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Inside Climeworks’ big experiment to wrest carbon from the air

In the spring of 2021, the world’s leading authority on energy published a “roadmap” for preventing the most catastrophic climate change scenarios. One of its conclusions was particularly daunting. Getting energy-related emissions down to net zero by 2050, the International Energy Agency said, would require “huge leaps in innovation.”
Existing technologies would be mostly sufficient to carry us down the carbon curve over the next decade. But after that, nearly half of the remaining work would have to come from solutions that, for all intents and purposes, did not exist yet. Some would only require retooling existing industries, like developing electric long-haul trucks and carbon-free steel. But others would have to be built from almost nothing and brought to market in record time.
What will it take to rapidly develop new solutions, especially those that involve costly physical infrastructure and which have essentially no commercial value today?
That’s the challenge facing Climeworks, the Swiss company developing machines to wrest carbon dioxide molecules directly from the air. In September 2021, a few months after the IEA’s landmark report came out, Climeworks switched on its first commercial-scale “direct air capture” facility, a feat of engineering it dubbed “Orca,” in Iceland.
The technology behind Orca is one of the top candidates to clean up the carbon already blanketing the Earth. It could also be used to balance out any stubborn, residual sources of greenhouse gases in the future, such as from agriculture or air travel, providing the “net” in net-zero. If we manage to scale up technologies like Orca to the point where we remove more carbon than we release, we could even begin cooling the planet.
As the largest carbon removal plant operating in the world, Orca is either trivial or one of the most important climate projects built in the last decade, depending on how you look at it. It was designed to capture approximately 4,000 metric tons of carbon from the air per year, which, as one climate scientist, David Ho, put it, is the equivalent of rolling back the clock on just 3 seconds of global emissions. But the learnings gleaned from Orca could surpass any quantitative assessment of its impact. How well do these “direct air capture” machines work in the real world? How much does it really cost to run them? And can they get better?
The company — and its funders — are betting they can. Climeworks has made major deals with banks, insurers, and other companies trying to go green to eventually remove carbon from the atmosphere on their behalf. Last year, the company raised $650 million in equity that will “unlock the next phase of its growth,” scaling the technology “up to multi-million-ton capacity … as carbon removal becomes a trillion-dollar market.” And just last month, the U.S. Department of Energy selected Climeworks, along with another carbon removal company, Heirloom, to receive up to $600 million to build a direct air capture “hub” in Louisiana, with the goal of removing one million tons of carbon annually.
Two years after powering up Orca, Climeworks has yet to reveal how effective the technology has proven to be. But in extensive interviews, top executives painted a picture of innovation in progress.
Chief marketing officer Julie Gosalvez told me that Orca is small and climatically insignificant on purpose. The goal is not to make a dent in climate change — yet — but to maximize learning at minimal cost. “You want to learn when you're small, right?” Gosalvez said. “It’s really de-risking the technology. It’s not like Tesla doing EVs when we have been building cars for 70 years and the margin of learning and risk is much smaller. It’s completely new.”
From the ground, Orca looks sort of like a warehouse or a server farm with a massive air conditioning system out back. The plant consists of eight shipping container-sized boxes arranged in a U-shape around a central building, each one equipped with an array of fans. When the plant is running, which is more or less all the time, the fans suck air into the containers where it makes contact with a porous filter known as a “sorbent” which attracts CO2 molecules.

When the filters become totally saturated with CO2, the vents on the containers snap shut, and the containers are heated to more than 212 degrees Fahrenheit. This releases the CO2, which is then delivered through a pipe to a secondary process called “liquefaction,” where it is compressed into a liquid. Finally, the liquid CO2 is piped into basalt rock formations underground, where it slowly mineralizes into stone. The process requires a little bit of electricity and a lot of heat, all of which comes from a carbon-free source — a geothermal power plant nearby.
