#141: The Engine That Shouldn’t Have Worked – And What It Reveals About Rainfall and Climate
From Newcomen to James Watt to Peter Bunyard – Condensation Implosions as a Key to Understanding Geoengineering Risks and Unlocking Climate Repair
If you’ve been following my posts #138 and #140, and the back-and-forth discussions I’ve been having with Alpha, this is the culmination of what I’ve gathered along the way. What began as an exploration into what drives the biotic pump—and how to quantify its effect—has evolved into something more nuanced.
Through these discussions, and with insights from Peter Bunyard, the focus shifted from simply measuring rainfall drivers to uncovering the distinct roles that latent heat and condensation play in atmospheric processes. Latent heat, as it turns out, may not be the primary force behind circulation but instead serves as the stabilizer—the mechanism that maintains climate homeostasis. The real driver of rainfall and wind, I’ve come to realize, could be the implosive force of condensation, quietly pulling the atmosphere into motion.
This piece reflects that shift in understanding—a journey shaped by ongoing conversations, experiments, and the realization that some of the most critical forces in our climate systems might not be the loudest, but the most subtle.
The Engine That Shouldn’t Have Worked
In 1712, deep in the coal mines of England, something strange happened. Water, which had been flooding the lower levels of the mine shafts, was lifted by a machine so inefficient and crude that it looked more like a blacksmith’s experiment than a world-changing invention.
This was the Newcomen atmospheric engine. It didn’t hum or spin gracefully. It wheezed and clunked—yet, stroke by stroke, it drained the mines and made coal extraction viable.
But here’s the odd thing—the engine shouldn’t have worked. At least, not if the textbooks were right about heat and steam.
How the Newcomen Engine Operated
At first glance, the engine's function seems simple enough:
Steam is injected into a cylinder, lifting the piston.
A jet of cold water sprays into the cylinder, rapidly condensing the steam.
This condensation reduces the steam volume by 1,700 times, creating a vacuum inside the cylinder.
The piston is forced down by atmospheric pressure, performing work and restarting the cycle.
It’s almost too simple. And yet, without understanding the physics of condensation, none of this makes sense.
Latent Heat – The Invisible Obstacle
Here’s the problem. Every time steam condenses, it releases latent heat. In fact, for every gram of water vapor that condenses, 2.25 kJ of heat floods the surrounding air. That’s 15 times more energy than the cooling effect of condensation (a mere 0.17 kJ/g).
By all logic, this latent heat should have done something profound—it should have expanded the air, preventing the vacuum from forming and keeping the piston stuck in place.
And yet, the piston fell, stroke after stroke.
Why?
Because the designers of the engine—perhaps unknowingly—engineered around latent heat.
Cold Water – The Secret Ingredient
The Newcomen engine’s design avoided this obstacle through a clever trick. The cold water spray that condensed the steam didn’t just stop at condensation. It also absorbed the latent heat released in the process.
Instead of warming the remaining air inside the cylinder, the heat bled into the water droplets and the metal walls of the cylinder.
The result? No expansion.
A partial vacuum formed almost immediately, allowing atmospheric pressure to push the piston down without resistance.
It’s an elegant workaround—one that only works because the latent heat never stays in the system long enough to disrupt the vacuum.
What If the Latent Heat Stayed?
Let’s imagine an alternate version of the engine—one where the cold water spray is absent.
Steam condenses.
Latent heat, unable to escape, warms the remaining air.
The pressure inside the cylinder rises, preventing vacuum formation.
In this scenario, the piston barely moves. The engine fails.
This is why latent heat, despite being the largest energy component in the process, cannot drive the piston. It must be removed, allowing condensation to collapse the volume and create the pressure differential necessary to do mechanical work.
James Watt – Separating Condensation from the Cylinder
Decades later, James Watt looked at the Newcomen engine and saw the flaw—not in the principle, but in its efficiency.
