Following in the Footsteps of Roy Chapman Andrews

From the ledge where I was standing, I watched as the Gobi Desert changed color. The bluffs, already a natural red, grew deeper and more complex in their shading as the sun set. The valley below was perfectly laid out with scrub brushes, sand, and scattered herds of goats. Dense clouds shifted to pull out blues and purples, the sun blazing even as it slipped out of sight. It all seemed deeply ancient and empty, even though it was part of one of the most popular tourist attractions in Mongolia.

Roy Chapman Andrews in 1906.
Credit: Beloit College ArchivesOver the next couple of days, I would be fanning out across the region as part of a multidisciplinary expedition, exploring, collecting data, and paying homage to the man who helped make this area known around the world. But that evening, with a warm summer breeze sweeping through, I felt like we’d achieved something spectacular simply being there, enjoying the same views as Roy Chapman Andrews (1906), one of the world’s most renowned explorers. And were it not for our shared alma mater, I might not have been there at all.

I knew about Andrews before I had even set foot on Beloit College’s campus. While researching the school that I had just committed to attending, a bit of trivia caught my eye. One of the school’s most famous alumni, Roy Chapman Andrews, had likely been an inspiration for the character of Indiana Jones. I had grown up loving that series, and was deeply intrigued by this intrepid man and his decades of globetrotting research. Even though we matriculated more than a century apart, I hoped that Beloit College would help me live a similarly adventurous and purposeful life.

Once I arrived on campus, I found that Andrews’ unique story still loomed large at the school. I learned more about him — renowned naturalist, insightful paleontologist, ravenous traveler, and aficionado of other cultures — and his exploits. Discovering the first dinosaur eggs in recorded history was just one accomplishment from his long, wild career. As a member of the anthropology department, I became even more familiar with his work, enjoying the same abundant resources in the Logan Museum of Anthropology that he had during his time as a student. As a creative writing major, I was fascinated by the way that he combined scholarship and storytelling. In the spring of 2016, I had the opportunity to hear Dr. Alan Rabinowitz, that year’s recipient of the Roy Chapman Andrews Society Distinguished Explorer Award, talk about conservation and the remarkable behaviors of jaguars and the other big cats that he studied.

After learning about the adventures of others, I was ready to do some exploring of my own. After graduating, I traveled as much as I could, working my way through states and across continents, gaining experiences and learning new things, though I didn’t give Andrews much thought on a day-to-day basis. Then, in 2024, he re-entered my life in a wonderfully serendipitous way.

A post on the Beloit College Alumni Facebook page caught my eye. Bob Atwater, an Explorers Club member, expedition enthusiast, and massive fan of Andrews, was planning a trip to commemorate the 100th anniversary of an attempted research trip into the Gobi. For all his world travels, Mongolia was the region that most captured Andrews’ heart, and the place where he did much of his most renowned work. The trip that we would seek to complete was one of several that he made to the Gobi, a 1925 expedition that was cut short by political warfare.

Atwater put the call out for participants across various disciplines. I channeled my inner Indiana Jones, enticed by the chance to embark on a new adventure with the bonus of a Beloit connection. With nothing to lose, I applied for a spot on the trip, citing my alma mater and my previous travels. To my surprise and delight, I was accepted. I quickly saw why Andrews had been so drawn to this nation of
powerful landscapes, rich history, and seemingly endless discoveries. It would be a thrill to follow in his footsteps … and tire treads … and camel hoofprints.

Nine months later, I was on a plane to Ulaanbataar, Mongolia’s capital, ready to embark on the Roy Chapman Andrews Legacy Expedition. We first visited the Institute of Paleontology to admire some of the amazing specimens, including a pair of fully intact dinosaur skeletons locked in eternal battle. While many of these finds were from more recent years, they all sprang from the same lineage of research that began with the discoveries of the 1920s.

We left the capital aboard Soviet-era military vans, quite possibly some of the hardiest vehicles ever constructed. The first day and a half was spent crossing endless miles of terrain, watching as the urban landscape gave way to steppes and herds of horses. Eventually, the meadows became sand, the hills became cliffs, and we found ourselves in the midst of the desert, where the real work would begin, alongside some of the best and brightest minds Mongolia has to offer.

Andrews worked with locals during his expeditions, and his work has had even more global impact since. In the field of paleontology alone, his work has inspired collaboration between Mongolian teams and researchers from Canada, Russia, Poland, China, and Japan over the ensuing decades. Each team was headed by an expert in their field, teaching us what to look for and best practices for research. Their teaching was invaluable, and they provided context for what we were finding, the larger stories of the region. The expedition covered three different sites that Andrews had visited over the course of his career, giving us ample time to build on his work through a range of disciplines.

