Climate

A handful of oil-producing nations ensured that a United Nations General Assembly resolution on climate change steered clear of a call to transition away from fossil fuels.

The environmental harm caused by this shapeshifting, underregulated industry must be tackled

Local pushback against cruise ships in the world’s top tourist destinations is nothing new. More than three years ago, these vast vessels were barred from Venice’s lagoon on grounds of the risk they posed to the city’s historic buildings. This summer, cruise ships in Amsterdam and Barcelona were targeted by protesters, on grounds of chemical pollution but also as part of a wider movement against overtourism (as the negative impacts of huge influxes of visitors have become known). But – as revealed this week in a series of Guardian articles, The real cost of cruises – the environmental and social impact of this fast-growing industry goes way beyond individual cities, and requires action on a global scale.

The carbon emissions of a cruise are roughly double that of the equivalent flights plus a hotel stay. The industry is also responsible for a vast quantity of waste discharged directly into the sea, as well as high levels of toxic air pollution in the ports where ships are docked – usually with their engines running. Once seen as the exclusive pursuit of a minority of wealthy retired people, these holidays are now mainstream, with vast floating resorts designed and marketed for families and young adults. The largest ships have up to 20 floors and room for several thousand people.

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What the U.N. negotiations, known as COP, can (and can’t) do to combat climate change.

Las vacas y los cerdos producen gran parte del metano que calienta al planeta. Un nuevo impuesto danés forma parte de un plan para limpiarlo.

Departmental analysis includes contentious measurements, but climate minister says government is cleaning up after ‘decade of denial, delay, dysfunction and utter neglect’

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The Australian government will claim it is on track to meet its legislated 43% emissions reduction target by 2030 after a departmental analysis found it had improved its position over the past year.

The government said annual emissions projections, based on an assessment of government policies and other trends, suggest national climate pollution would be at least 42.6% less than 2005 levels by the end of the decade, compared with 37% last year. The forecast included the impact of an underwriting scheme for new large-scale renewable energy and batteries, and vehicle efficiency standards that from next year require auto companies to start selling more zero and low-emissions cars.

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In 2022 I visited Glacier National Park for the first time with two close friends. We spent five days backpacking through the backcountry, and I was enthralled by the park’s vastness and beauty and the chance to see glaciers for the first time in my life. While I loved camping out in the wild, as a trail runner I couldn’t help but think of ways to travel lighter, cover more territory, and see even more of this breathtaking landscape. After the trip, I found myself studying maps, plotting potential routes, and, eventually, conceiving an ambitious plan: a 75-mile route linking three of the park’s historic lodges. This route offered restocking points and a bed each night, but each leg of the route was about 25 miles long, with over 4,000 feet of elevation gain.

Proposed route through Glacier National Park, proceeding clockwise from the start/finish at the southwest corner. Blue dots indicate the lodges where we planned to stay along the way, and numbers indicate cumulative miles.

Having recently read several books on ultramarathon training, I began to incorporate their techniques into my routine. Like any engineer, I created a spreadsheet to plan my training, then booked the trip for Labor Day weekend.

Training presented its own challenges: I live in Madison, Wisconsin—great for many things, but not exactly mountainous. But Wisconsin does offer the Ice Age Trail, a 1,200-mile national scenic trail that winds through the state, tracing the terminal moraine of the North American Ice Sheet—a massive glacier that once covered much of the continent. The trail, characterized by rugged landscapes, narrow technical trails, and sections affectionately called “rollers” for their endless ups and downs, became my go-to training ground. It felt especially fitting to retrace the path of the last major glaciation while preparing to visit some of the last remaining glaciers in the lower 48 states.

In January, about two months into my training, I joined the Union of Concerned Scientists. This marked a career shift toward direct climate and equity advocacy, where I could use my background in electrical engineering to more directly tackle the climate challenges threatening our planet’s critical resources, including the glaciers I would soon visit. The connection felt profound: I was focusing my personal time on training for a chance to witness these glaciers up close, even as I was now working professionally to mitigate the emissions causing their rapid retreat.

Training on glacial terrain A picture taken on my way up the east bluffs in Devil’s Lake State Park, part of the Ice Age Trail, with Spirit Lake visible in the distance. Photo by Lee Shaver.

