My enjoyment of looking up into the night sky began when I was six years old. It was in the early 1950s and my family lived in Newport, Rhode Island. On any clear night you could look up and see the Milky Way spread across the sky. My Dad taught us the names of the stars and the constellations. Most every summer night my brother and I would go outside and look up at the stars. We would tell each other tales of maybe someday getting to them.
During these halcyon days a solar eclipse was due. It was going to be a partial eclipse. From what my Dad told us I was very excited. But my Dad warned me not to look directly at the sun. He told me that it would ruin my eyes.
There were no special sun glasses to wear back then. I think my Dad just knew that we needed to protect our eyes. Perhaps we also heard it on the radio. (We did not have a TV back then. Not many people did.) Public wisdom was to use a stack of film negatives (who has those now?) or to use a candle to smoke a small pane of glass. (the 1950s were a more inventive, but less safe time).
I remember going out into the back yard with a stack of negatives and a piece of glass I had smoked with a candle flame. I remember looking through them both, but the sun was so bright that I had to turn my gaze away. I saw nothing of a solar eclipse, partial or otherwise.
The next partial eclipse I remember trying to observe was in the 1960s. At that time we lived in Morocco. I was 14 years old, but technology had not advanced for me. I was still trying to view the eclipse with negatives and smoked glass. Plus, a friend of mine had an old welder’s mask and we tried that too. We climbed up on the home oil tank and from there climbed over the parapet onto the flat roof of my house. I had already found my way to the roof when I installed a wire antenna for my radio kit.
I will say that the 1960s were not much safer than the 1950s.
I had bought a Newtonian telescope from Sears in the 1980s. I used it to get a better look at the moon and the planets and occasionally a comet. I made a portable, helio-viewer that I could mount over my Newtonian telescope to view sunspots, eclipses, and transits. With this set up I could take pictures of the projection of the sun on the screen I constructed.
The eclipses I have seen in the 2000s have been with better equipment and not viewed from roof tops.
But for April 2024 eclipse I decided to enjoy it without my viewer and screen. I would just look up at it with my new Eclipse viewing glasses. The ones I have are made by Celestron, and I have great faith in them. I sat on one of the patio rocking chairs, put on my special glasses, and looked right up at the sun.
And I could see it without a stack of negatives, or a piece of smoked glass, or a welder’s mask. I could watch the sun being eclipsed while looking right at it.
As I sat in my rocking chair I could hear my father’s voice, “Son, don’t look directly at it.” – and I would turn my head away for a while.
Me – at last – directly viewing a solar eclipse (thanks to my fantastic Eclipse viewing glasses).
A friend of mine, Dave, was kind enough to send me the lead picture in this post. The picture of the April 2024 Solar Eclipse was taken through his telescope. It was shot from his home outside Chicago. Thank you, Dave for sending it to me.
It is quite a dramatic image. Four hundred years ago a man stands in his workshop, grinding lenses. Using the skills of a ‘Cooper’ (a barrel maker), the old man constructs a tube from wooden slats. He fixes the lenses to the inside of the tube, and on a dark night holds the tube braced against a part of the roof and gazes up at the bright point of light. It is a planet, a ‘wanderer” so called from the ancient Greek planetai. This bright point of light is one of several of the points of light in the night sky that are not fixed in the sky like the stars. They ‘wander’ across the heavens in a path that can be tracked. The man gazes through the tube with its lenses which magnify the object viewed. He is astounded by the beauty of the bright point of light, Jupiter.
This is the “First Light” of the first telescope. It is how I imagine Galileo looking up at Jupiter and seeing its bands and discovering Jupiter has moons.
First light is a meaningful event for a telescope or any instrument that is used to view and study the objects above us and beyond us in the night – or daytime – sky. It is the proof that the telescope or other viewing instrument actually works. When I built a simple helioscope/projector using an inexpensive Newtonian telescope to view the Transit of Venus, my instrument had a “First Light”. It was exciting. I knew the telescope worked but had I constructed the screen perpendicular to the stream of light from the telescope to get a good image? Was the material I used for the projection strong enough to withstand handling and yet thin enough to allow the image of the sun to shine through.
Yes it was. I had achieved First Light.
