STAGE ONE [and] EAT THAT VIEW!

It seems like a summiting of North America's highest point, Denali, 20,320 feet (6195 m) will be in the works for your lead author, sometime in the next few years. Our good friend Erik has been drifting toward mountaineering lately, and we here at A.P.R. are getting caught up in his enthusiasm and are already in the planning stages for a climb. I don't know if any canids have made the ascent, but I know your intrepid assistant editor Mattie would love to join us, and if it is allowed, she'll be there.

The first stage for such an undertaking is safe glacier travel, part of which entails being able to haul oneself or another member of a climbing party to safety, in the event of a crevasse fall.

Although we've undertaken some limited glacier excursions in the past, there's no substitute for expert instruction to keep mountain/glacier travel as safe as possible. To this end, Erik learned about the Alaska Mountaineering School, and the courses they offer, a few months ago (http://www.climbalaska.org/), and we signed up for the April 11/12 Glacier Travel and Crevasse Rescue course, offered on the Matanuska glacier, 80 miles east of Anchorage, in the Chugach Range. Based in the groovy climbing/tourist mecca of Talkeetna, AMS has been around for over 30 years, and is a top-notch operation, providing all manner of mountaineering courses and guided expeditions.

Erik and I rented a cabin fri. at Majestic Mountain Lodge, a beautiful resort 15 miles east of the glacier, with ski trails around the valley, surrounded by sharp, icy peaks. I went for a nice skate ski, and Eric a run, that evening. Saturday morning, we showed up at 0800 for our course, at the glacier parking area. This is what the AMS web-site has to say about this course:(http://climbalaska.org/wshop-glacier.html)

"The first morning is spent teaching basic knots, wearing a harness, using crampons, self-arrest position, placing ice screws, and building anchors. After a lunch, we practice rope coiling, belaying, and stacking for glacier travel. Students break into rope teams and practice traveling and route finding skills. Next we move into simulated crevasse fall scenarios from simple assistance to raising systems, all on flat terrain.

The morning of the second day is spent at a cliff lowering "victims" over the edge so they can practice fixed-line ascension while the rescuers set up hauling systems. The afternoon is spent roping up for glacier travel in 2, 3, and 4 person teams and incorporating extras such as sleds. The exact itinerary will depend on conditions and instructor preference."

The Matanuska glacier is one of the few in Alaska that is not in fast recession. Because it has a very high source region, over 12,000 feet, unlike many of the others in the state. It has retreated back about a half-mile in the past 30 years, and thinned at the edge somewhat, but hasn't retreated nearly as much as many of the lower-elevation source glaciers, like the Mendenhall near Juneau, or Portage, east of Girdwood. Here is a summer picture I took of it in August, 2006.

There was still plenty of snow around this past sat., when we arrived just before 0800. It was plenty chilly as well, about 18 deg. with a stiff breeze. We stayed quite cool the first two hours as we met our instructors, the other students, and then had some basic glaciology. Knot tying began by 0900, and doing that for over an hour with gloves off, made for some cold hands. I had learned many of these knots years ago when I was a firefighter/medic at Chena Goldstream Fire-Rescue in my Chena Ridge neighborhood, but had forgotten them in the years since. The prussik, figure 8 on a bight, figure 8 follow-through, double fishermans, and munter, were among the ones we practiced that morning. The prussik is especially valuable, it allows you to attach a short section of rope attached to your body, to the main climbing rope. When you put a load on it, it tightens up and prevents movement. But if it is loosened, you can slide it up and down the main rope. So it is used for ascending and descending on the main rope, in case you fall into a crevasse.

After our knot-tying, we headed in toward the glacier. A short way in, a picnic table marks the point where untrained/ungeared people are urged not to continue. There we put on our crampons, helmets, and ice axes, and walked in just about a half-mile further over the glacier to a small frozen lake. On the way in, our instructors gave us basic crampon instruction, how to step efficiently without tearing up our pants, and self-arrest procedure. This is if you start sliding or falling down a slope or into a crevasse. You must fall/slide onto your shoulder, and dig the ice axe in to the ice, and hopefully come to a stop.

We spent the rest of the first day at this area, learning about anchoring procedures, and then how to rope up in teams of three or four, for glacier travel. The jumbled forms of seracs behind us provided for interesting scenery. Seracs are large chunks of ice that fall off the edge of the glacier as it moves. Great danger exists near these, but we stayed well back. Many lives have been lost on glaciers world-wide, in the icefall areas on their terminus, from seracs falling.

We had three instructors, Nick, a 25-30 yr. old student at AK Pacific Univ. in Anchorage, who has been guiding/instructing for 2 years, Melis, a really sweet 30 yr. old or so woman from Talkeetna, who has over 10 years experience (with many Denali summits), and Greg, about my age, who lives in McCarthy and has many years of guiding/instructing experience with AMS and in the Wrangell mountains.

Here Nick is showing us how to make a three-point anchor in the ice. First you make two V-threads, holes bored in the ice with an ice screw, in which rope is threaded through. An ice anchor makes for the third point at the top. This anchor is made to attach the climbing rope to, in case a crevasse rescue is necessary. The two or three on the rope team not in the crevasse need to anchor the climbing rope to the mountain, so they can detach, check on the victim, and begin preparing to haul them in.

The end of the first day, we roped up in teams of three or four, and headed out, back to the parking area. The heaviest members of the team are put in the middle, with lighter ones in front (meaning I'm almost always up front!) or in back. This is because the front person is usually the one to fall in to a crevasse, so the heaviest person right behind should be able to arrest their fall without any additional aid. Then the person behind them can begin making an anchor to transfer the weight of the victim to the mountain/glacier.

We all had a great time our first day, and the sun came out in the afternoon, making for beautiful scenery.

Quick, what is this? Modern art in downtown Anchorage? The Arctic Ocean from space? No, just a frozen puddle at the glacier's terminus last sunday morning. Interesting how something so mundane can be surprisingly interesting/beautiful.

Easter Sunday, the second day of our course, dawned sunny, and a little warmer, with no wind. Beautiful. We started the day roping up in our teams, then heading in to near the same area as the day before. Then we set up three point anchors in an ice slope, and threw the rope over a 25 ft. ice ledge. Here is where we practiced our ascending/descending on the main rope, as if we had to haul ourselves up from a crevasse fall (assuming we were not injured).

