Kit Stolz

Why are we having Santa Ana conditions in May?

Just got another Santa Ana winds warning via phone app. Winds expected through Monday. The umpteenth such warning in the last few weeks. National meteorologist Dr. Jeff Masters laid out the harsh weather experienced in Southern California this week already:

Record May heat sent temperatures soaring above 100° in much of Southern California on Wednesday, and fierce Santa Ana winds fanned fires that scorched at least 9,000 acres in San Diego County, forcing thousands to evacuate. For the second consecutive day, the Los Angeles Airport set a record for the hottest May temperature since record keeping began in 1944. Wednesday's 96° beat the record set on Tuesday of 93°. Other all-time May record heat was recorded at Camarillo (102°) and Oxnard (102°) on Wednesday. In Downtown Los Angeles, the mercury hit 99° on Wednesday, falling short of the all-time May record is 103° set on May 25, 1896. More record heat is forecast on Thursday, and hot offshore Santa Ana winds will bring extreme fire danger.

It's natural to suspect that clmate change might lead to an increase in hot dry Santa Ana winds, but interestingly the leading study on the question — from Alex Hall et al at the clmate lab at UCLA — found that during the traditional season for these winds they had actually decreased in recent decades.

But that's from October to March. The Santa Ana winds experienced this week came in May.

That's all but unheard of. That's a fact.

"I've lived here my entire life, but I've never seen these Santa Ana winds — these devil winds — in May," said Dianne Jacob, chairwoman of the Board of Supervisors [of San Diego County]. "We're now in a situation where there is a year-round risk of fire in San Diego County."

The science (from a study on Santa Ana forecasting) shows the accuracy of her observation. Almost no incidence of Santa Anas in May

Santaanaincidence

Further, the study also shows how rare it is for a Santa Ana condition to last for more than a day or two.

Again, almost no examples of Santa Ana conditions lasting a week. We're in uncharted territory here, folks. Science has some interesting theories, but at this time we don't know why this is happening.

As a UC Berkeley researcher told National Geographic recently:

"What we're seeing right now is just a real anomaly," said Norman Miller, an expert in regional climate and hydrology at the University of California, Berkeley. "Whether it's part of natural variability or climate change, we need to have a longer record of occurrences so we can construct a trend and make sense out of it."

Meanwhile the LA Times (the on-line edition) came up with a great headline:

Ash is the new "May Grey" in Southern California

And pics, too:

From the Tomahawk Fire near Fallbrook, east of San Diego. Still burning.

Intense Santa Ana winds to continue Thursday

The Science Behind the Amazing, Terrifying Firenadoes in California

Ash is the new 'May Gray' in Southern California

Santa Ana winds, Ventura County, and fire: 2013

The blindness of GOP climate denial: USA Today

As those radicals at USA Today put it:

The National Climate Assessment, released this week, adds to a mounting and overwhelming body of evidence that the effects of rising temperatures are here and now — and that even higher sea levels, more extreme weather and water shortages are in our future if nothing is done.

Addressing the threat won't be easy, or popular. But denying that a problem even exists — which is common among the most vocal of Republicans — risks branding the party as one that is anti-science and refuses to participate in constructive governance.

Or as Tom Toles drew it (referencing two studies on the Antarctic released Monday)

These politicians risk their party's future. We fear the loss of the future itself.

What we can do about climate change: the Monarch

A funny thing about climate change: contrary to popular opinion, individuals can make a difference, here and there, for other people and other species.

Example? The Monarch Butterly. Ask the experts at Monarch Watch, the leading conservation group devoted to this iconic species:

In California, Monarchs aggregate in more than 25 roosting sites along the California coast each winter. In the coastal forests, Monarchs find forests with all the right characteristics for overwintering. Many people, however, would also like to live along the California coast, which raises property values and increases the pressure to build, remove trees, and otherwise develop the land. With this in mind, conservationists created the Monarch Project in 1984. The Monarch Project works to protect California overwintering sites, most often through conservation easements of land. In a conservation easement, landowners set aside a portion of their land permanently as protected Monarch habitat. Often, conservation easements come about due to the collaborative efforts of the Monarch Project, government officials, land trusts, parks, public agencies, scientists, developers, and conservationists. In 1988, Californians gave this process a boost when they passed a bond for $2 million to buy Monarch sites. The Monarch Project has also worked to include information about Monarch sites in zoning laws and land-use plans, especially in areas such as Pacific Grove and Santa Cruz where large aggregations gather each year. Although there has been some progress towards protecting Monarch overwintering sites in California, high property values and the resulting pressure to develop land along the coast continue to threaten Monarch habitat.

