Berlyn Brixner’s sequence capturing the first milliseconds of the Trinity Test explosion, and his Manhattan Project ID card photo. Bulletin illustration; images from Los Alamos National Laboratory
Finally I could remove the goggles and watch the ball of fire rise rapidly. It was surrounded by a huge cloud of transparent purplish air produced in part by the radiations from the bomb and its fission products. No one who saw it could forget it, a foul and awesome display.[1]
—Kenneth Bainbridge, physicist and director of the Trinity Test
Point Zero
Just before sunrise on July 16, 1945, in the New Mexico desert, and witnessed through welder’s goggles by a small group of scientists, military personnel, and support workers at a high-security site that now is part of the White Sands Missile Range in New Mexico, the Trinity Test would go on to put the words “fireball” and “mushroom cloud” into our vocabularies. Less than a month later, atomic bombs were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki in Japan, bringing the Second World War to an end and conjuring up often ominous visions of the new world ahead. Oppenheimer—the movie—has made these faded images new again, for viewers old enough to remember ducking under their desks in grade school or huddling with family in front of the TV to watch President John F. Kennedy telling Americans about Soviet missiles just 90 miles off the US shores, as well as for younger viewers for whom the risk of nuclear war remains largely an abstraction.
Filming an event of blinding intensity that progressed in millisecond increments was one of the many technical challenges faced by the Manhattan Project workers at Los Alamos. Leadership on optics and high-speed photography rested with Julian Mack (1903-1966), a physics professor at the University of Wisconsin, and Berlyn Brixner (1911-2009), a cultural and landscape photographer now put in charge of the motion picture cameras. Nothing was left to chance. Fifty-two cameras, wired to the weapon's firing system, were deployed in concrete bunkers at 800 and 10,000 yards from the bomb tower.
Berlyn Brixner, chief photographer for the Trinity Test[a] operates an electric drill during camera installation at the observation site 10,000 yards north of Point Zero (designated N10,000) in preparation for the Trinity Test. Los Alamos National Laboratory
Brixner in a gun turret used to photograph the Trinity Test. The turret protected the photographer who was in an exposed position outside of the observation bunker, while allowing him to pan up and follow the ascending mushroom cloud. His camera had a blackened viewfinder[b] to protect him from inadvertently looking directly at the light of 10 suns[c] coming from Point Zero. Los Alamos National Laboratory
Brixner in a gun turret with a pair of motion picture cameras, photographing a bomb drop test, probably at the US Army Air Force bombing range, Wendover, Utah, in 1945.[d] The idea for the gun turrets used at Trinity seems to have come from Brixner's experience in the bomb ballistics work.[e] Los Alamos National Laboratory
The amount of energy that the bomb would release was debated by the team, with estimates ranging from zero to 80 kilotons of TNT equivalent—think the betting scene featuring Enrico Fermi in Oppenheimer.[2] A last-minute increase in the blast damage-assessment over that used during bunker construction meant that Brixner had to scramble to come up with a new design for the 800-yard sites. To ensure the integrity of the cameras and film, he added extra steel reinforcement, lead shielding to limit film-fogging by radiation, and 12-inch-thick leaded glass windows at the camera viewing ports. Mounting the cameras on a sled with a long cable enabled towing by a lead-shielded M4 Sherman tank, from the close-in zone of high residual radioactivity to a site more distant from Point Zero, where the film could be safely unloaded.[3]
The same tanks were used by Fermi and Herb Anderson to collect soil samples in the area near where the bomb tower once stood. Their purpose, like that of Mack and Brixner, was the same: to provide the data needed to calculate the total amount of energy released in the explosion—the yield—in advance of the US Army Air Forces' missions on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Indeed, Mack's lobbying of Kenneth Bainbridge for a 100-foot bomb tower to optimize the photography of the early stages of fireball expansion and thereby improve yield determination appears to be at least partially responsible—along with reduction of fallout—for its construction and usage.[4]
The mushroom cloud billowed up on a time scale of seconds to minutes. For tracking cameras aimed here, Brixner employed machine-gun turrets, salvaged from bombers[5] and mounted atop the bunkers at 10,000 yards. Their armor shielded the photographer from the blast, and they could tilt to follow the ascending plume. The first moments of the explosion operated on an infinitely smaller time scale and required cameras running at 10,000 frames per second to record the rate of expansion and change in character of the fireball. At this film speed, a 16-mm camera would run through 100 feet of film in 0.4 seconds.[6] The end-product was a mesmerizing study of the symmetrical expansion of the spherical blast wave front[7]—a boundary demarcating the hot gases generated by the blast—propagating through the atmosphere in milliseconds, then to be blunted by the earth below the bomb tower. This ground strike at 0.65 milliseconds—the time for the shock-wave front to traverse the distance from the tower platform to the ground—threw up a "skirt of hot, lumpy matter"[8]largely composed of the soil of the desert floor that had been sucked up by convective rise of hot gases and fused by the intense heat, before being carried aloft and deposited downwind as fallout. It is shock and awe, terror and wonder, delivered in the blink of an eye.
