Constellations and the March of Time

 After an intense period of trying to organise a children's party - lots of walking, lots of cycling in the rain, getting locked in a venue - I've not had much time to write for you this last week, and the freezing weather has prevented any expeditions on the bike. 

Ugh, how fat winter makes me feel. 

-7 nights however have proved to be a blessing, with infinite skies diamond strewn with stars. Mars shines red among them, and I got some ok photos with my Pixel 6A of Gemini, Auriga, Taurus and Orion, the great winter constellations.

The universe is crazy to think about, how these balls of firey fusion energy of varying luminosities and colours randomly scattered in the cosmos, form these patterns that are immediately familiar - I've known the form of Orion since I was a small child. 

It will still look the same when I'm a very old man, but at a universal scale this is nothing. Eons from now, these patterns will have been destroyed by the march of space time.

Almost too much to think about.

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 20.12.22

The Asperger Child

I was trying yet again to get rid of a load of horrific clutter in my horrifically cluttered flat, when I found various notebooks that I have kept haphazardly at various times in various places.

Most of them are comparitively recent and full of various scrawls; the book of holidays, which is red, and the book of moon-a-mucks, which is brown, and horror and prose and thankfully no bad poetry whatsoever.

What I also came across was a very 80s design A4 notebook, which I was using in about 1987.

This was the book of planetary geology and economics, of flying saucer sightings, interstellar space craft design and a navy belonging to a nation and history that never existed.

These are all my designs. My stories, the external expression of what went on in my head and what still does, endless design of aircraft and navies and cricket teams and all sorts.

I had no idea back then, but thanks to reading Oliver Sacks I have since discovered that this is very much a trait of Asperger Syndrome, as is the obsessive bowling of tennis balls against trees while commentating on it in Richie Benaud voices. Which I've greatly enjoyed doing since 1980 and never will stop doing.

Tourettes and Aspergers do often run together, their spectrums ribbon around each other like friendly snakes, and both share OCD and ADHD co-morbids. What I am, and which bit of all this does what, is very unclear to me and doesn't matter anyway.

So here it all is, the created universe of Si!

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 15.11.16

When Space Becomes a Home for all of Us

It's hard not to watch the launch of British astronaut Tim Peake into space without a complete sense of awe, and without feeling that everything else after it is completely mundane.

The splendidly retro and reliable technology of the Soyuz spacecraft and launch vehicle - both rooted in the 1960s, check out the way the rocket looks like it has flares on - successfully did their job on taking our plucky astronaut up to the International Space Station.

But what struck me while watching the launch, was the fact that space is still a place for the test pilot and the ultra clever scientist, the strong and the smart. The much admired Commander Mike Hadfield, the Marlboro Man looking guitar strummer of a previous mission, said as much during the BBC's launch coverage.

But for us to expand out from our overcrowded, polluted home, Space can't remain the preserve of the elites with big brains, or big wallets to pay for a trip on Virgin Galactic, forever. Sooner or later, we will need it to be a home for everyone.

Space will need shelf stackers, warehouse runners, toilet cleaners and plumbers to build a society up there. Cosmonaut Commander Bigballzikov won't want to waste his time tending the Martian base flowerbeds, he'll be wanting the municipal gardener to do it for him.  Captain Goldstein won't want to take out the garbage, and Doctor Fortescue-Blyth will blanch at idea of emptying the zero gravity toilet. There will be a need for bus drivers, teachers, speeder bike traffic wardens and folk to run the corner shop.

It won't be me of course, too old even now, as are indeed most people who are already born on this planet. But someday the adverts of Blade Runner, enticing the masses of Earth to the off world colonies, will be a reality. One day, there will be opportunities to be astronauts for all of us.

Si

All text copyright CreamCrackeredNature 15.12.15

The Cyclopean Eye of the Soviet LK Lunar Lander

Regular readers of long standing may be aware of my love of space, spacecraft, and astronomy.

Within that I'm a great admirer of the Soviet space programme of the cold war era. Yes, I know it came from an awful system, but it was worked on by good men such as Alexei Leonov , the cosmonaut-artist slated to be the first man on the moon by the Soviets.

That there was a Soviet Lunar programme was not well known until the 90s and the collapse of the Soviet Union following the failed coup against Mikhail Gorbachev. It was not long after that that I watched enthralled as the first television documentary about it entered the hangar where the proposed Russian lunar module, the LK Lander, had been in storage since the programme was cancelled.

