Stargazey Pie

So, we've had some clear skies recently, and so Mr Si has been out there with his 10x50 binoculars, taking in the sky.

In many ways, it is the best time of the year for it. The skies can be magnificently clear, unlike summer they are properly dark, and there are many interesting sights as the milky way crosses the constellations of Cassiopeia, Perseus, Auriga, Monoceros and Gemini.

Orion too has some stunning starfields, and of course the great nebula, you can sweep about and just love the stars there.

If I were to wait until dawn I'd see Venus and jJpiter blazing down. But I can't, as it is sooooooo coooold! Even a couple of rums wouldn't keep me out there for more than hour.

But I love doing it. It is silent, it is beautiful, it is contemplative.

And it is free.

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 17.11.17

A Late Night Companion

Arrived home late last night for a gentle rum and coke and a stargaze, as I love to do in the dead of night, when I heard a tremendous commotion in the hedge down the side of the drive.

At first I thought it was one of next door's dogs, but the absence of endless barking ruled that out. The scuffling sound continued, so I turned on my mobile phone light to reveal a hedgehog on a slug hunt - or perhaps Pokemon - in the leaf litter.

I let it be for a bit, then when walking down the drive for a last look around, I found it out in the open.

After a long absence, suddenly hedgehogs are everywhere. Someone I know has a family of four living in the back garden, and has made sure they have access in and out through the fences, as this hedgehog does round our way. But in general they are struggling, and hopefully folk are letting them have little holes in the fencing so they can get around.

Was very happy to see this large and vigorous specimen!

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 25.07.16

Comet Catilina Fail!

After watching Stargazing Live - it is understandable given the adventures of Tim Peak, but not enough stars, too much hardware - I was inspired to have a little look for Comet Catilina, traversing space near Alkaid, the end star of the "Plough" part of Ursa Major.

It's been far too long since I've tried any astronomical observing with my binoculars, and was thus stricken with tremoring goggle eyes that got tired really really quickly, and also a degree of unsteadiness that made the simple task of focussing on a star and holding it vaguely near the centre of the field of view absolutely impossible.

Throw in subzero temperatures, and the realisation I had to be up for work in the morning, and it was an comet hunt under pressure.

I warmed up by having a quick scoot round Orion and Auriga, picking out old friends like the Great Nebula in Orion and the three Messier star clusters to be found in Auriga, before I headed to the other end of the drive in an optimum position to be drowned out by streetlamps and Polish bedroom illumination as little as possible.

So, my immediate sweeps around the tail of the Great Bear revealed nothing but faint stars and a slightly hazy darkness. But I persisted, and eventually found a fuzzy glow near a triangle of dim stars. "Huzzah!" I thought, until I realised that my 10x50s were still a fraction out of focus. A twiddle or two revealed a perfectly ordinary star.

Then I scanned a little further afield, and yes, there it really really was! A small fuzzy ball of coma with no tail visible. Well, it at magnitude 7 it was hardly ever going to be another Hale-Bopp. I went to bed thrilled with my discovery, only to realise on consulting a star map that I'd actually been looking at the galaxy Messier 101.

Grrrrrr!

The comet was actually much closer to Alkaid, where I'd already looked. I'm mystified as to how I could have spotted the galaxy and not the comet, only that it was slightly higher in the midnight sky and thus perhaps above the haze line.

If I get clear skies away from a moon, I will try again in the next couple of nights.

Really must get back in astro practice!

Si

All text copyright CreamCrackeredNature 16.01.16

A Return to Astronomy!

It seems like so long since I had a proper observing sessions outside with my 10x50s, so even though I had an early start today, a crisp clear sky last night was so tempting that I risked sandpapered eyes to do some astronomy.

Astronomy with company at that, for as I craned my neck skywards, a hedgehog was snuffling invisibly, but loudly, through leaf litter and undergrowth as it hunted for invertebrate treats.

Above, the sky was panther dark and studded with stellar gemstones; the topaz Arcturus, pale sapphire Vega, setting citrine Capella, and the blood ruby of Antares, the heart of the Scorpion low in the South.

But it is only when you turn the binoculars on the sky that the true magic appears. Even at this early stage of summer when it is low in the sky, the Milky Way in Cygnus forms a tumbling river of stars waterfalling down into the North. There is the faint constellation of Coma Berenices, an echelon of faint celestial geese chasing Leo the Lion down into the West.

