Made for Flash Floods

Some basic knowledge of the region’s geography and weather patterns helps us answer the first question. Headwaters of the Guadalupe River Basin are perfectly positioned in a region already known as “Flash Flood Ally”, within a sprawling swath across central Texas extending both west and northeast of Austin. The Guadalupe River flows toward the east and curves southeast for nearly 250 miles in a relatively narrow drainage basin from its headwaters, starting in Hill country and the Edwards Plateau west of Kerrville, spreading onto its floodplain, and finally spilling into San Antonio Bay and the Gulf of Mexico. Average annual precipitation in Hill Country is about 30 inches. Average July precipitation is just over 2 inches, sandwiched between May/June and Sep/Oct peaks. (Average annual precipitation in Texas varies from 10 inches near El Paso in the far west to 60 inches around Houston in the far east, which leaves this targeted region midway between the state’s contrasting dry and wet climates.)

The surrounding Edwards Plateau is underlain by limestone rock formations and thin soils with infiltration capacities that can be quickly overwhelmed by occasional high-intensity rainfall events experienced in these parts of Texas. Sheet flow down the hillsides is rapidly concentrated into narrow channel flows at the bottom of the slopes. According to the USGS, “The Guadalupe River Basin is relatively long and narrow, with a length of approximately 237 miles and a maximum width of about 50 miles. The basin has a drainage area of approximately 6,700 square miles (mi²).” The entire basin has been growing in population to over 600,000. But those headwaters in that steeper northwestern part of the basin are most prone to flash flooding.

Texas flash flood events often begin in the Gulf of Mexico, where ocean water temperatures soar above 80°F during summer months. Such warm water evaporates into warm overlying air masses that have a high capacity to hold water vapor. (Dew points as high as 80°F are sometimes recorded along the Texas coast from summer into fall.) Those air masses are not only full of water, but are charged with tremendous amounts of stored latent heat, waiting to be released when the vapor condenses to form clouds. The muggy air columns often swirl inland into Mexico or directly into Texas, sometimes imbedded in tropical disturbances.

That is exactly what happened during the recent flash floods. After Tropical Storm Barry moved over land and dissipated above the Mexican highlands, its moisture teamed up with additional remnant moisture drawn in from the warm East Pacific (from the other side of southern Mexico). The juiced-up air mass drifted north and became concentrated in pockets caught in a weak unstable low-pressure circulation that stalled over central Texas. Summer surface heating and additional forced lifting up the Edwards Plateau in what is known as Hill Country (which rises up over 3,000 feet) provided the extra instability necessary to build towering severe thunderstorms and local torrential cloudbursts.

The National Weather Service forecast this general pattern days ahead of time and even issued flash flood watches for the region, but these were not the kind of steady and widespread precipitation events common to weather fronts or tropical storms. Many regions of Texas (and some near the worst flooding) received little or no rain, leaving those residents to wonder what was the big deal. Every local Texan has experienced this typical convective summer hit-and-miss instability. Forecasters can warn of scattered thunderstorms and severe weather, but forecast models can’t precisely pinpoint which exact hill or neighborhood will receive the drenching until the local event becomes imminent. Still, NWS tools that include increasingly accurate high-resolution models helped to forecast and follow the massive mesoscale convective system that was developing. Rain rates up to 2-4 inches/hour and local storm totals of 6-8 inches were forecast, though one spot would eventually receive up to a foot or more. Alerts were elevated to flash flood warnings hours ahead as storm locations and severities became more apparent. When individual storms further strengthened and threats increased, wording in the screeching flood warnings became more urgent and desperate, heightened to considerable elevated risk, and finally to a flash flood emergency, which is very rare. (Note the summary of these warnings at the end of this story.) But the communication didn’t make it from the NWS to the victims.  

Gravity took over from there, driving cloudbursts on to the sloping surfaces; sheets of water from above landed to become sheet flow headed to the nearest rill or gully. Within minutes, headwater tributary channels that slice through Hill Country served as efficient conduits as they converged to deliver copious streamflow downhill into the Guadalupe River. Depending on the location, river levels are estimated to have increased from a mere trickle to over 25 feet in less than an hour.

Holiday camps were filled with visitors and some locals who were either out of range of the warnings or had temporarily discarded their phones to celebrate their peaceful weekend in nature. The apparent lack of weather radios and absence of sirens exacerbated the dearth of emergency information, leaving oblivious and vulnerable locals and campers in the dark until the floodwaters were surging around them and it was too late; victims didn’t even have time to make the 5- or 10-minute walk up to higher ground that would have saved them. Hundreds were first stranded and then swept away in another definition of the perfect storm. As the hours passed, peak Guadalupe River floodwaters raced downstream, but passing by populations that were receiving the warnings. Scores of upstream victims, who were incorporated into the cascading flood debris, may never be found in the massive downstream deposits. It seems somehow appropriate that, after being caught in reservoirs and behind dams, the Guadalupe’s floodwaters are headed back to the Gulf of Mexico where all this started, perhaps to evaporate again and continue the hydrologic cycle, or even to fuel the next flash flood event.

Learning from Our Mistakes

There is always a lot of finger-pointing following a disaster such as this. For instance, poorly informed individuals have even been misled with misguided stories about cloud seeding. But cloud seeding efforts have been shown to—at best—increase precipitation from preexisting rain clouds by up to 10%, while no additional precipitation is often the result. And the only company (Rainmaker) that was seeding up to a hundred miles away halted its operations two days before the storms hit. As more information pours in (and it is always easier to second-guess as Monday-morning quarterbacks), what at first seemed to be a tragic and unavoidable series of events may have been averted with some simple precautions: by making sure the camps had access and paid attention to emergency warning systems. A few functional weather radios and/or a siren (such as the one installed just downstream) may have saved hundreds of lives. Relocation of the camps slightly uphill from their previous locations and farther from the riverbed will likely be a future remedy. After all, the greatest number of lives lost were in the epicenter of “flash flood alley”, in the heart of the state that averages the greatest number of flash flood victims each year.

While it has earned our attention, this heartbreaking event represents a motivating opportunity to reevaluate where we develop on floodplains and where we live and set up camp to make sure we aren’t the next victims. And if we travel beyond communication range of the outside world, a good map and some simple research ahead of time could determine whether or not we return safely to share our adventures. It is also an opportunity to recall that for every one-degree Fahrenheit increase in temperature, our atmospheric sponge has the capacity to hold 3-4% more water vapor. In a world of increasing temperatures and hydroclimatic whiplash, what goes up must eventually come down, and this helps to explain why severe rain events and their floods are becoming more common: our atmosphere is loading with greater amounts of water and energy that must be distributed. Meanwhile, we are compelled to ask if such a tragedy could happen in California.               

Are Californians the Next Victims?

It is a bit ironic how both Texas and California exhibit landscapes that suffer from long periods of debilitating drought, punctuated by torrential downpours and catastrophic flash floods. Within hours in both states, concerns about over drafting groundwater resources, lowering water tables, and dried-up springs turn to saving victims from dangerous flooding. Our Golden State harbors a wide range of flash flood environments, especially after fires strip off protective vegetation. All 58 counties have experienced some sort of severe flooding. Look for steep slopes and a lack of vegetation in places that receive sporadic precipitation and you are in flash flood country. Add loose materials weathered on those slopes, and you are in mud and debris flow country. You will find them scattered across the southwest states and you will hear about the latest unsuspecting victims that were swept to their deaths. I have experienced my share of these violent events and I wrote about a few of them in my California Sky Watcher book. I even started my academic career by studying their impacts on landscapes around the White Mountains along the California/Nevada border. But the conditions that lead to our flash flood events are usually quite different from Texas.

During our southwest summer “monsoon”, we only occasionally get incursions of warm, moist air masses from Mexico. Our summer moisture usually sneaks in from the Sonoran Desert or the Gulf of California rather than directly from the Gulf of Mexico, mainly impacting our inland mountains and deserts. Check out our website story from my storm chasing a few years ago. During late summer, rare tropical disturbances (check this video) might even drift up into California (such as Hilary in August, 2023) as they die out. But our “monsoon” airmasses hardly ever arrive as charged up as those Gulf of Mexico surges into Texas. So, our summer thunderstorms are usually more isolated and less severe, producing very little summer rain on the average, even in our desert and mountain areas.

These towering storms are more like afternoon and evening oddities that must build and maintain themselves above smaller specific watersheds in order to power localized flash floods and debris flows. But their rarity is also what makes them dangerous, when they unexpectedly pop up and generate violent flows that can briefly submerge canyons and cough out material on to alluvial fans before spreading into adjacent valleys. Partly cloudy with a chance of scattered afternoon thunderstorms, and a high of 105 or more, can suddenly turn into a violent two-inch cloudburst and deadly flash flood within an hour.

The aprons of alluvial fans that stretch out from the base of our inland mountains, particularly across Southern California and into the Basin and Range, are made of successive mud and debris flows, recalling thousands of years of rare but violent floods that charged out of individual drainage basins long before our developments and infrastructures covered them. On average, these summer events become wetter and more frequent as we travel east into Arizona and New Mexico. Much of the desert southwest east of the Colorado River experiences peak annual rainfall during the summer months. That is why rangers and other officials close some trails in places such as the Zion Canyon Narrows when hit-and-miss storms erupt into the forecast.

California’s greatest floods are usually associated with our winter storms’ atmospheric rivers. In contrast to the Texas summer downpours, these larger systems that sweep off the Pacific are forecast long before they come ashore so that we can prepare for them, they bring widespread rain and snow, and they may hang around for days. But the danger and damage can easily exceed many billions of dollars as flooding ravages multiple drainage basins, tests our dams and other flood control infrastructures, and spreads across hundreds of square miles of floodplains after spilling out of surrounding mountains.

California’s most powerful series of atmospheric rivers and resulting megaflood (December 1861 – February 1862) not only lasted for more than a month, but inundated many of our lowlands, including the Central Valley and Los Angeles Basin into Orange County. This event is used as an example for what researchers call the ARkStorm (Atmospheric River 1,000), which is likely to return to do more damage than “The Big One”, the massive earthquake that is overdue along the San Andreas Fault Zone. As examples, floodplains along the Yuba, Russian, and Pajaro Rivers, most rivers pouring out of the Coast Ranges and Sierra Nevada, and most of the Central Valley and Southern California coastal plains are all at risk. Intense downpours that become imbedded in atmospheric rivers and move over burn scars have also powered scores of local mud and debris flows, such as in Montecito in 2018, which killed 23 people. So, we can certainly learn from the Texas tragedies, but we are certainly not Texas (interpret as you wish).