In other words, habitat — and the species of milkweed they depend on — matters as much or more than climate. Plant milkweed, experienced SoCal gardeners say, and the Monarchs will show up to feed on it.

Frankly, I didn't believe it. But within days of planting — whatdya know.

Jim Hansen, an icon himself as a climate scientist, has been tracking the fate of the Monarch, which on the East Coast is in a frightening decline. He speaks about this often, mostly recently at MIT, as notes from a student show:

As long-time gardeners know, climate zones have been consistently shifting Northwards. Previously, this shift is now happening at the rate of a few kilometer per year, making it very difficult for many species to react. Hansen used the Monarch butterfly as his example of species extinction pressure, talking about his personal experience over the years with Monarchs on his small PA farmstead. The pressures on Monarch butterflies are not only climate but the elimination of one of their primary food sources, milkweed, although climate change is certainly one of the reasons for the diminishment of their habitat, both here in the US and Canada as well as Mexico.

But one can create habitat for these wonderful creatures, for almost nothing, and yes — magically, they will appear. Or such has been my experience.

What moved Obama to act on climate change: the disappearance of the CA snowpack

According to a great story in the Washington Post by veteran environmental reporter Juliet Eilperin, this is the image that shocked Obama in February, and moved him to act to slow climate change, in spite of opposition in Congress.

Missing in action: the California snowpack, on which tens of millions of us depend.

Eilperin writes:

The satellite images viewed by President Obama before a meeting with eight Western governors were stark, showing how snowpack in California’s mountains had shrunk by 86 percent in a single year.

“It was a ‘Houston, we have a problem’ moment,” recalled White House counselor John D. Podesta, one of two aides who briefed the president that February day. Obama mentioned the images several times as he warned the governors that political leaders had no choice but to cope with global warming’s impact.

Hence today's Presidential focus on the release of the third National Assessment (of climate change) an 800-page report, broken down by regions, which I will try to unpack, at least in part, for California in days and weeks to come.

Feel strangely nostalgic about it, as the first reporting I did on climate change came around the first assessment, released for California eleven years ago. Was a lot less accessible than the latest version, which has some powerful graphs, well-introduced.

Here's an example: a chart of frost-free days, indicative of heat stress in our region.

Note: This is not a projection of future impacts. Speaking of impacts, off tomorrow to a California water conference: Will be interesting to hear the talk about the impacts of climate change from managers and experts — if they don't already take it for granted.

A letter home (on global warming): Neil Young

Neil Young just let slip news of a record relase, in a paradoxical, almost confusing way, embedding the release in a voice and a raw 1947 technology that has to be heard to be believed (and appreciated).

It's called A Letter Home, a reference to the remarks below. It's richly appealing and enjoyable, about as good as folk music gets, and Young's best recording in years, though the mid-century technology has a lot of flaws, and crazily he doesn't include any of his own songs in the selection. (He did in performance, as he's been touring across two nations and a continent these past months in similarly naked style — solo.)

The record's not available on CD, at least not yet, though it is available on vinyl, and iTunes, and (streaming) via the Rare-ish Music channel on YouTube.

The streaming in this case turns out to be a richly ironic experience, with no song titles, no way of knowing how long a song will run, and a lo-fi sound worthy of a Woody Guthrie in his prime. It sounds as if it was recorded in a phone booth — which it was — but it's a wondrously warm, rich sound.

Before beginning to sing and play, Young speaks right to us. Let me transcribe such, to make these remarks searchable for the curious:

Hey Mom. It's me again…my friend Jack [White] has this box, that I can talk to you from. Its still going in here, I can still do this. Listen, Jack and I, well we've discovered a lot of old songs, we've rediscovered the songs I used to sing, you know, at Grosvenor, from the records I used to play?

