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Trade is unprepared for the world’s waterways running dry.

Here’s an image that feels too heavy-handed to be true, like a film student’s blundering attempt at metaphor. In the height of last summer, Europe shimmering under 104 degree heat, a coal barge carried fuel down the arid Rhine river, but it was only a quarter full. That was the most it could haul without scraping the bottom of the barely-flowing trickle the river had become. The coal was headed for recently fired-up, old power stations.
If you’re able to think past the thickly suffocating heat-haze of late last summer you might remember there was a string of articles about fantastic things emerging from river beds. Amazing old statues and carved rocks, all of them dire warnings that “if you see me, then weep” because they indicated deadly levels of drought.
In China huge areas of Sichuan were shut down, factories forcibly closed to conserve power. The Yangtze ran dry, revealing its own ancient statues and calling a halt to cargo shipments. The Mississippi took until February 2023 to recover its water level from the 2022 summer drought.
This wasn't happening in any specific part of the world, unless you count “the northern hemisphere” as very specific. And it wasn’t just a hot summer or a dry spell. It was a vision of what’s likely to get even worse over the next 10 years. Economies, much less ecosystems, are unprepared for the world’s rivers drying up.
Let’s start with the science. What keeps freshwater rivers flowing are mostly mountain glaciers. They can basically be considered natural water towers, storing ice and snow in the winter that melt and feed rivers in the summer. As climate change makes winters milder and summers hotter, glacier shrinkage has been increasing, with repercussions for Earth’s waterways that are quickly felt by humans.
Rapid glacier melt first poses a higher risk of flooding, but then there’s the more extended threat of not enough water flowing down from the mountains. The Alps, Hindu Kush, Pamir, and Himalayas are particularly badly affected, according to the most extensive study that’s been done into the situation, put together by ETH Zurich and the University of Toulouse. The Himalayas are particularly worrying, per the research, because without glacier meltwater, it’s possible the entire region will run arid (at temperatures MIT researchers warn will be unlivable for humans in the near future). In the Alps, there’s a less immediate threat of reaching a heat level that will cook your organs, but the problem is still going to bludgeon Europe with its bluntly obvious warning that we should have done something sooner.
This is where Earth’s near-groan-worthy metaphors come back into play. In 2022, the Alpine-meltwater-fed Rhine reached water levels measured as low as 2.4 inches in parts of Germany. That’s not navigable by ships, even only laden at a quarter of their normal load, which meant that Germany’s recently fired-up coal power stations (responding to a lack of natural gas after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine) were starved of the fuel that would otherwise be shipped up the then-dehydrated river.
That might sound like a way for nature to strike back. We cook the planet, she takes our fuel for doing it away. But an unpredicted and pretty immediate consequence of our complacency in the face of climate change might not be the dramatic wildfires and extreme climate events as much as everything just slowly, sweatily stopping. For months on end.
River transport isn’t talked about all that much unless you’re particularly interested in logistics and you’d be forgiven for thinking it’s something out of industrial history. Coal barges don’t really fit with the image of modern Germany but that’s how fuel, including oil, gets moved around, massively more efficiently than by road. In Germany, the Rhine accounts for 86 percent of inland shipping and is a vital route for coal and oil, as long as they’re still used. (Except when the river is dry, of course.)Twelve million tonnes shipped along it in the first five months of 2022,
To put it into perspective, it’s not dissimilar to how the U.S. nearly hit disaster last year with a planned railway strike that would have completely throttled goods movement, from crops to cars, across the country. But while you can argue with industrial action (and god knows the railroads tried), there’s no negotiating with a dry riverbed.
But back to Europe. At the same time as Germany was puzzling out the movement of coal, France was throttling its electricity network, running on low power after its system of relatively clean nuclear power stations had to be partially shut down.
Squabbling over the same dry Rhine, plants didn’t have enough water to cool reactors running at full pelt. The plant in Fessenheim, France’s oldest, had to be shut down in August over fears the river water it used to cool itself would be so super-heated it would result in mass die-offs of fish when it had been cycled through the reactor. By September the energy shortage was so severe France simply changed the law to let that happen. Nature takes away our rivers? We’ll screw them even harder.
