Researchers have discovered a roughly 9 million year old tooth belonging to a large, water-loving relative of modern day capybaras in the Atacama Desert of northern Chile. The fossilized molar adds to previous evidence suggesting that it's unlikely the Atacama, one of the driest places on Earth, was continuously dry for the last 40 million years.

The Atacama Desert, possibly the oldest desert on Earth, takes up the northern third of Chile. It's bounded by the Chilean Coast Range to the west, which blocks rain from the Pacific Ocean, and the enormous Andes to the east, which obstruct rain from the Atlantic Ocean. The driest part of the desert's hyperarid region gets less than 0.08 inches (2 mm) of rainfall a month.

Recent research estimates the Atacama's hyperarid core started forming between 47.8 million and 33.9 million years ago, in the Mid- to Late-Eocene, 20 million years before the Andes formed. It suggests the mountain ranges weren't the cause for the desert's aridification, and may have only intensified it.

Capybaras (Hydrochoerus hydrochaeris) ‪—‬ the world's largest rodent ‪—‬ exclusively live close to stable freshwater sources and feed on plants that also require water to grow, so the discovery of an extinct capybara relative (Hydrochoerus Cardiatherium) tooth in the Atacama Desert is very strange.

"Finding a capybara tooth in a marine deposit in what today is one of the driest regions on Earth is just freakish," Priscilla Martinez, a geoscientist at the University of Arizona and co-author of a new paper describing the discovery, said in a statement.

Capybaras are native to South America, although today, they are not found in Chile, where the tooth was unearthed, according to the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN).

The tooth isn't the only clue that the Atacama was a wetter place in the late Miocene. Researchers found it in a layer holding the remains of a shallow marine environment that existed between 7 million and 10 million years ago, according to the statement. And they've also found microscopic pieces of plants, known as phytoliths, revealing that palm trees, grasses, gingers and other flowering plants grew there in what may have been a subtropical forest.

These findings and others are part of a growing body of evidence that the Atacama Desert was once wet enough for crocodiles and freshwater fish to thrive and palms to grow. The new study, published Sept. 5 in the journal Scientific Reports, shows that capybara relatives lived there as well during the late Miocene, which, because they are semiaquatic animals, is further evidence to support the hypothesis of a sporadically moist Atacama.

The researchers aren't sure how exactly capybaras moved into the Atacama Desert. Although there were capybaras in South America at the time, the Andes created an 18,000-foot-high (5,500 meters) barrier between their current habitats and the site where the tooth was found. The researchers theorized that, instead of traversing the mountains, the ancient capybaras migrated along the western coast of South America, following wetlands, rivers and other water sources.

According to Samantha Hopkins, an Earth sciences professor at the University of Oregon who was not involved in the study, it's unlikely the tooth found its way to the site without capybaras living there.

"If you wanted to find a way that this capybara could be here while the Atacama was still as dry as it is today, you'd have a hard row to hoe," she told Live Science in an email, because the size of the tooth makes it hard to transport it long distances. The desert wind couldn't have blown it such a long way, and while large carcasses can float down waterways for miles, "if you're going to invoke a large enough waterway to do this, you've demonstrated that the Atacama wasn't as dry as it is today anyway."

The sea surface temperature in a key section of the central equatorial Pacific Ocean has now surpassed all previous temperatures on record for this region, exceeding 86 degrees Fahrenheit (30 degrees Celsius) for the first time, according to preliminary data released Monday (Oct. 5).

Specifically, these temperatures occurred in the Niño 3.4 region, located between 5 degrees north and 5 degrees south latitude, and 120 degrees west and 170 degrees west longitude. Researchers use this region to monitor the progression of El Niño, the warm phase of a multiyear natural climate pattern that's currently in full swing and steadily intensifying. But how significant is this new record, and could it be a harbinger of increasingly extreme El Niño events in the future?

At this time of the year, sea surface temperatures above 86 F are common in the western Pacific warm pool, a mass of water located northeast of Australia. But the Niño 3.4 region is nowhere near the warm pool and usually has much cooler temperatures. This latest data indicates "an exceptionally warm state for this part of the tropical Pacific," said Jin-Yi Yu, a professor of Earth system science at the University of California, Irvine.

"If the reported daily El Niño 3.4 temperature above 30°C is verified in the observational dataset, it would be an extraordinary record," Yu told Live Science in an email.

Other experts agreed. A Niño 3.4 sea surface temperature above 86 F is a "very significant" new record, Timothy Osborn, a professor of climate science and the director of the Climatic Research Unit at the University of East Anglia in the U.K., told Live Science in an email. Mat Collins, a professor of climate systems and the head of mathematics and statistics at the University of Exeter in the U.K., also called the temperature "very significant" in an email to Live Science.

But it's important to note that absolute temperature is not the standard way of measuring the strength of El Niño, Osborn said. Researchers usually assess El Niño intensity by comparing sea surface temperatures in the Niño 3.4 region with the average conditions there or with sea surface temperatures across the rest of the tropics, with the latter method removing a skew in the data caused by the climate-change-induced heating of oceans globally.

"On those measures, the current event is already close to being the strongest [El Niño] on record and will likely soon exceed previous records given that the event is forecast to strengthen further," Osborn said. "For some measures, it is already record-breaking for the time of year."

"Super" El Niño

El Niño events happen when warm water in the western tropical Pacific Ocean migrates eastward along the equator, toward South America. This boosts global temperatures, triggering heavy rainfall and floods in regions like East Africa, southern China, the southern U.S. and the Pacific coast of equatorial South America, while places such as Indonesia, the Philippines, southern Africa and northern South America experience drought.

"El Nino impacts are greatest across the tropics and in the lands around the Pacific Ocean," Osborn said. "An El Nino with record strength is very significant because it greatly disrupts the atmospheric circulation which controls the weather patterns including patterns of rainfall."

As of Oct. 6, the temperature anomaly in the Niño 3.4 region is 6 F (3.34 C) above average and rising. A typical El Niño increases Niño 3.4 temperatures by a maximum of 1.8 to 3.6 F (1 to 2 C) above average, so the current condition is "exceptionally large," Yu said. "This indicates that a very strong, or what is sometimes called a 'super,' El Niño is developing."

This year's El Niño is being amplified by human-driven global warming, which has increased background ocean temperatures. As a result, it's likely that sea surface temperatures in the Niño 3.4 region will keep rising over the coming weeks and peak in November or December, before declining again in 2027, Collins said.

"The Niño 3.4 anomaly is very likely to remain extremely large and may increase further," Yu said, echoing forecasters' suggestions that it could reach 7.2 F (4 C) by November.

A new kind of El Niño?

The world is on the brink of crossing a critical warming threshold, raising the question of whether the current conditions can be considered a new normal for future El Niños.

While it's likely that future El Niños will be more extreme than past ones, on average, not every El Niño will be record-breaking and as dramatic as the one unfolding now, because these events tend to be very variable, Collins said.

As climate change intensifies, the big worry is that certain regions will be primed for extreme conditions even before an El Niño strikes, Osborn said. For example, regions that are getting drier due to global warming could see catastrophic droughts if they overlap with areas that experience dryness during El Niño events. Likewise, places that are getting wetter could see worse deluges of rain and flooding if they coincide with areas with higher precipitation during El Niños. But that doesn't necessarily mean extreme El Niños are the new normal, he said.

Instead, the location and duration of El Niño events may be transforming, Yu suggested. "In research by my group and collaborators, we have documented changes not only in El Niño intensity, but also in where the warming occurs and how long events persist," he said.

Yu and his colleagues helped to introduce the idea that we are seeing the emergence of two distinct types of El Niño: the eastern Pacific El Niño and the central Pacific El Niño. "Many El Niño events in the earlier observational record were dominated by warming in the eastern tropical Pacific, whereas Central Pacific El Niño events became much more prominent in recent decades," he explained, adding that El Niños have also been lasting longer.

Global warming may be creating a new kind of El Niño by strengthening atmosphere-ocean interactions in the subtropical Pacific, Yu said. If these interactions combine with processes in the equatorial Pacific, where eastern Pacific El Niños emerge, they might trigger unusually strong events with extreme heating in the central Pacific.

"That provides a physical reason to take the possibility of more frequent extreme El Niño events in a warmer climate seriously," Yu said. "But I would distinguish that from saying that every El Niño will become progressively stronger."

As the "super" El Niño is predicted to bring heavier storms and flooding to the U.S., experts recommend stocking up on food and other supplies. Floods and other disasters, like wildfires, are on the rise due to climate change, making disaster preparedness essential.

But how prepared are people for a disaster?

Preparedness levels vary; some people keep an emergency kit full of food and first-aid supplies, while others have a planned meeting place designated as a safe space. Having a plan can help people feel better about unpredictable events. But not everyone has thought this far ahead.

Live Science recently asked readers how prepared they are for a natural disaster and what sort of plans or supplies they have on hand. Over 130 people responded to the poll, with 51% of readers choosing "I've got an emergency kit ready for when the unexpected happens."

The comments reflected this majority, as one reader wrote, "We're on the edge of an area at risk for grass fires, so we bought/stocked an RV as an emergency bugout vehicle. Felt extreme initially, less so as time goes by. Gives us 3-5 days of margin before we need to resupply, with food, water and first aid for people and dogs."

Another commenter responded to the rest of the comments, writing, "This is just the begining [sic]. Get a greenhouse, plant food, learn to harvest water, build an outside toilet (for later), learn to be self sufficient. trade with your neighbors. Plant fruit trees, get solar panels and an electric transporation (bike, car whatever). Keep a de humidifier in your home. it's back to the 1930ie[s]."

