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THE EL NIÑO SOUTHERN OSCILLATION PHENOMENON
Many widely dispersed climatic extremes around the globe, such as severe droughts
and floods and the failure of the Indian monsoon, can be attributed to the periodic
warming of the sea surface in the central and eastern equatorial Pacific Ocean,
termed the El Niño or Southern Oscillation (ENSO). In the past few decades many
advances have been made in our understanding of ENSO. These have led to marked
improvements in our ability to forecast its development months or seasons in
advance, allowing practical prediction and adaptation to global impacts.
Edward Sarachik and Mark Cane have been key participants in advancing our
understanding of ENSO from the modern beginning of its study. The book begins
by introducing the basic concepts before moving on to more detailed theoretical
treatments. Chapters on the structure and dynamics of the tropical ocean and tropical
atmosphere ground the treatment of ENSO in a broader observational and theore-
tical context. The atmosphere and the oceans are given equal attention. Chapters on
ENSO prediction, ENSO past and future, and ENSO impacts introduce the reader to
the broader implications of the phenomenon.
This book provides an introduction to all aspects of this most important mode of
global climate variability. It will be of great interest to research workers and students
in climate science, oceanography and related fields, at all levels of technical
sophistication.
E D W A R D S. S A R A C H I K is Emeritus Professor of Atmospheric Sciences at the
University of Washington. He has been an active contributor to research on tropical
meteorology, tropical oceanography and coupled interactions in the tropics. He has
also worked on other problems of oceanography, in particular the global thermo-
haline circulation. Dr. Sarachik has served on nineteen National Research Council
committees, chairing two, in particular the Tropical Ocean Global Atmosphere
(TOGA) Panel. He worked to found the International Research Institute for
Climate and Society and has chaired IRI advisory committees since its inception.
Until his retirement, he co-directed the Center for Science in the Earth System at the
University of Washington, a center devoted to the dynamics of climate variability
and change and the impacts of such variability and change on the ecology, built
environment and people of the Pacific Northwest of the USA. He is a fellow of the
American Meteorological Society, the American Geophysical Union, and the
American Association for the Advancement of Science.
M A R K A. C A N E is G. Unger Vetlesen Professor of Earth and Climate Sciences and
Director of the Master of Arts Program in Climate and Society at the Lamont
Doherty Earth Observatory, Columbia University. With Lamont colleague Steven
Zebiak, he devised the first numerical model able to simulate ENSO, and in 1985
this model was used to make the first physically based forecasts of ENSO. Since
then the Zebiak–Cane model has been the primary tool used by many investigators
to enhance understanding of ENSO. Dr. Cane continues to work on El Niño
prediction and its impact on human activity, especially agriculture and health. His
efforts over many years were instrumental in the creation of the International
Research Institute for Climate and Society at Columbia. His current research
interests include paleoclimate problems and the light they shed on future climate
change. Dr. Cane has been honoured with the Sverdrup Gold Medal of the American
Meteorological Society (1992), the Cody Award in Ocean Sciences from the Scripps
Institution of Oceanography (2003), and the Norbert Gerbier–MUMM International
Award from the World Meteorological Organization (2009). He is a Fellow of the
American Meteorological Society, the American Association for the Advancement
of Science, the American Geophysical Union and the American Academy of Arts
and Sciences.
THE EL NIÑO–SOUTHERN
OSCILLATION PHENOMENON
EDWARD S. SARACHIK
University of Washington, Seattle
MARK A. CANE
Columbia University, New York
CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS
Cambridge, New York, Melbourne, Madrid, Cape Town, Singapore,
São Paulo, Delhi, Dubai, Tokyo
Cambridge University Press

The Edinburgh Building, Cambridge CB2 8RU, UK
Published in the United States of America by Cambridge University Press, New York
www.cambridge.org
Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9780521847865
© Edward S. Sarachik and Mark A. Cane 2010
This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the

provision of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part
may take place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press.
First published in print format 2010
ISBN-13 978-0-511-72266-0 eBook (EBL)

ISBN-13 978-0-521-84786-5 Hardback
Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy

of urls for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this publication,
and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain,
accurate or appropriate.
Contents
Preface page ix
List of abbreviations xii
1 Preview 1
1.1 The maritime tropics 1
1.2 The normal tropical Pacific 1
1.3 The phases of ENSO 4
1.4 Evolution of phases of ENSO 8
1.5 Physical ENSO processes 9
1.6 Modeling ENSO 15
1.7 Observing and predicting ENSO 17
1.8 Towards a theory of ENSO 19
1.9 The past and future of ENSO 21
1.10 What is ENSO information good for? 23
2 The observational basis 25
2.1 The nature and source of climate observations relevant
to ENSO 25
2.2 Solar forcing and fluxes at the surface 27
2.3 The annually averaged tropical Pacific 33
2.4 The annual cycle in the tropical Pacific 41
2.5 The evolution of ENSO 41
2.6 ENSO effects 49
2.7 Variability at periods of less than a year 57
2.8 Decadal variability 60
3 The equations of motion and some simplifications 61
3.1 Equations governing the ocean and atmosphere 61
3.2 The f-plane and the beta-plane 70
3.3 The hydrostatic approximation 71
3.4 Geostrophy 80
v
vi Contents
3.5 Simple layered models of the ocean 83

3.6 Vertical ocean modes in a continuously stratified fluid 90
3.7 The shallow-water equations on a sphere and equatorial
beta-plane 94
4 Boundary layers on both sides of the tropical ocean surface 97
4.1 Mixing, inversions and entrainment: general concepts 98
4.2 The atmospheric marine boundary layer 100
4.3 The ocean mixed layer 106
5 Atmospheric processes 117
5.1 Thermodynamic quantities 119
5.2 The diagnosis of Reed and Recker 127
5.3 How clouds heat 130
5.4 A model for the vertical structure of the tropical atmosphere 141
5.5 Theories of thermal forcing of the atmosphere 147
5.6 The processes that anchor regions of persistent precipitation
to SST 174
5.7 Surface winds for simple atmospheric models 178
6 Ocean processes 185
6.1 The processes that change SST 186
6.2 The barotropic adjustment problem 187
6.3 Equatorial ocean dynamics: free waves 196
6.4 Equatorial ocean dynamics: forced waves 204
6.5 Equatorial ocean dynamics: adjustment 215
6.6 Periodically forced motions 230
6.7 The role of the ocean in ENSO 232
7 ENSO mechanisms 235
7.1 Pioneers of the study of ENSO: Bjerknes and others 237
7.2 Simple coupled models 238
7.3 The Zebiak–Cane model 247
7.4 The delayed-oscillator equation 256
7.5 The recharge oscillator and other conceptual models 271
7.6 Stochastically forced models 275
7.7 Noise or chaos? Stable or unstable? Linear or nonlinear?
Does it matter and can we tell? 280
7.8 Modeling ENSO by state-of-the-art coupled climate models 283
8 ENSO prediction and short-term climate prediction 291
8.1 Weather prediction 293
8.2 Seasonal-to-interannual climate prediction 294
Contents vii
8.3 The current status of ENSO prediction and short-term

climate prediction 300
8.4 Improvements to ENSO and short-term climate prediction 302
9 ENSO, past and future: ENSO by proxy and ENSO in the tea leaves 305
9.1 ENSO past 306
9.2 ENSO in the twentieth century 315
9.3 ENSO in the future 317
9.4 Conclusions 318
10 Using ENSO information 321
10.1 General considerations 322
10.2 Using past ENSO information 323
10.3 Using ENSO nowcasts 326
10.4 End-to-end forecasting 327
10.5 Using forecasts – some potential examples 329
10.6 Improving the use of climate information 330
11 Postview 333
11.1 Looking back 333
11.2 Looking ahead 335
Appendix 1 Some useful numbers 337
Appendix 2 The parabolic-cylinder functions 339
Appendix 3 Modal and non-modal growth 341
A3.1 Context 341
A3.2 Matrix background 342
A3.3 A simple example 346
A3.4 Error evolution 349
References 351
Index 364
Preface
This is a book about the set of coupled atmosphere–ocean phenomena known

collectively as ENSO (El Niño–Southern Oscillation). While it will concentrate
on what is known about ENSO, its mechanism, its effects, and how predictable it is,
it will also touch on what is known about the paleohistory of ENSO and what we
might expect in the future as mankind puts CO2 and other radiatively active
constituents into the atmosphere. The approach, while theoretical and sometimes
necessarily mathematical, will concentrate on observations and on physical princi-
ples. Rigor will be acknowledged and appreciated but rarely practiced. When
something in the text is stated to be known, but is not explained, the symbol ☼
(usually accompanied by a reference or footnote) will be used. This will be true of all
chapters except the Preview (Chapter 1), where much will be arbitrarily stated,
subsequently to be explained in the rest of the book.
Because ENSO is an intrinsically coupled ocean–atmosphere process, we will
introduce the essentials of both the tropical atmosphere and ocean and explain the
unique properties of each medium. Because ENSO is an intrinsically Pacific
phenomenon, we will explain the unique aspects of the tropical Pacific and which
of its features makes it particularly congenial for the existence of ENSO. We will
describe those tropical atmospheric and oceanic mechanisms that ultimately help to
explain the mechanism of ENSO. While there is no general agreement about what
the ENSO mechanism is, we would expect that a similar book written a decade or so
henceforth would contain much of the same material. In pursuit of the ENSO
mechanism throughout this book, these themes will recur: the ability of warm sea-
surface temperature to anchor regions of persistent precipitation; the ability of
regions of persistent precipitation to induce surface westerly wind anomalies to
the west of these regions; the tendency of anomalously warm sea-surface temper-
ature anomalies in the Pacific to become warmer by local processes; and the
tendency of cold sea-surface temperature anomalies to be associated with shallower
thermoclines.
ix
x Preface
In order to draw the reader into the subject, the book will begin with a Preview
which will touch lightly on all the subject matter in the remainder of the book. We
recommend that all readers, regardless of sophistication, read the Preview in order to
gain a feel for the method and content of the book and to devise a personal plan for
reading the subsequent chapters. While not everything in the Preview is explained,
the important topics are introduced and, where explanation is complex or requires
the kind of mathematical treatment that will be established in a later chapter, a
warning will be given that the matter cannot be understood without some additional
work.
Each chapter will begin with a short precis which will indicate the broad outlines
of the chapter. The book will conclude with a recap which will mirror, but not repeat,
the content of the book. It is hoped that, in this way, the reader will be able to read the
book in a manner suitable for his or her ability and needs. Essential mathematics will
be relegated to the appendices. Some exercises will be interspersed in the chapters in
order to give the reader some useful practice in deriving some basic results.
The aim of the authors is to produce a book that can be read on many levels by
many audiences, depending on their interests and capabilities. Anyone reading the
Preview, the chapter headings, and the final Postview chapter will get a very
complete idea of what this book is about. We view our audience as scientists who
are at least familiar with the nature of scientific explanation while perhaps not being
familiar with the nitty-gritty of fluid mechanics, meteorology or oceanography. We
expect that a second-year graduate student in meteorology or oceanography would
have enough basic background to work through the entire book.
This book has two authors but many ancestors. Both authors owe a permanent
debt to the prime inspiration for our careers in the geosciences, Jule Charney, and it
is to his memory that this book is dedicated.
This book, and our approach to the material, arose from a series of lectures
addressed to people of diverse backgrounds and abilities. The lecture series was
given three times in Fortaleza, Brazil (thanks to the good offices of Antonio Divino
Moura and Carlos Nobre, with the cooperation of the Centro de Previsão de Tempo e
Estudas Climáticos [CPTEC] and Fundação Cearense de Meteorologiae Recursos
Hídricos [FUNCEME]) and twice at the International Centre for Theoretical Physics
in Trieste, Italy, with many thanks to J. Shukla and A. D. Moura for setting up the
lectures and to Lisa Ianitti for the loving care with which she treated the students, the
lecturers and the manuscript. Virginia DiBlasi typed an early version of the draft and
provided essential technical support throughout, as well as much-appreciated moral
support. Finally, we would like to thank the numerous colleagues and students who
did so much to shape our ideas over the years in conversations, seminars and
correspondence. Many of their names are scattered throughout this book. We do
not educate easily, so we are especially grateful for their perseverance.
Preface xi
We are grateful to Tony Barnston, Mike Halpert, Emilia Jin, Alexey Kaplan, Billy
Kessler, Todd Mitchell, Jenny Nakamura and Daiwei Wang for special efforts in
providing figures for our use in the book.
For the hitherto thankless job of proofing the initial version of this book we would
like to express our profound thanks to Hua Chen, Zhiming Kuang, Eugenia Kalnay
and (especially) Peter Gent and Ed Schneider.
ESS was supported throughout the writing of this book by grants from the
National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) Climate Office to the
Joint Institute for the Study of the Atmosphere and Ocean (JISAO) Center for
Science in the Earth System at the University of Washington and owes special
thanks to his Program Managers, Ming Ji and Chet Ropelewski, for their encour-
agement and forbearance in the (too) long writing of this book. This book was begun
on sabbatical leave supported by the University of Washington.
MAC’s contributions were supported by the Vetlesen Foundation, by the National
Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA), the National Science Foundation
(NSF) and, most importantly, by NOAA’s Office of Global Programs. Particular
thanks to Mike Hall and Ken Mooney for their inspired and inspiring leadership in
enabling so much of the science that forms the content of this book.
Abbreviations
AR4 Fourth Assessment Report of the IPCC

CGCM coupled general-circulation model
CMZ Cane–Münnich–Zebiak
CISK conditional instability of the second kind
COADS comprehensive ocean–atmosphere data set
CPTEC Centro de Previsão de Tempo e Estudos Climáticos
ECHAM European Centre–Hamburg
ECMWF European Centre for Medium-Range Weather Forecasts
EEP eastern equatorial Pacific
ENSO El Niño–Southern Oscillation
EUC equatorial undercurrent
FUNCEME Fundação Cearense de Meteorologia e Recursos Hídricos
GCM general-circulation model
GCOS global climate observing system
GR global residual
GTS global telecommunication system
HadCM3 Hadley Centre coupled climate model
IPCC Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change
IPO Interdecadal Pacific Oscillation
ITCZ intertropical convergence zone
JISAO Joint Institute for the Study of the Atmosphere and Ocean
KE kinetic energy
KPP K profile parameterization
LCL lifting condensation level
LGM last glacial maximum
MJO Madden–Julian oscillation
MME multi-model ensemble
MSU microwave sounding unit
xii
List of Abbreviations xiii
NAO North Atlantic Oscillation

NASA National Aeronautics and Space Administration
NCAR National Center for Atmospheric Research
NCEP (USA) National Centers for Environmental Prediction
NEC north equatorial current
NECC north equatorial counter current
NOAA National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration
NSF National Science Foundation
OLR outgoing long-wave radiation
pdf probability distribution function
PDO Pacific Decadal Oscillation
PE potential energy
Q-G quasi-geostrophic
rms root-mean-square
SEC south equatorial current
SLE St. Louis encephalitis
SLP sea-level pressure
SO Southern Oscillation
SODA simple ocean data analysis
SOI Southern Oscillation index
SPCZ South Pacific convergence zone
SS Schopf and Suarez (and vice versa)
SST sea-surface temperature
SSTA sea-surface temperature anomaly
SVD singular value decomposition
SWE shallow-water equation
TAO tropical atmosphere–ocean
TI trade inversion
TKE turbulent kinetic energy
TOGA Tropical Ocean Global Atmosphere
ZC Zebiak–Cane
1
Preview
This chapter serves as an introduction and preview for the entire book. Topics will
be broadly introduced, to be better and more completely explained in the sequel.
1.1 The maritime tropics

