High Tide: How Climate Crisis is Engulfing Our Planet. Mark Lynas

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СКАЧАТЬ rainfall trend in the United States through the twentieth century, and much of that increase has come in the heaviest downpours. A number of catastrophic floods in recent years – most notably the Mississippi floods of 1993, the New England floods of 1997 and the winter floods of 1997 in the Pacific northwest and California – seem to show the shape of things to come.¹⁰

      Scientists have reached a similar conclusion in Europe,¹¹ whilst in Australia rainfall totals are also rising steadily.¹² This might seem to be a good thing in a continent often afflicted by drought – but again, much of the increase has come in the heaviest deluges, which are less likely to soak productively into farmland, and more likely to run quickly off the land in destructive torrents, taking the fertile topsoil with them.

      One study looking specifically at large river basins – such as the Yangtze in China and the Danube in Europe – confirms what many people have long suspected: that big floods are indeed getting more frequent. In fact, sixteen of twenty-one ‘great floods’ during the twentieth century have occurred since 1953, and in the planetary mid-latitudes seven out of eight have also occurred in the second half of the century.¹³ UK-based researchers have also identified a near-global trend towards heavier rain and floods.¹⁴

      In the most comprehensive survey of all, the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) confirmed that rainfall was getting heavier and more extreme in the United States, Canada, Switzerland, Japan, the UK, Norway, South Africa, northeast Brazil and the former USSR.¹⁵

      This hasn’t affected everywhere: some places have got drier, such as the Sahel in Africa and northern China. But almost the whole of the Earth’s mid-latitudes has been affected, and as Osborn told me, ‘if there’s something coherent going on at all the mid-latitudes, then there must be something virtually global scale driving it’. Computer models of global warming have long illustrated this effect, and now it seems to be showing up in the real world, just as many scientists – including Osborn himself – have long predicted.

      MONMOUTH, FEBRUARY 2002

      Just under 10,000 homes were flooded in Britain during the 2000 event. Some were hit two or three times, and a few left completely uninhabitable. Transport and power services were disrupted, and the cost of flood-related damage eventually totalled around £1 billion, according to the government’s Environment Agency.¹⁶ Everybody breathed a sigh of relief when it was finally over, but only one year and three months later – in the first week of February 2002 – the floods were back.

      This time one of the worst-hit places was Monmouth, a historic town just over the Welsh border at the confluence of the rivers Monnow and Wye. On 4 February ‘severe flood warnings’ were issued for both rivers, schools were closed and residents in low-lying areas began to move themselves upstairs. Twenty families were evacuated from mobile homes when the Wye burst its banks, and three streets were completely submerged.

      Judging from the news Monmouth sounded well worth a visit. This meant hiring a car, but I was ready to leave by mid-morning, heading towards Cheltenham on the old A40. The River Thames was pretty high, and when the road crossed some small rivers on the way over the Cotswold hills, I could see that each was swollen, its banks only identifiable by lines of willow trees standing in the brown water.

      Just outside Gloucester was the first sign of large-scale flooding – a huge new lake stretched almost as far as the eye could see. Trees, telegraph poles and even an electricity substation were surrounded by water, and a couple of swans paddled by.

      I drove on. The sky was darkening again with ominous clouds as I neared Wales, and soon a heavy shower sent torrents of new water coursing down off the hillsides.

      About ten miles outside Monmouth I spotted a ‘Road Closed’ sign and drove round it to investigate. I was deep in the Forest of Dean, and the small road led down a steep wooded valley towards the River Wye. On the river itself was a small village, little more than a hamlet, called Lower Lydbrook.

      Lower Lydbrook looked like it had been doused entirely in mud. Mud was everywhere: across the road, the pavements, people’s drives and lawns. The whole area had clearly been awash with very dirty floodwater only a few hours beforehand. Outside the Courtfield Arms a man was sweeping the sticky brown mess off the car park. I slithered up to him and asked whether he felt the flooding was getting worse.

      His answer was surprising. In the past the floods had come once every three or four years. Now it was two or three times in a single year. And the latest inundation was easily the worst for three decades.

      On the other side of the road was a restaurant called the Garden Café. All the gravel in its neat drive was coated with the same brown layer, as was a car parked outside. I followed some fresh footprints round to a side door. It was swinging open, and I peered into the gloom inside. Not surprisingly the place was a mess: fridges were stacked up on tables and wet rugs were hanging from the beams. There was a pervasive damp musty smell, and a clear high-water line about a metre up the walls.

      The owner was happy to take a break from cleaning up, and introduced himself. ‘Paul Hayes. Owner and chef of the Garden Café.’ He looked around at the disastrous mess and added: ‘Currently on holiday.’

      Hayes was certain that the flooding had got worse in recent years. It wasn’t necessarily that more rain fell overall – but rather than being averaged out over a month, the whole lot simply fell in one night.

      ‘We don’t have a winter any more, we have a wet season. It’s like tropical rainstorms here. And because it’s a hilly area this translates into flash floods. The river rose six metres from its level last week. It came in here at four on Sunday morning, and within another two hours reached a metre up the wall. It never used to flood in the house, but that’s three years in a row we’ve been flooded now.’

      As a result, his business was wrecked. All the fridges were ruined, he was losing customers every day the restaurant remained closed, and all his stock would have to be thrown away. Nor was this the first time: during the winter of 2000 – when the building had been flooded on three separate occasions in October, December and January – he had only managed to open for twelve days throughout the whole four-month period. And with the whole property now virtually uninsurable, no buyer would even look at it.

      Hayes had a knowing, worldly manner, but I could tell that even he had been thrown by the latest deluge. ‘It came so suddenly,’ he said, almost perplexed. ‘I knew it was going to flood, even though there was no flood warning. And if it rains in the next week it’ll flood again – all that water’s got nowhere to go.’

      In Monmouth itself the floodwaters had only just begun to recede. Most of the town was unaffected – the Romans had sensibly founded it on a hill, but developments in more recent centuries have extended the town right along the river. Built at the confluence of two rivers, and not far from the tidal estuary, the area has always been prone to flooding – the one reliable crossing point has been called Dry Bridge Street since Norman times.

      When I arrived, though, Dry Bridge Street was half underwater.

      Children were splashing around and riding their bikes through it, whilst dog-walkers in wellington boots waded through to a nearby park. Sandbags were stacked in front of every front door. Opposite СКАЧАТЬ