Two weeks ago, I wrote about my stargazing adventure, and how I couldn't identify any constellations besides the Dippers and Orion. Well, I'm also 90% confident that Cassiopeia looks like a "W"... but there are an awful lot of W's out there. I know it's not Draco, though. Draco's more of a zig-zag than a W.
As you can see, I'm not going to be navigating the Pacific trade winds any time soon. I can live with that, though.
At least, I could. I was chatting with a doctor at work today, and after my meteor-hunting story, he mentioned the last time he took his three-year-old daughter out to see the stars.
"Now, she knows a few objects, but not too many," he explained. "For example, she can point out Venus. But," he humbly added, "I'm pretty sure she's just looking for the brightest thing in the sky."
"Ah," I said. "Of course."
I decided not to mention that that's how I find Venus in the sky.
And so, my new challenge begins. It should be fun... I just wish that I had more goals in life that weren't inspired by besting three-year-olds.
Showing posts with label stars. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stars. Show all posts
4.1.08
"Sensory Deprivation" may have been optimistic.
When I stepped outside this morning, the first thing I thought was, "I wonder if all that blathering about the joy of the journey will conceal the fact that I'm going stargazing on a completely overcast evening?" The clouds were thick and opaque, tinted orange with the sodium glow of the city's lights. Certainly not ideal conditions, but since I was up already, I got into Atanarjuat, my faithful Hyundai Accent, and took off.
The first part of the drive was what I'd hoped; alone in the dark, only my thoughts and a coffee to keep me company, and the added bonus of being well-rested enough to look out for nocturnal antelope. I imagined how much cooler our government would be if we had a "Ministry of the Future" that actually looked beyond winning the next election, which led me back to meteors, and what it would be like, tumbling through space, free of orientation, simply enjoying the view as velocity carried you towards your destination, with only the stars around you. Once or twice I pulled to the side of the road to get out and check the sky, but the glow of the city still dominated the horizon, and the Lethbridge Express howled as it pulled at my unzipped ski jacket. I retreated back to the still warmth of Atanarjuat, and kept on driving.
The wind was indeed cold and livid (or, as my friend MJ would say, frivid), but the roads were clear and dry for the full 60km to Elkwater Park. I couldn't see the valley, but I followed the curve of the road downhill, which is where I saw the patches of white covering the asphalt. "Gee," I thought, "I didn't expect snow on the road. I better slow down."
And, at that moment, I was pointed perpendicular to the road, still traveling downhill, tumbling through space, free of orientation, as my velocity carried me towards my destination, with only the stars around me.
How poetic.
Unlike a meteor, though, Atanarjuat's brakes had been replaced this summer. I stopped spinning and started slowing down, with nothing left to do but wait for impact with the guard rail... and then, there it was, embracing my car like a cheese grater embracing a bar of soap. Ker-rumpch.
I could still drive, so I eased into the town of Elkwater, where I could stop underneath a street light and inspect the damage. I'm happy to say it felt worse than it looked, and all that Atanarjuat suffered was some paint loss on the bumper. Ah, well... like they say, you can't spell "scar" without C-A-R. My spirits (if not my nerves) restored, I kissed my car in gratitude, and then I was back in the hunt. I parked in an open picnic area, far away from any lights, and got out for a clear look at the sky.
My earlier fears about the overcast sky were unfounded. Both city lights and stars are stronger than you think; one makes the clouds seem thicker than they are, and the other shines right through them. Thousands of stars surrounded me, and I no longer worried about not knowing any constellations; it seemed pointless to try and put a word to such a sight. Squinting in the general direction suggested by the astronomy websites, I finally saw something just above the horizon. A faint flickering, a wavering set of lights, all seeming to originate from the same direction. Truly a delicate moment, and I almost held my breath as I watched, not wanting to scare our visitors away...
When all of a sudden, a searing blaze shot through the sky high above me -- and nowhere near where I was looking. Oh. So *that's* a meteor, then. Then I saw another one, in a completely different area, but just as bright. I hunkered down behind an electrical box for some shelter, and looked straight up into the sky to let the meteor shower wash right over me.
After a while, the cold was starting to get to me, so I finally went back to the car and started the drive back. As I climbed out of the valley, one last meteor flared low across the horizon, square in the center of my windshield's view. Unlike the others, this one seemed to linger in the air a bit longer -- or else I was just trying to hold on to the moment. I returned the gesture, and said good-bye to the Quadrantids as I went back home to Medicine Hat.
