All language subtitles for NOVA.S50E05.Weathering.the.Future.1080p.WEB.h264-BAE_track3_[eng]

♪ ♪

So, a historic event in itself.

♪ ♪

I have been so surprised
to see these monsters.

♪ ♪

I'm on the air saying,
"Look at this thing.

Look at what
this hurricane is doing."

NARRATOR:
As our weather becomes
more extreme...

The hotter it gets,
the drier it gets.

The drier it gets,
the hotter it gets.

BRIAN STONE, JR.:
The weather is wacko.

This is a system shift.

NARRATOR:
...water becomes scarce.

MEHUL PATEL:
So this is one of the
main sources of drinking water.

There's hardly any water in it.

NARRATOR:
Storms become stronger.

ELYSSA MCFARLAND:
The rain now comes a lot
angrier.

TOM MCFARLAND:
30- or 40-mile-an-hour wind
howls for days on end.

NARRATOR:
And homes are destroyed.

WILL HARLING:
We had the types of fires that

humans just simply can't stop.

♪ ♪

NARRATOR:
Extreme weather

is taking its toll.

♪ ♪

SHIRELL PARFAIT-DARDAR:
As the storms get stronger,
as we lose more land,

you lose a piece of who you are.

NARRATOR:
But across the country,
many are fighting back...

ROSINA PHILIPPE:
This is my home.

We're not going anywhere.

NARRATOR:
...by innovating solutions.

We can substantially
cool down cities

without major expenditures.

NARRATOR:
Marshaling ancient wisdom.

CHOOK CHOOK HILLMAN:
We're setting the landscape

on a trajectory to accept fire

in a good way.

LEAF HILLMAN:
It's worked for 10,000 years.

It can work again.

NARRATOR:
And visionary ideas.

PATEL:
There's nothing we can't do

if we use all the technology
available to us.

We know what needs to be done.

We just have to have
the will to act and do it.

NARRATOR:
"Weathering the Future,"

right now on "NOVA."

♪ ♪

NARRATOR:
It's all over the news.

The weather is a hot topic.

news directors to place us
in the top of every newscast

are multiplying.

ANNOUNCER: ...Florida's chief
meteorologist John Morales...

NARRATOR: John Morales has been

covering the weather
for over 30 years.

And he's never seen
anything like it.

There's more coming.

MORALES:
I mean, it's crazy,

the number of extreme events

and just how extreme they get.

I don't think meteorologists
have lived through an era

that's worse than this.

NARRATOR:
Wildfires, floods, drought--

disasters that were once rare

now hitting again and again.

Extreme weather
is the new normal

in many parts of this country.

People see that it's raining
with more intensity,

and hurricanes are intensifying
more rapidly,

and the drought
and heat waves are more severe.

NARRATOR:
The U.S. has always been home

to a wide range of weather.

Our geography and physics
play major roles.

The jet stream generally
pushes weather systems

from west to east.

Those systems pick up moisture
from the terrain below,

like bodies of water
and vegetation,

then release it
as rain and snow

as the air rises and cools.

Being between two oceans

and having the Gulf of Mexico
to our south

and a large, dry,
cold continent to the north,

every extreme weather
event that can be produced

you can generally find
right here in the U.S.

NARRATOR:
So, the weather

naturally varies
across the country,

but we've gotten used
to its predictable patterns.

BERNADETTE WOODS PLACKY:
Our whole climate,

how we've set up our springs
and our summer activities

and our fall activities
and what we do in the winter,

NARRATOR:
But now, things aren't
so predictable,

and the outcomes are
more extreme.

Seasonal fires
are blazing year-round.

Snowpack in the Sierras
washed away by rain.

And Midwestern farmers

facing sudden downpours
that scour their fields.

This affects our health,

it affects the safety
of our homes,

it affects our water, our food,
our supply chains, the economy.

NARRATOR:
What's causing these shifts?

Many scientists agree that

the underlying cause of much
of this strange weather

is more heat in the system:

global warming.

MAN:
Holy (bleep)--
don't leave in their cars.

WOMAN:
Oh, my God!

MAN:
It's okay.

MAN:
Oh, my God, that was
our way home.

STONE:
The weather is wacko.

This is not just episodic,
this is a system shift.

(thunder booming)

NARRATOR:
While people around the world
work to cut carbon pollution

and protect against future harm,

what can we do about impacts
from extreme weather

that are already here?

Across the nation,

communities are already
fighting back

and finding solutions,

demonstrating resilience,

resourcefulness,

and creativity

in the face of extreme change.

♪ ♪

July in Atlanta, Georgia.

Excruciatingly
hot, muggy, humid.

Researchers fan out across
the city with one mission:

find out just how
hot Atlanta really is.

Temperature might seem like an
easy number to come by,

but it's not.

Most cities only utilize

a single thermometer
to measure the weather.

That is your basic
airport weather station.

And that is a rather
ludicrous proposition.

We need to be measuring
temperature and humidity

extensively across cities.

