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A right old comet kerfuffle…

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NOTE: this is a long post. If you’re in a rush, come back another time. Otherwise, grab a cup of coffee and a chocolate Hob Nob, put your feet up, and prepare to be growled at.

If you have a passion for – or even just a passing interest in – space exploration, you’re probably aware that an unmanned European Space Agency (ESA) space probe, “Rosetta”, is currently closing in on a comet. The comet’s full name is “Comet 67P/Churyumov-Gerasimenko” but many space enthusiasts are shortening that to “Cherry Gerry”, or “Comet CG” or just plain “67P” (which is what I’ll call it here from now on, ok?) This is one of the most exciting space missions for a long, long time, because not only will the Rosetta probe take high resolution images of the comet’s surface from August, but in November it will set a small lander, “Philae”, down on its nucleus, which will then send back the first ever pictures from the surface of a comet. Obviously this is a seriously giddying prospect, not just for planetary and cometary scientists, who have longed to see a comet’s surface properly for decades, but also for “armchair” space explorers, the countless tens (hundreds?) of thousands of people around the globe who live and breathe space missions, and spend hours looking at the images sent back from across the solar system. So as Rosetta closes in on Comet 67P a lot of people are getting very excited. Big missions like this, when something completely new is seen for the first time, don’t come along very often now.

There are lots of serious science questions for Rosetta to answer once she arrives. What is the comet made of? How much dust is coming off it? How old is it? In which part of the solar system did it form, all those billions of years ago? But let’s be honest, as exciting as this “hard science” will be, really, as the August 6th rendezvous approaches, everyone – professional scientist and “space geek” alike – is wondering the same thing: what will the comet nucleus look like up close? Will it have craters and dusty plains, like those seen on other comets in the past? Will giant boulders litter its surface? Will it have hills, or even mountains, casting stark shadows when the Sun slips behind them? What will we SEE?

Outside of the so-called “astronomical community” there is a lot of public interest in this mission too. It’s fair to say that promoting its missions, and engaging the public with those missions, is something ESA has been rather poor at in the past, but now they’re really doing well. For months now the European Space Agency team responsible for publicising and promoting the Rosetta mission has been doing an absolutely fantastic job, promoting Rosetta with competitions, multiple websites and countless Outreach activities and events, and thanks to their tireless efforts on social media the mission has a very solid presence on Twitter and Facebook. Scientists involved in the mission have been blogging about it too. This all means that Rosetta has probably the highest online presence of any ESA mission to date, a great achievement considering that the ESA Outreach team has had to do all this with a limited budget and a small number of people. They deserve huge congratulations for their efforts.

But money and manpower aside, their greatest problem has inevitably been a lack of actual pictures of the mission’s cometary target, 67P. The comet’s icy nucleus is so small, and has been so far away from the probe, that until this week it has looked like just a few pixels on a black background. A few days ago, with the gap between comet and probe shrinking daily, ESA put out “the latest” images of the comet, and although it looked larger than we had seen it before it was still just a blurry, smudgy… something. Tantalising views, certainly, but 67P was not looking much like a comet, to be honest.

Then a couple of days ago, everything changed.

If you were online during Wednesday you probably felt a strange disturbance in the Force… as if thousands of space exploration enthusiasts suddenly cried out in delight, only to be suddenly silenced a short time later. Why? Because suddenly, out of the blue, apparently published by accident, new images of 67/P appeared online, and they were radically different from anything seen before…

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Memories of a confusing cluster of pixels were instantly banished as we all gazed at the strange object on our screens. Instead of looking like a single body, like a classic asteroid or comet, 67P looked like two bodies stuck together, or a single large body with two very distinct parts. Straight away astronomy journalists and armchair explorers alike were speculating that 67P might be what astronomers call a “contact binary”, which is a fancy way of saying “it’s made of two once separate bits which bumped together and stuck”. Great! Two comets for the price of one!!

But steady on. There are other possibilities. Maybe it’s a single body with a narrow waist, like a peanut, or the pictures are still of such low quality they’re giving totally the wrong impression But “contact binary” seems to be the most popular interpretation of the images so far. As ever, we’ll just have to wait and see…

Looking back, I think it’s fair to say that there was quite a mood of euphoria for a while that day, as those images – still blurry, but waaay better than anything we had seen before – spread across the internet like a brand new video clip of a sleeping kitten cuddling up to a puppy under a Christmas tree. After all the months of just seeing Rosetta’s target as a pixelated “What the hell is THAT??” blob, suddenly it was a very real, very solid object. “Look at that,” I thought, looking at the images on my phone, “67P is a real world…” Rosetta was going to explore and study a real world! Oh, yes, there was much rejoicing throughout the space exploration community -

But not, it seems, within ESA. The images had been released unofficially and prematurely. S0on they had vanished from the CNES webpage, rounded up and put back in their barns, and the sound of the doors slamming firmly shut behind them echoed across Europe. But it was too late. By then the images had been Saved by countless space enthusiasts and were already being pasted into reports on numerous websites. The cat wasn’t just out of the bag, it was halfway down the street and had no intention of coming back…

Of course, ESA’s image cull prompted quite a response too. Twitter, Facebook and forums were soon groaning under the weight of varying opinions and reactions. Some people said “Ok, fair enough, they were released without permission, we should wait for the official release”. But others shook their heads in frustration, and disappointment, and thought gloomily “Here we go again – ESA is going to hold back images again…”

Again? Yes, again. You see, in the past – in stark contrast to NASA, which releases raw images from its Mars rovers and Saturn orbiter “Cassini” in real time, sometimes posting them on websites just hours after they were taken – ESA has been, shall we say, “reluctant” to let the public see more than a handful of images taken by its probes at the time they were taken. This has led to a lot of criticism and even anger. And, cards on the table here, it’s a policy which really, really hacks me off personally.

