Rus Khasanov’s latest short film, “Unity,” is all about coming together with droplets coalescing, globules bursting, and colors mixing. Take a glittery, paint-filled break and enjoy some macro-filmed fluid dynamics in action. (Video and image credit: R. Khasanov)
Reader eclecticca asks:
I really like the last two posts about waves, and they left me with another question… My dad had a little boat he used to take us ocean fishing on quite a bit. I always noticed that some days we just had big waves (swells) when out from the coastline and in fairly deep water (a hundred feet to hundreds of feet according to the depth sounder) and other days those swells would “break” and curl and foam and crash in on themselves, being what we called “breakers” or “white caps”. There is no shore to create the breakers in this case, so what is happening? Is it due to wind? current a combination of factors? Always been kind of curious about this really…
You’re exactly right: those open ocean white caps are due to wind. Strictly speaking, the wind is what’s causing all* of the waves out in open, deep waters. But once the wind is strong enough, it starts breaking up the crests of waves, creating those foamy white tops.
According to one study, the break-up happens when the wind transfers more energy to the wave than surface tension can withstand. When the wave crest breaks up into a mixture of air, spray, and foam, it effectively gives the wind more surface area to push against and continue transferring energy. (Image credit: M. Moers)
* With a few notable exceptions, like in the case of a tsunami.
Ferrofluids are a colloid consisting of magnetically sensitive nanoparticles suspended in a carrier liquid, like oil. They’re often associated with a distinctive spiky appearance when exposed to a magnet, but this isn’t their only magnetic response. Above we see a ferrofluid confined to a Hele-Shaw cell – essentially two glass plates with a small gap between them. In the upper image, the ferrofluid is exposed first to an axial magnetic field, which stretches it to form spidery arms. Then the magnetic field switches to a rotating configuration, which curls the arms around and causes the ferrofluid to slowly rotate.
In the lower image, you see the reverse. First, the ferrofluid feels a rotating magnetic field. When this is changed to an axial field, the ferrofluid bursts into a cell-like center with straight arms. As the magnitude of the axial field increases further, the arms begin to curl. For more fantastical ferrofluid formations, check out these previous posts featuring artists Linden Gledhill and Fabian Oefner. (Image credit: M. Zahn and C. Lorenz, source; via Ashlyn N.)
As a follow-up to the recent waves post, reader robotslenderman asks:
What does it look like when the wave breaks? And why do waves sometimes push us back? Why are we able to ride them?
I wasn’t able to find an equivalent breaking wave version of that dyed wave – side note: readers with flumes, please feel free to make one and share it! – but here’s an undyed breaking wave for our reference.
Waves break, or get that white, frothy look, when they reach shallower water. In the previous post, the waves we saw were effectively deep-water waves, so they didn’t change in height as they rolled across the tank. Here there’s an incline to simulate a beach, which causes the water to slow down and steepen. That forms the characteristic curl of a plunging breaker, seen here.
At the beach, a wave runs out of water to pass through and all the energy that wave was carrying has to go somewhere. Some is lost as heat, some turns into the sound of that classic crashing wave, and a lot of it gets dissipated as turbulence that pushes us, sand, shells, and anything else its way.
As for why we can ride waves, there’s some special physics at play when it comes to surfing. To catch a wave, a surfer has to paddle hard to get up to the wave’s speed just as it reaches them. Too slow and the wave will just pass them by, leaving them bobbing more or less in place. (Image credit: T. Shand, source)
The collapse of a bubble underwater doesn’t seem like a very important matter, but when it happens near a solid surface, like part of a ship, it can be incredibly destructive. This video, featuring numerical simulations of the bubble’s collapse, shows why.
When near a surface, the bubble’s collapse is asymmetric, and this asymmetry creates a powerful jet that pushes through the bubble and impacts the opposite side. That impact generates a shock wave that travels out toward the wall. As the bubble hits its minimum volume, a second shock front is generated. Both shock waves travel toward the wall and reflect off it, generating high pressure all along the surface. (Image and video credit: S. Beig and E. Johnson)
When playing in the surf, it’s easy to imagine that the incoming waves are a wall of water crashing into the shore. And, in a way they are, but probably less so than you imagine. Waves travel through a medium, whether it’s solid or fluid, but for the most part, they’re not translating the medium itself. You can see that in the animation above by watching the dye beneath the surface. The passing waves don’t cause much mixing in the dye, and though their passage distorts the underlying water, we see that everything returns more or less to its starting position once the wave has passed. (Image credit: S. Morris, source)
There’s no better way to appreciate our atmosphere than through timelapse, and photographer Mike Olbinski is a master at capturing the beauty and power of nature at work through this medium. In “Vorticity 2″, he highlights two full seasons of storm chasing in an incredible seven-and-a-half minutes. Prepare yourself for dramatic cloudscapes, torrential rains, and even twin tornadoes. This one deserves a watch on the biggest screen you have available. (Image and video credit: M. Olbinski; via Colossal)
The dripping of a faucet and the break-up of a jet into droplets is universal. That means that the forces – the inertia of the fluid, the capillary forces governed by surface tension, and the viscous dissipation – balance in such a way that the initial conditions of the jet – its size, speed, etc. – don’t matter to the process of break-up.
We’d expect that the inverse situation – the breakup of a gas into bubbles in a liquid – would be similarly universal, but it’s not. When unconfined bubbles pinch off, the way they do so is heavily influenced by initial conditions. But that changes, according to a new study, if you confine the gas to a liquid-filled tube before pinch-off. Confinement forces a different balance between viscous and capillary effects, one which effectively erases the initial conditions of the flow and restores universality to the pinch-off process. (Image and research credit: A. Pahlavan et al.; via phys.org)
Peregrine falcons are built for speed. They’ve been clocked at more than 380 kilometers per hour when diving. This video from Deep Look examines some of the features that make these birds of prey so fast, from the shape of their eyes to the tubercles in their nostrils that help them breathe during high-pressure dives.
Part of the falcon’s speed comes from its signature stoop, where it pulls in its wings to form a tight, streamlined shape. This reduces drag forces on the falcon, letting gravity pull it toward a high terminal velocity. But even with its wings extended, the falcon exudes speed and agility. Its wings form a sharp leading edge to cut through the air, with stiff, overlapping feathers that slice the flow. Compare this to the feathers of an owl, which specializes in silence rather than speed for catching its prey. (Video and image credit: Deep Look)
This swirling grayscale image shows a spring aurora over the Hudson Bay, as seen by the Suomi NPP satellite. As energetic particles from the sun zip past Earth, they interact with our magnetosphere, which tends to channel particles toward the poles. At these higher latitudes, some of the particles get trapped along Earth’s magnetic field lines and crash into the upper atmosphere where they excite oxygen and nitrogen molecules. It’s this molecular bombardment that creates the distinctive colors of the aurora. (Image credit: J. Stevens; via NASA Earth Observatory)