolite, as well as isometric topaz crystals [12]. Unconsidered up to now is the frequent appearance of graphite (Figure 1) and also nano- to micro diamonds in these granites. Striking is also the occurrence of spherical REE-rich fluorite crystals in quartz phenocrysts [13], which, together with the obtained pseudo-binary solvus curve (granite melt-water system) and the Lorentzian distribution of certain elements (F, Rb, Cs), demonstrate an input of supercritical fluids or melts from the Earths mantle into the crust [5,6].

Figure 1: Graphite (Gr) in granite from Zinnwald (sample ZW212) [12].

Pegmatite Quartz

Incorporated with the Variscan tin-tungsten mineralization related to the granites are pegmatite α-quartz crystals (up to 20 cm long), which are partially replaced by later β-quartz [1]. Other essential minerals are topaz, cassiterite, zinnwaldite, and fluorite. The last three contain, in part, diamond, diamond whiskers, lonsdaleite, graphite, graphite whiskers, and α-rhombohedral spheres and whiskers of boron partly with boron carbide [14].

Zinnwaldite and Fluorite

For the Zinnwald tin-tungsten deposit, Zinnwald-Cinovec is, according to Baumann et al. (2000), the 3-meter thick pegmatite of the type “Stockscheider” between quartz porphyry and albite granite characteristical. The pegmatite consists of quartz, potassium feldspar, and zinnwaldite. Some smoky quartz crystals up to up to 20 cm long can be found. In the zinnwaldite bundle, there are mostly violet to colorless fluorite crystals enclosed. Fluorite crystals contain lonsdaleite and diamond inclusions [4].

Microscopy and Raman Spectroscopy

We performed all microscopic and Raman spectroscopic studies with a petrographic polarization microscope (BX 43) with a rotating stage coupled with the EnSpectr Raman spectrometer R532 (Enhanced Spectrometry, Inc., Mountain View, CA, USA) in reflection and transmission. The Raman spectra were recorded in the spectral range of 0–4000 cm-1 using an up-to-50 mW single-mode 532 nm laser, an entrance aperture of 20 µm, a holographic grating of 1800 g/mm, and spectral resolution ranging of 4 cm-1. Generally, we used an objective lens with a magnification of 100x: the Olympus long-distance LMPLFLN100x objective (Olympus, Tokyo, Japan). The laser power on the sample is adjustable down to 0.02 mW. The Raman band positions were calibrated before and after each series of measurements using the Si band of a semiconductor-grade silicon single-crystal. The run-to-run repeatability of the line position (based on 20 measurements each) is ± 0.3 cm−1 for Si (520.4 ± 0.3 cm-1) and 0.4 cm-1 for diamond (1332.7 cm-1 ± 0.4 cm-1 over the range of 80–2000 cm-1). The FWHM = 4.26 ± 0.42 cm-1. FWHM is the Full-Width at Half Maximum. We also used a water-clear natural diamond crystal (Mining Academy Freiberg: 2453/37 from Brazil) as a diamond reference (for more information, see Thomas et al., 2023) [15]. The zero-point position for the Raman spectroscopic measurements is shown in Figure 2.

Figure 2: Position of the diamond line during the Raman measurements in the range from -40 to 2015 cm-1 (sample 2453/37 from Brazil). The mean of 20 new measurements is 1332.2 ± 0.4 cm-1.

Reference Material

Diamond and Graphite

As reference material for diamond and graphite, we used well- studied material. The diamond from the Mining Academy Freiberg, which we have used since the start of the Raman spectroscopic studies, is used daily to calibrate the device (see Figure 2). Additionally, for the same purpose, graphite from Madagascar is also used.

Since diamond, lonsdaleite, and graphite are in the central focus of this contribution, we provide the Raman reference spectra of diamond and graphite here (Figures 2 and 3).

Figure 3: Typical Raman spectrum of small plate-shaped graphite crystals from Madagascar.

Single-Walled Carbon Nanotubes (SWCNTs)

This pure material is from ProGraphite GmbH, Untergriesbach, Germany. We used this reference material because the Raman spectra show strong bands in the low Raman range, unlike graphite crystals from Madagascar. The following features [7] characterize the Raman spectrum of the used single-walled carbon nanotubes as reference: a strong G-band at 1570 cm-1, a weaker D-band at 1332 cm-1, a resonant 2D band at 2650 cm-1, and between about 80 and 500 cm-1 the radial breathing modes (RBMs). Figure 4 shows a typical Raman spectrum of single-walled carbon nanotubes (SWCNT).

Figure 4: Typical Raman spectrum of single-walled carbon nanotubes (SWCNTs).

Results

Topaz-Albite Granite from the Zinnwald

The granite contains rare cassiterite-brown microcrystals surrounded by a halo of colorless, primary probably β-quartz (see Figure 5). The determination of β-quartz is not simple because the surrounding quartz is α-quartz, and β-quartz transforms fast into α-form. The quartz of the hallo shows extremely high Raman lines at 126.0 and 204.7 cm-1.

Figure 5: Diamond in granite quartz (sample ZW212) from Zinnwald. The diamond grain is 75 µm deep from the sample surface. The sample is 500 µm thick. D – diamond, α- Qtz – low-quartz, at the trapping probably β-Qtz – high-quartz. Under intense light, the diamond is in the center, cassiterite-brown, and at the rim, blue.

In Figure 5, a diamond crystal in granite quartz is depicted. Finding such crystals is not simple, as the granite sample contains many small, dark crystals, such as graphite. Figure 6 is a typical Raman spectrum of diamond shown – composed of the relatively broad diamond band at about 1326 cm-1 and the typical G-band at 1585 cm-1 of the carbon material. Depending on the isotope composition (13C vs. 12C), the band position of the diamond and the corresponding G-band can vary in a wide range [2]: pure 13C-diamond at 1283.1 cm-1 and pure 12C-diamond at 1332.7 cm-1. The same is the case for graphite: 1519 to 1581 cm-1 for both end members (13C vs 12C) respectively.

Figure 6: Raman spectrum of diamond in granite from Zinnwald (sample ZW212, Figure 5).

The diamond is partially transformed into carbon (see Figure 7) because the diamond is at high temperatures and low pressure over a long time, not stable [16].

Figure 7: Carbon, transformed from primary diamond (Figure 6) by its ascent with supercritical fluids or melts into the present granite from Zinnwald (sample ZW212).

The direct diamond-related carbon is very rare in the granite sample ZW212. Most carbon is related to spheric or quasi-spheric black globules, often present and then mostly in quartz. Typical Raman spectra are in Figures 6 and 8. Characteristically, for this type of carbon, there are extreme Raman bands in the low-frequency range from about 80 to 400 cm-1. The intensity is so strong that the range from 1200 to 2000 cm-1 is nearby suppressed. Taking only the Raman spectrum in the range between 1200 and 2000 cm-1 reveals the typical carbon band.The extremely high Raman bands are identified as radial breathing modes (RBM) by Shea and Wall (2012).

Figure 8: Raman spectra of graphite in granite from Zinnwald (ZW212), about 30 µm deep in quartz. Because the Raman band of graphite between 80 and 400 cm-1 is exceptionally high (lower Figure), therefore the range of the upper Figure is strongly enlarged by using only the Raman window from about 1200 to 2000 cm-1.

In contrast to crystalline graphite (see Figure 3) from Madagascar, the carbon in the Zinnwald granite shows extremely intense Raman bands in the low-frequency range. It looks like carbon nanotubes (SWCNTs) or MWCNTs (multi-walled carbon nanotubes – see Figure 4 and Shea and Wall (2012). The relatively strong band at 763.4 cm-1 can traced back to fluoroboric acid H[BF4] [12] (Figure 8).

Most carbon spheres in the granite quartz are composed obviously of multi-walled carbon nanotubes filled with different ions (rare alkalis, SnF2, SnO2, H2O, and many see Figure 9).

Figure 9: Raman spectrum of SnF2-loaded single-walled carbon nanotubes (SWCNTs). The RBM Raman band at 242.7 cm-1 corresponds to a SWCNT diameter of about 1 nm filled with NaSn2F5, and the Raman bands at 483.3 and 621.2 results from SnO2 [17].

Granite-related Tin-Tungsten Mineralization

Smoky Quartz

The results on smoky quartz are summarized in Thomas (2025a) [1]. Some carbon needles often have small diamond crystals at their tip (deep under the sample surface!). Figure 10a is a Raman spectrum of such carbon needles with a diamond on the tip.

Figure 10b show an about 80 µm long diamond whisker in quartz and the corresponding Raman spectrum. This whisker shows two points that held up. Chaotic processes during the crystal growth of the quartz host are so out of the question.

From the Raman band position, the diamond whisker is composed of 47.4% 13C, and the graphite is composed of 38.5% 13C, respectively.

Figure 10 a: Raman spectrum of a diamond-bearing carbon needle in quartz deep under the sample surface.

Figure 10 b: Diamond whisker in smoky quartz (upper photomicrograph) and the accompanying Raman spectrum of diamond whisker. The Raman band at 461.5 cm-1 is from the quartz host.

Zinnwaldite

A brief description of the deposits in Zinnwald (Germany) and Cinovec (Czech Republic) is provided by Baumann et al. (2000) [8], Breiter and Qiao et al. (2024). The Li-mica zinnwaldite (~2.2 % Li2O), named after this deposit, is the main constituent of this deposit and represents one of the largest Li-Sn-W greisen deposits in Europe. A careful study of zinnwaldite cleavage crystals reveals, besides small crystals of quartz, cristobalite, scheelite, cassiterite, and K2SnCl6, the presence of graphite grains. Figure 11 is an example of such a crystal with nanodiamonds (Table 1, Figures 11 and 12).

Table 1: Raman spectroscopic data of diamond and related carbon of the diamond in the Zinnwald granite ZW212; measurements on 19 crystals.

Sample

Diamond (cm-1) FWHM Carbon (cm-1)

FWHM

ZW212

1328.5 ± 4.3

63.1 ± 18.0 1578.7 ± 7.2

57.5 ± 13.5

Figure 11: Boron carbide-diamond crystal in zinnwaldite (Znw) from Zinnwald. The Raman spectrum of this crystal is in Figure 12.

Figure 12: Raman spectrum of boron carbide and maybe a diamond grain in zinnwaldite. The Raman band 1294 cm-1 can be a hint to a 13C-rich diamond [18]. Exceptional are the strong 1448 and 1657 cm-1 bands corresponding to boron carbide.

Besides such irregular grains, there are spherical crystals of a mixture of BxC, BN, and Si3N4 with strong Raman bands between 400 and 1460 cm-1 (see Figure 13). Similar spherical crystals are in smoky quartz [1] from Zinnwald and in cassiterite from Ehrenfriedersdorf (Sn-58) – Thomas, 1982. Boron carbides form at high temperatures and are stable at high pressure (GPa-range) and are also stable under intense Raman laser irradiation (50mW).

Figure 13: Raman spectrum of the spherical boron carbide BxC crystal (shown at the top right) in zinnwaldite (Znw).

In the low-frequency range, a band appears at 187 cm-1 (due to the B-C-B-C chain defect) as the pressure increases, as reported by Jay et al. (2023) [19]. After these authors, a significant kinetic barrier stabilizes the high-temperature configuration. Furthermore, in nature, it is probably a stoichiometric composition, not realistically – it is more a family of compounds of different compositions. However, the Raman spectra of such globules are more or less identical in zinnwaldite, quartz, and cassiterite. Very frequently, black films of graphite are observed. Figure 14 shows such aggregates.

Figure 14: Thick graphite (Gr) film in zinnwaldite (Zwn) from Zinnwald.

The Raman spectrum of such graphite is shown in Figure 15. Opposite to the graphite from Madagascar is FWHM (Full Width at Half Maximum), noticeably larger (see Table 2).

Figure 15: Raman spectrum of a graphite film in zinnwaldite (Figure 14), characterized by a strong Raman band at 1570.8 cm-1. This value corresponds to approximately 16.5% 13C.

Table 2: Results of the Raman measurements on the graphite main peak (G band).

Sample

G band FWHM

n (measured crystals)

Graphite in Zwn

1567.9 ± 4.6

21.8 ± 2.8 14

Gr from Madagascar

1580.2 ± 1.1 15.3 ± 1.9

14

Gr – graphite, Zwn – zinnwaldite.
Besides graphite, there are also inclusions filled with abiotic organic material (Figure 16).

Table 2 shows the Raman data for the graphite-G peak. In most cases, the D band, at approximately 1345 cm-1, is mostly absent (Figure 16).

Figure 16 shows the inclusion of abiotic organic material in zinnwaldite. It is a complex mixture of saturated hexane (Author Collective, 1987 – [20]; Hurai et al., 2015 – [21]; Thomas, 2024d – [22]), produced by a natural Fischer-Tropsch process with zinnwaldite as the catalyst.

Figure 16: Complex abiotic organic material in zinnwaldite (Zwn) from Zinnwald.

Fluorite

In zinnwaldite, purple fluorite crystals (~5 mm in diameter) are often present. Thomas and Trinkler (2024) [4] found spherical lonsdaleite in these crystals. Besides the frequent lonsdaleite crystals, another rare diamond type is also present (Figure 17), characterized by two diamond Raman bands corresponding to high 13C contents.

Figure 17: Diamond in a fluorite crystal in zinnwaldite from Zinnwald/Saxony. The main band lies at 1313.7 ± 3.3 cm-1 (10 measurements), which corresponds to 46.5% 13C.

Lonsdaleite is more frequently in the fluorite sample out of the zinnwaldite. Figure 18 shows the lonsdaleite crystal (a) and the Raman spectrum (b) from this crystal. In Table 3, the Raman-active vibrational modes are shown [23].

Figure 18: Lonsdaleite in fluorite from Zinnwald. a) Photomicrograph of lonsdaleite in fluorite. b) Raman spectrum of lonsdaleite. The Gaussian fit gives three components typical for lonsdalite.

Table 3: Raman-active vibrational modes.

Raman mode

Band position (cm-1)

FWHM (cm-1)

E2g

1245.6

36.1

A1g

1308.4

79.3

E1g

1356.5

24.4

According to Goryainov et al. (2018) [23], the three Raman-active vibration modes E2g (here 1245.6 cm-1), A1g (1308.6 cm-1), and E1g (1356.5 cm-1) are present.

The high 13C values of diamond in fluorite from Zinnwald spoke for a late supercritical input. The first input must be 12C richer.

Altenberg Tin Deposit

Not far from the Zinnwald deposit (~5 km) is the famous, however, closed Variscan tin deposit Altenberg [9,24]. Because there are also clear hints of supercritical fluids/melts present, the first data from that source should be given here in brief. Table 4 shows the results for diamonds found in quartz from pycnite rock. Pycnite is a variety of topaz, and the rock with the same name is composed of pycnite-topaz (44.2 ± 9.7), quartz (28.7 ± 8.8), and Li-mica (27.1 ± 8.0 %(vol/vol). The pycnite-topaz contains 19.8 % F [25].

Table 4: Raman spectroscopic data of diamond and related carbon of the diamond in the Altenberg pycnite rock; measurements on 18 crystals.

Sample

Diamond (cm-1) FWHM Carbon (cm-1) FWHM

n

Pycnite-Qtz

1324.2 ± 10.2

74.8 ± 18.0 1585.8 ± 7.6 57.0 ± 7.8 18

Pycnite

1572.2 ± 7.1 20.8 ± 5.2

12

n – number of studied crystals.

The Altenberg example demonstrates that the pycnite cupola in the mine is the result of the interaction of a primary pegmatitic (quartz- feldspar) stock with an F-rich supercritical fluid into the pycnite rock. Remnants of potassium feldspar are present. Such interaction is also valid for the entire Greisen body.

Interpretation

In this contribution, further data are presented, which underline the interpretation of the interaction of supercritical fluid and/ or melts coming from the Earth’s mantle with the more crustal granites forming the granite-related Variscan tin mineralizations. The more or less subparallel with the granite cupola from Zinnwald [9] proceeding mineralizations contain diamond, graphite, boron carbide, and orthorhombic cassiterite, which are clear high-pressure and high-temperature indicators. Additionally, the formation of diamond whiskers in smoky quartz [1] clearly demonstrates that not all high-pressure minerals were transported with supercritical fluids. They crystalized on the spot. The finding of such minerals also in typical greisen formations (zinnwaldite) demonstrates the significant influence of supercritical fluids, which bring a lot of water, solid indicator minerals, and dissolved ore elements for the formation of greisen and pegmatite bodies. These scientific proofs necessitate a new interpretation of the formation of this type of Variscan tin mineralization. From our studies, it is clear that supercritical fluids or melts have a significant impact on ore and pegmatite formation. At the transition of the supercritical fluid into the critical and undercritical fluids at the formation site of the Variscan mineralizations, processes occur that are not yet well understood. The example of Zinnwald shows that such processes occur over a large spatial area, demonstrating that also the input of supercritical fluids is not only spatial restricted. Figure 19 shows the pressure-temperature diagram for the equilibria of diamond and graphite, and coesite and β-quartz.

Figure 19: Schematic phase diagram of diamond and graphite as well as between coesite and β-quartz. SCF – supercritical fluid, D – diamond, Gr – graphite, β-Qtz – high-quartz, Coe – coesite.

The transport of diamonds, as an example, with the supercritical fluid is not the problem. However, the formation of diamonds, for instance, as whiskers at a crustal level with about 0.1 to 0.3 GPa is, at the moment, a significant problem. One explanation is that during the sudden change from the supercritical state to the critical state, an enormous pressure rise occurs. Conceivable is, however, a more slow transition. Another possibility is that processes like cavitation have a significantly detrimental effect. However, cavitation processes are more chaotic. Here is already a vast playground of sophisticated research.

Discussion

In the last years, starting from 2023, the author and coauthors have found in minerals of Variscan tin deposits of the Erzgebirge (Germany), Krušné Hory (Czech Republic), and Slakoský les (Kaiserwald) in the Czech Republic high-pressure and high-temperature minerals in more crustal regions (pressure about 0.1 to 0.3 GPa. These minerals belong to diamond, lonsdaleite, moissanite, complex boron carbides, orthorhombic cassiterite, coesite, cristobalite-X-I, as well as beryl-II. Studied were the deposits Zinnwald, Altenberg, Cinovec, Krupka, Sadisdorf, Ehrenfriedersdorf, the granite from Greifenstein, granites from Annaberg, Schlaggenwald (Slavkovský les). Because samples can be contaminated during preparation [26-31] with diamond and SiC (moissanite), the samples were carefully cleaned, and only diamonds were used, which are far enough below the surface. The discovery of diamond- and moissanite whiskers in these samples enhanced the reliability of our findings. Furthermore, the proof of extremely 13C-rich diamonds and graphite in the studied samples clearly demonstrates the reality of our findings.

Acknowledgment

This contribution is dedicated to Adolf Rericha for his encouragement and his intense discussions of the problems related to the meaning of supercritical fluids.

References

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Commentary: The Unperceived Pregnancy as a Dissociative Disorder

DOI: 10.31038/AWHC.2025832

Introduction

Because the physical symptoms that suggest pregnancy are universally understood and accepted, it seems implausible that a woman could fail to recognize the fact of her own gestational state. However, in 1/300 pregnancies through 20 weeks of gestation and 1/2455 through labor and birth, that is exactly what occurs. The unperceived pregnancy is a misunderstood reproductive anomaly that can have deleterious developmental consequences for the fetus and in extreme cases can result in the death of the neonate leading to criminal charges. Current research recognizes this is a clinical syndrome with a distinctive pattern of symptoms and behaviors that can be identified diagnostically and is closely related to clinical disorders involving dissociation.

Key Findings from Research

There are clear repetitive markers that occur across studies which pertain to the frequent absence of certain expected pregnancy markers:

  • No morning sickness
  • Minimal to no weight gain
  • Spotting throughout gestation which gives the appearance that menstruation is continuing
  • No apparent sensations of fetal movement
  • No significant changes in abdominal girth

Some research calls attention to lower levels of HCG in this population of women which may provide an explanation for the absence of nausea and vomiting, markers associated with pregnancy. Other studies explore the silhouette effect, characterized by an absence of abdominal swelling. Across cases, there is a consistent failure to accurately perceive pregnancy-related symptoms; consequently, women do not receive pre-natal care. If they do seek medical care for a non-pregnancy related concern, the pregnancy is frequently not discovered by their healthcare practitioner which only serves to confirm for her that she is not pregnant, a phenomenon which has been referred to as “iatrogenic participation”.

Women routinely describe the experience of a dissociative episode while giving birth and describe similar experiences across cases confusing labor contractions with severe menstrual cramps and the pushing associated with transition as the need to have a bowel movement. As a result, babies are most often born in bathrooms. In their dissociative state, sensation and perception are highly distorted so that vision is blurry, and hearing is muffled. As a result, women often fail to see their babies move or hear their babies cry or feel their babies’ breath. When babies do succumb at birth, it is generally due to passive neglect and a firm belief, in this dissociative state, that the neonate was stillborn. In the aftermath of birth, they often use a common language to describe dissociation.

  • I felt like I was watching myself.
  • I was panicked like a split between my body and my mind.
  • Everything was out of focus like in a tunnel.
  • It was like being in two different places at once.

The onset of dissociative symptoms under extreme stress is closely linked to a history of trauma and play a key role during gestation, as well as after labor and birth. The trauma may result from early attachment disruptions, abandonment and loss, physical or sexual abuse or trauma associated with the conception of the unperceived pregnancy. Traumatic responses involve emotional and physical numbing as well as avoidance. In vulnerable women, additional risk factors include younger age, single status, unstable family relationships, family history of unperceived pregnancies and psychiatric history.

Conclusion

A woman’s medical care should be informed by a thorough record of her psychosocial history, updated with each visit. Current stressors, current supports and her knowledge of and access to resources during times of crisis should be addressed. A detailing of history should include an in-depth inquiry into reproductive events:

  • Onset of menstruation and regularity of menstrual cycles.
  • Mood changes around menstruation.
  • Number of pregnancies and live births and how far into gestation were pregnancies diagnosed.
  • Any pregnancy losses and dates of loss; miscarriage, voluntary termination, stillbirth along with emotional reactions to those losses.
  • Any mood changes during pregnancy or in the postpartum period.

Family psychiatric history is also relevant in identifying a woman’s vulnerability to psychological changes around childbearing along with a personal accounting of any early losses, attachment disruptions, physical and sexual abuse and its impact on physical and psychological health. Trauma-informed care should include psychoeducation about defensive strategies that can emerge under stress like dissociation along with a referral to a therapist experienced in dealing with trauma [1-9].

References

  1. Barnes, D.L (2022) Towards a new understanding of pregnancy denial: The misunderstood dissociative disorder. Archives of Women’s Mental Health 25(1): 51-59. [crossref]
  2. Chechko N, Losse E, Nehls, S (2023) Pregnancy denial: Toward a new understanding of the underlying mechanisms. Current Psychiatry Reports, 25(10): 493-500. [crossref]
  3. Delong H, Eutrope J, Thierry A, et al (2022) Pregnancy denial: a complex symptom with life context as a trigger? A prospective case-control study. British Journal of Obstetrics & Gynecology, 129: 485-92. [crossref]
  4. Klier, C. M, Ina B, Kuipers Y, Amon, S (2024) Denial of reproductive potential: a predictor of unperceived pregnancy in an Austrian neonaticide sample. Archives of Women’s Mental Health 28(3): 463-469. [crossref]
  5. Kumar P, Magon N (2012) Hormones in pregnancy. Nigerian Medical Journal 53(4): 179-83. [crossref]
  6. Olza I, Alfaro, V. C, Klier, C. M (2023) Restorative justice in a case of traumatic birth following an unperceived pregnancy. Archives of Women’s Mental Health 28(3): 471-474. [crossref]
  7. Sandoz P (2011) Reactive-homeostasis as a cybernetic model of the silhouette effect of denial of pregnancy. Medical Hypotheses 77(5): 782-5. [crossref]
  8. van Brouwershaven, A. C, Dijkstra, Ci. I, Bolt, S. H, Werdmuller, A. M (2023) Discovering a pregnancy after 30 weeks: A qualitative study on explanations for unperceived pregnancy. Journal of Psychosomatic Obstetrics & Gynecology, 44(1): 2197139. [crossref]
  9. Wessel J, Endrikat J, Kästner R (2003) Projective identification and denial of pregnancy—considerations of the reasons and background of unrecognized pregnancy also undiagnosed by a physician. Z Geburtshilfe Neonatology 207(2): 48-53. [crossref]

Dentine Hypersensitivity: An Update

DOI: 10.31038/JDMR.2025812

Abstract

Dentine hypersensitivity (DH) appears to be increasing in prevalence over time, both in the UK and across the world. As many of our patients are living longer and retaining their natural dentition later into life, dentine hypersensitivity may become a more pressing challenge for dentists to manage. The management of dentine hypersensitivity can be difficult, and the evidence and advice are developing quickly. This article explores the aetiology of DH on all tooth surfaces and subsequently provides greater detail on abrasion as well as discussing the importance of erosion. There is also a detailed section on Non-Carious Cervical Lesions. Finally, the management of DH is discussed with recommendations for clinical practice.

Introduction

Dentine hypersensitivity (DH) is defined as a “short, sharp, pain arising from exposed dentine in response to stimuli, typically thermal, evaporative, tactile, osmotic or chemical, which cannot be ascribed to any other form of dental defect or pathology” [1] and may influence the Quality of life (QoL) of those who suffer with the problem [2]. The most accepted theory of dentine hypersensitivity is the hydrodynamic theory, whereby on stimulus of exposed dentine, dentine fluid displaces and stimulates the nerves in the odontoblast layer [3] although other mechanisms cannot be ruled out [4]. The reported prevalence of DH in the population is high, with the largest and most recent cross- sectional study of seven European countries demonstrating 75.9% of participants were suffering from dentine hypersensitivity, using the Schiff cold air sensitivity scale [5]. In the UK, the prevalence again remains high, with a study showing DH prevalence at 89 % in 2024 [5]. The Schiff test involves application of a cold stimulus to the tooth and records a score based on the individual patient’s response [5]. ‘The Cumulative Hypersensitivity Index (CHI) has been validated as a method for recording the severity of DH for a patient. It uses the recognised Schiff sensitivity score as a sextant cumulative score and is likened to the method of recording a BEWE or BPE for tooth wear and periodontal screening respectively [6]. Dentine hypersensitivity can profoundly affect quality of life (QoL), with one study demonstrating interference with speaking, eating, social interaction and DH made toothbrushing difficult for a small number of patients [2,7]. There was also a significant emotional impact, with many reporting they felt they could not participate in everyday life as they would wish [2]. This article further expands on the latest aetiologies and management for DH, further to the previous BDJ article in 2017 [8]. Since then, there have been several advances in our understanding of the condition, related terminologies and management strategies. We focus primarily on advances in aetiology, management and the term Non-Carious Cervical Lesions in this article.

