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Saturday, September 28, 2024
1716 Homann diagram of a warship and its equipment
click on the picture for HR viewing or go to Geographicus
This is a fascinating 1716 J. B. Homann diagram of a three-masted, 96-gun Man-o'-War - the workhorse warship of 18th-century European navies.
Such ships, also called Ships of the Line, dominated the recently-ended War of Spanish Succession (1701 - 1714), making this diagram a subject of great interest to the educated European populace.
A Closer Look :
The central images offer profile and cross-seciton views of the Man-o’-War.
The upper rendering details the ship's construction, profile, and rigging, with at least 36 types of lines named and located.
The numbers correlate to an index below the bottom border.
To the left is a rundown of a typical crew-list, naming 24 essential positions, some of whom could have multiple representatives on a large Man-o'-War.
To the left is a rundown of a typical crew-list, naming 24 essential positions, some of whom could have multiple representatives on a large Man-o'-War.
Two detailed vignettes of the bow include a proud leo-form masthead - a popular figurehead, particularly on English Ships of the Line.
Perhaps more fascinating is the cross-section dominating the lower part of the chart. Here, Homann offers insight into both the size and operation of such a vessel, naming specialized chambers dedicated to everything from bunks to cable storage to the 'Pis-Pack,' presumably a latrine.
Surrounding the main images are illustrations of escort ships, nautical instruments, and more.
Perhaps more fascinating is the cross-section dominating the lower part of the chart. Here, Homann offers insight into both the size and operation of such a vessel, naming specialized chambers dedicated to everything from bunks to cable storage to the 'Pis-Pack,' presumably a latrine.
Surrounding the main images are illustrations of escort ships, nautical instruments, and more.
Of some interest is the Kameel oder Schiff-Hever, which appears to the left of the cross-section.
This ingenious device was used to reduce the draft of large sailing ships in heavily silted harbors, particularly in the Netherlands.
Man-o’-War :
The Man-o'-War warship in the 1700s was a powerful and heavily armed naval vessel that dominated European seas during the Age of Sail.
These ships were typically equipped with multiple decks and could carry between 50 to 120 cannons, making them the backbone of the world's most powerful navies, including the British, French, and Spanish fleets.
Man-o'-War ships were designed for battle, with broadside cannons capable of devastating enemy ships during engagements.
Their size and firepower made them essential for controlling maritime trade routes, projecting naval power, and participating in large-scale naval battles, such as those during the War of Spanish Succession (1701 - 1714) and the Seven Years' War (1756 - 1763).
These ships were often crewed by hundreds of sailors and marines, and their masts could carry vast sails, allowing them to harness the wind for both maneuverability and speed.
The Man-o'-War remained a symbol of naval dominance until the advent of steam-powered ships in the 19th century, which gradually rendered them obsolete.
It was updated with his privilege at top center in a second edition in 1716.
Examples bearing the privilege, as here, are scarce, perhaps representing a small print run.
Friday, September 27, 2024
This stunning remote island is energy independent
Andrew Lanxon/CNETFrom CNET by Katie Collins
Scotland's Isle of Eigg offers a template for taking charge of your energy destiny -- and it makes for a fabulous sustainable vacation.
Mowing through waves flecked with moon jellies, the MV Loch Nevis ferry scatters flocks of shearwaters with its prow.
It might be the middle of summer, but we must blast through sheet rain and sea mist before we see the Isle of Eigg appear on the horizon like a sombrero with a comically oversized brim.
Visualization of Isle of Eigg with the GeoGraage platform (UKHO nautical raster chart)
The neighboring islands of Rum and Skye feature jagged peaks known as Cuillins, but Eigg has only one notable hill: An Sgùrr, a stubby thumb giving you the "all good" sign to come ashore.
The rest of the island, mostly untouched by its shadow, provides a home to just over 100 permanent residents who take pride in their sustainable lifestyles.
That includes making renewable energy a centerpiece of their community.
Many of us may have the best of intentions for weaning ourselves off fossil fuels as we contemplate the effects of climate change.
But the residents of Eigg are way, way ahead.
I suspect there's much we can learn from them, so I've come to see how they enjoy an energy-independent existence — and to take a few days out of my own city-dwelling life to live more sustainably alongside them.
When they charge their phones, boil their kettles and turn on their TVs, the power comes not from the national fossil fuel-reliant grid but from renewable energy that's made and distributed here, right on the island.
Their energy comes from water that dashes down the hillsides and into the sea, from the never-ending wind caused by eastward-moving Atlantic depressions and, on the days when the clouds decide to part, from the sun.