So I'm going to send some of these to ya:

And he goes on to sing and play some wonderful songs that we all know, such as Early Morning Rain, and a few wonderful songs that almost none of us (myself included) know, and it's a great great experience, but before he begins, he says (in part):

You know how we used to watch the weather all the time? On the TV? And you know how we used to know what was happening up there in Winnipeg? Well I met this this guy named Al and he's the weatherman for the whole planet, if you can imagine that. And he's sometimes not popular. And this is very strange but people can turn on the weatherman. When the weather is going to be bad, they actually turn on the weather man, and they put him down. Things haven't been that great lately, I mean, most of the time, day to day, it's fine? Most of the time the weather is good, but now and again all hell breaks loose, all across the planet? It's like nothing I've ever seen before, and it seems to be happening everywhere. Here and there and everywhere, all over the planet. So even though Al's forecasts are good, he gets in trouble. So I thought I'd tell you about that, and I miss you Mom. I'll be there eventually but not for a while…

His first song is Phil Ochs' "Changes"…a song that he says inspired his own "Harvest."

Neil Young Releases New Covers Album A Letter Home

Watch Neil Young Cover 'Needle of Death' at Third Man Records

Neil Young Collaborates with Jack White on Upcoming Album, 'A Letter Home'

Neil Young's Long Fight to Restore the Quality of Music

Warner Springs break-down: The post-PCT adventure

Sometimes the real adventures on the trail come before or after the trail, as was the case for me after the Pioneer Mail to Warner Springs section of the Pacific Crest Trail I walked gosh, just two weeks ago.

I don't have as many pictures for this section as I did for the last one, but I think it'll be worth it, so please come along and take a look see.

I'll begin with where I left off, at Warner Springs, a lovely end-point for the first section of the trail, about 110 miles north of the Mexican border.

Here's what the trail looks like just 1/4 of a mile from the PCT Stop N' Shop at the Warner Springs Community Resource Center (which is open for a month during the thru-hikers season).

On Saturday eve, I had a pleasant post-trail dinner of bread and salami, dried fruit and a little left-over rum. Repacked, put everything in my little truck, turned the key and — nada. No response. Maybe because I left the lights on for three and a half days.

Oy. How stupid can I be. Called the local trail angel, Monty, from a number in camp had by a fellow hiker, but though willing to help he was 45 minutes away and at dinner and I didn't want to inconvenience him. Talked to the local Calfire folks at the station across the street.

They were totally willing to help. A tall rangy fellow drove the enormous CalFire truck across the street, helped me push my little truck out, hooked up the battery to charge it — but though it would turn over, it would not start. Even when the captain came over and helped iwth a push start — no joy.

Called AAA. which turned out to be RBS Towing, and a big guy named Dave, who after arriving hooked up his battery charger and saw that the battery was holding a charge, and concluded after a few attempts and some inspection of a suspicious looking fuse that I had "other issues."

He pulled my little black pickup up the ramp on to his enormous rig and towed me to Julian, a little over twenty miles, stopping at an impromptu yard where he scavenged a fuse out of a wrecked Chevy in the dark and replaced the seemingly burned out one in my truck — but it made no difference.

Took the truck to town and dropped it off at the local service shop, not expected to open for business before Monday. He looked for a place to drop me off. No room at the Lodge, at a B and B, and the exclusive resort at the top of the hill, though occupied, appeared to be locked.

"Well, what do you want to do?" he said.

"Do you have a cemetary in town?'

"Yeah," he said. "What do you want to do — sleep with a bunch of dead people?"

"Yeah, I could camp out there," I said. "Nobody'd bother me."

He sat at an intersection and thought about it. The roads were empty, he could go any which way he chose.

"Ah hell," he said. "I got a couch."

So he took me back out of town and up a ridge to his trailer in the woods, where he lived with his three-legged dog named Felony.

"Felony went chasing after a truck," he said. "And she caught it."

Dave adopted the dog while living in Buttonwillow a couple of years back. Here's a pic of her (I think her) from the next morning.

Nice dog. Dave watched half of a crazy movie, had a drink — kindly didn't smoke around me, and didn't even want to accept a donation I gave him — and went to bed.

Trying to sleep I recalled a fellow I met on the trail, by the name of Rock Ocean (because he likes to both hike and surf, he explained with a smile.)

