Here in the North Country, it’s been hard not to notice that we’ve been experiencing dramatic events in recent years— events that many scientists believe herald changes that will reshape our region in unexpected ways.
In 1999, the July 4 blowdown flattened almost 400,000 acres of forest, most of it in the Boundary Waters. Then came the big fires— Cavity Lake in 2006, Ham Lake the year after, and the biggest of all, Pagami Creek, just this fall. These fires have collectively scorched more than 150,000 acres of timberland in the wilderness, and most was land not previously impacted by the blowdown. That means that in just over a decade, nearly half of the BWCAW has been blown down or burned, an unprecedented historical anomaly.
While these events have certainly captured headlines, other less dramatic changes have taken hold as well. The spate of large fires in the wilderness is a symptom of a trend towards more frequent and severe drought in our region. While fire is the most noticeable symptom of drought, the impacts are felt throughout the North Country. For the most part, this is shallow soil country, which makes our forests particularly vulnerable to the effects of drying. I live on a bedrock ridge top and see the impact of our changing climate every day in the huge number of dead and dying trees that fill the woods in our area.
If the drought doesn’t kill trees directly, the stresses caused by lack of water makes them more vulnerable to pests that most trees could ordinarily survive.
Spruce budworm, which used to defoliate spruce and balsam fir without killing them, has proven much more deadly when combined with drought. It’s the same with birch borers and the pernicious emerald ash borer, which will almost certainly arrive in our region in the next decade and wipe out our region’s extensive stands of black ash.
Forest die-off is easier to overlook than fire, but its impact is even more significant in the long run. It has the potential to change our region permanently.
It’s easy to forget how subtle changes in temperature and precipitation can alter the landscape. Here in the North Country, we live about 150 miles east of the prairie edge— the only real difference between here and there is the eight inches of extra precipitation that normally falls here, as opposed to there. In 2011, we saw almost exactly eight inches less precipitation than we would expect in a normal year— about 21 inches versus the usual 29 inches. That puts us in the range of Thief River Falls, or just slightly wetter than Grand Forks, North Dakota. And unlike the prairie, we don’t have deep, rich soils that can help trees better survive dry periods. Drought comes fast in these parts and takes an especially harsh toll.
Without a significant change in such trends, the forests we have known could disappear, within many of our lifetimes.
If so, we’ll come to understand the interconnectedness of our landscape. The lakes, as well, are a function of our trees. Without the dense forest covering our region, the trend towards drought will compound as the lack of trees further opens up soils to drying winds and sun. The transpiration of our forests, which typically raises humidity levels and prompts summer thundershowers, will diminish, further adding to the problem.
We’ve already seen how quickly water levels can fall. In the past six months, we’ve seen water levels in many parts of our region drop to levels not seen in anyone’s memory, with the possible exception of 1976.
If not reversed, the landscape of woods and water that we’ve come to know could be altered in extraordinary ways, and the impacts would be far-reaching. Our tourism economy would be threatened. The lakes that bring so many visitors to our area would diminish or disappear altogether in some cases. The fabled canoe country could well be a thing of the past. Our timber industry—at least what’s left of it— would likely disappear altogether. The North Country wildlife that we’ve associated with our lives here would vanish as well.
What will replace it all remains to be seen. Some research models have pointed to a more deciduous forest, but that’s less likely if the trend towards drought continues. If current trends hold, we’re probably looking at more of a scrub forest, stunted oaks and pockets of short and stocky aspen— the kind we see in parts of northwestern Minnesota’s aspen parkland. Drought-hardy jack pine will probably adapt to the new environment, but they’ll grow shorter and will burn more frequently. Balsam fir, spruce, paper birch, and white pine will all likely disappear over time.
For a while, it seemed possible that we humans would get our act together and take action to head off the kind of changes that are already beginning to take dramatic form in our region. I think most people these days realize that’s not going to happen, at least until the impacts are far too extreme to reverse. We humans are slow to accept uncomfortable realities, especially when they involve changes that occur over time. But as we’ve already seen, the changes can come quickly. A new normal can soon replace the old. As Forest Service officials learned so painfully this fall, fire indices that in normal times would have kept a fire like Pagami Creek from exploding, can no longer be trusted. Just last week, the Forest Service advised the public of fire danger in the Superior National Forest. In January. These are definitely not normal times.
A world that we long viewed as permanent and unchanging is exposed as fragile, fleeting, and in flux. We’re on a long and probably painful road to a new reality here in the North Country. We may not know where it’s all headed, but it’s a fair guess that the ramifications will be profound.