A day at Orca begins with the morning huddle. The total number on the team is often in flux, but it typically has a staff of about 15 people, Climeworks’ head of operations Benjamin Keusch told me. Ten work in a virtual control room 1,600 miles away in Zurich, taking turns monitoring the plant on a laptop and managing its operations remotely. The remainder work on site, taking orders from the control room, repairing equipment, and helping to run tests.
During the huddle, the team discusses any maintenance that needs to be done. If there’s an issue, the control room will shut down part of the plant while the on-site workers investigate. So far, they’ve dealt with snow piling up around the plant that had to be shoveled, broken and corroded equipment that had to be replaced, and sediment build-up that had to be removed.

The air is more humid and sulfurous at the site in Iceland than in Switzerland, where Climeworks had built an earlier, smaller-scale model, so the team is also learning how to optimize the technology for different weather. Within all this troubleshooting, there’s additional trade-offs to explore and lessons to learn. If a part keeps breaking, does it make more sense to plan to replace it periodically, or to redesign it? How do supply chain constraints play into that calculus?
The company is also performing tests regularly, said Keusch. For example, the team has tested new component designs at Orca that it now plans to incorporate into Climeworks’ next project from the start. (Last year, the company began construction on “Mammoth,” a new plant that will be nine times larger than Orca, on a neighboring site.) At a summit that Climeworks hosted in June, co-founder Jan Wurzbacher said the company believes that over the next decade, it will be able to make its direct air capture system twice as small and cut its energy consumption in half.
“In innovation lingo, the jargon is we haven’t converged on a dominant design,” Gregory Nemet, a professor at the University of Wisconsin who studies technological development, told me. For example, in the wind industry, turbines with three blades, upwind design, and a horizontal axis, are now standard. “There were lots of other experiments before that convergence happened in the late 1980s,” he said. “So that’s kind of where we are with direct air capture. There’s lots of different ways that are being tried right now, even within a company like Climeworks."
Although Climeworks was willing to tell me about the goings-on at Orca over the last two years, the company declined to share how much carbon it has captured or how much energy, on average, the process has used.
Gosalvez told me that the plant’s performance has improved month after month, and that more detailed information was shared with investors. But she was hesitant to make the data public, concerned that it could be misinterpreted, because tests and maintenance at Orca require the plant to shut down regularly.
“Expectations are not in line with the stage of the technology development we are at. People expect this to be turnkey,” she said. “What does success look like? Is it the absolute numbers, or the learnings and ability to scale?”
Danny Cullenward, a climate economist and consultant who has studied the integrity of various carbon removal methods, did not find the company’s reluctance to share data especially concerning. “For these earliest demonstration facilities, you might expect people to hit roadblocks or to have to shut the plant down for a couple of weeks, or do all sorts of things that are going to make it hard to transparently report the efficiency of your process, the number of tons you’re getting at different times,” he told me.
But he acknowledged that there was an inherent tension to the stance, because ultimately, Climeworks’ business model — and the technology’s effectiveness as a climate solution — depend entirely on the ability to make precise, transparent, carbon accounting claims.
Nemet was also of two minds about it. Carbon removal needs to go from almost nothing today to something like a billion tons of carbon removed per year in just three decades, he said. That’s a pace on the upper end of what’s been observed historically with other technologies, like solar panels. So it’s important to understand whether Climeworks’ tech has any chance of meeting the moment. Especially since the company faces competition from a number of others developing direct air capture technologies, like Heirloom and Occidental Petroleum, that may be able to do it cheaper, or faster.
However, Nemet was also sympathetic to the position the company was in. “It’s relatively incremental how these technologies develop,” he said. “I have heard this criticism that this is not a real technology because we haven’t built it at scale, so we shouldn’t depend on it. Or that one of these plants not doing the removal that it said it would do shows that it doesn’t work and that we therefore shouldn’t plan on having it available. To me, that’s a pretty high bar to cross with a climate mitigation technology that could be really useful.”
