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While hurricanes often dominate summer worries, climate change is supercharging the risks from your typical unnamed rainstorm.
When a slow-moving storm soaked Vermont with two-months worth of rain on Sunday and Monday, there was a ready comparison at hand: Tropical Storm Irene. The August 2011 storm similarly caused widespread flooding and resulted in more than $700 million in damages. While damage assessments are ongoing from this week’s storm, more than 200 people had to be rescued throughout the state as floodwaters surged, and early images show extensive public and private infrastructure losses.
Governor Phil Scott referred to the recent onslaught as “Irene 4.0” on Tuesday, while the National Weather Service’s Burlington, Vermont, office has repeatedly made its own Irene comparisons to drive home the danger residents continue to face from floodwaters.
However, this was not a tropical storm, which means there’s no name or ranking to refer back to. Instead, it was the sort of no-name summer storm that has long been a feature of the region but is now intensifying due to rising temperatures.
“We're not used to thinking about summer rainstorms as being a really dangerous hazard,” Anna Weber, a senior policy analyst with the Natural Resources Defense Council, told me. “But with the effects of climate change, maybe we should be.”
For many in the Northeast, unpredictable storms are a regular feature of summer months: sheets of rain that slice through the humidity, often ending as abruptly as they began. They might even be welcomed, the accompanying clouds offering a brief reprieve from the baking sun. Such storms are more common from June to September in this area since there is typically more moisture in the air and heat, which can together create atmospheric instability.
The Washington Post described the Vermont storm as a “typical summertime weather system that encountered a powder keg of atmospheric conditions,” including a combination of pressure systems which slowed down the storm’s movement. An official at the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration told the Post that the agency’s modeling — based on historical data — would place a storm like this happening in the Northeast at a “1-in-100 chance of occurring in any given year.” But climate change is altering that calculus, with warming conditions correlating with an increase in rainfall quantities.
When it comes to thinking of “really dangerous” storms happening over summer months, it’s probably those tropical systems that come to mind. Gathering over the Atlantic Ocean, they can blow fast enough to be labeled a hurricane before heading for the coast — or, as Irene did in 2011, making their way further inland. But there’s a marked difference in how hurricanes are approached by officials and the public compared to summer storms.
For starters, due to the perceived threat tropical storms pose, they are meticulously tracked from conception to see if they fizzle out or develop into a swirling system worthy of a name. According to the NOAA, the reason you might see your name as a hurricane hashtag over the summer months is “to avoid confusion and streamline communications.” Wildfires receive location-based monikers for a similar reason.
Some researchers have advocated for expanding the label to other disasters, saying they help communicate risk. Last year, Seville, Spain started naming heat waves in hopes of better alerting the public of their risks. Greece is doing it, too. Kostas Lagouvardos, research director at the National Observatory of Athens, told The Observer he believes people are “more prepared to face an upcoming weather event” if it is named.
There is also a set scale in place for hurricanes, though it only takes into account wind speeds, not precipitation. Though it’s an imperfect system, it still offers a way for officials and the public alike to assess the potential risk — something that can be challenging to communicate with no-name storms.
“I would think that if there's a difference between a tropical or summer storm system, it is probably the surprise of people that a summer storm system could actually do something like this,” Chad Berginnis, executive director of the Association of Floodplain Managers, told me.
“Yet the data trends have been very clear now for probably a good decade that we're going to have more intense rainfall events.”
As climate change makes your average summer storm more dangerous, Weber told me researchers are trying to understand how our expectations correlate with protective actions, such as evacuating or stocking up on supplies. It’s a question researchers are posing not only to the public, but also to government agencies and emergency managers, who are tasked with communicating risks to the rest of us and setting relevant protocols in place. The Federal Emergency Management Agency shared its own concern about “conventional natural hazards” in its 2022 National Preparedness Report, explaining that the combination of existing vulnerabilities and hazards intensifying beyond current expectations could be “catastrophic.”
In Vermont, behind many of the comparisons to 2011 was the acknowledgement that the state has dealt with this sort of disaster before. Ultimately, when it comes time to address the damage, Berginnis says the approach is the same whether flooding stems from a hurricane or any other storm. Vermont officials also understood they would likely deal with a bad storm again — the state recently established a Flood Resilient Communities Fund to support locales looking to mitigate flooding damage.
State authorities realized at least two days ahead of the storm they would require additional resources, NPR reported, and they began reaching out to other states for help. On Tuesday, President Biden approved Governor Scott’s request to declare a state of emergency, making Vermont eligible for assistance from the Federal Emergency Management Agency. Both flooding and hurricanes are hazards identified in the Stafford Act, which dictates which natural disasters can receive such federal support. During a press conference Thursday, Governor Scott announced he would also be requesting a major disaster declaration, which, if approved, would unlock additional federal aid once the recovery process begins in earnest.