He offered help to hikers needing rides on a donation basis. I figured if I had get a ride back to Ojai in time for an important meeting late Sunday I could do it.

Dave gave me a ride into town, and a smile before I got out of his cab.

I called Rock Ocean from Julian the next morning, after getting dropped off, and reached him on the trail, up in the San Felipe Hills near the Scissors crossing of Hwy 78 and 79, where i had been a day or so before. I tried to explain my plight. When he found out I was in Julian, not too far away from the bottom of the trail, he perked up.

"I'm pretty good with cars," he said.

Dave figured it was probably a fuse, so when Rock Ocean showed up and looked at the fuses, and found three blown fuses, including the 80-amp main fuse, the fix appeared obvious. Fortunately the local convenience store/gas station did have the necessary ones, and after an hour of working on a twenty-two-year-old fuse box, Rock Ocean wrestled the new fuses into place.

This picture doesn't do his smile justice, but it gives an idea of his determination.

I turned the key and purr — engine turned over as if it had been on a minute before. I thanked Rock Ocean effusively, gave him a donation, promised him a place to stay if he ever wanted to come to Ventura, and headed for the open road…

And an Easter Sunday traffic jam. Couldn't help it though: I still felt good.

The freedom in walking lies in being no one: Philosopher

A delightfully light (but thoughtful) interview focuses on a new book — A Philosophy of Walking — written by a French professor who takes the subject so seriously he's nervous about answering questions from a reporter.

From The Guardian:

It is a sunny spring Sunday and – joy! – I am off to Paris to go for a walk. Not any old walk, but a walk with a man who really knows about walking: Frédéric Gros, a professor of walking. A philosopher of walking.

Strictly speaking, he's actually a professor of philosophy who writes about walking, but this is nitpicking. What do I care? I love walking. Nothing gives me greater pleasure than walking uphill, for hours, in order to sleep under some flimsy piece of nylon fabric and then do it all again the next day.

[edit]

Gros's book, a surprise bestseller in France, talks of walking as a form of "life scoured bare"; as a way of "experiencing the real". Its pages are filled with calm reflections on the joys of moving slowly. He just doesn't sound as if he should be the stressy type.

Don't be stressed, I tell him. I loved the book. It's an examination of the philosophy of various thinkers for whom walking was central to their work – Nietzsche, Rimbaud, Kant, Rousseau, Thoreau (they're all men; it's unclear if women don't walk or don't think) – and Gros's own thoughts on the subject. It's a passionate affirmation of the simple life, and joy in simple things. And it's beautifully written: clear, simple, precise; the opposite of most academic writing.

But, when I say this to Gros, he waves his hand. "I think it is probably the translation. I don't think it was so well written in French." And he takes a nervous swig of his rosé. are you nervous, I ask. You must have done interviews before. "They were in French," he says. "And also… Um… I'm not so sure I am interesting."

Another must read for yours truly: Here's the writer/walker:

And a thought from the author:

By walking, you escape from the very idea of identity, the temptation to be someone, to have a name and a history … The freedom in walking lies in not being anyone; for the walking body has no history, it is just an eddy in the stream of immemorial life.

Maybe this is why I like it so much — gives me a chance to escape from myself. To simply live.

On love and global warming: True Detective

The HBO show True Detective included some of the most compelling filmed drama seen here in many a moon. But as much as most critics liked the show, what everyone liked was the credit sequence. Created by an Australian studio called Antibody, the creators told Art of the Pitch what they envisioned:

We boarded out the sequence with full photographs very early on. The production was inspired by the work of photographer Richard Misrach. We started with that and also folded in other evocative and strangely beautiful shots of pollution, prostitution, and wildlife across the Gulf Coast.

They reference an influential Misrach show called Cancer Alley, about the heavily industrialized Louisana coast, which features this spooky shot of an an old Dow Chemical plant, clearly a touchstone to the designers of the haunting credit sequence:

The images deeply impressed this environmental-type reporter, but the former script reader in me was impressed by the dialogue, which turned philosophical readily, but never lost the heightening power of drama.

Here from The Locked Room episode is an exchange that illustrates the strange power of college- professor-turned-writer Nic Pizzolatto's exploration of pollution.

