Posts Tagged ‘geology’
“I wisely started with a map”*…
From Daniel O’Donohue, 29 print-ready folding globe templates (the one above is “Earth Today”; there are also globes of the sun, the moon, the planets, and lots of different “views” of Earth) — every one free to download, print, and fold, and every one customizable into other shapes or create your own, with your own pinned places. via the custom globe builder…
… This project started with a simple observation: we look at maps on screens all day, but almost nobody gets to hold a planet. A paper globe is the cheapest possible spacecraft — print a sheet, cut along the lines, fold, glue, and you are turning the actual shape of the world over in your hands.
Nothing here is decoration. Every globe is built from openly licensed scientific data — NASA satellite imagery, USGS planetary mosaics, Natural Earth cartography, NOAA ocean data, the Smithsonian’s volcano inventory — rendered through real map projections into print-quality PDFs. Each globe credits its source, and the source is always one click away.
The fold shapes are the classics of mathematical cartography: icosahedra, dodecahedra, gores like a 17th-century globemaker would cut, even the Airocean projection that unfolds the world onto twenty triangles with barely any distortion.
The curated globes are free — print as many as you like. When you want a globe that is yours alone — your places pinned, your countries highlighted, your choice of shape — the builder is where it happens…
Getting our minds– and out hands– around the places we are: “Folding Globes.”
Harmonic: “24 Times,” from Gysin-Vanetti: “A collection of twentyfour variations on the theme “clock” created for HeK… Each of these clocks shows time in a distinct form. The result is a sequence of numbers, letters or punctuation marks animated in different ways….”
* J. R. R. Tolkien
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As we orient ourselves, we might spare a thought for William John McGee (or “WJ McGee, without the periods, as he referred to himself); he died on this date in 1912. An inventor, geologist, anthropologist, and ethnologist, he is remembered for his pioneering studies documenting the occurrence of waves of invasions and recessions of ice sheets in North America (thus establishing the complexity of the Great Ice Age). But he worked in a number of governmental and organizational capacities that contributed to teh development of geography as a discipline: e.g., as a director in the U.S. Geological Survey, and as a founder and president of the National Geographic Society. While on the staff of the Bureau of Soils, in 1918, he organized the landmark Conference of Governors on Conservation of Natural Resources, for whihc he has been called the “chief theorist of the conservation movement.”
“Every river seems to come with a purpose”*…
The Yukon Delta in Alaska formed where the Yukon River flows into the Bering Sea
A simple scaling law brings order to the chaos of flowing water, rock, and sediment. As Natalie Wolchover reports, new findings have extended the law even further…
A river has my heart. It’s not the austere, black Thames winding through London, where I was born, but a lazy green one 5,000 miles away, where I spent my adolescence: the Blanco River in Texas. My maternal ancestors have dipped into its waters for generations, as I have on countless summer days.
The Blanco is a tributary of the San Marcos, which flows into the Guadalupe, and on into the Gulf of Mexico. You can probably picture how this looks on a map because all river networks look similar, creeping through the landscape, merging into ever wider and longer channels, downhill to the sea. The pattern resembles twigs on branches that connect to trunks of trees (and the branching of their root systems, too), and it likewise resembles the veins of plant leaves, our own systems of blood vessels, and train and highway networks that feed into cities.
There’s something appealing about this ubiquitous pattern, so appealing to me personally that I have it tattooed on my forearm: the silhouette of a tree, with leafless branches reaching upward and roots burrowing downward, almost in mirror image. “The shapes of rivers and leaf vasculature and so on — branching networks — you can just about grasp the pattern, but it’s still chaotic, so there’s something fascinating with that,” said Chris Paola, a river scientist at the University of Minnesota.
Systems that branch in this way are “transport networks”: They transport some fluid substance (water, blood, traffic) from every place to a single place (the sea, a heart, a city center). Of the various examples, rivers are especially revealing, I think, since they arise from neither biological evolution nor urban planning, but rather chaotic Earth processes. Yet they obey simple, universal laws…
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… In 1957, a U.S. Geological Survey scientist named John Hack discovered the most important law of river networks. In rivers and streams in Virginia and Maryland, Hack measured the length of each stream and the area of the land that slopes toward that stream and therefore drains into it, called its basin or drainage area. What he discovered is now known as Hack’s law: Any stream, from the littlest brook to the mightiest river, has a length that’s proportional to its drainage area raised to the power of 0.6. (In symbolic form: L ~ A0.6.) There’s a bit of variance around that 0.6 value — Earth is, after all, a complicated place — but “the general regularity of the relation is nevertheless remarkable,” Hack wrote. “Stream lengths tend to increase proportionally to the 0.6 power of the drainage area, regardless of the geological or structural characteristics of the area.”
