Using this simulated data set, called IRIS, the researchers selected for those storms that made landfall along a track similar to that of Milton. Using these, they show that the warming climate has boosted the frequency of storms of Milton’s intensity by 40 percent. Correspondingly, the maximum wind speeds of similar storms have been boosted by about 10 percent. In Milton’s case, that means that, in the absence of climate change, it was likely to have made landfall as a Category 2 storm, rather than the Category 3 it actually was.
Rainfall
The lack of full meteorological data caused a problem when it came to analyzing Milton’s rainfall. The researchers ended up having to analyze rainfall more generally. They took four data sets that do track rainfall across these regions and tracked the link between extreme rainfall and the warming climate to estimate how much more often extreme events occur in a world that is now 1.3° C warmer than it was in pre-industrial times.
They focus on instances of extreme one-day rainfall within the June to November period, looking specifically at 1-in-10-year and 1-in-100-year events. Both of these produced similar results, suggesting that heavy one-day rainfalls are about twice as likely in today’s climates, and the most extreme of these are between 20 and 30 percent more intense.
These results came from three of the four data sets used, which produced largely similar results. The fourth dataset they used suggested a far stronger effect of climate change, but since it wasn’t consistent with the rest, these results weren’t used.
As with the Helene analysis, it’s worth noting that this work represents a specific snapshot in time along a long-term warming trajectory. In other words, it’s looking at the impact of 1.3° C of warming at a time when our emissions are nearly at the point where they commit us to at least 1.5° C of warming. And that will tilt the scales further in favor of extreme weather events like this.
The researchers identified two distinct events associated with Helene’s landfall. The first was its actual landfall along the Florida coast. The second was the intense rainfall on the North Carolina/Tennessee border. This rainfall came against a backdrop of previous heavy rain caused by a stalled cold front meeting moisture brought north by the fringes of the hurricane. These two regions were examined separately.
A changed climate
In these two regions, the influence of climate change is estimated to have caused a 10 percent increase in the intensity of the rainfall. That may not seem like much, but it adds up. Over both a two- and three-day window centered on the point of maximal rainfall, climate change is estimated to have increased rainfall along the Florida Coast by 40 percent. For the southern Appalachians, the boost in rainfall is estimated to have been 70 percent.
The probability of storms with the wind intensity of Helene hitting land near where it did is about a once-in-130-year event in the IRIS dataset. Climate change has altered that so it’s now expected to return about once every 50 years. The high sea surface temperatures that helped fuel Helene are estimated to have been made as much as 500 times more likely by our changed climate.
Overall, the researchers estimate that rain events like Helene’s landfall should now be expected about once every seven years, although the uncertainty is large (running from three to 25 years). For the Appalachian region, where rainfall events this severe don’t appear in our records, they are likely to now be a once-in-every-70-years event thanks to climate warming (with an uncertainty of between 20 and 3,000 years).
“Together, these findings show that climate change is enhancing conditions conducive to the most powerful hurricanes like Helene, with more intense rainfall totals and wind speeds,” the researchers behind the work conclude.
Plant growth is accelerating on the Antarctic Peninsula and nearby islands.
Moss and rocks cover the ground on Robert Island in Antarctica. Photographer: Isadora Romero/Bloomberg Credit: Bloomberg via Getty
Moss and rocks cover the ground on Robert Island in Antarctica. Photographer: Isadora Romero/Bloomberg Credit: Bloomberg via Getty
When satellites first started peering down on the craggy, glaciated Antarctic Peninsula about 40 years ago, they saw only a few tiny patches of vegetation covering a total of about 8,000 square feet—less than a football field.
But since then, the Antarctic Peninsula has warmed rapidly, and a new study shows that mosses, along with some lichen, liverworts and associated algae, have colonized more than 4.6 square miles, an area nearly four times the size of New York’s Central Park.
The findings, published Friday in Nature Geoscience, based on a meticulous analysis of Landsat images from 1986 to 2021, show that the greening trend is distinct from natural variability and that it has accelerated by 30 percent since 2016, fast enough to cover nearly 75 football fields per year.
Greening at the opposite end of the planet, in the Arctic, has been widely studied and reported, said co-author Thomas Roland, a paleoecologist with the University of Exeter who collects and analyzes mud samples to study environmental and ecological change. “But the idea,” he said, “that any part of Antarctica could, in any way, be green is something that still really jars a lot of people.”
Credit: Inside Climate News
Credit: Inside Climate News
As the planet heats up, “even the coldest regions on Earth that we expect and understand to be white and black with snow, ice, and rock are starting to become greener as the planet responds to climate change,” he said.
The tenfold increase in vegetation cover since 1986 “is not huge in the global scheme of things,” Roland added, but the accelerating rate of change and the potential ecological effects are significant. “That’s the real story here,” he said. “The landscape is going to be altered partially because the existing vegetation is expanding, but it could also be altered in the future with new vegetation coming in.”