One police detective, played by Woody Harrelson, Marty, a man struggling with family life, thinks out loud to his partner, the classic obsessive loner, played by Matthew McConaughey, who has much different concerns on this mind:

"Hey — think a man can love two women at once? I mean — be in love with them?"

"I don't think that man can love — least not the way you mean. Inadequacies and reality always set in. This pipeline is covering up this coast like a jigsaw –this place is going to be underwater in thirty years.

It's even better with the haunting music, courtesy of T-Bone Burnett and The Handsome Family:

HBO's True Detective – Main Title Sequence from Patrick Clair on Vimeo.

Between every two tall cacti is a door to a new way of life

On the PCT, in the Anza-Borrego desert, seeing two ocotillo beside the trail like gate posts reminded me of a famous quote of John Muir's. (Okay, I'm a nerd, I admit it.)

The quote, from a note Muir made in a margin, goes something like this:

Between every two pine trees is a door leading to a new way of life.

Could the same be said of two ocotillo on the PCT?

Hope so.

PCT section A: Pioneer Mail to Warner Springs

Last week I completed the second half of the first section of the Pacific Crest Trail, through the Anza-Borrego Desert, which turned out to be a good little adventure. Pics and comments below for anyone who might wonder — what's it like to walk the PCT in SoCal just 50-100 miles north of the border?

Let me start with a moment of mild drama…ran into this fellow hanging out in the trail:

Fortunately he was very mellow, and hardly seemed to notice as I skirted him and the trail to pass, (after trying to move him on with a couple of chucked rocks).

After the picnic area known as Pioneer Mail, where (for logistical reasons) I had to leave the trail last year, and where I resumed this past week, the trail climbs a low ridge, then begins a long gentle descent towards the Anza-Borrego Desert. A walker begins to see a few cacti amidst the chaparral.

After about fifteen or more miles of dryness, water can be found at what is known as Rodriguez Spur. Lots of hikers gathered there this past year, clustering within a few feet of the spring (captured in a concrete box). I camped a 100 feet down the way, behind a sheltering tree. Not a spectacular place, but the intersection of a jeep road and the cattle fence made for an interesting night pic.

My second day on the trail led me gently down, down, down towards the desert floor, with some impressive views and nice flowers (April is the season for desert flowers).

The desert isn't my fave ecotone, but this was an easy trail to like.

After an hour or two I reached the desert floor, and boy did it fit the profile.

The trail crosses two highways in short order, 78 and 79, and beneath a bridge I found a half-dozen hikers hanging out in the shade, enjoying some grapes brought by Crash Test, who was resting a pinched nerve in her shoulder. Had a nice chat with a helpful fella known as Rock Ocean (more later on this trail saint, er, angel).

No shortage of water at this cache — wish I had known. Wouldn't have schlepped 7 liters.

After crossing the highways, the trail heads up into the San Felipe Hills, the most desert-y and spectacular section of this sixty miles or so.

Ran into some folks on horseback who told me that in a normal (non-drought) year, every step of this way at this time of year would be wildflowers. Plausible. Thought this was about cutest little barrel cacti I've ever seen.

Amazingly, thunder was heard, rain came down — and lightning! But after camping hastily, of course the clouds dissipated, which made for some soft air and sweet views:

To make it to Warner Springs, the end of the section, and home with a day to recoup meant a 24-mile schlep, but off I set. At the 90-mile mark I encountered this sign — more aqua I didn't need to carry:

Ran into a group of folks supplying cases and cases of water for the official "kick-off" from Morena Lake on the 24th. They said they were laying in enough water for 500 hikers. Here's Jim Hawkins, a geologist at Scripps, doing his part. I thanked him a bunch.

Trail wasn't the prettiest, but the views — wow.

Leaving the San Felipe Hills behind, the trail turned north, and the landscape softened.

Delighted to see this in the trail:

And a gentler kind of floral beauty, w/o thorns:

Starting to feel pretty good in the grasslands before Warner Springs.

Maybe there were pioneers coming through here:

Here's Saunter, a through hiker from a few years back, heading south towards the kick-off at Morena Lake in about a week.

And here's humble but charming Warner Springs, where hikers have been congregating and even camping out in the parking lot, much to the surprise of the local Calfire crew.