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The fire was “fueled by drought and hurricane-force winds.” It “jumped from one home to the next,” the local news later reported, and “moved in unpredictable and unprecedented ways.” Camera phone videos showed shaky scenes of last-minute evacuations — a “dizzyingly chaotic display of improvisation and panic.” The fire had apparently ignited in dry invasive grasses outside of town, perhaps due to a downed power line, before blowing into an unstoppable “urban firestorm.” Airborne embers destroyed hundreds of structures, leaving behind ashen ruins that survivors said looked like a war zone.
It was December 30, 2021. The Marshall fire would become the most destructive in Colorado’s history, ultimately killing two people, causing 35,000 to flee, and destroying more than 1,000 homes and businesses outside of Boulder. But to an untrained eye, the landscape hardly looked like a place where a wildfire could break out; after all, there was no forest. “It was 200 yards from a Costco — why would I have to worry about fire?” one survivor recounted to The Washington Post afterward. “It’s, like, suburbia, you know?”
But grass fires are a growing danger in the United States, even if they lack the iconic imagery of the forest fires that tend to dominate the news this time of year. The 2018 Martin fire in Nevada, the largest in the state’s history, burned 435,000 acres of invasive cheatgrass and at one point stretched 54 miles long. The 2006 East Amarillo Complex fire in Texas blackened almost a million acres. And the wildfires in Maui this month were the deadliest in modern U.S. history, in part because they ignited in highly flammable non-native grasses, which burn hot, fast, and unpredictably.
“They’re too intense for firefighters to get next to with either ‘dozers or engines,” Brad Smith, the Predictive Services department head at Texas A&M Forest Service, told me of the wind-driven grass fires he sees across Texas. “They also move too fast, so it’s dangerous to put people out in front of these fires. It’s often the case we have to wait either for the weather to change or for the fire to move into a more favorable fuel type,” such as plowed agricultural land, before first responders can get it under control.
I had reached out to Smith after seeing him dispense grassland firefighting advice in a 2011 educational video for firefighters titled, “Oh, It’s Just a Grass Fire.” Produced by the Wildland Fire Lessons Learned Center — a grimly named government agency that exists to “share lessons and knowledge within the entire wildland fire community” — the video was apparently intended to head off dismissals of what it calls a “potentially underestimated fuel type.”
Such an underestimation in the industry comes from the fact that grass fires can actually have “a few advantages” for wildland firefighters, as authors Justin Angle and Nick Mott write in their forthcoming guide This Is Wildfire. “There are a lot of fire-fighting strategies that are just more feasible in a grassy landscape that’s more open and has more fuel breaks like roads and bodies of water,” the authors go on to explain. “In addition, the fuel type is more homogenous (and therefore predictable) compared with a mountain ecosystem.”
But throw in high winds, and all of a sudden grassland fires can become a completely different beast. “People think [wildfires] just move in one direction, but winds generally quarter,” Smith said. “So let’s say you have a north wind; you think, Well, [the fire] is going south. But if you get a 45-degree change in direction, that fire can move left or right for short periods of time very quickly. That can catch people by surprise.” In the instructional video, this point is made with the cautionary tale of Destry Horton, a father of two who was killed fighting a grass fire in Oklahoma in 2006.
But if even firefighters need the occasional somber refresher to take grass fires seriously, then many of the rest of us have likely barely registered them as a threat. “I think a lot of people look at a grass fire and feel like, ‘Well, I could just go stomp it out,’” Barb Satink Wolfson, the University of California’s Cooperative Extension fire advisor for Monterey, San Benito, Santa Clara, and Santa Cruz counties, told me.
Perhaps that’s partially because “forest fire” is often interchanged with “wildfire,” inadvertently evoking the conflagration out of Bambi: popping evergreen trees, flames reaching for the sky, adorable woodland animals running for cover. Reality looks a little different: Grassland pasture and range make up 60% of land use in the Mountain West and about 29% of land use in the Pacific Coast states, the most recent survey by the United States Department of Agriculture found (compared to 18% and 29% forest-use land, respectively).
Fire statistics seem to bear that out: In a study of burns in 11 western states between 1984 and 2020, only 35% were actually in forests, Denver’s 5280 magazine reports. In another cited study, local fire departments “responded to forest fires just 7% of the time, compared to 39% for grass fires.” Smith also told me that of the 30 largest fires in Texas since 2000, 28 had “occurred in our grass-dominant fuel-scape in West Texas.”
