A Sombrero for Cinco de Mayo

Feliz Cinco de Mayo en todos! It’s only fitting that with a clear sky last night I tried for something I had never seen before, M104. Yep, the Sombrero Galaxy. It was a nice way to wrap up a short session that started at sunset with planet Venus. Although I was out for two hours, I didn’t spend much time at the telescopes. Part of the reason is that the twilight hangs around long after sundown, and wasn’t sufficiently dark until 9 o’clock. The other reason was that I was waiting for a five minute International Space Station pass at 8:43.






Feliz Cinco de Mayo en todos! It’s only fitting that with a clear sky last night I tried for something I had never seen before, M104. Yep, the Sombrero Galaxy. It was a nice way to wrap up a short session that started at sunset with planet Venus. Although I was out for two hours, I didn’t spend much time at the telescopes. Part of the reason is that the twilight hangs around long after sundown, and wasn’t sufficiently dark until 9 o’clock. The other reason was that I was waiting for a five minute International Space Station pass at 8:43.

I was tempted earlier in the day to drive to Chicago for some astronomy with Joe Guzman and friends by the Adler Planetarium, but a number of factors contributed to my decision to stay home instead. One of them was that I had wanted to take advantage of the late rising Moon to hunt down some galaxies. Not likely to accomplish that in the city. But first I had to wait for the sky to get dark enough for galaxy hunting, so I did what is becoming my routine and took pictures of Venus shining in the western sky. But that wasn’t enough, so I tried getting a picture with my Vivicam to the eyepiece of my Dob. Once Saturn appeared I let the go-to track it, although a strong breeze was keeping the image very unsteady. I snapped a few pics of Saturn as well, then got ready for ISS. By the time Station flew out of sight it was time to find a galaxy or two.

I had M101, M51, the Leo Trio, M104, and the Virgo Cluster on my mind, so I looked through my Peterson’s Field Guide to the Night Sky to see what might be the best target. The Sombrero Galaxy, M104 seemed like an easier star hop than some of the others. It was also one I had never seen, which put it on top of my list. I studied my Peterson star atlas, then compared it to what I saw in my finder scope and quickly tracked it down. Of course it isn’t as impressive as I’ve seen in images, but I liked the background star field in my 25mm eyepiece. I followed it for awhile, wanting to savor my newest Messier checkmark, but finally gave in and tried viewing in a 10mm eyepiece. It didn’t take the increased magnification well at all, so I went back to the 25mm. I took another look, and then realized that I was looking at the Sombrero Galaxy in the eve of Cinco de Mayo and thought it appropriate. All I needed was a cold Corona to kick off the Mexican holiday in style, but alas, it was time to go to work.

My skygazing wasn’t quite over for the night, though. On my way to work I saw ISS again, drifting left to right in front of me as I drove north. Just before they went out of sight I came to a stop sign. There was no other traffic, so I waited there, and waved just before Station disappeared. I turned left thinking about what a cool night I’d had.

Working in Imperfect Conditions

Sidewalk Universe Guy commented on a recent post of mine about taking astronomy to the public in less than ideal conditions. To me, it seems only natural. I know, astronomy is mostly a solitary endeavor, and public outreach astronomy doesn’t appeal to every astronomer. But for those of us who enjoy dealing with the public, what time is better for it than just before full Moon? Or a night when seeing isn’t quite perfect? I learned early as an astronomer to use what I’m given to my best advantage.

In the fall of 2008, I was taking an astronomy course at Purdue North Central. It was the follow-up class to one I had taken in the spring, and that first class had awakened my love for astronomy. I bought my first telescope that summer, and was learning my way around the sky. On the first day of the fall semester, I handed out flyers to my classmates that I was going to try to have observations after class every Monday when the weather allowed. Almost every Monday I had my telescope set up after class, but the idea never caught on. My teacher, however, had been assigned to our class just before the semester began. He was an Earth sciences instructor, and while knowledgeable about planetary geology and atmospheres, he was grateful for my insights on the history of astronomy and observational astronomy.

Our class was required to have an observation session, and after the change to Standard Time in early November, our class met after dark for the first time. It was a beautiful night, much better than one would expect in November, but there was high humidity, and it didn’t take long before I noticed it distorting our views in the eyepieces. We were just behind the Technology Building, and near a parking lot, which meant lots of lights around. After the observation, for the written portion of the assignment, I wrote:

“Despite unseasonably pleasant weather, I sensed that few people were willing to walk to a more remote campus location that I believe would have reduced light pollution, and therefore improved the quality of our observations. There always seem to be trade-offs in astronomy, and especially so tonight. Would I rather have a warm night of bad seeing but the company of my classmates, or an exceptionally clear, but cold night observing alone? Would I rather captivate my audience in the glow of campus lights, or lose their attention during a forced march to darker skies? Alone those answers are easy, but since the benefits of a cooler night and a longer walk would be negligible to novice observers, I must, at least for tonight, consider the light pollution and warm, moist air to be positive for the overall experience.”

