Optimism in amateur astronomy

I am an optimist by nature, but this sunny disposition is often greatly challenged by one of my chosen hobbies in amateur astronomy. There's a lot that can happen to foil your best laid plans for a night of observing, especially when you live in a major urban center with a marine climate that is hell-bent on throwing clouds your way about 98 percent of the time.

Perhaps that last statement wasn't entirely optimistic. Yet I enjoyed a couple of clear nights of observing on Monday and Tuesday this week, and with a good weather forecast for Wednesday I set out to improve my views of Mars for that evening's session.

This involved a trek out to Ballard for a visit to Cloud Break Optics, where proprietor Stephanie Anderson was able to set me up with a set of planetary filters that could well improve my observations of Mars.

My new set of planetary filters.

I have not been much of a filter user in my astronomical observations. Up until this week I only owned one filter, a 13-percent Moon filter that tones down the light reflected by Luna. Without it, viewing the Moon through a telescope can be downright uncomfortable. Still, I'm always willing to try new things, and Stephanie set me up with a Mars Observing Kit made by Celestron. The kit included four filters: an #80A blue filter that can enhance views of surface features and polar ice caps; a #56 green filter that improves contrast for polar caps, low clouds, and dust storms; a #25 red filter can darken the seas on Mars while lightening its orange deserts; and a special Mars filter that combines the features of the red and blue filters. It also included a Barlow lens that doubles the magnification of any eyepiece you use in observing. I already had one of those, but will soon hold a competition to find out which is better.

The weather held as predicted on Wednesday, though as I made my way home from Cloud Break Optics I noticed some ominous clouds off to the west and, in another example of shaken optimism, immediately recalled the old adage that buying new astronomy gear means bad weather for weeks. It's sort of like rain being caused by washing your car. I am occasionally chided for passing along "weather superstitions" (most recently when I blamed my putting up the lights on our deck umbrella for causing rain). Some say they're not useful or helpful. Nevertheless, I think they're true.

I gave my new filters a test and could tell right away they worked. The glare of a super-bright Mars was greatly reduced, making more detail visible. It was a little strange looking at green, hot pink, blue, or purple Mars after years of seeing the unfiltered orange/red version, but I'll get used to that soon enough. The bad news was that while the details of Mars became a bit more prominent, it was difficult to really make them out because even though the sky was clear the viewing conditions were atrocious. The seeing, though not as poor as it was Monday, wasn't great. The transparency was truly awful because of high moisture in the atmosphere. So while I could see a bit more detail on Mars, I had a decidedly muddy view of what the details actually might be. The moisture was bad enough that pretty early on in my viewing session my optics, including my new filters, collected a heavy layer of dew that brought my work for the night to an end.

I remain undaunted. As I write this in the early afternoon on Friday, the sky is mostly clear, with a little haze off to the west. As an optimist, my telescope is still by the back door, not down in the corner of the basement where it sits for months waiting for the clouds to clear. I'm planning another shot at Mars for tonight.

Another look at Mars

Being blessed at Seattle Astronomy headquarters with the rare-for-December occurrence of consecutive clear evenings, I ventured out again last night with the telescope to see what could be seen.

My prime objective was Mars. Seeing and transparency were somewhat better than there were on Monday evening. While the view of Mars through the telescope was much more stable, there was again very little detail to be seen. I've come to the harebrained conclusion that Mars may simply be too bright! This is seldom noted as a problem in astronomy. Usually things such as galaxies and nebulae are too faint to be seen, especially in a city where light  pollution is an obstacle. I have, however, noticed with other planets such as Jupiter that the best views may be in twilight when the contrast between the object being looked at and the sky is not so great.

The Moon from Seattle Astronomy
headquarters on Dec. 1, 2020.
 Photo: Greg Scheiderer.

I may be in touch with our friends at Cloud Break Optics to see if they can set me up with a Mars filter, STAT. The forecast for tonight is another clear one.

There was better luck with the Moon, which being a couple of days past full was still pretty big but clearly on the waning side. I managed to capture a nice (by my standards) photo of the Moon using a handheld iPhone camera. I always have trouble finding the exit pupil with the smallish lens of the phone cam, but got a decent one after a few tries this time. I always use a disclaimer that I'm not really an astrophotographer, but do like to grab the occasional snapshot, just to prove I was there!

I'll be out again tonight if the weather forecast proves true!

Mars glistens; Jupiter-Saturn conjunction approaches

Not the view through my telescope!
This image of Mars was captured by
the Hubble Space Telescope in 2018.
 (Credit NASA, ESA, and STScI)

It was a nice, clear night last night and I dragged the telescope out of the basement for a look at how Mars was coming along. The answer: swimmingly! That is to say, neither the seeing nor the transparency were very good despite the "clear" sky. One look at the nearly full Moon revealed that there was plenty of moisture in the air, as its orb was surrounded by a rainbow halo of light. 

Thus my views of Mars from last night were mostly on the wobbly side. In the occasional moment of steady seeing I was able to spot the Red Planet's southern polar cap, but couldn't catch much else in the way of surface features.

This is not to say that the views of Mars were bad. Though we're nearly two months past its closest approach to Earth for this particular apparition, Mars is still bright red and it's quite high in the evening sky. Maybe the view was even better without a telescope! Our forecast in Seattle is for another clear evening today, and I plan to give Mars another look.

Another sky spectacle is approaching. Jupiter and Saturn have been hanging out together for much of the year, and they've pulled noticeably closer together in recent weeks. The two are headed for a great conjunction on Dec. 21, 2020, when they will appear less than one degree apart in the western sky! In fact, they'll be within six one-hundredths of a degree at their closest and will appear as one bright object! For reference, the full Moon appears about half a degree wide.

This article from Sky at Night magazine explains the conjunction, which will be the closest of our solar system's two largest planets in about 400 years! Fingers crossed for clear skies that night!

Pink supermoon

I always note that I’m not really an astrophotographer, and this is readily apparent to anyone who sees my shots, but I do occasionally like to take a snap just to prove I was there. Thus, here’s my photo of the full Moon of April 7, 2020.

There are those who call this the pink Moon, even though it isn’t pink, and a supermoon, which may be an exaggeration even though the Moon is excellent. I’ve read a few sources this morning claiming that we “often” call the April full Moon the “Grass Moon” or the “Egg Moon.” This may well depend on just how you define often.

The super bit comes from the fact that this particular Moon does appear to be slightly larger in the sky–about seven percent bigger than the average full Moon. That’s because the moment of fullness came when the Moon was near perigee, its closest point to Earth during its orbit around us.

For those into photo specs, I made this with a simple Canon PowerShot A530 pointed through the eyepiece of my 8-inch Dobsonian at 50x magnification.

The Moon will be pretty close to full this evening and almost as super, so check it out if you can.

