Serious backyard
astronomers are often discoverers. They can spend night after night hunting for
comets, viewing favorite deep sky objects, or tracking an asteroid. This not so
serious astronomer simply delights in personal firsts.
It all started
half a hundred years ago when a backyard astronomer waved me over to his yard
to look through his telescope. It was my first glimpse of the ring, a little
puff of smoke in his eight inch telescope. It reminded me of the smoke rings
Mamma used to puff after sucking on her cigarette. That was 1958, Connecticut.
It was also in 1958
that watching a point of light sweep across the sky would secure my love of
astronomy. I don’t remember details other than the excitement of the announcer
who said it would be America’s first stab at space, and that it would move from
southwest to northeast taking about fifteen minutes to cross the murky NY sky.
Frantically I banged on every neighbor’s door on all five floors of our
apartment building to share the news. A handful of folks followed me up to the
roof.
Fast Forward to
1993. Having joined the local Moorpark College astronomy class I embarked on many
more firsts. My first visit to RTMC (the Riverside Telescope Maker’s
Conference) http://rtmcastronomyexpo.org/
taught me observational skills. Traditionally
held on the Memorial Day weekend, the expo offers the dark Big Bear skies and hundreds
of telescopes owned by astronomers that willingly share their knowledge and equipment.
My first RTMC event was abuzz with news of a supernova in M-81 galaxy. The fun
of traveling from telescope to telescope for multiple views of the supernova
was memorable. So were views of other deep sky objects like the Ring, Andromeda
galaxy, and M-22 cluster in Sagittarius. I would stare at supernova 1993J for
weeks to watch it slowly fade away http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Messier_81
A year later I
would witness another grand event. Schumacher Levy, a comet discovered by the
late astronomer in July, 1994 was blasting its way toward Jupiter. The tidal
stress of the planet broke the comet into smaller pieces as it was captured by
Jupiter’s gravitation. News was that the comet would hit the planet on its
backside, away from earth based views. That didn’t deter hard core astronomers
on the Moorpark College field. We waited, and waited, and waited for the planet
to rotate. Eyes glued to telescopes, one observer after another screeched, “I
see it!” No photograph, not even Hubble
views can match what the human eye sees. It was as if a spear had pierced deep
into the heart of the planet.
By 1996 I was in
for another treat. Watching things move through the sky got me interested in
comets, and 1996 brought out a naked eye beast. Its name: Hyakutake. Its
interest, a super close approach to earth. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Comet_Hyakutake Dubbed the Great Comet of 1996, it did not
fail to draw attention for more than a month. Comets move slowly. Unlike
meteors, which fall rapidly through earth’s atmosphere, comets follow longer
orbits from the inner or outer solar system, Hyakutake is a long period comet,
meaning it won’t be back for a long time. But like so many long period comets
it can say “I’ll be back.” (In about 70,000 years)
Hale-Bopp, an
equally spectacular comet that cruised through in 1997 kept me busy with binoculars.
I was fortunate to catch my first glimpse of it almost immediately after
discovery (thanks to another RTMC event). Since comets are often bright enough
to see without telescopes, a binocular can track them for quite a while. Hale
Bopp was brightly visible as it passed near the tail of Scorpio early on, and
it kept showing off for many more months thereafter. It pays to have friends
among the professionals, because they can often point out things I fail to see.
Such was the case of another comet. Unfortunately, the name escapes me. It was
Mr. Morris from JPL that pointed out the comet the year we were up near Boy
Scout Camp Road below Mt. Pinos. The comet was so large and diffuse I couldn’t see
it because it filled my entire 6 degree binocular field.
Comets aren’t
the only heavenly bodies that strike my fancy. For me it’s the joy of the hunt,
of finding some elusive critter the astronomical community broadcasts. For
years I’d avoided searching for asteroids. They don’t have tails, hence are
harder to spot. I finally decided on another first when I saw a mini star map
in Astronomy Magazine that showed the trajectory of asteroid Ceres. It took a
number of nights for me to be sure I truly had Ceres in my sights. The only way
I could tell was that it moved. The background star field changed ever so
slowly night to night. Bingo, Ceres.
If you too are a
person willing to stare up at the cold dark sky for many nights, join me and other
amateurs for the hunt.
