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So how much difference in daylight is there between summer and winter?

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We get such lovely long days here - great for growing lush plants fast! but they need to be fast because as the fall equinox approaches and passes, we lose daylight fast, and the sun moves further south and lower in the sky so rapidly that you can see the difference from one day to the next.

I have friends who live in those pink bands up north - I've been to Inuvik by the Arctic Ocean where the sun shines 24 hrs a day. I can't imagine how they cope with the months of darkness and the weeks without sun.


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Bubble, it seems we're on the same track. I'm at Florence Lake - there are over 170 units now. Clubhouse facilities have just been renovated, by residents and different owners.

The mountain is still called, wrongly, Bear Mountain (the only Bear was Jack Nicholas, the golfer; it's really Skirt Mountain as named by the people who lived there before, but almost nobody listens when they are told.
ESS has grown and expanded, there are about 50 volunteers from Langford (and the name has finally changed from "Social" to "Support" - long overdue).


jyl - when we lived in Victoria, we were first responders for a while, at Saanich fire station.

I tagged Macy that info. about the Oregon law on construction in an tsunami inundation zone, because people just don't get enough info about what's going on, so I'm really glad she's posted the whole article. (❀ᴗ❀)

BTW - our friend lived partway up Bear Mountain, the clubhouse facilities hadn't been finished when we drove up there for a look around.


Bubble sent us the New Yorker article link, I just found a way to share it.

I'll never live in a place that could flood, or burn in a forest fire, or fall into the sea. That's just forethought.

I really can't lay claim to insight or knowledge, just a healthy "stitch in nine" mentality that also translates to "don't live where you might die or lose everything you have, if you can help it".


Mazy, I don't have much to say in reply: I live about 300' up the side of a "mountain" - hope that might help; I've had some training in taking care of people in disasters (from a local branch of the provincial disaster-preparedness group); really glad I'm closer to the end of my life than the beginning (when I went to UVic it was Victoria College, so I'm older than you by a few years), etc., etc., etc., and I live in a community with other "elder" people who often therefore have some accumulated knowledge and can help each other. I have no close relatives to fret over.
Thanks for your insight and knowledge, but still: Yikes!!


Interesting. I like it the way it is here in Florida.




Agreed, "There aren't many injuries..... people just die." stuck with me as awful.

Sort of like, "Well, it saves on cleanup and medical assistance, they're just erased so no bother. You know, those 7 year olds and elderly and teachers... fuck'em! We live higher up and put all our money into virtual currencies. Cheers ;)"


Thanks Mazy- Incredible power.
This will stay with me:
There aren't many injuries..... people just die.
Oregon’s message to its residents seems clear: we are turning our backs on danger; we are turning our backs on the future; we are turning our backs on you.


For BonnieB, not sure if this will work, but it is my darn puzzle so I will try.

Looks like the text from links got copied in too, but here is the article if you are interested - you will need to scroll past the ad-stuff to get to the story again:

Credit - The New Yorker, byline at the bottom.

Other than asteroid strikes and atomic bombs, there is no more destructive force on this planet than water. Six inches of it, flowing at a mere seven miles per hour, will knock a grown man off his feet. Two feet of it will sweep away most cars. Two cubic yards of it weighs well over a ton; if that much of it hits you at, say, twenty miles per hour, it will do as much damage to your body as a Subaru. In rough seas, a regular ocean wave can break with a force of two thousand pounds per square foot, more than enough to snap a human neck. A rogue wave—one that is more than twice the height of those around it—can sink a nine-hundred-foot ship.

