Boatswains and Bacteremia

Concordia Sunk by “Freak Wind”

Joe Follansbee over at fyddeye.com just published a story pointing to natural events that likely caused the sinking of the tall ship, Concordia, a couple of months ago. I found it especially interesting because I had never heard the term before before. Captain Bill Curry, on board the Concordia at the time of its sinking, stated that the vessel was caught in what he described as a “freak wind” before she sank on February 17th of this year. The tall ship was built in Poland in 1992, and used for sail training at West Island College in Montreal, Canada (wikipedia). The ship rapidly capsized, giving the crew members and passengers only 15 minutes to make it to the life rafts. Freak wind?

Follansbee states that Ken Pryor, a meteorologist who writes the Windstorm Review blog (http://windstormreview.blogspot.com/), was able to pinpoint the beginning of a microburst in that area an hour previously using satellite data. It is believed this microburst was what caused the Concordia to capsize with such lightning speed. Fascinating, but what is a microburst exactly? Wikipedia describes it as a “very localized column of sinking air, producing damaging divergent and straight-line winds at the surface that are similar to but distinguishable from tornadoes which generally have convergent damage…A microburst often has high winds that can knock over fully grown trees. They usually last for a couple of seconds.” The one that sunk the Concordia was reportedly traveling at 120 miles per hour!(NOAA)Microburst Sketch provided by Wikipedia

Thankfully all 64 passengers and crew were rescued despite spending nearly 40 hours at sea on the lifeboats. This was in no small part thanks to new emergency beacon technology which, when submerged in 2-4 meters of water, automatically breaks out of its bracket, floats to the surface, and immediately begins transmitting distress signals to circulating satellites overhead (www.sail-world.com). This was a large factor in the retrieval of the Concordia passengers by the Brazilian Coast Guard, preventing this unfortunate and scary event from becoming a disaster.

∞ Apr 5th, 2010 at 6:25 am / Comments

A Man-Made Tragedy of Increasing Proportions

I felt this picture, which I came across in regular browsing, was worth a post on its own.

The recent oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico, where the Deepwater Horizon continues spilling hundreds of thousands of gallons (the figure is almost too incredible to believe) daily. It is rapidly approaching the size of a small state.
An excellent article written at SeedMagazine.com by author Charles Wohlforth presents a thought-provoking perspective on the issue of blame, and who the recipient(s) should be as well as relating this incident to his own experiences covering the Exxon Valdez spill in 1989. I recommend checking it out by clicking the following link: http://bit.ly/9WnKUQ. He presents his point of view, and perhaps the very fact that efforts to clean up this devastating man-made disaster will all prove futile and fall short. Perhaps provocative, perhaps correct, but certainly worth a view.
Aside from that, I have recently finished Medicine Under Sail by Zachary Friendenberg; the book I was writing about recently. I am now faced with a decision to read either Longitude by Dava Sobel, or Rough Medicine by Joan Druett. Decisions, descisions! Any feedback would be welcome.
*photo provided by Maritime Texas Blog (also a great blog, check them out)

∞ May 10th, 2010 at 11:39 pm / Comments

Lessons From the Past: Longitude and the BP Oil Spill (part 1)

Cover of Longitude

What parallels, if any can be drawn from history and brought to light with relevance to our current predicament. I speak of the BP oil spill now ravaging the Gulf of Mexico; a problem seemingly with little in the way of an obvious solution, and even less in the way of hope for the unlucky wildlife entrenched in the muck. This is without even mentioning the far-reaching economic consequences that are sure to follow such a catastrophe. BP and the authorities involved have tried various solutions, all for naught at this point, with the recent temporary remedy of collecting the oil by siphoning it into boats on the water’s surface. This is, of course, a “band-aid” solution at best, and BP knows it. With this in mind, they have turned their search for a definite solution outwards and have started asking the public at large for any assistance they might be able to offer. When I first heard this I was both irritated and astounded. How could they just give up? If they could not figure it out, what hope would anyone on Facebook have of coming up with an original, practicable solution? Ridiculous! Or is it?

