雅思阅读定位方法谈

信息检索与定位是雅思阅读考察的最基本的语言能力之一，这将在Ieltser们出国留学的时候起到非常大的作用。小编给大家带来了雅思阅读定位方法谈，希望能够帮助到大家，下面小编就和大家分享，来欣赏一下吧。

雅思阅读定位方法谈：请给我一双慧眼or写轮眼

那么如果同学们定位定不到，到底是为什么呢?我认为有以下三个原因：

雅思阅读定位之真的缺乏一双发现的眼睛

这个应该是很多同学会比较头痛的问题，那是真的没有善于发现爱的眼睛啊。人家出题句就在那个地方，死都看不到，这也真的是醉醉了。其实，这就是在考察各位scanning的能力，我们所谓的scan是带着一个特殊的词或信息，在文中寻找，找到了停住即可，其他那些在寻找中所遇见的词或句子都是浮云，千万不要较真的一一读懂，浪费表情～

雅思阅读定位方法：scanning在生活中无处不在，你看航班，火车信息，其实都是在用scanning只是自己不知道而已，所以大家要好好的训练一下，定位词的选择不要出错(否则你看破大天也定不出来)。这里，刚刚提醒各位，我们雅思阅读中很多题目都是有顺序的，请千万不要犯倔，一定要从第一题定到最后一题，先定最好定位的，然后再根据顺序原则去推(把全文定位变为局部定位)

雅思阅读定位之碰到难题，定位词同义替换了

如果各位烤鸭对于雅思阅读的分数停留在7分以下，那么碰到这种定位词同义替换的题目，我只能说大家运气不好，一般这种情况都会发生在第三篇。那这种情况，其实不怪各位，你们的题干定位词都找对了，但就是在文中找不到，这个时候一定要有一个意识，也许定位词被同义替换了，

如：C10T1P3的第34题：Peopleworking under a dominant boss are liable to

这道题目我们的定位词用dominant boss 是没有问题的，可是你通篇去找你会发现根本找不到类似的词，这个时候我们发现，他就是定位词被同义替换了，大家看下下面这个出题段，看看同义替换成了什么?

没错，就是Authority，dominant boss就是支配型的老板，那么衍升一点就是有权利的老板，对应我们的Authority，所以这道题目的对应出题段就是文中的倒数第三段。碰到这种题目怎么办呢?

雅思阅读定位方法：同义替换的总结，这一定是不能偷懒的

另外，还是想说，把全文定位变为局部定位，各位如果从全文去找dominant boss这无疑是大海捞针，所以为什么不先做33题，然后做35题，然后根据顺序原则在35和33的中间去卡34的位置呢。这样加上前面对同义替换的准备，我们找起来，也会方便很多。

雅思阅读定位之不相信自己，总觉得自己是错的

这个问题，主要出现在判断题上。我们都知道判断题是有一个选项NG的，而NG的一种情况就是原文未提及。很多同学在做此类题目的时候，定位定不到就往死里定(有的时候我真的不怕你们定不到，而是怕你们凭想象力去定，天啊噜)。总觉得，自己定不到肯定是自己的问题。同学你这样真的好嘛?

雅思阅读定位方法：任何一种题型，一定有定位的突破口，找到它(也就是最好定位的题目)，先去定位，然后根据判断题的顺序原则去上下推测附近题目的出题范围(局部定位)，相信自己，如果没有找到，就大胆的选择NG(但千万不要选太多NG啊，一般6-7个判断题出2-3个NG)

最后刚刚想说的，定位是雅思考察的最基本的语言能力之一，这将在各位出国留学的时候起到非常大的作用，所以各位同学一定要注意这个问题。当然，大家也不要被刚刚上面说的给吓到了，雅思作为一门语言评测类考试，只要各位下功夫，多练习，多总结(当然要每天关注刚刚的推送啦)，是一定会有提高的。

雅思阅读素材积累：A Drier and Hotter Future

While I was reading William deBuys's new book, A Great Aridness, two massive dust storms reminiscent of the 1930s raged across the skies of Phoenix and of Lubbock, Texas. Newspapers blamed them on the current drought in the West, which is proximately true. But what ultimately is causing this drought, and why would any drought produce such terrifying clouds of dust? The answer is that they may be portents of a more threatening world that we humans are unwittingly creating. As deBuys explains, "Because arid lands tend to be underdressed in terms of vegetation, they are naturally dusty. Humans make them dustier."

Agriculture is the main reason for those dust storms—the clearing of native grasslands or sagebrush to grow cotton or wheat, which die quickly when drought occurs and leave the soil unprotected. Phoenix and Lubbock are both caught in severe drought, and it is going to get much worse. We may see many such storms in the decades ahead, along with species extinctions, radical disturbance of ecosystems, and intensified social conflict over land and water. Welcome to the Anthropocene, the epoch when humans have become a major geological and climatic force.

