Thread: U.S. Can Learn from Florida Climate Change Response

Miami Beach approves 84 percent hike in storm water fees to combat rising seas
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MiamiHerald.com
The increase is necessary to pay for infrastructure projects that combat sea level rise, city officials say. Only Commissioner Michael Grieco voted ...

Report: Gulf and Atlantic Coasts Not Prepared for Sea-Level Rise
National Geographic
(Read "Rising Seas" in National Geographic magazine.) "Storms ... "We are not coordinated at different levels of government, and time is running out.".

Global warming, the slosh factor

POSTED: TUESDAY, JULY 29, 2014, 5:26 PM


We’ve seen so many alarmist stories about global warming that we were delighted to see a refreshingly dispassionate report on the prosaic side of sea-level rise.

The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration study focused on “nuisance” flooding, what the National Weather Service calls “minor” flooding – water sloshing onto roads, into yards, or perhaps into homes that aren’t elevated.

Sea levels generally have been rising for centuries, the result of melting glaciers and thermal expansion of the oceans. (The Dutch can tell you all about it.)

With an uptick in warming -- and far bigger one in development – the incidents of nuisance flooding have increased dramatically.

Philadelphia has been a particularly busy venue.

Among the 45 locations studied, Philadelphia ranked third in terms of the increase in minor flooding. Fewer than two were occurring annually in the 1957-1963 period, compared with 12 a year in the 2007-13 period, according to the report.

One feature of the study we particularly liked was the discussion of the nonlinear nature of sea-level rise.

So far it has been a bigger deal on the East and Gulf Coasts than on the West Coast, and that has to do with the slope of the continental shelves and the sinking of land.

On average, overall sea level has risen about at the rate of about an inch every 16 years, but in the Chesapeake Bay region the rate is as high as an inch every five years, and an inch every 2.5 years along the Texas coast.

In the latter regions, subsidence – or the sinking of land – is a major factor in the change of relative sea level. Along the Gulf Coast, a major contributor is the extraction of oil and subsurface freshwater.

The flooding trend is likely to persist as waters rise.

The authors point out that this could mean more trouble for storm-water systems, other infrastructure, and, of course, motorists.

Read more at http://www.philly.com/philly/blogs/w...6PVPmAHw36u.99

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http://www.alipac.us/f19/erosion-big...eaches-308765/

Climate change is now

09/29/2014 7:40 PM
09/29/2014 8:13 PM

A man rides a scooter along State Road A1A in Fort Lauderdale after torrential rains flooded the thoroughfare.SUN SENTINEL


World leaders came together at the United Nations last week to plan for climate change around the globe. Now it’s South Florida’s turn to get ready.
Starting Wednesday, Miami Beach — Ground Zero for rising-water issues — is the setting for the sixth annual Southeast Florida Regional Climate Leadership Summit. The two-day summit is put on by the Southeast Florida Regional Climate Change Compact, a partnership of Miami-Dade, Broward, Monroe and Palm Beach counties, and other stakeholders.

Their mission since 2009: To find solutions to fight climate change and rising waters in our region — together. And that unity is imperative.

South Florida hosts many events, but this year’s “Regions Connect — Global Effect” is one of the most relevant to our economic and environmental future. Climate change is one of the few topics where local governments forget jurisdictions and county lines and unite to deal with the effects of global warming. Here’s where Miami-Dade can tell Broward what’s working to control “king tides” that result in massive street flooding; Monroe can offer ideas on keeping back the ocean; and Palm Beach can share how it will protect waterfront condos.

No county can tackle this problem alone. Sharing knowledge, that’s the key — around the world, and in South Florida, too.

At the conference, the South Florida local brain trust assigned to fight the tide will exchange ideas at panel discussions. They include local activists and representatives from business interests, government agencies, oceanography, academia and the insurance industry.

Unfortunately, we live in a state where the governor is not sold on the idea of climate change, and therefore has ignored the obvious — and the need for action. Fortunately clear-eyed local leaders have stepped up: Miami Beach Mayor Philip Levine, Miami-Dade Mayor Carlos Gimenez, Fort Lauderdale Mayor Jack Seiler and Broward Commissioner Kristin Jacobs, among them.

