What the eff?!
Cassini will terminate its 20-odd-years-long mission in September. But it’s determined to go out with a bang. In yesterday’s press conference, NASA announced that the probe, during a 2015 flyby of Saturn’s moon Enceladus, found clues that the ocean within the icy moon has almost all we think it needs to spark life. Continue reading
A couple of days ago, NASA announced the discovery of seven-count-them-seven rocky planets orbiting a small star called TRAPPIST1. Three of them seem to even be in the “habitable zone”. So, have we found the aliens’ home?
Nope. However, words are a bit confusing, so let’s review what it takes for a planet to be habitable.
The key is liquid water. All life we know—from bacteria to cats, from carrots to Lionel Messi—hinges on chemical reaction that only take place in water. No water, no life.
The habitable zone of a star is the space around it where planets can have sustained liquid water on their surface. Closer, and the heat from the star will fry the planet with all the water (think Mercury), farther and the surface will freeze (think Pluto).
Now we need a surface to collect this water on. That’s why rocky planets are interesting: no rocky surface, no place for water. And again, no water, no life.
Location isn’t everything, though: the atmosphere is key too. Earth’s atmosphere keeps water on the surface, and temperatures friendly (for planetary standards). Less of it and we’d risk turning into Mars, which is in the habitable zone, but is a frozen desert, where water is more like a killer sludge. More atmosphere, and we might become Venus (also in the habitable zone), which is effectively hell, molten lead lakes and deadly acid rains included. Winds in the atmosphere also favor habitability on some exoplanets.
Then you must hold on to your atmosphere. Earth has a cozy magnetic field that deflects part of the Sun’s radiation. Mars probably had an atmosphere, when it also had oceans, but has no magnetic field. Atom by atom, the constant barraging of energy and particles from the Sun eroded it. With the atmosphere gone, so was the water. No water, no life.
The planet discovered around TRAPPIST1 are important not because they might be habitable (though some are promising), but because TRAPPIST1 is the first star of its kind we study, and it immediately delivered several promising planets. That means it should be relatively easy to find interesting planets around that kind of star, which multiplies the chances of finding actually habitable ones.
Moreover, they are close to Earth (“just” 40 light years), so we can study their atmospheres with existing telescopes, or with the James Webb space telescope slated to launch next year. We’ll train on these for the multitude of planets we are about to find.
For now, as usual, no aliens.
There once was a dragon, who lived in the desert and loved to eat ants. He liked it so much that he gave up the ability to drink for that: he made his mouth perfect for eating, but useless when it came to sipping.
Instead, he learned something way cooler: how to conjure water from sand itself, summoning a force even stronger than gravity.
It’s actually a true story: the thorny dragon is a majestic, 20cm long Australian lizard. A recent study revealed that, to drink, it uses a complicated network of narrow channels that start from its feet, suck water from the ground. Then, snaking between its scales, they deliver the water directly into the lizard’s throat.
We bottled that force into wondrous technologies such as… er… paper towels.
Seriously, though, paper towels do suck water against gravity. Since nothing is pushing the water up, that’s more or less sorcery. However, scientists prefer to call it capillarity, and it’s fascinating.
You probably noticed that water sticks to stuff. It’s scientifically called—I kid you not—wetting. But water also sticks to itself, and these two things combined make capillarity work.
In a way it’s like keeping up a hammock. The net is made to stay together, it’s suspended from the poles, and it sags in between under its own weight. In a tube with water it’s much the same: the tube walls act as many tiny poles around the water surface hammock.
Water has an important difference from the hammock net: it self-sticks to the tube walls. That means it can climb (a little) up the wall. That’s why capillarity works so well in narrow channels, with walls close to each other. Basically, the distance between the “hammock poles” is small, so there’s less space for the net to sag.
Though it seems a little more mundane, paper towels work the same way. Inside their mesh hides an intricate network of tiny tubes through which water can climb. A little dragon magic in our kitchens.
