Astronaut Don Pettit posted this image of a Jupiter-like water globe he created on the International Space Station. In microgravity, surface tension reigns as the water’s supreme force, pulling the mixture of water and food coloring into a perfect sphere. It will be interesting to see a video version of this experiment, so that we can tell what tools Pettit used to swirl the droplet into the eddies we see. Is the full droplet rotating (as a planet would), or are we just seeing the remains of a wire passed through the drop? We’ll have to stay tuned to Pettit’s experiments to find out. (Image credit: NASA/D. Pettit; via space.com; submitted by J. Shoer)
Tag: science
A Magnetic Tsunami Warning
Tsunamis are devastating natural disasters that can strike with little to no warning for coastlines. Often the first sign of major tsunami is a drop in the sea level as water flows out to join the incoming wave. But researchers have now shown that magnetic fields can signal a coming wave, too. Because seawater is electrically conductive, its movement affects local magnetic fields, and a tsunami’s signal is large enough to be discernible. One study found that the magnetic field level changes are detectable a full minute before visible changes in the sea level. One minute may not sound like much, but in an evacuation where seconds count, it could make a big difference in saving lives. (Image credit: Jiji Press/AFP/Getty Images; research credit: Z. Lin et al.; via Gizmodo)
Skydiving Salamanders
The wandering salamander can spend its entire 20-year lifespan in the canopy of a coast redwood. When predators come calling, they have a special skill that helps them get away: skydiving. These little amphibians have no webbed appendages and no wings, but they’re some of the most skillful skydivers out there. By carefully repositioning its tail and feet, a wandering salamander controls its pitch, yaw, and roll. It’s not only able to orient itself as it falls; it can actually steer itself to a safe landing! Other salamander species, as seen in the video above, do not share this skill. Check out the full Deep Look video to see these incredible gliders in action. (Video and image credit: Deep Look; see also C. Brown)
Trapped in Ice
On lake bottoms, decaying matter produces methane and other gases that get caught as bubbles when the water freezes. In liquid form, water is excellent at dissolving gases, but they come out of solution when the molecules freeze. In the arctic, these bubbles form wild, layered patterns like these captured by photographer Jan Erik Waider in a lake on the edge of Iceland’s Skaftafellsjökull glacier. Unlike the bubbles that form in our fridges’ icemakers, these bubbles are large enough that they take on complicated shapes. I especially love the ones that leave a visible trail of where the bubble shifted during the freezing process. (Image credit: J. Waider; via Colossal)
Growing Flexible Stalactites
Icicles and stalactites grow little by little, each layer a testament to the object’s history. Here, researchers explore a similar phenomenon, grown from a dripping liquid. They’re called “flexicles” in homage to their natural counterparts, and they start from a thin layer of elastomer liquid. Though it begins as a liquid, elastomer solidifies over time.
Timelapse video showing the formation of an initial layer of flexicles from a dripping elastomer. To form flexicles, the researchers spread a layer of elastomer on an upside-down surface and allow gravity to do its thing (above). Thanks to the Rayleigh-Taylor instability, the dense elastomer forms a pattern of drips that, after hardening, creates a pebbled surface. Subsequent layers of elastomer will drip from the same spots as before, slowly growing longer flexicles (below). The team envisions using them for soft robotics, but, personally, I just really want poke at them and wiggle them. (Image and research credit: B. Venkateswaran et al.; via APS Physics)
A stitched composite photo showing flexicles on a cylinder growing layer by layer. 
Predicting Droplet Sizes
Squeeze a bottle of cleaning spray, and the nozzle transforms a liquid jet into a spray of droplets. These droplets come in many sizes, and predicting them is difficult because the droplets’ size distribution depends on the details of how their parent liquid broke up. Shown above is a simplified experimental version of this, beginning with a jet of air striking a spherical water droplet on the far left. In less than 3 milliseconds, the droplet has flattened into a pancake shape. In another 4 milliseconds, the pancake has ballooned into a shape called a bag, made up of a thin, curved water sheet surrounded by a thicker rim. A mere 10 milliseconds after the jet and drop first meet, the liquid is now a spray of smaller droplets.
