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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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The cloak-and-dagger approach is turning the business into a bogeyman.
It’s time to call it like it is: Many data center developers seem to be moving too fast to build trust in the communities where they’re siting projects.
One of the chief complaints raised by data center opponents across the country is that companies aren’t transparent about their plans, which often becomes the original sin that makes winning debates over energy or water use near-impossible. In too many cases, towns and cities neighboring a proposed data center won’t know who will wind up using the project, either because a tech giant is behind it and keeping plans secret or a real estate firm refuses to disclose to them which company it’ll be sold to.
Making matters worse, developers large and small are requiring city and county officials to be tight-lipped through non-disclosure agreements. It’s safe to say these secrecy contracts betray a basic sense of public transparency Americans expect from their elected representatives and they become a core problem that lets activists critical of the data center boom fill in gaps for the public. I mean, why trust facts and figures about energy and water if the corporations won’t be up front about their plans?
“When a developer comes in and there’s going to be a project that has a huge impact on a community and the environment – a place they call home – and you’re not getting any kind of answers, you can tell they’re not being transparent with you,” Ginny Marcille-Kerslake, an organizer for Food and Water Watch in Pennsylvania, told me in an interview this week. “There’s an automatic lack of trust there. And then that extends to their own government.”
Let’s break down an example Marcille-Kerslake pointed me to, where the utility Talen Energy is seeking to rezone hundreds of acres of agricultural land in Montour County, Pennsylvania, for industrial facilities. Montour County is already a high risk area for any kind of energy or data center development, ranking in the 86th percentile nationally for withdrawn renewable energy projects (more than 10 solar facilities have been canceled here for various reasons). So it didn’t help when individuals living in the area began questioning if this was for Amazon Web Services, similar to other nearby Talen-powered data center projects in the area?
Officials wouldn’t – or couldn’t – say if the project was for Amazon, in part because one of the county commissioners signed a non-disclosure agreement binding them to silence. Subsequently, a Facebook video from an activist fighting the rezoning went viral, using emails he claimed were obtained through public records requests to declare Amazon “is likely behind the scenes” of the zoning request.
Amazon did not respond to my requests for comment. But this is a very familiar pattern to us now. Heatmap Pro data shows that a lack of transparency consistently ranks in the top five concerns people raise when they oppose data center projects, regardless of whether they are approved or canceled. Heatmap researcher Charlie Clynes explained to me that the issue routinely crops up in the myriad projects he’s tracked, down to the first data center ever logged into the platform – a $100 million proposal by a startup in Hood County, Oregon, that was pulled after a community uproar.
“At a high level, I have seen a lack of transparency become more of an issue.t makes people angry in a very unique way that other issues don’t. Not only will they think a project is going to be bad for a community, but you’re not even telling them, the key stakeholder, what is going on,” Clynes said. “It’s not a matter of, are data centers good or bad necessarily, but whether people feel like they’re being heard and considered. And transparency issues make that much more difficult..”
My interview with Marcille-Kerslake exemplified this situation. Her organization is opposed to the current rapid pace of data center build-out and is supporting opposition in various localities. When we spoke, her arguments felt archetypal and representative of how easily those who fight projects can turn secrecy into a cudgel. After addressing the trust issues with me, she immediately pivoted to saying that those exist because “at the root of it, this lack of transparency to the community” comes from “the fact that what they have planned, people don’t want.”
“The answer isn’t for these developers to come in and be fully transparent in what they want to do, which is what you’d see with other kinds of developments in your community. That doesn’t help them because what they’re building is not wanted.”
I’m not entirely convinced by her point, that the only reason data center developers are staying quiet is because of a likelihood of community opposition. In fairness, the tech sector has long operated with a “move fast, break things” approach, and Silicon Valley companies long worked in privacy in order to closely guard trade secrets in a competitive marketplace. I also know from my previous reporting that before AI, data center developers were simply focused on building projects with easy access to cheap energy.
However, in fairness to opponents, I’m also not convinced the industry is adequately addressing its trust deficit with the public. Last week, I asked Data Center Coalition vice president of state policy Dan Diorio if there was a set of “best practices” that his large data center trade organization is pointing to for community relations and transparency. His answer? People are certainly trying their best as they move quickly to build out infrastructure for AI, but no, there is no standard for such a thing.
“Each developer is different. Each company is different. There’s different sizes, different structures,” he said. “There’s common themes of open and public meetings, sharing information about water use in particular, helping put it in the proper context as well.”
He added: “I wouldn’t categorize that as industry best practice, [but] I think you’re seeing common themes emerge in developments around the country.”
Plus more of the week’s biggest renewable energy fights.
Cole County, Missouri – The Show Me State may be on the precipice of enacting the first state-wide solar moratorium.
Clark County, Ohio – This county has now voted to oppose Invenergy’s Sloopy Solar facility, passing a resolution of disapproval that usually has at least some influence over state regulator decision-making.
Millard County, Utah – Here we have a case of folks upset about solar projects specifically tied to large data centers.
Orange County, California – Compass Energy’s large battery project in San Juan Capistrano has finally died after a yearslong bout with local opposition.
