Things going "boom"

One thing that seems to be a characteristic of Americans, especially American men, is their love of loud noises and blowing stuff up.

I share this odd fascination myself, although in the interest of honesty I must admit that it isn't to the extent of a lot of guys.  I like fireworks, and I can remember as a kid spending many hours messing with firecrackers, bottle rockets, Roman candles, and so on.  (For the record, yes, I still have all of my digits attached and in their original locations.)  I don't know if you heard about the mishap in San Diego back on the Fourth of July in 2012, where eighteen minutes worth of expensive fireworks all went off in about twenty seconds because of a computer screw-up.  It was caught on video (of course), and I think I've watched it maybe a dozen times.

Explosions never get old.  And for some people, they seem to be the answer to everything.

The reason the topic comes up is because it's hurricane season, and whenever this time of year comes around, inevitably some yahoo comes up with the solution of shooting something at them.  The first crew of rocket scientists who believed this would be a swell idea thought of firing away at the hurricane with ordinary guns, neglecting two very important facts:

1. Hurricanes, by definition, have extremely strong winds.
2. If you fling something into an extremely strong wind, it gets flung back at you.

This prompted news agencies to diagram what could happen if you fire a gun into a hurricane:

So this brings "pissing into the wind" to an entirely new level.

Not to be outdone, another bunch of nimrods came up with an even better (i.e. more violent, with bigger explosions) solution; when a hurricane heads toward the U.S., you nuke the fucker.

I'm not making this up.  Apparently enough people were suggesting, seriously, that the way to deal with any hurricanes heading our way is to detonate a nuclear bomb in the middle of them, that NOAA felt obliged to issue an official statement about why this would be a bad idea.

The person chosen to respond, probably by drawing the short straw, was staff meteorologist Chris Landsea.  Which brings up an important point; isn't "Landsea" the perfect name for a meteorologist?  I mean, with a surname like that, it's hard to think of what other field he could have gone into.  It reminds me of a dentist in my hometown when I was a kid, whose name was "Dr. Pulliam."  You have to wonder how many people end up in professions that match their names.  Like this guy:

And this candidate for District Attorney:

But I digress.

Anyhow, Chris Landsea was pretty unequivocal about using nukes to take out hurricanes.  "[A nuclear explosion] doesn't raise the barometric pressure after the shock has passed because barometric pressure in the atmosphere reflects the weight of the air above the ground," Landsea said.  "To change a Category 5 hurricane into a Category 2 hurricane, you would have to add about a half ton of air for each square meter inside the eye, or a total of a bit more than half a billion tons for a twenty-kilometer-radius eye.  It's difficult to envision a practical way of moving that much air around."

And that's not the only problem.  An even bigger deal is that hurricanes are way more powerful than nuclear weapons, if you consider the energy expenditure.  "The main difficulty with using explosives to modify hurricanes is the amount of energy required," Landsea said.  "A fully developed hurricane can release heat energy at a rate of 5 to 20 x 10^13 watts and converts less than ten per cent of the heat into the mechanical energy of the wind.  The heat release is equivalent to a ten-megaton nuclear bomb exploding every twenty minutes."

And that's not even addressing the issue of introducing large quantities of radioactive fallout into a system characterized by high winds and torrential rainfall.

Apparently Landsea's statement generated another flurry of suggestions of nuking hurricanes as they develop, before they get superpowerful.  The general upshot is that when Landsea rained on their parade, these people shuffled their feet and said, "Awww, c'mon, man!  Can't we nuke anything?"  But NOAA was unequivocal on that point, too.  Nuking tropical depressions as they form wouldn't work not merely because only a small number of depressions become dangerous hurricanes, but because you're still dealing with an unpredictable natural force that isn't going to settle down just because you decided to bomb the shit out of it.

So yeah, you can shout "'Murika!" all you want, but most hurricanes could kick our ass.  It may not be a bad thing; a reality check about our actual place in the grand hierarchy can remind us that we are, honestly, way less powerful than nature.  An object lesson that the folks who think we can tinker around with global atmospheric carbon dioxide levels with impunity might want to keep in mind.

Anyhow, there you are.  The latest suggestion for controlling the weather, from people who failed ninth grade Earth Science.  Me, I'm just glad I live in a place that isn't prone to natural disasters.  Although who knows what the future might bring?  This year so far, New York State has had 27 tornadoes touch down -- a new record.  I don't own a gun, dynamite, or a nuclear weapon, but if a tornado heads our way, maybe I can have at the sonofabitch with my trusty slingshot.

It might not be things going "boom," but at least I'd be making an effort to comply with the American male "if it moves, shoot at it" mentality.

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Complexities

One of the most insidious tendencies in human nature is the way we gravitate toward simple answers to complicated questions.

I got started thinking about this because of a paper out of Stanford University that appeared this week in Science Advances, about the role that plumes of Saharan dust play in hurricane intensity and rainfall quantity.  This kind of thing is all done now using computer models, and to say the problem is mathematically complex is a stunning understatement.  The scientists have to try to work out the interactions between blobs of air that can move in three dimensions, that vary in temperature, humidity, pressure, and speed, in relation to dust particles of different sizes, shapes, and compositions, at different altitudes, and see if they can figure out how that will affect the barometric pressure, windspeed, and rainfall of storms once they reach land.

It's why weather prediction is still so difficult in general; weather is an exceedingly complex system.  This accounts for my kneejerk furious reaction when I hear someone say, "I should be a meteorologist, it's the only profession where you can be wrong three-quarters of the time and still get paid!"  (Hurr hurr.)  Or, like I actually heard someone say in a school board budget meeting -- "Why do the science teachers need an expensive weather station?  If I want to know what the weather is, I just look out the damn window."  (Hurr hurr hurr durr.)

[Image is in the Public Domain courtesy of NOAA]

It takes some self-awareness to realize you're pretty much completely ignorant about a topic, and considerable effort to remedy it, which probably explains why so many people like to pretend the world is simple.  So much easier to pick a solution that appeals to you -- especially one that doesn't require you to revise any of your preconceived notions -- and forthwith stop thinking.