I have recently begun reading Longitude by Dava Sobel. In her book, she details the quest to discover a workable means for assessing an ocean-going vessel’s longitude at sea. This necessary measurement, though commonplace and an afterthought today, was all but impossible in the early 18th century. Why? I mean, they had magnetic compasses and could measure their latitude using only a sextant and the heavens, so why was the accurate measurement of longitude so elusive? The answer is clearly described by Sobel, who states that the measurement of longitude is tempered by time. In other words, and very much unlike latitude, measuring longitude accurately requires that the persons aboard the vessels know their current time (in whatever timezone they might be in) and also the time at a specific place of known longitude (say their home port) at that very point in time. By knowing these, the sailor can deduce the number of hours difference and pinpoint his longitude. We must use a bit of math to make this clear (hold back the nausea). If the earth spins a full 360 degrees in a 24 hour period, then dividing that number (360) by 24 gives us the number of degrees longitude that’s equivalent to one hour. This number is thus 15 degrees. So by having the two clocks and measuring say, a 3 hour difference in time, we could then know that that ship is 45 degrees to the east or west of the point of reference. Make sense? Of course it does, your a bright person! We do, however, run into a snag at this point. You see, unlike latitude, longitude does not stay a constant as we travel vertically (north to south) on the globe. In other words, since the Earth is a sphere, the lines of longitude converge as you come closer to the poles, causing one to lapse many degrees of longitude in a relatively short amount of time. As an aside, it was this fact that contributed to the innate difficulty in steering and navigating ships with accuracy at the poles, despite the use of ever more advanced compasses and equipment, for many centuries and thus postponing mankind’s ability to explore these areas with ease.
It is plain that having two clocks is absolutely necessary with respect to accurate ascertainment of longitude. As Sobel points out, a pair of wristwatches would suffice. An object so commonplace and almost an afterthought in this time was, at one point, the thing of legends. There were certainly clocks in use during the early 18th century, however, they were hardly as accurate as those now in use and often lost a number of minutes per day. Winding a clock every so often was absolutely commonplace, making it imaginable that utilizing these devices at sea might prove troubling. There was also the problem of the elements at sea. Clocks were temperamental where changes in climate were concerned. Heat would cause their internal parts to expand and the lubrication liquid to thin out, while cold would do the opposite and cause the metal to contract and the oil to congeal. The tossing and pitching of the boat would also cause the clock to often speed up, slow down, or completely stop. Even something as delicate as changes in the Earth’s gravity at certain latitudes might cause disturbances. Researchers toiled at finding a workable solution to this problem while many sailors, even some who were excellent navigators in their own right, were lost at sea.
Sobel gives the example from of Admiral Sir Clowdisley Shovell who, upon returning home in October, 1707 after proving victorious in skirmishes against the French forces in the Mediterranean Sea, was overcome by a fog that clouded his ability to navigate near the treacherous, rocky coast of Brittany. His navigators (keep in mind they had no way of assessing their longitude) judged their craft to be safely west of this coast. Much to their astonishment and horror, they had misjudged their longitude and were actually in the midst of the Isles of Scilly. The Isles form an archipelago off the southwestern tip of Great Britain, and those rocky waters tore their ships to shreds. Shovell’s flagship, the Association, was the first to strike the rocks and sink in short order; the Eagle and the Romney followed quickly behind. In total, four of the five ships in the small fleet met their ends. Miraculously, Shovell managed to wash up on shore; shaken to his very bones, but very much alive. In a strange twist of fate however, a starving and desperate woman combing the beach came upon his body and quickly noticed the rather large emerald ring on his finger. In his depleted state, she managed to murder him and steal the ring. She confessed her crime on her deathbed 30 years later (Sobel, 1995, pg. 11-13). Apparently, luck runs out for us all, though some quicker than others. Many other stories like Sir Clowdisley’s (minus the murder) made it all to apparent that an answer to the “longitude question” must be answered, and quickly.

∞ May 18th, 2010 at 10:37 pm / Comments

Lessons From the Past: Longitude and the BP Oil Spill (part 2)

NOTICE: Written before the new cap was placed over the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico.

