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If you’ve had the uneasy sense that winter weather isn’t what it used to be, you’re not alone — and you’re probably right. The everyday effects of climate change on the year’s coldest months are quickly becoming too blatant to dismiss.
As annual heat records continue to topple year after year — 2023, now officially the hottest year on record, came terrifyingly close to averaging 1.5 degrees Celsius above preindustrial temperatures — winter weather is responding. In some places, it’s turning snowy days into rainy ones. In others, it’s turning cold days bitterly so.
So — what, exactly, is going on? Let’s start with the basics.
The main thing is that climate change is pushing winter temperatures higher. In fact, the average winter temperature is rising faster than that of any other season. Average temperatures in the lower 48 U.S. states from December through February rose by almost 3 degrees Fahrenheit between 1896 and 2021, compared to 2 degrees in spring and 1.5 degrees in summer and fall, federal data show.
The number of days below freezing each year is also on the decline across the country and across the planet. A decade ago, the U.S. was already seeing two weeks less snow cover, on average, than it did in 1972, according to federal data. And parts of the country, including cities in the Northeast and Northwest, are on track to lose over a month of freezing days by midcentury.
But in many places, daily highs and lows aren’t shifting at the same rate. Winter nights, for instance, are warming even faster than winter days — the total number of freezing nights has been dropping in the U.S. since the 1970s. Colder places are also warming more quickly, with the northern U.S. and especially the Northeast experiencing the most significant rise in average winter temperatures.
That dreary, muddy weather that most of the U.S. saw this past Christmas does, admittedly, happen sometimes for natural reasons. Same with the incessant rain that fell (and then turned to ice) across the Midwest and Northeast in mid-January. With every fraction of a degree the planet warms, however, events like these become more likely — or, at least, that’s what hundreds of the world’s leading climate scientists concluded in the United Nations’ latest synthesis report on the state of the global climate.
Bingo.
Some evidence suggests that climate change is actually making cold shocks more likely by destabilizing the polar jet stream, which keeps the frigid air in the far northern hemisphere from moving too far southward (and keeps warm air in the tropics from moving too far northward). As a result, the polar vortex that’s normally confined to the Arctic is liable to stretch south and blast bitterly cold air into the contiguous U.S. That’s what happened in mid-January, when temperatures in Montana and the Dakotas dropped as low as -30 degrees Fahrenheit and the wind chill bottomed out at -60 degrees. Cold air from the same weather system blew all the way to Texas.
That said, this evidence is not rock solid. Whether or not it bears out in the long term, it’s important to remember that a warmer world doesn’t mean it will never be cold.
Recent experience notwithstanding, cold snaps — short periods of abnormally cold weather — are going away, too. Their average duration dropped by six days between 1970 and 2021, a Climate Central analysis found.
One of the most predictable consequences of climate change is that, as year-round temperatures soar, an increasing share of annual precipitation will fall as rain rather than snow. That’s just what you get when it’s too warm for water vapor to freeze.
One of the less obvious consequences, it turns out, is that a warmer atmosphere holds more moisture, enabling it to dump more precipitation — whether that comes as rain, snow, or wintry mix — during a single storm. As a result, even though climate change is making certain places drier, the biggest winter snowstorms are becoming, well, bigger.
This apparent contradiction had a major impact on the parched West in 2023. Drought is expected to become the norm there as the planet warms, fueling epic wildfires and straining already limited water supplies.
But a string of record snowstorms across the West last winter replenished the region’s dwindling snowpack, feeding mountain streams and helping keep drought conditions at bay (and creating a really good year for ski towns). In California, meanwhile, a barrage of atmospheric rivers drenched lower elevations and broke snowfall records in parts of the Sierra Nevada mountains.
California and its neighbors got off to another rainy (and snowy) start in 2024 — though the recent reprieve from years of severe drought isn’t expected to last.
The best answer we can give you today is to say that yes, snow will most likely still exist. But rising generations probably won’t be able to count on snow falling — and sticking — with the regularity it did when you were their age.
Climate scientists don’t have a perfect picture of how quickly the winters we grew up with will give way to a string of months that are rainy, slushy, and unpredictable, but that’s the direction the evidence is pointing. As global temperatures continue to rise, the trends we’ve seen in winter weather over the past couple of decades aren’t expected to reverse course anytime soon.
Many of the ways climate change affects winter are hard to miss. Snow falls later and less often, and when it does come, it doesn’t last as long. That comes with a few perks for the average American — such as fewer frigid winter days — and huge downsides for the communities, ecosystems, and industries that depend on winter being snowy and cold.
