There are few things that can lift the heads of the busy Toolik scientists away from their work. But on certain weekdays, behind the maze of dark green storage containers-turned-laboratories, a soft plume of fragrant smoke rises. The tell-tale sign of the awakening Toolik sauna never fails to pull a relieved smile from weary scientists. “Sauna tiiiime,” they whisper underneath their breath, while others let loose a shrill “Yesssssss!” as we hurry to finish the last task of the day. This wooden oasis, tucked into a slope leading into Toolik Lake, is one of the most beloved features of the Toolik Field Station—and a vital community space shaped by the art of storytelling.
On sauna nights, scientists saunter over to the edge of the station, towels draped around our necks. Walking into the mud room, we brace ourselves for the stifling heat we are about to enter. As we walk into the wall of heat we grimace, and then slowly let our shoulders loosen, opening our lungs to the heat—eyes closed, breath heavy, body relaxed.
There is a gentle silence at the beginning of every sauna session as we settle into the damp heat of the room. But soon, conversations start to flow and meander, the sauna filling with the sound of overlapping chatter. People lament their torn-up hands from readjusting rusty bars, muse over the absence of darkness, and fiercely debate the proper name for fish nests (the conclusion, “redds”). I listen to the tale of a soil scientist, swearing that she nearly joined a pack of wolves on a recent data-collection trek. We weigh the strange dependency of this climate research station on the road that was built to expand oil production. And I listen as an older scientist, one who has been coming to Toolik for almost thirty years, recounts how much he has seen this landscape, which he has come to love so deeply, change so much.
In these moments, I cannot help but think, “This is what it’s all about.” Scientists—across disciplines, countries, generations—sharing the weight and joy of their lives of work. An ecologist’s work, not unlike the heat that we choose to sit in every time we walk through the sauna’s doors, can be heavy and at times, suffocating. But under this pressure, in these spaces of relaxation and healing, we inspire celebration, reflection, and resolution with the stories we tell.
We bask in our love for science— a shared love for adventure, mystery, the land, and a dedication to protect and heal it.
For younger scientists, listening to the stories of older scientists bends time, reminding us of what has been lost—and the urgency with which we must continue to defend these changing ecosystems.
Once we leave the sauna, these stories become incredibly special tools. Global change can be insidious, its effects hiding beyond our daily lives. But by sharing these stories, we have the power to reach out and envelop others in our world, finding that perfect heartstring to tug.
We need people working from every angle, from both within and beyond the scientific community, to understand, mitigate, and adapt to the consequences of our rapidly changing world. And while the Toolik sauna is an incredibly unique ecosystem of human beings, sweat, and laughter, I—and many of my fellow scientists—happily hold the responsibility of disseminating the words that are shared in that space with all of our communities so that everyone can take a turn basking in the sauna at the top of the world.

We hear a lot about carbon stored in oceans, trees, and of course the atmosphere. But there’s about three billion tons of carbon stored in soils around the world, according to Jonathan Sanderman. He’s a senior scientist and vice president of science at Woodwell Climate Research Center, in Falmouth.

I live along the Yukon River, where my family has harvested salmon for countless generations. Every summer used to bring the same reassuring sight: Busy fish camps. Full smokehouses. Families coming together to pass down traditions that have thrived for thousands of years. Happy kids, curious babies, loving grandparents, moms, dads, aunties, uncles and cousins. Each is an intrinsic part of a beautiful summer day at the smokehouse.
Today, summers mean less time on the river, empty smokehouses and fish camps, and no intergenerational learning. The State of Alaska tells my community and over 50 other Indigenous communities in Alaska and Canada that we are the ones who must stop fishing, we are the ones who must sacrifice, we are the ones who must somehow bear the burden of a crisis we did not create.
Continue reading on Alaska Beacon.

