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.
Many of the cutest animals on Earth have one appendage in common. Whether you’re thinking of an adorable raccoon, a kitten, or a puppy, it’s hard to imagine them without their fluffy tail. In fact, the overwhelming majority of animals have tails. Only a select few, like us humans, don’t have an external tail.
Sarah Durn: Think of some of the cutest animals you know, a puppy, a kitten, maybe a little red panda. Now, picture them without their tails.
It’s weird, right?
Tails are such a normal part of the animal world that we barely think about them, and they’re not just adorable accessories.
A kangaroo uses its big muscular tail to help it balance. Opossums can use their tails to grip branches. Fish use theirs to propel them through the water. And your dog can communicate an entire emotional journey with just a few well-timed wags.
Tails can help animals climb, swim, steer, balance, communicate, even swat away an annoying bug.
So what happened to ours? Because humans are part of a huge evolutionary family where tails are basically standard equipment.
We even briefly start developing a tail when we’re embryos. But look behind you now, and unless something has gone very unexpectedly, you probably don’t have one.
And neither do chimpanzees, gorillas, orangutans, or any of our other ape relatives. So somewhere deep in our evolutionary past, our ancestors lost their tails. But why? And what would life be like if we still had them?
No question is too simple or too out there. I’m Sarah Durn, an editor at Popular Science.
Annie Colbert: And hi, I’m Annie Colbert, editor-in-chief
SD: Here at PopSci, we’re always pondering quirky questions
AC: And this week we’re wondering: Why don’t humans have tails? Because tails are everywhere in the animal kingdom.
SD: And they’re incredibly useful. Beavers use their big flat tails to help maneuver through the water. Some monkeys can basically use their tails like an extra limb, wrapping them around branches as they climb. And rattlesnakes, of course, turn theirs into a built-in warning system
AC: So what happened to ours? Did we just lose them somewhere?
SD: Well, technically, humans never lost them.
AC: Okay.
SD: But that said, we have to go way back in our family tree, tens of millions of years back, to find out why our butts don’t have tails anymore.
AC: I’m guessing the answer isn’t because of pants?
SD: No, you are correct. This goes way beyond pants. We’re talking back to a time when our ancient ape ancestors were still hanging out in trees
AC: So when did tails disappear then? And more importantly, why would you want to give up a perfectly good tail?
SD: That’s the big question because for lots of animals, tails are incredibly useful for balance. But the way our ancient ape ancestors moved through the trees may have actually made a tail kind of pointless.
AC: So evolution really said, “We’re not using this anymore, so just get rid of it.”
SD: Yeah, pretty much. And later we’re going to get into what those ancient apes looked like and why their particular style of tree climbing may have made tails more trouble than they’re worth.
AC: And naturally, we also have to ask the important question: Would life actually be better if humans still had tails?
SD: I have some thoughts.
AC: Same. Many thoughts.
Now, before we swing into our evolutionary past, we want to know what questions are circling in your brain hole. If there’s something you’ve always wanted to know, submit your questions by clicking the “Ask Us” link at popsci.com/ask.
Again, that’s popsci.com/ask and click the “Ask Us” link
SD: We can’t wait to hear your questions
AC: We’ll be back right after this quick break to find out how humans ended up on team no tail.
SD: And stick around to the end because we’ll be joined by Science Friday host Flora Lichtman to discuss what makes a really good tail and whether she’d want one herself.
And we’re back. Okay, Annie, before this episode, how much time have you spent thinking about your tail?
AC: Absolutely none. I can confidently say I have never yearned for a tail.
SD: Yeah. No, I mean, neither have I, but I have spent a lot of time thinking about my tailbone.
AC: Uh-oh, where is this going?
SD: Yeah. Uh, a couple years ago, I was walking my Saint Bernard, Poochie, when he caught a whiff of something and took off. And me, trying to be a responsible dog walker, tried to hold onto the leash.
AC: Oh no.
SD: Yes, yes, yes. Safe to say Poochie, the Saint Bernard, won, and I fell straight onto my butt.
AC: Oh, Sarah. Ouch
SD: Yes, it was un-ideal. I ended up bruising my tailbone pretty bad.
AC: Mm.
SD: And unfortunately for me, this happened about a week before I left for a two-week long trip to Italy.
AC: Oof.
SD: Rome, Pompeii, the Colosseum, the Amalfi Coast, Puglia, all while carrying a little donut butt pillow everywhere I went.
AC: Oh my.
SD: Sometimes I even wore it as a hat.
AC: I mean, obviously.
SD: You know, sun protection is important.
AC: Crucial.
SD: Yeah, so I have actually spent a bit of time thinking about and cursing our teeny-tiny, mostly not there human tail because out we actually do have a tail. Kinda.
AC: Hmm. All right. Tell me more
SD: That tailbone I bruised, the coccyx, is at the bottom of your spine.
It’s basically what’s left of when our ancestors actually had a proper external tail.
AC: But humans had more of a tail at one point, right? Like fetuses have tails in the womb?
SD: Correct. When human embryos are developing, we actually form a little tail that extends beyond the rest of the body. But by around eight weeks, that external tail disappears.
AC: So I briefly had a tail?
SD: You did!
AC: Ugh, RIP. Gone too soon.
SD: We should all have a, like, little tail funeral upon our birth.
AC: Eh, that’s obviously the only normal response here.
SD: I mean, obviously.
Okay, but here’s the thing. Humans didn’t suddenly decide to ditch our tails. We inherited our tailless bodies from our ape ancestors.
So if we really want to figure out why humans don’t have tails today, we have to first figure out how our furry ancestors lost theirs. And for that, we have to go way back.
AC: How far back are we talking?
SD: Well, first let’s go back about five or six million years.
That’s roughly when scientists estimate the last common ancestor of humans, chimpanzees, and bonobos lived, and that doesn’t really help us with our tail mystery
AC: Because chimps and bonobos don’t have tails either.
SD: Exactly. And neither do gorillas, orangutans, or any other modern ape. So we have to keep going back.
AC: So rewind. Whoop, rewind.
SD: And eventually we get all the way back to around 25 to 30 million years ago. Megalodon is stalking the seas. Daeodon, aka “hell pigs,” were roaming North American forests. And keep in mind, we’re still tens of millions of years before the first saber-toothed cats and mammoths pop up.
And this is where things get interesting because around this time, our ape ancestors branched off from the ancestors of modern monkeys.
AC: And monkeys do have tails.
SD: Right. Most do.
So somewhere around this part of our family tree, around 25 to 30 million years ago, we finally crossed over to the tailless side from our tailed ancestors.
The frustrating thing is the fossil record doesn’t give us a perfect family album. We can’t point to one specific ancient ape and say, “There, that’s our ancestor, that’s the one that lost the tail.” But we can find clues, and one of the best clues comes from an ancient ape called Ekembo.
AC: Tell us your secret, ancient ape
SD: Yes! Tell them. So fossils from this genus have been found in Kenya and date back about 17 to 20 million years. And these animals would’ve looked pretty different from modern apes.
One species, Ekembo heseloni, probably had arms and legs that were roughly the same size. It climbed around on tree branches on all fours, and it had a long, flexible lower back, unlike modern apes. But there’s one thing we know it didn’t have.
AC: A tail?
SD: Exactly. And we can tell because of particular bone, the sacrum.
AC: And where is my sacrum?
SD: It’s right at the base of your lower spine, and it’s actually one of the places scientists can look to to figure out whether an animal could have supported a tail or not.
If you look at the sacrum of a cat or another tailed mammal, it leads into a whole bunch of tail vertebrae.
But in humans and apes, the sacrum just ends in a, you know, little point. And scientists see that little point in Ekembo heseloni. So even though this animal lived up to 20 million years ago, we know they didn’t have a tail.
AC: So by 20 million years ago, the tail was already gone.
SD: At least in Ekembo.
AC: Mm.
SD: And it’s not alone.
Another ancient ape called Nacholapithecus shows up in Kenya around 15 million years ago, and fossils of its sacrum show the same thing. It couldn’t have supported a tail either.
So we don’t know exactly which one of these ancient apes ultimately gave rise to later hominids, aka our ancestors, but we do know that tailless apes were already walking or climbing around millions and millions of years before humans existed.
AC: Okay, so we know the tail disappeared way back in our evolutionary history, but that still leaves the biggest question, which is why? Like, why would you give up a tail? They seem kind of awesome.
SD: And this is where we get into a little bit of scientific speculation because we don’t have one definitive answer.
One possibility is that it has to do with the way these early apes moved. Think about modern animals that really benefit from tails.
If you’re a cheetah sprinting and making incredibly fast turns, a tail can help you balance. Or if you’re a monkey moving quickly through the trees, a tail can be really useful. But these early apes weren’t moving like modern monkeys.
AC: So what were they doing?
SD: Well, millions of years ago, these apes probably had arms and legs that were about the same length, and scientists think they walked on all fours.
They were also climbing through trees looking for fruit. And if you’re trying to get some delicious fruit growing way out on the edge of a branch, you don’t necessarily want to go flying through the canopy.