More data on Orca is coming. Climeworks recently announced that it will work with the company Puro.Earth to certify every ton of CO2 that it removes from the atmosphere and stores underground, in order to sell carbon credits based on this service. The credits will be listed on a public registry.
But even if Orca eventually runs at full capacity, Climeworks will never be able to sell 4,000 carbon credits per year from the plant. Gosalvez clarified that 4,000 tons is the amount of carbon the plant is designed to suck up annually, but the more important number is the amount of “net” carbon removal it can produce. “That might be the first bit of education you need to get out there,” she said, “because it really invites everyone to look at what are the key drivers to be paid attention to.”
She walked me through a chart that illustrated the various ways in which some of Orca’s potential to remove carbon can be lost. First, there’s the question of availability — how often does the plant have to shut down due to maintenance or power shortages? Climeworks aims to limit those losses to 10%. Next, there’s the recovery stage, where the CO2 is separated from the sorbent, purified, and liquified. Gosalvez said it’s basically impossible to do this without losing some CO2. At best, the company hopes to limit that to 5%.
Finally, the company also takes into account “gray emissions,” or the carbon footprint associated with the business, like the materials, the construction, and the eventual decommissioning of the plant and restoration of the site to its former state. If one of Climeworks’ plants ever uses energy from fossil fuels (which the company has said it does not plan to do) it would incorporate any emissions from that energy. Climeworks aims to limit gray emissions to 15%.
In the end, Orca’s net annual carbon removal capacity — the amount Climeworks can sell to customers — is really closer to 3,000 tons. Gosalvez hopes other carbon removal companies adopt the same approach. “Ultimately what counts is your net impact on the planet and the atmosphere,” she said.
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Despite being a first-of-its-kind demonstration plant — and an active research site — Orca is also a commercial project. In fact, Gosalvez told me that Orca’s entire estimated capacity for carbon removal, over the 12 years that the plant is expected to run, sold out shortly after it began operating. The company is now selling carbon removal services from its yet-to-be-built Mammoth plant.
In January, Climeworks announced that Orca had officially fulfilled orders from Microsoft, Stripe, and Shopify. Those companies have collectively asked Climeworks to remove more than 16,000 tons of carbon, according to the deal-tracking site cdr.fyi, but it’s unclear what portion of that was delivered. The achievement was verified by a third party, but the total amount removed was not made public.
Climeworks has also not disclosed how much it has charged companies per ton of carbon, a metric that will eventually be an important indicator of whether the technology can scale to a climate-relevant level. But it has provided rough estimates of how much it expects each ton of carbon removal to cost as the technology scales — expectations which seem to have shifted after two years of operating Orca.
In 2021, Climeworks co-founder Jan Wurzbacher said the company aimed to get the cost down to $200 to $300 per ton removed by the end of the decade, with steeper declines in subsequent years. But at the summit in June, he presented a new cost curve chart showing that the price was currently more than $1,000, and that by the end of the decade, it would fall to somewhere between $400 to $700. The range was so large because the cost of labor, energy, and storing the CO2 varied widely by location, he said. The company aims to get the price down to $100 to $300 per ton by 2050, when the technology has significantly matured.
Critics of carbon removal technologies often point to the vast sums flowing into direct air capture tech like Orca, which are unlikely to make a meaningful difference in climate change for decades to come. During a time when worsening disasters make action feel increasingly urgent, many are skeptical of the value of investing limited funds and political energy into these future solutions. Carbon removal won’t make much of a difference if the world doesn’t deploy the tools already available to reduce emissions as rapidly as possible — and there’s certainly not enough money or effort going into that yet.
But we’ll never have the option to fully halt climate change, let alone begin reversing it, if we don’t develop solutions like Orca. In September, the International Energy Agency released an update to its seminal net-zero report. The new analysis said that in the last two years, the world had, in fact, made significant progress on innovation. Now, some 65% of emission reductions after 2030 could be accounted for with technologies that had reached market uptake. It even included a line about the launch of Orca, noting that Climeworks’ direct air capture technology had moved from the prototype to the demonstration stage.
