Liza Piper, University of Alberta
Times of hunger and starvation were part of life for northern Indigenous peoples. Dene, Inuvialuit, and Gwich’in shared lessons about planning to avoid starvation, the need to show proper respect and gratitude for good hunts and successful fishing, and how to eat after a period of hunger. These ancient stories were essential education for subsistence that relied on migratory creatures (caribou, birds), animals that experienced cyclical population crashes (lynx, marten, Arctic hare), and others sensitive to weather and water conditions (beaver, muskrat). It took great skill and expertise, rooted in generations of experience on the land—knowledge in place in deep time—as well as some luck, to live off and with the land along the Mackenzie and Yukon rivers in the nineteenth century.
In the late 1880s, fortune failed and starvation came. The winter of 1887-88 was exceptionally cold: Hunters who traded at forts Providence and Liard in the Mackenzie district found beavers dead in their lodges. In these regions, beavers survived long winters by building up fat in their tails before the onset of cold and then eating saplings they stored below the ice. In a long winter, with deep freezes, beavers starved. Fur returns were poor that year, made worse by scarce marten. There were also ominous reports that there were no “rabbits” (mostly snared for food) to be found. The cyclical crashing of hare populations, followed by the abrupt declines in their predators—marten, lynx, and sometimes foxes—was underway. Early in the winter there had been some hunger but thankfully the snow was deep and the moose numerous; with successful hunts, hunger soon abated.
If the winter of 1887-88 was exceptionally cold, the next year was even worse: “the hardest winter in 30 years” according to the Hudson’s Bay Company district chief Julian Camsell. The temperature record preserved at Fort Good Hope shows that it was not extreme cold that made the winter so bad, but rather the dramatic fluctuations in temperature, followed by a deep-freeze in February. The bad weather had started with a “summer of rain” as Oblate missionary Jean Séguin wrote from Fort Good Hope. The winter saw “frequent thaws and very little snow,” which made it impossible to hunt larger game animals -- caribou and moose. The climatic conditions were then joined to the cyclical collapse of marten, rabbit, and lynx populations and the absence of caribou from some of their normal routes. In the winter of 1888-89, people across the Mackenzie district had to rely on fisheries and provisions (mostly dried fish, but also dried meat and flour). Fort Simpson sent ten sled loads of provisions to nearby Fort Wrigley. After January the Company's servants at Simpson were “reduced ...to eat the furs in store.” By spring the stores were empty. In reports to his superior, Camsell detailed “the privations and hardships experienced …during the past winter,” which saw forty-seven deaths across the district attributed to starvation. This was by far the greatest mortality from that cause in any year in the late nineteenth or twentieth centuries.
Climate and climate history are foundational to the colonial histories of the lands along the Mackenzie and Yukon rivers. Nineteenth-century climate discourses shaped perceptions of the desirability of northern environments for colonization. Twentieth-century climate discourses shaped the willingness of Canadian governments to provide in situ health care, rather than relocating sick northerners to southern institutions. Climate governed the possibility to extend the temperate agricultural systems that were integral to settler colonialism elsewhere in Canada. The limitations of agriculture along the Mackenzie and Yukon rivers profoundly shaped the character of northern colonialism, not least by feeding an intense anxiety among colonizers as to their own prospects for good health and survival in northern places. The trade networks that flourished early on and served as a foundation for colonial relations, adapted to the annual break-up and freeze-up of waterways – the opening and closing of the region to the south. This created rhythms in the long-distance movement of people, goods, and pathogens that endured into the 1950s. And, through all of this, technologies for meteorological investigation accompanied explorers, scientists, missionaries and traders. The North was essential to the network of national (and international) meteorological observatories erected from the mid-nineteenth century onward, used to acclimatize colonizers to the ‘new worlds’ they sought to claim.
The network of instrumental temperature observations (that dates back to the 1880s) also facilitates historical research into the role of weather, climate, and climate changes in shaping good and ill-health during this period of colonisation. It shows, for instance, that while the winter of 1887-88 was exceptionally cold, it was the temperature fluctuations the following year, alongside independent variation in animal populations, that made for Camsell’s “hardest winter.” There is nothing simple or straightforward, that is, about weather or climate descriptions in this period. Just as Mary Black Rogers’ classic essay on ‘starvation’ demonstrated the instability of this word and its many meanings in the fur trade, so too “extreme cold” and “harsh winter” have to be situated in their colonial context in order to be understood.
Exceptional weather brought dire hunger in the winter of 1888-89 and with it the first prolonged discussion among missionaries, traders, government agents about their responsibility to help northern peoples – on lands at the time not ceded by treaty – in a moment of great need. Northern peoples stayed away from the trade posts (where there were fewer prospects for subsistence than on the land), broke up into smaller groups, and shared what they had. Officials with the Department of Indian Affairs (DIA) saw themselves as benevolent and did not want to be tarred with the same brush that condemned British colonial officials for their role in the Great Famine that led to over 5 million deaths in India. But the criteria that governed how much relief to provide was how much the DIA was willing to pay, not how much was needed to sustain life in a period of great hardship. The perception of the north as an intrinsically unhealthy place, rooted in intersecting discourses of climate, health, and “race” in the late nineteenth century, reinforced the notion that providing relief to northern peoples was an expense that needed to be contained.
The experiences of the winter of 1888-89 resituate a well-known theme about historical struggles for subsistence in subarctic and arctic places within the context of colonialism. This episode appears in a larger book project examining the intersection of health and environmental change as part of the process of settler colonialism along the Mackenzie and Yukon rivers (today’s Yukon and Northwest Territories) between 1860 and 1940. To read more of the findings to date from this project, please see the following publications:
I wish to gratefully acknowledge the Inuvialuit Cultural Centre, the Gwich’in Tribal Council Department of Cultural Heritage, and the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Heritage Department for granting access to unpublished interview transcripts with elders as part of the research for the larger project discussed here.
 George Blondin, When the World Was New: Stories of the Sahtu Dene (Yellowknife: Outcrop, 1990), 40; Charles Arnold, Wendy Stephenson, Bob Simpson, and Zoe Ho, eds. Taimani: At That Time, 3rd ed. (Inuvialuit Regional Corporation, 2011), 18.