No Christmas landscape is complete without snow. Lots of snow. And every little snowflake is unique, everyone knows that! How come, tho?
Snow is nothing else than teeny tiny ice crystals that form in the clouds and stay solid all the way down to the ground. Water crystallizes around microscopic imperfections, like dust particles floating in the clouds. Once the initial nucleus is formed, the microscopic droplets gather around it very rapidly.
Even though all snowflakes are somewhat hexagonal (due to the geometry of water molecules), each of them grows in slightly different conditions. Some had more water droplets close by, some other was in a portion of space a fraction of a degree warmer. Each and every factor counts: the final shape of the crystal is sensitive to exactly everything.
So the shape of each snowflake is random, it’s like rolling a die with infinitely many faces. You never know what will come out and all outcomes are different. If you want to put it in more physics-pompous terms, the formation of snowflakes is a stochastic process.
In the end, each snowflake is a picture of the exact conditions in which it formed. And since it’s impossible to reproduce the exact same conditions twice, each of them paints a slightly different picture.
Like pictures, snowflakes too come out better if the scene doesn’t move too much. Indeed, if conditions don’t stay relatively constant around the budding crystals, anything can happen. Most of the times, several crystals aggregate in one big snowflake, sort of a little snowball, which look a lot more like each other.
Regardless of the conditions, it’s really hard to tell them apart anyway.
In the cold of Canada, a man blows a soap bubble, which immediately freezes. Since that’s awesome, the guy makes a nice video about it.
Who knows, maybe he even knew about all the physics that was going on in front of his camera.
Let’s start from the easiest thing: why does the bottom of the bubble freeze last? The answer is gravity: the outermost layers of the bubble slide down, so the base just has more water to freeze. And it takes longer.
But why does it freeze in spots, instead of just from the top down?
Because cold is not the whole story. Water needs a point to start building its crystals, if it can’t find one, it stays liquid well below zero degrees (Celsius), but is very unstable and freezes at the slightest disturbance.
In a stunning turn of events, a soap bubble has plenty of soap molecules floating around, and they are excellent starting points for the ice crystals we see growing on the surface.
Finally, why does the bubble pop instead of just staying there? In the comments to the video, the author says he popped it, but I do believe he could have just waited a little.
The air he blew in the bubble came from his lungs, so it was over 30 degrees. Pressure inside the bubble, initially, is the same as the atmospheric one, but it drops as the air cools down. This puts a lot of stress on that thin and stiff ice surface. Sooner rather than later it was bound to collapse anyway.
All this magnificent physics in less than 30 seconds. What a wonderful world…
A long time ago Mars had water on its surface, and maybe even oceans–we knew that. But now we
‘re sure think that a little water still flows there. Sometimes. Kinda.
The Mars Reconnaissance Orbiter probe collected pictures of slopes, where long streaks stretch and shrink seasonally.
Because they conspicuously resemble small water streams, scientists studied them combining the great images from the HiRISE telescope on board the probe with spectroscopic measurements (which measure different light wavelengths to determine the chemical composition of a material).
The result is that these streaks (called Recurring Slope Lineae, or RSL) have all the makings of being caused by water flowing.
But RSLs are likely more similar to mud than water. Since Mars is really cold (-63 Celsius on average), the only way for water to prevent freezing is to have enormous concentrations of salt. The most probable candidate is perchlorate, which is almost everywhere on the planet surface. And it’s very toxic.
So don’t quite picture these as happy little mountain streams. They’re more like small avalanches of killer mud.
It’s also totally unclear where the water comes from. One possibility is that a thick layer of ice just below the surface thaws in the summer. Another is that there are actual underground waterbeds on Mars. Or maybe the water comes from the atmosphere, and the perchlorate captures it to the ground.
It may not look like much, but until now Earth was the only planet we knew with liquid surface water. This is a big step to figure how water works in the solar system.