Carbondale, Ill., is just a few kilometers north of the point where this year’s total solar eclipse will linger longest — the city will get two minutes and 38 seconds of total darkness when the moon blocks out the sun. And it’s the only city in the United States that will also be in the path of totality when the next total solar eclipse crosses North America, in 2024 (SN: 8/5/17, p. 32). The town is calling itself the Eclipse Crossroads of America.
“Having a solar eclipse that goes through the entire continent is rare enough,” says planetary scientist Padma Yanamandra-Fisher of the Space Science Institute’s branch in Rancho Cucamonga, Calif. “Having two in seven years is even more rare. And two going through the same city is rarer still.”

That makes Carbondale the perfect spot to investigate how the sun’s atmosphere, or corona, looks different when solar activity is high versus low.

Every 11 years or so, the sun cycles from periods of high magnetic field activity to low activity and back again. The frequency of easy-to-see features — like sunspots on the sun’s visible surface, solar flares and the larger eruptions of coronal mass ejections — cycles, too. But it has been harder to trace what happens to the corona’s streamers, the long wispy tendrils that give the corona its crownlike appearance and originate from the magnetic field.
The corona is normally invisible from Earth, because the bright solar disk washes it out. Even space telescopes that are trained on the sun can’t see the inner part of the corona — they have to block some of it out for their own safety (SN Online: 8/11/17). So solar eclipses are the only time researchers can get a detailed view of what the inner corona, where the streamers are rooted, is up to.
Right now, the sun is in a period of exceptionally low activity. Even at the most recent peak in 2014, the sun’s number of flares and sunspots was pathetically wimpy (SN: 11/2/13, p. 22). During the Aug. 21 solar eclipse, solar activity will still be on the decline. But seven years from now during the 2024 eclipse, it will be on the upswing again, nearing its next peak.

Yanamandra-Fisher will be in Carbondale for both events. This year, she’s teaming up with a crowdsourced eclipse project called the Citizen Continental-America Telescope Eclipse experiment. Citizen CATE will place 68 identical telescopes along the eclipse’s path from Oregon to South Carolina.

As part of a series of experiments, Yanamandra-Fisher and her colleagues will measure the number, distribution and extent of streamers in the corona. Observations of the corona during eclipses going back as far as 1867 suggest that streamers vary with solar activity. During low activity, they tend to be more squat and concentrated closer to the sun’s equator. During high activity, they can get more stringy and spread out.

Scientists suspect that’s because as the sun ramps up its activity, its strengthening magnetic field lets the streamers stretch farther out into space. The sun’s equatorial magnetic field also splits to straddle the equator rather than encircle it. That allows streamers to spread toward the poles and occupy new space.

Although physicists have been studying the corona’s changes for 150 years, that’s still only a dozen or so solar cycles’ worth of data. There is plenty of room for new observations to help decipher the corona’s mysteries. And Yanamandra-Fisher’s group might be the first to collect data from the same point on Earth.

“This is pure science that can be done only during an eclipse,” Yanamandra-Fisher says. “I want to see how the corona changes.”

Cube-shaped ice is rare, at least at the microscopic level of the ice crystal. Now researchers have coaxed typically hexagonal 3-D ice crystals to form the most cubic ice ever created in the lab.

Cubed ice crystals — which may exist naturally in cold, high-altitude clouds — could help improve scientists’ understanding of clouds and how they interact with Earth’s atmosphere and sunlight, two interactions that influence climate.

Engineer Barbara Wyslouzil of Ohio State University and colleagues made the cubed ice by shooting nitrogen and water vapor through nozzles at supersonic speeds. The gas mixture expanded and cooled, and then the vapor formed nanodroplets. Quickly cooling the droplets further kept them liquid at normally freezing temperatures. Then, at around –48° Celsius, the droplets froze in about one millionth of a second.

The low-temperature quick freeze allowed the cubic ice to form, the team reports in the July 20 Journal of Physical Chemistry Letters. The crystals weren’t perfect cubes but were about 80 percent cubic. That’s better than previous studies, which made ice that was 73 percent cubic.

Neandertals took stick-to-itiveness to a new level. Using just scraps of wood and hot embers, our evolutionary cousins figured out how to make tar, a revolutionary adhesive that they used to make formidable spears, chopping tools and other implements by attaching sharp-edged stones to handles, a new study suggests.

