Actually, to quit the click-baiting, it is Dr. Roy Spencer’s site which is specifically degraded by Google, which has the utter audacity to call it “unreliable and harmful”. Dr. Spencer does a fine job of explaining his situation:

Personally, I am far more irate than Dr. Spencer appears to be. I hardly know where to start. Some behavior is so outrageous one tends to sputter, unable to articulate their indignation, and Google’s absurd and basically juvenile behavior prompts that response in me.

To begin with, the UAH temperature record has been an island of reliability in a maelstrom of bias, for decades. Spencer and Christi had to put up with uproars from Alarmists each time the temperatures sank, and uproars from Skeptics each time temperatures rose. Through all the bludgeoning criticism, (one time they arrived at work to find a bullet hole in the plate-glass window of their office, several stories up in an office building,) they have been open and honest, and rather than fighting critics they actually seemed interested and inquiring. A few times over the past 43 years they even decided certain, specific criticisms had merit, and tweaked their formula at arriving at a “world-average-temperature”. This of course created further outrage, and sparked worries that they were “selling out”, but they were scrupulously open and above-board when they made adjustments, and swift to answer all questions and share all their calculations. (NOAA and NASA have not been so above-board about their “adjustments”.) Consequently, the UAH temperature record has become a trusted go-to resource for those interested in the world’s weather, and how the climate is fluctuating.

The primary criticism of UAH has been that temperature alone is not an adequate measure to use, in determining if the planet is heating, because water vapor distorts how much energy is involved in raising a parcel of air one degree, having differing powers at various locations. For example, a teaspoon of water turned into vapor would raise the temperature of a square meter of air far more at the Pole, at -40 degrees C, than that same teaspoon would do at the equator, at +35 degrees C. Most of the recent warming has occurred over the Poles. Perhaps air over the oceans is more moist, due to the PDO and AMO being in “warm” cycles, and therefore subpolar regions are more able to affect the Poles with moisture. However, the critical debate which this sparks is not banned by Spencer, and actually occurs at his site. Lastly, his numbers are not tweaked in any sort of nefarious way to arrive at a result he desires, but simply are what they are, with weaknesses and strengths in plain sight for everyone to see.

The situation was quite different at NASA, where James Hansen tweaked temperatures over a period of two decades in order to create a graph which confirmed his biased belief in Global Warming, and also conformed to his political puppeteer’s tugging at his strings of funding.

Charts from

(Hansen apparently achieved this tweaking by going over the data collected by observers over the past 150 years and deeming certain observers unacceptable or unreliable, while others were allowed.)

Objective onlookers obviously regard Hansen’s records with a cocked eyebrow, while Spencer and Christi’s UAH record is regarded with respect, and as being more “reliable.”

The concern is not that Spenser is “unreliable”, but rather that Google is “unreliable.” If you worry about others falling from God’s grace into a hellhole, one should not worry about Spenser, but about the souls of Google goons.

In spiritual terms, to embrace the false is a complete disaster, for what you are embracing is not real; in the end it is a nothing. By definition, the false is not true; it is not real. Therefore, when people say, “The ends justify the means”, and use that motto as an excuse for their own dishonesty, the ones they are fooling most are themselves. What they clutch is a shadow, a zero with no substance.

Falsehood may appear to pay off in the short term. For example, the tough (but not particularly spiritual) baseball player and manager Leo Durocher purportedly stated, “Nice guys finish last,” but, in the end, Jesus stated, “The last will be first.” Therefore, in the end, “Nice guys finish first.”

The poor “useful idiots” at Google think they are winners by tweaking their search engines in ways that cloud the Truth, but what they are doing, by making Truth harder to find, is embracing falsehood. It will not end well for them.

For all the shortcomings the UAH temperature record may have, it attempts to be true, and therefore is a reliable metric, in terms of what it measures. Science is the effort of imperfect people to grasp a perfect Truth, and as long as they never dishonor Truth, scientists stand with saints. Spenser does not deserve the disrespect Google smears him with.

LOCAL VIEW –Thirst Speaks–

Weather is unfair. Some get rain and some don’t. There is nothing particularly evil about this unfairness. It is just how the Creator made creation. Sometimes you get a bumper crop, and sometimes you are lucky to get a single turnip. The politicians in Washington can legislate all they want, but they aren’t going to alter the fall of raindrops from the clouds. Prayer might work, but legislation doesn’t.

