discontents » solar radiation

Inigo Jones: The Weather Prophet

tim — Sun, 13 Feb 2011 02:53:03 +0000

I’m currently working on a html version of this with added links and content, but in the meantime…

Prologue

Canberra was in the grip of a heatwave — the longest in its recorded history. After two weeks of hot weather, the temperature topped the century once more, as 800 visitors swarmed into town for the 1939 meeting of the Australian and New Zealand Association for the Advancement of Science (otherwise known as ANZAAS). All accommodation was booked; delegates were billeted to homes in Canberra and Queanbeyan, while some of the more adventurous took to camping, creating ‘a miniature scientists’ settlement’ on the banks of the Molonglo River. As well as the heat, visitors grappled with the city’s unusual layout. The Canberra Times reported, ‘even members of the geography and astronomical sections lost their bearings’.

The following day, 11 January 1939, delegates gathered at Telopea Park School for the opening of the congress. As the temperature soared again to a record 108.5º, the Canberra Times observed that ‘most interest of a scientific character centred [on] a courageous prophecy by Mr Inigo Jones the famous Queensland weather forecaster’. Jones predicted an early end to the broiling conditions. ‘The heat wave’, he explained, ‘was cyclical, occurring at 35 year intervals’. There had been similar spells in the 1867-68 season and again, 35 years later, in 1902-3. Therefore the current heat wave, Jones claimed confidently, ‘was following expected lines’. As the death toll mounted and the threat of bushfire loomed, everyone hoped that he was right.

The ANZAAS meeting brought together the nation’s scientific elite, as well as a number of eminent visitors — including HG Wells. But amidst this jostle of intellectual worthies, Inigo Jones was, according to the Canberra Times, ‘one of the outstanding figures’. Jones was a determined battler whose ‘fight for recognition as a long range forecaster’ had begun in the early 1920s. Although he had received some support from the Queensland government, the newspaper noted that commonwealth authorities had been ‘stubbornly turning deaf ears to his claims’. However, it seemed that this attitude might finally be changing, for the federal government had recently announced the formation of a special committee to investigate Jones’s methods.

With the details of this committee still to be finalised, the ANZAAS meeting offered Jones a timely platform from which to espouse the benefits of his system. ‘I am getting along with the paper for the Congress and trust to make a good job of it’, Jones wrote to David Rivett in December 1938, ‘perhaps some of the committee of enquiry may hear it read’. His paper, entitled ‘Meteorology as a branch of astronomy’, surveyed international research into the use of astronomical cycles for long range weather forecasting. As Jones explained, the idea that our weather might be determined by celestial events was ‘by no means new’.

The appearance of spots on the surface of the sun had long been the source of conjecture, particularly when it was recognised, around the middle of the nineteenth century, that the number of sunspots increases and decreases on a regular cycle of around 11 years. Given that the sun dominates our experience of weather, might not this sunspot cycle set in motion regular changes in the Earth’s climate? In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, many scientists and enthusiastic amateurs embarked on the hunt for climatic cycles, believing that if such patterns could be found, then it might at last be possible to forecast the weather not just months, but perhaps even years ahead.

‘After fifty years’ study’ Inigo Jones was convinced that he had discovered the ‘key to the puzzle’. The sunspot cycle, he explained, was determined by the movements of the outer planets — Jupiter, Saturn, Neptune, and Uranus. This critical insight enabled him to derive a series of cycles, of varying length and importance, that could be used to develop long-range forecasts. ‘I am convinced… that the sunspot period is due to the action of Jupiter first and the other planets later’, he concluded his address, ‘and just as Pythagorus and Hipparchus, and later Copernicus, grasped the truth but not the whole truth, so may this work yet need its Kepler to place the coping stone of completion upon it’. On that modest note, Queensland’s Copernicus commended his paper to the further study of the assembled scientists.

Discussion followed amongst members of the ‘Astronomy, Mathematics, and Physics’ section of ANZAAS. ‘We have worked out all the cycles in England’, commented Sir George Simpson, the Director of the British Meteorological Bureau, ‘but they only give you an explanation of about 1 per cent of the weather variations’. Nonetheless, he advised Jones to continue his observations in the hope of finding some mathematical relation from which ‘reliable deductions’ could be made. Speaking ‘as one prophet to a brother prophet’, Professor VA Bailey similarly urged Jones to make predictions that were open to scientific verification.

The mood changed, however, when Edward Kidson, the New Zealand government meteorologist, took the floor. Detailed criticism of Jones’s paper ‘would be merely a waste of time’, he asserted. Indeed, he insisted that Jones himself had ‘no clear mental picture’ of the mechanisms he was describing. Kidson was in no mind to indulge the fancies of the elderly Queenslander, and moved that the section express an opinion that the paper ‘fell far below the standard which should be expected in a communication to such a gathering of scientists’. Discussion was quashed, and Jones withdrew, disappointed.