It epitomises something else I always liked about the Soviet space programme - the 50s sci-fi "valve-punk" design of their spacecraft, and the low-tech feel of everything. That is not to denigrate their equipment in any way; the Soyuz spacecraft is still taking people to the International Space Station 50 years after it first flew and has long outlasted the Space Shuttle.

The LK Lander illustrates this beautifully. Compare it with the more advanced, but less characterful, NASA Lunar Module.

Image from the Science Museum

It looks like it ought to house an HG Wells Martian invader.

Of course, it never flew to the moon in the end. It would have been very risky for its single cosmonaut to operate, and the Apollo 11 landing more or less destroyed its raison d'etre. Then the enormous explosion of its proposed N1 Launcher in one of the largest artificial non nuclear blasts ever, confined it to its hanger for the rest of time.

Until now. The Science Museum has it on display, in their Cosmonauts exhibition I'd dearly like to see. If any of my readers go, let me know what it is like!

Si

What are your Favourite Stars?

A rather gossipy title, by my standards, but where I'm sitting at the moment, in a works canteen, there is little nature to enjoy, and the sky is the same battleship grey it has been all day. Green fields seem to emit a swampy vapour, and there is not a bird to be seen.

So, one is naturally drawn to contemplate the Universe. Well, I am, anyway.

As regular readers have probably realised, I tend to stargaze any clear night I can, either more serious sweeps with my binoculars, or a more relaxed, contemplative, naked eye observation. The night sky is endlessly fascinating to me, and I could talk of my love for Mu Cepheii, the deep red "Garnet Star" christened by Herschel or perhaps my endless hunting for the famed La Superba, Y Canum Venaticorum. This star is reputed to be the reddest thing in the entire sky, and my neck craning binocular searches are designed to prove to myself that this might be the case.

So far, I'm not convinced. The Garnet Star wins every time.

But in many ways, it is the seasons that define my life, not with any kind of Vivaldi-ish romanticism, but the rather more humdrum need to have a safe cycle to work in light conditions, without blizzard winds sweeping over roads darkly glistening with black ice. And to get to work without my agonised fingers dropping off with frostbite as if I was a foolish mountaineer.

So, it is the stars of early morning that catch my eye, the stars of summer that mark the commencement of spring when you can see them when you leave for work at 6am. So my most beloved stars are Vega, the metal blue guardian of warmer nights, and Antares, the low heart of the Scorpion, the constellation that stalks the horizon in a hopeless search for Orion placed safely by the gods on the other side of the heavens.

When I leave my home and can see both Vega, and Antares, I feel that the difficult months are over, and I will soon be chasing butterflies through the parks of Spring.

Si

Artist and Sailor A. Donald Rudd, the man who gave me Astronomy

Most people of my age (and many others!) would probably say that Patrick Moore was their earliest astronomy hero, and indeed for me he was incredibly important. I was utterly in awe to meet the great man, as I did at his Selsey home in 1989. However, he was not my first astronomical mentor. This honour went to Donald Rudd, Kircudbright artist, sailor, and owner of a Morris car with moss growing in the engine.

Donald Rudd's mini biography and artworks 

I don't ever remember how Donald came to be in my life, he just always was. Certainly he was near neighbours to my mum and I when we moved back to my mum's hometown in South West Scotland in 1974. His artist's biography states he was married to a woman called Helen, but until I read that I had no idea. As long as I knew him he shared a house with the formidable chain-smoking Oona, mother of my mum's best friend from way back and to all intents and purposes family. As was Donald himself, always known as “Rudd” to Oona, my mother, and everyone in town.

He was a heavy heavy man, thick necked, balding, and possessor of old school sideburns that didn't quite meet to become a beard. He smoked either a pipe – which I remember sucking on when unlit and finding the most disgusting thing in my five year old experience – or a cigarette that for reasons of greater nicotine and tar intake, he'd pierce through the middle just after the filter, swinging the fag about on a needle.

His voice was what I always remember as the soft Scot's accent of the South West, harshly treated by a larynx with the inbuilt effect pedal of “gruff” turned up to full. There was also a curious wateriness about his voice, a bubbling quality like it was rising up through one of those mud geysers you get in New Zealand. It's hard to believe that when I first knew him, he was only the same age as I am now, he seemed incredibly ancient to me.

