A sum like that could endow a research program for a career's worth of fieldwork
Somewhere beneath the rangelands of South Dakota, a creature that walked the earth 67 million years ago waited in silence until a rancher noticed the bones at his feet. Now, that creature — a nearly complete Tyrannosaurus rex named Gus, after the man who found it — will be offered to the highest bidder at Sotheby's in New York, with an expected price between $20 and $30 million. The sale continues a long and contested tradition of placing the deep past into private hands, raising a question as old as collecting itself: who does history belong to?
- One of the largest and most complete T. rex skeletons ever recovered is about to be auctioned, with bidding opening at $19 million — a sum that would fund years of scientific research at a public institution.
- The fossil market has surged dramatically since 1997, when Sue the T. rex sold for $8.4 million; by 2024, a stegosaurus fetched $44.6 million, signaling that prehistoric remains have become a prestige asset class.
- Paleontologists are sounding alarms, arguing that each private sale removes irreplaceable scientific specimens from the reach of researchers and the public who might otherwise study or simply witness them.
- The rancher who discovered Gus on his South Dakota land died before the excavation was complete — never seeing the animal fully assembled — leaving the fossil's future to be decided by bidders he never knew.
On a Tuesday morning in New York, a Tyrannosaurus rex known as Gus will stand before bidders at Sotheby's, its opening price set at $19 million. Discovered in 2021 on a private ranch in Harding County, South Dakota, the skeleton stretches 38 feet long and stands over 12 feet tall — one of the largest and most complete specimens ever found. Nearly a thousand individual bone fragments were recovered and assembled over two years by a team from Theropoda Expeditions.
The fossil carries the nickname of Gary Licking, the rancher on whose 6,500-acre property it was found. For years, Licking had noticed teeth and bone fragments scattered across his land, sensing something significant beneath the surface. He never lived to see the full animal assembled — he died before the excavation concluded in 2023.
This auction arrives within a market that has transformed dramatically over the past three decades. When Sotheby's sold Sue the T. rex in 1997 for $8.4 million, it marked a beginning; that specimen was ultimately donated to the Field Museum in Chicago. By 2024, a stegosaurus named Apex sold for $44.6 million to billionaire Ken Griffin, who loaned it to a natural history museum for four years. The prices keep climbing, and so does the concern.
Scott Persons, a curator at the South Carolina State Museum, argues that sums like these represent a profound missed opportunity — that the tens of millions spent on private ownership could instead endow research programs, fund decades of fieldwork, and bring new discoveries before the public. The central question surrounding Tuesday's auction is not merely what Gus will sell for, but where Gus will go — and whether the creature that waited 67 million years in the earth will be seen by many, or by very few.
On Tuesday morning, a nearly complete Tyrannosaurus rex skeleton will stand before the bidders at Sotheby's in New York City. The fossil, known as Gus, carries an opening bid of $19 million and an estimated final price somewhere between $20 and $30 million. For anyone who has ever wanted to own an actual dinosaur—not a replica, not a toy, but the real thing—the opportunity is here. The cost, however, is measured in tens of millions of dollars.
Gus was discovered in 2021 on private land in Harding County, South Dakota. The skeleton stretches 38 feet long and stands 12 and a half feet tall, a specimen from roughly 67 million years ago, during the late Cretaceous period. The excavation team, led by Thomas Heitkamp of Theropoda Expeditions, collected nearly a thousand individual bone pieces from the site. What emerged was one of the largest and most complete T. rex skeletons ever recovered—a creature that, based on its size and the degree of bone development, was clearly a very large, robust adult in its time.
The fossil carries the name of Gary Licking, the rancher who owned the property where it was found. For years, Licking had walked his 6,500-acre ranch and noticed fragments scattered across the land—teeth, bits of bone—hints that something significant lay buried beneath the surface. He never got to see his discovery fully assembled. The excavation process stretched through 2023, and Licking died before the skeleton was complete, before he could stand in front of the fully reconstructed animal that would bear his nickname.
This auction is not a first. Dinosaur fossils have been moving through the auction block for decades, each sale marking a new threshold in what collectors are willing to pay. In 1997, Sotheby's held the first dinosaur auction. A T. rex named Sue went to the highest bidder for $8.4 million, purchased by a consortium of companies that donated it to the Field Museum in Chicago. The market has shifted dramatically since then. In 2024, a stegosaurus called Apex sold for $44.6 million—the highest price ever paid for a dinosaur fossil. Billionaire investor Ken Griffin won that auction and subsequently loaned the specimen to the American Natural History Museum in New York for a four-year period.
The surge in prices reflects what paleontologists call an increase in market demand. More dinosaurs are being sold at auction each year, and the sums keep climbing. But not everyone sees this trend as progress. Scott Persons, curator of natural history at the South Carolina State Museum, views the phenomenon with concern. He notes that the prices being paid are, in his assessment, ridiculous—and that they represent a missed opportunity for science. A sum like the one Gus is expected to fetch could endow an entire research program at a public institution. It could fund decades of fieldwork, support the discovery of entirely new species, and pay for the public exhibition of those findings. Instead, the money goes to private ownership, to collectors who can afford to bid against one another for the privilege of possession. The question hanging over Tuesday's auction is whether Gus will end up in a museum, accessible to researchers and the public, or in a private collection, seen only by those with the means to visit.
Notable Quotes
A sum like that could endow a research program at a public museum of your choosing. That would pay for a career's worth of fieldwork, the discovery of whole new species, and the public exhibition of the findings.— Scott Persons, curator of natural history at the South Carolina State Museum
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why does it matter who owns a dinosaur fossil? Isn't the science the same whether it's in a museum or a private collection?
Not entirely. A museum specimen gets studied by multiple researchers over decades. A private collection might be locked away. The owner might not allow access, or might move it, or might sell it again. The fossil becomes an asset rather than a shared resource.
But the excavation already happened. The bones are already out of the ground. Doesn't the auction just determine who pays for that work?
That's one way to see it. But Persons is arguing that the money could do more good if it went toward funding future excavations, not rewarding past ones. A billionaire buying a stegosaurus doesn't create new discoveries—it just moves existing ones around.
So paleontologists would prefer these fossils never be auctioned at all?
Many would, yes. They'd rather see a system where significant specimens are protected, kept in public institutions, made available for research. The auction market treats them like art or wine—commodities for the wealthy.
Is there any chance Gus ends up in a museum?
It's possible. Museums sometimes pool resources or receive donations. But given the price tag, it's more likely a private collector will win. That's the pattern we're seeing.
And Gus's owner, Gary Licking—he never got to see this happen?
He died during the excavation, before the skeleton was even assembled. He found the fragments on his land, realized something important was there, but never saw the finished discovery. His name lives on in the fossil's nickname, but he didn't live to see what it became.