NARRATOR:
More temperature data
could help save lives.

(siren blaring)

Because when it comes
to our changing weather,

heat is one
of the biggest killers.

I don't think people immediately
think heat waves.

They, they think hurricanes,

they think wildfires,

but heat is the silent killer.

NARRATOR:
Since the 1930s,

average temperatures
in Atlanta

have risen about
three degrees Fahrenheit.

But the average isn't
what matters.

When you shift that
a couple of degrees,

it puts you in a whole different
climate zone.

It's a bell curve.

We're looking at a distribution
of temperatures.

A couple of degrees,

a slight change in that
average,

shifts you into
an entirely new area,

where the hots
get put in extreme heat.

That's when we have to
rearrange our lifestyles.

NARRATOR:
Extreme heat
overwhelms human bodies.

Muscles slow.

Heartbeats weaken.

Blood pressures plunge.

Kidneys shut down.

Days over 90 degrees
have been linked to

over 1,000 deaths a year
in the U.S.

So, what parts of
Atlanta are at the highest risk?

We know that some areas
in Atlanta

are hotter than others.

NARRATOR:
That's what Na'Taki Jelks,

an environmental health
scientist

at Spelman College,
wants to know.

She equips students
with portable sensors

so that they can collect
temperature data

on the street.

JELKS:
How do we identify those areas
that are most vulnerable?

That's really what I'm looking
at.

are starting to paint
a clear picture:

some neighborhoods
are a lot hotter than others.

JELKS:
We've seen seven to ten degrees'
difference in some places.

NARRATOR:
Mapping the data reveals
the reason.

JELKS:
The data is telling us
that areas that are

most plagued
with asphalt and concrete

and a lack of vegetation
are the hottest.

NARRATOR:
Vegetation, like trees,
not only provides shade,

but it also absorbs heat
from the environment.

But trees are often the first
thing to go when cities expand.

STONE:
We've basically engineered
cities to be hot.

We come in, we remove trees.

It gets hotter.

NARRATOR:
Since 2014,

Atlanta has lost nearly
80,000 trees to development.

And the materials
replacing the greenery

aggravate the problem.

STONE:
We bring in

mineral-based materials
like asphalt,

concrete,
roofing shingle.

That also renders cities hotter.

NARRATOR:
Concrete and asphalt

make cities hotter because
they absorb the sun's energy

and reradiate it as heat,
even well into the night.

It's the warm nighttime
temperatures

that cause the health problems.

♪ ♪

NARRATOR:
Human bodies can recover
if they are given a break.

So warmer nights mean
more heat-related illness,

especially for those who don't
have air conditioning.

And it's the neighborhoods
that can least afford it

that get hit the hardest.

PLACKY:
There is this absolute
connection.

We've planted our trees in areas

that have more money and
more resources,

compared to areas that don't.

NARRATOR:
With temperatures rising,

can Atlanta and other
cities undo the damage?

Scientists say it is possible.

STONE:
Cities can act today

and really have control over

the most effective levers to
cool themselves down.

NARRATOR:
Phoenix, Arizona.

With little vegetation
to begin with,

the city is even hotter than
the desert that surrounds it.

So they must find
a way to cool the city.

DAVID HONDULA:
Almost every summer,

we have 100 days or more over
100 degrees,

and regularly each summer,
we're exceeding 110 degrees.

♪ ♪

NARRATOR:
To learn how Phoenix is
coping with its heat,

Na'Taki Jelks
is visiting from Atlanta

to meet with David Hondula.

He is charged with
finding solutions

to the growing heat crisis,

as the director of Phoenix's

Office of Heat Response
and Mitigation.

It's the first post of
its kind in the country.

Do you ever go into
any of the cooling centers?

MAN:
The cool air hits,

and, like, you know,
I feel the heat escaping me.

NARRATOR:
Phoenix hit crisis mode when,

in a five-year period,

heat-related deaths more than
doubled,

to over 300 in 2021.

And yet,
David is optimistic.

While we look into the future,

we're certainly expecting it
to be warmer,

but that doesn't have to mean

that people are suffering
at a higher rate.

NARRATOR:
To keep Phoenix cooler,

David is pushing
something in short supply:

shade.

The human body absorbs
energy from the air around it,

but direct sunlight

can add up to 15 degrees
to what the body experiences.

HONDULA:
When we're under a tree,

we've eliminated
a lot of the incoming

solar energy that can cause
our body to heat up,

and blocking that can be
really impactful.

Shade is life-saving
in a city like Phoenix.

NARRATOR: Now, Phoenix is
committing over $7 million

to planting
drought-tolerant trees

over the next few years.

But for these so-called
cool corridors,

it takes years
for the trees to mature

and the shade to pay off.

Looking at the city's layout,

another more immediate
opportunity jumps out:

about 5,000 miles

of hot asphalt roads
soaking up the sun's energy.

