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The consequences will linger well past the high temperatures.

It is difficult to describe how bonkers this week’s heat wave is in the southwestern United States. Alan Gerard, a typically even-keeled meteorologist with 35 years of forecasting experience under his belt, attempted to do so in a recent edition of his newsletter, Balanced Weather. He settled on: “jaw-dropping,” “insane,” “truly historic,” “literally flabbergasting,” “incredible,” and “anomalous [even for] the middle of summer.”
Jeff Berardelli, the chief meteorologist at WFLA, the NBC affiliate in Tampa, tried to contextualize it on social media, noting that based on historical patterns, Phoenix could expect a March day as hot as it was on Thursday — 105 degrees Fahrenheit — only once every 4,433 years.
Phoenix is just one part of the story. The heat wave — which began ramping up on Tuesday, peaks Friday, and won’t subside until early next week — has set or tied March record highs in at least 480 locations so far, stretching from New Mexico to Southern Oregon. California has already broken the record for the hottest winter day ever recorded anywhere in the U.S.: 109 degrees on Thursday at a station in the eastern Coachella Valley. “The extent and magnitude of this particular heat wave is without comparison to anything that we’ve seen in March,” John Abatzoglou, a professor of Climatology at the University of California, Merced, who specializes in climate impacts in the West, told me.
That’s partially because this heat wave would be “virtually impossible for the time of year in a world without human-induced climate change,” per a report released Friday by scientists from World Weather Attribution. Heat waves have one of the clearest climate signals of any extreme weather event because a hotter planet means a hotter baseline. “Across almost the entire western U.S., temperatures [this week] were made at least five times more likely due to climate change,” Zachary Labe, a climate scientist at Climate Central, which maps the effects on daily temperatures, told me.
The March 2026 heat wave is likely to become a reference point in the same vein as the 2021 heat dome in the Pacific Northwest, subject to study, research, and scrutiny by climatologists, public health experts, hydrologists, and emergency managers in the months and years to come. The consequences of the current heat wave will also outlast the record temperatures. When it is this hot — and, more importantly, when it is this hot this soon — the effects compound, touching everything from hydropower capacity to the coming wildfire season.
To make matters worse, “this week is exacerbating conditions that were already bad,” Labe said.
Let’s take a look.
About half of the total utility-scale hydroelectricity in the U.S. is generated in the three West Coast states, but it is part of the energy mix in almost every state experiencing the heat wave this week, including also Arizona, Colorado, Idaho, Montana, Nevada, New Mexico, Oregon, Utah, and Wyoming. In these states, high-elevation snowpack acts as a kind of battery; the slow release of melting winter snow from the mountains over the spring and summer helps keep generation reliable. In the case of a major heat wave, however, the water can run off too fast or evaporate, limiting supply in the summer-peaking months.
Though reservoirs in California are mostly in good shape at this point, with the rivers flowing high this early, there will be less water available when the squeeze comes in July and August. “This year, at least for precipitation, it’s been really quite good [in California],” Abatzoglou, the UC Merced professor, told me. The issue is, it’s also “just been way too damn warm.”
Every major river basin in the western U.S. experienced its first- or second-warmest winter this year, setting a grim stage for the high temperatures that have settled over the region this week. What little snowpack there already was — 97% of the snowpack-monitoring weather stations in Colorado are in snow drought — is now being hammered by the kind of heat the region doesn’t often experience before late spring or early summer. Daniel Swain, a climate scientist with the University of California Agriculture and Natural Resources, has warned that, as a result, we might see “June snowpack levels by April 1” in some parts of the West.
Of particular concern is what this will mean for Lake Powell, the reservoir created by the Glen Canyon Dam on the Colorado River, which supplies electricity to more than 5 million customers across seven states. The reservoir is a mere 40 feet away from the minimum volume required to turn the turbines in the dam, Bloomberg reports.