In the Arctic, vegetation is expanding on a scale that affects the albedo, or the overall reflectivity of the region, which determines the proportion of the sun’s heat energy that is absorbed by the Earth’s surface as opposed to being bounced away from the planet. But the spread of greenery has not yet changed the albedo of Antarctica on a meaningful scale because the vegetated areas are still too small to have a regional impact, said co-author Olly Bartlett, a University of Hertfordshire researcher who specializes in using satellite data to map environmental change.
“The real significance is about the ecological shift on the exposed land, the land that’s ice-free, creating an area suitable for more advanced plant life or invasive species to get a foothold,” he said.
Bartlett said Google Earth Engine enabled the scientists to process a massive amount of data from the Landsat images to meet a high standard of verification of plant growth. As a result, he added, the changes they reported may actually be conservative.
“It’s becoming easier for life to live there,” he said. “These rates of change we’re seeing made us think that perhaps we’ve captured the start of a more dramatic transformation.”
In the areas they studied, changes to the albedo could have a small local effect, Roland said, as more land free of reflective ice “can feed into a positive feedback loop that creates conditions that are more favorable for vegetation expansion as well.”
Antarctic forests at similar CO2 levels
Other research, including fossil studies, suggests that beech trees grew on Antarctica as recently as 2.5 million years ago, when carbon dioxide levels in the atmosphere were similar to today, another indicator of how unchecked greenhouse gas emissions can rapidly warm Earth’s climate.
Currently, there are only two species of flowering plants native to the Antarctic Peninsula, Antarctic hair grass, and Antarctic pearlwort. “But with a few new grass seeds here and there, or a few spores, and all of a sudden, you’ve got a very different ecosystem,” he said.
And it’s not just plants, he added. “Increasingly, we’re seeing evidence that non-native insect life is taking hold in Antarctica. And that can dramatically change things as well.”
The study shows how climate warming will shake up Antarctic ecosystems, said conservation scientist Jasmine Lee, a research fellow with the British Antarctic Survey who was not involved in the new study.
“It is clear that bank-forming mosses are expanding their range with warmer and wetter conditions, which is likely facilitating similar expansions for some of the invertebrate communities that rely on them for habitat,” she said. “At the same time, some specialist species, such as the more dry-loving mosses and invertebrates, might decline.”
She said the new study is valuable because it provides data across a broad region showing that Antarctic ecosystems are already rapidly altering and will continue to do so as climate change progresses.
“We focus a lot on how climate change is melting ice sheets and changing sea ice,” she said. “It’s good to also highlight that the terrestrial ecosystems are being impacted.”
The study shows climate impacts growing in “regions previously thought nearly immune to the accelerated warming we’re seeing today,” said climate policy expert Pam Pearson, director of the International Cryosphere Climate Initiative.
“It’s as important a signal as the loss of Antarctic sea ice over the past several years,” she said.
The new study identified vegetative changes by comparing the Landsat images at a resolution of 300-square-feet per pixel, detailed enough to accurately map vegetative growth, but it didn’t identify specific climate change factors that might be driving the expansion of plant life.
But other recent studies have documented Antarctic changes that could spur plant growth, including how some regions are affected by warm winds and by increasing amounts of rain from atmospheric rivers, as well as by declining sea ice that leads adjacent land areas to warm, all signs of rapid change in Antarctica.
Roland said their new study was in part spurred by previous research showing how fast patches of Antarctic moss were growing vertically and how microbial activity in tiny patches of soil was also accelerating.
“We’d taken these sediment cores, and done all sorts of analysis, including radiocarbon dating … showing the growth in the plants we’d sampled increasing dramatically,” he said.
Those measurements confirmed that the plants are sensitive to climate change, and as a next step, researchers wanted to know “if the plants are growing sideways at the same dramatic rate,” he said. “It’s one thing for plants to be growing upwards very fast. If they’re growing outwards, then you know you’re starting to see massive changes and massive increases in vegetation cover across the peninsula.”
With the study documenting significant horizontal expansion of vegetation, the researchers are now studying how recently deglaciated areas were first colonized by plants. About 90 percent of the glaciers on the Antarctic Peninsula have been shrinking for the past 75 years, Roland said.
“That’s just creating more and more land for this potentially rapid vegetation response,” he said. “So like Olly says, one of the things we can’t rule out is that this really does increase quite dramatically over the next few decades. Our findings raise serious concerns about the environmental future of the Antarctic Peninsula and of the continent as a whole.”
Earthquake scientists detected an unusual signal on monitoring stations used to detect seismic activity during September 2023. We saw it on sensors everywhere, from the Arctic to Antarctica.
We were baffled—the signal was unlike any previously recorded. Instead of the frequency-rich rumble typical of earthquakes, this was a monotonous hum, containing only a single vibration frequency. Even more puzzling was that the signal kept going for nine days.
Initially classified as a “USO”—an unidentified seismic object—the source of the signal was eventually traced back to a massive landslide in Greenland’s remote Dickson Fjord. A staggering volume of rock and ice, enough to fill 10,000 Olympic-sized swimming pools, plunged into the fjord, triggering a 200-meter-high mega-tsunami and a phenomenon known as a seiche: a wave in the icy fjord that continued to slosh back and forth, some 10,000 times over nine days.