Honestly, any time you hear "All we need to do is...", you should be on your guard.

The topic cropped up again a couple of days ago in a post from the wonderful author Lisa Lee Curtis, who took on addressing a meme that's been going around showing a trash-covered street with graffiti on the walls, in an obviously poor neighborhood, and the caption, "Democrats want us to believe they can clean up the environment, yet they can't even clean up their own district and streets."  Lisa does a brilliant takedown of the claim and the mindset behind it, and you should read it in its entirety (you can find it at the link provided), but one bit in particular stood out: "Democrats didn't do this.  Greed did this and continues to do this.  This isn't a partisan crisis, this is a human crisis, and you're playing armchair quarterback to something that isn't a fucking game."

But it's appealing to land on a simple solution, isn't it?  Whatever the issue is, find a one-liner of an answer and call it good.  It's the Democrats' fault.  It's the Republicans' fault.  It's the fault of irresponsible young people.  It's the fault of hidebound, conservative older people.  It's the fault of (fill in the blank): Black people, Muslims, Jews, atheists, the poor, LGBTQ+ people... whoever your favorite scapegoat is.

You know what?  It's time to grow up and stop being so damn lazy.  The world is full of complexities, which might suck, but last I checked, reality doesn't care if you think it sucks.  Learn about all sides of the issue, not just the one that comes from your preferred partisan news source, before you form an opinion.

And look, it's okay not to have an opinion about some things.  It's perfectly all right to say, "I just don't know enough about this topic that anything I could say about it would be relevant."  Work to learn about what's going on in the world, do your best to understand, but when something is truly beyond you -- like the mathematics of meteorological forecasting is for me -- then have a little humility and admit that you don't know enough to weigh in.

Oh, and for cryin' in the sink, don't spout off about subjects where you're completely ignorant and can't be bothered to learn.  There's a name for willful ignorance, you know.

It's called "stupidity."

Keep in mind the quote from H. L. Mencken: "Explanations exist; they have existed for all time.  There is always an easy solution to every human problem—neat, plausible, and wrong."

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Ill winds

When you think about it, wind is a strange phenomenon.

In its simplest form, wind occurs when uneven heating of the surface of the Earth causes higher pressure in some places than in others, and the air flows from highs to lows.  But it's considerably more complex (and interesting) than that, because as surface-dwellers we often forget that there's a third dimension -- and that air can move vertically as well as horizontally.

I got to thinking of this because I've been reading Eric Pinder's fascinating, often lyrical, book Tying Down the Wind: Adventures in the Worst Weather on Earth.  Pinder is a meteorologist who was stationed as a weather observer on Mount Washington, New Hampshire, which one in every three days clocks hurricane-force winds (greater than 119 kilometers per hour) and is the spot that holds second place for the highest anemometer-clocked wind speed ever recorded on the Earth's surface (an almost unimaginable 372 kilometers per hour; the only higher one was on Barrow Island, Australia, which on April 10, 1996, during Cyclone Olivia, hit 407 kilometers per hour).

The fact that air moves vertically, of course, is why air moves horizontally.  When the Sun heats a patch of ground, the air above it warms and becomes less dense, causing it to rise.  This creates an area of low pressure, and air moves in from the side to replace the air moving upward.  This process, writ large, is what causes hurricanes; the heat source is the ocean, and the convection caused by that tremendous reservoir of heat energy not only generates wind, but when the water-vapor-laden air rises high enough, it undergoes adiabatic cooling, triggering condensation, cloud formation -- and torrential rain.

The process can go the other direction, though.  A weather phenomenon that has long fascinated me is the convective microburst, something that most often happens in hot, dry climates in midsummer, like the American Midwest.  The process goes something like this.  Rising air triggers cloud formation, and ultimately rain clouds.  When the droplets of water become heavy enough that the downward force of gravity exceeds the upward force of the air updrafts, they fall, but they drop into the layer of warm, dry air near the surface, so they evaporate on the way down, often not making it to the ground as rain.  Evaporation cools the air that surrounds them, making it denser -- and if the process happens fast enough, it creates a blob of air so much denser than the air surrounding it that it literally falls out of the sky, hits the ground, and explodes outward.  Windspeeds can go from nothing to 100 kilometers per hour in a matter of fifteen seconds.  Then -- a couple of minutes later -- it's all over, the dust (and any airborne objects) settle back to Earth, and everyone in the vicinity staggers around trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

A convective microburst in Nebraska [Image licensed under the Creative Commons Couch-scratching-cats, Downburst 1, CC BY-SA 4.0]

Microbursts aren't the only weird weather phenomenon having to do with density flow.  Have you heard of katabatic winds?  If you haven't, it's probably because you live in an area where they don't happen, because they're really dramatic where they do.  Katabatic winds (from the Greek κατάβασις, "falling down") occurs when you have significant chilling of a layer of air aloft -- on top of a mountain, for example, or (even better) over an ice sheet.  This raises the density of the air mass, creating a huge difference in gravitational potential energy from high to low.  The superchilled air pours downward, funneling through any gaps in the terrain; the effect is accentuated when there's a low pressure center nearby.  The katabatic winds off Antarctica (nicknamed "Herbies," for no reason I could find) and the ones off Greenland (known by the Inuit name piteraq) can be unpredictable, fast, and frigid, often driving layers of snow horizontally and creating sudden whiteout conditions.

Then there's the foehn (or föhn) wind, created when onshore air flow is pushed up against a mountain range.  This occurs in the southern Alps, central Washington and Oregon, parts of Greece and Turkey, and south-central China.  On the windward side of the mountains, the air rises and cools; this causes condensation and higher rainfall.  But when the air piles up and gets pushed over the mountain passes, it warms for two reasons -- the pressure increases as it goes downhill on the other side, and the condensation of water vapor releases heat energy.  The result is a warm, dry wind that pours downhill on the leeward side of the mountains -- the source of the "Chinook winds" that desiccate the northwestern United States east of the Cascades.

