When a wildfire tore through drought-stricken towns near Boulder, Colo., late last year, it reminded Americans that fire risk is changing. It didn’t matter that it was winter. It didn’t matter that many of the more than 1,000 homes and other structures lost sat in suburban subdivisions, not forested enclaves. The old rules no longer applied.
Snowfall in western Colorado elevated some snowpack levels to above-average conditions but that snowy weather must continue for it to recharge the parched soil, diminishing streams and low reservoir levels, climate data shows.
While the Western Slope is in much better shape than it was in early December, Becky Bolinger, a climatologist with Colorado State University, said the eastern portion of the state hasn’t been so fortunate. There, wildfire risk persists and crops and livestock could suffer from the lack of moisture, she said.
To visualize the hellishness of the climate crisis in 2021, look no further than General Sherman, the world’s largest tree, wrapped in fire-resistant foil to protect the legendary giant sequoia from flames burning a path of destruction through the Sierra Nevada.
California’s so-called Ancient Ones evolved with fire. It’s crucial to their reproductive cycle. But they aren’t prepared for blazes like those of the last year, which are burning hotter and more intensely as Earth warms, mostly because of the combustion of fossil fuels. Last year, flames killed roughly 10% of the world’s giant sequoias.
Drought. Wildfires. And, for the country as a whole, temperatures worse than the Dust Bowl.
In a further bit of evidence of the reality of climate change, California has just experienced its hottest summer on record, according to data released this week by the federal government.
The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration said the average temperature in California reached 77.3 degrees from June to August. That topped the previous record of 76.5 degrees in summer 2017.
California lawmakers on Thursday voted to spend more than $2 billion to prevent wildfires and address a severe drought, closing the book — for now — on a $262.5 billion operating budget that began the year with a record deficit because of the pandemic and ended with a record surplus in spite of it.
California and several other Western states endured the hottest summer on record, according to federal data released Thursday, underscoring the ways rapid climate change is unleashing unprecedented wildfires, deadly heat waves and drought conditions. In addition to California, officials said Idaho, Nevada, Oregon and Utah also set all-time heat records for the meteorological summer, spanning June through August.
The explorer John Wesley Powell once poked fun at the professional rainmakers of his time, writing, “Years of drought and famine come and years of flood and famine come, and the climate is not changed with dance, libation or prayer.”
As we now know, humans can change the climate — one reason the current drought is so intense, sparking what could be a record wildfire season and depleting mighty reservoirs such as Mead and Oroville.
California’s drought and wildfire conditions are accelerating at unprecedented rates, according to state officials, and residents should brace for a summer of widespread burning and mandatory water conservation measures in some regions.
As reservoir levels across the state continue to drop, and as parched vegetation poses an increasing threat of wildfire, officials in Sacramento and Southern California offered a bleak assessment of the state’s drying climate, saying it has already begun to affect people, plants and animals.
San Diego County is in the midst of the sixth driest rainy season on record, conditions that could lead to rare and sizable spring wildfires if things stay dry, the National Weather Service said on Tuesday.
San Diego International Airport has recorded only 4.36 inches of rain since the official water year began on Oct. 1. That’s more than 4 inches below normal. The airport averages 10.33 inches of rain from Oct. 1 to Sept. 30.
Three wildfires have crept close to Nathan Rakov’s 30-acre chicken ranch in rural Alpine since he moved there in 2006. If his barn, coops and storage rooms burned down, he’d struggle to rebuild because he hasn’t found a complete and affordable insurance policy.