Do you agree with these readers? Let us know in the comments section.

This eye-catching astronaut photo mosaic shows a rare "sunglint" transforming a snaking reservoir into a giant silver river.

The winding waterway at the heart of this image is a section of Lake Powell in southern Utah. The artifical reservoir starts around 70 miles (110 kilometers) southwest of the town of Moab and ends roughly 60 miles (100 km) northeast of the Grand Canyon in Arizona. When full, Lake Powell holds up to 1.2 billion cubic feet (33.3 million cubic meters) of water, making it the second-largest reservoir in the U.S. — close behind the nearby Lake Mead, which stretches across the Arizona-Nevada border.

Lake Powell is located on the Colorado River, inside a steep ravine known as Glen Canyon. The reservoir emerged in the 1960s, following the construction of the Glen Canyon Dam, which caused water levels to rise by around 200 feet (60 meters) over the next two decades. In addition to generating hydroelectric power, the artificial lake has become a popular tourist destination. (Lake Mead is also located along the Colorado River and was created by the construction of the Hoover Dam.)

This image mosaic, which stitches together several astronaut photos into a single image, was captured during a sunglint, according to NASA's Earth Observatory. This phenomenon occurs when sunlight bounces off a reflective surface directly into the line of sight of an observer in orbit, such as a satellite or an astronaut, giving the object a metallic, mirror-like gleam.

Normally, this effect would be visible only across a small section of the lake. But by combining photos taken as the sunglint moved along the reservoir's length, the entire body of water was illuminated.

The reservoir is named after John Wesley Powell, an explorer and former director of the U.S. Geological Survey, who mapped out Glen Canyon and other parts of the Colorado River in the late 1860s. Powell was particularly captivated by Glen Canyon, which contained a "labyrinth of overhanging cliffs, hanging gardens, sweeping river bends, and natural arches set amidst a backdrop of colorful buttes and mesas," Earth Observatory representatives wrote.

Powell later described his recollections of the canyon. "Past these towering monuments, past these mounded billows of orange sandstone, past these oak-set glens, past these fern-decked alcoves, past these mural curves, we glide hour after hour, stopping now and then, as our attention is arrested by some new wonder," Powell wrote in his 1875 book "Canyons of the Colorado."

Some of the sights that Powell marveled over still exist, including many smaller canyons that branch off the reservoir and are cast in deep shadow. A similar effect is seen in sections of Utah's Green River, a tributary of the Colorado River that has long perplexed geologists due to its ability to flow "uphill."

From above, one of the canyon's most striking geological features ‪—‬ a large, doughnut-shaped depression known as The Rincon ‪—‬ is visible as a dark ring surrounding a bend along one of the widest sections of the lake. This rusty doughnut, which is up to 3 miles (5 km) across, is a former section of the Colorado River that dried out thousands of years ago when part of the canyon collapsed, enabling water to bypass the rocky loop.

However, many of the other wonders that Powell described have been lost beneath the reservoir's elevated water level. These include a side canyon dubbed the Music Temple, which was shaped in a way that gave it remarkable acoustic properties, according to the Earth Observatory.

During periods of drought, when the reservoir's water levels temporarily drop, other lost geological treasures can be exposed. For example, in 2023, researchers found rare fossils from a mammal-like Jurassic creature lurking beneath the lake's high-water line.

In recent years, some environmental groups have petitioned to drain Lake Powell and return Glen Canyon to its former glory as the "heart of the Colorado River," according to Newsweek. Such a change may help to alleviate pressure on the rest of the river, which has lost a significant amount of water in recent decades. But experts told Newsweek that this is unlikely to happen.

See more Earth from space

On Sept. 20, the Antarctic ozone hole peaked at 10.6 million square miles (27.4 million square kilometers), the second-largest size ever observed for this time of the year.

The last time the ozone hole was this big was in October 2015, when it reached a whopping 10.8 million square miles (27.9 million square km), records from the Copernicus Atmosphere Monitoring Service show. So why is the hole in the ozone layer — the shield that protects life on Earth from harmful ultraviolet solar radiation — so big this year, despite other clues telling scientists that it is recovering as expected from the damage human-made chemicals did in the 20th century?

The ozone hole's extent is due to extremely low temperatures in the stratosphere, but it's also possible that we could be seeing a new long-term trend of large, persistent holes, experts told Live Science.

"This year's ozone hole shouldn't be a cause for alarm," Hannah Kessenich, a postdoctoral physicist at the University of Otago in New Zealand who predicted the 2026 ozone hole's extent using satellite data and a computer model, told Live Science in an email. "However, there are still many unanswered questions. It's something we need to keep a close eye on."

Accurate predictions

The latest figures from the Copernicus Atmosphere Monitoring Service indicate that the size of Antarctica's ozone hole has dropped to around 8.9 million square miles (23 million square km) since Sept. 20, making it unlikely that this year will break the 2015 record. However, scientists think the hole will remain large and fluctuate over the next few weeks, Kessenich said.

Antarctica's ozone hole expands every year during the Southern Hemisphere's winter and spring. It typically reaches its maximum size between mid-September and early October, when temperatures are still freezing in the stratosphere and sunlight illuminates the frozen continent for the first time after months of darkness. The hole then shrinks again until late January as surrounding ozone-rich air mixes into the depleted region.

Antarctica's ozone hole was caused by emissions of ozone-destroying chlorofluorocarbons (CFCs) between the 1930s and late 1980s. These chemicals increased concentrations of chlorine in the stratosphere, thereby promoting a reaction that depletes the ozone layer. While countries signed the Montreal Protocol to phase out CFC use beginning in 1989, major CFCs have atmospheric lifetimes of 50 to 100 years, so the hole's recovery could take six decades, researchers estimate.

The ozone layer is particularly vulnerable above Antarctica due to the frigid conditions in the polar stratosphere. Temperatures below minus 108 degrees Fahrenheit (minus 78 degrees Celsius) trigger the formation of high-altitude clouds, whose icy surfaces turn inactive chlorine into its ozone-destroying form in the presence of sunlight. These conditions don't exist to the same extent in the Arctic, because warmer air from the midlatitudes mixes more readily with cold Arctic air than with Antarctic air, thereby blocking the formation of high-altitude clouds.

Changes in the polar vortex

This year's large ozone hole is caused by a very strong polar vortex, a wall of wind that encircles Antarctica and the Southern Ocean in the winter, trapping cold air above the continent. The polar vortex created colder-than-usual conditions in the stratosphere over Antarctica, accelerating the growth of the ozone hole.

Researchers haven't detected an increase in reactive chlorine, but the colder polar vortex has triggered more ozone depletion than usual, said Susan Solomon, a professor of chemistry and environmental studies at MIT who pioneered the study of Antarctica's ozone hole in the 1980s.

This size of this year's ozone hole is most likely a product of natural variability in atmospheric dynamics, Kessenich said.

"We expect ups and downs in the size of the hole from year to year," Solomon told Live Science in an email. "A year or a few years of bigger or smaller holes doesn't tell us anything about ozone loss or recovery; it is just variability. We have to look at the longer term trends, and those metrics continue to tell us that the ozone hole is slowly recovering as expected."

It's also reassuring that the ozone hole, while large, isn't as "thin" as in years past. The hole's extent is calculated based on the area above the continent with ozone values below 220 Dobson units, a measure of how many ozone molecules occur in a vertical column through Earth's atmosphere. Although the area of this year's ozone hole is huge, ozone values haven't dropped as low as in previous big-ozone-hole years, suggesting that there is less ozone "missing" from the hole compared with those years, Kessenich and her colleagues wrote in The Conversation.

But there's also the possibility that we've shifted to a new long-term trend of big ozone holes persisting until late spring, Kessenich said. Changes in global atmospheric dynamics unrelated to CFCs could be making longer-lived holes more likely, she and her colleagues wrote in the article.

There is also some evidence that climate change will strengthen the Antarctic polar vortex over time, which could lead to colder temperatures in the stratosphere and greater ozone losses in the spring, Kessenich said. If this year's polar vortex stays robust, the ozone hole could remain large well into November, she noted.

"It's too soon to tell what has been driving dynamical variability in recent years, but more research is needed," she added.

Help us improve Live Science Pro: We're always trying to make our content better. Leave us feedback about Pro here.

This year's exceptionally strong El Niño has brought a rare gift to Chile's Atacama Desert: rain. In one of the driest places on Earth, that rare moisture has awakened millions of seeds and bulbs that can remain dormant underground for years, transforming the landscape into a spectacular carpet of color.

Known locally as "desierto florido," or "flowering desert," the phenomenon is one of nature's most remarkable transformations. Patches of purple, pink, white, red and yellow now spread across hillsides and plains that for much of the year appear almost completely lifeless.

"It is a unique phenomenon; there are more than 200 plant species," Jorge Carabantes, head of the Protected Areas Department at the National Forest Corp. (CONAF) in Chile, told The Associated Press. "This is a flowering event that is obviously extraordinary and unusual, very different from other blooms that occur elsewhere on the globe."

Typically, the Atacama gets just 0.6 inches (15 mm) of rain a year. But thanks to the super El Niño, record levels of rain fell between July and August in several Chilean regions, including levels not seen since the 1950s, with some areas receiving more than 7 inches (190 millimeters), Carabantes told the AP.

While this unprecedented precipitation has caused flooding in some areas of Chile, it's created a 6,560-square-mile (17,000 square kilometers) swath of flowering blooms across the Atacama Desert. This is the most extensive desert bloom since 1997, CONAF representatives told the AP.