Researchers already knew that tar-coated stones date to at least 200,000 years ago at Neandertal sites in Europe, well before the earliest known evidence of tar production by Homo sapiens, around 70,000 years ago in Africa. Now, archaeologist Paul Kozowyk of Leiden University in the Netherlands and colleagues have re-created the methods that these extinct members of the human genus could have used to produce tar.
Three straightforward techniques could have yielded enough adhesive for Neandertals’ purposes, Kozowyk’s team reports August 31 in Scientific Reports. Previous studies have found that tar lumps found at Neandertal sites derive from birch bark. Neandertal tar makers didn’t need ceramic containers such as kilns and didn’t have to heat the bark to precise temperatures, the scientists conclude.
These findings fuel another burning question about Neandertals: whether they had mastered the art of building and controlling a fire. Some researchers suspect that Neandertals had specialized knowledge of fire control and used it to make adhesives; others contend that Neandertals only exploited the remnants of wildfires. The new study suggests they could have invented low-tech ways to make tar with fires, but it’s not clear whether those fires were intentionally lit.

“This new paper demystifies the prehistoric development of birch-bark tar production, showing that it was not predicated on advanced cognitive or technical skills but on knowledge of familiar, readily available materials,” says archaeologist Daniel Adler of the University of Connecticut in Storrs, who did not participate in the study.
Kozowyk’s group tested each of three tar-making techniques between five and 11 times. The lowest-tech approach consisted of rolling up a piece of birch bark, tying it with wood fiber and covering it in a mound of ashes and embers from a wood fire. Tar formed between bark layers and was scraped off the unrolled surface. The experimenters collected up to about one gram of tar this way.

A second strategy involved igniting a roll of birch bark at one end and placing it in a small pit. In some cases, embers were placed on top of the bark. The researchers either scraped tar off bark layers or collected it as it dripped onto a rock, strip of bark or a piece of bark folded into a cup. The most tar gathered with this method, about 1.8 grams, was in a trial using a birch-bark cup placed beneath a bark roll with its lit side up and covered in embers.

Repeating either the ash-mound or pit-roll techniques once or twice would yield the relatively small quantity of tar found at one Neandertal site in Europe, the researchers say. Between six and 11 repetitions would produce a tar haul equal to that previously unearthed at another European site.

In a third technique, the scientists placed a birch-bark vessel for collecting tar into a small pit. They placed a layer of twigs across the top of the pit and placed pebbles on top, then added a large, loose bark roll covered in a dome-shaped coat of wet soil. A fire was then lit on the earthen structure. This method often failed to produce anything. But after some practice with the technique, one trial resulted in 15.7 grams of tar — enough to make a lump comparable in size to the largest chunks found at Neandertal sites.

An important key to making tar was reaching the right heat level. Temperatures inside bark rolls, vessels, fires and embers varied greatly, but at some point each procedure heated bark rolls to between around 200˚ and 400˚ Celsius, Kozowyk says. In that relatively broad temperature range, tar can be produced from birch bark, he contends.

If they exploited naturally occurring fires, Neandertal tar makers had limited time and probably relied on a simple technique such as ash mounds, Kozowyk proposes. If Neandertals knew how to start and maintain fires, they could have pursued more complex approaches.

Some researchers say that excavations point to sporadic use of fire by Neandertals, probably during warm, humid months when lightning strikes ignited wildfires. But other investigators contend that extinct Homo species, including Neandertals, built campfires (SN: 5/5/12, p. 18).

Whatever the case, Kozowyk says, “Neandertals could have invented tar with only basic knowledge of fire and birch bark.”

Walls can get the best of clumsy TV sitcom characters and bats alike.

New lab tests suggest that smooth, vertical surfaces fool some bats into thinking their flight path is clear, leading to collisions and near misses.

The furry fliers famously use sound to navigate — emitting calls and tracking the echoes to hunt for prey and locate obstacles. But some surfaces can mess with echolocation.

Stefan Greif of the Max Planck Institute for Ornithology in Seewiesen, Germany, and colleagues put bats to the test in a flight tunnel. Nineteen of 21 greater mouse-eared bats (Myotis myotis) crashed into a vertical metal plate at least once, the scientists report in the Sept. 8 Science. In some crashes, bats face-planted without even trying to avoid the plate.
Smooth surfaces act as acoustic mirrors, the team says: Up close, they reflect sound at an angle away from the bat, producing fuzzier, harder-to-read echoes than rough surfaces do. From farther away, smooth surfaces don’t produce any echoes at all.