But it cautioned that DAC needs “to be scaled up dramatically to play the role envisaged,” in the net zero scenario. Climeworks’ experience with Orca offers a glimpse of how much work is yet to be done.
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An active Pacific cyclone season plus El Niño-warmed waters could produce a first-of-its-kind West Coast storm.
Among hurricane watchers, “I” is the scariest letter in the alphabet. Since 2001, the ninth named storm of the year in the Atlantic Basin — which usually arrives around the mid-September peak of the season — has historically been the worst of the worst. Ida. Irma. Ivan. Isabel.
This year, there might not be enough storms for “I” ever to become a threat. With just eight to 14 named storms expected, the 2026 Atlantic hurricane season could very well conclude with the formation of Tropical Storm Hanna.
The Eastern Pacific season, however, is a different story. Having already ticked off Amanda, Boris, and Cristina since its season started on May 15, the basin could blow past “I” — also its most retired initial — and go as deep as Xavier, the 22nd name on this year’s list. And the more storms there are in the Eastern Pacific, the more chances there are for a “gray swan” event — in this case, the historically unheard-of but scientifically possible impact or even landfall of a hurricane in California.
“We know there’s a chance, but because of the rarity in the historical record, particularly in the recent 100 years, people lack understanding of this type of event,” Laiyin Zhu, a climate scientist at Western Michigan University and the co-author of a new paper in Nature Climate Change about the increasing risk of cyclone-related impacts on southern California, told me.
Blame El Niño for all the fuss this year. The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration formally announced its return last week, and though the atmospheric phenomenon has the effect of suppressing hurricane formation in the Atlantic basin by increasing wind shear and knocking would-be hurricanes off-kilter, the case is different on the left coast. Record and near-record warm waters serve as an engine for the cyclones that form in the Eastern Pacific, a pocket that extends as far as the 140th meridian west, an otherwise obscure latitude that cuts south from Alaska’s Yakutat Bay into the open ocean.
And there is no relief in sight: “With global warming in the next several decades, we are expecting a strong increase of sea surface temperature with the magnitude of about 2.7 degrees Celsius, and this will provide a lot of energy to the tropical cyclones on the East Pacific side of the state,” Zhu said.
Though about as many hurricanes form on average in the Eastern Pacific as in the Atlantic, trade winds push storms in the latter basin westward toward the Caribbean nations, Latin America, and the southeast and eastern United States, sparking excitement, attention, and the odd scandal when they threaten population centers. Storms in the Eastern Pacific follow the same westward trajectory, sometimes bumping into coastal Mexico, though just as often drifting harmlessly out to sea. In rare cases, a steering pattern sends a storm due north toward San Diego or Los Angeles. Each time that’s happened, cold waters off Southern California have starved the cyclone of its warm-water fuel before it can make landfall at full hurricane strength.
In an above-average Eastern Pacific hurricane season such as this one, however, there are more opportunities for a storm to follow that rare track toward California. Additionally, during an El Niño year, Southern California’s protective cold-water barrier becomes slightly warmer, meaning the continent has less protection against tropical storms that take the road less traveled by. To wit: The closest a hurricane has ever come to making landfall on the state was in 1852, an El Niño year. Hurricane Hilary, which prompted the National Hurricane Center to issue its first-ever tropical storm warning for Southern California in 2023, also formed during an El Niño. Though that storm weakened to below the tropical storm threshold before making landfall, its remains dropped more than half a year’s average rain on many parts of the region, killed one person, and racked up some $900 million in flood- and mudslide-related damage.
This year, Southern California will be all the more vulnerable due to the 60% chance of a “super” El Niño forming. “This, on top of the gradually increasing [sea surface temperature] from the climate background, is going to increase the probability of tropical cyclones making landfall, potentially with this rainfall and landslide impact over California,” Zhu said.