Newcomen’s design was slow. After each stroke, the engine had to reheat the cylinder before the next injection of steam could take place. This constant heating and cooling wasted fuel and slowed production.
Watt’s solution was simple, yet transformative:
He introduced a separate condenser.
Steam was injected into the piston chamber as usual, but condensation occurred in a secondary chamber, away from the cylinder.
This kept the main cylinder hot and ready for the next cycle, eliminating the need for reheating.
In doing so, Watt preserved the vacuum effect while improving efficiency, cutting coal consumption by nearly 75%.
Watt’s breakthrough wasn’t just about efficiency—it was about understanding that latent heat disrupts the very force needed to create motion. The same principle could apply to atmospheric processes, where latent heat often receives credit, but condensation implosions silently perform the heavy lifting.
The Core Principle – Latent Heat Must Leave
Both engines—the crude Newcomen design and Watt’s refined version—depended on the same fundamental truth:
Condensation creates the vacuum.
Latent heat disrupts the vacuum.
The system works only if latent heat is removed.
But this leaves an open question—if latent heat can’t drive the piston, can it really drive atmospheric circulation?
That’s where things get interesting.
In the sky, water vapor condenses into clouds just like steam condenses in an engine. Latent heat is released, lifting the air… but what if the real driver isn’t the heat at all?
What if—like in the Newcomen engine—the atmosphere relies on condensation implosions, pulling air inward and accelerating wind patterns?
And if that’s the case, what happens when latent heat can’t escape, much like in our alternate, malfunctioning engine?
The same implosive force that pulled Newcomen’s piston downward seems to echo in nature, quietly shaping weather patterns. To test if condensation alone could generate circulation, Peter Bunyard miniaturized the problem in a glass box
Condensation in a Glass Box – Testing the Sky’s Engine
The idea that condensation, rather than latent heat, might drive atmospheric circulation isn’t just theoretical. Peter Bunyard decided to test it—not by scaling a mountaintop or launching a weather balloon, but in the simplest way possible: a sealed glass chamber.
This experiment was small, almost absurdly so. But as history often shows, small experiments reveal big truths.
The Experiment – A Steam Engine Without the Piston
Bunyard’s setup resembled a stripped-down version of the Newcomen engine:
A sealed glass chamber was filled with humid air.
Cooling coils ran along the top, triggering condensation.
An anemometer measured airflow inside the box.
The question was simple—would condensation alone drive airflow?
Cooling Alone Doesn’t Cut It – The First Graph
First, Bunyard cooled the chamber without allowing condensation to form. The result was predictable:
The red line on his graph (representing temperature) dropped by 11°C.
The blue line (showing partial pressure) barely flickered.
Air movement, recorded by the anemometer, remained minimal.
👉 Takeaway: Cooling alone led to negligible airflow because the energy distribution was insufficient to create localized pressure changes. While the temperature dropped by 11°C, the energy gradient remained too weak to generate the vacuums necessary for significant circulation. This highlights a fundamental limitation of temperature-driven convection in creating airflow.
This is consistent with traditional convection models—cold air sinks, but slowly and without force.
Condensation Changes Everything – More Graphs
Next, Bunyard allowed condensation to form by reducing the chamber’s temperature further.
As condensation occurred, the dark blue line (representing condensation energy) rose sharply.
Simultaneously, the orange line (airflow measurement) jumped every time condensation happened.
👉 Takeaway: Condensation fundamentally alters the energy distribution. As water vapor transitions to liquid, its volume collapses by a factor of 1,700, creating a sudden and localized pressure drop. This implosion generates vacuums that draw in surrounding air, amplifying airflow to velocities exceeding 1.0 m/s. Unlike cooling alone, condensation concentrates energy into sharp, localized effects, driving circulation far more effectively.
👉 Condensation generates 1,000 times more energy. (units for the blue graph is in light blue, units for orange is in red)
The Key Ratio – How Much More Effective Is Condensation?