Interestingly, foehn winds are associated with physiological problems -- headaches, sinus problems, and mood swings.  It's documented that prescriptions for anxiolytic medications go up when the foehn is blowing; and a study at the Ludwig Maximilians Universität München found that suicide and accident rates both go up by about ten percent during periods when there's a strong foehn, and no one knows why exactly.

In any case, there are a few interesting tidbits about a phenomenon we usually don't think about unless we're in the path of a hurricane or tornado.  Something to think about next time your face is brushed by a warm breeze.  We live at the bottom of a layer of moving fluid, driven by invisible forces that usually are benign.  Only occasionally do we see how powerful that fluid can be -- preferably, from a safe distance.

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Cloud watchers

I've always had a fascination for the weather.  Especially violent weather; if I hadn't become a mild-mannered high school biology teacher, I'd have been a tornado chaser.  One of my favorite movies is Twister, and yes, I'm well aware of how ridiculous it is, but still.  Who didn't cheer when the Bad Meteorologist got smashed to smithereens, and the Good Meteorologist and his wife survived and decided they were still in love?

*looks around*

*silence*

Okay, maybe it was just me.  But still.  There's something compelling about weather, which is why I frequently give my wife urgently-needed updates about frontal systems in South Dakota.  Like everyone does, right?

*looks around*

*silence*

Anyhow, having been a weather-watcher for years, I was absolutely flabbergasted to find out that recently, the powers-that-be in the meteorological world have added twelve new types of clouds to the International Cloud Atlas.  Which is a book I didn't even know existed.  I mean, I've known since I was a kid and got a copy of The Golden Guide to Weather that there were different sorts of clouds, classed by height, shape, density, and pattern (if any) -- with wonderful names like altostratus and cirrus and mammatocumulus.  It honestly never occurred to me, though, that there was an entire atlas devoted to them, much less that there might be new ones.  After all, people have been watching the skies for millennia, not to mention describing it and drawing pictures of it.  How could they see anything truly new?

Well, it turns out that some of the new ones only form under really specific conditions.  Take, for example, one of the newly-classified cloud types, named cavum, sometimes known as a "hole-punch cloud" or a "fallstreak hole."  This occurs in an altocumulus cloud bank, when something causes sudden evaporation in a region, leaving behind a hole through which you can see the blue sky.  It's sometimes triggered by an airplane or even a meteor.

A cavum formation in Austria in 2008 [Image licensed under the Creative Commons H. Raab (User:Vesta), HolePunchCloud, CC BY-SA 3.0]

Another is the volutus, or "roll cloud," often associated with windy weather near bodies of water, and thought to be caused by a soliton wave -- a single, stable standing wave front:

A volutus cloud, Punta del Este, Maldonado, Uruguay, 2009 [Image licensed under the Creative Commons Daniela Mirner Eberl, Roll-cloud, CC BY-SA 3.0]

Another new one is the murus cloud, or "wall cloud."  Although this one has been seen many times, especially if you live in the midwestern United States, it just recently received its own nomenclature.  It's a part of a cumulonimbus formation -- the kind of cloud that gives rise to thunderstorms and tornadoes -- and results from an abrupt lowering of the cloud base.  This indicates the area of strongest updraft, which is why murus clouds are a good indication that it's time to head to the storm cellar.

A murus cloud near Miami, Texas, 1980 [Image is in the Public Domain courtesy of the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration]

One last one is the asperitas formation, which has an undulating, underwater appearance.  While they look threatening, they're more often seen after a thunderstorm has passed, and usually dissipate quickly without any further violent weather.

Asperitas clouds over Talinn, Estonia, 2009 [Image licensed under the Creative Commons Ave Maria Mõistlik, Beautiful clouds, CC BY-SA 3.0]

Anyhow, I was really surprised to hear that those only recently got their own official classification.  I guess it just goes to show that there is still a lot to be learned from the things we look at every day.  Speaking of which, it's time for me to check the NOAA forecast site and see about those frontal systems in South Dakota.  Carol is waiting for her update.  You know how it goes.

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Into the hothouse

In the last week the northern United States has been swept by a couple of significant winter storms that not only dumped a ton of snow all over the place but drove temperatures down (especially in the upper Midwest) to levels that can only be described as "really freakin' cold."  A friend of mine in northern Minnesota told me that one evening, the wind chill in her home town dropped to -40 C.  While it didn't get that cold here in upstate New York, it definitely was chilly enough to feel like -- whatever the calendar of equinoxes and solstices might say -- we are still a long way off from spring.

And of course, cold weather always creates the same response in the science deniers, and this was no exception.  Just a couple of days ago someone I know posted a photograph of a guy bundled up in about twelve layers, completely covered with snow, with the caption, "Still believe in global warming?"  This was followed by comments that can be summed up as "the scientists say we're actually in a heat wave, how stupid do you have to be to fall for that, hurr durr hurr."

I find it kind of amazing how willing people are to post on social media statements that basically amount to shouting, "look at me, I'm a complete ignoramus."  The evidence supporting global climate change is overwhelming.  Amongst informed individuals, there is no argument any more.  The only people who are still holdouts are the ones who have a vested interest in convincing you that there's no problem -- e.g. the fossil fuels industry, the auto manufacturers, and the elected officials who are in their pockets -- and the people who get their information solely from Fox News.

The "it's cold so global warming is a hoax" attitude is appalling in another way, however.  Even the relatively rudimentary understanding of climate mechanisms we had three decades ago recognized that a global increase in average temperature didn't mean the mercury would rise uniformly across the planet, so to believe that shows you've read zero actual scientific research on the topic for over thirty years.  Climate is a phenomenally complex system, and even if we're sure that the average temperature has risen drastically and will continue to do so -- which we are -- it isn't going to lead to any sort of smooth change.  It's a little like what happens when there's an automobile accident on a busy highway.  Some of the effects are predictable -- such as a slowdown or outright stoppage in the lanes upstream of the accident.  But it doesn't slow everyone on the highway at the same time or at the same rate.  And it leads to a lot of less-predictable ancillary effects, such as a slowdown in the opposing lanes because of rubberneckers and increased traffic on secondary roads because of people trying to circumvent the accident site.