HONDULA:
Anytime we can find hot ground

and make it less hot,

that will produce
a cooling benefit

with respect
to the air temperature.

NARRATOR:
The idea is simple:

recoat the roads
with a special sealant

that will reflect about
35% of the sun's energy,

which means less energy
is absorbed by the asphalt

and reradiated as heat.

♪ ♪

In 2020, the city
launched a pilot program

to cover 36 miles of roads
in eight neighborhoods.

Here's a-- all right,

so we're going to
take a reading here

with our infrared thermometer,
and we've got...

NARRATOR:
But does it work?

Heat-sensitive images
taken from a helicopter

reveal a striking difference.

The more reflective surface
is as much as 16 degrees cooler.

And an M.I.T. study projects

that it could lower
the average temperature

of some cities
by two-and-a-half degrees.

HONDULA:
Now we are seeing new approaches

which are really exciting for
cities all across the country.

We could wind up with

a city of the future
that's cooler than

the one we have today.

STONE:
We can substantially
cool down cities

in a relatively quick period
of time

without major expenditures.

And so that's really good news.

NARRATOR:
The good news is welcome,

because it's getting hotter
everywhere,

not only in
already hot places.

In fact, models project
the biggest increases

in the North and
interior regions of the country.

By 2100, New York City
could feel like South Carolina;

Chicago like
Montgomery, Alabama;

Denver like
Northern Mexico.

(thunder rumbling)

Rising temperatures

agitate
the entire weather system,

dramatically impacting
the cycle of evaporation,

condensation,
and precipitation.

Some areas that are already dry
get drier.

And so there's this feedback,
as we call it,

between heat and dry conditions
and dry conditions and heat.

The hotter it gets,
the drier it gets.

That's what's happening
in a warmer world.

NARRATOR:
The result?

Extreme drought.

The American Southwest

is suffering its most
persistent drought

in 1,200 years,

leaving no one untouched.

The kind of drought occasional
downpours can't break.

♪ ♪

MORALES:
What's going on in California
is, we've transitioned from

a prolonged drought to
what's known as a mega-drought.

One that lasts numerous years.

NARRATOR:
Years that have created

critical shortages of
a basic need:

drinking water.

PATEL:
So these aren't rain clouds.

It hasn't rained here
in over two months.

NARRATOR: Mehul Patel is
executive director

of operations for the
Orange County Water District.

Two-and-a-half million people
in Orange County, California,

depend on him
for safe drinking water.

One might expect him
to be extremely worried.

PATEL:
Is C-2 gonna go into a backwash?

The pressure is super-high.

That's what we were always
worried about.

That's as much
as we're gonna get.

♪ ♪

(laughs)
NARRATOR:
But he's not.

MAN:
We'll charge extra...

Yeah, exactly.

NARRATOR:
Because Orange County

has turned to an abundant,

nearly drought-proof source.

PATEL:
Yeah, that's a good sign,
you know, but...

NARRATOR:
One that's only mildly
disgusting.

(flushing)

Wastewater.

PATEL:
Wastewater is anything

that you generate in a home
that ends up in a drain.

That includes the toilet,

the washing machine,

the sinks.
(faucet running)

The yuck factor is
difficult to overcome.

But I think we need
to be practical,

because the solutions are
harder and harder to come by.

NARRATOR:
So, why wastewater?

In many ways,
they didn't have a choice.

PATEL:
The first thing to understand

about this area is that
two-and-a-half million people

rely on groundwater.

NARRATOR:
Groundwater is mostly rainfall
and snowmelt

captured in spaces below ground.

And wells can tap it
for drinking water.

But by the late 1990s,

Orange County's
rapidly growing population

was straining its supply.

If the county didn't act fast,

it could mean disaster.

This groundwater aquifer
actually is

physically connected
to the ocean.

And as the water level drops,

sea water
tends to take its place,

meaning it'll infiltrate
right into the groundwater basin

and make it so salty
that it's not potable.

NARRATOR:
The county was running low
on water

and time.

PATEL:
We only had probably

five, ten, 15 years

before the point where
we really gotta

find another source of water.

The inability to have
drinking water

in an area with
two-and-a-half million people

is just not something that

we could let happen.

We had to get more water
into the aquifer

as quick as possible.

Three minutes, okay,
and then C...

But the challenge was,
where do we get that water from?

NARRATOR:
One possibility was to take
water from the ocean itself.

PATEL:
You can actually extract salt
from the ocean water.

You can turn it into
drinking water,

but it takes
lots and lots of energy.

And so that's done in
really arid areas of the world

where energy is more abundant

and is not as costly as it is
in Southern California.

NARRATOR:
They also considered
pumping more water

from elsewhere.

FILM NARRATOR:
Water is today's
California gold.

Millions of acre-feet,

held in reserve for future use.

NARRATOR:
Moving water from
areas of abundance

to areas of scarcity

was the kind of mega-engineering

that made the modern state
of California possible.

♪ ♪

Over 1,500 dams

and about 4,000 miles of canals

had been rerouting water
across the state for decades.

