Time is from my point of view presently "Like a Tree" more than anything else. The main trunk of the tree is how time starts out on a planet or nebula but as time progresses it branches out and often there are many time lines like now on earth. I know of at present at least 5 timelines presently existing concurrently on earth and there also could be many more than this.
So, when people write about apocalyptic post civilizations often they aren't writing fiction but are remembering the 1st timeline when civilization ended for 4000 years from 2001 until around 6000 AD on the 1st timeline when doomsday weapons went off on September 11th 2001.
It's because our Souls do NOT live in time and space and in a place I would call "Eternal Being" which does not reside in Time and Space. Only when a soul is in a body like we are wearing now does a soul actually live in time and space. But, the rest of the time we don't live in time and space.
I discovered this while preparing to die in 1998 and 1999 of a heart Virus. Being an intuitive as I prepared for my death I discovered this and saw why one can (through the eyes or our soul) can remember the future because often we have future lives we have already lived in the past, present and future on earth and other planets and places as well.
High winds tore at
Gothic Mountain as the sleeping giant watched over the cabins nestled in
Gothic, Colorado, a remote outpost accessible only by skis during the
valley’s harsh alpine winters. The plumes of snow that lifted from the
peak briefly appeared to form a cloud and then disappeared.
To many, the snow that seemed to vanish into thin air would go
unnoticed. But in a region where water availability has slowly begun to
diminish, every snowflake counts. Each winter, an unknown percentage of
the Rocky Mountain West’s snowpack disappears into the atmosphere, as it
was doing on Gothic Mountain, just outside the ski resort town of
Crested Butte.
In the East River watershed,
located at the highest reaches of the Colorado River Basin, a group of
researchers at Gothic’s Rocky Mountain Biological Laboratory (RMBL) are
trying to solve the mystery by focusing on a process called sublimation.
Snow in the high country sometimes skips the liquid phase entirely,
turning straight from a solid into a vapor. The phenomenon is
responsible for anywhere between 10% to 90% of snow loss. This margin of
error is a major source of uncertainty for the water managers trying to
predict how much water will enter the system once the snow begins to
melt.
Although scientists can measure how
much snow falls onto the ground and how quickly it melts, they have no
precise way to calculate how much is lost to the atmosphere, said
Jessica Lundquist, a researcher focused on spatial patterns of snow and
weather in the mountains. With support from the National Science
Foundation, Lundquist led the Sublimation of Snow project in Gothic over
the 2022-’23 winter season, seeking to understand exactly how much snow
goes missing and what environmental conditions drive that
disappearance.
Project lead Jessica Lundquist stands inside a
freshly dug snow pit near Gothic’s Rocky Mountain Biological Laboratory
outside of Crested Butte, Colorado.
Bella Biondini
“It’s one of those nasty, wicked
problems that no one wants to touch,” Lundquist said. “You can’t see it,
and very few instruments can measure it. And then people are asking,
what’s going to happen with climate change? Are we going to have less
water for the rivers? Is more of it going into the atmosphere or not?
And we just don’t know.”
“Are we going to have less water for the rivers? Is more of it going into the atmosphere or not? And we just don’t know.”
The snow that melts off Gothic will
eventually refill the streams and rivers that flow into the Colorado
River. When runoff is lower than expected, it stresses a system already
strained because of persistent drought, the changing climate and a
growing demand. In 2021, for example, snowpack levels near the region’s
headwaters weren’t too far below the historical average—
not bad for a winter in the West these days. But the snowmelt that
filled the Colorado River’s tributaries was only 30% of average.
“You measure the snowpack and assume
that the snow is just going to melt and show up in the stream,” said
Julie Vano, a research director at the Aspen Global Change Institute and
partner on the project. Her work is aimed at helping water managers
decode the science behind these processes. “It just wasn’t there. Where
did the water go?”
As the West continues to dry up,
water managers are increasingly pressed to accurately predict how much
of the treasured resource will enter the system each spring. One of the
greatest challenges federal water managers face — including officials at
the Bureau of Reclamation, the gatekeeper of Lake Powell and Lake Mead —
is deciding how much water to release from reservoirs to satisfy the
needs of downstream users.
While transpiration and soil moisture
levels may be some of the other culprits responsible for water loss,
one of the largest unknowns is sublimation, said Ian Billick, the
executive director of RMBL.
“We need to close that uncertainty in the water budget,” Billick said.
Right, Eli Schwat records his observations. The
team set up more than 100 instruments in an alpine meadow just south of
Gothic to measure the processes that drive snow sublimation.
Bella Biondini
Doing it right
The East River’s tributaries
eventually feed into the Colorado River, which supplies water to nearly
40 million people in seven Western states as well as Mexico. This
watershed has become a place where more than a hundred years of
biological observations collide, many of these studies focused on
understanding the life cycle of the water.
Lundquist’s project is one of the
latest. Due to the complexity of the intersecting processes that drive
sublimation, the team set up more than 100 instruments in an alpine
meadow just south of Gothic known as Kettle Ponds.
“No one’s ever done it right before,” Lundquist said. “And so we are trying our very best to measure absolutely everything.”
Throughout the winter, the menagerie
of equipment quietly recorded data every second of the day —
measurements that would give the team a snapshot of the snow’s history. A
device called a sonic anemometer measured wind speed, while others
recorded the temperature and humidity at various altitudes. Instruments
known as snow pillows measured moisture content, and a laser imaging
system called “Lidar” created a detailed map of the snow’s surface.
“We are trying our very best to measure absolutely everything.”
From January to March, the three
coldest months of the year, Daniel Hogan and Eli Schwat, graduate
students who work under Lundquist at the University of Washington, skied
from their snow-covered cabin in Gothic to Kettle Ponds to monitor the
ever-changing snowpack.
Their skis were fitted with skins, a
special fabric that sticks to skis so they can better grip the snow. The
two men crunched against the ground as they made their near-daily trek
out to the site, sleds full of gear in tow. It was a chilly day in
March, but the searing reflection of the snow made it feel warmer than
it was. When Hogan and Schwat arrived, they dug a pit into the snow’s
surface, right outside the canopy of humming instrumentation.
Daniel Hogan and Eli Schwat tow a sled of gear out to the Kettle Ponds study site this March.
Bella Biondini
The pair carefully recorded the
temperature and density of the snow inside. A special magnifying glass
revealed the structure of individual snowflakes, some of them from
recent storms and others, found deeper in the pit, from weeks or even
months before. All of these factors can contribute to how vulnerable the
snowpack is to sublimation.
This would be just one of many pits
dug as snow continued to blanket the valley. If all of the measurements
the team takes over a winter are like a book, a snow pit is just a
single page, Hogan said.
“Together, that gives you the whole
winter story,” he said, standing inside one of the pits he was studying.
Just the top of his head stuck out of the snowpit as he examined its
layers.
Lundquist’s team began analyzing the data they collected long before the snow began to melt.
They hope it will one day give water
managers a better understanding of how much sublimation eats into the
region’s water budget — helping them make more accurate predictions for
what is likely to be an even hotter, and drier, future.
The wind tears snow from the top of Gothic Mountain. Wind is one of many factors driving snow sublimation.
Bella Biondini
Note: This story has been updated to correct that the students are graduate students, not Ph.D. students.
Bella Biondini is the editor of the Gunnison Country Times and frequently covers water and public lands issues in western Colorado. We welcome reader letters. Email High Country News at editor@hcn.org or submit a letter to the editor. See our letters to the editor policy.
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