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How a water scientist hopes to save California habitats that could be pumped dry

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How a water scientist hopes to save California habitats that could be pumped dry

California is recognized as one of the world’s hotspots of biodiversity, with more species of plants and animals than any other state. And a significant number of the state’s species, from frogs to birds, live in habitats that depend on groundwater.

These rich ecosystems — including spring-fed streams, wetlands, riparian forests and oak woodlands — are vulnerable to declines in groundwater levels. In areas where unchecked pumping from wells severely depletes aquifers, once-thriving wetlands and forests can dry up and die.

Spotting threats to vulnerable natural areas has become a mission for Melissa Rohde, a hydrologist who has spent years analyzing satellite data and water levels in wells to come up with strategies for preventing ecosystems from being left high and dry.

“Nature has been getting the short end of the stick. It basically gets whatever is left behind, which oftentimes is not enough,” Rohde said. “How do we ensure that these ecosystems are protected?”

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More than 300 species of birds have been seen at Kern River Preserve.

(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)

California is the only state with a groundwater law that includes provisions intended to protect groundwater-dependent ecosystems. But the law, adopted in 2014, gives considerable leeway to local agencies in developing water management plans that prevent “significant and unreasonable adverse impacts.”

When Rohde and other scientists examined the local plans for parts of the state that fall under regulation, they found only about 9% of groundwater-dependent ecosystems are adequately protected, while the remaining 91% are vulnerable.

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When they looked at the entire state, they determined only 1% of the ecosystems are sufficiently protected under measures adopted to date.

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Rohde has been focusing on finding ways to change that, in California and around the world.

Often working at home, she has pored over satellite data to spot decreases in vegetation greenness during drought, a telltale sign of die-off caused by declining aquifer levels. And she has analyzed how different types of trees, including willows, cottonwoods and oaks, fare when water levels fall depending on the depth of their roots.

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Rohde and other researchers recently published a study outlining how California can set targets for maintaining groundwater levels — based on a formula including the type of vegetation, local water data and satellite imagery — to ensure the plants that anchor each ecosystem will be able to reach water and survive during dry times.

Cattle graze at the Kern River Preserve.

Cattle graze at the Kern River Preserve.

(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)

“If we don’t have groundwater levels that are able to support these diverse native vegetation ecosystems, then basically we run the risk of losing that important habitat for a lot of our threatened and endangered species,” Rohde said. “When you play around with keeping groundwater levels too deep to support the habitat, then you could lose species, and then that’s irreversible. The consequences can be severe.”

In California’s Mediterranean climate, trees, shrubs and the species they support are naturally adapted to drought. But excessive pumping from wells can push habitats beyond ecological limits by depleting the sources that sustain them.

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With humanity’s heating of the planet intensifying droughts, the strains affecting these ecosystems continue to grow.

Already, California has lost the vast majority of its original wetlands to development, water diversions and agriculture. To avoid losing what remains, Rohde said, the state needs “a precautionary and preventative approach that can ensure that these ecosystems can withstand the intensification of droughts in climate change.”

During a recent visit to Kern County, Rohde and several conservation specialists walked in the shade through a lush forest of cottonwood trees near the south fork of the Kern River, visiting a nature preserve she had previously seen only in satellite images.

Scientist Melissa Rohde stands in a riparian forest.

Scientist Melissa Rohde visits a riparian forest at the Kern River Preserve.

(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)

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At the edge of a clearing, she came upon the bare, sunbleached skeletons of dead trees.

She said satellite data had revealed that parts of the forest died along this part of the Kern River during the drought between 2012 and 2016.

“That’s because the groundwater levels rapidly declined,” Rohde said.

After that die-off, she said, groundwater levels rebounded in the area, and the native vegetation has been growing back.

A sign reads "Kern River Preserve" on a gate, with trees in the background.

The Kern River Preserve protects the riparian ecosystem along the south fork of the Kern River.