Miami-Dade Clerk of the Courts Harvey Ruvin headed the Miami-Dade Sea-Level Rise Task Force, which issued its findings and recommendations in July. He is also leading the way. “The overarching challenge is to secure a future that will be resilient to the threats of sea-level rise,” he wrote in an Other Views article in the Miami Herald last month.

Mr. Ruvin said South Florida needs “a robust capital plan...not just to update an old one.”

But even the task force concedes that its forecast of an increase of two feet of rising water in 50 years might be too conservative. “We must keep in mind that this is literally a moving target; sea level is no longer a constant, and as new scientific research becomes available, the projections of the future rate of rise will also change,” the report says.

But as scientific evidence mounts, Miami-Dade County’s timeline seems too far into the future. Speeding up preparations should be a topic of discussion at the summit. Timing is everything.

The climate superheros at the summit will work toward “advancing policy and catalyzing action locally and regionally, as well as connecting and collaborating with other communities throughout the nation and the world,” a summit press release promises.

The compact members should emerge from the Miami Beach Convention Center full of cohesive ideas on how to keep our region afloat — figuratively and literally.

http://www.miamiherald.com/opinion/e...le2312707.html

Read more here: http://www.miamiherald.com/opinion/e...#storylink=cpy

South Florida climate change summit opens


By David Fleshler,Sun Sentinel contact the reporter

South Florida climate change summit opened Wednesday
President Obama's top environmental advisers comes to South Florida to discuss climate change

South Florida leaders gathered Wednesday in Miami Beach with top federal environmental officials to discuss how to deal with rising sea levels and the other effects of climate change.

The sixth annual Southeast Florida Climate Leadership Summit opened Wednesday at the Miami Beach Convention Center, with representatives from Broward, Miami-Dade, Monroe, and Palm Beach.


A driver in Las Olas Isles is forced through a puddle at Coral Way on Oct. 16, 2013, during the area's annual high tides. (Joe Cavaretta / Sun Sentinel)


Miami Beach Mayor Philip Levine, whose city is experiencing a growing problem with fair-weather flooding from high tides, called on the nation to get past the political debates over climate change and face the hard evidence that the oceans are rising.

"When the water rises, it doesn't care if you're a Republican or a Democrat, conservative or liberal, black or Hispanic," he said.

To keep its streets dry, his city is installing special valves to prevent seawater from flowing up through storm sewers, and has plans to add 60 pumps, including three on an emergency basis on lower Alton Road, which experiences severe tidal flooding

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Calling the rising ocean a historic challenge to this generation, he invoked Winston Churchill's famous words in rallying the British to fight the Nazis ("We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets.")

While Miami Beach is famous for its tourist attractions, he said, "We want to be known and remembered for something else – as a city that cared enough to secure its future."

Coastal flooding getting worseOPEN LINK

The summit comes at the time of the annual king tides, seasonal high tides that flood parts of coastal areas such as the Las Olas Isles section of Fort Lauderdale, the Lakes section of Hollywood and several areas of Miami Beach. These tides give a hint of what the region could face year-round, with a few inches of sea-level rise.

Sea levels have risen about nine inches in the past century. Estimates of future sea-level rise vary greatly, but the four southeast Florida counties are working from estimates from federal agents that predict increases of three to seven inches by 2030 and nine inches to two feet by 2060.

South Florida's flat landscape makes the region particularly vulnerable, compared to many other coastal areas, such as California, where the land elevation rises sharply from the ocean.

Among the speakers will be President Obama's top environmental advisers. They are Mike Boots, acting chair of the White House Council on Environmental Quality, and John Holdren, director of the White House Office of Science and Technology Policy.

http://www.sun-sentinel.com/local/pa...001-story.html

Is Alaska the new Florida? Experts predict where next for America's ...

The Guardian-Sep 27, 2014
Alaska will be the next Florida by the end of the century, predicts a climate change expert. Photograph: Anchorage Daily News/MCT via Getty ...