ESA has always answered that criticism by insisting that it was their policy to not release more images until the scientists working on the missions had had time to study them and do science with them. And ok, that’s fair enough; if you were a scientist who had dedicated years, if not decades of your career to a space mission, the last thing you want is to be “scooped” by non-scientists playing about with your images on their laptops while sat in bed in their pyjamas. How chuffed would YOU be if someone tapping away on their tablet spotted something interesting on one of YOUR photos before YOU’D had a chance to look at it properly..?

But looking at it from the other side, many ask if it’s fair for ESA to horde its images in this way when those images are paid for with public money. European governments fund ESA, and Governments get their money from taxing their citizens, so while a lot of private money goes into them – space exploration is big business across Europe, and many hi-tech companies have invested huge amounts of money in it – every ESA mission is paid for, at least in part, out of money taken from hard working people’s wage packets. Surely the people who pay for the images to be taken have the right to see them – not all of them, but at least a good number of them – when they are taken? At a very fundamental level, how can it be fair for ESA to horde their images on their hard drives when there are thousands and thousands of people desperate to see them – people who paid to have those images taken in the first place?

These aren’t just my arguments, by the way. These points are made so often about ESA missions that they’ve become a bit of a thorn in the space agency’s side and they can’t ignore them anymore. And by yesterday evening one of the Rosetta team had put out a very detailed and honest blog post, again explaining the Rosetta (and general ESA) image release policy. You can read it here ( http://blogs.esa.int/rosetta/2014/07/16/access-to-rosetta-data/  ) but basically it just repeats the familiar arguments about ESA scientists needing time to study the images before they are released, and ends by saying, in as many words, “Hey, don’t blame us; this way of doing things was agreed by the countries who contribute money to ESA. It’s just the way things are…”

Yeah, well, sorry to be rude, but “the way things are” sucks. It needs to change. Because if ESA drip feed the public Rosetta images after spending all these months – and a lot of money – building up public excitement and expectation through all that brilliant Outreach work, they’re not just going to look selfish, but they’re going to risk losing a lot of the goodwill they’ve built up too.

Yesterday ESA officially released “the latest” images of 67P, which were put into an animation to show it rotating…

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(Rotating view of comet 67P/C-G on 14 July 2014.
Credits: ESA/Rosetta/MPS for OSIRIS Team MPS/UPD/LAM/IAA/SSO/INTA/UPM/DASP/IDA)

…and although they show only a little more detail than the “bootleg” images released the day before – even though some people claim to have brought out surface detail in the photographs using image processing software, the comet and probe are still so far apart that actual surface features can’t be resolved yet – in a way that doesn’t matter. What matters most at the moment is that the comet’s bizarre shape has been revealed. Look at the images yourself and you’ll appreciate why it has been compared by many people to a “Rubber Duckie” (or just plain old “Rubber Duck” as we call them here in the UK, without that “Duckie” nonsense! :-) ) , and that rather irreverent nickname appears to be popular amongst science writers, too.

So, the excitement is definitely building. From now on every new set of images will show more and more detail, and it won’t be long before the Rosetta scientists will have good enough images to enable them to begin charting and naming features like craters, mountains and valley’s on the comet’s surface. But it seems that we will have to wait for those images too. Everything coming out of ESA in the wake of “Rubber Duckie Gate” suggests that ESA is sticking to its guns and is only going to release images of 67P in spurts.

It may be a week until we see any more Rosetta images, which is quite ridiculous in my opinion. I actually feel quite mad thinking about that.

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But why do I feel so strongly about this? After all, people like me have no God given right to see the images taken by Rosetta or other space probes. Well, that’s true, but as one of those aforementioned “armchair explorers” – and also a very active “Outreach Educator”, who regularly gives illustrated talks on space and astronomy to public groups – I think it’s only fair I be allowed to see them, and use them.

“Yes, Stu,” I hear some of you sighing, “but WHY???”

Well, whilst I obviously recognise the value and importance of the hard science returned by space probes and missions – you know, the squiggly-lined graphs, Powerpoint charts and bizarre, Rorschach test-like splodges of chemical composition and spectroscopy readings – to be perfectly honest my passion is for images, or “pretty pictures” as they’re often dismissed as. I think this is because of my background as an amateur astronomer, children’s astronomy writer and Outreach worker. I enjoy standing in a muddy or frosty field on a dark night and actually looking up at the stars, bathing in the light of the Milky Way as it arches overhead. I love staring into the eyepiece of my small but trusty 4.5” reflecting telescope and seeing Saturn’s rings, the Moon’s craters and Jupiter’s four largest moons for myself. I delight in standing in front of a room full of people, young or old, and showing them pictures of Valles Marineris, the icy landscape of Titan or the Earth rising above the charcoal-black limb of the Moon. I’m a visual person, guilty as charged. I’m sure others go all weak at the knees when they see a graph or a chart but for me a picture is worth a million graphs or charts, never mind a thousand words.

And I’m not alone feeling that way. There are millions of people just like me “out here”, and more ‘space enthusiasts’ are taking part in the exploration of space from their school desks, office chairs or bedrooms every week, via the internet.