First Light is the end point of making a telescope and the starting point of using it for observation. It is fully told in the story of the Hale Telescope in Richard Preston’s book First Light. In this book he tells about the construction of the Hale telescope and its use in discoveries in the cosmos.
And then this year we have First Light from the new James Webb Space Telescope that sits at a gravitational stable position known as Lagrange Point 2, approximately 1,000,000 miles from Earth.
The James Webb Space Telescope is not only robust, but it is also beautiful. In pictures of the Telescope before it was folded for launch the purity of lights and image seem to rise from its surface to greet the viewer.
What was James Webb Space Telescope’s Frist Light?
It can be seen in an image at the top of this article. This image is admired around the world for its clarity and stunning splendor. The image was published by NASA, ESA, CSA, and STSci (National Aeronautics and Space Administration, the European Space Agency, the Canadian Space Agency, and the Space Telescope Science Institute) with the caption, ‘The Webb telescope‘s image of the galaxy cluster SMACS 0723 includes thousands of galaxies, including the faintest objects ever observed in infrared. The light in the image is 4.6 billion years old.”
According to NASA, SMACS 0723 was chosen as one of the first five ‘targets’ for the James Webb Space Telescope, due to it being a “massive galaxy cluster” an image of which shows the foreground clusters which “magnify and distort light behind them. This creates a deep and detailed view into the extremely distant and faint galaxies beyond.”.
The image shows a cluster of galaxies with one in the upper center dominating. The other galaxies of the cluster are the other large white objects around the center of the picture. The mass of the galaxy, including the mass of its ‘dark matter,’ results in the numerous arcs of lensed galaxies as light from more distant galaxies behind the cluster is refracted and bent by the gravity of the near field cluster into the numerous arcs of light. Many are ‘mirrored’ and are seen as two lensed galaxies connected by a curved arc. These are not different galaxies. They are the single distant galaxy whose light is bent as it passes the galaxy cluster.
But where is the winged horse?
That comes from a separate target of the Webb telescope, Stephan’s Quintet. The Quintet is a compact galaxy group located in the constellation, Pegasus, the Winged Horse. Four of these galaxies are tied by gravity into each other. Each of these four galaxies spins on its own but is held close by the forces of the other four galaxies. In the distant future the four may merge into a single massive galaxy. The fifth galaxy of the Quintet is distant and has less of an effect on the others.
Stephan’s Quintet will be a target of my own star gazing after Pegasus rises to its best viewing position in the sky during the cool nights of October. It is perfect weather for star gazing, less moisture in the atmosphere bringing clear nights.
NASA photograph of Apollo 16 Astronaut next to Plum Crater on the lunar surface. The “Moon Buggy” is in the background.
I am not making this up – well, mostly not.
On the surface of a distant moon, a lone space traveler steps away from his companions and approaches the edge of a large pit. It appears nearly round with no crater wall. He approaches the edge carefully. Then suddenly the lip slides-out beneath him, and he rolls down the side tumbling towards the apex of the cone shaped pit. All he can call out in his soft Texas drawl is, “reminds me of a doodlebug hole”.
I exaggerate, no astronaut fell into a pit, nor was one paralyzed and devoured by an extraterrestrial Antlion. But a similar discussion took place on 24 April 1972 during the third “extra vehicular activity” (EVA) by the crew of Apollo 16 while exploring the surface of our moon in their “Moon Buggy”.
The discussion of the doodlebug took place 240,000 miles from the closest doodlebug as Astronaut Charles Duke described a part of his childhood in the southern United States to the folks at Mission Control.
When I grew up in rural North Carolina, doodling Antlions, also known as doodlebugs, was part of what we did. We did not have a TV. We played outside and ran to the river and splashed and played in it and ran back. On our way up and down that dusty lane, we might see that dimple in the sandy ground of an Antlion’s nest. We generally called them doodlebugs, and we sought to bring them out of their hiding at the bottom of their conical pit. We would disturb the side of the pit gently with a bit of pine straw to see if we could bring the tiny beast out from his hiding place at the bottom of his trap.
These tiny larvae are ferocious looking with jaws nearly half as long as their body, with sharp fangs for grabbing and devouring their prey.