And then there are the globular clusters, smudgy and grey in binoculars - I observed Messier 3, 5 and 13 last night - but even a small telescope resolves them into glittering balls of stars.

Then when you turn the Hubble onto them, you see this...

Si

Messier 13, courtesy of NASA/ESA/Hubble

The 2015 Eclipse through a Fishbowl

I woke up before 9 with no great plan for seeing the eclipse in mind, having mentally written today off as a cloudy non-starter the night before.

How wrong I was. It was a beautiful day outside, and I figured I'd best come up with a plan quickly. I managed to get a half decent sort of view with a colander and a fat envelope containing a council tax bill (unopened) and was thinking a cycle to Sconce Park to "borrow" a pair of eclipse glasses off a young child might be my best bet - "Here sonny, giz a look..." "Ooooff" - when my mum phoned and announced my stepfather had a device providing spectacular views.

I cycled round, to find him looking at the eclipse through an bowl shaped industrial light fitting made of half inch thick frosted glass that rendered the sun a rather distorted dull pink crescent. Still it enabled me to get really good views of eclipse maximum, and mum barely had to get out of bed to see it through her bedroom window.

It was noticeable that around maximum, the light took on a very eerie look, but the birds did not stop singing or fly up into their trees to roost; indeed one woodpigeon was rather defiantly sat on a neighbouring chimney pot with its back turned to the event.

Things are warming up rather nicely today, I have indeed now been to the park and the blossom is buzzy with bees. I should think if it stays bright, butterflies and bumbles will be around later.

Keep your eyes peeled!

Si

The fishbowl view. The sun is a 3 o'clock at the edge.

Maximum

If you were in a plane...

"What do you think of people who look at eclipses with fishbowls Brian?" "Nobbers, Dara."

The Great Aurora Storm of 17th March 2015

March must be a favoured month for Auroral storms. The only time I've ever seen the Northern Lights was on 13th March 1989, the great magnetic event that knocked out the electricity in Canada. An excitable teenager, I remember looking out of my bedroom and thinking the sky looked somehow rather odd and "green", and running out back to find what looked like sunset taking place overhead.

There was an red-orange band stretching through the zenith from one horizon to another, while in the northern skies, great billowing curtains of green shimmered. I phoned up Patrick Moore, his phone was constantly engaged. I phoned up an astronomy loving friend, sadly poor Elanor couldn't see anything despite the ranting assurances of her telephonal adviser.

So, I was pretty excited when I saw reports of a huge geo-magnetic storm brewing in our atmosphere, and a near certainty of auroral displays being assured. Initially the night was cloudy, but it began to clear; Jupiter was soon piercing the clouds after sunset.

And as the sky cleared, there was indeed an orange glow low in the north. But of course, it was the light of the industrial estate reflecting off a thickening haze. I kept looking out, but it was pointless. By midnight, the haze had become a for so thick visibility was down to 25 metres or less, and any aurorae above me could have been forming love hearts in the sky and I'd never have noticed.

The glorious pictures I saw from all over the UK, some from far further south than here, demonstrated that the aurora put on a fabulous display for many people. But sadly, not in the East Midlands.

Me, I just photographed the fog. Great,

Si

Magnolia by night

The vapour drifts by

Disappearing bicycle

Illuminating the mist

Streetlamp through shrubbery

Across the park

Like "Close Encounters"

Astronomy is Still a Pimmsy Business

I haven't blogged much about matters astronomical lately, which makes me sad. The trouble is that there hasn't been much in the way of clear or moonless skies when I've been off shift, with plenty of frustrating nights where it looked like it would be clear early on, only for clouds and haze to roll in when I'm ready to head out with my binoculars.

But, when I do get out, I like to be all posh and civilised about it, and take out a glass of Pimms and lemonade along with my 10x50s. Witness the last couple of evenings, where a last quarter moon was deemed no obstacle to some observation sessions.

They weren't thorough deep sky object hunts, more a slow sweep along the milky way just happy to take in the multitude of stars, clustered into sparkling little knots here, so thick they looked like a dippable bowl of sherbet there.

I embarrassed myself by forgetting how to find the Vulpecula Coathanger.

Elsewhere Messier 31 and Messier 13 were easily visible despite the moon, the galaxy and the globular. Messier 39 in Cygnus also easily seen, but tracking the milky way into Lacerta to spot the open clusters there was more tricky.

