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A conversation with Ben Goldfarb about his road ecology book Crossings.
An alternative title for journalist Ben Goldfarb’s fantastic new book, Crossings, could have been Squashings. “Wait a minute,” I thought to myself about 25 pages in. “Have I been duped into reading a book about … roadkill?!”
The answer wasn’t precisely no, although Crossings is also about so much more (its subtitle: How Road Ecology Is Shaping the Future of Our Planet). From cliff swallows that have evolved to have shorter wings to better avoid zooming cars, to Oedipal cougars stranded in the highway-wrapped Santa Monica Mountains, to the trials of one surprisingly charismatic anteater named Evelyn, Crossings observes that “the repercussions of roads are so complex that it’s hard to pinpoint where they end.”
Goldfarb, though, attempts valiantly to untangle them, and the result is as funny, heartbreaking, enraging, and enlightening as anything I’ve read this year. “There may be nothing humans do that causes more misery to more wild animals than driving,” he writes, but planet-warming emissions are only the most prominent part of that story. Ahead of Crossings’ publication next Tuesday, Goldfarb and I discussed the promise (and drawbacks) of the EV transition and autonomous cars on road ecology; the short-sightedness of infrastructure budgets; and how bad people are at driving. Our conversation has been condensed and edited for clarity.
When you told people you were working on a book about road ecology, did they take it as an invitation to share their personal, unsolicited roadkill stories with you?
Absolutely, they did. I wouldn’t say it was unsolicited: I’m always — I don’t want to say I’m happy to hear roadkill stories — but I’m certainly interested in stories and there were lots of them. One of my favorite ones was a guy who told me that he’d recently hit a squirrel and he was so confused and upset and unhappy about it that he actually called 911. He didn’t know what else to do. And the 911 operator basically said, “Uh yeah, the squirrel is dead.” I mean, to me, that sort of gets at how viscerally upsetting and disturbing roadkill can be. It’s something we see constantly and ultimately take for granted in a lot of ways but committing it ourselves is, of course, a miserable feeling. I just hit an owl a few nights ago and I’m still losing sleep.
One of the things I was most astonished by while reading this book is how well-sourced it is — the texts and interviews you bring together are so broad and enriching. Do you have any idea how many books you read? Tell me a little about how you approached the research.
Oh, geez. Let’s see — two shelves of that bookshelf [behind me] are road ecology reference books. So, several dozen. I can’t claim that I read them all cover to cover, but certainly I drew a lot from other books. I think I ultimately had close to 300 sources in the book who were just invaluable founts of help and knowledge and information.
One of the challenges of writing about road ecology is it’s not necessarily a single discipline. It’s really an umbrella that covers many different disciplines. Roadkill science is its own sort of subset. The impact of forest service roads on contributing erosion to streams is a whole science unto itself. The impact of improperly built road culverts as fish passage barriers — I mean, there are 10,000 papers about that alone. So every chapter was sort of learning a new science unto itself.
You write that “among all the road’s ecological disasters … the most vexing may be noise pollution.” We do a lot of coverage of the future of driving here at Heatmap, and I suppose I was hoping to learn that electric vehicles and cutting-edge advances in automotive technology would help solve at least this problem. Can you tell me why you’re less optimistic?
EVs are much quieter; their engines are silent, which is helpful, especially in an urban context. They’ll ultimately reduce noise pollution and that’s profoundly important. We tend to overlook noise pollution because we’re so awash in it but it’s one of the great public health crises of our time. You read the literature about the health impacts of road noise and it’s horrifying — I mean, literally, it’s elevating our stress levels, it’s increasing our risk of heart attack and diabetes and stroke, it’s taking years off of our lives, mostly without our noticing it. So anything we can do to reduce noise is fundamentally positive. And EVs are part of that.
