What color is the moon? Ask an Earthling, and you'll get a predictably monochromatic answer: white or gray.
Yellow, brown, green, blue and tan features fan across vast volcanic plains and lurk at the edges of ominous craters, according to the crew's in-the-moment observations, which were shared this week in NASA's Artemis II Preliminary Lunar Science Report. The 130-page document catalogs everything crewmembers Reid Wiseman, Victor Glover, Christina Koch and Jeremy Hansen saw during their historic close flyby of the moon on April 6, drawing from 814 gigabytes of photo, video and audio recordings taken from the Orion crew capsule.
This rainbow of lunar color represents distinct geological features that could inform future missions on where to land and where to explore as the world's space agencies race to set up a permanent presence on the moon.
One spot that particularly enthralled the astronauts (and is featured in the image above) is the Aristarchus Plateau — a broad, elevated region on the northwestern edge of the moon's nearside. The region hosts one of the moon's densest collections of ancient volcanic features, including swaths of dark lava deposits and colorful volcanic glasses.
Koch, mission specialist for Artemis II, was shocked to see distinct yellow shades in the region; she likened the plateau to "a yellow snow-capped mountain," with sunlight-reflecting craters providing the bright "snow." She went on to call the region "a jaundiced cheek of the Moon."
"There are so many colors now," Glover, Artemis II's pilot, added while photographing the area. "There's also a green. I see brown, especially Aristarchus and north toward the north pole. … It kind of flows down from the north in brown streaks."
According to the report authors, these colorful hues "could be associated with orange (titanium-rich) and green (magnesium-rich) glass beads respectively," similar to volcanic glass beads collected by the Apollo 15 and 17 missions on separate parts of the moon.
Another colorful patch of the lunar surface that caught the crew's attention was Orientale Basin — a huge, young and multiringed impact crater that's about three times as wide as Massachusetts, according to NASA. Straddling the moon's near and far sides, this massive bull's-eye is rarely visible from Earth, but it dominated the crewmembers' field of view as they orbited around the side of the moon.
"It has just created chaos across that entire area," Wiseman, commander for the mission, said at the time.
When flying over this sprawling basin, the crew noted gray, brown, tan and green below. The largest, outermost ring in the basin contained "almost swamp-like colors," Koch reported, while Glover spotted what looked like "dusted peaks" and "white on the very edges of [the mountains], the spines, the ridgebacks." Chains of craters parading away from the impact site looked "like bubbles rising from a team of scuba divers below," Koch added.
While these may sound like off-the-cuff observations, the Artemis II crew spent more than two years training to study and describe the moon's geology. Their regimen included visiting craters on Earth, taking lessons individually and in classrooms, conducting simulated flybys and, according to the report, bringing "self-selected reference materials" into the Orion capsule to read on the way to the moon.
Thanks to this training, the crew's observations provided a wealth of scientific information that no autonomous camera or orbiter could, the report said.
"The Artemis II mission demonstrated the exceptional value of human observation and cognition as scientific assets in planetary exploration," the report authors concluded. "Unlike cameras, which capture isolated moments and often narrow subsets of a scene, human observers continuously interpret their surroundings, integrating realtime visual perception with contextual understanding."
Or, to put that in Glover's more relatable words to mission control, "It's quite a wicked view."
'> 'Swamp-like colors' on the moon: NASA report reveals strange sights from Artemis II mission
to bring down the water to cities gradually. But some, such as the aqueduct at Aspendos in Turkey, had sections where they had to go uphill. So how did the Romans get water to
One strategy was a system called an inverted siphon (sometimes simply called a siphon).
At Aspendos, in southern Turkey, there is a second-century-A.D. Roman aqueduct with inverted siphons that scholars have reconstructed with a virtual modeling simulation. To get water through a valley, the Romans built a "header tank" on one end of the valley and a slightly lower "receiving tank" (or "outlet tank") on the other side. In the valley, they constructed two towers between the tanks, Paul Kessener, a researcher in the Department of Language and Culture Studies at Radboud University in the Netherlands, noted in an article published in 2000 in the Journal of Roman Archaeology.
