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Most climate solutions are getting smarter. Solar panels can track the sun. Electric vehicles are equipped with the equivalent of an iPad and may soon be able to drive themselves (according to some people). Startups are inventing stoves with batteries that charge when energy is cheap and heat pumps that learn how you use your home and adjust accordingly.
But when it comes to permanently removing carbon dioxide from the atmosphere, the market is pushing in a different direction. There, it seems, there’s growing excitement for the dumbest, most primitive solutions companies can come up with.
The case in point this week is a $58 million agreement between Frontier, a fund started by tech companies to help grow the carbon removal market, and Vaulted Deep, a startup that collects food waste, poop, and other wet, sludgy, organic material and stashes it away underground. It’s the biggest deal Frontier has made to date, followed closely by a $57 million contract it signed in December with Lithos Carbon, which crushes up rocks and sprinkles the dust on agricultural fields. The rock naturally reacts with carbon dioxide in the air to form bicarbonate, which can essentially lock it away permanently.
There are at least 850 startups around the world trying to figure out the most effective, scalable, low-cost approach to cleaning up the legacy carbon pollution that’s warming the planet. Some of the most promising solutions have involved building big, energy-intensive systems that extract tiny amounts of carbon dioxide from the ambient air. One company I recently wrote about is manufacturing millions of tennis ball-sized sponges that will be stacked in trays, absorb carbon from the air, and then transferred into an oven to bake off the carbon.
Is it possible the answer could be as easy as pulverizing rocks and burying waste?
I ran my observation about the growing enthusiasm for dumb ideas past Hannah Bebbington, a strategy lead at Frontier, and she agreed — “totally,” she said, though she preferred the phrase “low-tech.” Compared to some of the earlier stars of carbon removal, Vaulted Deep and Lithos don’t require as much upfront capital investment or years and years of research and development. “At the end of the day, we are really excited about getting to gigaton scale carbon removal, and it doesn’t have to be the sexiest technology.”
So far, it seems, these lower-tech companies have been able to scale quickly. Vaulted Deep, for instance, launched at the end of August last year and has already delivered more than 2,400 tons of carbon removal. By comparison, the only operating direct air capture facility in the United States is capable of removing 1,000 tons of CO2 per year.
Vaulted Deep’s first project is in Kansas, where it is intercepting “woody waste” like grass clippings and tree trimmings that was destined to be incinerated. Once upon a time, when the plants were alive, they sucked up carbon from the atmosphere. If the clipping had been burned, the carbon would have been released back into the air. By slurrifying the waste and injecting it into a deep well, hundreds of feet underground, Vaulted Deep disrupts the cycle, potentially for millennia.
One advantage of this approach is that the carbon capture work is done for free, courtesy of photosynthesis. (Trees, of course, do this too, but not permanently.) Another is that Vaulted Deep uses mature technology to turn the waste into a slurry that can be injected underground. The company was spun out of Advantek, a waste management business that pioneered slurry injection in the 1980s. Most of the substances we inject into the layers of rock underneath our feet are pure liquid or gas, Julia Reichelstein, the CEO of Vaulted Deep told me. Advantek’s technology enables the company to take solid waste and, with minimal processing and energy, get it injection-ready.
The company’s third advantage is being able to pump its waste into “class five” wells, a designation made by the Environmental Protection Agency. Class five is sort of a catch-all category, encompassing shallow wells used for stormwater drainage and septic systems, to deep wells used for geothermal power. Regulations vary by type and by state, but in general, these are much more common and easier to permit than the “class six” wells used for carbon dioxide sequestration. “There’s, you know, 20, 30 years of permit history now on best practices on how you permit a slurry injection well,” Omar Abou-Sayed, the company’s co-founder, told me. “We comply with or exceed all those regulations. So this isn’t a case of, like, move fast and break things.”
All of this allows Vaulted Deep to charge less for carbon removal than many of its peers — closer to $400 per ton, as opposed to upwards of $600. Bebbington, of Frontier, thinks there’s a promising path to bring costs down a lot further if the company can achieve economies of scale by buying the sludgy organic waste in bulk, or move its injection wells closer to where the material originates.
But any climate solution involving biomass raises a host of questions about where the material came from, and what might have been done with it otherwise. Reichelstein said the company’s internal research found that there was almost a billion tons of bio-sludge produced in the U.S. annually. If it could capture all of it, the company estimated, it could sequester more than 300 million tons of carbon away from the atmosphere each year, after taking into account the emissions involved in collecting, processing, and injecting all that waste.