Which is why I have such a problem with ESA’s image release policy. It’s a dinosaur policy, drafted in the pre-internet world, when, to be honest, it didn’t matter if images were released promptly or not because the vast majority of the general public really didn’t give a monkey’s about what the wild-haired space boffins holed up in their labs got up to. There was hardly any science on TV, or in the newspapers or magazines, or at least nowhere near as much as we enjoy now. In those days probably only a few tens of thousands people around the world waited breathlessly to see the Voyager images of Jupiter, or the Viking images of Mars. In many ways it was a science-starved world.

Well, we don’t live in that world any more, despite what some people involved with ESA apparently think. Today huge numbers of the public voraciously devour science, and want to participate in the great adventures taking place out there”. Unable to physically go along for the ride, they are happy instead to follow the missions online, regularly checking their websites, blogs, Facebook pages and Twitter feeds. Each FB post, each Tweet, each link clicked on makes them feel that little bit more connected to those missions, and happy to support future (expensive) missions too.

Now let me state here very clearly, so no-one accuses me of having anything personal against ESA, that I am very proud of the European space program and all it has achieved. I’ve grown up with the successes of Hubble, Huygens, Mars Express, Giotto and other ESA missions. They’re all fantastic achievements, and have given space science just as much as NASA’s possibly more-famous flagship missions such as Voyager and the MERs. But my loyalty to ESA is not blind. I firmly believe ESA has to have a rethink here, and get a real grip on Outreach in the 21st century. It really, really needs to do better.

I’ve already acknowledged that ESA has nowhere near the Outreach resources NASA does, and I’m not suggesting it tries to catch up. What I am suggesting is that they do better with what they have, and at least try to make sure people “out here” are more involved in their space missions and are allowed to see the results of the programs they have paid for. To put it plainly, ESA needs to become more generous with its images, because – in my opinion – at the moment, by withholding images like it does, it comes across as cold and detached from the very people who fund and support it.

ESA simply has to become more aware of the importance and value of releasing images into the public domain as quickly, and as freely, as possible. Today ESA – like NASA – has countless websites, and those websites frequently display images taken by space-probes during encounters and fly-bys etc, and when they appear they’re always gorgeous and brilliant and right-click saveable. But compared to NASA, ESA seems to drip feed the public, and the media, its images, almost as if it begrudges sharing them sometimes.

Actually, if you dig a little deeper it becomes clear that the problem seems to lie not with the Agency itself, but with some of the scientists in charge of the instruments involved or the missions themselves. They’re still living in the Dark Ages; they just don’t “get” that releasing their images into the wild is A Good Thing. Each image has to be prised from their hands, which is not good, not good at all.

Again, I have to stress that I have no bad will towards ESA. Far from it; I know from the email correspondence I have enjoyed with many ESA scientists in the past, and from my daily interactions with them now on both Facebook and Twitter, that they are hard working, dedicated and enthusiastic people who love sharing their successes with the wider world. I’m sure many of the Rosetta team would love to see more of its images being enjoyed “out here” by members of the public. But there is a serious problem somewhere within ESA that is letting them down, and needs addressing. And that problem seems to me to be that some of the people in charge of ESA missions don’t “get it” that space science isn’t just for space scientists any more, it’s fascinating to a growing number of ordinary people too, and these are the same people who fund ESA’s ambitious and successful – and unsuccessful – missions through their taxes.

I honestly think Rosetta’s historic comet rendezvous demands changes in ESA’s image release policy.

And come on, it has to change, because the world has changed. I’m not sure if the people guarding the gates of the Rosetta image vaults even know this, but Out Here there is now an energetic and thriving community of space enthusiasts who have amazing image manipulation talents and skills, who will happily spend hours and hours taking the raw images and, by enhancing them, adding colour, stitching them together and generally tweaking them, turn them into quite amazing celestial portraits.

And the key word there is “raw”. The images we want to see are the untouched ones, the grainy, blurry, speckly JPEG artefact-riddled images returned by space probes which the mission scientists then calibrate and clean up and turn into useful, hard data, data they then work with to write their papers and advance their careers. I seriously question the ESA concerns that its scientists can be “scooped” by enthusiasts working on such raw images because apparently NASA doesn’t have any problems with this. In fact, NASA openly encourages people to become involved in its missions by posting raw images taken by its Mars rovers and Saturn-orbiting CASSINI probe online as soon as they can. NASA is happy, for the most part, for people sitting in their pyjamas or on trains to take the raw images and use them to create new and beautiful works of art for everyone to enjoy.

ESA needs to embrace this philosophy too, if it is to connect better with the public and ensure their support for its missions continue, especially in this difficult time of austerity. Even I sometimes find it very hard to justify the money spent on space exploration when so many people don’t have enough to eat, or a roof over their head. The answer to such criticism is to ask people to consider The Bigger Picture, to explain to them that space exploration enriches us all and adds to our knowledge. Proving that is hard, very hard, but showing a jaw-droppingly gorgeous picture of an achingly-blue martian sunset, or Earth glinting like a sapphire beneath Saturn’s glowing rings, or an asteroid tumbling through the darkness of space can help enormously. People don’t “get” scientific diagrams. I’ve yet to hear the audience at one of my talks let out an appreciative sigh when shown a Powerpoint slide of a spiky graph showing the changing seasonal rate of methane production on Mars. But put up an image of Earth taken from space, glowing, burning bright blue against the blackness of the void like a fragile Christmas tree bauble and the response is amazing.

People like pictures. They can appreciate pictures. That’s why pictures are a space agency’s best asset. To take them and not make the most of them you possibly can is foolish.