There is a scene in Oppenheimer at the S10,000 observation bunker, as the rain lets up near the approach of dawn. Frank Oppenheimer—J. Robert’s brother—tells the science team to throw the switches buried in a box beneath the desert soil and tells the soldiers to "turn the cars on" to make a hasty retreat after the detonation. The external exposure and inhalation-derived radiation hazard that would soon envelope the site came in the form of cooling gases and fallout dust, laden with fission products, neutron activation products, and residual plutonium.[9] Mack would ominously report: "A smoke pall remains on the ground for hours."
One of the most enduring images from the nuclear weapons testing program at the Nevada Test Site in the 1950s is the sight of soldiers emerging from trenches after the blast and advancing toward the billowing mushroom cloud.[10] In 2014, a year before his death, physicist Ralph Nobles, whose team carried out seismic monitoring during the Trinity Test, describes a somewhat reminiscent scene unfolding at N10,000: Rather than turn the cars and immediately hightail it back to the base camp, Brixner waited until the fireball showed some evidence of cooling, then he and assistant Ralph Conrad jumped in one of the carryall trucks and headed towards Point Zero (now Ground Zero) to retrieve film cassettes from the cameras installed at N9,000. They worked quickly to unload the film, as fine debris from a reddish haze settled on them. Speeding back, radiation monitors at each 1,000-yard increment from where the steel tower once stood triggered in sequence, indicating to the remaining crew at N10,000, poised to evacuate the site as part of a convoy as required by the test protocol, the rapid advance of the fallout cloud on their position. "Go! Brix Go!" was the rallying cry as he sped down the road, arriving just as the N9,000 radiation monitor tripped. Back to the base camp, ten miles southwest of Ground Zero, Conrad's and Brixner's film badges showed only minimal radiation exposure.[11]
The early-stage fireball at 16 milliseconds, taken from the N10,000 observation site manned by Brixner. The system designed by Mack and Brixner was able to resolve the expansion of the fireball at increments of 0.1 milliseconds.[i] Plots of the radius vs. time were then used by Hans Bethe, Klaus Fuchs, and others[j] to determine the yield. Amid complex graphs, Mack's 1946 report, with the subdued title July 16th nuclear explosion, space-time relationships, paints vivid depictions of how the never-before-seen event progressed, his descriptions transcending the boundaries of science: the ball of fire, spikes, blisters, and curtain of light; a transition to a smoke-cloud stage; and finally, a faint purple haze atop the mushroom cloud. Mack attributed the success of the photography program at the Trinity Test to foresight and "sheer good luck."[k] Los Alamos National Laboratory
It has been alleged that Brixner's 16-millisecond fireball photo was initially banned from public release "since it was considered far more provocative than the habitual mushroom cloud" and "unlike a cloud, the bubble did not appear natural".[12] Certainly, the milky cloud does stand in marked contrast to the harsh interface of the early-stage fireball images. However, there is no evidence that there was any specific suppression of the release of these photos by the US government. Photos of the expanding fireball appeared in the Chicago Daily Tribune on August 18, 1945, just nine days after "Fat Man" was dropped on Nagasaki.[13] These photos appeared without the time stamp needed to calculate the weapon's yield based upon the rate of expansion of the blast wave front, and hence were qualitatively instructive but presented no threat to national security.