This ‘harsh and ill-mannered’ treatment outraged The Land newspaper, one of Jones’s most steadfast supporters. ‘It was a clear indication’, the newspaper thundered, ‘of just what Mr Jones can expect at the hands of those scientists who believe that because a system is new, or not universally accepted, it lacks merit or is not even worthy of investigation’. It warned the government to ensure that such ‘biased critics’ were not appointed to the committee that was to review Jones’s system. Country Life lambasted ‘so-called scientists’ whose intolerance made the newspaper ‘inclined to despair of “homo sapiens”’. But ‘the joke is on them’, the article concluded, for while Inigo Jones’s efforts at long-range forecasting had won him the admiration of ordinary farmers, ‘the official academicised meteorologists of the world cannot accurately forecast the weather a day ahead’.

The ANZAAS Congress marked a critical moment in Jones’s career, as he waited for the review committee to pass judgement on his system. But the Congress also highlighted the dramatic divergence in opinions surrounding the weather prophet himself. For some Inigo Jones was a neglected visionary, to others nothing more than a crank. While now he is generally cast as an amusing sidelight in the development of Australian meteorology, he is still remembered by many as a great Queensland scientist, and his forecasts continue to attract attention — particularly in times of drought.

As we grapple still with the unpredictability of our climate, with the difficulties of seasonal forecasting, it seems worthwhile to reconsider the life and work of a man who was believed to hold the answer to our uncertainties. This is not a complete biography of Inigo Jones. Instead it is an attempt to trace some of the events , influences, and relationships that culminated in the review of his system in 1939. The focus is on the way Jones and his quest were perceived — by meteorologists, by scientists, by supporters, and, of course, by himself.

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Looking at the sun

tim — Fri, 01 Aug 2008 09:27:16 +0000

From Wallal, in Australia’s far north-west, to Goondiwindi, near the New South Wales-Queensland border, local and international scientists watched the sun and waited.

A total solar eclipse was due on 21 September 1922. An eclipse always held scientific interest, but this one offered the chance to confirm one of the most revolutionary theories in science. Albert Einstein’s general theory of relativity predicted that light passing near an object such as the sun would be bent by gravity. In 1919, Arthur Eddington’s observations of a total solar eclipse lent support to Einstein’s theory, but some challenged his results. The 1922 eclipse, best observed in Australia, promised to decide the matter.

‘The occasion is unique’, noted the Commonwealth Meteorologist, Henry Ambrose Hunt, ‘and the observations are likely to be of much scientific value, and in the interests of and for the credit of the Commonwealth.’ The Australian Government proudly played its part, with Hunt coordinating support for visiting scientists. Since 1920 he had been collecting data on possible observation sites and communicating with scientific institutions around the world. On his advice, the Lick Observatory in the United States mounted a major expedition to isolated Wallal. Transport was difficult and Hunt considered possibilities ranging from pearl-luggers to motor cars before recommending that the Navy provide the necessary logistical support.

As the big day neared, Prime Minister Billy Hughes cabled the scientists his ‘best wishes for a fine day and successful observations.’ While the research seemed mainly of scientific interest, an eager public followed preparations for the eclipse. There were also hints that the study of the sun might have more practical consequences.

A brutal climate

For many European settlers the Australian sun seemed alien and unyielding. Others embraced it as a symbol of optimism and pride. At the turn of the 20th century, Federation abounded in references to the dawn – the sun which rose over the new nation symbolised something fresh, full of energy and life. Yet Federation was also a time of severe drought, when the sun was a daily reminder of the rains that would not come. But what if the sun could tell us when it would rain?

While the sun appeared to be eternal and unchanging, research in the early 20th century revealed much about its moods and inconsistencies. At the Smithsonian Astrophysical Observatory, the eminent astronomer Charles Greely Abbot embarked on a lifelong quest to chart variations in solar activity. His observations suggested that the sun’s output varied by up to 10 per cent. Abbot believed that detailed knowledge of such variations would fuel the development of long-range weather forecasting.

Afflicted with a brutal climate that seemed to defy prediction, the possibilities of such research offered hope to beleaguered Australian farmers. ‘Anything we can do to help us to forecast our weather is of extreme urgency and moment to the people who are building up our primary industries,’ commented Prime Minister Joseph Cook to a delegation of scientists in August 1914. Did the sun hold the key? Records in the National Archives of Australia reveal how, in the early decades of the 20th century, Australians looked to the sun for deliverance.

