Heavy clouds were blowing overhead and a sprinkle of rain began to fall. This was a rain-enhancement opportunity. An assistant, wearing a round straw hat, ducked into the shed and began bringing out rockets, one by one, and loading them into the nearest launcher. He slid each one home, lining up the tailfins with slits in the firing tubes. The launcher held a half-dozen rockets at once.

Jing and his assistant swung the launcher around and cranked it skyward. Orders for modification begin with an advisory from the Beijing bureau to its district sub-bureaus, alerting them to a suitable weather system. The district offices mobilize the local stations and direct them to fire. Via cell phone, the station got the final orders: No firing today. Air traffic controllers, the ultimate authority, had vetoed the operation. “Lots of airplanes circle this area,” said Jing.

We retreated to the platform in the middle of the irrigation tank, where Jing had put out apricots and cherries. Rain fell on the canopy, and Jing poured hot mineral water from a thermos. He had originally been skeptical of modification, he said, but at least in the case of hail prevention, “it definitely works.” Pointing to an apricot, Jing added, “Before the guns were installed, the hail was as big as this."

The thundershower passed. The rocket launcher was still pointing upward as I left in my taxi. Between air traffic and the southerly origins of the storm, the bureau later stated, none of the other weather-modification stations had been able to fire either. As we returned to the expressway, though, drops began sprinkling the windshield and then pelting it. Lightning flashed. Before long, we were in a downpour again. We rode home through the unassisted rain.

See more articles from In Depth

Posted on Apr 17, 2008 at 7:57 AM
Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)