For photographers and tourists, the landscape is breathtaking, with bright colors contrasted against the dark Atacama mountains and Chile's cloudless skies. But the bloom is fleeting; by the end of the Southern Hemisphere's spring, many of the flowers will disappear, leaving behind seeds and bulbs waiting for the next extraordinary rains.

Here are five photos from Getty Images photographer Javier Torres that showcase the beauty of this rare event.

RELATED STORIES

—Bloom entombed in amber is the largest fossilized flower ever found

—Atacama Desert's center dried out 20 million years earlier than previously thought — before the Andes formed

—Hidden 'biosphere' of extreme microbes discovered 13 feet below Atacama Desert is deepest found there to date

The first animals may have appeared on Earth hundreds of millions years earlier than their fossils suggest, a new modeling study suggests.

Previously, the earliest fossil evidence of animals dated to around 574 million years ago, during the Ediacaran period (635 million to 538 million years ago). In the new paper, a research team argues that we can't just rely on the spotty fossil record, and suggests that animals first appeared up to 200 million years earlier than the oldest known animal fossils.

In the study, published Friday (Oct. 2) in the journal Science Advances, the researchers argue that the absence of animal fossils in some exceptionally well-preserved ancient rocks doesn't mean the animals were absent from history. Instead, they suggest that the fossil record may be missing a key chapter of animal evolution, potentially pushing the origins of animals back to between 800 million and 700 million years ago.

This would place the emergence of animals deep within the Neoproterozoic era (1 billion to 539 million years ago), possibly before or during some of Earth's most extreme ice ages.

Even though scientists haven't found undisputed animal fossils from the Neoproterozoic, that doesn't mean animals didn't live at that time. Fossils can be absent from rocks for several reasons, including because scientists are looking in the wrong places or the conditions were unsuitable for creating fossils, making it difficult to determine the earliest evolved animals.

"Until that evidence becomes available, the precise birth date of the animal kingdom remains uncertain," study co-author Ross Anderson, an associate professor of natural history at the University of Oxford, said in a statement.

Where are the animals?

Until now, most researchers relied on the well-preserved rocks from the Ediacaran period, including the roughly 590 million-year-old Weng'an Biota in China, to investigate the timing of animal evolution. Because rock deposits there contain uniquely preserved microscopic organisms but no definitive animal fossils, experts have sometimes treated them as a kind of upper limit for when animals could have evolved.

"So the game is basically how much does it predate our first fossil discovery by and what happened in that evolutionary black box between when they actually originated versus when we get our first fossil window," Karma Nanglu, an assistant professor of evolutionary paleobiology at the University of California, Riverside who wasn't involved with the study, told Live Science.

But the researchers wondered whether other fossil sites from known animal periods actually had evidence of animal fossils.

To find out, Anderson and his colleagues studied more than 140 samples from the Kheseen Biota in Mongolia, which is more than 40 million years younger than the 590 million-year-old Weng'an Biota deposit. Given that it's a younger deposit, the researchers hypothesized that there should be evidence of animal life left in the rock. Using electron scanning microscopy, the researchers saw microscopic fossils preserved in extraordinary detail, including tiny, spherical organisms and embryo-like structures containing internal cells.

Yet, despite the quality of preservation, the researchers couldn't identify any of the microfossils as animals. That's important, because by the time the Kheseen Biota was deposited, animals were present elsewhere on Earth.

"The Kheseen Biota breaks the argument that the exceptional microfossils of Weng'an mean we would have seen animal fossils in the assemblage had they existed at the time," Anderson said. "The Kheseen microfossils are just as well-preserved, yet animals continue to be absent — despite the fact we know at that point they existed."

Using molecular clocks

Given the absence of fossil evidence, Anderson and his collaborators turned to another common method used to date ancient life: molecular clocks. Molecular clocks estimate when evolutionary lineages diverged by comparing genetic differences among living organisms and combining those differences with rates of genetic change. For example, if two bird species have five DNA changes and one DNA change takes about 1 million years to accumulate, scientists could estimate that the two species diverged around 5 million years ago.

"Molecular clocks are useful when we don't have a particularly good fossil record for a group of interest or a time period of interest," Nanglu said.

When the analysis was constrained by the younger Weng'an deposit, the estimated origin of animals was comparatively recent. When they used older geological constraints — specifically rock formations in Norway, Australia and Arizona deposited between around 850 million and 730 million years ago that have been used in the past for trying to find animals' early ancestors, the timeline changed. By comparing modern animal DNA to reference dates from the fossil record along with evolutionary rates of change — their estimate shifted back by roughly 200 million years, to between about 800 million and 700 million years ago.

"Pre-Ediacaran animal body fossils still elude us, and this analysis does not prove that animals existed 800 million years ago," study first author Orin Lole Durbin, a doctoral student of paleobiology at Virginia Tech who was a University of Oxford undergraduate at the time of the study, said in the statement. "Meanwhile, our molecular-clock analyses show how much further back their evolutionary history could extend."

Could animals have lived before "Snowball Earth"?

There are other clues that animals may have a longer history.

Chemical fossils, or biomarkers, have been interpreted as evidence consistent with sponges living at least 650 million years ago, tens of millions of years prior to the oldest known animal fossils.

If animals did originate 800 million years ago, their emergence would also intersect with the Cryogenian period, which began around 720 million years ago as part of the Neoproterozoic era. During this interval, Earth experienced enormous glaciations often referred to as "Snowball Earth."

Although there is no definitive answer to whether animals survived this uncertain time, the researchers plan to search additional Neoproterozoic rocks with different environments and preservation conditions to find more evidence for their analysis.

"Fossils themselves are by definition kind of hidden from general sight," Nanglu said."Beyond that there's an even more hidden world, and that has a lot of potential to tell us about animal origins."

Think you know about natural selection? Try your hand at our evolution quiz!

This year's "super" El Nino means the U.S. will likely face a higher risk of stormy weather and flooding, so experts are recommending Americans stock up on food.

And flooding is just one of the natural disasters people will face — many people are at risk of wildfires, power outages or earthquakes. While some disasters are unexpected, preparation can make a significant difference in how much they impact peoples' daily lives.

But is anyone actually prepared for the worst?

Levels of preparedness vary widely. Some may keep an emergency kit stocked with food, water and first-aid supplies, while others may have an evacuation plan, emergency contacts or designated meeting place for their household. And others do nothing at all. Although a recent study revealed there's no single place on Earth that's best prepared for global disaster, there are steps people can take to feel well equipped.

Experts recommend stocking up on food supplies and other essentials, especially in areas that might be more disaster prone. But how prepared are you? Answer our poll below, and share how you've prepared for emergencies or what you have in your disaster kit in the comments.

Climate change is often discussed in terms of rising temperatures, extreme weather and environmental loss. But there's another consequence that can be harder to see: The impact on our mental health.

In this exclusive video, we explore how heat exposure influences mental state, drawing on research by Kim Meidenbauer, a neuroscientist at Washington State University who studies the effect of heat on emotion and behavior.

Editor's Note: This text was updated at 12:30 p.m. EDT to correct the spelling of Kim Meidenbauer's name.

Burning up: How can we adapt to a warming world?

As the planet warms, our environment will be transformed, but so will our bodies. This video is part of a series where we investigate the health impacts of climate change, focusing on heat, air quality, food and infection risk. We also evaluate the promising solutions that could help us adapt to our warmer future.

This eye-catching astronaut photo shows the point where an ancient Patagonian lake has been split by a peculiar land bridge, creating two contrastingly colored bodies of water.

Lake Pueyrredón (on the left in the photo) is the Argentine half of a roughly 40-mile-long (65 kilometers) glacial lake, which stretches across the country's border with Chile in Patagonia — a region in South America that is well known for its diverse range of geographic features, including mountains, fjords, deserts and rainforests. The Chilean half of the lake is known as Lake Cochrane (not shown in this image). Both halves hold crystal-clear water that is up to 1,600 feet (500 meters) deep, giving Pueyrredón a deep blue hue when viewed from above.

Thousands of years ago, a thick sediment barrier formed across the southern section of Lake Pueyrredón, creating a new body of water known as Lake Posadas. This smaller body, which is roughly 5 miles (8 km) long, has a lighter, teal color due to its shallow water and a large influx of sediment from a nearby river, according to NASA's Earth Observatory.

Other rivers from nearby hills have previously dumped large quantities of sediment along the western shore of Lake Pueyrredón (bottom of the photo), creating a trio of fan-shaped landforms, known as deltas, that increase in size from north to south (left to right in the photo).

Wind-driven currents and waves have pushed some of this sediment from the outer edges of the two smaller deltas, creating long, thin strips of land, known as sandspits, pointing down-current.

The strip of land separating Pueyrredón and Posadas looks similar to the sandspits. However, it is most likely a moraine — a barrier of sediment and larger rocks that formed along the edge of a hefty iceberg or long-lost glacier, according to the Earth Observatory.

Eagle-eyed viewers may be able to spot a narrow airstrip on the smallest delta (running almost parallel with its sandspit). While the area is largely uninhabited, it is popular with tourists, who travel to the lakes to camp, hike, fish and kayak, according to a local travel site.

Lake Posadas is also home to a unique island with a massive rocky arch (see below) that is also popular with tourists.

The two lakes in the astronaut photo sit within a large valley, which was carved by a massive ice sheet that once covered the area. The last remnants of this ice sheet are located in northern Patagonia, around 20 miles (30 km) west of Lake Cochrane, and have also been snapped from space by astronauts.