But even that is way easier to model than climate is.  Climate results from interactions between the atmosphere, the land, and bodies of water, and is affected by a number of different factors besides temperature -- air humidity, wind speed, elevation (such as when a mass of air is pushed upward into a mountain ranges), the reflectivity of the surface (i.e, high reflectivity due to snow or ice cover on either land or water tends to slow down any increase in air temperature), air pollution levels, and position of the jet stream.  The result is a system that is extremely complex to model accurately, and which can act quickly and unpredictably when disturbed.

Even so, climatologists have done amazingly well at developing accurate models, and if anything, they've erred on the side of a conservative estimate of what's happening.  Here are a few recent bits of research to illustrate my point.

First, a study out of Rice University three years ago predicted an increase in the intensity of "blocking systems" -- high-pressure air masses that stall and prevent frontal movement behind them.  This can lock in weather patterns for days or weeks.  An example is the catastrophic rain and flooding currently striking Australia, which has been stuck in place because of a high-pressure zone in the Tasman Sea.  The result has been that some areas have received an entire year's worth of rain in four days.

A photograph from Brisbane last week [Image licensed under the Creative Commons Universal Deus, Rowing sheds at west end, Brisbane, CC BY-SA 4.0]

The rainfall is powered by evaporation from the oceans, and that increases with higher sea surface temperatures.  A study published this week in PLOS-Climate describes a thorough survey of worldwide oceanic temperatures, and found that half of the surface area of the Earth's oceans have exceeded record heat thresholds since 2014 -- not just once, but breaking records over and over.

"Climate change is not a future event," said Dr. Kyle Van Houtan, chief scientist for the Monterey Bay Aquarium, who led the research team.  "The reality is that it's been affecting us for a while.  Our research shows that for the last seven years more than half of the ocean has experienced extreme heat.  These dramatic changes we've recorded in the ocean are yet another piece of evidence that should be a wake-up call to act on climate change.  We are experiencing it now -- and it is speeding up."

As I mentioned earlier, an overall average temperature increase can lead to opposite effects depending on where you are.  The same sea surface temperature rise that's created the blocking system and caused devastating flooding in Australia is currently weakening the south Asian monsoon -- the weather pattern that brings the summer rains on which the entire Indian subcontinent depends for agriculture and drinking water.

"Our work strongly suggests that sea surface temperature plays a dominant role in shaping the Indian Summer Monsoon's variability in South Asia," said Yiming Wang, of the Max Planck Institute, who led the study.  "Higher surface temperatures in the Indian Ocean during the Last Interglacial period could have dampened the ISM intensity...  Changes in the hydrological cycle will affect agricultural land, natural ecosystems, and consequently the livelihoods of billions of people.  We therefore need to improve our understanding of the control mechanisms of summer monsoon rainfall to better predict weather extremes such as droughts and floods and devise adaptation measures.  Time is of the essence, especially if ocean warming continues at the rate it is."

Last -- and highlighting how complex these models can get -- a team of scientists from ETH Zürich, the University of Bern, and the University of Tasmania looked at how the increase in ocean surface temperatures can endanger huge marine ecosystems.  They modeled what happened during the summer of 2013, when a mass of surface water nicknamed "the Blob" got stuck in place off the Pacific Coast of North America for two years.  The result was a massive die-off of marine organisms, including an estimated million sea birds.

What the researchers found was that two things also occurred during the formation of the Blob -- a drop in oxygen saturation and an increase in acidity.  So the effect wasn't solely due to the temperature increase.  As I said earlier, it's a complicated system of interlocking causes and effects, and altering one thing inevitably destabilizes everything else.  "To assess the risks of these kinds of events, we urgently need to study the chain of different environmental factors leading to such extremes more closely -- and not only in individual regions, but also at the global level," said study lead author Nicolas Gruber.  "When marine life is confronted with multiple stressors at once, it has difficulty acclimatising.  For a fish species that's already living at the upper end of its optimal temperature range, an added oxygen deficiency can mean death."

One thing I feel obliged to point out is that other than the first cited study (on blocking systems), all of the research I've mentioned in this post was published in the last week.  The data is coming in so fast that it's hard to process, and every bit of it is pointing to the catastrophic (and accelerating) effects of climate change.  Whether it's too late to stop it isn't known; some of the more pessimistic scientists think we've already crossed the "tipping point," where even if we cut off fossil fuel use cold, it won't halt the warm-up.

At this point, there is absolutely no excuse for anyone to remain ignorant about what's happening to our planet, much less to post idiocy like "I'm cold so the world isn't warming up."  (As Stephen Colbert put it a few years ago, "In other good news, I just had dinner so there's no such thing as world hunger.)  I understand that everyone can't be an expert; I'm not an expert, myself.  But it's not beyond anyone's ability to read at least the summaries and abstracts of the research.  Not to do so is pure willful laziness.

And it also puts you in the position of sharing some of the blame for our slow, inexorable slide into the hothouse.

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Thunderstorms on Titan

Sometimes I bump into a piece of research that's just so cool I have to tell you about it.

Yesterday when I was casting about for a topic for today's post, I found a link to a paper in the Journal of Geophysical Research called "The Physics of Falling Raindrops in Diverse Planetary Atmospheres," by Kaitlyn Loftus and Robin Wordsworth, of Harvard University's Department of Earth and Planetary Sciences.  In it, they consider the models of how raindrops alter as they fall -- evaporating, changing shape because of atmospheric drag, interacting with nearby drops -- and how that might differ not only in different environments on Earth, but on other planets.

You may already know that raindrops aren't as they're usually pictured, with a teardrop shape that's bulbous on the bottom and tapers to a point at the top; they're more or less spherical.  Large raindrops, or drops in high winds, will sometimes be deformed into fat ellipses, but modeling raindrop shapes as spheres is going to be a pretty good approximation most of the time.  Where things get interesting, though, is the fact that they sometimes coalesce with other drops, or partially evaporate as they fall.  In fact, it's the evaporation of rain on the way down, especially when falling into warm, dry air, that gives rise to my all-time favorite atmospheric phenomenon: a convective microburst.