How Should Our Buildings Adapt to Florida’s Rising Sea Levels?

By: Alastair Gordon

As sea levels rise and Florida sinks, how should our buildings adapt? The new Perez Art Museum Miami points the way.


Part of Florida’s inherent mythology is a world of underwater fantasy that used to be sold to tourists as an alternative reality to the miseries of Northern winters and boring, 9-to-5 jobs. The view through glass-bottomed boats, diving bells, extravagant water follies, swimming-pool balletics, alligator wrestling and dolphin shows offered a comforting kind of subaqueous suspension.

The Biltmore Hotel opened in Coral Gables in 1926 with the biggest swimming pool in the world (255 feet by 150 feet), an inland sea surrounded by Pompeii-style arcades and neoclassical statues.

There were tea dances and aquatic ballets on Sunday afternoons, and people crowded around the pool to watch Esther Williams and her synchronized aquanettes.

A pre-Tarzan Johnny Weissmuller was the swimming instructor, and little Jackie Ott dove like an osprey from an 85-foot-high tower.

In the late 1930s, the town of Silver Springs promoted the charms of its crystal-clear waters by publishing photographs of a variety of events taking place underwater: men mowing the lawn, playing poker or golf; young women talking on the phone or reading the newspaper—a surreal kind of mainstream America, submerged. In 1956, Morris Lapidus, master architect of postwar Miami, designed a circular bar beneath the swimming pool of the Eden Roc Hotel with portholes so that inebriated males could watch aquatic dancers from below, half-naked, kicking and turning in the water to a musical score that couldn’t be heard.

All of these attractions seem quaintly anachronistic and politically incorrect today, but they provided a playfully erotic Atlantis in which everyday rituals—chatting on the phone, combing hair—appeared magical for being performed by pretty mermaids in slow, drifting motions. At Weeki Wachee Springs near Spring Hill, the audience sat back in comfortable amphitheater seats and watched the topsy-turvy world of aquatic wonders unfold through thick panes of tempered glass—fin-tailed beauties posing among faux ruins of a classical Roman city—and forgot all about their everyday worries.

However trivial and seemingly banal these water shows seem now, they foreshadowed another new kind of underwater realm in which actual buildings, actual cities, would one day be submerged beneath the sea, a grander, darker version of Weeki Wachee Springs.

“Goodbye, Miami,” an alarming article written by Jeff Goodell for Rolling Stone magazine (June 2013) begins by painting a scene of a partially submerged Miami circa 2030 (only 16 years from now): “A dead manatee floated in the pool where Elvis had once swam… a crocodile nested in the ruins of the Perez Art Museum…” A three-foot rise in sea level will submerge more than a third of southern Florida, according to Goodell. “If the seas rise 12 feet,” he writes, “South Florida will be little more than an isolated archipelago surrounded by abandoned buildings and crumbling overpasses.”

Florida is the flattest, lowest state in the United States and has recently become the poster child for climate change, the New Atlantis. According to experts, the region is under imminent threat, wedged as it is between the Atlantic on one side and the Gulf of Mexico on the other. (Many of Sarasota’s own iconic buildings were built on low-lying spits of sand that will most likely be the first to go.)

Sugarloaf Mountain, near the town of Clermont—and hardly a mountain at 312 feet—is considered the highest point, but much of the state, especially around Miami, lies less than five feet above sea level.

A map recently published by National Geographic shows what North America might look like after the polar ice caps have melted. Coastal areas along the east coast will be entirely underwater and Florida—the entire peninsula, including Sugarloaf—is not even on the map.

“Miami, as we know it today, is doomed,” says Harold Wanless, chairman of the department of geological sciences at University of Miami. “It’s not a question of if. It’s a question of when.” Wanless and other scientists predict that by 2030, the sea may have risen more than two feet and as much as six feet by 2100.

