Imagine a world where the air we breathe is subtly poisoning us through invisible gases emitted from swamps, cities, and factories—gases that not only trap heat and worsen climate change but also threaten our health in ways we often overlook. This isn't just an alarmist tale; it's the heart of groundbreaking research from young scientists tackling atmospheric chemistry head-on. But here's where it gets controversial: Are we underestimating how human activities amplify these emissions, potentially prioritizing profit over planet and people? Dive in with us as we explore their findings, and let's unpack why some results might challenge what you think you know about pollution.
SARP East 2025 Atmospheric Chemistry Group
(Estimated 9-minute read)
Faculty Advisor:
Stacey Hughes, University of New Hampshire
Graduate Mentor:
Katherine Paredero, Georgia Institute of Technology
Atmospheric Chemistry Group Introduction
Faculty Advisor Stacey Hughes and Graduate Mentor Katherine Paredero
Kaylena Pham
Spooky Swamps: Exploring Differences in Methane Emission Rates and Spatial Variability Between the Great Dismal Swamp and the Alligator River
Kaylena Pham, University of Southern California
Wetlands are major players in the global methane story, acting as natural factories for this potent greenhouse gas through a process called methanogenesis. This happens when microbes in oxygen-free, nutrient-poor soils break down organic matter, releasing methane as a byproduct. Picture it like nature's compost heap gone anaerobic—it's efficient for producing gas, but not great for our atmosphere. In coastal wetlands, especially those with salty water like the Alligator River, big storms and climbing sea levels push saltwater farther inland, killing off plants and creating eerie 'ghost forests' of standing dead trees. This widespread vegetation die-off from salinization could ramp up methane releases by speeding decomposition of dead plants. Yet, past studies haven't factored in these ghost forests when calculating wetland methane output, so our team investigated emission levels across two similar wetlands: the Great Dismal Swamp and the Alligator River.
To do this, we gathered real-time measurements from the Dynamic Aviation B-200 aircraft during NASA's Student Airborne Research Program (SARP) 2025 flights. We used a PICARRO Gas Concentration Analyzer to track methane and carbon monoxide levels, and paired that with imagery from the Terra satellite's Moderate Resolution Imaging Spectroradiometer (MODIS) instrument, focusing on the Normalized Difference Vegetation Index (NDVI), which basically measures plant health by comparing how much light plants absorb versus reflect. NDVI is like a health check for greenery—higher values mean lush, thriving plants, while lower ones signal stress or death. Combining these tools, we examined how plant distress affects methane output.
What we found was striking: the Alligator River showed more vegetation stress than the Great Dismal Swamp. Methane levels there varied widely in stressed areas, whereas the Great Dismal Swamp had tighter, less variable methane readings and healthier plants. This side-by-side look at wetlands in different states hints at a connection between environmental pressure and boosted methane emissions. Interestingly, even with these patterns, the Great Dismal Swamp averaged a tad higher methane concentration (2.11 ppm) than the Alligator River (1.96 ppm). Our work underscores the need to dig deeper into which plant conditions really crank up methane in wetlands—think of it as fine-tuning our environmental detective work to better predict and mitigate climate impacts.
And this is the part most people miss: If ghost forests are indeed methane hotspots, how much are rising seas from climate change exacerbating this cycle? Could protecting coastal wetlands prevent a methane surge, or are we already too late?
Carson Turner
Quantifying Methane Flux Over the Great Dismal Swamp with the Mass Balance Technique
Carson Turner, University of North Dakota
Methane stands out as one of the atmosphere's top villains, with a warming power about 28 times stronger than carbon monoxide over a century. When we tally up the world's methane sources, wetlands dominate, contributing 20-40% of global emissions. But here's the kicker—these figures come with huge uncertainties because we lack enough on-the-ground measurements to verify models, and we're still piecing together how factors like soil wetness and air temperature tweak emissions. This project zooms in on the Great Dismal Swamp (GDS), straddling the Virginia-North Carolina border, using flight data from NASA's Student Airborne Research Program (SARP) in summer 2025 to calculate emissions.
We employed a PICARRO Gas Concentration Analyzer for precise, frequent readings of methane and carbon monoxide during two flights on June 23rd and 24th, following comparable routes around the swamp. To compute methane flux—the rate at which methane escapes into the air—we applied the mass balance method, which essentially balances inputs and outputs like a budget for gases. For a beginner, think of it as measuring how much methane is 'leaking' from the area by tracking concentration changes downwind.
The results? Flux values clocked in at 0.037 kg/s on the 23rd and a much higher 0.603 kg/s on the 24th. For context, a comparable study in northern Sweden and Finland reported an average flux of 5.56 kg/s, so our GDS numbers are lower but still significant. Surprisingly, the flight with warmer temperatures saw lower flux, bucking the trend where heat usually boosts emissions—perhaps because drier soils or other variables played a role. Moving forward, we'll use these flux data to refine wetland methane models, offering clearer insights into how soil moisture, temperature, and other elements interact.
But here's where it gets controversial: If warmer days aren't always spiking methane as expected, does that mean climate models are overhyping wetland contributions to global warming? Or could it be a regional quirk, and we're missing broader patterns?
