In the early evening of March 27, 1964, a magnitude 9.2 earthquake roiled Alaska. For nearly five minutes, the ground shuddered violently in what was, and still is, the second biggest temblor in recorded history.

Across the southern part of the state, land cracked and split, lifting some areas nearly 12 meters — about as high as a telephone pole — in an instant. Deep, house-swallowing maws opened up. Near the coast, ground turned jellylike and slid into bays, dooming almost everyone standing on it. Local tsunamis swamped towns and villages.
Not many people lived in the newly formed state at the time. If the quake had struck in a more developed place, the damage and death toll would have been far greater. As it was, more than 130 people were killed.

In The Great Quake, Henry Fountain, a science journalist at the New York Times, tells a vivid tale of this natural drama through the eyes of the people who experienced the earthquake and the scientist who unearthed its secrets. The result is an engrossing story of ruin and revelation — one that ultimately shows how the 1964 quake provided some of the earliest supporting evidence for the theory of plate tectonics, then a disputed idea.

Using details from his own interviews with survivors — along with newspaper articles, diaries and other published accounts — Fountain focuses his story on two places near Prince William Sound. More people died in the port of Valdez (a familiar name because of the 1989 Exxon Valdez oil spill) than in any other Alaskan community, while the small village of Chenega suffered the highest proportional loss of life. Fountain’s tracking of the myriad small decisions people made that fateful day — that either put them in harm’s way or kept them safe — is meticulous. The experiences of the survivors and the lost are haunting.

Interwoven with stories of the human tragedy is Fountain’s account of the painstaking scientific gumshoe work necessary to piece together how such a monster earthquake had occurred. That’s where George Plafker, a geologist with the U.S. Geological Survey, comes in. In surveying the quake’s aftermath, Plafker, along with others, noticed something strange: There was no surface evidence of a fault large enough to explain the colossal shaking or the widespread uplift and sinking of land over hundreds of thousands of square kilometers.

Today, scientists know that Earth’s outer layer is divided into giant pieces and that the motion of tectonic plates — as they bump together or slide past each other — helps explain how some earthquakes occur. But in the mid-1960s, plate tectonics was just a hypothesis in need of real-world validation.
Plafker’s crucial contribution was to realize that the powerful Alaskan quake had no surface fault because it took place at what is now known as a subduction zone, where dense oceanic crust sinks under lighter continental crust. The insight into the quake’s origin provided some of the first real proof of tectonic plate movements.

Throughout the book, Fountain weaves in brief histories of key people and ideas in the development of the theory of plate tectonics. For those familiar with the history, Fountain doesn’t offer much new. People less familiar may find it a little difficult to keep one geologist straight from another geophysicist.

But The Great Quake is an elegant showcase of how the progressive work of numerous scientists over time — all the while questioning, debating, changing their minds — can be pieced together into an idea that reshapes how we see and understand the planet.

New observations of the whirling cores of dead stars have deepened the mystery behind a glut of antimatter particles raining down on Earth from space.

The particles are antielectrons, also known as positrons, and could be a sign of dark matter — the exotic and unidentified culprit that makes up the bulk of the universe’s mass. But more mundane explanations are also plausible: Positrons might be spewed from nearby pulsars, the spinning remnants of exploded stars, for example. But researchers with the High-Altitude Water Cherenkov Observatory, or HAWC, now have called the pulsar hypothesis into question in a paper published in the Nov. 17 Science.

Although the new observations don’t directly support the dark matter explanation, “if you have a few alternatives and cast doubt on one of them, then the other becomes more likely,” says HAWC scientist Jordan Goodman of the University of Maryland in College Park.

Earth is constantly bathed in cosmic rays, particles from space that include protons, atomic nuclei, electrons and positrons. Several experiments designed to detect the showers of spacefaring particles have found more high-energy positrons than expected (SN: 5/4/13, p. 14), and astrophysicists have debated the excess positrons’ source ever since. Dark matter particles annihilating one another could theoretically produce pairs of electrons and positrons, but so can other sources, such as pulsars.
It was uncertain, though, whether pulsars’ positrons would make it to Earth in numbers significant enough to explain the excess. HAWC researchers tested how positrons travel through space by measuring gamma rays, or high-energy light, from two nearby pulsars — Geminga and Monogem — around 900 light-years away. Those gamma rays are produced when energetic positrons and electrons slam into low-energy light particles, producing higher-energy radiation.
The size and intensity of the resulting gamma-ray glow indicated that the positrons slowly dissipated away from their pulsar birthplaces, getting bogged down by magnetic fields that permeate the galaxy and twist up the particles’ trajectories. That sluggish departure suggests the particles wouldn’t have made it all the way to Earth, the researchers conclude, and therefore couldn’t explain the excess.

