What's It Like If I Floated Inside A Very Rainy Cloud ?

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Offline neilep

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Dear Cloudologists,

As a sheepy I of course luff clouds. Clouds are my all time favourite cloudy weathery thing that looks like me and floats.

Look, here's a very dark rainy cloud.

A Very Dark Rainy Cloud

If I was to float up into that cloud  and just reside inside it for a while what would it be like ?

Would rain be coming from all directions ?..would there be massive big blobs of water ?..would there be snow or sleet ? I guess I would become very soggy yes ?...and say then that that the cloud started to let loose all it's rain in a precipitational kind of way and dumped it's load all over the ground..

would the cloud's hue and tone become noticeably lighter ?

Whajafink ?

Hugs and shmishes

mwah mwah mwah

I Luff The Rain
Men are the same as women, just inside out !


Offline Mr. F

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What's It Like If I Floated Inside A Very Rainy Cloud ?
« Reply #1 on: 18/08/2010 15:18:58 »
I'm sure you have walked through fog, which is a very low cloud. But for what it feels like to be inside a more violent cloud we need the help of Lieut. Colonel William Henry Rankin.

This is taken from Time Magazine:
newbielink:http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,937849,00.html [nonactive]

Lightning slashed the white peaks of the boiling thunderclouds below as a pair of silver-and-orange F8U Crusader jet fighters streaked smoothly down the Carolina coast on the return leg of a high-altitude flight to Boston. Lieut. Colonel William Henry Rankin, U.S.M.C., sitting under the curved glass canopy of the lead jet, took his two-plane flight over an angry anvil of cloud, sat back casually as his eye ran across the instrument panel. Altitude: 47,000 feet. True air speed: 500 knots. It was a crisp, sunlit flight, and the only problem in sight was to bore down through the overcast to the rain-browned runways of the Marine Auxiliary Air Station at Beaufort, S.C., only minutes away.

But before muscular, 39-year-old Bill Rankin, combat pilot and a bar-bellhefting, physical-culture fan, would touch earth again, he was in for 40 minutes that even other old salts of the air would be talking about for years.

At nine miles up, his engine quit with a grating, rasping jolt. Rankin hopefully eyed the slumping panel needles, tried vainly to coax juice from an emergency electrical generator to rouse his radio, kept his aircraft from nosing over into supersonic speed. But only for an instant; a hundred battle missions and a bail-out in enemy fire over Korea had honed his survival instincts, and Rankin knew the choice. To his wingman, Lieut. Herbert Nolan, he snapped a message over his faltering transmitter: "Power failure. May have to eject." To himself he said: "This is going to be a pretty high one."

The Good Chute. As the Crusader lost altitude and sank into the clouds, .Rankin put his life in the hands of the ingenious engineers who had sweated for years to anticipate his problem. He pulled two overhead handles to trigger a fast sequence: 1) a canvas windscreen came down over his face, 2) the plane's canopy blew off, 3) an explosive charge sent seat and pilot into the thin, —65° air, and 4) in the air a cable from the plane yanked the metal seat off his rump, left Marine Rankin above 40,000 feet with his jet helmet, oxygen mask and his parachute, preset to open automatically-at the safe-breathing level of 10,000 feet. "I had a terrible feeling like my abdomen was bloated twice its size. My nose seemed to explode. For 30 seconds I thought the decompression had me," recounts Rankin. "It was a shocking cold all over. My ankles and wrists began to burn as though somebody had put Dry Ice on my skin. My left hand went numb. I had lost that glove when I went out.

"It seemed like I free-fell an eternity. All this time I had this keen desire to pull the ripcord. I had to keep telling myself, 'If you do, you'll slow down and freeze to death or die from lack of oxygen.' Just as I was considering pulling the cord, I felt a shock. I looked up to see the chute. All I could see was cloud. But I could tell from pulling on the risers that I had a good chute.

"I'd see lightning. Boy, do I remember that lightning. I never exactly heard the thunder; I felt it. I remember falling through hail, and that worried me; I was afraid the hail would tear the chute. Sometimes I was falling through heavy water—I'd take a breath and breathe in a mouthful of water. Sometimes I had the sensation I was looping the chute. I was blown up and down as much as 6,000 feet at a time. It went on for a long time, like being on a very fast elevator, with strong blasts of compressed air hitting you."

Getting Warmer. "At one point I got seasick and heaved. I went up and joined the chute. It draped over me like a sheet, and I was afraid that when I blossomed again, I'd be tangled in the shrouds and risers. But I wasn't, thank God. At last, I realized I was getting warmer. The air was smooth. And rain was falling on me. I figured I was down to 300 or 500 feet. I told myself, 'All I have to do now is make a good landing.' "

Swept by stiff ground winds, his chute fouled in a tree, and Pilot Rankin slammed headfirst into the tree trunk. He got up groggily, stiff, cold and numb, with his crash helmet knocked askew. He stumbled into a thicket, was for a moment almost hysterical. Then to himself: "You've come this far down for this? Let's get organized." He began walking a procedural-square search, found himself after two 90° turns on a country road. A dozen cars passed him as he stood on the road, wet, bloody, vomit-stained and haggard, and waving feebly. Finally a car slowed ("Stop," a small boy cried to his father, "there's a jet pilot standing in the road!"), took him to a country store, where he collapsed on the floor while waiting for an ambulance to carry him to a hospital in Ahoskie, N.C.

Last week, at the Beaufort (pronounced Bewfirt) Naval Hospital, where he is recovering from frostbite and shock, Pilot Rankin forecast, "I'll be back in the air in a month." But the Marine Corps had other ideas. The medics were not likely to certify him for duty that early, although his injuries seemed to be remarkably minor. Even if they did, Pilot Rankin's next duty, according to orders on the docket, will be a nine-month general-staff course at Quantico, where good officers get better and a pilot can still get enough flight time to keep his hand in.