The early-season heat-driven runoff will further diminish the river’s already reduced flow in the coming months. Snow accumulation in the basin above Lake Powell was only at 67% of the 30-year median for March. Earlier this week, the U.S. Colorado Basin River Forecast Center downgraded its two-week-old forecast for inflows to Lake Powell during the critical April through July period from 2.3 million acre-feet of water to less than 1.8 million acre-feet. That would represent just 27% of the river’s 30-year historical average inflow; to understand how much the unseasonable heat has affected that, projections were more than 3.6 million acre-feet of water at the start of the year.
Though it is the bottom left corner of the country that has drawn the most attention for its triple-digit temperatures this week, records are also toppling in southeastern Oregon and southwestern Idaho, where highs are 20 to 25 degrees Fahrenheit above normal. Kurt Miller, the executive director of the Northwest Public Power Association, a nonprofit that represents public utilities in the region, told me his modeling shows that two consecutive 80-degree days in Boise are enough to trigger runoff starting “in earnest” in the Pacific Northwest, where dams meet about 60% of the region’s electricity demand.
The good news is that the high temperatures in Idaho are forecast to be “peaky” rather than prolonged, as they will be in the southwest, meaning the Pacific Northwest isn’t likely to string together the series of hot days necessary to trigger a catastrophic melt-off scenario. Additionally, while snowpack in the Northwest has been dismal this year, hydropower in the region is largely determined by upstream conditions in British Columbia and Montana, which have been closer to seasonal norms and, more importantly, are out of range of this week’s heat event.
There is another obvious downside to the early snowmelt in the West: Fire season will likely start sooner. “This is basically hitting fast-forward,” Abatzoglou, the University of California, Merced professor, told me. “It’s pushing us much faster toward the crispy season.”
Especially given the already historically low snowpack (in the northern Sierras, snow is at just 38% of its normal levels), the heat current wave could move up the start of fire season by weeks as high elevations melt out and soil and vegetation begin to dry. Usually, such conditions aren’t seen before the late spring or early summer.
While major wildfires have mostly spared high-elevation landscapes in recent years, “I expect that will not be the case this year,” Swain, the scientist at UC ANR, said in a video posted earlier this week. He further predicted that “we’ll see an especially severe and early start to fire season in the four corners — Arizona, New Mexico, Utah, and Colorado,” as well as a potential “severe peak” later in the forests of Northern California, Oregon, and the Rockies. (If there’s a saving grace, though, it’s that the lack of precipitation in the West has also curbed the fuel loads by keeping vegetation growth to a minimum.)
Adding to the alarm is the fact that “this year’s snow accumulation pattern most closely resembles 2015, followed by 2005,” as the National Interagency Fire Center wrote at the start of the month. Both were historically bad fire seasons: In 2005, a then-record 8.7 million acres burned, and in 2015, the U.S. broke more than 10 million acres burned for the first time.
Some research also indicates that longer fire seasons can lead to more severe wildfires, which, in addition to posing greater risks to people and property, take a deeper toll on state and federal firefighting resources and personnel. If the season starts sooner, wildland firefighters are more likely to be exhausted by the time the severe fire days of “dirty August” and “Snaptember” finally come around.
Still, any estimates of the direct impact of this week’s heat wave on the upcoming fire season should come with a hefty margin for error. Wildfires are influenced by a number of factors, both climate-related and not, ranging from historic forest management practices to the timing of the “green up” of local fuel loads to, yes, when and where the snow melts off. But an early dry fuel bed also means prescribed burning efforts can begin sooner, the NIFC notes in its March forecast (although that said, the dry fuel bed may also eventually “curtail burning late spring into early summer if timely moisture intrusions do not materialize”).
It could still take months for the immediate-term impacts of this week’s heat wave to come into focus. Excess mortality takes weeks to calculate and sometimes years to pin down precisely; researchers didn’t conclude their formal study of the 159 deaths resulting from the 2021 heat wave in Washington state until 2023.