You want to move slowly and carefully they could support their weight across multiple branches and deliberately work their way towards the good stuff.
AC: So less swinging dramatically through the jungle…
SD: …and more very cautious trip to the fruit bowl.
AC: Got it.
SD: And if you’re moving that slowly and deliberately, a tail might not give you much of an advantage. In fact, it could actually come with costs.
Your body has to spend energy growing this whole extra appendage, and then you’re dragging it around behind you where a predator could potentially grab it.
So as the University of Missouri anatomist Carol Ward told Popular Science, for these slow-moving, careful climbers, the tail just didn’t offer an advantage.
AC: So after all of this, the answer to why don’t humans have tails is basically because our ancestors stopped needing them.
SD: That’s one theory, but the important thing is that we didn’t lose our tails because humans started walking upright or because of something that happened recently in human evolution.
By the time anything resembling a human showed up, tails had already been absent from our branch of the family tree for millions and millions of years
AC: So I never really stood a chance.
SD: Nope. You were born into a long, proud lineage of tailless apes.
AC: Yet after this whole conversation, I’m starting to feel like we kinda got a bad deal.
SD: Yeah, well, before you get too jealous of Team Tail, there is someone I want us to talk to because last year Science Friday host Flora Lichtman went looking for an answer to a very important question. If you are gonna have a tail, what’s the best one to have?
AC: Ooh, yes. Let’s talk upgrades.
SD: Yes, let’s. We’ll talk with Flora about the science of tails, whether there really is a best tail for balance, and whether she’d actually want one herself. That’s after this quick break.
And we’re back with Flora Lichtman. Flora is a podcaster extraordinaire, an Emmy-nominated writer for Bill Nye’s Netflix show, Bill Nye Saves the World, and one of the hosts of Science Friday, a public radio program and podcast about science, nature, technology, and health.
Flora, thank you so much for making the time to come on Popular Science’s Ask Us Anything podcast.
Flora Lichtman: I am delighted to be here. Thank you for the invitation, and I love tails, so glad to talk about them.
SD: So yes, as you know, throughout this episode, we’ve been talking all about why humans don’t have tails when so many animals do, and last year you actually explored an important piece of this puzzle on a Science Friday episode called “In Search of the Best Tail for Balance,” which we’ll link in the show notes.
In the episode, you talked with roboticist Dr. Talia Moore and developmental biologist Dr. Ceri Weber about their work into figuring out what’s the best tail, and how a tail could actually help us build better robots.
So obviously I have to ask: Is there actually a best tail for balance?
FL: You know, of course, if you ask scientists, they’ll never give you a best because that’s their, their whole job is to find the nuance and the complicated elements of every story. But what I did learn from them is that there are ways to design tails so that they do their job better.
SD: Hmm.
FL: And the thing that I didn’t know about tails is that they’re an inertial appendage, which is not a term I’d heard.
But the way these researchers described it is that it’s like a tightrope walker’s stick.
SD: Hmm.
FL: That you use to sort of regain your balance. Like that, for animals with tails, that is a primary reason why they have a tail.
SD: Yeah.
FL: The difference, though, between a tightrope walker stick and a tail is that most tails aren’t rigid rods, right? Like, they’re curvy and they’re twisty.
So what these researchers did is this simulation to try to compare, you know, what tails work best as this inertial appendage, and they found that design matters, and, like, you can optimize basically the bones in the tail to make them work better. And they found, it turns out if you have, like, short bones, then long bones, then short bones, that gives you a very good tail.
And it turns out that a lot of mammals in the animal kingdom have tails just like this.
SD: Wow. Amazing. So after spending all of this time thinking about tails: Would you want one?
FL: You know, Sarah, I’ve been thinking about that. Here’s the problem. I already have such a problem finding pants that I like and that fit, so I feel like the tail is just not a challenge I need.
On the other hand, I’m also very clumsy, and I do feel like maybe a tail would’ve helped me in the past.
SD: Yes.
FL: …keep my balance.
SD: Yeah. Yeah, I mean, like theoretically, pants aside, if you did have a tail as a human, what would be different? What would be harder? What would be easier?
FL: I mean, besides my look, I think, the thing that would be easier is walking on a slippery, icy day in the Northeast.
SD: Mm-hmm.
FL: I think they do really help you regain balance. I like the idea of being able to swing from the trees.
SD: Yeah.
FL: I’m at the playground a lot with my kids. I feel like it would be a real flex to get on those monkey bars with a tail.
SD: Oh my God, you’d be the coolest mom.
FL: The something-ist mom for sure.
Would you want a tail?
SD: I think, yeah, I mean, I guess, like, I think I would. I think it’d be fun. I feel like it’s kinda like having wings, you know?
You’d be definitely, like, ostracized a little bit. Like, people would look at you funny, but you could do a lot of cool stuff. I don’t know. I look at squirrels, and they’re basically flying,
FL: That’s true.
SD: Okay, so you also encountered a lot of impressive tales, I’m sure, in your reporting. Do you have a favorite tale from the animal world?
FL: I’m really love seahorse tails.
SD: Oh, yeah.
FL: They’re so iconic and twisty and beautiful and they really need them because they’re these lightweight little animals that are, like, being, you know, battered by ocean waves, and they can use them to hang on.
But I was reading that not only that, which is like, that’s all cool, but actually, while most tails are cylindrical, the seahorse tail actually has a square profile, which I thought was cool, too.
So it’s… I don’t know. I’m into the seahorse tail.
SD: Yeah, no, excellent choice. Excellent, excellent choice. Flora, thank you so much for taking the time to talk tails with us. It was absolutely lovely.
FL: Delighted to be here. I would love to come back anytime.
SD: Oh, we’d love to have you.
AC: Okay, I started this episode having never really thought about having a tail, and now I definitely feel like maybe I’m missing out. Like, when I need help holding things, give me a tail.
SD: Same. Although after my tailbone incident, maybe I shouldn’t be trusted with an additional appendage.
AC: Yeah, that’s maybe for the best.
And that’s it for this episode. But don’t worry, we’ve got more episodes of Ask Us Anything live in our feed right now. Follow or subscribe to Ask Us Anything by Popular Science wherever you enjoy your podcasts.
And if you like our show, please leave a rating and a review
SD: If you could have any animal’s tail, which one would you want? Tell us in the comments.
AC: Yes, we want to know.
SD: We wanna know. Our producer is Alan Haburchak. This week’s episode was based on an article written for Popular Science by Sarah Kiley Watson, and a big thank you to Flora Lichtman for joining us.
AC: Thank you team, thank you tails, and thank you everyone for listening
SD: And one more time, if you want something you’ve always wondered about explained on a future episode, go to popsci.com/ask and click the “Ask Us” link. Until next time, be careful with your tailbone and keep the questions coming.
AC: Wait, if we had tails, what would chairs look like? And pants, and car seats.
SD: Planes? It’d be kind of cute to see all the tails lined up.
AC: I feel like we need tails. It’s time to change up humans.
Nothing is quite as joyful as watching a dog get caught up in a bout of “zoomies,” zipping around a living room or backyard in a burst of energy. But our canine pals aren’t the only animals subject to these hyperactive displays.
Young condors can also engage in zoomies, as demonstrated in a recent Facebook post from the Ventana Wildlife Society in California. The video shows clips of two young California condors (Gymnogyps californianus), Chert and Pumice, seemingly having a blast in their release pen.
“We observe the zoomies in both captive and wild condors. It’s just a sudden expression of pure excitement for young condors and very fun to watch,” Joe Burnett, California Condor Recovery Program Manager at the wildlife society, tells Popular Science. “Zoomies come out of nowhere and they just can’t contain themselves and totally let loose. They hop, run in circles, or flap around, or all the above! It’s just pure fun!”
It’s not just about the fun, however. Zoomies allow the young condors to release energy and grow stronger, as well as help them figure out their wings, according to the team.
The two zoomie condors are 1.5-year-old males who were raised in zoos before arriving at Ventana Wildlife Society’s San Simeon release pen in early September. It’s called a release pen because Chert, Pumice, and three other captive condors will be kept in the pen to acclimate until their release on October 24 at 10 a.m. The release will also be livestreamed.
The quintet will become a part of the wild condor population of central California, which today includes 104 individuals. But it won’t be a total goodbye. Scientists will be able to keep an eye on Pumice and Chert’s locations via wing-mounted radio & GPS transmitters and ID tags.
California condors are North America’s largest land bird. They measure 9.5 feet from wing tip to wing tip. But their size didn’t spare them from a precipitous population drop. In 1982 there were only 23 condors left in the world. All wild condors were captured and included in a captive breeding program.
“Condor releases are critical to achieving our ultimate goal- to reestablish a self-sustaining condor population in the wild,” Burnett concludes.
At the end of 2025, there were 607 California condors. We’d say Pumice and Chert earned their right to party.
Almost one year ago, paleontologists finally settled a longstanding debate about Tyrannosaurus rex, arguably Earth’s most famous dinosaur. After reviewing decades of mounting evidence, researchers documented around 150 morphological differences across multiple supposed juvenile T. rex skeletons. Instead of young dinosaurs, these were actually adult examples of an entirely separate species now known as Nanotyrannus lancensis.