Patagonia is home to dozens of similar valleys and fjords that were carved out by the same massive ice slab. Around 210 miles (340 km) southwest of Pueyrredón and Posadas, a trio of ravines converge to create a rare configuration where a lake, river and glacier "touch" each other at a single point.

See more Earth from space

A volcanic eruption 22 million years ago froze a snapshot of the Andes in their youth, revealing a slow-and-steady formation of this formidable mountain range.

The eruption, which originated from the Lauca Caldera in what is now northern Chile, blanketed the landscape in a formation known as ignimbrite. This rock is left over after a pyroclastic flow ‪—‬ a mix of rock, volcanic gas and ash that sweeps over the landscape like a broiling tsunami. Pyroclastic flow is what buried the Roman town of Pompeii after the eruption of Mount Vesuvius in A.D. 79, preserving buildings and people where they fell.

Now, a new study published Sept. 11 in the journal Science Advances extrapolates the landscape under this Andean ignimbrite, revealing that it must have buried rolling foothills rather than craggy peaks.

"Pompeii shows how volcanic eruptions can freeze a moment in human history," Byron Adams, a geomorphologist at University College London, said in a statement. "This study shows that much larger eruptions can also freeze moments in Earth history, burying whole landscapes beneath volcanic deposits and preserving clues to how mountains were being built before the eruption. We cannot dig down to see the buried landscape, but we can use the shape of the volcanic blanket and what we know about how rivers shape mountains to infer what is hidden beneath it."

The original slope of the volcanic flow from Lauca Caldera was about 1.5 degrees, Adams and his colleagues wrote in the new paper. The researchers also calculated the erosion of the landscape to figure out how fast the rocks in the area were rising as the oceanic Nazca Plate pushed under the continental crust of South America, which is how the Andes were built.

They found that prior to the eruption, the uplift of the crust was no more than 0.16 mile (0.26 kilometer) per million years — quite a sluggish process. This finding corresponds to earlier work that used the formation of certain minerals within rocks to determine when a particular rock rose through the crust and approached the surface.

"There is debate over whether the Andes grew slowly and steadily over 40 or 50 million years or whether they rose extremely slowly and then popped up more recently, in the last six to 10 million years," Adams said. "Our findings, which cover a large part of the middle of that history, support the slow but steady hypothesis."

The same method could be applied to other mountain ranges worldwide, the researchers added.

Scientists have a new view of the ground under Los Angeles, and it's a bit shaky.

The 3D model of the Los Angeles basin shows that downtown LA is underpinned by up to 6.2 miles (10 kilometers) of sediment, which will likely amplify shaking from any earthquake that hits the region. That's not entirely new information, but the underground map is more precise than ever before, and it should help earthquake scientists better understand which areas of the city are most vulnerable.

"With this improved model of the basin, we now know the shape of the edges of the basin in a lot more detail," Elizabeth Cochran, a U.S. Geological Survey seismologist who was not involved in the study, told Live Science.

That's important, Cochran said, because irregular edges can focus or direct earthquake waves. In the magnitude 6.7 Northridge earthquake in 1994, Santa Monica experienced more shaking damage than expected because of the way the seismic waves traveled along the basin edge, she added.

Los Angeles sits in a sedimentary basin, a low spot where layers of sediment have accumulated for at least 15 million years. At first, the basin was underwater, so the lowest layers of these sediments were oceanic sediments. Later, when tectonic forces brought the basin onto dry land, additional sediment accumulated from the mountains nearby.

Researchers knew the general shape of the basin, but not in great detail. "Previous surveys were just linear arrays that went through just one cross section on the LA Basin, but this was the first full three-dimensional map," said Valeria Villa, a doctoral student at Caltech and co-author of the new paper describing the map, published Aug. 4 in the journal JGR Solid Earth.

The data from the new map came from 273 temporary seismic stations deployed around LA. These stations detected faint earthquake waves from distant quakes that couldn't be felt by humans. The paths and timing of these waves as they traveled helped researchers build a 3D map of the rock layers below the surface.

The central part of the basin, under downtown LA, holds the deepest sediments, which could amplify shaking. The edges of the basin are thinner, with 0.6 to 2.5 miles (1 to 4 km) of sediment before the hard crystalline rock that serves as the basin's bottom.

On its own, the map doesn't tell geophysicists exactly where shaking might be the worst in the case of a big LA earthquake, but researchers can now update their models and simulations to test different scenarios, Villa told Live Science. The damage will ultimately depend on a lot of factors, such as which fault causes the quake. Los Angeles is surrounded by many faults, including the famous San Andreas, which could give off a magnitude 7.8 quake that would jolt Southern California.

One important factor in the amount of damage to buildings during such a quake is "resonance" ‪—‬ whether buildings shake in time with the sediments below them, Cochran said. When buildings and sediments are in resonance, the damage is worse. A better understanding of the sediment layers beneath downtown LA will help researchers ensure buildings are designed to avoid resonating with the shaking basin, she said.

"You can, for example, change the stiffness of your building and do other things to offset this effect," Cochran said. "What is important is that you know what the ground is like, and what the larger geologic structure is like, underneath the region where you are building the building to know that this could be an issue."

Weakening Atlantic Ocean currents could cripple agriculture in some of the world's major breadbaskets, threatening global food security and raising the price of basic commodities, new research finds.

The study, which hasn't been peer-reviewed yet, investigated how a roughly 60% decline in the Atlantic Meridional Overturning Circulation (AMOC) would impact global food production. The AMOC is a system of ocean currents that regulates the global climate and brings heat from the tropics to the Northern Hemisphere.

However, the system is currently the weakest it's been in more than 1,000 years, having lost 10% to 20% of its strength due to climate change, estimates show.

In the new study, researchers used a computer model to simulate the AMOC's future decline. They modeled 100 years of change, assuming 3.6 degrees Fahrenheit (2 degrees Celsius) of warming above preindustrial levels. The team forced an AMOC slowdown over the first 50 years in one simulation but didn't modify the circulation in a second experiment, which enabled them to compare the world with and without an AMOC failure.

The model's outcomes mirrored the results of previous studies, showing broad cooling in the Northern Hemisphere and a southward shift of the belt of clouds and rain that encircles the globe near the equator. As in past studies, these effects were irreversible on human timescales, said study co-author Michael Hinge, a senior economist at the nonprofit Alliance to Feed the Earth in Disasters (ALLFED).

"Once the damage is inflicted, it stays there," Hinge told Live Science, adding that in the 50 years after the peak rate of AMOC slowdown in the model, the circulation weakened by an extra 20%. The study was posted on ALLFED's website July 7.

An agricultural "shock"

Hinge and his colleagues ran three models to look at the most common varieties of wheat, maize and rice, layering these models on top of the AMOC simulations. They found that global yields for these crops decreased by 5.3% by the 50-year mark, once the AMOC had weakened substantially.

"Lots of these effects manifest earlier, so it's a moving target," Hinge said.

He added that the results were based on a single warming scenario that was run once and used monthly rather than daily data, so they should be interpreted as a proof of concept. "We've set up a pipeline that is ready to take pretty much any AMOC scenario that can generate high-resolution climate data and see what it implies for crops," Hinge said.

While there was a 5.3% decrease overall, that global metric concealed huge differences between regions. For example, countries like Germany and Ukraine lost up to 19% of their cereal yields due to sudden, sharp cooling, while Canada showed a 12% decline in production for the same reason.

"Scandinavia, the United Kingdom and Canada are particularly exposed," Hinge said, "but there are many other [vulnerable] locations, some of which may be surprising even to the people who are living there."

For instance, the model produced a "very nasty brown splodge" of reduced precipitation over India, Pakistan and big parts of China, he said. Iran, Sudan and Eritrea, which are already water-stressed countries, also exhibited severe declines in rainfall, indicating that a portion of the agriculture there may not survive an AMOC collapse.

The 5.3% result also hides variability among years, Hinge said, because it's an average. So there may be years when global cereal losses reach 10% or more, which would bump up food prices, in part because countries might stockpile crops instead of trading them.

Global response

The regional effects of an AMOC slowdown would interact with climate change, triggering unpredictable outcomes. In particular, maladaptation — taking actions that end up backfiring — is a worry, Hinge said.

"You're preparing and setting up for much hotter temperatures or trying to develop areas for these temperatures and the trends you're seeing, and suddenly you see something different," he said. "That may cause an even larger compounding effect [on agriculture]."

The findings build on prior research led by Paul Ritchie, a climate scientist at the University of Exeter in the U.K., whose team explored the effects of an AMOC collapse on agriculture in Great Britain. That study, published in 2020, had similar limitations as the new one, so it's best to interpret both papers as a suggestion of what might happen rather than a precise forecast, Ritchie told Live Science in an email.

"I think the new study is valuable in showing the potential scale and geographic distribution of the initial agricultural shock," said Ritchie, who was not involved in the latest work. "What that would ultimately mean for food production and food security is more uncertain, because there are many possible responses by farmers, markets and governments." For that reason, the regional predictions may be more informative than the 5.3% global average, he said.

Average food prices worldwide could rise by 17% to 40% if the AMOC weakens to the extent it did in the model, the study predicts. The level of increase depends on how countries respond to the shock and their degree of preparedness, as well as on whether agriculture can be sustainably expanded in places like the African Sahel (the semi-arid zone directly south of the Sahara Desert) and Brazil, the analysis suggests.