Unfortunately, Vermont is not there yet: Scattered thunderstorms are forecasted to begin Thursday and last throughout the weekend.
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The Hughes Fire ballooned to nearly 9,500 acres in a matter of hours.
In a textbook illustration of how quickly a fire can start, spread, and threaten lives during historically dry and windy conditions, a new blaze has broken out in beleaguered Los Angeles County.
The Hughes Fire ignited Wednesday around 11 a.m. PT to the north of Santa Clarita and has already billowed to nearly 9,500 acres, buffeted by winds of 20 to 25 miles per hour with sustained gusts up to 40 miles per hour, Lisa Phillips, a meteorologist at the National Weather Service, told me. The area had been under a red-flag warning that started Sunday evening and now extends through Thursday night. “There are super dry conditions, critically dry fuel — that’s the basic formula for red flag conditions,” Phillips said. “So it’s definitely meeting criteria.”
This early in a new fire, the situation is dangerously fluid. The Hughes Fire is 0% contained and spreading swiftly as firefighters attempt to contain it through an aerial flame-suppression barrage that has diminishing returns once the winds grow stronger and begin to blow the retardant away. Once that happens, it will be up to crews on the ground to establish lines to prevent another difficult-to-fight urban fire.
As of Wednesday evening, some 31,000 people were under evacuation orders, and another 23,000 were under evacuation warnings, according to The New York Times. Authorities have had to evacuate at least three schools — yet another testament to the surprising growth and spread of the new fire.
“It’s important for people to remain aware of their surroundings, and if there is a fire nearby, you need to consider putting together a bag of some important items,” Phillips said. She stressed that, especially in rapidly evolving situations like this one, “sometimes you don’t get a whole lot of warning when they say you need to go now.”
At a news conference Wednesday evening, Los Angeles County Fire Chief Anthony Marrone said that conditions remained difficult, but that less extreme wind conditions than those they faced two weeks ago had allowed firefighters to get “the upper hand.”
The NWS expects winds to pick up overnight, which could complicate firefighting efforts in the fire-weary county. To date, some 40,000 acres of southern California have burned since the start of the year.
Editor’s note: This story was last updated January 22, at 9 p.m. ET.
Early last week, the view out my windows had become alluringly clear. The peaks of the San Gabriel Mountains that had been obscured by a cloud of smoke from the Eaton Fire that devastated the city of Altadena reappeared. The campfire smell had blown away — from this part of Los Angeles, at least. The landscape seemed to say, it’s safe to come outside.
Looks can be deceiving. One of the first days I ventured outside again, just to walk the dog down and back up our steep hill, I felt my throat burn by the time we arrived back at the house. That sensation, plus having a baby barely more than a year old, led my family to stay locked in for a few more days.
It’s tricky to know when it’s okay to return to the outdoors during an ongoing wildfire crisis. The area map on Watch Duty looks good: The 800-acre Hurst Fire up near Santa Clarita has been entirely controlled, and no new major blazes took hold in the L.A. area despite windy conditions on Monday. As I write this, the devastating Eaton Fire has now been 89% contained, and the Palisades has reached 63%. As early as the weekend after the fires started, when I was helping a family member clear broken tree branches in the San Gabriel Valley, the fire and its smoke were no longer visible over the horizon. By now, some residents have been allowed to return to areas now deemed safe.
Still, it may be a while before the traumatizing wildfires burn out entirely. Until they do, and even after, an undeniable level of uncertainty comes with every breath we take.
In my neighborhood, the Air Quality Index has been remarkably low over the past week. When consulting my phone’s Weather app and resources such as IQAir, measurements have been moderate or even good — in fact, better than the numbers posted on many perfectly normal L.A. days with no wildfires burning, when haze and smog still cloud the sky. As many people have discovered during these horrible fires, however, AQI is far from a perfect indicator of whether the air outside is okay. It might suffice on an ordinary morning for telling you whether it’s a good or bad day to go for a run, but it is not, on its own, able to account for the toxic soup that burned around L.A.
One of the major concerns about these fires that engulfed whole neighborhoods in Pacific Palisades and Altadena is that our homes, more than ever before, are full of plastic and other chemicals that become extra dangerous when burned. While AQI measures everyday problems like small particulate matter and smog, it doesn’t include pollutants like copper, plastic compounds, asbestos, and other things that might have gotten into Los Angeles’ air.
To find out exactly what chemicals came out of the Eaton Fire, Caltech professor Mike Brown (aka @plutokiller, after his role in the demotion of the former ninth planet) took ash from his house to campus to measure its chemical composition. (Note: My day job is at Caltech.) The result: titanium from new house paint, lead from old house paint, and lots of other heavy metals. “Treat that ash like it’s toxic folks,” he wrote on BlueSky, “(because it is).”