It may surprise people living in the midlatitudes that the tropics have such an
overwhelming role in the climate of the Earth. Yet it has been shown time and
time again that the maritime tropics are the only regions on Earth where changes in
the surface-boundary condition, especially sea-surface temperature (SST), have a
demonstrable and robust causal correlation with weather effects in midlatitudes.
This happens through the ability of warm sea-surface temperature anomalies (devia-
tions of sea-surface temperature from its normal value for that time of year) to
organize deep cumulonimbus convection and plentiful rainfall which can then emit
large-scale planetary waves which subsequently travel to higher latitudes. The
changes of SST, the formation of regions of persistent precipitation, and the result-
ing forcing of the midlatitude motions by these regions of persistent precipitation,
form a set of themes that appear and recur throughout this book.
It is a good rule of thumb (these rules of thumb will be examined in much greater
detail in the body of the book), in the tropical Pacific in particular, that regions of
persistent precipitation lie over the warmest water, and a good rule of thumb that in
the presence of persistent precipitation, the net synoptic motion is upward and the
sea-level pressure low. With these rules of thumb, we are in a position to describe the
normal conditions over the tropical Pacific, the main region of interest in this book.
1.2 The normal tropical Pacific

The tropical Pacific extends from the coast of South America in the eastern Pacific to
the various islands and land masses of Australia and Indonesia that form the
1
2 The El Niño–Southern Oscillation Phenomenon
20N
15N
10N
Niño 4 Niño 3
5N
EQ
5S
10S Niño 3.4
15S Niño 1 + 2
20S
120E 140E 160E 180 160W 140W 120W 100W 80W
Figure 1.1. The tropical Pacific, including the definition of the four Niño regions.
(Courtesy of the NOAA Climate Prediction Center.)
Figure 1.2. Schematic of the normal state of the coupled atmosphere–ocean system
in the tropical Pacific during boreal winter. The shading on the surface of the ocean
represents sea-surface temperature, warm in the west and cooler to the east and
south-west. (Courtesy of the NOAA Climate Prediction Center.)
so-called maritime continent; a somewhat paradoxical idea expressing a collection

of land masses without there actually being a land continent present (Figure 1.1). In
particular, the equator runs from Ecuador in the east (at 80°W) to Indonesia in the
west – the first land the equator crosses in the western Pacific is Halmahera at 129°E
and then the more substantial Sulewesi at 120°E. Taking Halmahera as the western
boundary of the Pacific gives a total length on the equator of 151 degrees of
longitude or 16 778 km, more than one-third of the total distance around the globe.
The climatic state in and over the tropical Pacific is given by a convenient cartoon
(Figure 1.2). The surface of the western Pacific is warm and the atmosphere above it
is rainy, with the rain coming from deep cumulonimbus clouds. The air rises in the
region of the warm water and the rising air is characterized by low pressure at the
surface. The winds across the surface of the tropical Pacific blow westward into
Preview 3
the region of low pressure, consistent with the westward trade winds. The rising
motion in the warm region reaches the tropopause and returns eastward aloft and
completes the circuit by descending in the eastern Pacific, leading to higher pressure
at the surface.
This tropical Pacific-wide circuit of air proceeding westward at the surface, rising
over the (warm) region of persistent precipitation, returning eastward aloft, and
descending over the cool eastern Pacific, is called the Walker circulation. Associated
with the Walker circulation is the low surface pressure in the western Pacific and the
high surface pressure in the east. A measure of the strength of the Walker circulation
is the difference in the surface pressure between the east and west – this difference is
conventionally called the Southern Oscillation Index (SOI) – we will see below the
oscillation to which it refers. When the Walker circulation is strong, the pressure in
the west is low and the pressure in the east is high – the SOI is then less negative.
When the Walker circulation is weak, the SOI is more negative.
The oceanic part of Figure 1.2 is driven by the westward surface winds; the
surface expression of the Walker circulation in the atmosphere. The feature in
the ocean called the thermocline is a near-ubiquitous property of the oceans. In
the tropics it is a region of such sharp temperature change in the vertical that one
may vertically divide the ocean into only two regions, one with warm temperatures
and one where the temperatures are cold. The thermocline demarcates the warm-
water sphere near the surface from the cold-water sphere below. We will show later
that the deeper thermocline in the western Pacific is caused by the westward winds at
the surface of the ocean. Thus the stronger the westward surface winds (due to a
strong Walker circulation), the deeper the thermocline in the west and the shallower
the thermocline in the east. The tilt of the thermocline in the ocean is a measure of
the strength of the westward surface winds and, therefore, another measure of the
strength of the Walker circulation. The chain of reasoning is continued by noting
that the East–West temperature difference, which may be considered to drive the
atmospheric motion, is indeed unexpected, since the sun shines equally on the
western and eastern Pacific.
The mechanism responsible for the mean East–West sea-surface temperature
difference involves both the atmosphere and the ocean. The mean westward surface
winds drive ocean motion poleward in both the northern and southern hemispheres
within 50 or so meters of the surface very near the equator. Water moving poleward
must be replaced by water upwelling on the equator from below. In the eastern
Pacific, the thermocline (recall that the thermocline is the demarcation between
warm and cold water) is shallower than 50 m, so that cold water is upwelled on the
equator, causing the SST to be cold. In the western Pacific, the thermocline lies
below 50 m and, while upwelling still occurs, it simply brings up warm water from
above the thermocline, allowing the western Pacific SST to remain warm. Heat put
into the ocean from the atmosphere counteracts the upwelling influence on SST but
it does not win the contest: the eastern Pacific remains cooler than the west.
The cold SST in the eastern Pacific is spread poleward several degrees of latitude
by the ocean motions until it encounters another warm region in the northern (but
not southern) hemisphere caused by an eastward ocean current. There is again rising
motion in the atmosphere above this warm water and a line of deep convection
extends pretty much across the entire Pacific at an average latitude of about 6°N.
This region of deep convection is called the intertropical convergence zone (ITCZ)
and forms the rising tropical branch of a North–South circulation called the Hadley
circulation.
Though not mentioned thus far, there is a pronounced seasonal cycle in the
tropical Pacific. Unlike midlatitudes, the seasonal extremes are in March–April
when the eastern equatorial Pacific is warmest and the ITCZ is closest to the equator,
and September–October when the eastern SST is coldest and the ITCZ is furthest
north. Since the SSTs in the western Pacific vary only by about 1 °C, the seasonal
variations in the East–West gradient co-vary with the eastern Pacific SSTs: weakest
in boreal spring, strongest in fall. This annual cycle has a strong influence on the
evolution of ENSO phases, which exhibit a marked tendency to be phase-locked
to the annual cycle, growing through the (northern) summer and fall to reach a
winter peak.
1.3 The phases of ENSO

Superimposed on the normal state of the tropical Pacific is an irregular cycle of
warming and cooling of the eastern Pacific with attendant atmospheric
and oceanic effects, the panoply of which will be referred to as ENSO.
Figure 1.3 shows conditions in and over the tropical Pacific during warm phases
of ENSO.
The eastern Pacific warms, and can warm to such an extent that the temperature
across the entire tropical Pacific becomes almost uniform. That the temperature
reached is that of the western Pacific, rather than that of the eastern Pacific,
indicates that the warm phase of ENSO is due to a failure of the eastern Pacific
to stay cold. Consistent with this point of view is the relaxation of the westward
surface winds (Figure 1.3 shows weaker than normal easterly winds which implies
westerly anomalous winds), which produces less upwelling and therefore less
cooling. Consistent with weaker westward winds, the thermocline is not as tilted,
and any upwelling in the eastern Pacific would bring warmer water to the surface.
When the cooling in the eastern Pacific is totally gone and the westward surface
winds relaxed to almost zero, the warm phase of ENSO is as strong as it can be,
and the temperature over the entire tropical Pacific is uniform and assumes the
Preview 5
COOL
WARM
WARM WARM
EQUATORIAL THERMOCLINE
Figure 1.3. Schematic of the coupled atmosphere–ocean in the tropical Pacific

during the peak of a warm phase of ENSO during boreal winter. (Courtesy of the
NOAA Climate Prediction Center.)
approximate temperature of the western Pacific. This happened in the strong warm
phases of ENSO during 1982–3 and 1997–8.
As the eastern Pacific becomes less cold, the region of persistent precipitation that
lies over the warmest water expands eastward into the central Pacific. The normally
high sea-level pressure (SLP) of the eastern Pacific becomes lower and the sea-level
pressure difference between the western and eastern Pacific decreases. Consistent
with this decrease is the weakening of the Walker circulation and the relaxation
of the normally westward surface winds. As the central and eastern tropical
Pacific becomes warm, the ITCZ moves onto the equator and the line of deep
convection assumes its southernmost position and the Hadley circulation becomes
stronger.
The effect of the warming of the eastern Pacific, and the consequent eastward
movement of the region of persistent precipitation, is felt throughout the world
(Figure 1.4). In the tropics, the normally rainy western Pacific becomes drier as
the region of persistent precipitation moves eastward into the central Pacific.
Droughts in Indonesia and in eastern Australia become far more common during
the warm phases of ENSO. Rainfall in the normally arid coastal plains of Peru
becomes far more likely and warm water spreads north and south along the
western coasts of the North and South American continents. The temperature
and rainfall in other selected areas of the world (e.g. Zimbabwe, Madagascar)
are similarly affected, even though the reasons are either difficult to explain or
unknown.
70N
60N
50N
WARM
40N WARM
30N WARM
DRY WET & COOL
20N WET
10N
WET DRY
EQ
10S WET & WARM WET
DRY &
20S & WARM WARM
30S WARM DRY
40S
50S WARM WET
60S
0 60E 120E 180 120W 60W
Figure 1.4a. Composite effects of the warm phase of ENSO on global climate
during boreal winter. (Courtesy of the NOAA Climate Prediction Center.)
70N COOL
60N &
COOL WET
50N
COOL
40N WET
WET
30N
WET DRY & WARM
20N COOL
10N DRY WET
EQ DRY
DRY & COOL
10S &
20S WET COOL
30S WET COOL
40S &
COOL
50S
60S
0 60E 120E 180 120W 60W
Figure 1.4b. Composite effects of the cold phase of ENSO on global climate during
boreal winter. (Courtesy of the NOAA Climate Prediction Center.)
During cold phases of ENSO, the normal cooling of the eastern Pacific becomes
even stronger, the surface pressure difference between the eastern Pacific and
western Pacific becomes stronger, and the Walker circulation, in general, becomes
stronger. Consistent with this, the surface westward winds become stronger, the tilt
of the thermocline becomes greater, the stronger westward winds in the eastern
Pacific produce even more upwelling and, because the thermocline is closer to the
surface, the water upwelled is colder. The regions of warmest water in the western
Pacific contract westward under the encroachment of cold water in the east and, with
the warm water, the region of persistent precipitation contracts westward onto the
maritime continent. Excess rainfall in Indonesia and western Australia becomes far
more common during cold phases of ENSO (Figure 1.5).
The SST anomalies (the deviations from the norm) look, in many ways, the
obverse of each other (Figure 1.6).
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INE
CL
R MO
THE
EQUATORIAL
Figure 1.5. Schematic of the coupled atmosphere–ocean in the tropical Pacific

during the peak of a cold phase of ENSO during boreal winter. (Courtesy of the
20° N
0 0.5 0
-0.5 0
0
Latitude
-0.5 1
-0.5 10.5
0 2.5 2 1.5
0
0.5 0
0 0
20° S
0 0.5
-0.5
05
120° E 150°E 180° 150°W 120° W 90°W 60°W
Longitude
20° N
1
0.5 -1
0
0 0.5 0 -0.5 -0.5
-0.5
Latitude
-2
-2.5 -2.5 -3
0
-0.5 0 -1
0.5
0.5
0.5
20° S
0 -0.5 -0.5
120° E 150° E 180° 150°W 120°W 90°W 60°W
Longitude
Figure 1.6. Upper panel: SST anomalies for the warm phase of ENSO during
December 1991. Lower panel: SST anomalies for the cold phase of ENSO during
December 1988. (Downloaded and plotted from www.iridl.ldeo.columbia.edu/
using the Reynolds et al., 2002, updated SST data set.)
It must be kept in mind, however, that in many ways, cold and warm phases are
fundamentally different because the quantities that affect the remote atmosphere are
not the SST anomalies, but rather the mean location of the regions of persistent
precipitation. In the warm phase of ENSO, persistent precipitation extends into the
central Pacific, while during the cold phases of ENSO it retreats to the far western
Pacific. The SST anomalies can be the inverse of each other but the mean location of
the heat source, which drives the response in the low and midlatitudes, is very
different. Because the rest of the world is forced by these regions of persistent
precipitation and because these regions are in different locations for warm and cold
phases of ENSO, there is no expectation that the global effects will be the opposite
of each other. Figure 1.4b shows that during cold phases of ENSO, there are some
similarities and significant differences in the global response.
1.4 Evolution of phases of ENSO

While we will go into greater detail in later chapters, we simply note here that the
phases of ENSO evolve differently each time they appear. The general recurrence
time for warm and cold phases is around 4 years, with large variations around this
mean. The literature often speaks of an “ENSO band” from 2 to 7 years.
One way of describing ENSO evolution with time is to examine the SST
anomalies in various regions of the Pacific defined by Figure 1.1. Figure 1.7
shows the SST anomalies since 1980 in the various regions of the Pacific, and a
measure of the strength of the Walker circulation, the SOI. We can infer a number
of important properties of the warm and cold phases of ENSO by examining this
Figure. First we see that the major phases of ENSO tend to have expression all the
Nino 1+2 (C)
Nino 3 (C)
Nino 4 (C)
SOI
(inverted)
(std.dev.)
1980 1985 1990 1995 2000 2005

Year
Figure 1.7. Niño region anomalies and Southern Oscillation index with respect to
the respective means of 1985–94. (Courtesy of Todd Mitchell. Extended version of
Plate 2 of Wallace et al., 1998.)
Preview 9
way across the Pacific, from the coast of South America (Nino 1 + 2) to the western
Pacific (Nino 4). Second, that the major warm and cold phases tend to set on across
the entire Pacific at about the same time. Third, that the larger events seem to start
around summer, peak near the end of the year, and end before the next summer, so
that the length of warm and cold phases is about a year. Fourth, that there are stretches
of time in which not much is happening in the tropical Pacific (the entire 1930s were
noted for having no major warm or cold phases – see Figure 1.17) and that these
times are punctuated by the appearance of large phases of ENSO. It is worth
mentioning that the warm phases in 1982–3 and 1997–8 were the largest of the
century.
1.5 Physical ENSO processes

According to what we have seen so far, we need to understand how the SST
anomalies characteristic of ENSO are produced, and how the connections of SST
with sea-level pressure, precipitation, surface winds, the depth of the thermocline
and remote precipitation and temperature are accomplished. Once we have a firm
idea of the operation of each of these processes, we will need to know how they fit
together to produce ENSO.
1.5.1 The processes that change SST