Microbursts don't occur where I live, here in central New York, which I'm disappointed about because it'd be cool to experience one, and relieved about because having your stuff blown into the next time zone is kind of inconvenient.  They're much more common in areas that have turbulent updrafts from a layer of warm air near the surface -- like the American Midwest.  (It's no coincidence that places with microbursts are usually also prone to tornados.)

What happens is something like this.  A moisture-laden cloud reaches the point where the droplets of water are heavy enough to fall, so they do, dropping into the layer of warm, dry air underneath.  This makes the drops begin to evaporate.  Evaporation cools the air layer, and if the gradient -- the temperature difference between the blob of rain-cooled air and the hot, dry air below it -- gets big enough, the cool air literally falls out of the sky like an Acme anvil in a Roadrunner and Coyote cartoon.

If you're underneath this, all you know is that it's lightly raining, and then all of a sudden, WHAM.  The winds go from zero to a hundred kilometers per hour in thirty seconds flat.  Then equally quickly, it's all over, leaving you to pick yourself up and wander around trying to figure out where your trash cans and patio furniture went.

A microburst near Denver, Colorado in 2006. There aren't many good photographs of them because they're over so quickly, and also because if you're in one, the last thing you'll be thinking about is taking pictures. [Image licensed under the Creative Commons Unixluv, Denver-microburst, CC BY 3.0]

Anyhow, raindrops are way more interesting than a lot of people realize, as is weather in general.  If I hadn't become a science teacher I think I'd have been a tornado chaser.  As things stand, I have to content myself with frequently updating my wife about such critical information as the status of frontal systems in North Dakota, usually eliciting a comment of, "Yes, dear," which I choose to interpret as a sign of breathless fascination.

But back to the study.  What Loftus and Wordsworth did was to model raindrop behavior, and then extrapolate that model to other, less familiar environments -- like the thunderstorms on Titan, which are made of droplets of ammonia.  The authors write:

The behavior of clouds and precipitation on planets beyond Earth is poorly understood, but understanding clouds and precipitation is important for predicting planetary climates and interpreting records of past rainfall preserved on the surfaces of Earth, Mars, and Titan.  One component of the clouds and precipitation system that can be easily understood is the behavior of individual raindrops.  Here, we show how to calculate three key properties that characterize raindrops: their shape, their falling speed, and the speed at which they evaporate.  From these properties, we demonstrate that, across a wide range of planetary conditions, only raindrops in a relatively narrow size range can reach the surface from clouds.  We are able to abstract a very simple expression to explain the behavior of falling raindrops from more complicated equations, which should facilitate improved representations of rainfall in complex climate models in the future.

Which I think is amazingly cool.  The idea that we could use information about rainfall here on Earth to make some guesses about what weather is like on other planets is astonishing.  I'm sure if we ever get real data from extrasolar planets, or better data from places like Titan and Enceladus here in our own Solar System, we'll still be in for plenty of surprises; I'm reminded of the cyclic violent downpours of liquid methane on the planet where the Robinsons are stranded in the remake of Lost in Space (which, unlike the original series, is actually good).

But even having a start at understanding the weather on exoplanets, based upon speculation about the conditions and knowledge of how raindrops behave on Earth, is nothing short of fascinating.

So who knows.  Maybe soon I'll be able to update my wife about what the low-pressure systems are doing on Titan.  With luck, that will produce a better reaction than "Yes, dear." 

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This week's Skeptophilia book-of-the-week is a bit of a departure from the usual science fare: podcaster and author Rose Eveleth's amazing Flash Forward: An Illustrated Guide to the Possibly (and Not-So-Possible) Tomorrows.

Eveleth looks at what might happen if twelve things that are currently in the realm of science fiction became real -- a pill becoming available that obviates the need for sleep, for example, or the development of a robot that can make art.  She then extrapolates from those, to look at how they might change our world, to consider ramifications (good and bad) from our suddenly having access to science or technology we currently only dream about.

Eveleth's book is highly entertaining not only from its content, but because it's in graphic novel format -- a number of extremely talented artists, including Matt Lubchansky, Sophie Goldstein, Ben Passmore, and Julia Gförer, illustrate her twelve new worlds, literally drawing what we might be facing in the future.  Her conclusions, and their illustrations of them, are brilliant, funny, shocking, and most of all, memorable.

I love her visions even if I'm not sure I'd want to live in some of them.  The book certainly brings home the old adage of "Be careful what you wish for, you may get it."  But as long as they're in the realm of speculative fiction, they're great fun... especially in the hands of Eveleth and her wonderful illustrators.

[Note: if you purchase this book from the image/link below, part of the proceeds goes to support Skeptophilia!]

The weather report

Anyone who paid attention in ninth grade Earth Science class knows that climate and weather are not the same thing.

This, of course, means that we should be scrutinizing the high school transcripts of Donald Trump and the majority of his administration, because without fail you can count on a sneering comment about there being no such thing as anthropogenic climate change every time it snows in Buffalo.

The difference isn't even that hard to understand.  Climate is what you expect to get, weather is what you actually get.  Put more scientifically, climate is the overall averages and trends in a geographical region, and weather is the conditions that occur in a place at a particular time.  So a hot day no more proves the reality of climate change than a cold day disproves it; it's the changes of the average conditions over time that demonstrate to anyone with an IQ larger than their shoe size that something is going drastically wrong with the global climate, and that our penchant for burning fossil fuels is largely the cause.

Well, we might have to amend that last paragraph.  Because a paper that came out last week in Nature has shown pretty conclusively that you can detect the fingerprint of climate change in the weather -- if you look at a large enough sampling on a particular day.

In "Climate Change Now Detectable from Any Single Day of Weather at Global Scale," climatologists Sebastian Sippel, Nicolai Meinshausen, Erich M. Fischer, Enikő Székely, and Reto Knutti, of the Institute for Atmospheric and Climate Science of ETH Zürich decided to look at the assumptions implicit in Donald Trump's incessant tweeting every time there's a hard frost that climate change doesn't exist, and see if it really is possible to see the effects of climate change on a small scale.