The Ice Age Trail zigzags across Wisconsin, and from where I live in Madison, I can access several segments of the trail within a short drive. During training runs, my thoughts were often practical: monitoring my water supply, fending off bugs, calculating carb intake, etc. But I also reflected on the nature of the landscape I was running across.

The trail gave me a unique perspective on how glaciers not only sculpted the land but also influenced human use of it. The flatter lands on one side became ideal farmland, supporting the dairy industry for which Wisconsin is known, while the rugged driftless terrain on the other side, harder to farm, has lower population densities. Even the Ice Age Trail itself follows the edge of these different land uses, often marking the boundary between neighboring farms.

The glaciation process played out over an incomprehensibly long timescale—the ice age that ended about 10,000 years ago had lasted over 100,000 years. By contrast, the glaciers in Glacier National Park are retreating at a disturbingly rapid pace. Some estimates suggest they could disappear by 2030 due to the climate change triggered by human fossil fuel use, which began less than 200 years ago.

The journey through glacier: running on borrowed time

Eventually, after logging over 1,000 miles in preparation, it was time to head to the park. For the trip, I was joined by my friend Brian, a fellow runner from Madison. We arrived in Glacier on Thursday afternoon, and with time to spare, booked a boat tour from our starting point at Lake McDonald. Our guide shared insights into the fragility of the landscape, pointing out the shrinking glaciers and evidence of recent forest fires.

Friday morning we set out on six relatively flat miles through thick forest, carpeted in moss and dense with cedars. We hiked this section to avoid startling bears, as Montana has the largest grizzly population in the lower 48. Next, we joined the Going-to-the-Sun Road for six miles, a necessary but unpleasant stretch due to the noise and fumes from traffic (a reminder of the carbon emissions that threaten the very glaciers we had come to see).

After leaving the road, we began the steep ascent up to Swiftcurrent Pass. Despite training on every hill in Wisconsin, we found ourselves unprepared for the altitude. Climbing during the hottest part of the day was grueling, and we began to feel the effects of the altitude. At the pass, we rested and refilled our bottles before descending into the valley, where we finally glimpsed Swiftcurrent Glacier. From a distance it was hard to grasp the scale of the glacier, but as we descended the pass the sights and sounds of immense waterfalls draining the glacial basin helped us understand just how massive it must be.

Bullhead Lake at the bottom of Swiftcurrent Pass. Swiftcurrent Glacier is visible just below the ridge above. Photo by Lee Shaver.

We followed the chain of lakes out of the valley to Swiftcurrent Lodge, where we enjoyed a much-needed rest after a dinner of mac and cheese. We ended up traveling nearly 28 miles that day, the longest day of the trip.

On Saturday we joined the Continental Divide Trail and made our way up to Piegan Pass. We saw only one other hiker all morning, underscoring how remote and isolated we were. As we climbed, the roar of a distant waterfall grew louder, coming in and out of earshot as we switched back up the mountain. Near the top, we encountered a snowbank across the trail and carefully made our way over. At the pass, we stopped for lunch, gazing out over snow-fed pools that sparkled in the afternoon sun.

After hearing glowing reviews from other hikers, we decided to take the more challenging Siyeh Pass route, adding another 1,500 feet of elevation gain but allowing us to run through a recent burn area with clear visibility. We covered about 21 miles that day, grateful to avoid vehicle traffic by catching a shuttle for the final few miles along the road.

The view from Siyeh Pass trail, with evidence of forest fire in the foreground. Photo by Lee Shaver. Up close and personal with a glacier

On the morning of day three, we experienced deus ex machina—or more accurately, ursus ex machina: Gunsight Pass, our intended trail for the day and the only path back to our starting point, had been closed by park rangers due to bear activity. We hitched a ride to our final hotel and opted for an out-and-back run up to Sperry Glacier instead—a chance to get closer to the ice than we’d anticipated.

After a 3,500-foot climb, we reached Sperry Chalet and paused for a refreshing lemonade. Another 1,500 feet of climbing led us over Comeau Pass to what we thought would be an easy half mile to the base of Sperry Glacier.

