"On a visit to Vancouver, I asked to listen to the recordings. Not possible, I was told; the audio tapes, while playable, spanned too broad a frequency spectrum from high pitch to low, most of them outside human earshot. But surely, I said, you can speed up and slow down the tape? I insisted. And, after some fumbling with the then-primitive equipment, they obliged me. We sat and listened. Just listened. Loud high pitch, then low rumblings. Then high pitch again; more rumblings. Change the tape speed: Same pattern. Now, most people listening to this would call it stretches of high-frequency noise interrupted by low patches. But if they had taken the trouble to study the intervals, to analyze the relative proportions of high and low patches, they would have found something else: a turbulent process that proceeds in bursts and pauses, and whose parts scale fractally. The turbulent water through which the submarine’s nose plowed in a one-dimensional line was not one long alternation of fast and slow water. Instead, seen in all three dimensions, it was a complicated pattern of churning eddies and torrents, all interrelated from start of journey to end of journey—in effect, over an infinite span of time and space.