In and around devastated communities such as Altadena, it’s obvious one must proceed with extreme caution regarding the ash and the air itself. In other parts of the city, it’s hard to be sure. Neighbors of ours have resumed their communal daily dog walk, but with some hesitation about whether it’s okay to go outside maskless for even 30 minutes. When a sore throat or a headache comes on, we wonder whether the air is to blame. Before the fires, my family used to take a nightly dog walk of at least an hour, which now includes carrying the baby. Since she is too young to wear a mask, I don’t know when we'll feel that free again.
A small comfort is that, indoors at least, we were ready. Three air purifiers run round-the-clock in various parts of my house because of our proximity to a freeway and the general mediocrity of the Los Angeles air.
But, honestly, it sucks to sit inside in a place so beautiful. Winter in L.A. is gorgeous, full of cool but sunny days perfect for afternoon walks and hikes in places that would be too sun-drenched and blazing hot to visit in the summer. This winter, even with some rain finally in the forecast, our hikes are burned and our air is uncertain.
While wind got hammered, the fastest growing renewable energy source emerged relatively unscathed.
President Trump’s first executive actions put the wind industry on ice, undermined the transition to electric vehicles, and paused funding for EV chargers. But so far Trump has done little — if anything — to stymie the country’s fastest growing clean energy technology: solar.
This isn’t a huge surprise. On the campaign trail, Trump blasted former President Biden’s climate and clean energy policies from every angle, consistently criticising wind energy and promising to “end the EV mandate.” But any time solar came up, Trump admitted that he kind of, sort of liked it.
“By the way, I’m a big fan of solar,” Trump said at the presidential debate in September, before complaining about how much land solar farms take up. The following month at a roundtable in Miami, he said “I like, you know, some applications where you have it on a roof or you have it on something,” before launching into familiar complaints about land use.
This raises the question of whether the president might include solar farms in his plan to “unleash American energy.” More solar capacity was added to the grid last year than any other energy source, after all. As of September, it made up 78% of all new capacity additions. Rooftop solar is also one of the quickest and most direct ways for consumers to lower their energy bills, so the technology fits well within Trump’s agenda to lower energy costs.
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The Solar Energy Industries Association did not respond to my email requesting an interview, but the trade group is evidently trying to make this case to the new administration. “It’s clear that we will not reach President Trump’s vision for American energy dominance or technological innovation without continued solar and energy storage growth,” Abigail Ross Hopper, the group’s president, said in a statement published after the inauguration.
Solar’s exclusion from Trump’s day one orders might be viewed optimistically as an implicit endorsement of that position, Harry Godfrey, a managing director at Advanced Energy United, told me. Other clues, however, are not so encouraging, he said.
For example, in Trump’s executive order declaring an energy emergency, he excluded solar from his definition of “energy” or “energy resources” that will get expedited approvals. Solar was not mentioned in any of his energy-related actions on Monday.
“If we’re facing a real energy emergency, and we need to address this, shouldn’t it be an all hands on deck activity?” Godfrey said. “That’s obviously bigger than just solar,” he added.
Godfrey also observed that solar may not have gotten off completely unscathed. Trump froze all federal funds allocated by the Inflation Reduction Act and the Bipartisan Infrastructure Law for 90 days, which could affect any money remaining in solar-related programs.
Naveed Hasan, the vice president of North American strategy for the solar company Sungrow, told me he’s less worried about the IRA freeze, as it’s only temporary. “From what I understand, the funds still have to be spent. They cannot be just completely cut through an executive order — that’s going to require the reconciliation process, going through Congress.”
It’s likely too early to draw any big conclusions about how solar development will fare under Trump. It’s unclear whether his administration or the new Congress want to make changes to the tax credits available for clean energy, including for solar panels, for example.
The president has also not yet revealed the full extent of his plans to increase tariffs on goods from China, which could hurt solar’s cost competitiveness. On Tuesday night, Trump said he was considering imposing a 10% tariff on Chinese goods beginning in February, which is far below the 60% he promised on the campaign trail, but doesn’t mean he won’t increase it later. The announcement followed a memo he sent to various agency heads on Monday which included a directive for the U.S. Trade Representative to “consider potential additional tariff modifications … particularly with respect to industrial supply chains and circumvention through third countries.”
Then there’s Trump’s plans to ramp up oil and gas production and clear hurdles for new fossil fuel plants and exports, which could indirectly hurt the market for solar. “That’s the major concern we have,” Hasan told me. “I think that could definitely impact the demand for renewable energy if those fossil fuel projects are considered more economical or more attractive for financiers.”