As water dropped down a steep hill, the resulting pressure pushed it up the first tower before dropping it steeply down the other side, with the force allowing it to climb the second tower. The water eventually reached the receiving tank on the other side of the valley and continued toward the city of Aspendos.
It was important to prevent air pockets from forming as the water went through the inverted siphons. The header and receiving tanks were relatively large, allowing air bubbles to escape, Giovanni De Feo, a professor of industrial engineering at the University of Salerno in Italy, noted in an email.
"As the flow entered a relatively large chamber, its velocity decreased, allowing air bubbles to rise naturally to the water surface and escape through the open top of the structure," De Feo explained. This reduced the risk of air pockets forming.
While the Romans used inverted siphons to move water upward in an aqueduct, they employed other devices to push water out.
Perhaps the best known of these devices is the Archimedes screw, which was sometimes used to help lift water from rivers to fields. (It was allegedly designed by Archimedes, a Greek inventor who lived during the third century B.C. However, it might have actually been invented at an earlier time, noted historians Stephanie Dalley and John Peter Oleson in a 2003 paper.) When "turned by use of animal power, [it] can effectively raise water from lower river heights to higher land area heights," Ortloff said.
Water wheels were also used to lift water, including in Roman mines. "The water wheel is a device that raises water and that is made up of several buckets that are fastened to a big wheel," scientists wrote in a 2024 paper. This "kind of wheel resembles a carriage wheel but it is larger and features buckets to catch water in addition to its larger size," they explained.
Another device, sometimes known as Ctesibius' pump, "was hand-moved, operating a wooden lever with a swinging motion," the scientists wrote. It had two cylinders connected to a central chamber through pistons, and the driven water exited through a nozzle connected to the central chamber.
Whatever method was used, the Romans would not let an uphill climb stop them from bringing water where they wanted it to go.
"If anybody had said, 'You're going to work with big cats for 25 years of your career,' I would have said 'No, I don't know anything about big cats,'" he told Live Science. "But I learned from scientists and local people," he added. "That was very, very important — that's what, to me, was the biggest change in my life."
Together with his wife, author and environmental journalist Sharon Guynup, Winter has helped change laws around big cats in the U.S.; revealed the horrors of the Tiger Temple in Bangkok, resulting in its closure; and took an iconic photograph of the cougar P-22 beneath the Hollywood sign, which eventually led to the creation of the world's largest highway wildlife corridor over Highway 101 in California.
In their new book, "Big Cats" (National Geographic Books, 2026), Winter and Guynup provide a retrospective of their careers, looking at the fragility of these predators, the conservation work helping to save them, and the challenges they still face. Live Science spoke with Winter about his career, the changes he's seen, and why he's hopeful for the future.
Steve Winter has won numerous international awards, including BBC Wildlife Photographer of the Year and BBC Wildlife Photojournalist of the Year. He lectures internationally on photography and conservation issues and has been interviewed on CBS Nightly News, 60 Minutes, NPR, BBC and CNN. He contributes regularly to National Geographic magazine, for which he can spend months working on a single story. He’s camped for weeks in steamy jungles, vast grasslands, and at 15,000 feet in the Himalayas to capture cats’ stunning beauty and secret behaviors. (Image credit: Steve Winter)Hannah Osborne: You've traveled all over the world and seen so many things. Is there one photograph that really sticks out for you, one that you come back to and think about?
Steve Winter: I always look at the images that have had an impact at the time. That makes a huge difference to me, because in the end, I know that in taking this [photograph], not only did I succeed beyond my wildest expectations, but it's making a difference in the world. Right now, I have just been putting remote cameras up on what will be the world's largest wildlife overpass, and that was started by my Hollywood cougar picture of P-22, Puma 22, under the Hollywood sign. [Editor's note: The common names cougar, puma and mountain lion all refer to the same species, Puma concolor.]
That changed so much in Los Angeles. I've never seen a city be transformed in their love for the fact that they have a mountain lion in a park in the city. What came of that was [people] thinking, "Hey, maybe we should connect these areas where these animals are living." [Editor's note: The Wallis Annenberg Wildlife Crossing over the 10-lane Highway 101 that was inspired by the cougar P-22 is due to open Dec. 2.]
