The New Yorker
- Bill McKibben
A summer that really scared scientists.
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Illustration by Nicholas Konrad / The New Yorker
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Author
Bill McKibben
is a founder of the grassroots climate campaign 350.org and a
contributing writer to The New Yorker. He writes
The Climate Crisis, The New Yorker’s newsletter on the environment.
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This year, a lot of the things we’ve come to expect with the climate crisis
happened: there were heavy rains (New York City beat its rainfall record twice
in eleven days); there was a
big global conference
(this one in Glasgow) with modest results; the price of renewable energy fell
some more; and a record amount of solar power and wind power was produced, but
not at a pace fast enough to catch up with climate change.
Raging
wildfires
produced plumes of smoke that spread around the world; President Joe Biden tried
to free up a lot of money for climate work and, so far, Senator Joe Manchin has
prevented
him from doing so.
But some unexpected things happened, too—such as December tornadoes and
windstorms, which have devastated parts of the country, and which are
increasingly linked to
warming.
The most unexpected event by far, though—the thing that was truly
off the charts—came in June. Toward the end of the month, torrential rains
across China created a lot of atmospheric moisture, which the jet stream sucked
out over the Pacific.
Meanwhile, the remnants of a heat wave in the American Southwest moved north.
The two weather events met over the Pacific Northwest and western Canada,
forming a giant dome of high pressure that diverted moisture to both the north
and the south. Gradually, over a period of several days, the core of the
high-pressure area freed itself of clouds, allowing the sun’s rays to blast down
during the days immediately after the solstice.
The result was the most remarkable
heat wave
in recorded history. On Sunday, June 27th, Canada broke its all-time heat
record, of a hundred and thirteen degrees Fahrenheit, when the temperature
reached nearly a hundred and sixteen degrees in Lytton, a community of around
two hundred and fifty residents on the Fraser River, in southern British
Columbia.
The next day, that record was broken, again in Lytton,
when the temperature hit a hundred and eighteen degrees. On Tuesday, it was
smashed again, when the temperature in the town soared to a hundred and
twenty-one degrees. On Wednesday, Lytton, now parched dry, burned to the ground
in a wildfire; only a few buildings were left standing.
Breaking a long-standing record is hard (Canada’s old high-temperature record
dated to 1937); surpassing it by eight degrees is, in theory, statistically
impossible. It was hotter in Canada that day than on any day ever recorded in
Florida, or in Europe, or in South America.
“There has never been a
national heat record in a country with an extensive period of record and a
multitude of observation sites that was beaten by 7°F to 8°F,” the weather
historian Christopher C. Burt
said.
Records of almost equally incredible magnitude came in from across the region.
Quillayute, Washington, broke its all-time temperature high by eleven degrees,
at a hundred and ten degrees Fahrenheit, even though the town is just three
miles from the Pacific. It was over a hundred and three at Fort Smith, in the
Northwest Territories, beating an eighty-year-old record.
According to
Maximiliano Herrera, a weather historian who maintains a Web site devoted to
unprecedented temperatures, “the number of all times records beaten by more than
5C in this heat wave is greater than all cases worldwide together” in the past
eighty-five years.
Jeff Masters and Bob Henson, meteorologists who
blog for a Yale climate Web site, wrote, “Never in the century-plus history of
world weather observation have so many all-time heat records fallen by such a
large margin.”
The reason, of course, is the
climate crisis: within days, researchers had demonstrated—with the modelling techniques of
the new attribution science—that global warming had made such a heat wave a
hundred and fifty times more likely.
Essentially, this couldn’t have
happened on the Earth we used to know.
James Hansen, the planet’s most important climatologist, put it this way when I talked to
him last month: “We’ve been expecting extreme events. But what happened in
Canada was unusually extreme.”
The reason all this is so frightening is that it suggests fundamental parts of
the way that the planet works have begun to shift, allowing for physical
phenomena we’ve never seen before. It suggests, that is, that the predictions
provided by global-climate models—which are frightening enough—may be too
optimistic.
The impossible heat in that week seems to be connected with the increasingly
unstable operation of the jet stream, which in turn seems to be connected with
the
rapid melt
of the Arctic Ocean—as the temperature difference between the equator and the
pole lessens, the jet stream seems to get stuck in odd positions.
Meanwhile, a flood of freshwater from that same melting Arctic seems
also to be disrupting the Gulf Stream.
A new study, which was conducted by European scientists and released a few
months before the heat dome appeared, strengthened the theory that the immense
ocean current—which is a hundred times the flow of the Amazon, and which, like
the jet stream, distributes heat poleward—had slowed by roughly fifteen per cent
since 1950. We’re breaking really big things.
Scientists have done a good job of calculating how much the world will warm as
we increase the amounts of carbon dioxide and methane in the atmosphere. They’re
pretty confident that, having raised the temperature more than a degree Celsius
already, we’re on our way to a planet that will be, on average, three degrees
warmer.
That’s if we keep on our current track; the scientists are
hopeful that, if we take actions more dramatic than those promised at Glasgow,
we might hold that average increase
below two degrees.
But researchers are not as confident—especially since the June heat wave—that we
really understand how much damage those global averages represent. Scientists
are inherently conservative in their predictions.
The world is
clearly more fragile than the models have led us to believe. And that’s what was
terrifying about 2021.
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