Aetiology

Exposure of Dentine

Dentine hypersensitivity occurs sometimes when dentine is exposed. Dentine exposure can be caused by tooth wear, such as erosion, abrasion, and attrition [3], although often it is a combination of these [9]. Abrasion and erosion often work synergistically, with abrasion more likely to occur following erosive attacks [10] There is increasing concern that some toothpastes may be causing abrasion, [10] particularly charcoal toothpastes in recent years [11].

There is also concern regarding erosion following carbonated drink consumption, [12] with a recent study showing that one tenth of University students in the UK were consuming carbonated drinks at least once per day and 30% were consuming them twice per week [13]. Further to this, since the recent Soft Drink Industry levy, consumption of sugar free alternatives, which may still be erosive, has increased by 40% [14].

Gingival recession can also lead to root dentine exposure [15]. The prevalence of recession in the population is high, with a 2023 systematic review and meta-analysis showing an 85% prevalence [16]. Gingival recession can be caused by numerous factors, for example periodontitis [5] and it has been demonstrated that patients with periodontitis are found to be increasingly affected by DH [9]. Furthermore, gingival recession can follow periodontal treatment [17], other clinical studies have also shown that DH is more prevalent in situations with gingival recessional and without gingival inflammation [6].

Trauma from toothbrushing has been suggested to be a cause of gingival recession. Brushing frequency and a horizontal scrubbing method of toothbrushing (inappropriate or overzealous techniques) may create recession, although there is little high-quality evidence to support this [18]. Some para-functional habits can cause exposure of dentine, such as pipe-smoking (9), as can the wearing of both lip and tongue piercings [19] Tooth position, orthodontic movement, high muscle attachments and gingival biotype can also lead to recession [20].

Dentine Tubule Exposure and Signs of Progressive Wear

Evidence suggests that areas of exposed dentine causing dentine hypersensitivity to have more and wider patent dentine tubules and it is now well understood that removal of the smear layer at the surface of dentine leads to the opening of the dentine tubules [21].

The smear layer therefore acts as a protective agent to mask dentine hypersensitivity symptoms by occluding dentinal tubules, with studies suggesting that the smear layer prevents approximately 86% of fluid flow through the dentine tubules [22].

It is postulated that both chemical or mechanical agents may lead to loss of the smear layer, this can include toothbrushing, toothpastes and erosive agents in the diet or intrinsic erosive sources [23]. The presence of DH is an indicator of a possible active or progressive tooth wear issue and more recent acidic episodes have been shown in another novel study to increase the chance of DH the more recently acidic intake is consumed [24]. This study was conducted on incisal/ occlusal surfaces demonstrating DH is not always on buccal or labial cervical tooth surfaces.

Dentine Whitening

Dental bleaching can also cause DH, with studies demonstrating that both hydrogen peroxide and carbamide peroxide can lead to sensitivity [15,25]. The mechanism of this sensitivity however is different, as the peroxide travels quickly through the enamel and dentine, reaching the pulp. Therefore, this can be described as more like symptoms of pulpitis [26]. This may make treatment in these cases more challenging.

Causes

Abrasive Toothpastes

There has been considerable development in toothpastes on the market. Charcoal toothpastes are becoming increasingly common and are now readily available on the Highstreet [27]. A 2022 systematic review of in-vitro studies found that charcoal toothpastes had some of the highest abrasive potential of all whitening treatments and the study concluded that these products are potentially able to damage the hard tissues of the teeth [28]. Interestingly, a study by Franco et al. in 2020 showed that charcoal toothpastes do not have any bleaching properties and are therefore unable to change the intrinsic colour of the dentine [29] consequently the whitening effects of charcoal toothpastes are due to its abrasive properties removing extrinsic staining [28]. Further to this, an in-vitro study demonstrated that there were again limited whitening effects of charcoal toothpastes. However, the study showed that these products do increase surface roughness, which could potentially lead to dentine hypersensitivity if dentine is exposed [30].

In contrast to this, the relative dentine and enamel abrasivity of charcoal toothpastes were like other toothpastes [31]. However, as discussed in the study, RDA/REA is only one of many factors to consider when looking at abrasivity. In addition, a brushing machine was used, which may not replicate exactly how abrasive the toothpaste would be in-vivo [31]. Nonetheless, a similar study, using hand brushing instead of machine brushing on acrylic, found that toothpastes containing charcoal caused a similar amount of abrasion to those without a charcoal abrasive [32]. A study concerning human enamel samples reported that toothpaste with a higher RDA has been shown to have little effect on wear of enamel, although dentine wear increased by a statistically significant amount [33]. However, a 2023 study using bovine enamel reported that wear increased relative to regular toothpaste (containing sodium bicarbonate) for products containing charcoal [34]. The data regarding charcoal toothpastes and its effect on enamel or dentine clearly differs across studies, although it does appear that there is definite potential for these toothpastes to cause damage, particularly to dentine. Some studies are also laboratory based and although helpful, may not always relate to a clinical situation. Considering this and the fact that the aesthetic outcomes of these toothpastes appear poor at best, with the possibility that they may even cause marginal staining of resin composites [35], it would be sensible to advise patients to avoid these products.

Brushing Force

A 2015 laboratory study on human dentine samples, investigated for the first time the effect of brushing force on the patency of dentinal tubules and in-turn the effect brushing force may have on dentine hypersensitivity [36]. It demonstrated that an increased brushing force (400g) leads to a large increase in the number of patent dentine tubules. Importantly, and in contrast, lower brushing forces closer to 100 g had therapeutic effects on the dentine and resulted in the development of a smear layer irrespective of whether a toothpaste was used. Patent dentinal tubules are a prerequisite for dentine hypersensitivity and therefore demonstrated that an over-zealous brushing force could lead to increased sensitivity [36]. Lower brushing forces are not always obtained and the author reported that lower forces of 100g occur when the toothbrush bristles do not bend [36]. It would therefore appear sensible to advise patients not to brush firmly. Anecdotally, many patients believe that a firm brushing style will lead to improved oral hygiene and therefore we should be counselling our patients on this. Perhaps suggesting an electric toothbrush with a pressure sensor is a sensible compromise or suggesting that the toothbrush bristles do not bend on brushing.

Bristle Stiffness

With reference to bristle stiffness, a recent laboratory study using bovine dentine found that with increased brushing force, there is a statistically significant increase in dentine wear. This was concluded for both soft and medium toothbrush bristle stiffness. It was observed that medium-stiffness bristle toothbrushes, do cause an increase in dentine wear, however, this was only at an increased brushing force (4N equivalent to 400g). At lower brushing forces (1N-3N), the wear between the brushes was not statistically significant [37].

Regarding human enamel samples, Turssi et.al reported that medium and hard stiffness bristles caused more wear than softer bristles [38]. However, the toothbrushes used did have different bristle diameters/ number of bristles per tuft, which may have affected the results. Anecdotally, it may also be inferred that due to the diameter of filaments within softer brushes being less, they may by default carry more toothpaste and may in fact bend and contact more the dentine surface.

Bristle Arrangement and Shape

When using human dentine samples, a study observed that the arrangement of the toothbrush bristles and brushing mode can affect the amount of dentine wear [39]. The study investigated the following toothbrushes a) sonic toothbrush, b) oscillating-rotating, c) flat manual brush and d) rippled manual toothbrush. A standard brushing force of 2N and same toothpaste was used. It was observed that the sonic brush produced the most wear, followed by oscillating, then flat manual and rippled manual toothbrushes. It has been surmised that the bristles of the power brush may travel a longer distance over the tooth, thereby increasing the wear. The rippled bristles of the manual brush produced less wear, possibly since less bristles were in contact with the tooth. The increased movement frequency of the sonic brush, together with its wiping movement may apply increased shear forces to the dentine [39]. A 2022 study from the University of Zurich reported that the shape of the bristles can affect the amount of dentine wear. The study used bovine dentine samples and examined both tapered bristles and round ended bristles. It was determined that the round ended bristles caused a statistically significant increase in wear, compared to the tapered bristles. This was the outcome for all brushing forces applied. There is also evidence to suggest that the cleaning efficacy of tapered brushes is an improvement on round ended bristles [40].

Similarly, a study compared the relative dentine abrasivity of toothbrushes with different tuft arrangements – looking specifically at crossed and parallel tufts. It was observed, using bovine dentine samples, that parallel tufts caused significantly more wear. This was the outcome regardless for the slurry abrasivity and bristle stiffness. Soft crossed toothbrushes also caused more wear than the medium crossed toothbrushes [41]. It appears that the data regarding bristle stiffness is conflicting, and that bristle shape, arrangement and mode of brushing all play a part in the aetiology of wear and DH. It is likely impractical to advise patients to buy toothbrushes with specifically shaped bristles as this information is not readily available to the lay consumer. It appears sensible, based on the information we have, to advise patients to avoid using a charcoal dentifrice and make use of a gentle brushing habit (or make use of a pressure sensor). Further, research is needed regarding bristle stiffness.

Brushing Frequency

A study on self-reported DH, indicated that there was no association between both brushing frequency and time spent brushing on the prevalence of DH [42]. However, again based on clinical experience many patients feel compelled to brush their teeth more than twice a day to achieve optimal oral hygiene and they should be advised that this is not necessary.

Erosion – Intrinsic and Extrinsic Sources of Acid

A 2020 systematic review of 53 cohort and cross-sectional studies demonstrated that carbonated drinks, energy drinks and fruit juices are heavily implicated in dental erosion. Furthermore, it was observed that those who had a high intake of carbonated drinks between meals or those who hold drinks in their mouth prior to swallowing, had an increase in the prevalence of erosion. Drinking carbonated/ acidic drinks at bedtime was also reported to be an additional risk factor for erosion [43]. Frequent consumption of dietary acids throughout the day is associated with erosive tooth wear [44].

A 2017 study demonstrated greater self-reported DH in those drinking more than three dietary acids per day, particularly between meals. What was of particular interest was the strong association between habits such as sipping/ swishing dietary acids in the mouth, which was independent of frequency of consumption. This indicated that contact time with dietary acids may be even more vital in the aetiology of DH [42].

The largest European study investigating DH demonstrated a strong link between an erosive diet and dentine hypersensitivity. Patients were clinically assessed for dentine hypersensitivity, and this was cross referenced with a questionnaire detailing erosive acid intake. There was a strong correlation between erosive drinks (isotonic/ energy drinks) and dentine hypersensitivity [45].

Consumption of erosive drinks has been demonstrated to be associated with wear on both the incisal and occlusal surfaces of the teeth. There is a positive relationship between the severity of this wear and the severity of reported DH. In addition, DH was associated with acidic beverage consumption and was more prevalent the less time there had been since the last consumption of such beverages [24]. This is likely due to the effect of recent interruption of the smear layer by erosion.

Gastric reflux is significantly associated with both erosive tooth wear and DH [6]. Often this presents as wear on the palatal surface of the anterior maxillary teeth. Patients with reflux should be advised to seek medical care with their general medical practitioner (GMP). It is important to note that reflux may be silent, and patients may be unaware of their reflux, therefore practitioners should keep this in mind and refer patients to the GMP as necessary [46].

Erosive acids within the diet, particularly acidic drink consumption, leads to erosive tooth wear and subsequent dentine hypersensitivity. Patients must be instructed that these foods/ drinks should be limited in the diet and drunk at mealtimes only.

Non-Carious Cervical Lesions (NCCLs) and Toothwear

NCCLs are tooth wear lesions located at the cervical region of teeth, known as the Cemento Enamel Junction (CEJ), without the presence of caries. They are usually wedge shaped [47]. It has long been suggested that these lesions may be a result of tensile stress in the cervical area, because of occlusal forces [48]. This historically has been termed abfraction, defined as hard tissue loss because of ‘cyclic and non-axial loading of teeth that leads to biomechanical stress’, that is theorized to cause wedge defects at the CEJ [49]. There is a great deal of debate regarding if abfraction is a major cause of tooth wear and if it could therefore be an indirect cause of dentine hypersensitivity. Often studies fail to control for other possible causative factors including toothpaste abrasivity, toothbrushing habits and erosive factors in the diet. Currently there appears to be little clinical evidence that occlusal factors are contributing to NCCL development [50].

A 2012 systematic review demonstrated that there is currently limited high-quality evidence linking occlusal forces with the formation of NCCLs [51]. Many of the studies looking into abfraction have used computer algorithms to analyse these forces, however they do appear to have limitations. Often in these studies the forces are shown to be equally applied lingually [52], however this contradicts the clinical evidence that most of these lesions are observed buccally [53], which is where abrasion from toothbrushing is normally identified by a clinician.

Furthermore, studies have demonstrated that NCCLs can be replicated in a laboratory setting using both abrasive and erosive challenges, without occlusal forces [54]. ‘However, abfraction type lesions have not been replicated in laboratory settings. Interestingly, from an anthropological point of view NCCLs were not prevalent before the introduction of toothbrushing and dentifrice use [55].

It appears that evidence regarding abfraction is limited and the available studies are not able to demonstrate a conclusive link between occlusal forces and NCCLs. Therefore, it remains prudent that both erosion and abrasion contribute to development of NCCL’s, at least early on, and to concentrate preventative advice with our patients around these aetiologies. Figure 1 provides an example of abfraction lesions on multiple teeth, caused by erosion and brushing abrasion. Please note not all teeth are in occlusion.

Figure 1: Non-carious cervical lesions caused by erosion and abrasion.

Management

The most important aspect of management is prevention of aetiologies, as discussed above. There have been numerous suggested treatments to alleviate dentine hypersensitivity. Often these treatments will focus on blocking the neural transmission or act as an occluding agent i.e. blocking the dentine tubules [56]. The latter has allowed better management by focusing on the aetiology i.e. dentine tubule exposure as follows. Figure 2 demonstrates the surface of dentine with dentine tubules occluded and covered following tubule occluding toothpaste application (Table 1).

Figure 2: 1000x scanning electron microscopy image of the surface of dentine following dentine tubule occluding toothpaste application.

Table 1: Summary on the management of dentine hypersensitivity.

 

 

 

 

Preventive

Reinforce good oral hygiene
Identify any causes of tooth wear or recession and keep thorough records of their site and severity using recognised indices such as a CHI or Schiff scores for DH’.
Patients should avoid the use of abrasive dentifrices such as charcoal toothpastes and similarly avoid overloading toothbrush heads with toothpaste.
Use gentle force when brushing or make use of a toothbrush with a pressure sensor.
Softer bristled brushes may provide additional protection, although evidence is limited.
Toothbrushes with tapered bristles may reduce the risk of abrasion, although this advice may be impractical to implement.
Reduce consumption of acidic drinks and food
Avoid habits such as swishing or holding drinks in the mouth
Patients with suspected gastric reflux should be advised to see their GMP, it should be remembered that reflux may be silent.
Toothpaste and restorative interventions as required Conventional brushing and dab-on techniques with stannous fluoride may be beneficial
Calcium sodium phosphosilicate dentifrices such as NovaMin provide protection through dentinal tubule occlusion.
Strontium and arginine-based dentifrices are also beneficial, although strontium is more acid resistant.
Restorative treatment such as composite build ups/covering may be required in areas of tooth wear
Restorative treatment of gingival recession may be considered as appropriate, such as gingival veneers, restorative restoration of recession defects and soft tissue grafting for local defects.

Stannous Fluoride and Dab On

Dentine tubule patency has been shown recently to decrease after brushing with a stannous fluoride dentifrice and the effect was statistically significant [57]. Moreover, dab-on techniques using both stannous fluoride and sodium fluoride were found to have an even greater reduction on dentine tubule patency (over an equivalent brushing time of 4-6 weeks), with stannous fluoride being superior. There was a statistically significant decrease in patent dentine tubules when applying stannous fluoride brushing/ dab-on and sodium fluoride dab-on compared to when using sodium fluoride when brushing [57]. Sodium fluoride is mentioned further, below. This study was novel in that it demonstrated the importance of dab on and its mechanism of action [57].

Other Toothpastes When Brushing

Calcium sodium phosphosilicate (CSPS) has been suggested as a treatment for DH and is included in some toothpastes. It acts to occlude dentinal tubules and is marketed as NovaMin [58]. A 2016 study has shown that twice daily use of 5% CSPS dentifrice significantly reduces DH [56]. Novamin toothpastes have been shown to significantly decrease dentine tubule patency [59]. A systematic review and meta- analysis found similar results, indicating that CSPS use reduces DH symptoms compared to a control group [60].

Strontium based toothpastes have also been shown to be efficacious in the treatment of DH. A study has demonstrated that 8% strontium acetate toothpastes achieved a significantly greater level of tubule occlusion compared to 8% arginine. It was also reported to provide an acid-resistant layer after use, which was not found in the use of arginine [61].

A systematic review has demonstrated that arginine containing toothpastes also have positive efficacy in the reduction of dentine hypersensitivity. This was after 8 weeks of constant use [62]. Furthermore, a study investigating a twice daily use of a pro-argin mouthwash for eight weeks, found that it led to a significant reduction in DH symptoms [63].

It was demonstrated in a 2012 study that arginine-based toothpastes lead to a significant increase in tubule occlusion compared to a control group, although as discussed previously strontium performed better over a long time [61]. A 2015 study has demonstrated that arginine dentifrices may occlude tubules beneath the surface, though, once again the strontium dentifrice performed better over less time [64].

The toothpastes only work within the outer microns of teeth (up to 9 micrometres below the dentine surface) therefore very aggressive wear, e.g. lots of vomiting/very acidic drinks etc., or scaling in a dental surgery, are likely to rinse away the occluded section of dentine and require repeated toothpaste applications to help continually occlude the dentine and reduce DH symptoms [64].

Sodium Fluoride and Dab On

Sodium fluoride toothpastes have and continue to often be advised for acute management of DH, although the efficacy of fluoride as sodium fluoride is modest as it does not have substantial occluding properties [65]. It should be noted that Duraphat 2800 ppm or 5000 ppm Sodium Fluoride toothpaste is not marketed for DH but is still mistakenly prescribed for this condition.

A novel study showed that sodium fluoride used repeatedly over a longer time has been shown to create precipitation of a smear layer at the surface of the tubules when ‘dabbed’ on [57]. This is perhaps due to some Calcium Fluoride precipitates at the surface of the dentine. Nonetheless, this was not fluorapatite, which is important for greater acid resistance and as shown by other papers, above, active ingredients for DH such as Stannous Fluoride, Novamin, Strontium Acetate and Arginine, may also work in a quicker time scale.

Practitioners should bear in mind that desensitising toothpastes may be masking an underlying problem i.e. dietary acid and the importance of reducing dietary acid. Therefore, although not useful as a mode of treatment for DH symptoms, NaF used over time may be appropriate as a routine toothpaste, provided the aetiology of DH is managed.

It should be acknowledged that it is not acceptable to simply provide a toothpaste or apply an in- office procedure or application without removing the underlying predisposing features that were implicated in the initiation of DH. The importance of prevention, education and management of the condition cannot be understated. It may be sensible therefore to consider management strategies based on three specific conditions associated with DH namely 1) a patient with gingival recession, 2) a patient with periodontal disease or the impact of periodontal treatment and 3) a patient with tooth wear [66,67].

Conclusion

The prevalence of DH is high and likely to be an increasing challenge to manage for the dental profession. DH may occur on tooth surfaces occlusally or cervically. The latter is associated with NCCLs. Abfraction is a misnomer and NCCL is a better term, caused at least initially by erosion and or erosion and abrasion. Sodium fluoride is not recommended for the management of DH, patients should be counselled on the use of NovaMin, arginine, stannous fluoride and strontium dentifrices. Patients should avoid charcoal toothpastes and not overload their toothbrush head with toothpaste. Limiting the frequency and amount of extrinsic acid consumed and intrinsic erosion, the latter in liaison with the medical team, is therefore, important. Further research is needed regarding bristle stiffness, diameter, arrangement and shape as currently advising patients regarding this matter is challenging, however, reducing brushing force (whilst brushing effectively) is possibly the most important factor to consider.

The authors declare they have no conflicts of interest.

Author Contributions

Charlie Rose – Conceptualisation, drafting, editing, revisions and final approval.

Ryan Olley – Conceptualisation, editing, revisions, supervision and final approval.

David Gillam – Editing, revisions and supervision.

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Aptamer-Fc Conjugate Enhances Phagocytosis of Treponema pallidum

DOI: 10.31038/IDT.2025613

Abstract

Extant anti-Treponema denticola DNA aptamers developed by Park et al. (2015) were evaluated for their ability to cross-react and bind live Treponema pallidum by fluorescence microscopy and spectrofluorometry. The highest affinity binder among the eight T. denticola aptamers designated Td-3 was biotinylated on its 3’ end and added in an equal molar ratio to a streptavidin-BS3 linker-murine IgG Fc fragment conjugate to emulate an antibody and used in in vitro T. pallidum plus murine RAW 264.7 macrophage co-culture experiments to determine if the indirect aptamer-Fc conjugate could enhance (opsonize) phagocytosis of T. pallidum compared to a bacteria alone co-culture. Preliminary results suggest that after only one hour of co-culture the Td-3 aptamer-Fc conjugate enhanced phagocytosis of T. pallidum about 7-fold compared to ~14-fold when the same experiment is conducted with a commercial murine anti-T. pallidum monoclonal antibody. Thus, although not yet optimized, the aptamer-Fc conjugates show promise as potential therapeutic opsonins in the battle against emerging antibiotic-resistant syphilis.

Keywords

Aptamer, Fc fragment, Macrophage, Opsonin, Phagocytosis, Syphilis

Introduction

The ancient scourge of sexually transmitted and congenital syphilis remains and is actually increasing in modern society with an estimated 8 million new cases per year in adults between 15 and 49 years of age [1-4]. Despite the continued relative efficacy of single dose injectable benzathine penicillin for adults [2,5], the combination of benzathine penicillin supply shortages [5], the lack of a vaccine [6], and increasing antibiotic resistance [1], has enabled Treponema pallidum to continue killing about 220,000 people worldwide per year including infants and adults [4].

The principle of rapid microbial evolution predicts that bacteria can eventually overcome all antibiotics. Thus, researchers have turned to alternative approaches involving passive immunity through mechanisms such as complement-mediated lysis (CML) and enhanced phagocytosis (opsonization) both of which are known to be at least somewhat effective against T. pallidum [7-14] to eventually treat emerging antibiotic-resistant syphilis. Unfortunately, development and production of humanized monoclonal antibodies for passive CML or opsonization therapy of syphilis or other bacterial diseases would be an expensive proposition. Thus, Bruno et al. previously explored the potentially much less expensive use of DNA aptamer-C1q and -Fc conjugates for CML [15,16] and opsonization [17] of pathogenic bacteria. In addition, the late Nobel prize laureate for PCR, Dr. Kary Mullis, developed a similar, but less direct, concept with alpha-gal sugar (galactose-α-1,3-galactose) conjugation to antibacterial aptamers (known as “alphamers”) to attract circulating anti-alpha-gal antibodies [18]. That work later led to the founding and continued alphamer work of Centauri Therapeutics Ltd. in the UK.

This history and therapeutic needs have brought us to the present report of our efforts to utilize eight extant aptamer DNA sequences developed by Park et al. [19] against a related species (T. denticola) in an effort to produce aptamer-Fc conjugates capable of both CML and opsonization of T. pallidum both in vitro and eventually in vivo. The following is a summary of our group’s initial progress to date relating in particular to the ability of one T. denticola aptamer (designated Td-3 in Table 1) to bind T. pallidum and when in conjunction with the Fc fragment of murine IgG to couple with Fc receptors on the surface of the murine macrophage cell line RAW 264.7 cells to significantly enhance phagocytosis by at least seven fold.

Table 1: T. denticola DNA aptamer sequences published by Park et al. [19].

Note: Yellow highlighted regions are identical or nearly identical between the Td-3, -6 and -8 sequences.

Materials and Methods

Treponema pallidum and Bacterial Culture

T. pallidum was purchased from American Type Culture Collection (ATCC; Manassas, VA) as Treponema phagedenis (ex Brumpt) Smibert, Kazan 8 strain (ATCC No. 27087) in lyophilized form. The freeze- dried culture was rehydrated in a 10 ml Oral Treponema Enrichment Broth (OTEB) tube from Anaerobe Systems Inc. (Morgan Hill, CA; Cat. No. AS-603) at 37°C in a slowly rotating closed incubator with a microaerophilic environment induced by Becton Dickinson Gas Pak™ pouches (Cat. No. 260680). T. pallidum cultures were capped and passaged weekly by 1: 10 dilution of the previous passage in OTEB.

Macrophage Cell Line and Culture

The RAW 264.7 murine macrophage cell line was purchased from ATCC and cultured in filter-sterilized RPMI-1640 medium complete with 10% heat-inactivated fetal bovine serum (FBS), L-glutamine, penicillin and streptomycin. RAW 264.7 macrophages were routinely grown to a near confluent monolayer in T-175 flasks and then scraped from the plastic substrate and one ml was resuspended in 20 ml of complete RPMI-1640. Macrophages were passaged at a 1: 20 ratio once or twice per week as needed in a 37°C humid incubator with 5% CO2 atmosphere.

T. denticola Aptamers, Monoclonal Antibody and Bacterial Binding Validation

Although we have an ongoing effort to develop our own T. pallidum aptamer DNA sequences to capture intellectual property in this domain, existing T. denticola aptamers published by Park et al. [19] where explored initially as potentially useful sequences that could accelerate our progress toward the ultimate goal of robustly opsonizing T. pallidum. Table 1 lists the eight published Park et al. T. denticola aptamer DNA sequences which were purchased from Integrated DNA Technologies (IDT; Coralville, IA) as 5’ Alexa Fluor 647 and 3’ biotinylated conjugates. In the case of actual phagocytosis experiments, we utilized a 3’-biotin-poly A 20mer spacer-Td-3 aptamer DNA oligonucleotide to provide extra distance between the Fc tail of IgG and the T. pallidum bacterial surface. All aptamer sequences were rehydrated in sterile phosphate buffered saline (PBS) without calcium or magnesium and used in fluorescence spectroscopy, microscopy or other experiments as discussed later. For comparison, an Invitrogen anti-T. pallidum murine monoclonal antibody (Cat. No. MA5-33297) was purchased from Thermo Fisher.

