As if your local Starbucks releasing pumpkin spice lattes in August wasn’t pushy enough, now nature is getting the early jump on fall.

Folks across the U.S. are to neighbors and local weather stations on the shocking early arrival of fall foliage at their homes, nearly a month before the usual hello.

The in Denver, Colorado reported that leaves are already turning yellow, orange, and red in the western half of the state. The transformation is linked to statewide drought, caused by a weak snowpack during the 2024/25 winter, and insufficient summer rainfall.

But it’s not just that color change is prematurely happening.

“Trees are experiencing stress,” AccuWeather Senior Meteorologist, Tom Kines, told 国产吃瓜黑料. There’s another dynamic at play with trees that Kines also shared.

What We’re Missing

As the days grow shorter and temperatures drop, the natural process of color change occurs. Trees are sent signals to slow down on their production of chlorophyll and vibrant shades of yellow, orange, and red emerge.

Drought conditions such as high heat and less rain fall deprive leaves of the moisture needed to produce chlorophyll that keeps them green. Soaring temperatures and drought also sends trees into stress, dulling the experience of fall foliage.

“The leaves are turning colors too quickly,”Kines said. “They are not as bright or vivid as they would be.”

Current reports of early fall foliage are that the colors are less vibrant than in other years. Areas experiencing drought-like conditions, may see a less impressive fall.

Drought Happens Often. What’s Different This Year?

“In New England, a lot of those areas, while it’s been dry recently, they have received enough rainfall that their colors should be okay,” Kines said. For Western states, it’s a different story.

Kines also said that the timing and brilliance of foliage depends on when it rains. “If you have dry weather in the early part of the summer and rain second half, it will balance out things,” Kines said.

That checks out. In the Pacific Northwest where I am based, we’re used to high heat in June, this year it came later in the season. Excessive heat warnings have been across the Pacific Northwest as we end August. Washington and Oregon are still breaking 100 degrees Fahrenheit.

The bushes in my front yard started turning yellow last week.

国产吃瓜黑料’s associate editor Madison Dapcevich recently reported on the best places to catch fall foliage this year, per the 2025 Farmer’s Almanac. As Kines mentioned, the Northeast will be the place to be, Acadia National Park (Maine) and Adirondack and Catskill Mountains (New York) made the top five.

The post The Leaves Are Changing Early This Fall Thanks to Widespread Drought appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

Last week, on June 14, I looked out my window and saw smoke鈥攁 thin plume of it鈥攃urling up over the foothills near Boulder, Colorado. My neighborhood group text immediately started blowing up: Did you see the smoke? How bad is it? What the hell鈥攊s fire season already here?听

Living in the West, wildfire has always been a part of life. But over the last decade or so, blazes have grown increasingly frequent and intense across both the Western U.S. and Canada. In 2021, just a few miles from my home, the Marshall Fire destroyed nearly 1,000 buildings in the Colorado Front Range, reducing entire neighborhoods to ash. Many folks鈥攎y neighbors included鈥攍ive in constant fear of the next fire.

So, even though firefighters quickly extinguished this recent blaze in Boulder, it still had me worried. Wildfire is once again a topic in the mainstream press: flames erupted in New Jersey鈥檚 Wharton State forest on June 13 and burned nearly 6,000 acres. The Eastern Sierra recently suffered a destructive fire, called the Inn Fire, and a number of blazes are actively burning across the Four Corners region.

Do these early-season fires portend a particularly destructive season to come? To find out (and hopefully put my group text鈥檚 fears to rest), I reached out to Daniel Swain, a climate scientist with University of California Agriculture and Natural Resources for an upcoming fire season prognosis. Swain, age 35, also lives in Boulder, and runs a website dedicated to fire and climate science called .听

鈥淭he short answer is that in the Western U.S. and Canada, all the alarm bells are ringing,鈥� Swain says. While Boulder鈥檚 recent fire wasn鈥檛 concerning or unusual, he explains, there are plenty of other signs that the 2025 fire season could be one for the record books.

Much of the Rocky Mountain Region had a warm and wet spring, which led to prolific vegetation growth. Here in Colorado, much of the Front Range is covered in lush green grass and overgrown bushes. Now, meteorologists are predicting a summer of The next few weeks in particular are expected to bring hot, dry weather, which could turn all that veg to kindling.

鈥淭he more abundant the vegetation, the more biomass there is to burn,鈥� Swain says. 鈥淪o, in these grass and brush and mixed-brush ecosystems, wildfires tend to follow wet periods.鈥� That鈥檚 exactly what happened just before the massive Los Angeles wildfires this January.

The other problem is that the hot spring weather melted the snow reserves in the high mountains across the West. That will leave high-altitude forests dry鈥攁nd vulnerable to fires鈥攃ome July and August.

鈥淭he last few summers were relatively quiet with regard to high-altitude forest fires,鈥� Swain says. 鈥淏ut from the Eastern Sierra to the Northern Rockies, things are going to be very different this year.鈥�

There are trickle-down effects to the lower elevations, too. Western rivers are swollen with snowmelt right now, but they鈥檒l likely be . That could further parch the landscape. Between the meager river water and the plentiful vegetation, lowlands could face just as much risk as the upland forests.

鈥淯nlike recent summers, where there was high fire risk in either one or the other locations, this year we鈥檙e going to see high risk across both ecosystems,鈥� Swain says.

Likewise, Canada and the U.S. usually trade off bad fire seasons. In 2024, Canada had a rough year, and the U.S. contributed resources to help with Canadian firefighting. In recent years, the roles have been reversed, and Canada has sent wildland fire teams down to the Lower 48.