Realistically, the danger to California isn’t a Category 5 hurricane making landfall; if a tropical storm were to reach the shores of the western U.S., it’d very likely be weak and unstable. Rather, as Zhu and his colleagues’ research has found, the threat in a high-emissions warming scenario is that the warming Eastern Pacific shortens the return period of a “Hurricane-Hilary-magnitude rainfall” by 50%, from 110 years to 54 years.
While more rain for the drought-plagued Southwest might sound like a good thing, “we are talking about a so-called whiplash event,” Zhu told me. “If we have severe drought followed by a severe rain event, it is going to create big disasters like landslides because the dry soil is not going to absorb the rainfall in a short time efficiently.” The researchers found that all Southern California counties “exhibit growth in areas exposed to landslides from 2000 to 2050,” though the risk is disproportionate; for households earning less than $50,000, landslide risk could triple by the middle of the century compared to wealthy households, where it will increase by less than half. (Wildfires in the region have also made the landscape particularly prone to mudslides since the loss of vegetation disrupts normal water absorption by the soil and makes slopes more unstable after rain.)
There might be a spot of good news, though. Jin-Yi Yu, a professor of earth system science at the University of California, Irvine, told me that while he had not read the Nature Climate Change article, he thinks California might at least be spared a winter deluge of the likes of the 1997-1998 El Niño, which ran the state some $850 million in storm-related damage.
Often a skeptic of “super El Niño” hype, Yu acknowledged that this year appears headed toward the superlative. But as his research has shown, using the historical record to predict El Niño has become increasingly unreliable since the 20th century due to its shifting center and marine heatwaves. So far, the patterns in 2026 look more similar to the 2015-2016 El Niño, which was the strongest on record, but also developed a warm-water pocket near the International Date Line that disrupted the system to the point that winter rainfall in California was actually below average.
But if California dodges both a hurricane and a record-wet winter this year, that makes the state lucky, not invincible. Californians “are not like people from Florida, who are always getting hit by hurricanes and who know how to evacuate and how to build their houses to a certain standard,” Zhu said. Californians are particularly vulnerable to tropical cyclones because they’re so unlikely. Policymakers should be thinking now about zoning changes in landslide-prone areas and home-hardening measures in anticipation of when the “grey swan” event finally arrives.
“I hope this doesn’t happen this year, or for many years, in California,” Zhu said. “But we need to be aware of it.”
An exclusive interview with Senator Martin Heinrich on SunZia, the largest renewables project in U.S. history, which is now — finally — fully operational.
The largest renewable electricity project in American history is open for business.
After almost exactly 20 years of development, permitting, and construction, the SunZia Wind and Transmission Project became officially operational on Thursday afternoon, according to its developer, Pattern Energy.
The project, which built an enormous 3.6-gigawatt wind farm in New Mexico and a 550-mile high-voltage power line that crosses into Arizona, is capable of generating and delivering more electricity than the Hoover Dam. Its lengthy development and approval process made it an emblem of the country’s struggle to build new, large-scale power lines and virtually every other type of zero-carbon energy infrastructure.
“We proved that America can still build big things, and I think that’s really important,” Senator Martin Heinrich, a Democrat from New Mexico, told me on Thursday.
SunZia is now the seventh largest power plant in the United States. At peak capacity, it will power more than a million homes, according to Pattern’s estimates. The facility will fund more than $1.3 billion in direct payments to local governments, schools, and landowners over the next few decades, the developer said in a statement. More than half of the project’s electricity will be delivered to and used by southern California. (Analysts realized SunZia was nearing completion when gigawatts of wind power started appearing in the state’s energy data in May.)
So what took so long to get it done? The closer you look at SunZia, the more it seems to tell you about the promise — and pitfalls — of building more clean energy in America. The project began in 2006, when a group of utilities, developers, and governments across the Southwest realized that Arizona’s booming cities could draw cheap renewable power from New Mexico’s arid plains. The project applied for federal permits in 2008, and planned to start construction in 2013.