I think too many astronomers get obsessed with waiting for a brief moment of absolutely perfect seeing, and forget that even when conditions are less than ideal, there are beautiful views to be seen, especially to untrained eyes, seeing them perhaps for the first time. That’s why I love sharing my telescopes with the public. Nobody’s ever looked, and said, “Saturn looks okay, but you should have waited for a night without so much turbulence in the atmosphere.” All I hear is, “Wow! You can see the rings and everything!” Sometimes people will notice the image bouncing around on a windy night, or see shimmering around the lunar limb and ask about it.

Like I said above, public astronomy isn’t for everyone, but if you like talking with people, especially about astronomy, when the sky conditions aren’t going to let you push your limit, why not grab your scope(s) and find a spot with people passing by? It will satisfy your itch for astronomy, and maybe give a new perspective if our universe to the people you meet.

Online Lunar Observing with the "Virtual Telescope"

Last week I spent three evenings doing public astronomy at Westchester Public Library in Chesterton as part of Global Astronomy Month 2010’s Lunar Week. I also participated in an online lunar Observation, “Walking on the Moon,” hosted by Dr. Gianluca Masi at the Virtual Telescope Project. The Virtual Telescope is located in Ceccano, Italy, and has hosted many online events for this year’s Global Astronomy Month 2010, and last year’s International Year of Astronomy 2009. I haven’t seen them all, of course, but since I’ve been fascinated by our Moon in recent months, I didn’t want to miss this chance.

With a six hour time difference between here and Italy, the first quarter Moon was high in the sky for Dr. Masi and his Virtual Telescope audience, but it was only about an hour and a half past Moon rise here in Valparaiso (at 2:30 PM Central Daylight Savings Time). I could see the Moon out the window, and remarked in the chat room for the observation that it was incredible to be able to see it through my window in Indiana while Dr. Masi was imaging it from Italy. Of course I’m well aware of that any way, but to be able to see it nearly simultaneously from two distant vantage points was thrilling. It was a reminder to me that although we are sometimes separated by state borders and oceans, we inhabit a small globe, and that we all share nearly the same sky.

Many astronomers, and especially professionals, shun our Moon because bright Moonlight can effectively wash out faint distant objects of observing interest. With that in mind, it was nice to see that Dr. Masi would not only share the experience of observing our Moon with his many friends around the world, but did so knowledgably and passionately (he narrates his work to keep the audience informed, and monitors comments and questions from the chat room as well. Talk about multi-tasking).

Dr. Masi was excited that the sky conditions were great for lunar imaging that night (afternoon for me), and he turned out many stunning images, in much greater detail than I have ever seen. I’m getting to be a frequent lunar observer, and was well acquainted with the many regions observed, although I’ve never seen them in such detail as the Virtual Telescope delivered.

With over 2000 people joining in, all over the globe, it was the largest observation I’ve participated in. I’ve seen remote observations demonstrated by Valparaiso University’s astronomy staff, and I always enjoy peeking behind the curtain to see how professional astronomers go about their work. Thanks to my Italian friend and astronomer Dr. Gianluca Masi for allowing the world into his observatory through the Internet and sharing his observing with us.

Photo credit: Virtual Telescope Project

Are Astronomers Weird?

About a month ago, not long after I hosted my first solo Sidewalk Astronomy session, I posted something on Facebook that got quite a few comments, and I’d like to go more in depth with it here. Obviously, if you set up telescopes in a public setting, especially alone, you invite questions to be asked. Usually I enjoy answering them, even if it’s something that should have been taught in grade school. Not everybody is interested in astronomy to begin with, and most people just can’t appreciate reading out of a textbook. They need to see through a telescope to let their curiosity come up with questions. That is why I put myself and my telescopes in public to begin with. I enjoy the questions that come from showing people the cosmos. Most of the time.

Better than 90% of the questions I’m asked are good ones, and of those, 10% are really good ones, meaning I don’t have a sufficient answer for them. But there is a certain percentage of people out there who want to talk about UFO’s and Area 51, or Nibiru and the Mayan calendar. They somehow equate telescopes to pseudo science. Or perhaps it’s the other way around. But whatever it is, I don’t like answering these questions for two reasons. I don’t know much about these subjects, and don’t feel like I can answer them adequately, and mostly I don’t know much about them because I feel they don’t deserve to be justified with an answer.

I don’t want to be rude to the people posing these questions, but I feel like they put me in a bad position. I wonder how many people walk by thinking I’m either some pervert peeping Tom, or a UFO hunting weirdo? I don’t appreciate being thought of as either, and I think answering the weird questions unfairly puts that label on me.

