Alaska
After remnants of typhoon wrecked their home, Alaska villagers consider possible move
Four months after the remnants of a tropical typhoon wrecked communities in Western Alaska, hundreds of people who were displaced are considering abandoning their village altogether.
Tribal members from Kipnuk, a community of about 700 that was among the hardest hit, are now preparing for a possible complete relocation. Working in temporary quarters in downtown Anchorage, tribal workers spent weeks manning phones and computers to try to collect votes about relocation options from all the adults among Kipnuk’s enrolled tribal residents.
The tribal leaders have picked out two potential relocation sites, both at least 40 feet above sea level, and are open to other suggestions. By Friday, they had collected all the votes, and are now tallying the results to determine what the consensus is.
The tribal vote is intended to be a final decision, said Rayna Paul, environmental director for the Native Village of Kipnuk, the tribal government.
“Oh my gosh, we’re not going back,” Paul said in an interview in her temporary office in Anchorage.
The storms that came with the remnants of Typhoon Halong comprised one of the state’s most devastating natural disasters in recent decades, and it spurred what was the biggest air evacuation in at least half a century, with about 1,600 people moved by military aircraft from the storm-stricken region.
Paul and tribal officials from Kwigillingok, another heavily damaged village, described the ravages during a panel discussion at the Alaska Forum on the Environment earlier this month.
Impacts included houses that were pushed off their foundations and sent afloat; graves washed away; vital stockpiles of fish, berries and other wild foods harvested over the past year were ruined. Halong-related flooding and winds inundated the region with new risks: spilled heating oil, diesel, sewage and other noxious and hazardous substances.
The extent of the damage was shocking, Dustin Evon, Kwigillingok’s tribal resilience coordinator, said at the forum.
“I think we all did not expect the storm to be this catastrophic until houses started floating away and people started calling,” he said.
The storm’s total toll has yet to be calculated, as assessments could not be completed before winter set in, but Bryan Fisher, director of the Alaska Division of Homeland Security and Emergency Management, put the tab at $125 million as of the start of February.
[Many Halong evacuees in Anchorage have relocated to apartments. It’s unclear when they can return home]
Food-security and cultural losses
The damage goes beyond dollars, and they added to damages already underway years before Halong became the latest in a series of powerful recent storms.
Paul said changes have been especially noticeable since ex-Typhoon Merbok hit the same region in 2022. The land and waters around Kipnuk have lost many of the qualities that supported generations of Yup’ik residents.
Blackberries and crowberries have disappeared, possibly because of saltwater inundating the sinking tundra, she said. Blackfish, a freshwater species, are “nowhere to be found,” she said. Tomcod have also been scarce. Other species appear to have suffered, she said; there were reports prior to Halong of several dead white foxes.
Successive storms have pushed saltwater inland, contaminating drinking water and hastening the permafrost thaw that was already underway beneath the tundra’s surface because of climate change.
If residents decide to leave, the biggest challenge may be securing the money to move the village. There is no single agency in charge of village relocation, a problem cited by organizations like the Alaska Native Tribal Health Consortium as a hindrance to progress.
However, the concept of moving villages to escape hazards has plenty of historic precedent in Alaska.
In the most recent case, the village of Newtok, on the fast-eroding banks of the Ninglick River, moved to a more secure inland site called Mertarvik. Conducted amid funding uncertainties and bedeviled by logistical problems, the move took decades.
Historic moves that involve less infrastructure have been simpler.
For example, Chevak, a coastal village about 100 miles north of Kipnuk that also sustained damage from the storm, is itself a relocated site. The current village was established in the mid-20th century, a switch from the site now known as Old Chevak, which was considered to be too prone to floods.
Kipnuk’s current site is not where the original settlement was located. An earlier site was used at least seasonally before the current site was recognized in 1922 by the U.S. Bureau of Indian Affairs, according to Alaska records. The older site had been rejected by the federal government as place for a permanent village because it lacked barge access, Paul said. The government built a school, part of a pattern that tied Indigenous Alaskans who previously moved around by season to permanent communities.