As more and better data has accrued, especially from satellite imagery, Hack’s law has held worldwide. Why this is the case is the essential mystery geomorphologists have grappled with ever since. “Hack’s law is still the big question,” said Hansjörg Seybold, a geomorphologist at the Institute for Interdisciplinary Mountain Research at the Austrian Academy of Sciences.
It’s not so surprising that the bigger the land area of the basin, the longer the stream that drains it. But in a purely mathematical sense, one might expect that stream length would follow a slightly different power law. Imagine a square patch of land. You might guess that regardless of slope or size, in idealized form, the land would drain into a stream that’s the length of one of its sides — a vertical line down the middle, for example. That length is the square root of the area — or A to the power of 0.5.
Under that circumstance, big river basins would have the same proportions as the small river basins that feed the tributaries within them. Their structure would be the same, regardless of size. But that’s not what Hack’s law reveals.
Instead, as a drainage areas get larger, the length of their streams increases faster. “A nice way to phrase it would be that small basins are short and squat, and large basins are long and thin,” said Daniel Rothman, a geophysicist at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. We unknowingly pick up on this pattern when we look at a network of tributaries on a map; a perfectly self-similar, fractal river network wouldn’t look quite right. Basins and streams become elongated at larger scales, so that river networks have an inherent directionality that stretches toward the sea. One result of that elongation is that neighboring river networks must lie closer together than they would with a 0.5 power law…
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… Rivers do shift their layouts all the time. In the 1990s, in parallel with the work on optimal channel networks, geomorphologists developed powerful landscape evolution models to capture this constant adjustment and show the mechanism by which Hack’s law etches itself on the landscape. These computer simulations start with water flowing downhill, eroding rock as it goes. Tiny, random irregularities in the topography cause some channels to capture more runoff than others. Those channels in turn erode faster and deepen, which causes them to attract still more water. One streambed might grow toward its neighbor, and thereby intercept some of its runoff. The victorious stream grows longer and carries more water, while the losing stream shrinks or disappears. These sorts of local adjustments like these route water along ever more efficient paths. As the entire drainage network gradually reorganizes over thousands of years or more, it attains and then continues to tweak a configuration that transports water downhill with minimal energy dissipation.
Gravity and friction are the driving forces of this process. Gravity supplies potential energy to flowing water. Friction, the cause of erosion, dissipates that energy. A channel configuration that wastes energy by forcing water along inefficient routes tends to erode rapidly and change. A configuration that routes water more effectively is stabler and therefore more persistent. The network becomes optimal through this dynamic evolution, eventually arriving at a form that adheres to Hack’s law.
That explanation of river network geometry hangs together for me, though geomorphologists still have many questions. Some study rivers that deviate from Hack’s law. Others organize transport networks that follow Hack’s law into one class of optimal transport networks, among a whole family of them. Trees, which branch in three dimensions instead of two, would be in a different class from rivers and follow different optimal scaling laws, for instance.
Now, geomorphologists have a new finding to explain. In April 2026, Tian Dong of the University of Texas, Rio Grande Valley and co-authors made the cover of Science for discovering that Hack’s law holds not only for rivers’ tributary networks, but also for their deltas, the fanlike structures that form where a river meets the sea.
Rivers essentially hit a brick wall when they reach the (nonflowing) ocean. The sudden deceleration of the water causes it to drop the sediments it carries. These pile up to form new land. In the process, the river’s water splits into a different kind of network of channels, which shift locations constantly as sediments build up and wash away.
Scientists told me that they’ve long wondered about the organization of channels in river deltas, but they are hard to study. Unlike the upstream river network, where slope and elevation differences make it easy to calculate the area of land that drains into any given tributary, deltas are flat and especially dynamic. But through a sophisticated analysis of satellite data that allowed them to distinguish land from water, Dong and his collaborators determined that the length of a channel in a river delta scales with the size of its nourishment area — the area that it supplies with sediments — raised to the power of 0.6. Rivers’ tributary networks and distributary networks are opposites — sediments are transported away from one end and deposited at the other — yet they abide by the same math. Geomorphologists are now considering why Hack’s law should apply in this inverse context.