(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)

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It helps that this forest is protected as part of the Kern River Preserve, which is managed by the National Audubon Society, and that some nearby farmlands have been retired and converted to conservation lands over the years.

The preserve’s managers, working with the organization Ducks Unlimited, have also restored an expanded wetland by diverting water from the river and flooding a section of pastureland where cattle used to graze.

The wetland attracts birds, such as coots and tricolored blackbirds, and also recharges the aquifer that the roots of cottonwoods and willows tap into.

Scientists and conservation specialists stand on a rock formation overlooking a wetland.

Scientist Melissa Rohde, left, and conservation specialists from Ducks Unlimited and the Audubon Society, including Reed Tollefson, right, stand on rocks overlooking a wetland at the Kern River Preserve.

(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)

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The 3,300-acre preserve has expanded as adjacent alfalfa fields have been purchased and agricultural wells have been shut down, said Reed Tollefson, the preserve’s manager. These efforts have helped protect a refuge for birds including willow flycatchers and yellow-billed cuckoos.

As he pointed to several dead trees poking from the living cottonwoods, he said protecting the forest from groundwater pumping and climate change will require additional effort.

“I think it’s tenuous,” he said. “We’ve got more work to do to try and really sustain this.”

The dead trees that have appeared here and elsewhere in California over the past decade represent the sort of die-off that water managers need to focus on preventing, Rohde said.

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“It has to be an intentional practice of setting thresholds, monitoring, using satellite data or other scalable means to measure the impacts, in order to make sure that we are not allowing this to happen on a wider scale,” she said. “From a biodiversity perspective, it’s absolutely critical.”

Rohde said she felt hopeful seeing the forest rebounding and much greener than it was several years ago, with many young trees coming up.

Some other parts of California haven’t fared nearly as well.

One rainy day last month, Rohde visited an area along the Santa Clara River in Ventura County where several hundred acres of willows and cottonwoods dried up and died during the drought in the mid-2010s.

When groundwater pumping by farms and communities caused aquifer levels to fall, many trees died along the river near the city of Fillmore.

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“We saw this catastrophic drop in groundwater at this site,” Rohde said.

She visited the area with a research colleague and two managers from The Nature Conservancy. They stood on a gravel road next to a lemon grove, checking on what remained of the forest.

Scientist Melissa Rohde stands beside tall reeds.

Scientist Melissa Rohde stands in a thicket of arundo, an invasive reed that has proliferated along parts of the Santa Clara River in Ventura County. There are ongoing efforts to remove the nonnative reeds in the area.

(Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)

Where native trees died, an explosion of invasive reeds has taken over. The nonnative reeds, called arundo, have grown into thickets more than 20 feet tall. And unlike willows, Rohde said, arundo offers little value as habitat for birds.

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“When we had that massive die-off, and the groundwater levels remained deep, there was no way for the native vegetation to regenerate,” she said. “But arundo is extremely efficient at extracting soil moisture. And so it was able to outcompete the native vegetation.”

She said efforts to prevent this sort of habitat degradation should be prioritized.

When managers of local agencies set goals for maintaining groundwater levels, she said, they can tailor targets to the type of vegetation — whether there are cottonwood trees, with roots averaging about 9 feet long, or oaks, with roots that average nearly 30 feet but can grow much deeper.

Her colleague Michael Bliss Singer said when native trees are ravaged by multiple years of low water levels, they will start losing leaves and then dropping branches.

In one study, Singer and others documented a “brown wave” of trees drying along the Santa Clara River between 2012 and 2016 — a loss they saw in satellite images.

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A man looks out on a muddy river.

Scientist Michael Bliss Singer looks out over the Santa Clara River in Ventura County.

(Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)

“It’s completely transformed the ecosystem here,” said Singer, a professor at Cardiff University in Wales who is also a researcher at UC Santa Barbara.

When plants die off like this and don’t recover, it’s a symptom of an ecosystem in decline. To prevent more of these losses in an era when climate change is driving more severe droughts, Singer said, it’s crucial to “come up with creative solutions for the worst-case scenario.”