What we share with Texas are the increasing amounts of moisture and energy in our atmosphere, warning us how such extreme events are becoming more likely each year. Instead of building developments in harm’s way, we can prepare by leaving spreading basins open at the base of our mountain ranges to catch runoff and allow the pooled water to gradually soak into our aquifers. We can also build more debris basins at strategic locations along water courses to catch debris flows before they invade our settlements and destroy infrastructures. We also share serious concerns about how recent budget cuts and layoffs at NOAA and the National Weather Service will lead to the unnecessary loss of life and property in the future. Let’s all hope that we will be smart enough to prepare for the coming extreme weather events so we won’t have to write future stories about similar tragedies in California.

Continue below to find some additional sources and a timeline of the Texas flood warnings.

Relevant links:

Guadalupe River Basin Poster

NY Times Texas Flood Sequence

Guadalupe River Rainwater Harvesting

From InFRM: Interagency Flood Risk Management/USGS

Daniel Swain Video at Weather West

Some California Links:
Note how the first two videos look hauntingly similar to the Guadalupe, Texas flash flood. 

The Whitewater River flooded after Tropical Storm Hilary (August, 2023) dropped torrential rains on the San Bernardino Mountains.

Here’s dramatic video showing what resulted when a relatively warm atmospheric river dumped heavy rain on low-elevation Sierra Nevada snowpacks (March 10, 2023), all part of a series of deluges that eventually broke California’s twenty-plus-years megadrought.

A Story about the Megaflood of 1862 and preparing for another.

Burned Watershed Geohazards from the California Department of Conservation.

Central Valley Flood Protection Plan

National Weather Service Budget Cut Impacts

Late July Update: Summer monsoon thunderstorms continued to generate flash flooding across New Mexico into late July, 2025. The mountain village of Ruidoso was repeatedly flooded when heavy cloudbursts poured over upstream burn scars. Here are just two examples of videos floating around out there.     

Here is a summary (from media sources) of some emergency warnings from the National Weather Service leading up to and during the Guadalupe River flash flood event:

Thursday, July 3

The National Weather Service had issued several flood watches for counties in central Texas on Thursday, July 3, warning of the possibility of rain and flash flooding through Friday, but these were not emergency alerts.

11:41 p.m., Bandera County — NWS sends a warning about potentially “life threatening” flash flooding of creeks and streams for residents of central Bandera County, the neighboring county to the south of Kerr County and Camp Mystic. The message includes some standard NWS flash flooding language: “Turn around, don’t drown when encountering flooded roads. Most flood deaths occur in vehicles. Be especially cautious at night when it is harder to recognize the dangers of flooding. In hilly terrain there are hundreds of low water crossings which are potentially dangerous in heavy rain. Do not attempt to cross flooded roads. Find an alternate route.” 

Friday, July 4

1:14 a.m., Bandera and Kerr Counties — This message, the first one for Kerr County, included some of the same standard NWS flash flooding language as the warning sent to Bandera about an hour and a half before.

1:53 a.m., Bandera County — NWS sends a repeat of its earlier first warning to Bandera County (but not Kerr).

3:35 a.m., Bandera and Kerr Counties — NWS sends a repeat of its earlier warning to the two counties, but in the warning language it adds: “It is important to know where you are relative to streams, rivers, or creeks which can become killers in heavy rains. Campers and hikers should avoid streams or creeks.” 

4:03 a.m., Bandera and Kerr Counties — This NWS message, covering the area that includes Camp Mystic, repeats much of the earlier message but is the first to add this more urgent wording: “This is a PARTICULARLY DANGEROUS SITUATION. SEEK HIGHER GROUND NOW!” and “Move to higher ground now! This is an extremely dangerous and life-threatening situation. Do not attempt to travel unless you are fleeing an area subject to flooding or under an evacuation order.”

4:03 a.m. — The National Weather Service in Austin/San Antonio issues a Flash Flood Emergency, stating: “At 403 AM CDT, Doppler radar and automated rain gauges indicated thunderstorms producing heavy rain. Numerous low water crossings as well as the Guadalupe River at Hunt are flooding. Between 4 and 10 inches of rain have fallen. The expected rainfall rate is 2 to 4 inches in 1 hour. Additional rainfall amounts of 2 to 4 inches are possible in the warned area. Flash flooding is already occurring.”

5:34 a.m., Kerr County — NWS sends a repeat of its earlier warning to Kerr County, which includes Camp Mystic. “This is a FLASH FLOOD EMERGENCY for the Guadalupe River from Hunt through Kerrvile and Center Point. This is a PARTICULARLY DANGEROUS SITUATION. SEEK HIGHER GROUND NOW!” and “Move to higher ground now! This is an extremely dangerous and life-threatening situation.”

6:06 a.m., Bandera and Kerr Counties — NWS sends a repeat of its earlier warning to both counties. It reads in part: “Local law enforcement reported numerous low water crossings flooded and major flooding occurring along the Guadalupe River with rescues taking place. Between 5 and 10 inches of rain have fallen. Additional rainfall amounts up to 2 inches are possible in the warned area. Flash flooding is already occurring. This is a FLASH FLOOD EMERGENCY for South-central Kerr County, including Hunt. This is a PARTICULARLY DANGEROUS SITUATION. SEEK HIGHER GROUND NOW!” 

6:27 a.m., Kerr County — NWS sends a repeat of its earlier warning to Kerr County, saying “This is a FLASH FLOOD EMERGENCY” and “SEEK HIGHER GROUND NOW!”

The Guadalupe River reached its peak level of about 36 feet at around 7 a.m. Friday, July 4.

7:24 a.m., Kerr and Kendall Counties — NWS sends a repeat of its earlier warning to Kerr County and neighboring Kendall County, to the east. It reads in part: “A large and deadly flood wave is moving down the Guadalupe River. Flash flooding is already occurring. This is a FLASH FLOOD EMERGENCY for THE GUADALUPE RIVER FROM CENTER POINT TO SISTERDALE. This is a PARTICULARLY DANGEROUS SITUATION. SEEK HIGHER GROUND NOW!”

8:47 a.m., Kerr County — NWS sends a repeat of its earlier warning to Kerr County.

9:04 a.m., Bandera and Kerr Counties — NWS sends a repeat of its earlier warning to these two counties.

Several repeat warnings followed, especially for downstream locations, as peak flooding spread southeast out of Hill Country.  

The following additional images (you may recognize some from previous stories on our webpage or in my book) illustrate summer thunderstorm impacts in California’s deserts.

THE END

The post Flash Flood! … From Texas to California first appeared on Rediscovering the Golden State.

At Rediscovering the Golden State: California Geography, one of our missions is to feature the impactful work of students who apply geographic thought and analysis to pressing California issues. We’re proud to present Jason Runnels, a dedicated student from Santa Monica College.

Jason has completed a significant project titled Wells, Crops, and Crisis: Exploring the Spatial Relationships Between Groundwater Depletion, Crops and Landcover in Tulare County, CA. This timely and insightful work delves into the critical issue of groundwater depletion in Tulare County, examining its spatial relationships with agricultural practices and land cover.

We encourage you to explore Jason’s work by following the link above. Additionally, please take a moment to read his bio (see below) and learn more about his motivations for addressing this critical issue.

A twenty-five-year resident of California, Jason Runnells, the creator behind this featured project, brings a deeply personal perspective to the state’s pressing water resource challenges. With roots in a multi-generational Colorado farming family, he possesses a lifelong appreciation for the intricate relationship between land and water in semi-arid environments. This foundational interest has culminated in a focused exploration of Tulare County’s groundwater issues, a critical component of California’s larger sustainability puzzle.

This project leverages the power of Geographic Information Systems (GIS) to investigate the complex spatial interplay between shifting groundwater levels and established land use patterns. The resulting analysis provides valuable insights for the broader conversation surrounding water management and long-term environmental planning in the region.

Jason’s path to geography and GIS is as unique as his perspective. After a successful two-decade career in the music industry, a desire to more deeply understand the natural world led him back to academia. Under the mentorship of Professor Jing Liu at Santa Monica College, a passion for cartography and spatial analysis was ignited. This newfound dedication to geography has led to an internship as the GIS lead for The Canyon Alliance, where he is instrumental in developing geographic databases and tools to support local disaster preparedness efforts.

Upon graduating this spring with an associate degree in Geography, Jason will continue his studies at UCLA, pursuing a major in Geography/Environmental Studies and a minor in Geospatial Information Systems & Technologies. This project stands as a testament to his dedication and a promising glimpse into a future dedicated to applying the power of geography to real-world environmental challenges.

The post Wells, Crops, and Crisis first appeared on Rediscovering the Golden State.

We all require nutritious meals for our survival. So, the people who grow and harvest our food should be near the top of our list of workers who are rewarded for their labor, right? But that has become wishful thinking as profit margins continue to shrink and more family farms are threatened with bankruptcy each year. Agricultural innovations and revolutions continue to spread, leaving their footprints across California’s landscapes; but current trends too often leave small farmers struggling to pay the bills and keep food on their own tables, all while our popular culture celebrates the latest get-rich-quick millionaires and billionaires who may provide no essential goods or services. California has been the number one agricultural state in the nation for at least seven decades. Our state produces more varieties of farm products than any other state (including some crops that are only grown here commercially), totaling more than 50 billion dollars of income each year.

Disturbing questions and contradictory data ring out from the Golden State and spread to farming communities throughout the country. How are these paradoxical trends affecting life on the farms and our ability to provide healthy, affordable food to the people? What is the future of agriculture as small farms struggle to retain young people who might continue family traditions? Here, we will dive into these controversies and on to the farms to find some answers. We start with a small regenerative family farm and we end with the largest winery in the world, both just outside Turlock in the San Joaquin Valley, between Modesto and Merced. Our guide is Alison McNally, Associate Professor of Geography & Environmental Resources at Cal State University Stanislaus, and this trip is sponsored by the California Geographical Society.