鈥淏ut Canada is already having a terrible fire season,鈥� Swain says. 鈥淭he U.S. has been sending wildland firefighting crews north of the border. We may recall those crews from Canada when our season starts, which means they won鈥檛 have any availability to help us out. And all this is unfolding at a moment where there have been huge cuts to disaster preparedness and response in general in the U.S.鈥攑articularly to wildland fire response and disaster response on a national scale.鈥�

Compounding the danger, this fire season could last longer and have a later peak鈥攎aybe into August or September鈥攚hich could further strain wildland fire teams, Swain says. The thinner we spread our resources, the higher the risk of longer and more destructive fires.

The good news for East Coasters is that the risk seems concentrated in the West, Swain says. Much of New England, for example, is no longer experiencing drought, which means any fires there should be relatively small and easy to control. However, fires out West across the U.S. As a result, many Eastern communities will still feel the impact.

鈥淚t鈥檚 not your imagination鈥攚e do have a wildfire crisis in the West,鈥� Swain says. 鈥淏ut part of the solution could be to embrace other forms of fire, including prescribed fire, Indigenous and cultural sources of burning, and ecologically minded burns.鈥� Fire itself isn鈥檛 the problem, he adds; on its own, it鈥檚 a natural part of the landscape. At least that鈥檚 one bit of positive insight to bring back to the group text.

While some recent legislation and proposed Forest Service policies frame clear-cutting as a fire mitigation strategy, Swain cautions that that kind of treatment can actually increase fire risk over the long run. Instead, he says, land managers need to take a thoughtful, measured look at their approaches to fire mitigation. Selling public lands and widespread logging could be counterproductive, he warns.

鈥淭his year is going to be a blockbuster fire season,鈥� he says. 鈥淚t鈥檚 going to be a real test of some of the policies currently at play.鈥�

The post A Climate Expert Says “Alarm Bells are Ringing” Over the 2025 Wildfire Season. Here’s Why. appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

I have a secret fascination with the (MWOB), the weather station situated atop America’s windiest mountain.

Every few days, the scientists living inside the MWOB publish an or an about the extreme conditions on the , and the photos or videos always boggle my mind. Plunging temperatures mixed with fog will occasionally transform the peak into a hockey rink, and wind-whipped blizzards will make the observatory tower look like a The Empire Strikes Back. Last week, two interns saved a that landed on the observatory after its eyes froze shut (they warmed it up, named it , and released it back into the forest).

But the big story at MWOB this winter has been the wind. According to a by weather forecaster Charlie Peachey, the observatory was battered by gusts over 100 miles per hour for 39 consecutive hours in late February. During this stretch, the weather station recorded one gust of 161 miles per hour. This was the second-strongest gust recorded at the station since 1994 and the 20th strongest听gust ever recorded.

“For all but two staff members at the observatory, that was the highest wind gust that any current staff has ever experienced,” Peachey wrote. Peachey added that the observatory staff often brag about the wind events they’ve personally experienced at the station. The handful of meteorologists and forecasters who man the station are split into two crews, and each crew lives in the station for one week at a time. Alas, Peachey was offsite when the 161-mile-per-hour gust hit, so zero bragging rights for him.

Peachey was confident that the windy conditions in February would continue when he and his crew returned in early March. And when Peachey began crunching weather data collected from other stations across the Northeast, he predicted that another major wind event would batter Mount Washington on Friday, March 7.

He was right. As the day unfolded, the gusts returned, first topping 120 miles per hour before they increased. A gust knocked out electricity to the MWOB offices at the base of Mount Washington while atop the peak, blowing debris and gusts battered the observatory.

Now, here’s why Peachey and the other MWOB forecasters are a different breed. My assumption is that most rational human beings would happily stay in a warm and cozy office and simply listen to the building creak and groan under the force of the violent gusts. But MWOB workers, of course, want to know what a 130-mile-per-hour gust actually feels听like. So, Peachey and his crew zipped up their parkas and wind pants and walked out into the melee. You can check out their hijinks below.

They sat on the frozen concrete and allowed the gale to push them across the ground like sticks blown across your patio by a leaf blower. Yep鈥攊t’s like a Buster Keaton scene, just add the Curb Your Enthusiasm theme music.

Of course, then the team had to army crawl back to the observatory doorway, which wasn’t easy.

“After a few seconds of crawling, I realized that my 20-foot journey might not be possible,” Peachey wrote. “Wind gusts of 120 mph+ were attempting to pick me up and blow me across the deck at every chance they got, so I had to begin army crawling with my chest to the ground to make it to the starting line.”

I may not be part of the MWOB staff, but I believe Peachey and his cohort officially earned their bragging rights, even if the gusts they surfed only topped 138 miles per hour.

Predicting the weather on Mount Washington during transition seasons is famously tricky due to the topography and the swirling weather along the east coast. Models can only tell a meteorologist so much, and Peachey and his team had to rely largely on their own intuition to predict the storm. This鈥攁nd many other reasons鈥攊s why educated human beings will always be needed to forecast the weather. “As meteorologists, it is our job to interpret when these errors exist in the model and then use our judgment to think of what will happen,” he wrote. “It is one of the reasons why a knowledgeable human forecaster will always be better than a single computer model.”

That, and a computer is far less graceful at butt-sliding.

