Tambora: The Eruption That Changed the World by Gillen D'Arcy Wood
Authors: Gillen D'Arcy Wood
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INTRODUCTION
FRANKENSTEIN’S WEATHER
The War of Independence between Britain and America provisionally ended with the Treaty of Paris in December 1783. But official ratification of the peace accord was delayed for months by a mix of political logistics and persistent bad weather. The makeshift U.S. capital in Annapolis, Maryland, was snowbound, preventing assembly of congressional delegates to ratify the treaty, while storms and ice across the Atlantic slowed communications between the two governments. At last, on May 13, 1784, Benjamin Franklin, wrangling matters in Paris, was able to send the treaty, signed by King George himself, to the Congress.
Even while scrambling to bring the warring parties to terms, Franklin—tireless and mercurial—found time to reflect on the altered climate of 1783–84 that had played such a complicating role in recent events. “There seems to be a region high in the air over all countries where it is always winter,” he wrote. But perhaps the “universal fog” and cold that had descended from the atmosphere to blanket all Europe might be attributed to volcanic activity, specifically an eruption in nearby Iceland. 1
Franklin’s “Meteorological Imaginations and Conjectures” amounts to no more than a few pages of disconnected thoughts, scribbled amid a high-stakes diplomatic drama. The paper’s unlikely fame as a scientific document rests on its being the first published speculation on the link between volcanism and extreme weather. Franklin hastily sent hispaper on meteorology to Manchester, where the local Philosophical Society had awarded him honorary membership. On December 22, 1784, the president of the society rose to speak on Franklin’s behalf. No doubt dismayed at the paper’s thinness, he had no choice but to read the “conjectures” of the society’s celebrated new member to the crowded assembly. There, in a freezing Manchester public hall, the theory that volcanic eruptions are capable of wreaking climate havoc was given its first public utterance.
No one believed it for a moment. Even as the hall emptied, Franklin’s idea had entered the long oblivion of prematurely announced truths. But, of course, he was right. The eruption of the Iceland volcano Laki in June 1783 brought abrupt cooling, crop failures, and misery to Europe the following year, and created dangerously icy conditions for Atlantic shipping. Even so, Laki did not go global. Latitude is critical to the relation between volcanic eruptions and climate. As a high northern volcano, Laki’s ejecta did not penetrate the trans-hemispheric currents of the planet’s climate system, and its meteorological impacts were confined to the North Atlantic and Europe.
Two hundred years ago, no one—not even Benjamin Franklin—had grasped the potential global impact of volcanic emissions from the tropics , where, two decades after Laki, planet Earth’s greatest eruption of the millennium took place. When Mount Tambora—located on Sumbawa Island in the East Indies—blew itself up with apocalyptic force in April 1815, no one linked that single, barely reported geological event with the cascading worldwide weather disasters in its three-year wake.
Within weeks, Tambora’s stratospheric ash cloud had circled the planet at the equator, from where it embarked on a slow-moving sabotage of the global climate system at all latitudes. Five months after the eruption, in September 1815, meteorological enthusiast Thomas Forster observed strange, spectacular sunsets over Tunbridge Wells near London. “Fair dry day,” he wrote in his weather diary—but “at sunset a fine red blush marked by diverging red and blue bars.” 2 Artists across Europe took note of the changed atmosphere. William Turner drew vivid red skyscapes that, in their coloristic abstraction, seem like an advertisement for the future of art. Meanwhile, from his studio on Greifswald Harbor in Germany, Caspar David Friedrich painted a sky with a chromic
FRANKENSTEIN’S WEATHER
The War of Independence between Britain and America provisionally ended with the Treaty of Paris in December 1783. But official ratification of the peace accord was delayed for months by a mix of political logistics and persistent bad weather. The makeshift U.S. capital in Annapolis, Maryland, was snowbound, preventing assembly of congressional delegates to ratify the treaty, while storms and ice across the Atlantic slowed communications between the two governments. At last, on May 13, 1784, Benjamin Franklin, wrangling matters in Paris, was able to send the treaty, signed by King George himself, to the Congress.
Even while scrambling to bring the warring parties to terms, Franklin—tireless and mercurial—found time to reflect on the altered climate of 1783–84 that had played such a complicating role in recent events. “There seems to be a region high in the air over all countries where it is always winter,” he wrote. But perhaps the “universal fog” and cold that had descended from the atmosphere to blanket all Europe might be attributed to volcanic activity, specifically an eruption in nearby Iceland. 1
Franklin’s “Meteorological Imaginations and Conjectures” amounts to no more than a few pages of disconnected thoughts, scribbled amid a high-stakes diplomatic drama. The paper’s unlikely fame as a scientific document rests on its being the first published speculation on the link between volcanism and extreme weather. Franklin hastily sent hispaper on meteorology to Manchester, where the local Philosophical Society had awarded him honorary membership. On December 22, 1784, the president of the society rose to speak on Franklin’s behalf. No doubt dismayed at the paper’s thinness, he had no choice but to read the “conjectures” of the society’s celebrated new member to the crowded assembly. There, in a freezing Manchester public hall, the theory that volcanic eruptions are capable of wreaking climate havoc was given its first public utterance.
No one believed it for a moment. Even as the hall emptied, Franklin’s idea had entered the long oblivion of prematurely announced truths. But, of course, he was right. The eruption of the Iceland volcano Laki in June 1783 brought abrupt cooling, crop failures, and misery to Europe the following year, and created dangerously icy conditions for Atlantic shipping. Even so, Laki did not go global. Latitude is critical to the relation between volcanic eruptions and climate. As a high northern volcano, Laki’s ejecta did not penetrate the trans-hemispheric currents of the planet’s climate system, and its meteorological impacts were confined to the North Atlantic and Europe.
Two hundred years ago, no one—not even Benjamin Franklin—had grasped the potential global impact of volcanic emissions from the tropics , where, two decades after Laki, planet Earth’s greatest eruption of the millennium took place. When Mount Tambora—located on Sumbawa Island in the East Indies—blew itself up with apocalyptic force in April 1815, no one linked that single, barely reported geological event with the cascading worldwide weather disasters in its three-year wake.
Within weeks, Tambora’s stratospheric ash cloud had circled the planet at the equator, from where it embarked on a slow-moving sabotage of the global climate system at all latitudes. Five months after the eruption, in September 1815, meteorological enthusiast Thomas Forster observed strange, spectacular sunsets over Tunbridge Wells near London. “Fair dry day,” he wrote in his weather diary—but “at sunset a fine red blush marked by diverging red and blue bars.” 2 Artists across Europe took note of the changed atmosphere. William Turner drew vivid red skyscapes that, in their coloristic abstraction, seem like an advertisement for the future of art. Meanwhile, from his studio on Greifswald Harbor in Germany, Caspar David Friedrich painted a sky with a chromic
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