Infrared camera footage of wild bat colonies showed that vertical plastic plates trick bats in more natural settings, too.

Crash reel
This video shows three experiments into how smooth surfaces affect bat flight. In one lab test, a vertical metal plate gave a bat the illusion of a clear flight path, causing it to crash into the barrier. In a second lab test, a horizontal metal plate created the illusion of water; the bat dips to surface to take a sip. Finally, near a natural bat colony, a bat collides with a vertically hung plastic plate, showing that smooth surfaces could impact bats in the wild, as well.

Saber-toothed kittens were the spitting image of their parents. Even as babies, the cats not only had the oversized canine teeth but also unusually powerful forelimbs, Katherine Long, a graduate student at California State Polytechnic University in Pomona, and colleagues report September 27 in PLOS ONE.

As adults, the ferocious felines used those strong forelimbs to secure wriggling prey before slashing a throat or belly (thereby avoiding breaking off a tooth in the struggle). Paleontologists have puzzled over whether saber-toothed cats such as Smilodon fatalis developed those robust limbs as they grew.

To compare the growth rate of Smilodon with that of similar-sized non‒saber-toothed cats that lived alongside it, Long and her team turned to fossils collected from the La Brea Tar Pits in Los Angeles. The ancient asphalt traps hold a wealth of species and specimens from juveniles to adults, dating to between 37,000 and 9,000 years ago.

The Smilodon bones, they found, did not show any evidence of an unusual growth spurt. Instead, the bones grew longer and slimmer as the kittens grew up, following the same developmental pattern as the other large cats. That suggests that when it comes to their mighty forelimbs, Smilodon kittens were just born that way.

A misfit gang of superconducting materials may be losing their outsider status.

Certain copper-based compounds superconduct, or transmit electricity without resistance, at unusually high temperatures. It was thought that the standard theory of superconductivity, known as Bardeen-Cooper-Schrieffer theory, couldn’t explain these oddballs. But new evidence suggests that the standard theory applies despite the materials’ quirks, researchers report in the Dec. 8 Physical Review Letters.

All known superconductors must be chilled to work. Most must be cooled to temperatures that hover above absolute zero (–273.15° Celsius). But some copper-based superconductors work at temperatures above the boiling point of liquid nitrogen (around –196° C). Finding a superconductor that functions at even higher temperatures — above room temperature — could provide massive energy savings and new technologies (SN: 12/26/15, p. 25). So scientists are intent upon understanding the physics behind known high-temperature superconductors.
When placed in a magnetic field, many superconductors display swirling vortices of electric current — a hallmark of the standard superconductivity theory. But for the copper-based superconductors, known as cuprates, scientists couldn’t find whirls that matched the theory’s predictions, suggesting that a different theory was needed to explain how the materials superconduct. “This was one of the remaining mysteries,” says physicist Christoph Renner of the University of Geneva. Now, Renner and colleagues have found vortices that agree with the theory in a high-temperature copper-based superconductor, studying a compound of yttrium, barium, copper and oxygen.

Vortices in superconductors can be probed with a scanning tunneling microscope. As the microscope tip moves over a vortex, the instrument records a change in the electrical current. Renner and colleagues realized that, in their copper compound, there were two contributions to the current that the probe was measuring, one from superconducting electrons and one from nonsuperconducting ones. The nonsuperconducting contribution was present across the entire surface of the material and masked the signature of the vortices.

Subtracting the nonsuperconducting portion revealed the vortices, which behaved in agreement with the standard superconductivity theory. “That, I think, is quite astonishing; it’s quite a feat,” says Mikael Fogelström of Chalmers University of Technology in Gothenburg, Sweden, who was not involved with the research.
The result lifts some of the fog surrounding cuprates, which have so far resisted theoretical explanation. But plenty of questions still surround the materials, Fogelström says. “It leaves many things still open, but it sort of gives a new picture.”

One person infected with strep bacteria might get a painful sore throat; another might face a life-threatening blood infection. Now, scientists are trying to pin down why.

Variation between individuals’ immune systems may not be entirely to blame. Instead, extra genes picked up by some pathogens can cause different strains to have wildly different effects on the immune system, even in the same person, researchers report January 11 in PLOS Pathogens.

