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The small hydrogen plant at the Port of Stockton illustrates a key challenge for the energy transition.

Officials at the Port of Stockton, an inland port in the Central Valley of California, were facing a problem. Under pressure from California regulators to convert all port vehicles to zero-emissions models over the next decade or so, they had made some progress, but had hit a wall.
“Right now we only have one tool, and that is to electrify everything,” Jeff Wingfield, the port’s deputy director, told me. The Port of Stockton has actually been something of a national leader in electrifying its vehicles, having converted about 40% of its cargo-handling equipment from diesel-powered to battery-electric machines to date. But there aren’t electric alternatives available for everything yet, and the electric machines they’ve purchased have come with challenges. Sensors have malfunctioned due to colder weather or moisture in the air. Maintenance can’t be done by just any mechanic; the equipment is computerized and requires knowledge of the underlying code. “We’ve had a lot of downtime with the equipment unnecessarily. And so when we’re trying to sell that culture change, you know, these things can set back the mindset and just the overall momentum,” said Wingfield.
The port also needs its tenant companies to make the switch, but according to Wingfield, they are hesitant to invest in the electric truck models available today. They’re more interested in hydrogen fuel-cell trucks, he said, which are also zero-emissions, and there’s even a vendor selling them right down the street. The problem was there was no source of hydrogen within an hour and a half of the port.
It was these conditions that got Wingfield and his colleagues excited about BayoTech, a company that wanted to build a new hydrogen plant there — even though BayoTech was going to make hydrogen from methane, the main component of natural gas, in a carbon emissions-intensive process. Hydrogen fuel-cell powered trucks don’t release any of the carbon or toxic pollutants that diesel trucks release, but the process of making the hydrogen fuel can still be dirty.
While the port was considering BayoTech’s proposal, California leadership was committing the state to building out a climate-friendly hydrogen industry. In July, the Biden administration awarded California $1.2 billion for a $12.6 billion plan to build new, zero-emissions hydrogen supply chains. “California is revolutionizing how a major world economy can clean up its biggest industries,” Governor Gavin Newsom said. “We’re going to use clean, renewable hydrogen to power our ports and public transportation – getting people and goods where they need to go, just without the local air pollution.”
Nonetheless, the port approved the fossil fuel-based hydrogen plant in August.
The case illustrates the complexities of this moment in the energy transition. At its center is a question: Should we gamble with higher emissions today on the premise that it could help lower emissions in the future? It’s a gamble that many climate advocates, guided by warnings from scientists about the consequences of continued fossil fuel use, fear will do more harm than good.
The port, which was the lead agency for the environmental review process, estimated that if all of the fuel BayoTech produced was used as a replacement for diesel, it would result in a net decrease in emissions of 4,317 metric tons of CO2 per year, which is like taking 1,000 cars off the road. Still, the plant will emit about 18 kilograms of carbon for every kilogram of hydrogen it produces — more than four times higher than the Department of Energy’s standard for “clean” hydrogen.
Climate and environmental groups in Stockton oppose the project. They’ve raised a number of concerns about it and the conditions under which it was approved, but one is the missed opportunity. “At a time when incentives are lining up for cleaner production methods,” Davis Harper, the carbon and energy program manager at the local group Restore the Delta, told me, “and at a time when the state in particular is really trying to transition away from methane, to approve a new steam methane reforming project in a community that’s already suffering from so many cumulative impacts of industrial pollution — it’s a major regression.”
Between operations at the port, highways, warehouses, and other industrial activity, Stockton ranks in the 96th percentile for pollution burden in California, and in the 100th percentile for cases of asthma. In addition to carbon dioxide, the BayoTech plant will release nitrogen oxides, carbon monoxide, and particulate matter. Harper and other local advocates want the community to have more of a say in shaping regional economic development and defining what its hydrogen future looks like. “I think it puts a stain on what the opportunity for hydrogen might be in the community,” he said.