The post Scientists Braved 130-Mile-Per-Hour Winds on Mount Washington appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

On a Sunday afternoon in October, I snuck out for a run. It was tank-top weather when I left my house in downtown Durango, Colorado, and I expected it to hold. I drove north into the mountains, and as I crested a hill 15 minutes in, the sky turned gray and cracked with lightning. The temperature reading in my car dropped 20 degrees, and the rain hitting the windshield was so thick I could hardly see the road. My phone buzzed in the cupholder. It was a text from the friend I was meeting: 鈥淲TF, DWG.鈥�

DWG stands for , the nom de plume of Jeff Givens, a local real estate agent turned amateur meteorologist who has much more power over my life than anyone running a WordPress blog should. His website offers weather forecasts, blow-by-blows of storms, and roundups of precipitation totals鈥攚ith a heavy dose of personal opinion. Sometimes the posts are excited updates: 鈥淪aturday 4:30 am: It鈥檚 not over yet! The closed low-pressure is spinning over Arizona early this morning.鈥� Sometimes he鈥檒l take a deep dive into the variability of La Nina, the cooling pattern in the Pacific Ocean that tends to bring dry winters to the Southwest, or the difference between Canadian and European forecasting models. Sometimes he鈥檒l answer requests from fans who ask for specific forecasts within their individual microclimate. In the forecast the day after my Sunday soaking, Givens walked back what he鈥檇 posted the day before, responding to the razzing he鈥檇 received from readers. You don鈥檛 get that from the Weather Channel.

Followers who subscribe to his email list might get three updates a day when storms are firing, sometimes time-stamped 3 A.M., 9 A.M., then noon. I read every one. And I鈥檓 not alone. Givens has 19,100 subscribers. The local population is about 19,500, and that includes children.

Givens is more accurate than any other weather source around here, and that makes him arguably the biggest celebrity in my smallish town. Our collective excitement crescendos with his forecasts, and whether they lead to joyful or disappointing experiences outside, we piece together a postmortem in the days that follow. Sometimes he sends the whole town into a spiral. Like any forecaster, occasionally he鈥檚 wrong. I鈥檓 on multiple ski-planning text chains that dissect his accuracy. 鈥淗e never admits when he鈥檚 wrong,鈥� one friend complained. 鈥淚 just don鈥檛 like his syntax,鈥� another told me, while her husband admitted to obsessively reading every post. 鈥淭oo many emails!鈥� several others said. 鈥淗ow can you get mad at him, he鈥檚 doing it for free,鈥� someone countered.

He is a common denominator: a folk hero and a prophet and the person to blame when your plans go to shit. Everyone I know has an opinion about his forecasts. And I mean literally everyone.

Yesterday at the doctor, as I shivered in my gown, the nurse asked me how the weather had been on the way over. 鈥淒urango Weather Guy says it鈥檚 supposed to get bad this weekend,鈥� she said, unprompted.

I needed to understand how this faceless man had become a ubiquitous and mercurial guru鈥攁nd wormed his way into the brains and hearts of my community. So I emailed Givens and asked him to meet up.

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Over the centuries, people have pressed all sorts of creatures, from cows to frogs to crickets, into the service of meteorological forecasting. Some instances of animal-aided forecasting are truly bizarre: In the 1800s, two British meteorologists created a complex instrument called a Tempest Prognosticator, which relied on .

Thankfully, much of that folklore and leech-keeping has given way to modern forecasting algorithms, radar, and satellite imagery over time鈥攂ut not everyone is willing to leave the old methods behind. Here are a few of the strangest ways in which people still forecast long-term weather鈥攔anked from least to most weird.

10. The Tanana River

The tiny town of Nenana, Alaska, is home to one of the longest-running gambling events in the United States. The game? Watching ice melt. Every year since 1903, locals have placed a wooden tripod in the center of the frozen Tanana River. A cable affixed to the tripod runs across the surface to a clock on the bank. When the river ice breaks up enough for the tripod to fall in, the cable yanks on the clock, stopping it. People from around the world place bets on when this will occur, and the jackpot often surpasses $300,000. The time of breakup is considered the end of winter and the beginning of spring, and avid bettors use all kinds of homespun algorithms to predict the time of breakup, incorporating such data as annual snowfall, temperature patterns, and even train schedules.

Our take: This is the least-weird method, since melting ice definitely means warm weather. Hard to argue with that.

9. Sunspots

The Old Farmer鈥檚 Almanac has been one of America鈥檚 most trusted sources of long-term forecasting for decades. Since the 1700s, it has predicted the weather by . As the theory goes, more sunspots are correlated with more solar activity and stronger magnetic storms, which could in turn affect the temperatures here on earth. For a long time, this seemed pretty out there. But more recently, research has started to back it up. As it turns out, , albeit mostly in northern Europe and in parts of the northern U.S. In years where solar activity is calmer, pockets of cold air form high in the atmosphere, which results in colder winters and stronger easterly winds over northern Europe and the northern U.S.. When solar activity is high, those areas see milder winters.

Our take: It鈥檚 unique, but there鈥檚 some scientific backing. Not that weird.

8. Foggy Days in August

Appalachian Folklore suggests the more foggy mornings you see in August, the more days of snow you鈥檒l have over the winter. The traditional way to keep track is to put . End your August with ten beans, and you鈥檙e likely to see an identical numbre of days of deep snow over the winter. Unfortunately, there鈥檚 suggesting any truth to this. Though, it鈥檚 nice to have an excuse to keep your beans organized.

Our take: There鈥檚 no science behind it, but at least it doesn鈥檛 involve a captive live animal. Only a little weird.

7. Live Groundhogs

Puxatawny Phil is only one of dozens of groundhogs around the world that are kept under close watch in early February. If the groundhog sees its shadow, six more weeks of winter are said to follow. Of course, all the groundhogs have different predictions, and their rates of accuracy are . The idea of Groundhog Day came from a German custom, which had to do with a badger seeing his shadow. We think that swapping in the ferocious and unpredictable carnivore would liven up what鈥檚 become a somewhat sedate tradition.

