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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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The smoke pouring into Seattle from Spokane is particularly bad, but there’s also no such thing as good smoke.
I wrote this story from inside a cloud of smoke. Owing to some funky meteorology in the Seattle area this week — a pressure ridge paired with a thermal trough — the region’s usual westerly winds reversed, causing smoke from the fires burning in the eastern half of the state to pour through the mountain passes and river valleys of the Cascades and pool over the populous Puget Sound lowlands, where I live.
Though it’s cleared up some today, I’m still running my air purifier on full blast because I know what’s in the lingering smoke. Unlike the still blazing wildfires in Ontario that are burning through mostly uninhabited forests, the smoke in the Seattle area this week came to us partially from Spokane, where the Old Trails fire razed at least 700 buildings and homes last weekend. That means that beyond the usual organic matter associated with wildfire smoke, the pollution that has hung over Seattle has likely also contained particles and chemicals from burned plastics, batteries, cars, and household appliances.
But how can the average person be sure whether their wildfire smoke is the bad kind or the worse kind? (At least assuming that well-adjusted people do not obsessively watch the animations on AirNow.Gov, as I do.) I turned to Coty Jen, an associate professor of chemical engineering, and Albert Presto, a research professor of mechanical engineering, both of Carnegie Mellon University, to learn more about the chemistry of wildfire smoke.
“There is no safe smoke,” Jen said, setting me straight immediately. “It’s all bad. It will piss your body off.”
While it’s true that some smoke is more toxic than other smoke, what you might call the “all natural, organic” variety will still spike hospital emission rates and exacerbate pre-existing respiratory diseases, even if it is mostly burning trees.
Under ideal conditions, when cellulose or lignin — the main structural components of trees and plants as well as leaf litter and soil, the largest sources of carbon during a forest fire — heat up and combust, the chemical reaction creates carbon dioxide, water, heat, and light. But wildfires don’t burn cleanly, and the chemical reactions often stall midway through that process due to things like oxygen availability and temperature variation, producing intermediate products like carbon monoxide or partially broken-down bits of carbon, often called soot. The tiniest of these particles can be smaller than 2.5 micrometers across — 30 or more could fit across the width of a human hair — and are measured collectively as PM2.5, a catch-all term that refers to the size of the particle rather than what it is. What’s important, though, is that these particles are small enough to penetrate deep into our lungs and potentially enter our bloodstream, factors that add to the known mortality associated with PM2.5 exposure.
Different kinds of forests create different emissions — heavy duff, or leaf litter, which is common in pine forests, creates some of the densest smoke conditions. Wetter fuels also burn “dirtier,” creating more pollution. Different topographies also impact air quality in myriad ways; it’s no surprise that some of the worst pollution from the Spokane wildfires pooled in mountain valleys as a warm overhead layer of air trapped the particles near the ground.
Even “natural” wildfires can be extra toxic; burning eucalyptus, which grows in Southern California, is not something you want to inhale. Pine smoke can cause mutations in bacterial DNA, a common lab test for a substance’s potential to cause cancer. Wildfires that smolder are worse than those that burn fast; researchers have found that PM2.5 can be up to 70 times higher when fuels aren’t actively on fire. “You can even see this if you’ve ever built a fire yourself,” Presto explained. “There’s a period where everything is big and flaming, and then, if you’re burning a log, it eventually goes down to smoldering. The emissions are different.”
In the case of something like a house burning down in a wildfire, however, it’s not only cellulose and lignin combusting. “We’re good at engineering materials that are extremely robust, but when they burn, they release very exotic compounds,” Jen said. She pointed to the common plastic PVC, which is used for everything from exterior siding to plumbing and window frames. When it combusts, PVC releases chlorine, “which is very bad for you,” Jen told me. “It’s like how bleach is bad for you — it’s a pretty nasty chlorine compound. PVC isn’t releasing bleach, but it is releasing radical chlorine molecules that produce some crazy compounds.”