Along with the research teams — paleontology (of which I was a member), geology, biology, archaeology, and cultural heritage — we had a team of artists, filmmakers, and media professionals documenting the story of the trip from every angle. In photos and paintings, we captured images of the places Andrews once walked and camped. In another bit of Beloit serendipity, I discovered that one of these participants was Shannon Fie, professor of anthropology at Beloit, and president of the Roy Chapman Andrews Society. We had an incredible group of guides, cooks, and drivers who kept everything running smoothly, and gave us plenty of cultural education along the way. While Andrews’ worldview was fairly cosmopolitan for the 1920s, it was wonderful to work with locals as part of a truly multinational team in 2025.

Even if we had found nothing, it would have been a fantastic experience, reflecting on the changes of a century as well as elements seemingly untouched by time. But the paleontology team was fortunate enough to find all manner of interesting specimens, ranging from small lagomorph fragments to a stunningly preserved Protoceratops skull. I was particularly thrilled by the unearthing of a psittacosaurus, a sheep-sized dinosaur that once lived throughout the Gobi. Buuvei Mainbayar, the lead paleontologist, found the first maroon nub jutting out of the dirt. Plopping down on the ground, he promptly excavated a whole consecutive string of bones, including a nearly perfect tail, which we plastered to take back to the museum. We spent all afternoon and much of the next day parked in the dirt, digging up mounds of soil and brushing away small chunks of earth, exposing this ancient creature to sunlight for the first time in millions of years.

Kiernyn Orne-Adams ’16 poses with a Protoceratops skull (and its toy likeness) in the Gobi Desert.

When I knelt down to dig in the sand or hiked up along a tall ridge, I felt the weight of history and the thrill of seeing how much remained to be discovered. We saw firsthand how Chapman’s legacy continues at the Flaming Cliffs site, where a well-stocked museum showed off all of the different creatures, current and extinct, found throughout the region. Andrews and his expeditions were everywhere, reminders of the massive impact he made on the region.

One afternoon, we hiked up a steep ridge along the area where he found the original dinosaur eggs, getting a much-needed shower from a sudden rainstorm along the way. Moving along the high point of the ridge, I could see what the earlier expeditions saw — a wide-open field of exploration. As Charles Gallenkamp explains in Dragon Hunter, his biography of the explorer: “… Andrews revealed the Gobi Desert — so long dismissed by scientists as a wasteland — as one of the earth’s richest repositories of extinct mammals and reptiles, a treasure trove whose fossil record has implications that extend far beyond its boundaries.”

During the day, each team was busy with their own projects. After dinner each evening, we all gathered to share our discoveries from the day. In the span of an hour, I would gaze at the bluish tint of pottery from millennia ago, discuss the interconnected age lines of rocks and dinosaurs, learn about botanical properties and the intricate rituals of taming and racing horses. At the time of this writing, many of the finds are still being catalogued and analyzed. These evening gatherings were my favorite moments, feeling the world open up a little more with each observation and artifact that was shared.

No Andrews-inspired expedition would be complete without the presence of a certain herd of livestock. Bactrian camels are essentially the Soviet army vans of the animal world, almost comically adaptable to every kind of element and terrain. Long before Andrews’ expeditions, camels were used as transport and pack animals, able to navigate the intense weather and varied terrain. Every part of them, from their splayed toes to their fat-storing humps to their take-no-guff attitude, is built for survival. The original trips relied heavily on them to haul cargo, carry travelers, and even as a source of packing material (as it turns out, camel fur makes a marvelous cushion for delicate fossils).

Members of the Roy Chapman Andrews Expedition in caravan at the Flaming Cliffs in June 2025.
Credit: Shannon Fie

We rode camels at two of our three sites. The first rides served as a chance to learn the proper form and technique for working with these unique animals. The next camel rides took place at the Flaming Cliffs. Over the course of a few days, we went all over the valley, weaving between those famous bluffs as we headed from one site to the next. The camels were wonderful companions, each with their own unique personality and opinions.

On the evening of our final day in the field, we rode down to the dig site for a last bit of work. Heading back to camp in a slow, weaving caravan, I felt a one more twinge of connection. We may not have spent as long in the saddle as our predecessors, but the sense of traveling their footsteps through a place with endless treasures and insights, and the simple joy of working with another species, remained the same. Overhead, I could almost see the stars.

This was a trip that embodied the Beloit ethos, beginning to end. It was an experience that required all of the tools I developed during my time in school: flexibility, curiosity, a taste for broader global engagement, and a willingness to explore and embrace new experiences and ideas. I had no background in paleontology before the trip, yet here I was diving straight into a new field in an unorthodox way, and loving every minute of it. In all of my travels, I benefited from what this school had to teach me, well beyond the classroom. Being out on the trail in the Gobi Desert was a lovely full-circle moment.

The expedition was an incredible opportunity, and a wonderful way to reconnect with a community that has supported me so much over the years, while developing ties with a new group of colleagues. I can only hope to take another leaf out of Andrews’ book and embark on many similar endeavors in the future.

Professor Shannon Fie, U.S. Ambassador to Mongolia Richard L. Buangan, and Kiernyn Orne-Adams ’16.
Credit: Shannon Fie