One interesting thing about droughts is that they tend to perpetuate themselves. The dryness creates hotter temperatures which deflect moisture around the periphery of the core. This is quite obvious when the drought is gigantic, as the Dust Bowl was in 1936, but even in the cases of smaller and more local droughts rain has a strange propensity to snub those who need it most.

A current drought afflicts southern Vermont and New Hampshire, along their borders with Massachusetts, and today it was uncanny how the thunderstorms, moving east to west, avoided the lands that thirsted most. There were flash flood warnings blaring from the weather radio, as we dealt with dust. Here is a radar map of rain from this afternoon.

The impressive storms south of Boston and Albany and over Springfield were moving west to east, as were the string of lesser showers to the north approaching Concord. But most irksome to me was the storm right on the Massachusetts-New Hampshire border, approaching the coast. It was a cluster that had looked hopeful as it entered Vermont in the morning, but “dried up” and vanished from the radar as it crossed over me, and only reappeared and blew up to a big thunderstorm as it neared Portsmouth on the coast. Is that fair?

I know, even as I grouse about the extra work I must do watering my plants, that it is fair. The actions and reactions of nature are not only fair, they are beautiful. They are incredible harmony, and the only reason we complain is because we are not in harmony with the harmony. We have our own specific desires that are blind. For example, I transplanted some wet, cucumber seedlings into dusty soil, and failed to immediately water them, and the next day it was too late; they had withered and watering didn’t revive them. Never in my experience have cucumber seedlings needed to be watered so immediately; this June is “A First”. However I didn’t blame the drought; I blamed my inability to adapt to the “sumptuous variety of New England weather”. The weather itself is fair; what is unfair is our responses to it.

Sunday is suppose to be a Day Of Rest, and therefore I suppose working in my garden makes me a sinner, but I tried to lessen the eventual penalty I must pay by making my work into a sort of worship. Rather than cursing the drought I was praising the Creator for the amazing variety that makes my fingerprints different from all others, and also makes every summer unique. Not that I didn’t hope for rain. I hunched my eyebrows to the west, seeking the cumulus that was building.

Storms can build up from innocent-looking cumulus with surprising speed. In fact the vast expenditure needed to create the Doppler Radar produced images which shocked the indoors meteorologists who lobbied for it, which leads me to a bit of a sidetrack.

Back in those days congress didn’t just print money when they needed it, and they told the indoors meteorologists they needed to cut their budget in some areas before they would fund the expensive Doppler Radar. So what the indoor meteorologists did was to fire hundreds of outdoors weather-observers. They figured it was worth it, for they figured Doppler Radar would allow them to track individual thunderstorms in the manner that individual hurricanes were tracked. But what the Doppler Radar revealed was that there is no such thing as “an individual thunderstorm”. A storm was a “complex” of updrafts and down-bursts, forming “cells” of various types, sometimes fighting each other and sometimes assisting each other. The Doppler Radar revealed that, rather than a swirl like a hurricane that could be tracked, a thunder storm was a pulsating blob that made dividing amoebas look dull: breaking in two or into three, or becoming mega-cells, or vanishing, in a manner which was basically impossible to predict, from indoors. What was needed was outdoors observers, but those good people had been fired to save money. It was sort of funny to watch how the indoors meteorologists tried to save face. They made it sound like they were doing the public a favor by enlisting them as “volunteer” observers, called “spotters”. A job taxpayers once payed for is now done for free, but you get what you pay for. Around here a “spotter” caused complete chaos in early June by thinking a shred of cloud was a tornado. I’d take an old-fashioned outdoors observer any day, as some had decades of experience.

A further disrespect towards the old outdoors observers involves indoors meteorologists “correcting” the records they kept. Dr. James Hanson was notorious for such fudging of facts. I think it was done to make modern “Global Warming” look worse than the murderous heat and drought of 1936, but that gets us into politics, and it is unwise to go there.

I’d do the job, if only the indoors meteorologists would get off their high horses and confess Doppler Radar only proved they were ignorant. They closed hundreds of valuable stations, run by valuable outdoor observers, to get a gadget that basically tells you a thunderstorm is bad after it already is bad. An outdoor observer can do the same. But hell if I’ll do it if the people I do the favor for behave as if they are doing me the favor. The fact of the matter is they are not God, they have no control of the weather, and it is far better to be humble in such a situation than puff your ego on a high horse.