The drawback, the reason that EVs aren’t a panacea, is that engines aren’t the only thing that makes noise on a car. Above 35 mph, most of what you’re hearing is tire noise: the grinding of the tire itself against the pavement and the little air pockets in the tread popping — “pattern noise” is what that’s called. I wrote most of this book while living a half mile or so from I-90 in eastern Washington state and I could just hear, every time I stepped out of my house, that monotonous hiss of the interstate. That’s tire noise, not engine noise. And tires have gotten much quieter over time, which is good, and hopefully they’ll continue to get quieter, but just electrifying vehicles is not going to solve the problem of road noise even if it does help in urban settings.
Not to keep raining on the parade, but you also write that autonomous vehicles could be “the gravest challenge to road ecology since, well, roads.” How do driverless cars change the road ecology calculus?
I think the answer is, we don’t know yet. From a large animal avoidance perspective, I think they’re ultimately going to be really helpful. Yes, it’s fun right now to dunk on Tesla and Waymo and all of these autonomous vehicle companies whose products are still very buggy, but, you know — probably there are people who will read this and take exception with this idea, but I’m ultimately pretty optimistic that the AVs will solve most of those problems and become better drivers than human beings.
And that’s the thing that always gets lost when somebody posts a video of an AV doing something stupid — human drivers do stupid things constantly, right? We’re horrifically bad drivers. Tens of thousands of people die in the U.S. every year because of it. And one of the things that we’re really bad at is avoiding large animals. We don’t see that well at night, they jump out unexpectedly, and our reflexes are too slow to slam on the brakes. I think that AVs will be much, much better at avoiding those deer and elk and moose than we are because those are large animals and all of [the AV] sensors that are designed to avoid pedestrians will be triggered by those large animals.
But, of course, that doesn’t really help a rattlesnake or a prairie dog or any smaller creature. I, for one, go out of my way to avoid hitting those animals, and when my car is piloted by a robot, that’s not going to help; that robot will have no reason to avoid those small animals if engineers don’t design it to do so.
And the broader problem is that autonomy is likely to lead to a whole lot more vehicles on the road. When you can get in your car and it drives itself and you can spend that time watching movies or doing work or what have you, commuting becomes a lot less onerous. Every autonomous vehicle could have a kid in it who’s not able to drive currently. Most of the modeling suggests that there’s going to be a dramatic increase in vehicle miles traveled as a result of autonomous cars. And that’s going to be bad for wildlife, that’s going to make the barrier effect of roads even more severe and make it even harder for animals to migrate across highways.
And commuting traffic, human traffic, is really just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to autonomy. The autonomous delivery fleet, in some ways, is the bigger concern. A lot of the early AVs are going to be delivery vehicles; it’s going to be so easy to summon products to us. So it’s hard to imagine a scenario where AVs lead to less driving rather than more of it, unfortunately.
How did you navigate striking the right balance between the ideals of conservation and the realities of politics and economics in this book? I found myself getting so frustrated reading about the frogs trying to cross Highway 30 in Portland, Oregon, only to then learn that SP-139 in Brazil actually closes a section between 8 p.m. and 6 a.m., when animals are most active. I was like, “Why can’t we do that!”
We do have this very constrained idea of what is possible and that’s why I like drawing upon other countries. You mentioned that road in Brazil that is closed at night through a park; another great anecdote is that in India, they built a new highway through a tiger sanctuary and they just elevated the entire highway on pilings so that animals can come and go underneath the lifted freeway. Of course, that made the project vastly more expensive, but it’s ecologically the right thing to do and is much more radical than anything we’ve done in this country.
I was just talking about this the other day with somebody in the bird ecology world: how our sense of what we can afford is so skewed. I think that people hear the price tag of a wildlife crossing structure and they think, “Oh my gosh, $10 million just to help elk cross the highway, what an extravagant expenditure.” But that’s beyond nothing in the context of national, state, and federal transportation budgets. I mean, $10 million for a wildlife crossing, that’s not even a drop in the bucket. That’s like a molecule of H2O in the bucket. It costs a million dollars to pave a mile of highway, let alone add a bunch of lanes to it. So to me, the notion that we can’t make our infrastructure better for nature because it costs money is incredibly short-sighted and fails to consider how much money we’re spending on our roads already.
