As glaciers flow, they grind down rock, creating fine sediment that dyes waterways a milky color. In Jan Erik Waider’s aerial film, we get a bird’s eye view of the result, watching pockets of sediment move downstream in pulsating waves and swirls. Along the coast, ocean waves pass over the internal ones, creating a mesmerizing crisscrossed wavescape. You can also compare Waider’s aerial footage to Roman De Giuli’s tabletop-scale films and be amazed by their similarities. (Image and video credit: J. Waider; via Colossal)
Viscous fingers form when a low-viscosity fluid is pumped into a narrow, viscous-fluid-filled gap. The branching pattern that forms depends on the ratio of the two viscosities, among other factors. To better understand what goes on inside these fingers, researchers carefully alternated injecting dyed and undyed fluid. This creates a pattern of concentric rings that deform as the fingers spread.
In this particular study, the initial fluid and injected fluids are miscible, meaning that they can mix into one another. In modeling their experiments, the team found that this mixing created stratification — i.e., layers of fluids with different densities — in the narrow gap between their plates. The stratification’s effects were large enough that the model required a correction term for them; that’s a bit surprising because we’d usually expect that the tiny third-dimension of the gap would be too small to matter! (Image and research credit: S. Gowan et al.)
Pour the Greek liquor ouzo into water, and your glass will billow with a milky, white cloud, formed from tiny oil droplets. The drink’s unusual dynamics come from the interactions of three ingredients: water, oil, and ethanol. Ethanol is able to dissolve in both water and oil, but water and oil themselves do not mix.
In this video, researchers explore the turbulent effects of pouring ouzo into water. In particular, pouring from the top creates a fountain-like effect, due to a tug-of-war between the ouzo’s momentum and its buoyancy. Momentum wants the ouzo to push down into the water, and buoyancy tries to lift it back up. For an extra neat effect, they also show what happens when the ouzo is confined to a 2D plane and what happens when momentum and buoyancy act together instead of oppositely. (Image and video credit: Y. Lee et al.)
In his latest “cutaway” video, Steve Mould takes a look at how you can nest siphons to create a system that periodically flushes itself. This kind of water-powered timer is useful in, say, public restrooms with a urinal system that collectively flushes every once in a while. In the video, Mould talks through each step of the system and some of the challenges he ran into when trying to create a pseudo-2D version of it. As is often the case with these videos, it’s a strangely satisfying process to watch. (Video and image credit: S. Mould)
When a raindrop hits a leaf, it spreads out into a rimmed sheet that breaks up into droplets. These tiny drops can carry dust, spores, and even pathogens as they fly off. But many leaves aren’t smooth-edged; instead they have serrations or teeth. How does that affect a splash? That’s the question at the heart of today’s study.
A water drop hits a star-shaped pillar and breaks up.
To simplify from a leaf’s shape, the team studied water dropping onto star-shaped pillars. As seen above and below, the pillar’s edge shaped the splash sheet, with the sheet extending further in the edge’s troughs. This asymmetry extends into the rim also, concentrating the liquid — and the subsequent spray of droplets — along lines that extend from the edge’s troughs and peaks.
A viscous water-glycerol drop hits a star-shaped pillar, spreads, and breaks into droplets.
The team found that, in addition to sending drops along a preferred direction, the shaped edge made the droplets larger and faster than a smooth edge did. (Image and research credit: T. Bauer and T. Gilet)
Civil engineers face a constant challenge trying to protect their structures from water — both above and below the ground. Subsurface water can build up enough pressure to lift and damage structures, so engineers use subsurface infrastructure — like French drains — to control the water underground. Despite the name (and my title pun), French drains have nothing to do with France. Instead, they are named for Henry French, an author who described their construction and use in the 19th century. These drains use a combination of rocks, mechanical filters, and perforated pipeline to guide subsurface water and drain it away from foundations. (Video and image credit: Practical Engineering)
Captured in March 2024, this satellite image of the Gulf of Oman comes from an instrument aboard the PACE spacecraft. The picture of a phytoplankton bloom is not quite natural-color, at least not as our eyes would see it. Instead, engineers combined data taken from multiple wavelengths and adjusted it to bring out the fine details. It’s not what we’d see by eye, but every feature you see here is real.
Traditionally, the only way to identify the species of a phytoplankton bloom like this one is by taking a sample directly. But PACE’s instruments can detect hundreds of wavelengths of light, offering enough color detail that scientists may soon be able to identify and track phytoplankton species by satellite image alone. I wonder if distinguishing species could also provide some quantitative flow visualization from a series of these images. In the meantime, at least we can enjoy the view! (Image credit: J. Knuble; via NASA Earth Observatory)
Large-scale ocean circulation is critical to our planet’s health and climate. In this process, seawater near the poles cools and sinks into the deep ocean, carrying dissolved carbon and nutrients with it. Later, that cold water gets pushed back up to the surface elsewhere, where it warms, and the cycle repeats. Although the theory behind this circulation has been around for decades, it’s been difficult to observe the rise, or upwelling, of water from the depths. But a recent study used a fluorescent, non-toxic dye to measure upwelling directly.
Researchers deployed 200 liters of dye just above the floor of a marine canyon near Ireland, then monitored the dye’s movement for several days at a depth of 2200. They found that turbulence along the slope of the canyon drove upwelling at speeds of about 100 meters per day, much faster than global rates. The authors suggest that this kind of topographically-enhanced upwelling could be a major factor in setting overall ocean circulation. (Image credit: visualization – NASA, ship – S. Nguyen; research credit: B. Wynne-Cattanach et al.; via Physics World)
The Gulf Stream current carries warm, salty water from the Gulf of Mexico northeastward. In the North Atlantic, this water cools and sinks and drifts southwestward, emerging centuries later in the Southern Ocean. Known as the Atlantic Meridional Overturning Circulation (AMOC), this circulation is critical, among other things, to Europe’s temperate climate. Since 1995, scientists have been warning that human-driven climate change is weakening the AMOC and may cause it to shut down entirely — which would have catastrophic consequences for our society.
Comparison of ocean current speeds in the low-resolution (left) and high-resolution (right) simulations.
A recent study re-examined the AMOC using both low- and high-resolution numerical simulations, combined with direct observations. Both simulations covered 1950 – 2100 and found the AMOC’s strength has declined since 1950. But the high-resolution simulation found significant regional variations in the AMOC’s behavior. Some regions saw localized strengthening, while other areas showed abrupt collapse. These sensitive shifts underscore the importance of driving toward higher resolutions in our next-generation climate models, if we want to better understand — and perhaps predict — what lies ahead as our climate changes. (Image credit: illustration – Atlantic Oceanographic and Meteorological Laboratory, simulations – R. Gou et al.; research credit: R. Gou et al.; via APS Physics)
The sun’s corona — its outer atmosphere — is usually impossible to see, since it’s far outshone by the rest of the sun. But during a total solar eclipse, the moon blocks out all but the vibrant, wispy corona. Getting a detailed image of the corona is tough; it’s constantly shifting. For this image, engineer Phil Hart used 5 main cameras, 4 refractors, 2 laptops, and plenty of digital image processing to capture some incredible details of the plasma and hot gases dancing along the sun’s magnetic field lines. You can learn about the awesome effort behind this image — and see more awesome photos from the eclipse — at his site. (Image credit: P. Hart; via APOD)