“Time is to clock as mind is to brain. The clock or watch somehow contains the time. And yet time refuses to be bottled up like a genie stuffed in a lamp. Whether it flows as or turns on wheels within wheels, time escapes irretrievably, while we watch. Even when the bulbs of the hourglass shatter, when darkness withholds the shadow from the sundial, when the mainsprings winds down so far that the clock hands hold still as death, time itself keeps on. The most we can hope a watch to do is mark that progress.” (Sobel, pg. 34)
Many great thinkers, as early as the 16th century, were aware that the answer to the “longitude problem” was likely to be found in a mechanical timekeeper. In 1530, the Flemish astronomer Gemma Frisius stated, most assuredly, that the mechanical clock was a true player in the effort to find longitude. However, as stated previously, building a watch that could withstand the elements and the motion aboard a vessel was something that would not be possible until centuries later with the advent of John Harrison’s H1.
John Harrison was a carpenter in his youth. The story goes that, at the age of six, he was stricken with smallpox and confined to his bed for a period. His father gave him a pocket watch with which to amuse himself while bedridden, and John was immediately captivated by the timepiece. He spent hours disassembling and reassembling it and studying its moving parts. So began his fascination with clocks. He built his first working pendulum clock in 1713 at the age of 20. Though this was a great feat, it was particularly fascinating for one other reason: the clock is constructed almost entirely of wood, innards and all.
His gift with craftsmanship of timepieces would be further tested as he began his quest to discover a means to answer the question of how to properly measure longitude. He was hardly unique in this respect towards the end of the 17th century. Everyone was setting about trying to win fame and fortune by solving the longitude problem. One of the most “colorful” of solutions came in 1687, in the form of a substance called the “powder of sympathy,” presented by Sir Kenelm Digby. This powder was said to be able to heal any wound, and from any distance. All a person had to do to unleash its powers was to apply the powder to an article of the afflicted’s clothing, and they would miraculously be cured of all ailments. The cure was not painless though, and would thus cause a significant level of pain in the injured subject when the powder was used. This was of course nothing but quackery. You might be wondering how on Earth this could be related to measuring longitude. The idea was to bring a wounded dog aboard a ship setting sail for whatever destination, and to have someone apply the powder to the wounded dog’s bandage at home port when the sun was upon the Meridian in London. The crew could then deduce their longitude by measuring the time at their current position and adjust it to find the difference. Yes, this was indeed an actual idea of the time, and that is without saying anything about inhumane treatment of animals.

Another albeit equally ridiculous (though possibly more humane) idea that sprouted up was from a pair of mathematicians, William Whiston and Humphrey Ditton. The pair often engaged in discussion and debate. One of their discussions led them to the thought that sounds could be used as predetermined time signals by which sailors at sea could deduce their longitude by measuring the difference in time aboard their ship as compared to the time the sound was supposed to occur. These “sounds” came in the form of signal ships, stationed at specific intervals, whose sole purpose was to fire their cannons at a specified time. As you might imagine, this idea would call for a rather large number of ships, all of which would need to manned by a crew, and unlike most ships of the time, would be completely stationary. How would the health of the crew aboard these ships be maintained? How would they be fed? Paid? These were trivial details to the two mathematicians. Apart from that, there is the matter of how uncertain the seas can be. Weather conditions might cause the ships cannon to go unheard, or to possibly sink a ship without anyone knowing for some time. And the very fact that they must remain stationary was a cause for disbelief. The Atlantic has an average depth of 2000 fathoms, and with a fathom being 6 feet in length, this would necessitate some very, very long anchors. There were just too many variables to make this a practicable idea. It, of course, did not get very far.
John Harrison completed his first sea clock, H-1, in 1735. It was a monstrous thing, though exceptionally elegant in its complexity. As Sobel writes, “Built of brightly shining brass, with rods and balances sticking at odd angles, its broad bottom and tall projections recall some ancient vessel that never existed. It looks like a cross between a galley and a galleon, with a high, ornate stern facing forward, two towering masts that carry no sails, and knobbed brass oars to be manned by tiers of unseen rowers. It is a model ship, escaped from its bottle, afloat on the sea of time.” Despite its accuracy in sea trials, and its apparently warm reception by the Board of Longitude (the committee overseeing all bids to solve the riddle of measuring longitude) in 1737, Harrison still felt that he could do better. He asked for another two years of funding to complete a clock that he believed would be both smaller and more accurate (the clock has not erred more than a few seconds in a 24 hour period; a miracle by the standards of the time). He was granted his wish and began work on H-2.
Harrison’s presentation of H-2 to the Board in 1741 was somewhat of a repeat performance from the years previous. He was an absolute perfectionist, and it showed. He pointed only to the clock’s foibles and highlighted none of its improvements from the previous iteration. His goal, as he put it, was merely to receive the blessing of the board to try again. He set out to make H-2 smaller than the previous timekeeper, and did so. However, it was still quite large, weighing in at 86 pounds, however, it did sport a number of improvements over H-1. It had a device within which allowed a much greater acclimation to changes in temperature, passing all of the tests (heating and cooling) with flying colors. They even subjected it to violent shaking, much more than what might be seen on an oceangoing vessel, and yet it reliably ticked on. Despite these achievements, Harrison’s inner perfectionist would not allow him to give up at this point. He retired again to his workshop to begin work on H-3; a project that would take him nearly 20 years to complete. Meanwhile, his first clock, H-1 drew the attention of people from all around the world. The English artist, William Hogarth described it as “one of the most exquisite movements ever made,” in his Analysis of Beauty published in 1753.