On a sunny day, there's nowhere better in the world to be than Scotland.
The one day of sunshine I have on my trip, Eigg draws me to Singing Sands, where I squeak my toes across the bleached shoreline and squint up as a sea eagle swoops low over my head.
Days like this are ideal for the island's solar arrays, which lie out in a high, south-facing field.
The rest of the island, mostly untouched by its shadow, provides a home to just over 100 permanent residents who take pride in their sustainable lifestyles.
That includes making renewable energy a centerpiece of their community.
Many of us may have the best of intentions for weaning ourselves off fossil fuels as we contemplate the effects of climate change.
But the residents of Eigg are way, way ahead.
I suspect there's much we can learn from them, so I've come to see how they enjoy an energy-independent existence — and to take a few days out of my own city-dwelling life to live more sustainably alongside them.
When they charge their phones, boil their kettles and turn on their TVs, the power comes not from the national fossil fuel-reliant grid but from renewable energy that's made and distributed here, right on the island.
Their energy comes from water that dashes down the hillsides and into the sea, from the never-ending wind caused by eastward-moving Atlantic depressions and, on the days when the clouds decide to part, from the sun.
On a sunny day, there's nowhere better in the world to be than Scotland.
The one day of sunshine I have on my trip, Eigg draws me to Singing Sands, where I squeak my toes across the bleached shoreline and squint up as a sea eagle swoops low over my head.
Days like this are ideal for the island's solar arrays, which lie out in a high, south-facing field.
The view to the Isle of Rum from Singing Sands beach.
Andrew Lanxon/CNET
At my back, waterfalls rush over the cliffs directly onto the sand, where the water then meanders down to meet the swell of the waves.
My hair whips around my face, stinging my cheeks, and it's clear that the elements are hard at work here.
The Eigg islanders have found ways to make them work in their favor.
It's this work that sets Eigg apart.
The island's weather and isolation aren't unique, but the residents have become trailblazers, not only establishing and owning their renewable grid but also making a success of it.
As communities all over the world are working out how to minimize their reliance on national grids and fossil fuels against a backdrop of climate change, Eigg stands as a shining example of what community-owned renewable energy can look like.
"People think it's this amazing, utopian world we live in that we bought the island, did it our own way," Eigg resident Owain Wyn-Jones tells me as we sit at a picnic table in the harbor.
"It doesn't mean there's not a huge amount of work going on in the background."
The road to achieving energy independence
Since they acquired the island through a community buyout in 1997, a central part of the residents' plan for that future was to take control of Eigg's energy.
Although visible from the mainland, Eigg is still 15 miles off shore — that plus its tiny population meant it wasn't economically inviting to run a cable to the island to connect it to the electric grid.
In years past, the island ran off diesel generators, but the community wanted to establish its own grid and decided that if they were to do so, they would prioritize a carbon-free future for Eigg.
When Eigg's renewable grid went live in February 2008, it was the first time islanders had access to a continuous source of energy.
It was also the first time globally that wind, solar and water power were combined in a single grid designed to serve a small and scattered remote community.
It's the kind of resilience that can serve as a lesson to other communities — from Europe to the US and beyond — whether they face the same challenges as Eigg or not.
Although for Eigg, islanders felt like the switch to energy independence and renewables was imperative, other communities around the world can and are making intentional choices about how they manage energy use and integrate nonfossil fuel power sources.
Now, 16 years later, Eigg continues to run on at least 95% renewable energy.
The other few percent comes from backup diesel generators, which need to be turned on once a week to ensure they stay in working order.
At the heart of the island's energy is Eigg Electric, a community-owned subsidiary company of the Eigg Heritage Trust, which employs seven islanders full time to run and maintain the grid.
Showing me around the facilities — a green corrugated metal shed in the center of the island — is Gabe McVarish.
The first room contains the control center for the island.
The second, a massive bank of batteries — they look like car batteries laid out neatly in rows — stores enough energy to power Eigg's homes and businesses for 24 hours.
Batteries at Eigg Electric.
Andrew Lanxon/CNET
The solar panels bring in around 170kW, hydro generators feeding off the island's burns (streams) account for another 110kW and four wind turbines offer a maximum output of 24kW.
Together these pieces of the puzzle connect to provide all the electricity Eigg's islanders and visitors need to survive.
Solar technology has come a long way since the first panels were installed 15 years ago, but rather than upgrading, Eigg Electric has focused on expanding what it already has.
