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Earth's 5 catastrophic mass extinctions, explained

Earth's 5 catastrophic mass extinctions, explained

Yahoo28-03-2025

While life on Earth does usually find a way, it is not without some intense past–and future–periods of mass death. Extinction is not exclusive to dinosaurs. Our planet has gone through at least five periods of mass extinction, with the planet likely in a sixth wave of mass extinction–this one, driven by humans.
Our planet's first known mass extinction happened about 440 million years ago. Species diversity on Earth had been increasing over a period of roughly 30 million years, but that would come to a halt as water began to freeze in a massive ice cap towards the south pole.
The formation of the Appalachian Mountains was the potential cause of this cooling. When the supercontinent Gondwanaland collided with what is now North America, the ancient lapetus Ocean closed over a period of about 150 million years. The weathering of the freshly uplifted rocks from this continental collision may have sucked carbon dioxide out of the atmosphere. As a result, the planet drastically cooled, sea levels plummeted, and roughly 85 percent of species were wiped out.
Due to this drop in sea levels, it was particularly hard on marine species including brachiopods, corals, and trilobites.
Earth's marine species, especially those at the tropics, were in trouble again about 419 million to 365 million years ago. This series of mass extinctions during the Devonian period eventually eliminated about 75 percent of life. However, some of Earth's oldest fish called coelacanths make it out unscathed.
There was likely not a single definitive cause of this period of mass extinctions, but oxygen levels in the ocean continually dropped at this time. A combination of several major stresses including excessive sedimentation, rapid global warming or cooling, impacts from comets or meteorites, volcanic activity, or massive nutrient runoff from the continents may have caused these pulses of extinction.
[Related: The 'living fossil' that thrived during a mass extinction.]
Interestingly, plants on land may have played a role. Some of the plants had adaptations including using the stem-strengthening compound lignin and a vascular structure. Both traits allowed them to grow and for their root systems to go deeper than they had before. As a result of these deeper roots, rock weathering may have increased.
Earth's largest mass extinction, often referred to as the 'Great Dying,' occurred about 252 million years ago. Massive volcanic eruptions triggered catastrophic climate changes that altered the planet's entire biosphere. Over roughly 60,000 years, 96 percent of Earth's marine species and about three of every four land species were wiped out. Unfortunately, the Great Dying is the extinction event that most closely parallels Earth's current environmental crisis.
'Both involve global warming related to the release of greenhouse gasses, driven by volcanoes in the Permian and human actions currently,' paleontologist Christian Kammerer told Popular Science in a 2023 interview. '[They] represent a very rare case of rapid shifts between icehouse and hothouse Earth. So, the turmoil we observe in late Permian ecosystems, with whole sections of the food web being lost, represents a preview for our world if we don't change things fast.'
Yet, some species managed to survive. A group of primitive amphibians called the temnospondyls may have gotten by through feeding on freshwater prey that larger land-based predators couldn't get to. It also helped that they weren't picky eaters.
Life began to rapidly diversify after the Great Dying, but it still struggled. Large volcanic eruptions triggered the Triassic-Jurassic Extinction about 201 million years ago. Carbon dioxide levels rose yet again, acidifying the oceans and warming Earth by an average of five to 11 degrees Fahrenheit.
As a result, up to 80 percent of all terrestrial and marine species went extinct. Crocodilians were much larger and more diverse than they are today. They were also dominant terrestrial species, but most of them died out.
Both the Great Dying and Triassic-Jurassic extinctions ultimately paved the way for dinosaurs to dominate Earth. And we know how that went.
About 66 million years ago, a large space rock slammed into the Earth off the coast of the present-day Yucatán Peninsula of Mexico. The impact from this almost seven-mile wide asteroid generated huge tsunamis and plumes of dust, debris, and sulfur being hurled up into the atmosphere. All of this excess material brought on severe global cooling, while wildfires ignited within 900 miles of the impact. The crater formed by the asteroid strike was about 120-miles wide.
[Related: June was probably a terrible month to be a dinosaur. Here's how we know.]
As ecosystems collapsed, roughly 75 percent of all the existing plant and animal species went extinct. All non-avian dinosaur species were wiped out in what is arguably the most famous mass extinction in Earth's history.
With most dinosaurs gone, mammals diversified and took over, paving the way for the ecosystem we see today.