To ascend/descend, a rope foot-prussik is used on one of our legs, and a mechanical ascending tool is used in one of our hands. The foot-prussik is just a short section of 6.5mm cord with a loop for your foot, attached to the climbing rope by a prussik knot. When you put your weight down, the prussik knot tightens around the main rope and you can step up. Then you can slide the ascender in your hand up the rope. Then, you can lift your leg up, loosen the prussik, slide it up, then step back down, etc... Thus, you ascend up the rope. It goes surprisingly fast. It only seemed like a minute or so for me as I zipped up the rope on the ice ledge. Descending is just the opposite procedure.

Here we all are having a go on the rope ascending and descending. Erik is just to the right of me, heading up.

Another anchoring technique we learned was to use pickets in snow. Pickets are t-shaped aluminum bars in different lengths, ours were 18". You anchor these in to snow either vertically (if it is deep enough) or horizontally, with rope attached. If the snow is packed down enough, they can be surprisingly strong, and able to take the load off the rope team so the crevasse victim can be hauled up. The snow in our area wasn't very deep or hard, so it was a test trying to get that done. The last thing we did Sunday afternoon before roping up for the walk out, was practicing an actual crevasse fall rescue scenario. First Melis, Nick, and Greg did one for us, then we split up into teams, and did it ourselves.

A pack attached to a climbing rope, to simulate a victim, was thrown over the ice ledge, with two or three people behind. Then, the closest person to the edge had to arrest the fall, while the person(s) behind had to make sure the one ahead was holding, while they detached, and built an anchor (though we built the anchors first, to make things faster/simpler). Once the anchor was in, the person near the edge arresting the fall could slowly detach, and then the team could rig up the line with a pulley for added mechanical advantage, to aid in hauling in the victim. That was fun, learning all those steps, and there's alot to it, many different knots and attachment procedures, etc.. Something that definitely needs to be practiced.

After we all went through these scenarios, we roped back up for our trip back. Once we got back to the parking area, we returned all the gear we borrowed, filled out course evaluations, and thanked our instructors. They were all very supportive and professional, and we came away with valuable knowledge, that will make for safe, and efficient glacial travel, as we journey through our vast alpine areas here in Alaska.

What is stage two? http://climbalaska.org/mtc-12day.html That will be our 12-day AMS mountaineering course, which Erik and I will take next year. This will teach us all the essentials for safe and effective mountaineering, which we'll use in stage three, the actual Denali ascent. When will that be? Well, if not 2010, certainly 2011. We want to do it ourselves, with a few others, and not have to spend many thousands of dollars for guides. We'll need to build up some more mountaineering experience first. If any of you out there are interested in joining us, let us know!

EAT THAT VIEW!

http://www.commondreams.org/view/2009/03/26-1

I came across the above article a few weeks ago, about the organic vegetable garden Michelle Obama is developing, on part of the White House Lawn. Of course, it is from an English paper, not the U.S. You all know how we here at A.P.R. feel about the U.S. mass media. Enough said.

What an interesting development, and what great symbolism. You would never have seen anything like this in a Republican administration. Let's roll back the years a little. I am old enough to remember when Jimmy Carter use to give fireside chats from the White House in the 1970s, in a sweater, urging people to conserve energy. He actually installed solar panels on part of the White House roof. When Reagan came in, those were dismantled, as were many governmental research programs and funding for alternative energy. Nothing of the nature of Carter's or Ms. Obama's undertakings occurred at the White House from 1981 until this year.

Planting the Seeds of a Revolution
by Ellen Goodman
"You have to admit that this gives new meaning to the idea of a "shovel-ready project." There are now 1,100 square feet on the South Lawn of the White House being transformed into a kitchen garden. If Americans follow the first family's lead, the seed pack will become the new stimulus package. At least we'll have something to do with those pitchforks after the AIG bonus babies surrender their money.

I tip my hat to the first lady since my own rookie season in the green league opened when my daughter was Sasha's age. It began with a lust for real tomatoes and a horror that she would grow up thinking cucumbers sprung full grown, cellophane wrapped and adorned with stickers from the supermarket womb.

I soon discovered that having a garden is like having a pet. (Obamas beware!) You start out dreaming about puppies and you end up wielding a pooper scooper. You start out planning for snap peas and you end up pulling weeds. You also get hooked.

The image of Michelle Obama surrounded by fifth-graders digging into the White House dirt gave heart to locavores everywhere.

The idea of an edible landscape was fertilized by left coast chef Alice Waters and food guru Michael Pollan. But it was Roger Doiron, a modest Zone 6 gardener - my kind of guy - and head of Kitchen Gardeners International who began a lettuce-roots campaign last year to "Eat the View" at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave.

Now spring has sprung and we have the first mom getting her hands dirty in the attempt to get children to eat their vegetables.

But there is something else about the incredible edible project that also makes me do a fist bump. The Obamas aren't just eating the view, they are eating the lawn.

What Michelle and the kids and the crew did the other day was to drive a shovel right into the heart of that American icon: the lawn. They literally took the most pampered lawn in America, dumped it in the wheel barrel, and carted it away. All that was missing was a chorus of "This lawn is your lawn."

Is it possible that along with local, organic food, the First Garden can promote the thoroughly subversive idea that this symbol has seen its day?

I am not the only one who looks at lawns - including my own - as a populist enemy. The low grassy surface has its roots in the English aristocracy, among folks who had so much food and land they didn't have to farm it, they only had to display it.

Today, lawns cover 40 million acres, making them the largest agricultural sector in America. They consume 270 billion gallons of water a week, or enough for 81 million acres of organic vegetables. They suck up $40 billion a year on seed, sod, and chemicals, leading one historian to compare them to "a nationwide chemical experiment with homeowners as the guinea pigs."

We mow the lawn, we fertilize it, we pesticize it, we water it, for the absurd purpose of keeping this useless patch in a deliberate state of arrested development.

"It's actually devouring resources and polluting and happening in the most visible parts of our community - the vacant land between the house and the street," says Fritz Haeg, creator of the Edible Estates project, whose goal is to begin replacing the domestic front lawn with what he calls "full frontal gardening."