The newer photovoltaic panels it's added over the years (most recently, last summer) are the same size as the first panels but generate 10 times the energy.
Here on Eigg, every little helps.
Eigg's solar arrays.
Andrew Lanxon/CNET
"There's not really any point taking the old ones down, because they're still doing everything they did," McVarish says.
In some respects, it's a miracle that they're able to generate much energy at all.
The sun is a limited resource on Eigg, which lies on the west coast of Scotland, renowned for its gray skies.
What it does have though, is an abundance of wind and water.
Eigg's reliance on hydropower dates back much further than I first realize.
While cycling across the island, a side quest takes me up a lane into an old church, which the community is fundraising to restore and use as a culture hub.
For now, it houses an exhibition displaying artifacts from the island's history, including a glass exide battery, dated circa 1900.
A caption explains that islanders would take batteries to be charged at a hydro shed — I'd cycled past it on my way up the hill — so they could listen to their radios.
In some respects, it's a miracle that they're able to generate much energy at all.
The sun is a limited resource on Eigg, which lies on the west coast of Scotland, renowned for its gray skies.
What it does have though, is an abundance of wind and water.
Eigg's reliance on hydropower dates back much further than I first realize.
While cycling across the island, a side quest takes me up a lane into an old church, which the community is fundraising to restore and use as a culture hub.
For now, it houses an exhibition displaying artifacts from the island's history, including a glass exide battery, dated circa 1900.
A caption explains that islanders would take batteries to be charged at a hydro shed — I'd cycled past it on my way up the hill — so they could listen to their radios.
Eigg's biggest hydro shed is inconspicuous.
Andrew Lanxon/CNET
It occurs to me that none of Eigg's energy infrastructure is immediately obvious — you have to be going out of your way to search for it or on an adventure to some of the island's wilder points.
I tuck my trousers into my socks to avoid ticks while tramping through the bracken up a steep hill to reach the solar field.
The biggest hydro shed, Eigg's main source of power, involves a long walk down a rough lane with only rabbits for company.
It looks like a bothy — a cabin where walkers can find shelter overnight — among the trees.
I push my bike to its absolute limit on a track with so many potholes across such a steep incline that I'm convinced I'm going down with every pedal push.
They stand below the knobbled face of An Sgùrr, whizzing away with minimal impact on the beauty of Eigg.
In some places they might be considered a blight on the landscape, but there's no nimbyism here.
Their impact on the environment is low.
Their impact on quality of life is high.
Most visitors to the island won't even realize they're here.
Eigg's wind turbines require a strenuous uphill climb to get to.
Andrew Lanxon/CNET
The only reason I've made it up to the turbines is that I've come all this way specifically to check them out.
Although to all intents and purposes, I'm also here on the island as a tourist.
It's an ideal time to be one on Eigg — especially if sustainable travel is a priority for you.
Eigg: The sustainable holiday destination
Just like me, many of the people who come to Eigg already know a little about the island's reputation and want to learn more.
Wyn-Jones, who runs the tourism business Eigg Adventures, doesn't like the term "eco-tourism," as he believes it's used more often than not in greenwashing.
But says that there's definitely been an increase in the number of people traveling to Eigg to take a sustainable trip.
Unlike many remote spots in Scotland, Eigg is fully accessible by public transport.
The train line traces the west coast from Glasgow to Mallaig, via the Harry Potter-famous Glenfinnan Viaduct.
From here, you can catch one of the daily Calmac ferries to Eigg, for a trip that, depending on the day, may be 75 minutes, or include an hours-long detour around the other three Small Isles of Rum, Muck and Canna.
The only way to get to Eigg is to snag one of the limited places on the Small Isles ferry.
Andrew Lanxon/CNET
There's a "natural barrier" to the number of people who can come to the island, says Wyn-Jones, simply due to the limited capacity of the ferry (which can carry up to 190 people, but visits multiple islands on every trip).
This protects Eigg from the overtourism problems that have blighted other areas of Scotland, including the neighboring island of Skye, which is connected to the mainland by a bridge.
Visitors aren't allowed to bring their cars here, so to get around you have two choices: walk or cycle.
Bikes can be rented from Eigg Adventure, and if, like me, you're not in peak physical condition, you can opt for one of the lightweight, renewables-powered ebikes Wyn-Jones offers.
He tells me I can easily make it to the other side of the island on an e-bike in around half an hour.
It quickly becomes apparent that he's severely overestimated how fit I am.