To put the tsunami in context, that 200-meter wave was double the height of the tower that houses Big Ben in London and many times higher than anything recorded after massive undersea earthquakes in Indonesia in 2004 (the Boxing Day tsunami) or Japan in 2011 (the tsunami which hit Fukushima nuclear plant). It was perhaps the tallest wave anywhere on Earth since 1980.
Our discovery, now published in the journal Science, relied on collaboration with 66 other scientists from 40 institutions across 15 countries. Much like an air crash investigation, solving this mystery required putting many diverse pieces of evidence together, from a treasure trove of seismic data, to satellite imagery, in-fjord water level monitors, and detailed simulations of how the tsunami wave evolved.
This all highlighted a catastrophic, cascading chain of events, from decades to seconds before the collapse. The landslide traveled down a very steep glacier in a narrow gully before plunging into a narrow, confined fjord. Ultimately, though, it was decades of global heating that had thinned the glacier by several tens of meters, meaning that the mountain towering above it could no longer be held up.
Uncharted waters
But beyond the weirdness of this scientific marvel, this event underscores a deeper and more unsettling truth: climate change is reshaping our planet and our scientific methods in ways we are only beginning to understand.
It is a stark reminder that we are navigating uncharted waters. Just a year ago, the idea that a seiche could persist for nine days would have been dismissed as absurd. Similarly, a century ago, the notion that warming could destabilize slopes in the Arctic, leading to massive landslides and tsunamis happening almost yearly, would have been considered far-fetched. Yet, these once-unthinkable events are now becoming our newreality.
The “once unthinkable” ripples around the world.
As we move deeper into this new era, we can expect to witness more phenomena that defy our previous understanding, simply because our experience does not encompass the extreme conditions we are now encountering. We found a nine-day wave that previously no one could imagine could exist.
Traditionally, discussions about climate change have focused on us looking upwards and outwards to the atmosphere and to the oceans with shifting weather patterns, and rising sea levels. But Dickson Fjord forces us to look downward, to the very crust beneath our feet.
For perhaps the first time, climate change has triggered a seismic event with global implications. The landslide in Greenland sent vibrations through the Earth, shaking the planet and generating seismic waves that traveled all around the globe within an hour of the event. No piece of ground beneath our feet was immune to these vibrations, metaphorically opening up fissures in our understanding of these events.
This will happen again
Although landslide-tsunamis have been recorded before, the one in September 2023 was the first ever seen in east Greenland, an area that had appeared immune to these catastrophic climate change induced events.
This certainly won’t be the last such landslide-megatsunami. As permafrost on steep slopes continues to warm and glaciers continue to thin, we can expect these events to happen more often and on an even bigger scale across the world’s polar and mountainous regions. Recently identified unstable slopes in west Greenland and in Alaska are clear examples of looming disasters.
Enlarge/ Landslide-affected slopes around Barry Arm fjord, Alaska. If the slopes suddenly collapse, scientists fear a large tsunami would hit the town of Whittier, 48km away.
Gabe Wolken/USGS
As we confront these extreme and unexpected events, it is becoming clear that our existing scientific methods and toolkits may need to be fully equipped to deal with them. We had no standard workflow to analyze the 2023 Greenland event. We also must adopt a new mindset because our current understanding is shaped by a now near-extinct, previously stable climate.
As we continue to alter our planet’s climate, we must be prepared for unexpected phenomena that challenge our current understanding and demand new ways of thinking. The ground beneath us is shaking, both literally and figuratively. While the scientific community must adapt and pave the way for informed decisions, it’s up to decision-makers to act.
Data centers powering the generative AI boom are gulping water and exhausting electricity at what some researchers view as an unsustainable pace. Two entrepreneurs who met in high school a few years ago want to overcome that crunch with a fresh experiment: sinking the cloud into the sea.
Sam Mendel and Eric Kim launched their company, NetworkOcean, out of startup accelerator Y Combinator on August 15 by announcing plans to dunk a small capsule filled with GPU servers into San Francisco Bay within a month. “There’s this vital opportunity to build more efficient computer infrastructure that we’re gonna rely on for decades to come,” Mendel says.
The founders contend that moving data centers off land would slow ocean temperature rise by drawing less power and letting seawater cool the capsule’s shell, supplementing its internal cooling system. NetworkOcean’s founders have said a location in the bay would deliver fast processing speeds for the region’s buzzing AI economy.
But scientists who study the hundreds of square miles of brackish water say even the slightest heat or disturbance from NetworkOcean’s submersible could trigger toxic algae blooms and harm wildlife. And WIRED inquiries to several California and US agencies who oversee the bay found that NetworkOcean has been pursuing its initial test of an underwater data center without having sought, much less received, any permits from key regulators.
The outreach by WIRED prompted at least two agencies—the Bay Conservation and Development Commission and the San Francisco Regional Water Quality Control Board—to email NetworkOcean that testing without permits could run afoul of laws, according to public records and spokespeople for the agencies. Fines from the BCDC can run up to hundreds of thousands of dollars.
