First conducted in 2014, the recurring questionnaire tracks yearly anxiety trends that often range from everyday concerns to existential terrors. This year, 61.1 percent of over 1,200 respondents once again cited “corrupt government officials” as their biggest fear—the same subject was last year’s number one entrant as well as its 11th year on the list. After that, it’s the fear of another world war (51.9 percent). However, “AI harming the political process” wasn’t too far behind for third place at 51.9 percent. The technocentric worry is now essentially tied with the fear of loved ones becoming gravely ill (51.8 percent).
Government corruption is once again at the top of the list. Credit: Chapman University
That said, the survey’s own plus or minus 3.79 percentage point margin of error complicates the results a bit. Taking the margin of error into consideration, it’s a tossup when trying to definitively rank the list’s third through tenth fears. Regardless, about 49.7 percent survey takers are also anxious about AI negatively impacting the economy—a double dose of AI-centric woes for the first time in the survey’s history. It’s also the first year researchers at Chapman University in California included questions about AI, but they made it clear it likely won’t be the last.
“As artificial intelligence becomes more integrated into everyday life, understanding these fears will be increasingly important,” said Chapman University sociologist and survey creator Christopher Bader. “We expect concerns about AI to remain a significant part of the national conversation in the years ahead.”
It’s understandable why AI currently vexes so many people. The blanket term now encompasses everything from photorealistic fake images, to dubious search engine chatbots, to nebulous doomsday warnings. Despite these worries, the AI industry’s biggest threats arguably remain the rampant spread of misinformation, coupled with a lack of meaningful regulations or oversight.
But no matter your top technological fear, survey organizers still believe the annual report highlights a very relatable human emotion.
“What I’m seeing more and more over time is that our fear about our loved ones is going to always be there, no matter what’s going on in the world,” said sociologist Ashley Kranjac, director of Chapman University’s Earl Babbie Research Center.
Launched in 2023, the European Space Agency’s (ESA) Euclid space telescope observes some of the most distant regions of the visible universe for signs of dark matter and dark energy. But even while focused on the “big picture,” Euclid’s onboard equipment is surprising astronomers by capturing tiny photobombers like errant comets.
Its recent portraits of one specific dusty space rock are especially impressive, however. Euclid spotted a never-before-seen comet sailing through space more than 807.7 million miles from Earth. The telescope isn’t designed to automatically flag an image interloper. Instead, the bright blemish seen in multiple images was spotted by a moving object detection program designed by Mikko Pöntinen, an astronomer at the University of Helsinki in Finland.
“I was excited to see my software flag a ‘streak’ smeared across several images—the result of a fast-moving object,” said Pöntinen. “Further inspection revealed that it had a fuzzy cloud around it, indicative of an active object like a comet that is shedding dust and gas.”
Pöntinen quickly relayed his findings to the International Astronomical Union’s Minor Planet Center (MPC), which then passed the news along to researchers around the world. On October 8, the MPC confirmed the newly discovered comet, which is now classified C/2026 S1 (Euclid).
C/2026 S1 was seen from five different fields of view over multiple days in the Euclid Deep Field North region of the telescope’s scans. Astronomers now know the comet’s trajectory isn’t located on the same horizontal plane as the planets. Instead, its path is technically taking it over the solar system along a multi-thousand-year orbit.
Euclid’s discovery is particularly striking because the telescope’s six-year mission is specifically mapped to avoid areas of the sky that are laden with comets and asteroids.
“Very few comets are expected to be discovered by Euclid, so it was a happy coincidence,” added Euclid archive scientist Bruno Altieri.
With Alaska’s fat bears done packing on their winter weight and spooky season in full swing, it’s time to turn our collective animal-loving attention to a smaller mammal—bats. The Bureau of Land Management’s (BOEM) annual Bat Beauty Contest returns on October 24 and promises “plenty of batty puns.”
Beginning Saturday, October 24, BOEM will post photos of the competitors to their Facebook and Instagram accounts and ask you to vote for the best-looking one. All of the competing bats are part of wild populations that live on land managed by the public agency and are photographed by wildlife technicians. The winner will be announced (appropriately) on Saturday, October 31.
The bats in this competition are known for their squishy faces and clever names. In 2024, a hoary bat (Lasiurus cinereus) from Oregon named Hoary Potter took the crown. Other contestants included a long-eared myotis (Myotis evotis) named Honey Bunches of MyOtis, a myotis bat (Myotis myotis) named Robert Battinson, and western small-footed bats (Myotis ciliolabrum) named Batt Damon and Batlor Swift. The contest was not held in 2025 due to the 43-day-long federal government shutdown.
A hoary bat at Isle Royale National Park in Michigan. Image: NPS Photo/Bat Conservation International.
The contest is not all bat puns and a way to keep the spirit of Fat Bear Week alive. It falls during Bat Week (October 24-31). Bat Week raises awareness about the Earth’s only flying mammal. More than just a Halloween symbol, bats play a critical ecological role as plant pollinators and through eating insects that can threaten crops and forests around the world. According to Bat Week, one bat can eat up to its body weight in insects every night. Only three species of bats eat animal blood, with two specializing in bird blood. Female lesser long-nosed bats even make tequila possible. Every spring, they migrate from south-central Mexico up to the southwestern United States, following “nectar corridors” of columnar cacti and agave plants. They pollinate agave plants, which are then used to make tequila and mezcal. When they feed on cactus fruits and nectar, they may also help disperse cacti seeds. Other bats eat pollen, nectar, or fruit.
