Of comets, rings, and yellow warblers

I went to bed before 9, figuring that by normal standards I would be awake at 1:30 am giving me plenty of time to look for Comet SW-3 which continues to break up in interesting fashion – but is a challenge to see because it is near to both the sun and the moon. Wrong! For some reason I got six and a half hours sleep and woke up at 3:35 am, tumbling out of bed thinking maybe I still could get a glance at the comet before morning twilight started to interfere.

Wrong again. I was out with tea in hand and the 15-inch all set to go at 3:55 am. But the moon was low in the southeast and I knew the comet was close by and both were below the tree line. I scanned around through the branches where I thought the comet might be hiding – nothing. Ah well - I've alreaady seen it several times - it has been a most fascinating comet. So I switched gears and found the Double-Double in Lyra almost at the zenith. Beautiful pair of pair of stars! Split OK with the 21MM eyepieces on fullest power using the Power X switch – but was much better when I popped in my single 13mm Nagler. (The second one should arrive tomorrow – can’t wait!) Man – two stars, four stars – and more out of sight. I think there’s nine in all doing some sort of complicated dance around one another. Mind boggling on any night - just imagine for one second what it would be like to live on a planet orbiting any one of those stars - assuming, of course, a planet could survive in such gravitational chaos.

But that was it for star-gazing this morning. It was about 4:15 am and all but the brightest stars were quickly vanishing in the twilight. OK. I hadn’t touched my tea yet. I got out the astronomy/beach chair, opened up a folding table, and settled down to enjoy my tea, a little meditation, and the moon. It was still buried in Bren’s apple tree – the one I love so much because she planted it from seed she got from an apple she ate so many years ago when we first moved here. (Hmmm... are there shades of Eve there somewhere?) But the tree posed no problem because like all of us, it was moving. I knew that in about 30 minutes the apple tree would move enough to reveal the moon and while we would be well towards suneast at that point, the moon would still be bright enough to enjoy in the scope.

Sound and I are strangers most of the time, but it was 4:40 am, and getting lighter and I figured some birds must be singing by now, so I dug out my hearing aids and put them in my ears. Wham! A cacophony of sounds assailed me from all directions. Boy – the rest of you folks sure live on a noisy planet! But closest was what? A cardinal-like whistling tune, but I believe this time it was the oriole – who arrived a week or so ago still wearing his gaudy tropical shirt! Go to it guy! (Coming in an hour later I heard the cardinal – I’m sure it was the cardinal – but my auditory recall just isn’t good enough to allow me to replay what I think was the oriole and compare the two. And during the 5-10 minutes I listened to the oriole I could never see him – and even if I could it wasn’t light enough to make a positive ID.)

The moon still beckons, though. but the apple tree hasn’t moved enough – still, I turn on the Telrad finder sight and target the moon through the leaves – barely. The scope is pointed at the moon – that’s what I was using the Telerad for, to make sure it was on target – but through the naked eye and Telrad there was hardly any moon visible at all. It was all leaves and twigs with a few bits of yellow light – yet when I glanced in the eyepiece I had a complete image of the moon with nothing blocking the view! Well, I should say it was an imperfect image – very soft. Nothing would come to a real sharp focus. But it’s fascinatig how the moon sort of sneaks around all these foreground objects, reassembles itself and lets you get the complete picture. There's a simple scientific explanation for this - I can almost guess it - but I'm not sure.

But what a picture! Man – I do have to revisit the moon at this age – 23 days! Make a note! What I’m viewing is the Ocean of Storms and some of the best features the moon has to offer, all well-placed and beautifully lit. Copernicus, "Monarch of the Moon" as some call it, dominates. Boy – 800 million years ago there was one heck of a collision here and yet you can still see all the debris! Think about that – I mean man’s been around for a few million years – the dinosaurs were wiped out about 65 million years ago – and Copernicus, young dude that it is in astronomical terms, was formed 800 million years ago and because things change so very slowly on our little neighbor, we see it as if it were yesterday!

But I’m getting ahead of myself. I did get a good look at Copernicus through the leaves – but I also decided to wait to look more later when the apple tree had moved entirely out of the way. Meanwhile, my Oriole had left, but there was more action in the tree he had occupied. See – the area around my observing deck also happens to be a kind of wild corner of the yard where the birds love to congregate. So I wasn’t surprised to see a few catbirds meet up there, and along came my new little friend, the yellow warbler. I’ve seen him half a dozen times in the past few days – and yesterday I saw – saw, not heard – him sing. Yes, even when I’m so close I can see him stretch out his neck , raise his head, and burst forth – I can’t hear him. But this morning I have my hearing aids in and so for the first time I know I am hearing a yellow warbler – wonderful! Just wonderful. Just wonder - full. I wrote down what his song sounded like, but my words are so silly I won’t share it – I mean, he didn’t sound like my words – I just hope they’ll help me remember it. He certainly sang it over and over again – not nearly as loud as the oriole/cardinal and, unlike those two, not at all a whistle.

So there I am, sitting on the observing chair, looking at the moon, binoculars in hand ready to glance in the trees – bouncing back and forth between auditory and visual delights and spinning in awe over this fantastic net that links me, this tiny bird, and this distant orb a quarter million miles away with the light of our star – still just below the horizon - beaming on a portion of it – and somehow that three-pounds of mush in my skull is making sense of it all. If that doesn’t scare you – and bring deep joy all at the same time – maybe you just don’t get it. Maybe you need to wake up – stop sleep-walking through the world of wonder.

Oh – back to the museum in the sky. Love it. Found a pair of tiny craters - a double crater really - that was formed after Copernicus. The apple tree has now moved enough for me to get a sharp view – no intervening leaves. I’ve picked up a third moon book – “Discover the Moon” by Jean Lacroux and Christian Legrand and I had brought it out with me. Anyway – L&L alerted me to look for this pair of craters named “Fauth” that they figure are younger than Copernicus since they are superimposed on it. Nice little book – for half the moon. They do great night-by-night guides to what’s visible from new moon to full moon – then kiss off the early morning observing time – from full moon to new moon – by just referencing you back to the appropriate pages. Doesn’t work guys! The lighting is different at sunset than it is at sunrise. Still – I like this guide. See Rukl ismy main man - his “Atlas of the Moon” in ivaluable – with this you can quickly identify – and get a brief description – of anything you see. And Chuck Wood’s “The Modern Moon” just is a wonderful introduction to what the moon is all about and what we have learned about it over the ages. He also provides an up close and personal view of modern lunar research and he gives the best scientific explanation for what you are seeing. But L&L fill a gap between these two books. They use photos with guide numbers on them and while they don’t give the kind of indepth information that Wood does, they give a lot more than Rukl does.

Anyway – my conclusion: I have a lot of enoyable mornings ahead of me studying the Ocean of Storms – particularly Copernicus, Gassendi, Euclides, incredibly bright Aristarchus, and the very dark Grimaldi.

Did I mention Gassendi? L&L refer to it as the “pearl ring” and what a great one it is. We’re talking two craters here that have been formed in such a way – then filled with lava – so that they look exactly like a pearl ring, waiting for some giant to come along and slip it on her finger.

So is there a meaningful message in all this – I mean my goal was to see the comet and I failed?

You bet there’s a message. Simple: Get up. Get out. And don’t worry if your plans don’t work out. There’s a miracle at every turn in the road if you just open your eyes – and ears ;-)