 Michael Aleksiuk, “The Seasonal Food Regime of Arctic Beavers,” Ecology 51, no. 2 (Mar. 1970): 267.
 Post Report dated Fort Smith, August 30, 1888, B. 200 /e/17, Hudson’s Bay Company Archives.
 J.S. Camsell to Joseph Wrigley, Fort Smith, Sept. 10, 1889, B. 200/b/39, vol. 3, HBCA.
 J. Séguin to his sister, 18 février 1889, acc# 71.220, file 7346, Provincial Archives of Alberta.
 Camsell to Wrigley, Sept. 10, 1889.
 Richard Hardisty, Inspection Report Mackenzie River District, Summer 1889, B.200/e/18, HBCA.
 Extract from the Commissioner’s Letter to the Secretary, 30 Sept. 1889, RG 10, Vol 3708, File 19,502, Parts, 1,2,3 Reel C-10124, Library and Archives Canada.
 Camsell to Wrigley, Sept. 10, 1889. The number of deaths is tallied from Oblate, HBC, and government records.
 Mary Black-Rogers, “Varieties of ‘Starving’: Semantics and Survival in the Subarctic Fur Trade, 1750-1850,” Ethnohistory, 33, no. 4 (1986): 353-383.
 See correspondence in RG 10, Vol 3708, File 19,502, Parts, 1,2,3 Reel C-10124, Library and Archives Canada.
 Mike Davis, Late Victorian Holocausts: El Niño Famines and the Making of the Third World (London: Verso, 2001).
Fiona Williamson, Singapore Management University
Heat is a ubiquitous part of tropical living. During the nineteenth century consumers and writers of travel literature, explorers and colonists became increasingly familiar with the endless, languid summers of tropical climates where continued, unrelenting heat and humidity created a daunting climate for the European. As botanist Frederick Burbidge wryly noted on his first arrival to Singapore town in 1877:
On you go, and the stuffy little gharry, even if it has no windows, soon becomes hot as an oven, and the perspiration streams from every pore. By the time you reach the hotels the chances are your shirt and collar are in the state best known as "pulpy"; and if you are of a sanguine temperament, your face may be said to resemble "the rising sun".
For the early settlers of the Straits Settlements’ towns of Singapore, Georgetown and Malacca, managing heat meant – if you were wealthy enough – getting out of town to a hill station or coastal bungalow for long weekends, holidays or convalescence. On Singapore Island, a popular recreation spot was breezy Tanjong Katong, where Europeans would build beachside bungalows beside nearby native kampong (villages).
Others noted how, if these options were not available, that ‘by resorting to the neighbourhood of the jungle a degree at least of reduction in the temperature may be secured’ and that ‘sea bathing is also a relief within easy reach’. If you had to stay in town, then various methods were suggested to manage the hot days, including avoiding too much strenuous exercise, meat, strong drinks and cold water and eating cooling foods, such as salads.
For inhabitants of tropical regions, these methods of seeking solace from the heat were common-sense yet, from the early 1800s, it had been apparent that there was a scientific basis for the difference in urban and rural temperatures. In the English-speaking world, the first definitive text to explain this ‘urban heat island effect’ was Luke Howard in Climate of London, released in three volumes between 1818 and 1833. In the Straits Settlements, then under British administration, a scientific discourse on how human activities might be impacting temperature had emerged shortly after. Heavily influenced by the contemporary ‘science’ of desiccation - known for connecting deforestation with greater atmospheric aridity - colonial officers had begun to explore how urban development was affecting the temperature. John Turnbull Thomson, for instance, engineer and surveyor, undertook a study of temperature readings made by military officers of the English East India Company during 1820-25 and 1841-45. Thomson noted how, in the space of these twenty-five years, the temperature of Singapore town and its surrounds had risen by 2.48F. If we ignore for a moment that this is only a very small increase (33f =1C) and that his datasets had limitations, we can look to the significance of his conclusion. Thomson had argued that ‘the cause of this advance of temperature is assigned to the country within 3 miles of the town being now clear of jungle and cultivated, which formerly was covered with primeval forest’. The following year, James Richardson Logan, editor of the Journal of the Indian Archipelago and Eastern Asia, penned a damning narrative on the effects of forest clearances on Penang Island. ‘It is not necessary to cite Humboldt or Boussingalt’ he wrote ‘to prove the great influence in tropical regions of forests … in … diminishing local temperature’. Making a connection with urbanisation more explicitly, John Crawfurd, doctor, amateur scientist and previously British Resident at Singapore, noted in 1855 that the urban and peri-urban temperature increase ‘is ascribable no doubt, to the increase of buildings, and to the country having been cleared of forests for several miles inland from town’. These men joined a growing number of contemporaries in attributing an anthropogenic hand behind discernible climatic changes on the Malayan peninsula. Their concerns, as elsewhere in the colonies, grew from witnessing first-hand unchecked deforestation as plantation farming, mining and urbanisation had intensified.
The discussion came to public attention in 1865, after a damning report was published by Alexander Maingay, surgeon, magistrate and amateur natural historian, then stationed at Malacca. Like Logan, Maingay claimed that ‘the ruin of the forest … involves a corresponding diminution of the rain fall and a general elevation of the temperature, with an increasing prevalence of long droughts’. The report unleashed an outpouring of opinion in the press over the following months and an acceleration of the discussion in governmental circles. By the late 1870s, plans were afoot to survey the peninsula’s forests, with a specific intention to explore their connection to climatic changes. A few years later, a colonial treasurer with a keen interest in all matters meteorological, Allan Skinner, had also explicitly linked a perceived rise in temperature and an increasing prevalence of droughts to ‘the spread of buildings’ as well as the loss of forest cover.