Aptamer binding was validated by spectrofluorometric analysis of aptamer-Alexa Fluor (AF) -647 staining and fluorescence microscopy as follows. One hundred µl of each AF-647-labeled Td aptamer at 100 nanoMolar concentration was added to 1 ml of ~ 106 T. pallidum (5 day culture in OTEB) in sterile PBS for 15 minutes at room temperature. The samples were then spun down for 5 minutes at 13,000 x g and the supernates was carefully siphoned out so as not to disturb the stained bacterial pellets which were the resuspended in 1 ml of fresh PBS. The 1 ml samples were then diluted to a total volume of 3 ml in PBS in polystyrene 1 cm path length cuvettes, capped, inverted several times and immediately analyzed using a Cary-Varian Eclipse™ spectrofluorometer with excitation at 650 nm and fluorescence emission scanning from 655 to 700 nm using a photomultiplier tube (PMT) setting of 1,000V. Samples were then placed in separate wells of a sterile 6 well plate and imaged using the red channel of an Invitrogen EVOS M5000 fluorescence microscope with 400X zoom setting.

Streptavidin-Fc Conjugation

To facilitate rapid exchange of the eight different T. denticola aptamers from Table 1, we chose to covalently conjugate streptavidin (SAv) from Thermo Fisher (Invitrogen Cat. No. 434301) with a murine IgG Fc fragment (Rockland Immunochemicals, Cat. No. 010-0103) using the bifunctional linker BS3 (bis(sulfosuccinimidyl)suberate) from Thermo Scientific (Cat. No. A39266. The coupling reaction was conducted with a 2: 1 molar ratio of Fc to streptavidin and 500X molar excess of BS3 at 4°C for 2 hours in sterile PBS buffer. For the electrophoretic band shift characterization, 10 to 20 µl samples of the components and conjugate in PAGE loading buffer were run on an Invitrogen Novex™ Value™ Tris-Glycine Mini 4-12% polyacrylamide gel at 105 V until the loading dye reach the bottom of the gel. The gel was then fixed and stained with an Invitrogen SilverQuest™ kit according the manufacturer’s instructions.

In Vitro Bacteria-Macrophage Co-Culture Phagocytosis Experiments

A total of 2 x 105 RAW 264.7 macrophages were inoculated into 2 ml of complete RPMI-1640 medium in each well of sterile 6-well polystyrene plates and incubated overnight at 37°C in a humid 5% CO2 atmosphere to allow macrophages to adhere and acclimate. The next day, ~106 T. pallidum bacteria were added in test wells. No bacteria, aptamers or conjugates were added to untreated control wells. Other control wells consisted of 3.6 nanomoles of poly-A20- Td-3 aptamer-3’-biotin or 3.6 nanomoles of streptavidin-Fc conjugate alone or in combination with 106 T. pallidum bacteria and the RAW 264.7 macrophages. The full experimental test wells contained poly- A20-Td-3 aptamer-3’-biotin and streptavidin-Fc conjugate (premixed in PBS at 3.6 nanomoles each) plus 106 bacteria and RAW 264.7 macrophages. In positive controls groups, 3.6 nanomoles of the commercial anti-T. pallidum monoclonal antibody were added. Plates were gently swirled and placed back in the incubator for 1 hour. Some wells were aspirated and gently washed with 2 ml of sterile PBS, aspirated, and covered with 2 ml of PBS and 2 µl of 10 mg/ml acridine orange (AO; Biotium Inc.) for 15 minutes at room temperature with gentle swirling. Some wells were fixed in 2 ml of pure methanol followed by aspiration and Wright’s staining using a kit from Carolina Biological Inc. AO-stained samples were aspirated again and covered with 2 ml of PBS prior to imaging at 400X zoom setting (approximately 200X total magnification) using the green channel of the EVOS M5000 fluorescence microscope. Wright’s stained wells were rinsed with 2 ml of deionized water and air dried followed by examination under a brightfield microscope using immersion oil and a 100X oil immersion objective.

Results

The first hurdle to overcome was consistent culture of the very oxygen-sensitive T. pallidum spirochetes which is not trivial [20]. Figure 1 (left panel) illustrates that commercially available OTEB tubes provide a reliable and convenient low oxygen tension environment in which to grow T. pallidum. Figure 1 (right panel) also illustrates that the 5-day cultures consisted predominately of spirochetes when viewed under phase-contrast microscopy at 400X magnification. However, we frequently saw the much larger, albeit lesser known, cyst-like forms of T. pallidum [21] as well, especially in cultures older than 5 days.

Figure 1: Left panel – OTEB anaerobic culture tubes showing an initial inoculum and clump of 5 day growth of T. pallidum. Right panel – Phase contrast image at 400X magnification of a mixture of spirochete and cyst forms of T. pallidum from the 5 day OTEB culture.

When tube stained with each of the eight individual Park et al. T. denticola aptamer-AF 647 conjugates from Table 1 and washed, it became clear that Td-3 was the strongest binder as shown in Figure 2 (red trace). Interestingly, Td-6 (purple trace) was the second strongest binder. As shown by the yellow highlights in Table 1, Td-3 and Td-6 only differ by 3 bases on the 5’ end of the aptamers. In addition, the Td-8 aptamer is highly homologous to both Td-3 and Td-6 (differs by only 4 bases on the 5’ end as seen in Table 1) and it ranked approximately fourth (gray trace) according to the spectrofluorometric data in Figure 2.  So, there appeared to be some sequence-dependent nature to the affinity ranking as theoretically expected. With Td-3 appearing to be the clear winner of the binding competition, we focused on it for fluorescence microscopy validation studies.

Figure 2: Spectrofluorometric results comparing the binding of the eight different Park et al. T. denticola aptamers from Table 1 labeled with Alexa Fluor (AF)-647 on their 5’ ends to T. pallidum. Excitation was at 650 nm with the PMT setting at 1,000 Volts.

As seen in Figure 3, Td-3 showed relatively strong fluorescence from the AF-647 dye tag especially when bound to the large cyst-like clumps vs. much fainter individual spirochetes in the background of Figure 3 (right panel). Figure 3 validated the spectrofluorometric binding analysis and we chose to proceed with the Td-3 aptamer in subsequent in vitro phagocytosis experiments.

Figure 3: Left panel – 400X magnified phase contrast image of T. pallidum again showing prominent cyst forms as well as spirochetes. In the right panel, the intensely stained red-fluorescing cyst forms dominate the fluorescence microscopy image, although some fainter spirochete aptamer-AF 647 staining can be seen in the background.

Still, to leave our options flexible for facile exchange of any of the eight Park et al. T. denticola aptamers, we chose to make streptavidin- BS3 linker-murine Fc conjugates that could be easily bind to 3’ or 5’ biotinylated aptamers versus a covalent aptamer-Fc conjugate for initial experiments. Figure 4 depicts successful BS3 conjugation of streptavidin (SAv) to the Fc tail of murine IgG in a silver-stained polyacrylamide electrophoresis gel. The red arrow in Figure 4 shows a band shift to a higher molecular weight band in the conjugate that does not appear in either the Fc or SAv lanes indicating some level of conjugation. The conjugation can likely be optimized to give a greater percent yield, but it appeared sufficient for us to consider conducting initial phagocytosis enhancement studies.

Figure 4: Silver stained 4-12% polyacrylamide electrophoresis gel showing a band shift (red arrow) for the streptavidin (SAv)-BS3-Fc conjugate to a higher molecular weight band than is seen in either of the component (SAv or Fc) lanes indicating some covalent conjugate formation.

Figure 5 suggests that when studied by AO staining and fluorescence microscopy, there appeared to be noticeably more internalized “blobs” or bacterial fragments in the RAW 264.7 plus bacteria and aptamer-Fc conjugate group (some of which are pointed to by yellow arrows) than in the untreated and macrophage plus bacteria only groups. Figure 6 represents a further magnified version of Figure 5C to better enable visualization of the internalized bacterial fragments. One must consider that these co-cultures were washed twice with PBS after 1 hour of bacterial exposure which probably removed most intact spirochetes bound to the macrophage surfaces, thus no spirochetes are seen in Figures 5 and 6. However, internalized bacterial fragments would remain in the cytoplasm and be stained by AO after washing.

Figure 5: Acridine Orange (AO)-stained comparison of (A) untreated RAW 264.7 macrophages with (B) T. pallidum only co-culture with RAW 264.7 cells and (C) T. pallidum bacteria plus the aptamer-biotin-SAv-BS3-Fc conjugate in the presence of RAW 264.7 macrophages showing enhanced phagocytosis and internalization of T. pallidum bacterial fragments (yellow arrows).

Figure 6: Further magnified image of Figure 5C showing details of the internalized bacterial fragments pointed to by yellow arrows.

A similar visual trend in aptamer-Fc conjugate-enhanced phagocytosis was noted for the Wright’s stained populations as illustrated in Figures 7 and 8. In Figure 7A, no internal blobs are seen in the macrophage cytoplasm of untreated controls presumably because no bacteria were present and the macrophages do not appear perturbed. However, a few internalized bacterial fragments appear in the cytoplasm of macrophages exposed to bacteria alone for one hour as seen in Figure 7B. The number of internalized fragments or blobs  appears to increase in Figure 7C in the presence of the aptamer-Fc conjugate (pointed to by red arrows). Figure 8 illustrates some of the more extreme cases of phagocytosis of T. pallidum in the presence of the aptamer-Fc conjugate especially in multinucleated fused giant cells. In addition, macrophages in Figures 7B, 7C and 8 appear “angry” and foamy in the presence of T. pallidum bacteria versus the untreated control cells in Figure 7A.

Figure 7: Wright’s stained comparison of (A) untreated RAW 264.7 macrophages with (B) T. pallidum only co-culture with RAW 264.7 cells and (C) T. pallidum bacteria plus the aptamer-biotin- SAv-BS3-Fc conjugate in the presence of RAW 264.7 macrophages showing enhanced phagocytosis and internalization of T. pallidum bacterial fragments (red arrows).

Figure 8: Two examples of extreme phagocytosis by multinucleated fused giant RAW 264.7 cells that engulfed numerous T. pallidum bacteria (red arrows) in the presence of the Td-3 aptamer-Fc conjugate after one hour in culture.

The commercial anti-T. pallidum monoclonal antibody appeared to produce the most avid phagocytosis as shown by a few examples in Figure 9. Figure 10 is a graph that quantitatively compares the average numbers of internalized bacteria or their fragments counted by the authors per macrophage with a minimum of 200 macrophages counted per treatment group. If the monoclonal antibody is used as the gold standard for opsonization of T. pallidum, then we have only achieved about 50% efficiency with the aptamer-Fc conjugate to this point in our development process (i.e., on average 7.24 bacteria or fragments per phagocyte due to the aptamer-Fc conjugate vs. 14.21 with the monoclonal antibody). However again, these are initial results from a system that has not yet been truly optimized.

Figure 9: Two examples of extreme phagocytosis by RAW 264.7 macrophages that engulfed numerous T. pallidum bacteria in the presence of the commercial anti-T. pallidum murine monoclonal antibody after one hour in culture.

Figure 10: Graphical comparison of mean numbers of phagocytized T. pallidum or their fragments per macrophage between the various control and treatment groups. A minimum of 200 RAW 264.7 macrophages were counted per group and that number of cells was used as the denominator to divide the total number of bacteria or bacterial fragments counted inside the phagocytes for each Wright’s stained group.

Discussion

The present report extends the first author’s previous publication on aptamer-Fc conjugates to opsonize the poly-D-glutamic acid capsule of vegetative Bacillus anthracis using capsule-coated magnetic microbeads as the phagocytic targets [17], except that this time, real bacteria were ingested as evidenced by stained internalized bacterial fragments after buffer washing of the macrophage surface. Clearly, the data suggest some degree of successful opsonization when one compares the bacteria alone treatment groups with the effects of the addition of biotinylated aptamers or SAv-Fc conjugate alone with the full test group (i.e., macrophages plus bacteria and aptamer-biotin-SAv-Fc conjugate) with an approximate 7-fold increase in phagocytosis. It is also clear by comparison to the monoclonal antibody-opsonized group results that the enhanced phagocytosis could be optimized and perhaps at least doubled to an average 14 bacteria or bacterial fragments per macrophage (Figure 10). Aspects that can be optimized are: 1) the percent yield of the SAv-Fc conjugate (apparent from incomplete conjugation in Figure 4) or the use of direct aptamer-3’-Fc covalent conjugate, 2) the amount of aptamer-Fc conjugate used per test, 3) the incubation time and ratio of bacteria to phagocytes and 4) generation of even higher affinity T. pallidum aptamer DNA sequences which we are currently developing. Still, this is a promising preliminary report suggesting a new future class of aptamer-3’-Fc conjugates to emulate monoclonal antibodies and perhaps lower the cost of future passive immunity therapy for syphilis. For use in vivo especially, attachment of the Fc to the 3’ end will be key to extending aptamer conjugate pharmacokinetics by slowing kidney clearance and inhibiting serum exonuclease degradation of the aptamer moiety of the conjugate [22-24].

Conclusions

Preliminary data suggesting seven-fold opsonization of live T. pallidum bacteria by an indirect aptamer-Fc conjugate using an aptamer developed against a close relative (T. denticola) were presented. While promising as future passive immunity therapeutics, such aptamer-Fc simulants of monoclonal antibodies can obviously be further optimized for greater enhancement of phagocytosis.

Acknowledgments

Funding was provided by US NIH (NIAID) SBIR Contract No. 75N93025C00010. The authors thank Eroica Luckowski of Austin Community College’s Biotechnology Department in Round Rock, TX for assistance with cell culture and related phagocytosis experiments and microscopy.

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  22. Dougan H, Lyster DM, Vo CV, Stafford A, Weitz JI, et (2000) Extending the lifetime of anticoagulant oligodeoxynucleotide aptamers in blood. Nuclear medicine and biology 27: 289-297. [crossref]
  23. Bruno, G Crowell R (2008) Selective glutaraldehyde-mediated coupling of proteins to the 3’-adenine terminus of polymerase chain reaction products. Journal of biomolecular techniques: JBT 19: 177-183. [crossref]
  24. Keefe AD, PS Ellington A (2010) Aptamers as Nat Rev Drug Discov 9: 537-550.

Commentary: Applying the Early Adapters Model to Organizations Undergoing Technological Innovation Process

DOI: 10.31038/PSYJ.2025723

 

The development of technology in the 21st century is characterized by the rise of smart technologies that enable high automation and better human/machine integration (e.g., AI, Big Data, Cloud Computing, Social Networks). These smart technologies are expected to generate disruptive effects on each individual organization as well as on the global economy [1]. It has an impact on every aspect of the organization’s activity. An organization that wishes to survive in face of the flood of changes in customer requirements, technological innovation and advances [2], disruptive technology, and changing environment must assimilate technological innovation as an ongoing routine by way of carrying out an intensive process of technology scanning and digital transformation. Studies have shown that the digital transformation process affects employees and is not always the best. Consequently, resistance may rise [3]. This might affect the success of the digital transformation in the organization and decline the organizational efficiency of the innovation technology assimilation. Therefore, it requires the support of management and the cooperation of the employees, while planning a realistic, concise, and coordinated timetable for the process.

The original Diffusion of Innovations model (DOI) developed several decades ago by Rogers [4] claims that only 13 percent of employees will be able to cope quickly and at an early stage with integration of new technologies in the organization and to act efficiently and quickly. This DOI model argues that workers with a positive propensity to technology are more likely to become early adopters of digital transformation. This study examined the characteristics needed to become an early adopter worker by comparing the relationship between workers functioning as fractals in a Complex Adaptive Systems (CAS) characteristics work surrounding [5], and the following traits: development of positive attitudes towards technology, ready to use, and involvement in the assimilation process. According to the DOI model, these are the characteristics of early adopters. Such employees are the most significant contributors to the effectiveness of digital transformation.

An empirical study was conducted among 270 subjects who worked in four different organizations in different capacities. The results of the study show that there is a significant correlation between workers as early adopters and workers as a fractal in a CAS working surrounding. It also shows that the dimensions “ready to use” and “employee involvement in the process” were the most significant and exhibited strong and meaningful relationship. The main conclusion of the study is very significant. It states there is a potential to change the methods of technological integration in organizations that are currently used in conventional bureaucratic organizations. Based on the conclusions of the study, there is a strong belief that the Rogers model (DOI) can be changed so that the number of employees who are “early adopters” in the organization can be significantly increased. This could advance organizations in the integration of new technologies, in the ability to create disruption in the market while initiating and developing innovative solutions in a fast and professional manner.The conclusions of the study also indicate that the transformation of the work surrounding into CAS, as well as the development of workers as autonomic yet connected such as fractals (swarms), will encourage the employees to become early adaptors, hence contribute to an efficient and effective process of digital transformation, and to effectively handling disruptive innovation. Organizations that do not adapt to complex work environments may suffer from problematic consequences, as they will not be able to cope effectively with digital transformation processes and the adoption of innovative (disruptive) technologies that characterize the work environment.Therefore, organizations that wish to cope more effectively are advised to adopt the model proposed in the article, which includes the following components:

  • Transformation to the CAS model and development of employees as fractals: The organization’s transition to a complex adaptive systems (CAS) model and the development of employees who will function as “fractals” (i.e., those with functional autonomy, environmental sensitivity, the ability to integrate and share knowledge, and social and professional connectivity) will encourage employees to become “early adopters”.
  • Positive impact on attitudes and use of technology: Employees who function as fractals in a CAS organization tend to develop positive attitudes towards technology, be willing to use it, and be involved in the process of assimilation. These are the characteristics of early adopters according to the DOI model.
  • Involvement and readiness to use as significant factors: The dimensions of “involvement in the process” and “readiness to use” innovative technologies are the most significant in creating a connection between functioning as a fractal and being an early adopter.
  • Supportive work environment: A work environment that allows employees operational autonomy and knowledge sharing, and in addition, encourages transparency, updating business models and sharing knowledge about changes in the environment and innovative solutions contributes to the development of employees as early adopters.
  • Management support: Managers must support, encourage and reward employees with characteristics of early adopters.

To achieve these unique capabilities, a “roadmap” is proposed through which organizations can actively influence the change in the rate of early adopters and encourage a significant increase in their number. The proposed model allows the organization to adapt to CAS characteristics and cultivate employees as fractals, while accelerating the process of adopting technological innovation.

References

  1. Christensen CM, Bartman T, Van bever D (2016) “The Hard Truth about Business Model Innovation”. MIT Sloan Management Review
  2. DeMattia A, McKnight J, Gahm J, Keane M (2018) Research Proves IT Transformation’s Persistent Link to Agility, Innovation, and Business Value. Dell EMC and Intel and is distributed under license from ESG
  3. Anjariny AH (2016) Assessing Organizations Readiness toward Business Intelligence Systems: A Proposed Hypothesized Model. International Journal of Information Technology Convergence and Services (IJITCS) 6
  4. Rogers Everett. M (1962) Diffusion of Innovations. New York: The Free Press of Glencoe. 13. 5.
  5. Hasgal A, Ahituv N (2017) “The Development of Knowledge Workers in an Organization characterized as Complex Adaptive Systems (CAS)”, 14th International Conference on Intellectual Capital, Knowledge Management & Organisational Learning”, Hong Kong.

White River Geoscape: Native American Cultural Responses to its Geology and Hydrology

DOI: 10.31038/GEMS.2025734

Abstract

The White River today flows along much of its 270-mile length south along the Colorado Plateau as it has since the Pleistocene. During wetter times, it was a raging river flowing between high mountains and across volcanic places. It contained large side streams, and along its length were lakes and wetlands. It was in the later Pleistocene then, much as it is today, a center of Native American spiritual and ceremonial life. This analysis is based on more than a dozen ethnographic studies conducted over 40 years, compiled from field interpretations from tribally appointed representatives, and subsequently reviewed by them and approved by their tribal governments.

Keywords

Geoheritage, Cultural landscapes, Pleistocene, Cultural heritage, Colorado plateau, Native Americans, Nevada

The Landscape is Alive

Since the beginning of time, the Creator made Nuwuvi peoples at Nuvagantu and here we became attached to this place and the place to us. The land is alive, which means that there is power in all things such as rocks, water, air, plants, animals, and humans. All of these beings are interconnected; they can talk with each other and work together to balance the world (Figure 1).

Figure 1: Mountains, clouds, and desert in the study area (Stoffie, Arnold, and Van Vlack 2022).

The land has eyes and ears. It can talk and knows our thoughts. This makes it in balance and provides guidance. When treated badly, the mountains and everything within them suffers. Misuse of these areas upsets the balance and can cause great harm as well as diminish their power.

The mountains are part of us they call down the rain and make the streams flow. It’s not just a mountain to us, it’s a living thing, living spirit to us, the trees and the rocks and the air, the water, they’re all our cousins, part of us, related to us. So, it’s just not a big mountain there, it’s part of us. We’re related. It’s alive.”

Introduction

Landscapes, including the place of rock writing sites in landscape settings, are common archaeological research topics. Approaches to this large issue range from functionalist analyses, which seek to explain landscapes and site placement in terms of human adaptation to the environment; to symbolic studies seeking their religious and ideological meanings; to heritage management studies focused on better understanding their significance in scientific and/or Indigenous terms, in order to aid in their protection and preservation. In this last case ethnographic studies typically play a key role. Yet in all such studies the natural world is the connective tissue that provides the analytical context. This is recognized in the UNESCO World Heritage List which acknowledges that many such places of outstanding universal heritage value include both cultural and natural resources. One approach to the identification of significant natural landscapes uses the term geoscape to emphasize the regional geological, geomorphological and hydrological components of a landscape, with geosite designating the individual features within that larger setting. We introduce these conceptual terms in this paper and, using the results of dozens of ethnographic studies conducted over the last 40 years (cited below), show how a specific geoscape and many of its geosites formed important spiritual places for Native Americans: the Southern Paiute specifically but also their fellow Numic-speaking Shoshone and Northern Paiute who lived in adjacent areas. We demonstrate, that is, how an understanding of a natural geoscape can be greatly enhanced by attention to its cultural components.

Our region of study is the White River Geoscape, located in southern Nevada, USA, which flows south along a topographic finger of the Colorado Plateau (Figure 2) and ultimately joins the Colorado River on its journey to the Pacific Ocean. This geoscape has spiritual places used in ceremony that occur throughout its 270-mile length. Although different in origin and purpose these spiritual areas are clustered in specific geosites that respond to charismatic topography and geology. Most geosites are physically marked by rock peckings and paintings and are known through oral history to indicate their traditional purposes and meanings. The heritage geosites are functionally interrelated through cultural meanings and ceremonial purposes. Rock writing sites, accordingly, are then best understood not simply in relation to their locational context, nor alone to their specific symbolic meanings and ritual uses, but in relation to other such sites in a surrounding geoscape. We start with a description of the natural physiographic features of the White River Geoscape and how these were formed, and have changed, since the Late Pleistocene Period. The importance of this lengthy history itself reflects the great time depth of the Native American occupation of this region, including their creation of rock writings in western North America at least since the Terminal Pleistocene, if not earlier [1-3]. The cultural background is provided next, emphasizing the metaphysical beliefs that provided Native American understandings of this geoscape and thus influenced their ritual use of certain geosites within it [4]. We then provide descriptions of a series of such geosites and their significance and ceremonial functions before concluding with general observations of Numic uses such localities. Long-term continuity in occupation (cf. Whitley 2019) and ritual practices, supported by previous studies [5] as well as evidence at certain of our geosites, is a sub-text of this discussion.

Figure 2: Great Basin Colorado Plateau Map7.

The geosites were selected for this analysis because they illustrate a range of geological and cultural places along the White River geoscape. These geosites were identified and interpreted by Native people in ethnographic studies and through ongoing archaeological studies funded by land management agencies. Potential implications of this analysis and these findings potentially contribute to the White River Geoscape being recognized as a heritage geological and cultural landscape [6] (Figure 2).

Geological and Hydrological Background

Our analysis argues that Native people understand the near surface geological basins and hydrology of the White River Geoscape and have responded culturally to this information. Some understanding of these issues is then essential for interpreting Native heritage geosites and geoscapes. This geoscape has been extensively studied by geologists and hydrologists; our analysis primarily draws on that of Rowley et al. 2016: 168-170 (Figure 3). Glaciers are key to this analysis, given the current earliest dates for the occupation of the Colorado Plateau by Native peoples is about 40,000 YBP [8-10] and that the White River hydrological system was especially impacted by glaciers during the late Pleistocene Epoch, extending into the early Holocene. Glaciers covered many mountain ranges in Nevada, including the Snake Range and Wheeler Peak. The glaciers were part of a time when the region was much wetter and cooler than it is today. The Pleistocene Epoch lasted until about 11,700 years ago. According to Laabs and Munroe [11], glaciers in the Ruby and East Humboldt Ranges had terminal moraines that were created until 22-19 ka YBP and down-valley recessional moraines representing re-advances that occurred about 18-16 ka YBP. In the South Snake and Deep Creek Ranges near the Nevada-Utah border, terminal moraines were created until 20-19 ka YBP. Numerical modeling of glacial mass balance and ice flow in the Ruby, East Humboldt, and South Snake Ranges suggests that the earlier glacial episode was accompanied by temperatures 9-11°C lower than the modern average. During the latter glacial episode, which corresponded in time to pluvial lake high stands in eastern Nevada, temperatures were likely 1-3°C warmer than during the earlier episode with precipitation rates at least 30-50% greater than modern. After down valley moraines were abandoned at 16 ka, glaciers retreated to cirques by 14-12 ka YBP and, in one valley in the East Humboldt Range, persisted until as late as 10 ka YBP. Consistency in the pattern of mountain glaciation throughout the interior Great Basin suggests regional-scale drivers of climate change during the last glaciation and early deglaciation. Native people watched this happen for up to 37,000 years and it consequently became a key feature in their understandings of and cultural response to the environment.

Figure 3: White River Hydrological System in Yellow and Green.