As a space enthusiast and member of that public I don’t ask for much. I don’t want to sit in on planning or funding or engineering meetings, or be sent thousand page reports or technical papers, or vote on spending and funding. I trust people at ESA to handle those things. But I want to see at least a good number of the pictures I’ve contributed to financially soon after they’ve been taken, instead of just gnawing on a few scraps thrown from the top table, long after they’ve gone cold. Personally I don’t think that’s unreasonable, is it?

I can’t help thinking – melodramatically, I know – that by keeping back images like it does, ESA’s behaving like a photographer that was paid – very well – in advance for photographing a friend’s wedding, then used that money to buy the most expensive camera he could find and spent hours taking pictures, only to hand over a handful of prints instead of the full album he promised, before walking away with the camera too…

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It might sound selfish, me just wanting to see a picture of my favourite planet, or a comet, or whatever, but there’s a bigger picture here. It’s not just about me, it’s not even about us, the current space enthusiasts – it’s about the next “us”. Every time I give a talk in a school I try fan the flames of the kids’ interest in the hope that I’ll inspire one of them to go grab a book off a shelf and learn a bit more after I’ve gone. I’ve been giving school talks for (oh my god!!!) almost 30 years now, must have talked to many thousands of kids in that time, and hopefully some of them have gone on to study and work in science, maybe even space exploration, I don’t know. But it’s such a visual topic, space exploration, that it’s absolutely essential to have the latest pics to show the kids, or they won’t believe that space exploration is going on NOW, and wasn’t all finished in the days of Apollo, as they’re taught in history, I can’t stress that enough.

Steve Squyres, the man behind the fantastically successful Mars rovers, has said that he was inspired to enter a career as a space scientist by those famous Viking images of Mars. The same thing happened to me, only in my case the images were in a paint-stained copy of NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC tossed into a corner of my art class and forgotten about until an inquisitive 16yr old found it and… um… sneaked it home to look at it in private.

I’ve still got it, over there on the “Mars” shelf of my bookcase. I have kept it all this time, even though it’s battered and faded now, because pictures are important. They speak to us. An amazing image – of anything, a crying child, a beautiful sunset, a comet seen by a passing space-probe – can reach out of our computer and TV screens, and up off our newspaper and magazine pages, and bury itself into our brains and hearts and never leave. ESA has to realise that the images it takes are treasures to be shared with everyone, as quickly and as fully as possible, not just because – despite what they think – they have an obligation to let the people who paid for those images to be taken see them, but because they have a chance to inspire and educate people with them too. I’m seriously not sure that the Outreach potential of ESA’s images is fully appreciated yet. Rosetta’s historic comet encounter should – has to be – the event which triggers changes.

I know that the situation within ESA regarding image release is much more complicated than it is in NASA. As I said earlier, ESA mission scientists are not obliged to share their data in the same way, and some prefer to withhold it from the public and the media until it has been analysed to within an inch of its life. The people behind individual instruments can demand data release delays too. But this attitude has to change, and the scientists and researchers involved in missions need to be made aware of how important a change to a more generous image release policy is.

Unfortunately I don’t think they’re going to make that change willingly; I think they’re going to have to be made to change.

How we get them to change, though, I don’t know. Echoing my own thoughts and concerns, a German astronomy enthusiasts have sent an open letter to ESA calling for a more generous Rosetta image release policy during the encounter with 67P – which is very appropriate seeing as many of the scientists involved in taking, and releasing, Rosetta images are German – but their appeal seems to have been shrugged off. So what else can we do? Well, on our Facebook pages and in our Tweets we can keep making the case for more images to be shared. We can keep this subject alive in our blog posts and forum discussions, too. Other than that, I don’t know.

One word sums it up, really: share. ESA needs to share what it does with the world better; if you put more images out more quickly, you can then just sit back and bask in the glow as the fruits of ESA’s labours are enjoyed, and celebrated, all around the globe. It’s not, um, rocket science.

ESA is a space agency to be proud of, and I am, but to be honest sometimes I don’t feel a part of it. Sometimes I feel like I’m not wanted by ESA. As much as I admire ESA’s programs, I actually feel more a part of NASA’s programs. I would really, really like that to change, and I think that a change to ESA’s antiquated image release policy would go a long way towards making a lot of people like me feel more a part of ESA. Just by being a bit more approachable and a bit more open to sharing, ESA could make many people like me even more proud of our space agency than we already are.

Throughout history comets have been seen as omens of evil. Wars, plagues and disasters have all been blamed on bright comets after they appeared in the sky, and even today many people believe comets are heralds of change and upheaval. Comet 67P will undoubtedly bring about great change and upheaval in the world of astronomy when Rosetta’s cameras and instruments have completed their studies, leaving us with a new understanding of the nature of these enigmatic icy bodies.

Let’s hope that 67P brings about change within ESA itself, too.

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Another fine display…

Typical. Just typical. You wait ages for a good display of noctilucent clouds, then two come along at once – well, a couple of days apart anyway.

In my last post I described the fantastic NLC display that kicked off on Friday night and lasted through to Saturday morning. I thought at the time that would be it for a while, but to my surprise and delight another display lit up the sky last night. It wasn’t as vivid or dramatic as the other one, but it was very pretty and was a striking sight in the sky above the fells to the north of Kendal.

Having been alerted to the start of the display by other NLC observers’ posts on Twitter and Facebook, I went up to Kendal Castle at just after eleven, and the display was already well underway then, as a large, hazy, noticeably bright patch above the NE horizon…

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As time passed the display brightened and spread out, until it resembled a glorious silvery-blue rainbow above the fells. Then, over time, that rainbow faded, split in two and fell away, leaving just a background glow.