While Nanotyrannus was dwarfed by its massive relative, itstill reached an impressive 18 feet long and weighed as much as 1,500 pounds. But while it may have lost some of its cultural cache during the rebrand, a well-preserved specimen nicknamed Jodi may still sell for upwards of $9 million at an upcoming auction.
“It completely changes what we understand about the Cretaceous,” Cassandra Hatton, Sotheby’s head of science and natural history, said during a recent interview.
Paleontologists first suspected the existence of a separate species after discovering a uniquely proportioned skull at Montana’s Hell Creek Formation in 1946. Back-and-forth arguments about the dinosaur’s true identity continued for the next 80 years, but the ramifications weren’t simply a matter of semantics. If confirmed, it meant T. rex wasn’t the only tyrannosauroid roaming North America during the late Cretaceous period.
Jodi is a relatively new find. Named after the Montana rancher who found it, Jodi Pierson, the skeleton was excavated at the Hell Creek Formation in 2019, and is estimated to be about 55 percent complete. It features all four of its claws as well as 35 teeth in a nearly complete skull. According to the Sotheby’s auction listing, Jodi stands about 6.5 feet tall and measures 19.6 feet from nose to tail. The mounted dinosaur includes all of its surviving fossilized bones along with 3D-printed and sculpted additions to fill in the paleontological gaps.
Jodi will officially go up for auction on October 27 in New York City, where she is expected to sell for $6–8 million. The final price may still surprise bidders, however. In July, auctioneers estimated that a nearly complete T. rex named Gus would sell for $30 million. Gus blew that out of the water, ultimately fetching over $50 million.
Marine biologists are sounding the alarm on behalf of the Galápagos Islands’ marine iguana (Amblyrhynchus cristatus). Without tightened regulations on the often abused exotic pet trade, researchers warn that a recent “strange uptick” in illegal animal trafficking combined with this season’s Super El Niño is further endangering the already vulnerable reptiles living on the Eastern Pacific archipelago.
“They are already shrinking in size and facing mass mortality, either by starvation or by trying to swim longer distances in search of food,” Juan José Alava, a marine ecotoxicologist at Canada’s Simon Fraser University, explained in a recent letter published in Science.
The marine iguana family encompasses at least 11 known subspecies, each specially evolved to live on the Galápagos Islands. They are the only reptiles in the world capable of foraging underwater for macroalgae, which makes up the majority of their diet. Although iguana colonies remain relatively stable, the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN) still lists them as Vulnerable due to predators, mounting pollution issues, and cyclical El Niño events. Ten of the 11 recognized subspecies are also locally classified as either Critically Endangered or Endangered. Sale of iguanas is banned under the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species of Wild Fauna and Flora (CITES), but a recent uptick in illegal trafficking along with increasingly dramatic climate shifts is adding more stress to the situation.
Ecuadorian authorities have caught people attempting to smuggle iguanas multiple times this year. In May, officials discovered at least a dozen animals inside handbags at an airport that were bound for illegal markets. Law enforcement found another 32 tied up inside a suitcase intended for similar buyers in August. Many trafficked iguanas won’t survive the stress and rough handling, but even rescued reptiles face challenges. Because subspecies are evolved to live on specific islands, ecologists must test each rescued iguana’s DNA to determine where to return them.
Smuggling hasn’t been seen within the Galápagos Marine Reserve itself, but Alava and his colleagues theorize that smugglers are capturing iguanas near Ecuador’s coastal shorelines. Traffickers then obtain CITES permits that falsely declare the reptiles are captive bred in other nations, even though no such authorized facilities actually exist. Often, smugglers are only engaged in the industry out of financial necessity or coercion.
“Artisinal fishing communities from Galapagos and coastal Ecuador, who are facing severe socioeconomic hardship and expanding organized crime activities, may feel pressured to participate in this international black market,” the letter’s authors wrote.
Conservationists are now urging a multifaceted approach to protect the animals. CITES representatives need to close existing permit loopholes, while the Ecuadorian government should focus on simultaneously breaking up organized crime and providing economic aid to struggling communities.
“Maintaining global ocean observing systems is essential, and extreme marine event forecasting and response capabilities are improving,” the authors wrote. “But responsibility and action remain fragmented across environmental [organizations], fisheries, and emergency management, and public health agencies.”
A small puncture wound through a 75,000-year-old Neanderthal shoulder blade may be the earliest evidence of death by spear on humanity’s family tree. Given forensic details such as the entry angle and overall damage, researchers believe the injury was made as an intentionally fatal “heart shot” that killed the ancient hominin within moments. The discovery is detailed in a study published today in the journal Scientific Reports.
In addition to the grisly injury, the nearly translucent bone itself makes this evidence even more striking.
“It’s extraordinary to have a perfectly preserved scapula from 75,000 years ago. These bones are so thin that you often don’t get complete scapulae from modern burials,” explained University of Cambridge archaeologist and study co-author Emma Pomeroy. “We were able to lift it out in one piece from under almost eight meters [roughly 26 feet] of rock and sediment.”
Pomeroy and her colleagues excavated the remains from inside Shanidar Cave, an archaeological site in Iraqi Kurdistan famous for containing evidence of ritualistic Neanderthal burials. The roughly 0.6 inch, nearly circular perforation on the bone was likely made with a wooden spear, since a stone or flint tip would create a flatter injury and leave behind microscopic mineral shards. The individual who inflicted the fatal injury drove the spear downward through the victim’s left chest cavity from the front, piercing major arteries and the lungs before creating the hole in the left scapula.
Located in Iraqi Kurdistan, Shanidar is a famous cave containing what appears to be early examples of Neanderthal funeral rituals. Credit: Graeme Barker
Remnants of a wooden spear weren’t found near the Neanderthal’s remains, which is understandable since the material often decomposes so quickly. That said, prior archaeological digs have revealed similar prehistoric wooden weapons dating as far back as 400,000 years. Pomeroy’s team believes a rounded spear carved from wood almost certainly caused the killing blow.
“Holes left by recreations of spears from this time are an excellent fit for the one we found in the Neanderthal scapula. That early technology absolutely works for this wound,” said Pomeroy.
Although it’s possible that a mishap like a hunting accident was the cause of death, Pomeroy argues the cumulative details suggest something far more purposeful.
“The position of the wound and the force required to push it right through the Neanderthal’s body bear the hallmarks of an intended kill shot directed towards the heart,” she added.
Another major injury the victim sustained before the possible stabbing supports this hypothesis—and complicates the story. In addition to the scapula, archaeologists documented a pair of left ribs, a right rib fragment, a nearly complete right hand, and seven teeth. Collectively, the remains indicate the Neanderthal was about 45 years old at the time of death. However, dental damage reveals the individual suffered a severe blunt-force blow to the front of the face at least a year before death. This injury split a lower front incisor lengthwise and even rotated some teeth inward.
“There’s no doubt that [they] would have had difficulty communicating and been in absolute agony for a long period of time,” said Pomeroy.
Despite this blow to the mouth, the Neanderthal survived for months or even years. This was only possible because others must have cared for the individual, including duties as simple as preparing softer foods to eat. In this sense, there is a distinct possibility the spear wound was a final, merciful act by someone close to them. According to Pomeroy, the prehistoric scene showcases both the highs and lows of what it means to be a human.
“On the one hand, we have evidence of a terribly violent end,” she said. “On the other, this was clearly an individual who was cared for during their lifetime.”
Despite the name, the universe’s white dwarfs can glow in a wide range of colors—even green. For the first time, astronomers have spotted a star that appears green to the human eye, and the reddest ever recorded. These outlier stars help explain how certain white dwarf stars would shine in green, pink, cyan, yellow, and purple if we actually saw them up close in space. These colorful findings are described in a study recently published in the journal RAS Techniques and Instruments.
Looking for the ‘perfect radiator’
White dwarf stars are the dense remnants left behind after stars like our sun reach the end of their lifespan. For most stars, their color gives a hint to their temperature. Cooler stars appear orange, warm stars like our sun look white. The hottest glow pale blue, similar to how a blacksmith’s iron will go from red to orange to white hot. Astronomers believed that white dwarfs followed this same rule. They even earned their name after the earliest examples were surprisingly hot and glowed in a white/pale blue.
“Most stars, including most white dwarfs, behave like ‘perfect radiators,’ so their colour is set almost entirely by temperature. But nobody had really looked into what else might be possible for white dwarfs,” Mark Hollands, a study co-author and astronomer at the University of Warwick in England, said in a statement. “It turns out these incredibly dense stars can produce colours nobody expected, and some of them genuinely surprised me.”
According to the team, the key to these colors is density. The atmospheres surrounding the coolest white dwarfs can reach about the same density as water (roughly 1 gram per cubic centimeter). They are also millions of times denser than the sun’s photosphere, the lowest layer of its atmosphere. Under these higher density conditions, any trace elements present (carbon, calcium, sodium, etc.) interact with the surrounding dense helium plasma. As they interact with the plasma, they can absorb light across a wider spectrum of colors than they would at lower densities. This then shifts the star’s color away from the more typical orange, white, and blue.