Hillsdale County, Michigan – Here’s a new one: Two county commissioners here are stepping back from any decision on a solar project because they have signed agreements with the developer.
A conversation with Save Our Susquehanna’s Sandy Field.
This week’s conversation is with Sandy Field, leader of the rural Pennsylvania conservation organization Save Our Susquehanna. Field is a climate activist and anti-fossil fuel advocate who has been honored by former vice president Al Gore. Until recently, her primary focus was opposing fracking and plastics manufacturing in her community, which abuts the Susquehanna River. Her focus has shifted lately, however, to the boom in data center development.
I reached out to Field because I’ve been quite interested in better understanding how data centers may be seen by climate-conscious conservation advocates. Our conversation led me to a crucial conclusion: Areas with historic energy development are rife with opposition to new tech infrastructure. It will require legwork for data centers – or renewable energy projects, for that matter – to ever win support in places still reeling from legacies of petroleum pollution.
The following conversation has been lightly edited for clarity.
Given your background, tell me about how you wound up focusing on data centers?
We won a fight against a gas plant in fall of 2023. We started saying, Instead of focusing on what we don’t want, we’re going to start focusing on what we do want. We were focusing on supporting recreational projects in our area, because this is an area where people come to hike and camp and fish. It’s a great place to ride your bike.
Then, all of the sudden, people were saying, What about these data centers?
At first, it seemed benign. It’s like a warehouse, who cares? But we started to learn about the water use concerns, the energy use concerns. We learned about the Amazon one that’s connected to Three Mile Island, which is responsible for turning it back on. We learned about one in Homer, Pennsylvania, where they’re taking a former coal plant and converting it into the largest gas plant in the country in order to power a data center. The people in that area are going to get the pollution from the enormous power plant but none of the power. It started to be clear to us that, again, behind these projects is a push to build out more fracking and gas in Pennsylvania.
From a climate change point of view, this is exactly the wrong perspective. We’re running in the wrong direction. Between water usage, and this energy usage, people are becoming alarmed that the burden will be on us and data centers will be just another boondoggle.
The last thing I’ll say is that there is nothing right now in American politics that is reaching across the aisle. Our communities are coming together. Everybody – Democrats, Republicans – to fight these things.
This is also the only thing I’ve ever worked on that people hate more than plastics.
It sounds like how you learned about these projects was, it began as an anodyne issue but you began to hear about impacts on water and energy use. When I talk to people in the development space, some will call anybody who opposes development NIMBYs. But I’m feeling like this is an oversimplification of the problem here. If you had to identify a principle reason so many people are opposing data centers, what would be the big overarching motive?
I think it seems rushed. People are concerned because it's like a gold rush.
A gas-fired power plant takes five years to build. They’re talking about data centers right now. Where is that power coming from? The whole thing feels like a bubble, and we’re concerned that people are going to invest into communities, and communities will be accepting them only to be left with stranded assets.
When I hear you bring up the principle reason being speed, I hear you. Power plants take years. Mines take years. So do renewable energy projects. Help me get a better understanding though, how much of this is purely the speed –
They’re taking people by surprise.
Take into account where we are. We live by the Susquehanna River, the longest non-navigable river in the world. It doesn’t have a lot of industry on it because it’s too shallow, but we drink from the river and we’ve just gotten it clean. The river was so low this past year that historic structures were beginning to be visible that I’ve never seen, the entire time I have lived here. That was because of a drought.
Now, add to that a couple of data centers pulling millions of gallons of water a day and only putting a portion back in, with who knows what in there. People here are saying that back in the day this river was filled with coal dust, and then we had fracking, so its… enough is enough. Let’s put something into rural communities that will actually benefit us.
The small townships [deciding] don’t know enough about data centers to plan for them. So we’re trying to make sure they’re prepared for managing them. We go to these townships being approached and encourage them to have a protective ordinance that allows them to define parameters for these things. Setbacks, water use rules, things like that.
To your point about NIMBYs – there are a few around here who really are. But there are others who really do just have concerns about how this is a bad idea and we’re rushing in a direction we don’t want to go for our state. They felt this way about fracking, about advanced plastics recycling too, for example. It wasn’t that people didn’t want the projects in their backyards – it’s that they didn’t want them anywhere. Labeling us as NIMBYs or whiners or gripers is unfair.
On that note, I can’t help but notice that these efforts to get protective ordinances on data centers are happening as opponents of renewable energy are doing the same thing. Are you at all concerned that this increased scrutiny towards land use will lead to greater restrictions on renewables alongside data centers?
You’re right that a lot of this is about land use and there are similar arguments about renewable energy. Some of these arguments are being fed by the fossil fuel industry and its allies, and a lot of it is baseless. They’re feeding in concerns about glare and noise and whatever else that don’t even really exist about solar panels.
But it is, yes, often the same people talking about protecting their land. It does have similar elements, especially because of the agricultural land use being proposed in many cases.
We need to meet the concerns about renewable energy head-on. If you talk to people and show them a picture of solar panels with sheep grazing underneath and the land can be conserved for many years, this starts to be a different argument than building a data center for Amazon or someone else that people don’t even like, using the water and all that.