And terrifyingly, it turns out that it is.

The authors write:

For generations, climate scientists have educated the public that ‘weather is not climate’, and climate change has been framed as the change in the distribution of weather that slowly emerges from large variability over decades.  However, weather when considered globally is now in uncharted territory.  Here we show that on the basis of a single day of globally observed temperature and moisture, we detect the fingerprint of externally driven climate change, and conclude that Earth as a whole is warming.  Our detection approach invokes statistical learning and climate model simulations to encapsulate the relationship between spatial patterns of daily temperature and humidity, and key climate change metrics such as annual global mean temperature or Earth’s energy imbalance.  Observations are projected onto this relationship to detect climate change.  The fingerprint of climate change is detected from any single day in the observed global record since early 2012, and since 1999 on the basis of a year of data.  Detection is robust even when ignoring the long-term global warming trend.  This complements traditional climate change detection, but also opens broader perspectives for the communication of regional weather events, modifying the climate change narrative: while changes in weather locally are emerging over decades, global climate change is now detected instantaneously.

So Trump's method of "look out of the window and check what the weather's like today" turns out to prove exactly the opposite of what he'd like everyone to believe.

I am simultaneously appalled and fascinated by the fact that there are still people who doubt anthropogenic climate change.  To start with, there is a universal consensus amongst the climatologists (i.e., the people who know what the hell they're talking about) that man-made global warming is a reality.  Note, by the way, that the scientists have always erred on the cautious side; back when I started my teaching career in the 1980s, the truthful stance was that there was suspicion that anthropogenic climate change was happening, but very few scientists were willing to state it with certainty.

Now?  There's hardly a dissenting voice, with the exception of the "scientists" at the Heartland Institute, who coincidentally get their paychecks from the petroleum industry.

Hmm, I wonder why they're still arguing against it?  Funny thing, that.

But even more persuasive than the scientists -- after all, we're not known as a species for trusting the experts when the experts are saying something inconvenient -- there's the evidence of our own eyes.  In my own home of upstate New York, stop by our local coffee shop any morning you like and ask one of the old-timers if winters now are as bad as what they remember as a child.  One and all, they'll tell you about snowstorms and blizzards and so on, the last serious one of which happened back in 1993.  Yeah, we've had snowfalls since then -- this is the Northeast, after all -- but if you look back through the meteorological records from the early to mid 20th century, there is no question that we've trended toward milder winters.

Then there are the summertime droughts and heat waves, the most extreme of which is happening right now in Australia.  Large parts of Australia are currently burning to a crisp in the worst and most widespread series of wildfires in human history.  Whole towns are being evacuated, and in some places the only safety people have found is piling their family members, pets, and belongings onto boats and waiting out the fires offshore.  The latest estimates are that 12.3 million acres have been charred in the last few months, and that half a billion wild animals have died.  Given the threatened status of a great many of Australia's endemic species, the fact is that we might be witnessing in a few months the simultaneous extinction of dozens of endangered plants and animals.

[Image is in the Public Domain]

But Trump and his administration, and their media mouthpieces at Fox News, have continued to feed people the lie that everything's okay, that we can continue polluting and burning gasoline and coal without any repercussions whatsoever.  Deregulate everything has become the battle cry.  Industry, they say, will regulate itself, no need to worry.

Because that worked out so well in the 1950s and 1960s, when the air in big cities was barely breathable, and there was so much industrial waste in the Cuyahoga River in Cleveland, Ohio that it caught fire not once but thirteen times.

The scientists, and concerned laypeople like myself, have been screaming "Will you people please wake up and do something!" for years now, to seemingly little effect.  "Everything's fine" is a comforting lie, especially since rejecting it means putting a crimp in our generally lavish lifestyles.

The problem is, the natural world has a nasty way of having the last word.  We often forget that there is no reason whatsoever that we couldn't completely wipe ourselves out, either through accident or neglect or outright willful fuckery, or some combination thereof.  For my kids' sake I hope we as a species get pulled up short in the very near future and come together to work toward a solution, because my sense is that time is short.  There comes a point when an avalanche has started and no power on Earth can stop it.  I just hope we're not there yet.

But such a point definitely exists, whether it's behind us or ahead of us.  And that by itself should scare the absolute shit out of every citizen of this Earth.

Maybe you still find yourself shrugging and saying, "Meh."  If so, you should shut off Fox News (permanently) and read a scientific paper or two.  Start with the Sippel et al. study I linked above.

If that doesn't convince you, I don't know what would.

******************************

This week's Skeptophilia book of the week is simultaneously one of the most dismal books I've ever read, and one of the funniest; Tom Phillips's wonderful Humans: A Brief History of How We Fucked It All Up.

I picked up a copy of it at the wonderful book store The Strand when I was in Manhattan last week, and finished it in three days flat (and I'm not a fast reader).  To illustrate why, here's a quick passage that'll give you a flavor of it:

Humans see patterns in the world, we can communicate this to other humans and we have the capacity to imagine futures that don't yet exist: how if we just changed this thing, then that thing would happen, and the world would be a slightly better place. 

The only trouble is... well, we're not terribly good at any of those things.  Any honest assessment of humanity's previous performance on those fronts reads like a particularly brutal annual review from a boss who hates you.  We imagine patterns where they don't exist.  Our communication skills are, uh, sometimes lacking.  And we have an extraordinarily poor track record of failing to realize that changing this thing will also lead to the other thing, and that even worse thing, and oh God no now this thing is happening how do we stop it.

Phillips's clear-eyed look at our own unfortunate history is kept from sinking under its own weight by a sparkling wit, calling our foibles into humorous focus but simultaneously sounding the call that "Okay, guys, it's time to pay attention."  Stupidity, they say, consists of doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results; Phillips's wonderful book points out how crucial that realization is -- and how we need to get up off our asses and, for god's sake, do something.

And you -- and everyone else -- should start by reading this book.

[Note: if you purchase this book using the image/link below, part of the proceeds goes to support Skeptophilia!]