Rohde has found in her research, however, that most local groundwater plans in California haven’t adequately accounted for climate projections.

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Previously, Rohde did other types of climate research, including a stint in Antarctica in 2010, where she was part of a drilling team collecting ice cores. From that experience, Rohde said she realized that “I didn’t want to spend my career convincing people that climate change was an issue; I wanted to do something about it.”

She wore a faded cap with an Antarctica map, a memento of that trip. Rohde said her recent work is motivated by concerns about the climate crisis and biodiversity, as well as a conviction that proactive steps to protect ecosystems can make a difference.

“I have two young kids. I really want to make sure that I’m doing the best thing that I can to ensure a sustainable future for them, where they can access nature,” Rohde said.

A man holds binoculars as he observes a wetland.

E.J. Remson, a senior project director for The Nature Conservancy, surveys a wetland along the Santa Clara River in Ventura County.

(Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)

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“Often groundwater is out of sight, out of mind,” she said. “We don’t measure it, we don’t understand it and we misuse it. And we need to make sure that we are managing groundwater so that it is supporting us, and making sure that we have a sustainable future.”

Rohde now works as an independent scientist. Previously, as a researcher for The Nature Conservancy, she helped write an atlas of threatened and endangered species that rely on groundwater.

California’s groundwater-dependent ecosystems lie not only along streams, but also in habitats such as mountain meadows, coastal redwood forests and mesquite bushes among desert sand dunes. The species they support range from tiger salamanders to desert pupfish, and from songbirds to mammals such as ground squirrels and bighorn sheep.

“The risks are high when species are on the verge of extinction,” Rohde said.

Rohde and other scientists have found that ecosystems sustained by groundwater are under threat worldwide. Some of the few regions that have measures intended to protect them, she said, include Australia, the European Union and California.

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Still, even with California’s groundwater regulations and endangered species laws, Rohde said, “we continue to miss the mark in actually protecting them.”

Rohde said state officials should give local water agencies clear direction to ensure they’re using science-based methods to safeguard ecosystems in their state-mandated plans. She said agencies can now use the approaches scientists have outlined to map strongholds of biodiversity and set targets for maintaining aquifer levels.

“It’s very attainable,” she said. “Now, it’s just basically up to political will, or enforcement by the Department of Water Resources, to ensure that that happens.”

Walking in the rain at the Santa Clara River Preserve, Rohde followed her former Nature Conservancy colleagues Peter Dixon and E.J. Remson on a trail through a stand of healthy trees.

A man in a hooded rain jacket hikes along a soaked trail.

Peter Dixon, a project manager with The Nature Conservancy, walks on a trail through the riparian forest at the Santa Clara River Preserve.

(Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)

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They stood on the banks of the fast-flowing river, watching the muddy water churn past.

In the summer and fall, this part of the river usually dwindles to a trickle.

And during the next drought, when the river dries up, the forest will depend on the same groundwater that nearby communities and farms also use.

If the water needs of this and other ecosystems aren’t prioritized, Rohde said, vital habitats will suffer.

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“We need to be deliberate about the planning, and ensuring that they get their fair share,” she said. “Their existence is potentially imperiled if we don’t act.”

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China’s Clean Energy Push is Powering Flying Taxis, Food Delivery Drones and Bullet Trains

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China’s Clean Energy Push is Powering Flying Taxis, Food Delivery Drones and Bullet Trains

As an American reporter living in Beijing, I’ve watched both China and the rest of the world flirt with cutting-edge technologies involving robots, drones and self-driving vehicles.

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But China has now raced far beyond the flirtation stage. It’s rolling out fleets of autonomous delivery trucks, experimenting with flying cars and installing parking lot robots that can swap out your E.V.’s dying battery in just minutes. There are drones that deliver lunch by lowering it from the sky on a cable.