He and Oona's house was a long, dark place down an alleyway next door to ours, and thus also near the Tollbooth where scenes from the Wicker Man were filmed. The only light bit was the kitchen, which was custardly linoed and a permanent mess of cat and / or dog food and endless packets of Ryvita that were clearly having no effect on Oona's mass whatsoever. There was a small living area, stone clad, filled with ash trays and dark brown furniture to go with the dark brown carpet. Then there treacherous wooden slippery stairs with no balcony, behind that a nether world of sailing ships in glass cases, painted copies of “The Fighting Temeraire” and other nauticalia surrounding a huge and never ever used dining table.

I remember endless plastic bottles of some kind of home brew filling this back area up at one time, possibly 50 or 60 bottles. It was some kind of mildly alcoholic hibiscus type cordial, and a few of the bottles exploded. In my memory at least. Rudd's favourite other tipple I was allowed to know about was “Green Pop”, some limeade concoction. At night, he preferred stronger brews.

Up the steep stairs, where I'd frequently explore unrestrained, were the bedrooms – untidy, and eventually at the top, Rudd's attic studio, a rose hip sauce on semolina mess of colour, easels, and paint encrusted pallets festooned with sheets of toilet paper and soaked with the smell of white spirit. For some reason I was always equally fascinated with the header tank and the big orange plastic ball on a stick within it. Strange child.

Our Donald Rudd landscape, apparently not many of his works survive

 A lasting memory is of Rudd taking us egg rolling one Easter Sunday on the Moat Brae, the castle grounds overlooking the harbour. We had painted the eggs the previous night, in the delicate blue of antique china, and violet, lovely dyes rather better handled by my mother than my clumsy smudges. The rolled eggs were brought back to us by Rudd's manchester terrier Speedie – who put me in hospital once when he bit me on the face – and then eaten by me irrespective of dog saliva or the dye soaking through the shell to give the eggs an alien quality. 

I remember also Rudd's boat “Fourness” - a noisy sloop with a square cabin, belching smoke up and down the Dee estuary. I think we went out on it once, chugging away out to Ross Island Lighthouse. I hid in a cabin full of spiders.

But above all, Rudd gave me astronomy. He had some kind of ancient almanac, in a rough sort of hessian blue cover, detailing the positions of the stars at each month. The constellation of “Bootes” obsessed me, I thought it was the most wonderful thing ever, and tracked its movements across the faded creamy pages of the almanac. Noting I was fascinated, he gave me a proper guide to the planets – back in those days Jupiter only had 13 moons – and let me look through a little monocular telescope he had. He said he had been a navigator aboard HMS Warspite, although he must have been incredibly young. It was only later that I got given Patrick Moore's “Observer's Guide to Astronomy”, possibly by my Grandmother, and began to recognise the constellations properly. Nevertheless it was Rudd who was my inspiration.

When he died in 1993, I was deeply saddened. It was round about my 21^st birthday, and must have seen him for the last time the year before, his “Rudd's Spuds” cafe abandoned as a last commercial venture. I was given a sort of granite stargazing hare as a birthday present, and in honour of Rudd, it still sits, gazing at the heavens, on my mantelpiece.

Copyright Cream Crackered Nature 29.03.14

The Quadrantid Fireball

The Quadrantids have been a bit of a disappointment.

After seeing a bright meteor the night before maximum, hopes were high that the night of maximum itself would be better. Well, it wasn't. The skies were good, if not frosty clear, and I settled outside for what I was hoping would a be a jolly old evening of meteor spotting.

I saw one in 40 minutes.

That, to say the least, was unexpected. I know this shower has a narrow maximum, but still...

So as I left my flat last night to go and meet a friend, I barely even bothered to look up at the sky for any meteors. And then, as I turned my key in the door, a flash lit up my face, and made me jump out of my skin.

I looked up at neck-cricking speeds, and saw an orange-yellow Quadrantid leaving a marked smoke trail as it passed through Taurus, heading South-East. I thought it was magnitude -4 or so at the time, but this was more based on the flash lighting up my face. The meteor itself was as bright, or brighter, than Jupiter, so perhaps mag. -2 - -3 would be nearer the mark.

Still, it was an impressive sight, and the night got better as I walked through town, as I saw, foraging for food by The Fox and Crown.

As friends told me; it must surely be a good omen.

Quadrantid Hunting

The first major meteor shower of the year is on us already, and noticing clearing skies at 2am last night, I wasn't about to miss the opportunity to try and spot a few meteors.