My attention was recently turned to Antlions by an article in Science News which described a study of the Antlion behavior of “throwing sand” upwards from the bottom of its pit. The Antlion of the southern United States is the larval form of Glenurus spp of the family Myrmeleontidea. This family designation is explained by Barb Ogg on the website of the Nebraska Extension Service at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. “The Antlion family, Myrmeleontidae, literally means Antlion family (myrme = ant) + (leon = lion) + (idae = family). Antlions belong to the insect order Neuroptera, most of which are predators.” The designation “spp” means plural or multiple species. A picture of an Antlion is shown below.
The authors of the Antlion paper studied the Antlion behavior of throwing sand. It was determined that this action is useful in maintaining the correct geometry of the trap the Antlion digs as well as aiding the Antlion in capture of its prey.
The Antlions trap or “pit” is dug in sandy soil by the tiny beast by using its broad body as a bulldozer and working the sand in ever decreasing diameter circles as it moves backwards until the pit is dug. The pit is an inverted cone. The Antlion buries itself at the center of its pit and waits for its dinner to walk in.
Antlion behavior has been observed by countless generations of children who live in areas with sandy soil and also by the adults that the children grew into. After digging its pit the Antlion will lie in wait for its dinner. When a small insect like an ant enters the pit, the sand on the slope of the pit will often give way and slide, with the insect, down to where the Antlion may capture it. However, not just any angle for the slope of the pit will suffice. The trap needs to be constructed so the sides are inclined downwards at an unstable angle. This angle is technically discussed as the “angle of repose” of the soil. A slope less than the angle of repose is flatter and stable and will not shift except under significant pressure. However, a slope greater than the angle of repose is unstable. This means that as a tiny insect like an ant tries to crawl out of the pit, the unstable sand will slip and slide towards the bottom of the pit.
When the Antlion notices the vibration of the ant’s footsteps and the vibration of the falling sand, the Antlion will begin to fling the sand from the bottom of the pit up onto the sides of the downward slope. As described in the study, this produces two results. The prey becomes confused due the torrent of sand falling on it and will be more likely to tumble into the center of the pit. Second, the sand being flung by the Antlion by flipping its head like a shovel, removes the sand that has fallen into the pit and throws it onto the sides of the pit to maintain an unstable configuration of the slope. By these actions as the Antlion’s dinner is tumbling downward, the trap is being set for another insect.
According to the article by Barb Ogg, as well as other articles, these tiny insects do not bite humans nor do they damage plants, so they may be left alone.
I have heard that Antlions respond to singing or chanting a ditty such as “Doodlebug, doodlebug, come out and play”. As fun as this might be there is no proof of its efficacy. However the vibrations of our voice may dislodge sand on the unstable sides of the pit causing the Antlion to investigate the event.
Antlion. photograph by Barb Ogg.
The NASA transmission of the EVA (extra vehicular activity) may be found at https://www.hq.nasa.gov/alsj/a16/a16a1690707.mp3. At time 0:58 Astronaut Clark refers to the structure on the moon’s surface as a “doodlebug hole”. It starts out rather loud and you may want to turn it down. In the discussion, the depression is referred to as an endogenic crater. An endogenic crater is a pit formed by processes beneath the soil surface like a gas bubble moving outwards and erupting through the upper soil layer, or perhaps like a sinkhole. It is not an impact crater.
The transcription of the .mp3, plus other transmissions not recorded in the transmission, may be found at Return to the LM (nasa.gov) starting at the entry for 169:07:53 and going through 169:08:25. The transcription of the conversation contains more information of what was said than the .mp3 recording. Perhaps it was on a separate channel.
A video of an Antlion digging his pit may be found at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-AT0J8cBS-U. Watch carefully. You can see the tiny creature throwing sand onto the sides of its pit.
This article’s Title refers to the tale by Edgar Allan Poe, which is a tale of another conundrum.
I remember the flashing lights on the screen of the darkened movie theater and the actors’ screams that I did not understand.
But yesterday when I happened to see on my television the movie that had so frightened me as a child, it was like seeing an old friend.
I was four years old when I went with my older brother to see The Forbidden Planet, a science-fiction movie that he and all his friends wanted to see. I had probably begged to go along with him, and since it was a rainy day my father decided that he would come as well. The three of us, who more often were found on an Autumn afternoon out hiking along the seashore or playing ball in the yard, were walking into the only movie theatre in town.