Our take: We love to hate on beloved family pastimes. As popular as this method is, it鈥檚 still pretty weird.

6. Dead Groundhogs

In researching this story, we discovered that not only are there dozens of live forecasting groundhogs, but .听Example A: a stuffed groundhog in Pennsylvania named Uni. Every year, Uni is lashed to a tiny raft and floated down Tulpehocken Creek for a while before he鈥檚 fished out. An official interpreter leans down to listen to Uni鈥檚 supposed prediction, and delivers the prediction in Pennsylvania Dutch. A second interpreter stands by to translate this prediction into modern English.

Our take: Uh huh. Weird.

5. Persimmon Seeds

Another gem from the American South: If you cut open a persimmon seed in the fall and find a spoon shape inside, expect snow. If you see a knife shape, the winter will be bitter cold. And if you see a fork shape, . While the seeds do contain shapes that resemble these three utensils, there鈥檚 no scientific basis for their correlation to weather conditions. But the fruit is still delicious, so we can鈥檛 not recommend trying.

Our take: It鈥檚 cute, but what do fruits know about weather? We鈥檝e never met a persimmon that passed a third-grade science class. For sure weird.

4. A Desert Tortoise

No weather-telling groundhogs live in Palm Springs, California. There is, however, a highly respected tortoise. Every year, Mojave Maxine emerges from her burrow sometime in February, and her sighting heralds warmer weather to come. Like the Nenana Ice Classic, this one , though the gamblers are mainly children, and there鈥檚 no money involved.

Our take: She鈥檚 cute, but, like the persimmon, not likely to possess knowledge of basic math. Plus, she鈥檚 been asleep all winter. What could she possibly know? Real weird.

3. Wooly Worm Caterpillars

In the town of Banner Elk, North Carolina, thousands of people gather every year to . The strongest, fastest caterpillar is used to predict the weather. As the legend goes, each segment of the caterpillar corresponds to a different week of winter. The color of that segment tells you what the weather will be for that week. Every year, the festival鈥檚 official worm reader (which has, for years, been ex-NBA basketball player Tommy Burleson) hands down the forecast. He claims his predictions are up to 90-percent accurate.

Our take: We admire the organizers鈥� ability to get thousands of people excited about keeping worms as pets. But still pretty dang weird.

2. Pig Spleens

For decades, a family in Saskatchewan, Canada, has butchered a pig every six months and . The organ is split into six different segments, and sections of thickened tissue are said to correlate to spells of colder weather. Some years, Jeff Woodward, the current 鈥減ig spleen prognosticator,鈥� analyzes several spleens and . He鈥檚 not the only such prognosticator in Canada, but he has among the largest followings.

Our take: The amount of training this requires is admirable. But the amount of dead animal handling is significantly more than that of the stuffed groundhog phenomenon. And again, there鈥檚 no scientific basis. We鈥檙e calling this one pretty out-there.

1. A 93-Year-Old Alligator听

In Texas there lives a named Al. Every spring, handlers offer Al a large piece of chicken. If Al swallows the chicken, spring has arrived. If Al refuses the chicken or spits it out, six more weeks of winter are to follow. Al has now clocked about 18 years of service in his current role, but there鈥檚 no evidence that he has any idea what he鈥檚 doing.

Our take: No big decisions should be based upon a geriatric gator鈥檚 indigestion. Most weird.

The post 8 Weird Things We’re Still Using to Predict the Weather鈥擨ncluding Some That Actually Work appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

Joe Buffalo Child grew up beneath the northern lights, but one starry winter night in particular remains etched in his memory. He was six years old and camping with his grandparents to monitor the family trapline, a 50-mile stretch of snares set for rabbits and muskrats in the snowy boreal forest outside Yellowknife, the capital of Canada鈥檚 Northwest Territories. Slipping out of the cozy tent, his breath fogging as he gazed skyward, it wasn鈥檛 long before Buffalo Child found what he was seeking: 鈥淚t was stars, stars, stars, then鈥�boom! The aurora鈥檚 there,鈥� he told me, his eyes sparkling at the flashback.

On trapline trips like these, learned about the many ways nature was tied to the traditions of his people, the , who have inhabited central and northwest Canada for over 30,000 years. By day, his grandfather took him hunting or fishing鈥攐utings that came with important lessons, like how to predict an approaching storm by studying the movement of the clouds or the height of a seagull鈥檚 flight. Come dusk, bathed in the gas lamp鈥檚 honey glow, his grandmother shared spiritual beliefs, like how Buffalo Child鈥檚 beloved tie-dyed sky dance, known in the Denesuline language as ya鈥檏e ngas (鈥渢he sky is stirring鈥�), carried messages from his ancestors.

鈥淚 was on the land under the aurora even as a baby,鈥� he said. 鈥淭he aurora鈥檚 always been part of our life.鈥�

This deep knowledge of nature and cultural connection to the night sky were foundational to his future as a professional northern-lights chaser and guide for his company . Now 60 years old, Buffalo Child has spent nearly two decades sharing his aurora-tracking abilities with those willing to make the journey up to Yellowknife. He is considered one of the most well-known aurora hunters in North America.

The post Northern Lights Hunting with This Indigenous Tracker Was the Most Moving 国产吃瓜黑料 of My Life appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

Camping in 120 degree heat can be deadly. But can it also be beautiful? What started as a lark鈥攁 road trip in search of very, very hot weather鈥攂ecame an exercise in humility for writer Leath Tonino and his buddy Sean when they spent a night out in the desert. Their mission was to find the hottest patch of sand they could drive to, camp out, and survive. But as the mercury climbed and the sun obliterated their minds, their Mad Max adventure started to look more and more like a window into something amazing鈥攁nd terrifying.