Here’s the part that forces a rethink:
Cooling alone generated air movement at a rate of 0.1 m/s.
Condensation, however, produced airflow exceeding 1.0 m/s—a 10x increase in velocity, purely from the phase change of water vapor into liquid.
To better understand this, let’s examine the relationship between partial pressure change (ppwv) and airflow:
With minimal condensation, partial pressure energy is <0.04 watts, generating airflow of only 0.01 m/s.
As condensation intensifies (e.g., ppwv rate = 0.7 watts), airflow correlates to over 0.2 m/s.
Using the equation: W = 0.5 × air mass × velocity², we can calculate the observed airflow velocity:
Substituting 0.7 watts and an air mass of 24 kg:
v = sqrt(0.7 / 12)
v ≈ 0.24 m/s.
This calculated velocity aligns perfectly with experimental findings, demonstrating that energy from condensation implosions translates directly into measurable airflow.
Even though condensation only produced a cooling effect of 0.17 kJ per gram, its localized vacuum effect drove far greater airflow than latent heat release, which disperses gradually over larger areas.
Scaling the Implosion – The Hidden Force in the Atmosphere
The mechanism behind condensation isn’t just about cooling—it’s about implosion.
As vapor condenses, its volume collapses by a factor of 1,700.
This creates a localized vacuum, pulling in surrounding air at speeds far greater than convection alone can achieve.
It’s the same principle that powers the Newcomen engine’s piston. But in the atmosphere, it drives winds and circulatory patterns across continents.
The mechanism behind condensation implosions isn’t just about cooling—it’s about creating a powerful localized vacuum. This insight challenges the traditional emphasis on latent heat as the primary driver of atmospheric circulation
Why Isn’t Latent Heat the Dominant Force?
While latent heat plays a role in atmospheric circulation, it acts differently:
Latent heat release (2.25 kJ/g):
Warms surrounding air, lifting it vertically.
Drives broad, slow convection currents.
Condensation implosions (0.17 kJ/g):
Collapse the volume of air, creating a localized vacuum.
Pull air horizontally and downward with sharp, concentrated force.
Even though latent heat is 15 times stronger on paper, its energy disperses over larger areas. In contrast, condensation applies energy locally, rapidly accelerating air movement.
Key Distinction:
Latent heat disperses; condensation concentrates.
Latent heat lifts air; condensation pulls it.
"While latent heat stabilizes climate systems by redistributing energy, condensation implosions act as concentrated drivers of motion. Their role becomes even more significant when scaled to entire ecosystems, such as the Amazon rainforest."
Biotic Pump – Where It All Comes Together
If condensation implosions are the hidden drivers of circulation, their effect becomes exponentially more apparent when scaled to ecosystems like the Amazon rainforest.
The Amazon as a Biotic Pump:
The Amazon isn’t just a passive recipient of rainfall; it actively pulls moisture inland. As trees transpire, vast quantities of water vapor rise into the atmosphere, setting the stage for condensation over the canopy. Each condensation event creates localized vacuums, drawing in moist air from the Atlantic Ocean—mirroring the implosive dynamics seen in small-scale experiments.
Condensation as the Driving Force:
In Bunyard’s chamber, condensation implosions drove airflow at speeds exceeding 1.0 m/s. In the Amazon, similar principles scale to wind speeds of 10 m/s, pulling moisture over thousands of kilometers. This demonstrates how forests like the Amazon act as biotic pumps, creating the low-pressure systems necessary for transporting moisture inland.
"Condensation implosions in a glass box provided valuable insights into the mechanics of airflow. But what happens when the same principle is applied on a continental scale? The Amazon rainforest offers a perfect example of how nature scales this dynamic to sustain ecosystems."
Scaling to the Sky – How the Amazon Pulls Moisture In
If condensation implosions can drive airflow inside a glass box, what happens when the same process scales up to the atmosphere?