A great example of that was the Infrastructure Act, which contains $350 million for wildlife crossings — which is great and wonderful and a step in the right direction. But it also contains billions of dollars for highway expansions and repaving and bridge repairs. And one bird ecologist described that $350 million as “decimal dust,” you know, just nothing in the context of federal transportation. The politics of the possible can definitely be frustrating.
Not to mention, you have a statistic in Crossings that animal crashes cost America something like $8 billion per year.
And that was $8 billion in 2009. So for inflation and accounting for increased collisions over time — yeah, it’s an enormous number that we’re not doing a whole lot about.
Your book is full of so much humor and cautious optimism but when I was reading it, I would sometimes get overwhelmed just thinking about how many roads exist and how many more roads are going to exist and the awful ends so many living things meet because of them. How did you stay hopeful while immersed in these stories?
I think that the book comes off as humorous and optimistic because that’s just my natural register as a writer, but I’m not sure I actually always feel that way. There are times that I feel totally desperate about the future of conservation. One of the challenges of writing about this topic is that there’s no perfect solution, there’s no panacea. We could say “we need more mass transit,” and certainly we need to get people out of cars, but I live in rural Colorado: It’s hard to imagine a public transportation system that is going to meaningfully change driving rates in this kind of very rural, dispersed area that was built around the automobile.
Wildlife crossings are the same thing. They help a specific set of problems, which is roadkill and the curtailment of animal migration. But they don’t reduce road noise, they don’t prevent tire particles from spewing into the environment and killing salmon, they don’t do anything about road salts being applied in ridiculous quantities and destroying freshwater ecosystems. So, again, there is no panacea here and it can be really challenging to confront the scale and the number of different solutions needed to make our roads lie more lightly on the planet.
Is there anything else you would want readers to know about Crossings?
You mentioned EVs in the context of road noise and one of the things that I almost wish I had emphasized more in the book is that when people tend to think about the environmental impacts of transportation, they think about the carbon emissions, right? And the solutions tend to be things like the electrification of vehicle fleets and fuel standards. And certainly, those are good things. But the electrification of the fleet is going to do absolutely nothing for wild animals. In fact, just as AVs could lead to more driving, EVs can do the same thing when it becomes much cheaper to drive your car because you just have to plug it in — the whole Jevons paradox idea that a million EV scholars have written about.
I feel like part of the purpose of the book is to say, look, the carbon emissions from transportation are an enormous problem. But they’re only one of the many, many ecological problems that our car-centered transportation network causes. You can strip the carbon out of our transportation and still not make it benign for the environment.
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Half of all Americans are sweating under one right now.
Like a bomb cyclone, a polar vortex, or an atmospheric river, a heat dome is a meteorological phenomenon that feels, well, a little made up. I hadn’t heard the term before I found myself bottled beneath one in the Pacific Northwest in 2021, where I saw leaves and needles brown on living trees. Ultimately, some 1,400 people died from the extreme heat in British Columbia, Washington, and Oregon that summer weekend.
Since that disaster, there have been a number of other high-profile heat dome events in the United States, including this week, over the Midwest and now Eastern and Southeastern parts of the country. On Monday, roughly 150 million people — about half the nation’s population — faced extreme or major heat risks.
“I think the term ‘heat dome’ was used sparingly in the weather forecasting community from 10 to 30 years ago,” AccuWeather senior meteorologist Brett Anderson told me, speaking with 36 years as a forecaster under his belt. “But over the past 10 years, with global warming becoming much more focused in the public eye, we are seeing ‘heat dome’ being used much more frequently,” he went on. “I think it is a catchy term, and it gets the public’s attention.”