The nascent technology has already been in hot water in California. In 2016, the state’s coastal commission issued a previously unreported notice to Microsoft saying that the tech giant had violated the law the year before by plunging an unpermitted server vessel into San Luis Obispo Bay, about 250 miles south of San Francisco. The months-long test, part of what was known as Project Natick, had ended without apparent environmental harm by the time the agency learned of it, so officials decided not to fine Microsoft, according to the notice seen by WIRED.
The renewed scrutiny of underwater data centers has surfaced an increasingly common tension between innovative efforts to combat global climate change and long-standing environmental laws. Permitting takes months, if not years, and can cost millions of dollars, potentially impeding progress. Advocates of the laws argue that the process allows for time and input to better weigh trade-offs.
“Things are overregulated because people often don’t do the right thing,” says Thomas Mumley, recently retired assistant executive officer of the bay water board. “You give an inch, they take a mile. We have to be cautious.”
Over the last two weeks, including during an interview at the WIRED office, NetworkOcean’s founders have provided driblets of details about their evolving plans. Their current intention is to test their underwater vessel for about an hour, just below the surface of what Mendel would only describe as a privately owned and operated portion of the bay that he says is not subject to regulatory oversight. He insists that a permit is not required based on the location, design, and minimal impact. “We have been told by our potential testing site that our setup is environmentally benign,” Mendel says.
Mumley, the retired regulator, calls the assertion about not needing a permit “absurd.” Both Bella Castrodale, the BCDC’s lead enforcement attorney, and Keith Lichten, a water board division manager, say private sites and a quick dip in the bay aren’t exempt from permitting. Several other experts in bay rules tell WIRED that even if some quirk does preclude oversight, they believe NetworkOcean is sending a poor message to the public by not coordinating with regulators.
“Just because these centers would be out of sight does not mean they are not a major disturbance,” says Jon Rosenfield, science director at San Francisco Baykeeper, a nonprofit that investigates industrial polluters.
School project
Mendel and Kim say they tried to develop an underwater renewable energy device together during high school in Southern California before moving onto non-nautical pursuits. Mendel, 23, dropped out of college in 2022 and founded a platform for social media influencers.
About a year ago, he built a small web server using the DIY system Raspberry Pi to host another personal project, and temporarily floated the equipment in San Francisco Bay by attaching it to a buoy from a private boat in the Sausalito area. (Mendel declined to answer questions about permits.) After talking with Kim, also 23, about this experiment, the two decided to move in together and start NetworkOcean.
Their pitch is that underwater data centers are more affordable to develop and maintain, especially as electricity shortages limit sites on land. Surrounding a tank of hot servers with water naturally helps cools them, avoiding the massive resource drain of air-conditioning and also improving on the similar benefits of floating data centers. Developers of offshore wind farms are eager to electrify NetworkOcean vessels, Mendel says.
Enlarge/ Loads of lava: Kasbohm with a few solidified lava flows of the Columbia River Basalts.
Joshua Murray
As our climate warms beyond its historical range, scientists increasingly need to study climates deeper in the planet’s past to get information about our future. One object of study is a warming event known as the Miocene Climate Optimum (MCO) from about 17 to 15 million years ago. It coincided with floods of basalt lava that covered a large area of the Northwestern US, creating what are called the “Columbia River Basalts.” This timing suggests that volcanic CO2 was the cause of the warming.
A paper just published in Geology, led by Jennifer Kasbohm of the Carnegie Science’s Earth and Planets Laboratory, upends the idea that the eruptions triggered the warming while still blaming them for the peak climate warmth.
The study is the result of the world’s first successful application of high-precision radiometric dating on climate records obtained by drilling into ocean sediments, opening the door to improved measurements of past climate changes. As a bonus, it confirms the validity of mathematical models of our orbits around the Solar System over deep time.
A past climate with today’s CO2 levels
“Today, with 420 parts per million [of CO2], we are basically entering the Miocene Climate Optimum,” said Thomas Westerhold of the University of Bremen, who peer-reviewed Kasbohm’s study. While our CO2 levels match, global temperatures have not yet reached the MCO temperatures of up to 8° C above the preindustrial era. “We are moving the Earth System from what we call the Ice House world… in the complete opposite direction,” said Westerhold.
When Kasbohm began looking into the link between the basalts and the MCO’s warming in 2015, she found that the correlation had huge uncertainties. So she applied high-precision radiometric dating, using the radioactive decay of uranium trapped within zircon crystals to determine the age of the basalts. She found that her new ages no longer spanned the MCO warming. “All of these eruptions [are] crammed into just a small part of the Miocene Climate Optimum,” said Kasbohm.
But there were also huge uncertainties in the dates for the MCO, so it was possible that the mismatch was an artifact of those uncertainties. Kasbohm set out to apply the same high-precision dating to the marine sediments that record the MCO.
A new approach to an old problem
“What’s really exciting… is that this is the first time anyone’s applied this technique to sediments in these ocean drill cores,” said Kasbohm.
Normally, dates for ocean sediments drilled from the seabed are determined using a combination of fossil changes, magnetic field reversals, and aligning patterns of sediment layers with orbital wobbles calculated by astronomers. Each of those methods has uncertainties that are compounded by gaps in the sediment caused by the drilling process and by natural pauses in the deposition of material. Those make it tricky to match different records with the precision needed to determine cause and effect.