This story is not intended to answer all the questions or solve the many perplexing problems encountered in California’s breadbasket. We have addressed some of them in previous stories on this website and in past publications. For instance, you are probably aware of the controversial debates about how, for decades, big ag has grown at the expense of smaller family farms in California and across much of the nation. Though movements such as farm-to-table encourage sustainable harvests from smaller local farms, many larger agribusinesses have also discovered the economic advantages of more sustainable and/or organic farming on much larger scales. I’ll leave it to you to navigate through the rabbit holes of research and mountains of case studies (such as from UC Davis) that weigh the pros and cons and long-term advantages and disadvantages of small- to large-scale farming. Here, we take you to experience both extremes.

We’re plowing right into the fields for some first-hand experiential learning, guided by the people who work on the farms every day. We start with a morning tour and informative customized hayride through Burroughs Family Farms and we end with an afternoon at E & J Gallo Ranch. There are some surprising connections to our previous story on this website since, on a clear day, you can see some Yosemite National Park high country when you look east from some of these farmlands. And remember the Merced River than runs through Yosemite Valley? It continues downhill to become a water source for Gallo Ranch, after upstream waters are released from Lake McClure to meander into the San Joaquin Valley. And like the previous story, I am using my personal field notes fortified with a bit of background research. All images are originals taken by me with no tampering or manipulation.

Burroughs Family Farms started about 130 years ago in the Berkeley Hills. As Berkeley grew, they paid Burroughs to move toward the Sacramento-San Joaquin Delta, where four dairies were established up to the 1970s.  (We are told that Jersey Island, located where the East Bay meets the Delta, was named after their cows.) When the California Department of Water Resources later bought them out, the family conducted a study, which finally landed Burroughs Family Farms just east of Turlock. They became reestablished as a high producing dairy farm, though their dairies have recently shut down within such a punishing market.

This is where we meet Rosie Burroughs. We launch into her world of regenerative practices that emphasize how healthy soils grow better-tasting, more nutritious foods. She immediately repeats a valuable lesson from the movie, Common Ground: “If you take care of the soil, the soil will take care of you.” And from Rosie and the next film she recommends, Symphony of the Soil, we learn that “we don’t grow plants, we grow soil and soil grows plants.” She emphasizes how healthy soils encourage infiltration of rainfall to become giant water-holding sponges that are also more pest-resistant. Such sustainable soil water banks increase productivity while requiring less irrigation, cutting the need for synthetic industrial chemicals that may increase yields in the short term, but poison the land and decrease the quality of yields in the long term.    

The Burroughs nurtured 20,000 acres for the three years necessary to convert it to organic farming and they’ve been designated organic for 20 years. Now, they grow almonds, beef, chicken, walnuts, and various other products on 12,000 acres. But too many of California’s small farmers have been forced to become price takers rather than price setters. Rosie tells the story of how big ag pushed them out of the dairy business by undercutting their prices and dominating the market. Another unexpected challenge appeared in the form of California’s Sustainable Groundwater Management Act (SGMA), enacted in 2014, designed to ensure the sustainable use of groundwater resources across the state. The one-size-fits-all act restricts use of protective ground cover due to perceived high transpiration rates. Rosie argues that their ground cover is actually cutting evaporation and protecting surfaces from erosion in the long run, as they use grazing sheep and other natural trimming techniques that return nutrients into the soil: “One of the ways they protect and enhance the soil, air and water is by growing cover crops. Continuous ground cover with alternative crops suppresses weeds, improves soil structure, sequesters carbon and attracts beneficial insects and native pollinators. For organic crop production, it also provides nitrogen in lieu of chemical fertilizers.”

Though they are busy shipping their fresh farm products around the country, Rosie and family were eager to share their expertise and passion for all-in-the-family sustainable regenerative farming, and we were eager to hear more; but we must move on.   

It’s time to make the short drive south toward Snelling, where we will learn from farmers who work in what seems to be worlds apart from the Burroughs family … until you look a little closer. This Gallo Ranch was purchased by the Gallo family in the 1970s. Alfalfa and apples have been replaced with rows of grapevines. Their three different acreages in this region (Livingston, Merced, and Turlock) are enormous compared to Burroughs Family Farm, as these landscapes and farming economies define volume-scale winemaking. Founded in 1933 by Ernest and Julio Gallo, their family-owned company became the world’s largest winery, recently raking in revenues of more than $5 billion/year with a total net worth more than $12 billion. 

Brent Sams is waiting for us. Brent has been working for Gallo as a viticulture research scientist since 2012. He earned his BA and MA in Geography and his Ph.D. in horticulture and has been researching to understand how fruit chemistry (and quality) changes over time and space. He has used field measurements to test fruit and light exposure, canopy temperature, and soil cores, sensors to measure electric conductivity and elevation mapping, and remote sensing from satellite, unmanned aerial aircraft, and commercial aircraft. It’s a high-tech GPS/GIS environment where updated yields/acre maps illustrate resources put in versus yield coming out. We noted how Gallo employs around 25-30 Ph.D. research scientists on farms scattered around California and beyond. Add paid environmental science internship opportunities. And since Gallo owns only 10-20% of its supply, Sams works with many other farmers who sell to Gallo. In addition to 100 different kinds of wines from around the world, they also sell juice and color concentrates.

We also met Gallo’s “smart” autonomous tractor. This $60,000 investment exemplifies (with an exclamation point) how farming is changing fast in California. Turn it on, put it into gear, and the rest is done remotely, sometimes throughout the night. It becomes obvious that, with fewer farmers and more scientists and automation, this is NOT your grandparents’ family farm.

Like Burroughs Family Farms, Gallo uses drip irrigation, but this ranch is also well situated with riparian rights and prior appropriation water from the nearby Merced River. They also plant and occasionally cut nitrogen-fixing ground cover, but they don’t rely on groundwater sources here. Water reigns king as each vine requires between 10-20 gallons/week, and even more during heatwaves. Pumps are only capable of pushing water through about ¼-mile of drip lines at a time. 

The calendar is also king on these farms. Pruning season peaks during cold and damp January and February and the harvest season runs through August, September, and October, but that has been changing throughout California. Brent provides evidence of the impacts of climate change. Harvest seasons have been getting earlier as grapes ripen faster in higher temperatures. Varieties that require cold nights and big swings in diurnal temperatures have been moving north. Recent extended extreme heat waves are also impacting harvests. So, you might appreciate how the orientation of these rows of grapevines can determine the difference between harvest successes and failures. Rows in California are usually oriented north-south to expose the plants and grapes to just the right balance of sunlight, temperature, and humidity as sun angles change throughout the day. (Hilly terrain, such as in the Napa-Sonoma region, often presents exceptional challenges to these industry norms.) The result is an orderly, repetitious, monoculture landscape that contrasts with the diversity imagined on traditional American family farms.

In contrast to some big ag stereotypes, Gallo has demonstrated it is in this for the long run; they’ve invested in a range of sustainable farming methods that regularly win awards and polish their public reputation. And why not be proud of it? Here are some brief excerpts from their website: “As a family-owned company, GALLO has kept sustainable practices as one of our core values since 1933. Our commitment to our founders’ vision has expanded to not only protecting​ our land for future generations, but also improving the quality of life of our employees, and enhancing the communities where we work and live.”

And from the Gallo Sustainability Impact Report, “At Gallo, we are leaders in sustainability through our enduring commitment to environmental, social, and economic practices so that future generations may flourish.”… “All of the Winery’s coastal vineyards participate in a unique land management plan started by the co-founders where for every acre of land planted in vineyard, one acre of property is set aside to help protect and enhance wildlife habitat. … E. & J. Gallo Winery has led the way in developing and refining new environmentally friendly practices such as minimizing the use of synthetic chemicals, fertilizers and pesticides, recycling and reusing processed water, creating new wetlands and protecting existing riparian habitats.” Perhaps Gallo has more in common with Burroughs Family Farms than we may have originally thought. 

Whether from a small family farm or big ag, much of our food and drink is produced in the Central Valley. These field experiences into the heart of the valley help us appreciate the work that goes into growing and harvesting what we take for granted, and in decoding the lasting imprints these people and their industries leave on our landscapes, economies, and cultures.

A big thanks goes to Professor Alison McNally for organizing and leading the field trip. Other leaders at Cal State University Stanislaus (such as Professor, Department Chair, and CGS President Peggy Hauselt and professor and former CGS President Jennifer Helzer) worked to make the conference such a success. I am forever indebted to the professionals in the California Geographical Society for championing more than three decades of action-packed scholarly conferences that have informed my teaching and writing, including so many stories on this website. This year, I am particularly grateful for receiving their prestigious Outstanding Educator Award for 2025. After four decades of research, teaching, writing, and putting my heart into such a rewarding profession, this unforgettable conference was icing on my career cake. Thanks to all!    

Here are additional sources for those interested in regenerative agriculture:

Sustainable Harvest International

Foodtank

Farmsteaders Documentary

Alison Mcnally also sent these sources recommended by Rosie:

Common Ground – https://commongroundfilm.org/ streaming on Amazon – a follow up to the film “Kiss the Ground”, Common Ground takes a look at regenerative agriculture and the importance of it as an alternative to conventional agriculture. Some of the footage was taken at Burroughs Family Farms.

TED talk featuring Dr. Jonathan Ludgren (founder and director of Ecdysis Foundation) (13 minutes): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=okgGmohpaJQ – 

Finally, another Alison recommendation: Jean-Martin Bauer, who has managed food programs and worked as a food security analyst for the United Nations World Food Programme around the globe, is the author of The New Breadline: Hunger and Hope in the Twenty-First Century.

THE END

The post Big Ag Vs. Small Regenerative Farming first appeared on Rediscovering the Golden State.

Why Join the Naturalists?

We can’t survive without access to the fresh air, water, food, shelter, spiritual enrichment, aesthetics, personal restoration, and nature’s other essentials that allow us to celebrate life on this third planet from the sun. Our very physical and mental health depend on nature. But our popular cultures have detached us from Earth’s natural systems and cycles, the very forces and processes that rule our world, resulting in perilous dysfunctions that even AI cannot treat or resolve. And have you checked the news lately? Our nature deficit disorders are having tragic consequences that threaten humans, millions of other species, and the very future of our planet.

