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Carbon capture might be EPA’s strongest tool to cut emissions from power plants. That could scramble battle lines.
Carbon capture, one of the most controversial climate solutions, could soon become a centerpiece of U.S. climate policy.
The Environmental Protection Agency is expected to finally unveil its proposal to cut emissions from power plants next week. In the lead up to the announcement, The New York Times reported that the agency is planning to set greenhouse gas emission limits for new and existing power plants based on the reductions that could be achieved by installing equipment to catch emissions from plant smokestacks before they enter the atmosphere.
The funny thing is, whether you see promise in carbon capture or deem it a boondoggle, this is probably the most aggressive approach the EPA can take for power plants. It could even speed up the transition to renewable energy. And for that reason, it’s going to put both proponents and critics of the technology in a weird position, scrambling the usual battle lines on the subject.
Due to the Supreme Court’s ruling in last year’s West Virginia vs. EPA case, the agency’s legal avenues for reducing emissions from the power sector are limited. It can’t force utilities to shut down their fossil fuel power plants and switch to renewables. Instead, it must stick to reductions that can be achieved “within the fenceline” of a power plant.
That leaves a few options. The agency could base its rule on improvements to power plant efficiency. It could look to the potential for coal plants to co-fire with gas or for gas plants to burn hydrogen. But neither would reduce emissions as much as a rule based on carbon capture, Lissa Lynch, a senior attorney at the Natural Resources Defense Council told me in an email. And the Inflation Reduction Act, which contained huge tax credits for carbon capture, makes it possible for the agency to argue that carbon capture is an economically feasible solution, as my colleague Robinson Meyer has reported.
Here’s the twist: That doesn’t mean that every plant would have to install carbon capture. States would have the authority to create their own implementation plans to comply with the standard, and a range of options for how to do it. They might choose to shut down some power plants and replace them with renewables, or operate plants less frequently. But since renewables are so cheap, shifting to solar, wind, and batteries may be the more common response than investing in carbon capture.
The research firm Rhodium Group recently modeled the potential emission reductions from carbon capture-based power plant rule, taking into account new tax credits from the Inflation Reduction Act, and found that only about 20 gigawatts’ worth of coal and gas plants would end up installing carbon capture by 2035. By comparison, some 700 gigawatts of coal and gas plants operate today.
Over the past few years, under increased pressure from investors to show what they are doing about climate change, the oil and gas industry has ramped up its advocacy for carbon capture. Many fossil fuel producers and electric utilities now have net-zero plans that rely heavily on the technology. In 2021, ExxonMobil announced plans to work with 15 other companies to develop a $100 billion carbon capture hub in Houston. DTE, a Michigan utility that owns power plants in California, may have even engineered an entire dark money campaign to convince California regulators to make carbon capture part of the state’s climate plan.
In the American Petroleum Institute’s 2021 Climate Action Framework, the lobbying group said one of its goals was to “Fast-track the Commercial Deployment of Carbon Capture, Utilization and Storage,” and wrote that it “supports federal policies to achieve the ‘at-scale phase’ of CCUS commercial deployment.” (CCUS stands for carbon capture, utilization, and storage.)
On social media, API paints carbon capture as a present-day solution. “Advancements in carbon capture technology from the brightest minds in the energy industry are slashing emissions and creating a cleaner future,” it recently tweeted.
\u201cAdvancements in carbon capture technology from the brightest minds in the energy industry are slashing emissions and creating a cleaner future.\u201d— American Petroleum Institute (@American Petroleum Institute) 1680725045
At the same time, large swaths of the environmental community have joined together to oppose the technology. In July 2021, more than 500 organizations signed on to a letter to U.S. leaders in Washington arguing that carbon capture is not a climate solution. “Simply put, technological carbon capture is a dangerous distraction,” the groups wrote. “We don’t need to fix fossil fuels, we need to ditch them.” Many, many environmental groups have published treatises on why carbon capture is unproven, too expensive, harms communities, and prolongs dependence on fossil fuels.
But as the new power plant regulations loom, proponents of carbon capture have started to temper their enthusiasm, citing some of those same concerns.
In comments submitted to the EPA in March, the American Petroleum Institute’s vice president of natural gas markets, Dustin Meyer, only mentions the technology as an afterthought, underscoring that it isn’t viable yet. After a long section highlighting the benefits of switching from coal to natural gas for power generation, he writes, “In the future ... new technologies like CCUS can offer additional opportunities to reduce emissions.” The American Petroleum Institute declined to comment for this story.
Southern Company, which owns gas and electric utilities across six states, submitted extensive comments to the EPA arguing that carbon capture was “many years away.” The company manages and operates the National Carbon Capture Center, where it conducts research on the technology. Its climate plan suggests that some 21% of its electricity generation will come from natural gas plants with carbon capture by 2050. And it’s in the process of conducting an engineering study to install the technology on one of its natural gas plants in Alabama.