The temperature of ocean water can change either by directly adding heat (for
example, from the sun) or by mixing with water of a different temperature.
Because the ocean has no significant internal heat sources, heat can only be
added directly at the surface. Heat added at the surface is basically a balance
between radiation and evaporation: any net radiation reaching the surface that
does not evaporate water is available to cross the ocean surface and heat the ocean
water. In general, when water cools, evaporation decreases, and when water
warms, evaporation increases. To the extent that the solar radiation reaching the
surface is independent of the temperature of the underlying ocean (not entirely
true, since the overlying cloudiness can change), warm surface water will have
more evaporation and therefore less heat entering the ocean across the surface.
Similarly, cooler water will have less evaporation and therefore more heat entering
the ocean. Clearly, therefore, the heat entering the surface of the ocean tends to
oppose the temperature changes.
If we consider some water near the ocean surface, the temperature can change if it
is heated by heat entering the ocean through the surface, if it mixes with warm or
cold water entering from the sides, or if it is cooled by water entering from below
(Figure 1.8).
Heat from
atmosphere
Surface
Upwelling of
cold water
Figure 1.8. Schematic of vertical heat inputs into the tropical ocean mixed layer.
In the eastern Pacific, water at the surface is constantly cooled by water upwelled
from below the thermocline and this cooling is opposed by heat entering through
the surface. In the western Pacific, the temperature of the water is determined by the
interactions with the atmosphere. It is approximately in equilibrium with the
atmosphere, and is neither cooled from below nor heated from the atmosphere
above. If the upwelling in the east were to decrease to a new, but smaller, steady
value, not as much cold water would be brought up from below and the heat
entering from the surface would warm the water until it reached a new not as cool
temperature – this would be a warm SST anomaly. The evaporation would increase,
the heat entering though the surface would decrease, and the water near the surface
would reach a new warmer equilibrium; cooled not as much from below and heated
not as much from above. The water could also warm if it mixed with warmer water
from the west or perhaps from the north. In either case, warm SST anomalies would
be associated with more evaporation and therefore less heating of the ocean surface
from above.
1.5.2 The process by which warm SST anchors regions

of persistent precipitation
Warm regions tend to have lighter air above these regions, as the air is warmed by
the surface. Warm air is light and since surface pressure is the total weight of the air
above it, the surface pressure tends to be lower above warm tropical regions. Air
from surrounding higher pressure regions rushes in and is warmed, moistened and
raised. Rising air condenses and the heat of condensation raises the air further. If the
underlying SST is warm enough, about 28 °C or 29 °C, the clouds can reach to the
top of the atmosphere (the tropopause) and regions of deep cumulonimbus convec-
tion result. The average amount of rain that falls is equal to the local evaporation
plus the amount of moisture that converges into the region. Moisture is confined
mostly to the lowest 1 or 2 kilometers of the atmosphere, so it is the low-level moist
air that converges into the region that provides the additional moisture for the
rainfall. The overall picture may be sketched as in Figure 1.9.
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Low SLP
Moisture
Warm SST
Figure 1.9. Schematic of the convergence of moisture into deep cumulonimbus

clouds over regions of warm SST.
1.5.3 The processes by which regions of persistent precipitation

produce surface winds
It is not an easy matter to understand how regions of persistent precipitation force
surface winds, and a full explanation can only come from the deeper considerations
in Chapter 5. The problem, however, can be stated relatively straightforwardly.
A region of persistent precipitation is one in which deep cumulonimbus clouds
constantly rain in a given area and, therefore, constantly condense heat into the
atmosphere: because so much heat is being released into the atmosphere in these
regions, regions of persistent precipitation are said to “thermally force” the
atmosphere.
Clouds have their base at about 600 m above the ocean surface in the tropics so
that any thermal forcing by the cumulonimbus convection occurs only above the
cloud base. The problem then is to get the region of thermal forcing to transmit its
forcing down below the cloud base to the surface.
There is an alternate mechanism that seems also to affect the winds in the
maritime tropics. As we pointed out in the previous section, warm SST tends to
have lighter air above it, and cold SST heavier air. The subsequent pressure
gradients can drive surface winds into the warm region and these will be in roughly
the same direction as those forced by the cumulonimbus convection.
1.5.4 The processes by which surface winds change thermocline depth

Since SST changes in the tropical Pacific are due primarily to changes in upwelling
of cold water from below, and since the efficacy of this upwelling depends on the
Wind
100 m
4900m
a b
Figure 1.10. Schematic of effect of wind stress on thermocline depth and sea-level
height. a) The upper 100 m of ocean is bounded below by the thermocline and
above by the sea surface. Without winds, both are flat. b) Response to an easterly
wind-stress anomaly. The sea-level height tilts up to the west while the thermocline
deepens to the west.
location of the thermocline (the deeper the thermocline, the further from the surface
is the cold water), we have to be able to find the depth of the thermocline and how it
changes.
Let us assume that the processes that determine the average depth of the thermo-
cline occur on long timescales and, from the point of view of ENSO dynamics, may
be considered given. In the absence of any equatorial winds, the depth of the
thermocline would be about 100 m and independent of longitude (Figure 1.10a) –
below the thermocline is the deep ocean.
In the presence of a westward wind (Figure 1.10b), water is moved westward on
the equator and piles up against the western boundary until the westward force
(stress) exerted by the wind is balanced by the eastward force exerted by the higher
pressure due to the greater weight of the water in the west. If the wind was suddenly
removed, the water would flow eastward until the conditions of Figure 1.10a were
restored. Across the entire Pacific, the sea level is approximately 40 cm higher in the
west than in the east.
When the water piles up in the west, the thermocline moves down in such a way
that the total weight of water down to the bottom does not change (if it did change,
there would be unbalanced forces in the deep ocean). The water above the thermo-
cline is lighter than the water below by a small amount, so that a large amount of
light water is needed to balance the small amount of sea-level rise – the thickness of
light water above the thermocline must therefore increase, and the thermocline must
descend. Similarly, if the winds were from the west, the sea level would rise and the
thermocline would descend in the east.
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Figure 1.11. Schematic of the response of the thermocline to a westerly wind

anomaly (arrow) of limited zonal extent. The thermocline deepens not only at the
eastern end of the wind patch, but also everywhere to the east of the wind patch.
Similarly, the thermocline rises not only at the western end of the wind patch, but
everywhere to the west of the wind patch.
Imagine now that a finite region of eastward wind anomaly (i.e. a westerly
wind patch) blows over the surface of the equatorial ocean. Superimposed on
whatever else is happening would be the picture in Figure 1.11, where only
the deviation of the thermocline (and not the small deviation of sea level) is
shown.
The Figure shows the final steady stage of the thermocline – it has deepened not
only in the east of the region of the winds, but everywhere to the east, and has risen,
not only in the western part of the region of the winds, but everywhere to the west. It
does this through a time-dependent process of the adjustment of the thermocline to
the winds. This adjustment takes place thorough a signaling process in which the
signals have properties of equatorial waves; in particular, Kelvin waves traveling to
the east and Rossby waves traveling to the west. In the presence of real boundaries to
the east and west of the wind patch, the signals are reflected and work their way back
into the basin.
1.5.5 The processes by which regions of persistent precipitation affect

regions remote from the tropical Pacific
The remote effects of ENSO arise from the movement of the regions of persistent
precipitation, and the subsequent thermal forcing of the atmosphere by the latent
heat released in the process of cumulus condensation and precipitation. The air
rising at upper levels of the atmosphere eventually diverges and, according to one
H
North
Storm-track changes
H
DIVERGENCE Equator
Figure 1.12. Schematic of how the upper-level divergence in regions of persistent

precipitation (i.e. in thermal sources) forces a poleward progression of planetary
waves at upper levels which subsequently moves the storm tracks. (From Trenberth
et al., 1998.)
way of looking at the problem (Figure 1.12), the divergence region acts as a source
of planetary waves at the upper levels of the atmosphere that propagate into the
mid-latitudes as a series of cyclonic (L in Figure 1.12) and anticyclonic (H)
features. Because the high- and low-pressure areas (H and L in Figure 1.12)
move the jet streams, the storm paths are moved (Figure 1.13). During warm
phases of ENSO, thermal forcing puts a low-pressure area in the Gulf of Alaska.
Air blows counterclockwise around the low and brings warm air into the Pacific
Northwest. The low-pressure area also moves the storm track southward and
brings excess rain to California and Baja California and leaves the Pacific
Northwest relatively dry. During cold phases of ENSO, the mechanism of
Figure 1.12 produces a high-pressure region in the Gulf of Alaska, cold clockwise
flow into the Pacific Northwest, and a northward displacement of the storm track
bringing excess precipitation into the Pacific Northwest, while leaving California
and Baja California relatively dry.
While Figure 1.12 shows the generation of planetary highs and lows at upper
levels only, a more complete theory of generation of planetary waves would
show that thermal forcing in the tropics by cumulonimbus convection through-
out the atmosphere (not only at upper levels) creates planetary motions that
propagate to higher latitudes. Only those motions that are relatively independent
of height reach high latitudes and the results of Figure 1.13 then follow.
Preview 15
El Niño
Polar
Jet
Stream
Low Pressure Warm
Dry
Wet
Cool
PERSISTENT EXTENDED PACIFIC JET STREAM
& AMPLIFIED STORM TRACK
VARIABLE
La Niña
Cold
Polar BLOCKING
Jet HIGH
Stream PRESSURE
Wet
Dry Warm
VARIABLE PACIFIC JET STREAM
Climate Prediction Center/NCEP/ NWS
Figure 1.13. Effects of warm (Upper panel) and cold (Lower panel) phases of
ENSO on blocking and storm tracks in the north-east Pacific. (Courtesy of the
1.6 Modeling ENSO

If the processes introduced in Section 1.5 were complete and accurately por-
trayed in a coupled atmosphere–ocean model, we would expect that ENSO
would be the natural result of the coupling of the atmosphere and the ocean.
The first coupled atmosphere–ocean model of ENSO (the Zebiak–Cane model)

took care to represent: the regions of persistent precipitation over the warmest
water; the westerly surface winds to the west of the regions of persistent
precipitation; the processes that change SST in the surface layer of the ocean;
and the correct effects of the winds on the thermocline depth. What the model did
not calculate, but rather specified, was the correct annual cycle in the Pacific and
it simply calculated the anomalies with respect to this annual cycle. The model
produced a recognizable version of the ENSO phenomenon in agreement with
reality in important ways.
The spatial structure and amplitude of the warm and cold phases have a good
correspondence with nature (see Figure 1.15) and occur irregularly with an average
period of about 4 years (Figure 1.14). As in the observations, there are long periods
where not much happens, and periods when the events seem to occur relatively
regularly. Both warm and cold phases have the correct tendency to peak near the end
of the calendar year, and the amplitude of the warm events is greater than that of the
cold events. Among the discrepancies with nature, the model events tend to last too
long, and set on over the entire eastern Pacific simultaneously more consistently
than nature’s version.
2
1
0
–1
0 5 10 15 20 25 30
2
1
°C
0
–1
30 35 40 45 50 55 60
2
1
0
–1
60 65 70 75 80 85 90
Time (years)
Figure 1.14. Time series of simulated NINO3 (solid) and NINO4 (dotted) indices.
(From Zebiak and Cane, 1987.)
Preview 17
10°N 0.5 1.0 05

0
EQ 2.5 2.0
2.5 C
1.5
10°S
140°E 180° 140° W 100°W
Figure 1.15. December SST anomaly at peak of simulated warm phase of ENSO.
(From Zebiak and Cane, 1987.)
1.7 Observing and predicting ENSO

Why would we even suppose that the phases of ENSO could be predicted? There
would have to be something of a long timescale that carries the information from the
time we started the forecast to the verification time (the time at which we compared
the prediction with the actual state of the system). Even if we did not know what this
something was (it has to be something in the ocean, since atmospheric timescales are
quite short – of the order of a few days to weeks), we would see that the evolution of
ENSO phases takes place slowly, the phases beginning around summer, growing to
reach a maximum toward the end of the year and decaying into the spring of the next
year. If we could, therefore, recognize the characteristic features of SST anomaly
growth before the summer, we would be able to make a prediction for the following
winter. To do this, we use models – but this requires that we know what the current
state of the ocean is. Fortunately, we have an observing system that was designed to
tell us just this.
The observing system has combinations of instruments to measure the thermal
state of the upper ocean throughout the tropics in the Pacific (in particular the SST
and the depth of the thermocline), to measure the surface winds, and to estimate the
heat fluxes. The data is telemetered once a day by satellite and made available to
everyone.
There are numerous schemes in use for predicting ENSO, many of which have
roughly the same skill. (More precisely, in view of the short record used for most
forecasts, one cannot say that one is significantly better than another with a high
level of confidence.) They can be divided into two classes: statistical methods
relying on empirically determined relationships between states in the future and
states in the past; and dynamical methods, using numerical models that incorporate
equations describing physical laws for the ocean, atmosphere and their interaction.
There are also hybrid methods with statistical add-ons to a dynamical model. Our
understanding of ENSO puts the long memory of the system in the distribution of
upper-ocean heat content, or equivalently, the displacement of the thermocline. This
does not mean that all prediction schemes must make explicit use of this field, and in
TOGA in situ ocean-observing system
December 1994
Figure 1.16. The ENSO observing system established by the TOGA program at the
end of TOGA in December 1994. Solid diamonds are bottom-moored buoys taking
both upper-ocean measurements and surface meteorological measurements. Open
circles are tide gauge stations, solid lines are ship tracks on which traditional
meteorological measurements and some shipboard ocean measurements are
taken, and arrows are drifting buoys. (From McPhaden et al., 1998.)
fact most statistical schemes rely solely on SST, the variable with the longest set of
reliable observations, and therefore the longest history to use in training an empiri-
cal model. There is no contradiction here; if the SST field encodes the essential
thermocline information in some way, explicit use of the latter is not necessary.
The dynamical approach casts prediction as what is mathematically an initial-
value problem. The model starts from an initial state at a time t0 and is integrated
forward into the future, simulating the evolution of nature. If the model flaws are not
too incapacitating, and the initial model state bears sufficient resemblance to the
state of nature at time t0, then that simulation may be realistic enough to yield a good
prediction of what nature will do. We say “may” because the climate system is
chaotic, which means that its evolution into the future is highly sensitive to the
initial state. Since we cannot know all the variables that comprise this state perfectly
at all places, some uncertainty in the starting point of our forecast is unavoidable,
and hence we cannot be sure which among a range of possible futures will be the one
that actually occurs.
We face up to this intrinsic limitation in our ability to forecast the future by
running an ensemble of forecasts, each with different plausible initial conditions,
which results in a distribution of possible future states. We might, for example,
initialize our model with the state of the atmosphere and ocean on successive days.
The ocean changes very little over the course of a few weeks, but the atmospheric
states (which might be taken from the sophisticated analyses of daily initial states
used at a major weather-prediction center) change quite considerably. Any of these
Preview 19
daily states is an equally plausible initial-forecast state, but the model forecasts of
ENSO a few seasons hence could be quite different. The ensemble of predictions
from all these states gives a mean forecast and a range of possibilities: this is the best
we can do. Sometimes this range is narrow and the forecast is rather definite;
sometimes it is broad and the forecast is highly uncertain. In either case, it could
be wrong. Our coupled ocean–atmosphere models are, at present, seriously flawed,
and our procedures for creating initial states by combining all available observa-
tional data with fields from the model to create a complete best estimate of the initial
state for a coupled ocean–atmosphere model – a process known as data assimila-
tion – are still quite primitive in comparison with the comparable state-of-the-art in
weather prediction.
Suffice it to say that forecast procedures are in regular operation in a number of
places throughout the world and the forecasts are proving to have skill several
seasons in advance. The forecasts have some skill but are not perfect. How to use the
results of forecasts that have uncertainty is a subject in itself.
1.8 Towards a theory of ENSO