The UC California Naturalist statewide natural resource education and service program is coming to the rescue! This extraordinary program fosters “a diverse community of naturalists and promotes stewardship of California’s natural resources through education and service.” They draw you in with refreshing truth telling: “We cannot protect and restore California’s unique ecology without an environmentally literate, engaged public.” … and … “Becoming a naturalist offers a chance to explore nature and deepen your understanding of how nature works.” And then they make you offers you can’t refuse: “Are you interested in nature? Do you love CA’s diverse ecosystems? Embark on an immersive adventure with experts. Deepen your understanding of ecology and forge lasting friendships. This course has graduated career starters through retirees, all learning together to become a community of Certified California Naturalists.” How could we resist this magical week in Yosemite?

Follow Us on this Magical Natural History Tour

Join me on this journey as I share some of our day-to-day discoveries from the experts in the field who live this stuff. Images and excerpts from more than 32 pages of field notes prove that, even after leading hundreds of field classes and field trips with thousands of my students and colleagues over more than three decades, we and I will never stop learning. (The stories here are taken from my personal field notes and some occasional background research. All photos are mine and are not edited or manipulated in any way.) Let your curiosity fly like the clouds and wings over Half Dome in this Yosemite natural history expedition.   

Chris Cameron was our organizer, leader, and master instructor for these exceptional learning experiences. Without Chris, a one-of-a-kind tour guide and educator, we wouldn’t be able to retrace our steps because there wouldn’t be any. He demonstrated phenomenal skills in gathering seasoned professionals and curious students together to learn within nature’s living laboratories. And his people skills are the icing on the cake!    

Each day of our expedition gets its own page in this story; simply click to the page that matches the day and/or subject. You are encouraged to follow me chronologically to soak in the full benefits. Here’s how it’s all organized:

Day/Page One (Saturday, 4-12-2025): From the Central Valley up to ECCO in Oakhurst
Day/Page Two (Sunday, 4-13-2025): Geology, Creation, and More than 100 Million Years
Day/Page Three (Monday, 4-14-2025): Healthy Forests and Roaring Falls
Day/page Four (Tuesday, 4-15-2025): Cliffs, Bats, Fires, Technology and Botany
Day/Page Five (Wednesday, 4-16-2025): Following the Trail to Native Americans and American Settlers
Day/Page Six (Thursday 4-17-2025): Grazing, Logging, and Hunting, Oh My!
Day/Page Seven (Friday 4-18-2025): Sharing Our Discoveries

Day One (Saturday, 4-12-2025): From the Central Valley up to ECCO in Oakhurst:

A drive north along Hwy 41 from Fresno eventually takes you out of the Central Valley, which shines as the country’s most productive agricultural landscapes. This sprawling valley is vital in making California the number one agricultural state in the nation, as the state generates well more than $50 billion income per year from farm products.     

As the road gradually slopes up toward Sierra Nevada foothills, we find ourselves surrounded by open grasslands that recall the vast prairies that once dominated the Golden State’s inland valleys before the Spanish arrived. You will notice cattle grazing on pastoral rolling hills, landscapes occasionally interrupted and sliced by serpentine streams and rivers meandering from east to west, out of higher elevations and into the valley. (These lush narrow riparian strips are what remains (less than 10%) of the broad gallery forests that once extended on both sides of streams and rivers flowing out of the Sierra Nevada.) Today’s hills turn verdant green by April and erupt into rainbow displays of wildflowers such as lupine. But the grasses and flowers will soon dehydrate to the golden browns of punishing summer drought, leaving their seeds in parched soils, waiting for next winter’s rains and next spring’s renewed fantastical displays.

But another invader has recently rivaled the seasonal nonnative grasses on these gentle slopes at the base of the Sierra Nevada Mountains: humans and their developments. Developers are gobbling up some of these landscapes and attracting people who want to escape urban crowds, chaos, and traffic. “Build it and they will come” continues to spread across these landscapes that tourists have been passing by for decades on their way to the high country. Entire wannabe self-sufficient communities have been sprouting and extending over the grasslands and oak woodlands. And the changes are not coming without controversy. As these ecosystems are scraped up and paved, some locals are watching their reasons for living here disappear, while recent arrivals find relative peace and quiet in their perceived bucolic settings. Talk of limited water and other resources, habitat destruction, loss of open spaces, pollution, land values, affordable housing, and increasing traffic congestion is replacing the traditional agrarian discourse and cultures. Such noticeable changes are stretching and then redefining our perceptions of wildland-urban interfaces. The end of this world as we knew it may be just one more development away.

Once we get up above about 1,000’ elevation, where a little more precipitation falls and temperatures are a bit cooler, an assortment of scattered oak trees pops up above the ground cover. At about 2,000’, the woodlands thicken and diversify to include gray pine and other drought-tolerant trees. These scraggly pines with long, grayish needles and big cones often appear bent and twisted as though they were dancing through the night and were suddenly frozen in a pose by the morning light, waiting for summer’s fire or winter’s first merciful rehydrating showers. As we progress higher, slopes tend to steepen and we notice mixed pine forests as we look up toward snow in the distant high country. (We will revisit Sierra Nevada’s vegetation zones in more detail during the next few days.) We drop down into the town of Oakhurst (elevation 2,274’), nestled in its little valley that many consider the gateway to Yosemite. Traveling up and a little farther north, we finally turn off Hwy 41 and will settle, hang our hats, and share tasty meals at ECCO each night, which is a pretty typical option for tour and educational groups looking for base camps in and near Yosemite: “The Episcopal Conference Center Oakhurst (ECCO) has been serving the religious, educational and non-profit conference and retreat needs of Fresno, Madera, Mariposa and the rest of California’s Central Valley since 1982.”       

This is where we can hear Yosemite calling from just several miles away. The rolling landscapes in and around ECCO (about 3,100’ ASL) is populated with mostly open oak and pine woodland. The deciduous oak trees are just beginning to sprout by mid-April, careful to avoid any late-season freezes. A giant pond with a fountain demands attention, decorating the property and attracting more than our senses. Depending on the season, an assortment of waterfowl and other wildlife visit or live around the water (more than 100 species of birds have been recorded there), demonstrating animal behaviors that deserve a line or two in our field notebooks.

Wild turkeys are particularly entertaining as they dive out of their trees (where they roost at night to avoid predators) early in the morning and trot around during the day. Their toe-walking and dragging one foot in front of the other leaves an arrowhead-like trail. Turkeys are not native to California, but numerous attempts to introduce them finally became successful so that their numbers multiplied since the 1960s until they now total about 250,000 in the state. These omnivores mate and lay their eggs during spring. Gestation takes about a month and they are most vulnerable to predators (such as coyote, bobcats, foxes, some birds, and domesticated animals) after hatching. Adults may become nuisances around humans as they show aggression with their flapping and pecking; their droppings also get pretty messy. They’ve been known to damage gardens and attack their reflections in windows and on the sides of cars.  

The turkeys remind us that every species of plant and animal, every landscape, rock, cloud, water drop, and weather event have captivating natural history stories to tell. Informative and useful narratives grow from research that connects all of us to our natural world. We can see why this is just one of the naturalist programs across the US. Master instructor Chris Cameron started our course by summarizing how we celebrate biodiversity with environmental literacy, scientific and social understanding, by honing our interpretive skills, and practicing collaborative conservation. We reviewed our state’s bioregions and geomorphic provinces (from page 29 in our required California Naturalist Handbook), which coincide with the physiographic regions we have explored in numerous stories on this website and in my publications. And we recognized how the California Floristic Province, a biological hotspot with its thousands of species that include a large percentage of endemics, is experiencing a biodiversity crises as increasing numbers of those unique plants and animals are threatened with extinction. We recognize how naturalists’ work has become crucial as we observe, communicate, and act to build essential links between scientists and the average person. After dinner, our first day and evening ended with my presentation that summarized some fascinating properties of water and the weather patterns and climates that rule over our plant communities, topics we have highlighted on this website and in my recent California Sky Watcher book and statewide tour.      

Click (below) to the next page and day.

The post Cal Naturalists Invade Yosemite first appeared on Rediscovering the Golden State.

We frequently highlight the startling contrasts between the relatively wet slopes and valleys facing the Pacific (cismontane California) versus our true deserts on the continental rain shadow (transmontane) sides of California’s major mountain ranges. Since this is NOT our focus here, you can surf back into our website or check my book to find those stories. In most years, a more gradual transition usually develops between wetter Northern California (closer to the path of winter’s storms) and relatively drier SoCal (where resilient high pressure often veers storm tracks to the north). But as 2024 evolved into 2025, that annual pattern became historically dramatic, as if the ancient mythological Mediterranean Gods Zeus or Jupiter had conspired with Mother Nature to build a massive wall between north and south.

Winter’s rainy season roared in early like a lion in the north, renewing concerns about flooding. But the storms were no-shows in the south, extending summer’s drought and fire season well into the new year. California’s fickle bipolar weather patterns developed in November and December, 2024 and expanded into January. Jet streams, storm tracks, and soaking atmospheric rivers raced off the North Pacific and made their annual gradual migrations into the Pacific Northwest and toward Northern California early in the season. But by the time they crept farther south into Central California, they encountered unseasonably resilient high-pressure ridges that blocked their progress so that storms were instead ejected north and east, leaving Southern California dry under the high.

Late autumn and early winter’s exceptional meteorological boundary between wet Northern and dry Southern California could be drawn roughly along a line from the central coast near Big Sur, then east across the San Joaquin Valley and southern Sierra Nevada. Locations far north of this line, especially up past the Bay Area and near the Oregon Border, were getting clobbered by powerful winter storms that included classic atmospheric river deluges. When an early-season atmospheric river barreled through Northern California and targeted Sonoma County in November, 2024, several weather stations recorded more than one foot of rain in less than three days. But the storms couldn’t penetrate into resistant high pressure that dominated south of our imaginary boundary. From November well into January and the traditional rainy season, weather fronts repeatedly died out as they approached and then navigated the Transverse Ranges, particularly south of Santa Barbara.