The White River study area is within the Great Basin physiographic province, characterized by north-trending basins and ranges that formed by mostly north-striking, high-angle, basin-range normal faults [12]. Most of the valleys in the Great Basin are topographically closed basins, where surface water flow is restricted to each basin. This is the case in most basins in the study area except many in the White River flow system, which were integrated during wet years of the late Pleistocene, probably largely when lakes in the basins filled and overtopped basin margins. During this time, ancestral White River and Meadow Valley Wash flowed southward to join the Colorado River at present day Lake Mead. Currently, most parts of these drainages are ephemeral. Despite the current intermittent nature of most surface water in the study area, groundwater lies throughout the area at various depths beneath the surface [12]. As elsewhere in the Great Basin, the groundwater occurs in aquifers within and between the basins, and it flows through these aquifers to topographically and hydrologically lower head areas of groundwater discharge. Depending on the regional hydraulic gradient, when one hydrographic area (basin) is hydraulically connected to an adjacent basin, with a flow path that passes beneath topographic divides and the groundwater in both flows toward a common low discharge area, a groundwater flow system is defined. When such a flow system contains many closed or integrated topographic basins, it is called a regional groundwater flow system. The White River flow system (yellow) in Figure 3, is called the Colorado Flow System. The Meadow Valley flow system (colored green) was considered a subset of the Colorado flow system and, therefore, considered part of the White River system (Rowley et al. 2016). The study area (red line in Figure 3) includes the entire White River flow system and the west part of the Great Salt Lake Desert flow system (blue).

Parts of adjacent flow systems are included within the study area because their basins may be in hydraulic connection with those of the White River and Great Salt Lake Desert flow systems. In other words, the study area was defined by geological and hydrological researchers because of potential hydraulic continuity or discontinuity between basins owing to geologic influences. But this study area also corresponds to a culturally central Native American heritage geoscape. The Las Vegas River drains a relatively small but extensive hydrological system that flows into the Colorado River. The hydro system is composed of high peaks and massifs such as the Sheep Mountains to the north (labeled Las Vegas and colored grey in Figure 3) and the Spring Mountains to the south (Figure 4). The Las Vegas River supported massive wetlands and small lakes that attracted many Pleistocene and Holocene animals and was the home of Native people. Because of these wetlands, extensive fossil deposits involving many animals were created, some of which are preserved in Tule Spring Fossil Beds National Monument (TUSK). Identified fossils from the Las Vegas River hydrological system and illustrated by TUSK are in Figure 5.

Figure 4: Lower White River and Connection With Las Vegas River Hydrological System in Dark Blue.

Figure 5: Pleistocene Mammals Found at Tule Spring Fossil Beds National Monument [13].

Similar wetlands existed during this period at the southern end of the Arrow Canyon Range in the Apex Playas (see Figure 4). Fossil deposits from this period also are found across the Colorado Plateau near Tuba City, Arizona, and on the Zuni Indian Reservation at Black Rock on the Little Colorado River [14]. New scientific studies document other New Mexico deposits on the Rio Puerco [10] and at White Sands National Monument, where the 22,000-year-old Native Americans and Pleistocene mammals’ relationships are officially celebrated by the National Park Service (NPS) [8] (Figure 6).

Figure 6: Megafauna and Native People [13].

The mutual co-existence of Native Americans and Pleistocene megafauna are a critical component of our understanding of the White River Geoscape. These experiences during this period established both their understanding of this complex functionally integrated river- based ecosystem and its ecology (geoscape) and ceremonial places at especially spiritual locations along the White River (geosites).

Cultural Background

To understand our cultural analysis, there are five essential points that must be discussed. These are (1) Time of Occupation, (2) Analytical Concepts, (3) the Living Universe, (4) Place, Space, and Landscape, and (5) Cultural Affiliation. The linguistic term Numic is used to refer to the aboriginal people of this area as determined by the U.S. Indian Claims Commission. The U.S. federal government specifies the term aboriginal people as referring to those Native tribes (ethnic groups) who occupied a portion of U. S. territory when it was acquired by the U. S. government. For the White River Geoscape this was in 1848 after the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo with Mexico [15]. The term “Traditional Peoples” is used by the federal government for a time before that and the federal legal term “Time Immemorial” is defined by the people themselves as when they arrived in a location.

Time of Occupation

According to hundreds of ethnographic interviews (See Table 1), the White River hydrological system and its component features have been culturally important places for all of the participating Native American representatives since Time Immemorial or Creation. Both ancient Clovis and Folsom spear points have been found in the area, but they do not define the earliest occupation. Recent geoarchaeological studies have documented the presence of Native people in the even broader Colorado Plateau and Great Basin of the Southwest United States. Therefore, the broadest temporal frame for this heritage analysis is operationally defined as the late Pleistocene, which occurred between 128,000 and 11,700 YBP, and the Holocene from 11,700 YBP to modern times. Scientific studies document Native American occupation by at least 37,000 YBP with geoarchaeology dates of 23,000 to 21,000 BP at White Sands, New Mexico and 38,900 BP to 36,250 BP at the Hartley locality, a mammoth kill site situated near the Rio Puerco, New Mexico [8-10]. These geoscience dates indicate that Native Americans experienced this environment as both a massive wetland filled with lakes, rivers, and swamps and later as an arid desert with small streams and artesian springs [16]. Time keeping and celestial marking would have been adjusted to understand climate changes [17] and massive geological changes would be remembered with oral history during these periods [18-20].

Table 1: Foundation ethnographic studies.

 

Year

Ethnographic Study Authors

Tribes Participating

1 1983 Nuvagantu: Nevada Indians Comment on the Intermountain Power Project. (Reprinted 1983) Stoffie and Dobyns 1983 [36]

5

2 1982 Puaxant Tuvip: Utah Indians Comment on the Intermountain Power Project, Utah Section of Intermountain Adelanto Bipole I Proposal Stoffie, Evans and Dobyns 1982 [37]

3

3 1983 Nungwu Uakapi: Southern Paiute Indians Comment on the Intermountain Power Project. Stoffie, Evans Dobyns [38]

4

4 1999 DOE Intermodal Transportation of Low-Level Radioactive Waste (Reprinted 2013) AITC 1999 [39]

29

5 2002 East of Nellis: Cultural Landscapes of the Sheep and Pahranagat Mountain Ranges Stoffie, Toupal, and Zedeño 2002 [40]

17

6 2003 Confronting the Angry Rock: American Indian Situated Risk from Radioactivity Stoffie and Arnold 2003 [41]

26

7 2004 Landscapes of the Ghost Dance: Cartography of Numic Ritual Carroll, Zedeño, and Stoffie 2004 [42]

5

8 2007 Place, Performance, and Social Memory in the 1890s Ghost Dance Carroll 2007 [43]

5

9 2008 American Indians and the Old Spanish Trail Stoffie et al. 2008 [44]

7

10 2011 Solar PEIS Delamar Valley Stoffie et al. 2011a [35]

3

11 2011 Solar PEIS Dry Lake Stoffie et al. 2011b [45]

1

12 2011 Oral Histories and Place Making of the Mormon Mountains Among the Southern Paiutes and Western Shoshone Ruuska et al. 2011 [33]

11

13 2015 Social Investment in Regions of Refuge: Survival Strategies Among the Southern Paiute of Southern Nevada Ruuska 2015 [46]

11

14 2022 Landscape Is Alive: Nuwuvi Pilgrimage and Power Places in Nevada Stoffie, Arnold, and Van Vlack 2022 [47]

18

Total Tribes in Participation

145

Analytical Concepts

This heritage analysis builds on the burgeoning academic literature that has responded to the United Nations’ call for the identification of geological places and landscapes as a kind of cultural heritage deserving preservation [21,22]. Geologists have argued that certain geological and hydrological places should be preserved for the benefit of science and general understanding of the Earth. Initially such places were listed by their host nations and the United Nations. Eventually the human values attached with these places became a component of their heritage identification and preservation [6]. The ICUN and the WCPA have a Geoheritage Specialist Group that has documented the need for such new heritage preservation approaches [23]. This need is illustrated by the 20 published peer reviewed papers in the Special Issue of the journal Land entitled Geoparks, Geotrails, and Geotourism – Linking Geology, Geoheritages, and Geoeducation edited by Brocx and Semenluk. This Special Issue included studies from Europe, Australia, USA, Latin America, and Asia. Subsequently, published articles on this topic are illustrated by Geoheritage and Cultural Heritage Overview of the Toba Caldera Geosites, North Sumatra, Indonesia [24]. These studies [25] document a range of complexities involved in preserving, interpreting, and managing complex geoheritage. The Geology profession through the International Commission on Geoheritage [23] has responded by identifying significant geosites around the world using both their scientific and human significance values as criteria. The current analysis draws on these new geoheritage concepts and approaches for the identification, interpretation, and management of Earth Places because the structure and function of these cultural places significantly depends on the geology and topography of the lands involved. All Earth Places involved in this analysis are topographically and geologically special.

The Living Universe

The ways in which societies relate to their environments are grounded in their metaphysical beliefs, including their epistemologies and ontologies. In Southern Paiute society, relationships and deep connections with their environment were formed during Creation. Southern Paiutes maintain that the Creator gave them the responsibility to manage their environment to promote its growth and sustainability. They have developed numerous strategies and activities that increase biodiversity and biocomplexity throughout their homeland. The basic tenets of Southern Paiute epistemology help forge the relationship they have with their environment. To Southern Paiutes, the universe is alive, and everything is interconnected through all types of relations; this is what anthropologist Roy Rappaport [26] calls “the ultimate sacred postulate.” The universe is alive in the same way that humans are alive and it possesses most of the same anthropomorphic characteristics as well. The universe has discrete physical components such as power and elements. It is a living system. This concept of the living universe is so fundamental that any discussion of Southern Paiute culture cannot occur without it.

As explained by Liljeblad [27], power to the Numic speaking peoples is everywhere and is “a source of individual competence, mental and physical ability, health, and success.” Power is referred to as Puha and is a belief central to Paiute culture as well as many different tribes throughout the western United States [28,29]. Other Numic speaking people, such as Western Shoshone, Owens Valley Paiutes, Northern Paiutes and Utes, have similar words in their languages [1]. The concept of power is not limited to the Great Basin and Colorado Plateau peoples; it is also a core epistemological principle in the cultures of nearby Upland and Colorado River Yuman-speaking peoples such as the Mojave, Hualapai, and Havasupai. According to Numic beliefs, Puha is derived from Creation and permeates the universe, and its distribution resembles a spider web. Sometimes it is like a thin scattering; at other times, it occurs in places where there are clusters of life in definite concentrations with currents. Puha exists throughout the universe but varies in intensity from person to person, place to place, element to element, and object to object. This is similar to how strength differs among humans. Puha can also vary in what it can be used for, which determines the tasks certain elements (air, water, rocks, plants, animals) can accomplish. Puha is networked; it connects, disconnects, and reconnects elements in different ways. This connectivity occurs because of the will of the elements that have the power. Puha is present in and can move between the three levels of the universe: the upper level—where powerful anthropomorphic beings live, the middle level—where people live now, and the lower level— where extraordinary beings with reptilian or distorted humanoid appearances live [29,30].

Place, Space, and Landscape

Cultural landscapes develop from a people’s historical memory and these understandings of the land are shared and transferred over generations. Throughout traditional Southern Paiute territory, places are connected through songs, oral history, human relations, ceremony, and both physical and spiritual trails. These connections create synergistic relationships between people, places, and objects. The spaces between places, people, and objects are important components of a cultural landscape. These are the locations of trail networks that provide both physical and spiritual linkages. Trail networks provided people with the most direct links to places, resources, and communities. They facilitated the movement of people to secular places and those associated with pilgrimage. For Numic speaking peoples, trails were and continue to be closely associated with the sacred and the spiritual link that binds places together. Importantly, the spaces between also allow for the flow of Puha back and forth across the landscape.

Cultural Affiliation

All the participating tribes and pueblos consulted in our ethnographic studies have an ongoing cultural association with the White River Geoscape. They have stipulated that this is a culturally and functionally integrated area that is interlaced with pilgrimage trails and has been so since Time Immemorial. They all stipulate that they are from this region, even if they live elsewhere today, and that they continue to keep the region and their connections with it alive in their ceremonies and prayers. They maintain that this is a living ceremonial area that was established at Creation for the use of all Native peoples. Like the people themselves, these geological and topographical places remain alive, and all are committed to their original purpose of providing balance to the world.

Methods

This analysis is based on ethnographic and archaeological field research studies conducted in the White River hydrological system, which is understood based on geological and hydrological studies, outlined above. Critical to this analysis are the cultural interpretations of Native American elders who formally participated as appointed tribal representatives in the ethnographic studies and more generally informed the archaeological studies. Two archaeologists who study the White River are coauthors of this essay. Both have extensive interactions with Native peoples and heritage issues [31,32]. The ethnographic studies occurred between 1981 and 2022. All were designed with similar data collection methods, used common data review analysis protocols, and were guided by a professional applied ethnographer. This study design has been refined and approved by federal agencies and Native American tribes for each study [30,33-35]. The foundational ethnographic studies are presented in Table 1 where they are cross tabulated by a short study title, a list of senior authors, and the number of tribes participating in the study. There were 13 ethnographic studies conducted in full or part in the White River Geoscape hydrological system. A total of 145 tribes participated in the studies between 1981 and 2022. All research studies were funded and or legally managed by a federal agency such as the Department of Energy, the US Air Force at Nellis, the National Park Service, and the Bureau of Land Management. Logistical support was provided by the Desert National Wildlife Service. Table 1. This is a table. Tables should be placed in the main text near to the first time they are cited.

Agency funded research is, by definition, focused on the lands being managed by an agency or being impacted by a potential agency action. All of our ethnographic studies had such a focus, but some study areas were linear. Southern California Edison, a major public utility, for example, funded a multi-year study for a 500KV powerline that crossed 450 miles of Utah, Nevada, and California. The Intermountain Power Project (IPP) involved a narrow area of potential effect that could be widened when critical cultural resources were nearby that could be impacted. Similarly, the NPS Trails Division funded studies of impacts on Native American cultural resources along the Old Spanish Trail from New Mexico, Colorado, Utah, Nevada, and California. These studies were designed, managed, funded, and reviewed by the involved agency land managers, the project proponents, and the participating Native American tribes. Tribal participation was required by the US National Environmental Policy Act. This specified the inclusion of tribal participation in environmental impact assessments, including the independent selection of tribal cultural experts, and tribal review of and approval of study findings regarding their cultural impacts. Our White River studies involved a total of 145 Native American tribal governments and their appointed cultural representatives. Most tribes were involved in these studies multiple times. All studies were designed to improve land managers’ understanding of involved Native American cultural resources in order to enhance their preservation, in part by effective public communication of their existence and their cultural heritage importance to Native Americans [48]. As a result of decades of interactions in ethnographic studies, a relationship was established between ethnographers and the Native American peoples of these lands. Three of the many relationships are illustrated between Richard Stoffie, Dan Bulletts, and Herbert Meyers at work on the IPP in Arrow Canyon (Figure 7). A later photo from 2011 is of Herbert’s son Calvin Meyers, who worked for decades on cultural studies representing the Moapa Tribe (Figures 7 and 8). The Bulletts family, beginning in 1972, and the Meyers family, beginning in 1981, have been instrumental in studies that accurately recorded cultural areas without causing the cultural resources to be overly discussed with outsiders.

Figure 7: IPP Dan Bulletts, Rich Stoffie and Herbert Meyers [36].

Figure 8: Calvin Meyers, Moapa Tribal Representative at East Mormon Mountain Solar PEIS [45].

Tribes insisted as a condition of participation in these studies that they and their representatives only reveal enough traditional information to protect the resources and places but not so much that the resources and heritage of the areas would be harmed. All studies were reviewed and approved by the representatives involved, their cultural departments, and their tribal governments. The most dramatic example of the tribal response to the studies has been the formation of the Consolidated Group of Tribes and Organizations (CGTO) which has been involved in cultural studies with agencies since the 1980s [30,36,49]. Richard Arnold is the spokesperson for the CGTO, and he is the Chairperson of the Pahrump Paiute Tribe and a coauthor of this manuscript.

Native Heritage Geosites Along the White River Geoscape

Spiritual places, known ethnographically as Native American heritage geosites, occur from the headwaters of the White River in the Duckwater, Current Mountains and surrounding ranges to the east (Figure 9), southward along the hydrological system to the Virgin River. The headwater of the White River is primarily the large massif of peaks and highlands that includes Duckwater Peak. To the west of this massif is the reservation of the Duckwater Shoshone Tribe which is committed to heritage preservation and a regular participant in White River studies and the CGTO. A symbol of the tribe includes respect for the natural environment. According to the tribal web site [50], the Tribal Shield represents Shoshone history, “In Shoshone myths and Legends, the shield addresses the sky being the bluest ever seen. The sun rises over the mountain know as Esha Goyoi (Wolf Peak). The shield with the trade cloth and feathers trailing, honors our past, protects our heritage.”

Figure 9: One of many highland springs protected by the Shoshone people and their government [50].

The headwaters of the White River are hydrologically massive and contained glaciers during much of the Pleistocene (Figure 10). Today the waters of this area are used for extensive irrigated farming and block in places to form lakes.

Figure 10: Mountain Headwaters of the White River.

Research documents more than a thousand culturally significant geosites within the White River Geoscape. Many of these places contain rock peckings and paintings. While it is impossible to discuss all the places within this landscape, we highlight 15 geosites to convey the cultural complexity and their diversity within the White River Geoscape (Figure 11). Given that all of the geosites have been the focus of previous ethnographic and archaeological studies, fuller analysis is available in those technical reports and published articles.

Figure 11: Hydrological Map of White River Geoscape.

It is important to understand that the hydrology of the White River Geoscape has changed dramatically in the roughly 40,000 years of presumed Native American occupation (see regional dates above). From some point in the Pleistocene the high mountains at the headwaters were covered with glaciers. Streams flowing from the mountains and glaciers supplied the major flow of the White River and the sister Meadow Valley River. Wetlands and lakes formed in low gradient areas but especially in the Maynard Lake area where a natural dam was present. During this time period Native Americans would have increasingly occupied the lower portions of the hydrological system and used the edges of wetlands for gathering and hunting. As the Pleistocene glaciers shrank and were replaced with plentiful rain and snow Native Americans would have used the abundant fauna and flora of these hydrological systems and, over thousands of years, culturally co-adapted to the increasingly dry periods of the Holocene. Our primary regional understanding of these shifts in climate, fauna, and human occupation derives from the fossil beds of the Las Vegas River at the southern end of the White River system.

Site by Site Analysis

The following is an analysis of selected geosites identified by archaeological and ethnographic investigations along the White River Geoscape. This analysis is divided by three downriver reaches, which is the appropriate term for describing a functional portion of a river.

Geosite One: White River Narrows

The White River Narrows (WRN) geosite is located on US 318, about 20 miles north of US 93 at Crystal Springs. The geosite is designated as the White River Narrows Archaeological District (Figure 12), which, together with the larger Basin and Range National Monument within which it falls, is managed by the Bureau of Land Management. US Highway 318 runs through most of the meandering WRN. The WRN is a seven-kilometer-long winding canyon where the White River has cut through resistant bands of indurated tuff, roughly between 2.5 million and 11,700 years ago. These resistant layers are part of the southeast to northeast trending Seaman Range. Except for rare flooding episodes during heavy downpours, the White River currently has no surface water within the WRN. Roughly 138 kilometers north of the WRN the headwaters of the White River include the White Pine Range near Preston and Ward Mountain between Ruth and Ely. After passing through the WRN and the Little WRN farther south, the White River changes its name into the Pahranagat Wash where it runs through the Pahranagat Valley, which includes the small communities of Hiko and Alamo. The Pahranagat Valley changes into the Muddy River Valley at Arrow Canyon, from whence it first joins the Virgin River and then ultimately empties into the Colorado River farther to the south. The WRN clearly falls within the same hydrological system as the other sites in this analysis. Located within the predominantly wide White River corridor, the WRN forms a narrow bottleneck through which people must pass through when they travel between central Nevada to the north and the Colorado River valley to the south.

Figure 12: Map of the White River Narrows Showing the Main and Side Canyons, Map Approved by the Bureau of Land Management [31].

The WRN geosite contains 15 known rock writing sites, two of which contain only red pictographs and the rest comprising predominantly petroglyphs with a few red ocher smears. Of these 15 sites, two occur against east-facing cliffs immediately north of the canyon, nine against cliffs within the main canyon, and three against cliffs in the side canyons. Based on the 2,281 motifs already recorded at five of the sites [31,51], it is estimated that between 4,000 to 6,000 motifs occur at all 15 sites within the WRN geosite.

The American Indian Transportation Committee (AITC) [39] interpreted the WRN geosite as a point of comparison with two Storied Rocks sites (the AITC term for Black Butte and Red Tail Hawk geosites) in the Pahranagat Valley to the south. The red paint represents the presence of a spiritual place and the conduct of ceremonies by Indian people. The power of the place derives in part from having a river narrowed by powerful resistant rocks. Ceremonies would have been held near water. The site is reminiscent of the two Pahranagat sites in that they all are at points along a winding water course that is constricted by rock cliffs. The side canyon pecking and painted sites are places where Indian people would have prepared themselves before going into the main canyon narrows along the White River. As part of the Lincoln County Archaeological Initiative, archaeologists have conducted a series of recordings within the WRN geosite, including accurate mapping of rock markings [31,51]. This careful and thorough digital recording of individual motifs and their direct overlaps with other motifs allowed the reconstruction of a relative sequence of motif applications at the sites. Among the findings of the motif overlap study was the observation that the latest applications were done to enhance, and in a few instances obliterate, some of the earliest motifs. This shows that regardless of considerable age differences between the earliest and latest motifs, those that came later clearly acknowledged and interacted with much earlier applications. It also demonstrates continuity in site use over time, emphasizing the time-depth of this geosite. Long horizontal lines, shorter vertical lines, and knotted strings at the Northern Site, immediately outside the WRN, carefully cover and connect distant motifs, suggesting transcendent Puha connections between spatially and chronologically distant motifs (Figure 13).

Figure 13: Distant Panels and Motifs from Different Periods are Connected by Long Horizontal Lines, Shorter Vertical Lines, and Knotted Strings at the Northern Site [31].

The earliest pecked motifs within the WRN have also been observed at two Mount Irish sites. These motifs are predominantly grid shaped with occasional spirals. Human-looking feet, tracks, meanders, bighorn sheep, human-looking figures, and knotted strings comprise most of the precontact motifs at the WRN sites. The most recent motifs at the WRN sites include fine lined incisions and painted lines, stick-figure bighorn sheep, and re-engraved older motifs. The most recent motifs match the brightness of graffiti within the same mineral salt accretions, suggesting their relatively recent application, likely late nineteenth-century and even some twentieth century additions. Figure 14 below includes computer highlighted peckings mixed with natural colors. Especially important for this analysis are the two Water Babies with pecked vulvas. Water Babies are prominent spirit helpers and powerful actors throughout Numic lands, but they appear to be especially strongly associated with the White River geoscape.

Figure 14: High Resolution of Water Babies with Vulva Peckings (top right).

Also recorded were the acoustic relationships between 10 rock writing sites within the WRN geosite [52]. These acoustic studies continue Waller’s interest in the functional interrelationship of sound and rock markings [53,54]. It is a key issue documenting the interrelationship of geosites and their components. Waller documents that songs, music, or drums performed at most of these locations can be heard clearly at neighboring locations, thus documenting another kind of potential ceremonial relationship between the components of this geosite. The acoustic interaction between separate rock writing sites within the WRN is consistent with Puha, which flows between places in a connected landscape [32,55]. Native representatives talked about the enhanced acoustic properties of the location during our ethnographic interviews at the site (Figures 15 and 16).

Figure 15: Map of Measured Acoustic Interactions between WRN Sites [52].

Figure 16: The Amphitheater Site Near the Center of the White River Narrows, a Locale with Enhanced Acoustic Properties and Connections with Neighboring Sites [52].

A serrated corner edge of a panel at the Northern Site, immediately north of the WRN, could have been rubbed with a straight stick to create a rasping noise (according to Columbia Plateau Native Americans, Phillip Cash Cash and Willie Selam, commenting on serrated edges along Columbia River panels, personal communication with Loubser in 2002), being additional evidence for sound production at these geosites (Figure 17).

Figure 17: Panel with serrated edge to produce rasping sound [31].

Various visual and acoustic characteristics of the rock writing sites within the WRN are suggestive of Puha. The self-similar expressions of Puha are expressed at different scales within the WRN geosite, ranging from the microcosm of individual motifs, through the macrocosms of the wider landscape to the encompassing White River Geoscape.

Geosite Two: North Pahroc Big Rock

The North Pahroc Big Rock geosite (Figure 18) includes at least two rock writing locales. The first is a single, large rock writing panel with a number of bighorns, anthropomorphs, and other motifs (Figure 19). At least two of the bighorns lack front legs and a pecked swirl surrounds a vug/gas bubble hole in the rock’s surface. A second, smaller nearby locale consists of a natural arch under a large boulder with rock paintings (Figure 20). These include a natural vug that is surrounded by a series of short red lines, creating a starburst like pattern.

Figure 18: North Pahroc Big Rock Geosite.

Figure 19: Large Boulder with Peckings.

Figure 20: Big Rock Geosite with Activity Area Underneath and Red Paint Around Portal Hole.

Bighorns commonly served as the spirit helper for rain shamans (Whitley 1994). There are also several bighorns without legs at the White River Narrows geosite, while a few bighorn motif eyes are centered on vugs, and certain lines start or terminate at cracks. As documented by Van Vlack [56], ritual pilgrims sometimes inserted their fingers into vugs incorporated into rock writing motifs to transition into the sacred realm. At the Amphitheater site in the center of the WRN, diagnostic bighorn horn racks are pecked along the top edges of long horizontal knotted strings, creating the impression that the rest of the bighorns are hidden behind the knotted strings and the rock surface. Knotted strings were used by messengers, sent to outlying villages, to document the number of days until a communal ritual gathering [47]. At Mount Irish (Geosite 5) a few of the larger bighorns had their legs added to their torsos later. Certain Water Baby figures have arms, legs, and penises that were added later too. Water Baby was an important spirit helper that was especially associated with the Pahranagat Valley area and is depicted in a specific, identifiable fashion [20,32,57]. Isolated vugs at Mount Irish are framed by tightly pecked circles. All of these rock writing motifs and depictive conventions illustrate the belief that the rock face is the permeable veil between the natural and sacred realms and that spirits and shamans move back and forth, through this rock face, often through cracks or vugs [58]. That certain of the bighorns lack front legs suggests that they were in the process of transitioning into the sacred realm. Because the actions of a shaman and their spirit helper were indistinguishable, bighorn and other animal motifs themselves can be understood as shamans transformed into their supernatural power form.