Not that I blame them for liking Doppler Radar. It is a cool gadget. Another cool gadget tells you just when lightning bolts hit, and even when you can expect to hear the thunder. I actually like this particular gadget more than Doppler Radar, for it will inform you the moment a ordinary shower becomes a thunder shower. You can even set it to make an audible click, the moment a nearby cloud first makes a bolt. This gadget produced the map below, as the Doppler Radar produced the map above.

This is a wonderful gadget, because, when you focus in on your local area, it not only shows you where the flash you just saw, arriving in your eyes at the speed-of-light, hit he ground, but also shows you a slowly enlarging circle, expanding at the-speed-of-sound, to tell you when to expect to hear the thunder. However even this gadget has its weakness. As an outdoors observer, engrossed with worshipful weeding of my garden on Sunday, I noticed I was hearing thunder this gadget didn’t admit existed.

The reason I could hear such thunder was obvious to me, although I am no Sherlock Holmes. Not all lightning hits the ground, but such lightning makes thunder. A storm can shoot bolts cloud to cloud, ten or even twenty miles from it’s core. Soft, cloud-to-cloud thunder can be heard by outside observers like me, even when gadgets are deaf.

I was in some ways glad it didn’t rain, as I had to weed the beans, and you can’t weed beans in a wet situation because doing so causes problems with a virus attacking the bean’s leaves. (No, it is not the Corona Virus and no, you don’t need to wear a mask. You simply weed when the leaves are dry).

Although drought may be good for beans when you weed them, after weeding they thirst for water. I had to water some flats of seedlings I intend to soon transplant, even as soft thunder muttered from both the north and south. The carrots and tomatoes were crying out for weeding, but I had to water first. It isn’t fair, but is just is how things are. And I eventually did weed some carrots and all the tomatoes, and also the peppers, as daylight faded and you actually could see the lightning to the north and the lightning to the south, which went along with the soft sky thunder. Yet still we remained dry.

As the late day June sun settled and the mosquitoes came out I decided enough worship was enough, and headed to my front stoop to relax with a worshipful beer. And it was then I felt I became a most blessed outdoors observer. I was witnessing stuff Doppler Radar misses.

Some storm to the south was a little closer than the others. The thunder was still soft, but a few flashes of lightning seemed brighter. And then I noticed, against slow moving higher clouds, speeding scud.

There was hardly a draft down where I sat, but the outflow of distant storms produced a wind, around a thousand feet up, of marvelous speed. (I can’t recall ever seeing scud moving so fast, outside of hurricanes). With an imagination like mine it was easy to see an angel on a speeding horse.

What this outflow did was to uplift a local cloud just enough to make it shower. At first it was just a few big drops, platting here or there, but then it became a soft roar in the crisp June foliage of parched trees, at first far away like a whisper, but then edging and sidling closer, until a brief down-burst hit the stoop I hearkened from.

In India they celebrate a monsoon’s first rain. The evening chorus of songbirds hushed at the approach of a downpour in a drought. It began as a sigh on the very edge of hearing, but became an approaching roar. All became giddy in a way only drought knows. My wife came out and stood beside me as the flooding baptism approached, and then began splatting fat, warm droplets down in a way that raised tiny clouds of the dust it pelted. And then all too soon the sigh faded away through the darkening trees. I looked up through parting clouds and saw the high heavens feathered with sunset’s crimson cirrus.

Through parched trees comes the sigh of marching rain,
And even evening birds bow heads, made mute
With gratitude. The drenched do not complain
For it’s been so dry that sunbeams refute
Green growing, and, as first fat drops pelt
The dirt, small puffs of dust are arising,
And now the sigh surrounds. I once felt
This way when a kiss brought a surprising
End to loneliness. But this shower’s brief
And already the soft sigh slides away
Through dimming evening; sweet mercy’s relief
Fades to memory’s grief, and dripping leaves pray
The way men pray when they confess they lack:
“Oh Lord, come back. Come back. Come back.”



On Monday we got a mini-monsoon. The heat encouraged a general updraft to form a weak low over southern Maine, which sucked cool and moist maritime air inland and then south towards us, where it clashed with muggy air. At first the showers continued to dry up, as radar showed them approaching, but thunder thumped all around, and finally we got a few more showers. Around sixty miles to our south one locale got four inches and suffered wash-outs, but for the most part we dripped in a delightful summer drizzle. Who would ever think I could delight in drizzle?