Catching the public’s attention is critical. Heat is the deadliest weather hazard in the U.S., killing more people annually than hurricanes, floods, tornadoes, or extreme cold. “There is a misunderstanding of the risk,” Ashley Ward, the director of the Heat Policy Innovation Hub at Duke University, told me. “A lot of people — particularly working age or younger people — don’t feel like they’re at risk when, in fact, they are.”
While it seems likely that the current heat dome won’t be as deadly as the one in 2021 — not least because the Midwest and Southeastern regions of the country have a much higher usage of air conditioning than the Pacific Northwest — the heat in the eastern half of the country is truly extraordinary. Tampa, Florida reached 100 degrees Fahrenheit on Sunday for the first time in its recorded history. Parts of the Midwest last week, where the heat dome formed before gradually moving eastward, hit a heat index of 128 degrees.
Worst of all, though, have been the accompanying record-breaking overnight temperatures, which Ward told me were the most lethal characteristics of a heat dome. “When there are both high daytime temperatures and persistently high overnight temperatures, those are the most dangerous of circumstances,” Ward said.
Although the widespread usage of the term “heat dome” may be relatively new, the phenomenon itself is not. The phrase describes an area of “unusually strong” high pressure situated in the upper atmosphere, which pockets abnormally warm air over a particular region, Anderson, the forecaster, told me. “These heat domes can be very expansive and can linger for days, and even a full week or longer,” he said.
Anderson added that while he hasn’t seen evidence of an increase in the number of heat domes due to climate change, “we may be seeing more extreme and longer-lasting heat domes” due to the warmer atmosphere. A heat dome in Europe this summer, which closed the Eiffel Tower, tipped temperatures over 115 degrees in parts of Spain, and killed an estimated 2,300 people, has been linked to anthropogenic warming. And research has borne out that the temperatures and duration reached in the 2021 Pacific Northwest heat dome would have been “virtually impossible without human-caused climate change.”
The link between climate change and heat domes is now strong enough to form the basis for a major legal case. Multnomah County, the Oregon municipality that includes Portland, filed a lawsuit in 2023 against 24 named defendants, including oil and gas companies ExxonMobil, Shell, and BP, seeking $50 million in damages and $1.5 billion in future damages for the defendants’ alleged role in the deaths from the 2021 heat dome.
“As we learned in this country when we took on Big Tobacco, this is not an easy step or one I take lightly, but I do believe it’s our best way to fight for our community and protect our future,” Multnomah County Chair Jessica Vega Pederson said in a statement at the time. The case is now in jeopardy following moves by the Trump administration to prevent states, counties, and cities from suing fossil fuel companies for climate damages. (The estate of a 65-year-old woman who died in the heat dome filed a similar wrongful death lawsuit in Seattle’s King County Superior Court against Big Oil.)
Given the likelihood of longer and hotter heat dome events, then, it becomes imperative to educate people about how to stay safe. As Ward mentioned, many people who are at risk of extreme heat might not even know it, such as those taking commonly prescribed medications for anxiety, depression, PTSD, diabetes, and high blood pressure, which interfere with the body’s ability to thermoregulate. “Let’s just say recently you started taking high blood pressure medicine,” Ward said. “Every summer prior, you never had a problem working in your garden or doing your lawn work. You might this year.”
Air conditioning, while life-saving, can also stop working for any number of reasons, from a worn out machine part to a widespread grid failure. Vulnerable community members may also face hurdles in accessing reliable AC. There’s a reason the majority of heat-related deaths happen indoors.
People who struggle to manage their energy costs should prioritize cooling a single space, such as a bedroom, and focus on maintaining a cool core temperature during overnight hours, when the body undergoes most of its recovery. Blotting yourself with a wet towel or washcloth and sitting in front of a fan can help during waking hours, as can visiting a traditional cooling center, or even a grocery store or movie theater.
