Paths — the series
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The shortest route is not straight
The shortest path between two points on a sphere is an arc of a great circle, and on almost every map it is a curve. The straight line on a Mercator chart is a different route entirely, and on some journeys it is twenty-eight per cent longer.
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Why Mercator exists
A ship can hold a compass bearing and cannot easily hold a great circle. Mercator is the answer to one question — what must a map do so that a constant bearing is a straight line — and it answers it exactly.
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The gnomonic companion
One projection turns every great circle into a straight line, and it is the only one that does. It shows less than half the sphere, distorts enormously, and was indispensable for three centuries because of that single exact property.
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The great-circle vertex
One quantity is constant along a shortest path on a sphere, and it fixes the highest latitude that path will reach before the journey starts. That number is why polar routes exist, and it can be read off the departure bearing without tracing the route at all.
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Geodesics on the ellipsoid, and why they are hard
The shortest path on a flattened Earth is not a plane curve, has no closed form, and can be longer or shorter than the spherical answer depending on which way it runs. Every practical method is a series or an iteration, and the correction changes sign.
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The route with no shortest path
Between a point and the point diametrically opposite there are infinitely many shortest routes and no shortest route, and the standard formula for the distance between two places stops converging in a neighbourhood of it. The failure is a property of the question rather than a defect in the answer.
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Flying a curve in straight legs
Nobody steers a great circle, because a great circle requires the heading to change continuously. What is actually flown is a handful of constant-heading legs between waypoints on it, and the gap between plan and curve falls as the square of the number of legs.
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A route that must go round
A shortest route is usually free to go anywhere, and no real route is. The shortest path past a circular exclusion is two tangent great circles and an arc of the rim — a closed form that agrees with a shortest-path search to three metres in 9,598 kilometres — and it costs not the obstacle's size but the square of how far the obstacle reaches past the route.
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The quickest route is not the shortest
In a medium that does nothing, length and time are the same question divided by a constant. Once the water moves, they are different questions with different answers: the quickest track sails five per cent further and arrives eleven per cent sooner, and the journey back takes four times as long as the journey out.
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Where the shortest route stops being the only one
On a sphere there is exactly one point with no shortest route from a given place: the antipode. On the ellipsoid the Earth actually is, that point is an arc — sixty-six kilometres of the antipodal meridian for a point on the equator, half a kilometre for one at 85°, and every point of it reachable by two different geodesics of exactly equal length.
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The shortest route is not at sea level
Routes are computed on a surface and nothing is ever flown on one. The offset of a sphere is a sphere, so at altitude the great circle is the great circle. The offset of an ellipsoid is not an ellipsoid — its radii of curvature are M + h and N + h, which belong to no ellipsoid — so the shortest route at cruising height does not lie above the shortest route on the ground.
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The line drawn straight on the page is a route
Eleven essays draw the route on the map. Nobody has drawn the map's own proposal: the ground curve somebody follows by laying a ruler on the page. It has a name on exactly two projections and is 18.2 per cent long on the one where it is famous.
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The shortest route a vehicle can fly
A shortest path under a metric says nothing about whether the thing travelling can follow it. Bound the curvature and the route depends on two headings as well as two positions: the turning cost is a fixed 1.81 kilometres whatever the leg length, so it is 18 per cent of a short leg and 0.28 per cent of a long one, and the whole of it vanishes when the vehicle happens to be pointing the right way.
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The shortest route between two coasts
A shortest path is usually asked for between two points. Between two regions the answer is attained at a pair of boundary points, and which pair is not the pair any page makes look nearest — a cylindrical map picks a pair 2,135 kilometres from the right one across the Atlantic, and 1,716 kilometres wrong between Chile and New Zealand, where its route is 22.5 per cent long.
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A crossing is a chain of decisions
A route is handed back as a curve, and nothing anybody flies is decided once. Re-planning is worth exactly nothing when the forecast turns out right — a sub-path of an optimal path is optimal, and the chain is the plan. When it turns out wrong it recovers 19 per cent of the cost at two decisions and 83 at eighteen, and never all of it.
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The rule that keeps a route near land is pinned at both ends
A crossing that may never be more than a stated distance from an airfield is refused below one radius and free above another, and each wall is set by a single feature of the ocean. Between them the price falls continuously, with corners and no jumps — and at the lower wall it falls as the square root of the allowance, so the first kilometre is worth twelve of route.