Perseus is rising at 2am, and so the Mirfak cluster, with its fascinating little 7-8th mag orange interloper amidst the hot blue-white stars, and the double cluster were observed.

Finally, took in yet another look at Kemble's Cascade, the waterfall of stars in Camelopardalis, but it is still a little low this time of year.

I emptied the glass, took in a naked eye sweep of the heavens in the sultry summer air, and then headed to bed.

Stargazing – a Dream of Lighthouses

A number of years ago, probably in the torrid times around my 32^nd birthday, a friend of mine presented me with a book. The cover was a night-time photograph of a lighthouse, rendered in such a way it looked more like an illustration, and the jacket announced it to be: “Stargazing – Peter Hill”.

I thought the cover was a shade twee, and the liner notes, explaining how a boy became a man on the Scottish Lights in the early 1970s, wasn't too promising either, it smacked too much of beards, tatty pullovers and Capstan Full Strength. Nautical cliches rammed down your throat at Cat'O'Nine Tails point

I can't deny that there is indeed a bit of bearding and pullovering in the book, but this is allowed because it is a work of such magic. Poetry, art, storytelling and manual work are described on these extraordinary creations, many of them built out of sheer impossibility by the Stephenson Dynasty (Robert Louis was a relative) on rocks that often barely saw the light of day at low tide – witness lighthouses like the elegant Skerryvore or the famous Bell Rock Light. Countless lives were saved by the characters who worked on these lights; career men, veterans overshadowed by war, those seeking escape, and a keeper who ritually removed all his clothes for the duration whenever he arrived on a light.

And amongst these men was thrown Peter Hill, an art student looking for something new and different to do for a summer; a place to explore the artistic and literary sides of his personality while working out what to do with his life. We read of him learning the ropes on Pladda, a light off the coast of the holiday isle of Arran much loved by Basking Sharks, and how he worked out how to cook huge meals for four hungry men and light the Light without burning all his hair off.

He then moves to Paddy's Milestone, Ailsa Craig, where he hears tales of war from the elder keepers and explores the giant rock where once upon a time all the granite used in the making of the world's stock of Curling stones came from. He dines off fresh crab and lobster, and swims off rocks the size of houses, sketchbook and notepad constantly at his side.

Finally he moves to Hyskeir, an island he finds is smaller than the dot of the “i” that marks its name in his atlas and is strictly run not by the senior keeper, but by the goats that lived there. His final trial in this summer is to survive two days on half a cigarette. Everything out of his system, he goes back to art school and eventually becomes a well known artist in Australia.

How little I thought of this book, cruelly, when it was given to me, since then I've realised it was a gift of the most stunning mile. It is a book for daydreamers, writers, artists and poets who wish they could spend time alone, undisturbed, yet in the company of fascinating, congenial people. It is a book for those who love the sea, and those landlocked surrounded by sterile arable farmland who wish they had a chance to.

It makes me wish I could have done, or indeed do, the same thing – never mind the clumsiness, the unsociability, the utter poisonous of my cooking, for I would learn, somehow, surely – finished my two year my stint looking after the seafarers of the world, and shining welcoming light across the waters, that the sun had painted gold at sunset a few minutes before.

And then clutching notebooks full of words of purple, silver, silk and barbed wire, I would return home, and set the world alight with words. If only, if only.

Copyright Creamcrackerednature 29.04.14

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

Pina Colada Under the Stars

Managed to find a brief window of clear sky last night when I returned home, and so decided that the first priority was to...

...make a drink...

...then grad my 10x50s, and make my way outside.

I know it happens every year, but it is always sad to see the summer triangle begin to sink into the west. Ophiuchus and my favourite little IC4665 is gone, Scutum disappearing, and even Aquila the Eagle is looking a mite tired as he flaps his wings at 130am.

Obviously this means the autumnal sights are starting to rise, and I was thus able to pick out Messier 15 in Pegasus, The great Andromeda Spiral, the double cluster and Messier 34 in Pegasus, various open clusters in Cassiopeia, and of course Kemble's Cascade, which I study in depth now every chance I get.

New objects in view were Messier 33, the Triangulum Spiral, which I was now able to pick up, a ghostly ellipsoid whisping across the blackness of the universe behind it - and also the Pleides were definining Atumun's arrival by peeking above the church rooftop. They were beautiful in binoculars, blue white diamonds in the sky. I have never been able to pick up the nebulosity around them, well, this is a town, I'm glad to be able to see them at all.