By the early 1900s, this discourse was firmly entrenched in the public, as well as the more scholarly, consciousness. In 1907, for instance, the press had reproduced a British lecture on the ‘effects of civilisation on climate’ which, echoing Howard’s claims almost a century earlier, noted ‘the presence of buildings … will raise the temperature of the locality, whilst the influence of the warmth arising from a large number of fires must not by any means be overlooked’. Yet, despite this, by the 1930s, the colony was already on a downward spiral in managing urban heat. Reminiscing about how the central Raffles’ Place (now heart of Singapore’s CBD) had looked in 1901, Edwin Brown noted how it had transformed from an attractive, green spot shaded by ‘flame-of-the-forest trees’, where men would sit for their lunch and horses and carriages would shelter ‘while the “mems” did their shopping’, into a ‘glaring whiteness … with its motor cars parked in orderly ranks in the centre … and wonder if we are any better off now-with all the present day amenities - than we were then?
The thirties were notorious for a loss of urban greenery, impacting on temperatures and creating dusty, unbearably hot streets. This was also the same decade that air-conditioning was mass introduced into Malayan towns for domestic purposes. It was hailed as an invention that would not only provide comfort but better health. Singing the praises of the Trane Air-Conditioning System in 1936, for instance, a Morning Tribune staff writer noted how ‘Singapore may be a beauty spot and its strategic position superb, but its climatic conditions have always been a moot point with residents and medical men alike … the marvels of modern science and invention can transform the air condition of the interior of Singapore's buildings to the most delightful and healthiest obtaining anywhere’. While it would still be decades before anyone except the rich could afford domestic air conditioning units, the introduction of air-conditioning marked a technological tipping point in an age of ‘progress’, one which, combined with the mass uptake of motorcars, significant expansion and a loss of urban green space was to usher the regions’ towns into the age of the Anthropocene.
Funding source acknowledgement:
Research for this feature was kindly supported by a Singapore Ministry of Education grant: MOE2018-T2-2-120 Heat in Urban Asia: Past, Present and Future.
 Burbidge, Frederick W., The Gardens of the Sun: A Naturalist's Journal of Borneo and the Sulu Archipelago (1880), p. 15.
 John Cameron, Our Tropical Possessions in Malayan India &c (Smith Elder and Co, 1865), p. 158.
 ‘Prickly Heat’, The Singapore Free Press and Mercantile Advertiser, 10 July 1889, p. 43; ‘The Prevention of Sunstroke’, The Singapore Free Press and Mercantile Advertiser, 18 July 1896, p. 2.
 Howard, Luke, The Climate of London, 3 Vols. (1818, 1822, 1833).
 Thomson, John T., General Report on the Residency of Singapore’, Journal of the Indian Archipelago and Eastern Asia, 3 (1847): 618-635, 627.
 Logan, J. R., ‘The Probable Effects of the Climate of Pinang of the Continued Destruction of its Hill Jungles’, Journal of the Indian Archipelago and Eastern Asia, 2 (1848): 534-6, 534.
 Quoted in Skinner, Allan M., ‘Straits Meteorology’, Journal of the Straits Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society, 11-12 (1883): 245-259, 253.
 Maingay, A. C., ‘Report on the Timber and Forest Conservancy of Malacca, 20 August 1865’, published in the Straits Settlements Government Gazette 1 September 1865, pp. 387-8, 388.
 CO276-10: Straits Settlements Government Gazette, Copy of Colonial Engineers Minute on Survey, dated 27 August 1878, published 3 October 1879, p. 893.
 Skinner, ‘Straits Meteorology’, 252.
 ‘Can man change climate?’, Eastern Daily Mail and Straits Morning Advertiser, 11 January 1907, p. 6.
 Brown, Edwin A., Indiscreet Memories: 1901 Singapore through the eyes of a colonial Englishman (1935), reprinted (Monsoon Books, 2007), 42.
 ‘Modern Air-Conditioning System’, Morning Tribune, 30 March 1936, p. 15.
Matthew Hannaford, University of Lincoln
Figure 1. Fort of Sofala (Mozambique) from Georg Braun and Franz Hogenberg's atlas Civitates orbis terrarum, vol. I, 1572.
In their Companion to Global Environmental History, John McNeill and Erin Mauldin argue that "Consciously or unconsciously, scholars provide scholarship for the times in which they live.” Certainly, it would be hard to argue that environmental historical scholarship is written in ignorance of the “ecologically dynamic and globalizing times” in which we live. Yet begin to break this down and the picture becomes more complex.
Take historical climatology, and pose the question: ‘to what extent can the field provide critical interrogations of the discourse on present-day and future climate change and adaptation?.’ The answer may not be so controversial, and arguments have been made by Mark Carey, Georgina Endfield and others that do precisely this. Push it a step further, though, and consider whether and how the field can inform climate adaptation policy and practice, then there is not necessarily a straightforward answer. In an article published in Global Environmental Change in 2018, George Adamson, Eleonora Rohland and I sought not only to address this question, but also to elaborate on the important contribution that historical climatology and history more broadly can, and, we argue, should make to climate change adaptation research. This post provides a summary of our argument, with links to my own work in southern Africa.
If we start by looking at the first major objective of historical climatology (as defined by Christian Pfister, Rudolf Brázdil, et al.) – “to reconstruct weather and climate prior to the modern instrumental period” – the answer to both of the above questions would appear relatively clear-cut. Few would dispute that long-duration baselines of climate variability provide essential context to changes taking place over recent decades. Yet if we consider objectives two (“to investigate the vulnerability of past societies and economies to climate variations”) and three (“to explore past discourses and social representations of the climate”), the waters become muddied. Indeed, despite a resurgence in research on these latter two objectives over the last decade or so, there is little evidence of what we refer to as ‘mainstream climate change research’ (loosely defined as that included within IPCC WGII) adopting insights from historical climatology. That is to say, although much research in historical climatology has been informed by theoretical advances in climate change research, for example through concepts like vulnerability and resilience, there has arguably been little influence in the other direction.
Instead, where historical climate-society interactions have been discussed within climate research, this has largely come from those without historical training. For example, temporal analogues of climate-society interactions have been utilised by social scientists and paleoclimatologists as a way to understand how human systems manage and experience climate risks, to identify successful and non-successful adaptations, and to understand the processes that shape vulnerability. However, these analyses have been open to criticisms of reductionism, through overplaying similarities and understating differences between past and present, as well as criticisms of determinism through their oversimplification of complex processes. Equally, Social-Ecological Systems (SES) analyses, driven by the IHOPE (Integrated History and Future of People on Earth) network, advocate the integration of historical data into systems models in order to identify ‘safe and just’ spaces for humanity to operate within. Yet SES has been criticised for focussing on the ecological, economic and technological dimensions of adaptation, and as a result downplaying human and political agency. Similar critiques exist for quantitative historical research on climate and conflict.