What we do know is that early-season severe heat is especially dangerous for human health because people aren’t yet acclimatized to it. In fact, between 50% and 70% of outdoor heat-related fatalities occur in the first few days of a heat wave, according to the Occupational Safety and Health Administration. That’s because it can take between four days and two weeks to adapt physiologically to handling heat stress, including the slow process of building up adequate blood plasma to cope with the increased cardiovascular and cooling demands on the body.
And lest we forget, this heat has arrived staggeringly early, in some places breaking the daily temperature record by as much as 11 degrees. It took until August last year for Los Angeles to experience a similarly “strong” heat wave, senior AccuWeather meteorologist Heather Zehr said in a press release.
Drownings increase during heat waves as people seek out water to cool off, but there is a reason to be especially concerned about water this week. That’s because many people will head to rivers, and that water will likely be cold and high due to rapid snowmelt in the mountains, Abatzoglou told me. In addition to its extreme heat warnings this week, the National Weather Service has also been posting PSAs reminding Americans that “cold water can kill.”
There could be impacts on agriculture, too. It is fruit- and nut-blossom season in California’s Central Valley, which produces about three-quarters of those products consumed in the United States. It’s the Valley’s Mediterranean-esque climate, in part, that makes the region so productive; this time of year, daily highs are more typically in the mid-60s, perfect for the trees. Now, however, they’re cresting 90 degrees, threatening the Valley’s $21 billion in annual exports and more than 200,000 agricultural jobs. Further south near San Diego, there are also mounting concerns for the avocado industry, as the plants have particularly heat-sensitive blooms.
Though the heat wave is expected to begin breaking next week, a definitive end to the dry, unseasonably warm troubles in the West is nowhere in sight. April is the crucial transition month in the West, when states can sometimes stabilize after winters with poor snowpack or low precipitation through late-season storms. But “unfortunately, taking a look at some of the longer-range outlooks, it’s more likely than not there will be warmer than normal temperatures continuing across the West into April,” Labe said. “So just all around bad news.”
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We didn’t know days like this could happen. Then we learned how bad they really are.
When I woke up this morning in Chicago, the Air Quality Index was in the 300s, and I could barely see the top of the skyscraper across the street. The weather app on my phone featured a little image of a man wearing a World War I-style full-face gas mask. That’s fun, I thought. I didn’t know it could do that.
I went downstairs. Old photographs of the city were hanging in the hotel lobby — girls playing in bathing suits next to the lake — and I realized that the haze shrouding the old Lakeshore Drive condos was in fact haze, smoke, particulate matter, and not a lens artifact. It really used to be that smoky all the time, back before the Clean Air Act. Then I glanced up and saw that the haze out the window was far worse than the century-old pollution in the picture.
It’s significant, I think, that a mass smoke-out like this has now happened to the eastern U.S. for a second time. Second times matter. When exhaust from Canadian wildfires blanketed the Northeast and parts of the Midwest in June 2023, exposing more Americans to wildfire smoke than on any previous day in history, one could almost write it off as a freak occurrence. It was upsetting, sure, and reminiscent of California’s climate-addled amber skies. But didn’t wildfire smoke also descend on New England once in the 1780s? Even on a warmer planet, couldn’t this remain a once-in-a-century blip?
Twice in just over three years, though — that‘s more than a hiccup. That’s almost a trend. To get smoked out once may be regarded as a misfortune; for it to recur again, without any plan to respond, starts to look like carelessness. The federal government is doing roughly diddly squat about adaptation — President Trump can build a fan on the border and make Canada pay for it — but state and local governments across the eastern U.S. will now need to reckon with a new form of extreme weather. You grew up with snow days, but now we’ll have smoke days — and schools and sports leagues and concert venues will need rules about how to deal with them. When should games be canceled, tickets refunded? Is smoke more like a heat wave or a hurricane? Hotels and office buildings will need to review their ventilation policies and possibly upgrade their equipment; municipal emergency response plans will be revised and printed in triplicate.