Yet due to a lengthy permitting and siting battle, construction did not begin until 2023. Two years ago, I detailed that saga in a feature for Heatmap, where I drove out to the remote Arizona valley where the line proved most contentious. That reporting also revealed how important Heinrich, the Democratic senator, had been to getting the power line built. When local environmentalists feared the transmission line’s towers would hurt sandhill cranes in a rare high-desert habitat in New Mexico, Heinrich intervened and brokered a new route. He also helped negotiate new technological improvements to the line to avoid the birds.
I later wrote up my three takeaways from the SunZia investigation. Among them: A better relationship between conservationists and clean energy developers is possible — but someone has to facilitate it. SunZia only ran through the tape because Heinrich had credibility with environmentalists and clean energy developers.
Heinrich is now important to an even bigger energy endeavor. As the Democratic ranking member on the Senate Energy and Natural Resources Committee, he is conducting negotiations with Republicans over a permitting reform package that could change how the federal government studies and approves new large-scale infrastructure. To commemorate the official opening of SunZia, I caught up with the senator by phone on Thursday to discuss the project’s long history, what he learned, and what it all means for permitting reform.
Our interview has been edited for length and clarity.
SunZia opens today. It’s very exciting. It’s been in the works for a long time. What are you reflecting on at this moment, and what did you feel like you learned from the process?
I think we proved America can still build big things, and I think that’s really important. But we also learned a lot of lessons along the way for how to do that. Those are going to be really important to bake into permitting reform, and they’re going to be important as best practices for other developers who want to take on these big infrastructure projects.
What are some of those lessons?
Well, for one, start by listening and engaging with the community very early in the process. Don’t come with some completely baked idea and expect people to, you know, welcome you with open arms. Go out into the community and listen — there’s just no substitute for it. And if you can do it, the earlier you can do that in the process, the better your prospects for getting to a good outcome.
I do think you need political leadership that’s willing to make hard decisions. You can’t build things without with zero level of conflict, but you can — with leadership — build big things and put them in the right places. There was an unwillingness, when I first started working on this project, for people to expend any amount of political capital to get it done, and I didn’t feel that was acceptable. There was just too much upside to having 3.5 gigawatts of clean generation, and all of the jobs and investment, $20 billion worth, that come with that.
One interesting aspect of this case is what happened with Audubon Southwest and the Pentagon with the river crossing, where the initial plan that [SunZia’s developer] put forward wasn’t acceptable. And ultimately you helped broker a deal. One lesson I took away from that was that, boy, it’s helpful to have someone with credibility in the local community or politics to help put a deal together, but that’s obviously not the case everywhere. There’s not a Martin Heinrich to negotiate every power line. What do you think are the lessons from this experience that scale — because while community leadership is very important, you’re not always going to be able to find a political leader who can broker an agreement everyone will find acceptable?
No, and I take your point very well, but I do think there ought to be a leader in the White House who has a dashboard of big, nationally important infrastructure projects, who understands the issues in those projects, and can make sure that the federal family of agencies are working constructively to get to the right outcome. You can have these situations where literally one staff person in one agency can bring down an entire project. And so to the extent that you can institutionalize clear federal agency leadership, with support from the administration — I mean, I worked this thing through multiple administrations, but towards the end, with folks like [Biden-era national climate adviser] Ali Zaidi in the White House, to just make sure that the federal agencies were not lowering the bar for their standards, but that they were also working constructively.
You’re now negotiating permitting reform on the Energy and Natural Resources committee. Transmission is obviously a huge part of what an ideal package would look like. What do you think SunZia’s lessons are for a broader permitting reform effort?
To the extent that you can make sure that there are benefits across the entirety of linear infrastructure and transmission lines — that those benefits are not relegated to just where the generation is and and where the consumption is — that’s an important lesson. There are a lot of counties along the way, and there are a lot of private landowners who, if it’s in their interest, actually become cheerleaders for the project. Also, going back to early engagement, you don’t want to learn that there’s some fatal flaw in your route five years into a project. You want to figure out where the trip wires are early, and that’s why you have to engage conservation groups and historical preservation officers and those sorts of interests. Because if you’re doing your job right, you’re avoiding the kind of impacts that can stall a project.