It is all very well for historians to label these approaches as deterministic or reductionist, but what of historical approaches that counteract these criticisms? In the article, we argue for three interventions:
Each of these approaches is underpinned by a focus on the narrative side of history, based upon fine-grained analyses of extensive corpora of archival records, which brings into focus the role of individual and institutional agency, as well as the significance of uneven distributions of power in past adaptation processes, over long historical trajectories.
What does this mean in practice? Let us take the example of institutional path dependency. Here, we are interested in the question of why institutional responses to climate-related extremes – recurrent in a particular place – may fail, and more generally why institutions act in a suboptimal manner, for example by blocking decisions that could be adaptive. Many present-focussed studies on barriers to adaptation simply point to factors like inadequate financial resources, overlooking the complex historical trajectories of institutions governing climate adaptation and their effects on the vulnerability of societies. On the contrary, path dependency theory argues that the policy and practice of institutions today can be driven by past decisions and historical ‘critical junctures’ – initial choice points that become locked-in and difficult to shift – and by memories of what were considered normal or successful responses in the past, regardless of their effects on vulnerability. The problem at the moment is that empirical information on the long-term evolution of institutions involved in climate adaptation governance is rather limited. This means that it is difficult to observe path dependence and change ‘in the making’, or more basically to map the extent to which contemporary adaptation is really informed by historical processes.
This poses particular challenges in contexts with colonial histories, where many of today’s adaptation-related institutions were initially formed under colonial governance, and so reflected the inherent power imbalances within these societies at different points in time. In turn, legacies of these initial critical junctures may constrain the use of resources and perpetuate unequal social and economic outcomes through time. My own work in southern Africa has demonstrated this process during the pre- and early-colonial period from the 16th to 19th centuries. In the lower Zambezi valley, increased diversity of agricultural systems (amongst other factors) through the spread of wheat and maize was enough to reduce sensitivity to short-term droughts at the height of the dry 17th century. Yet local institutional factors, intricately bound up within the nature of Portuguese colonialism in southeast Africa (notably the prazo (estate) system of landownership, the growth of absentee landownership and the related growth of responses to stress that provided short-term gain over long-term stability), ultimately overrode reduced vulnerability derived from material factors. These slow-moving, endogenous factors combined with a period of severe and prolonged drought to produce the calamitous famine that raged on the lower Zambezi between 1824-1830. A short-term focus on the few years preceding this individual disaster could nevertheless paint an entirely different picture of its causes.
Figure 2: The Portuguese settlement at Sofala in 1505 was a key critical juncture in the history of southeast Africa, paving the way for settlement up the Zambezi. This is Rigobert Bonne's c. 1770 map of southeastern Africa and Madagascar.
Extending this long temporal trajectory further into the colonial period may yet reveal continuities as well as changes through to present adaptation challenges. Crucially, there is a point of interface here with the emergent notion of adaptation pathways, or ‘pathways of change and response’, within the climate change adaptation literature, which has recognised the importance of deep time perspectives. Testing the concept of path dependency in the context of climate adaptation today therefore appears to be a genuine opportunity for innovative research, and for developing a new interdisciplinary approach to researching climate change adaptation.
Figure 3: The addition of winter wheat (right) to the long-standing summer season crop mix of sorghum (left) and pearl millet (middle) reduced sensitivity to less protracted droughts; however, more protracted droughts were met with institutional responses that provided short-term gain to Portuguese landowners at the expense of the long-term stability of the system.
Adamson, G.C., Hannaford, M.J. and Rohland, E.J., 2018. Re-thinking the present: The role of a historical focus in climate change adaptation research. Global Environmental Change, 48, 195-205.
Brázdil, R., Dobrovolný, P., Luterbacher, J., Moberg, A., Pfister, C., Wheeler, D. and Zorita, E., 2010. European climate of the past 500 years: new challenges for historical climatology. Climatic Change, 101(1-2), 7-40.
Carey, M., 2012. Climate and history: a critical review of historical climatology and climate change historiography. Wiley Interdisciplinary Reviews: Climate Change, 3(3), 233-249.
Degroot, D., 2018. Climate change and conflict. In The Palgrave Handbook of Climate History (pp. 367-385). London: Palgrave Macmillan.
Endfield, G.H., 2014. Exploring particularity: vulnerability, resilience, and memory in climate change discourses. Environmental History, 303-310.
Hannaford, M.J., 2018. Long-term drivers of vulnerability and resilience to drought in the Zambezi-Save area of southern Africa, 1505–1830. Global and Planetary Change, 166, 94-106.
McNeill, J.R., Mauldin, E.S. 2012. A Companion to Global Environmental History. London: Wiley. xxi.
Pfister, C., 2010. The vulnerability of past societies to climatic variation: a new focus for historical climatology in the twenty-first century. Climatic change, 100(1), 25-31.
Wise, R.M., Fazey, I., Smith, M.S., Park, S.E., Eakin, H.C., Van Garderen, E.A. and Campbell, B., 2014. Reconceptualising adaptation to climate change as part of pathways of change and response. Global Environmental Change, 28, 325-336.
Eva Jobbová, Arlene Crampsie, Conor Murphy, Francis Ludlow, Robert McLeman, Csaba Horvath
Oak sample from Deer Park townland, Antrim, Northern Ireland, with rings spanning the well-known climatic downturn, c.536-550. The year 532 is marked, after which the rings become noticeably narrower. The real anomaly however begins in 536 and runs into the 540s. This oak sample can be seen in full in the top left inset, while the top right depicts a mature contemporary oak, the “King’s Oak”, on the Charleville Estate, Co. Offaly, Ireland. We thank David Brown for permission to photograph this sample.