Bats are increasingly threatened due to habitat loss, light pollution, and diseases like white-nose syndrome. This fungal disease infects the skin of the muzzle, ears, and wings of hibernating bats. In about 20 years, it has killed millions of bats across North America and affects about half of the species on the continent. Bats also are often misunderstood as carriers of diseases such as rabies.
The planet is home to over 1,400 species of bats, and they make up almost 20 percent of all mammal species. Bats also can be found almost everywhere on Earth, even in desert and polar regions. To look up which bat species live near you, you can use Bat Week’s state bat database.
In the summer of 1518, people in Strasbourg couldn’t seem to stop dancing—some even danced themselves to death.
It all started with one woman, who stepped into the street and began moving uncontrollably. Soon, dozens of other residents followed suit, overcome with the inexplicable urge to hop, jerk, and sway. Within weeks, the outbreak had spread throughout the city, leaving officials, physicians, and religious leaders scrambling to figure out what was happening—and, more importantly, how to make it stop.
Five centuries later, the dancing plague of 1518 remains one of history’s strangest medical mysteries. Historical records confirm that a bizarre episode turned a medieval city into a very unwilling dance floor that summer, but exactly why it happened remains a matter of debate.
A bizarre outbreak takes hold
The dancing plague began on July 14, 1518, when a woman named Frau Troffea started dancing in Strasbourg, then part of the Holy Roman Empire and now a city in northeastern France. Though her husband begged her to stop, Troffea kept moving as day faded to night, while a crowd of onlookers gathered around to watch. Eventually, she collapsed and fell asleep, but when she awoke the next morning, she resumed her solitary jig.
Troffea’s uncontrollable dancing, known as choreomania, seemed to be contagious. Dozens of other people were soon gyrating in the streets of Strasbourg and, by late August, as many as 400 individuals had succumbed.
At the time, the leading theory was that St. Vitus, a fourth-century Sicilian martyr believed to punish sinners by making them dance, had cursed the afflicted. Then, once St. Vitus decided his victims had suffered enough, he would relieve them of the curse.
St. Vitus was martyred in 303 during the persecution of Christians by the co-Emperors Diocletian and Maximian. Image: Contributor / Getty Images / Print Collector
City leaders determined that the best course of action was to keep the dancers dancing, so they cleared the outdoor grain market, built a stage, and hired musicians. They didn’t explain their rationale in any known, surviving documents, so historians don’t know exactly why they did this. But John Waller, associate professor of the history of medicine at Michigan State University and the author of The Dancing Plague: The Strange, True Story of an Extraordinary Illness, suspects they had two reasons: They believed dancing could help people purge physical impurities from their bodies, and they viewed it as a form of penance.
“If people were believed to have been cursed by God or a saint for some kind of immorality, well, dancing was associated with hedonism and that was fundamentally immoral,” he tells Popular Science. “A way of basically punishing oneself would be to dance to the point of exhaustion and pain and potentially even death. It would make sense with that potential framework.” In other words, from the leaders’ perspective, if dancing was their punishment, let them be punished.
Dancing themselves to death
Regardless of their motives, the authorities’ decision had “very, very clear consequences,” he says. It was a hot summer, and the dancers were likely under the full glare of the sun. They weren’t eating or drinking much, and they weren’t resting.
“This is certainly going to be extremely dangerous for a large number of people, particularly anybody with any kind of susceptibility to heart attack or stroke,” says Waller.
The historical records are murky on exactly how many people died—one writer claimed as many as 15 per day, at least for a time—but it was enough to make city leaders completely change course.
“They essentially banned dancing, except for some people in the privacy of their own homes, and then instituted a program of penance and prayer,” says Waller. “They clearly realized that what they’d been doing before was causing harm and I suspect they got the impression that it was making things worse.”
Eventually, the authorities transported the remaining dancers to a shrine dedicated to St. Vitus about 30 miles away, where religious leaders went to work praying and leaving offerings. As days and weeks passed, the dancers overcame their choreomania and returned to their normal lives—traumatized and tired, but otherwise fine.
Strasbourg’s dancing plague in 1518 wasn’t the only such incident of its kind. Image: Getty Images / Contributor / Bettmann
The dancing plague of 1518 wasn’t the only such incident of its kind. Numerous other outbreaks of uncontrollable dancing occurred in western Europe between the late 1300s and mid-1500s—and Waller thinks it’s no coincidence that many were clustered along the Rhine River and its tributaries.
“Rivers are very good for, obviously, transporting trade goods, but they’re also very good for spreading ideas,” he says. “From the headwaters in Switzerland all the way down to where the Rhine flows into the North Sea, you’ve got this belief in a saint who curses with a dance.”
Theories behind the dancing
Now that we have the benefit of hindsight, what might explain the dancing plague of 1518 and others like it? One theory is that the dancers were sickened by ergot, a fungus that can contaminate grain. Another holds venomous spiders bit the afflicted. Demonic possession, epilepsy, typhus, and encephalitis—brain inflammation caused by an infection or autoimmune response—have also been put forward as possible explanations.
