Not feeling up/down/whatever to do much of a post so have a video. This happened back in 1905 in a Minnesota Winter and you can make your own “getting blasted” joke(s) if you must. That the people involved didn’t blow up right away hauling the stuff around is pretty amazing right there. That the fellow who downed it lived long enough to walk some distance is also kind of amazing. Anyway…
safety
This is not about exercise and weight reduction. I had the butane mantle lamp going. It was not in the best spot. This was made evident by the thing falling to the floor and coming apart, with the gas on. You bet I moved quickly to turn that valve OFF!
The mantle looked, for a moment, like it had – against all odds – survived. It had not. No great loss. Mantles are delicate and that one (original with the lamp) is generally considered inferior. The small globe landed on a bit of nylon rope and survived – though melted and charred rope did adhere to the globe. And yes, it was nylon. I know what hot (and too hot) nylon smells like. Many hours running an injection molder has an effect.
After shutting the valve, I noticed the thing seemed a bit askew. Uh oh. Three choices there: The lamp is bent, the fuel canister (or its outlet) is bent, or both. A quick examination suggested the lamp is probably alright, but further inspection is a good idea. A close look revealed the fuel canister itself had issues. The fall dented it, which is a bit worrisome right there. But the threaded outlet was decidedly no longer as it ought be. That explains the burst of fuel (cold, due to sudden expansion) experienced when removing the lamp assembly. Crud.
Well, can’t risk a potentially leaky canister of butane in the house, so out it went. This was, of course, when the neighbor with the “I don’t know what not barking is” dogs let them out. They’re barky enough by themselves, but I step out and it gets worse. Not feeling all that patient, I just set the canister on the concrete, well away from things, and go back inside. This is NOT ideal. But at least the cylinder/canister is outside.
A while later the dogs of eternal vocalization are back indoors and I can step out in relative peace. The other neighbor’s dogs are out. Over the Summer and Fall, I was able to convince them that ‘quiet’ was good and meant ‘treat’. Well, the smaller one (Maude) is either forgetful, or too excitable or too desperate or something. My change of schedule means we don’t see each other that often now. One woof or yip to get my attention is one thing. A barking barrage is rather another. But, I put the little burner on the butane tank and nothing (of the butane) is hissing or being otherwise troublesome. I light it and Maude finally quiets down. Elmer, the other, larger dog has been quiet all along and is likely wishing Maude would shut up. Elmer has things pretty much worked out. So, the now-quiet dogs get some treats. I am unsure if Maude finally worked it out, or was just stunned into silence by the rush/roar sound of the flame.
Why the burner? I can’t dispose of a butane canister that still has fuel in it. And the best way to empty a tank of “liquid gas” fuel is to burn it off. Simply venting it would have all sorts of risks. Of course this canister has to be one of the bigger ones. The ‘waste’ of the fuel is annoying, but the real problem is that it takes that much longer to burn it “dry.” And with relatively low temperatures, even of an abnormally warm February, plus the cooling effect of the liquid butane evaporating, the thing self-quenches after a while. Thus properly dealing with it might take some time. But it will be dealt with.
First off, this page:
$HOUSEMATE has a collection of cameras (he is a fan of the Olympus OM series, for what it’s worth) and lenses. At least one falls into the “thoriated” glass family. That is, the lens was made with glass with some thorium compound – likely to get just the right refractive index – a thing that is perhaps as close as much science gets to (black[1]) magic. The obvious (visible) issue is that over time the lens glass will yellow some. The non-obvious thing is that the glass is radioactive. The emissions are not enough to bother the film (alpha and/or beta particles – the shutter, no matter the material, is apt to block everything the thorium glass will emit – even use in the viewfinder is unlikely to be of any concern. More likely the stress of worrying about it would do more harm than the radiation).
We got curious and set my radiation counter next to a known thoriated lens. It’s “hotter” or “spicier” than the uranium ore sample I have. That said, it’s likely LESS dangerous. The uranium emits at least a few gamma rays (not enough to worry about) and the thorium is all alpha (no concern at all unless you breathe or eat the lens!) and beta particles – again, don’t breathe or eat the lens. The test I ran of the uranium source a while back (and various shielding) had the unshielded uranium sample giving almost 8,000 counts in 30 minutes. The thoriated lens threw about 12,000 counts in around 10 minutes. HOWEVER: The uranium had SOME gamma in that. The “hotter” thorium was just beta (the counter isn’t fine enough to be able to count alpha. Alpha can be blocked by… well, most anything at all). So.. while the count (with the counter as close to the glass as could be) is higher, that does NOT mean the lens is more dangerous. Considering beta vs. gamma, I would FAR rather carry the lens around in a pocket (not advised – because it risks damage to the lens) than the uranium ore sample.