When I got scared my father had to walk me out and let me sit in the lobby. He watched the end of the movie through the door to the theatre. I had nightmares after the movie, and I did not like to have the lights turned out in the room I shared with my brother.
I have always remembered going to that movie and my reactions later at home. But I have always cherished the memory. When I pass the theater, which is still in operation in downtown Newport, RI, I think to myself of the time that I went there with my father and my brother, now both gone. And I smile. I smile not because of my childhood fears, but because I was with my father and my brother and they looked out for me. So my adult memories of the movie are happy memories.
But what about the movie itself?
As I watched it the other day, I recalled the scenes of the underground civilization, of “Robbie the Robot”, and the encampment of the space men outside their ship. But I also saw other things that I could not have seen then. I saw the amazing color of the old film, now digitally restored. I saw scenes that I recognized as being repeated in Star Trek and Star Wars. I watched a plot unfold, not of discovery, but of finding terror inside one’s self.
The premise of the movie is that twenty years prior the spaceship Bellerophon had left Earth to explore the fourth planet orbiting the star Altair. Altair is the 12th brightest star in the night sky. It is part of the Constellation Aquilla, the Eagle. The star is also part of an astronomical asterism (pattern of stars) known as the Summer Triangle. The other stars in the triangle are the star Deneb (19th brightest in the night sky) in the constellation Deneb (the Swan), and the star Vega (5th brightest star in the night sky) in the constellation Lyra (the Lyre).
In the plot there had been no signals from the planet for twenty years. The United Planets Cruiser “C57-D” was sent out to Altair to determine if there were any survivors. As it turned out there were two survivors, Dr. Morbius and his daughter, Altaira, played by Walter Pigeon and Anne Francis. The Commander of the C57-D, J.J. Adams, was played by Leslie Neilson.
Millions of year ago the planet had been the home of an advanced race, the Krell. They had developed their science and technologies to the point that the negative thoughts of their subconscious had taken the shape of a beast. The Best ravished their civilization and killed all Krell. All the scientists and crew of the Bellerophon, except Dr. Morbius and his daughter, were also killed by this electrostatic, but invisible, beast.
Dr. Mobius has not yet determined the cause of the beast, which returns as his thoughts turn against the crew of the C57-D and his daughter, who plans to leave with them.
So much of science fiction is about the initial exploration of space, and exploration and exploitation of the planets and civilizations that are discovered. The movie is an exploration of the human mind and how it can become lost in its prejudices and dislikes. His thoughts became a beast that destroys all.
If there is a moral to this story, it is that dwelling on the negative will be destructive. Forgiveness may provide a way out of unbearable troubles. If Morbius had not distrusted the crew of the arriving space cruiser, would the beast have reappeared and destroyed him?
This was a film that forecasts future developments in the science fiction genre. Its premise and its questions are echoed in the Star Wars trilogy, as are its flowing introductory script and some of the visual aspects of the Krell’s home world.
In the night, the beast we hear is often of our own making.
All pictures and images are taken from MGM stills and posters related to the movie, Forbidden Planet.
It was 1993. We went out west to see the land and the National Parks. We traveled in the arc of the states of the Four Corners; New Mexico, Colorado, Utah, Arizona.
Our first stop was Mesa Verde National Park in southwest Colorado. We wanted to see the magnificent remains of the cliff houses built by Native Americans centuries before.
But 700 years after they built the cliff house, they left them. The community was not destroyed by fire or earthquake, but something happened, and the People left. Other People known as the Pueblo Indians came hundreds of years after the original inhabitants had left. The Pueblo Indians called the builders of the cliff houses the Ancient Ones, the Anasazi.
The Anasazi had lived on these mesas for nearly a thousand years, from approximately 600 C.E. (Common Era, after the birth of Christ) to 1300 C.E.). Then, suddenly, they had left their homes, their places of ceremony, their work, their pottery, and they had gone. It is surmised that perhaps the cause was a change in the climate that made the crops fail. Several theories have arisen, but it is generally felt that their descendants are the modern day Pueblo Indians.