Before the summer of 2018, had you asked an Irish person to describe a drought, you might well have received a bemused response that rain and floods are a more common problem in this part of the world. But on July 5th that summer, the Irish Times declared that:
The vast majority of the country officially enters a state of 'absolute drought' today with no rainfall recorded at 24 out of 25 weather stations during the last two weeks. The extreme weather conditions have prompted Irish Water to expand a hosepipe ban from the Greater Dublin Area to the whole country from Friday morning.
The summer of 2018 left memories of low river levels, brown fields, unusually warm and sunny weather, cash-strapped farmers, and the infamous ‘hosepipe ban’ when authorities encouraged people to report on any neighbours who dared water their gardens with a hose.
Was 2018 an anomaly, or a taste of things to come in a changing climate? Were droughts common in Ireland’s past, and have they simply been forgotten? If so, what can we learn about their impacts, and can such knowledge help us be more prepared in the future? These are some of the questions that our Irish Research Council funded project, Irish Droughts: Environmental and Cultural Memories of a Neglected Hazard, attempts to answer.  By combining new oral histories with existing climatic records, tree-ring data, historical documents and folklore, we aim to reconstruct Ireland’s drought history, and examine their severity, geographical extent and impacts from the medieval period to the present.
“Drought-free” Ireland: simply a myth?
The perception of Ireland as a soggy “drought-free” island is based at least partly on the anomalous lack of severe droughts over much of the last thirty years. But longer-term rainfall records, reconstructions from natural archives, and historical documents all indicate that multi-year periods with limited precipitation have occurred repeatedly in Ireland over the past two millennia, particularly in eastern to southeastern regions. 
Many cultures have observed and kept records of the weather, especially the extreme events that had adverse impacts on their livelihoods, stood out from the “ordinary”, or held some special significance for understanding the natural world and the place of humans within it. The Irish were no exception, and their tradition of keeping yearly chronicles dating back to at least the sixth century, known collectively as the Irish Annals, involved frequent reporting of weather.  These sources thus allow researchers to identify the frequency and severity of droughts, and how people attempted to mitigate the impacts. For example, a thousand years ago it was recorded that:
Much inclement weather happened in the land of Ireland, which carried away corn, milk, fruit, and fish, from the people, so that there grew up dishonesty among all, that no protection was extended to church or fortress, gossipred or mutual oath, until the clergy and laity of Munster assembled, with their chieftains, under Donnchadh… the son of the King of Ireland, at Cill-Dalua [i.e. Killaloe, County Clare], where they enacted a law and a restraint upon every injustice, from small to great. God gave peace and favourable weather in consequence of this law. Annals of the Four Masters, 1050 CE. 
Weather recording was not the sole purpose of Irish annalists, of course, and so their documentation of extreme weather events, though remarkable for its chronological span, is for this and other reasons incomplete. It is also sometimes coloured by the ways in which such events were perceived, or how they could be interpreted for religious or political motives, as suggested by the case of 1050 above. 
One way to fill the gaps and supplement written descriptions is with data from natural archives. Most prominently for Ireland, the oak tree-ring records compiled by Mike Baillie, David Brown and others at Queen’s University Belfast, reveal annual growing-season conditions for the past seven millennia for much of Ireland.  Years of unusually low growth, registering through especially narrow rings, can identify periods of extreme drought, some of which coincide with written accounts in the Irish Annals of major societal stress such as famine and mass human and animal mortality. This is true for the year 1050, with the oaks firmly indicating severe drought, while the written description is ambiguous as to the exact weather conditions involved. 
Our cover image shows a sample of medieval Irish oak preserved for over 1500 years in acidic Ulster bog waters. Regular annual growth rings are clearly visible here, running “horizontally” up to the labelled year 532, shortly after which the tree began to grow poorly, and particularly so in the 540s. These narrow rings likely reflect poor growing conditions associated with a global climatic anomaly that began in 536 and continued until c.550, most likely caused by multiple, closely occurring volcanic eruptions (dated c.536, c.540 and c.547), and linked to famines and mortality in written sources from Ireland to China. 
This event, usually described in terms of its temperature impacts, likely also impacted rainfall, as indicated here by the reduced growth of the precipitation-sensitive oaks, consistent with our evolving understanding of the hydroclimatic impacts of explosive eruptions more generally.  That the Irish oaks tend more generally to register the latter volcanic eruption in c.540 but not clearly the first major event in c.536, highlights the complexity of region- and species-specific tree growth responses, and the benefit of complementing such evidence with documentary data. 
Drought in the recent past
While sources such as the Irish Annals and Irish oaks provide the majority of our evidence for drought occurring on annual and inter-annual time-scales before the Early Modern Period, our knowledge of Irish weather, climate and environment is transformed during the 1700s with an exponential increase in the number of surviving archival sources, many of which were specifically created to report weather conditions (such as weather diaries), along with the addition of the instrumental records. Precipitation observations from 1711 taken in Derry by Dr. Thomas Neve are amongst the earliest in northwest Europe. Dr. Neve’s diary is also one of the earliest surviving weather diaries to include instrumental data on air pressure, temperature, and rainfall, and provides written observations of snow, frost, hail, thunder, and other general comments on weather. 
By combining these sort of weather records, it is possible to reconstruct statistically representative continuous rainfall series from which droughts can be identified.These include island-wide, multi-year droughts during the periods 1854–1860, 1884–1896, 1904–1912, 1921–1923, 1932–1935, 1952–1954 and 1969–1977.  The droughts identified in this way can then be compared with other documentary sources, including newspapers and journals, to generate information on their socio-economic impacts, as well as innovative practices that communities employed to cope with and adapt to drought conditions. Ireland is fortunate in having some of the longest running newspapers in the world, some going back to the early eighteenth century, providing a rich (and often colourful – see Figure 2) source of information about the human impacts of past droughts. 
Left: Poem describing the drought of 1806 and its impacts on flora, fauna, agriculture and water. Belfast Newsletter, 28 June 1806. Right: Guinness Press advertisement during the April 1985 Irish drought. Guinness Archive Online Collection. https://guinnessarchives.adlibsoft.com/Details/archive/110017212.