A fellow related a story about Radiation Safety education and the “Cookie Question.” It goes roughly like this: You have four cookies. One emits alpha, one emits beta, one emits E-M (presumed gamma) and one emits neutrons. Which do you throw as far away as you can, which do you pocket, which do you hold, and which do you eat?
Now, rightly, you’d not eat any. BUT… since they didn’t SAY gamma but E-M (which could be radio…) that’s the one to eat. The alphas are stopped by not much at all, a single layer of ‘dead’ skin suffices, so you hold the alpha emitter. The beta emitter can be pocketed, as betas are a bit more penetrating than alpha, but not by much. The cloth of your shirt or jeans will likely do. But neutrons are Bad News and the inverse-square law[2] is your friend: That neutron source and you need to be as far away from each other as you can manage. THROW, good and far!
[1] Alright, outside of Quantum Anything and RF – which even many Electrical Engineers figure to be magic at best, and black magic more oft.
[2] Inverse-square Law: If you increase your distance, the exposures drops by the square of the distance. Let’s say you have an exposure of “100” at a yard (or meter) away. Move to two yards (or meters) away and your exposure drops to “25.” Move to four yards (or meters) and your exposure drops to 6.25. Distance is your friend. If a source is HERE, and you are not supposed to be exposed (radiotherapy perhaps) you want be not HERE, but THERE. Ideally, WAY OVER THERE. Elsewhere is a Very Good place to be. If you can put mass (the denser the better) in the way, even better!
First, a story. This happened back in the 1980’s. And yes, it really did happen. Steve is the fellow’s actual name – I am merely omitting his last name.
Steve had an ultralight aircraft. This doesn’t require any license at all. The craft is, to make it simple, roughly a hang-glider with a small engine. This is important. Now Steve was a rather dedicated fellow and would fly with cold weather gear during the Winter – in central or northern Wisconsin. And one clear Winter day he was doing just that. And all was well… for a while.
And then a spring snapped. This is bad, yes. Worse, at least one part of the spring went flying on its own trajectory… and hit the propeller (a pusher-prop design, so the propeller was aft of the pilot). This is worse, as an object going into a prop (other than small bugs) can do damage to the prop. This happened. Worse yes, the propeller broke and to put the sucktacular cherry on top this disaster sundae, a bit of the prop then took out a(nother?) control line.
So there he was, with no thrust (no prop, even if the engine was running) and less than full cable controls. This was not “dead stick” this was “no stick.” A few things worked in his favor. One was that as the machine was basically a hang-glider, it could still be controlled by weight shifting. So he had some control despite everything. Another thing was that he was at a good altitude and it was Winter in Wisconsin. Altitude means time as you descend. Time to look for a place to set down that might be less than terrible. And the altitude also meant a good view of what such places there might be. The obvious clear area was a lake. Water landing? Nope. Ice. Frozen over lake. And it had been cold enough, long enough, that the ice was thick enough to support the weight of him and the machine.
Now, the aviation folks reading have likely been grumping, if not screaming, for the last couple paragraphs, because most of this mess was preventable. Sure, the spring would still have snapped, and some control would still have been lost. But the rest didn’t have to happen. Or at least could have been made far less likely to happen. Look at this:
It looks like a weird wire cutter/pliers. And it is. But note the screw setup. And, of course, the spools of wire. What wasn’t there was the wire through the spring, twisted together to hold it in a loop. The wire is emplaced, held by the clamping tool, the screw pulled straight out, which turns the pliers and twists the wire together. If need be, the screw is let go and returns (by spring force) and the process may be repeated.
Result? The spring would’ve still snapped, but the safety wire would have kept it from doing anything more. The line might even still have been (barely) capable of its intended job. This is an “Oh crap, get on the ground FAST” moment. But… everything that Steve experienced after the spring snapped… doesn’t necessarily have to happen. He might not get to his ideal landing spot, but he might not have to settle for the very first (barely) tolerable spot.
And, yes, Steve made mighty sure the safety wires were where they were needed after that. He got lucky, a few ways. And luck is not a thing to depend upon. The air is like the sea, only moreso.
It’s not just springs. There are other things that must hold, or at least must not become free to menace other parts of machinery. If you’ve seen a nut or bolt with a weird hole… that’s one of those things.