But Wingfield told me it wasn’t an either/or scenario. “I mean, nobody was approaching us with a green hydrogen project,” he said. Even if someone was, Wingfield said green hydrogen was still too expensive and that no one would buy it. The port is supporting state-wide efforts to develop a more sustainable supply of hydrogen in the future, he said, “but it is slow, and for us, we need something now.”
There’s a chicken-and-egg challenge to getting a clean hydrogen economy going. In addition to a new supply of fuel, it will require investments in new vehicles, fueling stations, and modes of delivering the gas — and that’s just for trucking. Decarbonization experts also see potential to use hydrogen for cargo ships, steelmaking, and aviation. “I agree, you know, don’t wait around for the green projects that are being planned to come online,” Lew Fulton, the director of the energy futures research program at the U.C. Davis Institute of Transportation Studies, told me. “There’s a whole bunch of things we need to learn by doing. And so from that point of view, you could argue, well, in the first few years, it doesn’t matter that much what kind of hydrogen it is.”
When I asked Catharine Reid, BayoTech’s chief marketing officer, what brought the company to Stockton, she told me California is a key market and the San Joaquin Valley is currently a dead-zone for the fuel. The Regional Transit District recently purchased five new fuel-cell buses, but to fuel them, it will have to truck in hydrogen from other parts of the state. BayoTech’s business model is designed to address this kind of local need. The company builds small, modular plants and sites them as close to the point of consumption as possible to avoid the cost and emissions associated with transporting the fuel. The project in Stockton will produce just 2 tons of hydrogen per day, or enough to fill the tanks of about 50 trucks. By contrast, the average hydrogen plant in California, which mostly delivers the gas to oil refineries and fertilizer plants, produces closer to 200 tons per day. “We anticipate that that demand will be snapped up quickly,” said Reid.
The port approved the plant using an abbreviated environmental review process — another aspect that troubled the advocates I spoke to — which required BayoTech to mitigate some of its most significant impacts. To reduce pollution, the company will install equipment that cuts the plant’s nitrogen oxide emissions. It has also committed to using zero-emissions vehicles for at least 50% of deliveries. But the biggest pollutant that will come out of the plant is carbon dioxide — just over 12,000 metric tons of it per year. That’s not much compared to the average hydrogen plant. The smallest existing hydrogen plant in California, Air Products’ Sacramento facility, has the capacity to produce more than twice as much hydrogen as BayoTech will, but emitted nearly four times as much carbon in 2021, according to state data. One of BayoTech’s selling points is its technology’s efficiency.
The company has also committed to developing a community benefits plan, which is still in the works, though BayoTech has already signed an agreement to use local union labor and committed to donate $200,000 over the next four years to the community.
Part of BayoTech’s agreement with the port is that it will lower its emissions by purchasing carbon credits from producers of so-called “renewable natural gas,” or RNG, which can mean methane captured from landfills or from cow manure pits. It’s considered low-carbon because the methane would otherwise be released into the atmosphere, where it would warm the planet far more than carbon dioxide. In theory, credit sales help finance systems to capture the gas and use it for energy instead.
I asked Reid why, when there was so much focus on and funding available for clean hydrogen, like California’s $12.6 billion initiative and lucrative new federal tax credits, the company was investing in the fossil-fueled kind. She suggested that once the federal tax credit rules are finalized, the plant may in fact be eligible for the subsidies. That’s because the guidelines might allow hydrogen plants that buy RNG credits to qualify. “It’s a well established system that’s validated,” Reid said of the credits, “and the environmental benefits are there.”
It’s true that this system of RNG credits is well-established. It’s already written into California climate policy. The state has a low carbon fuel standard designed to drive down the average carbon intensity of transportation fuels over time. When it comes to calculating the carbon intensity of hydrogen for the regulations, there’s a workaround. If the hydrogen is made from natural gas, but the supplier purchases RNG credits, they can report their hydrogen as having a very low or even negative carbon intensity.
