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Concentrating solar power lost the solar race long ago. But the Department of Energy still has big plans for the technology.
Hundreds of thousands of mirrors blanket the desert of the American West, strategically angled to catch the sun and bounce its intense heat back to a central point in the sky. Despite their monumental size and futuristic look, these projects are far more under-the-radar-than the acres of solar panels cropping up in communities around the country, simply because there are so few of them.
The technology is called concentrating solar power, and it’s not particularly popular. Of the thousands of big solar projects operating in the U.S. today, less than a dozen use it.
Concentrating solar power lags for many reasons: It remains much more expensive than installations that use solar panels, it can take up a lot of land, and it can fry birds that fly too close (a narrative that’s shadowed the industry and an issue it says it’s working to alleviate). Yet the government still has big aspirations for the technology.
To meet its climate goals and avert the catastrophe that comes with significant warming, the world must roll out renewable energy sources with unprecedented speed. But while the construction of solar and wind energy is surging, renewables still face two disadvantages that fossil fuels don't: They produce electricity under certain conditions, like when the wind is blowing or the sun is shining. And there’s not a lot of research on them powering heavy industry, like cement and steel production.
That’s where concentrating solar power has an advantage. It has two big benefits that have long kept boosters invested in its success. First, concentrating solar power is usually constructed with built-in storage that's cheaper than large-scale batteries, so it can solve the intermittency challenges faced by other kinds of solar power. Plus, CSP can get super-hot — potentially hot enough for industrial processes like making cement. Taken together, those qualities allow the projects to function more like fossil fuel plants than fields of solar panels.
A few other carbon-free technologies — like nuclear power — are capable of doing much the same thing. The question is which technologies will be able to scale.
“We have goals of decarbonizing the entire energy sector, not just electricity, but the industrial sector as well, by 2050,” said Matthew Bauer, program manager for the concentrating solar-thermal power team at the Department of Energy’s Solar Technologies Office. “We think CSP is one of the most promising technologies to do that.”
In February, the Department of Energy broke ground in New Mexico on a project they see as a focal point for the future of CSP. It’s a bet that the technology can compete, despite past skepticism.
Concentrating solar plants can be built in different ways, but they’re basically engineered to bounce sun off mirrors to beam sunlight at a device called a receiver, which then heats up whatever medium is inside it. The heat can power a turbine or an engine to produce electricity. The higher the heat, the more electricity is produced and the lower the cost of producing it.
The CSP installation in New Mexico will look a lot like past projects, with a field of mirrors pointing towards a tall tower. But one element makes it particularly unique: big boxes of sand-like particles. When it’s completed next year, it will be the first known CSP project of its kind to use solid particles like sand or ceramics to transfer heat, according to Jeremy Sment, a mechanical engineer leading the team designing the project at Sandia National Laboratories.
For years, scientists sought a material that would get hot enough to improve CSP’s efficiency and costs. Past commercial CSP projects have topped out around 550 degrees Celsius. For this new project, which the Department of Energy calls “generation three,” the team is hoping to exceed 700 degrees C, and has tested the particles above 1000 degrees C, the temperature of volcanic magma.
Past projects have used oil and molten salt to absorb the sun’s heat and store it. But at blistering temperatures these materials decompose or are corrosive. In 2021, the Department of Energy decided particles were the most promising route to reach the super-hot temperatures required for efficient CSP. The team building the project considered using numerous types of particles, including red and white sand from Riyadh in Saudia Arabia and a titanium-based mineral called ilmenite. They settled on a manufactured particle from a Texas-based company, Carbo Ceramics. To build the project they need 120,000 kilograms of the stuff.
Engineers at Sandia are now working on the project’s other components. At the receiver, particles will fall like a curtain through a beam of sunlight. After they’re blasted with heat, gravity will carry them down the 175-foot tower, slowed down by obstacles that create a chute similar to a children’s marble run. They’ll offload thermal energy to “supercritical carbon dioxide” — CO2 in a fluid state — which could then power a turbine. For industrial applications, the system would be designed to allow particles to exchange heat with air or steam to heat a furnace or kiln. To store heat energy for later, the particles can be stowed in insulated steel bins within the tower until that heat is needed hours later.