As 2024 came to a close, persistent weather forecasts included rain for several consecutive days and even weeks in the north, but fair and dry weather in the south. Though we expect Northern California to easily win in the annual rainy season water wars, this season’s abnormal pattern seemed to be on steroids. By the start of 2025, seasonal rainfall totals (in the three+ months since Oct. 1) ranged from more than 50 inches on Pacific slopes near the Oregon Border to widespread totals of less than 0.25 inches along the Southern California coast. Located on those wet Pacific slopes near Oregon, Gasquet recorded more than 125 inches of rain for the 2024 calendar year, while some SoCal coastal weather stations had accumulated around 1/10^th of an inch since the last spring! Weather headlines on the northwest coast emphasized flood stages on local streams and rivers while residents of the south coast were warned of dangerous drought, red flag warnings, and wildfire conditions that threatened well into January.

As if to demand attention, descending air from the resilient high pressure over SoCal was heated by compression to produce widespread temperatures over 80°F in the coastal plains and inland valleys. Here are some example high temperatures on December 18: Oxnard, 87; Ventura, 85; Santa Monica, 82; Santa Barbara, Los Angeles, Long Beach, Pasadena, and Santa Ana all made it to 83°F before that stable and stubborn marine layer reinvaded immediate coastal strips. Mountain resorts (such as the Big Bear station at 6,752’) measured record high temperatures for the middle of December, well into the 60s. Between dry Santa Ana wind events down south, the NWS forecast grew ominous as we approached the middle of our precious rainy season: “… longer range ensemble solutions continue to offer few if any signs for additional rain through at least the middle of January.” That’s when high pressure built over the entire state and at least briefly cut off rain even to the north into mid-January, producing a series of powerful Santa Ana wind events that would fan catastrophic firestorms across Southern California.           

As this story is published, no one knows what to expect in the long term during a weak La Niña year in such a climate of change, but precipitation patterns along the West Coast so far are more characteristic of stronger La Niña years. And as if to mock the regional anomalies, official measurements of water content in the Central Sierra Nevada snowpack were near average by January 1, masking the remarkable contrast between the wet north and dry south. Here’s yet another example of how more widespread and equally-distributed beneficial precipitation has become the exception to the more common extremes we have recently experienced across the state. So, what is going on? Click on to Part Two (Page 2) to learn what scientists are discovering and keep your seat belt fastened. 

The post Precipitation Extremes in a Bipolar California first appeared on Rediscovering the Golden State.

Whether they are considered nature’s great cathedrals or breathtaking scenery without rivals, there is nothing quite like them on this planet. They helped inspire me and millions of others to learn more about the natural forces and processes that are shaping our world and how we all fit in. They and other grand landscapes in California and beyond motivated me to become the student, researcher, teacher, and naturalist that I am today. We have featured Yosemite Valley and Kings Canyon landscapes in previous stories that you will find in this project and website. In this story, we explore Zion Canyon.

How has it changed and how does this high desert canyon compare to and contrast with our Yosemite? Join me, your master ranger and natural history interpreter armed with 50 years of observations and field experiences, as I guide you to discover the science behind the scenery.

On the surface, there are some uncanny similarities between our Sierra Nevada’s Yosemite and Utah’s Zion. Each of these valleys sits at about 4,000 feet (1,200 m) above sea level, surrounded by thousands of feet of vertical rock walls soaring abruptly above their eroding rivers. Each of their names begin with the last letters of our alphabet, monikers that recall the people and cultures who once settled in these other-worldly canyons. But great differences stand out when we look a little closer.     

We returned to Zion’s campgrounds during the prolonged and historic heat wave of July 2023, a month when the high temperature at their weather station (near their Human History Museum and Visitor Center) made it to 110° F (43° C) on two days. Only four days of that month had high temperatures just below 100° F (38° C), which is closer to the July average. (The highest temperature ever recorded at Zion was 115°, including July 10 and 11, 2021.) This contrasts with their typically lowest temperatures in the teens over the winter and a low of 14° F (-10° C) on January 31, 2023.

Imagine experiencing such a 124° temperature range in one location within less than six months! Welcome to cold winters and hot summers common to the thin dry continental air of the high desert. During this trip, nature forced us to alter our daily schedule so that we could hike the dry trails during early mornings and evenings and spend the hottest afternoons within the shaded narrows, immersed in the Virgin River, or at the museum or visitor center. We were rewarded with comfortable evenings to view bats darting around and then thousands of stars rotating in the dark night sky.

Weather patterns and climates in Zion are glaringly different from our Yosemite, which drains and opens toward the west, facing the Pacific Ocean. As wet winter storms stream off the Pacific, they dump copious amounts of orographic rain and snow as they glide up Sierra Nevada’s western slopes. (Check out our earlier story on the atmospheric rivers of 2023 and an even earlier story following a water drop.) Yosemite Valley averages more than 36 inches (>91 cm) of precipitation per year and the surrounding high country receives even more.

But by the time those Pacific storms skim over southern Utah’s high desert, they are usually spent, leaving only trace amounts of precipitation. Zion Canyon averages only 15.7 inches (40 cm) of precipitation and 3.8 inches (10 cm) of snow each year, compared to the massive snow drifts that accumulate in the Sierra Nevada each season. Also in contrast to our Yosemite and Kings, Zion has a distinct late summer rainy season associated with the Southwest (North American) monsoon, averaging more than an inch of rain each month from July through October. And though Yosemite may briefly be dampened by infrequent isolated summer storms, such quick hitters are not reliable precipitation producers or drought busters in what John Muir coined our Range of Light.

Torrential summer rains soaked Zion and the Desert Southwest in 2022, causing extensive flash flooding. But the North American monsoon did not perform during our visit on this sizzling July of 2023. Only 0.05 inches was recorded on the only day of precipitation that month (July 25). The fickle monsoon thunderstorm cloudbursts and flash floods will repeatedly wash out roads and trails and carry people away in the debris during one summer and then be disappointing no shows the next. Plants and animals and people who have not adapted to these high desert weather extreme realities do not survive. There is even a late summer rainy season flowering cycle on exhibit in the Southwest and across the Colorado Plateau. This is also why, when cumulus clouds begin boiling into thunderheads within the thermals that rise in summer’s midday heat, we are warned to steer clear of Zion’s narrows and slot canyons that can become violent cascading death traps within minutes. You can thank these powerful gully washers for helping to carve the deep canyons such as Zion that have made Colorado Plateau scenery world famous. In contrast, Yosemite’s Merced River and other Sierra Nevada streams and their ability to erode and deposit are dependent on runoff and snowmelt from those winter storms off the Pacific.

The Sierra Nevada and Colorado Plateau are composed of very different rock formations lifted by very different tectonic forces. The core of Yosemite and the Sierra Nevada is mostly made of massive granitic batholiths that cooled and crystalized from gargantuan underground magma chambers formed in subduction zones around 100 million years ago. More recent vertical faulting has elevated their solid granitic escarpments along steep eastern slopes until high Sierra Nevada peaks reach more than 14,000 feet (4,267 m) above sea level, while western slopes more gradually descend toward the Great Central Valley.

In contrast, the Colorado Plateau is underlain by thousands of feet of mostly sedimentary deposits that also date back more than 100 million years. Millions more years later, heat, pressure, and nature’s glues had lithified the particles into sedimentary rocks. The relatively undisturbed layers were more recently and gradually warped upward by compressional forces until the highest points of the plateau soar over 12,000 feet (>3,658 m) ASL. Gravity’s pull on water flowing from such lofty elevations has energized streams to cut deep canyons into Sierra Nevada’s granitic plutons and into the Colorado Plateau’s vulnerable layers of sedimentary rock formations.

The Grand Canyon is often used as the classic example of how a powerful river (the Colorado) can erode deep chasms as surrounding landscapes are lifted higher. Weathering and erosion will eventually widen the incised narrows over time. The relatively young Zion Canyon is also widening as the Virgin River cuts through it.  

Yosemite and other Sierra Nevada canyons have been carved by floods from wet winter storms and snowmelt that runs off impressive snow packs well into the summer. But the most spectacular high country Sierra Nevada valleys and canyons were also extensively carved by alpine (mountain/valley) glaciers during previous glacial periods. As the flowing ice scraped out deep high-elevation cirques and U-shaped trenches through preexisting mountain canyons, glacial moraine rock piles were deposited downstream, leaving dramatic Ice Age landscapes. (Check out our webpage story from 2019, Norway vs. California, where we examine such glacial grandeur.)

Today’s summer storms contribute relatively little runoff into today’s Sierra Nevada streams that follow those canyons. On the Colorado Plateau, gentler cold winter rains and melting winter snows also add to frigid runoff into the canyons. And like Sierra Nevada rock formations, cycles of freezing and thawing during winter help to crack and physically weather rocks so that blocks are liberated to break off from the cliffs and eventually be carried away after they disintegrate into smaller pieces. But summer’s violent flash floods are responsible for transporting much of that loose rock and sediment downstream in Zion. And only the highest peaks and ridges of the Colorado Plateau exhibit some glacial topography; Zion Canyon and Desert Southwest landscapes were not carved by powerful Ice Age glaciers such as those that once scraped through Sierra Nevada high country.  

There are also glaring differences between Yosemite and Zion in the color and texture of their rock walls. The granitic rocks of the Sierra Nevada are dominated by lighter minerals of quartz and feldspar, but are often speckled with darker crystals containing more iron and other heavier elements. This massive stew of magma chamber chemicals solidified into a solid salt-and-pepper matrix of rocks and minerals.

As the mountains were lifted, overlying rocks were weathered and stripped away, exposing them to weathering and erosion. Chemical weathering processes can be seen as dark stains and vertical streaks on the cliffs where iron and other darker elements oxidize in the water and air. Physical weathering processes include exfoliation, the pressure release that breaks massive rocks into thin skins or onion-like layers to slide and fall downslope. (Check out our website story where we follow a grain of sand.)

In contrast, the sedimentary layers of Zion are clearly and classically stacked with the older deposits on the bottom and the younger rock formations on top of them. (Still younger rocks that once capped them have been eroded and washed away long ago.) Click here for more rock layer details. The Virgin River has sliced through all of them like a sharp knife through a layer cake: nature’s road cuts. Relatively resistant lighter-colored sandstones are dominated by sandy grains with more quartz and feldspar. The layers grading from sandstones to siltstones and mudstones and shales that contain more iron and other heavier elements tend to oxidize into rusty and red colors when exposed to air and water; thinner skins of these weathered surfaces are sometimes referred to as desert varnish. And so, the highly-resistant lighter-colored speckled cliffs and canyons of the Sierra Nevada look quite different from the thousands of feet of vermilion layers of sedimentary rocks weathering in Zion. In both cases, millions of years of internal mountain building forces and external denudational processes have conspired to sculpt some of the most spectacular landscapes on Earth.