Here are the best of my photos. Hope you like them!

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The Great NLC Outburst of July 11/12 2014

Astronomy can be a very, very frustrating hobby, for many reasons. It can be frustrating because of the difficulty involved in seeing things – how come all the best stuff happens at stupid o’clock in the morning?  It can be frustrating financially – why is everything so expensive? And it can be frustrating technically – why won’t this ***** **** ***** telescope align???? But more than anything else, it can be frustrating because of the weather. We are totally and completely at its mercy. We can look forward to an event – a meteor shower, an eclipse, a transit, something like that – for months, sometimes years, sometimes even decades, as was the case with Halley’s Comet for many, and then, at the crucial time we miss it, simply because the evil, spiteful atmosphere of our beautiful, green, lush planet chooses that precise time to put a billow of clouds, or even just a single ******* of a cloud, between us and whatever it is we want to watch. Then all we can do is stand there, staring up at the cloudy sky, knowing something… something amazing, something beautiful, some special… is happening behind the blanket of bleakness, unable to see it. It can be soul-crushing, it really can.

In Ye Olde Days before the internet that would have been it. The torture would have ended with a deep, weary sigh and a long drive or walk back home, to slump on the sofa with a cuppa. But now… oh, now our technology prolongs and enhances the torture. Standing there, beneath a cloudy sky, we can go online with our phones and read breathless reports on Facebook of the event we’re missing. We can see other people’s beautiful pictures of the amazing event we’re missing, and read their “OMG! It’s incredible!” Tweets. That’s beyond cruel. It’s happened to me so many times now, I’ve lost count, and I’ll admit that more than once I’ve stood in the shadow of the ruins of Kendal Castle, staring up at a murky orange sky, missing a meteor shower, or a planetary conjunction, or comet, and vehemently given it the finger and sworn at it. Yes, I’ve actually hurled insults at the sky. Bad ones, too. Silly? Maybe, but it made me feel better, and the alternative was sinking to my knees, balling my hands into fists and shouting “**** YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!!” at the heavens like Kirk screaming “Khaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnnn!!” into his communicator, and doing that would be ridiculous.

A second time…

Yes, the Goddess of astronomy can be cruel. She can promise you a sight of such wonder and beauty that you will get up at you’re-having-a-laugh-o’clock, climb a hill and stand alone in temperatures which would have a penguin reaching for a hot water bottle only to cover the sky with cloud, or just push a single cloud into the worst possible place for it to be. I love her, I really do, but sometimes, oh sometimes she reaches into your chest, wraps her slender, starry fingers around your heart and drags it out, laughing as she holds it up in front of your face…

But I’ve come to realise, over the years, that every time she does that – every time an eclipse or a meteor shower or a comet is cruelly hidden from me – she will, one day, make it up to me and show me something… magical. It’s not Karma, it’s not something supernatural, or spooky. It’s just fair. The astronomy Goddess is cruel, true, but she is fair, and for every dozen dreams she crushes she will give you something special in return. You just have to be patient.

And really, patience is the key to enjoying astronomy, I’ve always thought. As I always tell people during my Outreach talks, it takes time to learn the sky, there are no shortcuts. It takes time to learn how to find things in binoculars, or set up your telescope, or master astrophotography with your camera. It takes time to get to know how the sky works, what the hobby can give you. If you rush, if you get impatient, it won’t help. You will know only disappointment and anger. But if you are prepared to roll with the punches, to suffer disappointments, to be tricked and laughed at by the night sky and the wonders painted on it by Nature then you will, on a few precious nights during your lifetime, be allowed to see something… incredible. Something which will make up for all the failures and disappointments. Something which will make you fall on love with the sky, and astronomy, all over again.

And on Friday night it was my turn to enjoy one of those gifts.

As regular readers will know, it is “noctilucent cloud season” here in the northern hemisphere at the moment. Noctilucent clouds – or “NLC” for short – are very high clouds which we only see in the summer months, glowing a beautiful silvery-blue colour, low in the northern sky around midnight. They can’t be predicted, and while some displays can become stunningly bright most are much more modest. Watching them takes patience, determination, and the ability to function on a ridiculously small amount of sleep. Every summer observers like myself long for clear nights so we can head to our favourite spot and basically stake out the northern sky, hoping for NLC to appear. When they do we take our pictures (which we now can post on Twitter and Facebook for other observers to enjoy, or hate, depending on their own weather situation) and enjoy the show for as long as we can. But usually they don’t appear, and then we head home, muttering and mumbling, frustrated by the sky and the cruel nature of NLCs again.

But the worst nights of all are the ones when a big display of NLC kicks off, and its seems like everyone else in the country is seeing and enjoying it, but local cloud means you see absolutely nothing. That’s just… awful, it really is. All we can do is look at the glorious pictures being taken elsewhere and swear at them and the people who took them, cursing the sky and our own bad luck. And that’s happened to me a couple of times this NLC season, most recently last week when a ginormous migraine-inducingly bright NLC display was observed from to the north and the east of me, but I missed it because of a stubborn bank of low cloud stuck to the sky above my northern horizon with superglue, so I could only see a little of the display peeking out from around it…

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I hated that, but, at the same time, that little voice in my head was telling me “Be patient, your time will come…”

And it did, on Friday night.