Summer astronomy from home

Yesterday I did an interview with a writer who is working on an article for a regional travel magazine. Its editors have concluded that most folks aren’t so anxious to go anywhere right now given our situation with coronavirus and stay-at-home orders. They correctly note that astronomy is something that one can enjoy without venturing too far afield.

It’s true! The sky is everywhere. All you have to do is look up! There are lots of interesting things to see that don’t even require a telescope or binoculars. Here’s a quick look at just a few of the things headed our way this spring and summer.

Venus 

Venus is the queen of the evening hours these days and is high in the west at dusk. She’s flirting with the Pleiades, the Seven Sisters, and will be closest to this gorgeous star cluster tomorrow, April 3. The Sun will set around 7:40 p.m. Pacific time. Give it until a little after eight for the Pleiades to appear, then they and Venus will hang out together until they all set a bit after 11 o’clock. If you have binoculars or a telescope take a closer look to spot the phase of Venus. It’s a pretty thin crescent right now. The Pleiades look great through binoculars, too!

Comet ATLAS 

Discovered in December, the comet ATLAS, so-named because it was first spotted by astronomers using the Asteroid Terrestrial-impact Last Alert System in Hawaii, has some folks thinking it may become a highly visible naked-eye object, perhaps the best in 20 years. Comets can be pretty fickle, and such predictions are often the kiss of death. But it doesn’t cost anything to keep an eye out.

This article from EarthSky explains how to find ATLAS. If it’s going to be spectacular, that will happen later this month through most of May. Maybe.

Parade of planets 

Your view of Jupiter from your back yard won’t be
quite as great as the 2016 Hubble Space
Telescope photo. Credits: NASA, ESA, and
J. Nichols (University of Leicester)

Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn are keeping pretty close company in the pre-dawn sky these days. You can spot all three low in the southeast after about 4:15 a.m. when Mars rises, the last of the trio to peek above the horizon. Mars will appear to move east of the others in the coming weeks and months, but Jupiter and Saturn will stay pretty close together all summer. They reach opposition on July 14 and July 20, respectively. Mars reaches opposition on October 13, and this year’s apparition of the Red Planet will be a good one. They aren’t great naked-eye targets, but Neptune will be at opposition on September 11 and Uranus will be opposite the Sun on Halloween.

Meteor showers 

The Perseid is probably the most well-known of the annual meteor showers. Maybe that’s because it’s pretty consistent and happens in the summer when folks don’t mind being outside in the evening. This year’s peak will occur around August 11-12. The last quarter Moon will brighten the sky somewhat at that time, making some of the dimmer meteors difficult or impossible to spot. While you can catch many of the brighter meteors even from light-polluted cities, the darker the sky you have, the better the show. The Lyrid meteor shower peaks around April 22 and the Eta Aquarids May 5. EarthSky has a full rundown of the year’s meteor showers.

Keep looking up!

Goldendale Sky Village gives amateur astronomers dedicated observing site

Amateur astronomers in the Seattle area have been dreaming of a clear, dark place from which to observe the heavens since the clouds rolled in and light pollution obliterated much of the night sky. Those dreams are coming true at the Goldendale Sky Village just east of that south central Washington town.

It's dark at Goldendale Sky Village! This image
made at the site was created by Mark Vinup.

The Goldendale Sky Village (GSV) is owned by a limited liability company (LLC) of the same name, made up of members with interest in astronomy. The effort to establish the GSV is the end result of a search several decades in the making.

Most recently, the Seattle Astronomical Society (SAS) took a run at establishing a dark-sky observing site beginning in about 2005. Three years later, the project was tabled because the society couldn’t reconcile two desired criteria for the site: clear, dark skies and convenient proximity to Seattle. (I wrote about the end of the project for the April 2008 issue of the SAS newsletter, The Webfooted Astronomer.)

In 2016 Stephanie Anderson, a co-owner of Seattle’s Cloud Break Optics who was president of the SAS at the time, wanted to re-start the initiative and recruited SAS member Christopher Smythies, who is now the general manager of GSV, to head up the search.

Searching for the spot

“For two years I went out east of the mountains and familiarized myself with the land,” Smythies said. His focus was on two areas: Cle Elum and Goldendale. He found Cle Elum to be prohibitively expensive, and most parcels of land available for sale there were intended for housing and carried restrictions.

“Goldendale had a lot of attractive things about it,” Smythies said. “It was darker, the land was much cheaper, the rules were much looser, but it was further away.”

Smythies figures he must have looked at more than 100 properties over the course of a couple of years. By the time of the annual SAS Spring Star Party in May 2018 at Brooks Memorial State Park near Goldendale, he had a list of five of them for attendees to check out. The last of those that they visited is the one that is now Goldendale Sky Village.

“I immediately knew that was going to be it,” he said. “It was very remote, it was relatively flat, there were low horizons. It was pretty land; it wasn’t scrub land or pasture land, it was very attractive land with nice vegetation on it. And it was relatively cheap.”

“I thought it was perfect,” Smythies added. Unexpected bonuses include a line of sight to a communication tower that gives the site Internet access, and a great view of Mt. Hood to the west. There is federal land and open prairie nearby that will likely remain unoccupied, so future light intrusion isn’t a big concern.

LLC created for site

By this time the Seattle Astronomical Society had cooled to the idea of owning and operating a dark-sky site. Current president John McLaren said cost was a big concern. SAS would have had to do a major, multi-year fundraising effort or raise dues drastically to cover costs. Neither seemed likely to fly given the varying visions SAS members have for such a site. They considered trying to build a coalition with other regional astronomy clubs.

“That looked like it would be a legal headache,” McLaren noted. Running the site also would have created administrative tasks, including IRS reporting, that would have placed a burden on the club. The SAS board opted out.

“At that point, I decided to go another route to form a private group of people, an LLC, and then make it available to the SAS later on,” Smythies said. In June he put out a call for possible investors in the site.

“Within six weeks, two of which I was on vacation, we had 21 people saying ‘I’m in,’” he said. Smythies believes that a turning point for the project was when Anderson and Cloud Break Optics co-owner Matt Dahl signed on.

“She and Matt have such a good reputation for being kind of the hub of the astronomy community because of Cloud Break Optics, that once they said they wanted to be a part of it it was like a stamp of approval and everyone else piled on,” he said.

Astronomy can be hard work! Goldendale Sky Village
members clear rocks from the future telescope field, the
National Dark Sky Portal. Photo: Christopher Smythies.

Original members paid $1,000 per share in the new LLC. That entitled them to the use of their own 2,500 square-foot parcel within the village. They sold more than 100 shares and by the end of July had the cash to buy the land. The purchase became final in September 2018.