The most widely accepted explanation for ENSO is built upon Jacob Bjerknes’ (1969)
masterpiece of physical reasoning from observational data. Bjerknes marked the
peculiar character of the “normal” equatorial Pacific we noted above: although the
equatorial oceans all receive about the same solar insolation, the Pacific is 4–10 °C
colder in the east than in the west (see Figure 1.2). The east is cold because of
equatorial upwelling, the raising of the thermocline exposing colder waters, and
the transport of cold water from the south Pacific. All of these are dynamical
features driven by the easterly trade winds. But the winds are due, in part, to the
temperature contrast in the ocean, which results in higher atmospheric sea-level
pressures in the east than the west. The surface air flows down this gradient. Thus
the state of the tropical Pacific is maintained by a coupled positive feedback:
colder temperatures in the east drive stronger easterlies which, in turn, drive
greater upwelling, pull the thermocline up more strongly, and transport cold
waters faster, making the temperatures colder still. Bjerknes, writing in the heyday
of atomic energy, referred to it as a “chain reaction.” We now prefer “positive
feedback” or “instability.”
Bjerknes went on to explain the warm El Niño state with the same mechanism.
Suppose the east starts to warm; for example, because the thermocline is depressed.
Then the East–West SST contrast is reduced, so the pressure gradient and the winds
weaken. The weaker winds bring weaker upwelling, a sinking thermocline and
slower transports of cold water. The positive feedback between ocean and atmos-
phere is operating in the opposite sense (see Figure 1.3). Note that this explanation
locks together the eastern Pacific SST and the pressure gradient – the Southern
Oscillation – into a single mode of the ocean–atmosphere system, ENSO.
Bjerknes’ mechanism explains why the system has two favored states, but not why
it oscillates between them. That part of the story relies on the understanding of
equatorial ocean dynamics that developed in the two decades since he wrote. The
key variable is the depth of the thermocline, or, equivalently, the amount of warm
water above the thermocline. The depth changes in this warm layer associated with
ENSO are much too large to be due to exchanges of heat with the atmosphere; they are
a consequence of wind-driven ocean dynamics. While the wind and SST changes in
the ENSO cycle are tightly locked together, the sluggish thermocline changes are not
in phase with the winds driving them. Every oscillation must contain some element
that is not perfectly in phase with the other, and for ENSO it is the tropical thermo-
cline. In particular, it is the mean depth of the thermocline – equivalently, the heat
content – in the equatorial region. The most widely accepted account of the under-
lying dynamics emphasizes wave propagation and is referred to as the “delayed
oscillator.” Some authors regard the recharge–discharge of the equatorial ocean heat
content as the essence of the oscillation. Others emphasize the role of ocean–
atmosphere interactions in the western Pacific. One point of view (that of the authors)
is that these are different descriptions of what is the same essential physics.
There are two elements in this story: the coupled Bjerknes feedback and the
(linear) ocean dynamics, which introduces the out-of-phase element required to
make an oscillator. If the coupling is very strong, then the direct link from westerly
wind anomaly to deeper eastern thermocline to warmer SST and back to increased
westerly anomaly would build too quickly for the out-of-phase signals to ever catch
up. There would be no oscillation. If this coupling strength is not quite so strong,
then oscillations become possible, as the delayed signal can now catch up and
overtake the directly forced component. If the coupling strength is not strong
enough, then there can be no oscillations because an initial small disturbance is
no longer reinforced and will die out. However, oscillations in this weaker system
could be sustained if we add some forcing. This forcing need not be very organized;
it could be “weather noise.” As one crosses a threshold from self-sustained oscilla-
tions to noise-driven oscillations, the characteristics of the oscillations do not
change very much; in fact, we are not sure in which regime the real world lies.
The “coupling strength” is determined by a host of physical factors. Among the
most important are: how strong the mean wind is, which influences how much wind
stress is realized from a wind anomaly; how much atmospheric heating is generated
by a given SST change, which will depend on mean atmospheric temperature and
humidity; and how sharp and deep the climatological thermocline is, which together
determine how big a change in the temperature of upwelled water is realized from a
given wind-driven change in the thermocline depth.
Preview 21
In simple linear analyses the ENSO period is determined more by the coupling
strength than the time for waves to travel back and forth across the Pacific. In more
realistic nonlinear models this general statement still holds, but in contrast to the
linear case the periods tend to stay within the 2–7 year band. There is no
satisfactory theory explaining why this is so, or more generally, what sets the
average period of the ENSO cycle. There is broad disagreement as to why the
cycle is irregular; some attribute it to low-order chaotic dynamics, some to noise –
weather systems and intraseasonal oscillations – shaking what is essentially a
linear, damped system.
It might seem that this distinction is important for the predictability of ENSO, but
this is true only in a very limited sense. At present, our predictions are limited by
inadequacies in models and data more than limits to predictability intrinsic to the
system. The real-world ENSO incorporates a combination of nonlinear effects,
climate system noise, and variations in forcing due to, for example, volcanic
eruptions and variations in solar radiation.
1.9 The past and future of ENSO

Knowledge of the past history of ENSO will, we expect, lead to an understanding of
the mechanisms that led to past changes of ENSO. Knowing these mechanisms
might give us some insight into the future of ENSO.
We saw that the ENSO cycle has proceeded, in its irregular manner, for at least the
last 25 years (Figure 1.7). Longer instrumental records, though less complete,
clearly show that from – at least – the mid nineteenth century, ENSO has had the
same character (Figure 1.17).
To extend the record still further back in time, when no instrumental records exist,
requires finding proxies that respond to temperature in a consistent way. This is a
currently active field of research, and will be taken up in Chapter 9. There is good
evidence that ENSO has been a feature of the Earth’s climate at least as far back as
the last interglacial period (approximately 130 000 years ago). There is some
evidence that the ENSO cycle was weaker during the glacial period (before the
current Holocene which started 10 000 years ago). It is possible that the weakness of
ENSO during the glacial period can be traced to the same mechanisms that produced
the glacials themselves, namely the very slow changes in the Earth’s orbit, but it may
be that the key thing is that the overall colder climate weakened the ocean–
atmosphere coupling. For one thing, colder temperatures would mean less evapora-
tion and so weaker heating of the atmosphere for the same wind convergence. We do
know that the ENSO cycle was weaker than today for the first 5000 years of the
Holocene, and that has been shown to be a consequence of the different phase of the
Earth’s precession cycle.
4
–1
–2
1870 1875 1880 1885 1890 1895 1900 1905 1910
–1
–2
1915 1920 1925 1930 1935 1940 1945 1950 1955
–1
–2
1960 1965 1970 1975 1980 1985 1990 1995 2000
Figure 1.17. Anomalies (relative to the mean from 1865 to 2005) of SST anomalies
(gray curve) in the NINO3 area (cf. Figure 1.1) measured in °C and of sea-level
pressure (black curve) at Darwin, Australia (measured in hPa). The former is a
measure of El Niño and the latter is a measure of the Southern Oscillation. The two
are obviously intimately related; both components of a single phenomenon: ENSO.
(Courtesy of Alexey Kaplan.)
Unfortunately, models (i.e. the ones in the Fourth Assessment Report of the
Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change; IPCC, 2007) do not agree on how
ENSO will change in the future. Arguments have been given that global warming
(due to the accumulation of radiatively active gases in the atmosphere) will either
Preview 23
increase or decrease the amplitude of the ENSO cycle. Since ENSO has potent
effects on temperature and precipitation throughout the world (Figure 1.4), a basic
part of the world’s future climate cannot currently be predicted with any confidence.
1.10 What is ENSO information good for?

We all instinctively realize that some knowledge about the future is better than no
knowledge about the future. The promise of ENSO prediction gives some informa-
tion about the future probabilities of temperature and precipitation in selected
regions of the world. The hope is that such information can be used for public and
private benefit in these ENSO-sensitive areas, but the use of such information is
turning out to be much more difficult than previously realized. A basic problem is
that the system evolves so slowly, there are so few unique forecasts, and one has to
live with blown forecasts for such a long time.
One would expect that agriculture, hydrology and water management, energy use
and fisheries would be highly influenced by climate variability and would therefore
benefit from some information concerning conditions one or two seasons in
advance. Those users who understand forecasts that state probabilities of occur-
rence, and can relate the climate forecast to a forecast of the resource they are most
interested in, are in the best position to make use of the climate forecasts to manage
their future risks. Chapter 10 will provide some examples of the successful use of
forecasts of aspects of ENSO and will indicate the difficulties in making use of this
information.
2
The observational basis
This chapter provides an observational survey of the main elements of the tropical
atmosphere and ocean needed in the sequel. In particular, the major circulation
features in the atmosphere and ocean important for understanding ENSO: SST, SLP,
surface winds, surface heat fluxes, the East–West overturning circulation in the
Pacific, the Hadley circulation and the depth of the equatorial thermocline. Because
the surface plays such a crucial role in atmosphere–ocean interactions, special
emphasis will be placed on the fluxes at the surface, in particular the wind stresses,
the latent heat flux and the net heat flux into the ocean. The annual cycle of the
crucial quantities needed to define the climatology of the tropics: SST, SLP,
precipitation, winds and thermocline depth, will be presented. “Anomalies,” includ-
ing those characteristic of ENSO, can be defined relative to this climatology.
The major features of ENSO and the evolution of ENSO as we now know them
will be presented, with some discussion of how typical an ENSO event is likely to
be. Some effects of ENSO on the globe, especially tropical temperature and
precipitation, Atlantic hurricane landings and monsoon rainfall will be described.
Some observations of both higher frequencies (periods less than a year) and lower
frequency (especially decadal variability) will be introduced.
2.1 The nature and source of climate observations relevant to ENSO

It would be valuable to have an accurate picture of the Earth’s atmosphere and ocean
throughout the temporal evolution of climatic variability but, unfortunately, the
measurement of variables important for climate has a relatively short history. While
a few individual records of temperature extend back hundreds of years, the instru-
mental record adequate to measure the temperature of the extent of the Earth’s
surface is generally taken to have begun around 1880 with at-sea shipboard
measurements, although a reasonable global description of the Earth’s surface was
not complete until the 1950s and a full global description had to await the
25
development of satellite observations in the 1980s. The global upper-air network of

radiosondes and rawinsondes used for weather prediction began in the 1950s and,
while sporadic ship-based measurements of the surface and depths of the ocean have
been going on for at least 150 years, the systematic measurements of the state of
the top 1500 meters of the ocean is just now getting underway at the beginning
of the twenty-first century. Observations taken for other purposes (weather predic-
tion, agriculture, water resources, etc.) have then been used for defining the climate
system, but even today there is no observing system adequate for climate; i.e.
a system of measurements which satisfies the internationally agreed-upon principles
of climate measurement (GCOS, 2004) and which defines the basic variables of the
climate system to sufficient accuracy. Because the observational records are short,
and the long-term accuracy of each record cannot be assured, the climate record is
uncertain and incomplete.
The surface of the ocean is the site of the interaction between the atmosphere
and the ocean. This interaction is mediated by the exchange of heat and momentum
fluxes between the atmosphere and ocean through the ocean surface. For records
longer than a very few decades, there is only one source of information on these
fluxes, namely the shipboard-based meteorological observations taken routinely by
many voluntary observing ships. These observations include: temperature at ship
level; humidity at ship level; winds at ship level or winds at sea level by proxy
observations of sea state; sea-surface temperature as measured by the temperature
of a bucket of surface water or by the water temperature at the ship’s engine intake;
and approximate cloud cover in eighths (oktas) as estimated by shipboard observers.
The prime compilation of these records is the comprehensive ocean–atmosphere
data set (COADS) containing over 30 million reports since 1880 (Woodruff et al.,
1987, 1993); from these reports, fields of surface fluxes can be constructed. A
number of atlases have been compiled from this freely available data, in particular
by Oberhuber (1988) and Josey et al. (1998). The data distribution within COADS
depends on where ships have traditionally gone: it is quite good in the North
Atlantic and quite poor in the tropical Pacific. COADS data was the major source
of historical information about ENSO until the deployment since 1995 of the system
of 70 bottom-moored buoys that make measurements both of the surface meteorol-
ogy and also the thermal state of the upper ocean. The data is telemetered to satellites
and made freely available within 24 h of measurement (McPhaden et al., 1998) at
www.pmel.noaa.gov/tao/realtime.html.
There is another source of surface observations and this arises from the many-
times-a-day model analyses produced by the weather centers and their re-analysis
over the entire record of observations using a single model and the best current data-
assimilation procedure. A recent atlas (Kållberg et al., 2005) produced at the
European Centre for Medium-Range Weather Forecasts (ECMWF), based on data
The observational basis 27
from 1957–2002, contains a dynamically consistent climatology of the surface

fluxes and concomitant upper-atmosphere fields and uses satellite data, where
available, for much of this length of time. The re-analysis methods use weather
data assimilated into a numerical atmospheric model (designed for weather predic-
tion) with fields of SST as the only oceanic input. Because not all the original data
taken was available rapidly enough to meet the stringent time requirements for
weather prediction, and therefore had to be set aside and not used for the weather
analysis, the re-analyses offer the possibility of using more input data than was
originally available for the real-time weather analyses. More importantly, improve-
ments in the models and advances in the techniques for assimilating data into
models make these re-analyses superior to what was possible in the past.
While there have been no direct comparisons of the surface fluxes from the two
different methods, we would expect that the climatology data (see Section 2.3) would
be better for the re-analysis methods, while the shipboard method would be necessary
when longer-term records are required and no other measurements are available. Our
presentation of the annual cycle will therefore rely on re-analysis data, especially from
the ECMWF compilation, and our description of ENSO evolutions and its longer-
term evolution will necessarily rely on shipboard observations.
2.2 Solar forcing and fluxes at the surface

We begin by tracing solar radiation from the top of the atmosphere to the surface to
give an idea of the magnitude of the various terms of the global energy budget.
The solar flux at the mean position of the Earth is 1367 W/m2 and, because the
area of the Earth (4πR2 ) is four times the disc intercepted (πR2 ), the average solar
flux at the top of the atmosphere is 342 W/m2. The albedo of the Earth is about 0.3,
so 107 W/m2 is reflected back to space, partly by the clouds and aerosols in the
atmosphere and partly by the bottom surface. An additional 67 W/m2 is absorbed by
the atmosphere so that, on average, 168 W/m2 of direct solar radiation makes it to
the surface. The net radiation at the surface is the difference between the solar
radiation reaching the surface and the net infrared radiation leaving the surface.
Since the mean temperature of the Earth is 15 °C (288 K), σT 4 is 390 W/m2 (see
Appendix 1), while the back radiation from the radiatively active gases in the
atmosphere (mostly water vapor and carbon dioxide) is 324 W/m2. The net infrared
radiation at the surface is therefore upward and has the value 66 W/m2. The net
radiation at the surface is therefore 102 W/m2.
The net radiation at the surface can generally do three distinct things: it can
evaporate water from the surface; it can warm the atmosphere by transferring heat
from the surface to the atmosphere; or it can warm the ocean by transferring heat
from the surface to the interior of the ocean. Because Figure 2.1 represents
Reflected Solar Incoming 235 Outgoing