But after considering all the evidence, Waller thinks there’s only one plausible theory that truly makes sense. He suspects the dancers of Strasbourg were all victims of mass hysteria, also known as mass psychogenic illness, brought on by intense psychological distress.
The years leading up to 1518 were rough, particularly for the lower classes, with failed crops, bad weather, economic issues, social unrest, religious tensions, and illnesses like smallpox, leprosy, and syphilis taking a toll on peoples’ psyches. They were hungry, anxious, sad, scared, and worried that God had abandoned them.
Waller suspects the people living in Strasbourg simply reached their breaking point, then entered into a trance-like state that rendered them largely insensitive to their extreme fatigue and sore feet. They danced, Waller argues, rather than weeping, fighting, praying, or engaging in some other behavior because of their belief in St. Vitus and his dancing curse.
Given the period-specific cultural and religious underpinnings, could something like the dancing plague of 1518 happen today?
Waller shares several modern examples of mass psychogenic illness that, although they don’t involve dancing, he finds to be similar in nature. More than 300 students in Blackburn, England, suffered from a mysterious fainting fit in 1956, for example, and hundreds of people succumbed to alternating fits of laughing and sobbing in East Africa in 1962. In 2007, students at a Catholic boarding school near Mexico City came down with a mysterious sickness that made walking difficult. A year later, 20 female students in Tanzania suffered a mass fainting episode during their final-year national examinations.
And although the dancing plague of 1518 took place more than 500 years ago, Waller says we can still learn plenty from it. For him, the most important takeaway is “the way in which our expression of severe distress can be culturally conditioned and channeled.”
When Waller initially started researching the dancing plague of 1518, it was such a “wild phenomenon” that his inclination was to think “as strange as the past can be, this was simply too strange to have actually happened,” he says. But as he dug deeper—and, more importantly, began to understand the context within which it arose—it started to make more and more sense.
In other words, he says, it reminds us that psychological distress is not expressed in a vacuum. The culture, beliefs, and circumstances around us can shape how our inner turmoil manifests—and, in some cases, how it spreads from one person to another.
In That Time When, Popular Science tells the weirdest, most surprising, and little-known stories that shaped science, engineering, and innovation.
If matter and antimatter had come out of the Big Bang in equal amounts, there would be no stars today. Every particle has an antimatter twin with the opposite electric charge, and when the two meet, both vanish in a burst of energy. A perfect balance would have left a universe of pure light, with […]
Tattoos are pretty permanent decisions, and laser removal is often described as more painful than actually getting them in the first place. But what about a design that can only be seen when you want to see it? Engineers at the University of Colorado Boulder are working on a new type of tattoo ink to answer that question. Their dye is specifically concocted to physically alter depending on exposure to visible or ultraviolet (UV) light.
The team described their invention in a study published earlier this month in the journal Matter & Light, and they didn’t only demonstrate the capabilities in the lab on silicone and pig skin. One of its creators, Carson Bruns, has already tattooed himself with the ink.
“[It’s] almost a tradition,” the study co-author recently told Nature.
Bruns, a nanoscientist at UC Boulder, previously developed a now-commercialized tattoo product called “Magic Ink” that turns magenta depending on its exposure to UV light. To highlight its efficacy, Bruns gave himself “solar freckles” as a method to track his exposure to sunlight. In similar fashion, he recently completed a similar session on his leg using the disappearing ink.
The formula currently comes in three colors—yellow, blue, and magenta—and essentially relies on the same principles behind transition lenses and some textiles. Each dye is composed of tiny spheres of acrylic glass. These beads contain photochromes, which are chemical compounds engineered to absorb specific light wavelength photons. In this case, the photochomic dye’s spheres begin in their original color, but then flatten into transparency after absorbing corresponding light photons exposed to UV rays. The dye remains this way until it absorbs visible light photons, which destroys the chemical bond and allows the spheres to return to their original shape.
Aside from the lab tests, Bruns tattooed his own leg over about 12 months using various dye combinations, all of which responded as intended to UV and visible light exposure. The ink also remained effective for over two years—but the team’s intention is go beyond a nifty parlor trick. Future ink iterations may be particularly useful in medical procedures, such as temporary markings to help maintain accuracy during direct radiotherapy sessions. For now, however, the photochromic tattoo dyes remain for laboratory (and Bruns’) use only until further safety assessments are completed.
Not far from the Black Sea, a child’s grave uncovered in present-day Bulgaria has provided archaeologists a somber look at Roman funerary practices. Flagged in the city of Stara Zagora during a site survey for a new apartment complex and parking garage project, the burial contained stunningly preserved gold earrings as well as a single, small coin known as an antoninianus. But while the currency’s age is traceable to within a year of its minting, the bronze piece may also represent a grieving family’s hopes for their child’s safe passage into the afterlife.
The Roman empire at its height included over 1.9 million square miles of territory, including much of central Europe and central Asia. Rome annexed the region of Thrace in 46 CE, and eventually renamed the city of Stara Zagora as Ulpia AugustaTraiana in honor of Emperor Trajan (98 to 117 CE). Augusta Traiana quickly grew into one of Thrace’s most prominent urban hubs, becoming so prosperous that Rome ultimately granted permission to build its own coin mint during the second and third centuries CE.