The idea that different strains of bacteria can behave differently in the body isn’t new. Take E. coli: Some strains of the bacteria that can cause foodborne illness make people far sicker than other strains­. But bacteria have exceptionally large amounts of genetic variation, even between members of the same species. Scientists are still trying to figure out how that genetic diversity affects the way microbes interact with the immune system.
Any species of bacteria has a core set of genes that all its members share. Then there’s a whole pot of genes that different strains of the species pick and choose to create what’s known as an accessory genome. These genes are custom add-ons that specific strains have acquired over time, from their environment or from other microbes — something like an expansion pack for a card game. Sometimes, that extra genetic material gives bacteria new traits.

Uri Sela and his colleagues at the Rockefeller University in New York City tested the way these extra genes influenced the way two common species of bacteria, Staphylococcus aureus and Streptococcus pyogenes, interacted with the immune system. Staphylococcus bacteria can cause everything from rashes to food poisoning to blood infections. Streptococcus bacteria can cause strep throat, as well as a host of more serious illnesses (SN: 10/4/14, p. 22).

Different strains of the same species provoked wildly different immune responses in blood samples collected from the same patient, the researchers first showed. But the strain-specific responses were consistent across patients. Some strains triggered lots of T cells to be made in every sample, for example; others increased B cell activity. (T cells and B cells are the two main weapons of the adaptive immune response, which enables the body to build long-lasting immunity against a particular pathogen.) In tests of strains missing some of their extra genes, though, the T cells didn’t respond as strongly as they did to a matching strain that contained the extra genes. This finding suggests that the variation in immune response across strains was coming, at least in part, from differences in these supplementary genes.
“Currently when a patient comes to the hospital with an infection, we don’t define the strain of the species” for common infections like strep and staph, says Sela, an immunologist. In the future, he says, information about the strain could help doctors predict how a patient’s illness will unfold and decide on the best treatment.

The new study “adds fuel to an active debate” about the role of accessory genes, says Alan McNally, a microbiologist at the University of Birmingham in England — whether or not the collections of genetic add-ons that bacteria maintain are shaped by natural selection, the process that fuels evolution. This research suggests that for some kinds of bacteria, genetic customization might aid survival of certain strains by enabling them to provoke a tailored immune response.

But more research needs to be done to link the strain-to-strain variation in immune response to the accessory genome, he says, as this study looked at only a few extra genes, not the entire accessory genome.

Volcano-fueled holes in Earth’s ozone layer 252 million years ago may have repeatedly sterilized large swaths of forest, setting the stage for the world’s largest mass extinction event. Such holes would have allowed ultraviolet-B radiation to blast the planet. Even radiation levels below those predicted for the end of the Permian period damage trees’ abilities to make seeds, researchers report February 7 in Science Advances.

Jeffrey Benca, a paleobotanist at the University of California, Berkeley, and his colleagues exposed plantings of modern dwarf pine tree (Pinus mugo) to varying levels of UV-B radiation. Those levels ranged from none to up to 93 kilojoules per square meter per day. According to previous simulations, UV-B radiation at the end of the Permian may have increased from a background level of 10 kilojoules (just above current ambient levels) to as much as 100 kilojoules, due to large concentrations of ozone-damaging halogens spewed from volcanoes (SN: 1/15/11, p. 12).

Exposure to higher UV-B levels led to more malformed pollen, the researchers found, with up to 13 percent of the pollen grains deformed under the highest conditions. And although the trees survived the heightened irradiation, the trees’ ovulate cones — cones that, when fertilized by pollen, become seeds — did not. But the trees weren’t permanently sterilized: Once removed from extra UV-B exposure, the trees could reproduce again.

The finding supports previous research suggesting that colossal volcanic eruptions in what’s now Siberia, about 300,000 years before the onset of the extinction event, probably triggered the die-off of nearly all marine species and two-thirds of species living on land (SN: 9/19/15, p. 10). Repeated pulses of volcanism at the end of the Permian may have led to several periods of irradiation that sterilized the forests, causing a catastrophic breakdown of food webs, the researchers say — an indirect but effective way to kill.

AUSTIN, Texas — Stretchy sensors that stick to the throat could track the long-term recovery of stroke survivors.