The team expects construction to wrap up next year, with results for this phase of the project ready at the end of 2025. The project needs to show it can reach super-high temperatures, produce electricity using the supercritical CO2, and that it can store heat for hours, allowing the energy to be used when the sun isn’t shining.
By the Department of Energy’s technology pilot standards, the 1 megawatt project is big, but it's much smaller than most solar projects built to supply power to electric utilities and tiny compared to past CSP projects.
This could help tackle another of CSP's challenges: Projects have been uneconomic unless they’re huge. They require big plots of land and lots of money to get started. One of the most well-known CSP projects in the U.S., the 110-megawatt Crescent Dunes, cost $1 billion and covers more than 1,600 acres in Nevada. “Nothing short of a home run is deployable — I can’t just put a solar tower on my rooftop,” said Sment.
Projects that use solar panels can be as small as the footprint of a home. Overall, they’re much easier to finance and build. That’s led to more projects, which creates efficiencies and lower costs. The DOE hopes its tests will show promise for smaller, easier to deploy CSP projects.
“That’s been one of the challenges, in my opinion, that’s faced CSP historically. The projects tended to be very large, one of a kind,” said Steve Schell, chief scientist at Heliogen, a Bill Gates-backed CSP startup that’s working on a different pilot with the Department of Energy.
Heliogen went public at the end of 2021 with a valuation of $2 billion. To overcome hesitancy about the price tags usually associated with CSP, the company is targeting modular projects focused on producing green hydrogen and industrial heat, aiming to replace the fossil fuels that usually power processes like cement-making.
For companies, the CSP business has historically been tough. Some U.S. CSP startups have gone out of business, or shifted their sights to projects abroad. Despite its splashy IPO, Heliogen’s shares are worth less than 25 cents today, down from over $15 at the end of 2021. In its most recent quarterly financial report, the company downgraded its expected 2022 revenue by $8- $11 million as it works to finalize deals with customers.
Bauer at the DOE thinks the government can make technologies like CSP less risky by investing in research that takes a longer view than the one afforded by markets. And as the grid needs more large-scale storage, the value for CSP may change.
Even if CSP never becomes a significant source of generation on the grid, supporters like Shannon Yee, an associate professor of mechanical engineering at the Georgia Institute of Technology who has worked with DOE on solar technologies for years, say it could still find other potential applications in manufacturing, water treatment, or sanitation.
“We always seem to be so focused on generating electricity that we don't look at these other needs where concentrated solar may actually provide greater benefit,” said Yee. “Everything really needs sources of energy and heat. How do we do that better?”
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Current conditions: Bosnia’s capital of Sarajevo is blanketed in a layer of toxic smog • Temperatures in Perth, in Western Australia, could hit 106 degrees Fahrenheit this weekend • It is cloudy in Washington, D.C., where lawmakers are scrambling to prevent a government shutdown.
The weather has gotten so weird that the U.S. National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration is holding internal talks about how to adjust its models to produce more accurate forecasts, the Financial Timesreported. Current models are based on temperature swings observed over one part of the Pacific Ocean that have for years correlated consistently with specific weather phenomena across the globe, but climate change seems to be disrupting that cause and effect pattern, making it harder to predict things like La Niña and El Niño. Many forecasters had expected La Niña to appear by now and help cool things down, but that has yet to happen. “It’s concerning when this region we’ve studied and written all these papers on is not related to all the impacts you’d see with [La Niña],” NOAA’s Michelle L’Heureux told the FT. “That’s when you start going ‘uh-oh’ there may be an issue here we need to resolve.”
There is quite a lot of news coming out of the Department of Energy as the year (and the Biden administration) comes to an end. A few recent updates:
Walmart, the world’s largest retailer, does not expect to meet its 2025 or 2030 emissions targets, and is putting the blame on policy, infrastructure, and technology limitations. The company previously pledged to cut its emissions by 35% by next year, and 65% by the end of the decade. Emissions in 2023 were up 4% year-over-year.
