A major new federal study shows that New Mexico’s 1,000 underground miners face increased cancer risks from exposure to diesel exhaust—and that existing exhaust limits may not be enough to protect them. But thanks largely to a little-known industry group called MARG, little if anything is likely to come of this new information.

There are a lot of things Edward Abbey didn’t like: dams, fences, billboards—and cars in national parks. Writing of his time working at Arches National Park, in Desert Solitaire, he railed against visitors who never stepped from their vehicles: “Let the people walk. Or ride horses, bicycles, mules, wild pigs—anything—but keep the automobiles and the motorcycles and all their motorized relatives out.”

When the New Mexico Livestock Board found Bonito, he was so emaciated that he had to gain 300 pounds before be could even be transported from his neglectful owner’s home.

If a recent tussle between a local engineer and officials from Los Alamos National Laboratory shows anything, it’s that one lab’s error is another man’s dilemma.

Most New Mexicans have never spotted a wild river otter. In the 19th century, the animals were trapped out of existence in much of their historic range. The last one known to have lived—or at least died—in New Mexico was caught in a beaver trap set in the Gila River near the town of Cliff in 1953.

Do New Mexicans deserve low-cost electricity or clear skies? That question lies at the heart of the latest dust-up between federal regulators and the Public Service Company of New Mexico.

Climate change affects everyone, even if it doesn’t feel like it.Over the past 15 years, I’ve driven through a handful of dust storms that made me feel, even just momentarily, that I wouldn’t find a safe way out of the darkness and stinging grit. Even inside the vehicle, it was hard not to hold my breath.

Each spring, homeowners in Calaveras County, Calif., can be seen outside their mountain cabins engaging in a familiar ritual: raking up masses of pine needles and stuffing them into yard-clipping disposal bins.

On a late June afternoon, 18 mile-per-hour winds whistle across an open meadow on a small piece of private land in the Jemez Mountains. In the saddle between two pine-covered ridges at the edge of the property, an aspen tree teeters over onto the bare wire of an electrical pole, causing a spark. Over the next 14 hours, the resulting fire burns 43,000 acres, or one acre every 1.17 seconds. It devours areas the size of a football field in (literally) two seconds. In a little over a month, it has spread through 156,000 acres and incinerated 63 homes.