The U.S. would not be spared from this price jump, and the model indicated that the country could see crop losses of about 3% for domestic wheat and corn. This loss would likely impact other foods that rely on cereal inputs, like meat, Hinge said. "The variety of foods available in the stores may well diminish for periods," he added.

An AMOC collapse would fundamentally deepen the need for countries to trade with each other, because some regions — such as the Indian subcontinent, China, Iran, Russia, Ukraine and Canada — could endure this giant shift only if they imported more food, Hinge said.

"Should countries turn inwards and start to restrict exports in an effort to ensure access for their own citizens first, or deal with the uncertainty, or offset concerns, then this will massively magnify the effects of AMOC," he said.

If governments behave as they have during past shocks, such as the 2008 financial crisis and the COVID-19 pandemic, they may restrict trade and start stockpiling food if and when the effects of AMOC weakening begin to show, Hinge predicted. The researchers hope their work and future modeling can help people understand the need to take swift, effective action if a collapse were to occur, he said.

Currently, "if that warning light starts flashing, we're not sure what to do with it," Hinge said. "There are no easy answers here; an AMOC [collapse] would be deeply catastrophic."

To the untrained eye, Xiaoyu Shan's lab bench looked like a home gardening experiment gone bad: dishes filled with dirt — some that looked like mud pies and others that were bone-dry — and not a plant to be seen.

But those dishes held a warning. The dirt that Shan, a postdoctoral research associate in biology and biological engineering at Caltech, was studying contained soil microbes. And those soil microbes were exhibiting a concerning propensity: In dried-out soil, they were evolving to become more antibiotic resistant.

The study describing those findings, published in March, systematically showed that drought conditions could fuel the evolution of antibiotic-resistant bacteria. Most of this resistance is driven by humans' misuse of antibiotics, which spurs bacteria to evolve genes that help them ward off the drugs. But the Caltech study raised a new worry: As many places face increased drought conditions, climate change itself could act as a selective pressure that could supercharge the evolution of these drug-resistant superbugs.

"We can expect to have more resistant bacteria being selected for in certain places around the globe," said Dianne Newman, a Caltech microbiologist and co-author of the study.

Increased antibiotic resistance is just one way that climate change is likely to put new populations at risk of multiple types of infections.

And this increased disease burden will coincide with climate change scrambling supply chains, eroding nutrition and stressing our health in other ways.

"No individual metric really does justice to the overall risk and health and well-being of these multiple stressors being exacerbated all at once and compounding each other," said Marina Romanello, a principal research fellow at the Institute of Global Health at University College London.

Warm-weather disease

In the small mountain town of Bailey, Colorado, which lies at an elevation of 7,740 feet (2,360 meters), May often brings snowstorms that can blanket the ground in white even as the sun starts to bake the plains at lower elevations. But on Memorial Day 2026, the forest floor was dry and ticks quested their way along blades of grass, seeking a blood meal.

A mild winter in most of the country means ticks — and the diseases they carry — are a rising concern. In April, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) reported that emergency department visits for tick bites were at their highest for that month since 2017. That trend isn't a one-off, according to the CDC; as temperatures rise, insects and arthropods can survive longer in the year and farther north.

As a result, vector-borne illnesses such as Lyme disease (spread by black-legged ticks in the Ixodes genus) and West Nile virus (spread by mosquitoes) will become more common in increasingly northerly locations. Already, alpha-gal syndrome, which is not an infection but is transmitted by the Lone Star tick (Amblyomma americanum) and causes an incurable allergy to red meat, is also seeing a dramatic rise as the species expands its range across the Northeast. Positive tests for antibodies to the alpha-gal molecule have increased by 100 times between 2013 and 2024.

Right now, almost half a million people are treated for Lyme disease each year, and the CDC records more than 8,000 cases of other tick-borne diseases annually across the country. It's not clear how this will change as the climate warms. One 2022 study found major increases in Lyme disease only at levels of warming of 6.3 to 9.9 degrees Fahrenheit (3.5 to 5.5 degrees Celsius) by 2100, but that much warming that fast is now considered an implausible scenario. However, the researchers saw a huge amount of uncertainty in the numbers, given the number of variables that affect whether a spreading tick population will transmit more disease, such as how often people go outside or what steps they take to avoid tick bites. Tick-borne illnesses are likely also underreported, so even the true number of illnesses transmitted each year right now is unknown.

But ticks are responsible for spreading 90% of all vector-borne diseases in the U.S., so any trends in the suite of illnesses spread by ticks are likely to affect thousands to tens of thousands of people.

An even more ubiquitous bloodsucker, the mosquito, currently spreads only a few diseases in the U.S. The most common and most serious is West Nile virus, which mosquitoes catch from feeding on infected birds. As of Sept. 8, 504 cases of West Nile virus had been reported in the U.S. in 2026, with 363 of them affecting the central nervous system. And because fewer than 1% of West Nile cases progress to the central nervous system, those numbers likely represent a dramatic underreporting of milder cases, which can cause months of fatigue in some people, in addition to acute flu-like symptoms, such as fever, headache and body aches.

Mosquito-borne illnesses like West Nile are expected to spread more quickly in warming temperatures. Heat helps mosquitoes stick around longer during the year, much like it does for ticks. It also speeds up the transmission and replication of the virus inside the mosquito, since the insects are cold-blooded and thus their metabolism is ruled by the weather.

"Except for places that are already really, really warm, we should expect that the replication rate of the virus inside the mosquito will speed up," said John Drake, director of the Center for the Ecology of Infectious Diseases at the University of Georgia. "That shortens the generation time, and that means we expect there to be more transmission."

Even though mosquitos love water, climate-related drought could ironically nearly triple the number of human West Nile cases in the U.S. over the next 30 years from around 2,000 reported cases (according to CDC data) to between 5,000 and 6,000. That's likely because in drier conditions, more mosquitoes are infected, possibly because birds, the intermediate host of the virus, either congregate more closely with mosquitoes around water sources or breed less readily in drought, meaning the fraction of birds that carry the virus is higher than in more water-abundant times.

Mosquito-borne diseases long ago eradicated from the U.S. could also resurge with warming temperatures. The southeastern United States will become more prone to malaria and dengue fever transmission under all levels of warming; summer 2026 saw more than 40 locally-acquired cases of dengue fever in Florida. Public health surveillance and disease-control measures have largely stopped those transmission chains, but the likelihood is that society will have to pour more money into beating these diseases back again in future decades. For example, there are malaria vaccines approved for children, but currently, they are recommended only in areas where the illnesses are endemic. If malaria were commonly found in the southern U.S., millions of Americans might need vaccines, including susceptible adults.

"If we were to get endemic diseases like those in the U.S. again, it could become a huge burden and it could be quite costly," Drake said.

Disaster and disease

Flooding is another factor that's exacerbating vector-borne disease under climate change. As climate change worsens, extreme weather events will, too. Because warm air can hold more moisture, many areas will see increased episodes of heavy rainfall and hurricanes will become more intense.

"Flooding creates habitat for these mosquitoes," Drake said.

Disasters also spur the spread of other diseases that are usually quite rare in the U.S., such as leptospirosis, a bacterial infection that spreads from animals to humans via animal urine. Floodwaters may be contaminated by the bodies of drowned animals; in 2022, after Hurricane Fiora hit Puerto Rico, leptospirosis cases leapt by a factor of 3.6 to over 10 cases a week.

After Hurricanes Matthew and Florence in 2016 and 2018, respectively, North Carolina saw an 11% increase in emergency department visits for gastrointestinal illnesses. Black and American Indian residents were the most affected, likely because discrimination over generations has disproportionately pushed Black Americans and Native Americans to less desirable, more flood-prone land, the researchers found.

Cycles of precipitation, drought and subsequent dust storms can spur the spread of Valley fever, a fungal respiratory disease that causes an estimated 700 to 1,100 deaths per year, mostly in the U.S. Southwest. Valley fever is already on the rise, with cases in Arizona, one of the hotspots for the disease, doubling from about 64 cases per 100,000 people in 2005 to 145 cases per 100,000 people in 2022. As the West warms and dries, Valley fever is likely to spread from its stronghold in the Southwest and become endemic in Idaho, Wyoming, Montana, Nebraska, South Dakota and North Dakota, putting millions more people at risk.

The infectious disease risk from natural disasters tends to stack on top of other health problems stemming from these catastrophes. Flooded buildings can harbor mold that can worsen allergies, asthma and other respiratory illnesses. When major storms cause power loss, people turn to generators for electricity, which release pollutants linked to asthma. Though it's often hard to track the effects of these disasters, one study found that flooded regions after Tropical Storm Imelda in Texas in 2019 saw 10% more emergency department visits for asthma than nonflooded regions did.

Moreover, the threat to life and livelihood from these disasters can cause mental health conditions, such as post-traumatic stress disorder, Romanello said. The problems compound on each other, she said; already, she has heard reports from Africa about malaria outbreaks, fed by warming, and health workers struggling to reach the affected regions because flooding, also exacerbated by warming, has washed out roads.

"What is the most concerning aspect is that all of that is happening together, so we're seeing all of this risk being exacerbated at once," she said.

Antibiotic resistance on the rise

As Newman and Shan's work shows, as spots around the U.S. face new infection risks, existing treatments may become less effective. Their work showed that drought concentrated the natural antibiotics that bacteria make in the soil, making it harder for bacteria susceptible to the compounds to survive. As a result, the microbes with genes for antibiotic resistance did better. The problem for human health is that bacteria are very good at gene swapping, so these soil microbes can easily pass their antibiotic resistance superpowers to bacteria that infect people, their research showed.

