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She’s Trying to Stay Ahead of Alzheimer’s, in a Race to the Death

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She’s Trying to Stay Ahead of Alzheimer’s, in a Race to the Death

Soon, Irene Mekel will need to pick the day she dies.

She’s not in any hurry: She quite likes her life, in a trim, airy house in Castricum, a Dutch village by the sea. She has flowers growing in her back garden, and there is a street market nearby where vendors greet villagers by name. But if her life is going to end the way she wants, she will have to pick a date, sooner than she might like.

“It’s a tragedy,” she said.

Ms. Mekel, 82, has Alzheimer’s disease. It was diagnosed a year ago. She knows her cognitive function is slowly declining, and she knows what is coming. She spent years working as a nurse, and she cared for her sister, who had vascular dementia. For now, she is managing, with help from her three children and a big screen in the corner of the living room that they update remotely to remind her of the date and any appointments.

In the not-so-distant future, it will no longer be safe for her to stay at home alone. She had a bad fall and broke her elbow in August. She does not feel she can live with her children, who are busy with careers and children of their own. She is determined that she will never move to a nursing home, which she considers an intolerable loss of dignity. As a Dutch citizen, she is entitled by law to request that a doctor help her end her life when she reaches a point of unbearable suffering. And so she has applied for a medically assisted death.

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In 2023, shortly before her diagnosis, Ms. Mekel joined a workshop organized by the Dutch Association for Voluntary End of Life. There, she learned how to draft an advance request document that would lay out her wishes, including the conditions under which she would request what is called euthanasia in the Netherlands. She decided it would be when she could not recognize her children and grandchildren, hold a conversation or live in her own home.

But when Ms. Mekel’s family doctor read the advance directive, she said that while she supported euthanasia, she could not provide it. She will not do it for someone who has by definition lost the capacity to consent.

A rapidly growing number of countries around the world, from Ecuador to Germany, are legalizing medical assistance in dying. But in most of those countries, the procedure is available only to people with terminal illness.

The Netherlands is one of just four countries (plus the Canadian province of Quebec) that permit medically assisted death by advance request for people with dementia. But the idea is gaining support in other countries, as populations age and medical interventions mean more people live long enough to experience cognitive decline.

The Dutch public strongly supports the right to an assisted death for people with dementia. Yet most Dutch doctors refuse to provide it. They find that the moral burden of ending the life of someone who no longer has the cognitive capacity to confirm their wishes is too weighty to bear.

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Ms. Mekel’s doctor referred her to the Euthanasia Expertise Center, in The Hague, an organization that trains doctors and nurses to provide euthanasia within the parameters of Dutch law and connects patients with a medical team that will investigate a request and provide assisted death to eligible patients in cases where their own doctors won’t. But even these doctors are reluctant to act after a person has lost mental capacity.

Last year, a doctor and a nurse from the center came every three months to meet with Ms. Mekel over tea. Ostensibly, they came to discuss her wishes for the end of her life. But Ms. Mekel knew they were really monitoring how quickly her mental faculties had declined. It might seem like a tea party, she said, “but I see them watching me.”

Dr. Bert Keizer is alert for a very particular moment: It is known as “five to 12” — five minutes to midnight. Doctors, patients and their caregivers engage in a delicate negotiation to time death for the last moment before a person loses that capacity to clearly state a rational wish to die. He will fulfill Ms. Mekel’s request to end her life only while she still is fully aware of what she is asking.

They must act before dementia has tricked her, as it has so many of his other patients, into thinking her mind is just fine.

This balance is something so hard to discover,” he said, “because you as a doctor and she as your patient, neither of you quite knows what the prognosis is, how things will develop — and so the harrowing aspect of this whole thing is looking for the right time for the horrible thing.”

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Ms. Mekel finds this negotiation deeply frustrating: The process does not allow for the idea that simply having to accept care can be considered a form of suffering, that worrying about what lies ahead is suffering, that loss of dignity is suffering. Whose assessment should carry more weight, she asks: current Irene Mekel, who sees loss of autonomy as unbearable, or future Irene, with advanced dementia, who is no longer unhappy, or can no longer convey that she’s unhappy, if someone must feed and dress her.

