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How volcanoes shaped our planet — and why we need to be ready for the next big eruption

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Adventures in Volcanoland: What Volcanoes Tell Us About the World and Ourselves Tamsin Mather Abacus (2024)

Unlike Alice in Alice in Wonderland, volcanologists cannot fall down a deep rabbit hole to discover what goes on in the bowels of the Earth. Instead, they scour the surface and examine the chemistry of emitted gases, lava and rocks ejected during eruptions. Only by combining many clues can researchers learn where and how molten rock (magma) forms, how it ascends from the mantle below Earth’s crust and what triggers volcanic eruptions.

In Adventures in Volcanoland, volcanologist Tamsin Mather takes readers on a journey to some of the world’s most notorious and active volcanoes — from Mount Vesuvius in Italy to Masaya in Nicaragua. Her eloquent and enchanting book, which is rich in analogies and anecdotes, weaves together geological, historical and personal stories to explain how volcanoes work, how they have shaped our planet and how they have been understood through history.

Volcanoes’ captivating power clearly entrances Mather, as it does me. And volcanoes make volcanologists work hard to uncover their secrets. Mather explains how researchers, equipped with the geochemical equivalent of a stethoscope, listen to the beating pulses of volcanoes. Scientists can also capture volcanoes’ ‘breath’ — toxic gases that often enshroud Mather as she works and that eat away at her clothes. Mather describes navigating through thick jungle in Guatemala to collect samples of lava while volcanic blasts hurled plumes of ash into the sky. Repairs to broken equipment had to be improvised using duct tape and superglue. Mather once resorted to using an inverted children’s paddling pool to collect gases fizzing up inside the caldera of Santorini volcano in Greece. The effort is worth it, Mather explains, to help volcanologists to answer big questions, such as how eruptions alter the climate and our environment, and how they affect life on Earth.

Volcanologists must exploit a vast array of knowledge, from planetary-scale shifts in Earth’s carbon cycle to the analysis of trapped gases in microscopic beads of glass. They must put eruptions in geological context, on timescales from Earth’s formation more than four billion years ago to the rapid radioactive decay of gases emitted by magma (such as radon-222, with a half-life of just under four days).

Each rock tells a story

Mather describes human experiences of volcanic eruptions, including her own time spent staring into churning lakes of molten rock, a “roiling, red and restless” fiery sea. She first encountered volcanoes and their hazards as a child, when she visited Vesuvius and the former Roman towns of Pompeii and Herculaneum. In ad 79, several scorching (350–550 ºC), fast-moving clouds of ash, pumice and gases surged down the flanks of Vesuvius, with devastating consequences for the people below, including hundreds who had taken refuge at the waterfront in Herculaneum, waiting to flee by boat.

Today, tourists standing at the excavated pre-eruption shoreline are presented with an intimidating wall of volcanic deposits. After the eruption, the land surface gained up to 20 metres of elevation, and the coastline moved seawards by one kilometre. And all this happened in a geological blink of an eye.

Looking down from the crater rim of Mount Vesuvius towards the urban sprawl of metropolitan Naples, now home to around three million people, it’s sobering to consider just how the city will respond to the next large eruption of the slumbering volcano. It’s hard to know when that will be, but managing a future evacuation will be a colossal task for the authorities.

To prepare and plan, it is essential to better understand the hazards of volcanic regions. By ‘reading the rocks’ deposited by volcanoes, layer upon layer over thousands or millions of years, volcanologists can unravel the frequency, style and magnitudes of past eruptions. For example, rock stripes exposed in the walls of the Santorini caldera reveal how the catastrophic 1600 bc Minoan eruption unfolded; underwater studies of rocks point to other events that were much larger than previously thought. The consequences of another large eruption in the Eastern Mediterranean would be grave.