If all that sounds futuristic and perhaps bizarre, it also shows China’s ambition to dominate clean energy technologies of all kinds, not just solar panels or battery-powered cars, then sell them to the rest of the world. China has incurred huge debts to put trillions of dollars into efforts like these, along with the full force of its state-planned economy.

These ideas, while ambitious, don’t always work smoothly, as I learned after taking a bullet train to Hefei, a city the size of Chicago, to see what it’s like to live in this vision of tomorrow. Hefei is one of many cities where technologies like these are getting prototyped in real time.

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I checked them all out. The battery-swapping robots, the self-driving delivery trucks, the lunches from the sky. Starting with flying taxis, no pilot on board.

Battery-swapping robots for cars

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Of course, far more people get around by car. And navigating Hefei’s city streets shows how China has radically transformed the driving experience.

Electric vehicles (including models with a tiny gasoline engine for extra range) have accounted for more than half of new-car sales in China every month since March. A subcompact can cost as little as $9,000.

They are quite advanced. New models can charge in as little as five minutes. China has installed 18.6 million public charging stations, making them abundant even in rural areas and all but eliminating the range anxiety holding back E.V. sales in the United States.

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Essentially, China has turned cars into sophisticated rolling smartphones. Some have built-in karaoke apps so you can entertain yourself while your car does the driving.

You still need to charge, though.

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Lunch from the sky

China’s goal with ideas like these is to power more of its economy on clean electricity, instead of costly imported fossil fuels. Beijing has spent vast sums of money, much of it borrowed, on efforts to combine its prowess in manufacturing, artificial intelligence and clean energy to develop entirely new products to sell to the rest of the world.

Drone delivery has a serious side. Hospitals in Hefei now use drones to move emergency supplies, including blood, swiftly around the city. Retailers have visions of fewer packages stuck in traffic.

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But does the world need drone-delivered fast food? And how fast would it really be? As afternoon approached, we decided to put flying lunches to the test.

We decided to eat in a city park where a billboard advertised drone delivery of pork cutlets, duck wings and milk tea from local restaurants, or hamburgers from Burger King. Someone had scrawled in Chinese characters on the sign, “Don’t order, it won’t deliver.” A park worker offered us free advice: Get someone to deliver it on a scooter.

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Undeterred, we used a drone-delivery app to order a fried pork cutlet and a small omelet on fried rice. Then, rather than wait in the park, we went to the restaurant to see how the system worked.

Very rapid transit

China’s bullet trains are famous for a reason. Many can go nearly 220 miles per hour — so fast that when you blast past a highway in one of these trains, cars look like they’re barely moving.

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In less than two decades China has built a high-speed rail network some 30,000 miles long, two-thirds the length of the U.S. Interstate highway system. As many as 100 trains a day connect China’s biggest cities.

Building anything this enormous creates pollution in its initial construction, of course, using lots of concrete and steel. Construction was expensive and the system has racked up nearly $900 billion in debt, partly because it’s politically hard to raise ticket prices.

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But the trains themselves are far less polluting than cars, trucks or planes. And they make day trips fast and easy. So we decided to hop over to Wuhan, more than 200 miles away.

Taxis that drive themselves

We rolled into Wuhan looking forward to catching a robot taxi. While a few U.S. cities have experimented with driverless cars, China leads in the number on the road and where they can operate.

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Wuhan is one of a dozen or more Chinese cities with driverless taxis. Hundreds now roam most of the city, serving the airport and other major sites.

But train stations are a special problem. In big cities, some stations are so popular that the streets nearby are gridlocked for blocks in every direction.

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That was the case in Wuhan. Autonomous cars have not been approved in the chronically gridlocked streets next to the train stations, which meant that, to meet our robot taxi at its pickup spot, we either needed to walk 20 minutes or hop on a subway. (We walked.)

Of course if you want your own personal self-driving car, dozens of automakers in China sell models with some autonomous features. However, you are required to keep your hands on the wheel and eyes on the road. Just this month, regulators told automakers to do more testing before offering hands-free driving on mass production cars.