More than 500,000 of the 18 million people in the Netherlands have advance request documents like hers on file with their family doctors, explicitly laying out their wishes for physician-assisted death should they decline cognitively to a point they identify as intolerable. Most assume that an advance request will allow them to progress into dementia and have their spouses, children or caregivers choose the moment when their lives should end.

Yet of the 9,000 physician-assisted deaths in the Netherlands each year, just six or seven are for people who have lost mental capacity. The overwhelming majority are for people with terminal illnesses, mostly cancer, with a smaller number for people who have other nonterminal conditions that cause acute suffering — such as neurodegenerative disease or intractable depression.

Physicians, who were the primary drivers of the creation of the Dutch assisted dying law — not Parliament, or a constitutional court case, as in most other countries where the procedure is legal — have strong views about what they will and will not do. “Five to 12” is the pragmatic compromise that has emerged in the 23 years since the criminal code was amended to permit physicians to end lives in situations of “unbearable and irremediable suffering.”

Ms. Mekel, petite and brisk, had suspected for some time before she received a diagnosis that she had Alzheimer’s. There were small, disquieting signs, and then one big one, when she took a taxi home one day and could not recognize a single house on the street where she had lived for 45 years, could not identify her own front door.

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At that point, she knew it was time to start making plans.

She and her best friend, Jean, talked often about how they dreaded the idea of a nursing home, of needing someone to dress them, get them out of bed in the morning, of having their worlds shrink to a sunroom at the end of a ward.

“When you lose your own will, and you are no longer independent — for me, that’s my nightmare,” she said. “I would kill myself, I think.”

She knows how cognition can slip away almost imperceptibly, like mist over a garden on a spring morning. But the news that she would need to ask Dr. Keizer to end her life before such losses happened came as a shock.

Her distress at the accelerated timeline is not an uncommon response.

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Dr. Pieter Stigter, a geriatric specialist who works in nursing homes and also as a consultant for the Expertise Center, must frequently explain to startled patients that their carefully drawn-up advance directives are basically meaningless.

“The first thing I tell them is, ‘I’m sorry, that’s not going to happen,’” he said. “Assisted dying while mentally incompetent, it’s not going to happen. So now we’re going to talk about how we’re going to avoid getting there.”

Patients who have cared for their own parents with dementia may specify in their advance directive that they do not wish to reach the point of being bedridden, incontinent or unable to feed themselves. “But still then, if someone is accepting it, patiently smiling, it’s going to be very hard to be convinced in that moment that even though someone described it in an earlier stage, that in that moment it is unbearable suffering,” Dr. Stigter said.

The first line people write in a directive is always, “‘If I get to the point I do not recognize my children,’” he said. “But what is recognition? Is it knowing someone’s name, or is it having a big smile when someone enters your room?”

Five-to-12 makes the burden being placed on physicians morally tolerable.

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“As a doctor, you are the one who has to do it,” said Dr. Stigter, a warm and wiry 44-year-old. “I’m the one doing it. It has to feel good for me.”

Conversations about advance requests for assisted death in the Netherlands are shadowed by what many people who work in this field refer to, with a wince, as “the coffee case.”

In 2016, a doctor who provided an assisted death to a 74-year-old woman with dementia was charged with violating the euthanasia law. The woman had written an advance directive four years earlier, saying she wished to die before she needed to enter a care home. On the day her family chose, her doctor gave her a sedative in coffee, and then injected a stronger dose. But during the administration of the medication that would stop her heart, the woman awoke and resisted. Her husband and children had to hold her down so the doctor could complete the procedure.

The doctor was acquitted in 2019. The judge said the patient’s advance request was sufficient basis for the doctor to act. But the public recoil at the idea of the woman’s family holding her down while she died redoubled the determination of Dutch doctors to avoid such a situation.

Dr. Stigter never takes on a case assuming he will provide an assisted death. Cognitive decline is a fluid thing, he said, and so is a person’s sense of what is tolerable.

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“The goal is an outcome that reflects what the patient wants — that can evolve all the time,” he said. “Someone can say, ‘I want euthanasia in the future’, but actually when the moment is there, it’s different.”