Reflecting on my own question, I think it’s the coexistence of simplicity and determinism with chaos and randomness that makes the optimal structure of rivers so captivating. Natural efficiency is, perhaps, innately appealing to us…
The order in seeming chaos: “Why Are Rivers So Mathematical?” from @nattyover.bsky.social in @quantamagazine.org.
* Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore
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As we go with the flow, we might send carefully-calculated birthday greetings to Moritz Cantor; he was born on this date in 1829. A historian of mathematics, he is best remembered for the four volume work Vorlesungen über Geschichte der Mathematik (“Lectures on the History of Mathematics”) which traces the history of mathematics up to 1799, the year of Gauss‘s doctoral thesis. Modern historians credit Moritz with introducing a new discipline to a field, the history of mathematics, that had hitherto lacked the sound, conscientious, and critical methods of other fields of history.
“Soft as the earth is mankind and both need to be altered”…
Indeed, especially over the last 150 years or so, both have been. And as a consequence, John MacDonald reports, the Anthropocene is presenting a challenge to geologists:
I’m standing on a beach at Workington, on the western edge of the Lake District in England [pictured above and throughout the article linked below]. Here I find myself contemplating a very unnatural object, while pondering a pretty fundamental question: what, exactly, is a rock? For a geologist like me, this should be easy to answer, but what I’m looking at has made me think otherwise.
At Workington, all seems natural – the sounds of the waves lapping the shore, the call of seabirds, the smell of the ocean, the sight of the stony beach and high cliffs. At first glance, the beach is made largely of a rock platform, which is not a particularly unusual phenomenon – many coastal areas are ‘rock coasts’ made of sandstone, basalt or granite. These rocks are ancient in human years – often millions or even billions of years old – and have been sculpted into their current cliff or platform shapes over hundreds to thousands of years.
Yet among the waves is an object that shouldn’t be there: a wheel and tyre, embedded in the rock that makes up the shore. It’s not stuck in a crevice – the rock has actually formed around it. How can this have happened? The wheel and tyre are of a mid-20th century style, but rocks are ancient, often millions of years old. Aren’t they?
Closer inspection of this hard rock platform shows it is what geologists call conglomerate: a sedimentary rock made of rounded pebbles and cobbles deposited on the Earth surface. Over thousands to millions of years, this material is buried and heated causing minerals to form and fill in the gaps between the pebbles and cobbles, fusing them together into a hard rock mass. At Workington though, this can’t have happened: as well as the tyre, my colleagues and I found several other human-made objects, under 100 years old. The pebbles and cobbles in the conglomerate aren’t natural either: they are all made of slag, a solid by-product of the iron- and steel-making process.
As a geologist, I have studied various types of natural rocks, but recently I have become interested in ‘anthropogenic geomaterials’ – things like industrial slag – and how they become entwined in geological and environmental processes. I came to Workington originally to look at the slag, because I was interested in its potential to scrub-capture carbon dioxide out of the atmosphere. However, when encountering the rock platform with the wheel in it, I was drawn by its incongruity. After studying the geomaterials of Workington more closely with my colleagues Amanda Owen and David Brown, we believe that this little-known section of the English coastline represents a tangible and potentially long-lasting signature of the impact humans are having on the planet.
Unlike many industrial landscapes, nature here has mostly returned, so it would be easy to miss that the beach is composed of human materials. Here a process that normally takes millennia or aeons has happened in a matter of decades. And it’s not the only example: new forms of anthropogenic geology are emerging around the world. These new materials are blurring the borderline between the natural and unnatural. They are also raising a rather fundamental question for geology: what actually is a rock?…
And what becomes of geology as its tasks come to resemble archaeology and anthropogy? Read on for the backstory and the answers.
Not natural, not quite unnatural, the strange new rocks of the Anthropocene stretch the boundaries of geology: “What is this rock?” from @aeon.co.
* W. H. Auden, “In Praise of Limestone“
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As we ruminate on rocks, we might spare a thought for William Logan; he died on this date in 1875. Born in Montreal in 1798, he was sent to Edinburgh for an education, after which, he lingered in Britain to work in Wales at his uncle’s coal and copper-smelting business. Logan made geologic maps of coal fields in Wales, in attempt to understand the sources of coal and ores. He noted the relationship between the underlying clay layers and fossil tree roots with local coal beds– which helped substantiate the theory that coal beds are formed in place.