This may be a fertile time for change. During the housing bubble, people thought of their homes as an ATM or a transient way station. If we settle into a view of home as a place we nurture ourselves, we may have a grass-roots anti-grass movement.

I don't want to get carried away. The last White House occupants to eat the lawn were Woodrow Wilson's sheep. As a gardener, I begin every new term with high hopes and end up with tomato hornworms, a creature that makes the Very Hungry Caterpillar look anorexic.

Moreover, the White House garden is likely to produce a bumper crop of metaphors.
I can imagine the first Fox News report on the cost of each leaf of spinach. I can imagine when Miriam's Soup Kitchen begs the Obamas to stop sending over zucchini - HELP! Or the first time one of their cultivated bees stings a foreign leader.

But then again, the First Gardeners are in the first 100 days. We never did promise them a rose garden."
© 2009 The Boston Globe

Just the fact that the White House garden is organic sends a powerful message. That they want what's best for their children, and that they know organic produce is. As well that to grow one's own food, even if it's just a small portion, is rewarding on many levels. While A.P.R. is in much despair lately, over the control that the Wall Street criminals are exerting over the Obama adminstration's economic and foreign policy, we revel in this small, symbolic development.

In fact, with the dire state of the economy, we recommend that everyone "Eats Their View", i.e., digs up that environmentally disastrous lawn, the effluents of which are helping to create dead zones in the Gulf of Mexico and other offshore areas. Replace it with an organic garden, just the work involved in the fresh air will be good for you, not to mention the fruits of your labor.

We here at A.P.R. decided never to have a lawn when we moved in to our new Chena Ridge research centre in March, 2006, and instead have planted dozens of fruit and ornamental trees, and raspberries. This year, we are putting in a raised bed garden, probably about a 15 ft. by 25 ft. or so box, with added topsoil. We can't get too fancy in our planting, the moose will eat tender tasty things like carrots, radishes, spinach, etc... But potatoes, onions, and whatever else we can plant that they will leave us will be in (we know they love pumpkins, so those are out). And with the economy still heading into the dump, any moves toward self-suffiency can't be a bad thing.

I remember fondly my maternal grandmother on their farm on Cooper Mountain, above Beaverton, Oregon. She and my grandfather raised 13 children on their 53 acres of fruit orchards, and grew all their own food. She used a wood-burning kitchen cook-stove until the day they left the farm in 1975. That kitchen was so hot on those long summer days while her and the older kids canned and put up food for the coming winter. Will we have to go back to that? Can we? Certainly living more like that would be good for all of us. Cheers.

FINALLY IN...TO THE WILD

"When I go don't cry for me
In my fathers arms I'll be
The wounds this world left on my soul
Will all be healed and I'll be whole

Sun and moon will be replaced
With the light of Jesus' face
And I will not be ashamed
For my savior knows my name

It don't matter where you bury me
I'll be home and I'll be free
It don't matter where I lay
All my tears be washed away

Gold and silver blind the eye
Temporary riches lie
Come and eat from heaven's store
Come and drink and thirst no more
So weep not for me my friend
When my time below does end
For my life belongs to him
Who will raise the dead again

It don't matter where you bury me
I'll be home and I'll be free
It don't matter where I lay
All my tears be washed away"

The above are the lyrics from my favorite Emmylou Harris song, All My Tears, and a very moving one it is, guaranteed to moisten the eyes of most. This is on her Wrecking Ball album, from 1995. It was this song that went through my head yesterday when I finally reached the bus on the Stampede Trail and saw the plaque left by Christopher McCandless's family.

I had made three previous attempts to reach "The Bus" in the past year, after seeing the movie, and it's reminder of when I read John Krakauer's story of Chris McCandless interesting and tragic journey, Into the Wild, many years ago. As I mentioned before, Chris's story and fate resonates strongly with many people who live in places like Alaska, or the West, who are attracted to wilderness, and upset by many aspects of our modern society. Which is what kept driving me to get in and see this place.

My first attempt was in March last year, when my friend Erik and I had the wrong GPS coordinates, and forgot that the bus was right on the Stampede trail. We spent several hours looking up and around the Savage River, miles from it's real location (we got bogus coordinates from a Google Earth image, thanks to some prankster!), wallowing in deep snow in the trees. By the time we finished our 28 mile ski that day, we were worn out. Erik is amazing though, one of those people who have innate athletic capabilities. When we first met two years ago, and started running together, within a few weeks he was faster than me on our long runs, with very little training beforehand. He ran a 3:40 Equinox marathon in 2007 with very little training, which was incredible. With more focused training, I can foresee him being one of the faster runners and skiers in Fairbanks, when he is able to move back from Valdez. So it is always a pleasure when we can do a long run or ski together, we push each other.

My second attempt was a month later, when I started in on skis in mid-April. Unfortunately, though it was about +15F with great snow in the morning, it warmed up to near +45F by mid-day, and the snow turned to slop. My kick wax on my classic skis just couldn't get a grip in that stuff, so I had to turn back ten miles in (the bus is about 21 miles in from the end of Stampede Road). It ended up taking me twice as long to get back, slipping up all the inclines.

Attempt number three was last September, the subject of my "Halfway In To The Wild" post. I was going to do one of my fast-packs, hiking/running with a light pack, hoping to make a long day of the 40 mile journey (it's shorter in summer, you can park further down Stampede Road) on foot. But it had been quite rainy in late August and early September, so the trail was mostly underwater. Then, ten miles in, the Teklanika River was raging, at least four feet deep with huge standing waves, no one or nothing was going to get across that. And, Mattie almost got swept away in a little side stream of it. We turned back.

This time Erik and I planned to do it when we figured there would be good snow (there was), warmer weather, and a long day. We met at the end of Stampede Road, where plowing ends, at 0830, and hit the trail at 0900. Unfortunately, a moderate chinook wind was blowing. This is when south flow aloft moves over/through the Alaska Range, into the interior, bringing warmer air. But the wind funnels through the gaps/canyons of the Range, and can be quite strong. You can see some drifts on the trail right behind me here, this is just as we got started. The wind was a good 20-40 mph in exposed locations. It wasn't too cold, about +25F, which helped out greatly, due to an unforeseen incident at mile 13 of our 42 mile day.