After several beautifully clear – and, of course, totally NLC-free – nights in a row, I was pretty frazzled by Friday night, but with yet another clear sky forecast I knew I had to keep trying, to keep dragging myself up that hill to the castle, there was just no alternative, so I grabbed a nap between half ten and half eleven, just to try and recharge my batteries a little, just enough to get me back up the hill again and try again. By quarter to midnight I was on my way, camera bag and tripod bag slung over my shoulder as I plodded my way up the hill to Kendal Castle. As I went, occasional glances to the north suggested a subtle brightening of the sky, but there was a Full Moon that night, lighting up all different levels of “normal” cloud, so I didn’t get my hopes up. However, once I was at the top of the hill, looking north I had a really strong feeling that, well… well, this will sound odd, but the sky above the fells in that direction just didn’t look “right”. It was glowing, subtly, and I felt my NLCsense tingle as I aimed my camera at the glow and prepared to take a test exposure. Unwilling to believe my eyes, I knew that iIf NLC were there, they would show up on the photo.

<Click> wait… look at screen…

1st view s

Oh yes… look at that… looked a lot like NLC… I put word out on Twitter that I was maybe seeing something, and let Stella know too, then set-up properly, arranging everything in its right place so I wouldn’t have to ratch for things if a proper display kicked off.  Standing there after midnight, as the sky darkened, I became aware of a bright “patch” low in the NE. Nothing much to the naked eye, but maybe a long exposure photo would show something interesting..?

<click> Looks at photo…

1s

Oh look at that…

Game on. :-)

For the next half hour the NLC grew brighter and expanded to the sides, too, and it soon became clear that some major activity was brewing. Now, that wasn’t a cue for me to jump up in the air, pump my fist and shout “Yes!!!! About time!!!” because I’ve been burned before. “Major activity brewing” can go one of two ways. It can either explode in a display of colour and structure, painting the northern sky with billows of impossibly beautiful blue for hours on end, or it can just go “You know what? I can’t be bothered tonight…” and fade away to nothing, leaving the sky as blank as it was before. So as I stood there taking my photos I tried not to get too excited.  But by half past midnight the lower portion of that “patch” in the NE was clearly evolving into something very interesting indeed, and my photos showed it developing into a strange but beautiful kind of NLC “plume”…

plume developing s

And that soon became this…

bright plume rising above horizon 0030s

Still trying not to let my hopes run away with me I took a close up of it, and it looked VERY interesting. I’ve enhanced that picture to bring out some of the subtle details in the feature…

plume close up s

And with even more enhancement…

plume enhance s

Beautiful, don’t you think? By now I was starting to allow myself to believe that maybe, just maybe, something special was brewing up beyond the horizon and it was headed my way, but it’s never wise to give in to such optimism because the universe is listening and likes nothing better than pulling that run away from under you, so I just kept taking pics, and updating people on Twitter and Facebook, biding my time…

…and, true to form, by one o’clock the plume started to collapse. Like a solar prominence falling back on itself, its spine broke and it started to bow down in the middle. And fade in brightness, too…

3s

Was that it? I didn’t know. But it did feel rather like that scene near the end of “Close Encounters” where the little UFOs have just buzzed the top secret landing site and whooshed up into the sky, raising everyone’s hopes, only for everything to fall silent again. I started to wonder if the show was over. If it was, well, ok, I’d got some fairly nice photos, and it had been worth going out for…

By quarter past one it looked like it was all over. The NLC activity had fallen right back down to the point where what little remained was barely scraping the tops of the fells, and to make matters worse some hideous low cloud had boiled in from the south, smothering my sky…

fading and cloud2s

It was that fateful Decision Time. On Twitter and Facebook, many people were quickly throwing in the towel, announcing they were going to (or BACK to) bed because the show was over. Others, clearly torn between staying out and retreating to their beds hummed and haahd. Me? I knew that going back now could be a big mistake; I’ve been watching NLC displays for *cough* years now (oh, alright, almost 35 years now, and ALL the best NLC displays I have ever seen started reasonably well and then faded, only to flare up again and become something spectacular. So with hardly a star visible in the sky, and with just the merest trace of NLC lingering above the hills, I settled back and made myself comfortable, putting on my little pocket radio (top tip: if you’re observing alone ALWAYS take a little radio with you for company, cos if you don’t, with nothing else to occupy, entertain or distract you  during a lull, that little voice in your head will whisper “It’s finished now, it’s over… you’re tired, and cold… go home… go home… you won’t miss anything…” With a radio on you won’t notice time passing and you’ll find it much easier to stick it out) and catching up on my FB and Twitter messages.

Slowly the sky cleared of cloud, leaving an enormous fat and bright Full Moon blazing behind me, and as the town hall clock chimed “2am” from the streets below me I looked the NE again and saw this…

returning2s

The NLC were back. And getting brighter. Quickly.

By ten past two, I was seeing this in the NE… that feature was developing, evolving, changing onto something very promising indeed…

cockrel developing s

It looked, to my sleep-deprived eyes anyway, like a bird of some kind, maybe a turkey, or a cockrel, and as the minutes passed it began to shine even brighter. I was joined briefly by someone who had just finished work and was walking over the hill as a shortcut home and he was fascinated by what he was seeing above the hills. He was even more fascinated when I explained what they were, and showed him the view of “The Cockrel” (as I had by then decided to call it) on my camera screen…

cockrel best s

I know, look at that… beautiful! But over to its left the NLC were really starting to waken up too…

cockrel pan

…and that was when I knew that Something Big Was Brewing. You don’t get a display that big and bright only to have it fade and break apart. It was going to be a good night, perhaps a very good night for NLC watchers – well, those who had stayed up anyway – and it was time to get serious. I sent Stella a message alerting her to the strength of the display, put the word out again on Twitter and Facebook, and packed up my things. I know what you’re all thinking – “Packed up?!?? You went home????” Of course I didn’t go home! What do you take me for! No. With a major NLC display brewing up I knew it was time to relocate. Where to? Well, if you were wanting to take kick ass photos of a huge NLC display, where would YOU go when you had a great big beautiful ruined castle behind you..?