The uncertainties made the timing of the MCO unclear.
Enlarge/ Tiny clocks: Zircon crystals from volcanic ash that fell into the Caribbean Sea during the Miocene.
Jennifer Kasbohm
Radiometric dating would circumvent those uncertainties. But until about 15 years ago, its dates had such large errors that they were useless for addressing questions like the timing of the MCO. The technique also typically needs kilograms of material to find enough uranium-containing zircon crystals, whereas ocean drill cores yield just grams.
But scientists have significantly reduced those limitations: “Across the board, people have been working to track and quantify and minimize every aspect of uncertainty that goes into the measurements we make. And that’s what allows me to report these ages with such great precision,” Kasbohm said.
Enlarge/ Power lines are cast in silhouette as the Creek Fire creeps up on on the Shaver Springs community off of Tollhouse Road on Tuesday, Sept. 8, 2020, in Auberry, California.
This article originally appeared on Inside Climate News, a nonprofit, independent news organization that covers climate, energy and the environment. It is republished with permission. Sign up for their newsletter here.
Most people are “very” or “extremely” concerned about the state of the natural world, a new global public opinion survey shows.
Roughly 70 percent of 22,000 people polled online earlier this year agreed that human activities were pushing the Earth past “tipping points,” thresholds beyond which nature cannot recover, like loss of the Amazon rainforest or collapse of the Atlantic Ocean’s currents. The same number of respondents said the world needs to reduce carbon emissions within the next decade.
Just under 40 percent of respondents said technological advances can solve environmental challenges.
The Global Commons survey, conducted for two collectives of “economic thinkers” and scientists known as Earth4All and the Global Commons Alliance, polled people across 22 countries, including low-, middle- and high-income nations. The survey’s stated aim was to assess public opinion about “societal transformations” and “planetary stewardship.”
The results, released Thursday, highlight that people living under diverse circumstances seem to share worries about the health of ecosystems and the environmental problems future generations will inherit.
Explore the latest news about what’s at stake for the climate during this election season.
But there were some regional differences. People living in emerging economies, including Kenya and India, perceived themselves to be more exposed to environmental and climate shocks, like drought, flooding, and extreme weather. That group expressed higher levels of concern about the environment, though 59 percent of all respondents said they are “very” or “extremely” worried about “the state of nature today,” and another 29 percent are at least somewhat concerned.
Americans are included in the global majority, but a more complex picture emerged in the details of the survey, conducted by Ipsos.
Roughly one in two Americans said they are not very or not at all exposed to environmental and climate change risks. Those perceptions contrast sharply with empirical evidence showing that climate change is having an impact in nearly every corner of the United States. A warming planet has intensified hurricanes battering coasts, droughts striking middle American farms, and wildfires threatening homes and air quality across the country. And climate shocks are driving up prices of some food, like chocolate and olive oil, and consumer goods.
Americans also largely believe they do not bear responsibility for global environmental problems. Only about 15 percent of US respondents said that high- and middle-income Americans share responsibility for climate change and natural destruction. Instead, they attribute the most blame to businesses and governments of wealthy countries.
Those survey responses suggest that at least half of Americans may not feel they have any skin in the game when it comes to addressing global environmental problems, according to Geoff Dabelko, a professor at Ohio University and expert in environmental policy and security.
Translating concern about the environment to actual change requires people to believe they have something at stake, Dabelko said. “It’s troubling that Americans aren’t making that connection.”
While fossil fuel companies have long campaigned to shape public perception in a way that absolves their industry of fault for ecosystem destruction and climate change, individual behavior does play a role. Americans have some of the highest per-capita consumption rates in the world.
The world’s wealthiest 10 percent are responsible for nearly half the world’s carbon emissions, along with ecosystem destruction and related social impacts. For instance, American consumption of gold, tropical hardwoods like mahogany and cedar and other commodities has been linked to the destruction of the Amazon rainforest and attacks on Indigenous people defending their territories from extractive activities.
The United States is one of the world’s wealthiest countries and home to 38 percent of the world’s millionaires (the largest share). But a person doesn’t need to be a millionaire to fit within the cohort of the world’s wealthiest. Americans without children earning more than $60,000 a year after tax, and families of three with an after-tax household income above $130,000, are in the richest 1 percent of the world’s population.
United Nations emissions gap reports have said that to reach global climate goals, the world’s wealthiest people must cut their personal emissions by at least a factor of 30. High-income Americans’ emissions footprint is largely a consequence of lifestyle choices like living in large homes, flying often, opting for personal vehicles over public transportation, and conspicuous consumption of fast fashion and other consumer goods.
Enlarge/ Absolute temperatures show how similar July 2023 and 2024 were.
The past several years have been absolute scorchers, with 2023 being the warmest year ever recorded. And things did not slow down in 2024. As a result, we entered a stretch where every month set a new record as the warmest iteration of that month that we’ve ever recorded. Last month, that pattern stretched out for a full 12 months, as June of 2024 once again became the warmest June ever recorded. But, despite some exceptional temperatures in July, it fell just short of last July’s monthly temperature record, bringing the streak to a close.