The hexagons of doom

New from the Woo-Woo Bullshit That Would Not Die department, we have: stories popping up all over the place claiming that the discovery of hexagonal clouds "solves the mystery of the Bermuda Triangle."

There are dozens of these articles all over the place, many at clickbait sites like the Daily Mail Fail, so I will only post one link -- to a dubiously-less-clickbaitish site called the Mother News Network.  In it, we find that a meteorologist named Randy Cerveny has been studying atmospheric turbulence patterns, and found that a phenomenon that creates hexagonal-shaped clouds is also likely to create the proper conditions for a microburst -- a sudden downdraft that can reach hurricane-speed in a matter of seconds (and usually dissipates just as fast).  "These types of hexagonal shapes over the ocean are in essence air bombs," Cerveny said.  "They are formed by what are called microbursts, blasts of air that come down out of the bottom of a cloud and then hit the ocean and then create waves that can sometimes be massive in size as they start to interact with each other."

Which is all well and good, and of obvious interest to weather nerds like myself.  I'm fascinated by weather, which is why I'm always updating my poor long-suffering wife about the status of low-pressure systems in Saskatchewan.  So I think the discovery is cool.

But.

You may want to back slowly away from your screen, 'cuz I'm gonna yell.

THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS "THE BERMUDA TRIANGLE PHENOMENON."

I dealt with this in a post way back in 2011.  Let me quote for you the relevant paragraph:

[T]he whole preposterous idea [of the Bermuda Triangle] was brought to the public's attention by a fellow named Charles Berlitz, who wrote a bestselling book on the subject in 1974.  Berlitz's book, upon examination, turns out to be full of sensationalized hype, reports taken out of context, omitted information, and outright lies.  Larry Kusche, whose painstaking collection of data finally proved once and for all that there were proportionally no more ships and planes going down there than anywhere else in the world, said about Berlitz, "If Berlitz were to report that a ship was red, the chances of it being some other color is almost a certainty."

So the Bermuda Triangle Mystery is actually the Bermuda Triangle Ordinary Patch Of Ocean.  But far be it from the woo-woos of the world to say, "Well, I guess we were wrong after all.  There's nothing to see here, folks."  No.  We have to keep hearing about how ancient aliens built the Pyramids, that ley lines determined the siting of Stonehenge, how you can heal yourself with crystals, and that homeopathy works.

And, heaven help us all, that there's a mysterious "Bermuda Triangle" where ships and airplanes vanish regularly, never to be seen again.

So poor Randy Cerveny has joined the rank of scientists who have had their legitimate (and interesting) research co-opted by wingnuts who then use it to support a loony claim.  I don't know how he feels about this.  Maybe he's just laughing it off.  Me, I'd be pissed.

In fact, I'm pissed enough just reading about it.  I better go check the weather forecast for Quito, Ecuador and calm down a little.  It'll also give me something to tell my wife about over dinner tonight.

We're in for a spell of weather...

Why is it that some people will believe anyone's pronouncements on anything, as long as said person is not a scientist?

I and others have ranted repeatedly about a large slice the public's dismissal of climate science and evolutionary biology.  And the anti-science stance of each of those, I know, comes from a different source; the petroleum lobby's power over the political system in the first place, and religion in the second.  But this general distrust of anything scientific runs deeper than that, touching on topics where there is no obvious motive for disbelief, where people for some reason will accept folksy tale-telling over evidence-based, data-driven research.

And that makes no sense to me at all.

As an example of this, let's consider The Old Farmer's Almanac, which just came out with its predictions for the winter last week.  And based on their methodology, which as far as I can tell involves voodoo and rain dances, we're going to have a wicked snowy winter.

"The snowiest periods in the Pacific Northwest will be in mid-December, early to mid-January and mid- to late February," the Almanac says, which at least has a better chance of being correct than their predicting a blizzard in, say, July.

But the fact is, no scientist takes what the Almanac has to say seriously, because their weather forecasting isn't science. According to an article in Consumer Reports, the Almanac bases its predictions on "a secret mathematical formula using the position of the planets, tidal action of the moon and sunspots" that is kept in a black tin box in Dublin, New Hampshire.

Because that's gonna be reliable.

And how accurate is it, anyway?  Skeptical blogger Steven Novella found one place where someone actually tested the Almanac's predictions, and guess what happened?

In the October 1981 issue of Weatherwise, pages 212-215, John E. Walsh and David Allen performed a check on the accuracy of 60 monthly forecasts of temperature and precipitation from The Old Farmer’s Almanac at 32 stations in the U.S.  They found that 50.7 percent of the monthly temperature forecasts and 51.9 percent of the precipitation forecasts verified with the correct sign.  These may be compared with the 50 percent success rate expected by chance.

This is my "shocked face."

But what pissed me off the most about this year's predictions was an article from KOMO News Online called, "Who to Believe?  Snowy Farmer's Almanac?  Or NOAA's Warm El-Niñoey Blob?" written by, of all people, a trained meteorologist who therefore should know better.  And while author Seth Sistek concludes that we should probably trust NOAA, which has forecasted a warmer-than-average winter for the northern United States because of a blob of anomalously warm seawater parked off the Pacific Coast of North America, even the fact that he asks the question gives unwarranted legitimacy to what honestly is a bunch of hocus-pocus.

[image courtesy of NOAA]

"[I]n the battle between Blob and book," Sistek writes, "I'd have to lean toward the Blob in agreeing with the supercomputers that it'll be a warmer winter."

Which, as endorsements go, is not exactly knocking my socks off.  What's next?  Asking the astrologers to draw up zodiac charts to predict solar flares?

Okay, I'm coming off as pretty harsh toward The Old Farmer's Almanac, I realize.  But the problem is, there's already a tendency in this country for people to buy pseudoscience over science, to distrust researchers, to look at scientists as ivory-tower nerds who are disconnected with practical reality.  We definitely don't need anything to push us further in that direction, even if it is "all in fun." To quote Novella again:

I hear many people quoting one almanac or the other about what kind of winter we are in for. They don’t seem to realize that the almanacs are using 200 year old pseudoscientific methods that have never been validated.  Despite the coy marketing of these predictions, many people take them as legitimate... 