Over in China, 8.2 billion tons of goods are moved around each year by river. Even during the lockdown-struck 2020, the Yangtze moved 2.9 billion tons alone. But in 2022, authorities in Sichuan had to resort to using gigantic drones and rockets to seed clouds and force rainfall, in order to get the power back on to factories dependent on hydroelectric dams. The economic impacts of extended shutdown in China’s sixth biggest economic region forced the desperate move, but it’s not one that can be pulled off regularly or as a long-term solution to a problem that’s going to keep happening.
In the U.S., parts of the Mississippi hit record lows in the summer and fall of 2022 due to extreme drought. Barges got stuck in the mud, freight traffic got backed up for days along the vital waterway, and cargo prices spiked. The river that 92% of American agricultural exports travel down was responsible for a $64 billion cost to on trade. It took $20 billion just to close marinas up and down the river. A bill to try to protect waterways, amongst other natural infrastructure, has been passed around Congress but is yet to pass.
The world runs on energy, as a physical process as much as a phone battery percentage, and the situation with rivers is going to keep cutting the world off from it. And it’s happening quickly. Back in 2019 the IPCC released a report into the effects of climate change on the Earth’s water systems that reassured us that despite falling river levels there was, as yet, only "limited evidence" that hydropower production would be affected. You can scratch that one out and put in a dead certainty, just three years later. No one writing the report would have suspected that coal would be the other energy casualty of droughts with the world supposed to be transitioning rapidly away from dirty energy production.
Switching from trucking to river freight is an environmental priority, too. Due to CO2 emissions and the catastrophe that is tire particulate pollution, the waterways are a much better way to carry heavy loads. The EU’s green plan is to switch a "substantial amount" of the 75 percent of freight currently carried on roads to waterways by 2027, which is unfortunately going to be literally scuppered by boats being unable to navigate waterways. And the more we don’t switch, the worse we make the problem that's causing this dry-up in the first place.
There isn’t going to be a quick answer. The impacts of glacial retreat are, according to the latest (and last, until 2030) IPCC report, "approaching irreversibility" for some ecosystems and even clever drones and cloud seeding can't actually control the weather in the long term. Rivers have been systems of security since ancient civilizations but we might not be able to rely on them going forwards.
It’s been another warm winter, with not much to thaw for this summer. The dire warning the dry rivers are giving us is very much from this century, with record lows set to be seen again.
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A longtime energy analyst argues that there are no solutions to the hyperscale problem, only tradeoffs.
Sam Altman, Dario Amodei, and Elon Musk need sign-off from fewer than a dozen board members to commit their companies to multibillion-dollar moves. The power plants that supply their data centers need sign-off from 13 states (plus D.C.), thousands of generators, millions of customers, and a federal regulator whose ratemaking standard predates the personal computer in order to build anything new.
Everyone in tech knows about the CEOs of the foundational artificial intelligence labs. Only energy nerds know the names of the people running our grid operators. That anonymity is a feature, not a bug. Grid operators generally think in decades, not years. But right now, they’re telling the U.S. that it has years, not decades, to figure out its own new path forward.
For decades, this process sufficed for energy generators (and regulators) grown accustomed to gradual, predictable load growth. But over the past several years, the scale and speed of increasing energy demand has overwhelmed the supply -side’s ability to respond. The resulting strain on the grid has reverberated through every rung of the supply chain, delaying development timelines, increasing costs, and elevating energy from political conversations to dinner table discussions.
The loudest creaks and groans are coming from PJM Interconnection, North America’s largest grid operator. Residential bills in the PJM service area are climbing at a dizzying pace. Recent capacity auctions have ended with record prices, which PJM’s own market monitor blames on the explosive growth in data center power demand. Pennsylvania Governor Josh Shapiro has attempted to pressure PJM to lower its capacity price cap. Even Secretary of Energy Chris Wright has called on the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission to develop new procedures to help get data centers online faster.
David Mills, PJM’s CEO, published a 70-page report in May acknowledging that current market rules cannot keep pace with AI-driven load growth. And yet he also refused to recommend a path forward, leaving the decision to “state regulators and legislatures, to FERC, to consumers.”
