Though we often think of the Earth as changing slowly, some events are so catastrophic that they change the landscape irrevocably. Some 15,000 years ago, a massive lake covered what is now Missoula, Montana. Dammed in by a 2,000-foot-tall wall of glacial ice, this lake contained more water than Lakes Ontario and Erie combined. But when the ice dam broke, the lake drained in days, sending a deluge across the Pacific Northwest.
The floodwaters carved new canyons and waterfalls, left massive ripples in the landscape, and deposited rocks from thousands of kilometers away as they raged their way to the sea. It was one of the most massive floods the Earth has ever seen. And, incredibly, it happened over and over as the lake refilled and broke again. Check out this Be Smart video for even more of this incredible story. (Image and video credit: Be Smart)
Rainbow lines cut through the darkness in photographer Stephen Orlando’s images of a kayak in motion. Equipped with an LED-lined paddle, Olympic kayaker Adam van Koeverden paddled along the waterfront while Orlando took long exposure photographs. The kayak’s motion makes it effectively invisible, while the paddle’s lights trace out the path of each stroke taken. Scientists also use this kind of technique to follow the path of an object in a flow. In fluid dynamics, we call these remnants of an object’s trajectory a pathline. (Image credit: S. Orlando)
The world of fluid instabilities is a rich one. Combine fluids with differing viscosities, densities, or flow speeds and they’ll often break down in picturesque and predictable manners. Here, researchers explore the Rayleigh-Taylor instability (RTI), which occurs when a denser fluid sits above a less dense one (in a gravitational field). It’s an extremely common instability, showing up in both the cream in your ice coffee and the shape of a supernova’s explosion. It’s very difficult to set up and observe, though, which is where the real cleverness of this experiment stands out.
To study the RTI, these researchers first created another instability, the Saffman-Taylor instability. They filled the space between two glass plates with a viscous fluid, then injected a less viscous one. That created the distinctive viscous fingering pattern seen in the top image. In addition to being less viscous, the injected fluid was also less dense. As it pushed into the original fluid, it displaced some of it, creating a three-layer structure with dense fluid over less-dense fluid over dense fluid. That laid the groundwork for the Rayleigh-Taylor instability form.
A side-view through the fluid mixture shows the characteristic mushroom-like plume of the Rayleigh-Taylor instability.
Check out the cell-like pattern distributed across the fluid in the top image. These are plumes formed in the RTI as dense fluid sinks into the less-dense fluid below it. From the side (see second image), each plume takes on the distinctive mushroom-like shape of a Rayleigh-Taylor instability. Given time, the two fluids mix and the cellular pattern disappears. But until then, this set-up uses one instability to study a second one. How cool is that?! (Image and research credit: S. Alqatari et al., see also)
In the ocean, waves often curl over and trap air, becoming plunging breakers. How do surfactants like soap or oil affect this process? That’s the question behind this video, where researchers visualize breaking waves with differing amounts of added surfactant. In the case of pure water, the wave forms a smooth jet that curls over and traps air when the wave breaks. As more and more surfactant gets added, the shape of that jet and cavity change. In one case, they become irregular. In another, they disappear entirely, and with the most surfactant added, the wave suddenly looks just like the water-only case.
The key to these behaviors, it turns out, is not how much surfactant there is, but how much the concentration of surfactant varies along the length of the wave. When there are significant changes in the surfactant concentration along the wave, local Marangoni flows try to even out the surface tension, causing the wave to break up in an irregular fashion. (Image and video credit: M. Erinin et al.)
Möbius strips are nonintuitive objects. They appear multi-dimensional but are single-sided. Such topologies show up in other systems, too. Here we see a liquid crystal where molecular alignments, along with vortices in the fluid, result in tiny, three-dimensional shapes nicknamed “möbiusons,” thanks to their unusual properties. Each one is about 10 μm long. The researchers found that these möbiusons can spontaneously fold into many configurations. But under an electrical field, the möbiusons can self-propel and remain stable through many motions, including rotation. Such behaviors could be useful for transporting nano-sized cargo. (Image and research credit: H. Zhao et al.; via Physics Today)
The new year brought California a series of atmospheric rivers that poured record amounts of water onto drought-stricken lands. While the precipitation refreshed snowpacks and reservoirs, much of it washed away as soils oversaturated. Those flows carried sediment with them, creating swirls of brown and green along the coastline.