But the population had exploded,

more than tripling
since the 1950s.

With the system
nearing a breaking point,

one thing was clear.

PATEL:
The old engineering solutions
of the past just weren't

gonna sustain us going forward.

NARRATOR:
So they focused on a source

flowing right under their noses:

200 million gallons

of wastewater literally
going down the drain

every day.

But how do you turn
the county's dirty water

into something
people can actually drink?

It starts at the Orange County
sewage treatment plant.

Here, the largest solids

are separated from
the raw sewage.

And smaller particles are
allowed to settle

to the bottom of
enormous tanks.

Aerating
the remaining wastewater

provides oxygen to
pollutant-eating bacteria,

which process the water

to be clean enough to release
into the environment.

For decades,
that meant all of the

treated water
was pumped several miles

out into the Pacific Ocean.

PATEL:
Literally tens of millions

of gallons a day
just going out to the ocean,

being lost, essentially.

NARRATOR:
Could those millions of gallons

be the solution to Orange
County's dwindling aquifer,

and also make their system
essentially drought-proof?

We knew that people
had done water recycling.

They just hadn't done it

to a point where
that water could be

really efficiently reintroduced

into a groundwater basin,
but we knew it was possible.

NARRATOR:
Today, Mehul's plant
finishes the job.

PATEL:
See what that cell looks like.

NARRATOR:
It's a computer-operated system

of airtight tubes
and underground pipes.

At the heart of the operation

is a process called
reverse osmosis,

where 1,000-horsepower engines

push the water through
tightly wrapped membranes,

filtering out impurities like

pharmaceuticals,
viruses, and salts.

So this is the end of
the process.

We can see
how the water started out,

you can see everything
that was removed,

and then you can see

the purified water here
that's safe enough to drink,

but will still go through
a couple more steps after this.

♪ ♪

NARRATOR:
As a final step,

they let the water
seep back into the ground,

replenishing the aquifer.

Orange County's
wastewater recycling operation

is the largest of
its kind in the world,

processing up to
130 million gallons a day.

And it is serving as a model for
other California communities,

including San Francisco,
Los Angeles, and San Diego--

all facing their own
dry future.

PATEL:
I'm very convinced that

a solution similar to this
can be done in other places.

You can follow the recipe

in a lot of places where
the same infrastructure exists.

There's
nothing we can't do today

if we just put our mind to it

and use all the technology
available to us.

NARRATOR:
But drought is not only
impacting drinking water.

About 700 miles north
of Orange County,

the coastal forests are
also thirsty.

♪ ♪

The rugged Klamath River
region of Northern California

is an outdoor paradise.

VIKKI PRESTON:
I love living here.

I don't know if I could live
anywhere else

and be as happy as I am here.

including Indigenous tribes
like the Karuk.

But people here

know that danger
lurks in these woods.

CHOOK CHOOK HILLMAN:
We have to have

our most precious things packed,

because you don't know

how much time
you're gonna have to get out.

NARRATOR:
On September 8, 2020,

residents of
the town of Happy Camp

get the order to leave--
fast.

The mountains are on fire.

♪ ♪

Fierce winds
and unusually dry conditions

fuel the flames.

Those are the types of fires

that, that humans just simply
can't stop.

destroying more than 200 homes.

KATHY MCCOVEY:
A lot of Native people's homes
burnt,

and a lot of them had to
move out.

A lot of them were scared to
live in Happy Camp again.

it's not an aberration.

In fact, between 2012 and 2021,

over 24% of forestland
in California burned.

CHOOK CHOOK HILLMAN:
The intensity of wildfires
that we have now

is just on a scale

never known to
Indigenous people.

It would never
be possible to have

this type of fire on
the landscape.

NARRATOR:
That's because,
for thousands of years,

Indigenous peoples
in North America

had been using fire to shape
and protect the landscape.

LEAF HILLMAN:
Fire is not inherently bad.

This landscape evolved with
fire.

The species on this landscape

are fire-dependent species.

You can't take fire out of
this landscape.

NARRATOR:
Fire clears out brush
to make way for

fire-resistant edible plants,

like acorn-producing oak trees,

underground bulbs and onions,

and berry bushes that
can sprout back after a fire.

And it creates
a diverse patchwork

of forest and grasslands,

a setup ideal for
hunting wild game

and gathering food
from the forest.

But starting in the 1800s,

White settlers to the region
saw these trees

as a commercial resource,

and felt new towns
had to be protected.

Fire suppression
became a U.S. government policy

for over a century,

and it became a crime
to conduct intentional burns

in this part of the country.

LEAF HILLMAN:
There really wasn't a lot of
burning going on

when I was growing up
because it,

it had been criminalized,

particularly for Indian people.

MCCOVEY:
You could get shot
if you were Native

for starting a fire.

You'd go to jail.

NARRATOR:
But now the frequency
and severity

of fires in the West
is increasing,

decade by decade.