To think about that is pretty amazing, so right now, P-22 and the Hollywood cougar is my go-to image.
He became a celebrity in the land of celebrities; people loved him. There's a P-22 day; schools are using urban wildlife in their curriculum. The LA Natural History Museum has a permanent exhibit, and what is right in the center of it? The Hollywood cougar picture.
HO: How did the P-22 photograph come about?
SW: As wildlife photographers, we will often go to these meetings where people are gathering to save elephants, to save this, to save that. So I went to meet the scientists that worked with these cats in the largest urban park in the United States. I asked Jeff Sikich, a biologist for the National Park Service, "[Do] you have a lot of trails in that park? Do you have any that the cats walk on where you could see the lights of LA in the background?" He kept saying no.
When you're working with camera traps, it's very important to visualize the picture in your mind that you're after [when] you visit a spot. I just said, "Well, Jeff, you know what would really tell the story of urban wildlife is if we had a mountain lion under the Hollywood sign." He looked at me like I'm crazy, and said, "There's no mountain lions in Griffith Park." I said, "If anything changes, let me know."
Eight months later, I got a text. They had a trail camp set up to census bobcats [Lynx rufus] in the park, and there was P-22.
A cougar that biologists had chased into a tree so they could collar it to monitor its movements via GPS. (Image credit: Steve Winter)With camera traps, you don't need to sit, and I learned that from the beginning. For the second story I did, it was photographing a quetzal, which is a sacred bird of the Maya and the Aztecs. I knew nothing about birds, either. It's got a meter-long [3 feet] tail. I was enamored by the fact that it had a historical background — they used quetzal feathers as a form of currency; they were sacred birds.
I loved all that, but working on that story in a cloud forest in Guatemala on top of a mountain all by myself, every morning I'd come down and set my camera up on the tripod [near the bird's nest], and then take it away at the end of the day. I'd walk back, and all of a sudden, the hair on the back of my head would stand up and on my arm, and I'd get this tingling feeling and it's like, what's going on? I'd turn around. You can't see anything in a rainforest or a cloud forest because the proliferation of life is everywhere. One night when I'm reading my book in the one room shack that I was staying in my bunk bed, all I hear is the stairs creaking. Then I hear the floorboards creaking. Then I hear scratching, and then sniffing, outside the door.
I grabbed the walkie-talkie to call Juan Carlos, the naturalist that I was working with. He would find the quetzal nests for me. I asked him, in Spanish, "Juan Carlos, what is this?"
And he said, "Oh, Steve, don't worry; it's just a black panther [Panthera onca]." I've been there five weeks, and I said, "Well, how come it took you so long to tell me there was a black jaguar here?" And he said, "We didn't want to worry you."
Two Asiatic lionesses greeting each other with a nose-to-nose touch. (Image credit: Steve Winter)HO: Throughout the book, you look at topics like poaching, captive tigers in the Tiger Temple in Thailand, and the way they're kept in the U.S. for entertainment. And a lot of these things are still going on. How do you cope with seeing that side of their lives?
SW: When I was first working on tigers, I was in Thailand. I was wanting to work in Thailand and Sumatra because they were the two subspecies that experts said may go extinct. I was working with the most incredible group of scientists I've probably ever worked with. They were trying to save the Indo-Chinese tiger [Panthera tigris corbetti] in Thailand.
But close by was this place called the Thai Tiger Temple. And I said, "Hey, guys; I'd like to go there." And they said, "No, Steve; don't go. These are bad people, and we think they're involved in the black-market trade of tiger parts and tigers to Laos and then into China."
That's a good reason for me to go if you don't want me to go. The first thing I saw was this huge sign that said "conservation." This was a Buddhist monastery. For some reason, the abbot had been given a tiger cub about 10 years before, and he fell in love with tigers. So they started a tiger tourism operation that brought in at least $3 million a year.