If you’re following a smoke event at home, the answer is “not really.” PM2.5 is measured in micrograms per cubic meter, which tells us how much small stuff is floating around, but not what that small stuff is. “It is pretty difficult to measure all the different compounds that wildfires, or broadly any pollution, will emit,” Jen said. “The easiest way to quantify it is to literally suck air onto a filter and measure how heavy it got.”
Measuring what exactly is in that mass requires instruments that cost in the ballpark of half a million dollars, which is not financially feasible at every air monitoring station, Jen went on. But while there are certainly academic applications for that kind of knowledge, a person trying to decide whether or not to go for their run in wildfire smoke doesn’t need that level of granularity.
“Some smoke is definitely more dangerous,” Jen said. “But as innocent bystanders, it’s not like we can pick and choose what smoke floats over to us. You just have to live with it, so the best mentality is to treat all smoke as bad.”
In a 2026 Science Advances study that attributed more than 24,000 deaths per year to wildfire smoke in the U.S., researchers found no safe threshold for PM2.5 exposure. Every 0.1 microgram per cubic meter increase in a county’s average annual PM2.5 from smoke was associated with nearly 5,600 excess deaths nationwide, even though most counties saw only trace amounts of smoke — about 0.4 micrograms per cubic meter a year. While it’s “orange sky” days, when the pollution spikes into triple-digit AQI numbers, that get the most media attention, even low exposure that you can’t smell or even see can be affecting your health.
PM2.5 is just one component of wildfire smoke — the other is gases, including benzene and formaldehyde. Many gases chemically transform as they move from where the fire is to where you inhale them. “The atmosphere is extremely oxidizing — it likes to add oxygen molecules onto compounds,” Jen said.
Some of those compounds react faster than others, “so it depends how downwind you are,” Jen went on. That’s why people closer to a wildfire — maybe a day or less downwind — get the distinctive campfire smell, mainly from the “young” vapors and volatile organic compounds. But for people on the East Coast who were subject to the Ontario smoke several weeks ago, the smoke had to travel several days to reach places like Pittsburgh and New York, and by then the sharper-smelling compounds had transformed into new pollutants like ozone.
The AQI only measures a few specific gases that are considered “criteria pollutants” under the Clean Air Act, which means, as Presto told me, “during these fires, you could emit a whole bunch of different other gases that don’t have an AQI number.”
Instead, you can look at the PM2.5 number to get the gist of how prevalent wildfire gases are. “If your PM 2.5 is high, it’s impossible for the bad gasses to be low,” Jen said. “The way we think about it is, there’s a bunch of junk on the particle, and if the same junk’s not also in the gas, it will evaporate off the particle into the gas. They always exist together.”
You might notice by now that I’ve written little about the actual AQI number, that score that appears on your weather app and runs from zero to 500 (or, confusingly, even higher). That’s because while the AQI is a great communication tool, it doesn’t offer us much in the way of the science of wildfire smoke.
The AQI measures five different pollutants — PM2.5, ozone, carbon monoxide, sulfur dioxide, and nitrogen dioxide — with the EPA setting specific concentration thresholds for each one, as my colleague Emily Pontecorvo has explained. “If local concentrations of any one of them tick up above those protective standards, the AQI will jump from green to a more alarming color,” she wrote. “The higher the level of pollution is, the higher the AQI and the darker the color will be.”
If you want to impress your friends, though, you ought to zero in specifically on the PM2.5 concentration — again, because the prevalence of the tiniest particulates is a good indicator of all the other gunk you can assume is in the air, too. (You can find the specific PM2.5 concentration usually by clicking for more information about the AQI on your weather app or checking IQ Air’s widget.) For example, at the time of this writing, my local PM2.5 concentration is 50 micrograms per cubic meter, more than triple the World Health Organization’s 15 micrograms per cubic meter threshold for 24-hour exposure. (The EPA’s 24-hour threshold is much more lenient, at 35 micrograms per cubic meter.)