Health providers also have a role to play, Ward stressed. “They know who has chronic underlying health conditions,” she said. “Normalize asking them about their situation with air conditioning. Normalize asking them, ‘Do you feel like you have a safe place to go that’s cool, that you can get out of this heat?’”
For the current heat dome, at least, the end is in sight: Incoming cool air from Canada will drop temperatures by 10 to 20 degrees in cities like Philadelphia and Washington, D.C., with lows potentially in the 30s by midweek in parts of New York. And while there are still hot days ahead for Florida and the rest of the Southeast, the cold front will reach the region by the end of the week.
But even if this ends up being the last heat dome of the summer, it certainly won’t be in our lifetimes. The heat dome has become inescapable.
On betrayed regulatory promises, copper ‘anxiety,’ and Mercedes’ stalled EV plans
Current conditions: New York City is once again choking on Canadian wildfire smoke • Torrential rain is flooding southeastern Slovenia and northern Croatia • Central Asia is bracing for the hottest days of the year, with temperatures nearing 100 degrees Fahrenheit in Uzbekistan’s capital of Tashkent all week.
In May, the Trump administration signaled its plans to gut Energy Star, the energy efficiency certification program administered by the Environmental Protection Agency. Energy Star is extremely popular — its brand is recognized by nearly 90% of Americans — and at a cost to the federal government of just $32 million per year, saves American households upward of $40 billion in energy costs per year as of 2024, for a total of more than $500 billion saved since its launch in 1992, by the EPA’s own estimate. Not only that, as one of Energy Star’s architects told Heatmap’s Jeva Lange back in May, more energy efficient appliances and buildings help reduce strain on the grid. “Think about the growing demands of data center computing and AI models,” RE Tech Advisors’ Deb Cloutier told Jeva. “We need to bring more energy onto the grid and make more space for it.”
That value has clearly resonated with lawmakers on the Hill. Legislators tasked with negotiating appropriations in both the Senate and the House of Representatives last week proposed fully funding Energy Star at $32 million for the next fiscal year. It’s unclear how the House’s decision to go into recess until September will affect the vote, but Ben Evans, the federal legislative director at the U.S. Green Building Council, said the bill is “a major step in the right direction demonstrating that ENERGY STAR has strong bipartisan support on Capitol Hill.”
A worker connects panels on floating solar farm project in Huainan, China. Kevin Frayer/Getty Images
The United States installed just under 11 gigawatts of solar panels in the first three months of this year, industry data show. In June alone, China installed nearly 15 gigawatts, PV Tech reported. And, in a detail that demonstrates just how many panels the People’s Republic has been deploying at home in recent years, that represented an 85% drop from the previous month and close to a 40% decline compared to June of last year.
The photovoltaic installation plunge followed Beijing’s rollout of two new policies that changed the renewables business in China. The first, called the 531 policy, undid guaranteed feed-in tariffs and required renewable projects to sell electricity on the spot market. That took effect on June 1. The other, called the 430 policy, took effect on May 1 and mandated that new distributed solar farms consume their own power first before allowing the sale of surplus electricity to the grid. As a result of the stalled installations, a top panel manufacturer warned the trade publication Opis that companies may need to raise prices by as much as 10%.
For years now, Fortescue, the world’s fourth-biggest producer of iron ore, has directed much of the earnings from its mines in northwest Australia and steel mills in China toward building out a global green hydrogen business. But changes to U.S. policy have taken a toll. Last week, Fortescue told investors it was canceling its green hydrogen project in Arizona, which had been set to come online next year. It’s also abandoning its plans for a green hydrogen plant on Australia’s northeastern coast, The Wall Street Journal reported.
“A shift in policy priorities away from green energy has changed the situation in the U.S.,” Gus Pichot, Fortescue’s chief executive of growth and energy, told analysts on a call. “The lack of certainty and a step back in green ambition has stopped the emerging green-energy markets, making it hard for previously feasible projects to proceed.” But green hydrogen isn’t dead everywhere. Just last week, the industrial gas firm Air Liquide made a final decision to invest in a 200-megawatt green hydrogen plant in the Netherlands.