Since then they’ve made improvements to the road into the property, created parking space, and moved “a billion” rocks and boulders to create a smooth place for the village’s central telescope field, known as “The National Dark-Sky Portal.” They’re planning for improvements that include a big tent, the Red Light Lounge, for sharing refreshments and for shelter from the elements. Work this summer may include bringing electricity to the site as well.

It takes a village

Smythies says the village aspect of the GSV is vitally important.

“I wanted to put together something where people have lots, sure, but then there’s common areas right in the middle where they put their telescopes out and they observe together,” he said. This differs from some large astronomy communities where people might build a home on a two-acre plot. “Goldenndale sky village is all close together to promote the community atmosphere and the learning.”

While the GSV is a private company they intend to invite guests often. They hope to be ready by this year to host the SAS and its spring and fall star parties, and would like to build a similar relationship with the Rose City Astronomers in Portland, which is actually closer to the site. Smythies dreams of an astrophotography school and other educational efforts at the village.

The SAS hasn’t given up on creating observing sites. McLaren, who is a member of GSV, said SAS members also crave a dedicated site within 30 minutes of the city and one perhaps in the Cle Elum or Ellensburg areas, that might offer better observing conditions and still be relatively convenient. He hopes the Goldendale Sky Village model can be a good template for creating more observing sites.

“That would be awesome if it happened,” McLaren said, “and if some day astronomy clubs were able to negotiate access to all three locations that would be amazing.”

Smythies says there is room for perhaps 60 to 70 members at Goldendale Sky Village. The current price to join is $2,500 per share with a minimum of four shares. You can check out the site at an open house on March 21. Contact Smythies if you’re interested.

Sun streak ends! Whither Mercury?

All good streaks must come to an end, like Joe DiMaggio’s 56-game hitting streak or Cal Ripken, Jr.’s consecutive games-played record of 2,632. This morning Seattle Astronomy‘s personal mark of successful astronomical observations of Sun-related events was snapped at a modest four when we failed to spot Mercury during its transit across the face of the Sun.

Conditions looked semi-hopeful shortly after
sunrise that we'd see the Mercury Transit.
Photo: Greg Scheiderer.

Hope of spotting Mercury remained alive until the bitter end. I arrived at Seattle’s Seacrest Park just before sunrise when the transit had already been under way and below our horizon for a couple of hours. We got a few glimpses of the Sun during the morning, most not enough to register even a glimmer of light through properly filtered optics.

Then came proof that Mother Nature can be cruel and sadistic, especially to those who would practice astronomy in Seattle. With the transit slated to end at about 10:04 a.m. PST, the clouds parted a bit at about 10:02, setting off a mad scramble to point, focus, and look. I thought I caught the barest edge of Mercury leaving the disk of the Sun, but I couldn’t be sure. There were lots of clouds in the view. The Sun was there but Mercury, true to his fleet-of-foot reputation, was gone. I count it as a nice try.

Not everyone who came to our viewing event was skunked. Seattle-based Associated Press photographer Elaine Thompson caught this shot during a brief clearing:

Mercury, a tiny dot just above the middle, transits the sun this morning as seen from partly cloudy Seattle. #MercuryTransit pic.twitter.com/P8Pm1I4vyo

— Elaine Thompson (@ElaineMThompson) November 11, 2019

It pays to be prepared! The day was not a total loss. Many folks enjoyed a look at the Mercury-free Sun after the transit, a nice woman named Liz brought some Top Pot donuts to share, and hanging around at the beach waiting to spot Mercury with some new friends was not a bad way to spend a Monday morning.

I’d successfully seen four recent Sun events: the August 2017 total eclipse of the Sun, the Mercury Transit in May 2016, a partial solar eclipse in 2014, and the transit of Venus in June 2012. Off to start a new streak.

There will not, however, be another Mercury transit until 2032, and not one visible from North America until 2049. See you down at Seacrest Park in thirty years!

Total lunar eclipse visible from Seattle

Seattle astronomy buffs are downright pessimistic about seeing celestial events, even those that happen during our good-weather months. (And we have them.) Thus in the week before the total lunar eclipse of January 20, 2019, I posted this on the Seattle Astronomy Facebook page.

Amazingly enough, at about mid-day on eclipse day the clouds actually did begin to part a little, and a check of the Seattle Clear Sky Chart revealed a prediction that we’d have just 30 percent cloud cover come eclipse hour, and that it would be downright clear late in the evening.

One learns not to trust these things, but when the full Moon actually got up above the trees and into a clear sky out back of Seattle Astronomy headquarters, I decided this was going to happen and hauled the telescope out of the basement and onto the back deck. As the eclipse began I snapped a quick photo in order to express my amazement.

The shadow of Earth is moving across the Moon and we can SEE it in Seattle! pic.twitter.com/xgt4oF2RpH

— Seattle Astronomy (@SeattleAstro) January 21, 2019

I am not an astrophotographer, as people who evaluate the entries for the Seattle Astronomical Society‘s quarterly photo contest always remind me. This one was shot with my smartphone, though when using it with the telescope I find it devilishly difficult to get the proper aim through the eyepiece (must pick up one of those gadgets from Cloud Break Optics soon.) My other “astro” camera is an old Canon Powershot A530, which is pretty easy to just stick up to the eyepiece and shoot.

I used the phone to get a pretty OK, if somewhat pixellated, pic at totality, too.


Interestingly enough, I found that the color of the “blood Moon” wasn’t quite so pronounced through the telescope and camera is it was in my naked-eye view. I think the magnification diffuses the color a bit, and the camera isn’t really made for that sort of work.

Even my sweetie, who is not normally prone to looking through telescopes at night in January, or any other month, for that matter, went out quite a few times for a magnified look, and we both spent most of the eclipse watching from a warm environment inside behind the glass of the French doors.

I hope you got a chance to see the eclipse wherever you were. The next one visible in Seattle will happen in May of 2021.

I looked through a telescope the other day

The weather gets to amateur astronomers from Seattle sometimes. I had several conversations at the Seattle Astronomical Society’s annual banquet back in January with attendees who, like me, fessed up to not doing much observing these days. It’s so cloudy so often that we tend to forget about the telescope, waiting patiently in the corner down by the door to the wine cellar. So it was fun on a string of clear evenings recently to get out and get some scope time.

I even announced it on Twitter.

Hey, that bright thing near the Moon is Jupiter! Look up! Clear sky in Seattle!! pic.twitter.com/ZfEByjy9t1

— Seattle Astronomy (@SeattleAstro) June 24, 2018

The views of Jupiter on that night were a little murky, though the Great Red Spot occasionally popped into sight as plain as the cyclone on your face. The next evening seeing and transparency were about as good as they get in West Seattle, and I enjoyed some of the best views of Jupiter I’ve ever had.