Dr. Stigter found himself explaining this to Henk Zuidema a few years ago. Mr. Zuidema, a tile setter, had early-onset Alzheimer’s at 57. He was told he would no longer be permitted to drive, and so he would have to stop working and give up his main hobby, driving a vintage motocross bike with friends.

A gruff, stoic family man, Mr. Zuidema was appalled at the idea of no longer providing for his wife or caring for his family, and he told them he would seek a medically assisted death before the disease left him totally dependent.

His own family doctor was not willing to help him die, nor was anyone in her practice, and so his daughter Froukje Zuidema found the Expertise Center. Dr. Stigter was assigned to his case and began driving 30 minutes from his office in the city of Groningen every month to visit Mr. Zuidema at his home in the farming village of Boelenslaan.

“Pieter was very clear: ‘You have to tell me when,’” Ms. Zuidema said. “And that was very hard, because Dad had to make the decision.”

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When he grasped that the disease might impair his judgment, and thus cause him to overestimate his mental competence, Mr. Zuidema quickly settled on a plan to die within months. His family was shocked, but for him the trade-off was clear: “Better a year too early than a day too late,” he would say.

Dr. Stigter pushed Mr. Zuidema to define what, exactly, his suffering would be. “He would say, ‘Why is it so bad to get old like that?’” Ms. Zuidema recalled. “‘Why is it so bad to go to a nursing home?’” She said the doctor would tell her father, “ ‘Your idea of suffering is not the same as mine, so help me understand why this is suffering, for you.’ “

Her reticent father struggled to explain, and finally put it in a letter: “I don’t want to lose my role as a husband and a father, I do not want to be unable to help people any longer … Suffering would be if I could no longer be alone with my grandchildren because people did not trust me any longer: even this thought makes me crazy … Do not be misled by a moment in which I look happy but instead look back at this moment when I am with my wife and children.’”

The progress of dementia is unpredictable, and Mr. Zuidema did not experience a rapid decline. In the end, Dr. Stigter visited each month for a year and a half, and the two men developed a relationship of trust, Ms. Zuidema said.

Dr. Stigter provided a medically assisted death in September 2022. Mr. Zuidema, then 59, was in a camp bed near the living room window, his wife and children at his side. His daughter said she sees Dr. Stigter “as a real hero.” She has no doubt her father would have died by suicide even sooner, had he not been confident he could receive an assisted death from his doctor.

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Still, she is wistful about the time they didn’t have. If the advance directive had worked as defined in the law — if there had been no fear of missing the moment — her father might have had more months, more time sitting on the vast green lawn between their houses and watching his grandchildren kick a soccer ball, more time with his dog at his feet, more time sitting on a riverbank with his grandson and a lazy fishing line in the water.

“He would have stayed longer,” Ms. Zuidema said.

Her sense that her father’s death was rushed does not outweigh her gratitude that he had the death he wanted. And her feeling is widely shared among families, according to research by Dr. Agnes van der Heide, a professor of end-of-life care and decision making at Erasmus Medical College, University Medical Center Rotterdam.

“The large majority of the Dutch population feel safe in the hands of the doctor, with regards to euthanasia, and they very much appreciate that the doctor has a significant role there and independently judges whether or not they think that ending of life is justifiable,” she said.

For five to 12 to work, doctors should know their patients well and have time to track changes in their cognition. As the public health system in the Netherlands is increasingly strained, and short of family practitioners, that model of care is becoming less common.

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Ms. Mekel’s physician, Dr. Keizer, said his lengthy visits to patients were possible only because he is mostly retired and not in a hurry. (In addition to his half-time practice, he writes regular op-eds for Dutch newspapers and comments on high-profile cases. He is a bit of an assisted-dying celebrity, and, Ms. Mekel confided, the other older women at the right-to-die workshops were envious when they learned that he had been assigned as her physician.)

Now that he is clear on her wishes, the tea parties are paused; he will resume the visits when her children tell him there has been a significant change in her awareness or ability to function — when they feel that five to 12 is close.

Ms. Mekel is haunted by what happened to her best friend, Jean, who, she said, “missed the moment” for an assisted death.

Although Jean was determined to avoid moving to a nursing home, she lived in one for eight years. Ms. Mekel visited her there until Jean became unable to carry on a conversation. Ms. Mekel continued to call her and sent emails that Jean’s children read to her. Jean died in the nursing home in July, at 87.