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The science behind the smell of rain
The science behind the smell of rain

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The science behind the smell of rain

You know the smell. It's there every time the first fat raindrops hit the ground—a distinctive, earthy scent that suffuses the air, an aroma that speaks of the changing seasons and promises relief from stifling summer heat. There's a name for the smell of rain, too: 'petrichor,' a poetic portmanteau of the Greek words 'petros' (stone) and 'ichor' (the blood of the gods in Greek mythology). Petrichor: the smell of rain. But what causes it? The name 'petrichor' was coined by Australian scientists Isabel Bear and Dick Thomas in 1964, in a paper that constituted perhaps the first serious scientific attempt to explain the phenomenon. The duo used the word to refer to an oil that they distilled from samples of soil and vegetation that were left for up to a year exposed to air and daylight but shielded from rain. They found that the oil contained a complex mixture of volatile organic compounds. One question left unanswered by Bear and Thomas was the origin of these compounds, and subsequent research has focused on one particular compound, a volatile bicyclic alcohol called geosmin. The compound was isolated a year after Bear and Thomas's paper, and its name literally means 'earth smell.' Along with another volatile organic compound called 2-methylisoborneol or 2-MIB, geosmin is primarily responsible for the characteristic smell of earth—and both contribute greatly to the smell of rain. Ryan Busby, an ecologist at the US Army's Corps of Engineers, tells Popular Science that these compounds exist in soil the world over, and that they're spritzed into the air whenever soil is disturbed. '[The compounds] accumulate in the pore spaces in the soil,' Busby explains. 'There might be some binding to soil particles. [And] research has shown that that impact with the soil surface causes the volatiles to be released into the atmosphere.' So where do geosmin and 2-MIB come from? Busby says that while the source of both compounds remains the subject of plenty of active research, the current scientific consensus is that they are released by soil-dwelling bacteria. Differing ratios of the two compounds may explain why the smell differs subtly from place to place. 'Geosmin is pretty consistent across the environment, while 2-MIB is more variable. [Where 2-MIB is present], it is released in much higher concentrations, so you get areas where there's huge concentrations, and then areas where there's none,' Busby says. The other components that make up petrichor—a myriad less powerful plant-related volatiles, and also perhaps the distinctive acrid smell of ozone that accompanies lightning—vary from location to location. Humans are remarkably sensitive to the smell of geosmin, in particular. In water, it can be detected at concentrations as low as 4 ng/L, which equates to about one teaspoon in 200 Olympic swimming pools. Busby says there are several theories for why this might be. 'One [theory] is finding water sources,' he explains. 'Geosmin seems to be more prevalent in moist, fertile soils.' The presence of moist soil means the presence of water, and it's easy to see how being able to catch a whiff of geosmin on the wind and follow it to a source of water would provide a valuable evolutionary advantage. It's not just humans who appear to be able to rely on the scent of these volatile compounds to find water, Busby says. 'Camels can detect geosmin and find oases in the desert from 50 miles away. Mosquitoes use it to find stagnant ponds for laying eggs, and raccoons use it to find turtle nests and buried eggs.' But while the smell of geosmin and 2-MIB are appealing to us, their taste is the complete opposite. 'It's kind of funny,' muses Busby. 'We love the smell, but we hate the taste.' In water, these compounds are responsible for the musty, moldy taste that indicates that water isn't safe to drink. Busby says, 'Any time you drink water and you think, 'Oh, this, this tastes like lake water,' it's because those compounds are dissolved in what you're drinking.' Again, there's most likely an evolutionary reason for this: it's one thing for the soil around a water source to smell of bacteria, but if the water itself carries the distinctive musty odor of geosmin and 2-MIB, it also most likely carries the potential for gastrointestinal unpleasantness. Busby says that this explains why geosmin and 2-MIB are 'the primary odor contaminants of drinking water globally.' There's one unanswered question here, though: why are geosmin and 2-MIB there in the first place? As Busby points out, while it's clear that 'there are a number of uses for geosmin for us, we're not sure exactly why [bacteria] produce it in such quantities. It's a [large] energy cost to produce a chemical like that.' So why do soil-borne bacteria pump out geosmin and 2-MIB? What's in it for them? A paper published in Nature Microbiology in 2020 suggested a possible answer. The study examined interactions between Streptomyces—one variety of geosmin- and 2-MIB-producing bacteria—and small creatures called springtails. (Springtails are one of three varieties of six-legged arthropods that are not considered insects, and they have a taste for bacteria.) Crucially, the researchers found that in the bacteria studied, geosmin and 2-MIB were produced only by colonies that were also producing reproductive spores. In fact, they can only be produced by those specific colonies: 'The genes for geosmin and 2-MIB synthases are under the direct control of sporulation-specific transcription factors, constraining emission of the odorants to sporulating colonies,' the paper explains. Springtails are attracted by geosmin and 2-MIB, so unsurprisingly, upon arrival at the odor-emitting colonies, they helped themselves happily to a tasty microbial snack. In doing so, they also consumed the bacterial spores. The spores were then able to pass through the springtail's digestive tracts and emerge ready for action from the other end. Busby says this might also explain why the smell of rain is strongest when it comes from rain hitting dry soil. 'As soil dries out, the bacteria are going to go dormant, and there seems to be a flush of release [at that point]. So from that respect, [the compounds] are a way to attract something that maybe will carry [the bacteria] to a more conducive environment for growth.' It might feel like the poetic appeal of petrichor is diminished somewhat by discovering that the oh-so-evocative smell of rain most likely exists to encourage a bunch of tiny arthropods to poop out bacterial spores. But ultimately, it's another example of nature finding a way—a co-evolutionary relationship that recalls bees and pollen, and one that extends its benefits to the rest of us. So the next time the rain hits dry soil, think about the tiny bacteria that both lead us to water and stop us drinking from sources that might harm us. This story is part of Popular Science's Ask Us Anything series, where we answer your most outlandish, mind-burning questions, from the ordinary to the off-the-wall. Have something you've always wanted to know? Ask us.