The tragic consequence of the public not taking grass fires seriously — or not knowing to take them seriously — is that many people who live in wildland-urban interface communities near or adjacent to natural, undeveloped lands might not have made the proper wildfire preparations or have an evacuation plan because the fire threat feels remote.
That can prove deadly. A quarter of Hawaii is covered in highly flammable non-native grasses and “virtually every community [in the state] is on a wildland-urban interface,” one fire manager recently told Wired. Yet the communities were unsuspecting and unprepared for the fire that swept through Lahaina and the surrounding landscape last week. Part of that is because fire is “not something that has been a part of ... society in Hawaii,” Satink Wolfson said, adding: “There isn’t a big history of people telling [residents]: ‘You need metal gutters, you need to make your home fire safe.’”
Though fire is not a historic part of the ecology of Hawaii, it is in North American grasslands, where Indigenous communities have practiced cultural burning for centuries upon centuries. But non-native grass species are likewise disrupting these natural cycles in the western United States, since invasive plants tend to grow thickly and contiguously, unlike native perennials that grow in more isolated clumps that help naturally break up fires. By one estimate, invasive grasses can more than triple a region’s susceptibility to wildfire.
Making matters worse, non-native grasses tend to quickly colonize and outcompete native plants after burns, in effect bridging fire further and further into landscapes where it doesn’t belong, such as deserts — or urban environments. “Those non-native herbaceous species are like the wick,” Max Moritz, a Cooperative Extension wildfire specialist and adjunct professor at U.C. Santa Barbara’s Bren School of Environmental Science & Management, told me. “They’re the place that fire can get a foothold on the landscape, even if the landscape wasn’t supposed to burn very often from a fire ecology perspective.”
Increasingly, attention in the West has focused on allowing “good fires” to run their course — grass fires included. “I would love to see CalFire use natural ignitions to reduce fire hazard and to improve ecosystem health,” Satink Wolfson said. “I’ve already seen so many fires put out this year that could have had a positive impact.” Moritz’s focus is on better land-use planning, including rehabilitating abandoned farmlands into working buffer zones. Both Satink Wolfson and Moritz floated strategic grazing as another possibility. But everyone agrees: Something needs to be done.
“Grasslands — there’s a lot of area there to manage if you are hoping to reduce the ignition potential,” Moritz said, then ominously warned: “It’s almost all ignitable.”
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Members of the nation’s largest grid couldn’t agree on a recommendation for how to deal with the surge of incoming demand.
The members of PJM Interconnection, the country’s largest electricity market, held an advisory vote Wednesday to help decide how the grid operator should handle the tidal wave of incoming demand from data centers. Twelve proposals were put forward by data center companies, transmission companies, power companies, utilities, state legislators, advocates, PJM’s market monitor, and PJM itself.
None of them passed.
“There was no winner here,” PJM chief executive Manu Asthana told the meeting following the announcement of the vote tallies. There was, however, “a lot of information in these votes,” he added. “We’re going to study them closely.”
The PJM board was always going to make the final decision on what it would submit to federal regulators, and will try to get something to the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission by the end of the year, Asthana said — just before he plans to step down as CEO.
“PJM opened this conversation about the integration of large loads and greatly appreciates our stakeholders for their contributions to this effort. The stakeholder process produced many thoughtful proposals, some of which were introduced late in the process and require additional development,” a PJM spokesperson said in a statement. “This vote is advisory to PJM’s independent Board. The Board can and does expect to act on large load additions to the system and will make its decision known in the next few weeks.”
The surge in data center development — actual and planned — has thrown the 13-state PJM Interconnection into a crisis, with utility bills rising across the network due to the billions of dollars in payments required to cover the additional costs.
Those rising bills have led to cries of frustration from across the PJM member states — and from inside the house.
“The current supply of capacity in PJM is not adequate to meet the demand from large data center loads and will not be adequate in the foreseeable future,” PJM’s independent market monitor wrote in a memo earlier this month. “Customers are already bearing billions of dollars in higher costs as a direct result of existing and forecast data center load,” it said in a quarterly report released just a few days letter, pegging the added charges to ensure that generators will be available in times of grid stress due to data center development at over $16 billion.