Estimating the explosive yield
Public release of high-quality imagery, with elapsed times indicated, by way of Atomic Energy Commission (AEC) declassification of an April 1946 pictorial report on Trinity by Julian Mack, took place on July 17, 1947,[14] a date deliberately selected to coincide with the second anniversary of the test. However, AEC’s two-year embargo was also most certainly used to restrict Soviet access to strategic information on the test's yield, and it appears that the report might not have been widely distributed for another two years. Indeed, it is not until 1949 that the photos on Mack's report were used in a journal article by Cambridge University physicist Geoffrey Taylor, a former British member of the Manhattan Project at Los Alamos and witness to the Trinity Test,[15] to estimate the yield at between 17 and 24 kilotons. This is in good agreement with the current best estimate of 25 kilotons, determined in 2021 using radiochemical methods on samples of the trinitite, the green glass that formed by the melting of soil minerals around the tower. Taylor's article was essentially the first public release of this militarily important value. He noted that in addition to the photos by Brixner that appeared in the Mack report, he also used clearer, glossy prints of the same photos, sent to him by Norris Bradbury, the director of Los Alamos National Laboratory, indicative of the US government’s tacit approval of public disclosure of the yield at this point. Nevertheless, according to his biographer, Cambridge mathematician George Batchelor, Taylor was "mildly admonished by the US Army for publishing his deductions from their (unclassified) photographs."[16]
Yet with all this intrigue about the Trinity yield, there was already a number out in the public forum—and it was allegedly from the Hiroshima bombing. Following the dropping of the untested Little Boy bomb, President Harry Truman addressed the nation on August 6, 1945, opening his speech:
“Sixteen hours ago an American airplane dropped one bomb on Hiroshima, an important Japanese Army base. That bomb had more power than 20,000 tons of T.N.T.”[17]
But where did that 20-kiloton figure come from? It seems unlikely that the complex measurements made by the observation plane at Hiroshima, using parachuted pressure sensors and other means, would have been analyzed within such a limited 16-hour time frame. AEC historians Richard Hewlett and Oscar Anderson have indicated that the 20,000 tons were part of a last-minute rewrite of the opening paragraph by Gen. Leslie Groves, who had overseen the Manhattan Project. Measurement of the growth rate of the fireball at Trinity would have been the most robust technique available, and less prone to spatial variability than other methods, putting Mack and Brixner’s yield estimate front and center in the public's understanding of the extraordinarily destructive power of nuclear weaponry.
The 20 kiloton-ballpark value became a de facto yardstick for judging the fission-based, nuclear weapons tests by the friend and foe, and the need for duck-and-cover drills from 1946 to 1952. The development, in the early 1950s, of fusion-based, thermonuclear weapons and the escalating arms race with the Soviet Union rendered this point of comparison obsolete, and by 1961, the Soviets had tested a 50,000 kilotons (50 megaton) thermonuclear weapon—a weapon 2,500 times more powerful than that of Hiroshima.
J. Robert Oppenheimer, as portrayed by actor Cillian Murphy, in the S10,000 bunker, at the shielded viewing ports; from the 2023 film Oppenheimer by director Christopher Nolan. Universal Pictures
In what is probably a nod from one filmmaker to another, director Christopher Nolan sets Oppenheimer in the control bunker located at S10,000. There, he stands at the ready against the backdrop of a motion picture camera and a cameraman. Although not a named character or credited cast member in the film, the viewer of Oppenheimer is, in essence, seeing a member of the Mack-Brixner motion picture team and one of their high-speed cameras, as Oppie is bathed in the flash of the exploding bomb.
Photographer of the extreme
Recording an explosion of this magnitude, compounded by the presence of penetrating ionizing radiation, puts this in the category of extreme photography. Cameras were damaged, and film was fogged. But with the redundancy built into the deployment of cameras, about 100,000 useable images remained available for study.[18] The 35-millimeter footage was highly prized by General Groves, who had Brixner bring the films to Washington, D.C., soon after Trinity and before the missions targeting Japan. Duplicate negatives were needed for newsreel release, and Brixner worked with the chief of the Naval Photographic Science Laboratory—a sprawling facility at the Anacostia Naval Air Station (now Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling), who was skilled in both motion picture film processing techniques and the handling of classified materials. There were glitches—both human and machine—in photography on both the Hiroshima and Nagasaki missions.[19] The Trinity Test imagery, therefore, assumed even greater importance. On August 16, 1945—seven days after the bombing of Nagasaki—the newsreels across the nation began showing Brixner's motion picture footage.[20]
When the war ended, Brixner was in the first wave of Manhattan Project scientists to enter Japan. In a curious twist of fate, reflective of the fog of nuclear war, Brixner and Edwin McMillan (a chemist who would share the Nobel Prize with Glenn Seaborg in 1951) discovered a stock of unused photographic film at the Red Cross Hospital in Hiroshima, located less than two kilometers from ground zero. Similar film samples from Tokyo were obtained as controls and for exposure testing by Mack's optics group at Los Alamos. The results were not definitive but helped in the early assessment of radiation dose to inhabitants at Hiroshima.[21]
Mack returned to the University of Wisconsin after the war. In April 1946, he authored a Los Alamos report, Semi-popular motion-picture record of the Trinity explosion.[22] In his transmittal memorandum to Bradbury, Mack indicated a serious intent “to let a complete motion picture be made according to the scenario listed below, preferably for general commercial circulation as a 'short', or if that is impossible, to be treated as an educational film.”