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The Storm Hits 听

I wake up at dawn on Friday, September 27, because the wind is howling around my house and trees are snapping at their trunks and being pulled out of the ground by their roots. From the window I watch the treetops sway and listen for the crack of wood. I hope I can echo-locate the snap so I know where the giant timber is going to fall. At every sound, I worry something will land on my house.

Two large white oaks, one of which is at least a hundred years old (I count the rings later) are pushed over by a massive gust and careen towards my neighbor鈥檚 house, where three little girls under the age of 10 live. As one barely misses the walls and crushes a trampoline outside, I slump in relief.

Rain is coming down in a steady stream. The power goes off a few minutes after I wake up. Water is the next to vanish, an hour later. Cell service disappears in the early afternoon. Asheville has wind gusts of 46 miles per hour.

Nobody expected a storm like this in western North Carolina. Hurricanes usually hit the state鈥檚 coastal regions, not the mountains. We knew there would be rain and flooding, but nothing at all as catastrophic as what came. My wife and I lived through Asheville鈥檚 last hurricane flood, in 2004, when the French Broad River surged into low-lying parts of town. Meteorologists called that event a one-in-100-year flood. They鈥檙e saying this storm is a one-in-1,000 year event. I don鈥檛 know a single person who evacuated, nor did I ever hear any calls from officials to do so.

When the worst of the storm abates, around noon, I walk into the street and gather with neighbors to make sure everyone is O.K. Kids are crying. People have huddled in their basements. A neighbor who鈥檚 a doctor walks up saying a woman at the bottom of our hill has a gash in her neck that won鈥檛 stop bleeding because the roof of her house fell on her in bed. Trees are down all over and there鈥檚 no clear path to get the woman to a hospital, so I run around looking for a way that a vehicle could get through the carnage. So many power lines are down, so many cars are smashed, so many trees are leaning on homes, and stunned people are standing in their yards. My neighborhood of 19 years feels foreign.

I find the safest way to walk the woman with the neck wound to a point where I think a car could meet us, and I reach a friend who鈥檚 headed into my neighborhood with a chainsaw, already out trying to cut through the madness, and have just enough service to tell him where to go before my phone dies. I walk the woman up a hill, with the doctor who鈥檚 telling her not to remove the bandage from her neck because you don鈥檛 mess with neck wounds, and the woman is crying. She鈥檚 afraid of the wind and the trees鈥攁fter the roof of her house just fell on her.

My friend with the truck and the chainsaw is there, exactly where I told him to meet us, and the woman enters the vehicle and they head towards the hospital. I don鈥檛 hear how she is for another three days because there鈥檚 no cell service, and nobody hears from anyone unless in a face-to-face conversation.

I go back to my own house to assess the damage and hug my wife and children.

By the end of the day, a crew of men in a truck I鈥檝e never seen before have chainsawed their way through half of the downed trees in the neighborhood. These aren鈥檛 city crews or electric-company employees. These are dudes in trucks doing what they can to help.

This is just day one.

The Aftermath of the Storm

Hurricane Helene hit western North Carolina, turning the city of Asheville, the South鈥檚 greatest outdoor-adventure town where I have lived for 20 years, and the surrounding mountain communities into a federal disaster zone. The French Broad River crested at more than 24 feet, wiping out the entire River Arts District, a collection of restaurants, breweries, hotels, and art studios a mile west of downtown. Biltmore Village, a hub of higher-end hotels and restaurants and shops, is similarly trashed, whole buildings gutted by the force of the river. Entire neighborhoods have been washed away, with houses and trailers floating downstream and piles of broken lumber everywhere.

I鈥檓 incredibly fortunate. Our basement flooded, but no trees hit our house. Nobody in my family was hurt. We live in higher terrain and not along the river corridor, where the worst flooding occurred. So many people are in far worse shape. As I write, 71 people have been confirmed dead across the county. Search and rescue helicopters and ATVs are still looking for missing people every day.

The first few days after the storm were isolating. Navigating the roads was tough because of the downed trees. Nobody had cell or internet service, so we couldn鈥檛 check the news or message anyone. I didn鈥檛 know the extent of the destruction beyond my own neighborhood. Eventually, we learned to get in the car and listen to the city鈥檚 press conferences at 10 A.M. and 4 P.M. every day to grasp the context of the storm. I worked on cleaning up my neighbors鈥� yards and some trees in the road.

I was lucky in another way, too. We have an old hot tub in our backyard that became our sole source of gray water, and remains so. I used five-gallon buckets to move water from it to our bathtub so we could flush toilets. I cooked meals on our propane grill, pulling food from the fridge before it went bad.

At some point, I learned that the Chamber of Commerce a mile up the street had power and their WiFi was radiating into the parking lot, so twice a day I walked up there to send messages and check the news. I started a fire in the wood stove in our basement to try to dry the water out. Of all the damage Hurricane Helene caused, this is as minor as it gets.

In talking with neighbors, we heard there was no gas for cars because the stations had no power, and that none of the interstates or highways were letting vehicles in or out. We heard other towns鈥擟himney Rock, Burnsville, Spruce Pine, more鈥攄eeper in the mountains fared even worse than Asheville. We learned that the city had organized points of distribution for water and food.

Besides the destruction, mostly what I saw is people taking care of each other. The guy who owns the trendy cafe on the corner a few blocks from my house cranked up his giant pizza oven and served free burgers and chicken sandwiches, feeding 1,500 people. Other neighbors chipped in, setting up stands with free stew and hot dogs.