Rising temperatures and
cycles of drought play a part.

But an aggravating factor

is how the forests themselves
have been managed.

BILL TRIPP:
You've removed fire from
the system for so long,

there's all that much fuel that
builds up.

And now, with an additional

stressor added,
like climate change,

it really causes problems.

NARRATOR:
Without regular, low-intensity
fires to thin them out,

Western forests are now twice
as dense

as they were 200 years ago.

And without the patchwork
of already burnt land

to stop their progression,

they can spread across
1,000 square miles,

destroying towns in their path.

Fortunately, there's
a solution to this problem.

MAN:
Let's move it!

NARRATOR:
Now the Karuk and other
Indigenous peoples are securing

burn permits and bringing
back their ancient practice,

literally
fighting fire with fire.

MICHAEL SANCHEZ:
Just to start,

this is a ceremonial ground.

So it's important
to take it really slow.

NARRATOR:
Today, tribal members
are planning

a series of fires they'll be
setting downriver

from Happy Camp,

near the community
of Orleans.

So we're going to create

a little bit of a black line
right in here.

PRESTON:
The fire is

to protect the town

and get
that grassy area burned off.

NARRATOR:
Starting and controlling fires

in this landscape,

close to an inhabited area,

takes skill.

MCCOVEY:
It's a specialized expertise

to know when
the wind's gonna be right.

Winds zero to two.

Gusts to six.

MCCOVEY:
When the humidity's

gonna be right, and when we
should burn for something

and when we shouldn't.

NARRATOR:
They wait until dusk, when it is

cooler, less windy, and more
humid, to start burning.

(fire crackling)

First, they carefully torch

and then extinguish
a patch of grass

to create what's called
a "black line":

a barrier to keep the fire
from burning out of control.

PRESTON:
That area won't burn,
so you have

a safety zone in between

the places that you're
not wanting to burn.

NARRATOR:
Then, they light fires
across the field,

careful to keep water hoses
nearby

to handle any flames that jump

beyond the black line
or threaten trees.

We're setting the landscape
on a trajectory to accept fire

in a good way.

And we're going to be way more
set up for when

we get to do larger-scale fires.

NARRATOR:
The two-day burn goes off
without a hitch.

LEAF HILLMAN:
What we're doing
and what we're advocating for

isn't an experiment at all.

We know it works.

It's worked for 10,000
years, um,

in this place,
and, um, it can work again.

We're taking the next step, um,

in bringing
fire back to the people.

This idea of cultural burning
actually made its way into

the secretary's executive order
this past week.

NARRATOR:
Now federal and
state governments in the West

see the wisdom of this approach.

In 2021, the U.S. Forest Service

used prescribed fire more than
ever,

burning nearly two million acres
of federal land.

And over the next ten years,

it has vowed to manage more than
50 million acres with fire.

REPORTER:
What firefighters were
trying to prevent is exactly

what they are now facing.

NARRATOR:
But in 2022,

the U.S. Forest Service made
headlines...

REPORTER: One of the two fires
was purposely set

as a prescribed burn.

High-profile escapes like
this are

a setback for proponents
of prescribed burning.

The resulting outcry can
halt the practice for months,

leaving the stage set for
the next uncontrolled wildfire.

But in fact,
escapes rarely happen.

There's inherent risk in any way

of managing
fire on this landscape.

We want the one that makes that
risk

the smallest possible.

Less than 0.5%
of prescribed fires escape.

We don't see those same
odds with containing wildfires.

And what we know is
that the relative risk

of being organized ahead of
time,

of choosing your burn window,
is night

and day from
the situation in a wildfire.

NARRATOR:
The current megafire crisis

has opened up a chance for the
Karuk

to finally bring more "good
fire" back to these mountains

and reclaim
some of their traditions

while protecting the land.

CHOOK CHOOK HILLMAN:
Our place in the world is
to manage the world,

you know, at least our piece
of the world.

That's part of the reciprocity

that allowed us to live here
for so long

on this landscape.

NARRATOR:
As the planet warms,

many dry areas, like much
of the West, get even drier

as more water evaporates
into the atmosphere.

In fact,
for every degree Fahrenheit

that the air temperature rises,

the atmosphere can hold
up to four percent more water.

But it can
also release the added moisture,

often in shorter bursts:

epic storms;
historic floods.

When you finally get a trigger
for rainfall,

the rain falls harder.

The rain rate is just so
insanely high that

you start to get runoff,

you start to get erosion,

you start to have crops being
damaged

by just the actual raindrops.
(chuckles)

NARRATOR:
That's what's been happening
in the fertile farmlands

of Eastern Iowa.

On her family's thousand-acre
farm, Elyssa McFarland

raises corn and soybeans.

She is the sixth generation
in her family to work this land.

And now she's taking over...

Thought I'd show you where
I did the plant.

NARRATOR:
...from her father, Tom.
...exactly where we're at.

NARRATOR:
But she's confronting
conditions very different

from those her family
contended with in the past.