Walmart
“While we continue to work toward our aspirational target of zero operational emissions by 2040, progress will not be linear … and depends not only on our own initiatives but also on factors beyond our control,” Walmart’s statement said. “These factors include energy policy and infrastructure in Walmart markets around the world, availability of more cost-effective low-GWP refrigeration and HVAC solutions, and timely emergence of cost-effective technologies for low-carbon heavy tractor transportation (which does not appear likely until the 2030s).”
BlackRock yesterday said it is writing down the value of its Global Renewable Power Fund III following the failure of Northvolt and SolarZero, two companies the fund had invested in. Its net internal rate of return was -0.3% at the end of the third quarter, way down from 11.5% in the second quarter, according toBloomberg. Sectors like EV charging, transmission, and renewable energy generation and storage have been “particularly challenged,” executives said, and some other renewables companies in the portfolio have yet to get in the black, meaning their valuations may be “more subjective and sensitive to evolving dynamics in the industry.”
Flies may be more vulnerable to climate change than bees are, according to a new study published in the Journal of Melittology. The fly haters among us might shrug at the finding, but the researchers insist flies are essential pollinators that help bolster ecosystem biodiversity and agriculture. “It’s time we gave flies some more recognition for their role as pollinators,” said lead author Margarita López-Uribe, who is the Lorenzo Langstroth Early Career Associate Professor of Entomology at Penn State. The study found bees can tolerate higher temperatures than flies, so flies are at greater risk of decline as global temperatures rise. “In alpine and subarctic environments, flies are the primary pollinator,” López-Uribe said. “This study shows us that we have entire regions that could lose their primary pollinator as the climate warms, which could be catastrophic for those ecosystems.”
“No one goes to the movies because they want to be scolded.” –Heatmap’s Jeva Lange writes about the challenges facing climate cinema, and why 2024 might be the year the climate movie grew up.
Whether you agree probably depends on how you define “climate movie” to begin with.
Climate change is the greatest story of our time — but our time doesn’t seem to invent many great stories about climate change. Maybe it’s due to the enormity and urgency of the subject matter: Climate is “important,” and therefore conscripted to the humorless realms of journalism and documentary. Or maybe it’s because of a misunderstanding on the part of producers and storytellers, rooted in an outdated belief that climate change still needs to be explained to an audience, when in reality they don’t need convincing. Maybe there’s just not a great way to have a character mention climate change and not have it feel super cringe.
Whatever the reason, between 2016 and 2020, less than 3% of film and TV scripts used climate-related keywords during their runtime, according to an analysis by media researchers at the University of Southern California. (The situation isn’t as bad in literature, where cli-fi has been going strong since at least 2013.) At least on the surface, this on-screen avoidance of climate change continued in 2024. One of the biggest movies of the summer, Twisters, had an extreme weather angle sitting right there, but its director, Lee Isaac Chung, went out of his way to ensure the film didn’t have a climate change “message.”
I have a slightly different take on the situation, though — that 2024 was actuallyfull of climate movies, and, I’d argue, that they’re getting much closer to the kinds of stories a climate-concerned individual should want on screen.
That’s because for the most part, when movies and TV shows have tackled the topic of climate change in the past, it’s been with the sort of “simplistic anger-stoking and pathos-wringing” that The New Yorker’s Richard Brody identified in 2022’s Don’t Look Up, the Adam McKay satire that became the primary touchpoint for scripted climate stories. At least it was kind of funny: More overt climate stories like last year’s Foe, starring Saoirse Ronan and Paul Mescal, and Extrapolations, the Apple TV+ show in which Meryl Streep voices a whale, are so self-righteous as to be unwatchable (not to mention, no fun).
But what if we widened our lens and weren’t so prescriptive? Then maybe Furiosa, this spring’s Mad Max prequel, becomes a climate change movie. The film is set during a “near future” ecological collapse, and it certainly makes you think about water scarcity and our overreliance on a finite extracted resource — but it also makes you think about how badass the Octoboss’ kite is. The same goes for Dune: Part Two, which made over $82 million in its opening weekend and is also a recognizable environmental allegory featuring some cool worms. Even Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire, a flop that most people have already memory-holed, revisitedThe Day After Tomorrow’s question of, “What if New York City got really, really, really cold?”