We wanted the full robot chauffeur experience.

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Robot trucks don’t need windows

After a meal at one of Wuhan’s famous crawfish restaurants, we headed back to Hefei.

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We had enjoyed Hefei’s airborne lunches, but there’s a lot more autonomous delivery in that city than just food. China still has many intercity truck drivers, but is starting to replace them with robot trucks for the last mile to stores and homes.

The trucks look strangely faceless. With no driver compartment in front, they resemble steel boxes on wheels.

The smaller ones in Hefei carry 300 to 500 packages. The trucks go to neighborhood street corners where packages are distributed to apartments by delivery people on electric scooters or a committee of local residents. Larger trucks serve stores.

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Robot delivery trucks now operate even in rural areas. I recently spotted one deep in the countryside as it waited for 13 water buffalo to cross a road.

Subways get a makeover

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Cities across the country are rapidly building subways. So many, in fact, that China has become the world’s main manufacturer of automated tunnel-boring machines.

It has also pioneered the manufacture of prefab subway stations. They’re lowered in sections into holes in the ground. Building a new station can take as little as two months.

Nearly 50 cities in China have subway networks, compared with about a dozen in the U.S., and they tend to be popular and heavily used.

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As in many Chinese cities, people in Hefei live in clusters of high-rises, and many live or work close to stations. The trains cut down on traffic jams and air pollution.

And like so many things, new ones are usually driverless.

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The changes are spreading across the country.

Many Chinese cities have not only replaced diesel buses with electric ones but are also experimenting with hydrogen-powered buses. And driverless buses. And driverless garbage trucks. And driverless vending machines.

One such vending machine was operating in the Hefei park where we ordered our drone lunches. According to a nearby hot dog vendor, the brightly lit four-wheeler drove into the park every morning, though always accompanied by a person on a bike who made sure nothing went wrong.

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A robotic snack machine that needs a chaperone — how practical is that? But the fact that they are rolling around the streets of Hefei at all says something about China’s willingness to test the boundaries of transportation technologies.

Some ideas may not work out, and others might suit China but not travel well. For example, Beijing can essentially order arrow-straight rail lines to be built almost to the heart of urban areas with little concern for what’s in the way. Other countries can’t replicate that. Chinese-built bullet trains in Nigeria and Indonesia, which travel from one city’s suburbs to the next, haven’t proven nearly as popular.

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Still, China shows a willingness to take risks that other countries may not. In San Francisco the death of a bodega cat, killed by a self-driving taxi, has hurt the industry’s image. But in China, fleets of similar cars are operating widely and censors delete reports of accidents. The cars are improving their software and gaining experience.

As for me, after several days putting Hefei’s idea of the future to the test, it was time to head for my next reporting assignment, in Nanjing. By bullet train, of course.

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After the L.A. fires, heart attacks and strange blood test results spiked

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After the L.A. fires, heart attacks and strange blood test results spiked

In the first 90 days after the Palisades and Eaton fires erupted in January, the caseload at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center’s emergency room looked different from the norm.

There were 46% more visits for heart attacks than typically occured during the same time period over the previous seven years. Visits for respiratory illnesses increased 24%. And unusual blood test results increased 118%.

These findings were reported in a new study published Wednesday in the Journal of the American College of Cardiology. The study, part of a research project documenting the fires’ long-term health effects, joins several recent papers documenting the disasters’ physical toll.

While other U.S. wildfires have consumed more acres or cost more lives, the Palisades and Eaton fires were uniquely dangerous to human health because they burned an unusual mix of materials: the trees, brush and organic material of a typical wildfire, along with a toxic stew of cars, batteries, plastics, electronics and other man-made materials.

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There’s no precedent for a situation that exposed this many people to this kind of smoke, the paper’s authors said.