But the environmental benefits of these credits are the subject of much debate. Notably, fuel producers can buy credits from all over the country, and they don’t have to prove that their purchase had an additional effect on emissions beyond what might have happened otherwise. Though these credits may have some environmental benefit, they are certainly not causing carbon to be removed from the atmosphere, as implied by a negative carbon intensity. In an op-ed for Heatmap, scholars Emily Grubert and Danny Cullenward urged the Treasury Department not to adopt this same carbon accounting scheme for the federal tax credit, writing that it “would undermine the tax credit’s entire purpose.” They estimate that a fossil hydrogen project could qualify as zero-emissions by offsetting just 25% of its natural gas use. This could make it much harder for truly green hydrogen — like the kind made from electricity and water — to compete.
Interestingly, California’s new $12.6 billion clean hydrogen initiative appears to renounce RNG credits. A frequently asked questions page for the plan says that it “will not include the use of plastics, dairy biogas, or fossil methane paired with biomethane credits.”
Still, the California Governor’s Office of Business and Economic Development praised the BayoTech project in public comments, writing that it would “contribute to achieving California’s ambitious climate and pollution reduction goals.”
The letter seemed to be mistaken about what it was supporting, however, noting that the facility would “utilize woody biomass, helping to address two needs — utilization of a waste stream and production of renewable hydrogen.” When I reached out to the governor’s office, spokesperson Willie Rudman told me the reference to woody biomass was an accident, “resulting from a mix-up with another project.” Still, the office supports the project, he said, due to “commitments made by the developer to utilize renewable natural gas as the feedstock, which can be transported to the production facility via existing natural gas pipelines.”
When I noted that this, too, was a mix-up, and that BayoTech would be buying RNG credits, not using the fuel directly, Rudman responded that this was a cost-effective and perfectly acceptable practice under California’s low-carbon fuel standard.
If you view BayoTech’s plant as a bridge to get the hydrogen economy underway, Ethan Elkind, director of the climate program at the University of California, Berkeley’s Center for Law, Energy and the Environment, told me, it’s important to know how to get to the other side. “Is this just a lifeline for the oil and gas industry, to give them another product that they can sell, which those profits then go back into drilling more oil and gas?” He said he wasn’t categorically opposed to the idea of using natural gas to produce hydrogen for now, as long as there were built-in mechanisms to convert the facility to zero-emissions down the line.
Wingfield of the Port of Stockton asserted that BayoTech’s plant would become cleaner over time, but the port has no such commitment in writing, and it’s also not entirely clear how. BayoTech’s Reid was not sure whether the Stockton plant would find a local source of RNG. She said the company was looking, but that it was rare to find alignment between BayoTech’s business model — putting hydrogen production very close to demand — and RNG suppliers. The only other route to cleaner production, other than completely replacing the plant with one that runs on electricity, would be to install carbon capture equipment. But Reid said the amount of carbon the plant produces will be so small that it may not justify the expense. “We continue to talk to players in the industry and evaluate what they’re bringing out commercially to see if there’s a match with our production units,” she said.
Construction on the plant will begin in a few months, Reid told me, and won’t take long. BayoTech expects to be delivering hydrogen in 2025.
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CarbonPlan has a new tool to measure climate risk that comes with full transparency.
On a warming planet, knowing whether the home you’re about to invest your life savings in is at risk of being wiped out by a wildfire or drowned in a flood becomes paramount. And yet public data is almost nonexistent. While private companies offer property-level climate risk assessments — usually for a fee — it’s hard to know which to trust or how they should be used. Companies feed different datasets into their models and make different assumptions, and often don’t share all the details. The models have been shown to predict disparate outcomes for the same locations.
For a measure of the gap between where climate risk models are and where consumers want them to be, look no further than Zillow. The real estate website added a “climate risk” section to its property listings in 2024 in response to customer demand — only to axe the feature a year later at the behest of an industry group that questioned the accuracy of its risk ratings.