In the Amazon rainforest, forests act as giant biotic pumps, rapidly and continuously pulling moisture from the Atlantic. This isn’t a gradual process—it’s dynamic and powerful.
Rising water vapor, driven by tree transpiration, condenses over the canopy.
Each condensation event creates localized vacuums that draw in moist air from the ocean.
These vacuums drive airflow speeds of up to 10 m/s, mirroring the implosive dynamics seen in Bunyard’s experiment, magnified to a continental scale.
The Numbers – The Amazon’s Engine in Action
Let’s apply the numbers from Bunyard’s experiment to the Amazon:
Annual rainfall: 2.25 meters.
Area of the Amazon: 5.5 million km².
Latent heat released per year: Equivalent to 361 terawatts—enough to power six atomic bombs every second.
But here’s the twist:
The implosion energy ratio from condensation (0.17/2.5) suggests that a significant fraction of this energy isn’t just rising—it’s driving horizontal circulation across the basin.
This implosion generates wind speeds of up to 10.36 m/s, transporting moisture inland by thousands of kilometers.
The forest isn’t just absorbing moisture—it’s actively pulling it.
Why This Matters – The Biotic Pump in Crisis
If condensation implosions drive circulation, then anything that disrupts condensation weakens the biotic pump.
And this is exactly what’s happening.
Deforestation reduces transpiration, limiting the source of water vapor.
Geoengineering and high-altitude aerosols (SAI) increase the formation of cirrus clouds, which trap latent heat and prevent radiative cooling.
Less radiative cooling = less condensation = weaker implosions.
In short, the engine stalls.
Takeaway – The Missing Force in Climate Models
Bunyard’s experiment shows that while latent heat lifts air masses, it’s condensation implosions that drive circulation.
Yet, most atmospheric models continue to emphasize latent heat as the primary force, overlooking the role condensation plays in accelerating wind and moisture transport.
As the Amazon’s rainfall patterns change and the biotic pump weakens, understanding the role of condensation could prove critical to reversing these trends.
Next, we explore how geoengineering (SAI) and high cloud formation could interfere with condensation dynamics—and why it’s threatening the delicate balance that keeps rainforests alive.
Could We Be Stalling the Sky’s Engine Without Realizing It?
If condensation implosions drive the piston of the atmosphere, what happens when we unknowingly place a brake on the process?
The Newcomen engine, crude as it was, depended entirely on one thing—the rapid collapse of steam volume through condensation. Without it, the piston wouldn’t fall. Without the piston falling, there was no work, no progress, and certainly no coal being lifted from the depths of England’s mines.
But here’s the unsettling part—could geoengineering and high-altitude clouds be acting like heat that refuses to leave the cylinder?
Is it possible that, much like latent heat trapped in a Newcomen engine cylinder, geoengineering interventions are locking heat at high altitudes, interfering with the natural cooling and pressure drops that drive rainfall?
And if that’s the case, how might this impact regions that rely on condensation implosions to pull moisture inland and sustain entire ecosystems?
Are we inadvertently slowing or even stalling the very processes that these environments depend on, just as a trapped piston in the Newcomen engine would fail to drive mechanical force?
What Happens When the Cylinder Stays Warm?
Think back to the Newcomen engine. Imagine the cycle plays out as usual—steam fills the cylinder, lifting the piston. But now, when cold water is sprayed inside to trigger condensation, the cylinder walls stay warm.
What happens?
Condensation occurs, but latent heat builds up and lingers inside the cylinder.
The heat causes the air to expand slightly, reducing the vacuum effect.
The piston falls slower, and the next cycle requires more steam to reset.
The engine sputters. It still works—but far less efficiently.
Now, scale this up to the atmosphere.
When water vapor condenses into clouds at high altitudes, latent heat must escape. In most natural systems, it does—radiating outward through atmospheric windows, directly into space. This allows the system to reset, continuing the cycle of uplift and collapse.
