Archaeologists Are Finding Dugout Canoes in the American Midwest as Old as the Great Pyramids of Egypt

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Tamara Thomsen was 24 feet underwater when she spotted it: the remains of an old dugout canoe, a 1,200 year old great white oak tree piece - it was jutting out of a sandy ridge in Wisconsin’s Lake Mendota—a body of water that borders around Madison, the state capital—and she knew it was a really significant find. “What I didn't understand was the full extent of the discovery.”

It was a summer day in 2021 when Thomsen was scuba diving, snorkeling for fish and picking up trash. Typically, you'll find the underwater archaeologist in the Great Lakes, studying deep-water sites for the Wisconsin Historical Society. Lake Mendota was nowhere to be found on Thomsen's "radar" that day, and she'd never been looking for discoveries like a dugout canoe, usually focusing instead on shipwrecks like 19th-century freighters.

It may seem surprising that she correctly identified it for what it was: Dugout canoes, the oldest type of boat discovered so far in the world, are simply logs that have been hollowed out. In 2018, Thomsen joined forces with Sissel Schroeder, an archaeologist from the University of Wisconsin-Madison, to assist an undergraduate student in documenting Wisconsin's existing dugout canoes. Initially, historians believed there were 11 of these canoes in collections across the state. However, after less than a year of searching private collections, supper clubs, local museums, and other locations, the team was able to count a total of 34.

Thomsen's 2021 discovery really fired up the two women to keep searching and take their efforts public. By establishing the Wisconsin Dugout Canoe Survey Project, the duo and their team have so far discovered a total of 79 dugout canoes, including two of the oldest ten found in eastern North America, dating from about 4,000 to 5,000 years ago. The canoe collection in Wisconsin provides insight into indigenous knowledge, trade, travel, and even environmental adaptation. However, this project also brings a touch of wonder to the present: To visit a bygone era, just look to the urban lakes and rivers in America.

The area that is now called Madison was once a thriving metropolis associated with the name Dejope in the Ho-Chunk language, according to Bill Quackenbush, the Ho-Chunk Nation's tribal historic preservation officer and spokesperson for one of Wisconsin's 11 federally recognized tribes. "There's this misconception that we had temporary villages scattered haphazardly," Quackenbush says, "but Madison was a single, cohesive community."

According to Quackenbusch, building dugout canoes would have been a community event: Men would work on several logs while families gathered, ate, and prepared for the upcoming season. The process of carving the canoes with shells or stone tools could take weeks, if not months; once finished, the canoes would be placed along the shoreline for the whole village to use. Just as necessary for survival as fire, a functional canoe enabled trade and shipping networks, fishing in deeper waters, and travel to distant places. In the winter, the Ho-Chunk would secure the canoes in shallow water to prevent them from drying out before spring.

In actuality, a map of the discovered dugouts reveals not only where this community resided, but also how it moved and adapted in step with the Earth over millennia: Just 300 yards from where Thomsen found that first canoe in Mendota, she later uncovered a cache of at least ten canoes along an underwater ridge that geologists have pinpointed as a previous, now-submerged shoreline, a beach in the ancient savannas of Dejope.

“Nobody's doing this,” says Amy Rosebrough, Wisconsin state archaeologist, referring to the relatively new method of examining small, urban waterways as potential archaeological sites. “The only thing even similar that I can think of is the mudskippers in London who travel up and down the Thames.”

People like mudskippers, who are known as mudlarks, and scour riverbanks for artifacts from London’s past—such as Roman pottery and Victorian silverware—now everyday citizens in Wisconsin are reporting the discovery of canoes that have been dug out by tree roots. Many of the best finds have ended up in historical societies and museums, like the Menominee canoe that is currently stored at the Smithsonian Institution in Maryland. Others are displayed prominently in supper clubs or sold to private collectors. A few fortunate ones have even been kept within their respective tribes, including the Ho-Chunk, the Menominee, and the Lac du Flambeau.

It's the whispers of still-hiding creatures – largely testimonials from hunters, fishermen and boaters – that prompt Thomsen and Schroeder to put in some serious work. By following up on tips received through a tip line, the women then set out themselves, diving, wading, or paddling in Wisconsin’s swamps and shallow lakes, often relying on little more than rough directions and a snorkel.