Jean is the reason Ms. Mekel is willing to plan her death for sooner than she might like.

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Yet Jean’s son, Jos Van Ommeren, is not sure that Ms. Mekel understands her friend’s fate correctly. He agrees that his mother dreaded the nursing home, but once she got there, she had some good years, he said. She was a voracious reader and devoured a book from the residence library each day. She had loved sunbathing all her life, and the staff made sure she could sit in the sun and read for hours.

Most of the last years were good years, Mr. Van Ommeren said, and to have those, it was worth the price of giving up the assisted death she had requested.

For Ms. Mekel, that price is intolerable.

Her youngest son, Melchior, asked her gently, not long ago, if a nursing home might be OK, if by the time she got there she wasn’t so aware of her lost independence.

Ms. Mekel shot him a look of affectionate disgust.

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“No,” she said. “No. It wouldn’t.”

Veerle Schyns contributed reporting from Amsterdam.

Audio produced by Tally Abecassis.

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As mosquitoes go year-round in L.A., a promising fix hits a snag

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As mosquitoes go year-round in L.A., a promising fix hits a snag

Residents were supposed to get a respite from the ankle-nipping mosquitoes that fueled a recent surge in dengue fever in Los Angeles County.

Typically, the invasive mosquitoes — called Aedes aegypti — essentially disappear from winter until early May in the region.

Instead, complaints to local agencies tasked with controlling the pests spiked recently.

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“We have not seen them go away altogether like they have in previous years,” said Susanne Kluh, general manager for the Greater Los Angeles County Vector Control District.

Their unusual presence adds to the urgency of work going on in a 40-foot shipping container tucked away in Pacoima. It’s about to transform into a bustling nursery for tens of thousands of mosquitoes.

This May, the district is set for the third year in a row to release legions of sterilized male mosquitoes — which don’t bite — into parts of Sunland-Tujunga.

The last two years were promising, with the female population in two treated neighborhoods plunging by an average of more than 80%.

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Yet business owners have signaled they’re not willing to pay to expand it.

That’s thrown uncertainty into officials’ goal of eventually bringing the approach to their whole service area, spanning 36 cities and unincorporated communities.

Steve Vetrone, assistant general manager at the Greater L.A. vector district.

Steve Vetrone, assistant general manager at the Greater L.A. district.

(Ronaldo Bolanos / Los Angeles Times)

“Unfortunately, that’s going to be a rather expensive endeavor,” said Steve Vetrone, an assistant general manager for the district. “I can tell you right now that’s not something that we can do with our current operating budget.”

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A need, an ask and a disappointing answer

Aedes aegypti are a new-ish local fixture. Native to Africa, the black-and-white striped mosquitoes were first detected in California in 2013 and landed in L.A. County the following year.

“Despite our best efforts, they’ve been able to just outpace us, and they’re now in every city and community within our district,” and all of Southern California, Vetrone said. In fact, the low-flying, day-biting mosquitoes are present in nearly half of California’s counties, including Shasta in the far north.

Desperate to find a solution, many are trying the so-called sterile insect technique — including vector control districts serving Orange and San Bernardino counties, as well as the San Gabriel Valley — and “we kind of all hope that this is going to be our silver bullet,” Kluh said.

The idea is fairly simple: unleash sterile males so that they far outnumber wild ones — say, 10 to 1 or even 100 to 1. The goal is for the altered males to mate with females, producing eggs that don’t hatch.

Kluh’s district uses X-rays to sterilize males but there are other methods, such as using genetically modified insects or ones infected with bacteria.

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White mesh boxes holding mosquitoes on shelves inside a shipping container.

Female mosquitoes are fed different types of blood — pig and cow — to see which leads to the most eggs.

(Ronaldo Bolanos / Los Angeles Times)

The technique, while promising, requires time and money.

In California, property owners foot the bill for local mosquito (and other pest) control, with some paying an annual fee called a benefit assessment.

Levying a new fee requires approval from home, apartment and business owners, in accordance with Proposition 218.

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To unleash sterile male mosquitoes in a broader swath of the Greater L.A. district, officials are seeking up to $20 a year per single family home. That would be on top of $18.97 that homeowners now pay for the agency’s services.