We were all walking all over the neighborhood and town, asking people we didn’t know if they needed anything.

Almost two weeks after the storm, we still have no power, internet, or running water. I鈥檓 still moving water to flush toilets, getting drinking water from distribution points, trying to keep a fire in the basement stove. Cell service came back about six days after the storm.

Every state and federal agency is on the ground. Cops, firefighters, and search-and-rescue teams have come from Indiana, New York, Ohio. There are well-organized official disaster-relief stations and smaller stations set up by civilians. There鈥檚 a hard 7:30 P.M. curfew. I鈥檝e heard isolated events of attempted muggings, but mostly it鈥檚 peaceful.

Unable to work as a writer without internet or power, I spend my days volunteering. One day I鈥檓 cooking burgers at a community center, the next, knocking on doors around Buncombe County doing wellness checks. If you can鈥檛 reach a cousin or aunt or spouse in Asheville, you call and ask for someone to check on the person. Volunteers go out to people鈥檚 last known addresses and see if they鈥檙e OK.

Most of the people I check on are OK. I work on developing the friendliest of door knocks,听 something that says, 鈥淚鈥檓 here to help.鈥� Only one person answered the door with a gun in a holster.

I鈥檓 having a hard time putting this into words, but in the midst of all of the destruction and despair that I鈥檝e seen, I鈥檝e also been overwhelmed by a sense of hope and gratitude. Is it cheesy to say this disaster has renewed my faith in humankind? Probably. But that鈥檚 fine.

Without water and power, schools are closed, so my kids spend their days volunteering or helping friends clean up their yards. They have sleepovers and walk a mile into town together, just for some semblance of normalcy.

Grocery stores opened on a limited basis a day or so after the storm. One person in, one person out, long lines. Cash only because there was no internet. Now the stores are taking cards again, and you can get much of what you need or want. Most gas stations are open again. The two coolers on my back porch are full of food, and I am still cooking all meals on the propane grill. I鈥檒l need to find more propane soon.

Downtown is a ghost town. Asheville is a tourist draw and obviously there are no tourists right now. A lot of people have left town temporarily as well. Some businesses have boarded up, and only a few shops are open.

My hot tub is almost empty, which means I鈥檒l have to figure out another source soon for non-potable water. I saw the destruction to the reservoir system. It鈥檚 extensive; the transmission lines, which carry the water out of the reservoir, were washed out after more than 30 inches of rain fell. The bypass line, which was built as a redundancy measure, also washed out. That particular line was buried 25 feet deep, but the land eroded so much that the pipe was carried away. Crews are working on rebuilding that pipe right now.

The Outdoor Community Steps Up

The day before the storm, I went to to drop off a couple of things for resale. Second Gear is a consignment outdoor-gear shop that gives gently loved items like camp stoves and fleece and tents a second life, an effort in sustainability and in making things affordable to people who want to go outdoors and may lack good gear and equipment. It has a great location in the River Arts District, about 100 yards from the French Broad River.

The next time I saw Second Gear, it was in a video on social media, being swept away by the river. The entire building.

A number of guide services, like paddle-board rental shops and shuttle operators like French Broad Outfitters and Zen Tubing, that were located on the river suffered similar fates. Wrong Way Campground saw massive damage, the river breaching several of their cabins.

The local climbing gym, Cultivate Climbing, closed their flood doors, which would typically keep water out of the building. The river level was so high the waters crested the flood doors, poured in, and turned the building into a swimming pool.

Pisgah and Nantahala National Forests are closed. There鈥檚 no telling what sort of damage those mountains have suffered, because all resources right now are still dedicated to helping people in need. I鈥檝e heard of groups of mountain bikers from the local bike club, called SORBA (for the Southern Off-Road Bicycle Association), hiking into small, isolated communities and chainsawing a path for those residents to get out to the nearest fire station.

I鈥檝e heard of fly-fishing guides leading search-and-rescue efforts in the steep mountain hollers where they typically head up fishing adventures.

Several small towns, such as Barnardsville and Spruce Pine, in western North Carolina are isolated, the roads covered in mud and a tangle of pines and hardwoods. Nonprofits and small-town fire departments have been organizing groups of hikers to take supplies into people deep in the mountains who are cut off from the outside world. Volunteers with ATVs are incredibly sought after because they can get into remote places that normal vehicles can鈥檛 access.

The French Broad River Keeper, Hartwell Carson, who spearheads stewardship when he鈥檚 not assessing storm damage and reports of toxic sludge, mobilizes a crew of volunteers to cook burgers and hot dogs for various communities throughout the region. He鈥檚 lobbying for millions of dollars to be allocated to the area specifically to put out-of-work river guides on the job of cleaning up the French Broad.

Astral, an Asheville-based shoe brand that makes popular water shoes and hiking boots, is focusing on supporting remote mountain communities that saw severe hurricane damage. This week, Astral will take a van load of six generators to the tiny town of Buladean, which sits below Roan Mountain in North Carolina鈥檚 High Country.

The director of North Carolina Outdoor Economy, Amy Allison, is trying to coordinate coat donations from gear companies outside of the region. It鈥檚 warm today, but the temperatures are dropping next week. Many families here don鈥檛 have adequate winter gear, and will need coats, hats, and gloves as they navigate the new reality of going to distribution points for drinking water and moving flush water into their homes.

What鈥檚 Next for Western North Carolina听

Almost two weeks later, I still try to turn the light on when I walk into a room. According to local press conferences, we鈥檒l probably get power back some time this week, which is great. I鈥檝e heard that the city is sending trucks to take out household trash. There鈥檚 no timetable as to when water will be restored. It could be weeks.