But carbon capture isn’t ready for commercial deployment, Southern writes, using an example that’s often cited by critics of the technology — Petra Nova. Petra Nova is a carbon capture project at a coal-fired power plant in Texas that was mothballed in 2020 when it lost buyers for the captured carbon. While it operated, it experienced frequent outages and failed to capture the amount of carbon it was designed to. Its failure, Southern writes, illustrates that more research is needed to reduce the cost of carbon capture and improve reliability and performance, “which are critical when facilities are required to meet regulatory emission limits.”
Meanwhile, some of the loudest proponents of carbon capture in the upcoming EPA regulations have been environmental groups like the Natural Resources Defense Council, Evergreen Action, and the Clean Air Task Force. This isn’t exactly surprising. These groups, in particular, have historically been supportive of carbon capture technology.
“Industry has been touting the promise of carbon capture and storage for decades,” Lynch of the Natural Resources Defense Council told me. “It hasn’t been widely deployed on power plants because there currently aren’t any federal restrictions on the amount of carbon pollution that power plants can emit.”
Jay Duffy, litigation director at Clean Air Task Force, said the industry’s claims are unfounded. He cited studies by the Department of Energy’s National Energy Technology Laboratory which show that carbon capture is economical, when considering the new tax credits in the Inflation Reduction Act. There are already 13 vendors offering the technology for gas-fired power plants, he said.
Moving forward, some of carbon capture’s biggest critics might find that they need to support a carbon capture-based standard. The Center for Biological Diversity submitted comments to the EPA criticizing the technology, but did not suggest an alternative basis for the rule. When I asked Jason Rylander, legal director for the organization’s Climate Law Institute, whether they would support a standard based on carbon capture, he didn’t say no.
“The big problem is that the existing fossil fuel fleet is essentially uncontrolled for climate pollution in the middle of a climate crisis,” he told me. “That has to stop.”
Rylander couldn’t say where his organization would come down on the rule without seeing it, but he said that if it was based on carbon capture, there would have to be “extremely strong guardrails to ensure the safety and performance of the equipment.” But he also acknowledged that the EPA’s increasingly tough regulatory environment for power plants, along with tax incentives for clean energy in the Inflation Reduction Act, could mean that very little carbon capture would ultimately get built.
“It may very well be that the majority of plants meet these standards by other means.”
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Paradise, California, is snatching up high-risk properties to create a defensive perimeter and prevent the town from burning again.
The 2018 Camp Fire was the deadliest wildfire in California’s history, wiping out 90% of the structures in the mountain town of Paradise and killing at least 85 people in a matter of hours. Investigations afterward found that Paradise’s town planners had ignored warnings of the fire risk to its residents and forgone common-sense preparations that would have saved lives. In the years since, the Camp Fire has consequently become a cautionary tale for similar communities in high-risk wildfire areas — places like Chinese Camp, a small historic landmark in the Sierra Nevada foothills that dramatically burned to the ground last week as part of the nearly 14,000-acre TCU September Lightning Complex.
More recently, Paradise has also become a model for how a town can rebuild wisely after a wildfire. At least some of that is due to the work of Dan Efseaff, the director of the Paradise Recreation and Park District, who has launched a program to identify and acquire some of the highest-risk, hardest-to-access properties in the Camp Fire burn scar. Though he has a limited total operating budget of around $5.5 million and relies heavily on the charity of local property owners (he’s currently in the process of applying for a $15 million grant with a $5 million match for the program) Efseaff has nevertheless managed to build the beginning of a defensible buffer of managed parkland around Paradise that could potentially buy the town time in the case of a future wildfire.
In order to better understand how communities can build back smarter after — or, ideally, before — a catastrophic fire, I spoke with Efseaff about his work in Paradise and how other communities might be able to replicate it. Our conversation has been lightly edited and condensed for clarity.
Do you live in Paradise? Were you there during the Camp Fire?
I actually live in Chico. We’ve lived here since the mid-‘90s, but I have a long connection to Paradise; I’ve worked for the district since 2017. I’m also a sea kayak instructor and during the Camp Fire, I was in South Carolina for a training. I was away from the phone until I got back at the end of the day and saw it blowing up with everything.
I have triplet daughters who were attending Butte College at the time, and they needed to be evacuated. There was a lot of uncertainty that day. But it gave me some perspective, because I couldn’t get back for two days. It gave me a chance to think, “Okay, what’s our response going to be?” Looking two days out, it was like: That would have been payroll, let’s get people together, and then let’s figure out what we’re going to do two weeks and two months from now.