The ramifications of warming winters across the U.S. also extend far beyond the end of the season. Accelerated snowmelt causes plants to green and bloom earlier, which can have cascading effects on soil moisture and drought, as well as on the wildlife that depend on these plants for food and habitat. If snowpack fails to accumulate or melts too early, streams will run dry during the hottest months of the year, when animals, plants, and people need them most.
Traditional strains of some fruit crops — like blueberries, cherries and peaches, for example — don’t grow properly in the spring and summer if the preceding winter was too warm. The increasing volatility of winter weather is also affecting the success rate of wintertime crops, especially in the South. By some estimates, the agriculture sector’s biggest companies could lose tens of billions of dollars in value by 2030 because of climate change.
And pests like ticks and mosquitoes are not only expanding northward, they’re also surviving the winter more easily in their historical range, causing their populations to grow and rates of disease transmission to climb.
Unfortunately, that’s one question we can’t answer — not for every instance of unseasonably warm temperatures everywhere in the world. What we do know for sure is that warmer average temperatures make unseasonable and extreme weather more likely. So in that sense, yes, odds are very good that climate change is playing a role in that thermometer reading.
But also, events rarely have just one cause. Climate change could be exacerbating a natural weather phenomenon, or you might just have gotten a brief winter reprieve. Whether one sultry February day is “because of climate change” isn’t really the point. The point is that, unless and until we stop emitting greenhouse gases into the atmosphere and start pulling them out, the weather will just keep getting weirder. There is no new normal.
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Early last week, the view out my windows had become alluringly clear. The peaks of the San Gabriel Mountains that had been obscured by a cloud of smoke from the Eaton Fire that devastated the city of Altadena reappeared. The campfire smell had blown away — from this part of Los Angeles, at least. The landscape seemed to say, it’s safe to come outside.
Looks can be deceiving. One of the first days I ventured outside again, just to walk the dog down and back up our steep hill, I felt my throat burn by the time we arrived back at the house. That sensation, plus having a baby barely more than a year old, led my family to stay locked in for a few more days.
It’s tricky to know when it’s okay to return to the outdoors during an ongoing wildfire crisis. The area map on Watch Duty looks good: The 800-acre Hurst Fire up near Santa Clarita has been entirely controlled, and no new major blazes took hold in the L.A. area despite windy conditions on Monday. As I write this, the devastating Eaton Fire has now been 89% contained, and the Palisades has reached 63%. As early as the weekend after the fires started, when I was helping a family member clear broken tree branches in the San Gabriel Valley, the fire and its smoke were no longer visible over the horizon. By now, some residents have been allowed to return to areas now deemed safe.
Still, it may be a while before the traumatizing wildfires burn out entirely. Until they do, and even after, an undeniable level of uncertainty comes with every breath we take.
In my neighborhood, the Air Quality Index has been remarkably low over the past week. When consulting my phone’s Weather app and resources such as IQAir, measurements have been moderate or even good — in fact, better than the numbers posted on many perfectly normal L.A. days with no wildfires burning, when haze and smog still cloud the sky. As many people have discovered during these horrible fires, however, AQI is far from a perfect indicator of whether the air outside is okay. It might suffice on an ordinary morning for telling you whether it’s a good or bad day to go for a run, but it is not, on its own, able to account for the toxic soup that burned around L.A.
One of the major concerns about these fires that engulfed whole neighborhoods in Pacific Palisades and Altadena is that our homes, more than ever before, are full of plastic and other chemicals that become extra dangerous when burned. While AQI measures everyday problems like small particulate matter and smog, it doesn’t include pollutants like copper, plastic compounds, asbestos, and other things that might have gotten into Los Angeles’ air.
To find out exactly what chemicals came out of the Eaton Fire, Caltech professor Mike Brown (aka @plutokiller, after his role in the demotion of the former ninth planet) took ash from his house to campus to measure its chemical composition. (Note: My day job is at Caltech.) The result: titanium from new house paint, lead from old house paint, and lots of other heavy metals. “Treat that ash like it’s toxic folks,” he wrote on BlueSky, “(because it is).”
In and around devastated communities such as Altadena, it’s obvious one must proceed with extreme caution regarding the ash and the air itself. In other parts of the city, it’s hard to be sure. Neighbors of ours have resumed their communal daily dog walk, but with some hesitation about whether it’s okay to go outside maskless for even 30 minutes. When a sore throat or a headache comes on, we wonder whether the air is to blame. Before the fires, my family used to take a nightly dog walk of at least an hour, which now includes carrying the baby. Since she is too young to wear a mask, I don’t know when we'll feel that free again.
