Chill out by camping? Not exactly . . .

Want to go camping? Today’s heat map for the U.S., with the red areas clocking in at more than 103 degrees, are considered “dangerous,” while the darker orange shows highs of 90-103.

Summer is only half over, and the death toll of people out for a walk over the past month is already impressive. Toward the end of June, it claimed a 31-year-old man and his 14-year-old stepson hiking in Big Bend National Park; roughly a week later it added a 57-year-old woman hiking in Grand Canyon National Park. On July 18 it was a 71-year-old man collapsing at a restroom shortly after hiking in Death Valley National Park, two weeks after a 65-year-old man had also died in the park. Four days later, two women, ages 34 and 19, were found dead after hiking into a Nevada state park outside of Las Vegas.

All were doing nothing more remarkable or strenuous than taking a day-hike in areas traversed by countless others. They weren’t roofing a house or picking crops or working at some other job that required them to be outside—they were simply “recreating.” And all had headed into that tantalizing wonderland known as The Great Outdoors during the hottest summer ever recorded, in temperatures that greatly exceeded that of their body cores, seemingly without a second thought about the mortal danger they were courting.

What were they thinking? Can we just write them off as stupid or ignorant, gene-pool outliers that confirm yet again why the Darwin Awards will never run short of nominees? But if that’s the case, what are we to make of the tens of thousands of presumably more aware Americans who each year move to Phoenix, Las Vegas, San Antonio and other gateways to hell, where if the heat doesn’t get ’em, the lack of potable water eventually will?

The fact is that as a species we’re not very good at changing ingrained behaviors, nor are we mentally flexible enough to recognize when a shifting social or environmental landscape makes such changes prudent. We’ve always done things this way, so we’ll continue. And if we do somehow recognize that a change is afoot, we tend to think such change is lineal—a straight-line progression—rather than exponential, which it sometimes is, and which would require a far more robust response from us.

As a result, the prophets are ignored. It’s been just one year since First Street Foundation released its sixth national risk assessment, this one devoted to hazardous heat. The bottom line, as I wrote at the time, was that “extreme danger days,” with temperatures over 125 degrees, would affect approximately 50 counties with 8 million people this year. Presciently, the report went on to claim that extreme temperatures would be concentrated across the middle of the country, in an area stretching from the Louisiana and Texas border north through Iowa, Indiana, and Illinois. The map that accompanied that prediction looks an awful lot like the heat map at the top of this page, generated this week by the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration.

Yet most people are still oblivious to such research, even as the heat keeps cranking higher: Phoenix, for example, which continues to be a relocation magnet, is just wrapping up a full month of air temperatures exceeding 110 degrees every day, never mind the temperatures on asphalt roads and car door handles, which can cause second- and third-degree burns. But people in leadership positions whom we might expect to know more, and to know better, are just as oblivious to the implications of what’s happening—even when those implications pose a threat to their livelihoods. Or maybe that’s precisely why they turn a blind eye.

The campground and RV park industry is the poster child for this sort of willful ignorance. Global warming, climate change, extreme weather—all are subjects that never get broached by the National Association of RV Parks and Campgrounds, whose preferred sense of “leadership” is to promote the latest whiz-bang technology or hotel-derived hospitality trend.

And while Kampgrounds of America has at least started asking campers about their weather-related concerns, it has yet to translate its findings into any kind of action agenda, despite many opportunities to do so. KOA’s July report, for example, found that 62% of campers have changed travel plans because of weather concerns, “with 22% canceling, 22% altering locations, and 18% revising the nature of their trips.” What did KOA learn from that? Apparently only that there’s enough camping demand that nothing much changed, as “approximately 21.5 million households participated in camping” over the July 4 holiday, a level “mirroring the previous year’s.”

Nothing to see here!

So now, as we head into the dog days of August and toward the traditional Labor Day frenzy, it’s steady as she goes. The status quo will prevail. The campground and RV industries will keep enticing people to go camping, with pictures of happy families roasting marshmallows and millennials spooning in their Class B vans, dirt bikes suggestively parked nearby. We’ll hear a lot about about “making memories” and “world class experiences” and about the restorative powers of connecting with Mother Nature.

Just don’t take a walk while you’re out there.

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Labor Day cook-out in extremis

As the American public heads outdoors to celebrate the traditional fare-thee-well to summer, summer shows little sign of leaving. With a heat dome parked over California and temperatures projected to be 10 to 30 degrees above normal as far east as Wisconsin, more than 40 million people are under extreme heat alerts through the weekend. A third of the country could see record-setting temperatures over the next few days.

That outlook doesn’t seem to have deterred the camping public, however. Yosemite National Park, to cite just one example, is at capacity even though the valley floor is expected to warm up to 106 degrees–and that’s at an elevation of just under 4,000 feet. The heat, on top of the drought, means additional wildland fires are sure to follow the ones that have erupted in the past couple of days, like the fast-moving conflagration in northern California that has forced thousands to flee their homes just since yesterday.

Even without the fires that it invariably spawns, high heat is remarkable for the human toll it exacts. Tornadoes and floods get most of the press, if only because they wreak so much obvious damage in addition to the lives they snuff out. High heat, on the other hand, just bakes everything. Other than turning the landscape brown, it’s not an immediately obvious cause of destruction and it kills by comparative stealth. Yet if you look at a graph of weather fatalities compiled by the National Weather Service, above, the number of deaths attributed to heat stands head and shoulders above all other causes.

Because it’s so seemingly innocuous, extreme heat on the order that we’re seeing this long weekend isn’t deterring people who wouldn’t dream of heading into an area battered by tornadoes, hurricanes or flooding. So the campers are out there in their tents or RVs, attempting to enjoy the great outdoors, firing up their charcoal grills and roasting their marshmallows over open fires. And when the inevitable happens, the resulting fatality statistics won’t get lumped in with those attributed to high heat, although an argument for doing so certainly can be made.

The increasing ferocity of wildland fires over the past decade is taking a toll in another way: it’s hollowing out the state and federal agencies charged with battling the blazes, through death, injury, stress, overwork and PTSD. Incidents of drug addiction, binge drinking and suicide are growing. Yet as the total number of acres burned each year has doubled over the past 20 years, hundreds of fire fighting positions remain vacant and the number is growing.

Unlike the other “natural” disasters graphed above, all of which are exacerbated by climate change and a warming planet, wildland fires are triggered in the vast majority of cases by man and his works: a carelessly tossed cigarette butt, a dropped power line, a hot car or RV muffler sparking a fire in dessicated grass. The resulting conflagration, battled by an exhausted and undermanned force of fire fighters, spreads farther and hotter than it would have otherwise, taking a further toll on the fire-fighting ranks–which means that the next go-round will be still more unevenly matched . . . and on and on.

Common sense suggests that in circumstances like these, people should just stay home–just as they would if they learned a snow storm were going to drop 30 inches of snow on their heads. But common sense seems so, well, un-American when it might disrupt a ritualistic obeisance to Labor Day, which we celebrate in observance of–what, exactly?

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