The old Kipnuk site is now one of the two candidate relocation sites that the tribal government has selected for consideration. Both are located at least 40 feet above sea level, Paul said.
There are also cases in Alaska history where the federal government moved fairly quickly to relocate disaster-stricken communities. It took about three years after the Great Alaska Earthquake of 1964 to completely rebuild the city of Valdez in a different and more stable spot.
Rebuilding versus relocating
If Kipnuk residents decide to stay rather than go, a full return to the current village site will require a comprehensive rebuild that would take several years, officials say.
Fisher, of the state Division of Homeland Security and Emergency Management, broached that subject in the Alaska Forum on the Environment presentation earlier this month.
Rebuilding would start with new mapping and new data about how far flood waters will spread, he said.
“The land has completely changed from what it looked like before the storm in October,” he said. “So we have to reassess our understanding of what the water can do now that the land is completely different, both under people’s homes or where their homes were, and kind of community-wide,” he said.
Fisher noted that structures raised above the tundra on stilts fared better in the storm, indicating that those features might be incorporated into any new or repaired buildings.
Evon had firsthand experience with the benefit of stilts. While he was helping carry out the emergency response at the Kwigillingok school, one of the few village structures on stilts, his own home floated away.
Sheryl Musgrove, director of the Alaska Climate Justice Program at the Alaska Institute for Justice, is skeptical of that plan.
If the floodwaters were eight feet deep, that would suggest that buildings need to be 10 feet aboveground, said Musgrove, who is helping Kipnuk’s tribal government and sharing its Anchorage office space for now.
“I don’t know how realistic it is,” she said. Engineers have said the ground has changed and pilings may have to be driven down 100 feet, she added. “Is that realistic, having a 100-foot piling for each home?” she asked.
To Paul, there’s no point in putting that investment in the same place instead of a new and safer spot.
“They’re trying to rebuild when we’re going to be hit by another extreme weather event,” she said. “It doesn’t make sense.”
The expectation of more storms creating this type of damage is justified, according to experts from the University of Alaska Fairbanks.
Strong fall storms in the Bering Sea, including ex-typhoons, are nothing new, said Rick Thoman, a scientist with UAF’s Alaska Center for Climate Assessment and Preparedness.
What is different now is the repeated occurrence of such storms causing severe damage in populated areas of Western Alaska’s mainland, Thoman said in a presentation at the Alaska Forum on the Environment.
Ex-Typhoon Halong was especially unusual in the path that it took: shooting past St. Lawrence Island in the northern Bering Sea to the Yukon-Kuskokwim Delta, he said.
“This is only the second storm of this intensity to make that, to shoot that gap in the autumn, since 1950,” he said. “That is an extremely rare track for a storm of this intensity in the fall.”
An ex-typhoon is a particular meteorological event, Thoman said. A typhoon is a warm-water storm in a relatively confined geographic space; an ex-typhoon sends winds horizontally over vaster distances, he said. “The area covered by strong winds expands greatly,” he said. And at high latitudes, ex-typhoons become extremely powerful, he said.
Since 1970 more than 60 ex-typhoons have reached Alaska, but more than half of them were limited to the western and central Aleutians, he said. Some reached the Bristol Bay and Alaska Peninsula region, and a few reached the Gulf of Alaska.
But since the 1970s, there have been only four ex-typhoons that moved into the Arctic after sweeping through the Northern Bering Sea coast: Carlo in 1996, Merbok in 2022, Ampil in 2024 and Halong last October.
Ampil did not produce flooding in Alaska, but it did cause record-high summer winds, Thoman said. And both Merbok and Halong were extremely destructive and expensive disasters fueled by unusually warm waters in the tropical Pacific.
Three powerful ex-typhoon storms hitting Western Alaska’s mainland in the last four years is notable, Thoman said at the forum.
“One, twice, coincidence. Three? OK, now we’ve got an issue, right?” he said at the forum.
For the hundreds of displaced residents like Paul, relocation is a necessity, even if it is just temporary.
She is getting used to apartment life in a three-story building in East Anchorage, with Chugach Mountain views that are unlike anything on the horizon of the tundra where Kipnuk is situated. She is also trying to adjust to the urban pace of life.