Alek Libby
A Comparative Look at Urban Ozone Chemistry in Baltimore, Richmond, and Norfolk
Alek Libby, Florida State University
Urban ozone pollution is a persistent headache for air quality in countless U.S. cities, and understanding it is crucial for cleaner skies. Ground-level ozone doesn't come straight from tailpipes or chimneys; it's crafted in the air through sunlight-driven chemical reactions between volatile organic compounds (VOCs)—think solvents, paints, or gasoline vapors—and nitrogen oxides (NOₓ), like those from vehicle exhaust. These reactions kick into high gear in summer when the sun's rays are strongest. The EPA sets a limit of 70 parts per billion (ppb) for tropospheric ozone, averaged over eight hours, and while violations have dropped nationally, pinpointing how emissions differ by city helps tailor solutions.
Our study dissected the VOC profiles and ozone-building processes in three Mid-Atlantic cities: Baltimore, Richmond, and Norfolk. We collected in-situ whole air samples (WAS) aboard the Aviation Dynamics B200 during the 2024 NASA Student Airborne Research Program (SARP) campaign. Lab analysis via gas chromatography revealed the VOC mix in each sample. We also drew from onboard instruments like CAFE (for formaldehyde, or HCHO) and CANOE (for nitrogen dioxide, NO₂). Focusing on measurements below the boundary layer (the lower layer of the atmosphere where most pollution hangs out) and within city limits, we assessed ozone formation potential.
The findings painted a clear picture: Baltimore had notably fewer key human-made VOCs, such as n-butane, i-pentane, and n-pentane. Ratios of VOCs to NOₓ suggested Richmond and Norfolk operate in NOₓ-limited zones (where cutting NOₓ curbs ozone more), while Baltimore is in a transitional phase. This was backed by HCHO/NO₂ ratios of 2.44 in Baltimore versus 5.14 and 5.09 in the other cities. Yet, Baltimore sees more ozone exceedance days, likely due to higher NO₂. So, while lowering VOCs helps everywhere, Baltimore might benefit most from NOₓ reductions to slash ozone. Future steps could repeat this with 2025 SARP data from hot, stagnant summer days—ideal for ozone buildup—to see if patterns hold.
And this is the part most people miss: In a NOₓ-limited world, stricter vehicle emissions standards could dramatically cut ozone, but what if industries resist, arguing it hurts economies? Is it fair to prioritize one city's air over another's job market?
Hannah Suh
Identifying Sources of Volatile Organic Compounds (VOCs) in the Baltimore Area
Hannah Suh, University of California, Santa Cruz
Volatile organic compounds (VOCs) are pivotal in atmospheric chemistry, teaming up with nitrogen oxides (NOₓ) under sunlight to generate tropospheric ozone (O₃)—a combo that worsens air quality and health issues like respiratory problems. Pinpointing VOC origins in cities like Baltimore is vital for crafting smarter pollution policies. This research analyzed onboard VOC data from the Aviation Dynamics B200 during NASA's Student Airborne Research Program (SARP), focusing on two June 24th flights over Baltimore. Samples were gathered via the Whole Air Sampler (WAS) and processed in the lab with gas chromatography to pinpoint VOC levels.
We used VOC ratios alongside Positive Matrix Factorization (PMF)—a statistical tool that breaks down complex data into potential sources, like separating ingredients in a recipe—to uncover emission drivers. Think of PMF as a detective sorting clues to identify suspects in a pollution mystery. Six sources emerged for Baltimore, with the top three matching oil and natural gas operations, natural (biogenic) emissions from plants and microbes, and traffic-related fumes. Signature ratios showed mixed industrial and urban plumes, often linked to ethyne (a marker for combustion). This points to oil/gas industries, nature, and vehicles as main VOC contributors.
Next, we'd compare ratios across years to spot trends, perhaps revealing if regulations are curbing emissions or if new sources are popping up.
But here's where it gets controversial: If biogenic sources (like plant emissions) are significant, does that mean we should blame nature for urban ozone, or focus on human activities? And when industries claim their VOCs are 'natural' byproducts, should regulators buy it?
Aashi Parikh
Examining VOC Emissions from Chemical Plant Plumes in Hopewell, VA
Aashi Parikh, Boston University
Hopewell, Virginia, hosts a hub of big chemical plants, sparking worries among locals about pollution's toll on health and equity. While we've got data on past contamination, detailed studies on volatile organic compounds (VOCs) from these sites are scarce. Our work mapped VOC patterns in Hopewell's industrial zone using in-situ whole air samples (WAS) from the Aviation Dynamics B200 during the 2024 NASA Student Airborne Research Program. We compared Hopewell samples to the rest of the flight path, grouping VOCs by chemical families and spotting excesses.
Hopewell stood out for high aromatics: 60 parts per trillion (ppt) of benzene, 119 ppt of toluene, and 47 ppt of styrene—these are linked to serious health woes like breathing issues, brain impacts, fertility problems, and cancer. Levels were about five times the flight average. Per EPA guidelines, these carcinogens have no safe long-term exposure limit, raising alarms for chronic risks. This echoes local health disparities, such as higher cancer rates, and highlights how vulnerable communities bear the brunt.
Looking ahead, we'll check 2025 VOCs against this 2024 baseline to gauge if cleanup efforts, regulations, or community actions are working.
And this is the part most people miss: With no 'safe' level, are we condemning generations in these neighborhoods to preventable diseases? Should companies pay reparations, or is government regulation enough?
What do you think—does this research change how you view industrial pollution's hidden costs? Do you agree that wetlands might be underappreciated methane monsters, or disagree that urban policies should target NOₓ first? Share your thoughts in the comments; let's debate the balance between progress and protection!