Unfortunately, I had chosen to try out some new, short, lightweight, classic racing skis, which I plan to train on next ski season. I was told by Dave Lokken, the knowledgeable salesman at our sports store, that he takes his out sometimes in the back-country, so I thought I would, thinking their lighter weight and design for fast movement would make the trip go faster. With the wind though, the trail on the first 13 miles in had drifted over in many areas. This was tough going, breaking trail with these short skinny skis. Worse yet though, these skis are very unstable on an uneven surface, especially on a fast downhill without tracks, so I fell many times during the day, spraining a wrist, and aggravating some old foot, knee, and hand injuries.

The day was going well, in spite of the conditions, and my falls, Erik and I were having a great time chatting and enjoying the scenery, and of course, our co-editor Mattie couldn't have been happier, being free to romp, roll, and roam to her heart's delight. But, at mile 13, we had to skirt some overflow ice, from a small stream (overflow is when still-flowing water under ice-covered streams/rivers sometimes is forced up and over the ice). I took off my skis, since they aren't metal-edged for grip on ice, and plunged in up past my knee in icy water. Crap, this was not good, 13 miles in, on a 42 mile day. Fortunately, since it wasn't bitter cold, we decided it best to see if I could dry out enough to keep going. Had it been below zero, we would have had to return immediately. But, between some extra clothes and socks I had with me, I was able to dry out the boot somewhat, and though my foot stayed damp and cold, frost-bite was not imminent.

After crossing the Teklanika River, ten miles in, Stampede trail winds up a side drainage (where I got wet) for about 3 miles, then out over rolling terrain, the rest of the way. With the ceaseless wind, my wet foot, the painfull falls, and plowing through drifts, I wasn't sure we'd make it by 330 pm, our planned turn-back time.

Finally, at 315 pm, there it was! Mattie reached it first, of course. Some snowmachiners were already there, they had passed us a few miles before (thankfully breaking trail for us!). But they only stayed a little while, then Erik, Mattie, and I were able to check out the bus by ourselves.

Alot of snowmachiners over the years have come out to the bus, as have dog mushers, and a much smaller amount of skiers. With all of these visitors, some of whom haven't been very respectful, the interior of the bus is a mess, full of grafitti (some meaningful though), broken pieces of it, old camping waste and material left behind, and various other detritus. This is looking up to the front of the bus.

Erik is leaning up against the old bed, that Chris used during his stay, and which I sat on for a few minutes, warming up my wet foot. I think people are still sleeping on it, judging by all the refuse around. You can see the plaque on the wall the McCandless family left, on the right-hand side. The barrel stove there would be quite warm, except most of the windows were broken, and so the cool chinook winds were blowing through.

This was my best Chris McCandless imitation, a little eerie in retrospect for me, considering all my near-death experiences I've had over the years, two in the past two years.

We only spent about a half-hour at the bus, we had a long 21 miles back in the wind ahead of us, and it was getting near 4 pm. I was cold from my wet foot, and of course once we stopped moving, we started to chill pretty quickly, with our slightly sweaty layers on. Of course, we had a wind-proof shell on to wear when we stopped moving, but even with those, it got chilly fast.

But, the way back was beautiful, in the late afternoon/early evening sun. This was about 5 pm, a few miles on the way back from the bus. It was pretty windy there on that exposed slope. There she is, Denali in her 6195 meter (20,320 ft.) majesty, crowned by a banner of blowing snow from the mild south flow aloft.

Here is a large area of overflow near the Teklanika river. As you can see, we were able to ski around it. But you can see some actual liquid water over the ice. Terrible footing there!

We had an energy break at 6pm, then our dinner break at 7 pm, when our mileage was up to about 36 miles. Mattie got her extra large dinner with smoked salmon then, since she had probably already covered 70 miles! But during these breaks, with the wind, I got really cold, thanks to my wet foot mainly. So much so, that I was in the first stages of hypothermia, with uncontrollable shivering at the dinner stop. As soon as I finished eating, I told Erik I had to get moving, and took off fast. I warmed up enough to become comfortable and lucid within a mile or so, fortunately.

The last several miles we enjoyed better trail conditions than on the way in, thanks to the snowmachiners. This really helped, since we were somewhat tired, and the chinook winds were still blowing. We turned our headlamps on around 9pm, and finally reached our vehicles at 1030 pm, 13 1/2 hours and 42 miles after our start. It sure felt great to get back to warmth and our creature comforts, but we had an unforgettable day, with some (mis)adventures, and a great workout in a wilderness setting. The moose, caribou, and wolves were all in hiding though, our only wildlife encounters were several snowshoe hare, which Mattie couldn't get near. Mattie surely had to have covered 70 to 80 miles, with all her running around, but she stayed fresh and alert to the very end. Amazing, considering she hadn't had much exercise the previous few weeks, while I was away in the lower 48. It was a somber experience as well, seeing where Chris M. spent his last days, we just wish people would have been a little more respectful there. Cheers.

WARNING LIGHTS ARE FLASHING - Australia, February 2009, What Can We Learn?

Australia is essentially a desert continent, just looking at this satellite image, that is quite apparent. Because it lies in the latitudes between 15 degrees and 39 degrees south of the Equator, the tropics and subtropics. Globally speaking, deserts occur on all the continents in these general latitudes. Why is that? In a nutshell, warm ascending air near the equator, where convection (showers and thunderstorms) is most frequent, moves northward, and then descends at the subtropical latitudes. Air warms at roughly 10 degrees C per 1000 metres as it descends, and this also lowers the relative humidity, thus, areas of sinking air tend to be warm and dry. Deserts.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Atmospheric_circulation

The only areas of Australia that receive more than 38 cm of precipitation are on the coastal margins in the southwest, far northern, and eastern and southeastern portions of the continent. Yet because of the presence of the large, hot, dry desert interior, even these moister continental margins can occasionally experience extreme heat waves when the desert air is pushed east and south by the right weather pattern.

The states of Victoria and New South Wales, in the far southeast, are particularly vulnerable to these extreme heat waves. Because of their latitudes further from the Equator, they normally have a more temperate climate, with average summer high temperatures of 24-30C. In addition, within 80-160 kilometres of the coastlines, annual precipitation is enough, 50-100 centimetres, or more, in the highest terrain, to support varied, dense, closed-canopy forests of mainly different Eucalyptus species.