107 Radiation Solar
342 Longwave
107 W m–2 Radiation Radiation
342 W m–2
235 W m–2
Reflected by Clouds,
Aerosol and 77
Atmosphere 40
Emitted by Atmospheric
77 Atmosphere 165 30 Window
Absorbed by Greenhouse
67 Atmosphere Gases
Latent
24 78 Heat
40 324
Reflected by 350 Back
Surface Radiation
30
390
168 24 78 Surface
Absorbed by Surface Thermals Evapo- Radiation 324
transpiration Absorbed by Surface
Figure 2.1. The annually averaged, globally averaged energy budget of the Earth.
(From Kiehl and Trenberth, 1997.)
the entire Earth averaged over the year, the ocean neither heats nor warms over
the course of the year, and the heat flux into the ocean is zero. (In reality, the
anthropogenic addition of greenhouse gases into the atmosphere means that the
Earth system is slightly out of equilibrium and, in particular, the ocean is warming
slightly, with a current net input of about 0.5 W/m2. The top of the atmosphere heat
balance is also out of equilibrium, with a net of about 0.8 W/m2 less net outgoing
infrared radiation at the top of the atmosphere than net solar incoming radiation,
thereby heating the Earth system – the approximately 0.3 W/m2 difference
between this number and the amount entering the ocean goes into melting ice
and evaporating water. These numbers are characteristic of 2006 and will be
different as time passes, since the emission of greenhouse gases continues and,
indeed, seems to be accelerating.)
The net radiation at the surface therefore either warms the atmosphere by direct
transfer of sensible heat or evaporates water from the surface: 78 W/m2 evaporates
2.7 mm/d of water (see Appendix 1). The remainder of the surface heat budget,
24 W/m2, goes as sensible heat from the surface of the Earth to the atmosphere,
where it helps warm the atmosphere. In equilibrium, the surface heat budget must
balance, the top of the atmosphere budget must balance, and the total heat absorbed
by the atmosphere by radiation, latent heating and sensible heating must also
balance. Careful inspection of Figure 2.1 (highly recommended!) indicates that
the Earth system depicted by this Figure is indeed in equilibrium.
90N
500
0
60N
0
10 100
200
30N 0
30 0 300
40
40
LATITUDE
0
EQ 400
300
30S 200
500
500
100
60S
0
90S
JAN FEB MAR APR MAY JUN JUL AUG SEP OCT NOV DEC
Figure 2.2. The net solar radiation at the top of the atmosphere, zonally averaged,
as a function of latitude and month, W/m2. Contour interval 50 W/m2. (From
Hartmann, 1994.)
There are, of course, spatial variations to the solar input at the top of the
atmosphere, so that if we do not average over the entire area of the Earth and over
the entire year, the situation becomes more complicated. Figure 2.2 shows the
incoming solar radiation at the top of the atmosphere averaged around latitude
bands as a function of month and latitude. On the equator, the solar radiation has
only a few percent variation, with a mean value of about 425 W/m2 – note that the
sun is overhead twice a year. Some of the solar radiation is directly reflected back to
space. Only about 325 W/m2 is available after reflection as input to the Earth – this is
the net solar radiation at the top of the atmosphere – see Figure 2.4.
The solar radiation reaching the ground depends on the intervening clouds and
aerosols. From Figure 2.3, we see that rather than 325 W/m2, the values in the tropical
Pacific range from 225–250 W/m2 in the eastern Pacific, which as we will see is
relatively clear, to something like 50 W/m2 less than this under the heavy clouds in the
western Pacific and in the ITCZ, 5–10 degrees north of the equator.
Because the tropics is not in radiative equilibrium, some of the excess absorbed
solar radiation (as well as some of the absorbed infrared radiation from the surface of
the Earth) is diverged out of the tropics into midlatitudes. Figure 2.4 shows the
90° N
25
50
60° N
100 75
125
150
30° N
175
225 200
Latitude
200
200
0°
225
150
200 175
200 225
200
30° S
225
175
175 150
125
60° S
100
75
50
90° S
0° 30°E 60 ° E 90 ° E 12 0 ° E 15 0 ° E 180 ° 1 5 0 ° W 12 0 ° W 9 0 ° W 6 0 ° W 30 ° W
Longitude
Figure 2.3. Annually averaged solar radiation reaching the sea surface in W/m2.
Downward solar radiation taken as positive. (Plotted and downloaded, with
permission of ECMWF, from the ECMWF ERA-40 data set [Uppala et al.,
2005] at www.ingrid.ldeo.columbia.edu/sources/.ecmw/.ERA-40/.)
350
Absorbed solar
300
250
Irradiance (W/m2)
200 Emitted longwave
150
100
50
0
–50 Net
radiation
–100
–150
–90 –60 –30 0 30 60 90
Latitude
Figure 2.4. The net annual radiation balance at the top of the atmosphere as a
function of latitude. (From Hartmann, 1994.)
annually averaged top of atmosphere difference between the net incoming solar
radiation and net outgoing infrared radiation.
The tropics is radiatively heated while the higher latitudes are radiatively cooled.
Since this is an annual average, we assume the atmosphere and ocean are in
equilibrium (subject to the same proviso given earlier in this section), and there is,
therefore, no net annual averaged heat storage. To remain in equilibrium, the net
radiative heating of the tropics has to be balanced by net divergence of heat to higher
latitudes by both the atmosphere and the ocean and, conversely, the radiative net
cooling of the higher latitudes is balanced by the net convergence of heat by the
atmosphere and the ocean. It may be noted that the net emitted long-wave radiation
in Figure 2.4 is relatively flat with latitude because infrared radiation emitted to
space is emitted from the top-unit optical depth of the radiating atmosphere, which
is due to water vapor. Since the tropics are warm, they have much more water
vapor than midlatitudes and one optical depth is higher in the atmosphere. As we
move poleward, the amount of water vapor decreases, so one optical depth is
lower in the atmosphere. The net effect is to emit infrared radiation at roughly
similar temperatures at all latitudes, thus accounting for the relative flatness of the
infrared profile.
The local net radiation at the surface can now do three distinct things. As in the
discussion of the global budgets in Figure 2.1, it can leave the surface as sensible
heat into the atmosphere or as latent heat into the atmosphere. But now, because we
are not averaging over the entire globe, the net radiation at the surface that does not
become sensible or latent heating of the atmosphere is also available to enter into the
ocean as sensible heat Q:
FNet ¼ FSolar þ FIR ¼ S þ LE þ Q: (2:1)
Note that in Equation 2.1 we have defined fluxes as positive when upward, and
negative when downward. The solar flux reaching the surface is therefore down-
ward and negative. A common alternate convention is taking the solar flux as
positive, which makes the latent heat into the atmosphere negative.
The net infrared flux at the surface is the difference between the emitted black-
body radiation at the temperature of the surface and the downward infrared radiation
received at the surface from the rest of the radiating atmosphere. This is relatively
constant in the surface of the tropical oceans at a value of about 50 W/m2 (not
shown – see Figure B6 of Kållberg et al., 2005). The sensible heat from the ocean
surface is also relatively spatially constant and has a small value of about 10 W/m2.
The net flux available at the surface for LE and Q in Equation 2.1 is therefore in the
range of 165 to 190 W/m2. Figure 2.5 shows the annual amount of latent heat due to
the evaporation of water vapor leaving the surface.
The evaporation from the surface is of the order 3–5 mm/d in the eastern
Pacific (Appendix 1 indicates that 29 W/m2 evaporates 1 mm/d of water) except
in the cold tongue of the eastern Pacific, where the evaporation is 1–2 mm/d. Since
the net radiation at the surface does not have the spatial dependence of the cold
tongue while the evaporation does, the net heat flux into the ocean will be
largest where the evaporation is least and, therefore, will also have the spatial
dependence of the cold tongue. Figure 2.6 shows the net heat flux into the
ocean.
90° N
60° N -20 -60
-40
-40 -80
-20 -20
-60
30° N
60
-20 -140 -120 -20
-160
-160
-140
Latitude
0°
-120
-140
-60 -140 -160
30° S
-60
-40 -40
-100 -40 -100
-80
-80
-60
60° S
-40
-20
90° S
0° 30° E 60° E 90° E 120° E 150° E 180° 150° W 120° W 90° W 60° W 30° W
Longitude
Figure 2.5. Net annually averaged latent heating, in W/m2, at the surface. In this
Figure, upward latent heating is taken as negative. (Plotted and downloaded, with
permission of ECMWF, from the ECMWF ERA-40 data set [Uppala et al., 2005]
at www.ingrid.ldeo.columbia.edu/sources/.ecmwf/.ERA-40/.)
90° N
60° N
50
-50
30° N
0 -50
50
Latitude
0°
100
0 0
50
30° S
0 50
0
60° S
0 0
0 0
90° S
0° 30° E 60° E 90° E 120° E 150° E 180° 150° W 120° W 90° W 60° W 30° W
Longitude
Figure 2.6. Net heat flux into the ocean at the surface, in W/m2 (here positive
downward). (Plotted and downloaded, with permission of ECMWF, from the
ECMWF ERA-40 data set [Uppala et al., 2005] at www.ingrid.ldeo.columbia.
edu/sources/.ecmwf/.era-40/.)
2 NCEP World Ocean

Heat transport (PW) CSM
HADCM3
1 ECMWF
–1 Ganachaud & Wunsch 2000

Lavin et. al. Blyden et. al. (combined)
Macdonald & Wunsch
–2
80 60 40 20 EQ 20 40 60 80
°S °N
Latitude
Figure 2.7. Annually averaged heat transport in the ocean from a number of model
analyses. (From Trenberth and Caron, 2001.)
We see that heat enters the equatorial Pacific in the cold tongue and leaves the
ocean at higher latitudes in the regions of the warm Gulf Stream and Kuroshio. The
net heat into the ocean is far greater on the eastern side of the tropical Pacific than it
is in the west (over 100 W/m2 versus less than 10 W/m2) primarily because the
ocean is far cooler in the east than in the west (we will offer a more dynamical
argument when we discuss the maintenance of the sea-surface temperature in
Chapter 5). There is also heat into the tropical oceans in other cool regions: in the
equatorial Atlantic and in the upwelling regions in the south-east Pacific and south-
east Atlantic, and north of the equator in the upwelling regions off Africa and
Central America. The heat transport implied by the heat flux at the surface is shown
for a number of atmospheric models in Figure 2.7, along with estimates based on
ocean estimates available at a few latitudes.
Since all the model heat-flux analyses shown in Figure 2.7 were obtained from
surface fluxes determined by atmospheric models with sea-surface temperatures as
their bottom boundary conditions, the differences between them are indicative of
uncertainties in the ability of such models to accurately generate surface fluxes –
these differences are probably mostly due to differences in simulated cloud dis-
tributions. The oceans transport a maximum of 2 petawatts (PW; 2×1015 W), with
the maximum within 20 degrees of latitude of the equator. The total heat transport
in both the atmosphere and ocean from the top of the atmosphere radiative balance
in Figure 2.4 is about 6 PW, with maxima at about 30 degrees of latitude. The
ocean therefore carries a significant part of the total needed heat transport, and a
majority of the heat transport, equatorward of 20 degrees of latitude.
2.3 The annually averaged tropical Pacific

The annual mean near-surface temperature, sea-level pressure and precipitation are
shown in Figure 2.8.
90°N
-16 -18
10 -14
-12
-2 4
60°N
-8
8 6 -6 02 4
10
12
14
30°N
20 16
18
24 22
Latitude
0°
26 24 26
28
22 20
30°S 18
16
14
12
10 8
60°S
0 2 6
-4-2 4
-10-8
40 --36 -16 -12 -14
-50 -20 -18 -22 28 -32 -30 -26 -24 -34
-48 -4-42 -26
90°S
-46
0° 30°E 60°E 90°E 120°E 150°E 180° 150°W 120°W 90°W 60°W 30°W
Longitude
90°N
1015 1017.5
1010 1012.5 1012.5
60°N
1010 1007
1010 007.5
1015
30°N
1017.5 1020
Latitude
1010 1012.5
0°
1010 1012.5
1015
30°S
1020 1017.5 1020 1015 1017.5

1017.5
1012.5
1010 1007.5 1005
1002.5
60°S
1000 997.5
995
985 992.5
98 987 990
1002.5 990
100097.5 992 5 995
90°S
1005
0° 30°E 60°E 90°E 120°E 150°E 180° 150°W 120°W 90°W 60°W 30°W
Longitude
90°N
60°N
2
4 2
30°N
Latitude
10 6
0°
4 10 8
30°S
2 4
2
2
60°S
2
90°S
0° 30°E 60°E 90°E 120°E 150°E 180° 150°W 120°W 90°W 60°W 30°W
Longitude
Figure 2.8. Annual means. Upper panel: Near-surface air temperature at 2 m

which, over the oceans, is almost the sea-surface temperature (SST) in °C,
negative values dashed. Middle panel: The sea-level pressure (SLP) in hPa.
Lower panel: Precipitation at the surface in mm/d. (Plotted and downloaded,
with permission of ECMWF, from the ECMWF ERA-40 data set [Uppala
et al., 2005] from www.ingrid.ldeo.columbia.edu/sources/.ecmwf/.ERA-40/.)
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
recognized as a hermit of the neighborhood; I believe they called him the
Monk of Lynrass. It is evident that this poor man was murdered also; but for
what purpose? People are not slaughtered now for their religious opinions,
and the old hermit possessed nothing in the world but his serge gown and
the good-will of all who knew him.”
“And you say,” observed Richard, “that his body was mangled, like
those of the soldiers, as if by the claws of some savage animal?”
“Yes, my dear boy; and a fisherman declares that he noticed the same
marks upon the body of an officer found murdered a few days since upon
Urchtal Sands.”
“That is strange,” said Arthur.
“It is frightful,” said Richard.
“Come,” said Wapherney, “silence, and to work, for I think the general
will be here soon. My dear Gustavus, I am curious to see those corpses. If
you like, we will stop a moment at the Spladgest when we leave here this
evening.”
XVI.
She with young unwakened senses,