But it also means that soon, it will be too cold to have Pina Colada's outside.

Chi Cygni by Cider Light

Conditions were really nippy and clear last night, so armed with a fortifying drink, I took myself outside with the 10x50s to take advantage of the clear skies.

Got all the usual suspects I've been observing lately - the easy globulars Messier 3, 5, 13, and 92 and had a failed attempt to confirm Messier 56 in Lyra. Ditto the elusive Ophicuchus globulars, which I intend to make a study of locating. Messier 51 I seem to be able to pick out, but Messier 81, Bode's galaxy, is a real eye tease for me. Thought I saw it clearly last week, last night, my eyes were playing wild tricks on me and I was seeing it in three different places.

After taking in the milky way and the open clusters in Cygnus and Lacerta, and again straining my eyes out of my head to see Messier 71 in Sagitta, I took in a lovely red star in Cygnus, not far from Albireo. This was Chi Cygni, a long period variable that varies from 4th mag to 14th in the space of 14 months or so, and has a diameter over 300 times greater than that of the sun! It's 600 light years away, so no matter how dim it might appear to our eyes, at peak it is still over 7000 times more lumininous than the sun.

I love red stars, as any readers of the astro entries of this blog will know, and Chi Cygni is not far off the hot coal glory of the Garnet Star. Soon it will drop back out of binocular visibility, let alone naked eye, to the point when you'll need a 12 inch reflector to see it. That's quite a swing!

Observing The Moon with Binoculars

Just summarising a couple of nights of bonocular astronomy for you, where I decided for once that the presence of a day 8 and day 9 moon was not going to put me off getting outside with the 10x50s and seeing what I could see.

The moon was at an easy altitude, so I decided to have a good look at our nearest neighbour for a change. For me, with very unsteady hands, I've always been put off by lunar observing with my binoculars, but these nights I decided to (rather awkwardly) jam my elbows onto my chest and rest my arms in this fashion - this enabled me to have a few half decent views.

The moon's surface is packed with detail, and rewards patience. The most prominent features are located on what is known as the terminator, the cut off point between the luminated and unluminted parts of the moon - essentially when the moon is waxing, the terminator line indicates where the sun is rising on the lunar surface. At these locations, the sun casts the longest shadows so craters and mountains are easiest to see.

The feature that grabbed my attention the most with a crater actually still in the dark, but who's crater wall was illuminated like a sort of glowing eyelid in the night. Research indicates that this was possibly the crater Eratosthenes. The dark floor of the crater Plato was visible in the far north, and in the far south the giant crater Clavius, 140 miles across, was plainly visible too.

By now, my arms were like jelly, so I took in what sights the deep sky could offer me despite the moon. Messier 3 was visible with some difficulty, rather easier being further from the moon were the other globular clusters Messier 13 and my first view of the season for Messier 5 in Serpens Cauda. Identifying La Superba is still beyond me, but Messier 39 in Cygnus was just about distinguishable.

A rewarding couple of short sessions! The night sky is so beautiful, and unlike the love of Jennifer Lopez, it's love doesn't cost a thing.

The Queen's Hair, the Lion and the Hunting Dog

Hooray, at last I managed to get a chance to  get outside and do a little starwatching, even if it was so cold my hands today hate the guts out of me.

*looks mournfully at raw, bloodied hands*

So, first up I pointed my binoculars at Leo the Lion, ever over-optimistically wondering if I will see the Leo triplet of galaxies, which I struggled to do with my 6inch reflector let alone 10x50s. The starfields underneath the lion's body, on the borders with Hydra and Sextans, are an interestising little sweep, and the lion is always a delight, even if I always see him with his head on the East, and his tail with Regulus at the base playfully twitching up higher into the sky. This is the reverse from the more normal, noble, depiction most folk use.

In Canes Venatici I was able to see Messier 3 easily, La Superba hmmmmm, less so. I am definitely looking at it at some point, it's an easy target, but am I seeing anything like a glowing coal? No. I see one star that sometimes looks almost violet, but I'm sure my eyes are playing tricks.

And then beautiful Coma Berenices, a blown up star cluster, a super Hyades, stuffed with galaxies I can't see. It really is an attracive sight, and I wonder, just wonder, if I was dimly picking up the globular Messier 53. I will try and confirm on another clear night.

And here is Coma Berenices, from a french website. Glorious.

It was only a quick look out, but as ever, worth it, despite the cold.

