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A conversation with Stephen Pyne, the world’s most prominent wildfire historian

The world's most prominent wildfire historian found his way into his life's work by accident. A few days after he graduated from high school, Stephen Pyne had been brought on as a laborer on the South Rim of the Grand Canyon and was signing his hiring papers when he was asked if he’d be interested in joining a forest fire crew on the North Rim instead.
“I said sure,” Pyne told me. “And it was transformative. Everything I’ve done since then dates from that time on the North Rim.”
Pyne spent fifteen seasons on the North Rim, including twelve as a crew boss, and went on to study fire for a living. He became a fire historian, practically the first of his kind, joined the faculty at Arizona State University, and wrote dozens of books about the history of fire around the world. He retired from teaching in 2018, but continues to work on books — he’s wrapping up one about Mexico at the moment.
I spoke with Pyne about the history of wildfires in the United States, and what the future could look like. Our interview has been edited for length and clarity.
How have we historically thought about fire in the United States?
Well, it depends what time in history you want to go back to. The attitudes we have now are pretty recent, probably less than 100 years. The native peoples used fire widely, for all kinds of things. Heating, lighting, entertainment, agriculture, hunting, foraging, and self-protection. It was all over the place.
Europeans also had fire in their background, but always embedded within an agricultural context of pastoralism or farming. Nobody was particularly putting fires out unless it immediately threatened some asset of theirs, like their house or town. It was just sort of spring clean, part of maintenance of the landscape. So people were always around fire, it was just a constant companion. And then that changes when we began going to industrial combustion, powered by fossil fuels. Suddenly, we don't have fire around us anymore.
Where did it go?
Well, it went into machines. The burning is done off-site and we get the fire through electricity. Processed fossil biomass gave us a lot of the petrochemicals we use for agriculture, so we don't burn the fields for fertilizing and fumigating. We found all these substitutes and then we use machines to deliver those things. So it's taken fire out of the built environment.
When did the American policy of fire suppression really come into being? Was there a turning point?
A couple of things happened. Part of it is we have a long run almost 50 years after the Civil War of very large and disastrous fires. They were associated with clearing settlement, widespread logging, and a lot of it was catalyzed by railroads, which were also a source of these large, disastrous fires that were probably an order of magnitude larger than what we've seen in recent years. Hundreds of people were killed.
And then in the summer of 1910, a series of large fires sort of amassed into what became known as the Big Blowup. This was about three and a quarter million acres burned in the Northern Rockies, killing 78 firefighters the Forest Service had hired in six different incidents all at the same time, during the afternoon and evening of August 20. Traumatized the US Forest Service, which at the time was five years old.
Its leaders determined they were never going to allow that to happen again, and the two guys who were in charge of the firefighting in the Northern Rockies became chief foresters during the 1920s and 1930s. So it was just one generation of leaders, mostly younger men, who were traumatized, and the easiest way to sell the message of what they were doing was to eliminate all fires. The urban elites understood that message, because that's how urban fire services work.
So we spent about 50 years trying to take all fires out of the landscape. And we've spent the last 50 years trying to put good fire back in.
How’s that been working?
It turns out fire is one of these things that’s easy to remove and hard to reinstate. It’s like a threatened species — if you want to reintroduce a species to a landscape, you often find that a lot of conditions have changed. That’s tough to work with.
What are the conditions that have changed that made reintroducing fires so hard?
Well, a lot of it is just the forest changed. And this was a result of overgrazing. selective logging, or outright clear cutting, which allowed stuff to grow back in ways that are outside the norm. Sheep and cattle have stripped away the grasses that made light [more manageable] fires possible, and other stuff grew up in their place. Now you've paved the landscape with dense layers of pine needles and shrubs, and they don’t burn the same way, so you've created a fire trap. All of this actually started with westward expansion, before the Forest Service entered the scene.
And so that 50 year period of suppression must’ve made it worse.
Yeah, that was really disastrous. By the ‘60s, we see pushback. We’d seen the consequences. And I'll point out that this is well before global climate change is on anybody’s agenda. These landscapes were messed up ecologically. Trees and other species weren’t regenerating.