While the top of the island is largely flat, the hills leading up and down from the plateau are killer.
I spend my days huffing and puffing up and down the lanes, dreading to think how I'd cope without a helping hand from the electricity.
This year the island has also seen the opening of a new visitor and community center, shop and cafe building right by the port.
Next door, there's a new tourism business, Eigg Guiding, which provides hiking, paddle boarding and snorkeling trips, as well as a building with washrooms and showers, that can be used if, like me, you choose to stay in the community-owned wooden pods overlooking the harbor.
Community-owned pods provide a cozy stay.
Andrew Lanxon/CNET
Just like all of the dwellings on the island, the pods are powered by renewables.
In the showers, the hot water is heated by solar panels on the wash house roof and biomass boilers, with logs coming from the on-island sustainable wood fuel enterprise.
To keep things fair, all households on Eigg have an upper limit on the amount of energy they can consume — 5kW at any one time, enough to run a kettle and a washing machine — with a temporary cutoff if they exceed the limit.
It means that islanders are mindful to check the energy efficiency of electronic appliances they purchase and to turn things off when they're not using them.
"If you're careful about the choices you make, it's not really an issue," Wyn-Jones says.
In the camping pods and the community hall, I notice that there are electric heaters with signs on them, informing people that they will work only when the island is producing more energy than it needs.
Fortunately, these moments tend to be the wettest, wildest and windiest — in other words, exactly the time when you would want a little extra warmth.
Most businesses, meanwhile, have a cap of 10kW.
Wyn-Jones says he rarely uses that much commercially and suspects he uses more electricity domestically than he does to charge up his e-bikes.
"Reducing my energy overhead was an important part of the business," he says.
"It is for anybody on Eigg.
It's a template here, really, for what can be achieved, if you put your mind to it."
A can-do attitude
One business that doesn't operate within the 10kW limit is the Isle of Eigg Brewery, which makes some of the best craft beer in Scotland (and the competition is fierce).
By the time I meet with brewer Stu McCarthy, I've been drinking his pilsner and IPAs for several days, and I'm excited to try the kolsch he serves only in the taproom.
"I think I'm one of the only brewers in the western world who, before I make beer, has to chop wood," says McCarthy, as he wields his ax just outside the brewery door.
The wood, grown on Eigg, powers the gasification boiler that heats up a 1,000-liter tank of water.
He supplements the energy he receives from Eigg Electric with solar panels on his roof and a Tesla powerwall that can store 15kW of power.
One business that doesn't operate within the 10kW limit is the Isle of Eigg Brewery, which makes some of the best craft beer in Scotland (and the competition is fierce).
By the time I meet with brewer Stu McCarthy, I've been drinking his pilsner and IPAs for several days, and I'm excited to try the kolsch he serves only in the taproom.
"I think I'm one of the only brewers in the western world who, before I make beer, has to chop wood," says McCarthy, as he wields his ax just outside the brewery door.
The wood, grown on Eigg, powers the gasification boiler that heats up a 1,000-liter tank of water.
He supplements the energy he receives from Eigg Electric with solar panels on his roof and a Tesla powerwall that can store 15kW of power.
Stu McCarthy drinking his own Eigg-brewed beer.
Andrew Lanxon/CNET
Ingredients for the beer are also as local as possible, McCarthy explains.
Malt is tricky, but some islanders have started growing hops, and the next step is for the brewers to develop their own yeast.
The water, McCarthy adds, pointing up a hill, comes from the burn across the road.
Just like Eigg Electric, the brewery is a community-owned business, with 650 financial backers on and off the island.
"It's not an ego venture," says McCarthy.
His driver was "to make great beer for social and environmental good."
As a former English teacher who had a passion for blue-sky thinking and beer, he considers himself lucky to have people around him on the island who believed in his venture and had ideas for how to make the brewery more environmentally friendly — putting dimple jackets (lightweight metal insulating layers) around the vessels, for example — and complementary skills (his brewing partner is also a graphic designer).
"If you're on an island, you just have to have a can-do attitude," he says.
"You have to be able to do it.
And if you can't do it, you need to know somebody who at least may know something to be able to allow you to do it."
Powered by community spirit
I've visited many small Scottish islands over the years, and I know that while you can expect to escape the real world, you can't expect to escape people.
Stay in a tight-knit community like this for a few days and you can't help but learn people's names.
They in turn will recognize you — anonymity isn't a possibility here.
The best way to enjoy yourself is to lean in.
That's why, within minutes of landing on the island, I'm in the bed of a pickup truck bouncing down a country lane.