Europe’s Copernicus system was first to announce that July of 2024 was ever so slightly cooler than July of 2023, missing out on setting a new record by just 0.04° C. So far, none of the other major climate trackers, such as Berkeley Earth or NASA GISS, have come out with data for July. These each have slightly different approaches to tracking temperatures, and, with a margin that small, it’s possible we’ll see one of them register last month as warmer or statistically indistinguishable.
How exceptional are the temperatures of the last few years? The EU averaged every July from 1991 to 2020—a period well after climate change had warmed the planet significantly—and July of 2024 was still 0.68° C above that average.
While it didn’t set a record, both the EU’s Copernicus climate service and NASA’s GISS found that it contained the warmest day ever recorded. In the EU’s case, they were the two hottest days recorded, as the temperatures on the 21st and 22nd were statistically indistinguishable, with only 0.01° C separating them. Late July and early August tend to be the warmest times of the year for surface air temperatures, so we’re likely past the point where any daily records will be set in 2024.
That’s all in terms of absolute temperatures. If you compare each day of the year only to instances of that day in the past, there have been far more anomalous days in the temperature record.
Enlarge/ In terms of anomalies over years past, both 2023 (orange) and 2024 (red) have been exceptionally warm.
That image also shows how exceptional the past year’s temperatures have been and makes it clear that 2024 is only falling out of record territory because the second half of 2023 was so exceptionally warm. It’s unlikely that 2024 will be quite as extreme, as the El Niño event that helped drive warming appears to have faded after peaking in December of 2023. NOAA’s latest forecast expects that the Pacific will remain in neutral for another month or two before starting to shift into cooler La Niña conditions before the year is out. (This is based on the August 8 ENSO forecast obtained here.)
In terms of anomalies, July also represents the first time in a year that a month had been less than 1.5° C above preindustrial temperatures (with preindustrial defined as the average over 1850–1900). Capping our modern temperatures at 1.5° C above preindustrial levels is recognized as a target that, while difficult to achieve, would help avoid some of the worst impacts we’ll see at 2° C of warming, and a number of countries have committed to that goal.
This article originally appeared on Inside Climate News, a nonprofit, independent news organization that covers climate, energy, and the environment. It is republished with permission. Sign up for its newsletter here.
Among the many obstacles to enacting federal limits on climate pollution, none has been more daunting than the Supreme Court. That is where the Obama administration’s efforts to regulate power plant emissions met their demise and where the Biden administration’s attempts will no doubt land.
A forthcoming study seeks to inform how courts consider challenges to these regulations by establishing once and for all that the lawmakers who shaped the Clean Air Act in 1970 knew scientists considered carbon dioxide an air pollutant, and that these elected officials were intent on limiting its emissions.
The research, expected to be published next week in the journal Ecology Law Quarterly, delves deep into congressional archives to uncover what it calls a “wide-ranging and largely forgotten conversation between leading scientists, high-level administrators at federal agencies, members of Congress” and senior staff under Presidents Lyndon Johnson and Richard Nixon. That conversation detailed what had become the widely accepted science showing that carbon dioxide pollution from fossil fuels was accumulating in the atmosphere and would eventually warm the global climate.
The findings could have important implications in light of a legal doctrine the Supreme Court established when it struck down the Obama administration’s power plant rules, said Naomi Oreskes, a history of science professor at Harvard University and the study’s lead author. That so-called “major questions” doctrine asserted that when courts hear challenges to regulations with broad economic and political implications, they ought to consider lawmakers’ original intent and the broader context in which legislation was passed.
“The Supreme Court has implied that there’s no way that the Clean Air Act could really have been intended to apply to carbon dioxide because Congress just didn’t really know about this issue at that time,” Oreskes said. “We think that our evidence shows that that is false.”
The work began in 2013 after Oreskes arrived at Harvard, she said, when a call from a colleague prompted the question of what Congress knew about climate science in the 1960s as it was developing Clean Air Act legislation. She had already co-authored the book Merchants of Doubt, about the efforts of industry-funded scientists to cast doubt about the risks of tobacco and global warming, and was familiar with the work of scientists studying climate change in the 1950s. “What I didn’t know,” she said, “was how much they had communicated that, particularly to Congress.”
Oreskes hired a researcher to start looking, and what they both found surprised her. The evidence they uncovered includes articles cataloged by the staff of the act’s chief architect, proceedings of scientific conferences attended by members of Congress, and correspondence with constituents and scientific advisers to Johnson and Nixon. The material included documents pertaining not only to environmental champions but also to other prominent members of Congress.
“These were people really at the center of power,” Oreskes said.
When Sen. Edmund Muskie, a Maine Democrat, introduced the Clean Air Act of 1970, he warned his colleagues that unchecked air pollution would continue to “threaten irreversible atmospheric and climatic changes.” The new research shows that his staff had collected reports establishing the science behind his statement. He and other senators had attended a 1966 conference featuring discussion of carbon dioxide as a pollutant. At that conference, Wisconsin Sen. Gaylord Nelson warned about carbon dioxide pollution from fossil fuel combustion, which he said “is believed to have drastic effects on climate.”