PJM’s initial proposal to deal with the data center swell would have created a category for new large sources of demand on the system to interconnect without the backing of capacity; in return, they’d agree to have their power supply curtailed when demand got too high. The proposal provoked outrage from just about everyone involved in PJM, including data center developers and analysts who were open to flexibility in general, who said that the grid operator was overstepping its responsibilities.
PJM’s subsequent proposal would allow for voluntary participation in a curtailment program, but was lambasted by environmental groups like Evergreen Collaborative for not having “any semblance of ambition.” PJM’s own market monitor said that voluntary schemes to curtail power “are not equivalent to new generation,” and that instead data centers should “be required to bring their own new generation” — essentially to match their own demand with new supply.
A coalition of environmental groups, including the Natural Resources Defence Council and state legislators in PJM, said in their proposal that data centers should be required to bring their own capacity — crucially counting demand response (being paid to curtail power) as a source of capacity.
“The growth of data centers is colliding with the reality of the power grid,” Tom Rutigliano, who works on grid issues for the Natural Resources Defense Council, said in a statement. “PJM members weren’t able to see past their commercial interests and solve a critical reliability threat. Now the board will need to stand up and make some hard decisions.”
Those decisions will come without any consensus from members about what to do next.
“Just because none of these passed doesn’t mean that the board will not act,” David Mills, the chairman of PJM’s board of managers, said at the conclusion of the meeting. “We will make our best efforts to put something together that will address the issues.”
California energy companies are asking for permission to take in more revenue. Consumer advocates are having none of it.
There’s a seemingly obvious solution to expensive electricity bills: Cut utility profits.
Investor-owned utilities have to deliver profits to their shareholders to be able to raise capital for grid projects. That profit comes in the form of a markup you and I pay on our electricity bills. State regulators decide how much that mark-up is. What if they made it lower?
A growing body of evidence suggests they should at least consider it. In principle, the rate of return on equity, or ROE, that regulators allow utilities to charge should reflect the risk that equity investors are taking by putting their money in those utilities, but that relationship seems to have gotten out of whack. Among the first to draw attention to the issue was a 2019 paper by Carnegie Mellon researchers which found that since the 1990s, the average “risk premium” exhibited by utility ROEs as compared to relatively risk-free U.S. Treasury bonds has grown from 3% to nearly 8%.
“An error or bias of merely one percentage point in the allowed return would imply tens of billions of dollars in additional cost for ratepayers in the form of higher retail power prices,” the authors wrote.
Subsequent research reproduced and built on those findings, showing that a generous ROE creates a perverse incentive for utilities to increase their capital investments, leading to excess costs for consumers of $3 billion to $11 billion per year. Now, the ex-chief economist of a major U.S. utility company, Mark Ellis, is putting his own analysis out there, arguing that unreasonably high ROEs are costing U.S. energy customers $50 billion per year, or over $300 per household.
Not only does this hurt consumers, it also makes the energy transition more expensive and less politically palatable.
That’s what environmental and consumer advocates are worried about in California, where the Public Utility Commission is currently considering requests by the state’s four largest energy companies to raise each of their ROE. Utilities in the state have reported record profits amid a worsening affordability crisis. On Friday, the commission signaled that it would instead lower the companies’ ROE — although not nearly as much as advocates have recommended. A final decision is expected in December.
“It’s a joke,” Ellis, the former utility executive, told me of the commission proceedings. “If you read the proposed decision, they don’t address any of the facts or evidence in the case at all.” His own analysis, which he submitted to the California commission on behalf of the Sierra Club, proposes that an average ROE of 6%, down from about 10%, would be justified and has the potential to save California energy customers more than $6 billion per year.
Utilities, of course, disagree, and have brought their own analysis and warnings about the risks of lowering their ROE. Regulators are left to sort through it all to figure out the magic number — one large enough to appeal to investors, but not so large as to throw ratepayers under the bus.