When we visited the ruins of the cliff houses, we had a fascinating experience. We were able to tour some of the ancient homes and see their construction. We climbed ladders. We entered rebuilt pit houses. We hiked trails. But it always seemed that we were with a rather sizable group. And we did not see much in the way of wildlife. I would see some Mule Deer when I would go out in the early morning for a walk at sunrise. But other than that and the occasional bird heard up in the trees, it seemed as if we humans were alone on Mesa Verde.
My son, a young outdoorsman, felt the same way. He and I wanted to get on a trail that was not so heavily traveled so we might see what we might see. His interest lay in snakes. Mine did not.
We stopped at the Visitors’ Center and asked the Ranger where we might go for a hike where it was not so crowded. We thought perhaps in the forests along the rim of the mesa. We were told that at that time of day the Petroglyph Trail was usually not crowded.
We made sure we had water with us. And as always, I carried a trail map so we would know where we were. And we set off.
We quickly moved from the trail head into the pine forest that then covered much of the park. It was a well-marked trail. There were some tight spaces and steep climbs up hewn stone steps, but it was very enjoyable. The trail was about 700 feet above the canyon floor.
The trail wandered along the side of the mesa about 100 feet below its top. From our map I could tell that we had covered a good part of the trail and were approaching an area that looked out over the lower portions of the park. Near the end of the mesa, the canyon widened to meet another canyon. We would have a good view out across the canyons.
The trail had been rocky, and as we neared this point I was focused on the trail in front of me. If it hadn’t been for the sign, we might have walked right past the petroglyph panel. The sign said, “Do Not Touch”.
Touch what I thought? But it caused me to stop and look up. The petroglyphs we were looking for were high above the sign, well above the level of my head. The Petroglyphs were inscribed in the sheet of stone that formed the side of the mesa. The Petroglyphs were in good condition.
The height of the inscribed figures above the trail has doubtlessly protected the panel from damage as they are out of the reach of curious hands. The Petroglyphs were plain to see and included animals, hand prints, human shapes, and geometric designs. However, their meaning, implied by the ancient carvers, is lost in time. One circle did catch my eye as the possible cycle of the moon with the new moon hidden from view behind a mesa jutting high into the night sky.
As we walked back, we talked of the possible meaning of the glyphs and why and when they might have been carved. We talked of how some of the mysterious glyphs may have been carved by an ancient man who walked out to the point of the mesa with his son to read the messages left from before his time. Perhaps they carved a message of their own.
Our return trail crossed the top of the mesa. Before we reached the trailhead, we saw a whip-tail lizard dart across the surface of the rocks. Perhaps he was looking a bug for his dinner. He was in a hurry, so he did not become dinner for a watchful hawk.
I would go out to Manassas on cold winter mornings and watch the International Space Station (ISS) pass overhead. For me it was also a chance to go out and enjoy the crisp winter breezes and the sounds of the fields and forests on those cold winter mornings.
Overhead there is a silent rustle of an owl’s wing. Beyond me in the field I hear the deer snorting, NH-SNPHFF, as a deer clears its nostrils to get my scent. I can just hear the accompanying stomp of its foot. The deer are close at hand.
I stand quietly to listen for other sounds of the woods. To the west in the largest stand of hardwoods I hear a Great Horned Owl calling. A resonant, deep bass call, it is a chilling sound. It echoes through all of Creation. that surrounds me.
My eyes have adjusted to the darkness, and I look up.
I suck in a breath of cold air as I see the piercing points of the stars and planets far above. I have chosen a moonless night because the darkness will be deeper, and the stars and planets will stand out with greater clarity.
I orient myself. There is the Big Bear/Dipper (Ursa Major), and it shows me the way to Polaris, the North (Pole) Star, at the tip of the tail of the Little Bear.
Whenever I see Polaris, I always ask myself, Why does the little bear have such a long tail?
I look at my watch. I have twenty minutes before the ISS passes overhead in its orbit. It will reflect light from the still-hidden sun and shine as bright as any star in the night sky.
Before I set up my camera I lean back against my car and look up. I can pick out a few constellations and primary stars. I see a smaller satellite pass overhead. The satellite is a moving point of light among many stationary points of light (the stars and planets).
I want to eliminate any extra movement of my camera as that will blur the stars and gives them “tails”. However for satellite photography, including the ISS, I want the photo of the object to show a tail/trail so you can pick it out on a print where the stars are points of light. The satellite will show a tail/trail of light because of its movement across the sky.