When I asked Jen how she stays sane knowing all she knows about smoke exposure, she laughed. “I have just generally become more terrified of all campfires and all barbecues, but people already think I’m weird, so I might as well add to it,” she told me.
In all seriousness, though, she told me the answer is air filters, and her confidence in their ability to work. When wildfire smoke rolled through Pittsburgh, she had two running that she moved from room-to-room with her family, as well as a whole-house air filter. “We were getting PM2.5 concentrations in our house of about 80 micrograms per cubic meter when it was 150 outside,” she said. “But with the air filter on, we could drop that down to less than eight.”
Jen pointed out, though, that many people do not run their air filters properly. Filters are rated at their highest blower level, “so for them to be effective, you need to crank them to their highest setting to get all the air through,” she said. Most people keep their filters on auto or low because they’re so loud — myself included, until I learned otherwise.
Additionally, while an air filter is a rather large appliance, it really ought to be placed in the center of your room to be the most efficient, rather than up against a wall. (Again, my bad.) “When these wildfire events happen, the most effective place for the air filter is where you are, and you have to run it loud, which kind of sucks,” Jen said. “But it is better than breathing in gross air.”
The bill has bipartisan support, but even as Washington State burns, chances for passing it this session are looking slim.
It has been five days since the Old Trail fire burned through northeast Spokane, one of three blazes to encroach on the periphery of Washington state’s second-largest city this week. Tens of thousands of residents remain under evacuation notices, with some still unsure of if their homes are standing. While fire crews used cool weather at the end of the week to dig in new fire lines, this weekend marks the return of hot, dry, and windy red flag conditions.
The fight is far from over — nor is it limited to Spokane. The entire Northwest appears to be ablaze, with 44 large, uncontained fires burning in Washington and Oregon alone.
Something, everyone agrees, needs to be done. Exactly what, though, is a tougher question.
Most prominent among the potential solutions is the Fix Our Forests Act, which has managed to earn bipartisan support in the halls of an increasingly divided Congress. But it has also split the environmental movement in two. Even as the urgency has risen, hope for it to pass during this Congress has diminished, a sign of just how fraught forest management has become in this age of fires.
Initially drafted in 2023 under President Joe Biden, the Fix Our Forests Act aims to modernize forest management practices by sweeping away regulatory hurdles. After passing the House in September 2024, the bill arrived too late in the Senate for a committee vote. The bill was picked up again in 2025 after the Los Angeles wildfires, with its co-sponsor, House Committee on Natural Resources Chair Bruce Westerman, touting it as a way to prevent “future disasters.” (Westerman reintroduced the law with Democratic Representative Scott Peters of San Diego after they bonded over sequoias on a flight.)
With California’s tragedy fresh on the lower chamber’s minds, the bill quickly passed to a floor vote, with 64 Democrats joining all of the Republicans in sending it to the Senate. There, the bill has similar cross-aisle support. As one press email I received from an electrical manufacturer’s industry group in support of the legislation observed, “At least we can agree on wildfire mitigation.”
But though FOFA cleared its Senate committee markup 18-5, the August recess is now looming, meaning the window for a floor vote is narrowing. Given other must-pass bills languishing in the Senate, supporters of the Fix Our Forest Act fear it may once again get booted to the next Congress.
Matt Weiner, the CEO and founder of the nonprofit advocacy group Megafire Action, which backed the bill with a six-figure ad campaign last year, told me he’s nevertheless feeling optimistic. “They’ve gotten the clearances they need on both sides to get it into a must‑pass vehicle, so there’s potential for floor time in September and potential for lame duck movement as well,” he said.
I’ve been speaking with Weiner about FOFA since 2024; against the backdrop of the burning West, he’s getting antsy. “We can’t just be discussing it for the next decade as these treasured landscapes that we love so much go up in smoke,” Weiner said. “The way they’re burning, they’re not going to come back in the way we know the West.”