"Gardening, breathing dust ‪—‬ that's how it happens," Newman said of human and soil bacteria coming into contact. "We are constantly encountering bacteria in our environment."

The researchers found an association between drought and antibiotic resistance reported by hospitals.

They aren't the only ones. A recent study on Salmonella, a bacterium that causes about 1.35 million cases of food poisoning each year in the U.S. alone, found that temperature and rainfall promote antibiotic resistance in this microbe. "Globally, climate change was linked to about a 10% increase in Salmonella resistance gene abundance," said study first author Zhen-Chao Zhou, an ecology researcher at the Chinese Academy of Sciences in Beijing. Other microbes show similar effects.

Meanwhile, warmer conditions help bacteria grow faster, adapt to stress and swap resistance genes, Zhou said, while drought concentrates them in limited water sources where they mingle freely. Climate-change-induced flooding can then, in theory, spread the resistant genes far and wide.

Combating the compounding risks requires both public health and climate mitigation approaches, experts say. Not only does the world need to cut greenhouse gas emissions, but people also need to use antibiotics more carefully, Zhou said; improve sanitation practices, such as sewage management, around the world so that antibiotic-resistant strains don't spread as easily; strengthen food safety; and expand disease surveillance. The public also needs to understand that climate change is a health issue, Romanello said.

"When we talk about tackling greenhouse gas emissions," she said, "what we're talking about is a sustainable livable future with healthy economies."

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Abnormally high temperatures on the Tibetan Plateau triggered two catastrophic rainfall events halfway around the world in California and nearby states in early 2017 and 2023, a new study reports.

This is the first time that researchers have identified this link, known as a climate teleconnection. The results could improve forecasts of extreme weather in the western U.S., which, in turn, could improve warnings for coastal communities and potentially save lives as well as billions of dollars in property damage, the study's authors say.

In December 2016 and February 2023, the Tibetan Plateau was warmer than usual for these times of the year. Roughly one month after each of these hotspots appeared, parts of California, Nevada, Oregon, Utah and Arizona received record-breaking precipitation, causing a total of around $6.6 billion in damage, according to the study, and killing at least nine people.

State-of-the-art forecast systems, which rely heavily on ocean conditions like El Niño, failed to predict this extreme rainfall, said study first author Yongkang Xue, a distinguished professor of atmospheric and oceanic sciences at UCLA. The record precipitation occurred during La Niña years, which are typically associated with dry conditions in California and neighboring regions, further complicating the picture.

"This study provides the first evidence from observational data analysis and model simulations that abnormally high early-winter temperatures on the Tibetan Plateau led to stronger atmospheric rivers along the U.S. Pacific Coast, driving heavy regional precipitation," Xue told Live Science in an email.

Atmospheric rivers are narrow, elongated corridors of intense water vapor transport. They are key drivers of precipitation and floods in the western U.S., and in this case, they interacted with giant waves in Earth's atmosphere, called Rossby waves, to produce devastating rainfall in the winters of 2017 and 2023.

As temperatures increased over the Tibetan Plateau in late 2016 and early 2023, a strong gradient formed with the regions north and south of the plateau. This generated an atmospheric disturbance that propagated eastward along the jet stream via Rossby waves, triggering what is known as a Rossby wave train between the Tibetan Plateau and the Rocky Mountains, Xue said.

A Rossby wave train is a series of waves traveling in the same direction and at regular intervals around alternating high- and low-pressure systems. As the wave trains initiated over the Tibetan Plateau reached the northeastern Pacific Ocean, they suddenly broke, and this supercharged the weather above California and adjacent states, Xue explained.

"Over the eastern Pacific, the wave breaks — much like a towering ocean wave crashing near the shore," he said. "This wave-breaking mechanism reduces static stability and significantly intensifies atmospheric rivers, ultimately driving extraordinary, heavy precipitation along the West Coast."

The findings, published Wednesday (Sept. 9) in the journal Science Advances, are based on complex modeling and analyses of precipitation and surface temperature data, among other observations. The results are part of a new body of research examining the influence of land temperatures on weather patterns, and this is the first study of a winter season, Xue said.

The analysis is a "very specific and impactful case study," said Matthew Huber, a professor in the Department of Earth, Atmospheric, and Planetary Sciences at Purdue University in Indiana, who was not involved in the research. The results build on the well-established idea that extra heat on a mountaintop affects Rossby waves almost as if the mountain had suddenly grown, Huber told Live Science in an email.

Large mountains and plateaus generate waves in the jet stream that are thousands of miles long — "so long that we also call them planetary waves," Huber said. An increase or drop in temperature so high up above sea level adds or subtracts from the atmospheric disturbance that already exists due to the elevation.

"You can imagine the waves in the jet are kind of like a motorcycle rider going off a jump," Huber said. "How far and how high they jump depends on how fast they are going and how big a ramp they are going over."

The models replicated the extreme weather with surprising accuracy, raising hopes that the Tibetan Plateau could be integrated into early warning systems for the western U.S., Xue said. "As similar, though less severe, events become more [frequent] and extreme weather escalates globally, understanding this teleconnection allows forecasting agencies to better warn coastal communities of impending extreme conditions," he said.

Huber agreed that the results could help to better prepare for weather hazards. "This study shows that accurate predictions of weather events in the U.S. West are very sensitive to tiny changes very far 'upstream' and these upstream features are identifiable and traceable," he said.

In this excerpt from "The Carbon Wave" (MIT Press, 2026), author Leah Stokes, an associate professor of environmental politics at the University of California, Santa Barbara, looks at a hopeful moment in U.S. politics when climate change took center stage: when Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez and Sen. Ed Markey ramped up calls for a "Green New Deal."

In September 2017, a still­-unknown Alexandria Ocasio-­Cortez watched as Hurricane Maria devastated Puerto Rico. Electricity went down for months. Like thousands of Puerto Ricans, her grandfather died in the storm's aftermath. She could see how climate change was hitting her community harder than others.

And it wasn't just Ocasio-­Cortez's community: the year before, she'd traveled to Standing Rock, North Dakota, to see firsthand how the fossil fuel industry was harming Indigenous people. It was mere weeks after the 2016 election, and the resistance to Trump had found its center in a makeshift camp along the Missouri River. People had united to oppose an oil pipeline.

Serendipitously, the day after Ocasio-­Cortez left the protest, a progressive organization reached out to ask her to run for Congress. Moved by the activists at Standing Rock, she said yes. In 2018, she ran a long-­shot primary campaign in a Bronx district occupied by a ten-­term congressman in House leadership. Her platform included an idea that some had bandied about before, but no one had developed in earnest: a Green New Deal. As she told journalists that summer, "The Green New Deal we are proposing will be similar in scale to the mobilization efforts seen in World War II or the Marshall Plan. We must again invest in the development, manufacturing, deployment, and distribution of energy, but this time green energy." In June, she won the primary. Her election signaled the beginning of a broader shift: climate change was back on the political agenda.

That fall, the world's leading climate science organization, the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change —­ often called the IPCC —­ released a short report concluding that limiting warming to 1.5°C would require emissions to fall by almost half by 2030. The news ricocheted around the world, with headlines like "We Have 12 Years to Limit Climate Catastrophe." In my own neighborhood, someone printed a copy and stuck it in the free lending library, labeling it "important reading." The report changed how many people thought about the problem: it wasn't something we could deal with in 50 years; it was something we had to deal with today.

In the November 2018 midterm elections, two years into the first Trump administration, Democrats won big, paving the way for Nancy Pelosi to return as Speaker of the House after eight years as the minority leader. Days later, a group of young activists from the Sunrise Movement staged a sit-in at her office. Their bright yellow and­ black signs read "We have 12 years. What’s your plan?" referencing that scientific report.

Newly elected Representative Ocasio-­Cortez joined the action that day. She told the organizers they needed a clear ask and encouraged them to call for a Green New Deal. The idea broke through, sparking widespread coverage across the country. It was a new, hopeful vision for climate policy. These young people were not just talking about the climate disasters we needed to avoid —­ they were explaining how investments in clean energy could create good jobs. They were showing us the better world we could build together. If we only tried.

I watched these developments unfold in DC from my office by the Pacific Ocean and wanted to be a part of it. I wouldn't have to wait long. The Green New Deal held a force like gravity, pulling people into its orbit. By chance, I met some of the people tied to Ocasio-­Cortez at a conference and was invited to an early gathering to develop the idea into more detailed policy. By then, she'd released a framework for the plan with Senator Ed Markey of Massachusetts.

The meeting was held in March 2019, at a hip hotel in DC's Adams Morgan neighborhood, miles away from the Capitol. A wide swath of people were invited: youth activists, environmental justice leaders, political organizers, think tank wonks, and a few academics like me. It was a contentious meeting that opened with a protest, revealing fissures in the movement that would eventually grow into large cracks. Some people believed that frontline communities facing the greatest pollution burdens were not being adequately consulted or invited to participate in the event. At the time, I didn't understand these dynamics between the climate and environmental justice movements. I was just a political science professor trying to understand how I could make my work more practical and help get a climate law passed if we got the chance.

It was at that event that I met Varshini Prakash, the executive director of the Sunrise Movement. I’d seen her photo many times, standing in the middle of Pelosi's office with her dark red jacket over a black­ and yellow T-­shirt, surrounded by young people sitting on the floor. Four months had passed since the sit-­in, and Varshini had ricocheted to the center of the climate movement. But she was also a recent college grad in her mid-­twenties, feeling a heavy burden from the climate crisis and the work involved in fighting it. At one point during the meeting, she spoke frankly about the stress that was on her and other young activists and cried. I found her vulnerability moving.