Now, however, a new tool that assesses wildfire risk for every building in the United States aims to advance the field through total transparency. The nonprofit research group CarbonPlan launched the free, user-friendly app called Open Climate Risk on Tuesday. It allows anyone to enter an address and view a wildfire risk score, on a scale of zero to 10, along with an explanation of how it was calculated. The underlying methodology, data, and code are all public. It’s the first fully open platform of its kind, according to CarbonPlan.
“Right now, the way science works in the climate risk space is that every model is independently developed at different companies, and we essentially have no idea what’s happening in them. We have no idea if they’re any good,” Oriana Chegwidden, a research scientist at CarbonPlan who led the creation of the tool, told me. “Our hope is that by opening this up, people will be able to start contributing, to help us learn how we can do it better.” That might mean critiquing CarbonPlan’s methods or code, for example, or re-running the model with additional data.
The score itself doesn’t tell you much other than the relative risk between one building and another. But the platform also breaks out the two inputs behind it: burn probability, or the likelihood a building will catch fire in a given year, and “conditional risk,” an estimate of how much of the building’s value would be lost if it does burn, based on projected fire intensity.
The projections are largely based on a U.S. Forest Service dataset that models fire frequency on wildlands throughout the country. CarbonPlan uses additional data on wind speed and direction to predict how a given fire might spread into an urban area.
Users can toggle between risk under the “current” climate and a “future” climate, which jumps about 20 years out. They can also see the distribution of buildings across the spectrum of risk scores at various geographic scales — by state, county, census tract, or census block.
One of CarbonPlan’s hopes is to help people become more informed consumers of climate risk data by helping them understand how it’s put together and what questions they might want to ask. While its model is more crude than others on the market, the tool is explicit about the factors that are not accounted for in the results. The loss estimates are based on a generic building, for example, and do not recognize specific traits like fire-resistant construction materials or landscaping that could make a home more fire resistant. They also don’t consider building-to-building spread. The underlying U.S. Forest Service data is also limited in that it maps vegetation across the country as it existed at the end of 2020 — any changes since then that could have reduced fire-igniting fuels, such as prescribed burns, are not incorporated.
Right now, there’s no industry standard for calculating or communicating climate risk. The Global Association of Risk Professionals recently asked 13 climate risk companies for data on floods, tropical storms, wildfires, and heat at 100 addresses to compare the outputs. The authors found there were “significant disparities,” between estimates of vulnerability and damages at the same locations. When it came to wildfires, specifically, they were unable to even compare the data, because the companies all conveyed the risk using different benchmarks.
The implications of having so many diverging methods and results extend beyond individual homebuying decisions. Insurance companies use climate risk data to set rates; publicly-traded companies use it to make disclosures to investors; policymakers use it to guide community planning and investments in adaptation. Some products might be better suited to one task or another.
Katherine Mach, an environmental science and policy professor at the University of Miami, told me the next step for the field is to have more systematic reporting requirements that help people understand how accurate the data are and what types of decisions they can be used for.
“It’s almost like we need the equivalent of industry standards,” she said. “You’re going to release a climate product? Here’s what you need to clearly communicate.”
CarbonPlan collected feedback from various likely users of the tool throughout the development process, including municipal planners, climate scientists, and consumer advocates. The group also hopes to foster an “iterative cycle of community-driven model development,” spurring other researchers to inspect the data, critique it, add to it, and spin out new versions. This is common practice in other areas of climate science, like Earth system modeling and economic modeling, and has been instrumental in advancing those fields. “There’s nothing like that for climate risk right now,” Chegwidden said.
The first step will be raising more money to support further work, but the goal is to partner with outside researchers on comparative analyses and case studies. Tracy Aquino Anderson, CarbonPlan’s interim executive director, told me they have already heard from one researcher who has a fire risk dataset that could be added to the platform. The group has also been invited to present the platform to two academic climate research groups later this spring.