I set up my tripod with my camera mounted on my home-made Azimuth Tracker. The Tracker moves the camera in relationship to the axis of the Earth so the stars will remain as points of light. The satellite will have a tail/trail in the photograph.
And I am ready.
I have been out for about 30 minutes. The time for the shuttle’s arrival and procession across the dark sky is near. I watch the southwest quadrant for my fast-moving target. As it appears, I depress the plunger on my locking extension cable to open the camera’s shutter (I am using film).
I count the seconds as I turn the crank to move the Azimuth Tracker and my Camera. Within three minutes I am done.
The wind has picked up, and the eastern sky is beginning to show a little light.
As the light grows in the east, I pack my camera and other gear into the trunk of my car. And then I lean against the car to again look up into the still dark sky. I see another small satellite swim through the darkness. An early bird is disturbed by my presence. It flies out of the Walnut tree and into the darken sky.
I know that is a hint that I should leave for the start of my day. I climb into my car and head into work.
After the film is developed and prints made, each picture carries in it the coldness of the early morning, the feel of the wind, and the sounds of the open field.
My picture at the top of the article shows the trail of the ISS. And the stars have short tails from the not-perfect alignment of my Azimuth Tracker. And the tail/trail of the ISS shows giggles form the wind.
In 1990 Science News printed
an article which told of the Mimbres culture of what is now southwest New
Mexico. The Mimbres people made black-on-white pottery adorned with intricate designs
and mysterious animal. Of particular note in the article was a shallow bowl
with the figure of a rabbit painted on the inside. According to the article the
rabbit is an animal associated with the moon in numerous indigenous cultures of
what is now the Southwest United States and Central America.
Upon close observation, the image of
a rabbit on its hind legs can be seen in the dark areas of the full moon. Which
might have led to the link between the rabbit and the moon.
The article concerned a study led by
astronomer R. Robert Robbins
and student Russell R Westmoreland then of the University of Texas in Austin.
In studying the pottery of the Mimbres culture, they happened upon a specific
bowl which pictured a rabbit “clutching” a small circular image with 23 rays.
They proposed that this bowl was a record of the explosion of the supernova which
created the Crab Nebula. The explosion was recorded by Chinese astronomers in
the 11th century Common Era (CE). This would make the bowl, now
known as the Supernova bowl, the only known record of the supernova that
created the Crab Nebula outside China and Japan.
At the time I found the
story intriguing and started a search for more information on stories from indigenous
peoples related to a rabbit on the moon. I was also curious about the shape of
the shallow bowl. It was round but quite shallow and would not be able to hold
much inside, whether it was water, or grain, or sand. I was not able to find
much information on either, but I was also wrapped up in my work as an engineer
– and camping along the unpopulated portions of the Outer Banks of North Carolina.
Several decades later I
was sitting on my screen porch at night. I might not have been in the
wilderness, but I was outside enjoying a very pleasant evening. The light that
entered the porch was from a single streetlight across the street. I happened to
look up at several items we had hanging on the wall of the porch, one of which
was a large, shallow bowl I had bought in street market in Morocco in the
1960s. We had two of these bowls hanging on the wall as they are well made and
have a colorful geometric pattern. As the light from the streetlight hit the
bowls at a shallow angle the side of the bowl cast a shadow across the curved
depth of the bowl and created a pattern of a waxing crescent moon, as it
proceeded to a full moon. I was amazed. I carefully removed the bowl from the wall
and turned it so that the light of the streetlight hit it a different angles
and created a shadowing affect that appeared like the changing phases of the moon.
I found this interesting
and wondered how ancient people explained the phases of the moon, or whether
they might have thought of the moon as a bowl. Of course, we now know that the
moon is not a bowl but rather is a sphere created around the same time as the
Earth. As both revolved around the Sun and each other they became more and more
rounded from the effect of the rotating motion.
Several years later while
looking for a space-related gift for a colleague who was retiring, I came
across a “moon bowl”. It was made of metal with an acid-etched surface. It was
very shallow and looked very much, in its general shape, like the Mimbres bowl
I had read about so many years before. I gave the gift and told the story, or
what I thought was a plausible story, of how ancient people might have used a
bowl to explain the phases of the moon.