Over 1,750 years later, Augusta Traiana’s remnants exist underneath a city once again known as Stara Zagora. Ruins of the Roman empire are regularly unearthed through the town, including the recent discovery of a large cemetery used for nearly three centuries outside Augusta Traiana’s original walls. Among the 135 graves, researchers identified a child buried with a pair of gold earrings and one of Thrace’s bronze coins. Although details about the young individual’s death and identity remain unclear, the coin clearly dates to either 274 or 275 CE. Archaeologists assume the child likely died either around that time period, or soon after.
While researchers may never learn the precise circumstances of the burial, ancient Greek and Roman funerary beliefs suggest the coin served a specific purpose. It’s possible the child’s family intentionally placed the currency with the deceased as payment to Charon, the ferryman who brought souls to the afterlife. Knowing this, it may be that grieving relatives hoped to impart one final gift to their loved one.
Japan launches a ground-breaking mission to the Mars moon Phobos today, and you can watch live.
The JAXA (Japan Aerospace Exploration Agency) MMX (Martian Moons eXploration) mission aims to collect samples from Phobos, the larger of Mars’ two moons, and deliver it back to Earth for analysis. If successful, the samples could help solve long-standing mysteries about Mars’ moons, including their origin.
In 1877, US astronomer Asaph Hall discovered Phobos and its smaller sibling, Deimos. The moons have arguably the most bad-ass names in our solar system: Phobos comes from the ancient Greek word φόβος (phobos), meaning “fear,” and Deimos originates with the ancient Greek word Δεῖμος, which translates to “dread.”
Despite increased attention on Mars in recent decades, astronomers don’t know exactly how the celestial bodies formed. Theories include asteroids or debris leftovers from way back when the solar system formed about 4.5 billion years ago.
“The samples from MMX will bring forth paradigm-shifting science on the Mars system for generations to come, especially as NASA prepares to send the first humans to Mars,” said Nicky Fox, associate administrator and Science Mission Directorate at NASA, said in a statement. While a JAXA mission, NASA worked with the agency to provide instruments and technologies to assist.
The MMX spacecraft launches on top of an H3 rocket at Japan’s Tanegashima Space Center today at 3:41 p.m. EDT (4:41 a.m. Japan Standard Time on October 20). You can watch it live on JAXA’s YouTube page. The mission will get to Phobos in August 2027 and spend at least 16 months surveying the surface before collecting samples. The samples will not return to Earth until at least 2031.
Neanderthals left plenty of traces in the western Pyrenees, the mountain range that separates Spain from France. Stone tools, butchered animal bones, the leftovers of their camps. What nobody had ever found in Navarre, the region of northern Spain whose capital is Pamplona, was a single bone of the people themselves. On Monday that changed, […]
Snakes will bite, rattle their tails, and even spit venom to escape danger. But of all the world’s species, southeast Asia’s dwarf reed snake (Pseudorabdion longiceps) relies on an especially fascinating escape method. When threatened, the diminutive serpent rolls away like a speeding wheel.
An adult dwarf reed snake typically measures less than 12 inches long, but its unique locomotive maneuvers allow it to retreat as fast one foot per second—about four times faster than it travels by simply slithering on the ground. It’s not a flailing getaway, either. The snake also easily rolls along a straight path while somehow keeping its head both stable and facing forward.
Now, researchers finally have a better understanding of how the dwarf reed snake achieves such dizzying acrobatics. In a study published today in the journal Current Biology, a team at Japan’s Toho University detailed the specific physiology that enables its locomotion after filming the snakes with high-speed cameras. Essentially, the snake doesn’t rotate its entire body in a singular, forward motion—it whips one side of its body forward towards the ground while an arched portion swings down by its head in what the study’s authors call a “stroke.” The snake then alternates between its left and right side coming into contact with the ground for each successive stroke. Essentially, it’s like twirling a rope in a lateral circle while holding one end in your hand—except that end is the snake’s head.
The cumulative efforts bypass the traditional idea of a wheel requiring something like a central axle. Instead, this ingenious, highly controlled movement allows the animal to keep its head and sensory organs upright and facing ahead while traveling at such high speed. This is compounded by the dwarf reed snake directing regions of its body to engage in large, alternating rotations while stabilizing its head.
By gaining better insight into these biological mechanisms, researchers also highlight the difficulty in trying to predict an animal’s capabilities based solely on its physiology. A snake may have primarily evolved to slither—but that doesn’t mean it can’t get creative when necessary.
October is officially Bat Appreciation Month. In the spirit of the season and conservation, a team of biologists in California recently spent time finding bats at Muir Woods National Monument and Samuel P. Taylor State Park. And while Halloween is fast approaching, the activity had nothing to do with spooky festivities and everything to do with tracking hoary (Lasiurus cinereus) and western red bats (Lasiurus blossevillii).
The goal of their survey was to put GPS trackers on bats from the two migratory species. Hoary bats have grey-white fur and are the most widespread bat species in North, Central, and South America. Western red bats, also known as southern red bats, sport a reddish fur and are found in parts of South America. In redwood forests, bats like nesting within holes inside large trees.