Drought memories – or “we are not quite as skeptical”
The light-hearted 1985 Guinness ad shown right in Figure 2 suggests that Irish people in their fifties and older are likely to have direct personal experiences and recollections of notable droughts. A key component of the Irish Droughts project is to seek out people with strong memories and systematically record their recollections of how droughts from the 1950s onward unfolded, the physical, social and economic impacts they had, and how people adjusted. In this way, our statistical and observational data are made more tangible by accounts of the real-life consequences for individuals, families and communities. This last aspect is especially important, given our goal of not only identifying past drought events in Ireland, but also gaining transferable lessons for the future.
Learning for the future
The nearly three decades of drought-free conditions that led to drought becoming a practically forgotten hazard in Ireland came to a crashing end in 2018. During that relatively wet period, there was little physical stimulus to prompt governments, institutions and communities to better prepare for the shifts in seasonal temperature regimes, precipitation patterns, and drought frequencies and/or severities that will likely accompany future climate change. To generate additional insights on how to build resilience to future droughts, we will look abroad to southwestern Ontario, Canada, and draw upon watershed management and drought mitigation strategies already in place there. That region’s relatively modest climate, mixed urban-agricultural land use system, established source water protection legislation, and institutional experience in managing both floods and droughts make it a useful analog for Ireland.
The drought of summer 2018, although relatively short-lived in some areas by comparison to historical droughts, revealed the considerable vulnerabilities that exist in Ireland in the water, livestock, tillage, horticulture, and tourism sectors. Furthermore, the lack of institutional preparedness for future droughts is evidenced by the fact that the Irish national emergency management system currently has no means of categorizing drought warnings, with the 2018 event being classified simply as a rainfall warning. Through our research, we seek to enhance Irish understanding of drought risks, inform policy and practice, and ensure that rural Ireland is sufficiently prepared to deal with future climate change and its impacts on water supplies, agriculture, and the well-being of society.
 www.ucd.ie/droughtmemories; https://twitter.com/droughtmemories
 Kiely, G., Leahy, P., Ludlow, F., Stefanini, B., Reilly, E., Monk, M. and Harris, J. (201) Extreme weather, climate and natural disasters in Ireland. Johnstown Castle: Environmental Protection Agency.
 Ludlow, F., Stine, A. R., Leahy, P., Murphy, E., Mayewski, P., Taylor, D., Killen, J., Baillie, M., Hennessy, M. and Kiely, G. (2013) “Medieval Irish Chronicles Reveal Persistent Volcanic Forcing of Severe Winter Cold Events, 431-1649 CE”, Environmental Research Letters, 8 (2), L024035, doi:10.1088/1748-9326/8/2/024035.
 Baker, L., Brock, S., Cortesi, L., Eren, A., Hebdon, C., Ludlow, F., Stoike, J. and Dove, M. (2017) “Mainstreaming Morality: An Examination of Moral Ecologies as a Form of Resistance”, Journal for the Study of Religion, Nature, and Culture, 11 (1), 23-55. doi.org/10.1558/jsrnc.27506; see also Ludlow, F. and Travis, C. (2018) “STEAM Approaches to Climate Change, Extreme Weather and Social-Political Conflict”, In: de la Garza, A. & Travis, T. (eds.), The STEAM Revolution: Transdisciplinary Approaches to Science, Technology, Engineering, Arts, Humanities and Mathematics. New York: Springer, 33-65.
 Pilcher, J. R., Baillie, M. G. L., Schmidt, B. and Becker, B. (1984) “A 7,272-year tree-ring chronology for Western Europe”, Nature, 312, 150-152.
 Cook, E. R., Seager, R., Kushnir, Y. et al. (2015) “Old World megadroughts and pluvials during the Common Era”, Science Advances 1(10) (2015), e1500561, doi:10.1126/sciadv.1500561.
 Sigl, M., Winstrup, M., McConnell, J.R., Welten, K.C., Plunkett, G., Ludlow, F., Büntgen, U., Caffee, M., Chellman, N., Dahl-Jensen, D., Fischer, H., Kipfstuhl, S., Kostick, C., Maselli, O.J., Mekhaldi, F., Mulvaney, R., Muscheler, R., Pasteri, D.R., Pilcher, J.R., Salzer, M., Schüpbach, S., Steffensen, J.P., Vinther, B., Woodruff, T.E. (2015) “Timing and Climate Forcing of Volcanic Eruptions during the Past 2,500 Years”, Nature, 523, pp.543–549.
 Rao, M. P. et al. (2017) “European and Mediterranean hydroclimate responses to tropical volcanic forcing over the last millennium,” Geophysical Research Letters, 44, 55894.
 Human and natural archives have their own biases, sensitivities, strengths and weaknesses and must each be “read” with these in mind. Where the Irish oaks are not especially forthcoming about the climatic impacts of the great 536 eruption, the sample in Figure 1 being an exception, the Irish Annals suggest its severity for Ireland in reporting the “failure of bread” for 538 (when applying the essential chronological corrections of McCarthy. D. (2008) The Irish Annals: Their Genesis, Evolution and History. Dublin: Four Courts Press), despite their vestigial character at this early date. The landmark 2015 tree-ring-based reconstruction of the Palmer Drought Severity Index for the Common Era is also tested for accuracy against historically documented periods of extreme wet and drought (Cook, E. R. et al. (2015) “Old World megadroughts and pluvials”).
 Murphy, C., et al. (2018) “A 305-year continuous monthly rainfall series for the island of Ireland (1711-2016)”, Climate of the Past, 14(3), 413-440.
 Noone, S., Broderick, C., Duffy, C., Matthews, T., Wilby, R.L. and Murphy, C. (2017) “A 250‐year drought catalogue for the island of Ireland (1765–2015)”, International Journal of Climatology, 37, 239-254.
 Murphy, C. et al. (2017) “Irish droughts in newspaper archives: Rediscovering forgotten hazards?” Weather, 72(6), 151-155.