So what starts happening in the ‘60s?
We saw civil society begin to create an alternative to state-sponsored fire suppression. There was a ranch north of Tallahassee that began hosting fire ecology conferences in 1962, they really introduced the term fire ecology. That same year, the Nature Conservancy conducted its first burn at a prairie because they couldn’t maintain the prairie without burning.
It was a real David versus Goliath story. Forestry was too dyed-in-the-wool hostile towards fire. They had sort of made their public identity as firefighters. But all kinds of things started coming together and there was the sentiment that fire should be restored just like wolves and grizzlies.
You mentioned burning had historically been done by the indigenous communities. How involved were those communities in these discussions? Were they involved at all?
Almost none. There were some people who was reintroducing fire to indigenous reservations, but they were foresters with the Bureau of Indian Affairs. But it’s only much more recently that [Native American communities] have sort of taken on cultural burning as a way of restoring their identities and their traditions and maybe even claiming back some of their lands.
We often say that colonialism suppressed indigenous knowledge. Well, that’s true. But something that gets lost, I think, all the time, is that there was a quarrel between the elites and traditional knowledge. Europe’s elites treated Europe’s peasants with disdain as well. Many of the white settlers who weren’t elites used fire as well, but the elites didn’t like that.
Obviously in the last couple of weeks Hawaii has been on everyone's mind. What’s the history of fire in Hawaii?
Before it was colonized, Hawaii was fairly immune to fire. The forests don’t seem to have been particularly responsive to it. You have lightning caused fires, you have volcanoes that set fires but then the lava was the bigger problem there.
Fire in Hawaii starts with human contact, when they begin clearing the forest and introducing exotics. This started with Polynesians before Europeans got into the act. There was a lot of extermination particularly of flightless birds and they introduced pigs and rats and other things. But then it really began accelerating with European contact, when they converted large areas to plantations for sugar and pineapples or grass pastures to raise cows, and so forth. So you have larger scale land clearing that goes on.
But Hawaii was not built to burn in the way California is. We created more combustible landscapes. Tropical grasses grow very well there and burn very well, and once they burn they create conditions that are more favorable to themselves. So it’s a positive feedback system.
We’ve seen a lot of coverage about how climate change is going to intensify wildfires. What do you, as a person who studies wildfires from around the world, think needs to happen going forward?
I mean, these really nasty megafires we've seen recently and that are doing a lot of damage to communities are really a pathology of the developed world. You don’t you don’t see these in the developing world. They have lots of burning, but they don’t have these massive fires.
I think we need to do three things, and we need to do them at the same time. The first is to protect our communities. It’s totally absurd that we have so many fires started by power lines. There’s no reason for towns to burn, and we know how to keep them from burning. So hardening our cities is the first step. The second is we need to recover the countryside. Not just wild lands, but the countryside. We have to put it into a shape that makes fire control easier and will probably also enhance the biology of the site. There are a lot of controversies around that, and there’s but we have got to have ways of negotiating all those values and perceptions. But that’s something that can be done.
The third thing we need to do is tame climate change. We can do a lot of mitigation but at some point unless the accelerating climate upheaval isn’t stopped and even reversed, it will override all the other stuff we do.
Do you think of fire as something to fear?
I think there’s bad fire. Bad fire kills people, it destroys towns, it can trash ecosystems. Fire can do a lot of damage, but it can also be absolutely essential. So it’s not either good or bad.
We have a species monopoly over fire. We made a mutual assistance pact with it a long time ago. You have to tend it, you have to feed it, you have to train it, you have to clean up after it. You have to integrate it into social activities. It’s not just a physical tool like a hammer or an axe that can be picked up and put down. It’s something we domesticated in a way. And we’ve lost control over what’s been a companion that we’ve had for all our existence as a species.
We are fire creatures. You know, we use fire in a way that no other creature does. We’ve abrogated that role. We’ve abused it. But it’s only in the last century or so that we have lost the capacity to manage fire. So this is just us reclaiming our heritage and taking responsibility for the power that our relationship with fire gave us. It’s not beyond our ability to deal with it.