While not all gatherer-hunter beliefs and ritual practices, let alone religions, were universal [4], some beliefs were widely shared. The San (Bushmen) who are gatherers and hunters in southern Africa similarly painted certain eland (the largest and most docile antelope in Africa, a spirit helper among many medicine people and/or a transformed medicine person) without legs or as if they emerge from cracks in the rock. Long painted serpentine lines disappear into tiny holes in the rock surface only to re-appear from tiny holes or cracks a few meters along. The landscape/inter site level of these lines can be seen where they extend to the edge of a rock surface only to re-appear on another surface at a site miles away (perhaps indicating a long-distance connection between geosites). These lines are !num, the San Bushmen equivalent of the concept of Puha among the Numic speaking peoples [59]. It can be argued that Native Americans did the same as the San, depicting spirit beings as hovering betwixt-and-between the spirit world behind the rock surface and the physical world on the physical observer’s side of the rock.

Geosite Three: Traditional farming villages from Hiko to Alamo

Hiko is a historic massacre site located near the contemporary town of Hiko, Nevada, along US 318 and about 5 miles north of Crystal Springs on US 93 [60]. The town of Hiko, the surrounding ranches, and the massacre site are defined as the geosite identified in this study. The massacre site itself is located where the western Native American trail out of Hiko enters a pass through the mountains towards Mount Irish. The Hiko geosite is defined as where two local communities of Indian people experienced hostile relationships with newcomer Euro- American settlers [61]. One farming community was at Alamo and the other was at Hiko, which is used as the point of reference for this discussion [62]. These hostilities resulted in the killing of many members of both Native American farming communities in one incident while later both Shoshone and Paiutes killed at Quinn Canyon [61,63]. The Indian farming communities were surrounded by the EuroAmerican newcomers and then massacred. The massacre was documented at the time by a local newspaper in Pioche, Nevada, and more recently by oral history with the families of longtime residents recorded by McCracken. These oral histories document the event itself from a EuoAmerican point of view; specifically, that the Indians had to be killed because they were stealing horses. Native oral histories suggest the massacre were due to EuroAmericans wanting their irrigated farms.

These Native American oral history interviews conducted with both Shoshone and Paiute elders documented that people who escaped ran up the trail to Mt. Irish and sought spiritual protection in the area of rock peckings [39,41]. Later the local ranchers attacked them again and the survivors went west to the Quinn Canyon Range where they again sought refuge but this time in a community of Shoshone people. Soon a force of ranchers and U.S. military calvery who were called to put down the Indian uprising attacked this community. Only a few survived. A cradle board with the skeletal remains of a child was found in later years stuck into a rock crevasse on Mt. Irish along the trail from the massacre site. The cradle board was subsequently removed by unknown persons. The area contains unsettled spirits [39,41]. These can potentially be further disturbed by truck accidents, parking, and traffic. The area is extremely sensitive to Native Americans today. It is like driving through a place that has ongoing spiritual turmoil. The massacre left the Paiute victims without a burial, so they never made their passage to the other side. Native Americans know that the local ranchers have collected some of the artifacts and bones from the massacre site. These artifacts and bones will have to be buried with a proper funeral to begin to restore balance to the area.

A local business owner recounted to an author of this paper that his dad visited a remnant Paiute community near Crystal Springs in Crystal Wash. Paiute elders told his dad of a time when Paiutes could still paddle down the White River and Pahranagat Wash to the Colorado River, all the way from north of Lund. Among other occupations, the business owner’s dad was a silver and gold prospector in the Mount Irish area around the abandoned Logan City and a descendant of the first Mormon settlers in the valley. The business owner was glad to hear that the archaeology team removed his dad’s 1940 initials from a petroglyph boulder at Paiute Rock, Mount Irish. After 1920 two Native American settlements existed in the area, living on fish caught in a local lake, rabbit hunting, and some corn farming. Their former irrigated agriculture fields were, by this time, controlled and used by EuroAmerican settlers (McCracken ed. 1991). These oral accounts document the return of Paiutes to Crystal Springs/Alamo/ Hiko area in the early 1900s despite having been forcibly relocated by the US government to the Moapa Reservation a generation earlier. This return to a homeland is common among relocated Native Americans, reflecting a strong heritage attachment to the geoscape.

Geosite Four: Artesian Springs

The Crystal Springs Geosite Four is located on US 93, at the junction with US 318. The site consists of a series of major (slightly) warm springs. At this site, there are many trees and Indian foods like watercress. A red tail hawk was observed at the site as well as a number of other types of birds. Water babies, noted as important spirit helpers above, are in the springs and in the water system. Hot springs were said to be created by their fires [64]. They can travel up and down throughout the hydrological system [20]. The water babies in this area have been influenced by the Hiko massacre. As a result, there are more water babies in the local hydrological system, and they are angry because of the Indian massacre. It is possible that the water babies are now holding some of the spirits from the massacred people, especially the children. The parking areas near the springs are especially dangerous at night and should not be used (see Figures 21 and 22).

Figure 21: Sacred Artesian Ash and Crystal Springs.

Figure 22: Crystal Spring.

Geosite Five: Mount Irish

The Mount Irish geosite is on a slope southeast of Mount Irish where a dip in the topography creates a natural location for a trail from the White River below to the upper reaches of Mount Irish (Figure 23). The surface of the land in this geosite is covered with exposed but largely small boulders and rock outcrops. There are hundreds, probably thousands, of Native American rock markings on these stone features. Viewed from the prominent trail through the mountain pass, the Mount Irish rock pecking area is in the foreground (Figure 23).

Figure 23: Mount Irish in the Background as seen from Rock Writings in the Foreground [31].

Whitley’s 2015 analysis [32] of this area and its cultural features maintains that the glyphs (Figure 24) have a variety of ritual functions, and the rock markings reflect places where these rituals occurred.

Figure 24: Shooting Gallery Possible Vision Quest Image [32].

Other images are similar to ones identified as spirit helpers (Figure 25). Bighorn sheep images instead played an important spiritual role in Numic society as the spirit helpers specifically of rain shamans [32,65]. A series of accounts amplify the association between the rain shaman and the bighorn. According to Kelly’s [66] ethnographic data, a mountain-sheep singer, that is a shaman, always dreamed of rain, a bull-roarer, and a quail tufted cap of mountain-sheep hide. Wooden bullroarers were sometimes toys, but those of mountain sheep horns were for rainmaking.

Figure 25: Bighorn Sheep Motif Possible Spirit Helpers [32].

Geosite Six Shooting Gallery

The Geosite Six is called the Shooting Gallery (Figure 26). It appears to be a massive archaeological complex, possibly bigger than that of Mount Irish to the north, and arguably the largest known geosite in the White River catchment. There are small surface scatters of lithics, ceramics, and dark organic soils, which occur next to and among boulders with petroglyphs.

Figure 26: Map of Badger Mountain and the Shooting Gallery.

There is a diversity of places and pecking in the area. Figure 26 shows rock walls or cairns constructed along the trail to the mountains, probably Badger Mountain. Based on ethnographic interviews, these walls were likely constructed to mark the locations where supplicants received spirit helpers, which were then depicted in the nearby rock writings [32] (See Figures 27-29). These rock walls are on the edge of a ridge that overlooks the Shooting Gallery geosite.

Figure 27: Rock Wall in Shooting Gallery Area [31].

Figure 28: Puha Naax Mountain Sheep (“electric bighorn”) with Multiple Lines Radiating from its Head [51].

Figure 29: Transformed Mountain Sheep Along the Primary Trail [32].

The rock walls are southeast of the geosite. Similar but much smaller and U-shaped walls overlook at least three rock writing geosites in the WRN. The primary Shooting Gallery Wall has tiny upright stones implanted at more-or- less regular intervals along its course. One small U-shaped stone walled enclosure above the Northern Site at WRN also has a small upright stone in it. These are not hunting blinds but more likely places for vision questing, where the questers sit in a crouched/ fetal position. Studies of the Mount Irish area have not documented such walls but instead there are big natural hollows in the boulders above rock writings that may have served the sane purpose. Shooting Gallery is in a basin shaped hollow that is physically and visually separated from the White River Valley to the east by a series of ridges (Figure 27). In a sense its current remoteness reminds one of a “pristine” Shangri La- like location. The Puha Naax (Power Mountain Sheep) (Figure 27) is within the first concentration of petroglyphs and small lithic, ceramic, ground bedrock, and dark midden features and encampments as you walk northwest from the vehicle parking spot. The map in Figure 27 is the estimated locations of the wall in relation to the Puha Naax at the Shooting Gallery Geosite. The wall is on a ridge line above and southwest of a 4-wheel drive vehicle parking spot, overlooking a boulder field with habitation sites and rock writings in the basin shaped valley below, to the northwest. Farther in the background to the northwest is the looming Badger Mountain, while to the northeast is a narrow valley linking the basin with the White River Valley near Alamo.

Note that the Puha Naax that have been identified as when the mountain sheep transforms through a portal [57]. To the right is another mountain sheep with similar transformed feet and below is a buffalo with transformed feet. Petroglyphs with these transformed feet have been described by tribal representatives as these spirit helpers have moved through a portal into the supernatural world. Figures 29 and 30 show more spirit helpers that have transformed by passing through a portal into the supernatural.

Figure 30 has three transformed spirit helpers as indicated by their feet. Additionally, the panel has almost a dozen pecked knotted strings which indicate ceremonial activity and portals. The pecking in the lower left-hand corner of Figure 30 that looks like a series of upside-down arches/rainbows represents the mirrored landscape on the other side of the portal. Mirrored landscapes are inverted and thus the colors move from positive to negative, the poles are reversed, day is night, night is day.

Figure 30: Panel with U-shaped Semi Circles and Knotted Strings (Trail).

Geosite Seven: Black Butte Ceremonial Area

Rock peckings have been placed by Indian people on many of the boulders and cliff faces in this volcanic formation [40,60] (Figures 31 and 32), located in the Pahranagat National Wildlife Refuge. These petroglyphs range from complex panels that are covered with interrelated figures and shapes to peckings on isolated boulders. On top of one prominent butte are a number of high-walled, circular structures (Figure 33). In the original riverbed below are marshes filled with seed grasses. At any given time, according to the ranger, there are 250 bird species in the refuge. The site is on the Pacific Flyway for migratory birds, but it is also the permanent home for many species. A red tail hawk nest is located in a large cottonwood (Populus spp.) just below the butte. Mammals in the area include coyotes (Canis latrans), bobcats (Felis rufus), mountain lions (Felis concolor), muskrats (Ondatra zibethicus), and deer (Odocoileus hemionus), some of whom sleep at night on a grassy area just below one of the large cliff-face panels high on the butte. Indian tobacco grows out of the cliff face below many of the panels. Pahranagat Valley is the place where the Pahranagat/Moapa people were created. The Native American representatives in multiple studies interpreted the site as a place to seek knowledge and power, conduct ceremony, and communicate with spiritual beings (Figure 34). The site contains medicines, food, and drink, but its power caused it to be exclusively used for ceremony. Living, farming, hunting, plant collecting, and social gathering areas were located elsewhere in the valley.

Figure 31: Extensive Wetland Surrounding Black Butte.

Figure 32: Many Peckings Cover Black Butte.

Figure 33: Stone structures for visiting spiritual people on top of Black Butte.

Native representatives confirm in multiple studies that Black Butte is a place where shamans acquire spirit helpers. These are mostly rain making helpers given that most spirit helper peckings are of water babies (Figure 34).

Figure 34: Transformed Shaman and Water Baby.

The Black Butte geosite is connected spiritually, physically, and via common ceremonial activities to other places in the southern portion of the valley such as Maynard Lake, Lower Pahranagat pecking panels, and Arrow Canyon, as well as connected to the north to Crystal Springs and to the traditional farming communities that were located there. It is a ceremonial center or hub of ritual activities.

Geosite Eight: Beginning of Pilgrimage Trail to Spring Mountains

During the US Air Force funded EIA study of a proposed expansion of their lands, an assessment team appointed by the CGTO consulting group and representing 18 tribes studied the proposed land withdrawal area. During that study, a traditional pilgrimage trail was identified as having one beginning/ending point in Pahranagat Valley that extends south to another beginning/ending point at Corn Creek and the Spring Mountains (Figure 35). A longer technical report of findings is available online at the US Congressionally mandated public project EIA site. These findings were reviewed and approved by the 18 tribes and their participating representatives. A summary article based on those findings is referenced here [40].

Figure 35: Diagram of Pahranagat Valley to Spring Mountains [47].

One geosite from along this pilgrimage trail is illustrated in Figure 36 [47]. In the upper left is a view from Eagle Head looking to the south along the pilgrimage trail as it headed towards the massive Desert Lake Playa. Archaeological studies document that Native Americans occupied this wetland as long as 9,000 YBP. The Joshua Tree, top right, is a food and ceremonial plant that occurs in abundance to the south where ceremonies were held during the multi-community harvests of its fruit. Next to the right are peckings at the narrows of Eagle Head. Figure 37 shows details of the peckings in the narrows.

Figure 36: Images from along the Pilgrimage trail to the Spring Mountains. Note the knotted strings, top right of the middle photo, which is a marker of ceremonial trails.

The Eagle Head Narrows on the pilgrimage trail has peckings on both sides of the constriction. In Figure 37 left, Richard Arnold is viewed interpreting a panel of peckings, including many Mountain Sheep which, as discussed above, are depictions of spirit helpers.

Figure 37: Peckings Along Pilgrimage Trail at Eagle Head Narrows 47.

It is useful for this analysis to note that the Native American representatives view this trail and others in the region as potentially interconnected as well as being destination-only trails. Black Butte is a ceremonial hub, but the Spring Mountains are the origin location of all humanity, with the trail to this geoscape composed of many sacred sites thatA mark portals to other dimensions [57].

Geosite Nine: Red Hawk Origin Lake – Maynard Lake

Stoffie and Arnold [41] record that, on the southern end of Pahranagat Valley, a Pleistocene lake left a 15-foot tall, continuous white ring around the edge of a once plugged up canyon, and here is the origin place for Kwinat’sits, the red tail hawk (Buteo jamaicensis) [33,41,46] (Figure 38). Known today as Maynard Lake, this site is located inside of the Pahranagat National Wildlife Refuge. Although a natural dam has been breached in modern times, various past lake levels are indicated by white bands that ring the red cliffs of the valley. The site is where the Kwinat’sits received the white band on his tail feathers.

Figure 38: Red Tail Hawk Origin Site, aka Maynard Lake.

This white band occurred because the Kwinat’sits used the canyon walls as his perch from which he protected the area. When the natural weather conditions became more arid and the lake water level lowered it left a white band across the bottom of the tail feathers, just as it left its mark on the walls of the canyon. The existence of Kwinat’sits is spiritually tied to Maynard Lake, much like the Arrow Canyon Range mountain sheep are tied to a place known as Potato Woman [46]. Kwinat’sits is one of the animals that appears when a human reaches the afterlife. The appearance of the red tail hawk shows that the person is now whole and strong again. The hawk also helps the person go across to the afterlife at the end of the journey. The red tail hawk feathers are used in medicine fans because of the puha of that animal. Red tail hawks are a good omen [41].

Geosite Ten: Pecking of Twins, Pilgrimage Trail Connecting Red Tail Hawk with Delamar Lake

In Southern Paiute society, only a select group of shamans called Puha’gants made pilgrimages, which they conducted on behalf of the entire community, as well as for themselves. Those who went on these journeys were medicine men or medicine men in training. These spiritual journeys were not to be taken by everyone because there were great physical and spiritual risks involved. While ceremonial activities such as ritual cleansing and daily prayers occurred in a pilgrim’s home community, most of the rituals associated with pilgrimage took place far from daily living space in controlled settings along the trails [29].

The pilgrimage trail into and out of Delamar Valley (Figure 39) is marked by two rare peckings known as the Twins (Figure 40). They occur at two locations where they mark the ends and beginnings of a pilgrimage trail [35]. The Twins and the figure to their left appear clearly downstream in lower Pahranagat Valley at the outlet of the Pleistocene Lake known as the Red Hawk origin spot. They appear again in the center of the portal peckings in Delamar Lake. Native interpretation is that the twins mark a place for prayer for pilgrims thus making the journey to and from the two destination locations.

Figure 39: Pilgrimage Trail With Twins Marking Each End.

Figure 40: Twins Peckings: Left, Red Tail Hawk; right, Delamar Lake [35].

The twins in these peckings resemble those often represented from the northern-sky constellation Gemini. The twins exist in other cultures throughout the world. For example, in ancient Greece, one twin is named Pollux and the other is called Castor. They are the most northern of the pair and its twin status is mythologically understood in a number of cultures. Other Native American interpretations of twins include (1) Hopi stories associating the Gemini stars with the twin war gods, Poqanghoya and Pookonghoya, and (2) in Navajo cosmology, representing the Gemini stars as the Hero Twins, central figures in creation stories, and (3) the Lakota stories in which the Star Twins are associated with the Thunder Beings. The Twins also are seen in a painted panel in a culturally important cave in upper Kanab Creek in the Grand Canyon region of northern Arizona. Another Native interpretation was that the Twins represent the Salt Song sisters who participated in the formation of the trail to the afterlife that is traveled through a thousand miles of spiritual and physical paths and places [35,57,67].

Geosite Eleven: Coyote’s Jar Emergence Site

Most Native cultural groups have an Origin or Creation location describing where all humans were made. In addition, most cultural groups have a second or multiple creation sites where a local component or district of people were created. For Southern Paiutes, all humanity was created in the Spring Mountains and, for the Southern Paiutes of the Moapa and Pahranagat district, they were created at their secondary creation site, Coyote’s Jaw [20,46,48].

Geosite Twelve: Reach Three – Lower Reach of White River and Muddy River

This reach of the White River begins at the end of the Pahranagat Valley at the Red Tail Hawk geosite, previously described. The hydrological system is termed White River until its waters reach the Virgin River, but maps shift the name from White River to Muddy River just after Arrow Canyon near Warm Springs. Figure 41 shows the location of two large Pleistocene lakes which are now largely playas termed Apex North and Apex Lake. These wetlands were within 15 miles of the Las Vegas River hydrological system, and plants and animals likely have moved over time between the two systems at this location.

Figure 41: Lower Reach of White River, Muddy River [45].

Geosite Thirteen: Arrow Canyon Range

Ethnographic studies involving the interpretation of Arrow Canyon uniformly document it as a ceremonial area with its deep canyon constricting the White River as it moves to join the Muddy River a few miles south. While the canyon is lined with elaborate peckings, as expected for a geosite of this spiritual nature, Tribal representatives have asked that our study teams neither take photos nor publish any in our reports. This analysis honors that request; hundreds of Arrow Canyon photos, however, are publicly available online posted by hikers and students of geology field trips. The Arrow Canyon Range (Figure 42) is associated with Southern Paiute songs, stories, and ceremonies. One story describes how Shin-au-av (Coyote) formed the area with a shot of his arrow [45]. Another story links the Arrow Canyon Range to a Creation Being, Potato Woman. Potato Woman is responsible for the creation of a variety of Nah’gah (Mountain Sheep, Ovis spp.) that live exclusively in the Arrow Canyon Range (Ruuska et al. 2011). The Nah’gah, in turn, have and continue to bring songs, stories, and medicine to Indian people. Impacts to the Arrow Canyon Range directly impact the health of Potato Woman and the creation of the Nah’gah. Potato Woman is also related to two other Creator beings – the Po-ni (skunk) and the Un-nam-but (badger). Areas within the Arrow Canyon Range were used for round dances and balancing ceremonies. In 1890, Southern Paiute people went to the Arrow Canyon Range to perform the Ghost Dance in order to restore balance to the world [43]. Great events occurred in the Arrow Canyon Range area [36,40]. Between the 17th and 28th of September 1872, John Wesley Powell traveled to upper Kanab Creek with Stephen Vandiver Jones and two Kaibab Paiutes, Chuarunpeak (Frank) and George. During this time, Powell recorded a Southern Paiute story about the creation of the Arrow Canyon Range:

Figure 42: Deeply Carved Arrow Canyon on the now surface of the dry White River [70].

Originally the surface of the Earth was a smooth plain, but one day Shin-au-av told Kusav to place the latter’s quiver at a short distance from where they stood that it might be used as a mark, at which he would shoot. Then Shin-au-av sent an arrow from his bow which struck the quiver but glanced and plowed its way about the face of the earth in every conceivable direction, digging deep gorges and canons, making valleys, plowing up mountains, hills, and rocks. In this way the water courses were determined and the hills and mountains made, and huge broken rocks were scattered about the country [69]. According to these early interviews, previous to this time the nation of people had lived in one community, “they were all brothers and sisters,” but the scattering of the nations commenced with the origin of surface relief, for there was now a great diversity of country and each one chose for himself a special habitat. The eagle admired the crags and peaks and mountain summits and delighted in the fierce wind and roaring storm, and he said to his brethren, “My home shall be in the cliffs.” The hawk (Ku-sav) loved the wild rocks, and he said, “There will be my home.” And the badger said, “I will make me a warm burrow in the ground.” And the wolf said, “I will roam over the plains.” And the swallow said, “I will build my nest on the face of the rocks that overhang the waters.” And the grizzly bear said, “I will live in caves.”

According to Powell [69], a great many species of animals are described, each of whom selects his home. When the people had thus separated, they ceased to speak their ancient language, each one adopting a new one which has been handed down to their own descendants. From this time, they also lost their wisdom because of their disagreements, and slowly degenerated, changed to the forms in which they now appear. By some, this change is said to have been gradual, and very slow, but others have said that it was instantaneous and that there was great wonder among the people, each seeing the changes of the other but not seeing their own transformation, and each one supposing that they spoke the original language and that the rest had lost it, and that this transformation was the cause of their separation; while others attribute the change to quarrels and separation. Sometimes, the story is told as if it was a quarrel for the best homes on the new earth, but by others this element of contention is not introduced. At least once this story has been referred to as a point of moral argument for harmony in council [69]. The presence of animals in an area contributes to the overall cultural importance of a place to Native Americans. In Southern Paiute culture, animals factor significantly in songs, stories, and ceremonies. Animals were also important food sources, and their fur, bones, and feathers were used as components in ceremonial objects.

Geosite Fourteen: Arrow Canyon

Arrow Canyon proper was created by the White River, probably during the late Pleistocene, as this glacier-fed, roaring river carved this deep canyon through relatively soft marine sediments that often contain visible corals fossils [19]. The White River continues to move through the canyon on its path to become the Muddy River. The Arrow Canyon images below have been provided to us by the author of the Adventure Taco [70] website, which includes many more high- quality images of the canyon and surrounding areas north along the White River. The images included here represent best the information that we have obtained from ethnographic interviews in the canyon and the archaeological study of other petroglyphs in the White River Geoscape. Only a few panels are presented here but these illustrate the spiritual and ceremonial nature of Arrow Canyon as described by tribal elders since first shared by Dan Bulletts and Herbert Meyers in 1982. The Canyon has been deeply carved by the White River and there are hundreds of peckings in Arrow Canyon. Figures 43-45 represent the diversity and abundance of peckings. Ocean Woman’s Net is presented multiple times. She is the primary original Creator Being for Paiute people. The panel in Figure 44 includes an image of Ocean Woman’s Net, motifs interpreted by tribal representatives as a Bear Paw and wavy lines which indicate spiritual transformations through a portal into the supernatural.

Figure 43: Arrow Canyon Pecking Panel [70].

Figure 44: Arrow Canyon Panel with Ocean Woman’s Net on top left and wavy lines indicating a portal to the supernatural towards lower right [70].

The third pecking panel displays multiple images of feet that are generally interpreted here and elsewhere as representing physical and spiritual travel. To the left of the panel is a mountain sheep that is moving into a shaman [57] (Figure 45).

Figure 45: Arrow Canyon Panel with multiple and different kinds of feet, interpreted by tribal informants as indicating spiritual and physical movement, and (bottom left) a sheep transforming into a shaman [70].

Arrow Canyon has this name due to the historical presence of numerous arrows lodged in cracks in the canyon walls. According to a newspaper article from 1904:

Thousands of arrows shot by bands of Indians for possibly centuries protrude from a fissure several hundred feet long in the rocky walls of Arrow Canon…The arrows are so thick that little room is left for more…Already relic hunters are visiting the place and despoiling it of its treasures by shooting the arrows out with revolvers and rifles… It is believed that Indians visited this site in connection with some rite. Crude, strange figures have been cut by them in the face of the rock wall [71]. A number of Native American tribes, stretching from California to the Great Lakes, are known to have shot arrows into cracks at rock writing sites as an offering to the living rock and spirits that live within it. Archaeological evidence indicates that this ritual action was practiced for a minimum of 2,000 years [72].

Geosite Fifteen: Traditional Trails through Arrow Canyon

The Arrow Canyon Range was the center of a large traditional district prior to colonial disruption, then composed of what are now the Moapa and Pahranagat Southern Paiutes [38]. Full-time agricultural settlements were located within the large hydrological system beginning northeast of Pahranagat Valley and continuing down along the Muddy, Virgin, and Colorado Rivers. Arrow Canyon Valley was used for hunting, gathering, and traveling between these agricultural settlements. These continual use patterns account for scattered archaeological remains in the Arrow Canyon Range area. The site of the trail from Moapa through the Sheep Range to the Spring Mountains is located near the junction of US 93 and SR 168, near the junction of the Muddy River and US 93 (Figure 46). This special trail connects the traditional Indian villages, located to the east in the Virgin Mountains, the Moapa villages along the Muddy River, and the Pahrump villages on both sides of the Spring Mountains. This trail also connects special natural and cultural places, such as the waters of the Virgin River and the Colorado River to the east. The important Salt Cave, at Saint Thomas, is currently inundated under Lake Mead, but there were Ghost Dance ceremonies conducted there and near Arrow Canyon.

Figure 46: Towards Arrow Canyon Range Looking Northeast from US 93 where the Indian Trails Cross to and from the Sheep and Spring Mountains.