Satellite image of the Hunga Tonga-Hunga Ha'apai volcano on 24 December 2021, before the eruption on 14 January 2022

The Hunga Tonga-Hunga Ha’apai volcano in the South Pacific.Credit: Maxar via Getty

Volcanic and sedimentary rocks, along with signals from deposited sulphate in ice cores, hold clues about how eruptions have altered conditions across our planet. The impacts can be temporary or permanent. Plumes of sulphur dioxide gas can trigger short periods of global cooling called volcanic winters, such as the one following the 1815 eruption of Tambora in Indonesia. Lengthy outpourings of lava can form large igneous provinces — huge accumulations of volcanic rocks, such as the Siberian Traps. In the past, such events might have led to significant changes in planetary conditions that affected the course of life on Earth. As Mather points out, four out of the five largest mass extinctions overlapped approximately in time with volcanic activity that formed large igneous provinces, which would have pumped out vast amounts of carbon dioxide over millions of years.

Plan for big eruptions

All this raises the question of how prepared we are for the next large-scale volcanic eruption. Not very, I would argue. Humans have short memories — the COVID-19 pandemic showed us that, only 100 years after the severe influenza pandemic that began in 1918, we were still not ready.

Monitoring of volcanoes has advanced tremendously, with support from satellites in space, but they can still catch us off guard. For example, the powerful 2022 eruption of Hunga Tonga–Hunga Ha‘apai in Tonga was unexpected and had global ramifications. A shockwave and tsunamis reached the coasts of North and South America, resulting in an oil spill and two drownings in Peru. Tsunami warnings and evacuation orders were issued in Japan, and beaches were in Australia. Water vapour launched into the stratosphere by the blast could temporarily boost global temperatures.

Population growth, technology dependency and the increased complexity of global systems have put the world at catastrophic risk from volcanic eruptions. Today, more than 800 million people in more than 85 countries live within 100 kilometres of an active volcano. An eruption near densely populated areas would have disastrous immediate impacts. Pyroclastic flows — fast-moving mixtures of hot gas, ash and rock fragments — could wipe out entire cities. Metres-thick ash falls would devastate crops and overwhelm power lines, water-treatment facilities, ventilation and heating systems, machinery and more. Farther away, flights might be grounded, power grids and undersea cables could be damaged and food security and supply chains could be affected, spreading economic losses.

With little regard for international borders, large eruptions’ far-reaching impacts would require a rapid and coordinated national and international response. Yet, global preparedness for the impacts of volcanic eruptions is lacking. There is no international United Nations treaty organization for ‘operational volcanology’ (systematic monitoring of volcanoes and assessment of risk). There’s no global coordination on issuing cross-border volcanic hazard warnings that address the full range of threats: pyroclastic flow, tephra fall (deposits of lofted rock fragments), lava flow, lahar (volcanic mudflow), volcanic gases, rafting pumice, drifting ash, tsunami and lightning.

Tambora-size eruptions occur somewhere in the world once or twice every millennium on average, and every 400 years in the Asia Pacific region. It’s not a matter of if, but when.

Adventures in Volcanoland reminds us that we should all keep careful watch on the world’s volcanoes. They are more than alluring natural landmarks. They are powerful drivers of processes on our planet that are crucial to understand. Volcano enthusiasts, those interested in the history of this adventurous science and those questioning our place in the world will find much to enjoy in this absorbing book.

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the $400-million grant setback that shaped the Smithsonian lead scientist’s career

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Ellen Stofan speaking at a podium at the Smithsonian’s National Air and Space Museum in Washington, DC, U.S.

Losing a funding competition didn’t set Ellen Stofan back — instead, she did a career pivot, and came across new opportunities.Credit: NASA/Joel Kowsky

In 2021, planetary scientist Ellen Stofan was appointed undersecretary of science and research at the Smithsonian Institution in Washington DC, the US national research and museum complex. There, she oversees its scientific research centres as well as the National Air and Space Museum, the National Museum of Natural History and the National Zoo and Conservation Biology Institute. Before this, she was director of the Smithsonian’s National Air and Space Museum, where she launched a 7-year restoration of the building and oversaw celebrations marking 50 years since the first Moon landing. Stofan’s doctoral research at Brown University in Providence, Rhode Island, focused on the geology of Venus.