“When they migrate, those little guys can cover a LOT of ground!” the Golden Gate National Recreation Area writes, referencing both species. “By learning about these migratory patterns, we can better understand entire ecosystems like Muir Woods.”
The bats were released back into the wild after getting their trackers. Image: NPS / Emily Pellegrini.
Bats are important members of such ecosystems. They are pollinators, they spread seeds, and they help manage insect populations. To catch these helpful agents, scientists set up a sheer, delicate net called a “mist net” over a creek at dusk. All bats are nocturnal, and when they went searching for their next meal—bugs—they flew into the net.
It was a bit of a trick for the winged mammals, but a treat for the human team. “Expert bat wranglers” carefully took them out of the nets, noted their weight and size, presumably attached the GPS tracker, and then returned them to the wild.
The Golden Gate National Recreation Area’s shared pictures of tiny, disgruntled looking bats carefully pinched between gloved fingers. In one image, an expert holds a bat wing up to the light of a colleague’s headlamp. In fact, illuminated wing membrane patterns literally shed light on the bat’s age and developmental stage.
A bat’s membrane can tell biologists how old the animal is and what developmental stage it is in. Image: NPS / Emily Pellegrini.
While this survey focused on two bat species, researchers at the Muir Woods National Monument have previously spotted 10 different species.
On the evening of March 18, as it was growing dark, I went to the window, not knowing what was drawing me. Next to the house stood a shadow, ghost-like, shrunken, at one with the dusk, almost translucent, and I recognized The Girl with the Broken Foot.
I walked out into the falling wet snow, slowly approaching her, and she allowed me to come close. Nine months old, she was the size of a fawn half that age. Starkly emaciated, her body seemed to be collapsing inward, her head held low. Literal hunger and a deeper starvation were palpable. She bore the haunted look of terminal solitude seen in souls driven to the margins of society, among the liv-ing, yet apart. She seemed so frail that I couldn’t imagine she would live more than another day or two.
Going inside and returning with a bowl of apples, I cut them into pieces and placed a few on the ground between us. She was raven-ously hungry and I gave her a few more apples, and still more, until she had eaten a total of eight. After she had finished eating, she stayed with me. We stood about a foot apart. She showed no fear of me, a fact which I would later come to recognize as meaningful. The moment had the compelling quality which has been present at the onset of many enduring connections in my life, of being un-bound by linear time.
“I am watching over you,” I said softly. “If you come here, I will take care of you. You are not alone.”
It was fully dark when we parted, having been together for an hour. I expected that she would recede into the woods, yet the next morning she was sleeping against the house, directly beneath the window closest to where I sit all day to work. Save for the wall separating us, she could not have gotten any closer to me.
Paul feeding Penelope. Image: Paul Bochner.
When I went around to the front of the house, she struggled to her feet and approached. In the morning light, I was better able to assess the state of her health. Months of solitary survival had taken a severe toll. Her body seemed hollowed, her ribs and pelvis sharply visible beneath her skin, and it felt a miracle that she was alive. On her right flank was a hemispherical mass the size of a cantaloupe, which I took to be a tumor, yet it had an open, running wound at its center, which she periodically craned her neck to lick. Her eyes were running and had congealed masses at their inner corners.
I bent to get a look at her injured foot. From not being walked on, the backward-facing cloven hoof had grown to an abnormal length and was curling upward. The wrist, which unnaturally bore her weight, had a flattened forward surface, an oval about two inches across, worn raw, without hair or skin, only pale pink–grey flesh, which, at its center, appeared to have been further abraded to the bone. Her right front foot, forced to compensate, was splayed and rockered, her right scapula protruded, and her front quarters were substantially lower than her hips.
I again placed apple pieces on the ground between us. I spoke very gently to her, saying, “You are the best one of all the deer. You are the most beautiful. You are good.” I continued to talk to her while she ate her apples, and when she had taken all she could, she returned to her resting spot under the window. I went inside to work, keeping periodic watch, pleased that she seemed to have claimed a place. But in a few minutes, from around the corner of the house came the twins, followed by their mother who immediately and ag-gressively charged at her. The Girl with the Broken Foot lurched upright and hobbled down the embankment, across the road and into the woods.
She was once again alone, but a step had been taken. Since the previous evening, things had changed. Even before her second feed-ing she had recognized me on sight. She had approached and had again allowed me near.
Although I had seen her fewer than half a dozen times in the preceding months, from the night of our first connection, she began to come to the house every day. She slowly gained strength and I would watch for her and thrill to the sight of her slow approach. It was our private time. We stood together, and I placed her food on the ground between us. After she ate, she would stare into my eyes for long periods, seemingly entranced. I told her stories. I sang softly to her. I told her she was my beauty.
So began our journey, and one of the greatest loves I have ever known.
Penelope walking into the house. Image: Paul Bochner.
About the Author
Paul Bochner began his professional life early, as a working musician through his mid-teens in Los Angeles, then moving to Montreal at the invitation of the National Film Board of Canada. He has won several international awards for his films and is the recipient of a Guggenheim Fellowship in painting. He has written for The New Yorker and The Atlantic.
