Phase change — the series
-
The heat that changes no temperature, and where it actually goes
A kettle reaches a hundred degrees in a minute and takes five more to boil dry. The heat going in during those five minutes changes nothing a thermometer can see, and it is most of the energy in the whole process.
-
A boiling point is a pressure, not a temperature
Nothing about water names one hundred degrees; the air does. Where a liquid turns to vapour in its bulk is fixed by what pushes on it, which makes the familiar figure a coordinate on a curve — 71 °C on Everest, 119.5 °C in a sealed pot — and one latent heat draws the whole curve.
-
The part of the curve no fluid follows
One equation for a real gas produces isotherms with a rising middle section, which says a substance would expand as the pressure on it grows. Nothing does that. What replaces it is a horizontal line whose height is fixed by making two areas equal, and the condition is not a convenience.
-
The point at which the two become one
Heat a sealed tube of carbon dioxide and the meniscus inside it does not boil away — it fades, the two densities converging until there is nothing to separate. Twenty millikelvin before that happens the fluid turns milky, and the exponent describing the last approach is a number van der Waals got wrong and could not have got right.
-
The barrier a new phase has to climb
Water vapour three times supersaturated is thermodynamically desperate to condense and will sit there indefinitely if it is clean enough. The obstacle is that a droplet has to start small, and a small droplet is nearly all surface — so the first nanometre of every phase transition costs energy rather than releasing it, and what decides whether anything happens is the height of that cost divided by kT.
-
The gas that cools by being let go
Push a gas through a plug and its temperature changes, although no work is done on anything and no heat goes anywhere. Which way it changes depends on where it starts: inside a dome in the pressure–temperature plane it cools, outside it warms, and hydrogen at room temperature is outside — which is why liquid hydrogen needed liquid air first.
-
The transition with nothing to order
Every transition in this collection so far has an order parameter — a quantity that is zero on one side and not on the other. In two dimensions a continuous symmetry cannot break at any temperature above zero, so there is nothing for such a quantity to be, and by the usual reckoning there can be no transition. There is one anyway, and what changes at it is whether vortices are bound in pairs.
-
Why the triple point is a point
Three phases of one substance coexist at one temperature and one pressure and nowhere else, and the reason is arithmetic rather than chemistry: count the numbers that describe the state, count the conditions equilibrium imposes, and subtract. The same subtraction says four phases of one substance are impossible, and it says so without knowing what the substance is.
-
The melting curve that leans the wrong way
The slope of any coexistence line is the latent heat divided by the temperature and the change in volume. Latent heat is always positive, so the sign of the slope is the sign of the volume change — and for water the volume change is negative, which is the whole of why ice floats and why the melting curve leans backwards.
-
The melting line that turns round
Squeeze water and it freezes at a lower temperature — the backwards slope of its melting line, and the reason ice floats. Keep squeezing and the slope reverses. Past two thousand atmospheres ordinary ice gives way to a denser ice, then another, and from there on every ice melts at a higher temperature under more pressure, exactly as a normal substance's does. At twenty thousand atmospheres water freezes into an ice that is still solid at a hundred degrees Celsius; at two hundred thousand, one still solid at four hundred. The famous anomaly belongs to one ice out of five, and the same relation that explained it explains its end.
-
The boiling curve that turns back
Heat a surface under water and more heat flows from it the hotter it gets — up to a point. Past about twenty degrees above boiling the bubbles crowd together, merge, and begin to blanket the surface with vapour, and from then on a hotter surface passes less heat, not more, until by a few hundred degrees above boiling it is wrapped in an insulating film and passes fifty times less than it did at its best. Shigeo Nukiyama found the turn in 1934 by melting wires. It is why a water drop skates for a minute on a very hot pan but vanishes in two seconds on a merely hot one, and why every boiler, steam generator and water-cooled reactor is designed around a number called the critical heat flux.
-
The entropy every liquid gains on boiling
Divide the heat it takes to boil a liquid by the temperature at which it boils, and for benzene, chloroform, acetone, hexane, ether and carbon tetrachloride the answer comes out within a few per cent of the same number — about ten and a half times the gas constant. Frederick Trouton noticed it in 1884. It is a statement about entropy, and once it is read that way the liquids it fails for become the interesting ones: water and the alcohols, whose hydrogen bonds hold the liquid in order; acetic acid, whose vapour is made of pairs; and helium, whose liquid is already as disordered as quantum mechanics allows.
-
The supercooled water that only partly freezes
Water can be cooled well below 0 °C and stay liquid, and when a crystal finally starts, the whole bottle seems to turn to ice at once. It does not. Freezing releases heat, and with nowhere for that heat to go in the instant of freezing, it warms everything back to 0 °C — at which point freezing must stop. Water cooled to −15 °C freezes about a fifth at once; to −38 °C, the coldest liquid water gets, about half. The rest has to wait for the surroundings to take the heat away, and a hand warmer is the same arithmetic run above body temperature.
-
The column that boils from the middle
Water at the bottom of a geyser's tube is hotter than water anywhere else in it, and it is not the water that boils first. The weight of the column raises the boiling point with depth faster than the heat from below raises the temperature, so the column reaches its boiling curve partway down, under a cooler surface layer. A little boiling there lifts the water above. Everything beneath is then at a lower pressure than the one it was heated under, so it is superheated and flashes, and the eruption feeds itself: past about fourteen centimetres of water thrown out, each slug of steam makes more room than it was given.
-
The geyser that remembers one eruption
Old Faithful is famous for being predictable, and its predictability has an odd shape. Its eruptions come in two kinds, short and long, and the wait after each is short or long to match — about an hour after a short eruption, about an hour and a half after a long one. So the next eruption can be forecast from the last, to within about ten minutes, and from nothing else. The reason is a bookkeeping of water. An eruption throws out a volume of water that the geyser must take back from below before it can erupt again, and a long eruption throws out more. The geyser carries a memory of exactly one eruption: how much it has to refill.
-
The pipe that carries heat as vapour
A copper rod six millimetres across and thirty centimetres long, asked to carry thirty watts from a laptop's processor to its fan, would need its hot end eight hundred degrees above its cold end. The flattened copper tube that actually does the job manages it with less than a degree. It is a heat pipe: sealed, emptied of air, and holding a few drops of water and their vapour. The water boils at the hot end, the vapour rushes to the cold end and condenses, and a wick of sintered copper powder drags the liquid back by capillarity. The heat goes as latent heat, and vapour needs almost no temperature difference to flow — which makes the pipe a thousand times better than copper, as long as its wick can keep up.