Watching the sun

A number of the world’s top astronomers, including Abbot, visited Australia in 1914 for a meeting of the British Association for the Advancement of Science. They took the opportunity to pressure Prime Minister Cook for the establishment of a solar physics observatory in Australia. This would complete a worldwide chain of observatories enabling the sun to be kept under constant surveillance.

The idea was not new. Expatriate physicist Walter Geoffrey Duffield had lobbied the Australian Government for a number of years, winning the support of Prime Minister Alfred Deakin. In 1909, Deakin pronounced that the Commonwealth would maintain such an institution ‘for the sake of science and Australian meteorology.’ Deakin and his successor, Andrew Fisher, set the plan in motion, but by 1914 a firm commitment was needed. Deakin, his enthusiasm undimmed by retirement, accompanied the delegation to persuade his former deputy to act.

A solar observatory appealed both to national pride and practical ambitions. Australia could contribute to the international research effort, while perhaps bringing within its grasp the means to tame its capricious climate. Sir Frank Dyson, the Astronomer Royal, stressed the scientific significance of the research while admitting that they all hoped the study of the sun ‘might enable forecasts of the weather to be made.’ Herbert Hall Turner, from Oxford, and CG Abbot emphasised the reality of solar variation. ‘Sometimes a very small variation might be of immense value to agriculture,’ Turner noted.

Confronted with this parade of scientific worthies, Prime Minister Cook glumly admitted the merits of their case: ‘I am inclined to think we cannot over-estimate the value of the enquiry you are suggesting today.’ But while the scientists’ arguments were sound, their timing was inopportune – war had been declared only a few weeks before. Cook could make few assurances, but he promised to do what he could. Finally, in 1923, the government formally announced the establishment of the Commonwealth Solar Observatory, atop Mount Stromlo in the new Federal Capital Territory.

In the meantime, a group of influential Sydneysiders had also set their sights on the sun. Impressed by the possibilities of CG Abbot’s research, in 1921 businessmen and scientists formed a Solar Radiation Committee. Their aim was to establish an observing station at the Riverview Observatory. Abbot provided advice and instruments, but the committee sought further government funding.

They won the support of the Commonwealth Board of Trade, and a submission was presented to Cabinet arguing that the connection between changes in the weather and solar radiation had been ‘scientifically determined.’ What remained, it was stated, was to find ‘the laws expressing the relationship between weather variations and solar changes in radiation.’ Under a program of research such as that proposed by the committee, results were ‘sure to follow in the long run.’

A beguiling prospect

Long-range forecasts were a beguiling prospect, offering those who made their living on the land relief from the cruel vagaries of nature. The Graziers Association of New South Wales embraced the promise of solar research, ‘convinced of the enormous advantages which would be gained … through accurate forecasts of weather being made for periods considerably longer than those which are at present possible.’ The graziers joined a deputation to the New South Wales government in 1923, when geographer and meteorologist Thomas Griffith Taylor argued that a weather forecast six months ahead ‘would be of more value than the many thousands spent on research in the hope of getting something out of irrigation.’

Government advisers urged caution, but the sober voice of scepticism was sometimes hard to hear amidst the exciting buzz of possibilities. Commonwealth meteorologist HA Hunt bluntly pointed out that the claims for improved weather forecasting were based on a small number of questionable studies. While it seemed likely that variations in solar activity did have some impact on the weather, much more research was needed to understand and quantify this connection. ‘To make promises of direct practical advantages,’ he warned, was ‘both a pernicious and dangerous practice.’

Nonetheless, in its announcement of the creation of the Commonwealth Solar Observatory, the government proclaimed its hope that solar research would yield ‘a better knowledge of the causes of weather changes’ and ultimately ‘more accurate and longer range weather forecasting.’

As expected, the Commonwealth Solar Observatory made careful observations of solar activity, even maintaining a plot of trees on Mount Stromlo to pursue correlations between radiation and plant growth. But while the observatory’s research blossomed on many fronts, the radiation studies lost impetus. At Riverview, the Solar Radiation Committee pushed ahead to initiate observations even without government funding.

But the laws governing the weather failed to materialise as hoped. While CG Abbot remained steadfast, other scientists began to admit that the degree of solar variation was much smaller than had been presumed. The connections between climate and solar activity are complex, and remain subject to debate.

The observations of the 1922 solar eclipse confirmed Einstein’s prediction. The old order of physics was overthrown – space, time and gravity followed laws that seemed counter to our everyday experience. But the commonsense assumption that the sun’s moods would be reflected in the patterns of the Earth’s weather resisted all attempts at proof.

In the early 20th century the sun seemed to offer a glimpse of enlightenment, but only thwarted once more the desperate hopes of farmers and embarrassed the confidence of scientists. The dream of long-range weather forecasting remained as elusive as ever.

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