“It’s something different,” she said. “Seems like people don’t sleep.”But she said there have been some positive aspects of the move.
Her nephews are attending Bettye Davis East Anchorage High School and report that even though the school is much bigger than what they are used to — one of the biggest high schools in the state — the environment has been welcoming, Paul said. Some of the evacuated kids are even in a combined Kipnuk-Kwigillingok basketball team, she said.
And Paul is heartened by the sight of ducks flying around Anchorage. “When I see ducks, l’m like, ‘Woo-hoo! Soup,’” she said with a laugh.
She has no idea how long she will be in Anchorage — or even the location of her house, which was one of those in Kipnuk that floated away.
“I don’t have a house to go back to, you know. So very uncertain,” she said.
Originally published by the Alaska Beacon, an independent, nonpartisan news organization that covers Alaska state government.
From our collaborating partner “Living on Earth,” public radio’s environmental news magazine, an interview by host Steve Curwood with Alannah Hurley, executive director of the United Tribes of Bristol Bay.
In 2001, a Canadian mining company proposed a massive gold and copper mine at the headwaters of Bristol Bay, a pristine water system on the coast of the Alaska Peninsula that’s home to the largest sockeye salmon run in the world. The salmon support a thriving ecosystem and are a cultural and economic lifeblood for native Alaskans, who have stewarded the land and water for thousands of years.
As the company moved ahead with plans to build the largest open-pit mine in North America, those Indigenous communities joined together to bring it to a halt. In 2023, they secured a rare “EPA veto” of the proposed Pebble Mine, and the 2026 Goldman Environmental Prize for North America recognizes an Indigenous leader in this fight.
Alannah Hurley is the executive director of the United Tribes of Bristol Bay. Her Yup’ik name is Acaq, her great-grandmother’s name. She is the winner of the 2026 Goldman Environmental Prize for North America. This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
STEVE CURWOOD: Before we start talking about your work protecting Bristol Bay, paint us a picture of the bay. What makes this such a special place?
ALANNAH HURLEY: Bristol Bay is an extremely special place. It has all the different types of terrain in Alaska, in one place. Where I live, at the mouth of the Nushagak and Wood River, we have everything from tundra and wetlands to mountains, freshwater lakes, freshwater rivers, the muddy waters of Nushagak Bay, [and] the beautiful, crystal-clear ocean waters as you go west towards Togiak and Twin Hills. It’s really untouched, pristine beauty—all of Alaska’s majesty in one place. It’s so pristine you can still hunt and fish and pick berries and eat them straight from the land. You can drink right out of the lake and rivers. It’s paradise.
CURWOOD: Bristol Bay has huge environmental significance, but it’s also important to many human communities. I had been told that it produces more than $2 billion of annual revenue from sockeye salmon fishing alone, it’s also an important food source and cultural site for Indigenous communities, First Alaskans. Talk to me about what the bay means to the people in the area.
HURLEY: There are three different Indigenous groups in Bristol Bay—the Yup’ik people, the Dena’ina people, and the Alutiiq people. Our homeland has been stewarded by our people for thousands and thousands of years. They’ve taken care of this place and entrusted it to us. Our lands, our water, and everything that that entails—the salmon, the moose, the caribou, the bears, us, our freshwater fish, our berries, our plants, our medicines—we very much view it as all very connected. Anything that happens to our lands and waters happens to us. It is everything to us. It is the health of our people, physically, culturally, spiritually. It sustains us. It nourishes us. We’re so blessed to be able to live in the ways that our ancestors have lived. That kind of foundation is really critical in understanding our perspective and wanting to protect our home.
CURWOOD: In 2001, the Northern Dynasty Minerals mining company proposed the development of what’s called the Pebble Mine. It would have been the largest open-pit mine on the continent, one of the biggest, I guess, in the whole world. What would have been the environmental impact of such a project?
