Don’t Believe Planck’s Constant? Measure It Yourself

We aren’t sure if [Looking Glass Universe] didn’t trust the accepted number for Planck’s constant, or just wanted the experience of measuring it herself. Either way, she took some LEDs and worked out the correct figure. Apparently, it hasn’t changed since we first measured it in 1916. But it’s always good to check.

The constant, if you need a refresher, helps explain things like why the color of light changes how the photoelectric effect manifests, and is at the root of quantum physics. LEDs are perfect for this experiment because, of course, they come in different colors. You essentially use a pot to tune down the LED until it just reaches the point where it is dark. Presuming you know the wavelength of the LED, you can estimate Planck’s constant from that and the voltage across the virtually ready-to-light LED. We might have used the potentiometer in a voltage divider configuration, but it should work either way.

The experiment showed that even a disconnected LED emits a few stray photons. But it was still possible to interpret the results. The constant is very tiny, so you’ll want your scientific calculator get do the math or, as she used, Wolfram Alpha.

The first result was off by the alarming amount of 1 x 10-40. No, that’s not alarming at all. That number is amazingly small.

This is a fairly common home physics experiment. You can do it quick, like [Looking Glass] did, or you can build something elaborate.

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The MSL10 Mechanosensor Makes Venus Flytrap Plants Touchy

Carnivorous plants are a fascinating part of the natural world, especially species like the Venus flytrap (Dionaea muscipula) that rely on what is effectively a spring-loaded trap to ensnare unsuspecting prey. As also seen with species like the waterwheel plant (Aldrovanda vesiculosa), species like sundews are a lot more chill with movement in the order of seconds, excluding D. glanduligera which displays a similar sub-second response as the Venus flytrap. Over the years there has been much speculation about the exact mechanism that enables such a fast response, with [Hiraku Suda] and colleagues offering an explanation, via a recently published paper in Nature Communications.

The calcium response in a Venus flytrap with the DmMSL10 knockout variant. The ant is allowed to just waddle around. (Credit: Hiraku Suda et al., Nature Comm, 2025)
The calcium response in a Venus flytrap with the DmMSL10 knockout variant. The ant is allowed to just waddle around. (Credit: Hiraku Suda et al., Nature Comm, 2025)

The sensory hairs that line the Venus flytrap’s leaves are finely tuned to respond to certain kind of stimuli using calcium threshold signals. This is something which was previously known already, but the exact mechanism still proved to be elusive.

This new study shows that a mechanosensor called DmMSL10 lies at the core of the touchiness of these plants by breeding a version where this particular stretch-activated chloride ion (Cl) channel is absent.

While the mechanical action of the sensor hair triggers the release of calcium ions in both the wild- and knockout dmmsl10 variant, the action potential generation rate was much lower in the latter, while the former continued to generate action potentials even after major stimulation had ceased. This demonstrates that DmMSL10 is essential for the processing of slight stimulation of the sensor hairs and thus prey detection.

A subsequent experiment with some ants being allowed to wander around on the leaves of the wild- and knockout type plants further served to demonstrate the point, with the wild type catching the first ant to waddle onto the leaf, while the knockout type leaf didn’t even twitch as four successive ants failed to propagate the calcium signal sufficiently to close the leaf.

With this knowledge we now have a likely mechanism for how D. muscipula and friends are able to generate the long range calcium signals that ultimately allow them to snack on these tasty protein-and-nitrogen packets on legs. Further research is likely to illuminate how exactly these mechanisms were evolved in parallel with similar mechanisms in animals.

A frame from the two billion frames per second camera

Filming At The Speed Of Light, About One Foot Per Nanosecond

[Brian Haidet] published on his AlphaPhoenix channel a laser beam recorded at 2 billion frames per second. Well, sort of. The catch? It’s only a one pixel by one pixel video, but he repeats it over and over to build up the full rendering. It’s a fascinating experiment and a delightful result.

For this project [Brian] went back to the drawing board and rebuilt his entire apparatus from scratch. You see in December last year he had already made a video camera that ran at 1,000,000,000 fps. This time around, in order to hit 2,000,000,000 fps at significantly improved resolution, [Brian] updated the motors, the hardware, the oscilloscope, the signalling, the recording software, and the processing software. Basically, everything.

