Amateur astronomers enjoy the intellectual intrigue, deep science, and technology that allows them to see more than the star gazing giants of past generations could ever imagine.
For me, though, it’s about escapism, about disappearing from everything for a few minutes or maybe an hour or so. A doctor once told me that it’s impossible to feel anxious when taking a brisk walk. The same applies to walking among the stars. And, now that the monsoon is gone, the night sky once again offers its magic for those of us inundated with, and trying to push against, the seemingly daily assault of political, climatological, and financial crises. The stars, if only for a few moments, send a little peace my way.
I’ve written previously about many of the easiest-to-observe constellations and planets. They’ve all come back around. The Andromeda Galaxy, at about 2.5 million light years away, is the most distant object we can see with the naked eye. It’ll be high in the Northeast sky. To find it, you first have to locate Cassiopeia. According to mythology, it’s the Queen sitting on her throne. Draw a line from the deepest point of the “W” and you’ll find Andromeda, the spiral galaxy closest to our own Milky Way.
Better yet, buy yourself a star finder, a planisphere. It’s simple to use and very inexpensive. It won’t give you planetary positions, but it will point the way to Andromeda and all the constellations and many of the most beautiful clusters, nebulae and asterisms.
Speaking of planets, if you haven’t looked for Jupiter and Saturn over the past few months, you still can see them fairly low in the Southern sky. They’re always special but become truly stunning through a telescope.
On August 12, at around 9:00 p.m., I was outside talking to a friend on the phone, trying to orient him to where the Perseid Meteor Shower would be easiest to see. Without warning, and totally unexpected at that hour, the brightest meteor I’ve ever seen seemingly started from somewhere above and beyond Wrightson Peak and came straight at me.
I don’t remember if I said “wow” or an expletive but my reaction was sudden and loud enough that my friend asked what had happened. It was an incredible streak of light, a present, a glorious moment of escapism that lasted no more than a few seconds and brought some of that peace I mentioned before. Just like finding Andromeda, it was a magnificent reward for very little effort. “Did you see it too,” I asked. No, he hadn’t. That would have been special, sharing that unforgettable sight with someone else.
That’s my segue into a different kind of astronomy topic: a public place to observe with others, a place to share each other’s expertise, imagination and technology, a place where a bunch of people can escape together. Even with light pollution from nearby towns, we are blessed with dark skies compared to so many other communities. Is there enough interest in the community to talk about an informal astronomy group, a community-based resource that would serve not just those with a telescope, but also those who occasionally would like to look through one? That’s why I’m wondering if others feel similarly. Let me know.