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SoftBank’s error and Nvidia’s scandal suggest data centers may have already peaked as an economic and energy trend.
This is Heatmap Daily, a weekday digest written by our executive editor. Subscribe here.
Covering energy and climate change sometimes means seeing certain stories in a different light than others. And a particularly vivid hue illuminated The Wall Street Journal’s report today that the Japanese conglomerate SoftBank Group is taking a $3.7 billion loss on several gigawatts’ worth of natural gas turbines.
For the Journal, the big news is that SoftBank and its billionaire founder, Masayoshi Son, are failing to capitalize on the artificial intelligence boom. But at Heatmap, we’re thinking about the turbines.
The data center boom and the return of electricity load growth has depleted the world’s supply of natural gas turbines. SoftBank had purchased reservations for about 13 gigawatts of turbines, according to the Journal. That’s a staggering amount of electricity — it could meet New York City’s maximum power draw on the hottest part of a summer’s day. The conglomerate now seems set to dump reservations for about four gigawatts’ worth. Keeping a reservation, it turns out, really is harder than making it.
Most of those rotors were reportedly from GE Vernova, one of the world’s largest producers of gas turbines. GE Vernova’s order list for gas turbines has been filled for nearly two years and the waiting list now stretches into 2031. That has led data center developers, hungry to get power as soon as possible, to reach for ever dirtier forms of electricity generation, including diesel generators and even old jet engines.
On that front, SoftBank’s failure to sell the turbines to a higher bidder suggests (albeit weakly) that demand for energy-producing assets might not be as strong as the AI boom’s backers once thought. SoftBank was already set to send about 9 gigawatts of turbines to the enormous Trump-backed OpenAI data center in Pike County, Ohio. The roughly remaining four gigawatts will be released back their manufacturers. (One thing this news can’t quite tell us, alas, is what type of turbine set-up will be used in the Pike County facility, which will be the world’s largest gas-fired power plant if it is build to completion. Recent public filings have suggested the facility isn’t planning on using any turbines in the more efficient combined-cycle configuration, which would mean the plant’s carbon intensity will be worse than most other new natural gas plants. But we’d love to hear any tips on this front.)
To zoom out for a second, I’m struck by how the AI bubble has been replaced by an AI muddle. As I wrote this, news emerged that Nvidia is preparing to fire its CEO, Jensen Huang, for his affair with a Chinese woman who is alleged to be a spy. (He had at least one more affair with another Nvidia executive, according to The New York Times.) Under Huang’s leadership, Nvidia has invested in a sprawling and sometimes circular network of energy-related companies, including Emerald AI, a startup that helps data centers flex their electricity consumption, and Redwood Materials, a battery recycler and producer led by the former Tesla executive J.B. Straubel. Huang has used Nvidia’s enormous balance sheet to buy down the risk of other AI and AI-related companies, propelling the overall AI trade to become the biggest story in American markets.
Now that balance sheet is in peril: Nvidia’s stock is already down 11% over the past five days, and it has fallen another 8% in after-hours trading since news broke of Huang’s ouster. If the chip designer’s financial network began to fray — or even if the next CEO had a lower risk appetite than Huang — then its demise could impact a much larger set of firms.
Even before the Huang scandal broke, companies at the center of the AI trade were showing signs of weakness. Alphabet, Meta, and Microsoft are all down on the month. Nvidia was already lagging by about 10% on the month before its hebdomas horribilis began, too. The memory and chip makers Micron and Applied Materials are both down more than 25% in about the same period, and GE Vernova and Oklo have fallen nearly 20%. Although the data center company Coreweave rebounded on an earnings beat today, it’s still down 24% on the month and nearly 50% since May.
The market rout isn’t total — Anthropic seems likely to enjoy one of the largest IPOs ever in the next week (although perhaps not with quite as large a valuation as its investors once imagined). And the underlying technology of AI seems to be getting worryingly better all the time. But even though the politics of data centers and AI seem set to dominate the new Washington, I’m wondering if data centers as a mainstream economic trend might have already peaked. Americans voted for a more subdued AI boom in the midterms. Now it seems like they might get it ahead of schedule.