One cold December day in 2021, Colorado carnivorous plant grower Jeremiah Harris shared some pictures of wild Amazonian giant water lilies (Victoria amazonica) plants in the Inírida River in Guainía, Colombia to Instagram. There’s just one problem. No known Victoria water lily species grow there.
When water lily expert Carlos Magdalena saw the post on Instagram, he suspected a new plant species could be involved. To investigate the matter, he used satellite imagery to remotely search the Inírida River and its surrounding lakes and confirmed the presence of Victorias.
And yes, you can see these enormous plants from space. Victorias grow the world’s second largest single plant leaf.
Victoria colombiana is the fourth Victoria water lily to be described. Image: Carlos Magdalena.
Magdalena is a botanical and scientific research horticulturist at the Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew in the U.K. Along with his colleagues, the team went on a five-day expedition to Inírida. The team included members of the Indigenous reserves del río Atabapo, one of whom had seen the lilies during his childhood.
However, the trip didn’t exactly go according to plan. By their last night, they had found only two water lily plants, neither of which had flowers. This was a problem, because botanists need a flower to differentiate species. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the water lilies they found seemed to be struggling with a late rainy season.
But when Magdalena described their situation to the expedition’s boat captain, Gustavo Melo, he said he knew where they could find more of this water lily. They didn’t have much time to do so, with the team’s flight back to Bogotá was at 9:00 a.m. the next morning. Thus at 1:00 a.m., Melo, a member of the Indigenous Tucano community, led them to a small lake. There, they found five more Victorias, one of which was blooming.
Horiculturalist Carlos Magdalena holds up a giant lilypad. Image: Mauricio Bernal.
“This is one of those extraordinary stories where indigenous and horticultural knowledge with the help of social media and technology came together to uncover a truly extraordinary botanical achievement,” Magdalena said in a statement.
The researchers were able to collect what they needed to start the official scientific description of the new species: Victoria colombiana. They even managed to make that early flight. In their recent study published in the journal Phytotaxa, he and his colleagues also announced the discovery of another new Victoria species, Victoria mattogrossensis.
A Victoria colombiana bud. Image: Nilo Rodriguez.
The team estimates that there are only between 30 and 50 wild V. colombiana plants, and is extremely vulnerable to extinction. They are currently working to get the plant officially categorized as Critically Endangered by the IUCN Red List.
“Now that we know this water lily exists, our responsibility is to understand it better and protect it. With so many plants in the wild threatened with extinction, we simply cannot wait any longer to take action,” Magdalena added. Experts are considering starting a naturalized population in a more accessible lake in Indigenous territory and researchers also are hoping to cultivate the species in Bogotà.
When zoology professor Daniel Baldassarre traveled to the remote Galápagos Islands of Wolf and Darwin with two other researchers, getting there proved quite a challenge. With no beaches to land a boat on, they had to approach the islands’ cliffs in a small dinghy and wait for a lull in the waves before jumping onto sharp, black lava rocks.
But their efforts paid off. On that trip, they saw a bird that very few people have ever set eyes on in the wild: the vampire ground finch. These finches are only found on Wolf and Darwin, and feed on the blood of much larger birds called Nazca boobies that also live on the islands.
Up close, Baldassarre and his colleagues noted the vampire finches’ blood-stained bills and their throats visibly engorged with blood. They also saw them in action.
“We observed scores of vampire finches clamouring all over the backs, tails, and wings of boobies, opening up substantial wounds with their sharp beaks, and drinking their fill of blood,” they wrote in an article for The Conversation.
Why only some birds drink blood
“Blood is a notoriously difficult food source to process and extract nutrients from, which probably partly explains why so few animals have evolved to feed on it,” Baldassarre tells Popular Science. He suspects that on these islands where freshwater is extremely rare, blood might serve as a water source for the finches.
Two Nazca boobies perform their species’ mating call. Vampire ground finches feed on Nazca boobies on the remote Galápagos Islands of Wolf and Darwin. Image: Getty Images / inthedark72
It’s not the only component of the vampire finches’ diet, however. Based on unpublished data collected by Baldassarre and his colleagues, blood makes up about one-tenth of the vampire finches’ diet.
“These finches are quite opportunistic, so they will eat just about anything they can find,” Baldassarre says. “We observed them feeding on everything from seeds to insects to broken seabird eggs.”
One theory is that vampire finches rely more on blood feeding in periods of extreme drought, when other resources are scarce. But more research is needed to see if this idea holds up in practice.
How this strange behavior evolved
Vampire finches weren’t always vampires, scientists think. The relationship between vampire finches and boobies probably started off with the finches eating parasites found on the skin and feathers of the boobies. This would have been mutually beneficial because it provided a cleaning service for the boobies and food for the finches.
But at some point in evolutionary history, in the process of picking off parasites, the finches started to create lesions on the boobies’ skin, and eventually began feeding on their blood.
Over time, their bills became more scalpel-like, perfect for making skin incisions. Their digestive system also changed. When Baldassarre and his colleagues studied the microbes found in vampire finches’ guts, they found that their gut microbiome was very different from that of other, non-blood-consuming finches on the Galápagos Islands, something they attribute to their unique diet.
Until recently, vampire finches were considered a subspecies of the sharp-beaked ground finch (Geospiza difficilis).
“But they have now been designated as their own species [Geospiza septentrionalis] because of the differences they have evolved because of blood feeding,” Baldassarre notes.