The Muddy River trail was interpreted by the AITC [39] as traditionally used. One of these was for the exchange of wives. Men from Pahrump Valley came to Moapa to acquire wives. In fact, the Pahrump Paiutes interpret the term Moapa to be a shortened form of “Muh-ma’-pah” which may be a play on words designed to mean “Woman Water.” In Native American culture, trails are sacred because they lead to places of power or spirits. Indigenous people physically travel trails, but they also travel through the medium of song, prayer, and in their spiritual thoughts (Henningson, Durham and Richardson 1980). The academic literature recognizes the importance of Native American trails, describing them as the most enduring evidence of Indigenous land use [73]. Norris and Carrico [73] specifically discuss the Mojave, the Cocopa-Maricopa, the Yuma-Needles Trails, and other shorter and less significant trails. Landforms along these trails possess significance to Native Americans, reflecting their land use methods and knowledge of the landscape. The Salt Song Trial, for instance, was and still is a functionally integrated series of landmarks and sacred areas for both the Southern Paiute and the Hualapai people. Trails are not then just physical entities, but they are additionally repositories of prayers, songs, and thoughts [46]. Native American representatives identified 15 traditional use plants and 34 traditional use animals within Arrow Canyon area. Identified plants include those used for ceremony, medicine, food, and utilitarian purposes including the construction of various cultural items and tools. One animal that had special meaning for the Arrow Canyon area is the mountain sheep. These are understood as spiritual animals that are spirit helpers for rain shamans [39].

Geosite Sixteen: Ghost Dance Site

According to interviews with Moapa Paiute tribal representatives [43,44,46], there was a dance site on the western end of Mormon Mesa on Table Mountain that was also used for a Ghost Dance, a late nineteenth century revitalization movement. The Ghost Dance is considered by most to be a form of traditional Round Dance. The physical characteristics of this geosite confirm its use as a Ghost Dance site and traditional Round Dance site. Because of contemporary cultural sensitivity, the tribal members requested that the exact location not be placed in our reports [43,46]. After the establishment of the Moapa Reservation in 1873, Southern Paiutes struggled to cope with changing lifeways as they became increasingly incorporated into the Euro-American wage labor economy. The Ghost Dance was a culturally significant event that, when manifested in a particular place and space, reaffirmed the identity of a people [74,75]. Southern Paiute people were able to become a part of a pan-Indian movement by transcending aboriginal boundaries defined by language, society, and politics. The Ghost Dance performance provided a foundation for identifying sacred places in a contemporary setting. The Ghost Dance movements of 1870 and 1889-1890 sought to restore dead animals, destroyed botanical landscapes, and dead ancestors to their aboriginal condition and to shift power from Euro-Americans (who were expected to not survive the event) back to Indian peoples [75]. This ceremony was conducted in response to Euro-American encroachment on Indian holy lands, the resulting stress from diseases that caused depopulation, the disruption of animal and native plant areas, their forced removal from springs, rivers, and farming areas, social disruptions of various kinds, and the inability of traditional religions to explain or deal with ailments resulting from this encroachment. Arrow Canyon is in a location that allows views of the 1890 Ghost Dancers from Moapa. Participants from Paiute communities located along the Virgin and Santa Clara Rivers and the Cottonwood Island on the Colorado River attended this event [45].

Carroll [43] explains that, even though the late nineteenth century Ghost Dance ceremony was performed in Arrow Canyon area during 1890, it remains a vital cultural heritage geosite today [45,46]. A Southern Paiute representative from Carroll’s study of the 1890s Ghost Dance said that:

I came to Arrow Canyon at night with some friends. We were just out driving around and having a good time. Once we got to Table Mountain, I felt something. Things felt different. I could hear people singing. When I looked up on top of Table Mountain, I could see the Ghost Dancers moving around in a circle. I had not been told anything about this place but knew what it was about once I was here. It was a good experience to come to Arrow Canyon. It cleared my mind. I know those Ghost Dances were here before. I could hear a drum beating and I hear people talking in Indian. I tried to listen hard. It was so peaceful. I didn’t think about anything but that place. The animals were chasing each other, and the lizard was running after something. It brought peace to mind, and it also made me mournful, so I prayed. You hear things when you are in tune. This place is alive with spirits there. They communicate that to you. There is also a quietness of the canyon that is very special [43].

Geosite Seventeen: Potato Women Creation Being

Potato Woman (Figure 47) is located along the southern flank of Mormon Mountains, the western edge of Mormon Mesa, just north of Weiser Wash. Potato Woman’s hair touches Interstate Highway 15. Potato Woman is a Creator Being [46]. According to a Paiute elder interviewed in 1982 during the IPP study [36], Potato Woman is especially powerful because she is related to two other Creator Beings — the Po-ni (skunk, Spilogale putorius) and the Un-nam-but (badger, Taxidea taxus). As a Creator being, Potato Woman has a permanent responsibility for creating a small variety of Nah’-gah (Mountain Sheep, Ovis spp.) which predominates in the Arrow Canyon Mountain Range. This Nah’gah, in turn, has brought, does bring, and will bring songs, stories, and medicine to Indian people.

Figure 47: Potato Women West from US 15 (AITC 1999).

Potato Woman is known as a powerful place, so powerful that traditionally Indian people would not camp near her. In 1982 during the IPP studies, a Paiute elder provided a detailed story of a medicine man who spent the night near her. He became sick and only because of his personal power was he able to heal himself. Some of the power of the place comes from unburied spirits caused by an epidemic that killed lots of people in Moapa Valley. This story was provided to illustrate the power of Potato Woman. The epidemic was probably malaria introduced by Spanish explorers. It spread up the Colorado River to the White River Muddy Valley in the late 1700s. The epidemic caused many people to die and thus they often refer to the Moapa Valley as the Valley of Death. The name Moapa derives from the term moa or mosquito and pah or water.

Geosite Eighteen: Traditional Farming Villages in Muddy River Valley

The entire length of the Muddy River from approximately Arrow Canyon to the Virgin River contained traditional Native farming communities. The river valley was always occupied but farming communities were most common for the past 2,000 years.

Geosite Nineteen: Warm Springs

Warm Springs is one of a number of naturally occurring artesian springs that create a series of riverine oases. There is a diverse flora and fauna at these locations. During the IPP studies, a Moapa elder pointed out that food from the plants at this spring become available each month of the year. Of special importance are the native palm trees which are seen as traditional use plants by the Moapa elders. Hot springs are places of mixed power. They supply water for healing, and they represent a place that has its own spirits (Stoffie, et al. 1998). At this time, the drinking water of all towns and the Moapa Indian reservation come from this hydrological system (see photos of Warm Springs- Figure 48). Ethnographic interviews at this site occurred during the AITC 1999 study [39] and in other studies. Native American quotes identified by the speakers’ names are used uniquely in this analysis because the spring managers wanted to remove the indigenous palms which they incorrectly maintained were recent additions; the tribal representatives involved in the AITC study wanted to have their memories recorded.

Figure 48: Warm Springs [77].

Other Moapa Paiute elders have shared information about Paiute uses of native palm trees during the early 1920s [76]. Some of his quotes are reported here and they are consistent with others shared during the ethnographic study.

  • I remember Palm parts being used to make The baskets made in this way (from palms) were not the really fine sort which were made from other materials. I never learned to make baskets. I remember my grandmother making them. I have also seen my grandparents making shelters out of palm leaves from the springs. My grandfather had a place that he took a sweat bath in. It wasn’t right by the springs but near where he lived. But he would go to the headwater of the Muddy River at the Warm springs because there was something sacred in the water. He would then talk to the water and bring it back to his sweat hut. No one lived in the springs themselves… We drank water out of the ditch and there were many Palms over there. Over at the springs was a very sacred place and as children we had to act a certain way whenever we went over there.
  • I also know where the deep stone holes are where grandma used to work the Palm I was very little. The stones they used to grind the screwbeans, and the mesquite were called Maddah and were different than the deep holes they used for Palm seeds.

My Elders used to say that the whole area of the springs west of here was a designated spiritual area and very sacred. We know that the Palms have always been there. We Moapas have always known this.” Quote by Evelyn Samalar, Moapa Paiute, age: 76 years (1996).

  • …they used Palms for small I remember my grandparents using Palm leaves for shelters and small huts. I don’t remember any other uses; I was very young. My grandfather said that the Palms are always here.” Quote by Irene Benn, Moapa Paiute, age: 73 years (1996)
  • I remember seeing shelter built with Palm thatching and I remember my grandparents using Palms to build small huts and such. I also remember seeing my grandmother crush the black seeds from the Palms in a deep stone hole in the ground, but I was very young, and I don’t remember how it was used. My father used to say that the Palms were always here. My grandparents always used to say that too…that the Palms have always been here. There are deep grinding holes in the rocks near my house. About four of them…I’ll show you. (spoken to Kaye Herron) …where my grandmother used to grind the seeds of the Palms.” Quote by Maureen Frank, Moapa Paiute, age: 63 years (1996).
  • My grandparents said that the palms have always been I also saw my grandmother grind the seeds from the palms using some special holes in the rocks by my house I think they made a gravy. She used to crush them in the deep stone holes by my house. There used to be a Paiute word for the gravy they made with the seeds, but I don’t remember what it was. Irene might remember. We have always known that white men did not bring the palms with them. Among ourselves we’ve always known that the palms were here before any white man came.” Quote by Juanita Kinlichinie, Moapa Paiute, age: 64 years (1996).

During the IPP, Herbert Meyer interviewed at this oasis spring with Dr. Pamela Bunte and Richard Stoffie about this spring’s ethnobotany and its cultural importance. As we walked around its perimeter Meyers noted the medicine and food plants then present. He maintained that the edge of the spring always provided different food and medicine plants at different seasons making it a culturally central place for the Moapa people. Spiritually he maintained that the plants appear annually because Coyote planted them, thus adding another dimension to this geosite.

Geosite Twenty: Crossing of the Salt Song Trail

The Salt Song Trail, followed by a deceased spirit to the afterlife, crosses through the hair of Potato Woman about where Highway 15 passes. The Salt Song Trail emerges from the Mormon Mountain sacred sites, allowing the deceased spirit to pause for some time before continuing their journal to the afterlife. The spirit enjoys the view of the Muddy River Valley and surrounding mountains. It then continues to the Salt Cave on the Salt Song journey. The thousand- mile-long Salt Song Trail is traveled by deceased Numic People and the Hualapai People to the afterlife [78]. The deceased is sung along the trail to specific places by sequential songs [32,44,46,79].

Geosite Twenty-one: Salt Cave

The Salt Cave is the final geosite discussed here [44] (Figures 49- 51). It has been studied since the 1930s by archaeologists such as M.R. Harrington [80. 81] and ethnographers so is only briefly discussed here. Ethnographic interviews were conducted at this location during the Old Spanish Trail study [44].

Figure 49: Map of the Salt Cave Area.

Figure 50: Diagram of Traditional Salt Cave [44].

Figure 51: Entrance to Traditional Salt Cave, by Harrington [44,46,81].

According to Southern Paiute epistemology, caves are places with high amounts of Puha. People would travel into caves to seek songs, spirit helpers, knowledge, and medicines. Caves are places only used by religious specialists and shamans; non-initiated people would not enter them. Items taken from caves were used to help individuals, communities, and the surrounding environment. Songs could be used in round dance ceremonies to bring the world back into balance. Medicines such as ompi (red paint) and salt could be used in doctoring ceremonies.

During the Southern Paiute Funeral Ceremony, also known as the Cry, the spirit of the deceased visits the Salt Cave. During the Cry, Salt Songs are sung to help move the spirit to the afterlife. The songs are known as the Salt Songs because they were created by the Salt Song twins, and they describe various places along the trail. After the deceased person’s spirit crosses the Colorado River at its junction of the Virgin, the spirit visits the Salt Cave. A tribal representative said that:

The Salt Cave was and is sacred. Avi-Na-Va in Arizona is similar. The Salt Song Trail went through here. The songs pass through here to meet the other trails around. ‘Tu-winna gat’ is a sacred story told by Coyote by sacred tongue. Nobody talked of sacred things – only the shaman or wise men could have the authority. ‘Na-win-na-gat’ are like this: one is the story land which Coyote lives in and he carries the sacred story by the sacred talk. A lot of people say that this is the place where the Salt Song got its name. I feel that it works with other caves like there’s one down near Prescott that’s powerful, there’s one…Pintwater that’s powerful, Gypsum–that’s powerful, and the ones in the Spring Mountains are powerful as well. Even the ones in the Providence Mountains. I think all together yeah that they somehow, they were together, and the traditional people could see that [44].

Another tribal representative said that:

The person who was given the position to be the one to go in and get the salt for the people had his own songs. There were songs associated with the cave for coming and going. You could probably get songs from the cave if you needed them [44].

The Salt Cave is at the junction of the Virgin and Muddy Rivers. In the Paiute worldview, powerful places also exist at the convergence of hydrological systems. For people who live in the desert, water is the most important component of life. With its affinity for life, water is seen as a powerful element. Miller [28] describes all types of water as sacred and its power adheres to its reservoirs as clouds, rain, snow, springs, seeps, lakes, streams or the occasional river in the desert. The Puha that is concentrated at places where two water sources meet creates special ceremonial areas.

Religious specialists responsible for collecting salt from the cave had to prepare themselves for this activity. The preparation process would start in the specialists’ home communities and then continue along a pilgrimage trail to the Salt Cave. The home communities were major Paiute settlements located at permanent water sources. The pilgrimage trail, more aptly named Puha Path, has various stopping points where the specialists would visit shrines to say prayers and leave offerings of water, pottery, arrowheads, or rare stones. Once they arrived at the cave, they performed a ceremony that would allow them to enter the cave and harvest the salt.

Summary of Geosites: Not Just Places

The geosites analyzed here are culturally important; however, taken as components of a functionally integrated landscape they define the special role of the heritage geoscape and why it is culturally central in the lives of Native people. Early ethnographic studies focused narrowly on study areas as these were established by land managers for use by federal and state agencies. The resulting studies provided data on a small and topically focused area. As a consequence, the larger heritage geoscape interpretation awaited an integrated approach such as presented here.

Based on this and other studies [82], geosites illustrate that, among other features of the geoscape:

  1. Medicine places focused on massive stones
  2. Portals were used to transform spiritual Native leaders and acquiring spirit helpers
  3. Hight points were for vision questing
  4. There are geosites where pilgrimage trails and the journeys began and ended
  5. Hot springs were used for purification and healing
  6. Rock outcrops that constrain a flowing river concentrate Puha or energy
  7. Canyons were carved by White River runoff from Pleistocene glaciers, snow and heavy
  8. Native communities expanded in size in the past 2,000 years due to irrigated
  9. Concentrations of spiritual energy and heritage ceremonies, such as Round Dances, occur at
  10. A geoscape has mutual heritage functions whose interactions constitute an ancient and persistent cultural landscape with critical geology and topographical

The geosites were selected for this analysis because they illustrate a range of geological and cultural places along the White River geoscape. These geosites were identified and interpreted by Native Americans in ethnographic studies and through ongoing archaeological studies funded by land management agencies. This analysis and these findings potentially contribute to the White River Geoscape being recognized as a heritage geological and cultural landscape [22].

Discussion

The White River flows through the Pahranagat Valley; thus, it is central to an extensive hydrological system that feeds into the Virgin River and subsequently into the Colorado River to the southeast. The area is topographically a part of the Colorado Plateau, but it is adjacent to the Great Basin. The hydrological system has permanent and abundant water because it is fed by snow and rain that falls on much higher surrounding mountains, especially near its headwaters to the north. While the mountains are covered with dense forests, the river valley itself is arid. Together, these produce a fertile riverine oasis, which has supported Native American life since Time Immemorial. Importantly, this geoscape contains one of the largest concentrations of rock writing geosites and s/b petroglyph motifs in Numic territory, potentially only second to the Coso Range, eastern California, which has the largest concentration of rock writing in the Americas, if not one of the largest in the world. An early Native American environmental perspective was recorded in 1864 when William Nye and his mine explorers lived for a winter in the mountains along the river valley. In his essay entitled “A Winter Among the Paiutes,” Nye [83] noted that Pah-ranagat is purely a Native American name, and one which in the Southern Paiute language signifies “shining water”—the Valley of the Shining Water—a name which, at least, reflects no little poetic faculty of the Indian dwellers in this valley of the mountains. After all, it is a pleasant thought that, in the past, this little strip of fertile land with its grass-bordered streams has been a Native American paradise. Nye’s mining camp was located on a mountainside within view of Lower Pahranagat Lake. Below the camp was an Indigenous village whose inhabitants grew corn and melons. The Fowler and Sharrock [84] and Madsen studies of this valley, based on field archaeology and documents, indicated that from the protohistoric period until at least 1865, the “Southern Paiutes were farming with the use of irrigation ditches in the valley.” This village probably was the location of a High Chief [85]. Although Nye [83] noted the common belief of his fellow Americans that Native Americans and the White Man are natural born enemies and that we are here only to fight and kill each other, it was Nye’s experience that:

Ours was an honest struggle to live in peace with our Indian neighbors; and we found them, in many respects, not very unlike what any community of two hundred white men would have been under the same circumstances…Their chief (Pah-Wichit) saw fit, at the outset, to remind us that the region was his domain. He said: “Me one great captain,” and with impressive gesture, he pointed down the valley [83]. Despite the early efforts of Nye to forge a peaceful coexistence with the Indian villages of the valley, the State of Nevada was to establish the first county seat just upstream at a community called Hiko. Before that could happen, however, there had to be growth in the local population, so new settlers were encouraged to mine and farm. As a matter of Nevada Territorial policy and of image, the Indians had to be controlled. In the late 1860s, the members of two of the three Indian villages were surrounded by local settlers, and most of the Native American people were either killed or removed [39]. In 1873, Powell and Ingalls recorded a Native population [69] in their official U.S. government survey. At that time, there were Pahran-i-gats residents in the valley headed by a chief called An-ti-av.

The cultural significance of places such as Black Butte in Pahranagat Valley to Native people is well understood from Powell and Ingalls[85] who interviewed the Native American farmers in the valley [69]. During that ethnographic visit, they recorded a poem that they had composed regarding Native feelings about the beauty of the area. It was a Paiute song about this valley, which they called:

The Beautiful Valley [MS 831-c][56].

Pa-ran’-i-gi yu-av’-i The Paranagat Valley Yu-av’-in-in The Valley

Pa-ran’-i’gi yu-avai-I The Paranagat Valley Yu-av’-in-in The Valley

U-ai’-in-in yu-av’-I Is a Beautiful Valley Yu-av’-in-in The Valley

While this song and poem reflect the traditional views of the Native people about this valley, Powell and Ingalls recorded but a small portion of this tradition song. Many songs lasted for hours. This song was composed for and traditionally sung to the valley. According to the Powell and Ingalls report, the Pahran-i-gats were formerly three separate tribes (probably local irrigated farming communities), but their lands had been taken from them by white men and so they have united in one tribe under An-ti-av. Two years later, in 1875, all local Paiute Indians, including the Pahran-i-gats, were relocated from their valley to the new Moapa Indian Reservation on the Muddy River which is the continuation of the White River that flows into the Virgin River and is the contemporary home of the White River people [39]. The Moapa Paiutes, and all Southern Paiutes and Western Shoshone are the relatives of the ancestorial people of the White River Geoscape. These Native people have a Creation-based stewardship responsibility to protect and honor the places, plants, animals, rock markings, and the history of their ancestors. In a Living Universe, relationships involve all Earth elements and mutual responsibilities are shared.

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Diamond, Diamond Whisker, Graphite, Carbon,and Coesite in a Quartz Crystal from Zinnwald, E-Erzgebirge

DOI: 10.31038/GEMS.2025733

Abstract

In this contribution, exceptional processes during growth, dissolution, and new growth of quard are at the center of observations. An absolute novum is the finding of diamond whiskers in smoky quard representing crustal conditions. The diamond whiskers crystalized during the heal-up of the primary α-quard by β-quard via supercritical fluid. Besides the moissanite whiskers in beryl from Ehrenfriedersdorf, diamond whiskers in Zinnwald/Saxony are a further example of the untypical mineral formation in Earth’s crust, usually formed deep in the Earth’s mantle.

Keywords

Raman spectroscopy, Supercritical fluid α- and β-quartz, Coesite, Diamond, Diamond whisker, Cavitation

Introduction

According to Cheng et al. [1], a significant challenge is the quantifying deep carbon cycling, including carbon flux from subduction-zone fluids to mantle wedges, subsequently to volcanic arcs, and ultimately back to Earth’s surface. Their studies used the type V HDAC chamber at temperatures of 800 to 900°C, 1.2 to 1.8 GPa, and pure CH4 gas and using the Ni-NiO (NNO) and the fayalite-magnetite- quartz (FMQ) buffer. To sum up, their studies showed that carbon- silicon species like SiC are unlikely to be found in subduction-related fluids. That is a contradiction to a large number of observations on supercritical fluid coming directly from the mantle deep to the Earth’s crust [2-5]. The origin of this contradiction is explained in the static of the HDAC experiments. Supercritical fluids or melts exhibit high dynamic behavior during their speedy ascent. Experiments under such conditions are challenging to perform. An alternative is to make careful observations of natural samples. In a recent paper, Thomas and Rericha [6] have shown that the formation of diamond-like carbon is not only related to high pressure and high temperature in nature. In the present example, the author shows an astonishing occurrence of diamond-like carbon and diamond whiskers in a re-crystallized smoky quartz crystal formed in crustal-related mineralization from Zinnwald/Saxony.

Sample Material and Methodology

Sample Material

The sample is a pegmatitic smoky quartz (about 6 cm long) from a vein pegmatite (so-called Flöze (seam)) from the Variscan tin deposit Zinnwald/E-Erzgebirge [7,8]. For the study, we used a thick section (500 µm thick) from this smoky quartz crystal cut perpendicular to the c-axis (Figure 1). This quartz crystal shows an old core (Qtz-o) with a typical Raman spectrum of α-quartz. An uncommon Raman spectrum with extreme Raman lines at the low-frequency range from 10 to 300 cm-1 characterizes all parts of the crystal containing graphite globules. This quartz shows a grainy structure. The number of graphite globules (>5 µm) is about 1.2 x 104/cm3. However, there are significant differences in the diameter of such globules, which can obtain values up to 100 µm. Therefore, the given number per cm3 is uncertain. Especially because also are present many submicroscopic fin-disperse carbon particles distributed through the whole volume, however, not in the α-quartz remnants.

Figure 1: Thick section of the used quartz sample (ZQ-2) from Zinnwald, E-Erzgebirge. Qtz-o is the older core of the a-quartz crystal.

All parts of the quartz contain secondary fluid inclusions with CO2 as the main species in the vapor phase. Methan (CH4), also in traces, could not be proved.

Maybe the grey “striations” in the quartz volume are regions of increased carbon concentrations or are domains of β-quartz.

Figure 2 shows details of the sample around a spherical graphite grain (about 50 µm in diameter). Characteristically, are the tension cracks around the graphite. The quartz field around such tension cracks shows many small globular quartz grains surrounded by a thin carbon film (Figure 2, left lower quadrant) characterized by the typical D1, D3, G, and D2 Raman bands in the first-order region of carbonaceous material [9].

Figure 2: Diamond and graphite in quartz from Zinnwald. D – diamond, Gr – graphite, Qtz – quartz.

Microscopy and Raman Spectroscopy

We performed all microscopic and Raman spectroscopic studies with a petrographic polarization microscope (BX 43) with a rotating stage coupled with the EnSpectr Raman spectrometer R532 (Enhanced Spectrometry, Inc., Mountain View, CA, USA) in reflection and transmission. The Raman spectra were recorded in the spectral range of 0–4000 cm−1 using an up-to-50 mW single-mode 532 nm laser, an entrance aperture of 20 µm, a holographic grating of 1800 g/mm, and spectral resolution ranging of 4 cm−1. Generally, we used an objective lens with a magnification of 100x: the Olympus long- distance LMPLFLN100x objective (Olympus, Tokyo, Japan). We used a water-clear natural diamond crystal as a diamond reference [10]. For the fast mineral identification with the Raman-micro-spectroscopy, we used the RRUFF database and the CrystalSleuth program [11]. Further details are in Thomas and Rericha.

Reference Material

Coesite

As a reference, we used the synthetic-grown coesite crystal MKM- 00-15 (Figure 3) [12,13].

Figure 3: Raman spectrum of coesite (crystal MKM-00-15) – 532 nm laser and 5 mW power on the sample.

Diamond

We used a water-clear natural gem-type diamond with a diameter of 4 mm (Mining Academy Freiberg: 2453/37 from Brasil). 20 measurements taken between the here presented data results in a mean for this diamond of 1332.2 ± 0.4 cm-1.

Single-Walled Carbon Nanotubes (SWCNTs)

From: ProGraphite GmbH, Untergriesbach, Germany.

Results

The quartz (Qtz-o) in Figure 1 shows the typical Raman spectra of α-quartz (see Chukanov and Vigasina, 2020 [13]). Typical Raman bands are 1231w, 1160w, 1083w, 808w, 697w, 463s, 401w, 354, 263w, 205, 128 cm-1 (w – weak, s – strong). The background is generally linear over the whole Raman range (see Figure 4).

Figure 4: Typical Raman spectrum of a-quartz (Qtz-o in Figure 1) in the low-frequency range.

In comparison, the quartz near carbon globules shows a noticeable Raman spectrum (Figure 5) with extreme bands in the very low-frequency range (0 – 300 cm-1). The origin is unclear because carbonaceous material has no typical Raman band in this region [14] and is on the measuring point not seen. According to Chukanov and Vigasin, for quartz in this region, there are only weak bands at 128 and 205 cm-1 typically. Therefore, we have looked for the origin of these “unusual” Raman bands in the low-frequency region.

Figure 5: Raman spectrum of quartz around a graphite inclusion (Figure 2, Qtz+Gr) characterized by strong Raman bands in the very low range from 0 to 300 cm-1.

Conspicuous are the intense tension cracks around the elliptic- spherical carbon bodies. According to Raman spectroscopy, all such spherical carbon bodies contain diamond grains (nanodiamonds?) characterized by a double peak in the first-order range:

Diamond: 1321.2 ± 5.2 cm-1, Graphite: 1573.7 ± 7.9 cm-1; n = 13 different crystals.

A typical Raman spectrum (first order) of diamond in a carbon globule is shown in Figure 6. The Raman values for diamond and carbon speak for 12C-rich phases [15].

Figure 6: Raman spectrum of diamond in spherical carbon globule (see Figure 2).

The occurrence of diamond-bearing carbon globules in the Zinnwald quartz is clear proof of their origin deep in the Earth’s mantle and their transport into the crustal range via supercritical fluids. Because the studied quartz crystal contains older remnants of α-quartz (Qtz-o in Figure 1), the trapping of such diamonds is connected to the heal-up of a younger date.