I also took a look at Saturn, which was at opposition June 27, but on that evening it was still awfully low in the southeast sky and thus looked pretty fuzzy. I’m looking forward to some better views of Saturn as it comes around a little earlier in the evening each day. I took a few peeks at Venus, too.
While Jupiter and Saturn are among my favorite observing targets, the big show of the summer will be put on by Mars. The Red Planet will reach opposition on July 30, and this particular apparition will be an outstanding one. Mars will be the closest it has been to Earth since 2003, which was its closest approach in 60,000 years! It was that event that pushed me to get more involved in observational astronomy. This summer we’ll have great opportunities to see surface details on Mars.

As I write this, at 1 p.m., it’s looking pretty clear outside, though some clouds are in the forecast for the early morning hours. I shouldn’t even think this, lest to jinx clear skies, but I think I’ll get out again today and see how Saturn is looking.

Tomorrow morning: Super blue blood Moon

A total lunar eclipse is a pretty cool event in its own right. Add in a blue moon and a super moon and you’ve got three celestial treats in one. Tomorrow morning we on the west coast may enjoy the first super blue blood moon visible in North America since 1866—if the weather cooperates.

Seattle Astronomy writer Greg Scheiderer talked about the super
blue blood moon on the KING 5 television program New Day
Northwest January 30. His planets tie was a hit with the studio
audience. Photo: Greg Scheiderer.

A lunar eclipse isn’t all that rare. They can happen two or three times a year, but tomorrow’s will be the first visible (theoretically) from the Seattle area for a couple of years. The blue moon, under the generally accepted modern definition of the second full moon in a calendar month, isn’t quite so rare as the phrase “once in a blue moon” would suggest. On average, a blue moon happens once every 2.7 years. This year is a bit of an oddity, as not only will we have a blue moon tomorrow, but there will be another in March as well, and February has no full moon at all! Yes, there’s a name for that, too—black moon. And that’s also the name for a second new moon in a month.

Finally, the super moon—when full moon occurs near the perigee of the Moon’s orbit around Earth—happens about every 14 months, though we’re on a streak now; our December and early-January full moons were super as well. Blood moon is just a nickname for a lunar eclipse because the Moon often looks orange to deep red when totally eclipsed. None of these things, then, is unusual in and of itself, but getting them all to line up on the same day is quite a trick. The last super blue blood moon was 35 years ago (and I bet it wasn’t called that then), and the next won’t happen until 2037.

Tomorrow’s timeline

Image: NASA

For the super blue blood moon on January 31, 2018, the penumbral eclipse begins just before 3 a.m., but this is subtle and difficult to spot even with telescopes or binoculars. The real show starts just before 4 a.m., when the darker part of Earth’s shadow, the umbra, begins to work its way across the face of the Moon. The Moon will be totally eclipsed at about 4:51 a.m., and will stay that way until 6:07 a.m. The umbral eclipse will end at 7:11, and the Moon will set about 7:45.

To see it—presuming it’s not cloudy—simply go outside and look west. The Moon will be fairly high in the sky at the start of this, but closer to the horizon towards the end.

Seattle Astronomy’s Greg Scheiderer talked about the eclipse on KING 5 television today with Margaret Larson on the station’s program New Day Northwest; video of the segment is at the link in this paragraph.

The Seattle Astronomical Society plans a viewing event at Solstice Park in West Seattle for those interested in a group experience. In the event of clouds, don’t despair; NASA will be live-streaming the eclipse, though that’s never as cool as the real thing.

Solar eclipse dispatch from Monmouth--Totality!

My biggest concern about viewing today’s total solar eclipse was that, after doing 14 podcasts and at least 25 blog posts about the event over the last 19 months, it would be underwhelming.

Greg Scheiderer of Seattle Astronomy snapped a selfie while 

watching the eclipse from Western Oregon University.

Silly me.

I’ve seen Saturn hundreds—thousands?—of times, but I still do a little gasp whenever I get the planet into the field of view of my telescope. There it is! Crank that up about a thousand times, and that’s what I felt when I saw first contact of my very first total solar eclipse from “The Grove” at Western Oregon University in Monmouth, Oregon, and again when the diamond ring went away and the whole campus went dark as if a light switch had been thrown, revealing the Sun’s shimmering white corona for a glorious two minutes.

The intervening hour and 13 minutes (or so) between the onset of the eclipse and totality offered plenty of chances to observe interesting natural phenomena, tricks of light, and human behavior. The university had a number of semi-official viewing spots, on the football stadium and other athletic fields, mostly. But some hundred of us chose The Grove, with nice trees providing shade from the diminishing summer Sun, and also leaving easy access back into the lawn for a view of the progress of the eclipse.

My favorite eclipse watcher, or non-watcher, perhaps, was a young lad of seven or eight who kept stomping off from his family group muttering, “It’s not that impressive.” Some time into the eclipse another kid was heard informing the elders that he needed a bio break. Mom loudly exclaimed, in order to make the point emphatically, that you shouldn’t poop during an eclipse. She soon relented and escorted the kid to the loo, no doubt considering the consequences. Many of the kids in attendance—one of the weekend activities was a camp for children—seemed far more interested in play than in some dumb-ass sky thing the adults wanted to see. Where are the water-powered rockets when you need them?! Other kids were totally along for the ride, watching through their eclipse glasses or goggles and declaring, “It’s awesome.”

Mini eclipses project through oak leaves during the eclipse.

We saw the little mini eclipses projected through the gaps between oak leaves in The Grove. We noticed bright Venus popping out in splendor several minutes—an hour? Time moves at a different pace during an eclipse—before totality. It got considerably cooler. I kept looking west for a glimpse of the Moon’s shadow. I noticed that deep, twilight purple of dusk relatively high in the sky; was that the umbra, above us but not yet reaching ground? I’m not sure. Then—BAM! Just like that it was dark and there was that amazing corona. I’ve since seen social media posts from people who took photos, and the corona looks round in those images. I saw almost wing-like structure reaching out a couple of solar diameters on either side. The eye and the camera see very different things. As a total solar eclipse newbie, I took the advice of many: Don’t try to photograph totality; just watch and enjoy.

I was expecting to see more stars, but they didn’t really appear. I thought I saw Mars, just for a moment or two, but it was pretty close to the Sun, and it might have been a trick of the light. I couldn’t spot Mercury. I really just kept going back to the corona. I can see all of that other stuff most any time. I also didn’t catch any animal behavior. There are a few squirrels on campus, but I didn’t spot any of them going eclipse crazy.

Then, in what seemed like way less than the two minutes we were promised, the Sun came back out from the other side of the Moon. The glasses went back on, for most. Others began to pack up and head on their way. Said one kid: “Can we go play now.” But I can’t help thinking that the “It’s not that impressive” kid will wind up with a Ph.D. in astronomy. Old Sol works in mysterious ways. We stayed and watched as the Moon slowly slipped away, and in another hour the eclipse was really over.

The light and warmth came back and everything was as it was, even though everything had changed.

