We came. We saw. We earned our 2017 eclipse t-shirts.
For us, the Aug. 21 total solar eclipse was the culmination of weeks — nay, months — of planning the stories you’ve recently seen on Science News. And as the big day finally approached, many members of the Science News staff past and present traveled far and wide to experience the spectacle.
Undeterred by traffic and clouds, and fueled by bottomless fried chicken and moon pies, correspondents made their way to small towns and big cities in the path of totality. For many of us, this was our first total solar eclipse, and it lived up to the hype. Astronomy writer Lisa Grossman wrote from her perch on a mountaintop in Wyoming, “I thought I knew what to expect from my first total solar eclipse. I had no idea.”
Even the crew at the Science News offices in Washington, D.C., got a pretty sweet view of the moon blocking out 81 percent of the sun. And it has inspired many of us to start planning now for the total solar eclipse that will cross the United States in April 2024.
All in all, the 2017 eclipse was unlike anything we’ve seen before, and it’s something we’re not likely to forget. But just in case, the video below showcases some snapshots from our trips to totality and back again.
When nocturnal aardvarks start sunbathing, something’s wrong.
If the animals are desperate enough to bask like some cold, sluggish turtle, it’s because they’ve got the chills. Robyn Hetem, an ecophysiologist, has the body temperature data to prove it — collected from late 2012 into 2013, the hottest summer the arid Kalahari region in South Africa had seen in more than 30 years.
Hotter, drier conditions are predicted to become the norm for southern Africa as the climate changes. Now Hetem and colleagues have used that foretaste of change to show that higher temperatures might hammer the normally heat-tolerant aardvarks by shrinking the animals’ food supply. Aardvarks live their burrow-digging lives just about anywhere in sub-Saharan Africa except the desert. The toothless night-foragers dine by slurping insect colonies. One of Hetem’s students at the University of the Witwatersrand in Johannesburg spent two years collecting hundreds of aardvark droppings and can confirm that Orycteropus afer in the Kalahari eat only termites and ants. Yet the solitary, long-snouted, knee-high mammals are more closely related to elephants than to any pointy-nosed South American anteater.
An aardvark looks “very lethargic but is incredibly strong and fast,” Hetem says. The researchers wanted to fit wild aardvarks with tracking devices and data loggers but first had to catch the animals. Nets failed. Traps failed. One cornered aardvark burst out of a burrow, knocked four men to the ground and then outran them. Eventually, researchers placed instruments on six animals. When the Kalahari baked and good rains were months late, the aardvarks grew thin and bony. They started hunting during the day and sunbathing. The animals, once able to internally stabilize their body temperatures, started to have great plunging chills at night, according to data loggers. That’s a sign of starvation, Hetem says, and occurs when the body no longer has energy to warm itself. Five of the six tracked animals died, along with at least 11 other aardvarks in the neighborhood. Aardvark heat tolerance wasn’t the problem. The animals were dying off because their food couldn’t take the heat and drought, Hetem and colleagues argue in the July Biology Letters. Hot, dry spells can make ant and termite colonies shrink and retreat to hard-to-reach hideouts. Other African wildlife might suffer from a shortage of aardvarks, which are prodigious burrow diggers. In a Kalahari study, one aardvark used more than 100 burrows in two years. So many hideaways are a boon for others. Bat-eared foxes, warthogs, birds called ant-eating chats and at least two dozen other species pop into aardvark architecture, sometimes outright moving in. If aardvarks dwindle, shelter might grow scarcer for other animals.
“We kind of think of climate change as: Things are going to get hotter and species might be sensitive to it,” Hetem says. “There’s so much more we need to understand.”
DENVER — An invasive beetle has unexpected — and potentially troublesome — tastes in trees. Now two new studies are clarifying the insects’ dining habits, researchers reported at the annual Entomological Society of America meeting.
Metallic-green Asian beetles called emerald ash borers (Agrilus planipennis) have devastated wide swaths of forest in North America. For years, researchers believed that only various kinds of ash trees were at risk. But in 2014, researchers noticed infestations in white fringe trees (Chionanthus virginicus), a multi-stemmed tree native to the southeastern United States with flowers like a cluster of streamers. And after looking at trees related to ashes, researchers reported lab evidence in 2017 that the beetle larvae can grow to adulthood in the Manzanilla variety of commercial olive trees (Olea europaea). Whether the beetle poses a serious or slight risk to the overlooked targets is still being researched. Emerald ash borers, accidentally imported probably in wood packing materials during the 1980s or 1990s, have killed hundreds of millions of ash trees in 31 states and two Canadian provinces. Larvae chewing tunnels through trees’ internal nutrient channels can doom a tree. It’s “a major, major pest,” says entomologist Jackie Hoban of the University of Maryland in College Park. “It’s so sad — you see entire patches of trees just dead.” Lab tests of the recently discovered threat to olive trees show that adult borers don’t eat as much of these leaves as they do of ash leaves, forest entomologist Donnie Peterson of Wright State University in Dayton, Ohio, reported November 6 at the meeting. These adults also die prematurely if those leaves are the only food option. But adult borers’ distaste for this variety of olive doesn’t yet mean the trees are safe. Female beetles feeding on ash trees might, in theory, fly to a nearby olive to lay eggs. To compare beetles’ preferences for laying eggs on olive versus ash will take a larger study. But Peterson’s first results are a little worrying. When he put olives and green ashes in a known infested zone, one of the few eggs he found was on an olive tree.