In the younger quartz part, there is further proof of an HT-HP history. Rare and difficult to find are complex boron silicon-carbide- nitride globules like Figure 7 [16,17]. Similar globules were found in the cassiterite from Ehrenfriedersdorf (Sn-58, Magdalena vein, second level central gangway) – see Thomas [18].

Figure 7: Complex boron carbide-nitride globule in quartz from Zinnwald. Qtz – quartz.

A further important hint to the influence of supercritical fluids in the crust region is the proof of rare coesite in the quartz crystal (Figure 1) outside the older α-quartz (Qtz-o) together with graphite- like carbon (Figures 8 and 9) [19,20].

Figure 8: Prismatic coesite (Coe) crystal in quartz from Zinnwald beside graphite (Gr) needles.

Figure 9: Raman spectrum of coesite in quartz from Zinnwald. Note the shifts of the coesite bands are the result of residual pressure within the coesite inclusion in quartz.

The shift of the very strong coesite main band from 521 to 526.9 cm-1 corresponds, according to Hemley [21], to an internal pressure of about 2 GPa, and the shift of the 116 to 126.9 cm-1 band to a pressure of about 1.5 GPa. The Raman band at 464.2 is the α-quartz main band hosting the coesite. In contrast to the Raman spectrum of the free-standing synthetic coesite crystal (Figure 3) is the coesite from Zinnwald characterized by a fast-increasing background from 400 to 70 cm-1 where the 77.8 cm-1 band has about the same intensity as the strongest quartz band at 464 cm-1.

The occurrence of coesite in the healed-up quartz crystal is an exceptional surprise, topped by the finding of diamond whiskers in the same sample (Figures 10 and 11). A clearer diamond whisker is shown in Figure 11 with two heal-up points of fracture.

Figure 10: Diamond whisker (D-Whisker) in a quartz crystal from Zinnwald/Saxony. The whisker is about 200 µm long. The left image is an enlarged part of the whisker. After measurement, the primary, more or less clear part of the whisker turns black.

Figure 11: Diamond whisker (DW) in quartz (Qtz) from Zinnwald/Saxony. The about 80 µm long whisker is almost water-clear (in contrast to the whisker in Figure 10).

In Table 2 are the results of the Raman measurements on the diamond in graphite needles and of the diamond whiskers in smoky quartz from Zinnwald summarized. For comparison, the Raman data for the reference diamond is also given.

Table 1: Raman data of two different coesite types in the Zinnwald quartz (main band).

Type

Raman band (cm-1) FWHM

n

On the quartz surface

520.8 ± 1.8

14.3 ± 0.8

6

In the quartz volume

526.0 ± 1.2

14.1 ± 2.6

10

FWHM – Full -Width at Half Maximum.

Table 2: First-order Raman bands of diamonds in quartz from Zinnwald.

Type

Raman band (cm-1) FWHM

n

Diamond in graphite needles

1321.6 ± 7.0

14.3 ± 0.8

14

G-band

1575.6 ± 6.5

51.7 ± 13.2

14

Diamond whiskers

1321.6 ± 3.8

51.6 ± 6.7

12

G-band

1552.9 ± 7.1

47.9 ± 4.3

12

Diamond reference

1332.2 ± 0.4

4.3 ± 0.4

20

FWHM – Full -Width at Half Maximum.

Figure 12 shows a typical Raman spectrum of a diamond whisker in quartz from Zinnwald in the first-order region (see Thomas, 2025).

Figure 12: Raman spectrum from a diamond whisker in the Zinnwald quartz. The 13C content of the diamond and graphite are relatively high: 18.3 and 41%, respectively.

Besides the rare diamond whiskers, there are also many single graphite-like needles present. One part of them contains micro- or nanodiamonds. At the outer growth zone of newly formed quartz, there are a lot of carbon/graphite bunches, like Figure 13. Often, the graphite needles are bent. Some needles and globules show the forbidden 867 cm-1 out-of-plan Raman mode [22]: 868.8 ± 4.6 cm-1 n = 16 (different graphite needles and globules).

Figure 13: Graphite (Gr) bundle in the last growth zone of the quartz (Qtz) crystal from Zinnwald/Saxony.

However, in some carbon globules, this so-called forbidden mode is particularly intense. Simultaneous to the substantial forbidden Raman mode increase dramatically, the Raman intensity in the low range of about 60 to 350 cm-1 with the extreme Raman line around 124 cm-1. Such modes correspond to radial vibrations of carbon atoms. According to Zakalyukin et al. [23], such a unique phonon mode appears only in carbon nanotubes [24]. The single-walled carbon nanotubes SWCNTs (see references materials) give two very strong Raman bands at 106.1 and 1572.2 ± 4.6 cm-1, as well as a strong band at 867.0 cm-1. The origin and interpretation of these bands should be the task for further studies.

Interpretation

The interpretation of the results of the smoky quartz sample from Zinnwald is difficult. To date, the formation of diamonds, especially of diamond whiskers, was unthinkable. The finding of moissanite whiskers in the Ehrenfriedersdorf beryl (Thomas, 2023) was already a surprise. And now, diamond whiskers are present in pegmatite quartz from the upper crust!

The first answer gives us evidence of coesite in quartz. However, the answer remains ambiguous because coesite can also intrude along with the supercritical fluid. Such fluids have brought, besides energy and water, silicates, diamond/graphite, and coesite. Diamonds are in the upper crust at high temperatures, are not stable, and are transformed mainly into carbon material containing diamond rests. This transformation is linked to a significant volume increase of about 35.8%. Whereby the formation of tension cracks results. The new-formed quartz shows opposite to the remnants of older α-quartz (Figure 4) high-quartz or β-quartz characteristics (Figure 5). The position of the quartz main Raman line at 460.7 cm-1 is, according to Chen [25], an essential hint of β-quartz. After the same authors, the intensity-strong bands between 0 and 300 cm-1 speak for themselves for doped α-quartz. In the case of Chen et al. (2019), they used Pb4+. In our case, Pb4+ is improbable. Sn2+ would be a candidate. However, there are no indications for them in the used sample (in difference to the quartz studied by Thomas, 2025b [24]).

Discussion

Figure 2 shows that a large part of the primary α-quartz was solved away by supercritical fluids, which changed into an under-critical fluid in the place of the present α-quartz. Through such a process, new crystallization occurs, which crystallizes now β-quartz, in which the supercritical fluid load (coesite, graphite, diamond, solely as spherical crystals) is trapped simultaneously. The changeover from supercritical to under-critical state and back happens several times (decrease and increase of the water content).

Fluctuations of this type give rise to the formation of cavitation waves with enormous pressure and temperature impacts generated by the formation and collapse of micro-bubbles (see also Thomas 1982, remark 1 on page 60). When the bubbles collapse near a solid surface, the resulting shock waves and microjets generate enormous forces, which may be responsible for the diamond and especially for the diamond whisker formation.

One point here is essential: carbon in any form was never an object of research in the German Variscan mineralizations – the why is not clear.

One crucial point crystallized from the studies in the last years. That is, supercritical fluids initiate the formation of pegmatites/ melts, changing from a supercritical to an undercritical and back to the initial state. At that changeover, cavitation processes can act in, for example, pegmatite bodies (large pegmatite pockets like that in Volyn), and with its related cavitation, large quartz crystals pull from its basis [26].

Acknowledgments

This paper is dedicated to my wife, Margit Beckmann, for her immeasurably patience and support in our daily lives.

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Gender Differences in Sleep Quality and Attitudes among Older Adults in Portugal: The Role of Age and Self- Perceived Functional Health

DOI: 10.31038/AWHC.2025824

Abstract

Objective: To investigate gender differences in sleep quality and dysfunctional sleep-related attitudes in adults aged 55 years and older, and to examine how age and self-perceived functional health relate to these differences.

Methods: A cross-sectional survey study was conducted with community-dwelling older adults (n=125, age ≥ 55) in Portugal. Participants completed the Pittsburgh Sleep Quality Index (PSQI) for sleep quality, the Dysfunctional Beliefs and Attitudes about Sleep-16 (DBAS-16) for sleep-related attitudes, and a self-report measure of functional health status. Descriptive statistics and group comparisons (men vs women) were used to characterize sleep outcomes and attitudes by gender. Associations between age, self-rated health, sleep quality, and sleep attitudes were analyzed with correlation and stratified comparisons.

Results: Women reported significantly poorer sleep quality than men (mean PSQI: 7.2 vs 5.8, p=0.01) and endorsed slightly more dysfunctional beliefs about sleep (mean DBAS score: 4.0 vs 3.5, p=0.05). Over 60% of women had clinically poor sleep (PSQI > 5) compared to about 45% of men. Older age was associated with worse sleep quality (r ≈ 0.25) and higher dysfunctional belief scores (r ≈ 0.20). Participants with poorer self-perceived functional health had markedly worse sleep outcomes: those rating their health as fair/poor showed higher PSQI scores and more frequent insomnia symptoms than those with good/excellent health (p < 0.01). Notably, negative sleep attitudes (DBAS) were positively correlated with poor sleep quality (PSQI) (r ≈ 0.40, p < 0.001), and this relationship was more pronounced in the older subset of the sample (ages ≥ 65).

Conclusion: Among adults aged 55 and above, women exhibit poorer sleep quality and more negative sleep-related attitudes than men. Advancing age and lower self-rated functional health are associated with exacerbated sleep disturbances and may intensify the link between dysfunctional sleep beliefs and sleep quality. These findings underscore the importance of addressing gender-specific needs and cognitive factors (beliefs about sleep) in interventions to improve sleep health in older populations.

Keywords

Sleep quality, Sleep attitudes, Gender differences, Older adults, Functional health, Aging, Insomnia

Introduction

Sleep disturbances are prevalent among older adults, arising not only from natural age- related physiological changes but also from psychosocial and mental health factors. Notably, women in late adulthood tend to report higher rates of insomnia and poorer sleep quality than their male counterparts, this gender disparity in sleep problems has been documented in epidemiological studies, with older women about 1.4 times more likely to experience insomnia than men. Several factors may contribute to this difference, including hormonal changes (eg. post-menopausal effects), comorbid conditions, and differing psychosocial stressors between genders [1,2].

In addition to biological and social factors, cognitive-behavioral factors—particularly one’s beliefs and attitudes about sleep—play a significant role in sleep quality in later life. Many individuals, including older adults, hold “sleep myths” or maladaptive beliefs about sleep [3]. For example, some believe that missing a few hours of sleep will inevitably ruin their functioning, or that one has no control over sleep problems in old age. Such dysfunctional beliefs and attitudes about sleep can negatively impact sleep behaviors and anxiety around sleep. Previous research shows that misperceptions about sleep can exacerbate insomnia and even impair daytime functioning [1]. In older adults, persistent negative attitudes toward sleep or aging (for instance, believing that poor sleep is an irreversible part of aging) may further worsen sleep quality and reduce the likelihood of seeking effective help [4].

Self-perceived health and functional status are also important correlates of sleep in older populations. Poor sleep quality is associated with worse self-rated health and reduced daily functioning in older adults. In fact, longitudinal and cross-sectional studies have found that older individuals with chronic sleep disturbances are more likely to report poorer overall health and have higher risks of physical disability. Conversely, those who maintain good functional health into older age often report better sleep quality [5].

These interrelationships suggest that an older person’s health status and sleep influence each other in both directions: chronic health issues can disrupt sleep, and persistent poor sleep can deteriorate one’s physical and mental well-being. Understanding these links is particularly important given that improving sleep might yield benefits for other health domains in aging.

Despite the known prevalence of sleep issues and the recognized influence of cognitive and health factors, the intersection of gender, sleep-related attitudes, and functional health in older adults remains underexplored. Prior studies have seldom simultaneously examined how men and women may differ in their sleep quality and sleep beliefs in later life, or how these differences might be modulated by age-related factors. The present study aims to fill this gap by focusing on gender differences in sleep quality and attitudes among older adults (55+), while also considering the role of age and self-perceived functional health. We hypothesized that older women would have poorer sleep outcomes and potentially more dysfunctional sleep beliefs compared to older men. We further expected that advancing age and lower functional health would be associated with worse sleep and might amplify the impact of negative sleep attitudes on sleep quality. By clarifying these relationships, this work seeks to inform targeted interventions (such as sleep education or cognitive- behavioral strategies) that account for gender and individual health status in promoting better sleep among seniors.

Methods

Study Design and Participants

This study was a cross-sectional survey of community- dwelling older adults in Portugal. Participants were eligible if they were Portuguese residents aged 55 years or older and able to complete an online questionnaire in Portuguese. A total of 125 participants (71 men and 54 women) were recruited through convenience sampling using online advertisements and social media between March and May 2024. Inclusion criteria required that individuals be ≥55 years and not diagnosed with any severe cognitive impairment (self-reported) that would preclude informed consent or questionnaire completion. The mean age of the sample was 58.1 years (SD=6.2, range 55–80), with no significant age difference between men and women (see Table 1).

Table 1: Participant characteristics and sleep outcomes by gender (N=125).

Measure

Men (n=71) Women (n=54)

p-value (M vs W)

Age, years (Mean ± SD)

57.6 ± 6.1

58.5 ± 6.3

0.40 (ns)

Measure

Men (n=71)

Women (n=54)

p-value (M vs W)

Sleep Quality (PSQI)      
– Global PSQI score (0–21)

5.8 ± 2.5

7.2 ± 3.0

0.01 **

– Poor sleepers (PSQI > 5), %

33 (46.5%)

35 (64.8%)

0.03 **

Sleep Attitudes (DBAS-16)      
– DBAS average score (1–10)

3.5 ± 1.0

4.0 ± 1.2

0.05 *

Self-Rated Functional Health      
– “Good/Very good” health, %

50 (70.4%)

32 (59.3%)

0.20 (ns)

Values are Mean ± Standard Deviation or n (%). PSQI: Pittsburgh Sleep Quality Index (global score > 5 indicates poor sleep quality). DBAS-16: Dysfunctional Beliefs and Attitudes about Sleep scale (higher scores indicate more dysfunctional beliefs). ns: not significant; *p < 0.05, **p < 0.01.

Measures

Sociodemographic data (age, gender, etc.) and self-rated health status were collected via a structured questionnaire. Sleep quality was assessed using the Pittsburgh Sleep Quality Index (PSQI) [6], a widely used 19-item instrument that yields a global score of sleep quality (range 0–21, higher scores indicating worse sleep quality). As per standard scoring, a global PSQI score > 5 was used to identify “poor sleepers” with clinically significant sleep disturbance. Internal consistency of the PSQI in this sample was good (Cronbach’s α=0.74). Dysfunctional beliefs and attitudes about sleep were measured with the 16-item Dysfunctional Beliefs and Attitudes about Sleep scale (DBAS-16) [7]. The DBAS-16 evaluates the degree to which respondents endorse unhelpful or erroneous beliefs regarding sleep (e.g., “After a poor night’s sleep, I know itwill impair my daytime performance”), on a Likert scale type (0=strongly disagree to 10=strongly agree), with higher scores reflecting stronger dysfunctional beliefs about sleep. Higher average scores reflect more dysfunctional sleep-related cognitions. In our sample, the DBAS-16 demonstrated acceptable reliability (Cronbach’s α=0.90). Perceived functional health was measured using the Work Health Questionnaire (WHQ) [8]– a self- report instrument that gauges one’s health status and its impact on daily work or activities. Given that many participants were retired or not formally employed, we adapted the WHQ items to refer to ability to perform routine daily activities and instrumental tasks. We also asked participants to rate their overall health on a five-point scale (excellent, very good, good, fair, poor); for analysis, this was dichotomized into “good/very good/ excellent” vs. “fair/poor” to indicate high vs. low self-perceived health.

Procedure

Participants provided informed consent online before proceeding to the survey. The survey was administered via a secure web-based platform and took approximately 15–20 minutes to complete. To encourage honest responses, participants were assured of anonymity and that data would be reported only in aggregate. The study protocol was reviewed and approved by the University of Évora’s Ethics Committee (approval 2024/20). All procedures were conducted in accordance with the Declaration of Helsinki. At the end of the survey, participants were debriefed with a brief educational message about good sleep practices and provided with contact information for follow-up questions or resources on insomnia, in line with ethical commitments to beneficence.

Statistical Analysis

Data analysis was performed using SPSS version 27. Descriptive statistics were computed for all key variables. Continuous outcomes (PSQI score, DBAS score, age) were approximately normally distributed; values are presented as mean ± standard deviation (SD). Categorical outcomes (e.g., percentage of poor sleepers) were summarized as proportions. Group differences by gender were evaluated using independent t-tests for continuous variables and chi- square tests for categorical variables. Bivariate Pearson correlations were used to examine associations between age, PSQI, DBAS, and health ratings. In light of the study’s focus on descriptive findings, we avoided complex multivariable modeling; however, we conducted stratified analyses by age group (e.g., comparing those 55–64 vs ≥65) to explore age-related trends. A two- tailed alpha of 0.05 was considered statistically significant.

Results

Participant Characteristics

A total of 125 older adults (mean age=58.1 ± 6.2 years) completed the study, of whom 57% were men (n=71) and 43% women (n=54). Table 1 presents the key characteristics and outcome measures by gender. Men and women in the sample were similar in age and had comparable socioeconomic backgrounds (the majority in both groups were married or cohabiting, and approximately 68% had at least secondary-level education). Self-rated functional health was relatively high on average, though women were somewhat more likely to report fair or poor health status than men (women: 40.7% fair/poor vs men: 29.6%, a difference that was not statistically significant, p=0.21).

As shown in Table 1, women had markedly poorer sleep outcomes on several metrics. The average PSQI global score for women was 7.2 (SD 3.0) compared to 5.8 (SD 2.5) for men, a significant difference (p=0.01). In practical terms, 65% of women scored above 5 on the PSQI (indicating poor sleep quality or possible insomnia), whereas about 46% of men did so – an absolute difference of nearly 20 percentage points in poor sleep prevalence between genders. Women were especially prone to reports of difficulty staying asleep and higher daytime dysfunction scores (components of the PSQI; data not shown), whereas men reported slightly shorter total sleep durations on average (men 6.3 hours vs women 6.5 hours, not a significant difference).

Beyond sleep quality, women also tended to endorse more dysfunctional attitudes about sleep. The mean DBAS-16 score (item average) was higher in women (4.0 ± 1.2) than in men (3.5 ± 1.0, p=0.05). Although this difference was of marginal statistical significance, it suggests a trend whereby older female participants were more likely to agree with unhelpful beliefs (for example, believing they have less control over their sleep or catastrophizing the consequences of poor sleep). To illustrate, 30% of women strongly agreed with the statement “When I sleep poorly one night, I know it will disturb my functioning the next day,” compared to about 18% of men. Such findings hint that older women in our sample might have greater anxiety or concern regarding their sleep, which could in turn perpetuate sleep difficulties.

Associations with Age and Health

Correlation analyses revealed that age and self-perceived health were significantly related to sleep outcomes across the whole sample. In this cohort spanning late midlife to early old age (55–80 years), older age correlated with worse sleep quality (r=+0.24, p <0.01 for age vs PSQI score). Participants in their late 60s and 70s tended to have higher PSQI scores (indicating more sleep problems) than those in their late 50s. For example, those aged ≥65 had a mean PSQI of 7.1, compared to 6.0 in those aged 55–64, a significant difference (p=0.04). Age was also positively (though more modestly) correlated with dysfunctional belief scores (r=+0.18, p=0.049), suggesting that the oldest participants were slightly more likely to hold negative sleep-related attitudes. Notably, the relationships between sleep attitudes and sleep quality appeared to strengthen with advancing age: among participants aged 65 and above, the correlation between DBAS-16 and PSQI was r ≈ 0.50 (p < 0.001), whereas among those aged 55–64 it was r ≈ 0.30. This pattern implies that in the older-old group, those who harbored more dysfunctional beliefs about sleep almost invariably had poor sleep quality, highlighting a potentially compounding effect of age and maladaptive cognitions on sleep.

Self-rated functional health showed a strong association with sleep measures. Participants who described their health as “fair” or “poor” had substantially worse sleep than those who described their health as “good” or better. Specifically, the fair/poor health group (about one-third of the sample) had a mean PSQI of 8.0 vs. 5.5 in the good/ very good health group (p < 0.001). They were also twice as likely to qualify as “poor sleepers” (78% vs 38% with PSQI >5). In addition, those with poorer self-perceived health scored higher on the DBAS- 16 (mean 4.3 vs 3.4, p < 0.01), indicating that health-compromised individuals tended to also endorse more pessimistic views about their sleep. It is noteworthy that the gender gap in sleep quality persisted even after accounting for health perceptions: among participants who rated their health good/excellent, women still had higher PSQI scores than men (6.5 vs 5.0, p=0.03). This suggests that gender differences in sleep quality are not solely explained by differences in health status.

Finally, we observed a robust association between dysfunctional sleep beliefs and actual sleep quality. Across the sample, the DBAS- 16 score was positively correlated with PSQI global score (r=+0.42, p < 0.001). In other words, individuals who more strongly endorsed dysfunctional attitudes (for instance, “I can’t cope after a bad night’s sleep” or “As I am older, insomnia is expected and I can do little about it”) tended to report objectively worse sleep (more insomnia symptoms, shorter sleep duration, etc.). This finding supports the notion that cognitive factors are closely tied to sleep outcomes: negative beliefs may both reflect and contribute to one’s sleep difficulties.

Discussion

This study examined gender disparities in sleep quality and sleep-related attitudes among Portuguese older adults, and how age and self-perceived functional health relate to these factors. Our results confirm that older women experience poorer sleep than older men, consistent with a large body of evidence on gender and sleep in aging populations Women in our sample had higher PSQI scores and a greater proportion meeting criterion for poor sleep quality or insomnia. This aligns with epidemiological findings that insomnia is more prevalent in women, especially in mid- and late-life, due to biological factors (menopausal changes, higher risk of conditions like depression or anxiety that interfere with sleep) and possibly social factors (caregiving responsibilities, etc.) [2]. Arecent meta-analysis by Zhu et al. [9] similarly found that females have significantly higher insomnia severity and poorer overall sleep quality compared to males in adult populations. Our study extends these observations specifically into the 55+ age range within a European context, underscoring that the gender gap in sleep health persists into older age.

Beyond documenting the difference, we also explored why older women might have worse sleep. One notable finding was that women endorsed more dysfunctional beliefs and attitudes about sleep than men. Although the gender difference in DBAS-16 scores was modest, it suggests that cognitive factors may play a role in the observed sleep disparity as previous research suggested [10]. Women’s higher agreement with statements reflecting sleep-related worry or helplessness could contribute to a self- perpetuating cycle of insomnia: fear and anxiety about sleep lead to hyperarousal and worse sleep, which in turn reinforces those negative beliefs. This mechanism is well- described in cognitive-behavioral models of insomnia, where unhelpful beliefs (e.g., “If I don’t get 8 hours of sleep, I won’t be able to function at all”) fuel maladaptive behaviors and physiological arousal that impair sleep [11]. Our data lend support to this model in an older population. The correlation between DBAS scores and sleep quality was strong, indicating that those with the poorest sleep tended to be the ones with the most negative attitudes. This finding is in line with prior studies [11] that have highlighted the impact of sleep cognitions on insomnia outcomes. For instance, Semler and Harvey demonstrated that misperceiving or exaggerating the consequences of poor sleep can adversely affect daytime performance in insomnia patients. Likewise, a study by Sella et al. on Italian older adults reported that sleep- related beliefs significantly affected quality of life and were linked to subjective sleep quality [12]. Together with these reports, our results underscore the importance of assessing and addressing dysfunctional beliefs in older individuals who struggle with sleep. Particularly for older women—who in our study showed slightly higher levels of such beliefs—interventions like Cognitive Behavioral Therapy for Insomnia (CBT-I) that target and modify maladaptive sleep thoughts could be especially beneficial.

Another key contribution of this study is highlighting the role of age and self-perceived functional health in relation to sleep. Within our sample of adults all over 55, those of more advanced age (e.g., in their 70s) had poorer sleep quality on average than those in their late 50s or early 60s. This finding is expected given the normal age- related changes in sleep architecture (reduced slow-wave sleep, more fragmented sleep) and the higher burden of health problems in the older-old. What is novel is our observation that the interplay between negative sleep attitudes and sleep quality appeared to intensify with age. In other words, the oldest participants who had strong dysfunctional beliefs were the ones with particularly poor sleep, even more so than younger participants with similar belief scores. A plausible interpretation is that as people age, those who hold onto pessimistic views about their sleep (“There’s nothing I can do, it’s just old age”) may not only experience worse sleep but also might be less proactive in managing it, leading to a compounding effect. This suggests that interventions to change sleep attitudes could be critically important for the oldest-old adults to prevent a decline into chronic insomnia. It also resonates with recent findings by Sabatini et al. [13], who reported that subjective sleep difficulties in older adults were associated with more negative self-perceptions of aging. Those who felt “older” or had a more negative outlook on their own aging process tended to have worse sleep, indicating a link between how aging is perceived and actual sleep outcomes. Our results echo this connection: a mindset that poor sleep is an inevitable part of aging can become a self-fulfilling prophecy. Tackling such age-related sleep fatalism should be an element of public health messaging and individual counseling for older adults.

Self-perceived health emerged as a strong correlate of sleep in our study, which is consistent with other studies that tie sleep quality to health status in older populations [14]. Participants who reported worse functional health had significantly higher PSQI scores and were more likely to experience insomnia symptoms. This association remained even when controlling for age and gender in exploratory analyses (data not shown), suggesting it is robust. The direction of causality is likely bidirectional: chronic health conditions and pain can disturb sleep, and conversely chronic poor sleep can worsen health outcomes (through pathways such as inflammation, blood pressure, mood, etc.). Our findings are in line with a recent community- based study in Taiwan which found that poor sleep quality was an independent risk factor for poor self-rated health in middle-aged and older adults [14]. Moreover, some evidence indicates this linkage might be particularly pronounced in women. For instance, a cross-sectional analysis noted that sleep quality was the strongest predictor of overall health status, especially of mental health, in women as compared to men [15]. While our study did not directly test interactions between gender and health in predicting sleep (due to sample size limitations). Improving sleep may yield substantial health benefits [16], particularly for older women, who often face the combined challenges of poorer sleep quality and a heightened risk for chronic conditions such as musculoskeletal pain and depression.