“Los Angeles has seen wildfires before, it will see wildfires again, but the Eaton fire and the Palisades fire were unique, both in their size, their scale and the sheer volume of material that burned,” said Dr. Joseph Ebinger, a Cedars-Sinai cardiologist and the paper’s first author.

The team did not find a significant increase in the overall number of visits to the medical center’s emergency room between Jan. 7, the day the fires began, and April 7. The department recorded fewer in-person visits for mental health emergencies and chronic conditions during that time compared to the same time period in earlier years, said Dr. Susan Cheng, director of public health research at Cedars-Sinai and the study’s senior author.

The increase in visits for acute cardiovascular problems and other serious sudden illnesses made up the difference.

The study team also looked at results from blood tests drawn from patients visiting the ER for serious physical symptoms without immediate explanation — dizziness without dehydration, for example, or chest pains not caused by heart attacks.

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Their blood tests returned unusual results at a rate more than double that seen in previous years. These atypical numbers cut across the spectrum of the blood panel, Cheng said. “It could be electrolyte disorder, change in protein levels, change in markers of kidney or liver function.”

The rate of unusual test results held steady through the three-month period, leading the team to conclude that exposure to the fires’ smoke “has led to some kind of biochemical metabolic stress in the body that likely affected not just one but many organ systems,” Cheng said. “That’s what led to a range of different types of symptoms affecting different people.”

Joan Casey, an environmental epidemiologist at the University of Washington who was not part of the Cedars-Sinai team, noted that the study found health effects lasting over a longer period than similar studies have.

Three months “is a substantial length of time to observe elevated visits, as most studies focused on acute care utilization following wildfire smoke exposure find increased visit counts over about a weeklong period,” Casey said. Her own research found a 27% increase in outpatient respiratory visits among Kaiser Permanente Southern California members living within 12.4 miles of the burn zones in the week following the fires.

“The L.A. fires were such a severe event, including not only smoke, but also evacuation and substantial stress in the population, that effects may have lingered longer,” Casey said.

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Thirty-one people are known to have died as a direct result of injuries sustained in the fires. But researchers believe that when taking into account deaths from health conditions worsened by the smoke, the true toll is significantly higher.

A research letter published earlier this year in the Journal of the American Medical Assn. calculated that there were 440 excess deaths in L.A. County between Jan. 5 and Feb. 1. That paper looked at deaths caused by a variety of factors, from exposure to air pollution to disrupted healthcare as a result of closures and evacuations.

On Tuesday, a team from Stanford University published itsprojection that exposure to the fires’ smoke, specifically, led to 14 deaths otherwise unaccounted for.

Wildfire is a major source of fine particulate pollution, bits measuring 2.5 microns or less in diameter that are small enough to cross the barriers that separate blood from the brain and the lungs’ outer branches.

Compared with other sources, wildfire smoke contains a higher proportion of ultrafine particles miniscule enough to penetrate the brain after inhalation, Casey told The Times earlier this year. The smoke has been linked to a range of health problems, including dementia, cancer and cardiovascular failure.

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In the last decade, increasing numbers of wildfires in Western states have released enough fine particulate pollution to reverse years’ worth of improvements under the Clean Air Act and other antipollution measures.

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On a $1 houseboat, one of the Palisades fire’s ‘great underdogs’ fights to stay afloat

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On a  houseboat, one of the Palisades fire’s ‘great underdogs’ fights to stay afloat

Rashi Kaslow sat on the deck of a boat he bought from a friend for just $1 before the fire. After the blaze destroyed his uninsured home in the Palisades Bowl mobile home park — which the owners, to this day, still have not cleared of fire debris — the boat docked in Marina del Rey became his home.

“You either rise from the ashes or you get consumed by them,” he said between tokes from a joint as he watched the sunset with his chihuahua tucked into his tan Patagonia jacket.

“Some people take their own lives,“ he said, musing on the ripple effect of disasters. “After Katrina, a friend of my mom unfortunately did that. … Some people just fall into the bottle.”