How does the ROE work its way into your bill? Let’s say your local utility, The Electric Company, has a regulated return on equity of 10%, and it plans to spend $100 million to build new substations. Utilities typically finance these kinds of capital projects with a mix of debt (loans they will have to pay interest on) and equity (shares sold to investors). Then they recover that money from ratepayers over the course of decades. If The Electric Company raises half of the capital, or $50 million, via equity, an ROE of 10% means it will be able to charge ratepayers $5 million on top of the cost of the project. That additional $5 million is factored into the per-killowatt-hour rates that customers pay. The profit can then be reinvested into future projects, issued to shareholders as dividends, paid out to executives as bonuses — the list goes on.
The energy research group RMI, which agrees that the average utility ROE is much too high, estimates the surcharge currently makes up between 15% and 20%% of the average customer’s utility bill. “Setting ROEs at the right level is necessary to bring forward a rapid, just, and equitable transition,” RMI wrote.
Utilities, however, say the “right level” is likely higher, not lower. They warn that in reality, lowering their ROE would trigger a cascade of negative effects — credit downgrades, higher borrowing costs, lower stock prices, investors taking their money elsewhere — that would push energy rates up, not down. These effects would also make it more difficult for utilities to invest in projects to clean up and expand the electric grid.
Timothy Winter, the portfolio manager of a utility-focused fund at the investment firm Gabelli, told me this “virtuous cycle” runs in both directions. Higher ROEs lead to a lower cost of capital, which leads to more investment, better reliability, and lower rates, he argued. Winter said that if California regulators reduced utility ROEs to 6%, investors would flee the state.
Between growing wildfire risk and the bankruptcy of California’s largest utility, PG&E, California energy providers are too exposed to warrant such low returns, he said. As a comparison, he noted that U.S. Treasury bonds, which are generally viewed as risk-free, yield about 4%. “If it’s a 6% return with an equity risk, they’re not going to do it,” he said of investors.
I probed Winter a bit more on this. Is that really true given that utilities are still, in many ways, the opposite of risky investments? They have captive customers, stable income, and are seeing skyrocketing growth in demand for their product.
This caused him to spiral down into an investor’s worst nightmare scenario. “Yes, there is a risk,” he said. “If a regulator is willing to give a 6% return and they used to give 11%, how do I know they’re not going to decide, okay, rates keep going up, next rate case it’s going to be 4%?” After that, he said, how can investors be sure the government won’t end up taking over the utility altogether?
Travis Miller, a senior equity analyst at Morningstar, was more measured. He hesitated to tell me whether a 6% ROE would hurt utilities’ ability to raise capital. “What usually happens” when regulators lower the ROE, he said, “is the utilities just decide not to invest very much, so then they don’t have to raise capital.” He would expect the California utilities to “invest to maintain reliability and that’s about it,” meaning that “a lot of new data center build that is planned in California would have to go elsewhere.”
Return on equity also isn’t the only thing investors look at, Miller added. They consider the overall regulatory environment. Is it predictable? Is it transparent? He said there have been cases where regulators cut a utility’s ROE but the overall regulatory environment remained strong, and other instances where the cut to ROE was “another sign of a deteriorating relationship” — a phrase that brings to mind Winter’s panic about government takeovers. (I should note, advocates for public takeovers of utilities cite this whole dynamic around the need to woo investors and the perverse incentives it creates as a key justification for their cause. Publicly-owned utilities — which serve about 1 in 7 electricity customers in the U.S., including in large cities like Sacramento, Los Angeles, and Seattle — don’t charge an ROE.)
When I spoke to Ellis about his proposal, I fired off all of the utility arguments I could think of. Won’t utilities stop building stuff and making the investments we need them to make if they can’t earn as much? “They have a legal obligation to continue to invest,” he said. But will they be able to raise equity? They don’t necessarily need to raise new equity, he responded, suggesting that utilities could reinvest more of their profits rather than distributing the money as dividends. This is not how utilities traditionally operate, he admitted, but it’s an option.
Prior to taking up the consumer cause, Ellis spent 15 years in leadership and executive roles at Sempra Energy, the parent company of San Diego Gas and Electric and SoCal Gas — two of the companies that petitioned for higher ROE. “I know how they think about this issue,” he told me, asserting that the arguments the companies make to regulators do not match how they think about ROE internally.
During our interview, Ellis described the current state of utility regulation of ROE in California as “reprehensible,” “egregious,” “heartbreaking,” and “a huge injustice.”