Unfortunately, no white dwarf sky is close enough for its color to be seen directly. Instead, the team calculated their color from data astronomers routinely collect—a star’s spectrum. The spectrum is a “fingerprint” that’s produced when starlight splits apart by wavelength, similar to how a prism splits sunlight into a rainbow. Astronomers ran these spectra through a computer model of what colors human vision can see to check what color a star’s light would appear to our eyes.
Color-accurate simulated images of white dwarfs. Top Left panels: Sirius B is the nearest white dwarf to the Solar System, with a hot hydrogen atmosphere, resulting in a pale blue colour. WDJ1147-7449 is instead among the coolest nearby white dwarfs, giving it a featureless spectrum and an orange appearance. Top Right panels: Convective envelopes in these cool white dwarfs have dredged up carbon from their cores into their dense helium-dominated atmospheres, forming diatomic carbon molecules that lead to various pink hues. Bottom panels: Accretion of rocky debris from the white dwarf planetary systems enriches their cool helium atmospheres with elements such as calcium, magnesium, and sodium. The varying amounts/compositions of accreted material and white dwarf temperatures allow for a diverse array of colours, including green. In reality all stars would be many millions of times brighter than what can be shown on-screen. Image: Mark Hollands/University of Warwick
The first green and the reddest red
The team applied this method to several white dwarfs across the cosmos. They found that their colors fall into distinct groups linked to what makes up a star’s atmosphere. Carbon-rich white dwarfs generally appear pink or purple. Stars enriched with debris from busted asteroids and comets, the remains of old planetary systems, tend to be more yellow. Cooler white dwarfs with atmospheres of mixed hydrogen and helium show a more cyan or pale blue tinge. This cyan-pale blue is caused by hydrogen molecules colliding with helium atoms inside their ultra-dense atmospheres.
The most striking example is WD J1330+6435. This star is about 7,232 degrees Fahrenheit (4,000 degrees Celsius) and around 284 light-years away from Earth. Over time, it has gathered rocky material from its planetary system. All of this extra material enriched its atmosphere with calcium, lithium, and sodium. The result—a chartreuse green appearance in the team’s models. As far as the researchers are aware, no other star (living or dead) has ever been credibly reported as green.
Enriched from above: The cool white dwarf WDJ1330+6435 has accreted sodium-rich rocky material from its planetary system into its atmosphere. The immense atmospheric density causes the sodium to absorb light over broad range of yellow, orange, and red wavelengths, giving the WDJ1330+6435 a ghostly green appearance. Image: Mark A Garlick/University of Warwick.
“The traces of sodium in the atmosphere of this white dwarf absorb the orange part of the spectrum, leaving behind a ghostly green glow,” added Hollands. “Imagine standing on a planet and looking up at a green star. It feels like something out of science fiction.”
On the opposite end of the spectrum, the team identified what could be the reddest star ever recorded—WD J1011+2845. This white dwarf is only 48 light-years away from Earth, and has a deep convection zone. This zone is full of carbon that’s been lifted up from the star’s core to its surface. The carbon molecules then distort the star’s light so much that almost all of it is squeezed into wavelengths beyond 600 nanometres. This wavelength produces an unusual deep salmon-pink glow.
Enriched from below: The cool white dwarf WDJ0902+2010 has a deep convection zone within its helium dominated outer envelope. The convection zone has reached the white dwarf core, lifting interior carbon to the surface, and forming carbon molecules. These C2 molecules strongly absorb light across the optical range, including blue, green, and yellow wavelengths, resulting in WDJ0902+2010 appearing pink to the human eye. Image: Mark A. Garlick/University of Warwick.
What are the odds?
The team also studied 151 white dwarfs located within about 65 light-years (20 parsecs) from Earth. Only five of these showed unusual colors, two yellow and three pink. This suggests that about 1 in 30 of the universe’s white dwarfs shine with an unusually colored light.
The team then measured the color temperature of the remaining 146 white dwarfs. Color temperature is commonly used to describe light bulbs using degrees Kelvin—warm white at 3,000K, cool white at 6,000 K, etc. The median color temperature of the sample was approximately 6,800K, which our eyes perceive as white. This measurement corrects a common misconception that white dwarfs are typically blue. The hotter and bluer white dwarfs are mostly brighter, so they can be seen from further away and are over-represented in surveys that only look at a star’s brightness.
“One in thirty might not sound like a huge fraction, but across the entire population of white dwarfs in the Universe, that is still a lot of oddly coloured stars out there,” added study co-author and University of Warwick astronomer Boris Gänsicke. “Yet if we take the median across a representative population of white dwarfs, we found that the average white dwarf really is white.”
In the mid-1970s, Linnda Caporael was a college student facing a seemingly mundane decision.
A science major at U.C. Santa Barbara, she needed a humanities course to graduate. The course she chose, on women in American history, came with a term paper, and she had to pick a topic.
Caporael’s first choice—Lydia Wardell, a Quaker woman who protested Puritan persecution by walking naked into a meeting house in the 1660s—was intriguing, but already taken. So Caporael instead settled on her second choice: Ann Putnam, one of the accusers in the 1692 Salem witch trials. In doing so, Caporael reshaped the way millions of people view a nearly 300-year-old chapter of American history.
Caporael’s paper introduced the theory that the visions, convulsions, and distress the “afflicted” girls reported might not have been supernatural after all. Instead, she proposed, they could be explained by ergot, a fungus that grows on rye grain and produces a hallucinogenic toxin. In other words, blame moldy bread.
The ergot theory, despite being debunked within a year of being published, has continued to spread and thrive like fungus on rye. As recently as 2023, comedian-turned-podcasting-juggernaut Joe Rogan discussed the theory enthusiastically on his show, effectively reanimating a story that seems destined to never fully die.
“It’s sexy,” says historian Margo Burns about the enduring appeal of Caporael’s ergot theory. “It’s about drugs. It’s about witches. It’s about killing people. Also, we like to think that when there’s an unjust sentence or execution, there’s someone or something to blame.”
Burns, a Salem scholar who has spent years tracing how the ergot theory took hold and persisted, says she rarely gets through a talk on the trials without someone in the audience bringing up moldy bread.
It was long thought that Ann Putnam, one of the primary accusers during the Salem witch trials, had grown up in this house, but historians now know this house was built much later, around 1891, near the Putnams’ original home location. Image: Public Domain
How a term paper went viral
The fact that a single undergraduate college paper could have such a lasting and wide-ranging impact on our understanding of the Salem witch trials seems bizarre, but it can be explained in part by a thoroughly modern phenomenon: virality. Although the World Wide Web was still decades away, Caporael’s paper found a way to spread fast through newspaper wire services.
After she started graduate school, Caporael submitted the paper to Science, which, to her surprise, published it in April 1976. That alone might have kept the theory confined within academic circles. Instead, newspaper editors saw a story with mass appeal.
“Editors and newspapers just grabbed it, saying, ‘Oh, here’s a human interest thing,’” Burns says. “And when they put it in their papers, like The Washington Post, The New York Times, The Boston Globe, it got syndicated. And the syndication of those articles went through the whole country and Canada within a matter of weeks.”
Caporael, who had explored the topic through the lens of the scientific method, wasn’t claiming to know what had happened at Salem. At the suggestion of a pre-med friend, she began looking into ergot poisoning as a possible explanation, not a definitive answer.
According to Burns, who has spoken with Caporael directly, she was only testing whether ergot could be ruled out. Working from the limited sources available to her, Caporael determined that she couldn’t rule it out. Even then, though, she called her own findings “suggestive,” not conclusive.
But that nuance didn’t survive exposure to the public, which in 1976 was already fixated on LSD and what it might do to young people. The press coverage essentially retrofitted 1692 with the anxieties of 1976, recasting the Salem girls as teenagers on a bad trip.
“You give that to the American public, which doesn’t understand there’s a difference between scientific inquiry and historical storytelling, and it’s just so compelling,” Burns says.
Debunked, but far from dead
Not all the viral attention was positive, though. Within that same year, researcher Nicholas Spanos and graduate student Jack Gottlieb published a rebuttal in Science, dismantling Caporael’s argument point by point. By their reckoning, various aspects of the Salem girls’ symptoms did not add up.
“There are a couple of different kinds of ergot poisoning, and one of them is gangrenous, so people’s fingers would start rotting,” Burns says. “And they would have gastrointestinal problems, and we don’t have any instances in the records that either of those things happened.”
This 1880 print shows Martha Corey and her prosecutors in Salem, Massachusetts, during the witch trials. Martha Corey was accused of witchcraft, found guilty, and executed by hanging. Her husband, Giles, who defended Martha against the allegations, was also put to death. Image: Print Collector / Contributor / Getty Images
The problems for the theory didn’t end there. Ergot poisoning was thought to hit hardest among people with vitamin A deficiencies, but Salem’s residents had dairy cows and the sea nearby, and likely plenty of vitamin A. (Ironically, Burns notes, that the vitamin A argument was itself based on a discredited 1930s source that relied on circumstantial evidence and has never been replicated.) And while whole families ate from the same supply of rye, usually only one or two people per household fell ill.