I will always remember this amazing natural spectacle, watched from a lawn at Western Oregon University.

I can’t wait for the next one, and already have a great plan for the eclipse of 2024.

Solar eclipse dispatch from Monmouth

Seattle Astronomy is in Monmouth, Oregon for the total solar eclipse. As of this writing, just after 1 p.m. on eclipse eve, the weather outlook is highly optimistic for eclipse viewing from Salem and environs. We noted that Cliff Mass named Salem number one in a Thursday article about eclipse weather, and stuck with that analysis in updates on Friday and Sunday.

We arrived in Monmouth at just after noon on Saturday, August 19, having set out from West Seattle at 8:04 a.m. after breakfast at Luna Park Café. Our goal: get to Salem ahead of the slackers, though it has been suggested that we actually ARE the slackers! Traffic problems were nil on Saturday morning. We took the I-205 route to avoid downtown Portland, and the only traffic delay we encountered on the trip south was a brief slowdown right near the PDX airport.

We’ve seen several reports of clear sailing on the highways from others headed into the path of totality, both here in the I-5 corridor and also in Eastern Oregon. It made us wonder if predictions of eclipse-ageddon traffic were merely ways to discourage the faint of heart from making the trip. This morning we’ve also seen reports that officials are now worried that previous light traffic means a super crush later today and on eclipse morning. We shall see; a big part of the job of “officials” is to worry, and we had some discussion of this in our blog and podcast with Jim Todd of OMSI last year. In any event, we’re here early and enjoying this college town.

We’re in Monmouth because we’re bunking at Western Oregon University. Greg is giving a talk about chasing the Sun at 3 p.m. today, Sunday, at the Wine Country Eclipse event. We’ll also be watching the eclipse there on Monday morning. Our original plan was to be at the OMSI event at Salem Fairgrounds until Orbit Oregon offered us the speaking gig at the festival.

A few local businesses are embracing the eclipse to a degree. Portland-based Breakside Brewery has created Path of Totality IPA, and several pubs in town are carrying the eclipse-themed brew. (We’ve been doing exhaustive research on this.) As we enjoyed a burger and a couple of pints over lunch at Main St. Pub & Eatery in downtown Monmouth, there was just a trickle of foot and vehicle traffic in mid-afternoon.

Monmouth would qualify as a small town at population just over ten thousand. We’ve seen no sign yet that the town and its infrastructure will be over-run with eclipse-watchers, though our wait at breakfast was a bit long this morning and many of the folks at J’s Café were wearing eclipse t-shirts of various designs, a sure mark of a tourist. We probably made the wait a bit longer for locals coming in for their Sunday breakfast! There are definitely more people around that there were on Saturday, but it’s hardly a crunch.

Even Monmouth City Hall is getting into the act; they’re not opening until 1 p.m. on Monday so that everyone can enjoy the eclipse.

We hope you do, too! Tell us about your eclipse destination in the comments!

Total solar eclipse 2017: Columbia, SC

Of all the places along the path of the total solar eclipse that will cross the United States next August, Columbia, South Carolina has some of the most interesting attractions for astronomy buffs. Beyond the spectacle of the eclipse itself, the South Carolina State Museum has a new planetarium due to a recent expansion, in addition to an observatory with a vintage telescope and a 4-D theater. Its exhibits also include telescopes and other artifacts from the collection of Robert B. Ariail, a University of South Carolina alumnus and longtime amateur astronomer and collector who donated his holdings of some 5,000 books and several hundred telescopes to the university and the museum.

“We have a really wonderful collection of antique instruments—six thousand square feet of historic telescopes—which I think will be great for some of that audience who will come to see this type of thing,” said Tom Falvey, director of education at the museum, which has declared itself solar eclipse headquarters for the August 21, 2017 event. Falvey said Ariail was particularly interested in American-made scopes, and the collection includes 11 Alvan Clark instruments and a couple of Henry Fitz telescopes, one of which dates to 1849 and is believed to be the oldest surviving American instrument made specifically for use in an observatory.

“It’s just a beautiful collection of American instruments totaling 26 telescopes,” Falvey said. In addition, the exhibit has a number of European scopes, including some by John Dollond, early Gregorian reflectors, and some rare Zeiss instruments.

“It’s a great collection, beautifully displayed,” Falvey said. “I think it would be really nice for folks who come with that specific type of interest.”

The museum is planning several days of events leading up to the eclipse, which is on a Monday. They’ll hold a Saturday-night gala, with a guest lecturer or entertainment not yet determined. They’ll be doing tours of the telescope collection and staying open late every day leading up to the eclipse.
“Being open late for us means we would have the observatory open every night; an opportunity for people to look through the big 12-inch Clark telescope and get excited by doing some observing beforehand,” Falvey said. The observatory’s telescope is a 1925 Clark instrument with Zeiss glass that was originally made for Columbia University. Ariail helped bring it to the museum back in the 1990s.

The museum is also the focal point of efforts to prepare others to see the eclipse, and has been working with city officials urging them to create city-wide events next August.

“Plans are truly under way for the next steps for the city to do something all-out to make sure that when folks come here they’ll really see how much fun the city can be and how many great resources we have and the types of things you can do here,” Falvey said.

South Carolina eclipse map courtesy GreatAmericanEclipse.com

He notes that Columbia has some beautiful downtown areas, thanks in part to a recent boom. He adds that it’s a great place if you like sun and heat, and that South Carolina barbecue can’t be beat. Finally, Falvey says that the people in Columbia are marvelous—and he says that as a New England transplant.

Nobody really knows how many visitors to expect, though Falvey thinks the city can handle the crowds. It has a fairgrounds and the University of South Carolina football stadium, which are right next to each other and can hold a lot of eclipse chasers. Columbia is the capitol city of South Carolina and has ample accommodations. Freeways can bring people into town from all directions, or help them get out if the weather turns bad on eclipse day.

That could be a bit of a problem. Columbia often experiences late-afternoon thunderstorms in the summer—the total eclipse will begin at about 2:43 p.m. there. The hour presents another challenge: school will have started in town, and that’s about when elementary students would typically be on the bus going home.

“(That) could be a real problem and a real shame if people were to miss a total eclipse,” Falvey said. “We are encouraging school districts to extend the school day so that teachers will be able to assist with all the viewing.”

South Carolina is that last state the total eclipse will touch before moving out east into the Atlantic Ocean. It could be a great choice, especially for folks on the east coast.


Brief SCSM video about the Clark telescope:

St. Louis on the edge for 2017 total solar eclipse

From Seattle we’ll have to drive about 200 miles south to get to the edge of the path of totality for the total solar eclipse that will cross the United States on August 21, 2017. The north edge of the path will cross I-5 near Aurora, Oregon. In St. Louis, the edge of the path cuts right through town. It sounds convenient, but Don Ficken, who chairs the St. Louis Eclipse 2017 Task Force, said there are disadvantages.

