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Moreover, the argument that you can't work around the intermittent nature of wind, or that if you could it would be pointless to do so, rather leaves out the case of Denmark, which already gets 27 percent of its energy from renewables, almost all wind, against a target-to-date of 20 percent. On windy days, the capacity often goes up to 50 percent in the western part of the country. Curiously, this causes problems of its own, quite the reverse of the "how are we going to burn our toast if the wind doesn't blow" conundrum. The problem, rather, is an oversupply.

It arises because much of the rest of Denmark's generating capacity comes from coal-fired thermal generators. These are relatively inflexible—slow to fire up, slow and expensive to spin down. Under normal loads, there is always need for a reserve of backup power; this reserve is usually about 20 percent, or in the Danish case, about the size of the single largest coal-fired plant. It is used to balance the variations in the wind output, and to counterbalance the minute by minute variations in demand. But what to do with overcapacity, or oversupply? What the Danes do is offload the surplus to neighboring Norway, whose generating system is 99 percent hydro, which is fairly easy and relatively cheap to spin down. Norway takes the surplus, relieving the pressure on the Danish system.

It all comes down to costs. But how to measure the true costs? By annual revenues accruing to operators? By tax revenues forgone? Or by some more indirect measurement? What are the true costs of building turbines in pristine places? Costs to the serenity of the environment, to scenic beauty, to quality of life? To the value of privately owned land that abuts wind farms? What are the costs of not building them? How to measure the costs to the environment of not heading off climate change and global warming if we can?

"You can't have your cake and eat it too." Gary Gallon, who writes a newsletter for the Canadian Institute for Business and the Environment, cheerfully trots out the cliche. "You can't say no coal, no oil-fired electricity, unless you can provide an alternative, more benign energy source."

As Elinor Burkett put it: "To [environmentalists] the national illusion that you can have electricity, clean air, a stable climate and independence from foreign oil without paying a steep price is ludicrous. In fact, in late April [2003], part of the price Cape Cod is already paying began washing up on its shores. En route to a power plant in Sandwich, on the northwest corner of the Cape, a leaking barge spilled 98,000 gallons of oil into Buzzards Bay. Shellfish beds were closed for a month. At least 370 birds died; 93 miles of coastline were tainted by thick globs of black oil."31

None of the windpower proponents could be caught saying "I told you so." They are far too media savvy for that. But an undercurrent of complacency nevertheless crept into their communications afterward. They clearly felt that the dirty calculus of industrialization would continue to do their work for them, providing for the contemplation of the electorate endless evil examples of pollution and degradation of the environment. After a while—you could hear them thinking—we won't have to sell wind power anymore. Its need will become self-evident.

Epilogue

Ivan's dangerous death throes and its perversely complicated demise: By the time Ivan crossed the New Jersey shore into the Atlantic, it had been reduced to a posttropical disturbance, and the U.S. Hurricane Center lost interest, discontinuing their public advisories. They were turning their attention to Hurricane Karl, then apparently heading harmlessly (except of course to mariners) into the central Atlantic, and tropical storms Jeanne and Lisa, either of which could develop a temperament as nasty and unpredictable as Ivan's.

But, as it turned out, consigning Ivan to the archives was a little premature. In the movies, what happened next would either be called Ivan 2, or, The Return of