Last April, the district sent out 50,000 sample ballots to property owners, asking if they’d support the increase.

Only 47% of those returned were in favor.

“Data showed that single family homeowners were pretty supportive, but fewer business owners with larger parcels and potentially higher dues did not see the benefit in the additional expense,” Kluh said in an email.

Business owners might not live in the area, but their vote — if their property spans several acres — is weighted more heavily.

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Times readers, commenting on a story from last year about the proposal, responded favorably.

“I hate mosquitos because they love me so much,” one reader said. “I would happily spend $20 to reduce their populations! I probably spend more [than] that on repellent.”

Officials haven’t given up, and plan to send out another round of sample ballots next year.

Kluh already has talking points for businesses in her back pocket: Restaurant owners should have an interest in making outdoor dining more pleasant, while apartment owners could lose revenue if their renters are sickened by an outbreak of Zika, chikungunya or yellow fever — all diseases transmitted by Aedes aegypti, she said.

Making mosquitoes that can’t reproduce

On a recent tour of the Pacoima insectary, Nicolas Tremblay, a senior vector ecologist with the district, whipped out a small container filled with a handful of what looked like vitamins.

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But the clear pill cases were filled with about 6,500 mosquito eggs and bovine liver powder.

Nicolas Tremblay, senior vector ecologist, places tape on water-filled trays in the Pacoima insectary.

Nicolas Tremblay, senior vector ecologist, tapes trays to indicate pill capsules filled with mosquito eggs were placed in water.

(Ronaldo Bolanos / Los Angeles Times)

The pills are dropped into trays of water, where the eggs hatch and the larvae feed on the powder. It takes about nine days to go from egg to buzzing adult.

The males are then chauffeured to Garden Grove, where they’re zapped with X-rays. Then they’re driven back and set free the next day.

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“It’s crazier around August, September, is when we’ll probably reach our peak production” of up to 72,000 mosquitoes a week, he said. “All these [trays] would be full of water and mosquitoes.”

In 2024, the district launched its pilot, releasing nearly 600,000 sterilized males in two Sunland-Tujunga neighborhoods over about five months.

The population of Aedes aegypti females dropped by an average of 82% compared with a control area.

The stakes became clear that year, when California reported 18 locally acquired dengue cases — a sharp rise from the first-ever cases confirmed the year before.

Last year, the pilot saw similar success, though there was also a natural drop in activity districtwide.

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On the recent visit to the insectary, several hundred mosquitoes flew around in white mesh cages, serving as participants in a study to see which blood they prefer — pig or cow.

“We haven’t completed the trials yet, but it seems like they didn’t care,” he said.

One thing scientists already know: Aedes aegypti love biting people.

A highly adaptive foe

The invasive mosquitoes can lay their eggs in tiny amounts of water. A bottle cap or crease in a potato chip bag is fair game.

What’s more, mosquitoes in the Greater L.A. district are resistant to a lot of pesticides.

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Now, there might be a new concern. Typically, the invasive mosquitoes go into a type of hibernation every year.

Kluh said it appeared that they may have mutated in a way that allows them to stay active through the winter.

A warming climate has already expanded their season and allowed them to move into formerly inhospitable regions.

Releasing sterilized males involves no pesticides, and also leverages the insect’s biology: Males in lust are adept at finding females.

Many residents are thrilled by the promising tool, but others bristle at the idea of manipulating nature.

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“There’s folks that are in favor and then there are folks that are just absolutely opposed because it’s like, ‘You’re playing God,’” Vetrone said.

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Record Heat Meets a Major Snow Drought Across the West

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Record Heat Meets a Major Snow Drought Across the West

At this point in a typical year, as the seasons officially turn from winter to spring, snowpack would still be accumulating across the Mountain West.

But this winter wasn’t typical, even before a heat wave this past week. It was the warmest on record for six Western states. Snow cover is the lowest level on record for the Colorado River Basin, and across much of the rest of the West, there are record or near-record low amounts of snow.

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That alone would create a challenging year for water managers, who rely on slow and steady snowmelt to feed streams, rivers and reservoirs and meet spring and summer demand for irrigation and drinking water. While rainfall runs off quickly and can more readily evaporate from soil, snowpack serves as a valuable and lasting source of moisture and accounts for a majority of water supplies across the region, as much as 80 percent in some areas.