Temperatures are higher.

ELYSSA MCFARLAND:
In the spring,

it was 93 degrees
the second day of corn planting.

Which is entirely too warm--
it's normally in the 60s.

NARRATOR:
Winds are stronger.

TOM MCFARLAND:
It used to be,

once in a while, you'd get
a 30- or 40-mile-an-hour wind.

Now it's,
we'll get it for days on end.

NARRATOR:
And rainstorms are different,
too.

ELYSSA MCFARLAND:
The rain now, it comes

a lot angrier.

Instead of having a storm roll
through in a day,

and you have, you know,
an inch of rain,

we had a storm roll
through in an afternoon

and we got six inches of rain.

And things wash away,
and you look at it, and it's,

it's so sad,
because that's your land,

that's your livelihood,
and it's, it's washing away.

NARRATOR:
The strongest storms
in this region

are dropping over 40% more
rain now

than in the 1950s,

causing historic floods

and sweeping away the topsoil

that makes this region
the breadbasket of America.

Soil erosion, I think,

is an abstract concept
for a lot of folks.

They might not know what it
means, be, like,

how did we lose soil?

Where did it go?

For a farmer,
it's our livelihood.

It matters where that soil goes.

NARRATOR:
Farms in Iowa are losing,

on average, more than five tons
of soil per acre per year.

But surprisingly, Elyssa's
farm isn't washing away.

That's because the way she farms
her fields

preserves the soil.

Most farms in Iowa

use a method that arose in the
1800s,

with the development
of the steel plow.

With these new plows,
farmers were able to repeatedly

turn over, or till, the soil
after the harvest.

This buried the leftover
crop material and killed weeds.

Looser dirt also
made it easier to plant seeds

at an optimal depth.

And tilled soil tends
to warm faster,

promoting germination.

The plow was a game changer that
helped feed a growing nation.

But now, as the weather
grows more extreme,

the downsides
of tilling become more apparent.

DEANN PRESLEY:
If we see a bare soil like that,
what happens if the wind comes?

Well, those little dried-out
particles

on the surface are gonna
be subject to wind erosion.

What happens if an intense
rainfall event happens?

We'll get runoff.

Can you reach the spade?

NARRATOR:
Soil scientist DeAnn Presley
studies

how different kinds of dirt
withstand

today's extreme weather.

She's here
to see Elyssa's approach.

So this is kind of the border

between the two
sections of this field.
Okay.

PRESLEY:
It's kind of like a crime scene,
right?

And you can go look at that soil

and understand things about it.

NARRATOR:
Elyssa's soil looks
different from the dirt

on conventionally farmed fields.

That's because
she leaves her plow in the barn

and lets the crop residue
stay right where it is.

We're trying to minimize
the amount of disturbance

that we're doing in that soil.

We're only disturbing

the part that we really have to
to put the seeds in the ground.

NARRATOR:
Elyssa is going back
to the ancient method

of plow-free farming
with a modern twist.

She uses a high-tech planter

to push aside crop residue
and apply the precise

pressure needed to push seeds
into the soil.

In winter,

Elyssa grows cereal rye in these
same fields-- not to sell,

but to shield
the topsoil from the elements.

ELYSSA MCFARLAND:
We have to put more stuff on the
landscape

to keep that soil protected.

So that really big,

really heavy,
wind-blown raindrop

doesn't hit the soil surface.

NARRATOR:
But how exactly
does leaving the ground

untilled fight erosion?

It comes down to a soil's
"structure."

The stronger
the structure, the better.

Structure is the way sand,
silt, and clay particles

get organized together into
units.

♪ ♪

NARRATOR:
A soil with strong structure has
a mix

of these different-sized
particles,

creating lots of air pockets,
or pores.

This gives
room for roots to extend,

gases to nourish the plants,

and a home for other
living things

that add nutrients to the soil--

all interwoven in a matrix
that holds itself together.

Left undisturbed,
the soil builds structure.

Tilling breaks down the soil's
structure, weakening it.

PRESLEY:
Scientifically, we have many
studies that show that there

is a huge decrease
in erosion when we use no-till.

That is a definite benefit.

NARRATOR:
In a hard rain,

pore space in soil gives excess
water a place to go,

much like a sponge.

So rather than running off
and taking dirt with it,

the water stays put within
the soil.

You can just see
how many pores are in here.

ELYSSA MCFARLAND:
As a farmer, when I see this,

the, the big pores are nice,
'cause it gets the water in,

but then also, seeing
all those smaller pores,

that's what holds the rainwater
for a drought,

so that when we have

those big, big rains that come
through,

as much as we can get that into
the soil,

that's what's gonna tide us over

when it dries out and we have
drought conditions again.

NARRATOR:
Leaving nutrients undisturbed

means less money spent
on fertilizers,

and fewer trips across the field
in a tractor saves on fuel.

Across the U.S., more farmers
are adopting no-till techniques.