Although the maximum is not actually until, well, now, as I write this - 8pm, 03.01.14 - I figured it was worth seeing if there were any meteors about.

However, unlike the Gemnids, or the Perseids, which have a lot of activity over several days, the Quadrantids have a very sharp maximum which means although the number of meteors can reach the same as with  those two major showers, it is for a far shorter window of time.

Ergo, as I stood outside with a makeshift Pina Colada, I saw exactly one meteor in about 45 minutes, a bright, magnitude -1 specimen that sliced through the head of the celestial snake Hydra.

So, I shall try again tonight, and if you have clear skies, so should you. The Quadrantids, named after a constellation called Quadrans Muralis that was purged after the powers that be decided there was no point in it existing as a separate constellation, are probably best seen after midnight, as the radiant, near the handle of the big dipper, is very low until that time.

Here's hoping for clear skies!

First Geminid Meteors of the Season!

Ahead of Friday's Geminid maximum, took advantage of reasonably clear skies and a low half moon to make my first Geminid observations for 2013.

Although the Perseids of August are often talked up as being the best shower of the year, in practice I find the Geminids to be a better observing experience. The radiant is higher in the sky much earlier, winter skies are darker, and the meteors themselves tend to be slower moving and brighter than the Perseids.

The main problem is the cold, and believe me, it was pretty sharp last night!

I observed for half an hour from 1am, and managed to pick up 5 bright meteors in this time, strangely most of them in the low south, streaking through Orion and Canis Major. Thought I would see more in the vast blank patch of sky overhead that was the constellation of Camelopardalis.

If skies clear, I shall make some more observations tonight, and hopefully there will be an increase in visible meteor numbers. I will also take a scaldingly hot cup of coffee outside with me tonight to improve my observational endurance!

Alas Comet ISON, I never knew you

You may well have read my blogs talking about my observations of Comet Lovejoy, but there was always an underlying hint in my writing, I think,  that I was hoping for something bigger and better elsewhere...

My attempts to view ISON were always thwarted. Clear skies at the wrong time, clear skies when I was asleep, a bad horizon from my urban location. I woke up at 5am one day to try and observe it, then probably fell asleep again. A few more days and ISON was much too close to the sun to observe from any Earth based observatories. It was up to the battery of solar observation satellites out in space to try and keep us in the picture.

And it was looking really good, for a just a painfully short time. After some earlier reports suggesting that ISON was already starting to disintegrate, the comet passed through a rough patch, and then brightened rapidly. By the time of perihelion, the comet had reached an estimated magnitude of about 0, and was showing a beautiful pair of tails - a dust tail, and the straighter, narrower ion tail.

ISON just before perihelion 28.11.13, image from NASA SOHO satellite.

ISON then whipped out of view behind the sun for a short time, and observers held their breath. By the time it reached its closest point to the sun, at less than a million miles, ISON was being heated to 4000K and was travelling at 800,000 mph - 0.11% of the speed of light.

ISON was travelling so fast, it was undergoing relativistic effects. Time was running slower for the comet!

Clearly subject to such temperatures and forces, it was never a given that the comet's one mile or so nucleus would survive. Initially, it seemed that nothing had survived, but then this SOHO picture gave hope.

Had Comet ISON (at 11 o'clock) survived?

Something had clearly made it around perihelion, but what?

Hopes were high that some, or perhaps even all, of ISON's nucleus had survived, but then sadly, it became apparent that the image captured above was just a remnant of gas and dust from the comet's tail, with no solid nucleus present. Over the next two days, it gradually smeared out, and disappeared to nothing.

It may be that the comet springs one last surprise on us; the debris around its orbit may give us a new meteor shower when the earth crosses ISON's orbital path early next year. But this is unknown at present.

Comet ISON may be dead, and I may be sad to never have seen it. But the study of this comet, and the interest it generated, was unprecedented, and that is Comet ISON's legacy.

Now get your binoculars out, and look for Comet Lovejoy!

Copyright Cream Crackered Nature 02.12.2013

Comet Lovejoy, with Rum this time

Last night was clear, but pretty cold out. This time of year, my scale of sky clarity is usually based around “How well can I see Lepus tonight?”, and last night most of the stars of this fairly undistinguished constellation below Orion were in view from my urban garden, as was the tail of the Great Dog next door.