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Current snowpack compared to historical averages

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The intense heat wave threatens to make water management all the more challenging.

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Much of the thin snowpack was already “ready to melt” before the heat set in, said Jon Meyer, assistant state climatologist at the Utah Climate Center. “This is the nail in the coffin.”

It’s unusual to see the whole West like this, said Leanne Lestak, an associate senior scientist at the University of Colorado Boulder who specializes in mapping snow and how much water it holds.

In early March, Ms. Lestak and her team found that vast majority of the Western United States had less than two-thirds of the amount of snow typical for this time of year, with few exceptions. In Arizona and parts of Nevada, New Mexico and Oregon, snowpack was less than a quarter of what it would usually be.

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“The situation is pretty dire,” Dr. Meyer said.

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The Cottonwood fire in Dawson County, Neb., on March 13. Nebraska State Patrol via AP

The heat wave is also increasing the already-elevated fire risk across some drought-stricken areas. In Nebraska, drought set the stage for the largest wildfire in state history, which broke out last week and has not yet been contained.

The conditions that led to this year’s low snowpack are unusual, too. Snow droughts often develop from dry weather patterns that starve the West of any significant precipitation during the winter, said Dan McEvoy, a climatologist at the Desert Research Institute and Western Regional Climate Center.

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But in many places, it wasn’t necessarily a dry year, he said. Instead, temperatures have been so warm that precipitation has fallen as rain, rather than snow, even at higher elevations.

Many of the mountaintops could still see some more snowfall. But as Cody Moser, a hydrologist with the Colorado Basin River Forecast Center in Salt Lake City, looks ahead to predicting how the spring will go, he doesn’t foresee any significant change in weather patterns. Now he’s expecting peak snowmelt flows to occur earlier than ever recorded in many locations, he said this week.

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“I think it’s highly likely we’ve seen peak snowpack,” Mr. Moser said.

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Snowpack feeding the Colorado River reaches historic lows

Source: USDA National Water and Climate Center

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Even after a winter that was the warmest on record for Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado, Utah, Wyoming and Oregon, the heat that set in across much of the West this past week was extreme. Meteorologists said they were expecting to set record highs for the month of March in many locations, and the earliest arrivals of 100-degree temperatures in records that go back more than a century.

Across the Colorado River Basin, even at elevations as high as 10,000 feet, temperatures were forecast to surge into the 50s and 60s Fahrenheit on Friday and Saturday, Mr. Moser said, some 15 to 20 degrees warmer than average.

Relatively light winds and dry air over the region could limit snowmelt to some degree, he said, but the warmth and sunshine may prevent some moisture from ever reaching stream beds, said John Fleck, a water policy expert at the University of New Mexico.

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“A lot of it is going to evaporate off before it even has a chance to hit the stream,” Mr. Fleck said.

This heat wave is so extreme that it would only be expected to occur once about every 500 years in the current climate, according to World Weather Attribution, a group of scientists who study links between extreme weather events and climate change.

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“These temperatures are completely off the scale for March, and our data shows that they would be virtually impossible in a world without human-caused climate change,” said Ben Clarke, a research associate in extreme weather and climate change at Imperial College London.

Ski trails in Park City, Utah, in February. Mario Tama/Getty Images

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In places like the Colorado Front Range, home to the majority of that state’s population, snowpack serves as the largest source of water. For the utility Denver Water, snowpack usually contains significantly more water than its largest surface reservoir, said Taylor Winchell, the agency’s climate adaptation program lead.

Denver Water has enough supply to handle a low-water year, but the snowpack conditions are creating “very high levels of concern,” Mr. Winchell said. The Denver Water Board is poised to officially declare Stage One drought restrictions, asking residents to significantly reduce their outdoor watering. If the snow drought were to repeat for multiple years, the problem could compound and worsen, he said.

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The snow drought occurs at a critical time for the larger Colorado River Basin. An agreement among the basin’s seven states over how to divide its water expired at the end of last year, and negotiations to develop a new water plan fell apart last month. (The states are also obligated to share a small portion of the water with Mexico.)