The rebuttal, though methodical and logical, was little more than a momentary speed bump for the runaway popularity of the psychedelic bread story. In fact, it may have helped.
Arguing with a claim, however insubstantial, implies that it’s worth arguing about, and a formal rebuttal in Science can make a student’s term paper look like one side of a valid scientific debate.
“It’s really hard to refute something,” Burns says. “If anything, it just sort of nails it and makes it more permanent.”
“They were eating their own”
Whatever was causing young women in Salem to convulse, the atrocities that followed are much harder to grasp. By the time the panic ended, 152 people had been formally accused, 19 had been hanged, and one man, Giles Corey, had been pressed to death with stones for refusing to stand trial. Several more died in jail.
“The people who were responsible were the adults in the room,” Burns says.
To the modern eye, this looks like lunacy. To most people in 1692, though, witchcraft wasn’t superstition. It was an accepted fact, part of an invisible world in which Satan and his agents wreaked havoc on everyday life. Conflict with Indigenous peoples on the Maine frontier had sent traumatized refugees into the region, relating horror stories of attacks on their homes. Many colonists thought Satan engineered those attacks, too.
In a way, the people of Salem did exactly what Americans would do nearly 300 years later, when the psychedelic era latched onto the ergot theory: They explained strange behavior through the lens of what frightened them most.
In such a charged social climate, suspicion could fall on just about anyone, and it did. The accused weren’t just outcasts, Burns says. Many were fully covenanted members of the Puritan church.
“We’re not talking about going after ‘The Other,’” she says. “They were eating their own.”
Someone to blame
Burns knows the cost of Salem’s betrayals about as well as anyone. An associate editor of Records of the Salem Witch-Hunt, the definitive collection of the trials’ legal records, she is also the 10th-generation great-granddaughter of Rebecca Nurse, who was hanged on the charge of witchcraft in 1692.
The Rebecca Nurse Farmstead still stands and is open to the public in Danvers, Massachusetts. Image: Fletcher / CC BY 4.0
Nurse, a respected member of the church in Salem Town, was tried and found not guilty. But Chief Justice William Stoughton refused to accept the verdict. He sent the jury back to reconsider a remark Nurse had made when confessed witches Deliverance Hobbs and her daughter, Abigail, were brought in to testify against her: She had said the two were “of our company.” Nurse meant that they had been jailed together, but the court heard that they were fellow witches.
When jurors asked her what she meant, the courtroom was in such an uproar that Nurse didn’t hear the question. At the time, failing to answer an accusation was treated as a confession, and the jury returned a guilty verdict. In a later appeal, Nurse wrote that she was “something hard of hearing, and full of grief,” and didn’t realize she was being asked to explain herself.
It was the kind of injustice no mere fungus could cause.
“[Chief Justice] Stoughton was singularly, individually responsible for her execution,” Burns says.
The question of who is to blame is rarely so straightforward, though. Which might be part of the ergot theory’s appeal; it offers “one silver bullet” that tidily explains everything.
“There are just so many reasons that all came together,” Burns says.
But when pressed on why she thinks it happened, she offers an answer that’s part joke, part harsh reality: “People are mean.”
In That Time When, Popular Science tells the weirdest, most surprising, and little-known stories that shaped science, engineering, and innovation.
The Ojai Raptor Center released the final necropsy results for Jackie, an internet-famous bald eagle mother who was in their care this summer. Jackie was brought into the bird rehabilitation center weak and dehydrated following an altercation with another eagle in July.
Officially designated as Patient 26-519, Jackie’s necropsy revealed a “complex and unusual disease process involving severe, chronic inflammation and ulceration of the stomach, persistent internal bleeding, anemia and secondary bacterial sepsis.” She was also diagnosed with Highly Pathogenic Avian Influenza (HPAI) commonly called bird flu, which was behind severe stomach ulceration. Raptors (eagles, hawks, falcons, owls, etc.) are highly susceptible to the virus
All of these medical complications developed over time and ultimately contributed to her death on August 10.
“These findings have helped connect many of the pieces we were seeing throughout her hospitalization and provided a better understanding of the challenges she faced,” the Ojai Raptor Center wrote. “We are grateful to the many veterinary specialists, laboratories, wildlife agencies and partner organizations who worked alongside our team to understand her illness and provide her with the best possible care. Caring for her was an extraordinary privilege for our entire team.”
The full report can be read in Jackie’s veterinary medical journal. The necropsy was preformed by veterinary pathologists at the San Diego Zoo Wildlife Alliance.
Friends of Big Bear Valley (FOBBV), the non-profit organization that runs the live cameras where viewers from all over the world watched Jackie and her partner Shadow, said that they will follow up with their thoughts once their team has had time to process the report.
“The story of the Big Bear bald eagle reflects the powerful connection people feel to these iconic birds,” California Department of Fish and Wildlife Director Meghan Hertel added. “We’re grateful to everyone who cared for her and worked to support her well-being. Understanding the results of these tests is an important part of learning from this case and can help inform the care and treatment of other eagles and wildlife in the future.”
Jackie on a perch at the Ojai Raptor Center in July. Image: Ojai Raptor Center.
Jackie’s story
Jackie was born, raised, and lived in Big Bear Valley in Southern California. Prior to the 2011-2012 nesting season, no bald eagle chicks were known to have ever hatched in Big Bear Valley. Then came Jackie, named after a forest ranger and born to parents Ricky and Lucy in 2012.
During the 2016-2017 nesting season, Jackie took over a nest where Friends of Big Bear Valley (FOBBV) had a camera stationed. In 2018, she had two chicks named Stormy and Big Bear Baby (or BBB) with her first mate, Mr. B.
Her long-time partner Shadow entered the picture in summer 2018. He showed up at the nest and would not leave. FOBBV called the new male Shadow because he appeared so determined to stay in the nest, and the team initially believed he was one of Jackie’s siblings, also named Shadow. The eagle’s plumage indicated he was one year older than the other Shadow and not Jackie’s sibling, but the name stuck.
Shadow continued to hold his ground and Mr. B gave up and eventually left. Jackie then accepted Shadow as her new mate.
Wildlife cameras documented Jackie and Shadow’s life together, offering viewers a direct look into the brutality and beauty of nature. The pair successfully raised chicks in 2019 (Cookie and Simba) and 2022 (Spirit). The pair’s eggs failed to hatch in 2023 and 2024. In 2025, Jackie laid three eggs that all hatched in early March. However, a strong snowstorm dumped up to two feet of snow and battered the nest with strong wind and only two of the chicks (Sunny and Gizmo) survived.
In January, Jackie laid two eggs in the nest, but ravens destroyed them. She later laid two more eggs that hatched in April and named Luna and Sandy. The name Sandy is in honor of FOBBV’s former executive director Sandy Steers who died from cancer in February.
Jackie, Luna, and Sandy on their nest in May 2026. Image: Friends of Big Bear Valley.
Jackie’s injury and death
On July 17, Jackie was found injured on the ground near Dana Point Park, California. Cell phone video from a witness confirmed that she had an altercation with two other subadult eagles. She successfully fended off the other eagles by turning over and using her talons, but could not fly far away.
She was transferred to the Ojai Raptor Center, where she was diagnosed with severe anemia. Her anemia worsened during the first week of August, the Ojai Raptor Center said that she was in unstable condition on August 9. Her packed cell volume (PCV) fell below percent, before rising to nine percent.
On July 17, Jackie was found injured on the ground near Dana Point Park, California. Cell phone video from a witness confirmed that she had an altercation with two other subadult eagles. She successfully fended off the other eagles by turning over and using her talons, but could not fly far away.
She was transferred to the Ojai Raptor Center for care, where she was diagnosed with severe anemia. Her anemia worsened during the first week of August, the Ojai Raptor Center said that she was in unstable condition on August 9. Her packed cell volume (PCV) fell below percent, before rising to nine percent.
Jackie died early in the morning on August 10. The necropsy did not reveal a single cause of death, and instead pointed to several factors including severe anemia, blood clots in her wing and one kidney, and liver and lung abnormalities.
It’s true, the moon is shrinking. And astronomers now know how fast it’s contracting. While only satellite observations and the most delicate instruments can detect these shifts, the consequences of this shrinkage means moonquakes can occur anywhere on the lunar surface at a moment’s notice.
A team led by Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum planetary geologist Thomas Watters detailed their findings in a study recently published in The Planetary Science Journal. Researchers used data from NASA’s Lunar Reconnaissance Orbiter Camera (LROC), which has spent over 17 years generating millions of images of the moon’s surface. A shriveling lunar landscape may sound dramatic, but it’s occurring at a glacial pace. Based on these new calculations, the moon’s overall radius has decreased nearly 148 feet over the last 400–800 million years as it continues to cool. That’s about 2.4 to 4.3 inches per million years, or just 0.1 micrometer annually.