And yet, “The definition of a ‘waste’ is highly contested,” Freya Chay, program lead at the nonprofit CarbonPlan, which analyzes the integrity of different carbon removal approaches, told me.
For example, some companies are eyeing the use of agricultural waste like corn stalks, which are often left to decompose in fields, but also add nutrients to the soil. If the corn waste is removed and processed and buried underground, will that increase the use of carbon-intensive fertilizer? What if the waste was going into a landfill? There, it would have broken down eventually, but much more slowly than if it had been burned.
These questions get more complicated as projects that utilize waste biomass scale up. Once there’s more of a market for the material, will those counterfactuals that support what Vaulted Deep is doing — like that the waste would have been incinerated — still hold? “It's really hard to govern system-level risks with project-level rules, but that is the situation we are in,” said Chay.
At a second project location, in Los Angeles, Vaulted Deep is collecting sewage from the city’s wastewater treatment facilities that otherwise would have been trucked hundreds of miles out of the city and spread on farmland to decompose, releasing CO2 both during the transport and as it decays. The city has actually been paying Advantek to dispose of some of its sewage since 2008. But now, because of the Frontier deal, the company will drop its fee, allowing the city to divert even more of the waste for slurry injection.
Chay didn’t have any immediate concerns about Vaulted Deep’s biomass sourcing. In fact, she highlighted the co-benefits the company would provide. Oftentimes biomass waste is contaminated with toxic chemicals, and Vaulted Deep is preventing it from getting dumped in communities. “We should celebrate that,” she said.
Editor’s note: This story has been updated to correct the type of waste diverted for the Kansas project.
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On the first night of climate week, I headed over to a happy hour hosted by a bunch of progressive climate advocacy nonprofits, including Climate Cabinet, Data for Progress, and Evergreen Collaborative. The event was called “Progress No Matter What,” and the theme was states’ ability to advance climate action regardless of national politics.
On the packed back patio of a beer garden on the Lower East Side, a handful of speakers took turns climbing atop a picnic bench to address the boisterous crowd. State and federal officials celebrated the billions of dollars flowing to states to decarbonize and pressed attendees not to ignore the down-ballot climate champions running for office in November. Then, to close things out, White House Climate Advisor Ali Zaidi got up. Over the past year, I’ve heard Zaidi deliver the same impassioned but rehearsed preamble on press call after press call reminding us of President Biden’s climate accomplishments during his term. But here, Zaidi let loose. He said the Wall Street Journal had published a story that morning that started with the line “Climate optimism is fading.” He didn’t think so. “This is popular shit!” he declared, of efforts to fight climate change while reducing pollution, and the audience erupted in cheers. — Emily Pontecorvo
Last weekend, I attended the U.S. premiere of The Here Now Project at the inaugural Climate Film Festival — and was totally wowed. The 75-minute documentary is unnarrated and composed entirely of archival cell phone videos, vlogs, and news clips that were shot during climate disasters in 2021, ranging from the Texas power crisis that left almost 250 people dead after a February cold snap to the “sea snot” that covered Turkey’s Sea of Marmara over that summer.
While it’s harrowing to see all the footage back-to-back — and to learn about disasters I hadn’t paid close attention to at the time, like the subway flooding in Zhengzhou or the dust storms in Brazil — I was even more struck by the seemingly universal urge people have to document the way extreme weather upends their lives, even when those lives are quite immediately at risk.
The movie’s power lies in echoes and patterns of human nature, from our curiosity to our horror to our powerful compassion and self-sacrifice. I spoke to the filmmakers, Greg Jacobs and Jon Siskel, for my article about the Climate Film Festival last week, and Jacobs told me they hope to make The Here Now Project an ongoing chronicle of climate change in the style of Michael Apted’s famous Up series; I very much hope they will succeed. — Jeva Lange
At several events this week related to carbon dioxide removal, the conversation turned again and again to the challenge of finance and the scarcity of buyers. During a marine carbon removal panel on Monday, for instance, James Lindsay, the director of investments at the philanthropic Builders Initiative described the tension between simultaneously trying to raise capital for a given carbon removal approach while also trying to prove that it’s safe and actually works. While there are a few buyers, like the Frontier Climate initiative, that accept these conditions and are willing to support nascent approaches that may or may not work out, making one big deal with Frontier doesn’t provide the consistent cash flow that a startup needs to progress, he said.