Keep scaling up the water, and you keep scaling up the trouble. Eight years ago, a tsunami struck the northeast coast of Japan. A tsunami is not like a regular wave, and it is not like a rogue wave; it is more like a rogue ocean. It forms, most often, when an earthquake shifts the seabed and displaces all of the water above it. That displaced water does not crest and fall; it simply rises, like an extremely high tide, until the entire water column is in motion, from seafloor to surface. Then it rolls inland, with ten or twenty or sixty miles of similar waves at its back, and demolishes everything in its path. The tsunami that struck Japan swept over eighteen-foot protective barriers, rushed through towns and cities, and tore them apart, so that those towns and cities became part of the wave, cars and trucks and warehouses and real houses swirling in the water. It reached a hundred and thirty feet high at its apex, travelled up to six miles inland, and killed almost twenty thousand people. Seven years earlier, a similar tsunami rose up out of the Indian Ocean on the day after Christmas, poured outward to India, Sri Lanka, Thailand, and Indonesia, and left more than two hundred and eighty thousand people dead.

Four years ago, I wrote an article for this magazine about a little-known fault line just off the coast of the Pacific Northwest that periodically produces earthquakes of magnitude 9 and greater—which, in turn, produce tsunamis equal in enormity to those that struck Indonesia and Japan. When that fault line next unleashes a full-scale quake, it will affect some hundred and forty thousand square miles of the West Coast. The impact of the tsunami, meanwhile, will be more localized but more thoroughgoing: it will obliterate everything inside a skinny swath of coastline, seven hundred miles long and up to three miles deep, from the northern border of California to southern Canada. That region is known as the tsunami-inundation zone, which is exactly what it sounds like: the area that, according to seismologists, will be completely underwater when the wave arrives.

Last week, the governor of Oregon signed a law that, among other things, overturns a 1995 prohibition on constructing new public facilities within the tsunami-inundation zone. When the law, known as HB 3309, goes into effect, municipalities will be free to build schools, hospitals, prisons, other high-occupancy buildings, firehouses, and police stations in areas that will be destroyed when the tsunami strikes. (Individuals and private entities were already allowed to build everything from hotels to nursery schools to nursing homes in the inundation zone.) Put differently, the law makes it perfectly legal to use public funds to place vulnerable populations—together with the people professionally charged with responding to emergencies and saving lives—in one of the riskiest places on earth.

That is not an exaggeration. If there is anything that my reporting on the Cascadia subduction zone made horrifyingly clear, it is that, when the tsunami hits, virtually nothing and almost no one within the inundation zone will survive. (“There aren’t many injuries in the tsunami zone,” one seismic expert with the Oregon Department of Geology and Mineral Industries, or dogami, told me at the time. “People just die.”) Those who are in it when the earthquake starts will have just ten to thirty minutes to evacuate—a timeframe that, however viable it might be under other circumstances, will be made desperately inadequate by the impact of the earthquake itself. That quake will leave people in the inundation zone—as across the Pacific Northwest—injured, in shock, and anxious to ascertain the safety of their colleagues, friends, and loved ones. In that condition, they will need to escape damaged or destroyed buildings and make their way to higher ground, despite crumpled roads, collapsed bridges, downed electrical lines, and all the secondary disasters an earthquake can trigger, from power outages and fires to landslides and liquefaction.


News Desk

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The First Democratic Debates of 2019: All the Coverage in The New Yorker
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How Rogue Republicans Killed Oregon’s Climate-Change Bill
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Wilbur Ross.
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By Jameel Jaffer
All that is bad enough. But when you factor in the kinds of obstacles that HB 3309 renders inevitable—being seven years old, say, or recovering from heart surgery, or sitting in an emergency room waiting for your broken leg to be X-rayed—a timely evacuation becomes next to impossible. Yet those who do not make it out of the inundation zone will not make it, period. When the tsunami hits the Oregon coast, it will be, at its lowest reaches, twenty feet high, and moving somewhere between ten and twenty miles per hour. Whatever the supporters of HB 3309 would have you believe, or are trying to convince themselves to believe, the fact of the matter is that, if schools and hospitals and prisons are built in the inundation zone, some of their occupants will still be there when that wave hits, and those who are will not survive. Schoolkids will die, together with their teachers. The sick and the injured will die, together with any hospital workers who stay to try to help them. As for the incarcerated, regardless of what sentences they are meant to be serving, they will be condemned to death by drowning.