Laura Eerkes-Medrano, University of Victoria
This past winter I was fortunate to join the Arctia Otso icebreaker in the Gulf of Bothnia, Finland, from March 2 to March 24, 2017. I had sailed the Northwest Passage aboard the Canadian Coast Guard ships Sir Wilfrid Laurier and Louis S. St-Laurent in 2015. Going to Finland to travel on an icebreaker for 20 days was my next big step as a Canadian scientist. My goals were to observe how changing ice and weather conditions affect marine shipping operations, and to learn more about the human element in terms of how the crew use instruments and information to make decisions. I also hoped to learn what additional weather and sea-ice information, and in what format, would be useful for improving weather and sea-ice forecasting, ultimately contributing to safer shipping activities.
A common challenge when preparing to join an icebreaker in Canada is to determine the exact date the ship will arrive in port. Difficult ice and weather conditions can prevent the ship from arriving at the specified date. In the Gulf of Bothnia, since distances are shorter than they are in Canada, icebreakers generally will arrive at port on the predetermined date, but changes in weather and ice conditions may affect the operational area for a ship, meaning it may go to a different port for fuel replenishment and crew changes. As I was flying from the west coast of Canada to Finland in winter, I had to allow a couple of days on either side of the Otso’s planned arrival in case the port location changed or my plane was delayed by weather.
Once on board the Otso, the first thing I learned was that, with less sea ice, paradoxically, there is more work for icebreakers. In the past, ice would form in the Bay of Bothnia in October or November. Although a declining sea ice average has been observed in recent years, the trend is not linear. Mild winters were also observed in the 70s and 80s. With less sea ice cover, new thin ice is constantly forming. This ice is broken up by winds, and because the thin ice floes are very mobile, fractures in the ice cover (leads) and pressure ridges, resulting from the interaction of ice floes colliding with each other, are constantly forming, depending on how the wind blows. More ridge formation means that there are more vessels getting stuck in these ridges and requiring assistance.
In recent years, the pattern of ice formation has changed, and new thin ice is constantly forming. Pressure ridges, resulting from the interaction of ice floes colliding with each other, are constantly forming, depending on how the wind blows. More ridge formation means that there are more vessels getting stuck in these ridges and requiring assistance. (Photo credit: LEM. March 2017, Gulf of Bothnia)
During this past winter (2016–2017), the sea ice in the Bay of Bothnia, the northernmost part of the gulf, was particularly problematic. The warm temperatures of early winter meant ice formation did not start until early January. This late ice formation gave the south and southwest winds of the January storms a longer fetch. These winds pushed the shuga—lumps of new spongy ice a few centimeters across that tend to form in rough seas—and slush ice to the northern part of the bay, where they piled up, forming a shuga-belt. This belt was several kilometers wide and a few meters deep. The stickiness and the thickness of this shuga-belt caused problems for shipping. Each vessel needed about five to six hours of icebreaker assistance to cross the belt. This contrasts with a more typical winter, where crossing the shuga that forms at the ice edge usually takes about an hour.
Weather, wind in particular, is an important element in the icebreaker business. On March 2, the day I arrived, traffic in the northern Gulf of Bothnia was completely dependent on icebreaker assistance to reach the ports of Tornio, Kemi and Oulu. The tracks opened by the icebreakers would not stay open for long due to the strong winds from the south. At the same time, there was not much ice to break in Kokkola, since all the ice had been pushed to the north.
Visibility is another factor when assisting a vessel. In foggy conditions it is often hard to determine exactly how close the moving vessel is, even with the use of radar. Luckily the crew on the Otso are highly skilled in ice navigation in all weather and ice conditions. They were able to make very good decisions about what approach to take—either breaking the ice or offering a tow—when assisting a vessel.
In the past, forming a convoy was the preferred option for assisting vessels in this environment. This is now less frequently a choice. The vessel tracks do not remain open because the wind, gaining strength over the long fetch of open water, pushes the ice floes against the shore ice, forming ridges and compressed areas, making navigation difficult.
Vessels waiting for icebreaker assistance also face an additional threat that can add a time pressure on operations. In the past, a beset vessel would simply remain in the ice while waiting for an icebreaker. Now, under conditions of thinner, more mobile ice, there is a greater danger of a beset vessel drifting towards shallow areas. To ensure safety drifting vessels are given higher priority, which often means assisting them one at a time instead of using the convoy approach.
The icebreaker’s response to vessels in need of assistance depends on the circumstances. Every situation is different, and various factors need to be considered when making the decision, including the type of event, the beset vessel’s ice class, the training and experience of its crew, how the crew on the assisted vessel are maneuvering and how they are using radars and instruments. It also depends on the instruments and information available to the icebreaker crew, and the accuracy of that information. Depending on the wind speed, the icebreaker crew could decide to assist a vessel. However, if the wind is blowing at 25 m/s or more, the icebreaker will not move; it is unsafe to assist vessels under these conditions due to the possibility of ice drifting and ridging, and the chance the track opened by the icebreaker will not remain open long enough to assist the vessel.
The main criteria in the decision to respond is safety and the timeliness of delivering assistance. Other factors that Arctia icebreakers consider are fuel consumption, the number of vessels an icebreaker will be able to assist per trip, and the efficiency of icebreaker operations. The Otso’s crew always strive to find ways to do things better while maintaining quality and remaining competitive.
This was a great learning experience and an example of the industry-academia partnerships supported by Tom Ekegren, senior vice president at Arctia Icebreaking Ltd., and the Marine Environmental Observation Prediction and Response Network (MEOPAR). This project was funded by MEOPAR, a Canadian Centre of Excellence. Captain Duke Snider at MartechPolar has been a key supporter of this project and facilitated this opportunity with Arctia Ltd.
Lessons from the Past: Unfolding the Dynamics among Climate, Balkan Landscapes, and Humans over the Past Millennium
Dr. Charuta Kulkarni, The Graduate Center, City University of New York (CUNY)
Drawing upon pollen, charcoal, and geochemical analyses of two Serbian lakes for the first time, this doctoral dissertation explores the environmental history of the Central Balkan region over the past 600 years, which includes the Little Ice Age (LIA). The extent of the LIA largely coincided with the emergence, rise, and decline of the Ottoman Empire and the beginning of the Industrial Era; all of which deeply influenced the Balkan landscapes. Integrating new Serbian palaeoecological records with other natural and human archives from the region, this project examines a diverse blend of socio-political-climatic "stressors" and traces their profound impacts on predominantly agro-pastoral Balkan subsistence. By statistically analyzing ecological (woodland, land erosion, land clearance, agriculture), social (population, famines) and climatic (droughts, extreme cold years) variables, it discovers adverse effects of the LIA on the Balkan societies and reveals how they responded in transitioning socio-political regimes.