The Evil Eye

Left for work at 6am, a journey under skies that started as clear as deep space itself, and finished with snow coming down all but horizontally out of the sky.

But in that time, I had a wonderful view of Antares glowing red low in the South East, with a waning crescent moon not far away to the north. The whole effect was to give the scorpion a malevolent, sideways blinking eye gazing contemptuously down on a mere bicycling mortal like me. It was a very very eerie sight, dawn light making the scorpion glow a little!

And then the snow began to fall.

My bicycle no doubt spent the day getting wet and miserable, while I spend the day being wet and miserable at work. And the scorpion circled the sky, looking for prey...

The Virgin and the Scorpion

Further signs that winter is not going to last forever! Before christmas, the sight of Arcturus rising over the rooftops gave me some sort of hope that eventually sping would come and my numb, agonised, bicycle riding purple hands wouldn't have to suffer forever.

Since then, there's barely been a star to be seen as white stuff fell out of the sky, and grey clouds blanketed us in misery.  But the last few days, there's been a few clear night skies to be seen, and in the mornings, as I rolled my bicycle out to work, the winter skies have given over to summer ones, even if the temperatures still firmly belong to January.

In the South West, the huge constellation of Virgo takes over not far off a quarter of the sky, it's galaxy filled libation bowl star pattern seeming to await and offering from Leo the Lion. Saturn shines creamily, a little further from Spica than it was in December, when Venus was adding to the show too.

Something to say about Spica. I don't know whether my eyes are going funny, but whereas once Vega was the only star that appeared to have a definitely blue colour, Spica now also seems to have a distincy blue cast to it, although not as beautifully intense as the steely glow of Vega. Come springtime, if you're not an early morning cyclist like me, take a look at a more civil hour than 6am!

Meanwhile, athwart the very south of the sky, sits Scorpius. It's claws are grabbing the sky away towards London, a malevolent celestial threat to the capital, and it's heart, bloody red Antares, beats its evil on the vault. It's a pity you can't see the whole beast from the UK, for it rivals Orion as the most spectacular constellation in the sky. Hopefully I will see the whole thing again soon.

Get Outside with binoculars for BBC Stargazing 2013!

First up, hello to any new readers who have come to this blog via the BBC Stargazing hashtag! This post is an attempt to draw a few of you into my world, I'll come right out and admit it, and I hope you like what you read.

I like to be outside, and I like to do stuff that doesn't cost much money - it's the Scottish blood. Wildlife and Birds during the day, and the Night Sky after sunset, are all free, and I firmly believe we should enjoy them as much as possible. Without wanting to sound all pious, if a mere, solitary, single person gets to enjoy such things for themselves after reading this blog, then it has done its job.

Nature and stars are good for the soul! That's what I keep telling everyone!

Obviously last night was a bit grim and grey here in the East Midlands, but tonight is clear, if a little hazy. I've just had a little practice observation session with my 10x50 binoculars, and took in a couple of easy, and attractive binocular ojects for you to try out.

First up, I looked at the Mirfak cluster. Mirfak, Alpha Perseii, is the bright, yellowish second mag star leading the constellation of Perseus. With the naked eye, you can see a few of the brighter stars associated with it, but 10x50 binoculars reveal a number of white stars in what is a true grouping rather than a line of sight effect, a kind of halfway house between the Hyades and the Pleides.

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

What nails this cluster for me, however, is the vivid red star of about mag 6, that sticks out like a ruby in a diamond cluster. I've never been able to find anything much out about it, other than it is probably a line of sight interloper, but as with all strongly coloured stars, it fascinates the hell out of me!

Not too far away, and on the lists of Moore's Winter Marathon, is Kemble's Cascade. Virtually overhead at the moment, but slightly tricky to find in the stellar desert known as Camelopardalis, it is an attractive little chance curved line of stars that more or less fills the field of view of my 10x50s. Photographs reveal the glorious mix of coloured stars forming this asterism, but in my experience with it, the colours are hard to see from my town back yard.

http://www.oneminuteastronomer.com/5176/kembles-cascade/

Use the stars at each terminal end of the Cassiopeia "W" as pointers to find it.

On a good night, you see the line end at a faint fuzzy patch - this is the star cluster NGC1502 which requires a decent telescope to see properly.

Anyway, a couple of easy objects for you to have a look at! The sky belongs to you, get out there and enjoy it.

Geminids, chockabloke, checking in!