Before joining the Smithsonian, she spent some 25 years working in space-related organizations — including NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory and as the agency’s chief scientist. She helped to develop NASA’s plan to get humans to Mars and worked on the Magellan mission to Venus and the 13-year Cassini mission that documented Saturn and its moons.

Describe a typical day.

My portfolio is really broad, so there’s no typical day. I might be having a meeting about bringing pandas back to the zoo in Washington DC, or discussing how to dispose of the Smithsonian’s collection of human remains in an ethical way. Or talking about the budget — it’s always the budget.

Is discussing the budget what you thought you would be doing at the start of your career?

Probably not, but the budget reflects the organization’s strategy and priorities, so you have to understand why you are putting money in certain areas. Speaking of priorities, over the past few years, I’ve been working on the Our Shared Future: Life on a Sustainable Planet research initiative, which we announced at the United Nations climate conference COP 27 two years ago. What’s amazing is the amount of science we were already doing along those lines. For example, in Montana, we have been recreating the ecosystem of an American prairie — we’ve reintroduced bison, and all of a sudden birds and insects have started coming back.

Did you plan to work in the museum sector?

I interned at the Air and Space Museum when I was an undergraduate, but at that time I just wanted to be a geologist, write papers and maybe work at a university. A thread through my career is working in great teams — that was why I enjoyed NASA so much. To explore Venus or the moons of Saturn, you have to put together an engaged team by bringing together people with different skills and ideas. At NASA, I led a team that was bidding for a Discovery Program grant, which can be used to fund smaller planetary missions using fewer resources and with shorter development times. Our proposed mission, the Titan Mare Explorer vessel, would explore the seas of liquid hydrocarbons, such as methane and ethane, on Titan, Saturn’s largest moon. Working with the fun, smart, creative and innovative people on the team did not feel like work at all. Our project was one of the three finalists in 2012, but another one was chosen.

How did that feel?

Not getting the grant was devastating — not just for me, but for the team. I felt like I had let them down. For a while, I couldn’t talk about the project without crying. I thought about leaving science, because I didn’t see how anything could ever match that.

It took me months to process it all. Before our bid, NASA had concluded that no research projects could reach the outer Solar System for less than a billion dollars. We were bidding for around US$400 million, and our proposal helped to pioneer the idea that, through innovation and judicious use of technology, these projects could be done more cheaply. Our mission created this small paradigm shift — and, all of a sudden, we saw people proposing projects that would go to the outer Solar System at much lower costs than before.

Amelia Earhart's plane is seen at the Smithsonian's National Air and Space Museum in the "Pioneers of Flight" exhibit.

The display of Amelia Earhart’s plane at the Smithsonian’s National Air and Space Museum.Credit: Jacquelyn Martin/AP Photo/Alamy

What is your approach to career setbacks?

You want to be the kind of person who shrugs off failure — but it’s hard. Everyone goes through it. When I was still processing losing the grant, I was invited to interview to be chief scientist of NASA. I got the job and held that position for three years. My career went a whole different way — I left NASA in 2016, and then the Smithsonian job came up.

Is the Titan Mare project still ongoing?

No, but I’m a co-investigator on a mission called Dragonfly. This drone will launch in late 2026 and will land on Titan in the 2030s. It’s going to fly around the equatorial region, where we think standing pools of liquid methane and liquid ethane might exist. There’s a lot of debate in the scientific community right now about whether life could ever exist on a body like Titan. What we will be able to learn about ‘prebiotic chemistry’ — the study of how chemical compounds assembled to form the precursors to life — from the mission is really exciting.

Did you always dream of a career in space exploration?

Not when I was younger, because my father was an engineer at NASA and the only people he worked with were men — so I just didn’t think it was a place for me. It was only by reading in National Geographic about primatologist and anthropologist Jane Goodall and palaeoanthropoligst Mary Leakey, who studied human origins in Africa, that I realized that not only could women do science, but they could be famous scientists.