A small comfort is that, indoors at least, we were ready. Three air purifiers run round-the-clock in various parts of my house because of our proximity to a freeway and the general mediocrity of the Los Angeles air.
But, honestly, it sucks to sit inside in a place so beautiful. Winter in L.A. is gorgeous, full of cool but sunny days perfect for afternoon walks and hikes in places that would be too sun-drenched and blazing hot to visit in the summer. This winter, even with some rain finally in the forecast, our hikes are burned and our air is uncertain.
While wind got hammered, the fastest growing renewable energy source emerged relatively unscathed.
President Trump’s first executive actions put the wind industry on ice, undermined the transition to electric vehicles, and paused funding for EV chargers. But so far Trump has done little — if anything — to stymie the country’s fastest growing clean energy technology: solar.
This isn’t a huge surprise. On the campaign trail, Trump blasted former President Biden’s climate and clean energy policies from every angle, consistently criticising wind energy and promising to “end the EV mandate.” But any time solar came up, Trump admitted that he kind of, sort of liked it.
“By the way, I’m a big fan of solar,” Trump said at the presidential debate in September, before complaining about how much land solar farms take up. The following month at a roundtable in Miami, he said “I like, you know, some applications where you have it on a roof or you have it on something,” before launching into familiar complaints about land use.
This begs the question of whether the president might include solar farms in his plan to “unleash American energy.” More solar capacity was added to the grid last year than any other energy source, after all. As of September, it made up 78% of all new capacity additions. Rooftop solar is also one of the quickest and most direct ways for consumers to lower their energy bills, so the technology fits well within Trump’s agenda to lower energy costs.
The Solar Energy Industries Association did not respond to my email requesting an interview, but the trade group is evidently trying to make this case to the new administration. “It’s clear that we will not reach President Trump’s vision for American energy dominance or technological innovation without continued solar and energy storage growth,” Abigail Ross Hopper, the group’s president, said in a statement published after the inauguration.
Solar’s exclusion from Trump’s day one orders might be viewed optimistically as an implicit endorsement of that position, Harry Godfrey, a managing director at Advanced Energy United, told me. Other clues, however, are not so encouraging, he said.
For example, in Trump’s executive order declaring an energy emergency, he excluded solar from his definition of “energy” or “energy resources” that will get expedited approvals. Solar was not mentioned in any of his energy-related actions on Monday.
“If we’re facing a real energy emergency, and we need to address this, shouldn’t it be an all hands on deck activity?” Godfrey said. “That’s obviously bigger than just solar,” he added.
Godfrey also observed that solar may not have gotten off completely unscathed. Trump froze all federal funds allocated by the Inflation Reduction Act and the Bipartisan Infrastructure Law for 90 days, which could affect any money remaining in solar-related programs.
Naveed Hasan, the vice president of North American strategy for the solar company Sungrow, told me he’s less worried about the IRA freeze, as it’s only temporary. “From what I understand, the funds still have to be spent. They cannot be just completely cut through an executive order — that’s going to require the reconciliation process, going through Congress.”
It’s likely too early to draw any big conclusions about how solar development will fare under Trump. It’s unclear whether his administration or the new Congress want to make changes to the tax credits available for clean energy, including for solar panels, for example.
The president has also not yet revealed the full extent of his plans to increase tariffs on goods from China, which could hurt solar’s cost competitiveness. On Tuesday night, Trump said he was considering imposing a 10% tariff on Chinese goods beginning in February, which is far below the 60% he promised on the campaign trail, but doesn’t mean he won’t increase it later. The announcement followed a memo he sent to various agency heads on Monday which included a directive for the U.S. Trade Representative to “consider potential additional tariff modifications … particularly with respect to industrial supply chains and circumvention through third countries.”
Then there’s Trump’s plans to ramp up oil and gas production and clear hurdles for new fossil fuel plants and exports, which could indirectly hurt the market for solar. “That’s the major concern we have,” Hasan told me. “I think that could definitely impact the demand for renewable energy if those fossil fuel projects are considered more economical or more attractive for financiers.”
All American cities are at risk.
The fires that have swept greater Los Angeles over the past two weeks have shattered long-held assumptions about wildfire risk. Unlike many of the catastrophic, climate-intensified wildfires that have burned various swaths of California over the past decade, the Palisades and Eaton fires have blazed past the wildland-urban interface to devastate a wide variety of neighborhoods – some of the region’s oldest and some of its newest; gridded city blocks as well as winding mountainside subdivisions; apartments, duplexes, and bungalow courts as well as stand-alone suburban houses.