One of the coolest effects to come out of this new setup is how light appears to travel noticeably faster when coming towards the camera than when moving away from it. It’s an artifact of the setup: laser beams that reflect off of fog particles closer to the camera arrive sooner than ones that bounce back from further away. Or, put another way, it’s special relativity visualized in an experiment in [Brian]’s garage. Pretty cool.

If you found all this intriguing and would like to know more, there’s some bonus material that goes into much more depth.

Precision, Imprecision, Intellectual Honesty, And Little Green Men

If you’ve been following the hubbub about 3I/ATLAS, you’re probably either in the camp that thinks it’s just a comet from ridiculously far away that’s managed to find its way into our solar system, or you’re preparing for an alien invasion. (Lukewarm take: it’s just a fast moving comet.) But that doesn’t stop it from being interesting – its relatively fast speed and odd trajectory make astronomers wonder where it’s coming from, and give us clues about how old it is likely to be.

Astronomy is the odd-man-out in the natural sciences. In most branches of physics, chemistry, and even biology, you can run experiments. Even those non-experimental corners of the above fields, like botany, for instance, you can get your hands on the objects you’re talking about. Not so astronomy. When I was studying in college, one of my professors quipped that astronomers were pretty happy when they could hammer down a value within an order of magnitude, and ecstatic when they could get a factor of two or three. The deck is simply stacked against them.

With that background, I love two recent papers about 3I/ATLAS. The first tries to figure out why it’s moving so fast by figuring out if it’s been going that fast since its sun kicked it out, or if it has picked up a gravitational boost along the way. While they can’t go all the way back in time, they’ve worked out whether it has flown by anything close enough to get a significant boost over the last 10 million years. This is impressive that we can calculate the trajectory so far back, but at the same time, 10 million years is peanuts on the cosmic timescale.

According to another paper, there is a weak relationship between interstellar objects’ age and their velocity, with faster-moving rocks being older, they can estimate the age of 3I/ATLAS at between 7.6 and 14 billion years old, assuming no gravitational boosts along the way. While an age range of 7 billion years may seem like a lot, that’s only a factor of two. A winner for astronomy!

Snarkiness aside, its old age does make a testable prediction, namely that it should be relatively full of water ice. So as 3I/ATLAS comes closer to the sun in the next few weeks, we’ll either see it spitting off lots of water vapor, and the age prediction checks out, or we won’t, and they’ll need to figure out why.

Whatever happens, I appreciate how astronomers aren’t afraid to outline what they can’t know – orbital dynamics further back than a certain date, or the precise age of rocks based solely on their velocity. Most have also been cautious about calling the comet a spaceship. On the other hand, if it is, one thing’s for sure: after a longer-than-10-million-year road trip, whoever is on board that thing is going to be hungry.

Site Of Secret 1950s Cold War Iceworm Project Rediscovered

The overall theme of the early part of the Cold War was that of subterfuge — with scientific missions often providing excellent cover for placing missiles right on the USSR’s doorstep. Recently NASA rediscovered Camp Century, while testing a airplane-based synthetic aperture radar instrument (UAVSAR) over Greenland. Although established on the surface in 1959 as a polar research site, and actually producing good science from e.g. ice core samples, beneath this benign surface was the secretive Project Iceworm.

By 1967 the base was forced to be abandoned due to shifting ice caps, which would eventually bury the site under over 30 meters of ice. Before that, the scientists would test out the PM-2A small modular reactor. It not only provided 2 MW of electrical power and heat to the base, but was itself subjected to various experiments. Alongside this public face, Project Iceworm sought to set up a network of mobile nuclear missile launch sites for Minuteman missiles. These would be located below the ice sheet, capable of surviving a first strike scenario by the USSR. A lack of Danish permission, among other complications, led to the project eventually being abandoned.

It was this base that popped up during the NASA scan of the ice bed. Although it was thought that the crushed remains would be safely entombed, it’s estimated that by the year 2100 global warming will have led to the site being exposed again, including the thousands of liters of diesel and tons of hazardous waste that were left behind back in 1967. The positive news here is probably that with this SAR instrument we can keep much better tabs on the condition of the site as the ice cap continues to grind it into a fine paste.