Two 2024 animated films with climate themes could even compete against each other at the Academy Awards next year. Dreamworks Animation’s The Wild Robot, one of the centerpiece films at this fall’s inaugural Climate Film Festival, is set in a world where sea levels have risen to submerge the Golden Gate Bridge, and it impresses on its audience the importance of protecting the natural world. And in Gints Zilbalodis’ Flow, one of my favorite films of the year, a cat must band together with other animals to survive a flood.
Flow also raises the question of whether a project can unintentionally be a climate movie. Zilbalodis told me that making a point about environmental catastrophe wasn’t his intention — “I can’t really start with the message, I have to start with the character,” he said — and to him, the water is a visual metaphor in an allegory about overcoming your fears.
But watching the movie in a year when more than a thousand people worldwide have died in floods, and with images of inundated towns in North Carolina still fresh in mind, it’s actually climate change itself that makes one watch Flow as a movie about climate change. (I’m not the only one with this interpretation, either: Zilbalodis told me he’d been asked by one young audience member if the flood depicted in his film is “the future.”)
Perhaps this is how we should also consider Chung’s comments about Twisters. While nobody in the film says the words “climate change” or “global warming,” the characters note that storms are becoming exceptional — “we've never seen tornadoes like this before,” one says. Despite the director’s stated intention not to make the movie “about” climate change, it becomes a climate movie by virtue of what its audiences have experienced in their own lives.
Still, there’s that niggling question: Do movies like these, which approach climate themes slant-wise, really count? To help me decide, I turned to Sam Read, the executive director of the Sustainable Entertainment Alliance, an advocacy consortium that encourages environmental awareness both on set and on screen. He told me that to qualify something as a “climate” movie or TV show, some research groups look to see if climate change exists in the world of the story or whether the characters acknowledge it. Other groups consider climate in tiers, such as whether a project has a climate premise, theme, or simply a moment.
The Sustainable Entertainment Alliance, however, has no hard rules. “We want to make sure that we support creatives in integrating these stories in whatever way works for them,” Read told me.
Read also confirmed my belief that there seemed to be an uptick in movies this year that were “not about climate change but still deal with things that feel very climate-related, like resource extraction.” There was even more progress on this front in television, he pointed out: True Detective: Night Country wove in themes of environmentalism, pollution, mining, and Indigenous stewardship; the Max comedy Hacks featured an episode about climate change this season; and Industry involved a storyline about taking a clean energy company public, with some of the characters even attending COP. Even Doctor Odyssey, a cruise ship medical drama that airs on USA, worked climate change into its script, albeit in ridiculous ways. (Also worth mentioning: The Netflix dating show Love is Blind cast Taylor Krause, who works on decarbonizing heavy industry at RMI.)
We can certainly do more. As many critics before me have written, it’s still important to draw a connection between things like environmental catastrophes and the real-world human causes of global warming. But the difference between something being “a climate movie” and propaganda — however true its message, or however well-intentioned — is thin. Besides, no one goes to the movies because they want to be scolded; we want to be moved and distracted and entertained.
I’ve done my fair share of complaining over the past few years about how climate storytelling needs to grow up. But lately I’ve been coming around to the idea that it’s not the words “climate change” appearing in a script that we need to be so focused on. As 2024’s slate of films has proven to me — or, perhaps, as this year’s extreme weather events have thrown into relief — there are climate movies everywhere.
Keep ‘em coming.
They might not be worried now, but Democrats made the same mistake earlier this year.
Permitting reform is dead in the 118th Congress.
It died earlier this week, although you could be forgiven for missing it. On Tuesday, bipartisan talks among lawmakers fell apart over a bid to rewrite parts of the National Environmental Policy Act. The changes — pushed for by Representative Bruce Westerman, chairman of the House Natural Resources Committee — would have made it harder for outside groups to sue to block energy projects under NEPA, a 1970 law that governs the country’s process for environmental decisionmaking.