Eucalyptus species trees have resins and oils in their leaves and wood that makes them burn very intensely. The combination of this, with the high fuel loading that occurs in the moister areas of Victoria and New South Wales, and the occasional extreme summer desert heat-waves, gives these areas the dubious distinction of having the greatest potential fire danger in the entire World.

Because Australia is a large land-mass, the size of the U.S. Lower 48 states, with only 22 million people, and hence, a smaller economy, their governmental operations are more limited than what you might expect. For this reason, over the past several years, meteorologists specialising in fire weather/fire danger forecasting in the U.S., have been requested by the Australian government, to assist with this type of forecasting, in the areas most vulnerable to wildfire, Victoria, New South Wales, South Australia, and Tasmania. They have their own highly qualified specialists in this area, of course, but staffing levels are somewhat limited, and during times of high fire danger/activity, having extra personnel on-hand makes a big difference. Since your lead author has been specialising in fire weather/danger forecasting since 1990, my turn to assist came up this past December, and I spent five weeks forecasting there, in the Sydney office, for the Australian Bureau of Meteorology.

Briefly, how this forecasting works, is that predicted maximum temperatures, minimum relative humidities, and wind speed/direction during the time of the max. temp., for all the different districts of each state (Sydney covers New South Wales, Melbourne covers Victoria, etc..) are entered in a spreadsheet. The computer keeps track of antecedent conditions, through different drought factors, and with these and the forecast for the next day's conditions, a Fire Danger Rating is computed. This is a number with ranges broken into categories, 0-10 is Low, 11-20 Moderate, 21-34 High, 35-49 Very High, and 50 or more, Extreme. If a value of 50 or more is calculated for the next day's Fire Danger Rating, a Fire WeatherWarning is issued, since the Fire Danger will be Extreme. This system is very efficient, works quite well, and accurately reflects the environmental conditions in each district.

When I arrived in Sydney to start my work assignment in mid-December, I was told by the staff there, that a slow season was expected, because it was not an "El-Nino" year, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/El_nino. And, sure enough, the last two weeks of December (equivalent of course to June in the northern hemisphere), were fairly cool and moist in New South Wales and Victoria. But, during January, short-term warm spells became more frequent and warmer, and I had to issue many Fire Weather Warnings during the first three weeks, when I was working there. My last day in Sydney, 1/24/09, was in fact, extremely hot, 40C (104F) or so, with gusty west winds blowing the hot continental desert air from west of the Blue Mountains, east over the city. So hot for me, that my personal warning lights were flashing, i.e., even with only minimal exertion, I was overheating.

By now, I'm sure you all have read or seen broadcast stories about the "bushfires" (the Australian term for wildfires) of February this year in the state of Victoria. The worst natural disaster ever to have befallen the country since it's founding. At least 210 fatalaties, thousands of homes and other structures, and even entire small towns, burned over. In excess of 365,000 hectares (900,000 acres) burned on the two worst days, 07 and 08 February.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2009_Victorian_bushfires

Why did this happen, and what can be learned from this tragedy?

Drought conditions have been widespread in Southeast Australia for more than a decade. This is thought to be one of the manifestations of global warming. Because Australia is predominantly desert, with only small temperate margins on the southern fringes, these fringe areas are highly vulnerable. Climatic warming in summer is manifesting, and will continue to, as an increase of these heat waves in summer, with longer periods between cloudy and cooler weather caused by the passage of low pressure systems in the southern jet stream in the 40-60 degrees south latitude band. So, large areas of the Eucalypt forests have been moisture-stressed for many years.

Added to this then, an exceptional heat wave occurred in late January and February. All-time maximum temperature records were broken in many areas across the states of Victoria and Tasmania during this time, including the in second largest Australian city of Melbourne, which reached 46.4C (116F) on 07 Feb. The period of record there is 154 years.

http://www.bom.gov.au/climate/current/statements/scs17d.pdf

These graphics show the departure from average of maximum temperatures during the two stages of the heat wave.

27-31 January, and...

the hottest day ever recorded at many sites in Victoria, 07 February.

The image to the right is from the Melbourne doppler weather radar, showing two of the large fire plumes on 07 February. On this day, the largest fire plume extended up to 18 KM, or 59,000 feet! Into the stratosphere. And it generated dozens of lightning strikes, which started more fires. The moisture release from the combustion of the vegetation, combined with the extremely strong updrafts in fire plumes, creates a "pyrocumulus" cloud, over larger fires. These are essentially thunderstorms in the stronger cases, and so may even produce hail and rain, besides lightning.

Radar picks up the ash and rain/hail in the plumes very well, and it proved highly useful to me during our record 2004 fire season here in Alaska.

http://www.noaanews.noaa.gov/stories2004/s2255.htm

Following is the lead page from the Australian Bureau of Meteorology's weather factors report of the tragedy:

"Victoria experienced extreme fire weather conditions on Saturday 7 February that led to the tragic losses. A region of extremely hot air had persisted over inland South-eastern Australia since the last week of January and had resulted in several temperature records being exceeded.
The presence of a slow-moving high pressure system in the Tasman Sea, combined with an active monsoon trough, provided the conditions for dry hot air of tropical origin to be directed over the southern parts of the continent. On Saturday strong northerly winds, ahead of an approaching cooler south-westerly change, brought this hot air to southern Victoria. The combination of strong and gusty winds, low humidity and record high temperatures led to extreme fire conditions ahead of the change, while the change in wind direction exacerbated the dangers in fire behaviour.

The day was mostly sunny throughout Victoria, although some mid-level cloud did affect the southwest coast. The most extreme weather conditions were observed in the afternoon shortly ahead of the wind change. Maximum temperatures were up to 23 degrees (Celsius!) above the February average, and for many centres it was the hottest day on record. Melbourne city recorded 46.4°C, its highest maximum temperature since records began. Other places in the Port Phillip region recorded even higher temperatures including Avalon, which recorded 47.9°C. Victoria’s highest official recorded temperature on Saturday was 48.8°C (120 F) at Hopetoun in the Mallee region.