Although the teaching moments included in the outline—discussions of "shock wave reflection" and the like—might sound awkward for the average moviegoer, the dramatic shots of fireballs and mushroom clouds—both as still and motion pictures—that Mack assembled and sequenced, shows that he viewed the project as more than an "other duties as assigned" task. Complete with narration highlights and places for insertion of animation sequences explaining topics such as convective rise, the report effectively storyboards the proposed film. Mack's attention to cinematic detail is impressive; for example, to give the viewers a sense of the time intervals depicted in the motion picture clips, the plan was to overlay a clock dial. It is not clear if the film was ever made, either by a US government agency or a commercial studio.
The scale of Trinity Test’s early fireball at 25 milliseconds, as depicted in Jullian Mack's April 1946 report Semi-popular motion-picture record of the Trinity explosion. The horizontal bar represents 100 meters, and the Washington Monument is 169 meters tall. US Atomic Energy Commission
The scale of the mushroom cloud at 10 seconds. The horizontal bar represents 100 meters, and the Empire State Building is 381 meters tall. (Not easily seen in this picture, the tip of the building is lower than half the height of the cloud.) US Atomic Energy Commission
After the war, Brixner, who began his career at Los Alamos making blueprints and photostats, became the leader of the optics group. Along with MIT Professor Harold Edgerton—also known as "Papa Flash"— who pioneered the use of stroboscopic light coupled with high-speed photography to study faster than the naked eye events such as the bursting of soap bubbles—Brixner went on to develop advanced systems to investigate the even more destructive power of the emerging hydrogen bombs.
Photographs taken for technical use were also used for public relations efforts by the AEC, and the inherent character of the images and their embedded storytelling elements have made Brixner's work uniquely valued in the niche community of the Atomic Photographers Guild,[23] who have embraced Brixner as their unofficial dean. But how did Berlyn Brixner arrive at this place?
The road to Trinity
The scientific staff at Los Alamos was largely drawn to the site by the academic network or through the Army Specialized Training Program. But Brixner's path was far different. On December 12, 1932, the New York Times reported:
That 21-year-old science student was none other than Berlyn Brixner. His companions had lowered him into a lava tube in the crater northwest of El Paso. The rope broke, and Brixner fell more than 150 feet. "Embedded upright to his shoulders in pulverized bat dung," he was roped to the surface, where he recovered during a month from a fractured ankle and other injuries. For putting themselves in harm’s way under harrowing conditions, the rescuers—a highway patrolman and a police secretary—were recognized by the Carnegie Hero Fund. [24]
Berlyn Brixner was born in El Paso, Texas, and attended the Texas College of Mines and Metallurgy (now the University of Texas at El Paso). Deciding that chemical engineering was not for him, Brixner moved to the University of Texas, where he discovered a liking for biology and geology. Although he left Austin without graduating, he continued his science interest by returning to El Paso and apprenticing during the early 1930s with a pathologist from whom he learned photography.[25] He went on to join the newly established Soil Conservation Service (SCS) as a regional photographer, working out of the Albuquerque field office in New Mexico and documenting both the people and the vast landscapes that characterize the southwestern United States.