A weak or distorted stratospheric polar vortex (SPV) is often associated with severe winter weather in Northern Hemisphere continents. Traditional metrics of the SPV state, however, may conflate influences from both the stratosphere and the troposphere below, obfuscating attribution of weather extremes. In a new paper, published this month by Climate Dynamics, researchers present a new method that more clearly separates variations in the two atmospheric layers and their contributions to severe winter weather.
Depending on your feelings toward cold and snow, the headline “The Polar Vortex is Coming!” may instill dread or delight. The Polar Vortex first entered dinner-table conversations during the extreme winter of 2013/14, the coldest North American winter of the 21st century, and has since been used—often incorrectly—as shorthand for any cold or snowy spell. The polar vortex is a pool of frigid air encircled by strong westerly winds that sits high above the polar regions during winter only, and normally it has little influence on weather at the surface. But when it becomes disrupted from its typically circular shape—either stretched to an oblong, split into separate swirls, or greatly weakened—extreme winter weather can ensue, including severe cold, snow, and even winter heat waves.
One of the ways scientists track the behavior of the stratospheric polar vortex is to monitor the height of a constant pressure surface that exists within the stratosphere. Pressure decreases at higher altitudes because there are few air molecules above that level. The height of a pressure surface bulges and shrinks depending mainly on the temperature of the air below it: warmer air expands and cooler air contracts. Height fluctuations of a level in the stratosphere, then, are caused by temperature changes in the whole column of atmosphere below that level, not only in the stratosphere. Disruptions to the SPV detected using pressure heights, therefore, may be misleading as to their cause.
“As I explored the role of stratospheric disruptions on extreme winter weather, it occurred to me that there might be a better way to measure those disruptions,” said Dr. Jennifer Francis, Senior Scientist at Woodwell Climate Research Center and lead author. “Focusing on the stratosphere itself rather than the whole atmospheric column helps separate the influences from the two layers, which often behave independently.”
The authors analyzed the thickness of a layer in the stratosphere using an AI-based approach to identify representative patterns in the SPV, including various types of disruptions.
“The new metric revealed an increased occurrence of strong and abnormally cold SPV patterns,” added co-author Natasa Skific, Researcher at the Woodwell Climate Research Center. “This is different from findings in earlier studies based on pressure heights. Our findings make sense because higher concentrations of greenhouse gases cool the stratosphere, causing a stronger SPV.”
Paper co-author Dr. Judah Cohen, Research Scientist at MIT Parsons Lab and Director of Seasonal Forecasting at Atmospheric and Environmental Research, noted the previously underappreciated common occurrence of vortex stretching, which often contributes to cold spells in the U.S. and central Eurasia.
“The results of our study fit with other work highlighting the importance of stretched-vortex states on severe winter weather. Our new metric helps isolate the stratosphere so we can better understand its dynamics and connections with weather extremes, atmospheric blocking, and amplified Arctic warming.”

The number of wildland fires burning in the Arctic is on the rise, according to NASA researchers. Moreover, these blazes are burning larger, hotter, and longer than they did in previous decades.
These trends are closely tied to the region’s rapidly changing climate. The Arctic is warming nearly four times faster than the global average, a shift that directly impacts rain and snow in the region and decreases soil moisture, both of which make the landscape more flammable. Lightning, the primary ignition source of Arctic fires, is also occurring farther north. These findings are detailed in a report published in 2025 by the Arctic Monitoring and Assessment Programme (AMAP), a working group of the Arctic Council.

On Wednesday night, President Trump announced that the U.S. would be withdrawing from the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC), a landmark global treaty that sets a legal framework for international negotiations to address climate change.
The move comes after the Trump Administration asked the State Department to review the country’s involvement in various international organizations last February. The result is that the president has now withdrawn the United States from a total 66 international organisations, including 31 United Nations entities. Other groups included U.N. Oceans, the Intergovernmental Science-Policy Platform on Biodiversity and Ecosystem Services, and the International Renewable Energy Agency.

Don’t pull the fire alarm yet, but new data on home insurance in Massachusetts is turning heads across the industry.
Massachusetts enrolled more than 173,000 policies in its insurer of last resort, known as the FAIR Plan, in fiscal year 2024 — marking the first year-over-year increase for the insurer since 2017 and its largest single-year jump since 2007. In fiscal 2023, the FAIR Plan enrolled 158,660 policies.
Continue reading on Commonwealth Beacon.
AIP’s 2026 Karl Taylor Compton Medal for leadership in physics is being awarded to Professor John Holdren of Harvard University and former Chief Science & Technology Advisor to President Obama.
Named after prominent physicist Karl Taylor Compton, the medal is presented by AIP every two years to a highly a distinguished physicist who has made outstanding contributions to physics through exceptional statesmanship in science.
Holdren was chosen by the selection committee “for his scientific leadership in engaging the public and promoting sound governmental policies and key international agreements.”
Read more on the American Institute of Physics’ website.