Recently, I went in search
of more of these metal bowls but was disappointed to learn that the foundry in
Vermont was no longer making the bowls.
But the story does not
change, and now when I stand outside and look up at the night sky. I wonder
what ancient people thought the moon and the stars and the wandering planets
might be. Some stories have come down to us, from when those people, our
ancestors, stood outside and gazed up and the night sky and marveled at its
beauty.
Dr. R. Robert Robbins remains on the staff of the University of Texas in Austin where he teaches the history and philosophy of astronomy and archaeoastronomy; and science education.
The picture of the “Supernova Bowl” below is from a copy of the Science News article. I will post a better one if I can find it.
That’s a good
question, and no one seems to have the answer. It may not be possible to have
an answer right now.
First of all Betelgeuse
is one of my favorite stars in one of my favorite constellations. Betelgeuse is
a red super giant star in the constellation Orion. For basic comparison
Betelgeuse is 600 times the diameter of the sun and emits 7,500 times the
amount of radiation as the Sun. If Betelgeuse were in the Sun’s position the red
giant would engulf the planets of the solar system out beyond the orbit of
Jupiter.
In the Winter, Orion
is clearly visible at night in the northern hemisphere. Betelgeuse is the
bright reddish start at the upper end of Orion on the observers left. That is
considered the right shoulder of Orion. Just as when you are facing a person,
your left side is opposite their right side.
We have all likely been
able to see Orion at some time in our lives and are familiar with its shape. A
visual aspect of the major stars is shown in the diagram above. There are many
more stars in the constellation, but it is these stars that are easiest to pick
out when looking up at the constellation at night. Betelgeuse is the star on
the upper left. The brightest star in the constellation is Rigel which is opposite
Betelgeuse in the lower right side. The other two stars that make up the “frame”
of the body of Orion are Bellatrix and Saiph, in the, respectively, upper right
position and the lower left position of these four stars.
But discussing the
constellation cannot be done without expressing the beauty of the true jewel of
Orion, the Orion nebula, the middle star in Orion’s sword that hangs from the three
stars of his belt.
Recently there have
been numerous articles about the dimming of Betelgeuse. Betelgeuse is a variable
star known to dim and brighten over a period of time. However the current
dimming is greater than those seen previously. In an article in EarthSky, there
is a pair of photographs of Betelgeuse take by Brian Ottum in February 2016 and in December 2019.
By comparing the two photographs, the dimming of the star can easily be seen. I
found that scaling the picture down in size actually made the difference more
apparent.
But can I see this
in the sky?
Yes, relatively
speaking. Relatively from having seen the star in previous winters as it crossed
the sky. Whether out star-gazing on darkened fields, or going out well before
sunrise to listen for owls or other birds, I will sit quietly in my folding
chair and stare up at the sky. That’s a grand way to spend some time. From this
I have a picture in my mind’s eye of the stars in Orion. To me the four stars
could be separated as the diagonal pair of Betelgeuse and Rigel, and a second
diagonal pair of Bellatrix and Saiph. The stars in these parings have always
seemed similar in brightness to me. If you look the stars up you will of course
find that the apparent brightness or the absolute magnitude of the two stars in
the pairing are not close, but the pairing is the two brighter stars and a
second paring of the two less bright stars. To me the diagonal pair of
Betelgeuse and Rigel have always been somewhat matched in brightness in the
night sky.
After I had seen
several articles related to the dimming of Betelgeuse I went out and looked up to
see Orion on several nights. But I did not have a picture of what I remembered seeing.
I had to recall in my mind how the stars shone. And I could see a difference in
Betelgeuse. It was still reddish but it was considerably less bright.
So why the dimming of
this inconstant star. Again a good questions and the answer to which will only truly
be revealed by the passage of time. Several articles speculated on the
shrinking of the giant star as it prepares to blow off its outer shell and
explode in a super nova. But I will not need to sit out each night and watch
for this as an event like that might not happen for 100,000 years or more. But
maybe I will sit out next week and keep my eye on it. That would be a
spectacular sight.
However, the light
from Betelgeuse takes a over 650 years to reach earth. So, it might have happened
already and the light of the event has not yet reached earth.