As Harrison began work on his third device, H-3, his son William joined his father in the workshop and eventually took up the cause of creating the timepiece along with his father. William grew with the clock; passing through his teens and twenties while working on it, and continuing work on the next iteration, H-4, until he was 45 years old. Harrison introduced a device in H-3 known as the bi-metallic strip. This strip can rapidly compensate for any changes in temperature that might affect the rate of the clock. This device, though created well over 200 years ago, is still present in some thermostats. H-3 was also the leanest of the sea clocks, with a weight of around 60 pounds. Harrison’s other goal with H-3 was to reduce the friction inherent in the inner workings of a timepiece. To reduce this factor, he introduced the idea of cages ball-bearings, a component in most every machine with moving parts to this day. Though more satisfied with H-3 than his previous sea clocks, he had a revelation upon seeing the watch created by John Jefferys. It was within this watch that he saw what he must accomplish with his fourth and final iteration of a sea clock, and as such began work on his first truly portable timekeeper.
Work was completed on the watch in 1759. As Sobel writes, “Coming at the end of that big brass lineage, H-4 is as surprising as a rabbit pulled out of a hat. Though large for a pocket watch, at five inches in diameter, it is minuscule for a sea clock, and weighs only three pounds. Within its paired silver cases, a genteel white face shows off four fanciful repeats of a fruit-and-foliage motif drawn in black. These patterns ring the dial of Roman numeral hours and Arabic seconds, where three blued-steel hands point unerringly to the correct time. The Watch, as it soon came to be known, embodied the essence of elegance and exactitude.” (Sobel, page 106) Harrison was infatuated with this watch and expressed more satisfaction with it than any of the previous timekeepers combined. This watch was an absolute marvel, and a true masterpiece. Harrison’s H-4 did eventually win the Longitude Prize, however, not without much hardship and heartbreak. You see, there was another, stronger, and more influential faction proposing a much different (and less practicable) way of measuring longitude: the lunar distance method.

Several astronomers proposed this method as the key by which they might unlock the secret of measuring longitude accurately. If one can measure the distance between the moon and some other visible celestial body, this measurement, along with a nautical almanac, can then be used to calculate Greenwich Mean Time. A separate calculation is used to determine the apparent local time, leading to the determination of longitude without necessitating a chronometer. As one might imagine, this sect of astronomers was vehemently opposed to the idea of a clock being the most accurate means of measuring a ship’s longitude. They also held positions of status within the Board of Longitude, and one in particular, a Reverend Nevil Maskelyne, seemed to resent Harrison’s creation more than the rest. He forced Harrison’s timepieces to go through a variety of grueling sea trials, above and beyond what was necessary to determine their reliability. Despite these unfair tests, the sea clocks came out on top, however, not without much aging and accrued weariness on the part of John Harrison. The antagonistic relationship between Harrison and Maskelyne deserves a post of its own someday.
So what is my point? Well, with this somewhat long-winded story, I was hoping to illuminate a simple idea. And that is that despite the most brilliant minds and affluent wallets put to task in order to devise a method to determine longitude, it was a self-educated clockmaker who came up with the (eventually) winning idea. We can now fast-forward to present day, and view the BP oil spill within the same framework. BP, up until extremely recently (and hopefully this second cap will hold) was unable to devise a secure and workable method of sealing the oil geyser. Had they turned to the population in earnest, without the PR games and masked truths, might they have had more rapid success? Could they have found their John Harrison? I do not know, however, I often think that it is the most practical amongst us who often have the solutions that might have been so obvious as to escape those who are highly specialized and inundated within the field of interest (i.e. those who are so focused on their specialized skills as to miss a solution which was staring them in the face but required looking at the problem from a different, unique angle). It is an interesting thought, and with the second cap now in place, experts must now turn towards the actual Gulf itself, and devise a method of actually cleaning up all that oil without further damaging the ecosystem and wildlife. Perhaps they have a very good plan in mind (something in me doubts it) and are already underway with the planning stages, however, if they do not, perhaps they still have reason to reach out to the populace and find a solution that is far more workable than anything they have come up with as of yet.

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∞ Jul 17th, 2010 at 4:58 pm / Comments