In other words, the places that have burned represent a far wider swath of the American urban landscape than most burn zones. Likewise, rebuilding these places is going to raise not only locally-specific questions of wildfire safety, adaptation, and retreat, but also universally-applicable questions about energy provision and decarbonization that every American city will eventually be forced to confront. In particular, greater Los Angeles’ burned neighborhoods are already revealing a looming natural gas crisis, decades before most American cities will face it.
In greater Los Angeles’ grim collection of leveled neighborhoods, gas meters protruding from the rubble serve as stark reminders of the elaborate buried pipeline network that powered homes and businesses. As communities begin to rebuild, California’s building code, state resiliency grants, and federal Inflation Reduction Act incentives together make it highly likely that the majority of new structures will go electric, cutting their dependence on the outmoded and dangerous gas connections that may have complicated firefighting efforts. This same transition to all-electric buildings is unfolding more slowly across the rest of the country, where many residents are just beginning to embrace the ease, efficiency, and quality of heat pumps and induction stoves, or to recognize the health risks of burning gas indoors.
In even the most thoroughly devastated neighborhoods, though, a few incongruous buildings have survived. As the rebuilding effort reaches its conclusion, these grizzled veterans will become solitary consumers of gas in a soon-to-be-electrified landscape. But the cost of maintaining the branching networks that provide gas won’t shrink along with the gas customer base. With maintenance costs fixed but revenue decimated, the gas system could begin to crumble. Remaining gas users could see their bills spiral higher as greater Los Angeles’ leading gas utility, SoCalGas, attempts to meet its costs and more customers flee the system. Worse still, declining revenue could pressure the utility to cut back on repairs, leading to neglected pipelines that leak, corrode, and even spark future fires.
A version of this crisis will come for every American neighborhood eventually. Gas networks only work economically and safely when costs are shared across a broad user base. Without coordination, maintaining the gas network in electrifying neighborhoods will rapidly become an unsustainable risk borne most by those least able to transition away from gas. The best solution to this approaching crisis is both bold and simple: act proactively.Prune back the branching gas pipeline network to protect both the system as a whole and the burned neighborhoods themselves.
Local government, state regulators, and our gas and electric utilities can together support the transition of burned neighborhoods’ remaining buildings off of gas so that entire branches of the system can be shut off, leaving safer and cleaner all-electric neighborhoods in their place. This is the only way Angelenos can begin to avoid the post-fire catastrophe of skyrocketing costs and collapsing safety.
By removing an entire branch of the gas distribution network, greater Los Angeles can simultaneously make the electric grid safer and more resilient. Over the past decade, overhead power lines have become famous as one of the leading causes of wildfire ignition – but burying them usually imposes an eye-watering cost that the electric system cannot afford. Much of that cost, though, stems from the need to dig by hand around existing gas lines. By shutting down their local gas networks for good, burned and high-fire-risk neighborhoods can eliminate the greatest risk and biggest expense of burying electric lines – and in some cases, might even be able to run electric lines through the decommissioned pipes themselves.
In one sweep, greater Los Angeles’ burn zones and high-fire-risk neighborhoods like them elsewhere can eliminate two major sources of fire danger and chart a path away from the looming threat of unmanaged gas system collapse. In the midst of the state’s intensifying insurance crisis, systematically reducing the risk of new fires at the neighborhood level would also offer insurers provable risk mitigation. Pulling off this transformation, though, will require quick action — before rebuilding begins. So far, state and local leaders have focused on promising the return of normalcy, in part by attempting to suspend all-electric building requirements. Given that all-electric construction is both faster and cheaper, this rollback makes little practical sense. At a broader level, these early rollbacks constitute an attempt to avoid the hard questions of how to rebuild more safely and resiliently – and when it has become too dangerous to rebuild at all. The win-win of systematic gas decommissioning and electric undergrounding offers an onramp to those more difficult conversations.
Just how to negotiate an entire neighborhood’s simultaneous transition away from natural gas remains an unsolved problem of political will and neighborly cooperation, but greater Los Angeles’ burned zones are suddenly forcing the question. Creating a clear, affordable path to electrification for the surviving buildings will require pairing increased financial support with coordinated planning and clear deadlines to help homeowners and businesses understand the urgency of the switch.
Amidst the incalculable losses of these fires, greater Los Angeles is being confronted not only with the painful challenges of recovery, but also with the looming specter of new crises accelerated by the fires’ devastation. The risk of gas system collapse has come to greater Los Angeles decades before it will reach most other American communities. Confronting it before it becomes a disaster of its own can help secure the region’s devastated neighborhoods against future fires, while blazing a trail for other high-fire-risk neighborhoods across the country to follow.