The Trump administration put two high-ranking officials at the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration on administrative leave, CNN reported. The reasoning behind the move wasn’t clear, but both officials — Steve Volz, who leads NOAA’s satellites division, and Jeff Dillen, NOAA’s deputy general counsel — headed up the investigation into whether President Donald Trump violated NOAA’s scientific integrity policies during his so-called Sharpiegate scandal.
The incident from September 2019, during Trump’s first term, started when the president incorrectly listed Alabama among the states facing a threat from Hurricane Dorian. Throughout the following week, Trump defended the remark, insisting he had been right, and ultimately showed journalists a weather map that had been altered with a black Sharpie market to show the path of the storm striking Alabama. NOAA’s investigation into the incident concluded that Neil Jacobs, the former agency official who backed Trump at the time and is now nominated to serve as chief, succumbed to political pressure and violated scientific integrity rules.
In March, North Carolina’s Republican-controlled Senate passed a bill to repeal the state’s climate law and scrap the 2030 deadline by which the monopoly utility Duke Energy had to slash its planet-heating emissions by 70% compared to 2005 levels. Governor Josh Stein, a Democrat, vetoed the legislation. But on Tuesday, the GOP majorities in both chambers of the legislature plan to vote to override the veto.
Doing so and enacting the bill could cost North Carolina more than 50,000 jobs annually and cause tens of billions of dollars in lost investments, Canary Media’s Elizabeth Ouzts reported. That’s according to a new study from a consultancy commissioned by clean-energy advocates in the state. The analysis is based on data from the state-sanctioned consumer advocate, Public Staff.
For years, a mystery has puzzled scientists: Why did Neanderthal remains show levels of a nitrogen isotope only seen among carnivores like hyenas and wolves that eat more meat than a hominid could safely consume? New research finally points to an answer: Neanderthals were eating putrefying meat garnished with maggots, said Melanie Beasley, an anthropologist at Purdue University. “When you get the lean meat and the fatty maggot, you have a more complete nutrient that you’re consuming.”
Oregon’s Cram Fire was a warning — the Pacific Northwest is ready to ignite.
What could have been the country’s first designated megafire of 2025 spluttered to a quiet, unremarkable end this week. Even as national headlines warned over the weekend that central Oregon’s Cram Fire was approaching the 100,000-acre spread usually required to achieve that status, cooler, damper weather had already begun to move into the region. By the middle of the week, firefighters had managed to limit the Cram to 95,736 acres, and with mop-up operations well underway, crews began rotating out for rest or reassignment. The wildfire monitoring app Watch Duty issued what it said would be its final daily update on the Cram Fire on Thursday morning.
By this time in 2024, 10 megafires had already burned or ignited in the U.S., including the more-than-million-acre Smokehouse Creek fire in Texas last spring. While it may seem wrong to describe 2025 as a quieter fire season so far, given the catastrophic fires in the Los Angeles area at the start of the year, it is currently tracking below the 10-year average for acres burned at this point in the season. Even the Cram, a grassland fire that expanded rapidly due to the hot, dry conditions of central Oregon, was “not [an uncommon fire for] this time of year in the area,” Bill Queen, a public information officer with the Pacific Northwest Complex Incident Management Team 3, told me over email.
At the same time, the Cram Fire can also be read as a precursor. It was routine, maybe, but also large enough to require the deployment of nearly 900 fire personnel at a time when the National Wildland Fire Preparedness Level is set to 4, meaning national firefighting resources were already heavily committed when it broke out. (The preparedness scale, which describes how strapped federal resources are, goes up to 5.) Most ominous of all, though, is the forecast for the Pacific Northwest for “Dirty August” and “Snaptember,” historically the two worst months of the year in the region for wildfires.
