two ships. The ship of wind-generated turbulence versus the ship of temperature-generated turbulence.
But just as there must be a finishing line to a race, so turbulence always becomes exhausted, locally speaking. It cascades down from big eddies to small ones before the process begins again somewhere in the wider system. Effectively, as I had said to Sir Peter in my interview, the kinetic energy of eddies in one place is converted into potential energy that will make turbulence in another place. It is like expelling a troublemaker from one school only for him to join another and make trouble there â not that turbulence should always be considered as trouble. Far from it.
Hearing shouts, I looked out across the water. Thronging the decks with their green helmets and uniforms, soliders were waving to us from one of the vast troopships. Some of the other passengers waved back, and then the shock of the leviathanâs bow wave reached us and began rocking the Wee Lorne . Soon I would see the anchorages of some of these monstrous ships in Holy Loch (my own destination) and Loch Long.
As we moved from side to side, it struck me that the difference between the two vessels was nothing compared with the difference between what I understood then, concerning Ryman and his number, and what I would need to understand and be capable of if I was really to supply what Sir Peter wanted: Ryman numbers for a geographical space that might be subject to any number of contrasting, altering weather systems over a five-day window.
The maths alone was mind-boggling. The time period over which the evolution of any eddy can be predicted is generally comparable with its own life-span, which is why averages areused in weather forecasting. But what Sir Peter wanted was very specific, and you just canât use averages to predict the specifics of the next generation of eddies, any more than you could use an average to predict the life-story of an individual human being. All you can do is show the likely dominance of one pattern over others â¦
As this thought went through my head I became aware that we were approaching the settlement of Dunoon, sometimes referred to as the âcapitalâ of Cowal. But before we could pull in we had, like all the other ships, to pass through the naval boom. This was a barrier of mines and deep baffles which stretched across from Castle Rock at Dunoon to Cloch Point on the Renfrewshire coast. Its purpose was to prevent enemy U-boats attacking the naval bases, anchorages and training facilities in the lochs above. An armed tug â the boom boat, as Iâd later learn to call it â had the job of opening a gate in the cordon to let us in.
Once this had been done, we swung in to Dunoon pier. A majestic Victorian construction made of thick wooden planking, it supported a pier house painted brown and white, with a clock tower on top, together with a balustraded promenade running from one side to the other. Underneath the promenade were tobacco and sweet kiosks, together with toilets, a ticket booth and the harbour masterâs office. There were gulls everywhere, stalking the wooden decking or skulking among the barnacle-encrusted uprights which supported it. Beyond the pier was a large green mound with a small castle on top, its flagpole flying the saltire. This mound dominated the whole town which spread out below it.
Dunoon had long been a holiday resort for Glaswegians, chief jewel in the necklace of villages and towns strung along the Firth of Clyde below the Cowal hills. Most of the passengers disembarked here â along with sacks of coal, bundles ofironware, mail bags and crates of beer. I had hoped then to continue my journey to Kilmun, which was just across the opening to Holy Loch, but was informed by the steward that Kilmun pier was closed for repair. I would have to get off at Blairmore, just a little âfurthâ doun the watterâ, as he put it.
It was no great delay. In
But just as there must be a finishing line to a race, so turbulence always becomes exhausted, locally speaking. It cascades down from big eddies to small ones before the process begins again somewhere in the wider system. Effectively, as I had said to Sir Peter in my interview, the kinetic energy of eddies in one place is converted into potential energy that will make turbulence in another place. It is like expelling a troublemaker from one school only for him to join another and make trouble there â not that turbulence should always be considered as trouble. Far from it.
Hearing shouts, I looked out across the water. Thronging the decks with their green helmets and uniforms, soliders were waving to us from one of the vast troopships. Some of the other passengers waved back, and then the shock of the leviathanâs bow wave reached us and began rocking the Wee Lorne . Soon I would see the anchorages of some of these monstrous ships in Holy Loch (my own destination) and Loch Long.
As we moved from side to side, it struck me that the difference between the two vessels was nothing compared with the difference between what I understood then, concerning Ryman and his number, and what I would need to understand and be capable of if I was really to supply what Sir Peter wanted: Ryman numbers for a geographical space that might be subject to any number of contrasting, altering weather systems over a five-day window.
The maths alone was mind-boggling. The time period over which the evolution of any eddy can be predicted is generally comparable with its own life-span, which is why averages areused in weather forecasting. But what Sir Peter wanted was very specific, and you just canât use averages to predict the specifics of the next generation of eddies, any more than you could use an average to predict the life-story of an individual human being. All you can do is show the likely dominance of one pattern over others â¦
As this thought went through my head I became aware that we were approaching the settlement of Dunoon, sometimes referred to as the âcapitalâ of Cowal. But before we could pull in we had, like all the other ships, to pass through the naval boom. This was a barrier of mines and deep baffles which stretched across from Castle Rock at Dunoon to Cloch Point on the Renfrewshire coast. Its purpose was to prevent enemy U-boats attacking the naval bases, anchorages and training facilities in the lochs above. An armed tug â the boom boat, as Iâd later learn to call it â had the job of opening a gate in the cordon to let us in.
Once this had been done, we swung in to Dunoon pier. A majestic Victorian construction made of thick wooden planking, it supported a pier house painted brown and white, with a clock tower on top, together with a balustraded promenade running from one side to the other. Underneath the promenade were tobacco and sweet kiosks, together with toilets, a ticket booth and the harbour masterâs office. There were gulls everywhere, stalking the wooden decking or skulking among the barnacle-encrusted uprights which supported it. Beyond the pier was a large green mound with a small castle on top, its flagpole flying the saltire. This mound dominated the whole town which spread out below it.
Dunoon had long been a holiday resort for Glaswegians, chief jewel in the necklace of villages and towns strung along the Firth of Clyde below the Cowal hills. Most of the passengers disembarked here â along with sacks of coal, bundles ofironware, mail bags and crates of beer. I had hoped then to continue my journey to Kilmun, which was just across the opening to Holy Loch, but was informed by the steward that Kilmun pier was closed for repair. I would have to get off at Blairmore, just a little âfurthâ doun the watterâ, as he put it.
It was no great delay. In
Similar Books
