From Today I Found Out.

Picture, if you will, a desert. Chances are, the picture you now have in your head probably looks a lot like Namib-Naukluft National Park in Namibia, southwest Africa. Among the oldest deserts in the world, this park features a spectacular erg or sand sea of towering, golden-red sand dunes rolling off as far as the eye can see, one of which, known as Dune 7, is the largest in the world at a whopping 380 metres or 245.25 Ariana Grandes tall. Standing amid this desolate, sunbaked landscape, you would expect to be confronted by a profound silence, broken only by the soft whistling of the wind. But this is no ordinary desert, for every so often, the silence will be shattered by a deep, powerful roaring sound, variously likened to thunder, distant drums, or the drone of a low-flying propeller aircraft. But alas for all you Dune fans out there, this ominous sound does not herald the approach of the giant sandworm Shai-Hulud (shy-huh-lood) bless the Maker and his water), but is instead produced by the sand itself. Such “singing” sands are surprisingly common, appearing in deserts and on beaches around the world from Morocco to Kazakhstan, Scotland, Canada, and Hawaii, and have been the subject of myth and folklore for centuries. Yet despite decades of scientific investigation, to this day no-one is quite sure what causes these sands to sing. This is the story of one of the last great mysteries of the natural world.

Author: Gilles Messier
Editor/Host: Daven Hiskey
Producer: Samuel Avila