Although slow, the incremental activity’s effects are visible everywhere. On Earth, about 90 percent of all seismic activity occurs near the boundaries between lithospheric plates. But unlike its host planet, our moon is encased by a single, shell-like plate. This means interior cooling can generate slips and faults anywhere at any given time. After reviewing images taken by the LROC, the study’s authors tallied over 10,000 visible lunar faults.
“The number of these young faults revealed in LROC images is much greater than I ever imagined,” said Watters. “As the interior of the moon continues to cool and contract, it is expected that the growth of existing faults and formation of new faults continues today.”
While the faults can happen anywhere, some lunar regions are more likely than others to feature them. Areas with the thickest crust have fewer faults, which indicates they may be more stable than other, thinner sections. In addition to better understanding lunar history, the distribution and frequency of moonquakes may also help NASA better plan for a long-term human presence on the moon.
It’s a fungi-filled world and we are just living in it. There are roughly 150,000 to 157,000 known species of fungi, and now there is a new giant species to add to that tally.
A team of scientists exploring the forests of Yunnan in southern China discovered the new fungus, which shows just how large these organisms can grow. The new species Dianjunus rex grows vertical fruiting bodies (the top part of the fungi that we usually see as a mushroom) that can grow as high as a foot (50 centimeters) and weigh close to five pounds (2.2 kilograms).
This new fungus is the largest known species within the phylum Ascomycota, the largest known phylum of fungi with over 64,000 known species. The new fungus is described in a study recently published in the journal Frontiers in Fungal Biology.
“This remarkable species represents a new fungal family, Dianjunaceae, and provides a rare window into the evolution of extreme fungal body forms,” Indunil C. Senanayake, a study co-author and mycologist at the Germplasm Bank of Wild Species of the Kunming Institute of Botany in China, said in a statement. “The discovery illustrates how much fungus biodiversity remains to be discovered in East Asian forests.”
The scientists spotted the fungus during fieldwork in the temperate coniferous forests near Damaidi and Yipinglang and in a tropical rainforest near Nanbang in southern China. They noticed large whitish fruiting bodies (called stromata) coming out of some fallen wood that belonged to an unknown species of Ascomycete fungus.
Stromata of Dianjunus rex in the field. (a, c, d, f) Stromata attached to host roots. (b, e, g, h) Stromata around host plant. (a) Collectors. (i) Total weight of largest bilobedstromata. Image: Song, Yan, Pérez-Moreno, Zhang, Yang, Xie, Su, Liu, Wang, Liu, Yang, Yang, Liu, Shi, Wan, Cheewangkoon, Dai, Senanayake and Yu
Ascomycetes don’t always sprout traditional mushrooms, but release their spores from tiny, sac-like structures inside or on the surface of such fruiting bodies instead. They typically grow on woody roots of Chinese cork oak trees.
The team collected the curious fruiting bodies, and grew spores back in the lab to study the fungus’ morphology and its genome. The genetic tests and a detailed study of its morphology revealed that the fungus is a new species, a new genus, and even a new family.
They named it Dianjunus rex (which the team calls D-rex for short), for its regal size and the ancient Dian kingdom. This ancient civilization in Yunnan reached its height during the second and first centuries BCE.
The team also found a connection to dinosaurs beyond its nickname which sounds like T. rex. It appears that this fungi family arose around 65 million years ago, or only one million years after the Cretaceous-Paleogene mass extinction event. This most famous of Earth’s mass extinctions wiped out the dinosaurs and countless other animals and plants.
“This timing raises an intriguing possibility. After the mass extinction, forests experienced dramatic changes, including the sudden availability of large amounts of dead plant material,” added Senanayake.
For fungi, this kind of environmental disruption may have created new ecological opportunities for it to fill.
As for its size, D-rex’ fruiting bodies grow about 20 to 30 centimeters taller than other Ascomycetes. The team thinks this size might help the wind disperse their spores better in dense forests. However, a large fruiting body like D-rex requires a lot of energy, so the strategy may have evolved if the ecological benefits outweighed the energy costs.
The team also believes that there are more fungi waiting to be discovered in subtropical China—we just need to keep looking.
Artificial intelligence is undeniably good at playing games, regardless of its larger societal and environmental impact. In 1997, IBM’s supercomputer Deep Blue famously beat chess grandmaster Garry Kasparov, and nearly two decades later, Google’s AlphaGo managed to defeat a human champion at the much more complex game Go. Since then, another AI seems to beat humans at incredibly complex video games like StarCraft or Dota 2 every few months. Impressive as these feats are, AI has mostly outperformed humans by making us play on its home turf, as in, simulated and structured environments. But now, a team of engineers at the Micro Air Vehicle Lab at the Delft University of Technology in the Netherlands has built a lightweight smart drone that’s fundamentally altering that dynamic.
The team entered its AI-powered quadcopter in a high-profile drone race in Abu Dhabi that pitted AI-piloted drones against human-piloted ones. The niche sport, known as first-person-view (FPV) drone racing, has pilots steer remote-controlled drones through a series of small gates at blistering speeds of 60 to 100 miles per hour. They control the drone by using goggles that give a direct feed into a camera attached to the drone’s front. From a human’s perspective, it’s as if they’re flying through the sky.
The team didn’t just fish the race. They took first place, besting several human FPV champions along the way. It marked the first time an AI-controlled drone beat a human pilot in an international racing competition. Another team from the University of Zurich built an AI-controlled drone that won a race against humans three years earlier, but only in a controlled lab setting. This more recent example showed that a simply trained machine, with minimal onboard sensors and hardware, could be inserted onto a non-controlled test track meant for human operators and still come out on top.
The team won this race in November 2025 but new details about the science behind this achievement are published today in the journal Science Robotics.
“Instead of giving the robot increasingly powerful sensors and computers, we wanted to find out how much intelligence we could extract from very limited resources,” Delft University aerospace engineer and study co-author Christophe De Wagter said in a statement. “Drone racing provided an extreme environment in which to test these ideas outside the laboratory. It pushed us to develop AI that was not only fast but also robust, and able to adapt when external reference measurements were unavailable.”
Drone racing: a sport built on human-machine connectivity
FPV drone racing isn’t for the faint of heart—or, more accurately, for those with a weak stomach. Footage of drones flipping and somersaulting at extreme speeds can make even spectators feel sick. Pilots fly using a pair of joysticks that control the drone’s throttle, roll, pitch, and yaw. That human-and-machine team has to fly through several small race gates that make up a lap. The drone finishing with the fastest lap times wins. It’s an extreme sport where even a microsecond of a mistake can lead to a violent crash.
Though it’s not quite as popular as it was at its peak in the late 2010s, the sport still draws a considerable online audience. That’s pretty impressive, for a sport that only became possible thanks to simultaneous advances in several technologies. Namely lightweight batteries, miniaturized cameras, and the goggles and wireless video links that let pilots see what their drones see all had to come together for this extreme form of racing.
The fact that drone racing requires interacting with machines already equipped with sensors makes it a particularly interesting test bed for robotics and AI researchers. In 2022, the University of Zurich outfitted a drone with an AI model appropriately called Swift. That AI system collected real-time data pulled from the drone camera to “see” what it was seeing and to locate gates and avoid obstacles. An onboard neural network then parsed through all that in real time, making split-second decisions on the best routes to fly. Swift beat champion human pilots, a major feat at the time, but it did so on an indoor track measuring roughly 82-by-82-feet that the team had designed and trained the system for. When a condition even as subtle as the lighting changed, Swift’s performance suffered as a result.
Inspired by those results, the Delft team set out to build an AI racing drone that could better adapt to its environment. Like Swift, their machine called MonoRace uses a powerful AI model that interprets a video stream captured by the drone’s camera in real time. MonoRace also draws on an onboard inertial measurement unit (IMU), a sensor that tracks the drone’s acceleration and rotation. This IMU pulls data from onboard sensors as well as the camera, and helps the AI system better understand where the drone is position-wise on the track.
Timelapse image of the autonomous MonoRace racing drone flying through the final racing gate at Abu Dhabi in 2025. Image: Micro Air Vehicles Lab/Delft University of Technology.
That understanding of place makes it more equipped to fly without crashing even in less familiar environments. It also improves the drone’s perception over a solely camera-based approach, which can struggle when camera data is less than stellar. Remember, all of this is happening very, very fast.
“Flying at very high speed with only one camera is challenging because the images are blurry, deformed, and the AI system has very little time to precisely determine where the drone is,” Delft University robotics researcher and study co-author Stavrow Bahnam said in a statement. “We developed a robust way of combining what the camera sees with the drone’s own motion information, allowing it to navigate the track at high speed without GPS.”
What sets MonoRace apart from complex AI systems running on larger vehicles or humanoid robots is how stripped down it is. The entire system has to run on a tiny computer on the drone, light enough not to slow the drone down and efficient enough not to introduce lag. And yet, it’s still quite powerful, with the AI issuing an estimated 500 commands every second. Rather than train the model on one specific track, they trained it to learn how to adapt using a reinforcement learning approach. After many attempts of trial and error in a simulated environment, MonoRace figured out the best ways to quickly solve navigation problems and then apply that in the real world.