Contrasts between our Sierra Nevada and the Colorado Plateau (and particularly Yosemite and Zion) are also noticeable within their plant and animal communities. In both regions, you can find the classic vegetation zones grading from Lower Sonoran grasslands and prairies to Upper Sonoran chaparral and open woodlands, to Transition Zone woodlands and open forests, to Canadian Zone cooler and wetter forests, to still loftier subalpine Hudsonian plant communities, into the highest Arctic-Alpine Zone islands. But wetter Sierra Nevada slopes nurture lusher forests with species such as Giant Sequoias (Sequoiadendron gianteum, the largest trees on Earth) that you won’t find on the drier Colorado Plateau.

So, as you climb up from lower elevations in Zion toward higher elevations on the Colorado Plateau, you will notice high desert xeric species. They include Rabbitbrush (Ericameria nauseosa), Big Basin Sagebrush (Artemesia tridentata), and several different species of buckwheat. A little higher up, you will find what some call pygmy woodlands. Pinyon pines (Pinus monophylla and Pinus edulis) grow with live oaks and other oak species that shed their leaves, growing from shrubs into small trees. They mix with Utah Juniper (Juniperus osteosperma) at lower elevations around 4,000-5,500 feet in the Upper Sonoran and Red Cedar (Juniperus scopulorum) at higher elevations above 5,000 feet in Transition and Canadian Zones. Ponderosa Pines (Pinus ponderosa) appear and grow denser at higher elevations as we make our way into wetter mixed conifer and aspen forests with Douglas Fir (Pseudotauga menziesii), White Fir (Abies concolor), White Pine (Pinus strobiformus), and Quaking Aspen (Populus tremuloides). You also will find a host of colorful wildflowers decorating the understories at these higher elevations. Several species bloom throughout the summer, nurtured by those monsoon thundershowers that more commonly soak the cooler high plateau.

As with riparian communities in the Sierra Nevada, biomass and species diversity dramatically increase along and adjacent to stream and river courses. Where soils remain damp and the relative humidity increases around water courses in Zion, look for denser stands of Fremont Cottonwood (Populus fremontii), Red Birch (Betula occidentalis), various willow species, cattails, and rushes. As you enter the narrows where natural springs and seeps erupt from the sandstone cliff faces, look for fern and other water-loving species that combine in rock cracks to form delicate hanging gardens. Water might also be king in California, but life-giving moisture can transform Colorado Plateau’s dehydrated high desert into productive ecosystems that support numerous species of plants and animals.

Zion’s birds share the advantage of flying to water and food sources. We spotted some raptors, roadrunners, ravens, turkey vultures, and a condor flying overhead. But the real flying shows in Zion start just after sunset, when a seemingly chaotic air show of bats dart around, using their sophisticated radar to hunt and keep insect populations under control. You will also find the greatest number of species and densest populations of animals around Zion’s water courses. We saw wild turkeys, mule deer, and fox in the canyon. Raccoons, skunks, bobcats, porcupines, and owls are also found in the riparian habitats near water, mostly at night. Coyote can be heard howling around the canyon as they hunt in the twilight and darkness. Though American Beavers (Castor Canadensis) have burrowed their lodges into the banks of the Virgin River, they are difficult to spot. They don’t build beaver dams seen along other western rivers, since the river-altering structures would be destroyed by frequent flash floods. Look for the chewing scars on cottonwood trees near the river. All of this gnawing and other beaver activity usually peak during overnight hours, when it is more difficult for predators to hunt them.

As with Yosemite, humans have impacted Zion mammals and cut predator populations in the canyon. There are only a few cougars in the entire park. Such extermination and displacement of mountain lions by early farmers and ranchers and then crowds of visitors caused an unnatural explosion of deer populations. These ubiquitous browsers then feed on cottonwood and other seedlings to reduce the normal rate of plant regrowth. The results include decreasing biodiversity and increasing impacts on populations of many different riparian species. Add efforts to control reoccurring flood damage and you can see how natural channel flow has been destabilized along the Virgin River. This is another classic example of how human impacts can become ripple effects that can change natural systems and cycles and then entire landscapes, even in our national parks.

And that brings us full circle to what Yosemite and Zion might have most in common: they are perfect examples of unique landscapes of grandeur and national parks that we are loving to death. Yosemite is just about 200 miles (or four hours) from Bay Area cities, just over two hours from Central Valley population centers, and about 300 miles (6 hours) from LA. Generations of traditional Yosemite National Park lovers live in these California conurbations. Zion is only about 160 miles (2.5 hours) from a growing Las Vegas. Each of these nearby major metropolitan areas welcomes millions of tourists each year and many of these visitors clamor to squeeze a visit to one of these iconic parks into their itineraries. Unlike those of us who adore our national parks as places to find peace and solitude and to experience and learn about nature, the average visitor spends only a few hours on the ground in those national parks. Millions of people each year exploit them as social media selfie checkoff lists.

The crowds began choking Yosemite Valley decades ago, especially on summer weekends. They brought massive traffic jams, pollution, chaos, and amusement park atmospheres in what were supposed to be exceptional natural environments to be cherished and preserved for the benefit of future generations. Yosemite experimented with reservation systems from 2020-21 and a peak hours reservations system in 2022. Park officials are currently using data gathered from these experiments to develop a Visitor Access Management Plan and you are invited to provide your input. Avid naturalists and backcountry hikers have also been impacted, with most backcountry trails and wilderness areas requiring permits. Growing crowds traipsing to the top of Half Dome (a round-trip hike of about 15 miles with a 4,800-foot elevation gain) eventually created dangerous and sometimes deadly conditions on the steep and slippery dome. I’ve trudged to the top a few times over the years, but today’s permit system limits 300 hikers per day to make use of the chains and steps that lead up the side of the dome.  

Zion National Park is challenged with similar dilemmas: how do our most beloved and popular parks offer access to the greatest number of people, without ruining the nature experience for each visitor and compromising the mission and integrity of our national parks?

Several years ago, Zion’s crowds multiplied as nearby Las Vegas grew and the Utah Office of Tourism began promotions to attract visitors from other states and from around the world. It worked too well if you enjoyed Zion for its nature experiences. The summer traffic and crowds in the canyon became so chaotic, the park was forced to close the road into the canyon to vehicles and require visitors to take the free shuttle from early spring into late fall. Another amusement park atmosphere erupted especially on summer weekends as overwhelmed tourists jammed the overwhelmed visitor center. Others were herded through the maze of winding chains that eventually led them into shuttles where they were crammed like sardines, hoping to eventually be dropped off at key stops to search for their elusive solitude. Add some stifling summer heat and you can see why rangers who wanted to interpret and share the beauty and magic of nature have been forced into crowd control that sometimes turns into safety concerns and crime control after visitors reach their boiling points; good for the businesses in adjacent Springdale, not so good for anyone seeking a quiet nature experience.

And as if to mimic Yosemite’s Half Dome, the narrow chain path up to Angel’s Landing finally got so popular, it turned into a dangerous line of frustrated climbers scrambling over one another. And so, similar to Half Dome, the National Park Service has been stringently enforcing their Angels Landing Pilot Permit Program. I’ve also meandered up the steep switchbacks to this popular peak a few times in past decades, but don’t attempt these memorable climbs without your permit these days.

Whether there are too many people searching for their peace and quiet in nature, or too many people searching for their perfect selfies to post on social media, I don’t offer any better solutions to the crowd control problems that have plagued these otherwise magical wonderlands during recent years. I do know that our world has changed since we could roll in and get first-come, first-served camping spots during the summer in our most spectacular national parks. And I wish the folks at the National Park Service the very best as they struggle to balance the often conflicting serve and preserve missions.

For your part, it is best to visit these magnificent gems off season during weekdays when possible. Or, you can find your solitude at nearby less popular and more remote natural sanctuaries; there are still plenty to choose from that can be just as rewarding and many have been highlighted in stories on this website. In California, some of these retreats are closer to home and more easily accessible than you might think.

If you have a little more time, come along on the following bonus trip. Let’s move up to the plateau more than 3,400 feet (>1036 m) above the canyon along what is called the West Rim Trail to see how the biogeography at higher elevations around Zion National Park is so different from the hotter and drier deserts below. We will leave the crowds behind and then leave you on the high plateau above 7,000 feet (>2,130 m) in the Zion wilderness where summers are delightfully cool (if you can avoid the occasional thunderstorms) and winters are icy cold. For those looking for an introduction to Zion from the National Park Service, check out the link at the end of our story.

Before you go, visit the official National Park Service website that will help you prepare for your adventures: https://www.nps.gov/zion/index.htm

The post Zion vs Yosemite: the Science behind the Splendor first appeared on Rediscovering the Golden State.