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A crossing bends by a law only a conformal chart can show
A ship leaving pack ice for open water takes its quickest route by bending at the ice edge, so that the sines of its angles to the perpendicular stand in the ratio of its two speeds. The law has nothing in it but angles, so on Mercator it can be checked with a protractor — and on a plate carrée at sixty degrees north the same crossing reads as a ship making ten kilometres an hour in the ice rather than six.
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A diversion allowance in a wind is the same circle, moved upwind
A diversion rule written in minutes is turned into a distance by assuming still air. In a uniform wind the places from which an airfield can be reached in sixty minutes are not a stretched region but the still-air circle moved upwind by the wind's run. A 150 km/h northerly makes the still-air route across the North Atlantic need a diversion of 68.7 minutes, a southerly makes it 54.0 — and the least radius at which the ocean can be crossed barely moves.
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A jet moves the floor that a uniform wind cannot
A uniform wind leaves the least radius at which the North Atlantic can be crossed almost where it was, because it blows the same way on both halves of every gap between airfields. A jet does not. A southerly of 200 km/h past the southern tip of Greenland lowers that floor by 36.9 kilometres, the same jet 400 kilometres further west raises it by 23.3, and one integral of the wind along each gap predicts every such move to within a few kilometres.
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A streak along the jet moves the floor while the crossing is flown
The diversion floor answers only to the difference between the wind on a gap's two halves, and every case so far produced that difference by moving a jet sideways. A jet carrying a streak — a thousand kilometres of core markedly faster than the rest — produces the same difference with nothing changed across the flow at all, and moves the floor by up to 43 km where the same jet at one speed along its whole length moves it by ten metres. Plotted against the half-integral difference the two geometries fall on one line: the floor cannot tell them apart. And because a streak drifts with the flow, the allowance an operator must satisfy is 30 km higher than the one the departure analysis reported.
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A forecast's error in where the streak is becomes a margin
A jet streak drifting along a gap moves the diversion floor by up to forty kilometres during a crossing, and an operator knows where the streak is only from a forecast. Planned to the worst over the forecast's own crossing window, the floor needs a margin of about eight kilometres for every hundred of error in the streak's position, and stops paying for itself against simply ignoring the streak near an error of two hundred and fifty. Planned to the departure analysis alone, it is worse than ignoring the streak at any error at all.
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An ensemble carries its own margin, if its spread is honest
A fixed margin of about eight kilometres for every hundred of forecast error covers the diversion floor in nineteen crossings of twenty, but it needs the error's size and it is spent on every crossing alike. Nineteen forecasts of the same crossing need neither. If the truth is one more draw from the spread they come from, the highest of them covers the floor met in nineteen crossings in twenty by rank alone — whatever the error, the streak or the drift — and it holds a fifth to two fifths less in hand than the fixed margin, because it spends nothing on the crossings the streak cannot reach. What it cannot do is notice that its own spread is too small: at half the true spread it covers 88 in a hundred.
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A season learns the stretch from where the streak was, not from the floors
An ensemble whose members spread four fifths as widely as the forecast's real error covers the diversion floor in 94 crossings of a hundred instead of 95, and the repair is to stretch every member away from the centre by a factor learned from past crossings. Learned the way the rank histogram teaches it — from where the truth's floor fell among the members' floors — a season of a hundred crossings lands within a tenth of the right stretch one time in three, and a season of eight hundred two times in three. Learned from where the streak turned out to be, which the analysis after each crossing supplies whether the streak reached the gap or not, a hundred crossings land within a tenth 85 times in a hundred and two hundred almost always. The floor is the quantity the plan is about; it is the wrong quantity to learn the spread from.
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A revised forecast is relearned in as many crossings as the learner remembers
An ensemble's stretch is a property of the forecast system, and forecast systems are revised. When a revision narrows the members from four fifths of the real spread to three fifths, a learner that weights every crossing since the start of the winter equally still holds 1.44 for a new stretch of 1.67 three hundred crossings later, and leaves the plan under the floor in 93.8 crossings of a hundred instead of 95. A learner that forgets regains ninety-five per cent coverage after about as many crossings as its memory — 31, 57, 113 and 206 for memories of 25, 50, 100 and 200 — and pays for forgetting only when nothing has changed. A memory of fifty costs nothing measurable over a winter. And a bias the whole ensemble shares, which the stretch alone reads as extra spread, is found to a kilometre by a learner that tracks the mean departure as well.