What’s your assessment of how likely there is to be a permitting reform deal this year? We’ve heard, I think, mixed signals from Congress, but I also think that there’s some sense that if it were ever to happen, it would need to happen during this term, and probably come together over the next few months and solidify in the lame duck.
We’re still very much at the table, and so I’m not going to say it’s going to be easy, but we’re working hard to try and get to yes.
What is essential to getting a deal done?
The recipe for success in the Senate is to have a balanced bipartisan proposal. There are going to be things that are important to Republicans, in order to get to certainty for projects that are important to them. For me, transmission is an incredibly important piece of these negotiations. We have to make sure that it’s an effectively balanced package — that’s how you get to 65, 70 votes.
With SunZia out of the way, are there any other transmission projects or big projects you’d like to see come online?
We’re constantly engaged in the transmission conversation in New Mexico because there are both smaller regional lines that we’ve worked through and have gotten some things built, and then there are also additional interregional lines that are being explored. If you can get to a place like we did on SunZia — it wasn’t always this way, but today the breadth of community and political support for Sun Zia is very broad.
That’s been striking to me about SunZia. I’m in New York, and we just opened a big new transmission line down the Hudson. It’s great. It’s going to supply New York with 20% hydro power. And it’s funny because SunZia and the Champlain Hudson Power Express were contested projects when they were getting built, but now that they’re open, people are very supportive of them. What do you think is the lesson there for other lines?
It’s part process. When you do a good job on the process, you build more and more support over time, as people start to see the actual economic benefits in particular. So for a landowner in central New Mexico who has two or three turbines on their family ranch, the lease fees can be the difference between profitability and unprofitability. The [union] jobs of actually putting up the towers, and the generation and construction jobs — when those benefits become real, and the scary idea you might have had doesn’t necessarily manifest itself, it changes the equation. And so over time, if you’re doing this well, more and more accrues on the positive side of the ledger and less and less on the negative side.
But there’s still plenty of room for regional grid operators to set their own rules.
Almost eight months have passed since the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission was tasked by the Trump administration with conjuring up with new rules to help speed up interconnection of large loads without increasing retail electricity costs. On Thursday, FERC finally responded with “major reforms,” in the words of Chair Laura Swett, putting the onus on America’s restructured electricity markets — PJM Interconnection, Midcontinent Independent System Operator, Southwest Power Pool, California Independent System Operator, ISO New England, and New York Independent System Operator — to figure out how to implement their suggested solutions.
Using what’s known as “show cause” orders, FERC presented those in charge of these electricity markets, known as regional transmission organizations and independent system operators, with what was essentially a menu of ideas that have been percolating in electricity policy circles since the rise of data-center-driven load growth has started putting pressure on the existing grid and told them to get to work. Secretary of Energy Chris Wright’s original “advance notice of proposed rulemaking,” published in late October, was more proscriptive and specific, whereas FERC essentially said to regional electricity markets, “do whatever you have to, just make it work.”
In a brief email, former FERC chair Neil Chatterjee described this as “a very FERC-y approach!” Or as Gretchen Kershaw, the chief operating officer of Grid Strategies and a former FERC legal advisor, explained to me that “it’s much faster to act on a region-specific basis instead of going through a full notice and comment rulemaking process.”
The commission’s proposed reforms fall into five categories:
1. The markets need “clear transmission service application and study rules” for large load customers seeking to connect to the grid, Swett said in her remarks. The commissioners specifically called out the use of “grid-enhancing technologies” to expand the capacity of America’s existing electricity infrastructure — things like reconductoring, which adds transmission capacity along existing wires, and dynamic line rating, which adjusts capacity based on local weather and conditions. “The cheapest transmission line is the one that already exists,” Commissioner David Rosner said, speaking after Swett at Thursday’s meeting.