FOFA aims to prevent fires by making it easier for forest managers to use mitigation practices, such as prescribed burning and mechanical thinning, on federal land. It does this by allowing projects of up to 10,000 acres to qualify for a “categorical exclusion” exempting them from National Environmental Policy Act reviews, more than tripling the current cap of 3,000 acres. It also gives the Forest Service discretion to designate high-risk wildfire regions of up to 250,000-acres as “fireshed management areas,” a determination that bypasses time-consuming public and tribal comment processes, NEPA reviews, and certain Endangered Species Act and National Historic Preservation Act guardrails. The statute of limitations for stakeholders and the public to bring a legal challenge against a management plan is further reduced from six years to 150 days.
In 2025, The Breakthrough Institute, which also supports the bill, found that forest management projects drew more NEPA-related litigation than any other kind, adding an average of two years to their development timeline. “There are plenty of examples where we’ve seen those exact forests where projects were planned go up in smoke,” Emily Bass, the director of federal policy, food, and agriculture at Breakthrough, told me.
Environmental and conservation groups are divided on the bill, though. More than 100 nonprofits and advocacy groups — including the Sierra Club, the Center for Biological Diversity, and Earthjustice — signed onto a letter ahead of FOFA’s Senate committee hearing last fall arguing that “provisions of the bill represent the antithesis of effective, science-based wildfire mitigation and offer false solutions that would harm communities, ecosystems, and biodiversity.”
Of particular concern is the fact that, among more popular wildfire mitigation techniques like prescribed burns, the bill considers “any” timber harvest to be a “hazardous fuels management activity.” That means, in essence, that FOFA would open hundreds of thousands of acres of federal forest to NEPA-free logging in the name of wildfire mitigation.
“It makes sense that there might be some emergency situation where you’d need to get in and quickly remove vegetation on a small area,” Ellen Montgomery, the public lands campaign director for Environment America, told me. But a categorical exclusion of 10,000 acres would create a “‘log first, tell us what you log later’ situation,” she said. “It could be old growth forest. It could be mature. It could be wildlife habitat. It could have serious watershed health impacts, and we literally wouldn’t even know they’ve done it.”
In addition to sidestepping NEPA, a separate provision in FOFA would make it easier to avoid redoing Endangered Species Act consultations at the landscape-plan level if new information about a listed animal or plant emerges, something opponents say is another nail in the coffin of an already substantially weakened ESA.
Weiner is sensitive to criticisms that focus on the bill as a “handout” to corporate timber interests, arguing that “we don’t have examples of a single wildfire categorical exclusion being used inappropriately for timber harvest.”
Alex Craven, the national forest campaign manager for the Sierra Club, wasn’t persuaded by that argument. “It hasn’t been abused yet,” he said. “My counter question would be, why would some of these sweeping authorities need to be as large or expansive as they are?” (Susan Jane M. Brown, the principal and chief legal counsel of Silvix Resources, a nonprofit environmental law firm, later pointed me to a case from earlier this year in which the timber industry used a categorical exclusion in Oregon to justify logging that a judge found “would have no significant impact” on actually reducing fire hazards.)
There is also President Trump’s 2025 executive order establishing timber harvest quotas for the Forest Service. Though FOFA was initially drafted in 2023, under the previous administration, the current Forest Service chief is a former timber lobbyist whose “theory of wildfire prevention [is] you prevent wildfires by not having trees,” the conservation-focused Substack More Than Just Parks has argued. Though supporters of FOFA argue the Trump administration will pursue its timber quotas with or without the bill, Montgomery of Environment America said that complicity on those grounds is “ridiculous.”
“Just because there’s a very permissive executive order that encourages increased logging doesn’t mean it’s a good idea for Congress to pass a law to codify that," she said. “In fact, it makes it worse — a future administration can rescind an executive order. But if this law is on the books that authorizes these large categorical exclusions, that’s much harder to reverse.”
