The Arctic Ocean, 1997. Gary Klinkhammer had strapped a water chemistry analyzer onto the hull of a retired U.S. Navy nuclear submarine to measure carbon. He had come to this bleak and desolate place looking for organic matter, fertile detritus dumped into the ocean by massive rivers in Siberia and North America.
About a million years ago in South Africa, a cave dweller used fire on purpose, and some charred bones at the site suggest it may have been for cooking.
Ambling along the oaky trails at Finley Wildlife Refuge last Saturday morning — one of the first days without rain in a long, long time — my two friends and I paused at the edge of a pond along Woodpecker Loop. Just under the murky surface, several rough-skinned newts were swimming in slow motion, their bodies undulating in rhythm with the rippling of the water and the dappling of the sun.
James Cassidy doesn’t fit the stereotypical image of a scientist. Two star-shaped earrings dangle from his left ear. A fetching fedora is perched on top of his head. He’s swapped his white lab coat for a charcoal sports jacket. A chic checkered shirt peeks out underneath. His alert grey eyes are framed by dark glasses. When he walks into a lecture hall, students notice. Undergraduates and graduate students alike praise his engaging style, his passionate lectures and his dedication to dirt.
If you like to gamble, you might think that nature is bluffing. With each passing year, it appears she is not.
A mountaineer, a world traveler, an athlete and a Chinese scholar pursue answers to climate change questions.