2. The RTOs and ISOs will also have to show that they have “adequate safeguards against cost-shifting or take steps to create them,” Swett said. This will require “cost recovery agreements,” Rosner added, “which are designed to ensure that large loads pay their fair share of the costs incurred to serve them, regardless of whether the large load comes online as planned.” In other words, “If new infrastructure is built to accommodate a data center, and that data center doesn’t show up, residential customers are not left on the hook to pay the costs,” he said.
3. The third area that the electricity markets will have to address is co-location and behind-the-meter power, specifically coming up with rules that facilitate purpose-built generation facilities to support new large loads. This would allow data centers and big power users to be less of a burden on the grid, thus requiring less in the way of grid upgrades and additional costs that would be borne by all ratepayers.
4. The orders tells markets “to prove or develop new transmission services to reflect large load flexibility,” Swett said. Load flexibility is another idea designed to lower the system cost of data centers. Grids have to be built out to accommodate the peak demand of the system, but with flexibility, data centers could shave off how much power they demand during, say, a hot summer day, thus lowering that demand peak. To get there, however, they need to be properly incentivized. FERC is telling the RTOs and ISOs to come up with rules that would allow large loads to come online without necessarily requiring vast new buildouts of grid infrastructure and generation. “Legalizing flexible transmission service options for more large load customers can speed interconnection, avoid constructing unnecessary transmission upgrades, reduce strain on the grid, and make power bills cheaper for everyone,” Rosner said.
5. Finally, the orders will require the markets to come up with rules and procedures for generation that’s “proximate” to new load. This will encourage “bring your own new generation,” Rosner said. That stands in contrast to proposals requiring or encouraging new large sources of demand to place generation on their own premises. “Literal co-location is not the only way to facilitate faster, more efficient, and more cost-effective connections to the grid,” Rosner said.
The markets will have to come back in a month to explain how they “intend to ensure that adequate generation will be available to serve existing and new large loads,” a FERC staffer explained at Thursday’s meeting, then again a month later to explain either how their existing rules conform to the new requirements or how they plan to charge their rules to do so.
The commission’s decision is not a formal rulemaking. Instead, the commissioners argued that tasking each RTO and ISO with specific orders would result in a more tailored set of reforms. “Today we’re engaging those to act with more speed, more durability, and more precision than we would get with our proposed rulemaking,” Commissioner David LaCerte said.
The action was strikingly bipartisan, with Democratic and Republican commissioners approving it in a 5-0 vote. It also won plaudits from clean energy and environmental groups. The Sierra Club said in a statement the action was “responsive to Sierra Club’s requests on several fronts,” while the clean energy trade group Advanced Energy United lauded the orders as “potentially creating much-welcome regulatory certainty and transparency, as well as some safeguards to ensure that co-location won’t negatively impact the electric rates and system reliability of all other customers.”
Federal energy regulators have been mulling these reforms as the Trump administration and state and local government officials have grown increasingly restless with rising electricity prices, utilities, and data center developers. Swett herself has scolded America’s largest electricity market, PJM Interconnection, for its inability to meet its own preferred level of excess capacity to ensure it can maintain continuous service, as well as continual high capacity costs, which have translated into tens of billions of dollars of added costs for electricity customers in the mid-Atlantic. Swett has even gone so far to suggest that PJM “ simply has grown too big to function,” leading some market observers to speculate that a forced breakup may be nigh.
Electricity prices nationwide have risen 5.3% in the last year, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, while overall prices were up 4.2% — a number that includes gasoline price increases stemming from the war in Iran. In PJM territories like New Jersey, average bills have increased from about $91 to $140 over the past five years, while prices are up some 52%, according to the Heatmap-MIT Electricity Price Hub.
The existing rules, Swett said, are “unjust and unreasonable because they do not adequately address how to integrate large and co-located loads onto the transmission system.”
“Free-riding on other customers is not an option,” she added.