The most essential grid infrastructure, he explained, “is not a price curve or a performance obligation — it is legitimacy.” In other words, what’s broken isn’t a parameter inside the capacity market, but rather the capacity market itself, along with the political conditions under which it operates. PJM calls this the “credibility trap”: high prices accurately signal that new investment is needed, but when those prices become politically untenable, government intervenes and investment stalls.
The fix, Mills writes, “requires structural choices, not just parameter adjustments.”
Mills is speaking to a deeper issue with the grid than its ability to respond to shifting market dynamics, which is that hyperscalers and grid operators are built to solve two different kinds of problems. Hyperscalers solve engineering problems with specifiable objectives, known constraints, verifiable outcomes. Engineering problems reward concentrated authority and unilateral decision-making.
Grid operators, on the other hand, solve coordination problems. The information they rely on to do so is dispersed across millions of stakeholders, continuously revised and often contradictory, and operators’ preferences are not so much known as they are revealed through deliberation. FERC’s standard for wholesale rates is not whether those rates are objectively “correct,” but rather whether the market settled on those rates through fair competition. The process does not just determine the answer, it essentially is the answer.
This construction is the category error driving the current AI-grid collision. The electricity grid is not an engineering problem with coordination problems attached. It is a coordination problem with engineering problems embedded in it. Treat it as the former and you lose all the information that gets generated in the process of market-based price discovery. You also lose all the buy-in that occurs when real people are faced with real trade-offs and have to make hard, binding choices.
Mills did lay out three possible structural paths in his May letter:
These pathways are not equivalent — unlike with an engineering problem, there are no cut-and-dried solutions here. There are only trade-offs and questions about who bears their consequences. Path C is likely the better answer, while Path A is more expedient. The gap between them is the work PJM’s constituents have to manage over the coming years. PJM may choose the wrong path, or arrive at the right one too late.
The alternative is not hypothetical. If hyperscalers aren’t willing to wait for PJM customers to decide which path they want to take (and recent history suggests they are not) they will build behind-the-meter generation, sign bespoke deals with regulated utilities, and restart dormant nuclear plants. America would be left with two grids, one for compute, one for everything else. The first will be reliable and expensive. The second will be cheaper, fragile, and stranded with the costs of the system the first walked away from. The market would lose the dispatch signal, the error-correcting price mechanism, and the legitimacy of the system that has reliably powered the Mid-Atlantic for two decades.
Economist Friedrich Hayek described the limits of humans’ planning capabilities better than anyone in his 1974 Nobel Prize lecture, using the metaphor of the craftsman shaping his handiwork versus the gardener cultivating growth. The craftsman thinks they can make a perfect tool but repeatedly runs up against the boundaries of their own knowledge, whereas the gardener learns to manage new information as it arises, tending not to the product itself but rather to the conditions that produce it.
Hyperscalers are not bad actors. They have legitimate interests and the political capital to help shape the grid’s future. But we should resist the Newtonian urge to meet unexpected, swiftly moving demand with equally swift supply. Markets and physical systems both tend toward equilibrium, but the former finds it through deliberation, not collision. Instead of trying to unilaterally craft a better grid, hyperscalers might find a better path if they work with the practitioners who already know how to garden.
On Greenland’s rare earths, Baker Hughes’ geothermal bet, China’s green H2
Current conditions: A sprawling heat dome stretching from the Midwest to the East Coast is raising temperatures for more than 200 million Americans upward of 100 degrees Fahrenheit this week • Three firefighters died battling wildfires along the Colorado-Utah border on Saturday, while winds fanned the flames of the Cottonwood Fire in southwest Utah into the largest blaze in the U.S. right now • Back-to-back tropical storms Mekkhala and Higos battered Japan’s coast over the weekend, leaving at least one dead in a landslide.