“This is ground zero for sea-level rise,” warned U.S. Sen. Bill Nelson, who hosted a hearing in Miami Beach on Earth Day last April. More than $1.5 billion has already been allocated for projects designed to hold back the rising tides. Dutch flood experts have been flown in to consult on the matter, and Broward County enacted a climate change master plan, but all of this may be in vain, a case of too little, too late.

Despite the dire predictions, investors and developers in Miami and other coastal cities seem to have missed the memo. With speedy profits in mind, they’ve been lulled into mass denial and continue to build higher and more elaborate structures in a place that may, one day, be a sunken city. Instead of sober resolve, there’s an intoxicated, end-of-the-world giddiness to new development that, regrettably, matches the area’s stereotypical image of sybaritic excess. Party hard and live for today! Forget about the drowning future. Miami Goes Wild, reads the wet T-shirt of today. Of course, it doesn’t help that many of the state’s political leaders—including Gov. Rick Scott, Republican U.S. Sen. Marco Rubio and former Gov. Jeb Bush—continue to insist that climate change is a myth conjured up by a liberal conspiracy.

Money speaks louder than scientific fact. Real estate is booming.

Wildcat investments are pouring in from South America, Europe, Russia and the Far East. Virtually every block along Miami Beach has a new project under construction, and the skyline of downtown Miami bristles with glassy new high-rise buildings that appear to have been dropped into place like so many alien entities. Architecture with a capital “A” is exploited as a mighty marketing tool, with riotous forms and oversized balconies that expand giddily into fleckless blue skies.

Illustration by Rob Jones

As Miami rises higher, the city continues to sink at alarming rates. On any given day, you can find areas that are already under water, depending on the tide and lunar cycle. Sub-level garages and residential basements are regularly flooded. Fresh water is being contaminated as sewage gets displaced by seawater. Storm drains are overflowing and can’t handle the saltwater that bubbles up through the porous limestone aquifer. During the full moon, small rain puddles expand into lagoons that stretch along the lower sections of Alton Road while the undercarriages of Bentleys and Maseratis corrode in the brackish soup.


Over the past few years, an A-list of star architects descended upon Miami, offering oddly pale and bone-like monuments to the doomed city, such as the 60-story “exoskeleton” tower by Zaha Hadid; a luxury condo tower by Sir Norman Foster; glass cubes with breakaway walls by Richard Meier (at the Surf Club); twin towers—something like dueling tornados—in Coconut Grove by Danish architect Bjarke Ingels—to name a few high-profile projects.

The old Miami Herald building was recently demolished to make way for Resorts World’s $3.1-billion “city-within-a-city” (by Miami-based Architectonica), and pushes the denial to an even grander, more ludicrous scale. The Malaysian-backed project is being built right on the city’s endangered waterfront and features blob-like forms that appear hyperinflated with helium. It’s all beginning to feel spookily like a Pompeian bacchanal.

Presented as they are in CAD (Computer Animated Design), so many of these proposed structures have an overlit, airless quality. In a CAD rendering for one new tower, a single heroic figure wearing a white linen suit stands in silhouette on a cantilevered balcony, sipping a mojito and watching the sunset over Biscayne Bay. He is the Architect, the new Howard Roark, oblivious and unaware of the rising waters and social unrest brewing down below. Within this sunny, plenoptic Fountainhead, the moody charcoal chiaroscuro that Hugh Ferriss popularized in his Depression-era renderings of a future New York has been replaced by a shadowless empire awash in waves of translucent blue pixels.

Instead of denial or full-scale panic, architects, developers, environmental and urban planners, scientists and, yes, poets need to be looking for solutions that are both practically and metaphorically viable. (Unfortunately, without the right set of metaphors, true change is impossible.)

There are a few architectural exceptions to the rule, one being the recently opened Perez Art Museum Miami (PAMM), in which the Swiss firm of Herzog & De Mueron managed to create an inspiring civic space while acknowledging the city’s precarious narrative with low-key design based in part on environmental conditions—hurricane winds, flood, climate change—and paying homage to both the human culture and natural ecology of
the place.