Instead, we were reminded of how glaciers shape the land around them. Sperry Glacier sits on the edge of a large basin which is constantly scraped and scoured by the ice that accumulates each year from snowfall, then melts and sublimates in the warmer season. As a result, the “trail” to the base of the glacier is actually a mostly unmarked traverse across a boulder field. Just a handful of cairns, rebuilt each year by volunteers, mark the path around the ridge that hides the glacier from view.

View from the edge of Sperry Glacier across the melt pools and boulder field. Photo by Lee Shaver.

On the other side of the ridge, we were rewarded with spectacular views of crevasses, melt pools, and Sperry Glacier itself. We picked our way over more boulders to reach a US Geological Survey weather station at the base of the glacier. We were completely alone at this point and could hear the constant sound of water dripping from the glacier, and the periodic sound of ice and boulders shifting in the field all around us: the soundtrack of quiet disintegration.

Sperry Glacier, with a USGS weather monitoring station in front. Photo by Lee Shaver.

Exhausted but exhilarated, we made our way back, covering a total of just over 20 miles and 5,400 feet of elevation gain—the most intense day of the trip, which we felt made up for the change in course that took five miles off our planned total.

DayMileageAscent (feet)Highest point (feet)Elapsed time127.84,9407,20310:21220.93,9818,0807:43320.35,4008,0618:42Total69.014,321 26:46Running through Glacier, by the numbers. Reflections on glacier loss and climate action

The weather just before the trip was marked by contrast: a few days earlier, a storm had dropped enough snow to close several miles of road inside the park, but by the time we arrived it had gotten hot enough to melt off nearly all the snow, except for a few lingering piles in the shade at higher elevations. I felt the same contrast as I stood at the foot of Sperry Glacier, feeling both the heat of the sun and the cool breeze blowing over the ice, and I was struck by the reality of the glaciers’ vulnerability.

The prediction that all of the park’s glaciers could be gone by 2030 felt painfully real as we looked out over the landscape. While snow accumulating and disappearing is an annual event as the seasons change, the trend over the last several decades has been a global net reduction in the mass balance of mountain glaciers like Sperry.

The feelings that accompanied this moment were bittersweet; I felt privileged to see something that may be gone in a few short years, but also a sense of guilt that I was seeing something that future generations may be robbed of the opportunity to witness. Glaciers, once thought of as static, timeless icons, have become a fleeting phenomenon, highlighting the urgent need for action on climate change.

The personal meaning of this journey intersected profoundly with my work at the Union of Concerned Scientists. My role focuses on developing solutions for cleaner energy systems and policies to reduce heat-trapping emissions, work that is closely tied to the survival of landscapes like the one I had just run across, as well as the people who inhabit and depend on those landscapes. In Montana and around the world, glaciers support ecosystems, serve as year-round water sources, and regulate the climate, among other important ecological functions. The trip reminded me that the impacts of climate change are not abstract—they are visible, tangible, and current. At home, I train on a landscape shaped by glaciers over a hundred thousand years, but human-caused climate change is re-shaping Glacier National Park within my own lifetime.

Moving forward with purpose

I carry two main insights after running through Glacier: first, the incredible value of experiencing and witnessing these landscapes firsthand; second, the motivation to actively protect and preserve them. My hope is that future generations will be able to visit places like Glacier National Park and stand in awe, as I did, of their beauty and the ancient forces that shaped them. But without meaningful, immediate action, these “icescapes” may not survive to inspire future generations, leaving behind only the evidence of their former grandeur.

This experience changed the way I view both my personal and professional goals. Every mile I ran reminded me of the resilience and adaptability required to face the challenges ahead. It underscored the importance of not only reducing carbon footprints, but actively working to reshape our policies, technologies, and societal structures to build a future where these irreplaceable wonders can endure, and where we can experience them.

As I continue my work with the Union of Concerned Scientists, I’ll carry this journey with me and use it to fuel my dedication to tackling the climate crisis. There’s still hope to protect places like Glacier, but that window of opportunity is narrowing. My experience has reaffirmed that the path forward requires not just awareness, but action—action that can make a difference, just as each small step in my training built toward something greater.