Meanwhile, by allowing police stations and firehouses to be built within the inundation zone, Oregon is directly endangering the people tasked with showing up when disaster strikes—and, in doing so, doubly abandoning everyone else to their fate. Even if first responders who are based in the inundation zone are able to evacuate, their equipment will be destroyed, leaving communities without the fire trucks and ambulances that they will so urgently need in the aftermath of the catastrophe. The same goes for putting hospitals in the inundation zone: in addition to gravely endangering all the patients, family members, and employees who are in them when the tsunami strikes, it means that, after the ground has stopped shaking and the water has receded, there will be no functioning medical facility to receive the injured and no advanced medical equipment on hand to help save lives.

How did a law with such high stakes sail through the Oregon legislature, where Democrats hold a majority, with a combined eighty-four votes in favor and just five opposed? One answer is that HB 3309 was passed without any public input or formal debate. According to Jay Wilson, the current resilience coördinator for Clackamas County Disaster Management and a former chair of the Oregon Seismic Safety Policy Advisory Commission, even relevant state entities, O.S.S.P.A.C. included, were either discouraged or prevented from participating. The only public testimony came from the members of the Oregon Legislative Coastal Caucus, all but one of whom supported repealing the law—unsurprisingly, as the caucus has historically been antagonistic to mandatory measures to improve earthquake and tsunami safety. Indeed, some observers suspect that the law was largely designed to discredit and further defang the already underfunded dogami, the state entity that has done the lion’s share of work in mapping the tsunami-inundation zone and trying to keep critical infrastructure and vulnerable citizens out of it.

Doomsday Preppers Get Ready for the Apocalypse

Last week, Republican Representative David Brock Smith, who voted in favor of HB 3309, likened the risk that Oregonians face from the tsunami to the risk Oklahomans face from tornadoes. It’s hard to say if he was being deliberately disingenuous or is simply ignorant, but, either way, the analogy is wildly wrong. Never mind, for a moment, the difference in scale between a mile-wide tornado and a seven-hundred-mile-long tsunami. To survive a tornado, you just need a tornado shelter; a simple cellar will suffice. To survive a tsunami in the inundation zone, you need a multimillion-dollar building constructed to the highest possible safety standards. But HB 3309 does not mandate that new buildings in the inundation zone meet those standards.

That’s probably because any genuinely useful building code would roughly double the price of construction—an outcome unlikely to appeal to lawmakers, many of whom cited economic reasons to explain their support for HB 3309. Back in April, Representative David Gomberg, a Democrat from Oregon’s central coast, championed the bill as a means of attracting and retaining residents in coastal communities. “Who will buy a house in a neighborhood too dangerous for a police station?” he asked. “Who will start a business in an area where fire stations are not allowed?” A better question would have been, Who would deliberately endanger their police and firefighters—to say nothing of their sick, their injured, and their children—in order to lure homeowners and businesses to an area that’s known to be so unsafe?

What makes arguments like Gomberg’s particularly maddening is that they aren’t merely based on bad morals; they’re based on bad math. No matter how you crunch the numbers, it’s impossible to imagine any road to financial security that runs through the inundation zone. In places where there’s truly no other evacuation option available, it’s obviously better to have a tsunami-resistant building than nothing at all. But even if the political will suddenly materializes to mandate them, such buildings are expensive to construct, not always foolproof, and, if outcomes in Japan are any indication, likely to be abandoned and destroyed after the tsunami comes. A far better option is simply to start moving citizens and infrastructure out of harm’s way. However daunting the price tag on doing so might seem now, it pales in comparison to how much it will cost to not have done so by the time catastrophe strikes. (On average, every dollar invested in disaster mitigation saves six dollars in emergency response—and, out of all natural disasters, those involving water are by far the most expensive.) And that time might not be very far off: in the next fifty years, Oregon faces a one-in-three chance of experiencing a tsunami comparable to those that recently devastated Japan and Indonesia. If lawmakers truly want the state’s coastal communities to thrive, they need a fiscal vision that doesn’t amount to throwing taxpayer dollars—and taxpayers—into the ocean.