Lunar Energy’s latest AI-powered system aims to integrate EVs into the automated demand response mix.
In theory, it’s straightforward to assemble the smart energy home: Solar panels, home backup batteries, and electric vehicles, plus smart thermostats, heat pumps, and water heaters — all the individual pieces can be had for the homeowner who can afford the up-front cost. The challenge is getting all those pieces to talk to one another.
Bay Area-based Lunar Energy is one of the tech firms that’s been trying to crack this problem. Today, it announced an upgraded version of its artificial intelligence-powered home energy control system, which not only integrates all those separate systems but also responds tactically to energy markets. CEO Kunal Girotra told me Lunar AI saves its users money by monitoring their home 24/7 and making decisions to charge, not to charge, or discharge so that they save the most money.
“Utilities are all moving to almost-real-time changes of rates,” he said. “You need software to handle that for you. I think that the race is on for who has the best AI machine learning algorithms to save the most amount of money. And so far, we seem to have a head start.”
Lunar’s first-generation system focused on generation, storage, and control. In other words, it connected elements like a home’s rooftop solar panels with the backup battery the residents might keep in the garage, using the AI to decide when to meet the home’s real-time energy needs with solar versus grid energy versus stored power. What it didn’t have was the ability to work with electric vehicles to manage charging and use the car’s battery as a bonus source of energy.
To fix this, Lunar has built its own bidirectional EV charger — one that can charge up the battery or discharge the car’s battery for a secondary use, like backing up the home’s power supply. Girotra, formerly the head of Tesla Energy, told me the problem with that functionality to this point has been the connection point between the car and the home electrical system. Carmakers and other companies in the space didn’t have the deep experience with electrical certifications to make the process seamless, he tells me. That led to setups like the original Ford Charge Station Pro, which required several different wall-mounted electrical boxes to connect the F-150 Lightning EV to the home.
Lunar’s charger is built to connect to its customers’ existing home Lunar energy system, which includes a microgrid interconnect device they call Lunar Bridge that islands the home in case of a power outage on the grid. In that way, the power stored in the EV battery is ready to back up the home in case of a blackout without any additional work — or to be optimized as part of a fully smart home that’s making money as part of a virtual power plant.
The company’s setup allows for another fun feature: “slow” charging that’s not slow at all, but actually two or three times as fast as the Level 2 charging most EV owners use to recharge their batteries overnight. Electric cars in the U.S. can typically take on only about 11 kilowatts of AC power from one’s home because of the limitations of their on-board hardware. Because Lunar’s system is fully DC, however, Girotra said the company decided to build a DC home charger, one that — like a Tesla Supercharger or other DC fast chargers out in the world — isn’t limited by that power cap. Lunar said it could use a combination of power from the grid, home solar, or home batteries to charge an EV at up to 25 kilowatts. That’s enough to recharge an EV in three to four hours rather than six to eight.
“If the standards get high, and if everybody sees cars can get charged in three hours, then all of a sudden people are like, ‘Wow, this is how I want it,’” he said. “Especially for 25% of the users who are like me, who always are running low on charge and they don’t mind a boost every now and then.”
Some of the other improvements in the second-gen system are more incremental. An inverter that’s 40% more powerful helps Lunar get its system up to enterprise scale. That’s crucial, as the world moves toward a place where more homes and businesses employ battery backup systems. Lunar’s new batteries come in modular 5 kilowatt-hour blocks ranging from 10 kilowatt-hours to 30 kilowatt-hours in a single unit and scale up to 300 kilowatt-hours for home or small commercial use; there’s also new pad-mounted configurations with capacity up to 1 megawatt-hour.
Batteries, though, are the simple part. Everyone from EV makers like Rivian to utilities like Octopus Energy is racing to make a person’s or a business’s batteries and solar panels and electric cars work for them, using the power of AI to account for moment-to-moment changes in energy prices and supply. Lunar’s new tech makes the case that the most important element is a single brain to integrate every last smart, electrified thing in your house.