New additions to the bill such as a workforce protection program for Forest Service employees, a consolidated wildland-urban interface grant program, and the streamlined Wildfire Intelligence Center have helped win over some of the more forest management-focused holdouts over the years, including the Nature Conservancy, the National Wildlife Foundation, and the Environmental Defense Fund.
“I can’t speak to other nonprofits’ fears on this, but I can tell you we feel confident that the guardrails with NEPA and public review, and even the categorical exclusion increase of 10,000 acres, are well within the reasonable need for us to carry out our work and also protect important habitat, drinking water, and other aspects,” Eric Sprague, the director of forest conservation at the National Audubon Society, which also supports FOFA, told me. He added that he was particularly excited about a reforestation piece included in the bill, which creates a list of priority projects, as well as its forward-looking seed sourcing program focused on adapting to hotter future habitats.
FOFA is one of a suite of fire management bills in various stages in Congress, including some with overlapping aims. (The Farm Bill that passed the House this spring, for example, contains language expanding categorical exclusions to 10,000 acres.) Some organizations have championed the Community Protection and Wildfire Resilience Act, which has been referred to committee in the Senate and focuses more on community-level resilience measures like home hardening, as an alternative to FOFA.
The Wildfire Emissions Prevention Act is a narrower bill that also has bipartisan support, and entered committee last month. Like FOFA, it has also divided environmental groups with its approach. Though it would ostensibly weaken Clean Air Act protections, it does so in the name of making it easier to greenlight prescribed burns, a well-tested tactic for curbing major fires in certain ecosystems. Bass noted that the Forest Service treated only 1.1 million acres with beneficial fire last year, against a national target of 3.6 million, even despite an influx of Inflation Reduction Act and Infrastructure Investment and Jobs Act funding. An optimal rate, per Breakthrough’s analysis, is closer to 3.9 million acres per year in California alone.
But underscoring the fragmented nature of wildfire mitigation bedfellows and enemies, even WEPA has its skeptics. “EPA’s regulations already provide for [prescribed fire as an exceptional event],” Abi Vijayan, an attorney at the Environmental Defense Fund who testified against WEPA, told me. “It doesn’t put prescribed fires on the table as a legal matter,” she went on. “It just weakens the guardrails that are already in place in both the Clean Air Act and EPA’s regulations.”
But here’s the $3.4 million question: If FOFA had passed when it was first introduced back in 2024, would the 2026 fire season look the same as it does now? It’s impossible to say. While Weiner pointed to positive examples like the prescribed burn scar that helped save South Lake Tahoe in 2021, experts largely agree that poor or stymied forest management efforts weren’t the root cause of the chaparral fires that burned into L.A. neighborhoods unwisely carved into fire-prone landscapes.
Even the bill’s co-sponsors acknowledge that while the bill might be a “move in the right direction,” it is ultimately meaningless in a greater policy vacuum. As New Mexico Democratic Senator Martin Heinrich put it to me in a statement: “Congress has to provide the meaningful investment to get this work done, and this administration needs to stop undermining the science, our public lands, and the federal workforce that make effective forest management possible.”
Forest management is only one piece of a complex puzzle; we also need to manage our communities, both where and how they are built. Looking at some of the most recent catastrophic fires — in Lahaina, Los Angeles, and Spokane — the unifying trend is not overgrown, untreated forests, but rather the nationwide pattern of suburban encroachment. “Federal land increasingly contributes little to disasters in urban and semi-urban settings,” The New York Times’ David Wallace-Wells wrote in January, marking the anniversary of the L.A. fires. Indeed, despite Westerman’s promise that FOFA would prevent “future disasters,” it likely would have done very little for Spokane, where an arsonist ignited the fire in a state park.
