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)
Inside musical instruments gapes an emptiness that, to the eye of photographer Charles Brooks, resembles the vast architecture of music halls and cathedrals. In his series “Architecture in Music,” Brooks takes us into these empty spaces, revealing where the resonance at the heart of the instrument’s sound lies. In a stringed instrument like a violin, the vibration of the strings makes a relatively quiet sound on its own; it’s only in making the violin’s entire hollow body vibrate that resonance amplifies the strings. Similarly, wind instruments rely on air resonating within them to produce their sound. (Image credit: C. Brooks; via Colossal)
The Māori 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)
Getting caught in the rain is annoying for us but has the potential to be deadly for smaller creatures like insects. So how do they survive a deluge? First, they don’t resist a raindrop, and second, they have the kinds of surfaces water likes to roll or bounce off. The key to this second ability is micro- and nanoscale roughness. Surfaces like butterfly wings, water strider feet, and leaf surfaces contain lots of tiny gaps where air gets caught. Water’s cohesion — its attraction to itself — is large enough that water drops won’t squeeze into these tiny spaces. Instead, like the ball it resembles, a water drop slides or bounces away. (Video and image credit: Be Smart)
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)
As magma approaches the surface, it forces its way through new and existing fractures in the crust, forming dikes. When a volcano finally erupts, the magma’s viscosity is a major factor in just how explosive and dangerous the eruption will be, but a new study shows that what we see from the surface is a poor predictor of how magma actually flows within the dike.
Researchers built their own artificial dike using a clear elastic gelatin, which they injected water and shear-thinning magma-mimics into. By tracking particles in the liquids, they could observe how each liquid followed on its way to the surface. All of the liquids formed similar-looking dikes at a similar speed, but within the dike, the liquids flowed very differently. Water cut a central jet through the gelatin, then showed areas of recirculation along the outer edges. In contrast, the shear-thinning liquids — which are likely more representative of actual magma — showed no recirculation. Instead, they flowed through the dike in a smooth, fan-like shape.
The team cautions that surface-level observations of developing magma dikes provide little information on the flow going on underneath. Instead, their results suggest that volcanologists modeling magma underground should take care to include the magma’s shear-thinning to properly capture the flow. (Image credit: T. Grypachevska; research credit: J. Kavanagh et al.; via Eos)
Physicist Sidney Nagel has spent his career on topics that are somewhat unexpected: how coffee stains form, how droplets splash — or don’t, and how fluid flows into viscous fingers. Often this means looking at the mechanics of everyday occurrences that we otherwise take for granted. Instead, Nagel probes carefully at things like a coffee stain, asking why it’s darker at the edges and what he could do to keep that from happening — all to ultimately uncover the forces and mechanisms at play. Quanta has a great little interview with him on this and other topics. Check it out here. (Image credit: S. Nagel and K. Norman; via Quanta)