The problem of black box models exists not just because the field is full of private companies that don’t want to share their code. A study published earlier this month found that only 4% of the most-cited peer-reviewed climate risk studies have made their data and code public, despite journal standards that require transparency.
“When you’re working with climate data, you’re dealing with all of these uncertainties,” Adam Pollack, an assistant professor at the University of Iowa who researches flood risk and the lead author of the paper, told me. “Researchers don’t always understand all of the assumptions that are implicit in choices that they make. That’s fine — we have methods for dealing with that. We do model intercomparisons, we do these synthesis studies as a field. The foundation of that is openness and reusability.”
Though he was not involved in the CarbonPlan project, he said it was exactly what his paper was calling for. For example, CarbonPlan’s “future” calculations are based on an extreme warming scenario that has become controversial among climate scientists. CarbonPlan didn’t choose this scenario — it’s what the Forest Service’s dataset used, and that was the only off-the-shelf data available for the entire United States. But because the underlying code is open-source, critics are free to swap it out for other data they may have access to.
“That’s what’s so great about this,” Pollack said. “People who have different values, assumptions, and expertise, can get new estimates and build a shared understanding.”
On BYD’s lawsuit, Fervo’s hottest well, and China’s geologic hydrogen
Current conditions: A midweek clipper storm is poised to bring as much as six more inches of snow to parts of the Great Lakes and Northeast • American Samoa is halfway through three days of fierce thunderstorms and temperatures above 80 degrees Fahrenheit • Northern Portugal is bracing for up to four inches more of rain after three deadly storms in just two weeks.

The Environmental Protection Agency is preparing this week to repeal the Obama-era scientific finding that provides the legal basis for virtually all federal regulations of planet-heating emissions, marking what The Wall Street Journal called “the most far-reaching rollback of U.S. climate policy to date.” The 2009 “endangerment finding” concluded that greenhouse gases pose a threat to public health and welfare, calling for cuts to emissions from power plants and vehicle tailpipes. EPA Administrator Lee Zeldin told the newspaper the move “amounts to the largest act of deregulation in the history of the United States.” In an interview with my colleague Emily Pontecorvo last year, Harvard Law School’s Jody Freeman said rescinding the endangerment finding would do “more serious and more long term damage” and “could knock out a future administration from trying to” bring back climate policy. But that, Freeman said, would depend on the Supreme Court backing the administration. “I don’t think that’s likely, but it’s possible,” she said.
At issue is the 2007 case Massachusetts v. EPA, which determined that greenhouse gases qualified as pollutants under the Clean Air Act. As Emily wrote last week, “the agency claims that its previous read of Massachusetts v. EPA was wrong, especially in light of subsequent Supreme Court decisions, such as West Virginia v. EPA and Loper Bright v. Raimondo. The former limited the EPA's toolbox for regulating power plants, and the latter ended a requirement that courts defer to agency expertise in cases where the law is vague.” An earlier report in The Washington Post questioned whether the agency would proceed with the repeal at all, fearing these arguments would pass muster in the nation’s highest court.
BYD has sued the United States government over the 100% tariff on Chinese electrics that serves as an effective ban on Beijing’s booming auto exports. Four U.S.-based subsidiaries of the world’s largest manufacturer of electric vehicles filed a lawsuit in the U.S. Court of International Trade challenging the legality of the Trump administration’s trade levies. The litigation marks what the state-backed tabloid Global Times called “the first instance of a Chinese automaker directly and actively challenging U.S. tariffs, setting a precedent and carrying significance for Chinese enterprises to protect their legitimate rights and interests through legal means.”
Outside the U.S., BYD is booming. China’s cheap electric cars are popular all over the world, as Heatmap’s Shift Key podcast covered in December. Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney’s deal to increase trade with China will bring the battery-powered vehicles to North American roads. And the Chinese edition of the trade publication Automotive News just reported that BYD is planning a factory expansion in Europe and Canada.
