What Happened to Spring?

   I had so enjoyed the past two sunny days and had been delighted to find these harbingers of spring (above) in my south-facing garden bed. But to be honest, the blue skies were a bit monotonous for a cloudspotter like me. If you are not a cloudspotter like me, today (Tuesday) was your day to become one in Western Washington. The skies seem to be a hosting a battle between the forces of Spring and Winter. 
    We had rain early this morning, then blue skies, then snow flurries and hail, more sun, and then a very "unstable" assortment of clouds in all directions as far as the eye could see. I don't normally go out on cloud-watching drives, but today I did a circuit around the Black Hills to our west to see if I could learn anything about our local weather and possible cloud-spawning sights. What a fool to think that I could learn anything at 60 m.p.h. 
     I did manage to capture the turbulent skies of the season...before the Big Storm meteorologists are predicting tonight and tomorrow. Check out what University of Washington's Cliff Mass has to say at the link at right. But check out my pictures first. I think they say it all. Change! Drama! Look Out! Look Up!  

                                      



  

Physics of Clouds

   I am reading a book on physics and clouds, sort of. On page six, the author writes that  a friend of hers "likes to ask the following 'science' question.: How would you hold a hundred tons of water in thin air with no visible means of support?'"   The answer is the book's title: First You Build a Cloud. Such an elegant solution  especially given the next-best alternative (above, in two convenient sizes).
If you do build a cloud, start small.
   A cloud can hold 350,000,000,000 tiny droplets of water per cubic foot. A medium-sized cumulus cloud can weigh in somewhere between 320 and 480 tons--about as much as 80 elephant (each weighing 4-6 tons), according to several sources. Most of these sources acknowledged that you cannot actually weigh a cloud and that clouds are actually less dense than dry air, which is why they "float."
Imagine the weight of this cumulus congestus cloud! A veritable stampede of pachyderms in the sky!
 
   First You Build a Cloud and Other Reflections on Physics as a Way of Life is the full title of K.C. Cole's marvelous book--one that makes "general audience" readers like me feel less intimidated by a book with the word "physics" in it. 
   Cole's book is arranged in three parts: The Art of Knowing, Movers and Shakers, Threads and Knots and is full of insights, analogies, metaphors, enthusiasm, and awe for the physical world and the science of physics...which is more philosophy, poetry, and sentiment in Cole's capable hands. Aside from the riddle about the cloud and the lovely cumulus on the book's cover, Cole explores ideas and themes close to this cloud lover's heart: Why are things the way they are? Why do they behave the way they do? How science "provides us a handle on who we are and how we fit into the scheme of things." The role and limitations of mathematics, seeing, language, and metaphor in science. The value of being wrong and why wrong really mean wrong, but limited.
  Cole was a longtime science writer for the Los Angeles Times and now teaches at USC's Annenberg School of Journalism. In her book, she brings out the lighter sides of physicists such as Richard Feynman, Victor Weisskopf, Albert Einstein, J. Robert Oppenheimer and Frank Oppenheimer (former director of the Exploratorium who appears in the book as 'my friend the physicist").
  "Some people say that subjects like gravity or the states of matter [or clouds!] are too fundamental to be interesting," Cole writes. "People today are too sophisticated. Yet it's amazing how easy it is to be clueless even in this most technical of modern worlds. 'Most of us are in daily contact with at least as much that we do not understand as were the Greeks or early Babylonians,' my friend the physicists liked to say. 'Yet we have learned not to ask questions about how the power steering on our cars works or how polio vaccine is made or what is involved in the freezing of orange juice [or why clouds are pink at sunset!]. We end up in the paradoxical situation in which one of the effects of science is to dampen curiosity.'"
  Cole writes with clarity and ease and her book (published in 1999) will spark your curiosity and make you feel as though Einstein, Newton, Kepler, Oppenheimer, and the gang were all your chums.


Cloud of the Week # 7: Altocumulus Undulatus?

   "The problem with clouds," my friend Jeff says, "is that their field marks are always different."
   For those birdwatchers, butterfly chasers, and wildlife viewers out there, you know the value of field marks in the identification of different species. You cannot simply say (as I do) "It's a marbled murrelet because I say it is," or "It just looks like one, besides, who else would be out here calling in the forest at 4 a.m.?" No, you must offer up some concrete details to support your pronouncement.
    Those details come in the form of field marks--the shape of the bill, the facial markings, the pattern plumage (or scales, fur, skin in the case of other animals). If you can say that the bird in your binoculars is a robin-sized bird sporting black wings, a black face and white collar, you can match this to the image in your field guide and feel confident  that you have identified a marbled murrelet and not a Xantus's, Kittlitz's, or Ancient murrelets bobbing on the water. If you are patient and methodical, you can probably identify the dozens of species of gulls whose field marks vary according not only to species but also to age, wear and fading of plumage, and stage of molt. If you are patient and methodical and equipped with a dozen field guides and charts, you still won't be able to pin down every cloud you see.
   Which brings me to this weeks cloud, altocumulus undulatus. At least, that's what I think it is. This is a mid-level cloud--I can tell this because there are other clouds--stratocumulus, nimbostratus, cumulus fractus-- that apear to be lower than/below them in my photographs. The clouds have a bit of puffiness to them, telling me they are altocumulus and not altostratus. And, as far as undulatus goes, this variety of cloud has elements (bands in this case) that are arranged in almost parallel lines or wave-like undulations created by wind action. This undulatus cloud resembles ripples, or undulations, made in the sand by the action of tide or ocean waves.  
   Still, I am not confident in my id because my two photographs match none of the photographs in my Weather Identification Handbook (by Storm Dunlop), or my Cloudspotter's Guide (by Gavin Pretor-Pinney) or The Audubon Society Field Guide to North American Weather, or the two editions of "A Guide to the Sky" poster (by Art Rangno). Nor do my clouds match any of the hundreds of photographs posted on the Cloud Appreciation Society's website. The field marks seem to have changed. Other ac undulatus are puffier, more extensive, more irregular, closer, whiter, photographed with better cameras!
  The four photographs below are also possible contenders for the altocumulus undulatus.
The clouds in the right corner look like the layered rippling, mid-level clouds.
These are altocumulus undulatus from above--a bit puffier, more extensive, and regular in undulations.

This altocumulus undulatus has very weird field marks. It's a "radiatus" type in an unusual stage of formation or deterioration thanks to cross winds aloft. 
This looks like a more mature version of the two altocumulus undulatus photographs at the top of this posting.
    See the problem? I am thinking that any field guide to the clouds, no matter how authoritative, is woefully misleading and makes Accidental Naturalists like me extremely (but happily) frustrated in their attempts to create tropospheric orderliness in a sky of chaos and mutability. Were I not 100% addicted to identifying the clouds I see, I would throw up my hands, pull out my lawn chair and just watch them and marvel at their infinite...yes, truly infinite...variety.
    There are some 370,000 different species of beetles, a fact that some like to joke, showed God had an "extraordinary fondness for beetles." Ha!