For much of the past decade, Japan looked primed for offshore wind development for the same reasons the American industry first took root in the Northeast: It’s coastal, densely populated, and — with its nuclear power stations either shut down or idled — it’s more reliant on fossil fuels that it doesn’t locally produce than ever before. But building turbines off Japan’s shores has proven tricky as project costs ballooned. On Friday, Norway’s Equinor announced its decision to close its offshore wind division in Japan, after failing to win any leases at repeated auctions over the past eight years. “This decision reflects a reassessment of Equinor’s strategic direction, with a strengthened focus on integrated power markets,” the company said in a statement on its Japanese website.
The move comes two years after Denmark’s Orsted exited Japan. Last August, a consortium led by the industrial giant Mitsubishi pulled out of Japan’s first three offshore wind projects citing what Reuters described as concerns of surging costs. Last October, as I told you at the time, the newly elected government of Prime Minister Sanae Takaichi postponed a key procedural step for setting government funding levels for offshore wind projects. Instead, as you may recall, Takaichi has put a heavy focus on restarting the nuclear reactors mothballed after the 2011 Fukushima disaster and even expanding the fleet.

For much of the 20th century, the geopolitical relevance of the world’s largest island stemmed from its central location as a kind of poker table situated right where Washington, Brussels, and Moscow meet. More recently, it’s been about Greenland’s untapped mineral riches. As polar ice recedes, the autonomous Danish territory has opened previously inaccessible deposits of rare earths and copper to prospecting. For Greenland, whose population of fewer than 60,000 is roughly 85% Indigenous, mining has offered an opportunity to diversify its economy beyond just fishing, augmenting an expanding tourism sector with some heavy industry. In 2017, when I visited local political officials in Nuuk, the capital, sustainability-minded liberals pined for an alternative development approach that took advantage of Greenland’s unique and pristine wilderness to, for example, build out a biomedical industry that draws upon research into the survival traits that allow life to thrive in harsh polar environments. At the time, the populists pitching industrialism as a fast track to independence seemed, to me at least, destined to win the argument. But the green techno-optimists may yet get the chance to prove their approach.
Last week, regulators in Nuuk formally rejected an Australian mining company’s bid to renew its exploration license for one of the most advanced rare earths projects in Greenland. The Western Australia-based Energy Transition Minerals had been locked in litigation with the Greenlandic government over whether its project could safely extract rare earths such as neodymium, praseodymium, and terbium for magnets and batteries without producing uranium as a byproduct. A previous government in Greenland had banned uranium mining in 2021, effectively halting ETM’s Kvanefjeld project. But the company had told investors in February that it “remains confident in the merits” of its position in negotiations with Greenland and “resolute in our intention to develop Kvanefjeld responsibly and in accordance with international best practice.” Just last week, the company published data showing that it had identified 10 new rare earth deposits “with uranium levels recorded below regulatory thresholds.” If it factored into negotiations at all, it wasn’t enough to change the outcome. Following the rejection on Friday, the company told Reuters: “Greenland has positioned itself as open for business. This decision creates a different impression.” In a sign of how the political winds may be shifting, the headline on Sunday’s front-page story in Sermitsiaq, one of Greenland’s only national newspapers, warned of the “environmental bombs” coming just from future American military bases on the island.
Of all the ways to build up, shore up, and clean up America’s grid, geothermal energy is easily among the most elegant, narratively speaking. We already quietly operate the world’s largest geothermal power plant. The new generation of companies racing to build new power stations require the very same battle-hardened drilling equipment, technologies, and workers that sustained the fracking boom and turned the U.S. into a top global producer of oil and gas. Many of the best-mapped hot rocks are located out west, where the federal government owns vast tracts of land, meaning the strong bipartisan consensus in support of geothermal energy development can, in fact, translate into faster approvals for projects. It’s a bet that one of the nation’s largest oilfield services providers is now making. Last week, Baker Hughes inked a deal with the geothermal developer Mantle Reach Power to support construction of as much as 500 megawatts of new generating capacity. As part of the deal, Baker Hughes will provide its drilling technologies, in a move the company said would “de-risk and deliver” on the promises of geothermal power. “Geothermal is a clean power solution that is proving to be a vital contributor to advancing sustainable energy development, with incredible potential to enhance U.S. energy security, support digital infrastructure, and ensure energy remains accessible and affordable,” Baker Hughes CEO Lorenzo Simonelli said in a statement.