Living without running water for a couple of months is hard to fathom, largely because our kids can鈥檛 go back to school without it. Schools must have working sprinkler systems in case of fire.

Several families we know have already moved temporarily to other cities and enrolled their kids in schools. My wife is looking into home-school scenarios.

For a couple of days right after the storm there was a constant stream of sirens and chainsaws, but that stopped. Now it鈥檚 silent at night. It鈥檚 the kind of quiet you get camping in the middle of the woods, but I live on the edge of downtown Asheville. With no lights in my neighborhood, I can see the stars at night. I don鈥檛 think any of us will begin to understand the impact of what鈥檚 happened for months, when it鈥檚 safer and the destruction and loss of lives isn鈥檛 so palpable.

In the meantime, we carry on. I have a wood stove. I鈥檝e hooked up a solar shower. I鈥檓 trying to work again. Tomorrow I鈥檓 cooking burgers for the small town of Barnardsville, 45 minutes north of Asheville. After that I鈥檒l help a friend salvage the fence on his farm, then later in the week help another friend repair his campground. I think I鈥檝e come up with a solution for water to flush my toilets, too. There鈥檚 a creek at the bottom of my neighborhood. I鈥檒l put my cold plunge tub in the back of the truck and fill it from the creek with five-gallon buckets, then drive back up to my house and put the water in the hot tub.

It feels good to have a plan.

Graham Averill is 国产吃瓜黑料 magazine鈥檚 national-parks columnist. He鈥檚 lived in Asheville for more than 20 years. If you want to help locals, lost its warehouse in the flood, and is still distributing food to those in need.

For more by this author, see:

9 Beautiful Mountain Towns in the Southeast

9 Most Underrated National Parks for Incredible Fall Foliage

The post This Is What It鈥檚 Like to Live in Asheville After Hurricane Helene appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

Brad Smith hiked into Damascus, Virginia, on the Appalachian Trail just as the rain from Hurricane Helene thickened into a torrent.

鈥淭he last 6 miles was the worst weather I鈥檝e been outside in, and I鈥檓 49鈥 could have kayaked off the mountain if I had one,鈥� he wrote in a message. 鈥淭he trail was a small river. Guessing I was one of the last customers at the Damascus Diner before Laurel Creek took it and the street over.鈥�

More than are dead and many more are missing after Helene carved a 500-mile-long path of devastation through the southeastern United States with 30 people losing their lives in North Carolina鈥檚 Buncombe County alone. Among the hardest-hit communities were trail towns in Tennessee, North Carolina, and Virginia that some of the AT鈥檚 best-known businesses and trail angels call home.

Drew 鈥淏irdman鈥� Glines, an Appalachian Trail thru-hiker, rafting guide, and North Carolina local told Backpacker that the 鈥渄evastation鈥� inflicted on riverside communities was hard to describe.

鈥淩oads and bridges have been completely destroyed, making some areas still completely inaccessible to even emergency vehicles,鈥� he wrote in an email.

While destinations like the Nantahala Outdoor Center, the Western Smokies, Gatlinburg, and Pigeon Ford escaped major harm from the hurricane, other areas were not so lucky. Glines rattled off a list of landmarks affected by the hurricane.

鈥� in Roan was flooded. Hot Springs was hard hit鈥s was Hartford,鈥� he wrote. 鈥� is devastated.鈥� The majority of western North Carolina is out of cell service, water, and power, although 鈥榙isaster roaming鈥� has allowed locals to connect to any functioning network in the wake of the tragedy. The town of Asheville is still largely isolated due to infrastructure damage and washed-out roads.

On Trail When the Hurricane Hit

Smith wasn鈥檛 the only hiker caught in the weather. Lisa Woodward was hiking through Great Smoky Mountains National Park in Tennessee when the hurricane struck.

鈥淸We] experienced torrential downpours and wind gusts of up to 80 miles per hour or so at almost 6,000 feet elevation,鈥� she wrote in a message. 鈥淗ad to take a zero on Fri. at TriCorner Knob Shelter to wait out the worst of it. Made it out on Sunday via the Low Gap Trail to Cosby CampGround, where Ken from Discerning Hiker Hostel 鈥榬escued鈥� us.鈥�

Mollie Dembek was on trail near Hot Springs when the weather turned.

鈥淚 was at Flint Mountain Shelter, north of Hot Springs, NC when it started raining HARD on Tuesday,鈥� she wrote. 鈥淚 decided to hike the next day to Hemlock Hollow Hostel and Campground in Greeneville, TN the next day to get out of the rain. I am SO GLAD I did. I stayed the night there, warm and dry, but was watching the weather and news the entire time growing more and more anxious,鈥� she said.

Dembek was able to make it to Asheville to stay with a friend. On Saturday, they decided to leave the area. Strangers lent her gas money at a station in Weaverville that was only accepting cash. (鈥淭hey said it was 鈥榯rail magic,鈥� she recalls. 鈥淚 absolutely started crying.鈥�)

鈥淭hey ended up following us over the mountains because we were able to get turn by turn directions from my friend using my Garmin InReach,鈥� she wrote. 鈥淚 was able to communicate with friends and family using my Garmin and got seven people to safety because of the technology. I was never so grateful to get to Maryville, TN and get a cell signal.鈥�

Hot Springs, North Carolina. My grandfather鈥檚 summer mountain pasture was over on Spring Creek, near this lovely little town.