Vampire ground finches on Wolf island have been seen drinking nectar from Galápagos prickly pear flowers and other flowers. Image: Peter Wilton / CC BY 2.0
How the boobies cope
Baldassarre and his colleagues have seen vampire finches gang up on and kill nestling boobies,“but that was quite rare,” he points out.
“In most cases, the finches seem to inflict just enough damage to break the skin and extract some blood, but not too much to harm the boobies significantly.” This is similar to many parasite-host relationships, such as fleas, ticks, and mosquitoes on mammals. “You can kind of think of the vampire finches as giant mosquitoes,” Baldassarre says.
“For one, as in large animals being bitten by mosquitoes, often the damage is minimal and not noticeable, so it doesn’t elicit a strong reaction. Also, the boobies sometimes have a vested interest in staying put and guarding their spot in the colony, or perhaps nest or nestlings, so may not want to fly away. Finally, the finches seem to target hard-to-reach areas on the boobies like the base of tail feathers, so it’s likely difficult for the boobies to deter them.”
I, for one, was feeling very sorry for the boobies being constantly hounded by these small vampire birds. Until I learnt that Nazca boobies practice something called “obligate siblicide,” which essentially means that the first-hatched chick routinely attacks and kills its younger sibling. It’s a harsh, bird-eat-bird world in the Galápagos Islands.
In Ask Us Anything, Popular Science answers your most outlandish, mind-burning questions, from the everyday things you’ve always wondered to the bizarre things you never thought to ask. Have something you’ve always wanted to know? Ask us.
Thirty-five thousand spectators. That is the capacity the authors of a new study attribute to the Roman amphitheatre of Itálica, in Santiponce, near Seville in southern Spain. It is roughly the crowd of a mid-sized modern football stadium, and there was not a single loudspeaker in those stands. Whatever happened on the sand had to […]
Some animal rescues are more complicated than others—especially when the creature in peril is about to become a snack for a seagull on a remote Alaskan beach with polar bears lurking nearby.
That was the sticky situation an orphaned Pacific walrus (a subspecies of Odobenus rosmarus) calf was in when two researchers found it on an island in the region of Point Lay, Alaska. U.S. Geological Survey (USGS) research walrus biologist Tony Fischbach and Ilisaġvik College student and Point Lay local Violet Anniskett stumbled upon the young male while investigating walrus carcasses on a remote beach. They found the orphan between the remains of two adult walruses, which was a first in Fischbach’s long experience working with walrus herds there.
The researchers requested permission to rehabilitate the walrus from the local Inupiaq community and the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. Once the approval arrived, the next hurdle was getting the mammal to the Alaska SeaLife Center. The center is the only marine mammal rehabilitation facility in Alaska, and was over 800 miles away. As if things could get any more difficult, stormy weather left Anniskett, Fischbach, and the walrus stuck on the island for days. In the meantime, the researchers guided the calf to an abandoned building to shelter from predators.
“When we found him, a determined flock of gulls was intent on scavenging him. He was in immediate peril of suffering this fate had we not gotten approval to intervene. Two polar bears were also active on the island,” Fischbach said in a statement.
“He bonded with us fast and wouldn’t sleep unless one of us were in the room. It was just us two for three days, stuck in a storm with the young walrus,” Anniskett added.
The calf was finally transported to the local airport, and made it to Alaska SeaLife Center on September 14 after a flight and van ride. The 200 pound baby arrived dehydrated, but in good physical condition. They treated some superficial wounds, gave him fluids, and applied other stabilizing treatments.
But the calf’s journey wasn’t over. In fact, orphaned Pacific walrus calves are one of the most specialized patients in marine mammal rehabilitation.That’s because in the wild, calves are very attached to their mothers, with whom they usually stay for one to two years. Close physical contact both with their mothers and others of their king is a crucial element in a calf’s early life. In the case of an orphaned calf, humans (who are authorized specialists) can act as surrogates, but it’s a tough babysitting job. Someone has to be around all the time to provide physical contact, social interaction, feeding support, and any veterinary care.
Caring for a Pacific walrus calf is not for the faint of heart, but can be pretty cute. Image: Kaiti Grant/Alaska SeaLife Center.
“Caring for an orphaned walrus calf is truly a team effort and requires around the clock commitment,” said Jane Belovarac, an Alaska SeaLife Center wildlife response curator. “At least two staff members have been working shifts around the clock to stay with him and provide the care he needs. This means long days and some unusual sleeping schedules for our team.”
It also means that the calf becomes comfortable with humans and thus cannot return to the wild. Now in a new long term home (whose location hasn’t been announced yet), he will be an ambassador for his species by teaching people about Pacific walruses.
An extensive new analysis further confirms the oldest known human footprints in North America date back to the last ice age (about 23,500–21,700 years). To pinpoint their origins, researchers at the University of Arizona relied on cutting-edge methods at the United States Geological Survey (USGS) Radiocarbon Laboratory to examine hundreds of thousands of prehistoric pollen grains extracted from the tracks. According to researchers writing this week in the journal Science Advances, the team can even describe some of the dramatic environmental fluctuations experienced by these prehistoric humans within a single generation.