Craven of the Sierra Club emphasized that this is why he opposes the blunt instrument of FOFA when it comes to tackling the hydra that is wildfire. “It’s almost more valuable to look at the wildfire crisis as the wildfire crises in terms of what you are trying to solve,” he said. “Is that the protection of homes and communities? Or is it returning forest health and natural fire cycles to these landscapes? The solutions you come up with need to be matched to the right problems.”
A chat with Colette Lamontagne, senior director for electric power at Ceres.
This week’s conversation is with Colette Lamontagne, senior director for electric power at the sustainability finance advocacy group Ceres. Her team just released a shareholder engagement guide for the utility space around data center development. I’ve been wondering when the ESG crowd would enter into the AI infrastructure fray, so I asked if I could chat with Colette about what the guide could teach my lovely readers and whether the data center backlash portends a new wave of boardroom fights between electric companies and institutional investors.
Our conversation was lightly edited for clarity.
What is the big message of this guide? If you were to talk about this over a coffee, what would be the topline takeaway?
These data centers are coming, but they can be done right. They don’t have to be done in a way that negatively impacts energy, water, and communities, and we need to slow down just enough to be able to do it right.
It’s not a guide about what data centers should do — it's a guide on the risks to the electric power sector. The biggest risk is the magnitude of power needed and the timing — how quickly it’s needed. Because of that, the traditional process for electric utilities can’t keep pace. It’s all regulated. There’s a lot of steps they have to go through to build new transmission infrastructure and new generation. If the grid connected companies can’t keep up the pace, data centers will just build their own generation. And the biggest problem with that? You have all these resources not shared by the users.
Do you think data centers are going to create a new wave of ESG-based investor advocacy?
I haven’t thought about it as a new age for ESG, but that’s a good point. We are moving beyond asking companies about targets and to create transition plans. Now we’re looking at how to accelerate solutions for climate impacts. I do think there’s a new age related to that.
When it comes to data centers, the questions aren't about utilities and their targets, but instead how they’ll meet this need so they don’t go back to old coal plants or [build] new [behind the meter] plants not used by the grid.
Should we anticipate some kind of new shareholder advocacy wave around how integrated utilities and power companies address or mitigate the impacts of the data center boom on meeting their resource plans, especially decisions made as a result of shareholder advocacy on climate?
If a data center comes to a utility and says they need 100 megawatts of power and the utility chooses to serve that with coal or gas instead of new renewables, it will impact their clean energy goals. If they say they signed a power purchase agreement and give all these renewable resources to a data center, that’s not new — you’re still impacting your clean energy goals because then you’re taking the renewables away from other customers. You have to build something else for those other customers. What are you building instead?
How they think about their long-term resource plans is really important. These generation sources will be around for a very long time. In most cases, renewable energy is cheaper to build. Gas plants require a four- or five-year wait for turbines. So not only is it better for the environment but better for business to get these renewables built.
I’ve written a lot about data center water use. The guide goes into the energy sector’s water use impacts from this increased power demand from data centers; specifically, it says investors should consider asking utilities to conduct new comprehensive water risk assessments around it. Can you help my readers and I better understand what this kind of assessment is and why companies should consider doing this?
Different types of electric generation facilities use different amounts of water. Some of it is withdrawn and put back. Some of it is withdrawn and consumed. Those matter. In cases when water is drawn and put back, the temperature goes up — that’s impacting the environment.
It’s an interesting dichotomy. The new technologies that use air cooling use less water, but they use more energy. Then you have to think about what electricity you’re using and how much water that electricity is using. It’s the life-cycle impacts.
Is there any kind of risk for investors or energy companies associated with the data center sector, given its political challenges?
Well, utilities usually get the short end of the straw. They always get blamed for everything. I say that with a laugh because I used to work for a utility.
Some of these companies have an obligation to serve. If someone comes to them and says they need power, they are required to provide it. However, they can protect themselves and other ratepayers. If the utility builds a whole generation plant and all this transmission infrastructure to serve one data center, and then the data center gets canceled, yeah that’s a risk — not to the bottom line of the utility but to their reputation.