Meanwhile, federal regulators just approved the environmental review of a new conventional geothermal project. Once complete, Ormat Technologies’ Pearl geothermal project in Nevada’s Esmeralda County will generate up to 60 megawatts of power. It’s just the latest approval of what Think Geo Energy called a series of approvals for Ormat’s proposed expansion in Nevada.
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Even before the Iran War, momentum was gathering in China for a green hydrogen buildout. The “most important low-carbon policy for 2025,” according to the analyst Jian Wu, was China’s decision to start subsidizing green hydrogen-related applications from central government coffers for the first time as Beijing sought to wean off fossil fuel imports and make use of solar and wind farms that had grown so abundant that the country’s grid operators recently phased out key incentives for renewables. Since the war, Beijing has turned its attention to shoring up its domestic fuel supplies, whether by increasing its domestic drilling, chemically-processing coal, or zapping water with enough renewable electricity to cleanly separate out the hydrogen molecules. Now it’s placing a big bet on the latter. China just put out a new five-year plan for the energy sector with a goal to install more than 2 million metric tons of annual capacity to produce green hydrogen by the end of the decade, Hydrogen Insight reported. That would more than double the existing capacity.
Overall, the document raises the target for China to generate half its electricity from non-fossil sources by 2030. But its goals for the wind and solar sectors represent a significant slowdown from the recent pace of development, indicating the government’s interest in diversifying its carbon-free electricity sector.
At present, I see three guarantees in my life: Death, taxes, and the likelihood that another Chinese nuclear plant will make significant enough progress to merit telling you about it. Readers hoping to understand the stakes of America’s incipient nuclear renaissance are wise to keep track of how successfully China’s state-owned reactor developers have been building their own domestically-sourced version of the flagship U.S. reactor design. I can’t keep track of how many times we have covered Chinese reactor milestones. But add this to the list: Last week, World Nuclear News reported, the second of six Hualong One reactors at the Taipingling nuclear power plant in Guangdong province started up, sustaining a chain reaction for the first time. The speed with which China General Nuclear completed the domestically-supplied reactor — the design for which is largely cribbed from the Westinghouse AP1000 — highlights the strategy American atomic energy advocates are increasingly promoting. A nonprofit called the Nuclear Scaling Initiative launched in 2024 to propound the idea of focusing on reactors that can be built identically over and over.
Investors debate the right way to bet on the nuclear revival, and the growing list of startups debuting on the stock market through reverse merger deals that require less scrutiny than traditional initial public offerings provides ample grist for disagreement. But here’s a surefire wrong way: Selling $1.5 million of call option contracts for your employer’s stock on the day of a major announcement that you are playing a pivotal role in overseeing. Yet that’s exactly what the Department of Justice accuses Casey Muggleston, a former engineering manager in charge of relicensing the shuttered Three Mile Island power plant, of doing on the very day his employer, Constellation, announced a landmark deal with Microsoft to reopen the facility to supply its data centers with electricity. If convicted, Muggleston could face a maximum of 25 years in prison, according to ABC27, a TV news station in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania.
There is a heat wave in Europe, the world’s fastest warming continent. And so, as you may have heard, a perennial topic of online climate discourse has returned: Why don’t more Europeans have air conditioning?
I’m partially convinced this is psy op, or at least a figment of how social media organizes attention. I have a hypothesis that various “For You” page algorithms, especially that of the social network X, began to reward content that performed unusually well across national borders a few years ago. Since then, the amount of America vs. Europe content has surged. (Of course, writers have been comparing American and European lifestyles for much longer than that.)
Suffice it to say, though: It’s a fraught topic. I’ve assumed that as extreme heat gets worse as the climate changes, Europeans will simply get on with it and install AC, much as Americans in the Pacific Northwest have done. Yet there are cultural and regulatory obstacles to AC’s growth in Europe.
I’m sure I’ll write about it in the future, but for now I want to get a grip on the facts themselves. And so as a Friday special, I present to you — the facts about European AC, as I understand it:
Thanks so much for reading, and talk soon.