Within her cabin on the Alpine field
Her simple homely life commences,
Her little world therein concealed.
And I, God’s hate flung o’er me,
Had not enough, to thrust
The stubborn rocks before me
And strike them into dust!
She and her peace I yet must undermine:
Thou, Hell, hast claimed this sacrifice as thine!
Goethe: Faust, Bayard Taylor’s Translation.
I N 1675, twenty-four years previous to the date of this story, sooth to say,
the whole village of Thoctree rejoiced and made merry over the marriage
of sweet Lucy Pelryhn and that tall, handsome, upright youth, Carroll
Stadt. They had long been lovers, and every one felt a warm interest in the
happy pair upon the day which was to change so many restless hopes and
eager longings into assured and quiet bliss. Born in the same village, reared
in the same fields, Carroll had often in their childhood slept in Lucy’s lap
when tired of play; Lucy had often, as a young girl, leaned on Carroll’s arm
as she returned from work. Lucy was the loveliest and most modest maiden
in the land; Carroll the bravest and noblest lad in the village. They loved
each other, and they could no more remember the day when their love
began than they could recall the day when they were born.
But their marriage did not come, like their love, easily and as a matter of
course. There were domestic interests to be consulted,—family feuds,
relations, obstacles. They were parted for a whole year; and Carroll suffered
sadly far from Lucy, and Lucy wept bitter tears far from Carroll, before the
dawn of that happy day which united them, thereafter never to suffer or to
weep apart.
It was by saving her from great danger that Carroll finally won his Lucy.
He heard cries from the woods one day; they were uttered by his Lucy,
surprised by a brigand dreaded by all the mountain folk, and on the point of
carrying her off to his den. Carroll boldly attacked this monster in human
shape, who gave vent to strange growls like those of a wild beast. Yes, he
attacked the wretch, whom none before had ventured to resist. Love lent
him a lion’s strength. He rescued his beloved Lucy, restored her to her
father, and her father gave her to her deliverer.
Now, the whole village made merry upon the day which united these two
lovers. Lucy alone seemed depressed; and yet never had she gazed more
tenderly at her dear Carroll. But her gaze was as sad as it was loving, and
amid the universal rejoicing this was a subject for surprise. Every moment,
as her husband’s happiness seemed to increase, her eyes expressed more
and more love and despair.
“Oh, my Lucy,” said Carroll, when the sacred rites were over, “the
coming of that robber, a curse to the entire country, was the greatest
blessing for me!”
She shook her head, and made no answer.
Night came; they were left alone in their new abode, and the sports and
dancing on the village green went on more merrily than before, to celebrate
the happiness of the bridal pair.
Next morning Carroll Stadt had vanished. A few words in his
handwriting were brought to Lucy’s father by a hunter from the mountains
of Kiölen, who met him before daylight wandering along the shore of the
fjord.
Old Will Pelryhn showed the paper to his pastor and the mayor, and
nothing was left of last night’s festival but Lucy’s gloom and dull despair.
This mysterious catastrophe dismayed the entire village, and vain efforts
were made to explain it. Prayers for Carroll’s soul were said in the same
church where but a few days before he himself sang hymns of thanksgiving
for his happiness.
No one knew what kept Widow Stadt alive. At the end of nine months of
solitary grief she brought into the world a son, and on the same day the
village of Golyn was destroyed by the fall of the hanging cliff above it.
The birth of this son did not dissipate his mother’s deep depression. Gill
Stadt showed no signs of resemblance to Carroll. His fierce, angry infancy
seemed to prophecy a still more ferocious manhood. Sometimes a little wild
man—whom those mountaineers who saw him from a distance asserted to
be the famous Hans of Iceland—entered the lonely hut of Carroll’s widow,
and the passers-by would then hear a woman’s shrieks and what seemed the
roar of a tiger. The man would carry off young Gill, and months would
elapse; then he would restore him to his mother, more sombre and more
terrible than before.
Widow Stadt felt a mixture of horror and affection for the child.
Sometimes she would clasp him in her maternal arms, as the only tie which
still bound her to earth; again she would repulse him with terror, calling
upon Carroll, her dear Carroll. No one in the world knew what agitated her
soul.
Gill reached his twenty-third year; he saw Guth Stersen, and loved her
madly.
Guth Stersen was rich, and he was poor; therefore he set off for Roeraas
and turned miner, in order to make money. His mother never heard from
him again.
One night she sat at the wheel, by which she earned her daily bread; the
lamp burned low as she worked and waited in her cabin, beneath those
walls which had grown old like herself, in solitude and grief, the silent
witnesses of her mysterious wedding-night. She thought anxiously of her
son, whose presence, ardently desired as it was, would recall much sorrow,
perhaps bring more in its train. The poor mother loved her son, ungrateful
as he was. And how could she help loving him, she had suffered so much
for him?
She rose and took from an antique wardrobe a crucifix thickly coated
with dust. For an instant she looked at it imploringly; then suddenly casting
it from her in horror, she cried: “I pray! How can I pray? Your prayers can
only be addressed to hell, poor woman! You belong to hell, and to hell
alone.”
She had relapsed into her mournful revery, when there was a knock at
the door.
This was a rare event with Widow Stadt. For many long years, in
consequence of the strange incidents connected with her history, the whole
village of Thoctree believed that she had dealings with evil spirits; no one
therefore ever ventured near her hut,—strange superstitions of that age and
ignorant region! She owed to her misfortunes the same reputation for
witchcraft that the keeper of the Spladgest owed to his learning.
“What if it were my son, if it were Gill!” she exclaimed; and she rushed
to the door.
Alas! it was not her son. It was a little monk clad in serge, his cowl
covering all of his face but a black beard.
“Holy man,” said the widow, “what would you have? You do not know
the house to which you come.”
“Yes, truly!” replied the hermit in a hoarse and all too familiar voice.
And tearing off his gloves, his black beard, and his cowl, he revealed a
fierce countenance, a red beard, and a pair of hands armed with tremendous
claws.
“Oh!” cried the widow, burying her head in her hands.
“Well,” said the little man, “have you not in four-and-twenty years
grown used to seeing the husband upon whom you must gaze through all
eternity?”
“Through all eternity!” she repeated in a terrified whisper.
“Hark ye, Lucy Pelryhn, I bring you news of your son.”
“My son! Where is he? Why does he not come?”
“He cannot.”
“But you have news of him. I thank you. Alas! and can you bring me
pleasure?”
“They are pleasant tidings indeed that I bring you,” said the man in
hollow tones; “for you are a weak woman, and I wonder that you could
bring forth such a son. Rejoice and be glad. You feared that your son would
follow in my footsteps; fear no longer.”
“What!” cried the enraptured mother, “has my son, my beloved Gill,
changed?”
The hermit watched her raptures with an ominous sneer.
“Oh, greatly changed!” said he.
“And why did he not fly to my arms? Where did you see him? What was
he doing?”
“He was asleep.”
In the excess of her joy, the widow did not notice the little man’s
ominous look, nor his horrible and scoffing manner.
“Why did you not wake him? Why did not you say to him, ‘Gill, come to
your mother?’ ”
“His sleep was too sound.”
“Oh, when will he come? Tell me, I implore, if I shall see him soon.”
The mock monk drew from beneath his gown a sort of cup of singular
shape.
“There, widow,” said he, “drink to your son’s speedy return!”
The widow uttered a shriek of horror. It was a human skull. She waved it
away in terror, and could not utter a word.
“No, no!” abruptly exclaimed the man, in an awful voice, “do not turn
away your eyes, woman; look. You asked to see your son. Look, I say! for
this is all that is left of him.”
And by the red light of the lamp, he offered the dry and fleshless skull of
her son to the mother’s pale lips.
Too many waves of misfortune had passed over her soul for one misery
the more to crush her. She gazed at the cruel monk with a fixed and
meaningless stare.
“Dead!” she whispered; “dead! Then let me die.”
“Die, if you choose! But remember, Lucy Pelryhn, Thoctree woods;
remember the day when the demon, taking possession of your body, gave
your soul to hell! I am that demon, Lucy, and you are my wife forever!
Now, die if you will.”
It is the belief in those superstitious regions that infernal spirits
sometimes appear among men to lead lives of crime and calamity. In
common with other noted criminals, Hans of Iceland enjoyed this fearful
renown. It was also believed that a woman, who by seduction or by
violence, became the prey of one of these monsters in human form, by that
misfortune was doomed to be his companion in hell.
The events of which the hermit reminded the widow seemed to revive in
her these thoughts.
“Alas!” she sobbed, “then I cannot escape from this wretched existence!
And what have I done? for you know, my beloved Carroll, I am innocent. A
young girl’s arm is without strength to resist the arm of a demon.”
She rambled on; her eyes were wild with delirium, and her incoherent
words seemed born of the convulsive quiver of her lips.
“Yes, Carroll, since that day, though polluted, I am innocent; and the
demon asks me if I remember that horrible day! Carroll, I never deceived
you; you came too late. I was his before I was yours, alas! Alas! and I must
be forever punished. No, I can never rejoin you,—you for whom I weep.
What would it avail me to die? I should follow this monster into a world as
fearful as himself,—the world of the damned! And what have I done? Must
my misfortunes in this life become my crimes in the next?”
The little monk bent a look of triumph and command upon her face.
“Ah!” she suddenly exclaimed, turning toward him; “ah, tell me, is not
this some fearful dream induced by your presence? For you know but too
well, alas! that since the day of my ruin, every night that I am visited by
your fatal spirit is marked by foul apparitions, awful dreams, and frightful
visions.”
“Woman, woman, cease your raving; it is as true that you are wide
awake as it is true that Gill is dead.”
The memory of her past misfortunes had, as it were, blotted out all
thought of her fresh grief; these words revived it.
“Oh, my son! my son!” she moaned; and the tones of her voice would
have moved any but the wicked being who heard it. “No, he will return; he
is not dead; I cannot believe that he is dead.”
“Well, go ask him of Roeraas rocks, which crushed out his life; of
Throndhjem Fjord, which swallowed up his body.”
The widow fell upon her knees, crying convulsively, “God! great God!”
“Be silent, servant of hell!”
The wretched woman was silent. He added: “Do not doubt your son’s
death; he was punished for the sins of his father. He let his granite heart
melt in the sunlight of a woman’s eyes. I possessed you, but I never loved
you. Your Carroll’s misfortune was also his. My son and yours was
deceived by his betrothed, by her for whom he died.”
“Died!” she repeated, “died! Then it is really true? Oh, Gill, you were
born of my misery; you were conceived in terror and born in sorrow; your
lips lacerated my breast; as a child, you never returned my caresses or
embraces; you always shunned and repulsed your mother, your lonely and
forsaken mother! You never tried to make me forget my past distress, save
by causing me fresh injury. You deserted me for the demon author of your
existence and of my widowhood. Never, in long years, Gill, never did you
procure me one thrill of pleasure; and yet to-day your death, my son, seems
to me the most insupportable of all my afflictions. Your memory to-day
seems to me to be twined with comfort and rapture. Alas! alas!”
She could not go on; she covered her head with her coarse black woollen
veil, and sobbed bitterly.
“Weak woman!” muttered the hermit; then he continued in a firm voice:
“Control your grief; I laugh at mine. Listen, Lucy Pelryhn. While you still
weep for your son, I have already begun to avenge him. It was for a soldier
in the Munkholm regiment that his sweetheart betrayed him. The whole
regiment shall perish by my hands. Look, Lucy Pelryhn!”
He had rolled up the sleeves of his gown, and showed the widow his
misshapen arms stained with blood.
“Yes,” he said with a fierce roar, “Gill’s spirit shall delight to haunt
Urchtal Sands and Cascadthymore ravine. Come, woman, do you not see
this blood? Be comforted!”
Then all at once, as if struck by a sudden thought, he interrupted himself:
“Widow, did you not receive an iron casket from me? What! I sent you gold
and I bring you blood, and you still weep. Are you not human?”
The widow, absorbed in her despair, was silent.
“What!” said he, with a fierce laugh, “motionless and mute. You are no
woman, then, Lucy Pelryhn!” and he shook her by the arm to rouse her.
“Did not a messenger bring you an iron casket?”
The widow, lending him a brief attention, shook her head, and relapsed
into her gloomy revery.
“Ah, the wretch!” cried the little man, “the miserable traitor! Spiagudry,
that gold shall cost you dear!”
And stripping off his gown, he rushed from the hut with the growl of a
hyena that scents a corpse.
XVII.
My lord, I braid my hair; I braid it with salt tears because you leave me alone, and
because you go hence into the hills.—The Count’s Lady (Old Romance).
E THEL, meantime, had already reckoned four long and weary days since
she was left to wander alone in the dark garden of Schleswig tower;
alone in the oratory, the witness of so many tears, the confidant of so
many longings; alone in the long gallery, where once upon a time she had
failed to hear the midnight bell. Her aged father sometimes accompanied
her, but she was none the less alone, for the true companion of her life was
absent.
Unfortunate young girl! What had that pure young soul done that it
should be thus early given over to so much sorrow? Taken from the world,
from honors, riches, youthful delights, and from the triumphs of beauty, she
was still in the cradle when she was already in a prison cell; a captive with
her captive father, she had grown up watching his decay; and to complete
her misery, that she might not be ignorant of any form of bondage, love had
sought her out in prison.
Even then, could she but have kept her Ordener at her side, would liberty
have tempted her? Would she ever have known that a world existed from
which she was cut off? Moreover, would not her world, her heaven, have
been with her in that narrow keep, within those gloomy towers bristling
with soldiers, toward which the passer-by would still have cast a pitying
glance?
But, alas! for the second time her Ordener was absent; and instead of
spending all too brief but ever recurring hours with him in holy caresses and
chaste embraces, she passed days and nights in bewailing his absence, and
praying that he might be shielded from danger. For a maiden has only her
prayers and her tears.
Sometimes she longed for the wings of the free swallow which came to
her to be fed through her prison bars. Sometimes her thought escaped upon
the cloud which a swift breeze drove northward through the sky; then
suddenly she would turn away her head and cover her eyes, as if she
dreaded to see a gigantic brigand appear and begin the unequal contest upon
one of the distant mountains whose blue peaks hung on the horizon like a
stationary cloud.
Oh, it is cruel to live when we are parted from the object of our love!
Few hearts have known this pang in all its extent, because few hearts have
known love in all its depth. Then, in some sort a stranger to our ordinary
existence, we create for ourselves a melancholy waste, a vast solitude, and
for the absent one some terrible world of peril, of monsters, and of deceit;
the various faculties which make up our being are changed into and lost in
an infinite longing for the missing one; everything about us seems utterly
indifferent to us. And yet we still breathe, and move, and act, but without
our own volition. Like a wandering planet which has lost its sun, the body
moves at random; the soul is elsewhere.
XVIII.
On a vast buckler those relentless men

Terrified hell with fearful oaths;
And beside a black bull which they had slain,
All, bathing their hands in blood, swore to be revenged.
The Seven Chiefs before Thebes.
T HE coast of Norway abounds in narrow bays, in creeks, coves, reefs,

lagoons, and little headlands so numerous as to weary the traveller’s
memory and the topographer’s patience. Formerly, if we are to credit
popular tradition, every isthmus was haunted by some demon, each bay
inhabited by some fairy, each promontory protected by some saint;
superstition mingles all beliefs to create for itself imaginary terrors. Upon
Kelvel strand, some miles to the north of Walderhog cave, there was but a
single spot, they said, which was free from all jurisdiction either of infernal,
intermediary, or celestial spirits. It was the glade lying along the shore,
overhung by a cliff, on the top of which could still be seen vestiges of the
manor of Ralph, or Rudolf, the Giant. This little wild meadow, bordered on
the west by the sea, and closely shut in by rocks clad with heather, owed its
exemption solely to the name of that ancient Norwegian lord, its first
possessor. For what fairy, what devil, or what angel would venture to
become master or guest of a domain once occupied and guarded by Ralph
the Giant?
It is true that the mere name of the much dreaded Ralph sufficed to give
an alarming character to a region wild in itself. But after all, a memory is
not so much to be feared as a spirit; and no fisher, belated in rough weather,
and mooring his bark in Ralph’s creek, had ever seen the will-o’-the-wisp
sport and dance upon the summit of a rock, or a fairy ride through the
heather in her phosphorescent car drawn by glow-worms, or a saint ascend
toward the moon, after his prayers were said.
And yet, if the angry waves and wind had allowed a wandering mariner
to land in that hospitable harbor upon the night after the great storm, he
might have been struck with superstitious fear at the sight of three men,
who upon that same night sat around a huge fire, blazing in the middle of
the meadow. Two of them wore the broad felt hat and loose trousers of royal
miners. Their arms were bare to the shoulder, their feet were cased in fawn-
colored leather boots; a red sash held their crooked swords and heavy
pistols; each had a hunter’s horn slung about his neck. One was old, the
other was young; the old man’s thick beard and the young man’s long hair
lent a wild and barbarous look to their faces, which were naturally hard and
stern.
By his bearskin cap, his tanned leather jacket, the musket slung across
his back, his short, tight-fitting drawers, his bare knees, his bark shoes, and
the glittering axe in his hand, it was easy to guess that the companion of the
two miners was a mountaineer from the north of Norway.
Certainly, any one who saw from afar these three weird figures, upon
which the flames, fanned by the salt breeze, cast a red, flickering light,
might well have been frightened, even had he no faith in spectres and
demons; it would have been enough that he believed in thieves and was
somewhat richer than the ordinary poet.
The three men constantly turned their heads toward the winding path
through the wood which fringes Ralph’s meadow, and judging by such of
their words as were not carried off by the wind, they were expecting a
fourth person.
“I say, Kennybol, do you know that we should not be allowed to wait so
peacefully for this envoy from Count Griffenfeld, if we were in the
neighboring meadow, Goblin Tulbytilbet’s meadow, or yonder in St.
Cuthbert’s bay?”
“Don’t talk so loud, Jonas,” replied the mountaineer; “blessed be Ralph
the Giant, who protects us! Heaven save me from setting foot in
Tulbytilbet’s meadow! The other day I thought I was picking hawthorn
there, and I gathered mandrake instead, which began to bleed and shriek,
and nearly drove me mad.”
The young miner laughed.
“Nearly, Kennybol? For my part, I think that the mandrake’s shriek
produced its full effect upon your feeble brains.”
“Feeble brains yourself!” said the vexed mountaineer; “just see, Jonas,
he jests at mandrake. He laughs like a lunatic playing with a death’s-head.”
“Hum!” answered Jonas. “Let him go to Walderhog cave, where the
heads of those whom Hans, the foul fiend of Iceland, has murdered, come
back every night to dance about his bed of withered leaves, and gnash their
teeth to lull him to sleep.”
“That’s so,” said the mountaineer.
“But,” rejoined the young man, “did not Mr. Hacket, for whom we are
waiting, promise us that Hans of Iceland would take the lead in our
rebellion?”
“He did,” replied Kennybol; “and with the help of that demon we are
sure to conquer the green jackets of Throndhjem and Copenhagen.”
“So much the better!” cried the old miner. “But I’m not the man to stand
guard beside him at night.”
At this moment the rustle of dead leaves beneath the tread of a man drew
the attention of the speakers; they turned, and the firelight gleamed on the
new-comer’s face.
“It is he! it is Mr. Hacket! Welcome, Mr. Hacket; you have kept us
waiting. We have been here this three quarters of an hour.”
“Mr. Hacket” was a short, fat man, dressed in black, and his jovial
countenance wore a forbidding expression.
“Well, friends,” said he, “I was delayed by my ignorance of the road and
the necessary precautions. I left Count Schumacker this morning; here are
three purses of gold which he bade me give you.”
The two old men flung themselves upon the gold with the eagerness
common among the peasants of barren Norway. The young miner declined
the purse which Hacket offered him.
“Keep your gold, Sir Envoy; I should lie if I said that I had joined the
revolt for your Count Schumacker’s sake. I rebel to free the miners from the
guardianship of the crown; I rebel that my mother’s bed may have a blanket
less ragged than the coast of our good country, Norway.”
Far from seeming disconcerted, Mr. Hacket answered smilingly, “Then I
will send this money to your poor mother, my dear Norbith, so that she may
have two new blankets to shield her from the cold wind this winter.”
The young man assented with a nod, and the envoy, like a skilful orator,
made haste to add:—
“But be careful not to repeat what you just now inconsiderately said, that
you are not taking up arms in behalf of Schumacker, Count Griffenfeld.”
“But—but,” muttered the two old men, “we know very well that the
miners are oppressed, but we know nothing about this count, this prisoner
of state.”
“What!” sharply rejoined the envoy; “are you so ungrateful? You groan
in your subterranean caves, deprived of light and air, robbed of all your
property, slaves to the most onerous tutelage! Who came to your rescue?
Who revived your failing courage? Who gave you gold and arms? Was it
not my illustrious master, noble Count Griffenfeld, more of a slave and
more unfortunate even than you? And now, loaded with his favors, would
you refuse to use them to acquire his liberty with your own?”
“You are right,” interrupted the young miner; “that would be an ill
deed.”
“Yes, Mr. Hacket,” said the two old men, “we will fight for Count
Schumacker.”
“Courage, my friends! Rise in his name; bear your benefactor’s name
from one end of Norway to the other. Only listen; everything seconds your
righteous enterprise; you are about to be freed from a formidable enemy,
General Levin de Knud, governor of the province. The secret power of my
noble master, Count Griffenfeld, will soon procure his recall to Bergen.
Come, tell me, Kennybol, Jonas, and you, my dear Norbith, are all your
comrades ready?”
“My brethren of Guldbrandsdal,” said Norbith, “only await my signal.
To-morrow, if you wish—”
“To-morrow; so be it. The young miners under your leadership must be
the first to raise the standard. And you, my brave Jonas?”
“Six hundred heroes from the Färöe Islands, who for three days have
lived on chamois flesh and bear’s fat in Bennallag forest, only ask a blast
from the horn of their old captain, Jonas of Loevig town.”
“Good! And you, Kennybol?”
“All those who carry an axe in the gorges of Kiölen, and climb the rocks
with bare knees, are ready to join their brothers, the miners, when they need
them.”
“Enough. Tell your comrades that they need not doubt their victory,”
added the envoy, raising his voice; “for Hans of Iceland will be their
captain.”
“Is that certain?” asked all three at once, in a voice of mingled hope and
fear.
The envoy answered: “I will meet you four days hence, at the same hour,
with your united forces, in Apsyl-Corh mine, near Lake Miösen, on Blue
Star plain. Hans of Iceland will be with me.”
“We will be there,” said the three leaders. “And may God not desert
those whom the Devil aids!”
“Fear nothing from God,” said Hacket, with a sneer. “Stay; you will find
flags for your troops among the ruins of Crag. Do not forget the war-cry,
‘Long live Schumacker! We will rescue Schumacker!’ Now we must part;
day will shortly break. But first, swear the most profound secrecy as to what
has passed between us.”
Without a word each of the three chiefs opened a vein in his left arm
with the point of his sword; then, seizing the envoy’s hand, each let a few
drops of blood trickle into it.
“You have our blood,” they said.
Then the young man exclaimed: “May all my blood flow forth like that
which I now shed; may a malicious spirit destroy my plans, as the hurricane
does a straw; may my arm be of lead to avenge an insult; may bats dwell in
my tomb; may I, still living, be haunted by the dead, and dead, be profaned
by the living; may my eyes melt with tears like those of a woman, if ever I
speak of what has occurred at this time in Ralph the Giant’s meadow. And
may the blessed saints deign to hear this, my prayer!”
“Amen!” repeated the two old men.
Then they parted, and nothing was left in the meadow but the
smouldering fire, whose expiring embers burned up at intervals, and
gleamed upon the summit of Ralph the Giant’s ruined and deserted towers.
XIX.
Theodore. Tristam, let us be gone.