The snow drought is complicating that work. Snowpack from the river’s Upper Basin, across mountains of Colorado, Utah, New Mexico and Wyoming, accounts for a majority of the river’s natural flow each year. Declining spring precipitation and rising temperatures have caused the Colorado’s flow to decrease by nearly 20 percent over the past quarter century.

Recent forecasts estimated that inflows to Lake Powell, a key reservoir that straddles the Utah-Arizona border, will be the third-smallest on record. The lake’s surface could drop to a critical level for hydroelectric power production by the end of this year, affecting a power grid that serves seven states.

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Officials at the Bureau of Reclamation, the federal agency that oversees the Colorado River and its reservoirs, declined to be interviewed but said in a statement they were monitoring hydrologic conditions to guide decisions about how to manage the Colorado River system.

Mr. Fleck said a crisis without precedent could be brewing. While a drought that hit the basin in 2002 was worse, it was relatively more manageable than what the West now faces: “We’re having one of the worst years in many decades, but with no cushion of reservoir storage to fall back on to bail us out.”

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New report on L.A. post-fire beach contamination finds something unexpected: good news

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New report on L.A. post-fire beach contamination finds something unexpected: good news

Researchers investigating the long-term effects of the 2025 firestorms on L.A.’s beaches have found that rarest of things: good news.

In the year following the Palisades and Eaton fires, levels of harmful metals like lead in coastal sand and seawater have remained far below California’s limits for safe drinking water and the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency’s safety thresholds for aquatic life.

“We’re not seeing any evidence for harm in the ecosystem or harm for human health,” said Noelle Held, a University of Southern California marine biogeochemist and principal investigator for the CLEAN Waters project, which is measuring post-fire water quality.

The Palisades and Eaton fires burned more than 40,000 acres and destroyed at least 12,000 buildings, blanketing the ocean in ash for up to 100 miles offshore. Heavy rains a few weeks later washed the charred remnants of plastics, batteries, cars, chemicals and other potentially toxic material into the sea and up onto beaches via the region’s massive network of storm drains and concrete-lined rivers.

Initial testing by the nonprofit environmental group Heal the Bay in the weeks after the fires documented a spike in lead, mercury and other heavy metals in coastal waters. Concentrations of beryllium, copper, chromium, nickel and lead in particular were significantly above established safety thresholds for marine life, prompting fears for the long-term health of fish, marine mammals and the marine food chain.

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For their most recent study, Held’s team analyzed seawater samples collected along multiple locations on five different dates between Feb. 10 and Oct. 17 in 2025, along with sand collected in August.

Seawater lead concentrations were highest in the month after the fire and in October, when the season’s first major rain had just washed months’ worth of urban pollution into the ocean.

Even at their peak, lead levels barely surpassed 1 microgram per liter — well below the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency’s aquatic life safety threshold of 8.1 micrograms per liter.

While levels of iron, manganese and cobalt were higher in sampling locations near the Palisades burn scar than they were in other areas, even there they remain well below concentrations that could pose harm to human or marine life.

For beach sand collected in August, lead levels never topped 14 parts per million at any location, significantly below both the current California residential soil standard of 80 parts per million and the stricter 55 parts per million standard proposed by environmental health researchers.

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“This isn’t something we would flag if we were testing your soil in your yard,” Held said.

The recent findings are consistent with water quality tests the State Water Resources Control Board conducted earlier in 2025. A board spokesperson said those found both higher relative concentrations of metals closest to the burn scars and no overall evidence that post-fire pollution poses an ongoing threat to human health.

Yet the need for continued testing remains. Officials struggled to answer questions about post-fire beach safety in part because of a lack of historical data on pollution levels, a pitfall researchers would like to forestall before another disaster arrives.

Future rainstorms could also continue to wash metals into Will Rogers Beach and the Rustic Creek outfall, both of which are near the Palisades burn scar, CLEAN Waters warned.

“Post-fire impacts can change over time, depending on rainfalls, runoffs and sediment movements,” said Eugenia Ermacora, manager of the nonprofit Surfrider Foundation’s L.A. chapter, which has partnered with Held’s team to collect samples. “It’s not just about the fires, but it’s about urbanization and how much our city needs to continue the work of doing testing in the water.”

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