HURLEY: The environmental impact of the Pebble project would have been devastation. If you look at a map of Bristol Bay, there are two major river systems, the Nushagak and the Kvichak. The Pebble Mine would be located at the connected headwaters of both. You literally could not have picked a poorer location, and in my opinion, it’s [the] creator’s test to the people: What are you going to choose? But you could not have picked a worse location to put a low-grade acid-generating project that would have to store tens of billions of tons of toxic waste in perpetuity.
That picture is not a question of if something will happen, but when, especially in an earthquake-prone zone, and in a very hydrologically interconnected place. They’re like the veins of the bay—all of that water is connected. Our people, very early on, came out opposed to the project, because we knew that it would mean the utter devastation of our watershed, our fishery and our people.
CURWOOD: Some say that there are literally hundreds of billions of dollars worth of copper and gold and other minerals in the area for the Pebble Mine. Sounds like a lot of money, but you didn’t see this as good news for your community if this got developed.
HURLEY: No, we did not. Early on, before we learned about what type of ore it was, where it was located, what it would mean, what the tilings would mean, people were actually excited for some type of diversification of the economy. Fisheries can be pretty volatile, and that’s how a lot of people would survive in the cash economy as commercial fishermen.
But it did not take long to learn about those things, the dangers and the threat and the risk that that would cause to our people, and very early on, the vast majority of Bristol Bay’s people said, “No way, this is not worth the risk.” You cannot put a price tag on our water and what salmon mean to us as a people. This would be an existential threat to our ability to continue to be Indigenous people in this region, and we will not stop fighting until it is stopped.
CURWOOD: My understanding of Alaskan politics is that at the state level, there wasn’t a huge amount of pushback against this Pebble Mine proposal.
HURLEY: Our people’s concerns were really falling on deaf ears at the state level. We saw the state rewrite our area management plan illegally, without proper input or public process or consultation with our tribes. We saw the governor at the time try to pave the way for a mining district, and we’re still working to rectify some of those issues in that rewritten management plan to this day. And we’re still having issues with the state government pushing a project on Bristol Bay and Alaskans that they’ve proven for the last 20 years that they just do not support.
Because our concerns were falling on deaf ears at the state level, our tribal governments saw the federal government as the place to put some energy, and that was where the petition to the EPA came from, because the state was not listening. They were doing the exact opposite, to really grease the skids for the company to move forward.
CURWOOD: How did the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency respond?
HURLEY: The tribes petitioned in 2010 to prohibit all mines like Pebble within the Bristol Bay watershed. The EPA came back and said, “We’re not going to act on a prohibition immediately under our authority under the Clean Water Act, but we are going to study Bristol Bay. We want to do an assessment. And we want to ask, is this place really unique, and what does this fishery mean to the state and people? If this type of development, large-scale hard rock mining, were to move forward, what kind of impact could that have on the waters and people?”
They took three years to do a bunch of studies. They were in a lot of different communities. There was a lot of peer review to answer those questions, and after that very long, drawn-out assessment, they determined what our people had been saying all along: that this type of development would devastate the water and everyone who was sustained by that water, and so that was really the basis for their action that came later.
CURWOOD: At the end of the day, how did things turn out with the EPA?
HURLEY: It was a bit of a roller coaster between the different administrations, but it’s really a testament to the dedication of our people and our region that regardless of the administration, regardless of winning and losing court cases, they did not give up. And so the EPA, in January 2023, finalized protections to stop the project.
CURWOOD: What’s the risk that the Trump administration number two could reverse all of that?
HURLEY: There is very much still a risk that that could happen. The company,Northern Dynasty, the state of Alaska and a few others have challenged the EPA protections in court, which we anticipated they would.
So far, the Trump administration has continued to defend [the] EPA’s action in court, but that is ongoing litigation, and we’re not putting all of our eggs in that basket with how unpredictable this administration has been in other arenas. We’re definitely remaining extremely vigilant. And we’re continuing to defend the protections in court, and we also are working on legislation that would address the other 20 active mining claims throughout the watershed.
While we’ve made great progress, unfortunately, Pebble isn’t the only mining claim in the region, and so we’re working really hard to put this type of development to bed for good, so that our kids aren’t destined to fight project by project, now into eternity.
CURWOOD: As executive director of the United Tribes of Bristol Bay, how important would you say tribal cooperation has been during this fight?