Tristam. This is a strange disgrace.
Theodore. Did any one see us?
Tristam. I know not, but I fear they did.
Lope da Vega: The Gardener’s Dog.
B ENIGNUS SPIAGUDRY found it hard to guess the motives which led

a youth of fine appearance, and apparently likely to live for many long
years, to become the voluntary antagonist of the much-dreaded Hans of
Iceland. He had frequently and with much ingenuity broached the question
since they started on their travels; but the young adventurer preserved a
stubborn silence as to the cause of his journey. Nor was the poor fellow any
more successful in satisfying his curiosity concerning various other details
as to his strange comrade. Once he ventured to ask a question about his
young master’s family and his name. “Call me Ordener,” was the reply; and
this very unsatisfactory answer was given in a tone which forbade further
question. He was forced to submit; every one has his secrets, and good
Spiagudry himself carefully concealed in his wallet, under his cloak, a
certain mysterious casket, any inquiry as to which he would certainly have
considered very disagreeable and greatly out of place.
Four days had passed since they left Throndhjem, but they had made
little progress, owing to the bad state of the roads after the storm, and the
multiplicity of crosscuts and roundabout routes which the runaway keeper
thought it prudent to take in order to avoid too thickly settled regions.
Leaving Skongen on their right, toward evening of the fourth day they
reached the shores of Lake Sparbo.
The vast stretch of water reflecting the last gleams of daylight and the
first stars of coming night set in a frame of tall cliffs, black firs, and lofty
oaks, presented a gloomy but magnificent picture. The sight of a lake at
evening sometimes produces, at a certain distance, a peculiar optical
illusion; it seems as if a vast abyss, cleaving the earth from side to side,
revealed the heavens beneath our feet.
Ordener paused to contemplate the old Druidical forests, which cover the
steep shores of the lake as with a garment, and the chalky huts of Sparbo,
scattered over the slope like a stray flock of white goats. He listened to the
distant clink of the forges,[11] mingled with the dull roar of the weird
forests, the intermittent cry of wild birds, and the solemn music of the
waves. To the north a huge granite bowlder, still gilded by the rays of the
sun, rose majestically above the little village of Oëlmœ, its summit bending
beneath a mass of ruined towers, as if the giant were weary of his load.
When the soul is sad, it delights in melancholy scenes; it adds to them its
own gloom. Let an unhappy man be thrown among wild, high mountains
beside some black lake in the heart of a dark forest, at the close of day, and
he will see this solemn scene through a funereal veil; he will not feel that
the sun is setting, but that it is dying.
Ordener lingered, motionless and mute, until his companion exclaimed:
“Capital, sir! You do well to ponder thus beside the most miasma-laden lake
in Norway.”
This remark and the gesture which accompanied it, would have brought
a smile to the lips of any but a lover parted from his mistress perhaps never
again to meet her. The learned keeper added:—
“And yet I must rouse you from your meditations to remind you that day
is drawing to a close, and we must make haste if we would reach Oëlmœ
village before twilight overtakes us.”
The observation was correct. Ordener resumed his journey, and
Spiagudry followed him, continuing his unheeded reflections upon the
botanic and physiologic phenomena which Lake Sparbo affords the
naturalist.
“Mr. Ordener,” said he, “if you will listen to your devoted guide, you
will give up your fatal enterprise; yes, sir, and you will take up your abode
upon the shores of this most curious lake, where we can devote ourselves to
all sorts of learned research; for instance, to the study of the stella canora
palustris,—a singular plant, which many scholars consider to be fabulous,
but which Bishop Arngrimmsson asserts that he both saw and heard on the
shores of Lake Sparbo. Added to this, we shall have the satisfaction of
feeling that we dwell upon soil which contains more gypsum than any other
in Europe, and where the hired assassins of Throndhjem are least likely to
find their way. Doesn’t it attract you, young master? Come, renounce your
senseless journey; for, not to offend you, your scheme is dangerous, without
being profitable,—periculum sine pecunia; that is to say, senseless, and
conceived at a moment when you might better have been thinking of other
things.”
Ordener, who paid no attention to the poor man’s words, merely kept up
the conversation by those occasional meaningless monosyllables which
great talkers are ready to accept in lieu of answers. Thus they reached
Oëlmœ village, where they found an unusual bustle and stir.
The inhabitants—hunters, fishers, and blacksmiths—had left their
houses, and hastily collected about a central mound occupied by a group of
men, one of whom blew a horn and waved a small black-and-white banner
over his head.
“Probably some quack doctor,” said Spiagudry,—“ambubaiarum
collegia, pharmacopolœ; some scamp who turns gold into lead and wounds
into sores. Let us see. What invention of the Evil One will he sell these poor
rustics? It would be bad enough if these impostors confined themselves to
kings, if they all imitated Borch the Dane and Borri of Milan, those
alchemists who so completely duped our Frederic III.;[12] but they are just
as greedy for the peasant’s mite as for the prince’s million.”
Spiagudry was mistaken. As they approached the mound they recognized
by his black gown and round, pointed cap, the mayor, surrounded by a
number of bowmen. The man blowing the horn was the town crier.
The fugitive keeper, somewhat disturbed, muttered: “Truly, Mr. Ordener,
I did not expect to stumble upon the mayor when I came into this hamlet.
Great Saint Hospitius, protect us! What does he say?”
His uncertainty was of brief duration, for the crier’s shrill voice was
quickly raised, and religiously heeded by the little group of villagers.
“In the name of his Majesty and by order of his Excellency, General
Levin de Knud, governor, the lord mayor of Throndhjem notifies the
inhabitants of all cities, towns, and villages in the province, that a reward of
one thousand crowns is offered for the head of Hans, a native of Klipstadur,
in Iceland, a murderer and incendiary.”
A vague murmur ran through the crowd. The crier continued:—
“A reward of four crowns is offered for the head of Benignus Spiagudry,
ex-keeper of the Spladgest at Throndhjem, accused of necromancy and
sacrilege. This proclamation shall be published throughout the province by
the mayors of all cities, towns, and villages, who will see that it is carried
out.”
The mayor took the proclamation from the crier’s hands, and added in a
lugubrious and solemn voice:—
“The life of these men is offered to whosoever will take it.”
The reader will readily believe that this reading was not heard unmoved
by our poor, unfortunate Spiagudry. No doubt, the unusual signs of terror
which he showed would have roused the attention of the bystanders, had it
not just then been wholly absorbed by the first clause of the proclamation.
“A reward for the head of Hans!” cried an old fisherman, who had
hastened to the spot, trailing his wet nets behind him. “They might as well,
by Saint Usuph, set a price upon the head of Beelzebub!”
“To keep up a proper balance between Hans and Beelzebub,” said a
hunter, recognizable by his chamois-skin jerkin, “they should only offer
fifteen hundred crowns for the head and horns of the latter fiend.”
“Glory be to the holy mother of God!” cried an old woman, her bald
head shaking as she twirled her distaff. “I only wish I might see the head of
that Hans, so that I might make sure if his eyes are really live coals, as they
say.”
“Yes, to be sure,” replied another old woman; “it was just by looking at
it that he set Throndhjem cathedral on fire. Now I should like to see the
monster whole, with his serpent’s tail, cloven foot, and broad wings like a
bat.”
“Who told you such nonsense, good mother?” broke in the hunter, with a
self-satisfied air. “I’ve seen this Hans of Iceland with my own eyes in the
gorges of Medsyhath; he is a man like ourselves, only he is as tall as a
forty-year-old poplar.”
“Indeed!” said a voice from the crowd, with singular emphasis.
This voice, which made Spiagudry shudder, proceeded from a short man
whose face was hidden by the broad felt hat of a miner, his body wrapped in
rush matting and sealskin.
“Faith!” cried, with a coarse laugh, a smith who wore his heavy hammer
slung across his shoulder, “they may offer one thousand or ten thousand
crowns for his head, and he may be four or forty feet tall, but I’ll not offer
to go in search of him.”
“Nor I,” said the fisherman.
“Nor I; nor I,” repeated every voice.
“And yet any one who may feel tempted,” rejoined the little man, “will
find Hans of Iceland to-morrow at the ruins of Arbar, near Lake Miösen; the
day after that at Walderhog cave.”
“Are you sure, my good man?”
This question was asked at one and the same time by Ordener, who
listened to this scene with an interest easily understood by any one but
Spiagudry, and by another short and tolerably stout man, dressed in black,
with a merry countenance, who had issued from the only inn which the
village contained, at the first sound of the crier’s horn.
The little man with the broad-brimmed hat seemed to be studying them
both for a moment, and then answered in hollow tones: “Yes.”
“And how can you be so certain?” asked Ordener.
“I know where Hans of Iceland is, just as well as I know where Benignus
Spiagudry is; neither of them is far off at this instant.”
All the poor keeper’s terrors were revived, and he scarcely dared look at
the mysterious little man. Fancying that his French periwig had failed to
disguise him, he began to pluck at Ordener’s cloak and to whisper: “Master,
sir, in Heaven’s name, have mercy! have pity let us be off! let us leave this
accursed suburb of hell!”
Ordener, although equally surprised, carefully examined the little man,
who, turning his back to the light, seemed anxious to conceal his face.
“I’ve seen that Benignus Spiagudry,” cried the fisherman, “at
Throndhjem Spladgest. He’s a tall fellow. They offer four crowns for him.”
The hunter burst out laughing.
“Four crowns! I shan’t go a-hunting for him. I can get more for the skin
of a blue fox.”
This comparison, which at any other time would have greatly offended
the learned keeper, now comforted him. Still, he was about to address
another prayer to Ordener to persuade him to continue his journey, when the
latter, having learned all that he wished to know forestalled him by making
his way out of the crowd, which was beginning to disperse.
Although when they entered Oëlmœ village they had intended passing
the night there, they quitted it, as if by common consent, without even
alluding to the motive for their abrupt departure. Ordener was moved by the
hope of a more speedy meeting with the brigand, Spiagudry by a desire to
get away from the archers as speedily as might be.
Ordener was in too serious a mood to laugh at his comrade’s
misadventures. He broke the silence in kindly tones.
“Old man, what is the name of the ruin where Hans is to be found to-
morrow, according to that little man who seemed to know everything?”
“I don’t know; I didn’t quite catch the name, noble master,” replied
Spiagudry, who uttered no falsehood in so saying.
“Then,” continued the young man, “I must make up my mind not to meet
him until the day after to-morrow at Walderhog cave.”
“Walderhog cave, sir! Indeed, that is Hans of Iceland’s favorite haunt.”
“Let us take that road,” said Ordener.
“We must turn to the left, behind Oëlmœ cliff. It will take us at least two
days to get to Walderhog cave.”
“Do you know, old man,” cautiously observed Ordener, “who that odd
fellow was, who seemed to be so well acquainted with you?”
This question again awakened Spiagudry’s fears, which had been lulled
to sleep as the village of Oëlmœ faded in the distance.
“No, truly, sir,” he answered, in trembling accents. “But he had a very
strange voice.”
Ordener tried to encourage him.
“Fear nothing, old man; serve me well, and I will protect you. If I return
victorious over Hans, I promise you not only a pardon, but I will also give
you the thousand crowns reward offered by the officers of the law.”
Honest Benignus dearly loved his life, but he also loved gold. Ordener’s
promises sounded like magic in his ears; they not only banished all his
terrors, but they excited in him a kind of garrulous mirth, which found vent
in lengthy discourses, queer gestures, and learned quotations.
“Mr. Ordener,” said he, “if I should ever have occasion to discuss the
subject with Over-Bilseuth, otherwise called ‘the Babbler,’ nothing shall
prevent me from maintaining that you are a wise and honorable young man.
What more worthy and more glorious, in fact, quid cithara, tuba, vel
campana dignius, than nobly to risk your life to free your country from a
monster, a brigand, a demon, in whom all demons, brigands, and monsters
seem to be combined? Nobody need tell me that you are moved by
mercenary motives. Noble Lord Ordener yields the price of his conflict to
the companion of his journey, to the old man who only guided him within a
mile of Walderhog cave; for I am sure, young master, that you will allow
me to await the result of your illustrious enterprise at the village of Surb,
situated in the forest within a mile of Walderhog, will you not? And when
your glorious victory is made known, sir, all Norway will thrill with joy like
that of Vermund the Refugee, when from the summit of this same Oëlmœ
cliff, which we just now passed, he saw the great fire kindled by his brother
Halfdan on Munkholm tower in token of his deliverance.”
At these words Ordener interrupted him eagerly.
“What! is Munkholm tower visible from the top of this rock?”
“Yes, sir; twelve miles to the south, between the mountains which our
fathers called Frigga’s Footstools. At this hour you should be able to see the
light in the tower distinctly.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Ordener, fired by the idea of another glimpse of the
seat of all his happiness. “Old man, of course there is a path leading to the
top of the rock, is there not?”
“Yes, to be sure; a path which begins in the wood that lies just before us,
and rises by a gentle slope to the bare crown of the cliff, whence it is
continued by steps cut in the rock by Vermund’s companions, as far as the
castle, where it ends. Those are the ruins which you see in the moonlight.”
“Well, old man, you shall show me the path; we will spend the night in
those ruins,—in those ruins from which Munkholm tower is visible.”
“Can you really mean it, sir?” asked Benignus. “The fatigues of the day
—”
“Old man, I will support your steps; my footing was never more secure.”
“Sir, the brambles that block the path, which has long been deserted, the
fallen stones, the darkness—”
“I will take the lead.”
“There may be some savage beast, some unclean animal, some hideous
monster—”
“I did not undertake this journey to avoid monsters.”
The idea of halting so near Oëlmœ was very unpleasant to Spiagudry;
the thought of seeing Munkholm light, and possibly the light in Ethel’s
window, enraptured and transported Ordener.
“Young master,” urged Spiagudry, “give up this scheme; take my advice.
I have a presentiment that it will bring us bad luck.”
This plea was as nothing in the face of Ordener’s longing.
“Come,” said he, impatiently, “you must remember that you agreed to
serve me faithfully. I insist upon your showing me the path; where is it?”
“We shall come across it directly,” said the keeper, forced to obey.
In fact, they soon saw the path. They entered it; but Spiagudry observed,
with surprise mixed with fright, that the tall grass was broken and trampled,
and that Vermund the Refugee’s old footpath seemed to have been recently
trodden.
XX.
Leonardo. The king requires your presence.