“Instead of first planning a desired flight path and conventional commands, our neural network learns to directly control the motors,” study co-author and Delft University Aerospace Engineering PhD candidate Robin Ferede added in a statement.
Putting MonoRace to the test
The team put MonoRace to the real test last November at the Abu Dhabi Autonomous Racing League, a major competition where some of the best human pilots battle to out. During its flights, MonoRace topped speeds of roughly 62 miles per hour as it looped, dove, and zipped through gates. It managed to beat out every other AI racing team in the competition, and also boasted a better time than three former human world champion pilots.
According to the team, these results make MonoRace the first AI-piloted drone to beat human pilots in an international racing competition, and could have an impact on drone racing and physical AI more broadly. With self-driving vehicles and even some humanoid robots entering larger-scale production, there’s an increasingly high demand to build AI systems that better grasp how to move about the physical world without barreling into everything around it. A drone that can do that while performing acrobatics at more than 60 miles per hour suggests that engineers are, at minimum, heading in the right direction.
So far, that hasn’t resulted in larger robots suddenly superseding humans at sports. The fastest robot sprinters, though admittedly quick in short bursts, also tend to crash into walls and burst into flames.
They’re some of Earth’s most powerful athletes, traversing thousands of miles of rough terrain in sub-zero temperatures, through blinding snow, and biting winds. Sled dogs have been helping humans travel across the planet’s coldest regions for centuries, hauling supplies, people, and equipment across the snow and ice. In the process, this important role that goes above and beyond simply being “man’s best friend” could have a visible impact on their evolution.
Sled dogs may have evolved shorter legs to help them pull loads more efficiently. Currently working sled dogs and those that lived about 2,000 years ago have six percent shorter leg bones than similar species, according to a study published today in the journal iScience. These findings could help biologists trace the origins of sled dogs and understand more about how dog-powered transportation spread over the past 9,000 years.
“Sled dogs have played an indispensable role in communities in the Arctic,” Mitya Kletzerman, a study co-author and an archeologist at the University of Haifa in Israel, said in a statement. “Without dogs, people couldn’t move as efficiently to hunt, relocate as conditions changed, or travel between communities to exchange knowledge and share new ideas. Understanding how the practice evolved could give us new insights into how people adapted to life in the Arctic.”
As of now, our earliest archeological evidence associated with dog sledding comes from 9,000-year-old sled parts and dog remains uncovered in 2017 on Zhokhov Island (present-day Russia). Sledding equipment like this is rarely found in the archaeological record, so it has remained difficult to pinpoint when and where the practice first emerged or spread.
Earlier studies have shown that work associated with humans can leave traces in an animal’s skeleton. Reindeer used for racing, carrying loads, and pulling have limb bone differences compared to those that do not pull. Kletzerman and her team were curious if sled dogs have also developed particular skeletal traits that have helped them adapt to all of the physical demands of pulling a sled.
In the study, the team developed a biomechanical model to help them understand how a dog’s body handles the work of pulling a sled. The model showed that one effective way to pull a sled loaded with material is for a dog to lower its center of gravity. This increases the canine’s ability to generate pulling force.
“When people or animals pull a load, it tends to tip them backward. A lower or more forward position of the center of mass counteracts this effect, allowing greater pulling force,” Kletzerman explained.
They then tested whether modern sled dogs have skeletal proportions that can lower their center of mass. They analyzed bones in 60 different modern canids, including sled dogs, wolves, spitzes, and mongrels. They then compared the lengths of five leg bones. Three in the forelegs (the humerus, radius, and ulna) and two in the hind legs (femur and tibia).
After accounting for overall skeletal size, they found that sled dogs have relatively shorter radius, ulna, and tibia bones than their non-sled pulling counterparts. These bones measured about six percent shorter on average.
“It’s unclear how this trait developed, but selective pressure may have preserved it, because it gave sled dogs an advantage over other dogs,” Kletzerman said.
To see if this characteristic already existed in ancient dogs, the team analyzed 82 ancient dog bones and three skeletons. The three skeletons were from ritually buried dogs uncovered from three archaeological sites associated with ancestral Inuit populations in present-day Chukotka, Russia, and date to 2,000 to 500 years ago.
Nearly 89 percent of the bones were consistent with the modern sled-dog pattern of shorter leg bones, as were all three ritually buried dogs. According to the team, this suggests that the skeletal pattern may be an effective way to identify that canine remains belonged to a sled dog, even when archaeological remains are incomplete or do not have any direct evidence of sled equipment.
“Dogs have been working alongside humans for thousands of years, but we’re only beginning to understand how that partnership shaped them,” Kletzerman concluded.
Even after decades of meteorological advances, weather forecasting remains infamously difficult. Today’s most trusted models are rarely accurate beyond a two-week window due to a constant cascade of atmospheric and climatic variables. These unpredictable meteorological interactions are the foundations of chaos theory. The interdisciplinary field studies how even the world’s most predictable systems can still produce completely unpredictable results, and was first developed by MIT mathematician Edward Lorenz during the 1970s.
“He came up with this theoretical two-week limit where beyond that, we just can’t predict weather because the noise in the system grows so much that it overwhelms any signal you start with,” Judah Cohen, a climatologist also at MIT, explained.
According to Cohen, many climate researchers continue to view Lorenz’s two-week hurdle as insurmountable. And that assumption has largely proven true for nearly 50 years. Even today’s dynamical simulations and artificial intelligence models begin to break down when attempting to predict conditions two-to-six weeks in the future—a window known as subseasonal forecasting. Nicknamed the “predictability desert,” this range runs into slow-moving, highly variable forces like this year’s super El Niño event. Once those factors enter the equation, forecasting becomes more of a roll of the dice l than anything concrete. However, Cohen has had his suspicions about chaos theory’s limitations.
“I never really believed that completely,” he said. “In theory, the atmosphere can create an infinite number of patterns, but it likes to fall into these favorite patterns over and over again.”
To try and break this forecasting barrier, Cohen and his colleague Lester Mackey have spent years developing an AI system that not only minimizes forecasting errors, but learns from its inevitable mistakes through a method called postprocessing. With postprocessing, the AI improves by comparing the inaccuracies with existing historical data, and then adjusts from there.
Cohen’s team recently submitted three versions of their model featuring the postprocessing system the European Center for Medium-Range Weather Forecasts (ECMWF). Widely known as the world’s best forecasting hub, the ECMWF also hosts seasonal competitions that pit the latest prediction models against one another. Most of these systems have relied on historic climate averages to reach their conclusions, but this was the first time a group submitted a program with postprocessing capabilities.
Cohen and his colleagues reported their results in a study published today in the journal Nature. Their AI postprocessing integration blew the existing forecasting models out of the water. For the two-to-six-week subseasonal window, researchers doubled overall prediction accuracy. Such massive improvements could soon help the farmers and energy providers who already rely on subseasonal forecasts, but the benefits may even save lives.
“It also improves predictions of extreme weather events, whether it’s flooding or cold spells or something else,” said Cohen. “It’s really important to predict both, but extreme events might be the most impactful part of this for society.”
Many researchers have long presumed subseasonal forecasting to be a dead end, but the latest leap may clear the way to even bigger advances in the field.
“People have questioned if it’s even worth investing in models at all for this time range,” said Cohen. “[But] we consistently beat climatology averages with our models.”
Griffith Observatory is one of Los Angeles’s most iconic landmarks. Part of the city’s sprawling “urban wilderness,” Griffith Park, the free public science center boasts dozens of exhibits and displays, including one of the first planetariums in the United States and the most-viewed telescope in the world.
But there’s a dark secret behind Griffith Observatory’s founding. It might never have been built if it weren’t for the desperation of its namesake, Griffith J. Griffith, a wealthy real estate magnate who had once been a pillar of his community. In 1906, when Griffith first proposed the observatory as a gift to the city, he was hoping to salvage his reputation after the shocking crime he had committed three years earlier: the attempted murder of his wife.
Who was Griffith J. Griffith?
Born in Wales, Griffith immigrated to the United States as a teenager in 1865, initially settling in Pennsylvania. A few years later he moved to San Francisco, where he worked as a business journalist covering the West Coast mining industry. Griffith then used his expert knowledge of mining to work as a consultant for mining companies, earning himself a fortune.
In 1882, Griffith moved to the rapidly growing city of Los Angeles and purchased 4,000 acres of the Rancho Los Feliz land grant with an eye toward development. He rented out parcels of this land for various businesses, from homes and hotels to an ostrich farm. (Although the farm eventually failed, it proved a popular tourist attraction: Some of California’s first passenger railways were built to bring sightseers to the ostriches.)
Acquaintances described Griffith as “a roly-poly pompous little fellow” and “an egomaniac.” Known for his brash personality and humor, he dressed flamboyantly, favoring a gold-handled cane and a top hat. Griffith also called himself “Colonel,” despite having never served in the military. His grandiosity led to the mocking nickname, “the Prince of Wales.”
Acquaintances described Griffith as “a roly-poly pompous little fellow” and “an egomaniac.” Image: Public Domain
Griffith’s doomed marriage
By the mid-1880s, Griffith was a member of Los Angeles high society. He rubbed shoulders with fellow wealthy developers whose names are still visible on city maps, such as the Bixbys, the Sepúlvedas, and the Mesmers.