New Mexico’s White Sands National Park contains more than stunning vistas and desert dunes. It’s also home to one of the most controversial (and consequential) prehistoric discoveries of the last century. In 2006, archaeologists located footprints inside a dry lakebed that they later determined to be the earliest evidence of humans in North America. But there was a problem. Until then, researchers largely agreed that the first humans migrated into the continent about 16,000–12,000 years ago via Beringia, the subcontinent once connecting Alaska to Russia.
However, the White Sands footprints were estimated to be around 23,000 years old. That implied a sustained human presence on the continent at least seven millennia earlier than expected. Various archeological camps continued debating the true age of the White Sands footprints for years, while others cited similar—and sometimes older— sites in both North and South America. Meanwhile, the dry lakebed’s rarely seen geological conditions allowed researchers like University of Arizona geoscientist Jessica Tierney to learn more than each footprint’s age.
“The White Sands sediments are unique in that they allow us to reconstruct environmental conditions during the last ice age at a very high temporal resolution, so that we can see fluctuations that were relevant for the humans present at that time,” Tierney said.
Combining geochemical sediment signatures with the fossilized pollen, researchers accurately determined ancient regional details such as plant distribution, precipitation, temperature, and aridity. They soon learned that the humans who made the White Sands footprints would have experienced incredibly dramatic environmental shifts within their own lifetimes. Within only a few decades, the surrounding conifer forests transformed into plains covered with oak and sage. Lake Oterio, a giant body of water that once covered New Mexico’s national park, fluctuated in size for about 1,500 years until it receded completely. Although these shifts were large, they actually closely followed similar global climate changes at the time.
“And throughout that whole sequence, people were walking there, leaving their tracks alongside those of mammoths, giant sloths and dire wolves,” added Tierney.
It takes a village to raise a child, and sometimes it takes more than one wildlife rehabilitation center to care for a bat. Even if the bat in question weighs only six grams (about two ounces).
The recent rescue of the juvenile bat in Lancaster, Pennsylvania involved teamwork from the beginning. The “sky puppy” had been hanging on a local porch for two days. While that might not sound off, the bat’s exposure to the elements in a single location for that period of time made the situation an emergency, according to Raven Ridge Wildlife Center in southern Pennsylvania.
The rescued bat perched on a local porch. Image: Raven Ridge Wildlife Center.
Pennsylvania Bat Conservation and Rehabilitation contacted Raven Ridge, who sent a team member to get the bat. The winged mammal was very dehydrated and underweight. It was also unlike the bats that typically arrive at Raven Ridge. The team stabilized her, recontacted PA Bat Conservation and Rehabilitation, and the two organizations realized that they had a northern long-eared bat (Myotis septentrionalis) on their hands.
“Sadly, northern long-eared bats are now critically endangered in North America, with their population dropping by as much as 97% to 100% because of white-nose syndrome,” Tracie Young, Raven Ridge Wildlife Center director, tells Popular Science. White-nose syndrome is a fungal disease that has killed millions of bats in the U.S. and Canada.
“They are now protected at both the state and federal levels,” Young adds.
A Raven Ridge volunteer ultimately drove the youngster to the PA Bat Conservation and Rehabilitation facility about an hour away, where the team is expert in critically endangered bats. The bat was eventually returned to the wild, with a video featuring the little bat launching from a woman’s gloved hand into the night.
“Even though this is just one bat, it was important to get this bat to the rehabber who specializes not only in bats but also in those in a critically endangered status,” Young adds. “The video shows her flying beautifully. This effort was a wonderful partnership between Raven Ridge Wildlife Center and PA Bat Conservation and Rehabilitation.”
Your eyes really can betray your thoughts, but don’t get too self-conscious about it. Researchers in Japan believe that the subtle signs our eyeballs make are more useful to neuroscientists than the interrogation room. Based on their findings recently published in the journal iScience, examining the difference physiological responses from “inner” versus “overt” speech may help us better understand everything from linguistic development in children to the efficacy of silent pep talks.
To learn more, a team at the University of Tsukuba in Honshu enlisted dozens of volunteers for a series of simple counting exercises. After observing the participants at rest while thinking about nothing in particular for a control, researchers then asked them to count sequentially (1, 2, 3…), in number-subject combinations (one dog, two dogs…), and in specific intervals (1, 3, 5…). They also completed each task both silently and aloud. In each phase, the team carefully monitored their pupil dilation.
The results were subtle, but striking. Participants’ pupils dilated during each overt speech task, but this same muscle movement depended across each inner speech directive. Pupils constricted while volunteers silently counted sequentially, dilated for interval counting, and didn’t change at all for number-subject counting. But regardless of the inner speech task, pupil size changes were always smaller than they were during overt speech.
“The results of the present study do not support the initial assumption that inner and overt speech produce equivalent pupillary responses,” the team summarized. “Across the three experiments, overt speech consistently elicited pupil dilation, whereas inner speech did not.”
This collective data indicates that our inner speech isn’t simply the nonverbal counterpart to talking aloud. Instead, it’s a form of communication that appears to correspond to lower levels of brain arousal. If true, measuring pupil dilation may become a valuable tool when attempting to assess internal language and thinking. This could be particularly useful for studying language development in young children and infants who can’t properly describe their experiences to adults yet.
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