As with the Perseids, bad weather on the night of maximum has been a bit of a blow this Geminid season. But, braving freezing weather I managed to get out and have short sessions with my neck achily cranked towards Gemini high in the South, and meteors have been around!

The thing I've noticed this year is that the slow moving, yellow orange beauties that are bright and leave a smoky trail as they meander somewhat across the sky, have not been around! The first Geminid I saw this year was like that, but the rest have been mainly short trailers in the vicinity of the radiant, and not many approaching mag 1.

The best night was the 12th. The skies cleared late on, and in what went on to be a -7 degree night in Grnatham nearby - car thermometers in town were reporting -5, I saw 9 Geminids in a 25 minute session before my hands (in two pairs of gloves) threatened to drop off.

And then, the skies went a murky sulfur street light orange on the night of maximum itself, while I had to endure 3 meteors a minute reports from 'Oop Naaaarth. Lucky so and sos!

Last night saw three Geminids in half an hour, but I did have binoculars clamped on my eyes a fair bit of the time as I took in Messier 41, Kembles Cascade and hunted for La Superba against horrible reflected streetlight glow in my eyes. But The Beehive M44 was visible as a prominient naked eye blur, and seemingly one of the Auriga clusters seemed to be naked eye visible. Unless I'm mistaking a patch of milky way for this.

That had me hmming, I can tell you! But who caresa about a little perplexment, when you can VIEW THE STARS FOR FREE

Moores Winter Marathon

After horrendous rain that had ruined all of our damn days here, evening brought on a clear weather front (which I got a nice picture of) advancing overhead at sunset and clearing the skies.

Of course I didn't take advantage of this until I got home after a couple of nice pints of Reverend James at The Prince Rupert and had then obtained a small tipple of something or other to keep the cold out.

Tonights main objectives were a couple of objects on Moores Winter Marathon list, and I figured I was in with a good chance as it was cold and clearenough to see Lepus, the hare leaping around his apppointed spot below Orion's feet.

First up, after some shuffling about to get a good sight line amogst the trees was Messier 41 in Canis Major. A bit of help from my wonky Google Sky Maps - it has never worked that well on my phone - I tracked it down as a small but faint patch of nebulosity south of Sirius. I'm never going to have a good view from my garden due to streetlights alas, but it was there.

Shifting back to Sirius, I headed North East as guided by wonky sky maps, and found Messier 50 as a larger and brighter, but still unresolved in my 10x50s, nebulous patch. Neither terribly exciting, but I'm glad I've seen them. Staying in the area, I took in the much more prominent Messier 35 in Gemini, before noticing a dim haze hovering above the rooftop.

Messier 44, The Beehive, is back in business and very good it looked too!

The final thing that caught my eye, was a very orangey red looking star lurking in a vey dim patch of the sky between the Great Bear's paws, and Gemini. Very red 4th mag star. REsearch indicates this could be alpha lyncis. Some sources have this as spectral class K, it's way too red for that surely!

Crisp evenings, frozen mornings

As I said before, the sight of Arcturus rising in the sky is giving me hope that eventually, as ever, winter will be over, and I will no longer have to worry about cycling through ice and snow on dangerous roads filled with dangerous drivers.

All the while, my hands are hands turning purple and making me scream with agony despite the fact I'm wearing two pairs of gloves.

I've now more or less confirmed Kemble's Cascade, the colours of the stars are elusive with my 10x50s. At midnight, it's directly overhead and a real neck strainer to see! In the mornings, Venus is still dazzling but is sinking horizon-wards rapidly now, and Leo is poised across the South, in the gap between the Sycamores and The Oak.

As I sat in the work canteen today, head full of a story I was writing, I watched a couple of dazzlingly white shapes tumble across the backdrop of the Showground runway; white indeed above but seemingly dark underneath. I swigged my dishwater tea and wished I had my 10x50s or even my little field glasses with me. Curses!

My runs (athletic, not diarrhoea) have yielded little life lately, mainly as I seem to have been heading out in twilight slash dusk as the nights draw in - MUST CHANGE! But as I ran over the A1 on Barnby Lane a few days ago, Long Tail tits purred and zupped in the hedgerow, a kestrel sliced the sky, and a Lapwing slowly beat the air overhead with its ragged, broad wings.

I'm planning a winter trip to Langford Lowfields in the next few days. THEY HAVE WAXWINGS! NEWARK HAS WAXWINGS! I MUST SEE ONE!!!