Although often associated with applause, hand clapping is more universal than that. The distinctive sound can mark rhythms, draw attention, and even test the surrounding acoustics. But how exactly does hand clapping work? A recent study shows that the acoustics of hand clapping come from more than just the collision of hands. Especially in a cupped configuration, clapping hands act like a Helmholtz resonator (think blowing across a bottle top), producing a resonant jet that squeezes out between the forefinger and thumb of the impacted hand. Check out the images above to see how that jet appears in various clapping configurations. (Image and research credit: Y. Fu et al.; via Physics Today)
The world’s largest iceberg A23a is spinning in a Taylor column off the Antarctic coast. This poster looks at a miniature version of the problem with a fluorescein-dyed ice slab slowly melting in water. On the left, the model iceberg is melting without rotating. The melt water stays close to the base until it forms a narrow, sinking plume. In the center, the ice rotates, which moves the detachment point outward. The wider plume is turbulent compared to the narrow, non-rotating one. At higher rotation speeds (right), the plume is even wider and more turbulent, causing the fastest melting rate. (Image credit: K. Perry and S. Morris)
The MΔori people of Aotearoa New Zealand compete in manu jumping to create the biggest splash. Here’s a fun example. In this video, researchers break down the physics of the move and how it creates an enormous splash. There are two main components — the V-shaped tuck and the underwater motion. At impact, jumpers use a relatively tight V-shape; the researchers found that a 45-degree angle works well at high impact speeds. This initiates the jumper’s cavity. Then, as they descend, the jumper unfolds, using their upper body to tear open a larger underwater cavity, which increases the size of the rebounding jet that forms the splash. To really maximize the splash, jumpers can aim to have their cavity pinch-off (or close) as deep underwater as possible. (Video and image credit: P. Rohilla et al.)
Yesterday we saw how hunting flamingos use their heads and beaks to draw out and trap various prey. Today we take another look at the same study, which shows that flamingos use their footwork, too. If you watch flamingos on a beach, in muddy waters, or in a shallow pool, you’ll see them shifting back and forth as they lift and lower their feet. In humans, we might attribute this to nervous energy, but it turns out it’s another flamingo hunting habit.
As a flamingo raises its foot, it draws its toes together; when it stomps down, its foot spreads outward. This morphing shape, researchers discovered, creates a standing vortex just ahead of its feet — right where it lowers its head to sample whatever hapless creatures it has caught in this swirling vortex. And the vortex, as shown below, is strong enough to trap even active swimmers, making the flamingo a hard hunter to escape. (Image credit: top – L. Yukai, others – V. Ortega-Jimenez et al.; research credit: V. Ortega-Jimenez et al.; submitted by Soh KY)
Flamingos are unequivocally odd-looking birds with their long skinny legs, sinuous necks, and bent L-shaped beaks. They are filter-feeders, but a new study shows that they are far from passive wanderers looking for easy prey in shallow waters. Instead, flamingos are active hunters, using fluid dynamics to draw out and trap the quick-moving invertebrates they feed on. In today’s post, I’ll focus on how flamingos use their heads and beaks; next time, we’ll take a look at what they do with their feet.
Feeding flamingos often bob their heads out of the water. This, it turns out, is not indecision, but a strategy. Lifting its flat upper forebeak from near the bottom of a pool creates suction. That suction creates a tornado-like vortex that helps draw food particles and prey from the muddy sediment.
When feeding, flamingos will also open and close their mandibles about 12 times a second in a behavior known as chattering. This movement, as seen in the video above, creates a flow that draws particles — and even active swimmers! — toward its beak at about seven centimeters a second.
Staying near the surface won’t keep prey safe from flamingos, either. In slow-flowing water, the birds will set the upper surface of their forebeak on the water, tip pointed downstream. This seems counterintuitive, until you see flow visualization around the bird’s head, as above. Von Karman vortices stream off the flamingo’s head, which creates a slow-moving recirculation zone right by the tip of the bird’s beak. Brine shrimp eggs get caught in these zones, delivering themselves right to the flamingo’s mouth.