Behatted and begloved, and fortified with a rum and coke, I headed out at 2am with my 10x50s, and took in a few easy targets while dark adapting. Messier 41 was an easy spot last night, below Sirius, and as always, the starfields of Orion and Monoceros were an attractive sight to sweep lazily around. I spotted the Christmas Tree cluster in Monoceros, looking like exactly that, a tiny inverted Christmas tree, and the Rosette cluster nearby, almost in the same binocular field of view.

Messier 35 in Gemini was spotted, and high above all three Messier clusters in Auriga too. As ever I gave special attention to Kemble’s Cascade, and took in the faint mag 9 stars that form a long straight line in between the brighter stars.

Now it was time to comet hunt.

I didn’t actually know where Comet Lovejoy was, I hadn’t looked up its position, so took a guess that it was near Cor Caroli in Canes Venatici somewhere, beneath Ursa Major. I initially panicked when it wasn’t, but some slow sweeping picked up further east, roughly halfway between Alkaid and Cor Caroli about a degree NE of a 6^th magnitude star.

Last night it was showing at about the same brightness as my last sighting, about mag 4.5 at a guess, and very definitely elongated in a NW direction. To my eyes there were definite hints of a tail visible, as well as some uneven structure in the coma. It no longer has a globular cluster feel about it in the 10x50s. There was a last quarter moon interfering with my view a little, but it was still a good sight.

Seeing as more and more reports suggest Comet ISON is in the process of disintegrating, Lovejoy is probably the only comet I shall observe at this time of the year. And I'm glad I found it.

Copyright Cream Crackered Nature 26/11/2013

Yes! I've seen Comet Lovejoy!

Having seen reports of this Comet putting on a good show in the morning sky near the famous Messier 44 Beehive cluster, I was excited to get home from my local pub and have a look for it.

So excited in fact, I kept putting the moment off! I mopped up Kemble's Cascade - really trying hard to spot the 9th mag stars in the chain, took in the Orion Nebula, enjoyed the Orion starfields, managed to glimpse Messier 41, and observed Monoceros and the Christmas Tree and Rosette clusters found within.

Then I shifted my location, and looked for Messier 44 over the rooftops. It was about 230am. The Beehive is visible to the naked eye from my urban "garden", and I had a good view in my 10x50s. But the comet had of course moved, and I had to rove around a little beffore I found it, a condensed, slightly elongated, teardrop shaped, blob of light, brighter than Messier 13 but of similar size. The elongation seemed to be pointing back towards the cluster. There was no sign of a tail.

The condensation wasn't uniform. There seemed to be two different levels, with a distinct nucleus.

It was just out of the same 10x50 field of view as M44, at about 8 o'clock in tthe direction of the Leo sickle.

I punched the air in delight. It's still a big deal for me to see a Comet. But I did have to have a panic, as I wondered if it might perhaps have been Messier 67. But it looked rather too bright and condensed, and further checks today indicated that it must have been the comet, as Messier 67 lies further away from M44 in the direction of the head of Hydra.

So there we go. It wasn't an amazing sight, perhaps I would have picked up a tail under country skies, but I was still thrilled to see it. And by all accounts, it is putting on a much better show than ISON, for which those -18 magnitude estimates seem a very long time ago. Another tick on my comets list - from an urban sky, I think I do well to see them!

The Old Telescope and The New

Well, I'm a little older than  I was, and as an undeserved reward for this I have been given a new telescope.

It's not an astronomical one, it's a little spotting scope, 20-60x60. Obviously it's primary purpose is as a tool for birdwatching and hopefully some fairly rudimentary photography - maybe I'll snap an egret with my mobile phone through the eyepiece. But it occured to me that I could attempt to use it for astronomical purposes, and as the sky was clear early on last night, I gave it a go.

Sadly, I don't think it is going to be up to much. Even the brighter stars look faint and difficult to focus, the optics I don't think will handle astronomical work. It also feels like your looking through a Smarties tube, very narrow image field, feels like only 60 degrees. The 45 degree eyepiece is very awkward to use. The tripod isn't up to non-terrestrial use either.

I'll evaluate it again when I get a moon to look at, but while birdspotting is going to be fun with it, the night sky not so easy.

Hmmmmm. I daydream of buying a scope sometimes, there's some excellent value kit around. But, as I've said before, I've got an old telescope that lurks at the folk's house, my old Broadhust Clarkson and Fuller 6 inch Reflector. I tried it a couple of years ago, and thought the mirror was much too degraded to be any use. But then, I was looking from a brightly lit street, on a wobbly mounting. I figured it might be worth another try.