In the analysis he submitted to the utility commission, Ellis not only makes the case that the average U.S. utility’s ROE is much higher than is necessary to attract capital, but also that the potential impacts to consumers of lowering it — i.e. the potential to hurt a utility’s credit rating and increase its cost of debt — would be outweighed by customer savings.
He argues that to justify their requests for higher ROEs, the utilities use forecasts from biased sources, cherry-pick and manipulate data, and make economically impossible assumptions, like that earnings will grow faster than GDP.
Stephen Jarvis, an assistant professor at the London School of Economics who has conducted research on ROE rates, has reached similar conclusions about them being excessively high. Nonetheless, he told me he sympathized with the challenge regulators face. He said there was no “right” answer for how to calculate the appropriate ROE. “Depending on the assumptions that you use, you can come up with quite different numbers for what a fair rate of return should be,” he said.
The sentiment echoes the preliminary decision the California Public Utilities Commission issued last week, when it observed that all of the proposals submitted in the proceeding were “dependent on subjective inputs and assumptions.”
Ellis said the decision contained a “smoking gun,” however, proving that the commission didn’t really do its job. Changes in ROE are supposed to reflect changes to a company’s risk profile, he said. The risk profile for Southern California Edison, which is facing lawsuits related to the Eaton Fire and already paying out hundreds of millions of dollars to survivors, has certainly changed in a different way than its peers. Regardless, the commission made the exact same recommendation for each utility to reduce ROE by 0.35%. “The Commission clearly is not looking at the evidence.”
There is likely some truth to that. “It’s more art than science,” Cliff Rechtschaffen, who served for six years on the California Public Utilities Commission, told me when I asked how the people in those seats attempt to calibrate ROE. He acknowledged there was a self-reinforcing element to the process — regulators look at where investors might go if the rate of return is too low, and use that to determine what the rate should be. “But the rates of return that are set in other jurisdictions are, in turn, influenced by the national utility market, which includes your own utility market,” he said.
Similarly, regulators rely on market analysts, investment advisors, investment bankers, and so on, who have an inherent interest in building up the market and ensuring healthy rates of return, he said. “That makes it harder to discern and do true price discovery.”
Rechtschaffen said he was glad that environmental and consumer advocates were bringing greater scrutiny to ROE, adding that it was the “right time” to do so. “Particularly in this environment where utilities have forecast that they’re going to be spending tens of billions of dollars on capital upgrades, do we need the same rates of return that we’ve seen?”
On ravenous data centers, treasured aluminum trash, and the drilling slump
Current conditions: The West Coast’s parade of storms continues with downpours along the California shoreline, threatening mudslides • Up to 10 inches of rain is headed for the Ozarks • Temperatures climbed beyond 50 degrees Fahrenheit in Greenland this week before beginning a downward slide.
The Department of Energy’s Loan Programs Office just announced a $1 billion loan to finance Microsoft’s restart of the functional Unit 1 reactor at the Three Mile Island nuclear plant. The funding will go to Constellation, the station’s owner, and cover the majority of the estimated $1.6 billion restart cost. If successful, it’ll likely be the nation’s second-ever reactor restart, assuming Holtec International’s revival of the Palisades nuclear plant goes as planned in the next few months. While the Trump administration has rebranded several loans brokered under its predecessor, this marks the first completely new deal sanctioned by the Trump-era LPO, a sign of Energy Secretary Chris Wright’s recent pledge to focus funding on nuclear projects. It’s also the first-ever LPO loan to reach conditional commitment and financial close on the same day.
“Constellation’s restart of a nuclear power plant in Pennsylvania will provide affordable, reliable, and secure energy to Americans across the Mid-Atlantic region,” Wright said in a statement. “It will also help ensure America has the energy it needs to grow its domestic manufacturing base and win the AI race.” Constellation’s stock soared in after-hours trading in response to the news. Holtec’s historic first restart in Michigan got the green light from regulators to come back online in July, as I reported in this newsletter at the time. But already another company is lining up to turn its defunct reactor back on: As I reported here in August, utility giant NextEra wants to revive its Duane Arnold nuclear station in Iowa. The push to restart older reactors reflects a growing need for electricity long before new reactors can come online. Meanwhile, next-generation reactors are plowing ahead. The nuclear startup Valar Atomics claimed this week to achieve criticality long before the July 4 deadline set in an Energy Department competition.