It seems that the public did not want the scientific information – they wanted the predictions made by mysterious methods.  I can understand, for marketing reasons, why future editors of the almanac would not consider dropping the predictions.  But here is a recommendation – why not get rid of the two century old dubious methods and replace them with the climate forecasts made by the National Weather Service?

Because, apparently, folksy prognostications still carry more weight than actual science with a large sector of the American public.

Look, I know that meteorology as a science still has a long way to go.  Weather and climate are vastly complex systems, extremely sensitive to initial conditions, and long-range forecasting is still fraught with inaccuracies.  Even the most highly-trained meteorologists, using the latest computer models and our best understanding of how the science works, still get it wrong sometimes.

But damn it all, it's still better than magic formulas in black tin boxes in Dublin, New Hampshire.

Aftermath of the storm

The biggest winter storm yet this season has spun its way out into the north Atlantic, after burying parts of the northeast under as much as four feet of snow, and this has activated two groups of people.

The first is the cadre of folks who don't understand meteorology, and think that multi-variable analysis of winds, surface and upper atmosphere temperatures, air moisture content, and pressure gradients should give you predictions of snowfall totals accurate to five significant figures.  You have your people who got more snow than they thought they were going to, inconveniencing their lives (clearly the weather forecasters' fault), and the ones who got less than they feared, causing them to batten down the hatches unnecessarily (again, blame the forecasters).

"I want that job!" one person commented.  "Half right half the time, no better than guessing, and they still get paid."

I dunno.  Considering that Long Island, most of Boston and Providence, and coastal Maine are still digging themselves out, the forecasters did pretty damn well.  We'd have experienced a tad more inconvenience, don't you think, if we hadn't had any warning that the storm was coming?

Aftermath of Winter Storm Juno in New York [image courtesy of the Wikimedia Commons]

But worse than the scoffers is the group of people who think that "it gets cold in winter" is equivalent to "climate change isn't real."  These include Donald Trump:

This very expensive GLOBAL WARMING bullshit has got to stop.  Our planet is freezing, record low temps, and our GW scientists are stuck in ice.

Amazing that someone could pack so much nonsense into two sentences.  First of all, "global warming" hasn't been "very expensive" yet, because we haven't done a fucking thing about it, mostly because our leaders are still arguing over whether it exists.  The planet's not freezing, nor are we experiencing "record low temps;" in fact, 2014 was the hottest year on record.  And you'd think Trump himself would be nice and warm, considering the dead possum he wears on his head.

Then there's RedState.com's Erick Erickson, who added a religious filagree to the whole thing with the following baffling statement:

The difference between people who believe in the 2nd coming of Jesus and those who believe in global warming is that Jesus will return.

Maybe if Jesus does return, he could explain to these mental midgets the difference between "weather" and "climate."

Then there's Fox Business's Stuart Varney, who apparently not only doesn't know the difference between weather and climate, but doesn't understand the Law of Conservation of Mass.  A recent study found that Antarctic sea ice was increasing in volume, and Varney says that because of this, we should be "looking at global cooling, not global warming" -- neglecting the fact that Antarctica is losing continental ice faster than it's gaining sea ice, meaning that there's a net loss.  (And even the gain in sea ice was predicted by climate change models; it's due to warmer air temperatures, higher humidity, and higher precipitation in the form of snowfall.)

But no such spew of foolishness would be complete without Rush Limbaugh weighing in.  Every time his name comes up, I marvel that anyone is still listening to this bloviating gas bag, but apparently enough people are that he's still on the air.  And here's his take on the weather:

I can't tell you the number of times a record or major snow storm has been forecast -- this year alone -- I was just trying to think last night, trying to recall a couple of instances where they forecast something that is going to be really, really bad, and it hasn't even come close to being, not even close to bad, much less really, really bad. And not just in New York but elsewhere around the country. It's been a horrible, horrible year for forecasts. And the reason is, if i can cut to the quick, the left has corrupted everything. Just like the left has corrupted the professoriate, the faculty at major institutions of higher learning, the left has populated all of these bureaucracies. The Department of Commerce runs the National Weather Service, and do not believe that they're not politicized.

So now the weather has a liberal bias?

What earthly reason would liberals (or anyone else, for that matter) have for exaggerating storm impacts?  Oh, wait, I forgot; the left wants to destroy America.  Because, um, bwa ha ha ha ha ha ha ha, that's why.  So they bring major cities along the East Coast to their knees with warnings about a nonexistent winter storm, so as to accomplish their evil goals.  And then... the storm shows up, pretty much right on target, bringing the cities even more to their knees.  Faked 'em out, didn't they!  Ha!

That's how evil those liberals are.

Maybe the liberals even created the storm, you think?  Using their commie pinko leftist snow-making machines, imported directly from the Soviet Union.  (Yes, I know the Soviet Union doesn't exist any more.  Shush, I'm on a roll.)  Who knows what they'll do next?  Maybe this year they'll use their Tornado-making Machine to send tornadoes to Kansas, and their Hurricane-making Machine to launch hurricanes at the Gulf Coast, thereby sending these areas exactly the kind of weather they usually get.

Now that's some first-class evil.

Look, as I've mentioned before, I'm really not very political myself.  I'm a science nerd, not a political science wonk.  I'm much happier wearing my lab coat and my black plastic-framed glasses with electrical tape around the middle than I am discussing policy.  So although I don't much care what you believe in terms of politics, I can say with some authority that we all need to stop believing the talking heads like Rush Limbaugh and Erick Erickson and Donald "Scalp Possum" Trump, and start listening to the scientists.  They may not be 100% accurate, but their models and predictions are a damn sight better than they were even ten years ago.

On the other hand, maybe it's just easier to wait until a really hot day this summer, and point out that if a snowy day in winter disproves climate change, then a hot day in summer proves it.  If that's the kind of logic that works with these people, it's worth trying.

It's a little like the guy who is asked by his friend to go behind his car and see if the turn signal is working, and yells back, "Yes.  No.  Yes.  No.  Yes.  No."