But if cirrus clouds trap that heat, the system mirrors the poorly functioning Newcomen engine—airflow weakens, circulation slows, and the atmosphere begins to stall.
Are High Clouds the Equivalent of Warming the Cylinder?
Cirrus clouds form high in the troposphere, typically above 6,000 meters. Unlike their lower-altitude counterparts, these clouds don’t reflect much sunlight. Instead, they let solar energy through but excel at trapping longwave radiation—the very heat that needs to escape during condensation.
This causes a subtle but measurable build-up of heat in the upper atmosphere.
Condensation still occurs, but the implosive force driving air downward and pulling new air in weakens.
The result? Slower circulation, reduced rainfall, and weakened moisture transport inland.
In essence, cirrus clouds become the equivalent of leaving latent heat inside the engine cylinder—just enough to rob the system of its efficiency.
Geoengineering – Fixing One Problem by Creating Another?
Stratospheric Aerosol Injection (SAI) has been heralded as a way to reflect sunlight and cool the planet. By dispersing reflective aerosols at high altitudes, proponents argue that we can reduce global temperatures and mitigate the effects of climate change.
But here’s the tradeoff no one talks about:
Stratospheric Aerosol Injection (SAI) increases cirrus cloud formation at high altitudes.
These clouds trap longwave radiation, creating conditions that slow condensation implosions and weaken atmospheric circulation.
While surface temperatures drop, evapotranspiration (ET) decreases, reducing the amount of moisture fed into the atmosphere.
At the same time, the upper atmosphere becomes warmer and more insulated.
Any condensation that does occur releases latent heat, but instead of dissipating, it becomes trapped—attenuating the vacuum effect of the implosion.
Could this mean that by insulating the upper atmosphere, geoengineering not only suppresses moisture supply but also weakens the very mechanism that drives rainfall by dampening the implosive forces that pull air and moisture inward?
It’s like fixing the engine by painting the piston, ignoring the fundamental issue that the cylinder isn’t cooling properly.
If Condensation Drives the Biotic Pump, Are We Stalling Rainfall?
The Amazon rainforest depends on a system known as the biotic pump—a mechanism by which condensation over the forest canopy creates a vacuum, pulling moist air from the Atlantic Ocean deep into the continent.
This isn’t just theory—it’s observable. Airflow velocities reaching 10 m/s have been measured over the forest, aligning with the same implosion dynamics seen in Bunyard’s glass chamber experiment.
But if cirrus clouds trap latent heat over the Amazon, the vacuum effect diminishes:
Moisture transport slows, reducing the flow of Atlantic water vapor inland.
Rainfall diminishes, even if evaporation from the forest continues.
As rainfall weakens, the cycle breaks—leading to drought, deforestation, and further loss of the pump mechanism.
It’s the Newcomen engine scenario all over again—except this time, the piston is falling over the lungs of the Earth.
Is Deforestation Just One Part of the Problem?
Deforestation is rightly seen as a leading cause of Amazonian drought. But could we be missing half the story?
Deforestation reduces transpiration, cutting off the initial supply of water vapor.
But even in regions where forest cover remains intact, rainfall is decreasing.
Could it be that high-altitude warming—caused by cirrus clouds, geoengineering, and pollution—is stalling the condensation implosions that once drove rainfall?
It’s not that the piston isn’t lifting. It’s that the vacuum no longer forms with the same force.
The Numbers – Why Even Small Disruptions Matter
To understand why this is critical, let’s quantify the process:
A single square meter of Amazon rainforest transpires 1,000 liters of water per year.
Across the entire Amazon Basin, that amounts to 5.5 trillion liters annually.
The latent heat released from this process generates the equivalent of 361 terawatts of energy, enough to detonate several atomic bombs every second.
But remember—implosion energy is far smaller.
For every gram of water vapor condensed, latent heat releases 2.25 kJ.
Condensation implosion contributes just 0.17 kJ per gram—a fraction of the total energy.