It is only a matter of time before a mountainside is brought down. We need climate adaptation help – and we need it now

• Aaron Thierry is an Earth-system scientist and environmental campaigner

It’s “raining old ladies and sticks” is the Welsh equivalent of cats and dogs, and boy did those old ladies mean business when Storm Bert poured out nearly a month’s worth of rain on the Bannau Brycheiniog (Brecon Beacons) over Saturday night. By Sunday, the deluge was surging into the River Taff and through the Welsh valleys, forcing the Taff to burst its banks, bringing misery to communities along its length – including mine in Taff’s Well.

Neighbours, who had been devastated by Storm Dennis in February 2020, were shocked to find that everything they had done to rebuild was undone. Replastered front rooms were submerged yet again. New cars were bobbing once more in the streets.

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Martha Schwartz Partners works around the globe to take on pollution and warming of the planet.

For Claudia Adriazola-Steil, the issue of safety, and the goal of lowering emissions and improving access, is deeply personal.

Eriel Tchekwie Deranger works to empower Indigenous peoples to lead the way on climate justice and decolonize environmental policy.

Having grown up in Chad, Hindou Oumarou Ibrahim has taken on the cause of negotiating for her community at the international level.

With “Doughnut Economics,” Kate Raworth looks instead at planetary well-being.

Through her restaurant in France and her academy, Nadia Sammut aims to teach people about how their food choices can harm — or help — the planet.

Sunaina Sinha Haldea heads the board of SFC Energy AG, whose fuel cells are helping to provide continuous and safer power to remote areas.

Mette Lykke leads Too Good to Go, which operates in 19 countries to reduce waste and make surplus food accessible.

A new generation is taking to the ocean in growing numbers – and fears over the environmental impact of cruise ships appear not to be denting their popularity

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This summer was the first time 31-year-old Daisie Morrison had been on a cruise when she set sail on a two-week holiday with two friends, also in their early 30s.

“One of my friends suggested it,” she says. “She had seen different influencers on Instagram going on cruises. You go to so many places that we wanted to visit, so we were all quite keen.”

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While an agreement on climate finance was eventually reached in Baku, many poorer countries were outraged

The Lamborghini showroom and a Tiffany branch sit at either end of Baku’s long boulevards beside the Caspian Sea. Adorned with grand 19th-century mansions, all plaster nymphs and columned facades, that were built by the first oil millionaires, they are a testament to the enduring power of fossil fuels. Oil has been very good to Azerbaijan.

It flows out of the ground here, and gas has seeped out, ignited and burned naturally in the area for so long that the country’s symbol is a flame and its nickname is the Land of Fire. Baku was the world’s first oil town, with wells exploited as early as the 1840s. Ilham Aliyev, the autocratic president, calls oil and gas “the gift of God” to his people. They represent 90% of Azerbaijan’s exports.

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Madeleine Finlay hears from the Guardian’s environment editor, Damian Carrington, about the controversial climate finance deal that brought Cop29 negotiations to a close in the early hours on Sunday morning in Baku, Azerbaijan. Developing countries asked rich countries to provide them with $1.3tn a year to help them decarbonise their economies and cope with the effects of the climate crisis. But the final deal set a pledge of just $300bn annually, with $1.3tn only a target. Damian tells Madeleine how negotiations unfolded, and what we can expect from next year’s conference in Brazil

Find all the Guardian’s reporting on Cop29

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Experts say financial movements mean poor nations will in effect get billions less in value from £300bn pledge

A failure to factor in inflation means the $300bn (£240bn) climate finance deal agreed at Cop29 is not the tripling of pledges that has been claimed, economists have said.

The international talks in Baku were pulled back from the brink of collapse early on Sunday morning when negotiators struck an agreement in which rich countries promised to raise $300bn a year by 2035. On paper, this is a tripling of the previous climate finance target of $100bn a year by 2020, and has been trumpeted as such by the UN and others.

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Drone footage captured on Monday showed flooded caravans at Billing Aquadrome Holiday Park near Northampton, Northamptonshire. Storm Bert will continue to bring disruption into Monday after torrential downpours caused 'devastating' flooding over the weekend.

• Storm Bert: forecasters and politicians criticised after devastating floods

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