Wind gusts to 115 km/h were reported at Mt William and Mt Gellibrand, while gusts over 90 km/h were recorded at a number of sites including Port Fairy, Aireys Inlet, Kilmore Gap, Dunns Hill and Mt Hotham. After the change wind speeds in excess of 50 km/h continued to be observed for some hours."

http://www.bom.gov.au/weather/vic/sevwx/fire/20090207/20090207_bushfire.shtml

As mentioned earlier, daily fire danger ratings of 50 are considered extreme. On February 7th, with temperatures of 38-47C (100-117F), relative humidities of 3-8 %, and winds of 36-60 kph (20-40 mph) or more, unprecedented values occurred. Fire danger ratings of 120 to 300 were recorded!

This created incredible fire behaviour. This image to the right are the remains of melted car wheels. To melt these aluminum alloy rims took temperatures of 900C (1650F) or higher. I saw the same thing when I worked at the South Canyon fire in Colorado in 1994, when 14 firefighters were killed. Ten of them were overtaken by a fire with temperatures like that, and where they fell was marked by the melted remains of their pulaski shovels. Many of the fatalities on 07 February occurred when people in their autos were overtaken on windy, narrow forested roads, by the fast-moving fires. Unimagineably terrifying and horrific occurrences of people being incinerated in their autos while bystanders/rescuers watched, but couldn't make it in time to their rescue, were reported.

What was it like for those who were trapped, or decided to try and save their home? The following is an eyewitness account:

"They warn you it comes fast. But the word fast doesn't come anywhere near describing it. It comes at you like a runaway train. One minute you are preparing, the next you are fighting for your home. Then you are fighting for your life. But it is not minutes that come between. It's more like seconds. The firestorm moves faster than you can think, let alone react.

For 25 years we had lived on our hilltop in St Andrews, in the hills northeast of Melbourne. You prepare like they tell you every summer. You clear. You slash. You prime your fire pump. For 25 years fires were something that you watched in the distance. Until Saturday. We had been watching the massive plume of smoke in the distance from the fire near Kilmore all afternoon; secure in the knowledge it was too far away to pose a danger. Then suddenly there is smoke and flames across the valley, about a kilometre to the northwest, being driven towards you by the wind.

Not too bad, you think. I rush around the side of the house to start the petrol fire pump to begin spraying the house, just in case. When I get there I suddenly see flames rushing towards the house from the west. The tongues of flame are in our front paddock, racing uphill towards us across grass stubble I thought safe because it had been slashed. In the seconds it takes my mind to register the flames, they are into a small stand of trees 50m from the house. Heat and embers drive at me like an open blast furnace. I run to shelter inside, like they tell you, until the fire front passes. Inside are my wife, a 13-year-old girl we care for, and a menagerie of animals "rescued" over the year by our veterinary student daughter. They call it "ember attack". Those words don't do it justice.

It is a fiery hailstorm from hell driving relentlessly at you. The wind and driving embers explore, like claws of a predator, every tiny gap in the house. Embers blow through the cracks around the closed doors and windows. We frantically wipe at them with wet towels. We are fighting for all we own. We still have hope. The house begins to fill with smoke. The smoke alarms start to scream. The smoke gets thicker. I go outside to see if the fire front has passed. One of our two cars under a carport is burning. I rush inside to get keys for the second and reverse it out into an open area in front of the house to save it. That simple move will save our lives. I rush back around the side of the house, where plastic plant pots are in flames. I turn on a garden hose.

Nothing comes out. I look back along its length and see where the flames have melted it. I try to pick up one of the carefully positioned plastic buckets of water I've left around the house. Its metal handle pulls away from the melted sides. I rush back inside the house. The smoke is much thicker. I see flames behind the louvres of a door into a storage room, off the kitchen. I open the door and there is fire burning fiercely. I realise the house is gone. We are now fighting for our lives. We retreat to the last room in the house, at the end of the building furthest from where the firestorm hit. We slam the door, shutting the room off from the rest of the house. The room is quickly filling with smoke. It's black, toxic smoke, different from the super-heated smoke outside. We start coughing and gasping for air. Life is rapidly beginning to narrow to a grim, but inevitable choice. Die from the toxic smoke from inside. Die from the firestorm outside. The room we are in has french windows opening on to the front veranda. Somewhere out of the chaos of thoughts surfaces recent media bushfire training I had done with the CFA. When there's nothing else, a car might save you. I run the 30 or 40 steps to the car through the blast furnace.I wrench open the door to start the engine and turn on the airconditioning, as the CFA tells you, before going back for the others. The key isn't in the ignition. Where in hell did I put it? I rush back to the house. By now the black, toxic smoke is so thick I can barely see the others. We are coughing, gasping, choking. My wife is calling desperately for one of our two small dogs, the gentle, loyal Gizmo, who has fled somewhere in terror to hide. I grope in my wife's handbag for her set of car keys.

The smoke is so thick I can't see far enough to look into the bag.I find them by touch, thanks to a plastic spider key our daughter gave her as a joke. Our lives are saved by a plastic spider. I tell my wife time has run out. We have to get to the car. The choices have narrowed to just one option, just one slim chance to live. Clutching the second of our two small dogs, we run to the car.
I feel the radiant heat burning the back of my hand. The CFA training comes back again. Radiant heat kills. The three of us are inside the car. I turn the key. It starts. We turn on the airconditioning and I reverse a little further away from the burning building. The flames are wrapped around the full fuel tank of the other car and I worry about it exploding. We watch our home - our lives, everything we own - blazing fiercely just metres away. The heat builds. We try to drive down our driveway, but fallen branches block the way. I reverse back towards the house, but my wife warns me sheets of red-hot roofing metal are blowing towards us. I drive back down, pushing the car through the branches. Further down the 400m drive, the flames have passed. But at the bottom, trees are burning. We sit in the open, motor running and air-conditioner turned on full. Behind us our home is aflame. We calmly watch from our hilltop, trapped in the sanctuary of our car, as first the house of one neighbour, then another, then another go up in flames. One takes an agonisingly slow time to go, as the flames take a tenuous grip at one end and work their way slowly along the roof. Another at the bottom of our hill, more than 100 years old and made of imported North American timber, explodes quickly in a plume of dark smoke. All the while the car is being buffeted and battered by a galeforce wind and bombarded by a hail of blackened material. They sound like rocks hitting the car. The house of our nearest neighbour, David, who owns a vineyard, has so far escaped. But a portable office attached to one wall is billowing smoke. I leave the safety of the car and cross the fence. Where is the CFA, he frantically asks. With the CFA's help, perhaps he can save his house. I tell him we had already rung 000, before our own house burnt. Too many fires. Too few tankers. I leave him to his torment.