It was only a short walk to the castle ruins, and before heading into the ruins, to take pics of them silhouetted against the NLC, I paused at the entrance to what’s left of the castle to take a few photos of the display. By this time it was simply gorgeous…

big display brewing s

…and enhancing that photo reveals just how much activity there was going on at this point…

big display brewing enh s

By now the display was really evolving into something special, and every photo I took seemed to look better than the previous one. I took one after another after another, each one subtly different to the others, which is a joyful experience, it really is. I think this is my best one from that period, taken around quarter past two, twenty past two…

5s

That’s the feature I had previously christened “The Cockrel”, which by now looked nothing like a cockrel any more, there was just too much going on in and around it. It actually looked like something – a head? – was pressing through the blanket of NLC… I clicked and clicked and clicked, and took this (I think!) breathtaking image of the NLC just before I turned my back on it and headed into the ruins…

 

best outside castle before going into ruins s

Well, that was the plan anyway, but suddenly I became aware that I had company – Stella had come up the hill to join me and watch the show with me, so I delayed heading into the ruins to take some “NLC selfies” of us…

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s2s

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FINALLY it was time to get the photos I’ve longed to take for a decade – the castle silhouetted against a brilliant display of NLC! Just inside the curve of the ruins I took this panorama…

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..and then I went right to the far end of the ruins and started taking pictures. Ahead of me, the view was just sublime, with the main portion of the ruins standing out against the bright electric blue NKLC display which was by now filling a good half of the sky. I found just the right position, and started clicking, almost breathless with excitement; I’d dreamed of taking these pictures ever since I moved down here, but had been thwarted ten years running. Now everything was in place, would they live up to my expectations? What do you think…

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And that was when I took the time to just step away from the camera, and Look. This is something I feel quite strongly about, and always tell fellow astronomers to do – if something amazing is going on “up there” yes, take lots of photos, but for a while, even just a few minutes, walk away from the camera, a good distance away, and just Look At It. Drink in the view, savour it, roll it around your eyes, heart and soul like a fine wine. Look around you, take it all in, fix it in your brain so that when it ends you won’t just have a memory card full of images but a genuine memory of it yourself, too. So that’s what I did. I walked away from the camera and just stared at the sky, the whole sky, sweeping my gaze around it. Behind me, the Full Moon was a big, fat, bloated golden silver ball, dropping towards a few clouds that had gathered above the horizon. High above me the sky was a delicious delicate dark blue, studded with silver stars. And to the north, the sky was ablaze, lit by countless tendrils and swirls and billows and whorls of with cold, electric blue light. It was as if a sorcerous forest fire was raging silently to the north, perhaps the result of furious spell-casting by two duelling warlocks or witches…

pano22s

By now it was 3am, and to the east the sky was just starting to brighten with the approach of dawn, so heading back to the entrance to the castle, where Stella was waiting patiently (you can just make her out on that image above, sitting on the skyline silhouetted against the NLC), I took the chance to take some unashamedly cheesy pictures of the two of us together while I could…

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With those in the bag and the display still seemingly getting brighter, and more structured, I decided to go for some killer images, ones which would really show what it was like to stand there, at 3am on that Saturday morning, watching the sky burning sapphire blue…

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By half past three the NLC were so bright they were screaming out for some silhouette photos to be taken, and I was happy to oblige…

pano20bs

pano24s

s3s

I think out of all the images I’ve made of that display, this is one of my very favourites…

pano19s

By quarter to four the eastern sky was really brightening, and the air was thick with dew, so heavy that I was having to clean my misted up lenses after every grabbed picture, and although the NLC display was still going strong its subtle light was no match for the stronger light of the approaching dawn, and it began to fade. I knew that the show was almost over, but there were still photos to be taken…

pano27s

dawn approaches s

It was then that we both noticed something coming into view above the NE horizon, a spark of silvery-gold light…

NLC Venus 0400s

Can you see it? Just above the horizon, bottom right, beneath the tattered veil of the fading NLC… that’s Venus. Yes, the Morning Star had come to wish the great NLC display farewell…

Venus 0400s

After that unexpected treat, and with the NLC faded almost from sight, we knew there was nothing else to do and headed home. Of course, any sane person would have collapsed into bed right away after such a long nocturnal haul, but clearly I’m not, so I spent another hour and a half working on my images and getting some of them “out there” online before I surrendered to sleep deprivation and allowed my head to hit a pillow. But it was worth it; I think the pictures I took that morning are some of the best I’ve ever taken, and I may never get another chance to take them, so no regrets about feeling absolutely knackered now. I’d rather be exhausted and happy, with a memory card ( and a head ) full of lovely images, than be one of those people who gave up on the display early and are now kicking themselves…

Looking back now it seems ages ago, but it’s just a day, a DAY since I stood on the castle hilltop bathing my face in the ethereal glow of the best noctilucent cloud display I have ever seen. Everything came together perfectly – I was in exactly the right place at the right time, the weather was just about perfect, all my equipment worked without a hitch, and I got all the photos I wanted on the night, and the ones I have been dreaming of taking for a decade, too.