HURLEY: Tribal unity and cooperation has been absolutely critical. I think in any instance where a coalition is working to protect a place, having Indigenous people leading and center of the effort is absolutely critical. Local people need to be at the forefront of these fights, and without that unity in the bay, there’s no way we would be where we’re at today.
This story is funded by readers like you.
Our nonprofit newsroom provides award-winning climate coverage free of charge and advertising. We rely on donations from readers like you to keep going. Please donate now to support our work.
Donate Now
CURWOOD: You were involved in building that coalition, including Native Alaskans, but also other political constituencies, the commercial fisherpeople and such. What was it like to build a coalition like that?
HURLEY: In the case of United Tribes of Bristol Bay, it was really about centering and amplifying the tribal voice and holding the government accountable for government-to-government consultation. There was real unity in that.
I think anytime you’re building a coalition, it can be challenging. I mean, it’s hard to get five people to agree to where you’re going to go to dinner, let alone 15 tribal governments from different cultural backgrounds who historically didn’t always get along, coming together to fight a common enemy for our continued existence as Indigenous people. That threat really brought us all together in ways that we had never seen before, and that also translated out to non-native groups, commercial fishermen, the conservation community. These aren’t people who usually get along. We’re used to fighting over fish, not working together to protect them, and so anytime you bring different groups together, there’s going to be bumps in the road.
At the end of the day, the connections between people, the relationships and the commitment to work [got us] through hard moments—and there were a lot of hard moments. A commitment, especially by non-native folks, to be in a respectful relationship with native people and us having that requirement that if we are going to be partners, this is how we expect to engage, helped lay the groundwork for a successful coalition. That’s never easy, it’s never pretty, but it was really the people-to-people relationships, those connections, that held us together even in the hard times.
CURWOOD: You’ve spoken about your grandmother’s influence and the values that propelled you through this journey. What lessons have you learned that have motivated you to keep going?
HURLEY: My grandmother was Mancuaq; I was raised with her in Clark’s Point in Bristol Bay. And it’s hard for me not to get emotional talking about her, because even now, even in all the different experiences in my life, everything important, the most important things that have helped me navigate life in a way that has been good and, you know, really grounded in love and respect and kindness came from her. Also the ability to persevere when things are tough. She passed away in 2019.
I obviously still miss her a lot. She provided me with the foundation of values, of how to move forward and live in this world in a good way. Our people have had those teachings for centuries—timeless, timeless teachings of what it means to be a good, real human being on the planet. And that foundation has helped me in life in invaluable and countless ways, and it continues to do so every day.
CURWOOD: What do you see for the future of Bristol Bay?
HURLEY: The future of Bristol Bay is beautiful. We are still struggling with the impacts of colonization, but we have only begun our healing, our reclamation, our revitalization of who we are as Indigenous people.
We have been so lucky that even through all of those challenges, our people have been able to remember and retain and still pass on our values and way of life. I feel like the potential to be a model of sustainability for the world led by Indigenous communities in modern society is boundless, and I’m really excited and hopeful that our region can shift from having to put our energy in defense of our homelands, to now help build something beautiful and tackle some of the tough issues that we’re facing.
About This Story
Perhaps you noticed: This story, like all the news we publish, is free to read. That’s because Inside Climate News is a 501c3 nonprofit organization. We do not charge a subscription fee, lock our news behind a paywall, or clutter our website with ads. We make our news on climate and the environment freely available to you and anyone who wants it.
That’s not all. We also share our news for free with scores of other media organizations around the country. Many of them can’t afford to do environmental journalism of their own. We’ve built bureaus from coast to coast to report local stories, collaborate with local newsrooms and co-publish articles so that this vital work is shared as widely as possible.
Two of us launched ICN in 2007. Six years later we earned a Pulitzer Prize for National Reporting, and now we run the oldest and largest dedicated climate newsroom in the nation. We tell the story in all its complexity. We hold polluters accountable. We expose environmental injustice. We debunk misinformation. We scrutinize solutions and inspire action.