Compare the two satellite images above to see how different January 2022 looked from January 2023, post-deluge. The snow levels in January 2023 were about 248 percent of their average level for that part of the season. But the sediment levels in the ocean are also drastically increased, indicating high levels of erosion. (Image credit: J. Stevens; via NASA Earth Observatory)
We live in a world of fluids. We breathe them, move through them, and have them move in us. “FLOW” is a celebration of that pervasive motion, animated from hand-drawn artwork. It features fluid dynamics from our daily lives — a candle’s flame, breaking waves, pedestrian traffic — all the way to astronomical scales far beyond typical human experience — the rotation and collision of galaxies. It’s a beautiful reminder that flows are always surrounding us, linking our lives from the small to the unbelievably large. (Video credit: MIT LineStorm Animation Consortium; submitted by Pell O.)
Centuries ago, Leonardo da Vinci noticed something peculiar about bubbles rising through water. Small bubbles followed a straight path, but slightly larger ones swung back and forth or corkscrewed upward. The mechanism behind this behavior has been a matter of debate ever since, but the authors of a recent study believe they’ve nailed down the answer.
The forces determining a bubble’s path are remarkably complex, which is why it’s taken so long to figure this out. Viscosity acts as a source of drag on the rising bubble, acting across a thin boundary region surrounding the bubble. That boundary isn’t constant, though; the bubble’s shape changes as the flow pushes on it, and the changing shape of the bubble pushes on the flow, in turn. Capturing those subtle interactions numerically and comparing them to careful experiments was necessary to unravel the mystery.
The team found that bubbles above a critical radius (0.926 millimeters) begin to tilt. That tilt causes a change in the bubble’s shape, which increases the flow along one side. This kicks off the wobbling motion, which carries on because of the continuing changes in the bubble’s shape and the flow around it. (Image credit: A. Grey; research credit: M. Herrada and J. Eggers; via Vice; submitted by @lediva)
When a water drop hits a surface that’s much hotter than its boiling point, part of it will vaporize immediately. Depending on the temperature, this Leidenfrost effect can be a relatively gentle process — or not. Here, the surface is so hot that the entire drop is boiling before it’s even finished spreading from impact. The vapor in contact with the surface is trying to escape, bubbling up so violently that it rips the original droplet into a spray of tiny droplets. (Video and image credit: L. Gledhill)
66 million years ago an asteroid struck offshore of what is now Chicxulub near the Yucatán Peninsula in Mexico. The impact and its aftermath are widely credited with a mass extinction that wiped out 75% of plant and animal life on Earth, including non-avian dinosaurs. Since the impact occurred in shallow waters, it also generated a tsunami, one over 30,000 times bigger than any in recorded history.
Snapshot showing the spreading tsunami after the asteroid’s impact. Click on the image to go to NOAA’s website and watch the video.
In this simulation, researchers show how that tsunami spread globally. The initial wave was about a mile high but stretched up to about 2.5 miles as it rushed ashore. Worldwide, every shoreline saw flows at 20 cm/s or higher as the wave hit. In the image above, black areas show the landmasses as they existed at the time, with modern borders shown in white outline. To watch the video, click on the image or head to NOAA’s visualization.
You may wonder how scientists can validate a simulation like this one, which so wildly exceeds any recorded event. One way they judged these results is by looking at the sedimentary records of the seafloor. Their results show flows large enough to scour the seafloor and disrupt any sedimentary records in those areas, and, sure enough, those regions hold no records older than the asteroid’s impact. That alignment between the geological record and the simulation’s highest flow areas helps establish confidence in the results. (Image credit: illustration – SWRI/D. Davis, simulation – NOAA; research credit: M. Range et al.; submitted by Kam-Yung Soh)