Clearly, the flamingo is a pretty sophisticated hunter! It’s actively drawing out and trapping prey with clever fluid dynamics. Tomorrow we’ll take a look at some of its other tricks. (Image credit: top – G. Cessati, others – V. Ortega-Jimenez et al.; research credit: V. Ortega-Jimenez et al.; submitted by Soh KY)
This video offers an artistic look at a soap bubble bursting. The process is captured with high-speed video combined with schlieren photography, a technique that makes visible subtle density variations in the air. The bubbles all pop spontaneously, once enough of their cap drains or evaporates away for a hole to form. That hole retracts quickly; the acceleration of the liquid around the bubble’s spherical shape makes the retracting film break into droplets, seen as falling streaks near the bottom of the bubble. The retraction also affects air inside the bubble, making the air that touched the film curl up on itself, creating turbulence. Then, as the film completes its retraction, it pushes a plume of the once-interior air upward, as if the interior of the bubble is turning itself inside out. (Video and image credit: D. van Gils)
Mudslides and avalanches typically carry debris of many shapes and sizes. To understand how debris size affects flows like these, researchers use simplified, laboratory-scale experiments like this one. Here, researchers mix a slurry of silicone oil and glass particles of roughly two sizes. The red particles are larger; the blue ones smaller. Sitting in a cup, the mixture tends to separate, with red particles sinking faster to form the bottom layer and smaller blue particles collecting on top. And what happens when such a mixture flows down an incline? The smaller blue particles tend to settle out sooner, leaving the larger red particles in suspension as they flow downstream. (Video and image credit: S. Burnett et al.)
On the heels of his behind-the-scenes introduction, here’s the first volume of artist Roman De Giuli’s “Now I See”. In it, we appear to soar above vast colorful landscapes. Rivers flow past islands. Glaciers creep along valleys. Canyons cut through deserts. It’s like a bird’s eye view of our planet’s terrestrial wonders. (Video and image credit: R. De Giuli)
As bizarre as the branching fractal fingers of the Saffman-Taylor instability look, they’re quite a common phenomenon. In his video, Steve Mould demonstrates how to make them by sandwiching a viscous liquid like school glue between two acrylic sheets and then pulling them apart. The more formal lab-version of this is the Hele-Shaw cell, which he also demonstrates. But you may have come across the effect when pealing up a screen protector or in dealing with a cracked phone screen. In all of these cases, a less viscous fluid — specifically air — is forcing its way into a more viscous fluid, something that it cannot manage without the fluid interface fracturing. (Video and image credit: S. Mould)
The Mozambique Channel boasts some of the world’s most turbulent waters, driven by eddies hundreds of kilometers wide. Eddies of this size — known as mesoscale — determine regional flows that influence local biodiversity, sediment mixing, and how plastic pollution moves. To better understand the region, scientists measured a mesoscale dipole from a research vessel.
Illustration of flows in the Mozambique Channel. The anticyclonic ring in dark blue rotates counterclockwise and consists of largely uniform water (labeled Ring: R1). To the south, in green, a cyclonic eddy rotates in a clockwise sense (labeled Cyclone: C1). This area is chlorophyll-rich and has varying salinity levels. Between the two is a filament of chlorophyll-rich water being drawn from the near-shore region (labeled Filament: F1).
The dipole consisted of a large anticyclonic ring (shown in dark blue) that rotated counterclockwise and a smaller cyclonic eddy (shown in green) that rotated clockwise. Between these eddies lay a central jet moving up to 130 centimeters per second that drew material out from the shoreline. In the anticyclonic ring, researchers found largely uniform waters with little chlorophyll. The cyclonic eddy, in contrast, was high in chlorophyll and had large variations in salinity. Those smaller-scale variations, they found, helped to drive vertical motions of up to 40 meters per day.
In situ measurements like these help scientists understand how energy flows through different scales in the ocean and how that energy helps transport nutrients, sediment, and pollution regionally. Such measurements also help us to refine ocean models that enable us to predict this transport and how regions will change as climate patterns shift. (Image credit: ship – A. Lamielle/Wikimedia Commons, eddies – P. Penven et al.; research credit: P. Penven et al.; via Eos)