The fact was, Varshini had already changed history. She'd given me, and millions of others, a sense of hope and possibility. It was her actions, alongside all the other organizers in the Sunrise Movement, that brought us together in that first DC convening, and in countless other meetings to come. She inspired me to believe that I could do something bigger if I tried.

Too often, the way we think about cause and effect is simplistic. We're fed a linear model that favors the immediate. One person is responsible for their own carbon footprint. One person only has one vote. One person can only do so much. From this perspective, standing against more than a century of fossil fuels running through the heart of our society, it can feel like there's nothing we could do to shake the system loose. We're too small. Mere drops. But drops in the ocean can make waves.

Excerpted from The Carbon Wave: A Story of Democracy, Parenthood, and the Race to Protect Our Planet by Leah C. Stokes. Reprinted with permission from The MIT Press. Copyright 2026.

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In the event of a global catastrophe, such as a nuclear war, an enormous volcanic eruption or large asteroid strike, the best place to be is Australia, according to a new study.

Researchers looked at the places that were most resilient to global catastrophic risks, which are events that would kill more than 10% of the global population over several months or years.

"These kinds of catastrophes are under-researched" because they are not very likely, study first author Florian Ulrich Jehn, a researcher at FernUniversität in Hagen, Germany, told Live Science. "That makes them easy to ignore."

But they are still possible — and no country would be unaffected if they occurred, he said. And some places are more vulnerable than others.

In the new study, published Aug. 23 in the journal Global Challenges, researchers analyzed studies across a variety of disciplines such as food security, biological weapons, and volcanism, to identify potential global catastrophic risks and the factors that helped communities to endure them in the past or on a smaller scale. They also brought in subject experts to add discipline-specific papers to their database.

The team identified three broad types of risk: events that would block out sunlight, such as nuclear war or a huge volcano explosion); events that destroy global infrastructure, such as a geomagnetic storm or massive cyber attack; and biological hazards, such as natural or human-caused infectious diseases that would kill much of the population.

These events, the authors wrote, would have significant and long-lasting global consequences. Many would result in global famine from crops failing and trade networks falling apart. "The food system is often the thing that gets you," Jehn said.

A trade-off of risks

The team identified characteristics that made countries more resilient to catastrophe and better able to feed their inhabitants. And while "no single place on Earth" would be resilient against all catastrophic risks, the authors wrote, some would fare better than others.

The team found that wealthier countries and regions with a strong industrial base that are not highly reliant on global trade are better able to weather global disasters.

With a strong industrial base, countries are able to manufacture goods that they cannot import, making them more resilient.

Geography also plays a role. Large islands have an advantage over continents because they can easily isolate, but they also need to have an economy that can at least partially support itself, the researchers said. If an island is highly reliant on international trade, like Japan, it will struggle if global trade networks are disrupted, the study found.

Certain countries and regions are less resilient in the face of some types of catastrophes, even if they are wealthy. For example, countries with nuclear capabilities, such as the U.S., the U.K., France, Israel, Russia, Pakistan, and India, are more at risk of being involved in nuclear war. This makes the Northern Hemisphere, where NATO countries are situated, more vulnerable to nuclear attack than places in the Southern Hemisphere.

There are also fewer volcanoes in the southern half of the globe, while the Southern Hemisphere has more ocean to act as a climate buffer, making countries there more resilient to a huge volcanic eruption, the study found.

Global resilience

There are some factors that make all countries better able to endure disasters in general, such as democratic processes and equality, Jehn said.

"When these catastrophes happen, you have to make the right decisions, and this depends on whether your country has functional governance," Jehn said. "Inequality makes governance worse, because it leads to things like elite rivalries, or less state capacity."

Australia came out as the best location to weather a catastrophic event that decimated global populations. It is in the Southern Hemisphere, so far away from the most likely location of a nuclear conflict (although the authors warn that it is allied with the U.S., which might increase its risk exposure). It is a major food producer, with diverse climatic zones, and has significant energy infrastructure.

Next best spots are Argentina, Brazil and New Zealand. New Zealand ranks lower than Australia because it has active volcanoes, a small industrial base, and is surrounded by water and vulnerable to tsunamis. Meanwhile, Brazil and Argentina have high levels of inequality and historical political instability, the authors wrote.

They also note that Iceland was a contender for a safe refuge, but its location in the far north makes it vulnerable to temperature shocks if a major incident were to block out sunshine.

The U.S. is not particularly well-placed to weather a global catastrophe, the study found. The country is exposed to the threat of geomagnetic storms because of its location and to nuclear war. The authors also pointed to the country’s poor COVID-19 outcomes, which appeared to be due to "a lack of political will and poor social cohesion."

David Denkenberger, director at Alliance to Feed the Earth in Disasters (ALLFED) and a researcher at the University of Canterbury in New Zealand, told Live Science that the new study aids our understanding of future risks by considering a wider range of catastrophes.

"No country is resilient to every catastrophe, and this is an important central finding," he said. "A useful next step would be to quantify the relative likelihood and severity of different catastrophes, and the importance of different resilience factors, because these factors can involve significant trade-offs," said Denkenberger, who has previously collaborated with Jehn but is not an author on the paper.

How to be more resilient

Even though these global catastrophes are unlikely, it is important to include them on national risk registers and have international trade agreements in place in case they come to pass, Jehn said. "When global catastrophes happen, then you would likely have to restructure the food system — where it is produced, where it is traded," he said. "The chance to find a good compromise after the catastrophe has happened seems slim."

Denkenberger echoed his comments. The study, he said, "makes it clear that regional resilience to global catastrophic risk requires investment in practical preparedness, including food-system resilience, critical infrastructure, coordinated trade and governance."

Two distinct climate regimes that could trigger runaway methane emissions are emerging in Siberia due to Arctic warming, new research suggests.

While western Siberia is becoming wetter in response to rising heat and moisture transported from the North Atlantic Ocean, eastern Siberia is getting drier and more prone to wildfires, a study published Aug. 6 in the journal Science finds. The Yenisei River (also spelled Yenisey) in central Russia delineates the separate environmental states — referred to as regimes because they describe specific types of climates — on each side of the basin, the study authors said.

Between 2010 and 2023, methane emissions from Siberia rose by 5% per year, with western Siberia releasing methane mainly via microbial activity in thawing soils and eastern Siberia discharging the powerful greenhouse gas through biomass burning, the results showed.

"Given the observed increases in permafrost thaw, wetland activity, and wildfire occurrence, an increase in methane emissions was expected," study co-author Paul Palmer, a professor in the School of Geosciences at the University of Edinburgh, told Live Science in an email. "What is surprising is how large and sustained the increase appears to be."

Annual methane emissions grew by about 13.2 million tons (12 million metric tons) over the study period, almost mirroring the rate of increase in methane emissions from wetlands worldwide. Although Siberia currently makes up only about 5% of global methane emissions, the region is becoming one of the fastest-growing natural methane sources on the planet, Palmer said.

In their study, Palmer and his colleagues integrated satellite observations with near-surface measurements to map methane emissions from Siberia over time. Instead of adding up individual methane sources on the ground, the researchers used a modeling method known as a methane flux inversion system, which helped them limit the uncertainty in their estimates to roughly 10%.

Siberia is vast, remote, sparsely instrumented and currently inaccessible for many scientists due to the Russia-Ukraine war, making it hard to monitor methane consistently by any means other than satellites. Although satellites rely on sunlight, of which Siberia gets very little in the winter, most methane emissions are thought to occur in the spring and summer, when Siberia gets more sunlight, Palmer said.

The results of the study show that Arctic warming amplifies methane emissions via distinct pathways in western and eastern Siberia because the regions are influenced by different climate patterns. The researchers also used climate models to predict future methane emissions from Siberia and found that additional warming could unleash millions of tons of greenhouse gases stored in forests and permafrost, which would further accelerate the warming trend.

In western Siberia, methane is released mainly from permafrost, or ground that has stayed frozen for at least two consecutive years. Siberia holds 46% of the Northern Hemisphere's permafrost, and this icy sediment traps vast amounts of carbon that have accumulated for thousands of years, Palmer said.

Western Siberia is influenced by the Scandinavian pattern of atmospheric circulation, a climate connection that consists of a main circulation center over Scandinavia and opposing weaker centers over Western Europe and eastern Russia. Global warming makes the Scandinavian pattern transport more warmth and moisture to western Siberia from the North Atlantic. Together with soaring temperatures in western Siberia itself, this triggers extensive permafrost thaw and unlocks carbon that microbes can convert into methane.

Conversely, eastern Siberia is influenced by a climate pattern known as the Arctic Oscillation, which causes atmospheric air pressure to "seesaw" between the Arctic and the Northern Hemisphere's middle latitudes. Climate change affects the Arctic Oscillation, leading to persistent high-pressure systems that intensify heat waves, reduce cloud cover and promote wildfires in eastern Siberia, Palmer said.

The climate models showed that methane emissions will increase with temperature rise and that the increase could become steeper the hotter the world gets, triggering a feedback loop.

"Eastern Siberia appears to be the main driver of the projected increase because it is warming faster than western Siberia and has seen a sharp rise in extreme wildfires," Palmer said. "Whether that trend continues will depend on how much vegetation remains available to burn, but there is also evidence that fires may be accelerating permafrost thaw and the release of methane from previously frozen ground."

However, the rise in methane emissions reported in the study is small relative to global and projected future emissions, especially if wildfires are already destabilizing eastern Siberia's permafrost, Palmer said.

