Jewels shimmering in the sky this weekend: Jupiter and a sliver of crescent moon right after sunset. Go out. Look up.
Showing posts with label backyard astronomy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label backyard astronomy. Show all posts
Friday, March 4, 2011
Shimmer
Jewels shimmering in the sky this weekend: Jupiter and a sliver of crescent moon right after sunset. Go out. Look up.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Analemma 2010
What goes around, comes around.
A picture of the sun taken at exactly 9 a.m. 36 times throughout the last year (the foreground was superimposed; the neighborhood in Hungary from where the pix were taken). The bottom-most image was taken on the December 21 solstice, the top-most taken on the June 21 solstice. The middle bits: on the equinoxes, March 20 and September 23.
Have a very merry New Year's Eve. Drive safe. Make exactly as much of a fool of yourself as you choose. See you in the New Year.
Thamks to APOD for the pic.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Pas de Quatre
Nice twilight sky this weekend. A four planet dance.
Step outside. Feel the cool air on your skin, listen to the crickets. Look up.
Step outside. Feel the cool air on your skin, listen to the crickets. Look up.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Your Mind's Eye
Took my big, dumb telescope out to a state park early this week for a very satisfying stroll around Sagittarius and Scorpio. This is right where the center of the Milky Way galaxy is, which is part of the allure of that bit of the sky: a black hole millions of times the size of the sun is hiding behind all that dust. You can't see it (and there's a metaphor there I won't bother exploring about the most massive thing in the galaxy being utterly invisible to the human eye). But because you're looking toward the center of things, it's more dense, there's more stuff to see.
Like this.
It's the Omega Nebula. It didn't look nearly as defined in my own scope; I could only see the inner bit that looks like a sitting duck (this is also called the Swan Nebula, for that reason). But that's much of the joy of amateur astronomy, so much of it happens in your head, sketching in the details, seeing it in your mind's eye.
Here's another critter I saw that night. The Triffid Nebula, which brings to mind the great John Wyndham novel Day of the Triffids.
It didn't look quite this clear in my own scope either, though I could just make out the dust lanes. But there is a wealth of activity going on in there, stars in their first birth throes, flinging out tremendous amounts of gas and dust, forming spheres, pillars, small dark knots called Bok Globules (love that term). A detail of this nebula, taken by the Hubble:
So yeah, what you're seeing in your eye is a smudge of white and gray, with a few discernible dark lanes inside it, the barest hint of color. But in your mind you know there is so much more lurking deep in there, waiting for your inner vision to discover it.
For those of you keeping score at home, I also found M22 (a globular cluster, very pretty, picture below), M25 and M28 (open clusters, and disappointing), and the gorgeous Lagoon nebula. My electronic starfinder has been broken for a year, so I found these all the good old fashioned way, pointing it up at the sky and poking around til I found what I was looking for.
Like this.
It's the Omega Nebula. It didn't look nearly as defined in my own scope; I could only see the inner bit that looks like a sitting duck (this is also called the Swan Nebula, for that reason). But that's much of the joy of amateur astronomy, so much of it happens in your head, sketching in the details, seeing it in your mind's eye.
Here's another critter I saw that night. The Triffid Nebula, which brings to mind the great John Wyndham novel Day of the Triffids.
It didn't look quite this clear in my own scope either, though I could just make out the dust lanes. But there is a wealth of activity going on in there, stars in their first birth throes, flinging out tremendous amounts of gas and dust, forming spheres, pillars, small dark knots called Bok Globules (love that term). A detail of this nebula, taken by the Hubble:
So yeah, what you're seeing in your eye is a smudge of white and gray, with a few discernible dark lanes inside it, the barest hint of color. But in your mind you know there is so much more lurking deep in there, waiting for your inner vision to discover it.
For those of you keeping score at home, I also found M22 (a globular cluster, very pretty, picture below), M25 and M28 (open clusters, and disappointing), and the gorgeous Lagoon nebula. My electronic starfinder has been broken for a year, so I found these all the good old fashioned way, pointing it up at the sky and poking around til I found what I was looking for.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Manhattan-henge
Went to the drive-in this weekend to see Shrek (not that good, but as I've said before, and recently, the movie is secondary to the experience). The interesting bit: at the time we showed up the lot for Shrek was just over half full. The lot for Sex and the City 2 had exactly two cars in it. Two. Clearly, not alotta demographic overlap between folks who want to see Sex and the City and folks who go to drive ins. Not too many Manolo Blahniks at the concession stand.
Couldn't get to sleep when we got home, so tuned into Coast-to-Coast, who had an actual astrophysicist on (Neil deGrasse Tyson!), as opposed to the usual parade of alien abductees and ghost whisperers. He discussed, among many, many other things, Manhattan-henge. On May 28 and June 12 the sun lines up directly with the grid of the city streets in NYC and sets right at the vanishing point between the canyons of buildings, in the center of the street. Every city with a flat grid of streets and an unobstructed horizon (e.g. no mountains) has two "-henges" a year. The exact dates depends on the orientation of the streets.
The most interesting he said about it was that centuries from now, when anthropologists dig up the ruins of New York City (a simultaneously pessimistic and optimistic prediction; NYC will be in ruins, yet the human race will still be around), they'll conclude we were a race of sun-worshipers, and built the entire city to celebrate two dates: May 28 and June 12. Or, Memorial Day and the All Star Break. They're belivve our two greatest religious holidays honored War and Baseball.