When those talks died, they also killed a separate deal over permitting struck earlier this year between Senator Joe Manchin of West Virginia and Senator John Barrasso of Wyoming. That deal, as I detailed last week, would have loosened some federal rules around oil and gas drilling in exchange for a new, quasi-mandatory scheme to build huge amounts of long-distance transmission.
Rest in peace, I suppose. Even if lawmakers could not agree on NEPA changes, I think Republicans made a mistake by not moving forward with the Manchin-Barrasso deal. (I still believe that the standalone deal could have passed the Senate and the House if put to a vote.) At this point, I do not think we will see another shot at bipartisan permitting reform until at least late 2026, when the federal highway law will need fresh funding.
But it is difficult to get too upset about this failure because larger mistakes have since compounded the initial one. On Wednesday, Republican Speaker Mike Johnson’s bipartisan deal to fund the government — which is, after all, a much more fundamental task of governance than rewriting some federal permitting laws — fell apart, seemingly because Donald Trump and Elon Musk decided they didn’t like it. If I can indulge in the subjunctive for a moment: That breakdown might have likely killed any potential permitting deal, too. So even in a world where lawmakers somehow did strike a deal earlier this week, it might already be dead. (As I write this, the House GOP has reportedly reached a new deal to fund the government through March, which has weakened or removed provisions governing pharmacy benefit managers and limiting American investments in China.)
The facile reading of this situation is that Republicans now hold the advantage. The Trump administration will soon be able to implement some of the fossil fuel provisions in the Manchin-Barrasso deal through the administrative state. Trump will likely expand onshore and offshore drilling, will lease the government’s best acreage to oil and gas companies, and will approve as many liquified natural gas export terminals as possible. His administration will do so, however, without the enhanced legal protection that the deal would have provided — and while those protections are not a must-have, especially with a friendly Supreme Court, their absence will still allow environmental groups to try to run down the clock on some of Trump’s more ambitious initiatives.
Republicans believe that they will be able to get parts of permitting reform done in a partisan reconciliation bill next year. These efforts seem quite likely to run aground, at least as long as something like the current rules governing reconciliation bills hold. I have heard some crazy proposals on this topic — what if skipping a permitting fight somehow became a revenue-raiser for the federal government? — but even they do not touch the deep structure of NEPA in the way a bipartisan compromise could. As Westerman toldPolitico’s Josh Siegel: “We need 60 votes in the Senate to get real permitting reform … People are just going to have to come to an agreement on what permitting reform is.” In any case, Manchin and the Democrats already tried to reform the permitting system via a partisan reconciliation bill and found it essentially impossible.
Even if reconciliation fails, Republicans say, they will still be in a better negotiating position next year than this year because the party will control a few more Senate votes. But will they? The GOP will just have come off a difficult fight over tax reform. Twelve or 24 months from now, demands on the country’s electricity grid are likely to be higher than they are today, and the risk of blackouts will be higher than before. The lack of a robust transmission network will hinder the ability to build a massive new AI infrastructure, as some of Trump’s tech industry backers hope. But 12 or 24 months from now, too, Democrats — furious at Trump — are not going to be in a dealmaking mood, and Republicans have relatively few ways to bring them to the table.
In any case, savvy Republicans should have realized that it is important to get supply-side economic reforms done as early in a president’s four-year term as possible. Such changes take time to filter through the system and turn into real projects and real economic activity; passing the law as early as possible means that the president’s party can enjoy them and campaign on them.
All of it starts to seem more and more familiar. When Manchin and Barrasso unveiled their compromise earlier this year, Democrats didn’t act quickly on it. They felt confident that the window for a deal wouldn’t close — and they looked forward to a potential trifecta, when they would be able to get even more done (and reject some of Manchin’s fossil fuel-friendly compromises).
Democrats, I think, wound up regretting the cavalier attitude that they brought to permitting reform before Trump’s win. But now the GOP is acting the same way: It is rejecting compromises, believing that it will be able to strike a better deal on permitting issues during its forthcoming trifecta. That was a mistake when Democrats did it. I think it will be a mistake for Republicans, too.