Yet this small fraction drives the entire vacuum process. If cirrus clouds reduce condensation efficiency by even 5-10%, the cascading effects could lead to massive reductions in rainfall.
Why This Isn’t Just Theory
We’re not speculating about future possibilities—this is already happening.
Satellite data shows that cirrus cloud cover over tropical rainforests has been increasing, correlating with reduced rainfall across regions like the Amazon, Congo, and Southeast Asia.
In areas where geoengineering experiments have been conducted, precipitation levels dropped unexpectedly, with moisture transport patterns shifting away from forested regions.
The small-scale mechanics of condensation implosions mirror global patterns that we can no longer afford to ignore.
What If the Engine Fails Completely?
The unsettling truth is that if condensation implosions weaken too much, the biotic pump could collapse entirely.
The Amazon could enter a permanent drought state, unable to pull Atlantic moisture inland.
Tropical rainforests could transition to savannas, reinforcing atmospheric feedback loops that worsen global warming.
In short, if we over-insulate the upper atmosphere, the piston might stop falling. And with it, one of the most vital circulatory systems on Earth could stall.
Final Reflection – Are We Sure We Know What We’re Doing?
The Newcomen engine was a simple device, yet it required precise management of heat and condensation to function effectively. In contrast, the **atmosphere—infinitely more complex—**operates on the same foundational principle.
The question is no longer whether condensation implosions drive circulation—it’s whether we might be unintentionally halting that process without realizing it.
So here’s something to consider—what if the key to predicting, preserving, and even restoring the planet’s most vital systems doesn’t lie in the heat that rises, but in the quiet implosions that pull the air down?
Through ongoing conversations—sparked by Alpha Lo’s probing questions and Peter Bunyard’s insights—I kept returning to a realization that feels at once simple and profound.
Latent heat has long been recognized as essential for maintaining environmental balance—regulating temperatures and sustaining rainfall patterns. But the true driver behind atmospheric circulation may lie elsewhere, in the implosive force of condensation.
This shift in perspective—**shaped by the insights Alpha and Peter brought to the table—**redirects attention to the subtle yet powerful mechanisms quietly shaping planetary hydrology.
The small water cycle, where low clouds recycle moisture near the surface, thrives on this delicate interplay. When functioning properly, it sustains ecosystems and stabilizes rainfall. However, disruptions—whether from **stratospheric aerosol injection (SAI), volcanic eruptions, or pollution—**can encourage the formation of cirrus clouds, trapping latent heat at higher altitudes. This delays the cooling required for condensation implosions to take full effect.
And to be clear, I am not suggesting that cirrus clouds shouldn’t exist—on the contrary, they are an essential part of the atmospheric system. What I am questioning is the idea of using them purposefully to alter the radiation balance, potentially at the expense of the very processes that drive rainfall and sustain ecosystems.
Even in regions with robust forest cover, this imbalance could weaken the biotic pump, reducing rainfall and disturbing hydrological cycles. It introduces the unsettling possibility that declining rainfall may not only occur in deforested areas but also in regions where the sky itself is inhibiting the natural processes that drive moisture transport.
Though this hypothesis awaits deeper testing, the potential implications are too significant to ignore. If condensation implosions are as critical to circulation as they seem, preserving these processes may be key—not just for avoiding tipping points like Amazon dieback, but for restoring atmospheric rivers and ensuring the continued movement of moisture across entire continents.
In the end, the question isn’t just whether these forces shape our climate—it’s whether we can afford to overlook them any longer.
I owe a special thanks to Peter Bunyard for his mentorship and willingness to share his vast knowledge throughout this journey. His work continues to shape how I view the natural world.
And to **Alpha Lo—**your questions and insights have driven this exploration further than I imagined, sharpening the focus on the forces often hidden in plain sight.
Thank you both for guiding this journey.
What are your thoughts on how these insights could influence geoengineering approaches or conservation policies? Let's discuss in the comments.
Just out of the blue