The flames burn not only your house, but also your most sacred memories. Among the few items Kaslow managed to save were journals belonging to his late mother, who, in the 1970s, helped start the annual New Orleans Jazz Fest, which is still going strong today.

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A disaster like the Palisades fire burns your entire way of life, your community, your sense of self.

The fire put a strain too big to bear on Kaslow’s relationship with his long-term girlfriend. The emotional trauma he experienced forced him to take a break from boat rigging, a dangerous profession he’s practiced for 10 years that requires sharp mental focus as you scale ship masts to wrangle a web of ropes, wires and blocks.

Some days, he feels kind of all right. Others, it’s like he’s drowning in grief. “You try to get back on that horse and do this recovery thing — the recovery dance,” Kaslow said, “which is boring, to say the least.”

Living on a houseboat comes with its own rituals; these largely keep Kaslow occupied. He goes to the boathouse for his ablutions, walks his chihuahua around the marina and rides an electric skateboard into the nearby neighborhoods for a change of scenery.

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‘You either rise from the ashes or you get consumed by them.’

— Rashi Kaslow

He’s not yet sure where he’ll end up. Maybe someday the owners of the Palisades Bowl will let him rebuild, but Kaslow is too much of a pragmatist to get his hopes up. Maybe he’ll eventually scrape together enough money to leave the city he’s called home for more than two decades and finally buy a regular old house — not a mobile home, not a boat.

As 2025 slogged on, Kaslow repeatedly watched leaders do little to help. The Los Angeles Fire Department had failed to put out the Lachman fire. Gov. Gavin Newsom’s state park had failed to monitor the burn scar for hotspots. The Los Angeles Department Water and Power had failed to fill the Santa Ynez Reservoir, meant to protect the Pacific Palisades. Police failed to protect his burned lot from looters. Mayor Karen Bass failed to force the owners of the Palisades Bowl to clear the lot of debris.

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Kaslow imagines welcoming Bass and Newsom onto his boat — his life now — and sailing out into the sunset. “There should be some accountability,” he said. “I just want to look them in the eyes and ask them, ‘What the f— really happened?’”

Rashi Kaslow holding a ceramic vase he recovered from the ruble of his home, destroyed by the Palisades fire.

Kaslow holds a ceramic vase he recovered from the rubble of his home.

It’s a sentiment shared by many from the Bowl, who Kaslow has dubbed the fire’s “great underdogs.” They’re among the Palisadians who’ve been essentially barred from recovering — be it due to financial constraints, uncooperative landowners or health conditions that make the lingering contamination, with little help from insurance companies to remediate, simply too big a risk.

“I don’t want to be a victim for the rest of my life,” Kaslow said. “I don’t want to let this destroy me anymore than it already has.”

As November’s beaver supermoon rose above the marina, pulling the tide up with it, he felt a glimmer of optimism — a foreign feeling, like reconnecting with an old friend.

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Kaslow had received a bit of money from one of the various resident lawsuits against the Palisades Bowl’s owners, as well as a modest housing grant from Neighborhood Housing Services, a local nonprofit, that covered the rent for his spot in the marina.

But a week later, Neighborhood Housing Services ran out of money, and a federal loan that could finally help him to move on from simply trying to stay afloat to charting his future remains far off on the horizon.

Regardless, Kaslow cannot help but feel grateful, despite all he’s lost. He thinks of his elderly neighbors whose entire lives were upended in their final years. Or the kids of nearby Pali High, who pushed their way through the COVID-19 pandemic only to have their school burn in the blaze.

He thinks of the countless people quietly going through their own personal tragedies, without the media attention or outpouring from the greater community or support from the government: A messy divorce that leaves a young mother isolated; a kitchen fire in suburban America that levels a home; an interstate car crash that kills someone’s child.

“You start to appreciate things more, I think, when your whole life is shaken up,” Kaslow said, looking out at the moonlight glimmering across the marina. “That is a blessing.”

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