I could see something was fishy right away, because by then, I'd learned a lot about these cats. They kept saying that they always had 150 tigers. But you could pet tiger cubs for Instagram selfies or bottle-feed them 365 days a year. If you're breeding tigers, what are you going to have? More tigers. Something was happening to them, because the death rate wouldn't take over the birth rate when you're speed-breeding cubs, which is what they were doing. A female has cubs; they take them away immediately so she'll be ready to have another litter. You can only use the cubs for three months because after that, they're too big to pet.
They had all these tourist things where you could get a selfie with a head of a tiger in your lap. I was saying, "Why are these tigers acting so sleepy?" They're taking this giant head of a tiger and putting it in somebody's lap that's sitting on the concrete. You would think that if you put the head of a tiger in your lap, you're going to end up with your head in their mouth.
[Editor's note: Winter and Guynup worked together on an investigation into the Tiger Temple in 2016, which eventually led to it being exposed for its abuse and connections with the illegal wildlife trade. Shortly after, the Tiger Temple was shut to the public.]
Sharon did the investigation, and I already had pictures. But we went to do a video and go visit the temple again … By the time we got done, the TV stations in Bangkok had taken the video and showed it all over on the nightly news. We kept working on this, and Sharon wrote four more stories. And after the last one, the Thai government was inundated with people calling for the prime minister to shut it down. They went in with the army and the police, and what they found was horrific. They went to the freezer. There were tigers hanging on meat hooks, cubs in jars, with a little Thai flag on them. They shut it down.
Three tigers that were rescued from Joe Exotic's Oklahoma zoo cooling down at the Wild Animal Sanctuary in Colorado. (Image credit: Steve Winter)Stopping this is really important. After that, we did a story on tigers in the U.S., which was very difficult psychologically. It was one thing to see them in Thailand, but we had always heard that there were more tigers in the United States than there are in the wild, and people would go, "What are you talking about? We don't have tigers here."
Sharon and I … we found a lot of the same speed-breeding cubs at these roadside zoos, whether it was Doc Antle's Myrtle Beach that was $500 a day, or some dumpy little place on the road down south where you can give them $10 to look at a tiger. They were everywhere.
After that story came out, the National Geographic Society gave a copy of this 30-page story that we had done for the magazine to every member of Congress. We got this text on 20th December, 2022, that President Biden had signed the Big Cat Public Safety Act, which outlawed all that. We were part of getting this law passed, which was incredible.
HO: What are some of the biggest changes in conservation you've seen over your career?
SW: Conservation was changing a lot in the '90s and 2000s. Alan Rabinowitz [a zoologist who served as the president, CEO and chief scientist at Panthera Corp., a nonprofit conservation organization devoted to protecting wild cats] had this idea after he had a lot of scientists in Central and South America give him data on where they were working and where jaguars were. When he took it away and just showed the locations, he goes, this is a corridor, a natural corridor, because now we're talking a lot about connectivity and how roads get in the way. It's like animals are in prison because they can't cross these big freeways or even small ones. Find out where animals are, their migrating paths, and put in an overpass or an underpass or something.
A Cape leopard cub in the Cederberg Wilderness Area in South Africa. (Image credit: Steve Winter)All this was happening, all this new science, new conservation. That was all spearheaded by the work of [biologist and conservationist] George Schaller, who became a friend of ours. What a life that we've had — and are having. We're still working on the connectivity part right now.
HO: Are you hopeful for the big cats in LA?
SW: Oh, definitely. The ones that live in the Santa Monica National Recreation Area will be able to cross the 101 and then go all the way to San Jose. They could actually then hug the top of a certain mountain and get close to San Francisco, which is incredible to think about now. It's a huge metropolitan area, so you're leaving one, going to another. But there's so much land in between, and they can cross safely.
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HO: What made you specialize in big cats in the first place, and what's the draw that keeps you coming back?
SW: Big cats are so charismatic and, to me, mystical. And they're an umbrella species, so if you save the largest predator, which is usually a big cat in any landscape, you save everything underneath it.
I was just taken over by these animals. National Geographic had never done a jaguar story before. I found out really quick why: You can't see them. I tried to use remote cameras, camera traps, but they're really smart. They'll go around them, so they don't have the flash going off or they don't like the sound or the smell of meat on these waterproof boxes and the cords and all that.