Researchers have found that the sizes of these final droplets depend on the balance between the airflow and the drop’s surface tension; these two factors determine how the drop breaks up, whether that’s rim first, bag first, or due to a collision between the bag and rim. (Image credit: I. Jackiw et al.; via APS Physics)
Reinterpreting Uranus’s Magnetosphere
NASA launched the Voyager 2 probe nearly 50 years ago, and, to date, it’s the only spacecraft to visit icy Uranus. This ice giant is one of our oddest planets — its axis is tilted so that it rotates on its side! — but a new interpretation of Voyager 2’s data suggests it’s not quite as strange as we’ve thought. Initially, Voyager 2’s data on Uranus’s magnetosphere suggested it was a very extreme place. Unlike other planets, it had energetic energy belts but no plasma. Now researchers have explained Voyager 2’s observations differently: they think the spacecraft arrived just after an intense solar wind event compressed Uranus’s magnetosphere, warping it to an extreme state. Their estimates suggest that Uranus would experience this magnetosphere state less than 5% of the time. But since Voyager 2’s data point is, so far, our only look at the planet, we just assumed this extreme was normal. (Image credit: NASA; research credit: J. Jasinski et al.; via Gizmodo)
Growing Downstream
This astronaut photo shows Madagascar’s largest estuary, as of 2024. On the right side, the Betsiboka River flows northwest (right to left, in the image). Less than 100 years ago, most of the estuary was navigable by ships, but now more than half of it is taken up by the river delta. Upstream on the river, extensive logging and expansions to farmland have caused severe soil erosion; the river carries that sediment downstream, dyeing the waters reddish-orange. As the river branches and the flow slows, that sediment falls out of suspension, building up islands and seeding new sand bars further downstream.
A difference of 40 years. A 2024 astronaut photo of the Betsiboka River delta compared with one from 1984 (inset). Several islands are labeled in both images. Notice how new islands have formed upstream of the ones seen in 1984. In the image above, you can compare the 2024 delta to the way it looked in 1984. Letters A, B, C, and D mark the downstream-most islands from 1984. Today newer islands and sand bars sit even further downstream. (Image credit: NASA; via NASA Earth Observatory)
“Surfing on the Other Side”
Surfers come in many forms — humans, robots, birds, and even honeybees. Most of the time, though, we see surfers above the water. In this award-winning photo, on the other hand, the surfing penguin shoots by beneath the water, riding beneath the wave’s crest. Keeping pace with the breaking wave should be no trouble for a penguin. They waddle awkwardly on land, but they have incredible speed in the water. Years ago, a penguin streaked past me in the water like a rocket to my paper airplane. (Image credit: L. Fitze/BPOTY)
A Dandelion-Like Supernova Remnant
In 1181 CE, astronomers in China and Japan recorded a new, short-lived star in the constellation Cassiopeia. After burning for nearly six months, this historic supernova disappeared from the naked eye. It was only in 2013 that an amateur astronomer identified a nebula in the vicinity of that supernova, and, in the years since, astronomers have collected evidence that identifies the object, known as Pa 30, as the remnants of that 1181 supernova. Now, astronomers have mapped the supernova remnant, revealing an unusual dandelion-like structure (shown in an artist’s conception above and below). Filaments of sulfur project outward from a dusty central region that houses the remains of the original star. Normally, a supernova destroys its original star, but this was a Type Iax supernova, a “failed” explosion that left behind a hot, inflated star that may eventually cool into a white dwarf star.
Why the supernova remnant has this strange shape remains unclear. Scientists speculate that shock waves may have helped concentrate sulfur into these clumpy filaments. The material’s velocity suggests a ballistic trajectory (meaning, essentially, that it has neither sped up nor slowed down since the original explosion). Winding the trajectory backwards pegs their origin to 1181, helping confirm that Pa 30 is, indeed, the remains of that 1181 supernova. (Image and video credit: W.M. Keck Observatory/A. Makarenko; research credit: R. Fesen et al.; via Gizmodo)