After accosting Pascal Carr, a traditional basket maker whose products are used in the Netflix series Outlander, and Camille Dressler, the island's historian and chair of the European Small Islands Federation Energy Working Group, they agree to let me come and help them gather marine waste that's washed up on the beach.
"Like many of our consumer products, these things aren't designed to be recycled," Carr says, showing us ropes that have photo-degraded and big chunks of polystyrene that will flake into the water and stay there forever if not collected and properly disposed of.
Camille Dressler and Pascal Carr.
Andrew Lanxon/CNET
It's no one's job to do this, but it's everyone's responsibility on the island to keep it in the best possible condition — and that includes visitors, who are encouraged to pick up any litter as they go and use the energy efficient systems in the same way as residents.
Islanders might have a main job, but the realities of island life mean the work of living here and being part of a community never really stops.
It hasn't stopped since 1997, when after years of neglect by wealthy, absent owners, the Isle of Eigg Heritage Trust, made up of islanders and funded by a mystery benefactor who believed in their cause, were finally able to buy the island out, taking ownership of their land.
After raising funds to buy the island, they raised more money (largely from the EU) to establish their renewable grid.
While back in 2008 the cost-benefit of renewables was still being debated by our politicians, Eigg was already up and running.
On a plateau in the center of the island is the old shop — now a ramshackle, one-room museum documenting everything from the remains of plesiosaurs (the same species as the Loch Ness Monster) found in the surrounding landscape, to the island's first telephone exchange.
One display documents the island's journey to independence.
Newspaper clippings from the time include the headlines, "Eigg sale brings end to decade of despair," "Eigg islanders break grip of landlords" and "Eigg – the people's isle."
It was a moment of celebration for the island, but as with all fresh starts, it was the beginning of a busy new chapter for the islanders.
Keeping Eigg pristine has been a community effort.
Andrew Lanxon/CNET
"You will probably flourish on Eigg if you're willing to roll your sleeves up and get stuck in because if you're not, it's not always an easy place to live," says Wyn-Jones.
Many of the accents I encounter, including those of Wyn-Jones, Dressler and Carr, don't hint at roots in the Islands or even in Scotland.
That's because Eigg's community-based governance model has attracted outsiders who chose to live in an energy independent community and are passionate about continuing to make the island's independence a success.
As Dressler finishes packing a pickup with trash, I remark on what an extraordinary place the island seems.
She begins to demur, before changing tack.
"It's extraordinary, in that a group of citizens have been given agency over their future," she says.
Many thought they'd fail, she adds.
Eigg has proved them wrong.
'A shining example'
Most of us don't live on remote islands, but that doesn't mean that there aren't lessons to be learned from Eigg.
That self-reliance actually requires community, for example.
Or that sustainability is a process that requires ongoing thought and effort.
"Other communities have worked with Eigg and learned from what we've done here," says Wyn-Jones, mentioning neighboring island Rum and the nearby Knoydart Peninsula as examples.
It's incumbent upon the island to "carry the flame" and prove to people that it's possible for the long run, he adds.
Greening the island is an ever-evolving process.
Andrew Lanxon/CNET
In the community center, while waiting for the ferry home, I notice a flyer on the notice board about a pilot project for heat pumps.
It's a reminder that even Eigg is a work in progress.
Residents know that EVs are coming to replace the diesel-powered vehicles they still use on the island, and they don't yet have any dedicated chargers.
They're thinking about the extra power they'll need.
They know the time is coming when they'll need to replace their wind turbines.
Wyn-Jones is the first to acknowledge that the work to transform Eigg into a truly green island isn't yet complete.
But, he adds, "what we can be is a shining example when it comes to generating energy."
"Eigg is an unspoiled, beautiful place," he says.
"It is nice to be able to explain that to our visitors and to maybe ask them, while they spend time on it, to consider some of the things that we do here… how they could apply that in their lives as well."
Links :
Thursday, September 26, 2024
The outrageous scheme to capture and sell Greenland’s meltwater
Photo-Illustration: Wired Staff; Getty Images
From Wired by Ole Ellekrog
A startup says shipping meltwater from Greenland’s glaciers internationally will boost the local economy and could help ease water pressures in arid regions—but what does that actually mean for the world?
Fresh water is becoming increasingly scarce in many countries, but not in Greenland.
Its ice sheet contains around 6.5 percent of the world’s fresh water, and over 350 trillion liters are estimated to run into the ocean annually.