It also got my mind thinking about what we would have done going backwards. If you’d had two weeks to prepare, you would have gotten your go-bag together, you’d have come up with your evacuation route — that type of thing. But when you run the movie backwards on what you would have done differently if you had two years or two decades, it would include prepping the landscape, making some safer community defensible space. That’s what got me started.
Was it your idea to buy up the high-risk properties in the burn scar?
I would say I adapted it. Everyone wants to say it was their idea, but I’ll tell you where it came from: Pre-fire, the thinking was that it would make sense for the town to have a perimeter trail from a recreation standpoint. But I was also trying to pitch it as a good idea from a fuel standpoint, so that if there was a wildfire, you could respond to it. Certainly, the idea took on a whole other dimension after the Camp Fire.
I’m a restoration ecologist, so I’ve done a lot of river floodplain work. There are a lot of analogies there. The trend has been to give nature a little bit more room: You’re not going to stop a flood, but you can minimize damage to human infrastructure. Putting levees too close to the river makes them more prone to failing and puts people at risk — but if you can set the levee back a little bit, it gives the flood waters room to go through. That’s why I thought we need a little bit of a buffer in Paradise and some protection around the community. We need a transition between an area that is going to burn, and that we can let burn, but not in a way that is catastrophic.
How hard has it been to find willing sellers? Do most people in the area want to rebuild — or need to because of their mortgages?
Ironically, the biggest challenge for us is finding adequate funding. A lot of the property we have so far has been donated to us. It’s probably upwards of — oh, let’s see, at least half a dozen properties have been donated, probably close to 200 acres at this point.
We are applying for some federal grants right now, and we’ll see how that goes. What’s evolved quite a bit on this in recent years, though, is that — because we’ve done some modeling — instead of thinking of the buffer as areas that are managed uniformly around the community, we’re much more strategic. These fire events are wind-driven, and there are only a couple of directions where the wind blows sufficiently long enough and powerful enough for the other conditions to fall into play. That’s not to say other events couldn’t happen, but we’re going after the most likely events that would cause catastrophic fires, and that would be from the Diablo winds, or north winds, that come through our area. That was what happened in the Camp Fire scenario, and another one our models caught what sure looked a lot like the [2024] Park Fire.
One thing that I want to make clear is that some people think, “Oh, this is a fire break. It’s devoid of vegetation.” No, what we’re talking about is a well-managed habitat. These are shaded fuel breaks. You maintain the big trees, you get rid of the ladder fuels, and you get rid of the dead wood that’s on the ground. We have good examples with our partners, like the Butte Fire Safe Council, on how this works, and it looks like it helped protect the community of Cohasset during the Park Fire. They did some work on some strips there, and the fire essentially dropped to the ground before it came to Paradise Lake. You didn’t have an aerial tanker dropping retardant, you didn’t have a $2-million-per-day fire crew out there doing work. It was modest work done early and in the right place that actually changed the behavior of the fire.
Tell me a little more about the modeling you’ve been doing.
We looked at fire pathways with a group called XyloPlan out of the Bay Area. The concept is that you simulate a series of ignitions with certain wind conditions, terrain, and vegetation. The model looked very much like a Camp Fire scenario; it followed the same pathway, going towards the community in a little gulch that channeled high winds. You need to interrupt that pathway — and that doesn’t necessarily mean creating an area devoid of vegetation, but if you have these areas where the fire behavior changes and drops down to the ground, then it slows the travel. I found this hard to believe, but in the modeling results, in a scenario like the Camp Fire, it could buy you up to eight hours. With modern California firefighting, you could empty out the community in a systematic way in that time. You could have a vigorous fire response. You could have aircraft potentially ready. It’s a game-changing situation, rather than the 30 minutes Paradise had when the Camp Fire started.
How does this work when you’re dealing with private property owners, though? How do you convince them to move or donate their land?
We’re a Park and Recreation District so we don’t have regulatory authority. We are just trying to run with a good idea with the properties that we have so far — those from willing donors mostly, but there have been a couple of sales. If we’re unable to get federal funding or state support, though, I ultimately think this idea will still have to be here — whether it’s five, 10, 15, or 50 years from now. We have to manage this area in a comprehensive way.
Private property rights are very important, and we don’t want to impinge on that. And yet, what a person does on their property has a huge impact on the 30,000 people who may be downwind of them. It’s an unusual situation: In a hurricane, if you have a hurricane-rated roof and your neighbor doesn’t, and theirs blows off, you feel sorry for your neighbor but it’s probably not going to harm your property much. In a wildfire, what your neighbor has done with the wood, or how they treat vegetation, has a significant impact on your home and whether your family is going to survive. It’s a fundamentally different kind of event than some of the other disasters we look at.
Do you have any advice for community leaders who might want to consider creating buffer zones or something similar to what you’re doing in Paradise?