I just fell in love with big cats, and what a life to be able to work with every one of them. The only one that was on my list that I haven't done is the Amur tiger, Siberian tiger [Panthera tigris altaica]. When I was ready to photograph them with the scientists that had been monitoring them for over a decade, [the tigers] got canine distemper and about 60% died.
Big cats really bounce back when you give them protection, and there was protection given after you lose this many. All the study tigers that had the GPS collars on, the ones they could monitor, died. But the population bounced back, and there's more now than there were before.
I won't get to photograph Amur tigers. And the reason is, there's people — locals — who are working on it, and they're doing an incredible job. I've got a book here that has all the cats that I've worked on. The impact these stories have had, and the change that's come about, is what really makes me proud.
This interview has been condensed and edited lightly for clarity.
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National Geographic
Big Cats
National Geographic photographer Steve Winter has spent his career photographing big cats around the world, from the graceful jaguars of Brazil’s Pantanal to the elusive Himalayan snow leopard. His photographs astound; his stories, even more so. In Big Cats, Winter and environmental journalist Sharon Guynup share experiences behind the lens.
In chapters on every key species—cougar, jaguar, leopard, snow leopard, tiger, and lion—readers will witness the power of Winter’s work, including uplifting stories of how his photographs have made a difference and powered important conservation efforts on behalf of these mighty creatures.
'> Photojournalist Steve Winter on his iconic Hollywood puma image, the illegal tiger trade and having a black panther knock on his door So does writing speed up cultural change or slow it down?
Russell Gray, a professor in the Department of Linguistic and Cultural Evolution at the Max Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology in Germany, heads a research project investigating how writing affects the way languages change. His team uses methods borrowed from evolutionary biology to trace languages through family trees — similar to the way biologists trace species.
Language is one element of culture that researchers can measure to determine whether writing speeds up or slows down cultural change.
"The obvious answer," Gray said, is that writing slows culture down because writing "is all codified and specified and people get trained in it." Gray doesn’t think the obvious answer is necessarily the right one. But other researchers agree that writing can lock in ways of thinking.
"Writing can lead to what learning psychologists sometimes call 'canalization,'" Charles Perreault, an associate professor in the School of Human Evolution and Social Change at Arizona State University, told Live Science in an email. "It can narrow the range of ways people think about a problem. When a rule, method, or story is written down, people may come to see it as the correct version … and may not even consider that a better or different way could exist."
Religious texts and legal codes are good examples. In both cases, the interpretation of rules written hundreds — or even thousands — of years ago shapes the way things are done, long after the circumstances that produced them have changed.
Eadwine the Scribe, from a 12th Century psalter written at Christ Church, Canterbury by Eadwine. For much of the Middle Ages and before the invention of the printing press, transcriptions written by monks were the primary cultural bridge preserving early Christian writings, and classic Greek and Latin texts, for posterity. (Image credit: UniversalImagesGroup via Getty Images)This idea shows up in artistic expression, too: A 2017 analysis by ethnomusicologist Patrick Savage looked at more than 4,000 British-American ballads from the 16th through 20th centuries and found that written melodies changed less than those shared through oral tradition.
But there are also ways that writing may speed up cultural change.
"Before writing, much cultural knowledge had to be stored in people's brains," Perreault said. "That has obvious limits."
People forget things they don't study routinely, and when people die, their knowledge often dies with them. Because writing moves information storage beyond the human brain, it can reduce those losses, Perreault said.
"If writing prevents knowledge from being lost, and if it also helps information spread through a society, as with the printing press, then it could accelerate the ratchet effect of cumulative cultural evolution," Perreault said. "But this remains, to some extent, a hypothesis."
By the book
One reason the question of whether written language speeds or slows cultural evolution is that writing is hard to separate from everything that comes with it.
Writing has been separately invented only around four times in human history — although "some people argue there's a fifth in India," Gray said — which means nearly every writing system on Earth descends from that handful. Those systems spread through contact; trade, war, religion and the other ways humans intermingle had their own effects on cultural change that are hard to untangle from the effects of writing.