Top image: Camp Century in happier times. (Source: US Army, Wikimedia)

A Deep Dive Into Molten Bismuth

Bismuth is known for a few things: its low melting point, high density, and psychedelic hopper crystals. A literal deep-dive into any molten metal would be a terrible idea, regardless of low melting point, but [Electron Impressions]’s video on “Why Do Bismuth Crystals Look Like That” may be the most educational eight minutes posted to YouTube in the past week.

The whole video is worth a watch, but since spoilers are the point of these articles, we’ll let you in on the secret: it all comes down to Free Energy. No, not the perpetual motion scam sort of free energy, but the potential that is minimized in any chemical reaction. There’s potential energy to be had in crystal formation, after all, and nature is always (to the extent possible) going to minimize the amount left on the table.

In bismuth crystals– at least when you have a pot slowly cooling at standard temperature and pressure–that means instead of a large version of the rhombahedral crystal you might naively expect if you’ve tried growing salt or sugar crystals in beakers, you get the madman’s maze that actually emerges. The reason for this is that atoms are preferentially deposited onto the vertexes and edges of the growing crystal rather than the face. That tends to lead to more vertexes and edges until you get the fractal spirals that a good bismuth crystal is known for. (It’s not unlike the mechanism by which the dreaded tin whiskers grow, as a matter of fact.)

Bismuth isn’t actually special in this respect; indeed, nothing in this video would not apply to other metals, in the right conditions. It just so happens that “the right conditions” in terms of crystal growth and the cooling of the melt are trivial to achieve when melting Bismuth in a way that they aren’t when melting, say, Aluminum in the back yard. [Electron Impressions] doesn’t mention because he is laser-focused on Bismuth here, but hopper crystals of everything from table salt to gold have been produced in the lab. When cooling goes to quick, it’s “any port in a storm” and atoms slam into solid phase without a care for the crystal structure, and you get fine-grained, polycrystaline solids; when it goes slowly enough, the underlying crystal geometry can dominate. Hopper crystals exist in a weird and delightful middle ground that’s totally worth eight minutes to learn about.

Aside from being easy to grow into delightful crystals, bismuth can also be useful when desoldering, and, oddly enough, making the world’s fastest transistor.

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A vertically-mounted black disk with a concentric pattern of reflective disks is illuminated under a red light. A large number of copper wires run away from the the disk to a breadboard.

Deforming A Mirror For Adaptive Optics

As frustrating as having an atmosphere can be for physicists, it’s just as bad for astronomers, who have to deal with clouds, atmospheric absorption of certain wavelengths, and other irritations. One of the less obvious effects is the distortion caused by air at different temperatures turbulently mixing. To correct for this, some larger observatories use a laser to create an artificial star in the upper atmosphere, observe how this appears distorted, then use shape-changing mirrors to correct the aberration. The physical heart of such a system is a deformable mirror, the component which [Huygens Optics] made in his latest video.

The deformable mirror is made out of a rigid backplate with an array of linear actuators between it and the thin sheet of quartz glass, which forms the mirror’s face. Glass might seem too rigid to flex under the tenth of a Newton that the actuators could apply, but everything is flexible when you can measure precisely enough. Under an interferometer, the glass visibly flexed when squeezed by hand, and the actuators created enough deformation for optical purposes. The actuators are made out of copper wire coils beneath magnets glued to the glass face, so that by varying the polarity and strength of current through the coils, they can push and pull the mirror with adjustable force. Flexible silicone pillars run through the centers of the coils and hold each magnet to the backplate.

A square wave driven across one of the actuators made the mirror act like a speaker and produce an audible tone, so they were clearly capable of deforming the mirror, but a Fizeau interferometer gave more quantitative measurements. The first iteration clearly worked, and could alter the concavity, tilt, and coma of an incoming light wavefront, but adjacent actuators would cancel each other out if they acted in opposite directions. To give him more control, [Huygens Optics] replaced the glass frontplate with a thinner sheet of glass-ceramic, such as he’s used before, which let actuators oppose their neighbors and shape the mirror in more complex ways. For example, the center of the mirror could have a convex shape, while the rest was concave.

This isn’t [Huygens Optics]’s first time building a deformable mirror, but this is a significant step forward in precision. If you don’t need such high precision, you can also use controlled thermal expansion to shape a mirror. If, on the other hand, you take it to the higher-performance extreme, you can take very high-resolution pictures of the sun.