NYT/LA Times: Russians to mitigate Moscow snows
Dan Whaley
Russians plan to use cloud seeding to curtail heavy snowfall in Moscow
By Megan K. Stack
Tuesday, December 22, 2009; HE06
MOSCOW -- In the snow-hushed woods on Moscow's northern edge,
scientists are decades deep into research on bending the weather to
their will. They've been at it since Soviet dictator Josef Stalin
paused long enough in the throes of World War II to found an
observatory dedicated to tampering with climatic inconveniences.
Since then, they've melted away fog, dissipated the radioactive
fallout from Chernobyl and called down rains fierce enough to drown
unborn locusts threatening the distant northeastern grasslands.
Now they're poised to battle the most inevitable and emblematic force
of Russian winter: snow.
Moscow's government, led by powerful and long-reigning Mayor Yuri
Luzhkov, has indicated that clearing the capital's streets of snow is
simply too expensive. Instead, officials are weighing a plan to seed
the clouds with liquid nitrogen or dry ice to keep heavy snow from
falling inside the city limits.
Word of the proposal has sent a shudder through Moscow just as the
first dark, snowy days have fallen on the capital. It has also piqued
the surrounding region, which would receive the brunt of the displaced
snowfall, and has raised concerns among ecologists.
"I was very surprised because [the mayor] never even asked us," says
Alexei Yablokov, who sits on the mayor's ecological council and has
concerns about the proposal, including the environmental effects and
pressure on surrounding villages. "We never discussed it at all."
The city government says it still hasn't reached a decision. But
scientists at the Central Aerological Observatory say they are deep
into negotiations with authorities and expect the cloud-seeding plan
to go forward.
The city has hit upon a splendid idea, the scientists say. Laboring
against the uncomfortable sense that their observatory's import has
waned since its Soviet heyday, they are eager to unleash their many
and various technologies.
They already seed the clouds for political effect, clearing the skies
over Moscow twice a year to ensure sun-drenched celebrations of
patriotic holidays.
In Russia, nobody rains on the parade -- because the Russian
government doesn't allow it.
"Victory Day is the most sacred holiday for us," says Bagrat Danilian,
deputy chief of cloud seeding at the observatory. "When veterans go
out to celebrate in Moscow, we create good weather for them."
All it takes, he says, is sacks of cement -- 500-grade, to be precise.
Drop the powder down into the clouds, and they vanish.
Soviet scientists learned how to disperse clouds by accident 40 years
ago: They had flown overhead and dropped powdered blue paint into the
clouds to tag them for observation. Instead, the powder melted the
clouds away.
Danilian, 56, a dark-haired, solid man with a quick grin, was born to
an Armenian family in Soviet Georgia and studied physics at Tbilisi
State University. He moved to Moscow in 1979 to work for the
observatory and has been there ever since.
He is nostalgic for the Soviet era of experimentation. In those days,
when Danilian was younger and funding more plentiful, he was sent to
Vietnam, Cuba and Syria to study the clouds. He has flown into
hurricanes, bounced through airstreams and survived lightning strikes
on turboprop planes.
"You won't find a more interesting profession," he says
enthusiastically. "You can't compare it with anything. You just float
on your own adrenaline."
There is something almost godlike about interfering with the weather.
Some say it was a need to rationalize the whims of climate that
inspired the notion of deities in ancient times, and there is still an
inherent sense of helplessness before nature's force.
In much of the world, weather and cloud research is focused on
preventing hailstorms, tornadoes, droughts and the like. And Russia is
not the only country that has used science to ensure sunny public
holidays. In Beijing, clouds have been chased away from the Olympic
ceremonies and other celebrations.
But there is a certain nonchalance to the way Russians regard cloud
seeding. For a people accustomed to displays of great power, changing
the weather draws little interest.
"It's true that the attitude here is more positive, of course," says
Aleksandr Azarov, a senior scientist at the observatory. "If there's a
drought, who wouldn't pray to God for rain to fall?"
The cloud seeding is done in moderation, scientists insist.
"You shouldn't overstep the threshold over which the weather would
change globally," Danilian says. "We're trying to look for that
threshold in a very careful way."
Sometimes, despite their efforts, nature wins. And in one instance,
gravity did.
As the Russian air force toiled to chase the clouds out of town for
last year's independence day celebrations, a clump of cement tumbled
to earth instead of dissipating into the clouds. It crashed through
the roof of a house on Moscow's outskirts.
Rather than accept the $2,000 compensation offered by the military,
the homeowner huffed to reporters that she would file suit for "moral
suffering."
It's unlikely that Muscovites would ever agree to forgo snow
altogether. During the long, dark months of winter, the flicker of
clean snowflakes against the sky is one of the few recurrent graces,
creating a vast playground for children and briefly coating the drab
days in sparkling white.
But Luzhkov, the mayor, is prepared to choke off any particularly
massive snowfalls, which usually unleash battalions of plows, flanked
by armies of workers hoisting ice picks and shovels.
The city government believes it can save more than $13 million with
cloud seeding.
"In the movies, the snow looks very beautiful with St. Basil's
Cathedral in the background," says Azarov. "But this snow costs a
pretty penny to Moscow authorities."
-- Los Angeles Times