On returning to Canada in 1842, he became the founding director of the Geological Survey of Canada. At the time, the country’s geology was virtually unknown; but as a product of two decades of his research, the CGS published the monumental Report on the Geology of Canada in 1863. Known as “the father of Canadian geology,” Logan was knighted by Queen Victoria; and after his death Mount Logan, Canada’s highest mountain, was named in his honor.
“We can only sense that in the deep and turbulent recesses of the sea are hidden mysteries far greater than any we have solved.”*…
A new study finds that the vast majority of the deep sea floor remains undocumented. Nell Greenfieldboyce report…
Bizarre creatures like vampire squid and blobfish make their home in the dark, cold, depths of the deep sea, but most of this watery realm remains a complete mystery.
That’s because humans have seen less than 0.001% of the globe’s deep seafloor, according to a new study.
In fact, the area of the deep seafloor that’s been directly visualized is roughly equivalent to the state of Rhode Island, researchers report in the journal Science Advances.
Maps created with tools like sonar can show the shape of the seafloor, but it’s much harder to send cameras down beyond 200 meters, or more than 656 feet, where sunlight begins to fade rapidly and the waters turn cold and dark. This is the region of the ocean that’s considered “deep.”
“The fact of the matter is, when you’re down there with a remotely operated vehicle or other sort of deep-submergence vehicle, you can only see a very tiny bit of the deep sea floor at any one time,” says Katy Croff Bell of the nonprofit Ocean Discovery League, who led this new research…
… To try to get a better accounting of the total area of the deep seafloor that’s been observed so far, she and her colleagues created a database of all known efforts. They found records of more than 43,000 trips down, starting in 1958, with everything from robotic vehicles to human-driven subs to simple landers that didn’t move around.
It turns out that most of the exploratory expeditions occurred within 200 nautical miles of the United States, Japan, and New Zealand. Those three countries, along with France and Germany, led nearly all of the efforts.
As a result, scientists really haven’t seen a very representative sample of what’s going on around the globe…
… Bell says we don’t know what habitats might yet be discovered — and that even though the deep ocean might be out of sight and out of mind for most people, the currents down there bring oxygen and key nutrients up towards the surface.
“All of these things are connected, and impact us in so many different ways,” she says.
What little has been explored beneath the deep ocean suggests that it can have dramatically different ecosystems that support very different kinds of living things. Already, in the ocean, explorers have seen hot hydrothermal vents, alkaline vents, and cold seeps.
“But given how little we’ve seen and how biased it is, we can’t really give you a global map of all the habitats of the deep sea, because we just haven’t been to all of them,” she says.
Past explorations to the deep have revealed completely unexpected forms of life. For example, in the 1970’s, researchers discovered microbes at hydrothermal vents that did not depend at all on the sun and photosynthesis, and instead got their energy from chemical reactions.
“That was completely revolutionary and completely rewrote all the science books,” she says.
Geologist and deep sea expert Jeffrey Karson of Syracuse University, who wasn’t part of this research team, says this is the first time he’s ever seen a well-documented number that really encapsulates what’s been seen of the deep ocean floor so far.
He would have assumed the area seen by humanity was less than 1% of the total, he says, but was still surprised the faction would be “such a tiny number.”
“We’re spending a lot of money to try to understand other planets, maybe planets outside of our solar system. And yet right here on our own planet, we know so little of what’s going on in this area that covers about two-thirds of our planet,” says Karson. “Almost every time we go there, we learn something new and exciting, and many of our discoveries on the seafloor have been serendipitous. So, you know, we’re feeling our way in the dark, literally, there.”..
We’re asleep to the deep: “Humans still haven’t seen 99.999% of the deep seafloor,” from @ngreenfieldboyce.bsky.social and @npr.org.
* Rachel Carson, The Sea Around Us (1951)
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As we dive deep, we might spare a thought for Robert S. Dietz; he died on this date in 1995. A marine geologist, geophysicist, and oceanographer with the United States Coast and Geodetic Survey, he developed (in 1961) a theory of seafloor spreading (a term he coined), in which new crustal material continually upwells from the Earth’s depths along the mid-ocean ridges and spreads outward at a rate of several inches per year.