I grew up on the eastern shores of Long Island, N.Y., a low-lying sandy area (not unlike Sarasota) that became known in the postwar era for its radical artists (Jackson Pollock, Willem de Kooning, Robert Motherwell, etc.) and experimental architecture. My first book, Weekend Utopia, was a personalized survey of escape houses built during the 1950s and 1960s by architects such as Peter Blake, Andrew Geller, Tony Smith and George Nelson. Their designs were highly sculptural and often whimsical in form, but were small, inexpensive and easy to maintain—unlike so many of the trophy houses built in recent years by New York billionaires.

The earlier houses—tiny in comparison, often less than 1,000 square feet in plan—provided simple summer pleasures: a direct connection with the sea and sky, large sun decks, bunk beds, outdoor showers, swimming, beach picnics and a kind of family unity that came from sharing small spaces. The houses stood out boldly on their waterfront sites, perched high enough on locust posts to withstand hurricanes, Nor’easters and seasonal flooding. Their footprints took up only a fraction of the designated building lot. For me, these all seemed like basic truths that could be applied to a broader kind of sustainable architecture.

Raising the bar for all of Florida, the 120,000-square-foot Perez Art Museum hovers lightly above Biscayne Bay with a humility that is uncharacteristic for this city of architectural hubris.

Early proposals showed pyramidal forms with stacked slabs rising vertically, as if to compete with the skyscrapers of downtown Miami, but such temptations were resisted by the architects; and the end result is an airy assemblage of screens, slender columns, scrims and cubic volumes (containing art galleries) that float between a wooden roof “trellis” above and cantilevered terraces below.

“Museums work better when they’re horizontal,” says Jacques Herzog, who makes it a practice to immerse himself in the context of every site he works on, conducting in-depth research into historic and environmental conditions. In this case, he studied South Florida’s vegetation as well as local building styles, and found inspiration in mangrove swamps and how the mangrove plants were able to grow in salt water, a fitting reference for a waterside museum. He also discovered Stiltsville, a unique little community of self-built bungalows that sit high on wooden pylons in the middle of Biscayne Bay. Stiltsville became a touchstone and operative metaphor throughout the design process: simple, indigenous forms rising cautiously above the water.

Cast concrete forms are complemented by a series of hanging “gardens” that surround the museum, dangling from the roof like ropes of Spanish moss or the air roots of a banyan tree. Columns and peripheral plantings were designed by French garden artist Patrick Blanc, who used 54,700 plants and 77 local species, including an exotic mix of salvia, parlor palms, begonia and silver-leafed Artemisia, all lushly sprouting so that the museum begins to resemble an overgrown ruin, a kind of monumental chia pet with multiple trunks and dangling air roots. All parts of the facility were designed to withstand Category 4 hurricanes and severe, 100-year flooding.

The museum doesn’t scream out for attention like so many other recent buildings. From the water it almost disappears, blending into its setting without disrupting the messy urban vitality and natural beauty of the site at the intersection of Northeast 11th Street, Biscayne Boulevard and the MacArthur Causeway. The sea-flecked light is voluptuous, sparkling, almost iridescent with inlets and ocean on one side, skyscrapers and sprawling urban infrastructure on the other, at the very crux of a convergence between nature and commerce, and the architecture seems just right: subtle and porous but distinct in character while accommodating a wildly uncertain future. Cars and people movers whiz past; cruise ships come and go through Government Cut; tankers unload at the adjacent Port of Miami; and jetliners stream overhead, making their final descent into Miami International.

Alastair Gordon, a contributing editor for architecture and design at WSJ, theWall Street Journal magazine, also publishes the Wall-to-Wall blog. An award-winning author, critic, curator and filmmaker, he will be a featured speaker at the SarasotaMOD weekend taking place Oct. 9-12.
This article appears in the October 2014 issue of Sarasota Magazine.

http://sarasotamagazine.com/blog/201...ng-sea-levels/

Climate Change Worries Drive South Florida 51st State Plan
ovExec.com
This means that a rising sea level affects more than just the coastal areas, as water rises up through the permeable bedrock and affects drainage ...

http://www.alipac.us/f19/officials-w...-state-313196/