When I began my career in the 1980s, I was often either the only woman in the room, or one of the few. And some people thought that I didn’t belong in the room, because I was a woman. I had enough confidence to think, “What’s your problem?”

Things have changed a lot, but women are still under-represented in physics, engineering and computer science, and we’re not tapping into the talent. Hiring people from groups that are under-represented in science is not about achieving diversity for diversity’s sake. We know from scientific research that diverse teams perform better.

At NASA, I looked at our workforce and thought about whether we were tapping into the best talent. People often talk about diversity, but they forget about inclusion. NASA was sensitive to this after the Challenger accident — the space shuttle broke apart seconds after take off in 1986, killing all seven members of the crew. One of the findings was that managers were not listening to their teams. It’s important to create an environment in which everyone can contribute and participate. Even if you have a diverse workforce, if you don’t make people feel included, they’re not going to stay.

What is a key priority for you at the Smithsonian?

When we were redoing the museum, one important part of our mission was to inspire the next generation of innovators and explorers. Are we telling stories so that every kid who comes into the museum, no matter their race, gender or other aspect of their life, is going to find someone who looks like them?

In the past, the story of space centered charismatic figures, such as astronaut Neil Armstrong — but look at the success of the 2016 movie Hidden Figures, which is about a team of Black female mathematicians working for NASA during its early years. Visitors might notice that, at the museum, we’re telling a much broader range of stories. In February, the first private company, in partnership with NASA, touched down on the Moon; there are now many more countries involved in space exploration, and private individuals are going into space. The story of space is changing.

Do you have a favourite museum exhibit?

We have an X-wing fighter from the Star Wars films, which I absolutely love. We’ve also had the Starship Enterprise from the Star Trek series.

But my absolute favourite is aviator Amelia Earhart’s Lockheed Vega aeroplane. It’s this cheeky red colour that, to me, symbolizes her saying, ‘I’m going to fly despite what anyone thinks.’

Would you ever like to go into space?

When I went to my first launch, the rocket blew up. It was uncrewed, but it’s seared into my memory. I’m not terribly adventurous. I’m happy to be an armchair explorer.

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how are social skills shaped in an ever-changing world?

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The Ecology of Collective Behavior Deborah M. Gordon Princeton Univ. Press(2023)

Collective behaviours are present throughout nature — from groups of genes being activated simultaneously to shoals of fish swimming in unison for protection against predators and mounds of insects working together to build nests. But biologist Deborah Gordon worries that the evolutionary biologists who study how these phenomena evolved are missing a trick, because they often don’t consider that the ever-changing environments in which animals live are fundamental to shaping such behaviours. In The Ecology of Collective Behavior, she tries to set the record straight.

Gordon has spent decades studying the natural history of two ant species that live in very different environments, paying acute attention to how the insects’ stirring, dynamic habitats shape their behaviour. These observations form the bedrock of her book.

First, she describes the red harvester ant Pogonomyrmex barbatus, which lives in the harsh, parched deserts of New Mexico. Affectionately known as pogos, these ants are deep red and around 10 millimetres long — an impressive size for an ant. They live in colonies, which contain more than 10,000 female workers, and rely on seeds scattered on the desert floor for both food and water. Seed sources change slowly throughout the year as plants wax and wane; there is mostly a plentiful and constant supply of food. But collecting seeds is hazardous. Deserts are dry, so pogos live in a catch-22 world: they must risk desiccation to gather the water they need.

Gordon shows that this delicate trade-off is achieved by a slow but robust mechanism through which foragers recruit nestmates in the search for food. When a female returns to the nest with her bounty, she releases hydrocarbons from her outer cuticle to indicate to her sisters that there’s food out in the desert.

A fleeting touch from a forager’s antennae sends others scuttling out of the nest. They head out in random directions, but that’s OK, because the seeds are spread out on the desert floor, not clustered in patches. Plentiful food and favourable environmental conditions — days that are not too hot, for instance — mean that many foragers return to the colony and recruit many others. Conversely, under bleaker circumstances, fewer ants return to muster recruits. In this way, simple positive feedback regulates the steady collective behaviour of thousands of ants.