Over the next five years, American demand for electricity is set to grow by the equivalent of 15 times the peak demand of the entirety of New York City. That’s according to the latest annual forecast from the consultancy Grid Strategies. The growth — roughly sixfold what was forecast in 2022 — comes overwhelmingly from data centers, as shown by which regions expect the largest growth:

“The fact that these facilities are city-sized is a huge deal,” John Wilson, Grid Strategies’ vice president and the report’s lead author, told Canary Media. “That has huge implications if these facilities get canceled, or they get built and don’t have long service lives.” Mounting political opposition to data centers could make deals less certain. A Heatmap Pro survey in September found just 44% of Americans would welcome a data center opening nearby. And last week I wrote about how progressives in Congress are rallying around a crackdown on data centers.
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The contrast couldn’t be starker. In Washington, President Donald Trump rolled out the red carpet for Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman, offering an opulent welcome to the White House and lashing out at reporters who asked about September 11 or the killing of journalist Jamal Khashoggi. In Belém, Brazil, meanwhile, former Vice President Al Gore tore into the team of delegates Saudi Arabia sent to the United Nations climate summit for “flexing its muscles” in negotiations about how to shift away from oil and gas. “Saudi Arabia appears to be determined to veto the effort to solve the climate crisis, only to protect their lavish income from selling the fossil fuels that are the principal cause of the climate crisis,” Gore told the Financial Times. “I hope that the rest of the world will stand up to this obscene greed and recklessness on the part of the kingdom.”
But the Trump meeting could yield some progress on clean energy. Among the top issues the White House listed in its read-out of the summit was the push to export American atomic energy technology to Saudi Arabia as the country looks to follow the United Arab Emirates in embracing nuclear power.
Facing growing needs for domestic sources of metal for the energy transition, the European Union is seeing its trash as treasure. On Tuesday, the European Commission proposed restricting exports of aluminum scrap amid what The Wall Street Journal called “concerns that rising outflows of the resource could leave Europe short of a critical input for its decarbonization efforts.” Speaking at the European Aluminum Summit, EU trade chief Maros Sefcovic referred to the exports as “leakage.” The proposal wouldn’t fully block sales of aluminum scrap overseas, but would adopt a “balanced” measure that ensures sufficient supplies and competitive prices in the single market. “Scrap is a strategic commodity given its important contribution to circularity and decarbonization, as production from secondary materials releases less emissions and is less energy intensive, as well as to our strategic autonomy,” Sefcovic said. The measure is set to be adopted by spring 2026.
In the U.S., the Biden administration made what Heatmap’s Matthew Zeitlin last year called a “big bet” on aluminum. The Trump administration slapped steep new tariffs on imported aluminum, though as our colleague Katie Brigham wrote, “aluminum producers rely on imports of these same materials to build their own plants. Tariffs on these vital construction materials — plus exorbitant levies on all goods from China — will make building new production facilities significantly costlier.”

The average number of active rigs per month that are drilling for oil and natural gas in the continental United States fell steadily over the past year. As of last month, the U.S. had 517 rigs in operation, down from a peak of 750 in the end of 2022. The number of oil-pumping rigs dropped 33% to 397 rigs, while gas-pumping rigs slid 23% to 120 rigs over the same period from December 2022 to October 2025. While the Energy Information Administration said the declining rig count “reflects operators’ responses to declining crude oil and natural gas prices,” the federal research agency said it’s also “improvement in drilling efficiencies,” meaning companies are getting more fuel out of existing wells.
It’s been a pattern in recent research on sustainability. Scientists look at methods that Indigenous groups have maintained as traditions only to find that approaches that have sustained throughout centuries or millennia are finding new value now. A study by the University of Hawaiʻi at Mānoa’s Hawaiʻi Institute of Marine Biology found that Native Hawaiian aquaculture systems — essentially fish ponds known as loko iʻa — effectively shielded fish populations from the negative impacts of climate change, demonstrating resilience and bolstering local food security. “Our study is one of the first in academic literature to compare the temperatures between loko iʻa and the surrounding bay and how these temperature differences may be reflected in potential fish productivity,” lead author Annie Innes-Gold, a recent PhD graduate from the university, said in a press release. “We found that although rising water temperature may lead to declines in fish populations, loko iʻa fish populations were more resilient.”