The paper also cites a 1969 letter to Sen. Henry “Scoop” Jackson of Washington from a constituent who had watched the poet Allen Ginsberg warning of melting polar ice caps and widespread global flooding on the Merv Griffin Show. The constituent was skeptical of the message, called Ginsberg “one of America’s premier kooks” and sought a correction of the record from the senator: “After all, quite a few million people watch this show, people of widely varying degrees of intelligence, and the possibility of this sort of charge—even from an Allen Ginsberg—being accepted even in part, is dangerous.”
Founded in Dresden in the early 1990s, Germany’s Solarwatt quickly became an emblem of Europe’s renewable energy ambitions and bold plan to build a solar power industry.
Its opening of a new solar panel plant in Dresden in late 2021 was hailed as a small victory in the battle to wrestle market share from the Chinese groups that have historically supplied the bulk of panels used in Europe.
Now, Solarwatt is preparing to halt production at the plant and shift that work to China.
“It is a big pity for our employees, but from an economic point of view we could not do otherwise,” said Peter Bachmann, the company’s chief product officer.
Solarwatt is not alone. A global supply glut has pummelled solar panel prices over the past two years, leaving swaths of Europe’s manufacturers unprofitable, threatening US President Joe Biden’s ambition to turn America into a renewable energy force and even ricocheting back on the Chinese companies that dominate the global market.
“We are in a crisis,” said Johan Lindahl, secretary-general of the European Solar Manufacturing Council, the European industry’s trade body.
Yet as companies in Europe, the US, and China cut jobs, delay projects, and mothball facilities, an abundance of cheap solar panels has delivered one significant upside—consumers and businesses are installing them in ever greater numbers.
Electricity generated from solar power is expected to surpass that of wind and nuclear by 2028, according to the International Energy Agency.
The picture underlines the quandary confronting governments that have pledged to decarbonise their economies, but will find doing so harder unless the historic shift from fossil fuels is both affordable for the public and creates new jobs.
Governments face a “delicate and difficult balancing act,” said Michael Parr, director of trade group Ultra Low Carbon Solar Alliance. They must “maximize renewables deployment and carbon reductions, bolster domestic manufacturing sectors, keep energy prices low, and ensure energy security.”
The industry, which spans wafer, cell, and panel manufacturers, as well as companies that install panels, employed more than 800,000 people in Europe at the end of last year, according to SolarPower Europe. In the US almost 265,000 work in the sector, figures from the Interstate Renewable Energy Council show.
“There is overcapacity in every segment, starting with polysilicon and finishing with the module,” said Yana Hryshko, head of global solar supply chain research at the consultancy Wood Mackenzie.
According to BloombergNEF, panel prices have plunged more than 60 percent since July 2022. The scale of the damage inflicted has sparked calls for Brussels to protect European companies from what the industry says are state-subsidized Chinese products.
Europe’s solar panel manufacturing capacity has collapsed by about half to 3 gigawatts since November as companies have failed, mothballed facilities, or shifted production abroad, the European Solar Manufacturing Council estimates. In rough terms, a gigawatt can potentially supply electricity for 1mn homes.
The hollowing out comes as the EU is banking on solar power playing a major role in the bloc meeting its target of generating 45 percent of its energy from renewable sources by 2030. In the US, the Biden administration has set a target of achieving a 100 percent carbon pollution-free electricity grid by 2035.
Climate change is a global challenge, but executives said the solar industry’s predicament exposed how attempts to address it can quickly fracture along national and regional lines.
“There’s trade policy and then there’s climate policy, and they aren’t in sync,” said Andres Gluski, chief executive of AES, one of the world’s biggest developers of clean energy. “That’s a problem.”
Brussels has so far resisted demands to impose tariffs. It first levied them in 2012 but reversed that in 2018, partly in what proved a successful attempt to quicken the uptake of solar. Chinese imports now account for the lion’s share of Europe’s solar panels.
In May, the European Commission introduced the Net Zero Industry Act, legislation aimed at bolstering the bloc’s clean energy industries by cutting red tape and promoting a regional supply chain.
But Gunter Erfurt, chief executive of Switzerland-based Meyer Burger, the country’s largest solar panel maker, is skeptical it will be enough.
“You need to create a level playing field,” he said. Meyer Burger would benefit if the EU imposed tariffs because it has operations in Germany.
On April 11, a small company called Graphyte began pumping out beige bricks, somewhat the consistency of particle board, from its new plant in Pine Bluff, Arkansas. The bricks don’t look like much, but they come with a lofty goal: to help stop climate change.
Graphyte, a startup backed by billionaire Bill Gates’ Breakthrough Energy Ventures, will bury its bricks deep underground, trapping carbon there. The company bills it as the largest carbon dioxide removal project in the world.
Scientists have long warned of the dire threat posed by global warming. It’s gotten so bad though that the long-sought mitigation, cutting carbon dioxide emissions from every sector of the economy, might not be enough of a fix. To stave off the worst—including large swaths of the Earth exposed to severe heat waves, water scarcity, and crop failures—some experts say there is a deep need to remove previously emitted carbon, too. And that can be done anywhere on Earth—even in places not known for climate-friendly policies, like Arkansas.