While nationwide, no-till makes
up about 20% of total acres,

in Iowa,
that number is closer to 30%.

But the necessary precision
planting equipment is pricey,

making any radical change
in a farmer's approach costly.

Flipping a switch and entirely
changing things on a farm

is a pretty risky thing to do.

And for some farmers,
it takes a couple of years

to really see
the benefits of doing no-till.

PRESLEY:
These extreme weather events
might cause more people

to look at no-till as a serious
option if they haven't already,

because of the fact that they
don't want to have

intense rainfall carrying their
soil away

or losing
that opportunity to catch water.

ELYSSA MCFARLAND:
I think that there's a huge
opportunity for farmers.

It just takes time
and a shift in perspective,

and a community of
people that bring others along.

♪ ♪

NARRATOR:
Warmer, wetter air

creates intense rainstorms
across the Midwest.

For 100 million Americans
living in coastal communities,

more destructive storms
are also an increasing worry.

MORALES:
Hurricanes are my forte.

It's what I'm an expert at.

And I myself have been
so surprised

over the years to see the number
of rapid intensification cycles

that hurricanes are going
through.

NARRATOR:
Hurricanes are fueled

by energy from the ocean.

Today, during hurricane season,

the Gulf of Mexico is about
one to two degrees warmer

than it was in the 1980s.

And that warmer
water supercharges storms.

MORALES:
I'm on the air saying,
"Look at this thing!

Look at what this hurricane
is doing!"

So, a historic event

in itself.

NARRATOR:
Recent hurricanes blow away

previous
records for destruction,

costing over a trillion dollars
in 20 years,

and counting.

MORALES:
We're not necessarily seeing
more hurricanes,

but we're seeing that a greater
proportion of them

are indeed becoming these
monsters!

♪ ♪

NARRATOR:
One place especially hard-hit--
the coast of Louisiana,

where the Mississippi River
meets the Gulf of Mexico,

creating about 6,000 square
miles of river delta wetlands.

Here, the sea is
swallowing the land.

PHILIPPE:
We are on Grand Bayou

in Grand Bayou Village.

This is my home, and this is the
home

of my people,

and we've been here for
a little more than 400 years.

NARRATOR:
Rosina Philippe is an elder

of the Atakapa-Ishak/Chawasha
tribe.

PHILIPPE:
A lot of the places where you
see water,

it was land, and not just land--
high land.

Hills, hard, hard dirt.

But now no more,
none of that anymore.

The land has washed away.

NARRATOR:
One study found sea level here

rising at a rate
four times the global average.

Elder Chief
Shirell Parfait-Dardar,

a member of a nearby community,

the Grand Caillou-Dulac Band

of the Biloxi-Chitimacha-Choctaw
Tribe,

is also seeing her home
threatened by land loss.

We call these skeleton trees.

And when you look out and you
see these trees,

you know that land was there at
one time, right?

But all that's left is the
submerged

tree in water, holding on for
as long as it can.

NARRATOR:
The impacts of more
intense storms

and rising seas are felt here
now

in large part because the land
has already been eroded

by human activity.

Fed by rivers and streams across
much of the continent,

the Mississippi River picks up
sediment

and would naturally deposit it
in the delta,

constantly
replenishing the wetlands.

But starting in the 1900s,

a series of federal
construction projects

began to interfere
with that natural system:

levees to prevent flooding;

dams to improve navigation.

The result?

Less flooding in some
communities

and more river trade,

but also less sediment reaching
the wetlands.

And then, starting in the 1930s,
oil and gas companies

cut 10,000 miles of canals
through the wetlands

to reach their wells,

speeding erosion even more.

PLACKY:
And so all of this

is coming together in a way

that we used to have this
really strong protective barrier

along the Gulf Coast
that just is not there anymore.

and it's eating away even
more so

at our natural
barriers that we have.

NARRATOR:
Since 1935,

a quarter of Louisiana's
coastline has vanished.

That's an area
about the size of Delaware.

And every hundred minutes,
water claims, on average,

another football
field's worth of land.

PARFAIT-DARDAR:
As we lose land,

we lose
storm protections, right?

So the community has become
much more vulnerable over time.

And they can
only take so many hits.

NARRATOR:
One of the most destructive hits
arrived in 2021,

16 years to
the day after Katrina:

a category four hurricane named
Ida.

PARFAIT-DARDAR:
Hurricane Ida was a very strong
storm.

I had never seen anything like
that in my life.

NARRATOR:
Ida's wind speed nearly doubled

as it approached the coast,

from 85 miles per hour to 150,

pushing a storm surge of water
up to 12 feet high

across the land.

PARFAIT-DARDAR: You can still
see blue rooftops, right?

And those are tarps that are
still on the roofs

all these months after Hurricane
Ida.

NARRATOR:
It's estimated that Ida wiped
out

more than 75 square miles
of wetlands

and destroyed about
13,000 homes in the area,

including Elder Chief Shirell's.

For many, Ida was the last
straw.