Panoramic view of the Valley of El Rito, Rio Arriba County, New Mexico taken about three miles southeast of El Rito on October 20, 1937, by Berlyn Brixner. The image, now held by the National Archives-College Park, Maryland, was shot for comparison with a photo taken at the same camera position during the 1890-1910 era by Ben Wittick, a prolific western photographer, best known for his circa 1880 portrait of Billy the Kid, taken at Fort Sumner, New Mexico. (The only surviving, authenticated photograph of Billy, a tintype image by Wittick, sold at auction in 2011 for $2.3 million.)[l]
Much of Brixner’s photography with the SCS was closely tied to Civilian Conservation Corps projects in this region, such as the building of a 2400-foot wire-bound rock diversion structure to protect El Rito from flooding and provide water for irrigation of crops and pastures.[m] Note the camera on the rock outcrop in the right foreground corner, placed there by Brixner either for scale or to simply add some playful context. The camera depicted, and likely identical to the one used to take this photo, appears to be an Eastman View No. 2D.[n] Courtesy of the National Archives
At the time the SCS was established, persistent drought across the Great Plains led to the Dust Bowl that caused widespread crop failures and severe soil erosion. The SCS rapidly began addressing the crisis through on-the-ground demonstration projects, documented through photography, in select watersheds to advance scientific understanding of runoff and erosion processes and to develop effective conservation practices. Among these watersheds was the Upper Gila Watershed that originates in New Mexico and flows westward into Arizona.
By the early 1930s, much of the Upper Gila Watershed was overgrazed and damaged by soil erosion and gullying. Meadows and uplands that at one time were covered with lush grasses could no longer support the large numbers of cattle that were introduced to the area in the 1880s, and sediment delivery to downslope reservoirs became a concern. In response, the SCS set out to restore the degraded landscapes by reducing the erosive force of runoff. The work was accomplished with newly available federal funds and work relief programs, including the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) as part of President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s New Deal program, which built thousands of small rock erosion and runoff control structures by hand. Coupled with larger drainage structures and managed grazing, these conservation efforts were anticipated to create conditions for the lands to revegetate and heal. The SCS and CCC conservation work was expected to increase grass cover over time as the amount of bare soil that was subject to both wind and water erosion was reduced.
Though the SCS’s conservation efforts were not formally designed as research projects, within the larger demonstration projects, several small areas were set aside for measurement and experimental work. Fenced plots were established to study vegetation,[26] runoff and rainfall gages were installed,[27] and photo stations from which Brixner documented landscapes were established.[28]
In 1941, Brixner produced a series of photographs of the Upper Gila Watershed Project. The photographs were taken with a frame camera to produce 4-inch by 6-inch black and white contact prints, now archived at the US Department of Agriculture—Agricultural Research Service, Southwest Watershed Research Center in Tucson, Arizona. Vegetative cover and erosional features were being documented by Brixner and coworkers in the SCS to better understand the impacts of land use changes, a critical national need made evident by the economic devastation and loss of natural resources that characterized the Dust Bowl.
Brixner's experience in the autopsy room, documenting, with precision, the nature and properties of specimens and the "defects of patients," made him a good candidate to read the signs on the land and help decipher how a healthy or degraded condition might have come about. For this task, many of his photographs were taken from designated photo stations, allowing repeat photography over time. Photo archives are a valuable resource for the reconstruction of past environments, and repeat photography offers a chance to assess changes over time. (Repeat photography or rephotography is the act of photographing a landscape or cityscape in its current state and comparing it to old photographs.) The technique has found greatest use in arid and glacial terrains, and there is an eloquence to the language of those who practice and analyze the rephotographing of landscapes. Geologist and photographer Mark Kleet has described the method as producing a photographic diptych, where the photos act as bookends to the time in between.
US Geological Survey geomorphologist Luna Leopold (son of the pioneering conservationist Aldo Leopold), who, like Brixner, also worked with the SCS in New Mexico in the late 1930s, would later tap into Brixner's photos for rephotography to document additional landscape changes in the Southwest from the 1930s through to the 1950s.[29] Determining the cause of change based on repeat photography is often limited by a lack of land use history information. In the case of landscapes documented by Brixner, knowledge of the erosion control treatments in combination with hydrologic data collected since the 1930s and Leopold’s rephotography offers the opportunity to interpret the influence of climate change and land management in the recent past on ecosystem response. To date, although a complete ecological interpretation of the SCS work has not been done, many of Brixner’s original photo stations have been located based on photo notes and archival maps.