I walk back towards our own house in a forlorn hope that by some miracle our missing dog may have survived in some unburned corner of the building. Our home, everything we were, is a burning, twisted, blackened jumble. Through a gap in the back brick wall that used to be our bedroom window I see blackened mattress springs. Our missing dog Gizmo, Bobby our grumpy cockatoo, Zena the rescued galah that spoke Greek and imitated my whistle to call the dogs, our free-flying budgie nicknamed Lucky because he escaped a previous bushfire, are all gone. Killed in the inferno that almost claimed us as well. I return to the car and spot the flashing lights of a CFA tanker through the blackened trees across the road. We drive down the freeway, I pull clear more fallen branches and we reach the main road. I walk across the road to the tanker and tell them if they are quick they might help David save his house. I still don't know if they did. We stop at a police checkpoint down the hill. They ask us where we've come from and what's happening up the road. I tell them there's no longer anything up the road. We stop at the local CFA station in St Andrews. Two figures sit hunched, covered by wet towels for their serious burns. More neighbours. We hear that one old friend is missing. A nurse wraps wet towels around superficial burns on my wife's leg and my hand. We drive to my brother's house, which fate had spared, on the other side of town. The thought occurs to me - where do you start when you've lost everything? It doesn't matter. We escaped with our lives. Just. So many others didn't."

Gary Hughes is a senior reporter for The Australian

So, to sum up what happened in February, 2009 in Victoria, ten years of drought conditions, combined with an unprecedented heat wave, led to Australia's worst ever natural disaster, in terms of fatalities.

Unfortunately, climate change researchers using the most powerful computing facilities and most detailed global weather/climate modeling systems, are now saying that heat waves this severe, instead of occurring every few decades, will, within 30 years, be occurring every summer in Australia.

What about closer to home, here in the United States, has anything like this been occurring? Or will it?

The image to the left is a large rotating fire-whirl, on the Indians wildfire in Central California in June, 2008, in the Fort Hunter-Liggett area, inland from the Big Sur coast. This firewhirl took on the characteristics of an F1-scale tornado (wind speeds of 112-179 kph, or 73-112 mph). I was dispatched there last July as part of an investigatory team, to see what occurred/went wrong, because five firefighters in an engine on this road were injured when the firewhirl over-ran them.

Our team of veteran firefighters and researchers conducted extensive ground surveys and interviews of key personnel on the incident.

This image shows how the tornado-like firewhirl not just downed limbs from these large oaks, but pulled and sheared them off directly! Limbs that were 30 to 100 cm (1 to 3 feet) in diameter. It was highly fortunate no one was directly in those areas at that time!

This area of California had been in a record-breaking drought that winter/spring; almost no rain fell in March, which is usually the last wet month of their winter-rainfall season. Very little occurred also in April and May (it gets drier there by May normally anyway), such that by June, fire danger indices were at record high levels. This, combined with a weather day when exceedingly dry air aloft was mixed down to the surface under strong high pressure ridging, combined with terrain interactions, led to the extreme fire behaviour, manifesting as a rotating plume, or firewhirl. It was highly fortunate that there were no fatalities.

Many veteran wildfire specialists I have spoken with have told me that they are seeing more intense fire behaviour throughout the western U.S., than say, 20 to 30 years ago. Fires are burning more intensely, and more often, through the night. This is due to the long-term droughts the western U.S. has been experiencing, killing large swaths of forest stands, combined with warmer summer temperatures caused by stronger high pressure systems (which also contain very dry air).

How about here in Alaska?

This chart is a plot of annual average summer temperatures in Fairbanks, on top, combined with the seasonal fire acreages, divided by 100,000. The period of record extends back to 1955. Note how the higher years are occurring more frequently now, in the past 25 years, and the slowly increasing temperature trend. Our record high fire year of 2004, which was also the warmest summer recorded in Fairbanks, was followed in 2005 by the third highest acreage loss.

Before going further, let's take a quick look at what happened here in Alaska during the summer of 2004. The may-august average temperature was 16.2C (61.2F), about 3.2C (6F)above average. It was also the 2nd driest ever over most of the Alaska interior, the month of August, normally the wettest, was nearly rainless. Extreme drought stress occurred in the boreal forest species, black and white spruce, and birch/aspen/balsam poplar. So much so, that even the deciduous hardwood trees exhibited fire behaviour approaching that of the normally flammable black spruce (referred to by Alaska wildland firefighters as "gasoline on a stick").

When forecasting weather, meteorologists assess temperatures, humidities, and winds at different standard levels of the atmosphere, which are measured twice-daily world-wide by radiosonde balloons. This data is input to the Numerical Weather Prediction models, which model the atmosphere through hundreds of quantitative descriptors of physical processes, using trillions of calculations per second, on supercomputers. These models generate forecast charts out to ten days of various levels in the atmosphere (though only the first 3-5 days of course are usually very accurate). One of these standard levels that is assessed is 850 millibars (mb). The main parameter assessed is the height at which the pressure equals 850 mb, which is a function of temperature. The warmer the airmass, the higher that height is, and the colder, the lower it is. This level is usually around 1450-1550 metres (4600-5100) feet here in Alaska.

This plot, to the left, is of 850 mb temperatures over the past year, measured by radiosonde balloon released from Fairbanks, along with means, records, and standard deviations, for each day. The period of record is from 1948-present. One thing that stands out, is how variable these are. Inter-annual and seasonal variability is very high in the higher latitudes, since any shift in jet stream position or intensity highly affects these regions. The warmest measured 850 mb temperatures over Fairbanks were 20C (68F).

The most active several days during the record-breaking 2004 Alaska fire season were during a northeast-wind event in late June and early July. 850 mb temperatures at this time were around 16C (61F). Remember, this is at 1500 metres. When air is forced to descend, as it does during high-pressure ridging episodes like the northeast wind-event of late June/early July 2004, it warms at 10 degrees C per 1000 metres. Thus, if the 16C air at 1500 metres descends to near sea level (much of the Alaska interior is at elevations of only 60-250 metres msl), it would theoretically warm to 31C (88F). Factor in solar heating of the ground, and you can add a degree or two. Temperatures weren't quite that warm on those days in 2004, because thick smoke blown out ahead of the fires shaded the region, and kept temperatures 3-6C cooler.