These long-term socio-ecological topics are especially relevant today. According to Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC), the Balkan countries are among the most affected regions in terms of a changing water cycle due to extreme climatic events such as increased flooding and droughts. The European Environmental Agency (EEA) also attests that the already hot and semi-arid climate of southern Europe is expected to become warmer and drier, which will threaten its waterways, agricultural production and timber harvests. All this as Serbia’s likely entry into the European Union may put a larger stress on the Serbian society, will present challenges for its economy. The sustainability of agriculture and its resilience in the face of changing environmental and social conditions will doubtless inspire political debates both within and outside the country. These discussions highlight the importance of scholarship that looks deep into the past which provides analogs that help us understand how socio-economic systems function - and how they transform - amid global climate changes. Although the picture is yet far from complete and more palaeoecological work is needed to elucidate the interplays and feedbacks of climate variability in the context of human landscapes and activities in the Balkan region, the Serbian proxy records explored in this dissertation shed new light on the nature of responses and interactions of past societies with drastic climatic events.
Dr. Charuta Kulkarni recently completed her PhD from Earth and Environmental Sciences Program, CUNY Graduate Center, New York and is currently searching for research opportunities to extend her environmental history research in Asia, India in particular.
Dr. Teresa C. Ashe, Independent Researcher.
Climate Change: Discourses of Making and Unmaking is a book that interests itself in the role of climate scepticism in climate change politics, developing a history of the science, politics and policy of climate change, which allows us to consider how climate change came to have the meaning it now has and how this meaning has been changed and challenged.
The first section of the book examines early understandings of climate and climatic change, considering how the idea of anthropogenic global warming emerged as a response to the idea of Ice Ages. It looks at the social and technical factors that conditioned when and how this theory became convincing and to whom.
The book then looks at how this theory was framed politically in the US, so as to garner adherents, researchers, funding and insitutionalised research programs. This section explains the shift away from seeing climate research as a step towards Cold War weather control and shows how it became an ‘environmental’ issue.
Finally, the book considers how climate change was problematized and placed on the policy agenda and the subsequent attempts to create an international regime to address the problem. It focusses particularly on the role of the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) as an epistemic community for the creation and functioning of the UN Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC).
Underpinning this project is an interest in how heterodox and orthodox discourses of environmental politics emerge. The research looks particularly at American environmental scepticism and at the role of ‘climate scepticism’ in climate change politics, which works to undermine the idea that policy need me made at all.
The book argues that a discursive understanding of environmental politics best recognises the presence of both orthodox and heterodox epistemic communities, while foregrounding the relationship between power and knowledge as it underpins environmental politics.
Dr. Martin Bauch, Deutsches historisches Institut in Rom.
I am in the third circle, filled with cold,
unending, heavy, and accursed rain;
its measure and its kind are never changed.
Gross hailstones, water gray with filth, and snow come
streaking down across the shadowed air;
the earth, as it receives that shower, stinks.
- Dante, Inferno, Canto VI
In the last years of his life, Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) was an unsuspecting witness to a rapid shift in climatic conditions that led to cooler and wetter weather all over the continent. Perhaps it was not by chance that in his Inferno, finished in 1314, the sinners guilty of gluttony and sent to the third circle of hell were punished by incessant cold rain, hail and snow, while squirming through foul-smelling mud that reminded contemporaries of the crops rotting on their fields. Across Europe, meteorological events in the 1310s caused harvest failures, floods, famines, and mass deaths. In particular, Dante’s description of the wet third ring of hell is very similar to weather conditions that caused famine in Italy between 1310-12, and offers a prominent clue the onset of the Little Ice Age left in Europe’s cultural heritage.
Other traces of the cold, wet years appear in variety of sources: inscriptions from Central Europe which recall the thousands of starved individuals buried outside the city walls, and countless chronicles reporting death, famine, corpses on the streets, and riots linked to rising food prices. The hostile weather and massive soil erosion can also be reconstructed using scientific methods: ice cores from Alpine glaciers, sediment cores from lakes, and tree rings all reveal the rainy years that oaks all over Europe enjoyed, as these trees thrive on chilly and humid weather. Using these tools, scientists and climate historians have come to agree that climatic conditions changed seriously at the beginning of the 14th century, ending the presumed milder conditions of the so-called Medieval Climatic Anomaly and initiating the so-called Little Ice Age. When referring to the extreme wet and cool conditions in Northwestern Europe that were responsible for the Great Famine (1315-21), written sources and dendrochronological data agree that the 1310s were a decade of climatic stress. The damage of this decade, called the Dantean Anomaly by, was long thought to be restricted to the British Isles, Northern France, the Benelux countries and Northern Germany. But as not only the Inferno’s vision of hell indicates, the cool period was probably a trans-continental event.
Reanalyses are educated estimates of how the atmosphere behaved in the recent past. They are built by combining computer models of the atmosphere and ocean with weather observations to build an approximation of what the entire atmosphere was doing every six hours or so.
Climatologists and meteorologists all over the world use reanalyses to research our climate and weather. Most of the reanalysis products that exist cover the entire planet, but if you want to study storms over Paris for example, or wind changes in the Spanish Pyrenees, then it’s better to use a regional reanalysis, which has a higher spatial resolution.
Recovering historical weather observations for long-term climate analysis is a well-established practice in many places in Europe, where written documents cover several centuries. In Australia, written records only begin with British settlement in the late 18th century, as the indigenous Aboriginal people maintain their history through largely oral traditions.
However, this does not mean that there is no historical climate information for the Great Southern Land. Recent efforts are uncovering a treasure trove of historical weather and climate data that are shedding light on both the regional and global climate. Here are just a few examples: