The North American Nebula (NGC 7000)

This one had always escaped my naked eye and telescopic observations. I had always heard that it truly was a naked eye object because of its vast size.

Going to my favorite dark sky location, the trailhead at Mt. Pilchuck in the Snoqualmie-Mt. Baker National Forest of Washington State, I was hoping for success. Having failed even at that spot to see NGC 7000 more than a few times, this night looked more promising than the others. It was very clear and turbulent free. Around 10:00 p.m. or so, skies were at their darkest so I grabbed my 7 x 50 binoculars and am pretty sure I located M81 and M82. That would be a first for me. I will attempt to verify this tonight by using Cartes du Ciel and my best remembrance of the surrounding field of stars.

Looking up at Cygnus, the Milky Way stood out better than I had ever seen it. THERE IT WAS!! The North American Nebula just as clear and prominent as a photograph. Turning my binoculars on it just ruined things. . .this is a visual treat and was more than worth all the years of waiting.

I hope you get to enjoy it soon if you haven’t already.

Red stars (observation report)

Ever notice them? It doesn’t take much effort to spot these stars — given dark enough skies with the resulting large number of other blue and white stars to make the red ones stand out. I spotted two new ones for me tonight; Mirach in the constellation Andromeda and Shedir in the constellation Cassiopeia. Actually, I was aware from years of reading about astronomy that Mirach was very red but funny, I never noticed until tonight. Shedir was close by which made me notice it also. It isn’t quite as red as Mirach but does have a definite redness about it.

I had gone to a boat launch by a lake about 5 miles from my house tonight with my 12.5 inch dobsonian and 7 x 50 binoculars. As it ended up, I never set up the telescope (just left it in the car and trunk) because mosquitoes were rampant. As I sat on the hood of my car, one foot on the ground and one foot on my car’s front bumper, I surveyed the eastern horizon. Funny how one can never get tired of looking at the same things year after year. . .photons from the Andromeda Galaxy filled my eyes. The NELM of the sky was about 5.5 — not great — but good enough that I figured I had a chance at getting a visual of the North Amercan Nebula (NGC 7000). Nope. Couldn’t make it out with unassisted eyeballs or the binoculars. Still, the Milky Way showed some stratification.

I ended up this short 30 minute observing session by trying to see the faintest stars I could with my bare eyes. A good test for me here is to attempt to make out the 5.5 magnitude close partner of Eta Ursae Minoris. Upon discerning it, I called it an evening. Some of my most satisfying observation sessions continue to come without telescopic aid.

The clouds walked up

It was one of those rare nights for me up here in Lake Stevens, Washington. I had the night off from my 10:00 PM to 6:00 AM job. The moon, not even having waxed to first quarter, had already buried itself below the lunar-light extinguishing horizon. Looking skyward, fifth magnitude stars hurled their photons toward my eyes. All this, and Old Man Winter’s nasty side — cold temperatures — had not even manifest themselves. . .my outdoor thermometer was smugly proclaiming “44 degrees.” I was clearly in astro nirvana. Call it intuition, call it checking http://www.weather.com around 9:00 a.m. for the coming night’s forecast, call it what you will, I put the scope out like a housebound cat before hitting-the-sack around 10:00 a.m. (my usual time; I am a man of routine). The durable, dependable dobsonian was going to have plenty of time to acclimate. Things were in order. I slept well knowing that when I awoke, I’d be having dinner at an all-you-can-eat universal cafe. Give me a cupcake and I’ll eat the cake out from under the topping before enjoying the sugar-laden frosting every time. That’s another quirk about me. Business before pleasure permeates all aspects of my life. Is this a sickness? I wonder. Earlier in the morning, even before I had put the scope out, I had responded to a post from Morgoth’s Cat concerning IC2149 and in my response stated that I’d attempt to observe it on this night. I did too, and just in time. The weather was about to abruptly change. I heard the footsteps on my graveled driveway immediately before hearing the voice, “Martin, are you out here?” My neighbors had noticed my scope out on the deck all day, and knew where they would find me when darkness fell. Five in number, each wanting and expecting telescope time, their arrival was a bittersweet experience. Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy showing the celestial showpieces to guests as much as the next astroholic. . .but as we all know when company shows up, the opportunity for “serious” work slips away. We did Saturn, and yes, M1 was visible to me. . .though bleakly. “Now, if you’ll look just to the left of Saturn, you may notice a faint, little cloudlike object. That’s the Crab Nebula!,” I said to ears that weren’t listening and minds that didn’t care. “Oh my God, look at those rings.” “Wow.” “It’s moving.”. . .Need I say more. . .you’ve been there too and you’ve got the tee shirt. It’s amazing just how long it takes for five people to view Saturn, The Orion Nebula, The Hyades, The Pleiades, M35, NGC2158, M37, and M38. I know what this experience meant them and I would not even think of being less accessible than I am . Amateur astronomers are a lucky lot, we go to places others would not even dream you can get to from backyards and driveways. In my mind, there is a responsibility to share astronomy whenever possible with the public. . .but this can make it pretty tough to break new ground, to go boldly where you’ve never gone before. So what do you do? How do you balance being a public and private facility?

The FEAR of staying home

If I don’t get out when conditions say “yes” but circumstance says “no,” I question whether my interest in the cosmos and scopes and all things astronomy is dimming. At these times I am well aware that when caught up in the zeal I experienced as a newbie to amateur astronomy I felt almost forty years ago, there was nothing that came between myself and the stars. Now I realize that as a youngster responsibilities are relatively few and once the homework was done I could get the scope out. Even as a married man in my 20’s and 30’s, I don’t recall much of anything significant enough to block my view of the sky.

So, when I can get out and choose not to, I find myself wondering how long it will be until the scope sits indoors, under the roof and not under the stars, for whole seasons at a time. . .and then whole years! Had all the money and time spent on the hobby come to an end? Was my costly scope being assigned the same fate as a department store letdown?

But. . .

When I do find myself scanning the night sky I still experience an excitement and contentment I find nowhere else. It’s like I’m going home. . .home to the universe. It is there that the atoms once roamed which compose this earthbound body and it is there that they will eventually roam again for all eternity.

Fear/guilt; guilt/fear, whatever. I guess I shouldn’t worry. Priorities may change, but astronomy is still high on my list. . .maybe not number one all the time but never that far behind.

Detecting Plato’s craterlets with smallish scopes

Several nights ago, with the 9 day old moon only 20 or so degrees above the s.s.w. horizon, I attempted to observe any of the craterlets (or a hint of them) on Plato’s wonderfully smooth floor. It had been a hot day and, just after sundown, it was still pretty toasty. The atmosphere was slightly hazy/dirty and turbulence was present. There was also an expansive and wispy cloud right in front of the moon. Obviously, this was not a great night for attempting my goal, but I was off work the next day which gave me a whacky, “why the heck not?,” attitude.

Using my 114mm reflector — my second smallest scope — I slipped in a 24mm eyepiece and found the image to be surprisingly good (but what isn’t with a 1″ focal length EP?). Next I inserted a 12.5mm EP and the image still held up fairly well. Plato was now big enough to reveal its crisp, serrated rim. . .but no craterlets. Finally, using a 7.5mm EP, atmospheric issues became the limiting factor. I could still get a halfway decent glimpse of the crater in moments of better seeing, yet no craterlets were apparent. Had conditions been better, it didn’t seem impossible that my 6mm or 3.8mm eyepieces may have produced the illusive craterlets.

So I put it to you, what is the smallest aperture which you have successfully used to yield Plato’s craterlets?