Later that day, at a mini-conference hosted by the direct air capture company Climeworks, CEO Christoph Gebald declared that the industry simply cannot rely on voluntary purchases if it is going to scale. “We need to transition to regulated markets,” he said. Josh Becker, a California State Senator gave a brief presentation on a bill he introduced this year, SB 308, to do just that. It was a “government-enabled, market led” policy that would have required corporate polluters to begin paying for carbon removal. The bill “died a mysterious death,” he said, but he plans to try again in 2025.
The event closed out with a panel on “the economic opportunity of carbon removal in the U.S.,” and yet the talk once again turned to the economic obstacles. “Demand is an existential challenge,” Giana Amadour, executive director of the Carbon Removal Alliance, said. “If we want deployment beyond these 1,000- to 10,000-ton facilities, we need a demand signal that is robust, steady, resilient, growing, in order to make sure these companies can raise the private and public sector funding they need.” — Emily
While most of the energy developers, technologists, and investors I spoke to and/or heard speak this week were excited about artificial intelligence as a way to bring forward demand for clean electrons, there was one interesting note of caution from Katie Rae, chief executive of Engine Ventures, the investment firm that has backed Commonwealth Fusion Systems and the long-duration battery company Form Energy. “The government has to think about it: Are the people going to get energy? Or are the hyperscalers going to get energy? The pitchforks can come.” — Matthew Zeitlin
On Tuesday morning, I stopped by “Geothermal House,” a day-long event and installation at the Hall des Lumières near City Hall. It’s a former bank building that now hosts “immersive experiences,” which essentially amount to wandering around a room decorated with floor to ceiling projections of art, like the paintings of Chagall. This time, however, the room was made up to bring you miles deep within the Earth’s crust.
The VR lounge at Geothermal House.Emily Pontecorvo
The event was put on by Project InnerSpace, a nonprofit dedicated to transferring skills and knowledge from the oil and gas industry to scale geothermal energy. “This is the first time geothermal has shown up at NY Climate Week,” the group’s executive director, Jamie Beard, declared at the start of a series of panels held in the central hall. Unfortunately, the talks were nearly impossible to hear in the cavernous marble room, but I spent some time wandering around, watching the animated projections of geothermal power plants and hit up the “VR lounge,” which offered a much more convincing immersive experience and taught me about the difference between “enhanced” and “advanced” geothermal.
The event also had some of the best swag I saw at Climate Week, including a station where you could 3D print your face onto “the core of the Earth.” Jeva was accurate when she compared the resulting object to a Ferrero Rocher. — Emily
Two members of the Jean Charles Choctaw Nation — which is considered to be one of the first communities in the U.S. to be displaced by climate change — spoke at an event on Wednesday hosted by EarthRights International. They emphasized the way the state of Louisiana failed to keep the tribe intact during the relocation effort, with Chief Deme Naquin and Tribal Secretary Chantel Comardelle explaining that while their own story is one marked by failure, they hope other communities will be able to learn from it. After all, it’s not just a house or neighborhood that you lose to something like coastal erosion; it’s also the stories and memories of the place you’d called home. “We probably weren’t the first” community to be displaced by climate change, Chief Deme told the room, “but we’re definitely not the last.” — Jeva
And over in D.C., during “National Clean Energy Week,” a more industry-focused panel-ganza, the cofounder and chief executive of the most important company in energy was sharing his thoughts on the sector. That would be Nvidia's Jensen Huang, the head of the company that designs the chips that power many artificial intelligence models and applications.
During his one-hour chat with former Education Secretary Margaret Spellings at the Bipartisan Policy Center on Friday, Huang focused mostly on what good AI could do for energy and grid efficiency, including weather simulation and designing smart grids. While it's true, Huang said, “that AI does take energy,” AI-trained models can predict weather and climate “tens of thousands of times more energy efficiently” than supercomputers. But he was also straightforward about the intense energy demands of training artificial intelligence models.
“These data centers could consume, today, maybe 100 megawatts. In the future it will be 10, 20 times more than that.” To reduce strain on the grid, these data centers could be located “where the energy” is located, Huang suggested. “The AI doesn't care where it goes to school.” And like a student, “it’s okay” if it sometimes has to “take a nap” when the sun’s not out. — Matthew
Ocean-based storms are increasingly affecting areas hundreds of miles from the coasts.