Donations from readers like you fund every aspect of what we do. If you don’t already, will you support our ongoing work, our reporting on the biggest crisis facing our planet, and help us reach even more readers in more places?
Please take a moment to make a tax-deductible donation. Every one of them makes a difference.
Thank you,
We are reviving Curious Alaska, a popular feature launched by the Anchorage Daily News in 2021.
The idea is simple: You have questions. Our reporters find answers. We share them with readers.
Maybe you’re curious about a landmark (like the Parks Highway Igloo, pictured below), or a tradition, a news event or a public figure from the past. Maybe you have a practical question about everyday life in Alaska.
On our initial run, we tackled more than 30 topics that readers inquired about.
Some examples of reader questions we’ve looked into so far include why we don’t have a Trader Joe’s here, whether there are snakes in Alaska, why sand dunes exist in Kincaid Park and the story behind cattle herds on remote islands in the state.
No topic is too offbeat for you to pitch. We’ll choose a question at a time and try our best to answer it. Send in yours using the form below. (Having trouble seeing the form? Try here.)
Science news, night sky events and beautiful photos, all in one place. Click here to subscribe to EarthSky’s free daily newsletter.
- A megatsunami is an incredibly large wave of about 100 meters (328 ft) or more. These huge waves are often triggered by events such as landslides.
- In August 2025, a megatsunami in Alaska happened when a landslide entered a fjord next to South Sawyer Glacier. The event generated a wave 1,580 feet (481 meters) high.
- Scientists believe a warning system could help alert any people in the area. It would be based on seismic activity in the area.
By Michael E. West, University of Alaska Fairbanks and Ezgi Karasözen, University of Alaska Fairbanks
2025 Alaska megatsunami shows need for warning system
On the evening of August 9, 2025, passengers on the Hanse Explorer yacht finished taking selfies and videos of Alaska’s South Sawyer Glacier, and the ship headed back down the fjord. Twelve hours later, a landslide from the adjacent mountain unexpectedly collapsed into the fjord, initiating the second-highest tsunami in recorded history.
We conduct research on earthquakes and tsunamis at the Alaska Earthquake Center. And one of us serves as Alaska state seismologist. In a new study with colleagues, we detail how that landslide sent water and debris 1,580 feet (481 meters) up the other side of the fjord. That’s higher than the top floor of the Taipei 101 skyscraper. And then the tsunami continued down Tracy Arm. The force of the water stripped the fjord’s walls down to bare rock.
The 2025 Alaska megatsunami
It was just after 5 o’clock in the morning on a dreary day. And fortunately, no ships were nearby. In the months after, some cruise lines started avoiding Tracy Arm. However, the conditions that led to this event are not at all unique to this fjord.
Landslides are common in the coastal mountains of Alaska. In these areas, rapid uplift – caused by tectonic forces and long-term ice loss – converges with the erosive forces of precipitation and moving glaciers. But a curious pattern has emerged in recent years: Multiple major landslides have occurred precisely at the terminus (end point) of a retreating glacier.
Though the mechanics are still poorly understood, these mountains appear to become unstable when the ice disappears. When the landslide hits the water, the momentum of millions of tons of rock is transferred into tsunami waves.
This same phenomenon is playing out from Alaska to Greenland and Norway, sometimes with deadly consequences. Across the Arctic, countries are trying to come to terms with this growing hazard. The options are not attractive: avoid vast swaths of coastline, or live with a poorly understood risk. We believe there is an obvious role for alert systems. But only if scientists have a better understanding of where and when landslides are likely to occur.
Signs that a landslide might be coming
The Tracy Arm landslide is a powerful example.
The landslide occurred in August, when warm ocean waters and heavier precipitation favor both glacier retreat and slope failure. The glacier below the landslide area had experienced rapid calving: large chunks of ice breaking off and falling into the water. And it had retreated more than a third of a mile in the two months prior. Heavy rain had been falling. Rain enters fractures in the mountain and pushes them closer to failure by increasing the water pressure in cracks.
Most provocative are the thousands of small seismic tremors that emanated from the area of the slide in the days prior to the mountainside collapsing.