鈥� Anne Margaret Daniel (@venetianblonde)

While locals are still fighting for their lives, other members of the trail community are rallying to support them. Trail Angels like 鈥溾�� Hensley of Erwin, Tennessee are scrambling to support flooded communities in the wake of the tragedy. Matthew 鈥淥die鈥� Norman, a thru-hiker, trail angel, and former owner of the Hiker Yearbook, was in New Jersey for the hurricane but is preparing to drive south to support local trail communities.

Trail Organizations Warn Hikers to Stay Away for Now

Determining when hiking should resume in the southern part of the Appalachian Trail is a sensitive topic. Norman said that 鈥渕ost hikers should not attempt to hike in the south at this time.鈥�

In a statement, the Appalachian Trail Conservancy (ATC) warned visitors to stay off trail between Springer Mountain (NOBO Mile 0) and Rockfish Gap (NOBO Mile 864.6).

鈥淥ver the coming weeks and months, the ATC will be working with the National Park Service, U.S. Forest Service, and state and local partners to inventory the damage to the treadway, trailheads, bridges, overnight sites, privies and other A.T. features,鈥� the organization said. 鈥淟andslides and falling trees could continue for some time, so we ask volunteers and trail crews to pause work on this section of the Trail and to coordinate closely with regional ATC teams.鈥�

Hensley said that the devastation in trail communities like Damascus and Hot Springs is 鈥渄ire.鈥�

鈥淭hese communities are asking us to please stay away鈥hey cannot handle the infrastructure or any people walking into town,鈥� she said. In the event that hikers choose to continue hiking through southern Appalachia and they get into trouble, she adds, emergency services are unlikely to be able to help in a timely fashion.

Hensley said that hikers should stay informed and start making plans once they reach Virginia.

鈥淲hen people come through the Shenandoah they need to be deciding what they鈥檙e going to do,鈥� she said. 鈥淏ut hiking through this area would be ridiculous and it鈥檚 going to put lives on the line.鈥�

Norman said he recognizes that as the weeks stretch on, deciding when it鈥檚 the right time to hit the trail again could pose a difficult question鈥攁nd that different hikers could have different answers.

鈥淭he hiking community will be walking a tightrope in the next few months. Should hikers continue their hike? Would it be detrimental to the trail towns? What if there鈥檚 an emergency and emergency services are already stretched thin?鈥� he said. 鈥淏ut there are other questions: what if hikers have nowhere to go? What if they鈥檙e hiking off war, drug addiction, any number of traumatic events? What if they鈥檙e hiking to help?鈥�

One thing Norman is certain of: When hikers are able to come and help, they will.

鈥淚 can tell you for a fact that I watched hikers assist trail towns in 2020 and they will do it again in 2024,鈥� he said. 鈥淚t will not be publicized on Facebook, it will not be filmed, it is not done for recognition, it is done because that鈥檚 what hikers do.鈥�

Readers looking for guidance and direction around post-hurricane support can find more information from the . Official trail closures are available on the .听

The post AT Hikers Rally Support As Trail Towns Recover From Hurricane Helene appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

鈥淢ore than a third鈥� of the Appalachian Trail is currently inaccessible to hikers as the southeastern United States recovers from the devastation of Hurricane Helene, the Appalachian Trail Conservancy (ATC) said in a statement on Saturday evening.

In a , ATC Executive Director Sandi Marra said that the organization believed some sections of the trail could be closed for an extended period of time 鈥渂ecause of bridges that have washed away and downed trees and mudslides obstructing the treadway鈥�

鈥淎.T. Communities such as Damascus, VA; Erwin, TN; and Hot Springs, N.C. have been devastated,鈥� Marra wrote. 鈥淎ll national forests in Georgia and North Carolina are closed as is Great Smoky Mountains National Park. And access to and from Asheville, home to ATC鈥檚 Southern Regional Office, is extremely limited due to the destruction. Needless to say, it will be weeks, months, and even years to see recovery from this event.

In an update on Saturday morning, Great Smoky Mountains National Park said that while a handful of roads had reopened, Newfound Gap Road remained closed from Gatlinburg and Cherokee, as did Balsam Mountain, Cataloochee, Roaring Fork, Greenbrier, Foothills Parkway East, and Rich Mountain Road. The park received heavy rain, measuring 9 inches at Newfound Gap, while Cataloochee flooded to 9.5 feet, breaking a record set in 1963.

The also remains closed as the National Park Service (NPS) assesses storm damage and conducts cleanup.

Some state-managed lands along the trail have announced their own closures. In a post on Friday, in Virginia said that there was no access to the park 鈥渄ue to road closures from downed trees, mudslides, and significant flooding,鈥� and that campgrounds in the park would remain closed until at least Monday, September 30.

Helene鈥檚 impact on trail communities and their residents has been equally devastating. The Virginia Department of Emergency Management told , that Damascus, the home of Appalachian Trail Days, was the most-damaged town in the state. So far, officials have confirmed 60 deaths across the hurricanes path.

How Hikers Can Help

Towns along the Appalachian Trail host thousands of hikers a year; the worst-affected trail towns will need our support for months or even years to come as cleanup and rebuilding efforts progress. Here are a few ways to give back to the region鈥檚 recovery post-Hurricane Helene.

GoFundMe鈥檚 Hurricane Relief Fund provides direct cash grants to individuals and groups affected by U.S. domestic hurricanes.

Donations to the fund its relief efforts across the area impacted by Helene and beyond.

feeds survivors of disaster and conflict around the world. The organization was on the ground distributing food and water in affected communities within 12 hours post-Helene.

is a grassroots initiative that leverages its network of volunteers to give directly to survivors of climate-change-driven and -worsened disasters.

The post 鈥淢ore Than a Third鈥� of Appalachian Trail Closed Due to Hurricane Damage appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.