After a hurricane makes landfall comes the eerie wait for bad news. For Hurricane Helene — now a tropical storm as it barrels toward Nashville — that news came swiftly on Friday morning: at least 4 million are without power after the storm’s Thursday night arrival near Florida’s Big Bend region; more than 20 are dead in three states; and damage estimates are already in the billions of dollars.
But that’s just the news from the coasts.
As Helene is set to illustrate yet again, hurricanes are not just coastal events — especially in the era of our warming climate. The National Weather Service warned towns in the Blue Ridge Mountains of South Carolina and Georgia that Helene will be “one of the most significant weather events” in the region in “the modern era,” while the Appalachians are in store for a “catastrophic, historic flooding disaster” according to AccuWeather’s Chief Meteorologist Jonathan Porter during a briefing with reporters Friday morning. He added for good measure: “This is not the kind of language we use very often.”
Helene’s dangerous inland impacts are precisely what the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration sounded the alarm over earlier this year. Ninety percent of hurricane fatalities result from water, and almost 60% of those are freshwater deaths caused by heavy rainfall. Such fatalities often occur hundreds of miles from the shore in flash floods fueled by the warmer atmosphere, which can hold and dispense far more moisture in a short period than would have been possible in the pre-industrial era.
With Helene specifically, “there are going to be communities that are cut off” as bridges are compromised and roadways wash out, Porter said. Especially in mountain communities that might have only one or two ways in and out of town, that kind of rain raises the level of difficulty for any sort of emergency response and can make evacuation impossible. There have already been reports of 12 to 15 inches of rain in some parts of North Carolina.
“This is steep terrain,” Porter said. “When you get rain rates of 2 to 4 inches per hour, that is going to result in very significant flash flooding that can go from a dangerous situation to a life-threatening emergency over the matter of just a few minutes.” Rivers could exceed record levels by tonight, with more than 2 million under flash flood warnings around Raleigh and Fayetteville. Landslides are also a possibility in the mountains, where just 5 inches of rain from a single storm can be enough to trigger a disaster, the National Hurricane Center warned; two interstates near Asheville, North Carolina, are already closed due to slides.
It’s certainly not unheard of for the remnants of tropical storms to pass over the Carolinas and Appalachian Mountains — hurricanes such as Katrina in 2005 and Lee in 2011 were deadly billion-dollar disasters even as far inland as Tennessee. But as storms get bigger and wetter like Helene, “even people who have lived in a community for decades may see water flowing fast and rising rapidly in areas that they’ve never seen flood before,” Porter said.
It’s time to adjust expectations — and preparedness plans — accordingly. Louisiana, Texas, and Florida still stand for “Hurricane Country” in the popular imagination, but the mountain states of the southeast are rapidly joining that list. The National Hurricane Center is already monitoring a new low-pressure area in the Gulf of Mexico — in nearly the exact same spot that birthed Helene.
Helene’s winds stretch close to 500 miles across. That’s half the width of the entire Gulf of Mexico.
When Hurricane Helene began to take shape in the Gulf of Mexico, there was one factor that quickly made the storm stand out to meteorologists: its size. Helene is “unusually large,” the National Hurricane Center said; “exceptionally large,” per the Washington Post. Upon landfall, it was one of largest hurricanes in modern history, according to hurricane expert Michael Lowry — bigger than Harvey, bigger than Katrina, surpassed only by 2017’s Hurricane Irma, which was one of the costliest tropical storms on record and resulted in dozens of deaths.
Bigger does not always correlate to stronger. Discussions around the strength of a hurricane typically center on its wind speeds (which is what the categories connote) and the volume of rain it is expected to unleash. But in Helene’s case, there was both size and power — when the storm made landfall in Florida’s Big Bend region late Thursday night, it was classified as a Category 4 storm, with sustained winds of 140 miles per hour.
Florida Governor Ron DeSantis declared a state of emergency in 61 of the state’s 67 counties ahead of the storm, speaking to the breadth of damage he expects to see and the long recovery process to come. Already, images of flooded streets are circulating on social media, multiple deaths have been reported, and millions are without electricity. As Helene continues its course, it’s bringing tropical storm conditions to Alabama, Georgia, the Carolinas, and Tennessee.