Astrophysicist Dan Hooper of Fermilab in Batavia, Ill., disagrees. He still thinks pulsars are the best explanation for the rogue antimatter. The gamma ray measurements are just one method for studying how cosmic ray particles propagate through space. Other methods indicate that the pulsars’ positrons should be able to make the trek across the galaxy swiftly enough to get to Earth, he says. “I have every confidence that those particles are now reaching the solar system.”

Ruling out pulsars still wouldn’t point the finger at dark matter. “I think they’ve made a good case that these pulsars are not the source,” says astrophysicist Gregory Tarlé of the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor. Instead, Tarlé thinks that scientists can explain the excess positrons by better understanding what happens as cosmic ray particles travel through space. Protons interacting with the interstellar medium — particles that permeate the spaces between stars — could produce positrons that would explain the observations, without invoking either dark matter or pulsars.

The conflict leaves physicists with their work cut out for them. “In order to prove that it’s dark matter, you have to prove that it’s not something ordinary,” says HAWC researcher Brenda Dingus of Los Alamos National Laboratory in New Mexico. Although the new result disfavors the most obvious ordinary candidates, Dingus says, other possibilities are still in the running. “We need to look harder.”

“The strangest place in the whole universe might just be right here.” So says actor Will Smith, narrating the opening moments of a new documentary series about the wonderful unlikeliness of our own planet, Earth.

One Strange Rock, premiering March 26 on the National Geographic Channel, is itself a peculiar and unlikely creation. Executive produced by Academy Award–nominated Darren Aronofsky and by Jane Root of the production company Nutopia and narrated by Smith, the sprawling, ambitious 10-episode series is chock-full of stunningly beautiful images and CGI visuals of our dynamic planet. Each episode is united by a theme relating to Earth’s history, such as the genesis of life, the magnetic and atmospheric shields that protect the planet from solar radiation and the ways in which Earth’s denizens have shaped its surface.
The first episode, “Gasp,” ponders Earth’s atmosphere and where its oxygen comes from. In one memorable sequence, the episode takes viewers on a whirlwind journey from Ethiopia’s dusty deserts to the Amazon rainforest to phytoplankton blooms in the ocean. Dust storms from Ethiopia, Smith tells us, fertilize the rainforest. And that rainforest, in turn, feeds phytoplankton. A mighty atmospheric river, fueled by water vapor from the Amazon and heat from the sun, flows across South America until it reaches the Andes and condenses into rain. That rain erodes rock and washes nutrients into the ocean, feeding blooms of phytoplankton called diatoms. One out of every two breaths that we take comes from the photosynthesis of those diatoms, Smith adds.
As always, Smith is an appealing everyman. But the true stars of the series may be the eight astronauts, including Chris Hadfield and Nicole Stott, who appear throughout the series. In stark contrast to the colorful images of the planet, the astronauts are filmed alone, their faces half in shadow against a black background as they tell stories that loosely connect to the themes. The visual contrast emphasizes the astronauts’ roles as outsiders who have a rare perspective on the blue marble.
“Having flown in space, I feel this connection to the planet,” Stott told Science News . “I was reintroduced to the planet.” Hadfield had a similar sentiment: “It’s just one tiny place, but it’s the tiny place that is ours,” he added.
Each astronaut anchors a different episode. In “Gasp,” Hadfield describes a frightening moment during a spacewalk outside the International Space Station when his eyes watered. Without gravity, the water couldn’t form into teardrops, so it effectively blinded him. To remove the water, he was forced to allow some precious air to escape his suit. It’s a tense moment that underscores the pricelessness of the thin blue line, visible from space, that marks Earth’s atmosphere. “It contains everything that’s important to us,” Hadfield says in the episode. “It contains life.”

Stott, meanwhile, figures prominently in an episode called “Storm.” Instead of a weather system, the title refers to the rain of space debris that Earth has endured throughout much of its history — including the powerful collision that formed the moon (SN: 4/15/17, p. 18). Stott describes her own sense of wonder as a child, watching astronauts land on our closest neighbor — and how the travels of those astronauts and the rocks they brought back revealed that Earth and the moon probably originated from the same place.

It’s glimpses like these into the astronauts’ lives and personalities — scenes of Hadfield strumming “Space Oddity” on a guitar, for example, or Stott chatting with her son in the family kitchen — that make the episodes more than a series of beautiful and educational IMAX films. Having been away from the planet for a short time, the astronauts see Earth as precious, and they convey their affection for it well. Stott said she hopes that this will be the ultimate takeaway for viewers, for whom the series may serve as a reintroduction to the planet they thought they knew so well. “I hope that people will … appreciate and acknowledge the significance of [this reintroduction],” she said, “that it will result in an awareness and obligation to take care of each other.”
Editor’s note: This story was updated on March 19, 2018, to add a mention of a second executive producer.