PHILIPPE:
If you ever got up in an
airplane

and flew over this place,

it would break your heart.

Yeah, really.

I remember, it was my first time
looking at it,

you know,
from a bird's eye view.

And I couldn't
hold back the tears.

I cried seeing what has
happened,

you know, to my home.

As the storms get stronger,

as we lose more land,
people move away.

People can't stay
where they're not safe.

And as they move away,
you lose a piece

of who you are.

NARRATOR:
Those who live in these wetlands

are starting
to confront the possibility

of losing their land entirely.

PARFAIT-DARDAR:
If we want to remain
as a people,

we need to look into resettling
somewhere together

and trying to
rebuild our lives there.

NARRATOR:
Still, Shirell and many others

are fighting to preserve their
ancestral land.

PHILIPPE:
We that are here,
we're not going anywhere.

And we have to not only
protect what's still here,

but work to see what can be
built back.

NARRATOR:
Louisiana is working on several
massive

projects to protect its coast,

releasing sediment
into endangered wetlands,

upgrading levees and seawalls,

installing new floodgates.

But such megaprojects can take
years to approve and complete.

So, locals are taking matters
into their own hands

with some innovative,
low-cost solutions

to buy more time.

PHILIPPE:
You know, we still live on the
water,

by the water,
and we try to make sure that

we can maintain a presence here.

NARRATOR:
One idea begins with
a local delicacy--

oysters.

A local organization
gathers empty shells by the ton

from restaurant kitchens.

They are bagged
and loaded into boats

to create a new breakwater reef.

Rosina travels to
check out one such oyster reef

near a strip of land her tribe
calls Lemon Tree Mound.

PHILIPPE:
Lemon trees were found to be
growing there.

It was a gift to
the people from the Creator,

so that site is of particular
importance to my people.

NARRATOR:
To protect this sacred site,
volunteers carefully

layer 200 tons
of bagged oyster shells

just a few feet offshore,

and then let the oyster's
natural life cycle do the work.

These artificial reefs

become a breeding ground for
new oysters.

Soon after birth,

oyster larvae attach themselves
to the older oyster shells,

and begin
creating their own shells.

As the oyster beds
grow in size and height,

they weaken the waves
before they reach the shore.

That slows down erosion.

PHILIPPE:
As you can see behind the break
of the sacks,

the water is more still,
so it stops the wave action.

NARRATOR:
These oyster shell reefs
can reduce the rate of erosion

by up to 60%,
according to one study.

And in the last ten years,

8,000 feet of oyster reefs
have been created

in the region by recycling more
than

10 million pounds of shells.

PHILIPPE:
The oysters being bivalves,

they help to filter water.

It's promoting
the marine life in the area.

So it's just a win-win.

From the waters to the table,

you know, and back into the
waters,

we're completing a cycle.

And just
continues to pay forward.

NARRATOR:
And Louisiana isn't the only
place

where oyster reefs have caught
on.

Since 2010,

San Diego, San Francisco,

Galveston, the Chesapeake Bay,
and New York City

have also embraced oysters in an
effort to hold back the waves.

But in none of these
places is the need

for a solution more immediate
than here in Louisiana.

PHILIPPE:
There are so many things
that need to happen to combat

the critical losses that we're
facing

here in coastal Louisiana.

In conjunction with
other, larger projects

that will take the next ten,
20 years to implement,

these type of projects can go
into the environment

in a year's time,

two years, really quick,
so you will see

the benefits
of having them in place.

And I think we all
win because of that.

♪ ♪

NARRATOR:
Extreme weather is changing
lives all across America.

HAYHOE:
Climate change

is loading these weather dice
against us,

making our heat waves

more dangerous
and more frequent.

Making our heavy rainfall more
intense.

Making our droughts
stronger and longer-lasting,

our hurricanes to
intensify faster

and dump a lot more rain on us.

NARRATOR:
People are waking up
to the fact

that adapting to these extremes

is something
we're all going to have to do,

some sooner than others.

PARFAIT-DARDAR:
We are on the front line.

Many places could benefit

from paying attention to the
challenges

that we're going through,
so that maybe

they can start to address those
challenges

a lot sooner.

NARRATOR:
The search for creative
solutions is on,

and forging new collaborations.

Not only do we have
this Western fire science

that we're using,

we also have Indigenous
knowledge that goes back

for thousands of years.

ELYSSA MCFARLAND:
We know that there are things
that we can be doing better,

and we work together
to make those changes.

And I think that that's what,

that's what gives me hope for
the future.

NARRATOR:
The solutions might
start small,

but they all have the potential
to make a difference.

We need solutions
across the board.

We need the big systems changes.

But at the same time,

our individual actions and our
smaller-scale solutions,

the really cool
projects that are happening

SHEPHERD: I'm an "all hands on
deck"-type person,

so let's do all of those: the
local-scale actions

and the large policy, as well.

We know what needs to be done,

we just have to have
the will to act and do it.

♪ ♪

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