Henrique. How so?
Lope da Vega: La Fuerza Lastinosa.
G ENERAL LEVIN DE KNUD sat at his desk, which was covered with
papers and open letters, apparently lost in thought. A secretary stood
before him awaiting his orders. The general now struck the rich carpet
beneath his feet with his spurs, and now absently toyed with the decoration
of the Elephant, hanging about his neck from the collar of the order.
Occasionally he opened his lips as if to speak, then stopped, rubbed his
head, and cast another glance at the unsealed despatches littering the table.
“How the devil!” he cried at last.
This conclusive exclamation was followed by a brief silence.
“Who would ever have imagined,” he resumed, “that those devilish
miners would have gone so far? Of course they were secretly egged on to
this revolt; but do you know, Wapherney, the thing looks serious? Do you
know that five or six hundred scoundrels from the Färöe Islands, headed by
a certain old thief named Jonas, have already quitted the mines; that a
young fanatic called Norbith has also taken command of the Guldbrandsdal
malcontents; that all the hot-heads in Sund-Moer, Hubfallo, and Kongsberg,
who were only waiting the signal, may have risen already? Do you know
that the mountaineers have joined the movement, and that they are headed
by one of the boldest foxes of Kiölen, old Kennybol? And finally, do you
know that according to popular report in northern Throndhjem, if we are to
believe the lord mayor, who has written me, that notorious criminal, upon
whose head we have set a price, the much-dreaded Hans, has taken chief
command of the insurrection? What do you say to all this, my dear
Wapherney? Ahem!”
“Your Excellency,” said Wapherney, “knows what measures—”
“There is still another circumstance connected with this lamentable affair
which I cannot explain; that is, how our prisoner Schumacker can be the
author of the revolt, as they claim. This seems to surprise no one, but it
surprises me more than anything else. It is hard to believe that a man whose
company my faithful Ordener loves can be a traitor; and yet it is asserted
that the miners have risen in his name,—his name is their watchword. They
even give him the titles of which the king deprived him. All this seems
certain; but how does it happen that Countess d’Ahlefeld knew all these
details a week ago, at a time when the first real symptoms of trouble had
scarcely begun to appear in the mines? It is strange! No matter, I must
provide for every emergency. Give me my seal, Wapherney.”
The general wrote three letters, sealed them, and handed them to his
secretary.
“See that this message is sent to Baron Vœthaün, colonel of musketeers,
now garrisoned at Munkholm, so that his regiment may march at once to
the seat of the revolt; this to the officer in command at Munkholm, an order
to guard the ex-chancellor more closely than ever. I must see and question
this Schumacker myself. Then despatch this letter to Skongen, to Major
Wolhm, who is in command there, directing him to send forward a portion
of the garrison to the centre of rebellion. Go, Wapherney, and see that these
orders are executed at once.”
The secretary went out, leaving the governor plunged in meditation.
“All this is very alarming,” thought he. “These miners rebelling in one
place, this chancellor intriguing in another, that crazy Ordener—nobody
knows where! He may be travelling in the very midst of all these rioters,
leaving Schumacker here under my protection to conspire against the State,
and his daughter, for whose safety I have been kind enough to remove the
company of soldiers to which that Frederic d’Ahlefeld belongs, whom
Ordener accuses of—Why, it seems to me that this very company might
easily stop the advance columns of the insurgents; it is very well situated
for that. Wahlstrom, where it is stationed, is near Lake Miösen and Arbar
ruin. That is one of the places of which the rebels will be sure to take
possession.”
At this point in his revery, the general was interrupted by the sound of
the opening door.
“Well, what do you want, Gustavus?”
“General, a messenger asks to speak for a moment with your
Excellency.”
“Well, what is it now? What fresh disaster! Let the messenger come in.”
The messenger entered, and handed a packet to the governor, saying,
“From his highness the viceroy, your Excellency.”
The general hurriedly tore open the despatch.
“By Saint George!” he cried, with a start of surprise, “I believe that they
have all gone mad! If here is not the viceroy requesting me to proceed to
Bergen. He says it is on urgent business, by order of the king. A fine time
this to transact urgent business! ‘The lord chancellor, now travelling in the
province of Throndhjem, will take your place during your absence.’ Here’s
a substitute in whom I have no confidence! ‘The bishop will assist him—’
Really, these are excellent governors that Frederic chooses for a country in
a state of revolt,—two gentlemen of the cloth, a chancellor, and a bishop!
Well, no matter, the invitation is express; it is the order of the king. Needs
must obey; but before I go I must see Schumacker and question him. I am
sure that there is a plot to involve me in a network of intrigue; but I have
one unerring compass,—my conscience.”
XXI.
The voice of thy slain brother’s blood cries out,

Even from the ground, unto the Lord!
Cain: A Mystery.
“Y ES, Count; it was this very day, in Arbar ruin, that we were told he
might be found. Countless circumstances lead me to believe in the
truth of this valuable information which I accidentally picked up
yesterday, as I told you, at Oëlmœ village.”
“Are we far from this Arbar ruin?”
“It is close by Lake Miösen. The guide assures me that we shall be there
before noon.”
These words were spoken by two horsemen muffled in brown cloaks,
who early one morning were pursuing one of the many narrow, winding
paths which run in every direction through the forest lying between Lakes
Miösen and Sparbo. A mountain guide, provided with a huntinghorn and an
axe, led the way upon his little gray pony, and behind the travellers rode
four men armed to the teeth, toward whom these two persons occasionally
turned, as if afraid of being overheard.
“If that Iceland thief is really lurking in Arbar ruin,” said one rider,
whose steed kept a respectful distance behind the other, “it is a great point
gained; for the difficulty hitherto has been to find this mysterious being.”
“Do you think so, Musdœmon? And suppose he declines our offers?”
“Impossible, your Grace! What brigand could resist gold and a free
pardon?”
“But you know that this is no common scoundrel. Do not judge him by
yourself. If he should refuse, how can you keep your promise of night
before last to the three leaders of the insurrection?”
“Well, noble Count, in that case, which I regard as impossible if we are
lucky enough to find our man, has your Grace forgotten that a false Hans of
Iceland awaits me two days hence at the hour and place appointed for
meeting the three chiefs, at Blue Star, a place, moreover, conveniently near
Arbar ruin?”
“You are right, my dear Musdœmon, as usual,” said the count; and each
resumed his own particular line of thought.
Musdœmon, whose interest it was to keep his master in good humor, for
the purpose of diverting him, asked the guide a question.
“My good man, what is that ruined stone cross yonder, behind those
young oaks?”
The guide, a man with fixed stare and stupid mien, turned his head and
shook it several times, as he said: “Oh, master, that is the oldest gallows in
Norway; holy king Olaf had it built for a judge who made a compact with a
robber.”
Musdœmon saw by his patron’s face that the guide’s artless words had
produced an effect quite contrary to that which he hoped.
“It is a curious story,” the guide added; “good Mother Osia told it to me.
The robber was ordered to hang the judge.”
The poor guide, in his simplicity, did not suppose that the incident with
which he meant to entertain his employers was almost an insult to them.
Musdœmon stopped him.
“That will do,” said he; “we have heard the story before.”
“Insolent fellow!” muttered the count, “he has heard the story before.
Ah, Musdœmon, you shall pay for your impudence yet.”
“Did your Grace speak to me?” obsequiously asked Musdœmon.
“I was thinking how I could obtain the Order of the Dannebrog for you.
The marriage of my daughter Ulrica and Baron Ordener would be an
excellent opportunity.”
Musdœmon was profuse in protestations and thanks.
“By the way,” added his Grace, “let us talk business. Do you suppose
that the temporary recall which we sent him has reached the
Mecklenburger?”
The reader may remember that the count was in the habit of thus
designating General Levin de Knud, who was indeed a native of
Mecklenburg.
“Let us talk business!” thought the injured Musdœmon; “it seems that
my affairs are not ‘business.’ Count,” he replied aloud, “I think that the
viceroy’s messenger must be in Throndhjem by this time, and therefore
General Levin must be getting ready to start.”
The count assumed a kindly tone.
“That recall, my dear fellow, was one of your masterstrokes,—one of
your best planned and most skilfully executed intrigues.”
“The credit belongs as much to your Grace as to me,” replied
Musdœmon, careful, as we have already remarked, to mix the count in all
his machinations.
The master understood this secret desire of his confidant, but chose to
seem unconscious of it.
He smiled.
“My dear private secretary, you are always modest; but nothing can
make me depreciate your most eminent services. Elphega’s presence and
the Mecklenburger’s absence assure my triumph in Throndhjem. I am now
at the head of the province; and if Hans of Iceland accepts the command of
the rebels, which I intend to offer him in person, to me will fall, in the eyes
of the king, the glory of putting down this distressing insurrection and
capturing this terrible brigand.”
They were chatting thus in low voices when the guide rode back to them.
“Masters,” said he, “here on our left is the hillock upon which Biorn the
Just had the double-tongued Vellon beheaded in the presence of his entire
army, the traitor having driven off the king’s allies and summoned the
enemy to the camp, that he might have the appearance of saving Biorn’s
life.”
All these reminiscences of old Norway did not seem to be to
Musdœmon’s taste, for he hurriedly interrupted the guide.
“Come, come, good man, be silent and go your way, without turning
back so often. What do we care about the foolish stories of which these
ruins and dead trees remind you? You annoy my master with your old
wives’ tales.”
XXII.
Now the hungry lion roars,

And the wolf behowls the moon;
While the heavy ploughman snores,
All with weary task foredone.
Now the wasted brands do glow,
Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud.
Puts the wretch that lies in woe
In remembrance of a shroud.
Now it is the time of night,
That the graves, all gaping wide,
Every one lets forth his sprite,
In the church-way paths to glide.
Shakespeare: Midsummer Night’s Dream.
L ET us now retrace our steps. We left Ordener and Spiagudry struggling

laboriously up the brow of Oëlmœ cliff by the light of the rising moon.
This rock, bare of vegetation at the point where it begins to curve, is,
from this peculiarity, called by the Norwegian peasants the Vulture’s Neck,
—a name which gives an excellent idea of the aspect of this huge granite
bowlder as seen from a distance.
As our travellers approached this part of the rock, the forest changed to
heather. Grass gave place to moss; wild brier-roses, broom, and holly were
substituted for oaks and beeches,—a scantier growth, which in mountainous
regions always shows that the summit is near, as it indicates the gradual
diminution of the stratum of earth covering what may be termed the
skeleton of the mountain.
“Mr. Ordener,” said Spiagudry, whose lively mind seemed ever a prey to
a varying world of ideas, “this is a very tiresome climb, and it takes all my
devotion to follow you. But it seems to me that I see a superb convolvulus
yonder to the right; how I should like to examine it. Why is it not broad
daylight? Don’t you think it was a great piece of impertinence to value a
learned man like me at no more than four paltry crowns? ’Tis true, the
famous Phædrus was a slave, and Æsop, if we are to believe the learned
Planudes, was sold at a fair like a beast of burden or household chattel. And

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3.5 Simple layered models of the ocean 83

8.3 The current status of ENSO prediction and short-term

This is a book about the set of coupled atmosphere–ocean phenomena known

AR4 Fourth Assessment Report of the IPCC

NAO North Atlantic Oscillation

1.1 The maritime tropics

1.2 The normal tropical Paciﬁc

so-called maritime continent; a somewhat paradoxical idea expressing a collection

1.3 The phases of ENSO

Figure 1.3. Schematic of the coupled atmosphere–ocean in the tropical Paciﬁc

Figure 1.5. Schematic of the coupled atmosphere–ocean in the tropical Paciﬁc

120° E 150°E 180° 150°W 120° W 90°W 60°W

120° E 150° E 180° 150°W 120°W 90°W 60°W

1.4 Evolution of phases of ENSO

Nino 1+2 (C)

1980 1985 1990 1995 2000 2005

1.5 Physical ENSO processes

1.5.1 The processes that change SST

1.5.2 The process by which warm SST anchors regions

Figure 1.9. Schematic of the convergence of moisture into deep cumulonimbus

1.5.3 The processes by which regions of persistent precipitation

1.5.4 The processes by which surface winds change thermocline depth

Figure 1.11. Schematic of the response of the thermocline to a westerly wind

1.5.5 The processes by which regions of persistent precipitation affect

Figure 1.12. Schematic of how the upper-level divergence in regions of persistent

Climate Prediction Center/NCEP/ NWS

1.6 Modeling ENSO

The ﬁrst coupled atmosphere–ocean model of ENSO (the Zebiak–Cane model)

10°N 0.5 1.0 05

140°E 180° 140° W 100°W

1.7 Observing and predicting ENSO

TOGA in situ ocean-observing system

1.8 Towards a theory of ENSO

1.9 The past and future of ENSO

1870 1875 1880 1885 1890 1895 1900 1905 1910

1915 1920 1925 1930 1935 1940 1945 1950 1955

1960 1965 1970 1975 1980 1985 1990 1995 2000

1.10 What is ENSO information good for?

2.1 The nature and source of climate observations relevant to ENSO

development of satellite observations in the 1980s. The global upper-air network of

from 1957–2002, contains a dynamically consistent climatology of the surface

2.2 Solar forcing and ﬂuxes at the surface

Reflected Solar Incoming 235 Outgoing

200 Emitted longwave

2 NCEP World Ocean