“All cannot be lost when there is still so much being found”*…
We may be close to rediscovering thousands of texts that had been lost for millennia. As Justin Germain explains, their contents may reshape how we understand the ancient world…
We used to play this game in graduate school: find one, lose one. Find one referred to finding a lost ancient text, something that we know existed at one time because other ancient sources talk about it, but which has been lost to the ages. What if someone was digging somewhere in Egypt and found an ancient Greco-Roman trash dump with a complete copy of a precious text – which one would we wish into survival? Lose one referred to some ancient text we have, but we would give up in some Faustian bargain to resurrect the former text from the dead. Of course there is a bit of the butterfly effect; that’s what made it fun. As budding classicists, we grew up in an academic world where we didn’t have A, but did have B. How different would classical scholarship be if that switched? If we had had A all along, but never had B? For me, the text I always chose to find was a little-known pamphlet circulated in the late fourth century by a deposed Spartan king named Pausanias. It’s one of the few texts about Sparta written by a Spartan while Sparta was still hegemonic. I always lost the Gospel of Matthew. It’s basically a copy of Mark, right down to the grammar and syntax. Do we really need two?
What would you choose? Consider that Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey are only two of the poems that make up the eight-part Epic Cycle. Or that Aristotle wrote a lost treatise on comedy, not to mention his own Socratic dialogues that Cicero described as a ‘river of gold’. Or that only eight of Aeschylus’s estimated 70 plays survive. Even the Hebrew Old Testament refers to 20 ancient texts that no longer exist. There are literally lost texts that, if we had them, would in all likelihood have made it into the biblical canon.
The problem is more complex than the fact that many texts were lost to the annals of history. Most people just see the most recent translation of the Iliad or works of Cicero on the shelf at a bookstore, and assume that these texts have been handed down in a fairly predictable way generation after generation: scribes faithfully made copies from ancient Greece through the Middle Ages and eventually, with the advent of the printing press, reliable versions of these texts were made available in the vernacular of the time and place to everyone who wanted them. Onward and upward goes the intellectual arc of history! That’s what I thought, too.
But the fact is, many of even the most famous works we have from antiquity have a long and complicated history. Almost no text is decoded easily; the process of bringing readable translations of ancient texts into the hands of modern readers requires the cooperation of scholars across numerous disciplines. This means hours of hard work by those who find the texts, those who preserve the texts, and those who translate them, to name a few. Even with this commitment, many texts were lost – the usual estimate is 99 percent – so we have no copies of most of the works from antiquity. Despite this sobering statistic, every once in a while, something new is discovered. That promise, that some prominent text from the ancient world might be just under the next sand dune, is what has preserved scholars’ passion to keep searching in the hope of finding new sources that solve mysteries of the past.
And scholars’ suffering paid off! Consider the Villa of the Papyri, where in the eighteenth century hundreds, if not thousands, of scrolls were discovered carbonized in the wreckage of the Mount Vesuvius eruption (79 AD), in a town called Herculaneum near Pompeii. For over a century, scholars have hoped that future science might help them read these scrolls. Just in the last few months – through advances in computer imaging and digital unwrapping – we have read the first lines. This was due, in large part, to the hard work of Dr. Brent Seales, the support of the Vesuvius Challenge, and scholars who answered the call. We are now poised to read thousands of new ancient texts over the coming years.
But first, a bit of background on the provenance of ancient texts. We don’t have original copies of anything, not of the Iliad, or the Aeneid, or Herodotus, or the Bible. Instead of originals, we find ourselves dealing with copies. These were first written on scrolls but later in books – the Romans called books codexes – starting in the first century AD.
Did I say copies? That’s actually not correct either. We don’t have first copies of anything. What we do have is copies of copies, most of which date hundreds of years after the original was penned. Even many of our copies are not complete copies. Take, for example, the earliest surviving piece of the New Testament: a fragment from the Gospel of John known as P52. Far from a complete copy of the book, this fragment is about the size of a credit card and dates to, in the earliest estimation, 125 AD. That is over 100 years after Christ was crucified. The fragment is without a doubt at least a copy of a copy because its dating is too late to be either an original or a first copy. It was also found in Egypt, far from both Judea or Syria, where John is thought to have originated. Finding a complete copy of a text – let alone an early Christian Bible – is a home run. We have only found two such Bibles, the Codex Sinaiticus and Codex Vaticanus, both dating to the mid-fourth century.