“St. Louis is, in many ways, blessed by the fact that we have an eclipse coming through at least the southern part of the city,” Ficken said. “In other ways it’s a challenge. It’s not like Nashville where it’s going through the core; it’s basically just hitting the edge of the city.”

The northern edge of the path of totality almost cuts St. Louis in half, with the south and west sides of the city being in, while the north and east sides are not. Many big attractions in St. Louis, such as the Gateway Arch, Forest Park, Busch Stadium, the Zoo, and the St. Louis Science Center all lie outside the path of totality, while those inside the path will experience a shorter eclipse of a minute or less.

“When we talk with the main core of the city, it’s kind of hard for them to get real excited when they’re really on the edge of the eclipse,” Ficken said.

Thus, for the St. Louis area, the focus of eclipse planning has been on the more rural areas that are deeper into the path of totality of the eclipse. They began their work in 2014 but really got going in earnest at a workshop last fall.

“We decided up front that we were planning to inspire—in other words get people excited about it, educate and tell them about what’s going on, and then of course connect them to the resources, but we do not want to plan any events,” Ficken said. “We’re simply trying to raise awareness and do everything we can to get the region ready.”

The task force created teams that work with the many different counties and municipalities within the eclipse path. The St. Louis Astronomical Society, of which Ficken is a member, has been doing its part. Last weekend the club had a booth, for the first time, at the Spirit of St. Louis Air Show. They’re doing other outreach in an effort to reach at least 25,000 people with information about the eclipse. Part of the outreach is linked to their library telescope program, which has made 88 scopes available for checkout from area public libraries.

“We are doing programs, working with the public in the libraries right within their communities,” Ficken said. “Not only do we explain how the telescope works, but we talk about the solar eclipse coming up.”

Their best prop is a display map of the eclipse path, which Ficken said really grabs people’s attention and interest. They get to see what is coming their way.

“We’re going to be doing a ton of outreach to raise the visibility, which will then create, we think, more pressure to actually plan actual events,” he said. The work is beginning to pay off.

Don Ficken
Photo: LinkedIn

“Particularly the rural areas are so juiced on this thing; they’re excited, I mean really excited,” Ficken said. “This is like the biggest thing that’s probably ever going to happen to some of them and they’re on the map. Particularly little towns like Festus and Perry County; Perryville is just going bonkers down there with their planning. It’s like the biggest event forever for these guys down there.”

St. Louis is a great choice as an eclipse viewing destination, according to Ficken. As a major metropolitan area, there’s a lot to do there. Come eclipse Monday, it’s an easy drive to go south or west to get deeper into the path of totality, with center-line towns just 30 to 40 minutes away.

“You’ve got plenty of time to get where you want to, get all settled in, and just have some fun,” Ficken noted. “For those who want to just make an easy trip, have a great weekend, have some fun, add a third day on to make it a three-day weekend, we’re really perfectly suited for that.”

Many towns and businesses within the eclipse path have committed to having events for the eclipse, though a significant number of them haven’t settled on the details yet. As they’re confirmed, they’ll be posted on the St. Louis Eclipse 2017 website. Ficken expects the interest to snowball.

“We’re excited, we have lots of great stuff going on, but I expect a lot more to happen as we get into fall and the media starts picking up on this,” Ficken said. “It will be crazy.”

Catching the Mercury transit from Seattle

The weather gods smiled on West Seattle Monday and provided relatively clear skies that allowed us to catch much of the first transit of Mercury across the disk of the Sun in ten years. The event served as a reminder of how hyper-local the weather can be, as many other locations around the area did not fare so well.

After about 8:30 a.m. May 9 

the clouds parted and we had 

excellent viewing of the transit of 

Mercury. Spencer (left) and Ryan 

take a peek through Spencer’s 

homemade Dobsonian. 

Photo: Greg Scheiderer.

We thought we may have jinxed the weather when we wrote on Sunday in our weekly calendar post that, “(I)t’s pretty unlikely that we’ll see the transit constantly from sun-up to finish, but also looks pretty unlikely that we’ll get skunked.” I arrived with telescope in hand at Seacrest Marina Park just before 6 a.m. on Monday, and the clouds were solid. I was soon joined by Ryan “Tortuga” Carpenter and a young man named Spencer who brought his home-made Dobsonian telescope to the party. For a while we just watched the clouds roll by.

It was well after 7 a.m. before we got our first glimpse of the Sun, and Mercury in transit—a fleeting look that lasted less than a minute. For the next hour or so we had several similar quick peeks at the transit when the Sun found a hole in the clouds.

We finally got some longer looks after 8 a.m., long enough to actually snap photographs of the transit. Then, right about 8:30, we suddenly had clear, blue skies. We had a few interruptions from clouds after that, but these were brief and we had close to constant viewing of the transit until it ended around 11:40 a.m.

Other areas didn’t have so much luck, especially those sites east of the city. The Seattle Astronomical Society had a transit-viewing event scheduled from one of its preferred observing sites at Snoqualmie Point Park, but had already canceled it by Sunday night because of inclement weather in the forecast. One member went there anyway and reported only brief views of the transit. Others reporting to the society’s Google forum, fittingly titled “Through the Clouds,” also noted limited success from Kent, Ellensburg, and Bellevue. The Green Lake neighborhood had decent weather and observers there reported more lengthy looks at the transit.

If you click on this photo to see the larger version you can see
Mercury just to the left of the center of the disk of the Sun, and
a sunspot cluster to the right. Taken with a Canon
PowerShot A530 through an 8-inch Dob at 48
power. Photo by Greg Scheiderer.

Our trio in West Seattle tried to do a little science, or at least figuring, at the end of the transit. We each clocked the time between third and fourth contact of the transit. Interestingly enough, our observations varied by about 15 seconds. Parallax doesn’t explain that; our telescopes were all set up within about 10 feet of each other! I would guess that the variation could be explained by differences in visual acuity, quality of telescope optics, and ability to find the start/stop button on the smartphone stopwatch. Carpenter did the math and said we were in the ballpark for determining the size of Mercury based on the length of time between the two contacts.

Mostly we just had fun seeing this rare celestial event, and sharing it with quite a number of interested passers-by. I chose the site because a lot of people are typically there, from those catching the West Seattle Water Taxi into the city to those just strolling in the park. Great weather was an unexpected bonus.

While there are only, on average, 13 transits of Mercury in a century, our next one is relatively soon: November 11, 2019. After that we’ll have to wait 13 years, until 2032, for another.

A visit to West Seattle's Constellation Park

If you are looking for a low-key spot to visit and get away from it all a little during holiday week, Constellation Park and Marine Reserve in West Seattle would be an excellent choice. One can hardly call this a hidden gem, given that it is right out in the open along Beach Drive SW west of 63rd Avenue SW, but although we’ve ridden our bicycles right down that street many times, we didn’t realize there was an astronomy feature there until we stumbled across it recently on the Seattle Parks website.