These new Band-Aid‒shaped devices contain motion sensors that detect muscle movement and vocal cord vibrations. That sensor data could help doctors diagnose and monitor the effectiveness of certain treatments for post-stroke conditions like difficulty swallowing or talking, researchers reported February 17 in a news conference at the annual meeting of the American Association for the Advancement of Science. Up to 65 percent of stroke survivors have trouble swallowing, and about a third of survivors have trouble carrying on conversations.
The devices can monitor speech patterns more reliably than microphones by sensing tissue movement rather than recording sound. “You don’t pick up anything in terms of ambient noise,” says study coauthor John Rogers, a materials scientist and bioengineer at Northwestern University in Evanston, Ill. “You can be next to an airplane jet engine. You’re not going to see that in the [sensor] signal.”

Developed by Rogers’ team, the sensors have built-in 12-hour rechargeable batteries and continually stream motion data to a smartphone. Researchers are now testing the sensors with real stroke patients to see how the devices can be made more user-friendly. For instance, Rogers’ team realized that patients were unlikely to wear sensors that were too easily visible. By equipping the patches with more sensitive motion sensors, they can be worn lower on a person’s neck, hidden behind a buttoned-up shirt, and still pick up throat motion.

These kinds of sensors could also track the recovery of neck cancer patients, who commonly develop swallowing and speaking problems caused by radiation therapy and surgery, Rogers says. The devices can also measure breathing and heart rates to monitor sleep quality and help diagnose sleep apnea. Rogers expects this wearable tech to be ready for widespread use within the next year or two.

With fevers, chills and aches, the flu can pound the body. Some influenza viruses may hammer the brain, too. Months after being infected with influenza, mice had signs of brain damage and memory trouble, researchers report online February 26 in the Journal of Neuroscience.

It’s unclear if people’s memories are affected in the same way as those of mice. But the new research adds to evidence suggesting that some body-wracking infections could also harm the human brain, says epidemiologist and neurologist Mitchell Elkind of Columbia University, who was not involved in the study.
Obvious to anyone who has been waylaid by the flu, brainpower can suffer at the infection’s peak. But not much is known about any potential lingering effects on thinking or memory. “It hasn’t occurred to people that it might be something to test,” says neurobiologist Martin Korte of Technische Universität Braunschweig in Germany.

The new study examined the effects of three types of influenza A — H1N1, the strain behind 2009’s swine flu outbreak; H7N7, a dangerous strain that only rarely infects people; and H3N2, the strain behind much of the 2017–2018 flu season misery (SN: 2/17/18, p. 12). Korte and colleagues shot these viruses into mice’s noses, and then looked for memory problems 30, 60 and 120 days later.

A month after infection, the mice all appeared to have recovered and gained back weight. But those that had received H3N2 and H7N7 had trouble remembering the location of a hidden platform in a pool of water, the researchers found. Mice that received no influenza or the milder H1N1 virus performed normally at the task.
Researchers also studied the brain tissue of the infected mice under a microscope and found that the memory problems tracked with changes in nerve cells. A month after H7N7 or H3N2 infection, mice had fewer nerve cell connectors called dendritic spines on cells in the hippocampus, a brain region involved in memory. Electrical experiments on the nerve cell samples in dishes also suggested the cells’ signal-sending abilities were impaired.
What’s more, these mice’s brains looked inflamed under the microscope, full of immune cells called microglia that were still revved up 30 and 60 days after infection. Cell counts revealed that mice that had suffered through H3N2 or H7N7 had more active microglia than mice infected with H1N1 or no virus at all. That lingering activity was surprising, Korte says; most immune cells in the body usually settle down soon after an infection clears.

These memory problems and signs of brain trouble were gone by 120 days, which translates to about a decade in human time, Korte says. “I’m not saying that everyone who has influenza is cognitively impaired for 10 years,” he says, noting that human brains are much more complex than those of mice. “The news is more that we should not only look at lung functionality after the flu, but also cognitive effects, weeks and months after infection.”

H7N7 can infect brain cells directly. But H1N1 and H3N2 don’t typically get into the brain (and Korte and colleagues confirmed that in their experiments). Some flu viruses may be causing brain trouble remotely, perhaps through inflammatory signals in the blood making their way into the brain, the study suggests. If that pathway is confirmed, then many types of infections could cause similar effects on the brain. “It is plausible that this is a general phenomenon,” Elkind says.