Turning Up the Burn
Sudden Widespread Catastrophic Warming
Bryan Zepp Jamieson
August 4th 2024
www.zeppscommentaries.online
Back about twenty years ago, I was asked to write a piece on the effects global warming would have on our specific locale in the northern California mountains.
Well, an honest essay would have taken five seconds to write: “I don’t know.” I suggested this to my editor, who was unamused and gave me the Editor Glower. So, OK. Write something that won’t be too embarrassing.
I hit on a simple model. Suppose a uniform rise in temperature of three degrees Fahrenheit? Uniform. Every day exactly three degrees warmer than what the latest 30 year model showed as averages for each date.
Of course it was absurd on the face of it. “Average temperature” in the mountains is at best a polite suggestion, and in some years, a bad joke. Well, anywhere, really, but especially in the mountains where the weather is particularly variable. Microclimates rule. “If you don’t like the weather, move over five feet.” The almanacs list “first frost” and “last frost” but in any given year that can vary by six weeks in either direction—or more. “Playing to the averages” is how casinos make money and their customers don’t.
So I took the most simple-minded approach possible. I simply transposed the averages from a town at slightly less than 1,000 feet lower elevation than ours, and described the lengths of seasons, growing seasons, and the effects on regional vegetation. I even shifted the climate/weather bands south, giving us the weather patterns for Seattle. Why not? We already share volcanoes and a snotty attitude towards Los Angeles. One thing I got (sorta) right: even with more rain, there would be more drought. My editor, who normally was scientifically literate, didn’t understand that theory at all.
It made for a dramatic piece, even if it had all the scientific validity of phrenology.
But now it’s 2024, and we’ve just had the hottest month in recorded history. Not just here, but world-wide. Locally, it’s been pretty dramatic. At the time I wrote that piece, the hottest day I had recorded at the house was 98. We broke 100 for the first time in 2012, hit it five times last year, and thirteen times (so far) this year, including our hottest day to date—109. Nights are warmer, as well. Mornings it didn’t get below 60 used to be very rare, happening maybe once every other year. This year we’ve had ten nights where it stayed that warm, including a new record—a low of 69. Perhaps in a few years, I (or somebody) will be musing about how lows above 70 used to be unheard-of.
At least now a lot of local residents understand the concept of transpiration and evaporative rates. We’ve just had two very wet water years, running 150% of normal between them for a total of 150” inches over those two years. The first winter we saw vast amounts of snow—sixteen feet where I live. The reservoirs were all full this spring, the conifers lush and green. A lot of people relaxed a bit, reasoning this would be a mild fire season. People who did know better engaged in frantic brush clearance around the local towns. We have eighteen towns in this county, and ten of them have had major wildfire damage over the past ten years, some of them more than once.
And sure enough, by July 22nd, we were officially listed as being in moderate drought. And we’ve been getting red flag warnings and fire weather advisories. The Park Fire exploded out of Chico’s Bidwell Park, and in just six days became the third biggest fire in California history, racing over the grass, brush and chaparral of the Sierra foothills.
Not only has it been insanely hot, but unusually dry—we haven’t had any measurable rain here since April 25th. So we’re in drought. Imagine if one or both winters had been drier than usual.
Remember that sixteen feet of snow I mentioned? It isn’t a record for the town: we got twenty-two feet in the winter of ‘51-52, nearly all of it in February in two titanic storms. But in recent decades we had seen our annual average drop from fourteen feet in the thirties to just eight feet in the 2010s. Partly that was from the creation of Shasta Lake, which warmed our winters (by way of example, 2022-23 was the coldest winter the town had experienced in thirty years. But in the town’s 140 year history, it was only the 77th coldest winter!) and partly because of prolonged and severe droughts.
That sixteen feet was also a result of global warming. While temperatures between storms were persistently cold, temperatures during the storms were a couple of degrees above normal. And if it was usually 28 degrees when snowing and was now 30, that may not sound like much, but the warmer systems can hold a LOT more water—or in this case, snow. We got very heavy wet snow, both in terms of amount and in terms of water equivalent—the snow was wetter and heavier than normal, and did a fair bit of damage.
So we’re seeing some of the more obvious complications of global warming now, and people are noticing. There’s many more to come, and the ones that worry me are the ones we can’t see coming. But it’s safe to say we won’t like it when they do arrive.
As mentioned, the hot July was world wide. That was already the case before the numbers came in from Antarctica.
Across the entire southern polar ice cap, an area roughly the size of the lower 48, temperatures for the month were a staggering 10 degrees Celsius—or 18 degrees Fahrenheit—above normal. Nobody saw that coming.
To the hundreds of people living there, it probably wasn’t noticeable except on the thermometer readings. After all, it’s deepest darkest winter in July, and there isn’t a whole lot of discernible difference between minus fifty eight and minus forty. Fortunately, this weirding heat wave didn’t reach the coasts of the continent, where temperatures are milder and glaciers and sea ice are already melting at a frightening rate.
A heat increase on that scale was utterly inconceivable. On any other continent, such a thing would cause the deaths of millions and perhaps billions of people. Widespread famine, incredible fire storms, and complete destruction of entire ecosystems would ensue.
So now we have to consider this most terrifying of possibilities: sudden widespread catastrophic warming. I would have considered what happened in Antarctica impossible, along with pretty much all climate scientists. But now that it has happened, what if it happened someplace else in the world?
Writing a simple-minded piece on what effects it would have locally would be pretty easy: Just say, “Death Valley, with a bit of Venus mixed in. And we’re all dead.”