And it was. It's fine. I set it up in the back garden, and tried to roughly align it to North. Being left eyed, it took a lot of faffing to get the finder in the right place for me, and the German EQ mount is superheavy, and the hand operated worm gear a total pain. BUT I COULD SEE STARS! And see them clearly too. My 20mm Erfle eyepiece, providing about 60x, showed Deneb, pointlike, with a diffraction cross, and a slight shimmer. But it wasn't distorted as far as I could see. Then, with a very badly aligned finder, I managed to find Albireo, and had my first view of the beautiful, subtley tinted gold and blue double star, easily split even at this low magnification.

I have a working astromoical telescope! Sure, the mirror is probably a bit dirty, and the EQ mount far too heavy. But I have a deep sky and double star scope, that may yet give me great pleasure on clear nights!

The new spotting scope

The old 6 inch reflector

Binoculars? Who Needs them to Enjoy the Sky?

Most of you will have noticed that when this blog devotes itself to matters nocturnal, my stargazing reports are based around observations with my 10x50 binoculars.

However, with work this morning at 6am, a proper binocular session seemed out of the question. But such a glorious crisp sky, I didn't want to waste. So I just pottered around the garden, looking at the sky between the sycamores whose obstructive leaves will soon fall, and seeing what I could see.

Surprisingly from my town site, I could see plenty.

The Andromeda Spiral was the first thing I chose to look at, and it was just about visible with averted vision. Messier 15 globular in Pegasus, no chance, and I figure than ever seeing a naked eye globular from my garden under clearer colder skies is a no-no. But open clusters are a different matter. The Perseus double cluster was easily visible nearly overhead, to my naked eye, a sort of peanut shaped fuzzy path halfway between Mirfak and Cassiopeia, and seeing it made me wish I could just have a little peek with a small telescope. Not far away, I could pick up Messier 39 in Cygnus too, but this was far fainter.

But enough of that non naked-eye heresy! The Mirfak cluster itself is an interesting sight, never really mentioned as a sight to rival the nearby Hyades, but my favourite orange star amongst all the blue-white ones is invisible to the naked eye almost certainly under all sky conditions.

The v-shaped Hyades are of course the face of Taurus the Bull, with Aldebaran (not Alderaan, Star Wars fans!) representing its baleful orange eye. Above them is an interesting little asterism – perhaps I want to discover my own Kemble's Cascade – a little grouping of mag 5 stars around Mu, Kappa and Omega Tauri. A little further up lies the Pleiades.

The most famous open cluster in the entire night sky, the grouping also known boringly as Messier 45, or more poetically The Seven Sisters, has always brought out my competitive side. Just how many of them could I see these days? Sadly, the answer was only a boring, bog standard seven. I swear when I was fifteen I could see nine or even ten of them. I'm over forty. My eyes must be going...

Luckily, as I headed inside to bed, my eyes weren't so decrepit that I couldn't see the milky way, a river of mist flowing from Cygnus in the West to Auriga to the East. Sad, that many folk now never get to see it with their own, very naked, eyes.

Copyright Creamcrackerednature 06/10/2013

The Loneliness of Voyager 1

The thought of the Voyager 1, cold, alone, silently travelling the starlight sprinkled obsidian darkness, always moves me very greatly.

This little spaceship, launched 36 years ago to the gas giant planets with the latest in hi-tec - a tape recorder for data storage and transmission - has no crossed the heliopause and is now cruising the realm of interstellar space where the sun's influence is overwhelmed by that of the general cosmic drift of deep space.

It's journey will never end, unless it is intercepted by aliens, and it's analogue gold record played, and the sounds of earth heard by unimaginable entities, a concept that by the way formed the plot of Star Trek: The Motion Picture.

Little spaceship, I hear your call.

How to Observe the Perseid Meteor Shower

Some of you may have noticed the increasing coverage of the upcoming Perseid meteor shower on the night of 11/12th August - Sunday into Monday. I'm going to give you a few tips on how best to get outside and see a few meteors.

The good news is twofold. 1) Meteor activity is already increasing; if you were to head outside tonight under clear skies and watch for a few minutes, you would be unlucky not to see one. 2) The best time to see them is after the pub closes. Probably in every sense.

