Have you ever been out in the deep country, late at night, and looked up at the celestial dome utterly dumbfounded? For city-folk and even suburban-folk such as myself, one’s first view of this spectacular stellar panorama is literally breathtaking. Laying on a hill in the grass on a warm summer’s evening, staring up at the countless stars truly makes one philosophize, or at least ponder his own insignificance in this great cosmos given to us.
I was always fascinated with the night sky. As an avid devourer of science fiction and physics books from a young age, it seemed only natural to want to know more. My uncle taught me some constellations, pointed out some planets. He even gave me rudimentary lessons on relativity. In college I took two courses in Astronomy and aced both.
Then, for some reason, I grew away from one of my strongest passions, and did not return for a couple of years. Then, sensing, I suppose, a deficiency of some sort, quite abruptly I realized I wanted to resume stargazing. No, I had to resume it! I bought a field guide for astronomers and dragged my then significant other with me up to my parents’ weekend home in the deep country.
That first night, out in the field together, our attention solely on the dome above us, we began hunting constellations. Kind of tricky, at first, when you’re looking at a sky filled with over three thousand of them. But what a thrill when we spotted our first one (I think it was Cassiopeia or Cepheus, not sure). Even my girlfriend, who had zero interest in astronomy, was hooked. We must’ve been out there for two hours, picking constellations out of the field guide and searching the night sky for them.
I spent the remainder of that weekend poring through the field guide. I learned how to estimate distances in the sky. The width of your pinkie, held at arm’s length, is about one degree of distance. Your middle three fingers is five degrees, the width of your fist ten, your pinkie and index fingers outstretched about fifteen, your pinkie and thumb twenty-five. I also memorized the distances, in degrees, from the stars in the Big Dipper for comparison’s sake. But more importantly, I began reading my old astronomy books again.
I was always fascinated with the night sky. As an avid devourer of science fiction and physics books from a young age, it seemed only natural to want to know more. My uncle taught me some constellations, pointed out some planets. He even gave me rudimentary lessons on relativity. In college I took two courses in Astronomy and aced both.
Then, for some reason, I grew away from one of my strongest passions, and did not return for a couple of years. Then, sensing, I suppose, a deficiency of some sort, quite abruptly I realized I wanted to resume stargazing. No, I had to resume it! I bought a field guide for astronomers and dragged my then significant other with me up to my parents’ weekend home in the deep country.
That first night, out in the field together, our attention solely on the dome above us, we began hunting constellations. Kind of tricky, at first, when you’re looking at a sky filled with over three thousand of them. But what a thrill when we spotted our first one (I think it was Cassiopeia or Cepheus, not sure). Even my girlfriend, who had zero interest in astronomy, was hooked. We must’ve been out there for two hours, picking constellations out of the field guide and searching the night sky for them.
I spent the remainder of that weekend poring through the field guide. I learned how to estimate distances in the sky. The width of your pinkie, held at arm’s length, is about one degree of distance. Your middle three fingers is five degrees, the width of your fist ten, your pinkie and index fingers outstretched about fifteen, your pinkie and thumb twenty-five. I also memorized the distances, in degrees, from the stars in the Big Dipper for comparison’s sake. But more importantly, I began reading my old astronomy books again.
Some random facts I learned?
Stars come in all colors except green.
The solar system is moving towards the star Vega, one of the three bright stars in the Summer Triangle, at about 12 miles per second.
Jupiter has more than double the mass of all the other planets, making the solar system really the Sun-Jupiter system, with a couple of loose pebbles and gas balls thrown in.
The star Betelgeuse, one of the shoulders in the constellation Orion, is pretty much the biggest single thing any of us can see. Its diameter fluctuates, reaching at greatest extension a radius of almost 5.4 times the distance of the Earth from the Sun. That’s about 500 million miles.
The Moon recedes from the Earth at about one inch a year.
Eventually I got another telescope for Christmas, a 60mm refractor, and did the best I could with it. After some practice I was able to track Venus, Mars, and Jupiter. My proudest moment was the first time I glimpsed the rings of Saturn in that shaky thing. I think me and a friend spotted the Orion Nebula one very cold night, but I can’t be sure.
One of the best things you can do for yourself is to go outside a few hours after sunset, maybe with a pair of binoculars, and just look up at the sky. A sense of wonder mixed with humility will slowly wash over you. Guaranteed.
How about two trick questions? Okay!
1. How many full moons can be stacked up from the horizon to the zenith, the point directly overhead?
2. What is normally the brightest object in the night sky?
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