But vision seems to be in short supply in the state of Oregon right now. The same day that the Democratic governor, Kate Brown, signed HB 3309 into law, the Democratic president of the Senate, Peter Courtney, announced the death of Oregon’s landmark climate-policy bill. The bill, which had already passed the House, would have capped carbon emissions in the state and required polluters to pay for greenhouse-gas emissions. Courtney’s announcement, which surprised and angered many of his colleagues, came after three Democratic senators refused to support the bill, and after the entire Republican senatorial caucus fled the state, deliberately making it impossible to achieve the necessary quorum to hold a vote. (One of those Republicans, Senator Brian Boquist, threatened to shoot any state troopers dispatched to bring him home. “Send bachelors,” he told Governor Brown, “and come heavily armed.”) Between the passage of the one bill and the failure of the other, Oregon’s message to its residents seems clear: we are turning our backs on danger; we are turning our backs on the future; we are turning our backs on you. That message is particularly upsetting because of how clearly it echoes the register of our times, how squarely it is in keeping with our era of reversals and regression, of failures to do and of undoing.

More than eight decades ago, Robert Frost, that least sentimental of poets, conjured an everyday beach scene, happy and holiday-ish on its surface, full of people sprawled on the sand and gazing out toward the sea. Like so many of his poems, this one carries on for a while with deceptive simplicity, calmly taking in the terrain, pausing now and again to admire a seagull or a ship. But Frost, as he always did, saw through the daily condition to the existential one, and the poem ends, as this past week has, by reminding us of our terrible shortsightedness:

They cannot look out far.
They cannot look in deep.
But when was that ever a bar
To any watch they keep?

Kathryn Schulz joined The New Yorker as a staff writer in 2015. In 2016, she won the Pulitzer Prize for feature writing and a National Magazine Award for “The Really Big One,” her story on the seismic risk in the Pacific Northwest.Read more »


Scary eh BB - enough to scare the daylights out of anyone down there !! (❀ᴗ❀)


E=End result


I went to the link and started to read, it disappeared. I did get far enough to see that it's still possible to build inside 'the zone' ??? That's crazy & scary stuff.


Yes, we've been on the Island 16 years and lived in a condo in Victoria, ugghh left there 6 years ago. We were first responders for a while down there and first rule of thumb, don't live at sea level if you can avoid it.
We're very lucky up here, got a house at the top end of town on a ridge, the town is already elevated and we're pretty high up so should be ok.

Its just mind boggling, profits over lives and the fools that ok'd the Oregon deal will probably be toast as well ! Poetic justice for them, its the innocent people who will suffer, as usual. (❀ᴗ❀)


Got it Bub, many thanks.

I always learned to build, buy, or live up high. On solid (not liquifying - lookit up re Richmond if you are unfamiliar with the term) ground.

It's quite disturbing to think of how a tsunami would affect ( @nanab ) our coast, with all its crenellations and fjord like face. A flat shelving shore like Long Beach would be devastated for certain but all the fjords - the height of water gets concentrated like it's logarithmic almost, and that could have such far reaching effects...

Remember the Meagher Creek landslide, that took out all of the upper Lilloet River in 2010? I have a photo of me carrying my mountain bike across the debris field from Capricorn Creek, just a few weeks before the slide.

Stuff like this happens SO quickly and abruptly...

Great link, disturbing to see the infrastructure paying no attention to the infrastructure.

If it all goes wrong one day it will be a media frenzy of disaster and not a lot of accountability.


The New Yorker doesn't seem to like me copying links but this should work, Mazy (❀ᴗ❀)


Can you copy and paste the website address Bub?

jyl, microclimates are underrated. I've been sort of passively studying them my whole life. The butterfly flapping its wings and a hurricane somewhere, load of bollocks.

But wether a butterfly flaps its wings is a function of those far off hurricanes, as well as how hot it gets on the south-facing rock wall at the back of the property. And how much rain falls in each part of the property.


