Simple, Exquisite Beauty

Making naked eye and observations for the Citizen Sky project has put me back in touch with the night sky on a level I didn�t realize I was missing.

Image credit: Rob Beaird http://robsreflections.wordpress.com/

On a typical clear night, I�ll spend anywhere from two to eight hours racing from one variable star field to another with the visual scope, under the protection of an observatory dome, or at the controls of my CCD telescope slewing and centering targets and watching images download on a computer screen from inside a warm room. I only see a small portion of the sky through the dome slot, eyepiece or on the monitor.

When a bright meteor flashes through the sky I rarely see it, unless I happen to be standing outside taking a break. I often don�t even know the weather is changing until the images in the eyepiece or on the screen start to deteriorate. Then I walk outside and look up to see if it�s a total wash out or just a passing cloud or two.

Now I find myself taking longer breaks from the telescope and spending some quiet time alone with the Universe. Just me and the night sky I fell in love with long ago. I�ve come to appreciate the simple majesty of those bright stars shining down on Earth just as they have for thousands of years. And over the course of the last year I�ve become familiar with several naked eye variables that I now keep track of.

I�ve followed an eclipse of Algol through the course of an evening. The first time I ever did it was at the AAVSO spring meeting in Nantucket, on the night we had the star party and tour of the Maria Mitchell Observatory. It was already halfway to minimum when I first noticed it, but I was able to follow it every half hour or so as it faded to minimum and then rose back to maximum. Clouds rolled in over the island in the early morning hours, so I didn�t get to see it back at full strength until the following night, but it made a lasting impression on me.

I�ve begun tracking the changes of delta and mu Cephei. Delta Cephei is the prototype of an entire class of astronomically significant variables. Cepheid variables are used to calibrate distances to far off stars and galaxies. Mu Cephei is also known as Herschel�s Garnet Star. It�s an orangish semi-regular variable that has been observed by variable star observers for over one hundred years.

As autumn approaches, the winter constellations are beginning to make their presence known again before dawn. I�ve spent a lot of time admiring the fiery bright winter constellations of Orion, Taurus, Gemini, and Auriga as they rise to fill the pre-dawn sky. I find myself fixing my gaze on eta Geminorum, Betelgeuse, Algol and epsilon Aurigae now, instead of racing from sideways �Y� of Taurus, through the Pleiades, up the curve of stars that is Perseus� lower branch through Auriga and on to Cassiopeia. Now I have little rest areas along the way.

A calmness and sense of satisfaction comes over me when life slows down and fills these moments with the perfect silence that is 5 o�clock in the morning. The sound of a hoot owl in a nearby tree reminds me I am not alone, and we share the view as dawn begins to break in the east. Swiftly and silently, a meteor streaks across the sky and I smile to myself, because I didn�t miss that one.

The Loneliest Guy at the Star Party

I don't go to star parties very often anymore. Packing up all the gear, telescope, food, clothes and setting off to remote dark sky sites lost its appeal to me somewhere along the way.

Star parties are part camping trip, part observing opportunity and part social event. Anywhere from a few dozen to hundreds of people come together, pitch their tents or park their campers, set up their telescopes in an open field, swap equipment and stories and share the views through their telescopes through the night.

My wife went to one star party with me a long time ago. She doesn't like to be cold, and when it's clear it's usually cold. She doesn't like to go camping much either. Forget raccoons and porta-potties. Her idea of 'roughing it' is staying in a hotel that doesn't have room service.

I tried my best to make her comfortable. We had these brand new camp lounger chairs, I tucked her into a sleeping bag in the lounger, and covered the sleeping bag with a plastic tarp to keep the dew off her and made a little hood for the back of her head. It was August, and I figured she could at least sit back and watch for Perseid meteors. After a short time, I real bright one exploded overhead and I could hear everyone around us who happened to see it oohing and aahing. Coming from Irene's lounger was the distinct, lady-like, unmistakable sound of snoring. I went back to observing variables with the telescope.

My observing program is mostly cataclysmic variables. 9 out of 10 observations I make are 'less than' observations. In other words, I don't see the star, so it's not in outburst tonight, and I record the faintest comparison star I can see in the eyepiece to set an upper limit on the star's brightness, for example <14.9. Then I move on to the next field to see if anything has popped up since the last time I visited there.

As is the custom at star parties, eventually someone comes around to see what you are looking at and asks for a peek in the eyepiece. So I give them a quick primer on cataclysmic variables, show them the chart so they can identify the field and let them have a look. They stare into the eyepiece for a minute and then say, "where is the variable star?" I tell them it's too faint to see and they walk away somewhat disappointed. Or they'll say, "I can identify the star field, but it's not there?" to which I say, "I know, isn't that cool?" As they walk away they warn the next curious spectators, "Don't go over there. He's looking at nothing!"

It takes a special kind of nutty to do what I do. Like I said, I don't go to star parties very often anymore.