Hot off last month’s news that it plans to go public, Fervo Energy has drilled its highest-temperature well yet. The drilling results confirm that the next-generation geothermal startup tapped into a resource with temperatures above 555 degrees Fahrenheit at approximately 11,200 feet deep. The company announced the findings Monday of an independent assessment using appraisal data from the drilling. The analysis found that the Project Blanford site in Millard County, Utah, has multiple gigawatts of heat that can be harnessed. Its completion will be a breakthrough for enhanced geothermal systems, one of two leading approaches to the next-generation geothermal sector that Heatmap’s Matthew Zeitlin outlined here. “This latest ultra-high temperature discovery highlights our team’s ability to detect and develop EGS sweet spots using AI-enhanced geophysical techniques,” Jack Norbeck, Fervo’s co-founder and chief technology officer, said in a statement.
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Chinese scientists have for the first time discovered natural hydrogen sealed in microscopic inclusions near Tibet. The finding, which the Xinhua news agency called “groundbreaking,” fills what the China Hydrogen Bulletin called “a major domestic research gap and points to a new geological pathway for identifying China’s next generation of clean energy resources.” Natural, or geological, hydrogen could provide a cheap source of the zero-carbon fuel and give oil and gas drillers a natural foothold in a new, clean industry. In the color spectrum associated with hydrogen, the rare, naturally formed stuff is called white hydrogen. But as Heatmap’s Katie Brigham wrote in December, a new color has joined the rainbow. Orange hydrogen refers to a family of technologies that naturally spur production of the gas, as the startup Vema is now attempting to do.
China’s coal-fired power generation decreased 1.9% last year, marking what the consultancy Wood Mackenzie called “a historic shift driven by new non-fossil generation that has finally outpaced demand growth.” Power demand surged 5% in China last year, but for the first time in a decade that wasn’t propelled by coal plants. Instead, that new demand was supplied by renewables, nuclear, and hydro, all of which Beijing has rapidly deployed. Over that time, the levelized cost of energy — a widely used though, as Matthew wrote last year, far-from-perfect metric — fell 77% for utility-scale solar and 73% for onshore wind. “At the heart of this transformation is the unprecedented expansion of renewable energy capacity,” Sharon Feng, a senior research analyst for Wood Mackenzie, said in a statement. “China’s wind and solar capacity had risen more than ten-fold to 1,842 gigawatts over the past decade.”
Gone are the days when the oil industry seemed to be on track for a lucrative decline. Demand for crude will take longer to peak than previously estimated as governments prioritize growth and energy security over efforts to curb consumption. That’s according to a report issued Sunday by Vitol Group, the world’s largest independent oil trader. “Over the past year, decarbonisation policies have become a less decisive driver of efforts to curb oil consumption and reduce carbon dioxide emissions,” the report stated, according to Bloomberg. “Policy priorities have increasingly been reframed around economic competitiveness and geopolitical strategy.”
The race for a long-duration energy storage solution has a new competitor. The Dutch startup Ore Energy has deployed its iron-air storage technology successfully on the grid for a technical pilot of its system that can store for 100 hours of power. The pilot, the first of its kind in Europe, demonstrated that the company’s technology can store and discharge energy for up to four days. “This pilot allowed us to evaluate iron-air performance under European operating profiles and real-world grid conditions,” Aytaç Yilmaz, co-founder and CEO of Ore Energy, said in a statement.
Wildfires are moving east.
There were 77,850 wildfires in the United States in 2025, and nearly half of those — 49% — ignited east of the Mississippi River, according to statistics released last week by the National Interagency Fire Center. That might come as a surprise to some in the West, who tend to believe they hold the monopoly on conflagrations (along with earthquakes, tsunamis, and megalomaniac tech billionaires).