The first part of the drive was what I'd hoped; alone in the dark, only my thoughts and a coffee to keep me company, and the added bonus of being well-rested enough to look out for nocturnal antelope. I imagined how much cooler our government would be if we had a "Ministry of the Future" that actually looked beyond winning the next election, which led me back to meteors, and what it would be like, tumbling through space, free of orientation, simply enjoying the view as velocity carried you towards your destination, with only the stars around you. Once or twice I pulled to the side of the road to get out and check the sky, but the glow of the city still dominated the horizon, and the Lethbridge Express howled as it pulled at my unzipped ski jacket. I retreated back to the still warmth of Atanarjuat, and kept on driving.
The wind was indeed cold and livid (or, as my friend MJ would say, frivid), but the roads were clear and dry for the full 60km to Elkwater Park. I couldn't see the valley, but I followed the curve of the road downhill, which is where I saw the patches of white covering the asphalt. "Gee," I thought, "I didn't expect snow on the road. I better slow down."
And, at that moment, I was pointed perpendicular to the road, still traveling downhill, tumbling through space, free of orientation, as my velocity carried me towards my destination, with only the stars around me.
How poetic.
Unlike a meteor, though, Atanarjuat's brakes had been replaced this summer. I stopped spinning and started slowing down, with nothing left to do but wait for impact with the guard rail... and then, there it was, embracing my car like a cheese grater embracing a bar of soap. Ker-rumpch.
I could still drive, so I eased into the town of Elkwater, where I could stop underneath a street light and inspect the damage. I'm happy to say it felt worse than it looked, and all that Atanarjuat suffered was some paint loss on the bumper. Ah, well... like they say, you can't spell "scar" without C-A-R. My spirits (if not my nerves) restored, I kissed my car in gratitude, and then I was back in the hunt. I parked in an open picnic area, far away from any lights, and got out for a clear look at the sky.
My earlier fears about the overcast sky were unfounded. Both city lights and stars are stronger than you think; one makes the clouds seem thicker than they are, and the other shines right through them. Thousands of stars surrounded me, and I no longer worried about not knowing any constellations; it seemed pointless to try and put a word to such a sight. Squinting in the general direction suggested by the astronomy websites, I finally saw something just above the horizon. A faint flickering, a wavering set of lights, all seeming to originate from the same direction. Truly a delicate moment, and I almost held my breath as I watched, not wanting to scare our visitors away...
When all of a sudden, a searing blaze shot through the sky high above me -- and nowhere near where I was looking. Oh. So *that's* a meteor, then. Then I saw another one, in a completely different area, but just as bright. I hunkered down behind an electrical box for some shelter, and looked straight up into the sky to let the meteor shower wash right over me.
After a while, the cold was starting to get to me, so I finally went back to the car and started the drive back. As I climbed out of the valley, one last meteor flared low across the horizon, square in the center of my windshield's view. Unlike the others, this one seemed to linger in the air a bit longer -- or else I was just trying to hold on to the moment. I returned the gesture, and said good-bye to the Quadrantids as I went back home to Medicine Hat.
12.4.07
You could get lost in those stars.
On Robbie Burns Day, everyone can claim to be a little bit Scottish. The same goes for Canadians on September 23rd: Leonard Cohen Night. Tonight, April 12th, it's Russia's turn.
Tonight's the anniversary of Yuri Gagarin's historic 1961 spaceflight. Some might argue that the Apollo landing carries more relevance, but a) Yuri was first, and b) no one's billing the Apollo anniversary as a World Space Party. Happy Yuri's Night, everyone!
The World Space Party lists every party across the globe, but if you're reading this, the evening's probably over already. It doesn't matter, though. Rent Doctor Zhivago this weekend, make vodka your drink of choice on Friday night, or else just do what I'm doing...
After I write this post, I'm taking a thermos of coffee, and I'm going to drive 50 km away from the city limits. Then, I'm going to pull over, and have a midnight picnic under the stars. It's the clearest sky tonight that I've seen in months, and every now and then, it's important that we remind ourselves just why every human being since the dawn of consciousness has fallen in love with the stars.
добрый вечер (dobriy vyecher (good evening))!
Tonight's the anniversary of Yuri Gagarin's historic 1961 spaceflight. Some might argue that the Apollo landing carries more relevance, but a) Yuri was first, and b) no one's billing the Apollo anniversary as a World Space Party. Happy Yuri's Night, everyone!
The World Space Party lists every party across the globe, but if you're reading this, the evening's probably over already. It doesn't matter, though. Rent Doctor Zhivago this weekend, make vodka your drink of choice on Friday night, or else just do what I'm doing...
After I write this post, I'm taking a thermos of coffee, and I'm going to drive 50 km away from the city limits. Then, I'm going to pull over, and have a midnight picnic under the stars. It's the clearest sky tonight that I've seen in months, and every now and then, it's important that we remind ourselves just why every human being since the dawn of consciousness has fallen in love with the stars.
добрый вечер (dobriy vyecher (good evening))!
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