Also, "mass literacy is quite recent," Gray said. "If you've got these written varieties that are just used by, often, religious elites, that's potentially going to have much less impact."
So which force wins? Both experts think writing speeds up cultural change, though neither can prove it yet.
"I would say that writing probably speeds up cultural change overall," Perreault said. Gray agreed, though he acknowledged that most people would guess the opposite.
Still, Perreault cautioned, "these are empirical questions that have yet to be answered empirically."
'> Does written language speed up or slow down cultural change? tested positive during the week ending Sept. 27, 2025.
The early uptick in flu is mostly unfolding in Western states, including Washington, California and Arizona. In Washington, for example, the share of emergency department visits diagnosed as flu climbed from 0.25% in the week ending Aug. 29 to 1.34% in the week ending Oct. 3, according to CDC emergency department data. That's a more than fivefold increase over six weeks.
Where the flu took off first isn't a warning sign in itself, Schaffner noted.
"There's nothing unusual about flu starting in the West Coast and moving east," he said. Recent seasons have more often begun in the Southeast or Midwest, he noted, but "it can start almost anywhere."
Nowadays, seasonal flu is caused by three subtypes of flu viruses: two subtypes of influenza A, called H1N1 and H3N2, and the Victoria lineage of influenza B. (A second subtype of influenza B used to circulate but is now thought to be extinct.)
Schaffner likens influenza A and B to siblings. "They're very related, but they each have their own individual characteristics," he said. Influenza A strains usually cause the biggest outbreaks early in the season, while influenza B strains "kind of smolder along" and account for most cases toward the end, he noted.
This year, H1N1 has taken the initial lead. Of the influenza A samples that public health labs subtyped during the week ending Sept. 26, 96% were identified as H1N1, according to CDC data. That doesn't mean H1N1 will continue to dominate throughout the season; it just gives a snapshot of what's happening now.
An early start to the season doesn't guarantee it'll be a severe one, either. In its 2026-2027 season outlook, the CDC projected that this season will likely be moderate, although it has only low-to-moderate confidence in that forecast.
Influenza is especially dangerous for children under 5, adults 65 and older, people with chronic health conditions and pregnant people, as these groups are more prone to severe infections. Serious cases of flu can lead to complications such as pneumonia, sepsis, and brain or heart inflammation, and in some cases, they can be deadly. Tens of thousands of people die of flu each season in the U.S.
For flu vaccination, timing matters. The CDC generally doesn't recommend vaccination in July or August for most adults, because the shot's protection can wane over the course of a season. But with flu arriving early, "October is the ideal time to get vaccinated, and even more so right now," Schaffner said.
When circulating strains' features differ from those captured in the vaccine, "that usually predicts a more difficult season," Offit said. That said, it's too early to know if this year's flu shots are a good match for the circulating flu viruses.
Protection begins building right after you get the shot, but it takes up to about two weeks to reach full strength.
While the vaccines are less reliable at preventing mild cases of flu, Schaffner said, they work best at "keeping you out of the hospital, keeping you out of the intensive care unit, and keeping you out of the cemetery."
There's also a new option: In August, the Food and Drug Administration approved mFlusiva, the first mRNA flu vaccine, for adults 50 and older. (You can find out where mFlusiva shots are available near you using Moderna's vaccine finder.) With the mRNA shot, "you're less likely to get symptomatic disease," Offit told Live Science.
Traditional flu shots contain purified pieces of the virus itself, Schaffner explained. With mRNA, the vaccine contains a "blueprint" of those proteins — essentially a set of genetic instructions that the body's cells then use. In mFlusiva's case, those instructions code for hemagglutinin (the protein on the virus's surface that it uses to latch onto human cells) from each of three flu subtypes, Offit said. The mRNA then breaks down in the body, Offit noted. It "cannot influence human genetic material," Schaffner emphasized.
Whether this early start gives way to a heavy flu season should become clearer in the coming weeks, as the CDC's weekly surveillance reports will show whether cases keep climbing beyond the West.
This article is for informational purposes only and is not meant to offer medical advice.
'> 'October is the ideal time to get vaccinated': Flu season is kicking off early, experts say