More often than finding such complete copies, scholars instead compile the various fragments of copies and try to reconstruct the original work. Once scholars agree on what the original text should be, and in some cases they never reach agreement, the text is ready for publication in the original language. Where there are still variants in the text, scholars will include an apparatus criticus citing the manuscript from which the text is published and listing manuscripts with variant readings. The last step is to add a translation in the vernacular, and there are bilingual and even polyglot editions. These could range from the Complutensian Polyglot Bible, a magnificent, six-volume work printed in Madrid in 1519 giving the scriptural text in no less than four languages – Greek, Hebrew, Latin, and Aramaic – to the popular Loeb editions printed with both the ancient text and an English translation, for those with some limited knowledge of the ancient languages.
To most fully acclimate the reader to how tenuous this process is, this essay will focus on three different texts. The first will be a very well-known work that was never lost. Nevertheless, almost no one read it in earnest until the nineteenth century. I will then focus on a text that was lost to history, but that we were able to recover from the annals of time. Such examples are fortuitous. Our third example will be a text that we know existed, but of which we have no copies, and consider what important ramifications its discovery could hold. Finally, we’ll turn our attention again to the Villa of the Papyri and the gold mine of texts discovered there that new technologies are currently making available to classicists. By examining the history of the first three texts, I hope to sketch out a picture of how new discoveries from the villa might change our understanding of the ancient world…
[Germain considers Aristotle’s Poetics (“While it’s not accurate to say, as one of Aristotle’s unpublished works, the Politics was ever lost, it was certainly rediscovered”), the Hellenica Oxyrhynchia (a group of fragments that cover Greek history in same period– from the closing years of the Peloponnesian War into the middle of the fourth century BCE– covered by Xenophon, but that tell a different story), and the Constitution of the Spartans, also by Aristotle– a work often cited in other extant texts, but never found (“Imagine an alternate universe where all sources about America were written by Soviets at the height of the Cold War. The historians of the future might get a warped sense of reality. That’s exactly the case with ancient Sparta [e.g., Thucydides]… Although still an outsider and Athenian, Aristotle wrote about the Spartan state in the Politics, and he did not have good things to say. It is safe to assume that whatever Aristotle’s Constitution said, its testimony was not influenced by the Spartan mirage, giving us perhaps a more accurate picture of life inside the city-state.”)]…
… Resurrecting the dead is difficult; Jesus knew that. And the only reason we know that he knew that is because the church saw the preservation of scripture as a core duty. Not one scrap of text from the ancient world has come to us without untold numbers of heroes quietly working to hand down, from generation to generation, the texts that have primarily shaped the modern world. We are thankful for documents like the Politics, documents whose life cycle we can narrate from conception to the present moment. Even then, such texts can fall in and out of fashion, and their knowledge can be lost to entire generations. Texts such as the Hellenic Oxyrhynchia are windfalls of good fortune, ones that are completely forgotten in their own day, then lost a second time to history, buried in some ancient Egyptian trash heap. All the work necessary to make texts like the Politics accessible need also be done for texts like the Hellenica Oxyrhinchia.
Yet there is still another monumental step: the texts must first be discovered. Dwarfed in comparison to the first two groups are texts – such as Aristotle’s Constitution of the Spartans – that were attested to by ancient sources but have been completely lost to the annals of time, like the vast majority of Greek and Latin texts. These sources, while now completely unavailable to us, might yet be discovered at any time, on any dig. On any given day the earth might bestow its blessing, uncovering wonders from the past, as was the case with many of the works of Epicurus, which would have fallen into this latter category of lost works, until we discovered the Villa of the Papyri. Yet even such a fortuitous discovery could not be taken advantage of were new techniques not developed for reading scrolls whose survival depends on not opening them. I always tell my Greek and Latin students that there is a point where the science of translating becomes pure art. Likewise, there is a point at which the recovery, translation, restoration, and, finally, the study of ancient texts becomes treasure seeking. You never know what treasure might be hiding in the next ancient Egyptian trash heap…
Filling in the blanks in ancient history: “Doom Scrolling” in @WorksInProgMag.
For more on the Vesuvius Challenge– its process and progress– see here (source of the image above).
* Lemony Snicket (Daniel Handler)
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As we revise, we might send carefully excavated birthday greeting to Karl Alfred von Zittel; he was born on this date in 1839. A geologist and paleontologist, he was a pioneer of evolutionary paleontology and was widely recognized as the leading teacher of paleontology in the 19th century. His five-volume Handbuch der Paläonologie (1876-93) was arguably his greatest service to science, and it remains one of the most comprehensive and trustworthy paleontological reference books.
But he also noteworthily proved that the Sahara had not been under water during the Pleistocene Ice Age.
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