And recently gravity waves were observed by the Laser Interferometer Gravitational-Wave Observatory (LIGO) that came from the area of the sky in the general area of Betelgeuse. What is that about? In reading information from the American Association of Variable Star Observers (AAVSO) again we do not know the source, but it does not appear to emanate from Betelgeuse.
So we wait to learn.
But in the meantime, we can go out on any Winter night and enjoy looking up at
the stars of Orion. His frame shines out as does his belt and his sword. The
constellation dominates the Winter sky. A bonus are his dogs represented by
Sirius and Procyon. And if the night is dark and the sky is clear, below them
hiding in the grass you may see Lepus, the rabbit.
It is Christmas Eve. As I do on all Christmas Eves I
am spending time outside, looking up at the stars and recounting them in my
life.
There was a star that is no longer visible to our
eyes, but I look for it just the same.
When I went out tonight, I saw that the Hunter, Orion,
had risen. He is followed by his two companions, his dogs, Procyon in Canis Minor,
and Sirius in Canis Major. Through each cycle of night in the cooler months they
can be seen making their trek across the heavens. I prefer to think of them as
returning home after a hunt. The Hunter is tired, and his dogs are exhausted.
They follow behind the Hunter. Procyon the smaller of the two stars – and smaller
of the dogs – trails at the rear. Sirius, the larger star – and the brightest
star tin the night sky – holds his rank as companion to the Hunter just below
the Hunter’s right side (our left as we look up).
Perhaps the Hunter had been walking slowly home after
a failed hunt. He is tired, his head hangs, his club rests on his shoulder or
hangs in his hand like a weight upon his soul. Then suddenly, a loud snort, a
blow of hot air, startles him into a defensive posture as the bull attacks.
Doubtlessly the hunter is scared, but he stands his ground and prepares to
defend himself. And his companions, the dog stars Procyon and Sirius, are now
alert and snarling. They stand at his side to face the charge of the enraged
bull.
The stars of these several constellations are immobile
in their ballet. They stand frozen for all of us to see and consider how we will
react on a sudden charge. Will we stand like the Hunter and defend ourselves?
Will our companions stand by our side?
Each of us is both a
follower and a leader. Each of us faces fear and must be prepared to respond.
If we chose our
companions well, they will stand with us. If we chose our stance well, we will
be able to protect ourselves and our companions. And if we choose well who we
will follow, we will overcome.
If you walk a forest path you may come upon a bear. If you walk in the fields and meadows of the mountains you may come upon a bull elk or a bison.
In each instance, we and our companions are called upon the face the danger and follow the guidance of the One we have chosen to follow.
It was the last full moon of the year – and the decade.
Our calendars and our clocks do not make any variance in the movement of the stars, or the planets, or their moons. Our clocks and calendars allow us to track the procession of the heavenly bodies, but they do not guide them. Never the less, when a celestial event happens on a meaning-filled date it is remarkable; that is in the sense that the juxtaposition may be remarked upon.
For me the 12th day of December is a meaning-filled date. When an event is forecast for that date for me it is remarkable.
So it was with the Full Cold Moon on an early morning of
mid-December. I went outside and took my picture in the light of the last full
moon of the decade just at the peak of its brightness.
Or so I thought.
Having herein proclaimed that the celestial bodies do
not care about our watches or calendars, I must say I was 24 hours off.
I stood outside, bundled against the cold, watching the moon creep towards its zenith, and I thought its brightest. My watch told me that the time was approaching 12:15 AM on December 13th. At that moment, I turned so that I was not in the Moon’s shadow and took my picture, with the full moon in the background masked by light clouds.
The peak of the full moon, I later discovered, had
been a full day before on 12 December. I was standing outside on the morning of
13 December.
But this was not like the transit of Mercury which happens and then is over. If I missed the fullness of the moon on the 12th of December, I could still take my picture of me and the moon 24 hours later. And I could still declare that the event and the picture were meaningful to me.
A picture of me with the moon at the actual time of the event would be more preferable, but I was ok. It was a grand night. It was cold and partly clear. I could see the moon and a star or two shining through the thin clouds. I could hear the dogs in the neighborhood barking, perhaps at a fox, or a stray cat, or maybe at the moon.