While some of these families traced their lineages back to the colonial aristocrats of Mexico or New England, the Mesmers, like Griffith, were recent European immigrants, having come to the United States from Alsace, France. Griffith soon began courting 22-year-old Christina Mesmer, nicknamed Tina, who was considered one of the city’s most eligible young ladies.
Not only did Tina have prominent parents, she had personally inherited a major property from a childless family friend in 1885. Known as “the Briswalter tract” after the previous owner, Andre Briswalter, it was 240 acres in a prime development area just south of downtown L.A. Worth at least 35 million dollars today, the land was used by Briswalter himself for fruit orchards, but now encompasses the neighborhood of Historic South-Central.
Griffith knew that the Briswalter land would be his if he married Tina Mesmer, and made no secret of his motives. Three weeks before they were to be married, Tina informed Griffith that she had transferred partial ownership of the property to her father. It is unknown if Tina performed this transfer willingly, but Griffith wrote to her of his fear that she had become her father’s “pawn.” In the same letter, Griffith threatened to call off the wedding unless he was made sole owner.
Wishing to avoid scandal, the Mesmers relented and the wedding proceeded in 1887. However, the rocky start to the marriage was an ill omen of things to come. In public, the two presented a harmonious image of a high society couple. In private, tensions plagued their marriage, including over religion (the Mesmers were Catholic, while Griffith was Protestant).
In 1887, Christina ‘Tina’ Mesmer, a young Los Angeles socialite, married Griffith. Image: Public Domain
At home, Griffith was paranoid and menacing. Despite publicly supporting the Temperance movement, he was secretly an alcoholic, and his drinking worsened his behavior. Griffith’s paranoia reached a fever pitch after a narrow brush with death in 1891.
While the Griffiths were in a carriage on their way to the grave of Tina’s recently-deceased mother, someone fired a gun at them from another carriage, grazing Griffith’s head. The attacker, who fatally shot himself before he could be apprehended, turned out to be an investor from the failed ostrich farm, who had been ruined and owed Griffith back rent.
How the idea of Griffith Park first emerged
In 1896, despite his private troubles, Griffith was at the height of his power. Ever-ambitious, he sought a way to immortalize himself. He was also flush with cash, having sold off most of the Briswalter tract acquired from Tina, but still owed a tax debt that he hoped the city would forgive. That Christmas, the Griffiths donated more than 3,000 acres of Rancho Los Feliz to the city of Los Angeles for the formation of a public park, to be called, of course, Griffith Park.
While Griffith spoke of wanting to give back to the community and create “a place of rest and relaxation for the masses,” generosity may not have been his only motive. Critics called the huge donation a tax scheme, and pointed out that Griffith could afford to part with the land. Not only did he have Tina’s fortune, he had already rented out the most profitable parts of the Rancho Los Feliz, and what remained was no good for purposes like farming.
Griffith shoots his wife Mrs. Tina Griffith
The more his influence grew, the more unstable Griffith became. According to Tina’s later testimony at Griffith’s trial, he pulled a gun on her for the first time in May 1903, when she threatened to leave him during an argument. “He is very proud and did not want the public to know” of their marital disputes, she said.
A few months later, the Griffiths stayed at the Hotel Arcadia in Santa Monica with their only child, 15 year-old Vandell. Tina hoped that a family vacation would calm Griffith’s nerves, but Griffith was on edge. He repeatedly asked servers in the hotel restaurant to change his food and drink, believing it had been poisoned.
On the last night of the trip, Vandell Griffith went to the beach with the hotel owner’s son, leaving his parents alone in the hotel room. While Tina was packing, Griffith approached her with a gun in his hand. He forced her to kneel and started asking her about the death of Andre Briswalter years earlier.
Apparently, Griffith now suspected that the Mesmers had poisoned Briswalter, and planned to poison him next. Griffith then asked Tina if she had ever been unfaithful. She assured him that she had not, and that Briswalter’s death had been natural, but he fired off a bullet at point-blank range.
Tina Mesmer Griffith survives
Tina leapt from the window and rolled to safety, breaking her shoulder in the fall. Hotel staff soon found her and took her to a doctor. A surgeon who attended her injuries later reported that “if the bullet had struck Mrs. Griffith one-sixteenth of an inch below where it did, it would have gone through the eye socket and into the brain.”
Tina lost her right eye, and due to the risks of infection and blood loss, doctors were not sure whether she would survive. Miraculously, she did.
Police began searching for Griffith immediately, but it was three days before they found him at a nearby bar in the midst of an alcoholic bender. The subsequent trial became a massive media scandal. Tina took the witness stand wearing a veil and black glasses to hide her injuries.
A sketch published in The Los Angeles Times shows how Christina ‘Tina’ Mesmer wore a veil in the courtroom to conceal her injuries. Image: Public Domain
When she entered the courtroom, “she looked at [Griffith] casually as though he were someone she had never seen,” the Los Angeles Times reported, while Griffith remained motionless, listening intently. Tina testified for an hour before fainting from exhaustion, returning later that day for a second round of questioning. Only then did the extent of the Griffiths’ private problems become public knowledge.
The outcome of the trial
Griffith’s attorneys argued that he was not in his right mind; instead, his drinking had made him delusional, a case of “alcoholic insanity.” Griffith was fined and sentenced to just two years in prison.
Tina was granted a divorce on grounds of cruelty, one of the few legal justifications for divorce in 1903. She also received a cash settlement and full custody of Vandell, but she was unable to receive half of the estate, as she had asked for.
The couple’s properties had long been under Griffith’s name only, including what remained of Tina’s inheritance. As one of her lawyers told the Los Angeles Times, the law prevented her from obtaining “any approximation of what really should be hers.” However, Tina was left with enough to live on, and Griffith agreed to pay for Vandell’s future education as long as he didn’t attend a Catholic university.
The aftermath
After the trial, Tina moved in with her sister. Though she stepped away from city development, she devoted herself to Catholic charities and social events. She was apparently a big fan of whist, a four-player card game. She never remarried and continued to be known as “Mrs. Griffith” until her death in 1948 at the age of 86.
When Griffith emerged from San Quentin in December 1906, he appeared to be a changed man. He gave up drinking and devoted himself to the cause of prison reform, as well as improving facilities for visitors in the park that bore his name. He also came up with an idea for a second “Christmas gift” to rehabilitate himself in the eyes of the Los Angeles public: a free science center and an outdoor theater.
However, the city was now reluctant to associate with him. As one newspaper op-ed stated, Los Angeles was “neither so poor nor so lost to [a] sense of public decency that it can afford to accept this money.”
Griffith died of liver disease in 1919 without seeing this dream become reality, but he bequeathed the funds for the Observatory and the nearby Greek Theatre to the city in his will. The project would finally move forward more than ten years after his death.
It was Griffith and Tina’s son, Vandell Griffith, who oversaw the construction of the Observatory as president of the Los Angeles Park Board. (Vandell would later become a city police commissioner, and was described in a 1951 newspaper as “a dead honest man.”)
When the Griffith Observatory opened in 1935, it was an instant success, part of a new wave of interactive museums that made astronomy and other sciences accessible to the public. And it all goes back to a man who destroyed his own reputation. It’s a strange chapter in the history of Los Angeles, and a reminder that the legacies people leave can be complicated.
In That Time When, Popular Science tells the weirdest, most surprising, and little-known stories that shaped science, engineering, and innovation.
One of history’s most famous baseball cards is up for auction, and bidding has already surpassed $1 million with days left to go. Its official name of the 1909-11 T206 White Border Sweet Caporal 150/25 Honus Wagner PSA Authentic (Restored) is quite the mouthful, but Heritage Auction’s nickname for the memorabilia is much easier to remember. Simply put, the incredibly rare piece of history is the “Holy Grail” of baseball cards.
“The T206 Wagner is the foundational trophy of baseball card collecting,” Heritage’s director of sports auctions Chris Ivy said earlier this month.
Honus Wagner remains one of the sport’s most revered players even nearly 130 years after first stepping onto a professional field. The son of a German immigrant coal miner, the “Flying Dutchmen” is best known for his tenure as a shortstop for the Pittsburgh Pirates from 1900 through 1917. Wagner ultimately became an eight-time batting champion and was one of the original inductees into the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, New York, in 1937.
However, Wagner reportedly didn’t accept every accolade.Legend has it that he demanded Kinney Brothers Tobacco Company stop printing collectible cards featuring his portrait after learning they were using them to promote Sweet Caporal cigarettes. The extremely limited run of cards translated to an unprecedented collectibility that lingers to this day.
The T206 Wagner is only the sixth of its kind ever sold by Heritage Auctions, and its current bid stands at $1,025,000. The bidding will run until October 25, and the sellers anticipate the card will auction for at least $3,000,000. And there is precedent to back up the high price tag. Earlier this year, a similar 1909-11 T206 Piedmont Honus Wagner SGC Authentic sold for over $5.8 million.
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