While landscape photography made up most of his work with SCS, the New Deal agency in this region had a broad agenda that included conservation economics, ethnography, and sociology, with considerable attention paid to the traditional Hispanic and Navajo communities. The photograph below of a wedding scene in Córdova, New Mexico, was one of Brixner's contributions to that effort in 1939. The church in the background was photographed by Ansel Adams in 1938 and later dates.[30] Brixner shared the photographic duties in Rio Arriba County with Irving Rusinow, who went on to work with famed photographer Dorothea Lange, best known for her 1936 portrait “Migrant Mother.” In 1941, Rusinow and Lange would document rural life in Taos County, New Mexico, for a sister agency to the SCS within the US Department of Agriculture—the Bureau of Agricultural Economics.[31]
Brixner worked for SCS until mid-1943, when he was recruited for the Manhattan Project by his childhood friend from El Paso, philosopher of science David Hawkins. A junior colleague of Oppenheimer at Berkeley, Hawkins had come to Los Alamos that same year as Oppie's "trouble-shooting assistant"[32] and served a dual role as the project's official historian. With their knowledge of the region, both Hawkins and Brixner played roles in the Trinity Test site selection.[33]
Wedding procession leaving church in Córdova, Rio Arriba County, New Mexico on February 15, 1939. The bride is Cora Vigil of Córdova, and the groom is Marcial Sandoval of nearby Truchas, New Mexico. Photograph by Berlyn Brixner. The photo came to the Palace of Governors collection in 1963 by donation from Adelina “Nina” Otero-Warren, a prominent figure in the suffrage movement in New Mexico. Courtesy of the Palace of the Governors Photo Archives, New Mexico History Museum / Department of Cultural Affairs (neg. 012034)
Capturing a new era
Images often have the power to speak louder than words—possessing an inherent ability to distill and amplify. The landscape images that Berlyn Brixner captured on film in the deserts of New Mexico were crafted to fit a pre-existing, utilitarian mold, yet they remain fresh and vital to this day, serving as critical baseline facts and artifacts on a timeline of accelerating impacts on the planet. The Trinity Test fireball images, taken by him just a few years later, ushered in a new world, in a metaphorical as well as a technological sense. Writer and photographer Esther Samra, who co-authored Picturing the Bomb: Photographs from the Secret World of the Manhattan Project (1996) with Rachel Fermi (Enrico Fermi's granddaughter), has eloquently described the next step in that progression:
"When they were first made, these photographs were used primarily as evidence. Now some of them, particularly those from Trinity, have accrued a meaning over and beyond that of scientific data: they have entered the matrix of contemporary culture." [34]
The concept of the Anthropocene, once only heard in classrooms and laboratories, is now discussed in dining rooms and legislative halls, when local as well as global-scale environmental impacts are considered. In 2015, the interdisciplinary Anthropocene Working Group, seeing the need for a demarcated, lower boundary for this time in which we live, stated:
” ... we suggest that the Anthropocene (formal or informal) be defined to begin historically at the moment of detonation of the Trinity A-bomb at Alamogordo, New Mexico, at 05:29:21 Mountain War Time (± 2 s) July 16, 1945 ...”
Brixner's fireball images preserved that moment on film, much in the way that the worldwide deposition of fallout particles has marked the beginning of the Anthropocene in the geological record. For most people today, the mushroom cloud, rather than the fireball, is the face of the doomsday nuclear war scenario. But as artist Kevin Hamilton and historian Ned O'Gorman have noted: "While 'Trinity,' Hiroshima, and Nagasaki each produced a mushroom cloud, it was [Operation Crossroads, the July 1946 test at Bikini Atoll] that transformed it into an object of fascination and anxiety, as well as something of a cultural image and icon."[35]
Colorized photo of the mushroom cloud at Operation Crossroads, Bikini Atoll, Baker Test, July 25, 1946, in which a Fat Man bomb was detonated undersea at a depth of 27 meters. Brixner was involved with the design of a new generation of cameras for Operation Crossroads.[o] ICAN
The arc of Brixner’s images presents a complex juxtaposition of the optimism inherent in efforts to restore degraded landscapes, and the unsettling threat of their destruction.
Acknowledgements: The authors thank John Murphey, Rachel Fermi, Robert Del Tredici, Alex Wellerstein, Alan B. Carr, Elizabeth C. Moyer, Brye A. Steeves, Jennifer L. Talhelm, John T. Moore, Teresina P. Angiola, Catie Carl, William Green, Sarah Bseirani, and Jewels Phaner.
Edward R. Landa is an adjunct professor in the Department of Environmental Science and Technology at the University of Maryland-College Park, and a ... Read More
Mary Nichols is a retired research hydraulic engineer with the US Department of Agriculture’s Agricultural Research Service Southwest Watershed ... Read More
Edward Landa
Mary Nichols
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