Follow this series of NOAA maps from August 16, four days before landfall:

It all started several long days before Hilary’s August 20 landfall, when the National Weather Service recognized yet another band of showers and thunderstorms forming off Mexico’s southwestern coast. Models forecast favorable conditions (including warm ocean water temperatures) supporting the rapid development of a tropical cyclone that would likely become a major hurricane. And this one would be different. Longer-term models suggested that the strengthening storm would drift northwest and up along the Baja coast toward southern California. Days later, by Thursday, August 17, the National Weather Service was already warning us about Hilary, which was churning over the warm waters south of Baja. Here is an excerpt from the Forecast Discussion issued by the National Weather Service on that afternoon, still three days before the storm swept through:

National Weather Service in San Diego at 152 PM PDT Thu Aug 17 2023:
“Hurricane Hilary will continue to progress north off the coast of Baja, bringing widespread rain and the potential for flash
flooding across Southern California late Saturday through Monday.”
AND…
“Hurricane Hilary is expected to rapidly intensify as it moves northward up Baja
California, then weakening as it hits colder waters in northern
Baja.”
AND…
“Regardless of the exact track and intensity of Hilary, which 
could continue to change in the coming days, it will bring a 
substantial surge in moisture into Southern California, with heavy
rainfall and a high potential for flash flooding, especially for 
the mountains and deserts. A Flood Watch has been issued with the
afternoon forecast package for all areas Saturday through Monday.”
AND…
“Current forecast rainfall amounts Saturday through Monday:
Coast: 2 to 2.50 inches 
Valleys: 2.50 to 3 inches 
Mojave Desert: 3 to 4.50 inches 
San Bernardino County Mtns: 4 to 6 inches, locally up to 8 inches
on the eastern slopes
Riverside and San Diego County Mtns: 4 to 8 inches, locally up to
10 inches on the eastern slopes 
Lower Deserts: 5 to 6 inches”

Follow these NOAA images from August 17:

Fears of damaging coastal winds and a possible storm surge would never be realized in California since it came ashore south of the border. However, final rain totals would confirm NWS predictions. By Friday, August 18, as predicted, Hilary was already a major Category 4 hurricane, but why were forecasters so confident that it would be steered toward the north-northwest and into southern California within just two days? We can partially blame that humongous, stubborn, and equally historic high pressure system that wobbled and expanded above the southern U.S., producing record high temperatures that tortured Texans and surrounding regions through most of the summer. Winds circulating clockwise from it were streaming from south to north over the southwestern U.S., on the far western edge of that high. These southerly winds were further enhanced by another unseasonably stubborn system: low pressure sitting just off the California coast. As winds were spinning counterclockwise into that low, southern California was positioned on its southeast edge, further encouraging winds to stream over us from the south and southwest. Sandwiched between these two pressure systems, southern California was located below an upper air high-velocity freeway, a perfect conduit that would rapidly push Hilary up the Baja coast and toward us.    

Follow this series of NOAA images from August 18:

Those strong winds would also mold Hilary and change her behavior and impacts as she grew closer. First, the storm started moving very fast; unlike most other tropical cyclones, there was little time for it to completely dissipate as it raced over our colder waters that quickly kill most hurricanes. (Recall that tropical cyclones, powered by latent heat of condensation, require ocean water temperatures near 80° F (27° C) to develop and remain strong.) This made it likely that it would make landfall and then sprint into southern California as a dying tropical storm. Consequently, much of southern California was placed under the first tropical storm warning in history. But these strong steering winds also sheered the storm apart and tore it to pieces as it approached. The powerful updrafts, towering clouds, and tropical moisture were quickly swept to the north far ahead of the core of circulation, as it skimmed by the central Baja coast. Though moisture from the cyclone spread into Baja and southern California more than a day ahead, the eye of the deep low pressure and circulation into it became difficult to detect as it grew less organized and was torn to shreds.

Follow these NOAA images from August 19:

From the ground, a few odd weather observations would only suggest that a tropical cyclone might be approaching the Southland. Scattered thunderstorms had built up over our mountains and deserts during afternoons before Hilary arrived, but they were typical of the summer monsoon moisture that sometimes slops into southeastern California from the Sonoran Desert. The only hints that a big storm might be coming were the progressively thicker high and middle-level clouds streaming off of Hilary and over our region. Though unusual, Saturday’s gradually increasing cloud cover was not unheard of for August. After all, these could have been debris clouds drifting off the previous day’s monsoon thunderstorms over the Sonoran Desert. But, as dew points increased into the low 70s and precipitable water (the amount of water that could be drained from one entire column of air) increased toward 2 inches, we were entering uncharted summer weather territory. We can thank NWS forecasters, using their forecasting technologies, for encouraging local officials to prepare our infrastructures to manage California’s first tropical storm in more than 80 years.  

Hilary raced north to make landfall on the Baja coast just south of the border on Sunday, August 20. This, along with regional wind conditions previously mentioned, helped to save the Southern California Bight from the high waves and storm surge we associate with big hurricanes that strike Florida and U.S. Gulf states. Our beaches and coastal flatlands were spared such destructive drama. While officials in coastal communities had played it safe rather than sorry, some were wondering if this big tropical storm talk was just big hype. By the time Hilary got to southern California, it was difficult to identify any organized eye or other center of circulation. But this had become two different storms. One showed up as a day of steady rains and mostly gentle swirls of winds around the coastal plains. The other Hilary ravaged slopes farther inland over the mountains and into the deserts with torrential rain and high winds. As the moist air was forced up mountain slopes, copious amounts of orographic precipitation were drained out in the form of heavier cloudbursts. So the mountains and deserts experienced the brunt of this storm that moved inland.     

Follow these NOAA images from August 20 as Hilary swept into SoCal:

When Hilary swept across those massive mountain barriers that extend north from the Mexican Border, the storm became further disorganized. Sustained winds peaked at over 50 mph with gusts over 60 mph within the updrafts, downdrafts, and turbulent eddies that formed along mountain slopes. Rain totals over 6 inches were recorded from San Diego County mountains north into Canyon Country in L.A. County. Desert slopes adjacent to those mountain ranges (from near Borrego Springs to Palm Springs to Whitewater to Palmdale) received nearly as much rain, but on surfaces with little protective vegetation to absorb the water. Mud and debris flows with nowhere else to go buried roads and some neighborhoods (such as in Cathedral City), even blocking major Interstates I-8 and I-10. Within one day, Hilary’s unprecedented moisture plume continued streaming north across the Mojave and into the Basin and Range. Death Valley recorded its wettest day in history. And though officials anticipating the destruction had closed the park to visitors, about 400 people were stranded within park boundaries when roads were washed out or destroyed. Squeezed by winds streaming between those two massive pressure systems, the now disorganized moisture plume continued flowing north, delivering some precious water to drought-stricken regions northeast of Nevada. By Tuesday, August 22, Hilary was already history. Though several mountain and desert communities had plenty of digging out to do, Hilary’s quick hit impacts weren’t as catastrophic as a tropical cyclone that could have wobbled around and dissipated over us for a prolonged period.

The big rain winners were mostly at higher elevations along and near the spine of the Peninsular Ranges and up into the Transverse Ranges. The official gauge at 8,616 feet asl, near the top of the Palm Springs Tramway, recorded 11.74 inches from the storm, while surrounding regions that included Idyllwild topped 7 inches. The Baywood Flats gauge at 7,097 feet in the San Bernardino Mountains recorded 11.73 inches, while surrounding locations that included Lytle Creek also accumulated more than 7 inches. Mt. Wilson caught more than 8.5 inches. Some higher terrain in San Diego County (including Mt. Laguna) also got more than 7 inches of rain from Hilary. As mentioned, L.A. County’s Canyon Country topped out at about 7 inches. Surrounding vulnerable desert terrain and recent burn scars delivered the most damaging mud and debris flows. The next day, as Hilary’s remnant moisture sprinted farther north, the National Weather Service Las Vegas Office issued this message after debris flows sprawled across the desert floor:
“Yesterday (August 20, 2023), Death Valley National Park observed 2.20″ of precipitation at the official gauge near Furnace Creek. This breaks the previous all-time wettest day record of 1.70″, which was set on August 5, 2022.”    

Follow these images from August 21, as what remains of Hilary slop far to our north:

You might say the rain losers were in the coastal flatlands of San Diego and Orange Counties (many locations didn’t make it to 2 inches), where Hilary’s moisture lacked the final lift required to ring out her tropical air masses as she simultaneously collapsed and sprinted by. Nevertheless, numerous weather stations in southern California’s coastal plains received record August rainfall in just one 24-hour period. (See the record totals in our image from the L.A. National Weather Service Office.) More than 3.5 inches of rain in one 24-hour period would make history at any time of year here in Santa Monica. But such rainfall totals in August were unheard of. Until now. 

That was a quick summary of the life and times of tropical cyclone Hilary as her dying remnants staggered or rampaged through a well-prepared southern California. The good news is how this storm soaked our higher-elevation forests and lower-elevation Mediterranean plant communities that are normally dehydrating into the most dangerous fire seasons of the year. Quick deluges bumped up moisture content in our soils and vegetation and rejuvenated springs and streams that normally dry up this time of year. We can see formerly drooping and wilting plants in our gardens and on our slopes that are suddenly and surprisingly reawakened, while other species seem to not know how to respond to so much water in the middle of summer’s Mediterranean drought. Even parts of the Mojave Desert that were shielded from winter’s drought-busting atmospheric rivers were finally lifted out of official drought categories by this storm. But contrary to a few media stories, Hilary didn’t add significant new supplies to California’s water capture and distribution projects, since most of them are in northern California drainage basins not impacted by Hilary. In SoCal, a small portion of the runoff was pooled in spreading basins to percolate and recharge groundwater supplies, but much of the flash flooding was not captured.

If you’re still interested in viewing the more dramatic videos showing flood damage and destruction from Hilary, you can click one of the links that follow this story.

It’s been a bizarre 2023 weather year. We are plunging into an El Nino event in the Pacific, which is forecast to continue into winter. On to the next weird and wild weather anomaly… and our new weather and climate publication scheduled to appear early next year.             

The post Hilary Makes Weather History in Southern California first appeared on Rediscovering the Golden State.

Classic extreme orographic precipitation and rain shadow effects were on full display across California during the wet winter of 2023. Coastal and mountain locations experienced a wetter-than-normal rainy season, some with double their average rain and snow totals. But precipitation dropped off dramatically as the air masses drifted southeast and down into the deserts. San Diego County offers excellent examples. The slopes around Palomar Mountain received more than 50 inches of water-equivalent precipitation. The official NWS station at Anza Borrego, located on the eastern rain shadow slopes of the same Peninsular Ranges, recorded less than 10 inches of rainfall, which is also a wet year for them. Just about 25 miles farther east, down around the Salton Trough of Imperial County, seasonal rainfall totals were only near an inch. The storms could be seen drenching mountain slopes to the west, but they dissipated when air masses descended into southeastern California’s lower deserts. Similar extremes were recorded as the inundated San Gabriel and San Bernardino Mountains blocked heavier rains from soaking parts of the Mojave Desert.     