It appears that Constellation Park was dedicated in 1999, according to a plaque on the site. It is one of several small parks that were created in the neighborhood during the 1990s, all of which came about through partnerships between local artist Lezlie Jane, the Alki Community Council, and the City’s Neighborhood Matching Fund. Part of the reason for the limited visibility of the park is that, formally, it is attached to the Charles Richey Sr. Viewpoint, which itself is an extension of Alki Beach Park. It is along Beach Drive south of the Alki Point Lighthouse and south of the main business district along Alki. It is a popular destination for whale watching and, during low tides or after storms, is a paradise for beachcombers.

There are three main attractions at Constellation Park and Marine Reserve: an interpretive marine reserve, a commemoration of a rare planetary alignment, and the Avenue of Stars.

Marine reserve

The marine reserve includes a tidepool sculpture by artist Jane that features starfish, snails, clams, and an octopus. A nearby interpretive wall done in tile sports illustrations of intertidal flora and fauna that can be found on local beaches.

Planetary alignment

There was a rare alignment of planets on Dec. 5, 1997, when seven of the eight planets other than Earth were all in the same section of the sky. The positions of the planets during that alignment are noted by brass markers set into the sidewalk right at the end of the park near 63rd and Beach.

It would have been impossible to see Pluto at that time and place; you always need a good telescope and pretty dark skies to spot it. Uranus and Neptune would have been extremely challenging, too, until the sky got a bit darker. But Jupiter, Venus, Mars, and Mercury would have been pretty easy to spot, given clear weather. Saturn was the only planet not involved. It’s fun to note that, at least at Constellation Park, Pluto is still and always will be a planet. There were some sidewalk markings at the site on our most recent visit, indicating possible construction or utility activity in the future. We hope it doesn’t disrupt the solar system!

Avenue of Stars

The highlight of Constellation Park is the Avenue of Stars, which begins at about 64th and Beach Drive and runs along Beach almost to Benton Place. Representations of 27 constellations are embedded in the sidewalk, with one brass star for each star of the given constellation’s well-known asterism. The biggest and brightest stars are identified by name. The constellations are grouped on the sidewalk by the season during which they’re visible at around 10 p.m. from Constellation Park. It’s a good spot for stargazing, as the park essentially looks out over Puget Sound to the south and west, with good horizons for spotting constellations and other celestial objects in all directions.

Woody Sullivan, a professor emeritus of astronomy at the University of Washington, is listed as an in-kind donor to the project, no doubt lending his scientific expertise to the art of the project. Sullivan has had a hand in much public astronomy art and information, particularly on a number of sundials in the area.

Orion as depicted in brass on the
Avenue of the Stars in West Seattle.
Photo: Greg Scheiderer.

Each constellation in the park is accompanied by a plaque that identifies the constellation, notes the season during which it is best visible, and includes a message from one of the donors who helped fund the project. Some of these notes are memorials to loved ones or simply positive vibes for the universe. We’re especially fond of the thought that was placed by Timothy Michael Holtschlag on the marker that accompanies the constellation Scorpius:

“Gazing at the stars I see light that has traveled vast distances of time and space and know that I am connected to everything.”

We couldn’t find this specific quote with a quick Internet search, so presume it is an original written by Mr. Holtschlag. Certainly a similar sentiment has been expressed many times, from Galileo and Einstein to Tennyson and Chief Seattle, and it captures the allure astronomy has for many of us, amateur or professional.

So, wander down to Constellation Park a little before sunset on the next clear evening. Find the constellations that are visible on the season. Then wait for night to fall and enjoy some ancient light from far across the universe.

Partial solar eclipse seen in Seattle

The partial solar eclipse of October 23, 2014 was a highly successful skywatching event by Seattle standards. Much of the first half of the eclipse was visible as it dodged clouds around the city. I viewed it from the sidewalk in front of Seattle Astronomy world headquarters in West Seattle.

Few observers held out much hope for seeing the eclipse. The weather forecast had been for rain and clouds for much of the Northwest. In the days leading up to the eclipse area astronomy message boards carried some talk of road trips to sites with better potential for clear skies, such as Yakima or other parts of Eastern Washington, though one seasoned observer wrote, “I have no confidence in finding anywhere drivable that reliably will have clear skies.” Clearly, a man who has been through this before.

Sure enough, we awoke on the morning of the eclipse to heavy rain and solid, dark, gray cloud cover. There seemed scant likelihood we would be seeing the eclipse. But by mid-morning the rain let up, and at about 11:37 a.m. I sent out this tweet and photo:

Blue sky over our world HQ! A chance to see the eclipse yet! http://t.co/9IB3YxBxUx
— Seattle Astronomy (@SeattleAstro) October 23, 2014

The blue sky held for the most part, and though the exact moment that the eclipse began was obscured by a cloud, the sun was out in full glory not long into it.

Just minutes into the partial solar eclipse of Oct. 23, 2014.
Photo: Greg Scheiderer.

It didn’t last long. Not more than 15 minutes later a robust thunderstorm, including lots of hail, blew through the area, obscured the Sun from view and drove us for cover. The storm didn’t last long, but the cloud cover remained for a while. Perhaps 20 minutes to half an hour later, we spotted a patch of blue sky to the west and urged the Sun to steer into it. It did! For the next hour or so the eclipsing Sun played hide and seek with us, dodging under cloud cover and then peeking back out again.

Maximum eclipse happened right about 3 p.m., and about 15 minutes after that one of the neighbor kids who had come over for a look through the Seattle Astronomy telescope and eclipse shades spotted a flash of lightening. A rumbling thunderclap followed a few seconds later, and within a minute or two it was raining and hailing hard. Alas, we’d seen the last of the eclipse for the day. Another blue patch finally arrived right around 5 p.m., old Sol popped into view, but the disk of the new Moon had passed by and the eclipse was over.

The eclipse was especially interesting because of the giant sunspot aimed right at us. You can see it in the photos, which, I admit, aren’t that great. They were made with a little point-and-shoot camera stuck right up to the telescope eyepiece. I don’t claim any real talent for astrophotography, but like to grab a few snapshots, just to show that I was there.

The partial solar eclipse of October 23, 2014, right around the time of
maximum coverage as seen from Seattle. Photo: Greg Scheiderer.

The eclipse put me in mind of the 2012 Venus transit, when bad weather and a desire to see what was a once-in-a-lifetime event convinced me to drive as far as Corning, California for a chance to see the Sun. This time I decided to stay home, and it paid off. While I didn’t see the whole eclipse, I saw enough to enjoy and appreciate this awesome spectacle, and was able to share it with some neighbors too!