We believe that this combination of signs would have been sufficient to issue progressive alerts to any ships in the vicinity and homes and businesses that could have been harmed by a tsunami at least a day prior to the failure … had a monitoring program existed.
Escalating alerts are used for everything from terrorism and nuclear plant safety to avalanches and volcanic unrest. They don’t remove the risk. But they do make it easier for people to safely coexist with hazards.
For example, though people are still killed in avalanches, alert systems have played an essential role in making winter backcountry travel safer for more people. The collapse at Tracy Arm demonstrates what could be possible for landslides.
What an alert system could look like
We believe that the combination of weather and rapid glacier retreat in early August 2025 was likely sufficient to issue an alert notifying people that the hazard may be temporarily elevated in a general area. On a yellow-orange-red scale, this would be a yellow alert.
In the hours prior to the landslide, the exponential increase in seismic events and telltale transition to what is known as seismic tremor – a continuous “hum” of seismic energy – were sufficient to communicate a time-sensitive warning for a specific region.
These observations, recorded as a byproduct of regional earthquake monitoring, warranted an “orange” alert noting immediate concern. The signs were arguably sufficient to recommend keeping boats and ships out of the fjord.
Alerts are possible
Our research over the past few years has demonstrated that once a large landslide has started, it is possible to detect and measure the event within a couple of minutes. In this amount of time, seismic waves in the surrounding area can indicate the rough size of the landslide and whether it occurred near open water.
A monitoring program that could quickly communicate this would be able to issue a red alert, signaling an event in progress.
The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration’s tsunami warning program has spent decades fine-tuning rapid message dissemination. A warning system would have offered little help for ships in the immediate vicinity, but it could have provided perhaps 10 minutes of warning for those who rode out the harrowing tsunami farther away.
There is no landslide monitoring system operating yet at this scale in the U.S. Building one will require cooperation across state and federal agencies, and strengthened monitoring and communication networks. Even then, it will not be fail-proof.
Understanding risk, not removing it
Alert systems do not remove the risk entirely, but they are a better option than no warning at all. Over time, they also build awareness as communities and visitors get used to thinking about these hazards.
Many of the most alluring places on Earth come with significant hazards. Arctic fjords are among them. The same processes that create this hazard – glacier retreat, steep terrain, dynamic geology – are also what make these landscapes so compelling. The mix of glaciers, ice-choked waters and steep mountains is exactly what draws people to these places. People will continue to visit and experience them.
The question is not whether these places should be avoided altogether, but how to help people make more informed decisions. We believe that stronger geophysical and meteorological monitoring, coupled with new research and communication channels, is the first step.
On August 9, visitors unknowingly passed through a landscape on the cusp of failure. An alert system might have given tour companies and people in the area the information they needed to make more informed choices and avoid being caught by surprise.
Michael E. West, Director of the Alaska Earthquake Center and State Seismologist, University of Alaska Fairbanks and Ezgi Karasözen, Research Seismologist, Alaska Earthquake Center, University of Alaska Fairbanks
This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.
Bottom line: A 2025 Alaska megatsunami sent a 1,580-foot wave of water up the Tracy Arm fjord. It revealed the need for a landslide-triggered tsunami warning system.
Read more: Landslide-triggered tsunamis becoming more common
-
Health5 minutes agoHantavirus Vaccines and Treatments Are in the Pipeline
-
Culture17 minutes agoBook Review: ‘Selling Opportunity,’ by Mary Lisa Gavenas
-
Lifestyle23 minutes agoHunting For Lexapro Clocks, Viagra Neckties and Other Vintage Pharmaceutical Merch
-
Technology35 minutes agoDyson’s powerful 360 Vis Nav robovac is down to $279.99 for a limited time
-
World41 minutes agoAs Trump forces NATO to pay up, alliance races to close military gap with US
-
Politics47 minutes agoInside the US military playbook to cripple Iran if nuclear talks collapse
-
Health53 minutes agoFitness expert visits gyms nationwide, shouts out 4 clubs for ‘getting it right’
-
Sports59 minutes ago2026 INDYCAR Odds: Alex Palou Clear Favorite for Sonsio Grand Prix at IMS