All this will happen because the smoke has invaded a second time — and arguably a third, if you count last year’s minor episode — and that means it could come back again. For that reason, this event strikes me as a much bigger deal than what happened in 2023. The smoke is now a fact of life; institutions will need a policy about it. The tortious creep of litigation risk will enforce that outcome, even if no federal official enforces it.
So it goes. But to be clear, this new inconvenience is not what worries me most about today’s events. No, what frightens me instead is that today’s airborne toxic event is not something that was supposed to happen. Until a few years ago, we had not thought too hard about whether a major smoke exposure event like this could happen on the East Coast at all. It had not seemed possible.
For years, economists and climate scientists have simulated how global warming might affect the U.S. and global economies. They poured years of careful work into this modeling, and they simulated — with ever-increasing levels of statistical persnicketiness — what extreme heat and sea-level rise might do to agricultural yield, labor productivity, energy demand, heat mortality, and real estate values, among other potential sources of damage. This work was useful; it improved our practical understanding of coastal flooding, to name one example. It also helped calibrate U.S. regulatory policy, even if it never achieved the crowning heights of helping to set a national carbon tax.
Yet these careful models almost never accounted for mass smoke exposure days. Indeed, the kind of thing that happened this week — when heavy haze blows down from Canada and exposes more than 100 million people to hazardous air — was not countenanced by the simulations at all. Only in recent years did economists begin to study events like these, and only because mass exposure events like 2023’s happened first.
We’ve long known that the tiny shreds of particulate matter in wildfire smoke dance across the body’s barriers and penetrate its deep places, etching their way into lung, heart, and brain tissue. Inflammation follows. What makes days like today unique is the scale: Tens of millions of Americans inhaling wildfire smoke at the same time. As we’ve started studying this phenomenon, it’s become clear that the mortality effects of days like today, the deaths elevated above what you’d otherwise expect, can persist for years. That becomes extraordinarily expensive for society.
How costly? “When monetized,” a group of Stanford and Princeton economists wrote in Nature last year, in the first major study on the topic, “the climate-driven smoke deaths result in economic damages that exceed existing estimates of climate-driven damages from all other causes combined in the U.S.A.”
You read that right: The cost of climate-worsened wildfire smoke alone is larger than what earlier studies said every other estimated cost of climate change would be, combined.
To summarize, wildfire smoke did not appear in our economic simulations of climate change. As recently as a few years ago, we did not really know that days like today — or June 7, 2023; or September 15, 2020; or September 9, 2020 — could occur. Then they happened. And happened again. And then we studied them and discovered that, in fact, they may be more expensive for the U.S. economy than we once thought climate change itself would be.
That worries me. Now we know these smoke-out days can happen; now they are fast becoming a rare but predictable feature of summer life. But until recently they were unimaginable. What other ignominies, what other tail risks and airborne surprises, are lurking in the uncontrolled experiment we’re running on the biosphere? What else — unforecast, unmodeled, unstudied, unthought of — lies ahead? After 10 years of covering the climate system, I am not someone who lies sleepless fretting about atmospheric CO2. But I do wonder what else we don’t know enough about to ask.
“Microsoft, you can’t hide, we can see your dirty side!”
Protestors interrupted one of the final sessions of PNW Climate Week — a conference that brings together climate leaders across Washington, Oregon, and British Columbia — objecting to Microsoft’s rising carbon emissions from data centers and partnerships with oil and gas companies. The company’s Chief Sustainability Officer Melanie Nakagawa was having a one on one conversation with GeekWire climate reporter Lisa Stiffler at Seattle’s City Hall when protestors carrying signs reading “Microsoft’s AI pollutes” and other slogans began shouting from the audience.