So far, the team has confirmed 79 out of 112 discoveries across the state, and new finds are still showing up frequently. Most of the items are remarkably well-preserved, with some even found alongside paddling gear or tools like fish hooks and a tool similar to an axe that cuts wood. However, some of these discoveries turned out to be fragments, which is surprising since imperfect specimens are usually considered firewood.

When Thomsen and Schroeder find a dugout, they start by collecting data in a traditional way. They fill out notebooks with sketches, measurements, and lists of unique features, including structural details and scorch marks on the wood. Leaving all the evidence in place, Thomsen then uses photogrammetry with a GoPro camera. When working above ground, she also employs lidar, a remote sensing technology built into newer iPhones and iPads, which can instantly create a 3D model for further study. "Sometimes the GoPro works, and sometimes the lidar works," says Thomsen. "Sometimes they're possessed by spirits, and they don't want to be scanned at all."

, the Phoenician alphabet or even early math.

Thomsen has made discoveries at Lake Mendota that are among the oldest in the state: Carbon dating shows that her first find is 1,200 years old, and her second is roughly around 3,000 years old. The cache found on the lake is currently home to the oldest item, an elm dugout that has been dated to more than 4,500 years ago.

In addition to carbon dating, other samples undergo strontium isotope analysis, which measures changes in neutron amounts within an element to determine its origin. Wood type is identified by the Forest Products Laboratory, the U.S. Forest Service's research lab, located near Schroeder's office. Thomsen and Schroeder have also sent a few samples to the University of Wisconsin-Platteville for dendrochronology studies, since tree-ring data can both date the canoes and provide insight into past climates.

The researchers use these four methods to form their hypotheses. Studies have usually suggested that dugouts were made from softwoods, such as pine or cypress. However, a third of the survey's findings indicate that the dugouts are actually made of hardwoods, including oak, hickory, and elm, known for its difficult grain and requirement of modern power tools. "If we break this data down by time period," Schroeder explains, "it reveals a story of traditional ecological knowledge...and cultural ingenuity."

The type of wood provides clues about Wisconsin's past environments, even without information from tree rings. Many years ago, southern Wisconsin changed from a forest with a closed canopy of oak trees to an oak savanna, similar to a prairie, where the oaks branched out early and were no good for making canoes. The ancient Ho-Chunk people, who also lived in Illinois and other areas, then used the fast-growing, straight elm trees, despite their hard wood. A similar pattern continued after European settlers arrived: When they cut down northern Wisconsin's white pine forests, the Menominee tribe turned to trees like hemlock and butternut.

Despite being built under different circumstances, most dugouts appear similar at first glance, which is surprising, given the vastly different resources and tools their creators had. Approximately three thousand years ago, the Ho-Chunk were building in a time before agriculture and ceramics. Quackenbush notes, “When something works well, why fix it?”

Rumors have been circulating around Lake Mendota following Thomsen's findings—a story that's reached international headlines—Giving the Ho-Chunk people of Madison an opportunity to reconnect with their past, says Quackenbush. In 2022, a group of youth and tribal members from the Ho-Chunk tribe built a new canoe using traditional methods and paddled it across the city's four lakes; in the summer of 2024, tribal members constructed another canoe and took it down the Mississippi River.

Quackenbush, who frequently collaborates with the Wisconsin Historical Society, has also launched his own investigation: As an expert in ground-penetrating radar, or GPR, he is leading his team in the search for more Lake Mendota artifacts, including canoes and campfire rings. "We're always looking for layers of information that we can share even within our own tribal communities," he notes. "We need that connection – we're caught up in the same fast pace of today."

Thomsen and Schroeder view the local tribes and all citizens involved in their project as collaborators in their research—a debt they mention in every public speech they give. Several other states appear to be taking cues from Wisconsin—Minnesota and Michigan, among others, have begun compiling their own canoe archives—while the Society for American Archaeology devoted a conference last year entirely to the simple dugout canoe.

Most items from the past don't provide an easy way to connect with their history, Rosebrough notes. "Many people struggle to relate to spear points," she says. "However, people are familiar with canoes and lakes and it's exciting to realize that the depths of those lakes might contain the ultimate lost treasures."