Free-flying beetles do lay eggs on white fringe trees, attacks that long went unreported. But the trees may not be as healthful a feeding site for beetle larvae as ash trees. In indoor tests, fewer larvae survived to their later stages on the fringe trees compared with larvae on white ashes, David Olson of the University of Kentucky in Lexington reported November 5. Olson works on whether biocontrol strategies developed for ash trees might also work on white fringe trees. So far, it doesn’t look encouraging. In outdoor tests, the most successful of four tiny parasitic wasp species released in North America did what they’re supposed to: Tetrastichus planipennisi doomed some beetle larvae in ash trees by using the youngsters as living food for baby wasps. Beetle larvae in nearby fringe trees, however, escaped wasp attacks.
Even if fringe trees don’t turn out to suffer massive damage, they could still present a very real threat if nurseries shipping trees from infested areas accidentally transport beetle larvae, too, Hoban says. Besides spreading the pests, that could make it tougher for ashes to weather existing invasions. The hope for ashes is that wasps will help keep beetles in check, and some exceptional ash trees will prove resistant enough to rebuild some sort of population.
Editor’s note: This story was updated November 23 to change the photo at the top of the story. The original photo was not an emerald ash borer.
There’s so much water on some of TRAPPIST-1’s seven Earth-sized planets that any life lurking there might be difficult to detect.
New estimates of the makeup of these potentially habitable worlds suggests that two of them are more than half water, by mass, researchers report March 19 in Nature Astronomy. Earth, by comparison, is less than 0.1 percent water.
TRAPPIST-1’s planets are so wet that most of the water probably isn’t even liquid, but ice formed under high pressure, says Cayman Unterborn, an exogeologist at Arizona State University in Tempe. That would change the chemistry happening on the planet in a way that could make any signs of life tricky to distinguish from geochemical processes. TRAPPIST-1 is a cool, dim star about 39 light-years from Earth. Since the star system’s discovery in 2017, it’s been a prime focus for scientists seeking life outside of our solar system because some of the seven planets might have the right conditions to host life (SN: 12/23/17, p. 25). They’re rocky rather than gaseous, and at least three are at a distance from the star that could let them host liquid water.
Unterborn and his colleagues used previous estimates of the mass and diameter of TRAPPIST-1’s planets to calculate the worlds’ densities. Then, the team used a computer program to test different compositions of basic planetary building blocks to determine which makeups would yield planets with those densities. Frozen or liquid water is less dense than rock, but more dense than a gas. So a less dense planet might have a higher proportion of water or gases compared with a denser, rockier world. But Unterborn doesn’t think the TRAPPIST-1 planets are massive enough to hold onto much of an atmosphere — it would probably escape into space. So the team concluded the lower densities in this system probably come from the presence of water. The researchers focused on four of the seven planets for which they had the best data. The first and second planets from the dwarf star are probably less than 15 percent water by mass, still far wetter than Earth, the researchers found.
The fifth and sixth planets, both in the habitable zone, are more than half water — a volume so large that the water pressure alone could force much of it into a form of ice, Unterborn says. He estimates that on the fifth planet, TRAPPIST-1f, liquid water extends down about 200 kilometers — about 20 times deeper than the Mariana Trench on Earth. Below that, a nearly 2,300-kilometer layer of ice stretches almost halfway to the center of the planet.
These water estimates might throw a wet blanket on the chances of finding life on any of TRAPPIST-1’s planets, if it exists at all. The thick covering of ice and water might mess up some of the geological processes that, at least on Earth, help regulate the planet’s temperature over long periods of time. If so, that might be an impediment to life getting a foothold. Having so much water might also slow or halt the movement of building blocks of life, such as carbon and phosphorus (the backbone of DNA), into oceans. That could make it harder for us to detect whether certain molecules in the water are hints of the presence of living organisms, or just the by-products of geological processes.
It doesn’t rule out life, Unterborn says, but it does make it harder to find. When it comes to understanding the way a planet’s geologic composition affects chemical processes, “the vast majority of data that’s out there is for one planet, and it’s ours,” he says. The TRAPPIST-1 system is “such an extreme of rocky planet chemistry.”
Updated estimates of the TRAPPIST-1 planets’ masses were published in February (SN Online: 2/5/18), and this study doesn’t use those numbers, says Billy Quarles, a physicist at the University of Oklahoma in Norman who wasn’t part of the study. Based on the newer estimates, TRAPPIST-1’s planets aren’t quite as wet as this study predicts. But the big-picture conclusion — that some of the planets contain far more water than Earth — still holds up, he says.
