A feathered dinosaur, dead for 125 million years, sits in a museum drawer with two small mammal skeletons still visible inside its abdomen — the remains of its last meal. For years, it went unrecognized.
That specimen is one of more than 70 species new to science that researchers at the American Museum of Natural History identified in a single year. The discoveries range from ancient reptiles and deep-river catfish to biting flies collected in the Philippines nearly a century ago. Many were never found in the wild — they were already here, waiting in collections, overlooked until now.
A year of 70 discoveries — and counting
In 2025 alone, researchers at the American Museum of Natural History formally described more than 70 species new to science. The list spans an almost implausible range of life: dinosaurs, mammals, fish, reptiles, insects, arachnids, marine invertebrates — and even a newly approved mineral found inside a volcanic rock in Russia.
That breadth isn’t accidental. The Museum has long been one of the world’s central hubs for biodiversity research, and its scientists publish new species descriptions as a core part of their work. Seventy in a single year is still remarkable by any measure.
“Together, these discoveries highlight the remarkable richness of Earth’s biodiversity and underscore the enduring value of natural history collections,” said Cheryl Hayashi, the Museum’s Senior Vice President and Provost of Science. “Specimens preserved across generations continue to reveal new insights, reminding us how much there is still to learn about life on our planet.”
Hiding in plain sight: the power of museum collections
Not every new species requires a jungle expedition or a deep-sea submersible. Many of the 2025 discoveries were made without leaving the building.
A suckermouthed minnow from the highlands of Vietnam had been collected by Museum ichthyologists and shelved — untouched — for 25 years. When researchers finally examined it closely, they found it was the first species of its genus ever recorded in Vietnam, and named it Supradiscus varidiscus.
A cichlid from Madagascar had a similar story. The lead scientist first collected it as a graduate student, more than 20 years before it was formally described. That fish, Paretroplus risengi, is distinguished partly by unique breeding coloration. Then there are the biting fruit flies — two species from the Philippines, remarkable for the hard, jaw-like mouthparts that males use during courtship, sitting in collections since the 1930s. Fresh scientific eyes and advances in technology made the difference. What once looked unremarkable can, under new scrutiny, turn out to be something no one has ever formally documented.
Feathered dinosaurs and ancient reptiles rewrite evolutionary stories
Some of the most striking finds came from deep time. Two new species of early feathered dinosaurs were described from 125-million-year-old deposits in China. One, Sinosauropteryx lingyuanensis, had originally been identified as a primitive bird. The other, Huadanosaurus sinensis, is the specimen from the opening — the one with two small mammal skeletons still preserved inside its abdomen.
Scotland’s Isle of Skye yielded a different kind of surprise. Breugnathair elgolensis — a Jurassic reptile with python-like hooked teeth and a gecko-like body — is now considered one of the oldest relatively complete fossil lizards ever found. Described in Nature, it offers new clues about the origins of lizards and snakes.
From Jurassic China came Camurocondylus lufengensis, a squirrel-sized early mammal that lived between roughly 174 and 201 million years ago. A study led by Museum researchers and the Chinese Academy of Sciences found that this animal, alongside a second species identified in the 1980s, suggests the evolution of the modern mammal jaw is more complex than previously thought. Each of these finds shifts — sometimes slightly, sometimes significantly — our understanding of how vertebrate life developed.
Insects, arachnids, and creatures from unexpected places
Forty-seven of the newly described species were insects, the majority of them bees. A “teddy bear” bee from Vietnam (Habropoda pierwolae) made the list, as did a cuckoo bee armed with long, sword-like spines on its back. A fossil bumble bee from 47-million-year-old German amber was described still carrying pollen — a detail that speaks to the precision with which amber can freeze a single moment in time.
Four sap flies, trapped in 17-million-year-old Dominican amber, revealed an ancient biogeographic link between the Caribbean and North America. Most such connections run through Central or South America; these flies suggest the history is considerably more complicated.
Among the four new arachnids was Hemiscorpius jiroftensis, a scorpion from Iran whose venom may have applications in pharmaceutical development. A cave-dwelling tick-spider from Venezuela, Cryptocellus armasi, rounded out the group. One pollen wasp collected in Australia’s Northern Territory also proved new to science — Metaparagia cuttacutta — found by a researcher stranded there for eight months during the COVID-19 pandemic.
What 70 new species in one year tells us about biodiversity
The variety here — in geography, time period, and taxonomy — points to something larger than any single find. Scientists have estimated that millions of species may exist that have never been named, studied, or even noticed. Natural history museums aren’t passive archives. They’re active scientific infrastructure, and specimens collected more than a century ago keep generating new knowledge as methods improve and researchers ask different questions.
Each new species description carries practical weight. Conservation decisions, ecological models, and evolutionary frameworks all depend on knowing what’s actually out there — a species that hasn’t been named can’t be protected, tracked, or studied in relation to others. That work requires sustained investment in taxonomy, in collection maintenance, and in training scientists who know how to look.
If more than 70 species were hiding in drawers, on shelves, and in amber — already collected, already preserved, simply waiting — how many more are still unrecognized? The answer is almost certainly: many more than we think.
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