The results were colorful superbloom desert landscapes up along Peninsular Range and other mountain barriers and slopes, but with abrupt transitions to desolate arid terrain to the east, where you had to look more carefully to find flowering plants. Follow us as we venture around Anza-Borrego Desert State Park in April. We will discover colorful landscapes with numerous species celebrating the seasonal rains, while less fortunate desert locales to the east continued to struggle through debilitating drought. Click on to Page 2 to view high desert blooms around the Antelope Valley Poppy Reserve. In both cases, we will observe some flowers and colors that only appear after exceptionally wet years.

Now you can click on to Page 2 to explore the memorable April superbloom farther to the north, in our high desert.

The post Chasing the Desert Superbloom, 2023 first appeared on Rediscovering the Golden State.

We started the 2022-2023 rainy season in the grip of our historic 22-year megadrought. According to the paleoclimatology record, it was the most severe in at least 1,200 years. Just as in the previous year, storms broke through our resilient ridge and spread early and promising rain events and impressive mountain snowfall from autumn into December. In contrast to last year’s faucet shutoff that resulted in the driest January-March (our state’s traditionally wettest time of year) on record, relentless drenching storms continued to inundate the state in 2023. By March, some locations were experiencing one of the wettest or snowiest winters on record. Though nearly everyone felt impacts, the incessant firehose mostly and curiously aimed from the Bay Area down the central coast and dragged inland across the Sierra Nevada. 

A series of atmospheric rivers first drenched the state (especially central California) and carried into mid-January. Weak ridging followed, keeping transient storms under control, often routing them along a more inland or inside-slider track into mid-February. But this pattern also brought exceptional cold snaps that plagued the state, maintaining already excessive Sierra Nevada snowpacks. Then, an historic and very cold upper level low slid down the coast from British Columbia, driving snow down to sea level from Crescent City to Santa Cruz to Ventura County during late February. For flatlanders who missed the snow, hailstorms and graupel accumulated below intense cloudbursts. As it skimmed past the Bay Area and drifted toward the southern California coast, the cold cyclone exploded and entrained Pacific moisture up against mountain slopes. Several feet of record-breaking snow fell from the Sierra Nevada to south of the San Bernardino Mountains. The blizzards blocked mountain roads, buried buildings, collapsed roofs, and trapped residents for days in their mountain homes. Resorts from Wrightwood to Big Bear had never experienced such snowfall that more resembled Mammoth during its snowiest winters. Sierra Nevada snowpacks had grown to monumental heights, well more than ten feet (3 m) at some of the lowest elevations and southerly locations on record. Scientists and media stories reveled over the unprecedented stored water content. (Compared to our highest elevations, there are far more extensive California landscapes around 4,000-6,000 feet; cover them with thick snow and we are talking about millions of acre feet of water.)

After the first week of March, patterns switched back to deliver more atmospheric rivers aimed at central California, this time carrying subtropical air masses. Warm downpours on top of those record low-elevation snowpacks and already saturated soils combined to produce catastrophic flood scenarios. This state plagued by epic drought was suddenly experiencing billions more dollars in deadly flood damage. Hydrologists and water managers across the state were faced with the nightmare dilemma of letting the precious water flow to the ocean before losing all flood control capabilities or saving rising water in reservoirs so it might quench our summer drought later in the year. During the peak of the storms, multiple deluges stranded more than 17 million people under various flood alerts. Heavy rain fell where residents were just blowing piles of snow off their roofs to keep them from collapsing under the weight. At lower elevations, entire farms, neighborhoods, and towns went under water (such as in the Central Valley and in Monterey County along the Pajaro River) as levees were breached and other infrastructure collapsed.

The first days of spring brought yet another onslaught. A deep low pressure system intensified into a classic bomb cyclone spinning just beyond the Golden Gate. Winds topped 80 mph along the coast from the Bay Area south and up to 100 mph in adjacent highlands. The combination of low pressure, cold air aloft, and early spring surface heating even spawned a few damaging funnel clouds. An F1 tornado touched down in Montebello in L.A. County. Mountain snow piled higher. As if in some kind of late-season competition, yet another monster middle latitude cyclone swept out of the Gulf of Alaska and circulated across the state in late March. In the San Joaquin Valley, parts of Tulare Lake reappeared across its natural basin that had been drained long ago to make way for farmlands and settlements that were now suddenly submerged.  That’s where we stood as this story continued to develop near the end of March. Here, we track (in photos, satellite images, and weather maps) some of the most impactful and bizarre weather patterns that make the 2023 rainy season so exceptional.

Page One covers the January atmospheric rivers. Click to Page 2 to follow February’s record cold snaps and snowstorms. Then, we transition into the incredible return of atmospheric rivers in March. Images and their essay captions are in chronological order, covering nearly three months. They are arranged so that the curious can quickly breeze through them. More serious researchers and atmospheric scientists might use them as springboards to speculate how these exceptional weather patterns were switched on and locked in place, switched off, and then on again. Our story ends with some precipitation totals, dramatic videos of historic flooding, and a memorable quote that could apply to all of us. You will also find a link to a more detailed, comprehensive summary exploring the impacts on our water projects and a look into our possible weather and water future.  

Click on Page 2 to follow the next dramatic weather patterns, images, and videos that will guide you through the remainder of our winter of 2023.

The post Tracking Historic Weather Whiplash in the Winter of 2023 first appeared on Rediscovering the Golden State.

Unprecedented Patterns
California’s bizarre-turned-unprecedented previous (2021-22) rainy season may have been a clue to expect another round of the unexpected for the summer. We had experienced one of the wettest “winter” storms to ever soak our October. December brought a dramatic repeat performance with a storm that dumped record snowfall in the Sierra Nevada. Our winter season was off to a rousing start. But it suddenly stopped. Our traditionally wettest months (January and February) were perfectly dry in many parts of the Golden State in 2022, especially where we depend on accumulated snow packs for our water supply. As winter and spring progressed, it became clear that California was in big water trouble again. The stage was set for another year of weather patterns that would make seasonal weather averages seem meaningless.

Pressure on the Golden State
Many Californians, particularly in our inland regions, may remember the summer of 2022 as another series of searing and sometimes record-breaking heat waves. The culprit was an enormous oscillating high pressure system that wobbled over the western states, compressing and further heating summer air masses. But that wasn’t true everywhere. Along the immediate central and north coast, a rather shallow but dominant marine layer often spread familiar cool and misty fog and low stratus through July. The coastal strip was frequently stranded beyond the far western edge of that big high pressure dome. Meanwhile, an odd series of stubborn cut-off low pressure systems often stalled off the north coast, spinning just close enough to occasionally enhance the marine layer, but offering little or no relief farther inland.

On the Edge of the Southwest Monsoon
Another form of heat relief arrived in our deserts. Clockwise circulation around that same southwestern high pressure (often labelled as summer’s familiar Four Corners High) carried moist, subtropical air masses up from the southeast. This fueled another intense, soaking monsoon season in the desert southwest that started in late June and continued on and off into October. As thunderstorms rumbled across northern Mexico and Arizona, their showers and/or debris clouds often slopped into southeastern California. The moisture and cloud cover, though adding sticky humidity, provided some temporary relief from otherwise oppressive desert heat. And when the Four Corners high pressure wobbled into more favorable positions, clouds and storms briefly flooded north along the spine of the Sierra Nevada Mountains and into the Basin and Range, and more briefly invaded other parts of the state where they are rarely observed during summer.

All-time Heat Records Fall
September brought historic changes. The massive high pressure system that had dominated the west expanded over California during the first week of the month. Tall, dense, heavy stacks of air descended on the state, as if a pressure cooker was compressing the air masses toward the surface. Weather stations from Reno to the Bay Area to the Oregon border broke September high temperature records. Redding made it to 115°F. September 6 was the big winner. Parts of the Central Valley measured the hottest temperatures EVER recorded, including Stockton (115°F) and Sacramento (116°F). All-time records were also set across and around the Bay Area: Santa Rosa (115); Napa (114); Livermore (116); Redwood City (110); and San Jose (109). The heat spread into places such as the Salinas Valley, where King City sizzled to a record 116°F. (Thanks to the National Weather Service for these official readings.)

Unseasonable Rains Chase the High Heat
Just more than a week later, yet another very different record-breaking weather pattern formed; but this loomed off the coast. Another closed low pressure system, spinning off the north coast, intensified until it began resembling one of winter’s North Pacific middle latitude cyclones. As it approached, it tossed moisture and instability into northern and central California. Scattered thunderstorms, heavy downpours, and local flooding swept inland. The heaviest rains circulated through on September 18 and 19. Storm winners included a large area around Davis, which received nearly 4 inches of rain in less than two days. Local power outages and flooding prompted officials to respond to freak weather patterns they had never observed in September, in places that average about 1/10^th of an inch of rain for the entire month. A bizarre September capped another odd summer; flash flood watches and warnings spread especially into areas that had been burned into vulnerable landscapes during scorching heat waves and damaging wind storms of previous years.

Exploring Disparate Weather Patterns, Climates, and Landscapes
We can see how observing and noting each year’s weather patterns has increasingly resembled science fiction movie scripts. But we don’t have to ignore the effects of climate change to appreciate and marvel over some of the sky décor painted by these weather patterns. So, the remainder of this story is a sky appreciation photo essay. Our text here lays the foundation and sets the stage so that we may explore the “why” of spectacular and sometimes breathtaking weather as it was displayed for our enjoyment. This first page also displays a few weather maps and satellite images during some of our unusual summer weather patterns. The second page takes you to the unstable skies of the eastern Sierra Nevada and Basin and Range to explore summer’s turbulent clouds and storms. The third page transports you just 200 miles west to the central coast, where we observe summer’s moist, stable marine layer fog and relatively routine, innocuous low stratus. Only two hundred miles separate these two Californias that seem worlds apart just about every year, including this one month in the summer of 2022. After viewing the exceptional maps and satellite images on this page, click to the next pages to follow us on this latest amalgamate of art and science. Our efforts will eventually lead us toward a much larger project and publication on California’s weather and climate. Stay tuned. 

August Skyscapes: Click on to Page 2 to view unstable summer clouds and storms above the eastern Sierra Nevada and Basin and Range. Click on to Page 3 to view the relative calm and stable marine layer along the central coast (only 200 miles from our Page 2 images) during the same summer of 2022.

The post Finding STEAM in our Summer Skies first appeared on Rediscovering the Golden State.