The Perseid meteors are grains of dust, smaller than a grain of sand, that were once a part of Comet Swift-Tuttle, a comet with a nucleus 27km acrosss the orbits the Earth every 133 years leaving behind a trail of iccey and dusty particles. Every August 12th, our home planet intersects the centre of the orbit of these particles, each one the age of the solar system, and they slam into our atmosphere at high speed, leaving a fast moving, bright trail as friction causes them to burn up.

Meteor showers appear to emanate from a single spot in the sky called a radiant - the Perseids radiant is in the constellation of Perseus, the ancient Medusa slaying warrior. This diagram from Sky and Telescope magazine explains it.

As the radiant rises higher in the sky, the chance of seeing meteors increases, so the best time for observing Perseids will be after midnight as the 11th of August turns into the 12th, Sunday to Monday. My plan will be get a reclining garden chair out and face it roughly East, or North East, and lie back looking in the rough direction of the prominent W shaped constellation of Cassiopeia and above. I shall have a drink of some variety, a warm jacket on, and be listening to some spacey stories on my mobile phone.

The meteors will be fast moving, mainly white "shooting stars", similar brightness to the brighter stars, brighter ones possibly leaving a smoky trail. Look out for any leaving a different coloured trail, possibly yellow or blue-ish, and for really bright fireballs that will perhaps glow pink or green and leave a trail of sparks.

Don't be confused with the International Space Station, that will be brighter than most of the meteors, and be much slower moving from West to East if one of its passes occurs while you are observing.

The shower will continue until dawn, with the numbers of meteors rising as the radiant does. Under clear skies, perhaps up to 50-60 an hour may be visible, but from a town sight, 25-30 might be a good return.

This is a fascinating even that anyone can take part in, for free. Give your kids a treat and let the stay up and watch if skies are clear. And remember, Perseids will be visible for a few days either side of the early morning of the 12th.

Don't miss them!

Kemble's Cascade and the Mystery Cluster

I had another fine night's observing last night; a dull day had given way to clear skies, and a chance to do some astronomy outreach work using the Interrnational Space Station - at the pub.

At home, I quickly had the 10x50s and enjoyed the sights of the mixed summer / autumn skies  - beautiful endless stars along the milky way, cygnus full of endless knots and unidentified clusters of stellar bodies. Messier 71 in Sagitta was easily seen, and then Messier 27, the dumbell nebula and the easiest planetary nebula in the sky to see.

The night's main target was Kemble's Cascade, sat lowish in the great blank patch of sky that marks the constelation of Camelopardalis. Ironically Alpha is one of the more distant and thus luminous naked eye stars visible from earth, being 6000 light years from earth, but you wouldn't think so looking at this undistinguished patch of sky.

Luckily I'm able to pick out the Cascade more or less automatically now. I looked at it totally afresh last night, leading to extra discovery about it.

I hope.

The bright northern part of the cascade is what I tend to have been identifying as the whole asterism. After last night, I think I was wrong - at this time of year that bright part extends east for a couple of lunar diameters or so, then curves to the south out of the field of view . Trouble is, I think, is that these stars are fainter, and the Cascade tends to look a bit like it has gaps in it. The NGC1502 cluster was not apparent, but again this cluster to the south-west is very prominent.

I can't find anything on star maps of the area, but if this cluster is NGC1502, I'm looking at the Cascade in entirely the wrong way.

Perhaps the readers will see this formation better!

Autumnal Skies are on the Way

0130 am last night, or rather this morning, and I found myself outside with a drink and my trusty 10x50s to do a spot of observing. The skies were sharp and clear, and the milky way arced from Sagitta to Cassiopeia.

This is a transitional time of year, observed at transitional time of the night. The stars of spring are all but gone, Arcturus fights on in the West, but Virgo and Saturn are long gone. The Scorpion's all too brief visitation is over; Sagitarrius never really appeared. Even the Summer Triangle is dipping down into the South East.

I began with a whisk around the major summer binocular objects - Messier 13 and Messier 92 the two bright globular clusters in Hercules, Messier 11 faint and low in Scutum, Messier 29 and big Messier 39 in Cygnus, and my favourite open cluster, dinky but distinct IC4665 in Ophiuchus, with IC6633 prominent nearby;


http://www.oneminuteastronomer.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/08/IC4665.jpg

But rising in the East are the objects of Autumn and the yellow orb of Capella is starting to make its long climb back up towards the zenith. Two globulars were first on this cold weather list - Messier 15 in Pegasus and Messier 2 in Aquarius, both of which are easily visible in my 10x50s and are easy to find near prominent stars. Of course the Andromeda galaxy was there, filling my field of view like a misty teardrop not far from the firey orange Beta Andromedae. The double cluster in Perseus is easily seen, Messier 34 the open cluster less so, and the galaxy Messier 33 in Triangulum not observable alas.