The fundraise comes on the heels of a $50 million grant from the Department of Energy.
Almost all lithium-ion batteries on the market rely on graphite for their anodes, more than 90% of which is processed in China. That concentration has created a chokepoint in the Pentagon’s supply chain as the military increasingly turns to batteries to help its transportation network operate more quietly and reduce reliance on complex refueling logistics.
So when Congress passed the latest National Defense Authorization Act at the end of 2025, barring Chinese-linked battery materials from military use starting in 2028, Coreshell saw an opening. While the California-based silicon-anode battery startup had previously focused on automakers as its beachhead customers, it’s now shipping its first battery cells to the military for use on Navy ships and Army ground vehicles. On Wednesday, Coreshell announced a $30 million Series B to scale up manufacturing operations to meet the needs of this growing customer base.
“We’re entering a new stage where we’re no longer, I would say, demand limited,” Coreshell’s CEO Jonathan Tan told me. “This year we’ve had to put on second and third shifts, work nights and weekends, just to get the product out the door.”
Coreshell sets itself apart by going a step further than the NDAA requires. The law doesn’t make suppliers trace battery materials all the way back to the mine, which would be exceedingly difficult given China’s dominance across the battery supply chain. But Coreshell has nevertheless eliminated Chinese sourcing from its anodes by replacing graphite with silicon mined and refined in the U.S. by Ferroglobe, one of its Series A investors.
Ferroglobe and global investment firm Access Industries led the latest round, with defense contractor ADS also joining as a new strategic investor. The financing comes on the heels of a $50 million Department of Energy grant that Coreshell secured in August as part of a program to strengthen the domestic battery supply chain. That funding will support the company’s first commercial-scale facility, a 2-gigawatt-hour factory.
That’s about 20 times the size of the 100-ish-megawatt-hour plant the startup had originally envisioned, as the DOE grant has allowed Coreshell to “expand much further than we were originally expecting,” according to Tan. The company is now evaluating several potential U.S. sites and expects to announce its selection early next year. For now, it relies on unnamed contract manufactures, along with its small pilot line in San Leandro, to produce its cells. But once the gigafactory gets up and running, the startup plans to bring electrode production in house by 2028, followed by full cell assembly in 2029.
Building this plant will ultimately require significant additional capital. But Tan believes this latest vote of confidence from the federal government will help Coreshell to diversify its capital stack as it continues to fundraise. “That’s one of the great things about having such a notable DOE award is that it also allows us to attract multiple forms of capital,” he told me.
Silicon has long been recognized as a promising alternative material for battery anodes, as it can store far more energy than graphite. The catch is that it tends to swell during charging, causing it to break down quickly and ultimately leading to a much shorter cycle life. Coreshell says it’s extended its anode’s lifespan by giving it a proprietary coating, which Tan told me back in April essentially means “painting the inside of your battery” with an ultra-thin protective layer.
Other companies, such as Sila Nanotechnologies and Group14 Technologies, are also working to commercialize silicon anodes. But Coreshell says many of its competitors rely on more highly engineered, expensive forms of silicon, such as silane gas. By contrast, Coreshell uses metallurgical silicon, a cheap, raw commodity already widely used in aluminum alloys. That, Tan argues, gives the company a cost advantage not only over its competitors, but potentially Chinese graphite too.
Coreshell hasn’t yet demonstrated that its cells can meet the performance demands of the automotive industry, however. When the company raised its Series A in early 2025, it said it expected its automotive cells to exceed 1,000 charge cycles while retaining 80% of their original capacity. But Tan told me many defense applications don’t require such demanding performance targets, as Navy ships and ground vehicles are “not intending to have as many miles or missions or use cases on that same battery” as a consumer EV would.
That doesn’t mean the company is abandoning its automotive ambitions. As Tan pointed out, electric vehicles remain by far the largest source of global and domestic battery demand. “It’s natural for us to obviously utilize the security supply chain first,” he told me. “That allowed us to really get to commercialization, revenue, and production faster, because automotive qualification is this longer journey. But ultimately, we want to do both of those and more.”