Graphyte aims to store carbon that would otherwise be released from plant material as it burns or decomposes at a competitive sub-$100 per metric ton, and it wants to open new operations as soon as possible, single-handedly removing tens of thousands of tons of carbon annually, said Barclay Rogers, the company’s founder and CEO. Nevertheless, that’s nowhere near the amount of carbon that will have to be removed to register as a blip in global carbon emissions. “I’m worried about our scale of deployment,” he said. “I think we need to get serious fast.”
Hundreds of carbon removal startups have popped up over the past few years, but the fledgling industry has made little progress so far. That leads to the inevitable question: Could Graphyte and companies like it actually play a major role in combating climate change? And will a popular business model among these companies, inviting other companies to voluntarily buy “carbon credits” for those buried bricks, actually work?
Whether carbon emissions are cut to begin with, or pulled out of the atmosphere after they’ve already been let loose, climate scientists stress that there is no time to waste. The clock began ticking years ago, with the arrival of unprecedented fires and floods, superstorms, and intense droughts around the world. But carbon removal, as it’s currently envisioned, also poses additional sociological, economic, and ethical questions. Skeptics, for instance, say it could discourage more pressing efforts on cutting carbon emissions, leaving some experts wondering whether it will even work at all.
Still, the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change, the world’s forefront group of climate experts, is counting on carbon removal technology to dramatically scale up. If the industry is to make a difference, experimentation and research and development should be done quickly, within the next few years, said Gregory Nemet, professor of public affairs who studies low-carbon innovation at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. “Then after that is the time to really start going big and scaling up so that it becomes climate-relevant,” he added. “Scale-up is a big challenge.”
Enlarge/ Steve Salem is a 50-year boat captain who lives on a tributary of the St. Johns River. The rising tides in Jacksonville are testing his intuition.
This article originally appeared on Inside Climate News, a nonprofit, independent news organization that covers climate, energy, and the environment. It is republished with permission. Sign up for their newsletter here.
JACKSONVILLE, Fla.—For most of his life, Steve Salem has led an existence closely linked with the rise and fall of the tides.
Salem is a 50-year boat captain who designed and built his 65-foot vessel by hand.
“Me and Noah, we’re related somewhere,” said Salem, 75, whose silver beard evokes Ernest Hemingway.
Salem is familiar with how the sun and moon influence the tides and feels an innate sense for their ebb and flow, although the tides here are beginning to test even his intuition.
He and his wife live in a rust-colored ranch-style house along a tributary of the St. Johns River, Florida’s longest. Before they moved in the house had flooded, in 2017, as Hurricane Irma swirled by. The house flooded again in 2022, when Hurricane Nicole defied his expectations. But Salem believes the house is sturdy and that he can manage the tides, as he always has.
“I’m a water dog to begin with. I’ve always been on the water,” said Salem, who prefers to go by Captain Steve. “I worry about things that I have to do something about. If I can’t do anything about it, then worrying about it is going to do what?”
Across the American South, tides are rising at accelerating rates that are among the most extreme on Earth, constituting a surge that has startled scientists such as Jeff Chanton, professor in the Department of Earth, Ocean and Atmospheric Science at Florida State University.
“It’s pretty shocking,” he said. “You would think it would increase gradually, it would be a gradual thing. But this is like a major shift.”
Worldwide sea levels have climbed since 1900 by some 1.5 millimeters a year, a pace that is unprecedented in at least 3,000 years and generally attributable to melting ice sheets and glaciers and also the expansion of the oceans as their temperatures warm. Since the middle of the 20th century the rate has gained speed, exceeding 3 millimeters a year since 1992.
In the South the pace has quickened further, jumping from about 1.7 millimeters a year at the turn of the 20th century to at least 8.4 millimeters by 2021, according to a 2023 study published in Nature Communications based on tidal gauge records from throughout the region. In Pensacola, a beachy community on the western side of the Florida Panhandle, the rate soared to roughly 11 millimeters a year by the end of 2021.
“I think people just really have no idea what is coming, because we have no way of visualizing that through our own personal experiences, or that of the last 250 years,” said Randall Parkinson, a coastal geologist at Florida International University. “It’s not something where you go, ‘I know what that might look like because I’ve seen that.’ Because we haven’t.
“It’s the same everywhere, from North Carolina all the way down to the Florida Keys and all the way up into Alabama,” he said. “All of these areas are extremely vulnerable.”
The acceleration is poised to amplify impacts such as hurricane storm surges, nuisance flooding and land loss. In recent years the rising tides have coincided with record-breaking hurricane seasons, pushing storm surges higher and farther inland. In 2022 Hurricane Ian, which came ashore in southwest Florida, was the costliest hurricane in state history and third-costliest to date in the United States, after Katrina in 2005 and Harvey in 2017.
“It doesn’t even take a major storm event anymore. You just get these compounding effects,” said Rachel Cleetus, a policy director at the Union for Concerned Scientists, an advocacy group. “All of a sudden you have a much more impactful flooding event, and a lot of the infrastructure, frankly, like the stormwater infrastructure, it’s just not built for this.”