Next, Gordon turns to the arboreal turtle ant, Cephalotes goniodontus, which forages in the canopies of Mexico’s dry tropical forests. Unlike the desert harvesters, turtle ants spread their brood across many nests perched in the canopy, connected by a complex net of tangling vines, shifting leaves and moving stems. Their food sources are ephemeral — foragers must exploit bursts of nectar from transient floral blooms.

Each foraging turtle ant lays a trail of pheromones wherever she goes — independent of whether she has discovered a food source or not — while following the trails laid by others. These trails constantly bifurcate, and paths can change on an hourly basis. Which route should each forager follow?

The answer is simple, Gordon reveals. The ants follow the smelliest path — the one with the strongest pheromone signal — and keep reinforcing profitable trails until something tells them to stop, such as the presence of a predator or a broken branch. This ensures that the ants can find the most lucrative foraging spot and rapidly adjust the information flow if needed, changing their behaviour in a constantly changing environment.

Red Harvester Ant workers clear particles of sand from the entrance to their nest.

Red harvester ants clean their nest together.Credit: Clarence Holmes Wildlife/Alamy

Unpredictable environments

Pogos and turtle ants solve similar problems in distinct ways. How they do it is dictated by their environment. Gordon borrows concepts from network science to describe how turtle ants function in modules — units in which most information flow occurs — to keep communication local, enabling them to respond rapidly to the ever-changing availability of resources. By contrast, the centralized regulation of pogos is the epitome of low modularity: the nest is the sole source of communication.

Gordon argues that the nature of the environment and the resources it provides determine the types of collective-foraging mechanism that evolve — not just for ants, but for all social organisms. The extent to which ecology drives the evolution of social behaviour in this way has been overlooked, she suggests.

I agree that researchers need to better recognize that organisms exist, and have evolved, in a dynamic, often unpredictably messy world, and to acknowledge that this influences their behaviour. I admire how the author takes inspiration not only from careful field experiments — removing ants or changing the amount of available resources and observing how the insects respond — but also from the classical science of natural history. Many evolutionary biologists could learn a lot by rediscovering this way of working.

But I am less convinced by Gordon’s suggestion that her ideas are at odds with the ‘prevailing theory’ for social behaviour. Inclusive fitness theory — an idea put forward by UK evolutionary biologist William Hamilton in 1964, and accepted widely in the field — suggests that social behaviours evolve when the benefits of cooperating with relatives exceed the costs (W. D. Hamilton J. Theor. Biol. 7, 1–16; 1964). Hamilton’s ideas stemmed from his observations of wasps, ants, bees and birds in their natural habitats, and are supported by strong experimental and theoretical evidence.

Hamilton’s theory suggests that cooperation will prevail in unpredictable environments, with some animals choosing to help raise their relatives’ young rather than having their own (P. Kennedy et al. Nature 555, 359–362; 2018). This phenomenon is seen often in the natural world, from slime moulds to termites. Thus, the idea that dynamic environments help to shape social behaviour is already part of the accepted theory of social evolution.

I think the confusion arises because Gordon conflates proximate (mechanistic) and ultimate (evolutionary) processes. Her book offers useful insights into the proximate processes that regulate collective behaviour on a day-to-day basis, and the role of the environment in shaping and maintaining such behaviours. I agree that the interactions between organisms and their environments have become increasingly overlooked because fewer researchers are studying animals in their natural environments. But these insights are not at odds with the prevailing theory of how collective behaviours evolve.

In her final chapter, Gordon remarks: “The whole appears to be more than the sum of the parts, because the parts do not sum — they intertwine, jostle, and respond.” This heartening statement is a great description of the ecological and evolutionary complexities that shape our world. It’s these complexities that all biologists should keep in mind.

Competing Interests

The author declares no competing interests.

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