"Siberia's vast permafrost carbon store is a sleeping giant," he said. "Continued warming risks waking up a much larger source of greenhouse gases."

This iconic photo, captured by an American astronaut on board the International Space Station (ISS), shows a lengthy trail of thick smoke pouring across New York City in the immediate aftermath of the 9/11 attacks. A quarter of a century later, the image is as haunting as ever.

On the morning of Sept. 11, 2001, members of the terrorist group al-Qaeda hijacked four passenger airliners and crashed two of them into the twin towers — a pair of 110-story skyscrapers at the heart of the World Trade Center in lower Manhattan. The impact of these collisions, which occurred roughly 17 minutes apart, eventually caused both buildings to collapse.

Shortly after the second tower was hit, the third hijacked plane crashed into the Pentagon, the headquarters of the Department of Defense in Arlington, Virginia. Another attack — likely intended for Washington, D.C. — was thwarted when the passengers of a fourth plane fought back against their hijackers, causing the aircraft to crash near Shanksville, Pennsylvania. In total, 2,977 people were killed across the different attacks, according to the 9/11 Memorial and Museum.

NASA astronaut and ISS commander Frank Culbertson — the only American not on Earth at the time of the attacks — passed over New York City shortly after being told about what was happening back home. He photographed the thick plume of smoke blowing away from Manhattan, at an altitude of roughly 250 miles (400 kilometers) above Earth's surface.

If you look closely, you may be able to see what Culbertson described as an "odd bloom" around the base of the column of smoke rising from the towers. This is likely a sign that the image was captured "around the time of, or shortly after, the collapse of the second tower," Culbertson said.

Culbertson wrote several letters in the days following the attacks, sharing his unique perspective of the events. "It's horrible to see smoke pouring from wounds in your own country from such a fantastic vantage point," Culbertson wrote on Sept. 13. "The dichotomy of being on a spacecraft dedicated to improving life on the earth and watching life being destroyed by such willful, terrible acts is jolting to the psyche."

While in space, Culbertson learned that the pilot of the plane that was later hijacked and crashed into the Pentagon was his former flight school classmate Charles "Chic" Burlingame. When the ISS later passed over the Pentagon, the astronauts could see the large gash in the side of the building where the third plane had crashed. "Tears don't flow the same in space," Culbertson wrote while discussing his friend.

In 2017, Culbertson revealed that there was another striking thing he and the rest of his crew noticed in the wake of the attacks, according to Live Science's sister site Space.com. "One of the most startling effects was that within about two orbits, all of the contrails that are normally crisscrossing the United States had disappeared because they had grounded all the airplanes," he said.

However, there was one exception. The astronauts noticed a single contrail moving eastward across the Midwest. "That was Air Force One headed back to D.C. with President Bush," Culbertson said. It was a "very sobering" sight, he added.

See more Earth from space

"Protect our water," "Water for people not AI," "Don't mess with our water," declare protest signs from Texas to New Mexico to Arizona. Angered by water use, energy consumption and pollution, locals are increasingly protesting the rapid expansion of data centers in the United States as tech companies work to rapidly expand capacity for AI.

Many data centers rely at least partly on water to absorb heat from air or surfaces, and then cause cooling as it evaporates, just like sweating keeps our bodies cool. The processors inside data centers can reach internal temperatures of up to 176 degrees Fahrenheit, for the same reasons that an overtaxed laptop heats up.

But while there's little doubt that data centers are consuming significant amounts of energy, water consumption is more complicated. Claims circulating online bring scant clarity, ranging from articles claiming that chatbots can consume 500 ml of water per query to some online commentators declaring AI's water issue to be nonexistent. And the consumption data from large tech companies themselves are often incomplete and inconsistent.

Experts stress that, overall, data center water consumption pales in comparison to the usage by industries like agriculture and some kinds of manufacturing. Researchers have estimated that data center cooling systems consumed 66 billion liters of water in 2023, less than 1 percent of the nation’s total consumption.

That figure could considerably rise with the rapid buildout of AI data centers, however — which may not be a big problem for water-rich regions but could significantly add to local water stress in drought-strapped places like New Mexico and Arizona.

Fortunately, engineers say there's a host of things that can be done — and are being done — to reduce the strain on local water resources. "There are many good ideas out there," says energy systems expert Fengqi You of Cornell University. When you add in efforts to replenish and restore natural water resources, "there's a good chance that, eventually, it could be net-zero water for the on-site cooling."

More renewable energy and better siting

Recent advances in AI technology have already reduced water demand for many data centers. Electrical and computer engineer Shaolei Ren of the University of California, Riverside, says that an estimate he made based on GPT-4, an earlier version of the model powering ChatGPT, as recently as 2024 — that drafting a short email would consume 500 milliliters of water — is already outdated because AI models have become more efficient. (This study was the origin of the half-liter-per-query claim.) In 2025, Google estimated that five drops of water are spent on processing a median-length query with its chatbot Gemini.

But even tiny amounts add up, given the rise in AI use. You's group recently predicted that by 2030, US data centers could consume 731 billion to 1,125 billion liters annually — the latter roughly equivalent to New York City's annual drinking water supply.

Still, these numbers factor in not just cooling, but also a greater amount of water used to generate the electricity that powers data centers. Much of that comes from burning coal or gas, with water being used to cool steam back into liquid after it's been used to spin the electricity-generating turbines. In other words, AI's water consumption can be significantly reduced by shifting to solar and wind, which require little to no water to operate, You says.

You adds that companies should site data centers in areas less prone to drought and with ample renewable energy sources, like regions in Montana, Nebraska, parts of Texas and South Dakota, instead of constructing new data centers in water-stressed places, such as in Arizona, New Mexico and Southern California. Strategic siting along with other measures could reduce AI's future water footprint by up to 86 percent, he says.

New cooling technologies

Advances in cooling technologies are also helping. The newest data centers that specialize in AI are already more water-efficient than their predecessors.

Pre-AI data centers use fans to carry away the heat from processor-filled racks, then use chilling systems funneling cool water through the building to cool the warm air down again. The heated water is then fed into a cooling tower that removes the heat but also loses some of the water to the atmosphere. This evaporative cooling uses a lot of water, says Eric Masanet of the University of California, Santa Barbara, who researches data center sustainability.

But the energy-hungry processors inside AI data centers generate so much heat that it's hard to remove it with air alone. That’s why many tech companies — including Amazon, Microsoft and Google — use a more efficient technique called liquid cooling.

In this method, a system of pipes filled with water, sometimes mixed with temperature-regulating chemicals, runs on top of the hardware, cooling the processors directly rather than cooling the entire data center. And because this is a closed-loop system, no water is lost: The heated fluid can be cooled down by exposing the pipes to the outside air, if conditions are cool enough, or an air-conditioner-like system, which uses energy.

But when it's extremely hot or humid, the centers need to bring online extra, more effective methods that involve water; one of these is to mist the air around the pipes. Mechanical engineer Vaibhav Bahadur at the University of Texas at Austin says that most AI data centers in Texas only use this kind of water-based cooling for the hottest parts of the summer.

Still, he and his colleagues recently estimated that the state's growing number of data centers — which currently consume less than a percent of the state's water demand — could be using 3 to 9 percent of that water by 2040. He expects that figure to reduce considerably, though. "Data centers are becoming much more efficient in their water usage," he says.

Indeed, recent technological developments have made it easier to avoid water-based cooling, even in hot climates, says Josh Parker, head of sustainability for NVIDIA, the company that designs many of the processors that populate AI-specialized data centers. Their latest generation of processors run at such high temperatures that they can be cooled with water at around 113 degrees Fahrenheit which, Parker says, is significantly warmer than traditional approaches. That reduces the need to bring on water-based cooling. Unless local temperatures regularly exceed 113 Fahrenheit, a threshold generally crossed only during severe heat waves, "typically we can just get away with large efficient fans cooling the infrastructure and the ambient air is sufficient to pull the heat away," Parker says.

Ren cautions that some companies may not want to run their processors that hot because it can interfere with computational performance, while some also house non-AI servers in the same space that cannot take the heat. But other cooling technologies are in development.

Some of these rely on elaborately designed pipe systems that draw heat even more effectively from processors. A number of US companies are exploring immersion cooling, where data center hardware sits in a tank filled with cooling liquid. In China, some companies have taken a similar approach by installing data centers in the ocean, although this makes them hard to access should hardware need replacing or upgrading, Bahadur says.

Advances in cooling technology will be necessary for tech companies to meet sustainability goals they have set for their operations. According to a statement from Amazon, its Web Services "set a goal to be water positive by 2030 — returning more water to communities than our direct operations use — and as of 2024, we're more than halfway there."

A spokesperson for OpenAI points to a web page outlining the company's plans to minimize water use, while Google aims to replenish 120 percent of the freshwater its data centers consume by 2030 through a variety of water stewardship projects.

Some companies, such as Google, are also finding smart ways to use waste heat from data centers to help address other sustainability challenges, such as making building heating less reliant on fossil fuels. Across Europe, some data centers are funneling heat from cooling circuits into district heating systems used to warm buildings.

The future of AI's water usage hinges on decisions that tech companies, engineers and policymakers will make in the coming years, Masanet says: where data centers are sited, their local energy infrastructure and climate, and how they're designed. "If you choose one set of choices, your number is going to be off the charts," he says. "You choose another set of choices, it's going to be way down here."

This article originally appeared in Knowable Magazine, a nonprofit publication dedicated to making scientific knowledge accessible to all. Sign up for Knowable Magazine’s newsletter.