In the original Facebook discussion, my friend Joe said the he enjoys alternative discussions. Joe’s a gregarious guy, and I have no doubt that he does like hearing and weighing in on some odd subjects, just for the sake of discussion. In fact, Joe pointed out to me that Galileo was thought of as a kook in his day. Very true, but Galileo had the observations to back up his claims, easily repeatable with the newly invented telescope. Galileo makes the then-crazy claim that the Moon has mountains and craters? Here, see for yourself. Jupiter has moons orbiting it? Watch carefully for a few hours. Galileo was no kook, but a scientist fully deserving of recognition during last year’s International Year of Astronomy.

I’ve seen almost everything that Galileo saw through his tiny telescope, and in much better detail. I can assure you, he wasn’t crazy. Better yet, have a look through my telescope and see for yourself. That, my friends, is science. Rudimentary, but science nonetheless.

But the people asking about UFO’s or Nibiru aren’t offering any evidence, except maybe some TV show that likely put the idea in their head to begin with. The UFO people may have seen something strange that they aren’t sure about, but that doesn’t mean they saw an alien spaceship. I’ve seen a few things I can’t explain, but I’m not claiming to have seen aliens. Probably everybody who has stared at the sky long enough has seen something weird, unknown to them. Knowing the positions of the planets, and the major flight corridors in your area goes I think can go a long way in explaining almost everything that you might see.

Does this mean I don’t believe in extra-terrestrial life? No. I think life is probably abundant in our universe. Am I weird for thinking that? No. Four hundred years ago Bruno was burned at the stake as a heretic for suggesting that there may be innumerable worlds with life. In his day it was a crazy idea; now astronomers are closing in on finding worlds that may have life. In the next decade, we should have strong evidence suggesting that planets around other stars are indeed living worlds. In the absence of evidence in the next few decades, then maybe we will go back to the idea that Bruno was crazy, but for now his thinking is supported by the growing number of exoplanets discovered, and the advancements in detecting and studying those distant worlds.

I welcome questions of life in the universe along these lines, rooted in recent, repeatable observations. So why are the questions I get about alien life mostly centered on humanoid creatures flying around our planet abducting people? Come on people, I expect better than that. Bring your curiosity and questions and even your sense of wonder when viewing our universe, but leave the absurd ideas behind. I don’t like wasting time explaining that there is no giant planet about to come crashing through the inner solar system just because you saw it in some doomsday movie. It isn’t real. And if serious sky gazers happen to catch sight of one, I will look for it myself, and let everybody know if there is indeed a threat. But for now, I don’t want anybody thinking I’m some kind of weirdo just because I enjoy looking up, and want to know our true place in the universe.

Planetary Wanderers: Yet Another Night at WPL

For the third night in a row, I was back at Westchester Public Library for some public astronomy Thursday. I almost didn’t drive out there because it was mostly cloudy when I left the house and the forecast called for increasing clouds. It turned out to be a decent night, though, at least while I was at the library. Not the best conditions to observe in, since it was still hazy, but the last of the clouds moved out just after the telescopes were operational. It’s kind of good to be out in public on evenings like that, since the conditions don’t offer the sharp views that we astronomers come to expect with our trained eyes, but the public doesn’t notice. They’re just thrilled to be able to see anything at all.

My first visitor of the night, a nice lady named Asay, stayed around for awhile, asking lots of questions.




Asay and another passerby.


One of the things she asked was, how do I know offhand what are planets and what are stars? A fair question, one I never anticipated, but probably should have. As astronomers, we tend to know where the Moon and planets are even if we don’t observe them regularly. But there was a time, not all that long ago, when I did not know the planets from the stars.

In the late winter/early spring of 2008 I was taking an astronomy course at Purdue University North Central, and that class rekindled a love for space and astronomy that started when I was a kid but had fallen dormant since I was a teenager. I didn’t have a telescope while I was taking that class, but I wanted to spend time relearning the night sky. I didn’t have the resources that I have now, like planetarium software, but I had my own two eyes and a planisphere.

One of our possible observation projects was to observe the night sky over several nights, and sketch the stars we saw in that region to show both the nightly apparent motion of the heavens, and the seasonal shifting of the constellations. When I started my project, I was pretty sure that Mars was the bright “star” near Gemini not shown on my planisphere. It was soon evident that Mars was racing through the Twins toward Leo, where I thought another planet was waiting.

Without a telescope, I couldn’t be certain that the extra “star” I was seeing near Regulus was Saturn, and even sketching my crude star charts, it wasn’t exhibiting swift motion like Mars was. It was just hanging around near Regulus. But finally I had a chance to see that “star” in a telescope at Valparaiso University’s observatory, and was pleased with myself for knowing that the telescope was pointed at Saturn even before it was announced.

I didn’t go into this much detail as I explained to Asay, but I did tell her that the planets move through the sky in relation to the background stars, and is how they came to be named planets. I had some other visitors, and they had some good questions and comments, as well as seeing Saturn and our Moon. I might write about some of the other things brought up, but for now I would like to know what your introduction to planetary observing was? Did you have a telescope, or just watch the changing positions, like I did? Let me know in a comment below. Clear skies!




A nice group.









Mike and his daughter Holly got to see Saturn and our Moon.