I was there, having just moderated the prior panel on how to finance Washington’s clean energy ambitions. Early on there were some rumblings in the crowd from up front. “Climate leaders don’t build gas pipelines in Moses Lake,” was the first objection I heard clearly. It came shortly after Nakagawa kicked off the conversation by highlighting Microsoft’s partnership with sustainable aviation fuel startup Twelve, which recently opened its first commercial-scale SAF plant in Moses Lake, Washington. The tech giant has supported the project through a strategic investment from its Climate Innovation Fund, as well as an offtake agreement for the fuel that will help offset its emissions from employee travel.
Whether Microsoft is building a gas pipeline in this particular community I haven’t been able to determine, though it seems irrelevant to Twelve’s SAF facility, which doesn’t rely on natural gas. But it is true that Microsoft is one of the largest power consumers in Grant County, Washington, home to Moses Lake, where a natural gas pipeline operator is looking to expand its network to accommodate data center load growth.
Another audience interruption was more pointed. “How does signing a 20-year deal with Chevron help you reach your clean energy goals?,” one protestor asked, referring to Microsoft's recently announced power purchase agreement with Chevron for nearly 2.7 gigawatts of natural gas-fired power to supply a West Texas data center. The project represents one of the largest gas-powered artificial intelligence developments in the U.S., and Stiffler acknowledged that she had been planning to ask about it, herself.
Nakagawa answered the question. at least in part, saying “that project with Chevron is initially using natural gas and it’s a natural gas contract,” before emphasizing that the company has built “over 4.5 gigawatts of clean energy already today,” and remains committed to balancing speed-to-power with its clean energy goals. She added that, “with this deal in particular, we’re looking at a range of tools in our toolbox to ensure that we can continue to grow our power, but also do so in a way that is responsible and sustainable.” She stopped short, however, of making any commitments to transitioning the project to renewable energy over time.
The session became more chaotic from there. Another protestor stood up, shouting that “Microsoft is enabling genocide in Palestine.” Other activists joined in, while still other audience members shouted back. As Nakagawa recovered and resumed answering a question from Stiffler about Microsoft’s recent decision to pause its carbon removal purchases after years of dominating the nascent industry, protestors throughout the crowd began a chant of “Microsoft, you can’t hide, we can see your dirty side.” Security eventually shepherded many of them out.
Stiffler continued speaking with Nakawaga about the company’s clean energy efforts, touching on many of the protestors’ concerns as she asked about community opposition to data centers, the role of large corporations in the clean energy transition, and whether Microsoft can realistically achieve its goal of becoming carbon negative by 2030.
Nakawaga emphasized that the company must, “first and foremost, listen to where the communities are and what they are calling for.” Regarding the concerns she hears most often, she explained that “first has been transparency. Second has been around resource uses and what are we doing about those resource uses. We’re hearing about jobs and employment and investments in education, investments in housing.”
If this session was any indication, those concerns won’t go away anytime soon.
Heat kills more Americans than any other extreme weather event in the United States. But wildfire smoke — while not strictly “weather” — appears to kill even more. Current excess death estimates put American heat mortality at about 10,000 people per year, or possibly as high as 12,000. Recent studies on wildfire PM 2.5 exposure suggest a mortality of double that: 24,000 all-cause deaths every year.
Needless to say, wildfire smoke is definitely not something you want to inhale if you can avoid it. (And really, you should try to.) But for the 115 million Americans in the Great Lakes and Northeast regions of the country who’ve been exposed to hazardous air from the fires in Ontario and Minnesota this week, there’s a chance that the damage is already done. According to a wildfire smoke mortality estimation tool from Cornell University’s School of Public Health and the Northeast Regional Climate Center, the total mortality for this smoke event could already be as high as 424 people so far, including nearly 100 in Michigan and more than 50 in both New York and Wisconsin.
Alistair Hayden, an assistant professor of practice in Cornell’s Department of Public and Ecosystem Health, stressed to me that the tool is a “first draft,” and that his team is still working on getting it peer-reviewed. “We intend it as a hypothesis that people can test in the coming weeks or months to confirm our numbers,” Hayden told me. “I’m really hoping to be proven wrong.”