Glow-in-the-Dark Salamanders May Have Just Unlocked the Future of Regeneration
Glow-in-the-Dark Salamanders May Have Just Unlocked the Future of Regeneration

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Glow-in-the-Dark Salamanders May Have Just Unlocked the Future of Regeneration

What if the key to human limb regeneration wasn't buried in sci-fi dreams—but already in your medicine cabinet? Scientists at Northeastern University have uncovered a breakthrough that's raising eyebrows in both the dermatology and regenerative biology worlds. The chemical at the center of it all? Retinoic acid—a form of vitamin A that's also the active ingredient in isotretinoin, better known as Accutane. In a new study, which was published in Nature Communications, researchers mapped how axolotls. The Mexican salamander has a freakish ability to regrow limbs using varying concentrations of retinoic acid to guide the regrowth of bones, joints, muscles and skin. When an axolotl loses a leg, it doesn't just grow back—it grows back perfectly. And scientists now understand more clearly how that biological GPS works. At the heart of the process is an enzyme called CYP26b1, which breaks down retinoic acid and dictates how much of the chemical floods a given area. Higher levels mean longer bone growth. Lower levels cue the development of feet and digits. The implications are massive: by controlling retinoic acid levels, scientists were able to create glow-in-the-dark salamanders with either perfectly formed limbs or comically misshapen ones. While these findings are still at the basic science stage, researchers believe they've taken a major step toward understanding how to activate dormant genetic mechanisms in humans. Because here's the kicker: the genes involved in limb regeneration already exist in our DNA. We just don't know how to switch them back on—yet. Retinoic acid has long been linked to fetal development, and now it's being eyed as a possible tool to coax adult tissues into reprogramming themselves post-injury. It's not a silver bullet, but it might be part of the recipe. 'We might just need to remind the body what it already knows how to do,' James Monaghan, the study's lead scientist, told Popular Science. If that's true, the path to real human regeneration might be shorter—and stranger—than we ever imagined. Glow-in-the-Dark Salamanders May Have Just Unlocked the Future of Regeneration first appeared on Men's Journal on Jun 10, 2025

How do clouds get their shapes?
How do clouds get their shapes?

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How do clouds get their shapes?

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