Start today. You have to think about these things with some urgency, but they’re not something people think about until it happens. Paradise, for many decades, did not have a single escaped wildfire make it into the community. Then, overnight, the community is essentially wiped out. But in so many places, these events are foreseeable; we’re just not wired to think about them or prepare for them.
Buffers around communities make a lot of sense, even from a road network standpoint. Even from a trash pickup standpoint. You don’t think about this, but if your community is really strung out, making it a little more thoughtfully laid out also makes it more economically viable to provide services to people. Some things we look for now are long roads that don’t have any connections — that were one-way in and no way out. I don’t think [the traffic jams and deaths in] Paradise would have happened with what we know now, but I kind of think [authorities] did know better beforehand. It just wasn’t economically viable at the time; they didn’t think it was a big deal, but they built the roads anyway. We can be doing a lot of things smarter.
A war of attrition is now turning in opponents’ favor.
A solar developer’s defeat in Massachusetts last week reveals just how much stronger project opponents are on the battlefield after the de facto repeal of the Inflation Reduction Act.
Last week, solar developer PureSky pulled five projects under development around the western Massachusetts town of Shutesbury. PureSky’s facilities had been in the works for years and would together represent what the developer has claimed would be one of the state’s largest solar projects thus far. In a statement, the company laid blame on “broader policy and regulatory headwinds,” including the state’s existing renewables incentives not keeping pace with rising costs and “federal policy updates,” which PureSky said were “making it harder to finance projects like those proposed near Shutesbury.”
But tucked in its press release was an admission from the company’s vice president of development Derek Moretz: this was also about the town, which had enacted a bylaw significantly restricting solar development that the company was until recently fighting vigorously in court.
“There are very few areas in the Commonwealth that are feasible to reach its clean energy goals,” Moretz stated. “We respect the Town’s conservation go als, but it is clear that systemic reforms are needed for Massachusetts to source its own energy.”
This stems from a story that probably sounds familiar: after proposing the projects, PureSky began reckoning with a burgeoning opposition campaign centered around nature conservation. Led by a fresh opposition group, Smart Solar Shutesbury, activists successfully pushed the town to drastically curtail development in 2023, pointing to the amount of forest acreage that would potentially be cleared in order to construct the projects. The town had previously not permitted facilities larger than 15 acres, but the fresh change went further, essentially banning battery storage and solar projects in most areas.
When this first happened, the state Attorney General’s office actually had PureSky’s back, challenging the legality of the bylaw that would block construction. And PureSky filed a lawsuit that was, until recently, ongoing with no signs of stopping. But last week, shortly after the Treasury Department unveiled its rules for implementing Trump’s new tax and spending law, which basically repealed the Inflation Reduction Act, PureSky settled with the town and dropped the lawsuit – and the projects went away along with the court fight.
What does this tell us? Well, things out in the country must be getting quite bleak for solar developers in areas with strident and locked-in opposition that could be costly to fight. Where before project developers might have been able to stomach the struggle, money talks – and the dollars are starting to tell executives to lay down their arms.
The picture gets worse on the macro level: On Monday, the Solar Energy Industries Association released a report declaring that federal policy changes brought about by phasing out federal tax incentives would put the U.S. at risk of losing upwards of 55 gigawatts of solar project development by 2030, representing a loss of more than 20 percent of the project pipeline.
But the trade group said most of that total – 44 gigawatts – was linked specifically to the Trump administration’s decision to halt federal permitting for renewable energy facilities, a decision that may impact generation out west but has little-to-know bearing on most large solar projects because those are almost always on private land.
Heatmap Pro can tell us how much is at stake here. To give you a sense of perspective, across the U.S., over 81 gigawatts worth of renewable energy projects are being contested right now, with non-Western states – the Northeast, South and Midwest – making up almost 60% of that potential capacity.
If historical trends hold, you’d expect a staggering 49% of those projects to be canceled. That would be on top of the totals SEIA suggests could be at risk from new Trump permitting policies.
I suspect the rate of cancellations in the face of project opposition will increase. And if this policy landscape is helping activists kill projects in blue states in desperate need of power, like Massachusetts, then the future may be more difficult to swallow than we can imagine at the moment.
And more on the week’s most important conflicts around renewables.
1. Wells County, Indiana – One of the nation’s most at-risk solar projects may now be prompting a full on moratorium.
2. Clark County, Ohio – Another Ohio county has significantly restricted renewable energy development, this time with big political implications.
3. Daviess County, Kentucky – NextEra’s having some problems getting past this county’s setbacks.
4. Columbia County, Georgia – Sometimes the wealthy will just say no to a solar farm.
5. Ottawa County, Michigan – A proposed battery storage facility in the Mitten State looks like it is about to test the state’s new permitting primacy law.