But Hayden also emphasized that while the West Coast might historically be where many smoke-related deaths have occurred, “this is the third out of four years [in the Northeast] that we’re having the smoke, so it seems like something we should be planning for,” he said. “It reminds me of that saying: ‘Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.’”
Admittedly, the smoke this week is a bit of a freak occurrence. A cooler-than-average sea surface pattern across the North Pacific, known as a negative phase of the Pacific Decadal Oscillation, helped produce weak low-pressure areas in the northwestern part of the United States, which in turn allowed for heat domes to develop across the Southwest and Plains. After one did just that earlier this month, the hot, high-pressure dome then shifted north, where it developed “dryness across Canada, followed by the lightning-producing thunderstorms,” Chad Merrill, a senior meteorologist at AccuWeather, told me. Then, boom: widespread fires.
“It is very unusual to have a combination of an El Niño and a negative phase of the Pacific Decadal Oscillation,” Merrill went on. “That’s one of the unusual factors this year, which contributed to the heat dome being farther north in that particular position.” The heat dome and jet stream then worked together to direct the thick smoke down into some of the most populous regions of Canada and the U.S.
That’s what makes this particular smoke event so bad. Were the smoke blowing over remote regions of Canada, as it would under more usual conditions, “then the big cities and the Great Lakes wouldn’t experience the smoke; it would have gone north toward the Hudson Bay and then Greenland,” Merrill said. In fact, the Canadian fire season is tracking below average overall; it’s the meteorological conditions that made this week’s smoke events, as one outlet put it, “the perfect storm.”
Wildfire smoke in the region is not historically anomalous, however. A 1903 article in The New York Times describes a “yellow day” similar to smoky events in 1894, 1881, and earlier. But large-scale burns in Canada’s dense, remote boreal, which produce more smoke, are increasing. Though it’s difficult to attribute any one wildfire directly to climate change because of the complex nature of such events, we do know that fire weather is becoming more common with the warming of the atmosphere from greenhouse gas emissions. As modeled by Zeke Hausfather in the Friday edition of his newsletter The Climate Brink, “hotter, drier seasons burn the most” in Canada — and “recent years cluster there” as the country has outpaced the global average in warming.
But as Hausfather also writes, “While overall area burned is the climate-linked trend, who breathes the smoke on a given week in July is mostly driven by the weather.” This is similar to the way that, though it may be a quiet year in the Atlantic, it only takes one hurricane making landfall in the right (or wrong) spot for the season to be remembered as catastrophic.
On the other hand, as foolish as it might be for the Central Plains and East Coast to still believe smoke is the exclusive domain of Westerners, it is also a mistake to assume smoke only comes from without. As I reported earlier this year, the Eastern half of the country has seen a 10-fold jump in the frequency of large burns over the last 40 years. Nowhere is safe from the smoke.
Planning and preparation, then, should be paramount. But as Grist learned last month, there are no established Air Quality Index numbers that would trigger the postponement, relocation, or cancellation of, say, a FIFA World Cup game, including the final, which is set to be played in New Jersey on Sunday. White House officials are reportedly meeting with FIFA’s president on Friday to discuss contingencies, given the unhealthy air quality in the region.
Which brings us back to Hayden’s modeling. He offered a note of optimism in that research by Stanford’s Sam Heft-Neal and his colleagues indicates that emergency room visits do not rise in tandem with increasing wildfire smoke. “As smoke gets bad, the health impacts get bigger. But then as smoke gets worse and worse, the amount of health impacts actually goes down, measured for emergency room visits,” Hayden said. “The idea is that people modify their behavior in higher smoke” — say, by staying indoors, wearing masks, or canceling outdoor events.
It’s time to treat smoke as an East Coast phenomenon, in other words. Doing so will save lives. “Will [smoke events] become more frequent in the future? Most likely we will see a recurrence,” Merrill, the meteorologist, told me. “How often they happen is yet to be determined.”