As NYC grew to become the capitol of the world in the heyday of the 40s and 50s, during the post-WWII boom and the great baseball troika of the Giants, Yankees, and Dodgers, that doesn't strike too far off the mark.
Couldn't get to sleep when we got home, so tuned into Coast-to-Coast, who had an actual astrophysicist on (Neil deGrasse Tyson!), as opposed to the usual parade of alien abductees and ghost whisperers. He discussed, among many, many other things, Manhattan-henge. On May 28 and June 12 the sun lines up directly with the grid of the city streets in NYC and sets right at the vanishing point between the canyons of buildings, in the center of the street. Every city with a flat grid of streets and an unobstructed horizon (e.g. no mountains) has two "-henges" a year. The exact dates depends on the orientation of the streets.
The most interesting he said about it was that centuries from now, when anthropologists dig up the ruins of New York City (a simultaneously pessimistic and optimistic prediction; NYC will be in ruins, yet the human race will still be around), they'll conclude we were a race of sun-worshipers, and built the entire city to celebrate two dates: May 28 and June 12. Or, Memorial Day and the All Star Break. They're belivve our two greatest religious holidays honored War and Baseball.
As NYC grew to become the capitol of the world in the heyday of the 40s and 50s, during the post-WWII boom and the great baseball troika of the Giants, Yankees, and Dodgers, that doesn't strike too far off the mark.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Just Look Up
I was out in the back yard with binoculars last weekend trying - unsuccessfully - to find Comet Kushida (a bigger one, Comet Lulin, is at full brightness next month). But it was a crisp, clear night, and I amused myself by looking at the Orion Nebula (the middle "star" in Orion's sword), the Hyades star cluster (just to the right of Orion, in Taurus's head), the Pleiades cluster (up and to the right of the Hyades, looks like a big fuzzy thing when seen by the naked eye; the seven biggest stars are said to be seven sisters driven mad by moonlight). I got spoiled by my telescope and had forgotten how much you can see with just binoculars. So if you've got some, go out there and have a look around.
If you don't have binoculars, go out there and look around anyway. Orion and the surrounding stars are in full glory now. So here's a primer. These were the first star names I committed to memory upon getting sucked into astronomy, and I continue to have a real fondness for them. These are the brightest stars in the winter sky, often called the Winter G, or the Winter Football, because of the shape.
We'll start with Betelgeuse (pronunced Beetle juice, meaning literally "the armpit of the great one"), Orion's left arm, a very old red giant that I've read is one of the most likely stars to explode into a supernova in our lifetime. Might happen in 100,000 years. Might happen tonight.
Go from Orion's left arm down to the right leg. That's Rigel, a very young bluish star.
Go below and to the left of Orion to a very bright star, Sirius. This is the brightest star in the sky. You can use it as a test to tell if something is a planet or a star: compare it to Sirius. If it's brighter than Sirius, it has to be a planet.
Go above and to the left of Sirius now, to the next bright star. That's Procyon. I love that name: Procyon. It got alotta mentions in The First Novel.
Above Procyon are two stars side by side. They are the twins, Pollux and Castor, in Gemini.
Go over now, above Orion's head. The bright star up there is Capella. Now go down, to the right of Orion. That's Aldebaran, in Taurus, another beautiful name.
So put on a coat and go outside tonight and try to find them all. The names alone are worth memorizing, because they're so fun to say, so pretty to hear, so evocative. But being able to pair the name with the star itself adds a whole new level of meaning.
Plus there's a chance, albeit slight, you'll get to see Betelgeuse blow up!
If you don't have binoculars, go out there and look around anyway. Orion and the surrounding stars are in full glory now. So here's a primer. These were the first star names I committed to memory upon getting sucked into astronomy, and I continue to have a real fondness for them. These are the brightest stars in the winter sky, often called the Winter G, or the Winter Football, because of the shape.
We'll start with Betelgeuse (pronunced Beetle juice, meaning literally "the armpit of the great one"), Orion's left arm, a very old red giant that I've read is one of the most likely stars to explode into a supernova in our lifetime. Might happen in 100,000 years. Might happen tonight.
Go from Orion's left arm down to the right leg. That's Rigel, a very young bluish star.
Go below and to the left of Orion to a very bright star, Sirius. This is the brightest star in the sky. You can use it as a test to tell if something is a planet or a star: compare it to Sirius. If it's brighter than Sirius, it has to be a planet.
Go above and to the left of Sirius now, to the next bright star. That's Procyon. I love that name: Procyon. It got alotta mentions in The First Novel.
Above Procyon are two stars side by side. They are the twins, Pollux and Castor, in Gemini.
Go over now, above Orion's head. The bright star up there is Capella. Now go down, to the right of Orion. That's Aldebaran, in Taurus, another beautiful name.
So put on a coat and go outside tonight and try to find them all. The names alone are worth memorizing, because they're so fun to say, so pretty to hear, so evocative. But being able to pair the name with the star itself adds a whole new level of meaning.
Plus there's a chance, albeit slight, you'll get to see Betelgeuse blow up!
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