Oregon's Tsunami Risk Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

While we're talking about the weather, I would like to show you this news article report, I couldn't tag the actual page. Its about whats been decided by TPTB in Oregon and I think you might like to read it. I cannot believe whats happening in that area and its pretty scary who gets to make these decisions. Will wait to hear your comments. (❀ᴗ❀)


Actually, as I remember, Vancouver and Seattle get about twice as much rain as Victoria, according to those who measure it. The weather is so different from one part of Greater Victoria to another, I've heard meteorologists say there are about a dozen "neighbourhoods" of weather here, so it's quite probable that you landed in one of the "wetter" areas.
That's it for me for tonight; I'll be happy to answer your posts, if you send more tonight, but I'm wiped now and must sleep . . .
Ni' night! ;)


LOL maybe it was an uncommonly wet 2 winters that I lived in res at UVic but it seemed worse than growing up in Vancouver!


Almost on the tip of the island, in Langford, Mazy. Usually the weather moves down the strait and drops its load on Vancouver and/or Seattle, missing us and Victoria. (Hard not to smirk sometimes.)


Sooke? would that put you in a rain shadow of the Olympics? I'd have thought it wet there. Or more like Sidney? The gulf islands have a similarly dry feel to the Okanagan.


In the green band just below the rest of the border (on the tip of "the island") we've had almost no rain all year (maybe 1/4" of snow last "winter"), but we have beautiful, lush foliage, even with almost no precip. No idea how that's happened, but we're enjoying it anyway.


I have a pretty good night sky here so know lotsa names of stuff :)

Also as noted I am addicted to looking things up - I don't remember half of it but I do remember some of it...

Damn cold out! it's been 14° most of the afternoon. I had to bring in plants out of the cold the other night when it dropped to 7°! and nothing wants to grow much less bloom. I shouldn't complain, this time last year we were so drought-dry that the first thunderstorm started big local fires, and the rest of the summer you could hardly breathe for the smoke. And this is the Okanagan! I can only imagine the rain you've been getting.

Oh well, at least we are not made of sugar!! :)


Cheating!! - If a tree falls in the forest and no-one is around to hear it - does it make a sound, thusly
If a shooting star falls from the sky and no-one is around to see it - how the hell do you know it fell ! Thus spake Zarathustra.(❀ᴗ❀)


researching puns is cheating!

I have Lakeview of Okanagan Lake, on the west side so sun sets earlier here than on the other side (rats!)


I've had so little time this week Mazy, and our friends who were supposed to be coming over to see us tomorrow, are now stuck on their cruise ship, sick - they're docking in Port Alberni which is only about 40 mins from us. A bummer because we've not seen them for a long time. Maybe tomorrow they'll feel better and we'll drive over for a short visit to the terminal. I'll have more time on Jigidi after today.

The star puns are fun - of course I'm looking them up so not working hard on research like you do.
How far outside Vancouver are you - you don't have to tell me the town, but sounds like you're more in the Interior?

Will be thinking up some more silly puns for you and BB - I'm the dorky one ! (❀ᴗ❀)


Thank you Mazy.


BB, Bub and I are both in the green band north of the border.

@Bubble , you're also way further west in this time zone so winter sunset doesn't come so early for you. Every bit counts! I'm glad you liked this puzzle, I published two other maps this week on the same sort of topic. But FAR more important:

Did you not want to play with my star puns?


What color are you Bub?


This is so interesting Mazy and makes it easy to see as a whole. We're pretty lucky here on the W. coast so can't really complain. Good one (❀ᴗ❀)


that one's even better!


I used to remember that A= action, wish I could underline 'used to' remember!


LOL I always remember that the vErb has NO E. But your comment had the same effect regardless. Or irregardless ;)


did I use the wrong effect? It should be affect, oops!


You're welcome ;)

Here it's dark by 3pm. That affects my mood enough to affect my energy level!!


I'm in the 6-7 hr. range. The only time I'm really bothered by the decreased hours of sunlight is the first few weeks of it being dark outside at 5pm. It doesn't effect my energy level, just my mood.
Thanks Mazy.