In the hours and days to come, we’ll get a better understanding of how well forecasters did predicting the path and strength of this storm, a task that has become increasingly difficult. Because at the same time technology has improved oversight of these storms, with artificial intelligence models that have raised the bar for prediction accuracy and the ability to deploy radar systems as they pass overhead, climate change is altering the ingredients that feed their formation. For example, record-high temperatures in oceans have changed the behavior of storms as they form, Matt Lanza, who monitors Atlantic storm activity for The Eyewall, explained to me, resulting in more storms intensifying rapidly ahead of landfall. This has made storms like 2023’s Hurricane Idalia tougher to predict, despite being closely tracked.
Helene, too, rapidly intensified on its way to reaching land. The area of Florida where it hit, a little over 50 miles from the state capital in Tallahassee, is no stranger to storms— in just the past 13 months, Florida’s Big Bend has had to absorb the impacts of both Idalia and Hurricane Debby, each of which caused billions of dollars in damages. Still, Truchelut said Hurricane Helene could be a “truly unprecedented scenario for North Florida.” Part of the unusual force behind this storm can be attributed to another unprecedented scenario — the warmth of the water in the Gulf of Mexico. CBS News said the water surface temperature below the storm’s formation was up to 89 degrees Fahrenheit, which is as much as 4 degrees above average. This follows the overall Gulf warming trend observed by NOAA, which the agency says “increases the intensity of hurricanes.”
Another factor that allowed Helene to grow so huge so fast was the lack of wind shear, a term meteorologists use to refer to the way wind changes speed or direction or both across different elevations. Strong upper-level winds can inhibit storms from forming or growing. In Helene’s case, however, warm water was accompanied by low wind shear and plenty of moisture— conditions that aligned to provide tremendous energy for the storm’s formation. The only thing really standing in Helene’s way was its own size, Lanza noted, which would have made it more difficult for the storm to get organized and strengthen further.
The most obvious reason size matters is the footprint the storm will have on land. To give you an idea of just how large Helene is, Lowry said in his newsletter Friday that the full breadth of its winds upon landfall stretched over 450 miles across, nearly half the entire width of the Gulf of Mexico. This means the effects of the storm began long before it officially made landfall and will continue long after the eye of the storm has moved on.
Hours before Helene officially reached Florida, rain was already drenching communities in the storm’s projected path. Meanwhile, “Severe and life-threatening impacts from Helene will occur hundreds of miles from the cone confines, especially on the eastern half of the storm,” Florida meteorologist Ryan Truchelut wrote in the Tallahassee Democrat, summing up just how far-reaching Helene’s effects could be. The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration issued a self-described “rare news release” on Wednesday to warn of the potential for major flooding as far inland as Appalachia, some 300 miles from the Gulf Coast.
Another serious size-related consideration relates to the potential storm surge, or how far above average tides the water will rise. “When you have a storm this big, you’re just inherently moving a lot of water over a broader area,” Lanza said. As Hurricane Helene’s eye approached Florida, water levels easily surpassed multiple storm surge records. But what stood out to Lanza was not just that the surge was powerful, it was also that the threat of surge was so widespread. “A much smaller storm, you can still have a very large storm surge, but it’s going to be very isolated near to where it comes ashore,” he told me. “With a storm like Helene, because of its size, near and east of where it comes ashore, you’re going to have a massive storm surge — and you’re going to have a pretty big storm surge even down the coast from that.” The NHC warned that much of Florida’s Western coastline would see multiple feet of water.
Messaging the risks of these storms to an extreme weather-weary public is another challenge stemming from climate change. “Record breaking” has now become a familiar phrase for most of us, describing everything from extreme temperatures to rainfall rates. But as tropical storms become more intense, fueled by warming-influenced weather conditions, finding ways to accurately convey threats to the public is increasingly essential.
Ahead of Helene’s landfall, the NHC stressed that the storm surge would be “unsurvivable,” encouraging residents to heed evacuation orders. According to The New York Times, the warnings — paired with memories of those other recent storms — seemed to have worked, leaving Big Bend-area towns “eerily empty.” Even the local Waffle House, a business widely recognized for making its own assessments of hurricane risk, was shuttered on Thursday.
The NHC is experimenting with new graphics in hopes of better conveying risks outside of the classic “cone of uncertainty,” which illustrates the predicted path of a tropical storm’s eye. The center shared an image on social media showing inland risks from storms, not just those along the coast.
So if you noticed the NHC’s risk map for Hurricane Helene colored the entire state in a palette of watches and warnings, the reason why is twofold: Yes, the risks really are that widespread with this storm, but the agency is also trying to get better at telling you about them. And in the case of major hurricane like Helene, the more warning, the better.