DeBuys is an acclaimed historian turned conservationist in his adopted home of the Southwest. A Great Aridness is his most disturbing book, a jeremiad that ought to be required reading for politicians, economists, real-estate developers and anyone thinking about migrating to the Sunbelt. In the early chapters he reports on the science of how and why precipitation and ecology are changing, not predictably but in nonlinear ways that make the future very uncertain and dark. In later chapters he visits ancient pueblo ruins left behind by earlier civilizations that were destroyed by drought, and he follows the grim trail of migrants crossing the border from Mexico, stirring up a controversy that climate change can only exacerbate. The book is an eclectic mix of personal experience, scientific analysis and environmental history.

Smoke as well as dust is spoiling the southwestern skies. As deBuys points out, forest fires are getting much bigger. In June 2002 the Rodeo and Chediski fires erupted on Arizona's Mogollon Plateau, soon merging into a single conflagration that consumed nearly 500,000 acres. It was Arizona's largest fire—until the Wallow Fire eclipsed it in June 2011. Another devastating effect of climate change has been the explosion of bark beetles among western pines, which in turn contributes to the new fire regime; in 2003, dead trees covered 2.6 million acres in Arizona and New Mexico. Could anything be more demoralizing than the sight of green forests turned a grisly brown, then bursting into flame and left charred and black?

Even more depressing than declining forests are mountains bare of snow. When future springs arrive, the sound of running water will be much diminished. The biggest environmental catastrophe for the Southwest, already our most arid region, is losing the melting runoff from snowpacks into rivers, canals and irrigation ditches. An ominous chapter in the book examines the future of the Colorado River, which for decades has been the "blood" of the Southwest's oasis civilization. In the 1920s Americans divided the river between upper and lower basins, allocating to each a share of the annual flow. California, which contributes almost nothing to the river, sucks up the largest share of any state, spreading it across the Imperial Valley's agricultural fields and diverting the rest to Los Angeles. Years ago policy makers assumed that the river carried about 17 million acre-feet of water per year—that is, enough water to cover 17 million acres to a depth of one foot. They overestimated, as people tend to do when hope and greed outrun the facts. Now comes a drier and hotter future, when the Colorado River will carry even less water—perhaps as little as 11 million acre-feet.

Tim Barnett and David Pierce of the Scripps Institution of Oceanography estimate that to adjust to a sustainable level of supply, consumers of Colorado River water will have to get along with 20 percent less water than they use today. That is still a lot of water to lose, but the loss may not be catastrophic. Urban users are already conserving about as much as they can per capita. Farmers, on the other hand, who consume about 80 percent of the western water supply, including in California, are wasting much through inefficient management and low-value crops. Half of the water goes to raise alfalfa to feed cattle, and much of the rest evaporates or soaks into the sand. If some of agriculture's share could be diverted to cities, there might be enough to sustain the current population. Rural communities would decline, some lucky farmers would retire with a potful of money, and the public would have to figure out where to get its lettuce, tomatoes, oranges and meat. The cost of water would go up dramatically, and those without money would go thirsty and leave. New hierarchies would take the place of old ones.

Thirty million people now depend on the Colorado River. Perhaps they can manage to adjust to a diminished flow and to declines in domestic food supplies and hydroelectric power. But more people are on the way: Demographers calculate that the population of the Southwest may increase by 10 or 20 million between now and 2050. Some of those people will come from other parts of the country, some from Mexico and Central America, and some from other nations that are coping poorly with their current problems or are overwhelmed by climate change. Whatever their origin, the new arrivals will go to the familiar oases, hoping to find the good life with a swimming pool and a green lawn.

Developers are eager to make money by selling homes to these newcomers. The political and economic culture of the Southwest is dead set against any acknowledgment of limits to growth. In the last few chapters of the book, deBuys shows that even now those in power refuse to accept any check to expansion; business must be free to do business. Others say that they are helpless to stop the influx: Patricia Mulroy, general manager of the Southern Nevada Water Authority in Las Vegas, declares, "You can't take a community as thriving as this one and put a stop sign out there. The train will run right over you." Her solution is to create an expensive "straw" to extract water from a shrinking Lake Mead, drawing on the "dead pool" that will be left below the intakes for generating electricity. She doesn't have the money to build that straw right now, but she is working hard to keep her improbable city from drying up and becoming a casualty like ancient Mesopotamia. Similarly, Phoenix continues to issue building permits helter-skelter and counts on "augmenting the supply" of water sometime in the future. But where will the state and city go for more supply, and how will they bring it cheaply over mountains and plains to keep Phoenix sprawling into the sunset?

DeBuys gathers enough scientific evidence to make a convincing case against that growth mentality. A similar case could be made against growth in the rest of the United States, although in the East the threat may be too much water, not too little, and too many storms, not too much smoke and dust. The past warns us that ancient peoples once failed to adapt and survive. Will theirs be America's fate? Perhaps. But past human behavior may not be a reliable indicator of how people will behave in the future. If the environment is becoming nonlinear and unpredictable, as deBuys argues, then human cultures may also become nonlinear and unpredictable. No other people have had as much scientific knowledge to illuminate their condition. What we will do with that knowledge is the biggest imponderable of all.

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