And with climate change accelerating Arctic melting, more and more of Greenland’s water is set to flow off the island every year.
In some places facing water shortages, those very same water molecules are potentially being taken from the sea and turned back into fresh water using desalination, at large electrical and financial cost.
This has inspired a startup to pursue an unusual and ambitious business venture that has been partially approved by the Greenland government—harvesting glacier meltwater and shipping it abroad.
“We have one of the world’s finest resources in this area and plenty of it, and we want to push that message out to investors and potential markets,” says Naaja H. Nathanielsen, Greenland’s minister for business and trade.
The startup behind the idea, Arctic Water Bank, plans to build a dam in South Greenland, capture meltwater, and then transport it around the world by boat in bulk water carriers.
If all goes according to plan, the company says the project will be completely carbon-neutral and inflict minimal damage to the local environment.
“This is some of the cleanest water in the world.
Anyone who has tried Greenlandic water knows that it’s pure, white gold,” says Samir Ben Tabib, cofounder and head of international relations at the startup.
Arctic Water Bank is first and foremost, Ben Tabib stresses, a business, but he believes it could also provide a service to Greenlanders and the wider world.
He argues that his company will help the people of Greenland by leveraging the country’s natural resources and paying taxes on income generated from them, and it’s an ambition the government shares.
“The goal is twofold,” says Nathanielsen.
“It is about new sources of income for the national treasury, and local business development and the associated creation of jobs.”
In the long run, Ben Tabib says, Arctic Water Bank might even help mitigate the impending global water crisis.
“It’s probably not something our little business can solve alone, but in Greenland, fresh water is a resource that is just washing into the sea.”
Right now, the startup has the initial permissions it needs.
In documents seen by WIRED, the government grants the company sole rights for the next 20 years to use all water and ice from a river near the town of Narsaq.
On average, this river produces 21.3 billion liters of water each year, almost entirely meltwater from the Greenland ice sheet.
But before any water can be shipped, a dam must be built, and Arctic Water Bank will need an Environmental Impact Assessment (EIA) to be completed to get started on construction.
Cooling in the subsurface waters beneath Greenland’s Nioghalvfjerdsfjorden Glacier from 2018 to 2021 was driven by European atmospheric blocking, which forced changes in the large-scale ocean circulation of the Nordic seas, slowing glacial melt, despite ongoing global warming trends.
The findings highlight the importance of regional atmospheric dynamics in influencing glacier stability.
This isn’t as great a hurdle as it might seem.
Greenland may be one of the most untouched environments in the world—roughly the size of Western Europe and home to fewer than 60,000 people—but the construction of dams is not unheard of, says Karl Zinglersen, head of the Department of Environment and Minerals at the Greenland Institute of Natural Resources.
In the early 1990s, the first hydroelectric dam was built to serve the capital of Nuuk, and since then, a handful of smaller hydroelectric dams have been built around the country.
The EIA process is very thorough, says Zingerlsen, but in his experience it rarely if ever stops a project.
Arctic Water Bank estimates the total cost of the site—dam and shipping facilities—will be $100 million.
Ben Tabib says he and his three cofounders are considering several investors, some Greenlandic, some foreign, including some American private equity firms.
Ben Tabib would not say who specifically the startup is in talks with.
This isn’t the cofounders’ first foray into exploiting Greenland’s water.
A separate startup they founded, Arctic Ice, ships glacier ice fished from the sea to cocktail bars in far-flung locations, including in the UAE.
Nor are they the first to dream up an elaborate scheme to transport fresh water out of the Arctic.
It’s more than 200 years since the notion of towing icebergs to more southerly regions was first suggested, an idea that never proved workable.
In the late 1990s, the Netherlands planned to import water from the fjords of Norway, but that, too, proved unviable.
David Zetland, an assistant professor at the University of Leiden who researches the political economy of water, recounts the story of an American entrepreneur who planned to fill a giant plastic bag with glacier water and use a tugboat to pull it from Alaska to California.
The entrepreneur ended up losing a lot of money.
“Because of monopolies, in the water industry bad ideas can persist much longer than you would expect,” Zetland says.
Examples like this make Zetland skeptical that the Arctic Water Bank project will ever be able to compete with market prices for tap water.
Should it succeed, he believes, it will be for the same reason as Fiji Water: good marketing.
But unlike that company, Arctic Water Bank is planning to sell its water wholesale to distributors, not direct-to-consumer in a bottle.