Strengths and Limitations

This study benefits from a focus on a relatively understudied nexus – gender differences in sleep in the context of both psychological and health-related factors in older adults. We employed validated instruments and achieved a balanced representation of men and women, which is notable as many aging studies skew female. The use of a structured, theory-driven questionnaire (DBAS-16) to capture sleep attitudes is another strength, as it allowed us to quantitatively demonstrate the role of dysfunctional beliefs. However, several limitations must be acknowledged. First, the cross-sectional design limits causal inferences. We cannot definitively conclude, for example, that dysfunctional beliefs caused worse sleep; it may also be that having chronic sleep problems leads to more negative beliefs. Longitudinal studies would be valuable to untangle these directions. Second, the sample was drawn via online recruitment and was relatively healthy and educated overall, which may limit generalizability. Those with very severe health issues or cognitive impairments (who might have even worse sleep) were likely underrepresented. Additionally, sleep quality was measured by self-report (PSQI) rather than objective measures; while PSQI is an accepted tool, future research could include actigraphy or polysomnography to corroborate the self-reports. Finally, our decision to simplify the statistical analysis means we did not control for multiple confounders simultaneously (e.g., performing a multivariate regression). This was intentional to emphasize clear, descriptive results, but it means that some nuanced effects could be missed or confounded. For instance, factors like medication use, anxiety levels, or specific medical diagnoses were not accounted for and could influence the gender differences observed.

Implications for Practice

Despite these limitations, the findings have practical implications for geriatric health care and sleep management. The clear indication that older women are at higher risk for poor sleep suggests that primary care providers and gerontologists should routinely screen for sleep problems in their older female patients. Such screening could use brief tools or even single questions about insomnia symptoms. If identified, interventions can be tailored – for example, older women might benefit from support groups or therapy that addresses both menopause-related sleep changes and the cognitive aspects of insomnia. The strong link between dysfunctional beliefs and sleep outcomes, especially in the older age group, indicates that cognitive- behavioral strategies could be effective. Clinicians should consider incorporating psychoeducation to dispel common “sleep myths” [13] and coaching in adaptive thinking (e.g., teaching that one bad night does not ruin everything, or that some wakefulness at night is normal and not catastrophic). There is evidence that such approaches can significantly improve insomnia outcomes in older adults by reducing anxiety and unhelpful rumination about sleep [17].

Moreover, given the association between sleep and self-rated health, interventions to improve sleep might have broader benefits for older adults’ functionality and quality of life. For instance, encouraging better sleep hygiene and possibly treating underlying sleep disorders (like sleep apnea or restless legs) could in turn improve daytime energy and the capacity to engage in physical and social activities, thus improving perceived functional health. This is a virtuous cycle worth pursuing. Public health programs aimed at older populations could include components on maintaining good sleep as part of healthy aging, targeting both men and women but with special outreach to women (who may be less likely to voice sleep complaints due to normalization of their insomnia).

Future Research

Building on these results, future research should explore interventions that simultaneously target multiple domains – for example, a program for older adults that includes physical exercise (to improve health and sleep), cognitive-behavioral therapy for insomnia (to address beliefs and habits), and education about normal age- related sleep changes. Such multifaceted interventions could be tested to see if they preferentially benefit one gender or age group more. Additionally, qualitative research might provide deeper insight into how older men and women perceive their sleep and aging; understanding these perceptions could help tailor more effective communication and interventions. Finally, it would be useful to investigate physiological measures (like cortisol rhythm or inflammatory markers) in older adults with poor sleep to see if the gender differences we observed translate to different health risks. This could reinforce the need for targeted sleep interventions as a means of chronic disease prevention in aging, particularly for women’s health.

Conclusion

In summary, this study highlights that among adults aged 55 and over, women are at higher risk of poor sleep quality and tend to hold more negative attitudes toward sleep compared to men. Age-related factors and self-perceived functional health also significantly intersect with sleep: older age and poorer health are associated with exacerbated sleep problems, and they may amplify the deleterious impact of dysfunctional sleep beliefs on actual sleep. These findings emphasize that addressing sleep in older adults requires a comprehensive approach. Health professionals should be attentive to the gender-specific patterns – for instance, tailoring insomnia interventions to older women’s needs – and should not overlook the cognitive dimension of sleep By improving sleep hygiene, correcting false beliefs about sleep, and managing health comorbidities, we can help older men and women achieve better sleep. Better sleep, in turn, is likely to promote healthier, more active aging and improved quality of life. In the context of women’s health care, in particular, our results suggest that late-life sleep interventions could play a meaningful role in closing the gender gap in well-being and functional health among seniors.

Declarations

Ethical Approval

The study protocol was approved by the Ethics Committee of the University of Évora (Protocol No. 2024/20-PSY). All participants provided informed consent electronically before participation.

Informed Consent

Informed consent was obtained from all individual participants included in the study. Participants were informed about the study’s purpose, their rights to withdraw at any time, and data confidentiality. No personally identifiable information was collected in the survey, and all responses were anonymized.

Funding

This research received no external funding. It was conducted as part of an internal research program at the University of Évora. The authors did not receive any specific grant from funding agencies in the public, commercial, or not-for-profit sectors for this work.

Authors’ Contributions

A.C. (Adelinda Candeias) and A.F. (Adriana Félix) jointly conceptualized the study and its design. A.F. oversaw data collection and initial statistical analyses, under the mentorship of A.C. Both authors contributed to interpretation of the findings. A.F. drafted the initial manuscript, and A.C. provided critical revisions and additions. Both authors have approved the final manuscript and agree to be accountable for all aspects of the work.

Conflict of Interest

The authors declare no conflicts of interest. They have no financial or personal relationships that could have inappropriately influenced the work reported in this paper. Both authors affirm that the content of this manuscript represents their original work and scientific findings, with no competing interests.

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Ecological Grief and the Posthuman Condition: Congruency, AI, and the Future of Human-Nature Relations

DOI: 10.31038/PSYJ.2025722

Abstract

This essay explores the intersection of ecological grief, artificial intelligence (AI), and posthumanist thought, emphasizing the concept of congruency as a vital ethical praxis. Ecological grief—a profound emotional response to environmental degradation—is increasingly mediated and complicated by emerging AI technologies, which simulate emotional engagement but risk displacing authentic human-nature connections. Drawing on sociological, psychological, and philosophical perspectives, the essay critiques AI’s dual role as both a potential tool for ecological awareness and a contributor to planetary harm through its resource demands. Central to the discussion is the Jungian framework of complexes, shadow work, and the ego-self axis as foundational processes for individuation, offering a path toward inner congruency that harmonizes the ego, self, and Self. This psychological alignment becomes crucial in navigating the posthuman condition, where boundaries between the natural and artificial blur. The essay argues that fostering congruency involves acknowledging activated complexes and shadow aspects to cultivate relational depth with the Other—both human and nonhuman—thereby supporting resilience and ethical engagement. Posthumanist ethics further reinforce this integrative approach by emphasizing relationality and situated embodiment. Finally, the essay identifies unanswered questions about the role of AI in emotional and ecological transformation and calls for interdisciplinary research to develop technologies and social practices that honor ecological grief while promoting sustainable, ethical futures. This work contributes to emerging dialogues on how to integrate emotional authenticity, psychological individuation, and technological innovation in a rapidly changing world.

Keywords

Ecological grief, Artificial intelligence, Posthumanism, Jungian individuation, Congruency

The accelerating environmental crises of the Anthropocene epoch have given rise to profound emotional responses among individuals and communities. One such response is ecological grief—a deep sense of loss and mourning for the degradation of the natural world. This grief is not only a personal experience but also a collective sociocultural phenomenon that reflects humanity’s complex relationship with nature. In parallel, the emergence of artificial intelligence (AI) technologies has begun to reshape human experiences, including how we process emotions and interact with the environment. Posthumanist theories challenge traditional anthropocentric views, advocating for a more integrated and less human-centered approach to ecological issues. Central to navigating these intertwined challenges is the concept of congruency—the alignment of our inner values with our external actions. This essay examines how congruency can serve as a foundational principle in addressing ecological grief, integrating insights from sociology, AI, and posthumanism.

Ecological grief refers to the sorrow, mourning, and existential anxiety people experience in response to environmental degradation, biodiversity loss, and climate change. Cunsolo and Ellis [1] define it as a mourning process for ecosystems, species, and ways of life that are disappearing due to anthropogenic environmental change. It is deeply connected to place-based identity, especially for Indigenous communities and those whose livelihoods and traditions are interwoven with local ecologies. From a sociological perspective, ecological grief is not merely an individual emotional response but a socially mediated experience shaped by cultural narratives and institutional responses. Norgaard [2] highlights the phenomenon of “socially organized denial,” where societies systematically ignore or minimize environmental issues, leading to dissonance and suppressed grief. In this context, grief becomes both a symptom and a potential source of resistance. Expressing and validating ecological grief can be a form of political action, challenging dominant ideologies that prioritize economic growth over ecological integrity. Ecological grief also intersects with climate justice. Marginalized communities, particularly in the Global South, bear the brunt of climate change impacts while contributing the least to its causes. Their grief is compounded by historical and ongoing social injustices, rendering it not only ecological but also deeply political. The act of grieving in these contexts is imbued with a call for justice, equity, and systemic transformation. Furthermore, contemporary media and digital technologies mediate how ecological grief is communicated and experienced. Online platforms provide spaces for communal mourning, advocacy, and education, yet they also risk sensationalizing or commodifying grief. Understanding ecological grief as both a deeply personal and broadly sociopolitical phenomenon is essential for developing congruent responses that honor our emotional responses while fostering meaningful ecological action.

Artificial Intelligence, Synthetic Emotions, and the Displacement of Human-Nature Relations

Artificial intelligence is increasingly implicated in reshaping how humans engage with the world and with themselves. From digital assistants to emotionally responsive robots, AI technologies offer new modalities of interaction that simulate human emotion and presence. However, this simulation raises profound questions about the authenticity and relational depth of human experiences, particularly in the context of ecological grief. AI-based companions and therapeutic chatbots, for instance, are designed to recognize and respond to human emotional cues. While they may provide comfort or convenience, their integration into emotional and ecological domains risks displacing or dulling the affective urgency of real-world loss. As Turkle [3] warns in her work on “artificial companionship,” there is a danger that emotional simulation may lead to emotional substitution—where human grief and connection to nature are redirected into interfaces designed primarily for data collection or distraction [4]. Posthuman perspectives, particularly those articulated by theorists such as Rosi Braidotti [5], challenge the anthropocentric dichotomy between human and machine, or between technology and nature. Rather than opposing AI to nature, posthumanist ethics propose that we understand all entities—organic and inorganic—as part of an interconnected web. Within this framework, AI is not inherently alienating, but its impact depends on how it is culturally embedded and ethically navigated. Ecological grief, viewed through a posthumanist lens, can become a site of critical inquiry into the conditions of our entanglement with both the more-than-human world and the increasingly algorithmic world. The crucial issue is whether AI technologies help us cultivate deeper awareness and congruent action, or whether they foster emotional bypassing—an incongruent disconnection from ecological realities masked by technological reassurance.

Moreover, the design logics of most AI systems are rooted in extractive paradigms—dependent on energy-intensive computation and data mining infrastructures that contribute to ecological degradation [5]. Thus, AI’s promise as a tool for understanding or mitigating grief is paradoxically entangled with the very processes that fuel planetary harm. Recognizing this contradiction is essential for developing ethically congruent applications of AI in the context of ecological crisis.

Congruency as Praxis: Toward Ethical Emotional Integration

In the face of ecological grief and technological mediation, the notion of congruency becomes not only relevant but urgent. Congruency refers to the alignment between inner emotional truths and outward ethical action. Rooted in psychological and philosophical traditions, including Carl Rogers’ person-centered approach and existentialist authenticity, congruency calls for a harmonization of one’s values, feelings, and behaviors in relation to the broader world [6]. Additionally, recognizing which Jungian complexes are activated and what is nourished by the shadow is crucial for emotional integration [7]. These unconscious dynamics influence how ecological grief manifests and how individuals might either repress or project their feelings. Working along the ego-self axis, as Jung conceptualized, facilitates the process of individuation—the journey toward wholeness and psychological integration [8]. In this individuation process, there is an essential place for the differentiation and integration of Moi (the ego or “I”), soi(the personal self), and Soi (the archetypal Self), along with the recognition of the Other as both a relational and symbolic figure [9]. This framework offers a pathway toward inner harmony, congruence, and alignment, which are especially important in a transhumanistic and AI-mediated world, where boundaries between self and other, human and machine, become increasingly porous.

Such inner harmony and congruence are not static states but ongoing practices requiring continuous reflection and ethical responsiveness. They challenge us to engage authentically with our ecological emotions rather than bypass them through technological distractions or superficial interactions. Moreover, congruency demands critical awareness of how AI technologies are designed and deployed—whether they serve to deepen ecological awareness and human connection or contribute to alienation and emotional dissonance. Posthumanist ethics supports this integrated vision by emphasizing relationality, process, and situated embodiment. Congruency, thus, is not about achieving static moral perfection but about cultivating responsiveness across human and nonhuman domains. It is an ongoing practice of tuning in to the ethical weight of our affective lives and letting that awareness guide our actions, including how we engage with AI technologies and ecological realities. In this light, congruency becomes a compass for navigating ecological grief in the digital age—a means of bridging affect, agency, and ethics in a world where the boundaries between the natural and the artificial are increasingly porous.

Jungian Individuation and the Ethical Self in the Age of AI

If congruency is the lived alignment of inner emotional truths and ethical action, individuation—as articulated by Carl Gustav Jung—offers a deeper psychic map of how such alignment is forged. Individuation is not merely a process of self-actualization, but a lifelong dialogue between the ego, the unconscious, and the transpersonal dimension of the Self. In the context of ecological grief and an increasingly artificial world, this process becomes not only a psychological necessity but an ethical imperative. Ecological collapse and technological acceleration activate profound psychic responses—many of which are mediated through Jungian complexes. Complexes are autonomous emotional constellations formed around early experiences and cultural archetypes, often charged with affect and resistant to egoic control. In the face of planetary threat and synthetic reassurance, we may see the activation of helpless-child complexes, messianic or savior complexes, or collective guilt complexes. These psychic fragments can be nourished by the shadow—that which is split off from the conscious self—and projected onto others: nature, machines, or even AI companions. Shadow projection in a transhumanist world may take the form of splitting between “natural good” and “technological evil,” or inversely, techno-utopian fantasies that deny vulnerability. When ecological grief is bypassed through AI, or when responsibility is outsourced to algorithmic “solutions,” shadow is displaced rather than integrated. Congruent individuation requires the courageous recognition of these psychic displacements and a retrieval of projection—an owning of what has been cast out.

The ego–Self axis, a central concept in Jungian psychology, maps the developmental journey from ego-centered consciousness toward greater attunement with the Self—a totality that includes conscious and unconscious, personal and archetypal dimensions. Strengthening this axis entails confronting complexes, integrating shadow, and differentiating between the Ego, self and Self. Crucially, the path toward individuation includes not only interior depth but relational ethics—it opens the psychic space where the Other, human and nonhuman, can be encountered without domination or disavowal. Achieving inner congruency in a posthuman age demands both psychological depth and symbolic literacy. It involves recognizing the complexes activated by ecological fear and techno-futurist promises, and tracing their emotional logic. Next, it is imperative to integrate shadow through active imagination, dream work, or ecological rituals that confront what we have repressed—grief, rage, dependency, and the desire to be saved. Then, working on the ego–Self axis through practices that cultivate inner listening and ethical discernment—such as mindfulness, depth psychotherapy, and symbolic work with myth and nature is necessary. WE should remind ouselves to reclaim the place of the Other—not only as projection but as a genuine encounter that decentralizes the ego. The Other may appear as the suffering Earth, the face of an AI companion, or the unknown future itself. Finally, engaging technology symbolically, not as destiny or danger alone, but as part of the psychic field is the important step in contemporary world. A machine can constellate archetypes—Prometheus, the Puer aeternus, the Shadow—and must be approached not only with caution but with imagination.

Individuation in this context is neither nostalgic return to nature nor uncritical embrace of artificiality. It is a movement toward psychic wholeness that includes the machine, the animal, the ecological catastrophe, and the symbolic field of the future. Congruency arises not from perfect clarity, but from a commitment to remain in this field of tension without escape. The future demands a new mythos—one in which AI is neither the enemy nor the savior, but a mirror and a test of our capacity for ethical maturity. To individuate in such a world is to accept responsibility not only for the psyche but for the systems we co-create. It is to listen to grief, integrate complexity, and act with congruence—not as isolated subjects, but as relational beings, embedded in planetary and technological webs of becoming.

Conclusion: Between Machines and Mourning—Toward a Future Ethics of Congruence

This essay has sought to illuminate the psychic entanglements between ecological grief, synthetic companionship, and the ethical imperative of inner congruence. We have traced how ecological collapse activates deep complexes, how artificial intelligence can serve as both defense and projection screen, and how individuation—understood in its full Jungian and post-Jungian sense—offers a path not toward certainty, but toward meaningful integration. In this path, grief is not to be bypassed but metabolized; technology is not to be idealized or demonized, but symbolically interrogated; and synthetic others—however artificial—are to be understood as imaginal figures demanding psychic, not just technical, engagement. Congruence becomes the ethical posture of one who does not resolve dissonance by repression or distraction but who remains in tension, receptive to kairos and animated by the slow rhythm of the psyche.

Yet this vision remains incomplete. Many questions remain unanswered—indeed, some may be unanswerable but must still be posed:

  • What becomes of the analytic relationship in a world where synthetic others may simulate transference, attunement, and even archetypal presence?
  • Can artificial companions evoke genuine individuation processes—or do they risk replacing the Other with a mirror?
  • How might therapists ethically accompany those whose inner lives are deeply entangled with AI, without pathologizing the attachment or surrendering to technological determinism?
  • What new complexes and archetypes are being born in this merging of human and machine, and what cultural rituals could help us name and contain them?
  • How can ecological mourning be transformed into planetary responsibility—one that does not seek comfort in artificiality, but acts in service of wholeness?

To proceed from here, we need new forms of psychoethical inquiry that blend depth psychology, technological critique, and ecological sensibility. This might include: 1) clinical praxis that integrates symbolic work with machines and AI attachments, recognizing them as imaginal rather than solely instrumental; 2) research into the phenomenology of synthetic relationships, exploring how people experience, suffer, or heal through interactions with artificial others; 3) educational models that cultivate psychological literacy, emotional patience, and symbolic imagination in the face of planetary and posthuman realities; and 4) cross-disciplinary dialogues between Jungian theory, environmental humanities, AI ethics, and philosophy of mind—to build a new grammar of the soul fit for our time. In the end, the task may not be to resolve the tensions between ecological mourning and synthetic intimacy, but to hold them, live them, and allow them to transform us. Between the death of the Earth and the birth of artificial companionship, a space opens for ethical imagination. In that space, if we listen carefully, the Self may still speak.

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With Normal Cognition at Age 60, is Future Alzheimer’s Dementia Predictable?

DOI: 10.31038/JCRM.2025821

Abstract

Whether or not an individual aged 60 with normal cognition, might develop Alzheimer’s dementia (AD) in the future, depends upon the number of risk factors for AD affecting that person. That number is ten or more, amongst which are six proteins whose presence or absence can be measured. Clinical elements include diabetes mellitus, having no first degree relative with AD, past history of head trauma, and nutritional factors. In addition, the currently used medications with anti-cholinergic activities, if not discontinued, may provide significant additional risk for AD. This article describes how all of the above-mentioned risk factors relate to the risk for AD.

Introduction and Background

How may a person aged 60 know if he/she still has predisposition for future Alzheimer’s dementia (AD), despite having normal cognition as shown by detailed neuropsychological testing? The response is that the predisposition is proportional to the number of risk factors for AD affecting that individual. Ten of those potential risk factors are described here, including Wnt, TGFβ, Smad proteins, Cdk, neuregulins, apoE4, diabetes mellitus, having no first degree relative with AD, past head trauma, and nutritional factors. Besides those ten, the currently used medications with anti-cholinergic activities are also potential risk factors for AD and, if not discontinued, may provide significant addition to the predisposition. The following describes how the above-mentioned risk factors relate to the predisposition for AD (Table 1).

Table 1: Risk factors related to the predisposition for AD.

Risk factor for AD

Confirmed by a Study?

Cardiovascular disease. Conflictual reports.
Adherence to Mediterranean diet. Conflictual reports.
Prior head trauma. Yes but uncertain because studies used current AD patients.
Diabetes. Yes. RR 1.8 with DM alone, 5.5 with DM + apoE4.
ApoE4 Yes
Wnt No
TGFβ No
Smad proteins No
Cdk protein. No
Neuregulin No

Wnt and AD

There is dysfunction of the Wnt signaling pathway in AD [1], and Wnt/β-catenin dysfunction results in Aβ production and aggregation [2]. Further, down-regulation of the Wnt/β-catenin pathway leads to oxidative stress and neuronal cell death [3].

TGF-β and AD

In AD, the level of FAMC that is a key molecule in the formation of TGF-β, is reduced by ~30–50% [4,5]; that is detrimental because TGF-β protects neurons against neurotoxicity caused by Aβ [6]. Although TGF-beta 1 and TGF-beta 3 were not selectively altered in any AD subtypes, selective induction of TGF-beta 2 did occur in both late onset AD and Familial AD [7].

Smad Proteins and AD

TGF-β acts by signaling through the Smad pathway. Whereas Snad acts from a nuclear localization, in AD it is predominantly cytoplasmic, so its action is defective [8].

Cdk and AD

Cyclin-dependent kinase 5 (Cdk5), a serine/threonine protein kinase, has multiple and confusingly discrepant cellular activities; >30 substrates for Cdk5 have been found in different cellular pathways [9], and these may promote either cell toxicity or cell survival. It contributes to the occurrence of AD because it is implicated in the generation of Aβ peptides and it induces hyperphosphorylation and aggregation of tau10. Findings from AD brain samples also showed an elevated Cdk5 activity [9,11], that was promoted by Aβ12. Cdk5 promotes neuronal survival by regulating Akt activity via the neuregulin/phosphoinositol-3-kinase (PI-3-kinase) signaling pathway. Thus, brain extracts of Cdk5-/-mice had lower PI-3-kinase activity and phosphorylation of Akt compared with wild type mice. [10]; and although treatment of rat hippocampal cells in culture with Aβ resulted in a significant increase of the Cdk5 enzymatic activity, the neurotoxicity of Aβ was diminished by inhibition of Cdk5[13].

Neuregulins and AD

Recombinant neuregulin prevented the neurotoxicity caused by oxidative stress [14]; and because neuregulin level was reduced in the hippocampus of AD patients, its absence contributes to the occurrence of dementia [15].

ApoE4 and AD

Many genes and their associated mRNA and proteins are risk factors for late-onset AD; among the many relevant genes shown by a multi-center study, APOE4 had huge significance (P = 3.3 × 10−96) [16]. Its beneficial action in AD involves Aβ aggregation and clearance, tau phosphorylation, aggregation and clearance, lipid metabolism, inflammation, altered neuronal repair, and synaptic plasticity [17].

Diabetes Mellitus and AD

The relative risk (RR) for AD with diabetes alone was 1.8 but with both diabetes and ApoE4 was 5.5 [18]. After adjustment for several confounders, the same report shows the increased effect of the dual combination beyond that of its components, in which the RR for AD without cerebrovascular disease was 1.0 for diabetes alone, 2.0 for ApoE4 alone, and 4.2 for the diabetes/ApoE4 combination.

Nutrition and AD

Reports are conflictual regarding the effect of nutrition upon the possibility for future AD. The Mediterranean diet is one that is rich in vegetables, fruit, cereals, olive oil, red wine (two glasses daily), white meat, and sea food, but little red meat. Although several other studies gave negative results with respect to adherence to that diet and the occurrence of either cognitive impairment or AD, a large study involving 2,258 community-based non-demented individuals in New York evaluated them every 1.5 years and produced positive results [19]. There were 262 incident AD cases during 4 years of follow-up. After adjusting for cohort, age, sex, ethnicity, education, apolipoprotein E genotype, caloric intake, smoking, medical comorbidity index, and body mass index, higher adherence to the Mediterranean diet was associated with a substantially lower risk for AD (hazard ratio, 0.91; p = 0.015): as compared with subjects in the lowest tertile for adherence to the diet, those at the highest tertile had a hazard ratio of 0.60 (95% confidence interval, 0.42–0.87) for subsequent AD (P for trend = 0.007).

Cardiovascular Disease and AD

Cardiovascular diseases, such as stroke, atrial fibrillation, coronary heart disease, and heart failure are very common in elderly individuals and have regularly been linked to AD, but this association might be due to shared risk factors between cardiovascular diseases and AD, although there might also be a direct causal association as cardiac disease causes hypoperfusion and microemboli [20]. The shared and modifiable risk factors include smoking, lack of physical exercise, hyperlipidemia, and hypertension [21]. Moreover, amyloid-beta (Aβ) deposits, present in brain parenchyma of patients with AD, are also seen in human atherosclerotic plaques or cardiac tissues of patients with heart failure, suggesting the involvement of Aβ in both AD and cardiovascular disease [22].

Drugs with Anti-cholinergic Activity

Those drugs are numerous and are listed by the American Geriatrics Society [23].

First Degree Relatives with AD, as a Risk Factor

In a Swedish study of the risk factors for late-onset AD, involving 98 cases and 216 controls, the Relative Risk (RR) was 3.2 (95% CI, 1.8-5.7) if at least one first-degree relative had dementia [24].

Head Trauma and AD

Prior head injury was assessed in 78 patients with AD and 124 controls matched for age, sex, and race [25,26]. A history of head injury with loss of consciousness was reported in 25.6% of patients and 5.3% and 14.6% of hospital and neighborhood controls, respectively; for patients and hospital controls the odds ratio was 4.50 (P < 0.01). Interestingly, the ranges of times of occurrence of head injuries were similar in patients and controls, spanning several decades.

Discussion

Should the appraisal of prediction from each contributing factor to future AD be multiplicative or additive? In fact, for the 60 years’ old person who has no current cognitve impairment, the probability of future AD would be very low if there were no predisposing elements; and although the probability increases with the escalating number of those elements that are present, that probability remains intuitive because there are no empirical observations that provide numerical values. Regarding the risk of future AD for that individual, the presence or absence of the six proteins that are risk factors may be ascertained by laboratory testing so, if present, the best method used for their appraisal of prediction should be additive because multiplicative would exaggerate the prediction.

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