I don't know about you, but it's almost too hot to think right now. Oh, it looks lovely outside (if you're safely inside, with air conditioning), but step out the door and it's like walking into a blast furnace. You can feel your lungs shrivel in protest as the hot air hits.
Listen to people who've lived here for a long time, and you'd think 40 C weather in Ashcroft in summer was as common as dandelions in May. I've only lived here 27 years, and I can tell you it's not. Yes, it gets hot here — after all, we're in a desert, as countless people will remind you — but temperatures of 40 C are simply nowhere near the norm.
Don't believe me? In 2023, Ashcroft didn't break the 40 C mark once. The mean daily maximum temperature for Ashcroft in July is 28 C (take the maximum daily temperature for each day in July, add them together, and divide by 31 to get the mean daily maximum). I'm not great at math, but 40 C is a lot hotter than 28 C.
(I use official Environment Canada/meteorological data when I talk about temperatures, which not everyone does: I see any number of comments along the lines of "It was hotter on my back deck" or "It was a lot hotter than this when I was a kid." Unless you have actual official data to back you up, no, it probably wasn't.)
Also popular? Grumbles about semantics. "Heat waves? Heat domes? When I was a kid we just called it hot!" I'm of the firm belief that words have specific meanings, and that when meteorologists use a phrase like "heat wave" they are trying to indicate something very precise.
Take the phrase "extreme heat" as an example. For some reason, that seems to raise the ire of a good many people, and I'm not entirely sure why. When a warning about extreme heat goes out, the people issuing the warning are trying to indicate that what's coming merits more than a breezy "It's going to be a hot one, folks, so keep cool!" Extreme heat kills people. In 2019, 619 British Columbians lost their lives because of extreme heat, and for that reason the phrase — cautioning people that this is serious — has a specific meaning.
Issuing such a warning isn't something anyone takes lightly. We're all familiar with "crying wolf" syndrome, so meteorologists are walking a very fine line, not wanting to downplay things but not wanting to go too far the other way, either, and risk people tuning out or shrugging it off when people aren't dropping like flies.
The truth is, of course, that all the warnings in the world won't keep everyone safe, which I found out to my cost in Lytton on June 30. I was there for the third anniversary of the 2021 wildfire, and — despite having written about the risks of extreme heat, and having lived here for the aforementioned 27 years — I spent too much time in the direct sun taking pictures, failed to have some water on hand, and collapsed from heat exhaustion. One minute I was standing under a tree feeling extremely poorly; the next thing I knew I was on the ground with several first responders around me, one of whom was saying "Her lips are blue, check her pulse," which isn't what you want to hear someone say about you.
Thank goodness there were kind people around who saw what happened and helped me out immediately, otherwise it could have been a lot worse. It was a chastening lesson, however, about what heat can do to a person (and the high in Lytton that day was only 32 C).
To recap, then: 40 C is not normal for Ashcroft in July, extreme heat is a very real thing that can kill you, and even someone who should know better is not immune to heat exhaustion. If you love the heat: great! Me? I'll be hunkered down by the AC unit, with plenty of water on hand. I've learned my lesson.