Zetland points out that countries with a coastline will always have the option of removing the salt from seawater—a solution that water-scarce countries like Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, and Oman already rely on for most of their drinking water, and one that Australia turns to in times of drought.
The price for desalination, roughly $1 per 1,000 liters, is impossible for imported water to compete with, he believes.
When faced with this criticism, Ben Tabib says that his company’s water is not, in its initial phase, aimed at the developing world, and that according to the startup’s calculations, the exported water will be able to compete with desalinated water on price—though they don’t have an estimated per-liter cost to share.
As yet the startup has not finalized agreements with distributors, but many have been interested, Ben Tabib says, and he is confident some agreements will be in place before the dam is ready, though he would not share whom the company has been in talks with.
Guy Alaerts, a veteran of the water industry, is not as quick as Zetland to write off water imports as a solution for the future.
“Desalination is very expensive in terms of energy, so if energy is expensive, then maybe it could become competitive to import water instead.” A professor at the IHE Delft Institute for Water Education in the Netherlands, Alaerts worked for more than 20 years at the World Bank as a sector leader on water supply and climate adaptation.
He knows firsthand the kinds of water-scarcity problems the world is facing.
He points to two ongoing agendas: the long-running one of securing reliable and secure drinking water for lower-income populations—favelas in Brazil and slums in Asia, for instance—and a newer one that is concerned with securing water resources in the face of climate change and a growing global population.
“Everybody thinks that the world is a wet place with a couple of deserts, but by 2050 it will be different.
The world will essentially be a dry place with only some locations and countries having a lot of water.” In this future, a “menu” of creative solutions is needed, and importing water might be one of them, he says.
There are issues, though: You need advanced infrastructure to capture the water on-site, and shipped water can only arrive in places that have ports fitted with special equipment to pump it out.
Then it must be stored and fed into the existing supply hygienically.
“I would say that as a general solution to the global shortage of drinking water, it’s not going to work, but as a kind of emergency or supplementary provision of water resources, it may work in some places,” Alaerts says.
Aside from its economic feasibility, there’s also the issue of shipping emissions.
Ben Tabib promises that the project will be carbon-neutral on-site, as the dam will also double up as a hydropower station, and that as well as powering the facilities on land, some of this energy will be used to produce green hydrogen.
If technology allows once the dam is live—and Ben Tabib acknowledges, it doesn’t currently—this fuel will be used to power the ships transporting Arctic Water Bank’s product, making the whole operation carbon-neutral.
“They’re looking at transocean shipping, and that boat doesn’t exist,” says Tom Baxter, who has 40 years’ experience working in the oil and gas industry.
There are smaller hydrogen-powered vessels out there, but nothing running on the fuel operating at this scale.
Such a boat would also need certification once created.
And alongside the infrastructure to get water on board, the Greenland site would need a facility that can store the hydrogen and get it on the ship.
Creating such a facility would take five years “at a stretch,” Baxter says.
But Robert Steinberger-Wilckens, a professor in fuel cells and hydrogen research at the University of Birmingham, is more optimistic.
Getting a hydrogen production and storage facility online in four years is possible, he says.
“But you’d be hard-pressed to find a ship that runs on hydrogen by that time.” Ben Tabib says the company is considering both building its own ships and converting existing ones.
An additional problem is the hydrogen itself.
“Even if you liquify it, it would need seven times more space than diesel,” says Steinberger-Wilckens.
Using a derivative fuel—perhaps methanol or ammonia created from the hydrogen—could cut that space requirement down, but even then a ship would still need a fuel tank two to three times the size of a similar diesel-powered vessel.
Space that would otherwise be carrying water.
Both Baxter and Steinberger-Wilckens believe that creating a hydrogen-fueled transocean ship is theoretically doable—but neither could see how Arctic Water Bank’s plan could make economic sense.
“The last thing you should ask an engineer is ‘Can you do this?’” says Baxter.
“You should be asking: ‘Should you do that?’”
But even if zero-emissions transport isn’t possible right away, Alaerts points out that if conventional water carriers are able to ship water more cleanly than, say, Saudi Arabia is able to desalinate its water, it might still end up being good for the climate, hydrogen or no hydrogen.
“I don’t think anyone has assessed the water and energy footprint of the two options: shipping the water or desalinating the water,” Alaerts says.
“Shipping water from Greenland to the east coast of the US, for instance, is not a very long distance, but if you have to bring it to California, which is a drier area, then you have to go all the way around the continent, and that might be too expensive.
I think the mathematics will have to be done case by case,” he says.