But if you lump the Central Plains and Midwest states of Minnesota, Iowa, Missouri, Arkansas, Oklahoma, and Texas along with everything to their east — the swath of the nation collectively designated as the Eastern and Southern Regions by the U.S. Forest Service — the wildfires in the area made up more than two-thirds of total ignitions last year.

Like fires in the West, wildfires in the eastern and southeastern U.S. are increasing. Over the past 40 years, the region has seen a 10-fold jump in the frequency of large burns. (Many risk factors contribute to wildfires, including but not limited to climate change.)
What’s exciting to wildfire researchers and managers, though, is the idea that they could catch changes to the Eastern fire regime early, before the situation spirals into a feedback loop or results in a major tragedy. “We have the opportunity to get ahead of the wildfire problem in the East and to learn some of the lessons that we see in the West,” Donovan said.
Now that effort has an organizing body: the Eastern Fire Network. Headed by Erica Smithwick, a professor in Penn State’s geography department, the research group formed late last year with the help of a $1.7 million, three-year grant from the Gordon and Betty Moore Foundation, a partner with the U.S. National Science Foundation, with the goal of creating an informed research agenda for studying fire in the East. “It was a very easy thing to have people buy into because the research questions are still wide open here,” Smithwick told me.
Though the Eastern U.S. is finally exiting a three-week block of sub-freezing temperatures, the hot, dry days of summer are still far from most people’s minds. But the wildland-urban interface — that is, the high-fire-risk communities that abut tracts of undeveloped land — is more extensive in the East than in the West, with up to 72% of the land in some states qualifying as WUI. The region is also much more densely populated, meaning practically every wildfire that ignites has the potential to threaten human property and life.
It’s this density combined with the prevalent WUI that most significantly distinguishes Eastern fires from those in the comparatively rural West. One fire manager warned Smithwick that a worst-case-scenario wildfire could run across the entirety of New Jersey, the most populous state in the nation, in just 48 hours.
Generally speaking, though, wildfires in the East are much smaller than those in the West. The last megafire in the Forest Service’s Southern Region was as far west in its boundaries as you can get: the 2024 Smokehouse Creek fire in Texas and Oklahoma, which burned more than a million acres. The Eastern Region hasn’t had a megafire exceeding 100,000 acres in the modern era. For research purposes, a “large” wildfire in the East is typically defined as being 200 hectares or more in size, the equivalent of about 280 football fields; in the West, a “large” wildfire is twice that, 400 hectares or more.
But what the eastern half of the country lacks in total acres burned (for that statistic, Alaska edges out the Southern Region), it makes up for in the total number of reported ignitions. In 2025, for example, the state of Maine alone recorded 250 fires in August, more than doubling its previous record of just over 100 fires. “The East is highly fragmented,” Donovan, who is contributing to the Eastern Fire Network’s research, told me. “We have a lot of development here compared to the West, and so it’s much more challenging for fires to spread.”
Fires in the West tend to be long-duration events, burning for weeks or even months; fires in the East are often contained within 48 hours. In New Jersey, for example, “smaller, fragmented forests, which are broken up by numerous roads and the built environment, [allow] firefighters to move ahead of a wildfire to improve firebreaks and begin backfiring operations to help slow the forward progression,” a spokesperson for the New Jersey Forest Fire Service told me.
The parcelized nature of the eastern states is also reflected in who is responding to the fires. It is more common for state agencies and local departments — including many volunteer firefighting departments — to be the ones on the scene, Debbie Miley, the executive director of the National Wildfire Suppression Association, a trade group representing private wildland fire service contractors, told me by email. On the one hand, the local response makes sense; smaller fires require smaller teams to fight them. But the lack of a joint effort, even within a single state, means broader takeaways about mitigation and adaptation can be lost.
“Many eastern states have strong state forestry agencies and local departments that handle wildfire as part of an ‘all hazards’ portfolio,” Miley said. “In the West, there’s often a deeper bench of personnel and systems oriented around long-duration wildfire campaigns (though that varies by state).”