This chart to the left is from the Arctic Climate Impact Assessment. This report was an internationally collaborative study of climate change that has already occurred in the Arctic, combined with climate change modeling depictions of future changes.

Many of the researchers involved work here in Fairbanks at the University of Alaska.

http://www.acia.uaf.edu/

What this is showing, is that by 2050, the average of the different climate change models predicts a 2.5 degrees C or so (4.5 degrees F) average warming over the Arctic region.

What does this mean for interior Alaska? Well, if we currently could experience a 20C temperature at 850 mb during an extreme warm spell/high pressure ridging episode, in 2050, that would likely be 23C, or more, in a similar event. That would translate to lower-elevation temperatures in the mid 30s to low 40s C (mid 90s to mid 100s F)! In addition, if the average may-august summer temperatures around Fairbanks warm from the current 13C or so, to 16C, the health of the spruce forests will be compromised. White and black spruce in the Alaska boreal forests shut down their growth when average growing-season temperatures reach 16C, and become vulnerable to insect predation and disease mortality. So, with temperatures in the 30s to low 40s C, and large swaths of dead and dying spruce trees, in another 2004-like drought year, I think it would be safe to say that unprecedented fire behaviour would occur. It's not a matter of if, but when this will occur.

This is what is already what is occurring in Australia. Will we be ready? It seems unlikely, given current political and economic realities, that atmospheric CO2 and methane emissions will be cut back enough to prevent this kind of scenario from occurring in the Western U.S. and Canada, as well as Alaska.

THE PEOPLES CABINS

One of the favourite things that cross-country skiers in Interior Alaska like to do, is ski in to remote cabins.



About 40-60 miles northeast of Fairbanks, lie the White mountains, a range of hills from 3000-5300 feet, clad mainly in black spruce and birch below the tree-line of 3500 feet. The Bureau of Land Management built a trail system there in 1966, and over the years, a network of cabins, which can be rented for 25.00 a night. These are just your basic dry cabin, with bunk platforms, a woodstove, and some tables to cook and eat on. They work great though, after a cold day spent skiing in or around them, having the snug and warm cabin to retreat to is very welcome. http://www.blm.gov/ak/st/en/prog/sa/white_mtns/cabins.html

This past friday, my friends Eric and Deanne (along with their german shepherd Leroy and sled dog Gracie), and I skied 12 miles from the Elliott Highway, to Eleazar's cabin, while Mattie ran along, thrashing in the snow frequently. When we set out from the trailhead at 3pm, it was clear, and calm, around zero. Not too bad.

It has a great view of the valley below, since it is perched about 300 feet up the hill, on the north side. The trail getting in was in great shape, hard-packed, but not icy, so it just took Mattie and I three hours to get in, and we arrived right at dusk, as you can see. We didn't pass any snowmachiners, or dog mushing teams, surprisingly, since it was a friday.

After Eric and Deanne arrived later, the roaring fire in the woodstove heated the cabin up well past 80 degrees, so we had to open the door a few times.

Relaxing with friends over a few beers after a good ski in these quiet, warm, semi-wilderness cabins can't be beat for a nice weekend retreat.

Friday night and early saturday gusty winds at about 10F, were accompanied by a beautiful coating of 4-5 inches of fresh powder.

Saturday morning Mattie and I hit the trail, while Eric and Deanne decided to hang out at the cabin and relax. It was tough breaking trail in the new powder, so we just went 10 miles up the trail to the next cabin, Borealis-Lefevre. This is about a mile from there, in the background the first of the real craggy, rocky, White mtns. are appearing as the clouds part. It was quite windy, about 10 degrees. We reached the Borealis cabin in three hours, had a quick snack, then headed back the other 10 to Eleazar's. We had a stiff headwind all the way back, so the three hour trip back to our start, seemed longer. Most of the way, from Eleazar's cabin to the Borealis, passes through areas of black spruce that were burned in Alaska's greatest recorded fire year, 2004. Which made me think alot about fire-related issues.

Saturday evening, our friends Jim and Liz showed up, so we had a loud and fun time catching up and playing cards. Five people and three dogs, in our over-heated cabin, made for a great time.

Sunday dawned crystal clear and about 3F, with a stiff west wind. We packed up and hit the trail about 1100, for the twelve mile ski back to the trailhead at mile 28 of the Elliott Highway.

March is my favorite month in Interior Alaska, good snow, longer, warmer days, it just doesn't get any better. It took us four hours to get back, there is much more uphill on the trail back from Eleazar's. When the sun slipped out from the clouds, the newly fallen snow and rime-coated black spruce were quite beautiful.

Mattie couldn't get enough running, jumping, and thrashing around in the snow, heading back. Three days to be completely free! We did have to be careful though, snowmachiners on the way in, while not speeding, came upon us quickly around a curve, Mattie almost got hit. No one's fault, and the snowmachines pack down the trail, so it's good they're there as well. Unbroken trail is very arduous and slow.

In summer, I'm not much of a fan of black spruce. Frankly, I think they're ugly, and they indicate areas of permafrost and poor drainage, which are swampy and bug-ridden. They are also the main carrier of wild-fire in Interior Alaska, resins in their wood and needles cause them to burn very intensely, quite often in full running crown-fires. But in winter, the picture is different. Put a little coating of white on them, with some good snow to glide past on your skis while admiring them, and you've got a much nicer view.

Seeing all the burned-over areas from 2004 got me to thinking. I picked up a very good working knowledge of the climatology and ecology of southeastern Australia, while I worked there this past December and January, forecasting fire weather/danger, for their Bureau of Meteorology office in Sydney. The tragic fires of three weeks ago in their state of Victoria were heartbreaking, and also, something that needs to be examined. This we will be doing over the next week or two, and so your next A.P.R. post, will examine the greatest natural disaster ever to have befallen Australia (210 confirmed fatalities), why it occurred, and what implications this has for the rest of the planet, since global warming is starting to assert itself more strongly. Cheers.