If the emissions and economic sums can be squared, there’s still one final issue: the optics of it all.
Shipping fresh water from rapidly receding glaciers to developed nations, potentially helping them mitigate water shortages exacerbated by climate change, when these countries are disproportionately driving climate change with their emissions? It’s an uncomfortable feedback loop.
But such environmental questions are not the primary concern of Ben Tabib and his cofounders.
Instead, they point to all the good they want to do for Greenland, and the great water their customers would get to enjoy.
“I understand why some might think the project is bad for the environment, but it is only because they don’t know better.
Would the climate improve if we didn’t take this water? No it wouldn’t,” Ben Tabib says.
“But with the project, we make sure that some people will get to drink some really good water.”
Links :
Wednesday, September 25, 2024
Submersible superyachts for billionaires: This Austrian company wants to build them
Migaloo
From CNN by By Maureen O'Hare
There’s been a trend in recent years for billionaire basements – subterranean extensions to the homes of the rich and famous, where they can bunker down and live large.
There’s been a trend in recent years for billionaire basements – subterranean extensions to the homes of the rich and famous, where they can bunker down and live large.
Now an Austrian company wants to extend this opportunity for deep-dive delights to the world of superyachts, by building customized private submersibles that can descend 250 meters (820 feet) beneath the ocean surface and remain submerged for up to four weeks.
Migaloo has revealed its ambitious plans for what it claims will be the “world’s one and only private submersible superyacht,” offering “a not-yet-existing alternative to large privately owned surface vessels.”
Billionaires’ playground
This submarine, named M5, would measure 165.8 meters in length and 23 meters across at its widest point, with a range of around 15,000 kilometers and a speed of up to 20 knots when surfaced (or 12 knots when underwater).
This submarine, named M5, would measure 165.8 meters in length and 23 meters across at its widest point, with a range of around 15,000 kilometers and a speed of up to 20 knots when surfaced (or 12 knots when underwater).
However, says Migaloo, “The wished dimensions of the submarine-yacht hybrid, the exterior styling and the interior design are up to the owners’ preferences.”
So, like any billionaires’ superyacht worth its salt, the default design includes a helipad, a swimming pool and spa, a gym, art gallery cinema, party area with DJ booth, along with plenty of spaces to lounge or dine.
Optional extras include a hot air balloon and underwater shark-feeding station.
There are also sub-tenders that can be specified, so up to 12 guests can set out on smaller submarines for more water-based antics.
There are also sub-tenders that can be specified, so up to 12 guests can set out on smaller submarines for more water-based antics.
‘Private submersible fortress’
The vessel could remain submerged for up to four weeks at a time. Migaloo
What’s the price tag on this private water wonderland? Well, there is no specific project price tag, due to all those juicy customization options, but the widely reported estimate for the Migaloo M5 is about $2 billion for starters (and that’s before you consider maintenance).
Submarine dreams
The M5 uses proven technologies borrowed from existing motor yachts and submersibles, such as double-hull construction and multiple pressure hulls, which helps on the safety and feasibility fronts.
The M5 uses proven technologies borrowed from existing motor yachts and submersibles, such as double-hull construction and multiple pressure hulls, which helps on the safety and feasibility fronts.
Although the question still remains as to who is deep-pocketed enough to buy this submersible Bond villain lair.
It’s not the first attempt to create a luxury submarine. Aston Martin revealed plans for a $4 million concept vessel in 2017.
And it’s not the first time Migaloo has hit headlines for floating its extraordinary visions.
At the Monaco Yacht Show in 2015, it showcased plans for Kokomo Ailand, its 80-meter-tall private floating island (with waterfall) that you can sail.
So will the Migaloo M5 concept vessel sail happily into reality or sink without a trace? It’s hard to say, but there’s probably some time to start saving your pennies.
Links :
- NYPost : What do you give a Bond villain for Christmas? Try this $2B submersible superyacht
- The Times : Subsea superyacht makes perfect gift for a Bond villain
- FastCompany : Who is going to buy this 541-foot luxury submarine?
- Dezeen : Migaloo aims to disrupt superyacht market with giant luxury submarine
- Interesting Engineering : M5 in photos: Migaloo to set sail ‘world’s first $3 Billion luxury super submarine’
- Luxuru Launches : As the world prepares to coin its first trillionaire the $2 billion Migaloo M5 super submarine superyacht surfaces into the limelight. Longer than Jeff Bezos’ Koru it can stay underwater for 4 weeks, it has a swimming pool, cinema, helipad and its own hot air balloon.
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