I always enjoy looking at the Mirfak cluster of hot blue white stars, with its faint but unmissable orange interloper. Unlike the Hyades, which this cluster always reminds me of, I don't remember this cluster even being treated as such until fairly recently; it is certainly a wonderful sight in binoculars.

I finished up in the vicinity of Cassiopeia - Messier 103 visible, and then a look at Kemble's Cascade, which just never looks as amazing from my urban site as all the reports I read about it. NGC 1502 the small open cluster was visible at it's end was just apparent. A brighter cluster was visible some degrees away to the South East, I have not been able to identify this.

Colder weather is on the way. Soon it will be time to switch to Rum, rather than Pimms.

Fine Skies Amid the Trees

Surprising as it has been in these incredibly sultry, sticky nights we have been having, there have been some gorgeous skies to see from my urban garden.

Well I call it a garden, it's more of a sort of driveway, surrounded by tall sycamore trees that leaf out in spring to take out most of my view of the south and east, as my flat takes care of the west. But even still, the skies have been clear enough the last few nights to allow me to see the milky way clear overhead, and follow it from Cassiopeia, across Lacerta, through Cygnus where the famous rift has been visible, and finally through Sagitta towards Scutum.

Binoculars reveal a glittering carpet of stars, a single field of view in my 10x50s may contain stars anywhere between 20 and 6,000 light years away, and blurry knots of light indicate the presence of star cluster after star cluster both genuine and co-incidental.

Messier 39 in Cygnus is probably the best of these, easily resolved overhead even from my sulfur tinged skies, but my particular favourite has always been to the west of the milky way, little IC4665 in Ophiuchus, the Serpent Bearer. Ophiuchus has always been a great mystery to me, reminding reminds me of the black sail of a satanically posessed oriental junk, a great void in the sky.

I understand that a twitter star party is taking place tonight. Enjoy whatever clear skies you can, whether you have a telescope, binoculars, or just your plain old eyes! I shall be joining you later for a naked eye session, looking out for meteors and Iridium Flares, perhaps with a small swig of rum if I have any left!

Waving at Saturn from our Pale Blue Dot

Yesterday at 2227BST, the Cassini spacecraft in orbit around the planet Saturn took a photograph of Saturn and its rings that so happened to include planet Earth.

Lots of folk thought it would be nice to mark this event by turning our faces towards Saturn, and giving a wave so Cassini would be able to get us all in the picture! The inspiration would have been this, the famous "Pale Blue Dot" photograph taken by the Voyager 1 probe as it left the planetary solar system in 1990. The last picture taken by Voyager 1 before it permanently powered down its camera, it was a mosaic image that showed as many planets as were visible, including the Earth - a pale blue dot less than the size of a pixel right at the fringe of visibility.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pale_Blue_Dot

Carl Sagan famously announced the picture at a press conference, reminding us that on the scale of the solar system, let alone that of the universe, that every event in the whole of our history had taken place on this scarcely visible pale blue dot.

Hence, when the news got out that Cassini was going to take a modern version of this photograph from Saturn, the "Wave at Saturn" campaign was born, trying to get the whole of planet Earth to smile and wave at Saturn to mark the event.

Myself, being a sucker for this sort of celestial show, decided to take part. I was having a cup of tea at my folks' house at the time, so I jumped on my bicycle which has a better view of the sky low in the south-west. I found Saturn starting to set in the low haze in the south-east, waited for the appropriate time and started to wave, and smile as well at the yellowish bright "star" around which Cassini was taking its picture.

I was well aware of how silly the sight of a grown man seemingly waving at an empty sky might have seemed to members of the general public, and indeed my neighbour didn't take long to appear on our shared driveway, curious as to my doings. It seemed best to just hit him with the truth, and then wait for him to call the men in white coats.

He did nothing of the sort. Instead he smiled, looked at where I was pointing, and give a little wave as well. "I'd heard about it on the radio" he explained. And off he went.

So that's how I "waved at Saturn". Always enjoyable to do something like that, but perhaps I didn't have as much fun as these American folk at NASA, from where the picture is taken.

JPL employees wave at Saturn