All of this feeds into why Smithwick believes the Eastern Fire Network is necessary: because of this “intermingling, at a very fine scale, of different jurisdictional boundaries,” conversations about fire management and the changing regimes in the region happen in parallel, rather than with meaningful coordination. Even within a single state, fire management might be divided between different agencies — such as the Game Commission and the Bureau of Forestry, which share fire management responsibilities in Pennsylvania. Fighting fires also often involves working with private landowners in the East; in the West, on the other hand, roughly two-thirds of wildfires burn on public land, which a single agency — e.g. the Bureau of Land Management, Forest Service, or Park Service — manages.
But “wildfire risk is going to be different than in the West, and maybe more variable,” Smithwick told me. Identifying the appropriate research questions about that risk is one of the most important objectives of the Eastern Fire Network.
Bad wildfires are the result of fuel and weather conditions aligning. “We generally know what the fuels are [in the East] and how well they burn,” Smithwick said. But weather conditions and their variability are a greater question mark.
Nationally, fire and emergency managers rely on indices to predict fire-weather risk based on humidity, temperature, and wind. But while those indices are dialed in for the Western states, they’re less well understood in the East. “We hope to look at case studies of recent fires that have occurred in the 2024 and 2025 window to look at the antecedent conditions and to use those as case studies for better understanding the mechanisms that led to that wildfire,” Smithwick said.
Learning more about the climatological mechanisms driving dry spells in the region is another explicit goal. Knowing how dry spells evolve, and where, will help researchers and eventually policymakers to identify mitigation strategies for locations most at risk. Smithwick also expects to learn that some areas might not be at high risk: “We can tell you that this is not something your community needs to invest in right now,” she told me.
Different management practices, jurisdictions, terrains, and fuel types mean solutions in the East will look different from those in the West, too. As Donovan’s research has found, the unmanaged regrowth of forests in the northeast in particular after centuries of deforestation has led to an increase in trees and shrubs that are prone to wildfires. Due to the smaller forest tracts in the area, mechanical thinning is a more realistic solution in eastern forests than on large, sprawling, remote western lands.
Prescribed burns tend to be more common and more readily accepted practices in the East, too. Florida leads the nation in preventative fires, and the New Jersey Forest Fire Service aims to treat 25,000 acres of forest, grasslands, and marshlands with prescribed fire annually.
The winter storms that swept across the Eastern and Southern regions of the United States last month have the potential to queue up a bad fire season once the land starts to thaw and eventually dry out. Though the picture in the Eastern Region is still coming into focus depending on what happens this spring, in the Southern region the storms have created “potential compaction of the abundant grasses across the Plains, in addition to ice damage in pine-dominant areas farther east,” the National Interagency Fire Center wrote in last Monday’s update to its nationwide fire outlook. (The nearly million-acre Pinelands of New Jersey are similarly a fire-adapted ecosystem and are “comparable in volatility to the chaparral shrublands found in California and southern Oregon,” the spokesperson told me.)
The compaction of grasses is significant because, although they will take longer to dry and become a fuel source, it will ultimately leave the Southern region covered with a dense, flammable fuel when summer is in full swing. Beyond the Plains, in the Southeast’s pine forests, the winter-damaged trees could cast “abundant” pine needles and “other fine debris” that could dry out and become flammable as soon as a few weeks from now. “Increased debris burning will also amplify ignitions and potential escapes, enhancing significant fire potential during warmer and drier weather that will return in short order,” NIFC goes on to warn.
Though the historically wet Northeast and humid Southeast seem like unlikely places to worry about large wildfires, as conditions change, nothing is certain. “If we learned anything from fire science over the past few decades, it’s that anywhere can burn under the right conditions,” Smithwick said. “We are burning in the tundra; we are burning in Canada; we are burning in all of these places that may not have been used to extreme wildfire situations.”
“These fires could have a large economic and social cost,” Smithwick added, “and we have not prepared for them.”