I can’t help but laugh at myself because I still audibly gasp most times at the start of these sorts of events. Seeing the solar eclipse or the Venus transit begin just when the scientists said it would just amazes me, and the spectacle itself is so awesome. Even just spotting Saturn again after it has been out of view, or up too early in the morning, tickles my astronomical fancy. The universe is such an amazing place.

I’m happy that Seattle weather gave us a break and let us have a good view of a great celestial show.

Pops, the Perseids, and a trip back in time

August always makes me wistful these days, and its all because of my father and the Perseid meteor shower.

When I was 12 years old, about to turn 13, I was on a backpacking trip in the Washington Cascade Mountains with my Boy Scout troop and my dad, who was an avid hiker and later our Scoutmaster. By coincidence the hike was in early August. We had some heavy rain during the early part of our adventure, but one night, camped near the small village of Holden, the weather was glorious, the night was crystal clear, and we slept out under the stars. As the sky darkened to the pitch black of the deep wilderness, far away from population centers, we marveled at the near constant stream of shooting stars; it wasn’t planned, and I don’t think any of us even knew they had a name, but Perseid meteors of many colors sizzled through the sky. I don’t think I could have counted them; there must have been a hundred or more every hour!

The author, at right, with his father near Image
Lake after climbing Miner’s Ridge on a hike
in August 1970. Rain and clouds went away later
in the week, enabling the best possible view
of the Perseid meteor shower.

It was a sight like none any of us had ever seen, coming from the Seattle suburb of Renton, light polluted even then. It was a night I will never forget.

Part of the magic of astronomy is the perspective it gives us about time. We see the Moon as it looked about a second ago, the Sun as it was eight minutes in the past, and M31, on a collision course with us, as it looked 2.5 million years ago. The Hubble Space Telescope brings us views of things as they looked close to the birth of the universe.

Every time I see a meteor I’m transported back to 1970, in my sleeping bag in a wilderness clearing, watching hundreds of meteors shoot through the sky, on a hike with my father, who is young, vital, and alive.

Dad passed away in mid-August of 2000, just a few days after the peak of that year’s Perseid shower. The anniversary always makes me look back, and up.
My backyard in West Seattle isn’t ideal for meteor watching. For one thing, it’s in Seattle, where it’s usually cloudy, and if it’s not the city lights wash out all but the brightest of the Perseids. Still, ever the optimist, I always go out and look, just in case. This year was worse than usual for Perseid viewing. The Moon was near full, and though we’ve had a stretch of favorable weather this summer, there were thunderstorms and heavy rain the early morning of the Perseid peak. Shut out again.

The next evening was mostly clear, though, and I went out, grabbed a chair on the deck, and waited just to see if any stragglers would show up. It took about 20 minutes before a fabulous, bright Perseid blazed across the sky.

The astronomy buff in me knows that this meteor was just a little chunk of the ancient comet Swift-Tuttle, itself possibly a piece of the stuff of which the solar system is made. My inner 12-year-old viewed it as a signal from Pops. Things are all right, buddy. Keep looking up.

I have a great life. My wonderful wife tolerates and encourages my astronomy hobby, even though she’s not about to come out and freeze her tail off for a glimpse of the Cassini Division. We have a nice consulting practice, and sometimes people publish my writing. I don’t want to be 12 again. But I like having a time machine that takes me back to spend a little more time with the old man every once in a while.

I miss you, Pops.

The Bearscove star party intensity scale

Astronomy clubs often hold star parties, but seasoned attendees and newcomers alike have varied expectations for such events. Jon Bearscove says that’s no wonder. He identified five different types of star party during a talk at October’s meeting of the Seattle Astronomical Society, and also suggested a common rating system so those planning to attend a star party will know what to expect.

Public astronomical observing goes back at least to Great Britain’s King George III, whom Bearscove, founder of the Galileo Astronomy Unclub, described as “a star party guy.” The definition of star party is simple: A gathering of amateur astronomers for the purpose of observing the sky. But star parties can come in a lot of different formats.

Bearscove is something of a star-party commando and knows whereof he speaks. Here are his five types:

1. Outreach
2. Observing
3. Mixed
4. Publicity
5. Literal

Outreach is a common type of star party. Most astronomy clubs hold regular events to share members’ love of the night sky with others, and this is a primary mission for many. Clubs may set up a star party in a public park or even a supermarket parking lot and invite anyone who happens by to take a look through their telescopes. Outreach star parties also may be given for school groups, scout troops, or specific communities. Outreach events are highly social and are all about sharing.

Observing star parties are on the opposite end of the spectrum. These are more serious affairs for the hardcore, experienced amateur who is doing research, study, or photography. They are often held at remote locations with much darker skies. While a number of amateur astronomers may be in the same place at the same time, nobody wants to be disturbed.

President Obama’s White House Astronomy
Night from 2009 qualifies as a Publicity Star
Party. Jon Bearscove says you can’t do much
real observing with TV lights on in one of the
most light-polluted cities in the U.S.
Photo: White House.

Mixed star parties are a blending of the outreach and observing types. The annual Table Mountain Star Party is an example. It’s a highly social event at which people check out everyone else’s cool astronomy gear, but there are some serious observers who attend as well. Usually those who want to be left alone can make it known. Respect those who are doing serious work; bump into someone’s telescope and you might foul up a six-hour photographic exposure.

Publicity is a new category of star party on Bearscove’s list. He describes it as an event with “no purpose” and came up with the notion when he saw photos of an Astronomy Night event held at the White House in 2009.

“If there are bright lights, media coverage, and the Secret Service, it’s a different kind of star party,” he quipped.

Literal star parties are, well, exactly that.

“Star means shiny thing in the sky; party means light, music, booze,” Bearscove said as he explained the category. His example: he once traveled to Japan for the annual Tainai Star Party, often described as the biggest in the world. Bearscove described it as more of a rock concert, with bands, bright lights, vendors, 20,000 people, and “zero observing.”

Bearscove, the shadowy figure at the bottom of the frame,
 explained his Star Party Intensity Scale at October’s
meeting of the Seattle Astronomical Society.
Photo: Greg Scheiderer.

Bearscove suggests a shorthand way of referring to star parties, inspired by the hurricane intensity scale. His three-step scale loosely corresponds to the observing, mixed, and outreach types of star parties. On the Bearscove Scale a “Category 1” star party would feature extensive observing, “Category 2” would have moderate intensity, and “Category 3” would be the lowest intensity, focused on outreach.

“I think it would be neat if there could be a standard scale,” Bearscove said. “You might have people more interested in a category 2 or a category 1. Everyone’s different.”

His advice for navigating those differences: “Match star parties to your taste,” he suggested. “I like outreach a lot but I also like hard-core observing.” He crosses categories.

It will be interesting to see if the Bearscove scale catches on!