Happy Friday, y’all!
I mustache you a question: Who’s got too many telescopes?
Ha! You thought it was me. Wrong.
Nobody can have too many telescopes.
Buckle up, it’s another Friday post with astronomical observations for the blind and sighted alike. And, we’ve got a new toy.
Thursday, Early Evening
The nearly-full Wolf Moon loomed up over the bare trees. The sky deepened blue as twilight approached, and tinged with purples and pinks.
“If only there was a way I could look at the moon a little better” I muttered sarcastically.
Then it happened.
The yellow DHL truck rolled up the driveway.
“It’s here! It’s here!” It’s a good thing they didn’t turn around in trepidation. I was pacing around with a huge grin.
“It’s that long one, dude.” The driver motioned to his helper, and handed me the box.
Modern shipping deserves more praise. The telescope was in Germany on Monday morning. Soon, it was set up on a tripod in the driveway.
Photo description: The new telescope is seen in profile against the night sky. A long white tube is mounted on a tripod, while the nearly full moon shines on the scene.
Technical Specs
The Teleskop Service 102 mm f/11 refractor with ED glass sure is a cannon.
Some of the rigs I use look like space heaters, snowmen, weber grills, or mortars. They work splendidly, but folks walking by scratch their heads. What is that?
About four feet long, with a white tube, perched high on a tripod, the new gear looks like a telescope.
Many modern refractors (telescopes that use a lens in the front to bend, or refract the light to the eyepiece in the back) are made with photography in mind. They’re short, and astoundingly expensive. This one is neither. It blends the old school visual observing needs with high quality glass. It’s great for observing the planets, double stars, brighter deep space objects, the moon and….
Blogging.
That’s right. I grabbed a notebook. As a Great Horned owl hooted along the creek, and a brave cricket tested the unseasonably warm January night, I scribbled a few things by the light of the Wolf Moon.
The Sky
Less than 24 hours from full, the “Wolf Moon” washed out the faint stars, turning the sky a deep gray that once was blue. Orion rose over the mountain. Auriga, forming a giant fist shaped outline with neighboring Taurus, looked on.
The stars twinkled slightly. Rigel, blue white, Orion’s left foot, winked. So did red Betelgeuse. Aldebaran, the “glowering eye” of Taurus twinkled back.
Mars did not. The red light shone clear, rock solid, an unflinching gaze of a celestial police officer. “Sir, step away from the telescope.”
Planets, with a small disc of light, are less susceptible to atmospheric turbulence, and usually appear to shine steadily. Stars appear as a single point of light, and are easily affected by unsteady air. For my blind friends, I know this sounds strange, as air is clear. However, if there’s a temperature difference in the air, the density causes light to travel through it differently. To use a sound parallel, a “twinkle” would be like talking behind a slow-moving fan. The sound wavers ever so slightly.
The many points of light originating from the disc of a planet have good odds of not getting scrambled, even if a few hit turbulence. It’s an overall thing.
The God of War
Roman soldiers would pray to Mars, their god of war, before each battle. The ruddy glow of Mars is rather ominous, and a fitting celestial representation.
I swung the new scope towards this red-orange jewel, glittering in the stars of Taurus.
The view through the eyepiece was…subtle. I loved it, but most folks would give it a polite “very nice.” With a little attention to detail though, the view came to life.
Mars appeared as a tiny disc that was a lovely peach color. Iron Oxide in the Martian soil gives the hue. One bright and one dim star hung in the field of view, trillions of miles distant.
Mars itself was a staggering 63 odd million miles from my wondering eye.
Small variations started to flicker in and out of visibility on the planet.
Suddenly, the God of War had a mustache.
Syrtis Major
Against the orangish color of the disc, a faint dark gray line was visible, with the subtlest hint of green. It extended across the lower part of the disc, similar to a mustache on a face. A middle part extended up, not unlike a nose.
It was Syrtis Major, 620 miles across, extending 930 miles north. First noticed by Christiaan Huygans in 1659, it was eventually thought to be some sort of water. It was referred to as the Hourglass sea, Kaiser Sea, and eventually Syrtis Major.
It would change ever so slightly over the years, growing, shrinking, morphing. Huygans used this mark to estimate how long a day was on Mars, noting the planet spin by this handy feature.
Was it vegetation? A vast Martian farmland?
It’s actually an old shield volcano complex. The lava flows cooled, and lie dark and frozen on the surface. Howling winds buffet dust and sand across the rock, ever rearranging the face of Syrtis Major.
Back in the driveway, I squinted through the eyepiece. There it was again - the mustache shape. Just as the atmosphere was making the stars twinkle, the view would get blurred, and then sharpen. Syrtis Major was on the edge of visibility.
As the cricket chirped and a few cars rolled by in the distance, I was looking at ancient lava on another planet, millions of miles away.
Or - the God of War’s Mustache.
I just had to tell you.
Treasures from Earth
Oh heavens…I mistakenly posted Bach’s Brandburg Concerto number three instead of number five last week, and we’re on six already and…
Does anyone have a tissue? I’ve got a nosebleed.
Anyway.
Here’s FIVE:
My favorite concerto is number six, and not just for the sound. Apparently, Bach was a bit of a stinker. Although we think of all of these pieces as highbrow, he wrote this last one to include the Viola da Gamba (basically a cello with frets), an instrument considered “low class” just to annoy one of his patrons.
That’s the story I’ve heard, and I’m sticking to it. Stick it to the Man today with Bach’s Brandenburg Six.
(And if I cave, and marry the daughter of the Man, with the money to match to hire the ensemble, I should like to walk down the aisle to the third movement of this piece. There, I said it.)
Happy Friday!
Josh