National Interagency Coordination Center
“Right now, we’re in a little bit of a lull,” Jessica Neujahr, a public affairs officer with the Oregon Department of Forestry, acknowledged to me. “What comes with that is knowing that August and September will be difficult, so we’re now doing our best to make sure that our firefighters are taking advantage of having time to rest and get rejuvenated before the next big wave of fire comes through.”
That next big wave could happen any day. The National Interagency Fire Center’s fire potential outlook, last issued on July 1, describes “significant fire potential” for the Northwest that is “expected to remain above average areawide through September.” The reasons given include the fact that “nearly all areas” of Washington and Oregon are “abnormally dry or in drought status,” combined with a 40% to 60% probability of above-average temperatures through the start of the fall in both states. Moisture from the North American Monsoon, meanwhile, looks to be tracking “largely east of the Northwest.” At the same time, “live fuels in Oregon are green at mid to upper elevations but are drying rapidly across Washington.”
In other words, the components for a bad fire season are all there — the landscape just needs a spark. Lightning, in particular, has been top of mind for Oregon forecasters, given the tinderbox on the ground. A single storm system, such as one that rolled over southeast and east-central Oregon in June, can produce as many as 10,000 lightning strikes; over the course of just one night earlier this month, thunderstorms ignited 72 fires in two southwest Oregon counties. And the “kicker with lightning is that the fires don’t always pop up right away,” Neujahr explained. Instead, lightning strike fires can simmer for up to a week after a storm, evading the detection of firefighting crews until it’s too late. “When you have thousands of strikes in a concentrated area, it’s bound to stretch the local resources as far as they can go,” Neujahr said.
National Interagency Coordination Center
The National Interagency Fire Center has “low confidence … regarding the number of lightning ignitions” for the end of summer in the Northwest, in large part due to the incredible difficulty of forecasting convective storms. Additionally, the current neutral phase of the El Niño-Southern Oscillation means there is a “wide range of potential lightning activity” that adds extra uncertainty to any predictions. The NIFC’s higher confidence in its temperature and precipitation outlooks, in turn, “leads to a belief that the ratio of human to natural ignitions will remain high and at or above 2024 levels.” (An exploding transformer appears to have been the ignition source for the Cram Fire; approximately 88% of wildfires in the United States have human-caused origins, including arson.)
Periodic wildfires are a naturally occurring part of the Western ecosystem, and not all are attributable to climate change. But before 1995, the U.S. averaged fewer than one megafire per year; between 2005 and 2014, that average jumped to 9.8 such fires per year. Before 1970, there had been no documented megafires at all.
Above-average temperatures and drought conditions, which can make fires larger and burn hotter, are strongly associated with a warming atmosphere, however. Larger and hotter fires are also more dangerous. “Our biggest goal is always to put the fires out as fast as possible,” Neujahr told me. “There is a correlation: As fires get bigger, the cost of the fire grows, but so do the risks to the firefighters.”
In Oregon, anyway, the Cram Fire’s warning has registered. Shortly after the fire broke out, Oregon Governor Tina Kotek declared a statewide emergency with an eye toward the months ahead. “The summer is only getting hotter, drier, and more dangerous — we have to be prepared for worsening conditions,” she said in a statement at the time.
It’s improbable that there won’t be a megafire this season; the last time the U.S. had a year without a fire of 100,000 acres or more was in 2001. And if or when the megafire — or megafires — break out, all signs point to the “where” being Oregon or Washington, concentrating the area of potential destruction, exhausting local personnel, and straining federal resources. “When you have two states directly next to each other dealing with the same thing, it just makes it more difficult to get resources because of the conflicting timelines,” Neujahr said.
By October, at least, there should be relief: The national fire outlook describes “an increasing frequency of weather systems and precipitation” that should “signal an end of fire season” for the Northwest once fall arrives. But there are still a long 68 days left to go before then.