But before I walked off the hill – and, I think, much to Stella’s amusement – I stopped, looked up at the brightening sky, and said, quietly, “Thank you”. It was only fair. I’d been given a wonderful gift, and I was brought up by mum to say thank you whenever I received one of those. No-one else would have heard it, of course, but I’m sure I heard, whispered on the wind, a soft “You’re welcome…”

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how amateur astronomy works. As I said, way back at the beginning of this post, it’s all about patience and rolling with the punches, because trust me you will get punched in this hobby. When people start off in astronomy it promises to be an easy ride. After all, reading the big glossy astronomy book you bought, or took out of the library, with its beautiful pictures and star charts, you can’t help thinking “How hard can it be to go stand in a field and look up at the sky and see amazing stuff?” Easy peasy, right? What could possibly go wrong? Ah, what they don’t tell you is that life as an amateur astronomer can be so frustrating it can leave you on the brink of tears. You will learn to hate the weather, to see it as a loathed enemy, your mortal enemy, because it will stop you from seeing the meteor shower you read about in “Astronomy Now” magazine, and cheat you of the amazing sight of Saturn emerging from behind the Moon’s limb, as you heard about on “The Sky At Night”, and it WILL hide from your view the shadow-casting fireballs and the beautiful, naked eye comets with the glorious tails that everyone else is raving about on Twitter. No-one tells you that when you’re starting out in the hobby. But it’s true. Being an amateur astronomer isn’t easy at all. The universe will drop you and scratch at you so many times you have to be made of diamond to do it.

But you have to soak up the punches, and push on through the disappointments and frustrations because every now and then the universe will reward you with a night – or even just a fleeting moment – of such startling beauty that your head will spin and your heart will leap and you will fall in love with the night sky all over again.

I had one of those nights on Friday night. There will be another but I’ve no idea when – maybe it will be tonight, with another sky-spanning display of NLC… or it won’t come until next year, when I see a newly discovered naked eye comet painted on the sky above my beloved castle. We’ll just have to wait and see.

Until then, on the cloudy nights I’ll think back to the night when I stood in the ruins of a castle and watched the sky burn blue.

The NLC appear – at last!

Finally, FINALLY a good display of NLC – “noctilucent clouds” – was visible from my part of the world (Cumbria, UK… big clue in the name of the blog, up there at the top..!) last night. And it was an absolute beauty.

Regular readers will know that I have been getting rather frustrated (polite way of saying SERIOUSLY ******* HACKED OFF!!!!) with this year’s NLC season. There have been a couple of displays, but these occurred when the weather here in Kendal was uncooperative, and the only clouds I saw were the low, black grey water droplet kind. On Wednesday night I went up to the castle again, lured up there again by a clear late evening sky, but by the time I headed home at 2am I hadn’t seen even a wisp of NLC. Very annoying.

Last night, I was so disheartened by recent wild goose/NLC chases I had decided to not even think about going out NLC-hunting unless and until someone else, somewhere, reported a positive sighting online, on Twitter or Facebook, and settled down to watch the England v Uruguay World Cup match resolving to stick to that decision. But when we lost the match I was so disappointed that I knew I needed to get out into the night, even if I saw nothing, so at 11.30 I packed up my gear and headed out into the almost-midnight Summer twilight. Crossing the road I glanced left, looking north as I always do – and stopped in my tracks. There were patches of light blue-grey up there which looked… well, they just looked wrong. Or rather, right. When you’ve been an NLC hunter as long as I have you start to get a “feel” for the kind of evening which hosts a display, and as I headed across the street to the park last night my NLC spidey sense was definitely tingling, and when I reached the park and looked north again and saw what I knew for a FACT were large areas of NLC, my spirits lifted. Finally, FINALLY, a good display on a clear night!

I rang Stella as I all but jogged up the hill to the castle, letting her know a display was brewing so she could join me later, all the while casting excited but fearful glances at the northern sky, which was looking decidedly curdled by now. By the time I reached the castle, there was no doubt that Something Big was brewing, so I put the word out on Twitter and Facebook, alerting other observers, and then settled down to organising my own observing session.

As I set up my camera and tripod, I could see signs of NLC stretching across the whole of the northern sky, from the NW to the NE, and fired off some test shots as soon as I could… Here’s what the display looked like around ten to midnight…

1

And here’s what it looked like around half an hour later, with the sky a little darker…

pan1

By the time Stella joined me I had already taken several dozen photos, but I love this one of her looking up at the display as it developed…

IMG_4534

It was annoying – but inevitable – that the ONLY CLOUD IN THE WHOLE SKY was smack bang in the middle of the NLC display, covering it…

pano2

Enhance that and you can see the full extent of the display…

pano2x sm

Around 1am it looked like the display was fading, falling back towards the northern horizon…

pano20

…but I’ve been observing NLC a long time, and I know that such a fading isn’t necessarily The End. It might mark the end of Part 1 of the display, the late night/midnight part, but there’s always a chance that the display will rear up again and roar again before dawn, so at this point I just put a cover over my camera – a woolly hat if you must know! – to prevent dew, and went fir a sit down, catching up on how my fellow NLC watchers were doing by checking out Twitter and Facebook. It was clear from their breathless posts and gorgeous images that the display I was watching was being seen and enjoyed all across the UK, and watchers in Scotland were seeing a particularly good show. This was the first big “Social Media” display I’ve seen, and it was fascinating to follow the reports as they came in, as seasoned observers quietly and calmly went about recording and photographing it, and newbies and First Timers jumped about online like puppies, giddy with the excitement of it all.

And, as I had hoped – and as others online had predicted – around 2am the display began to come to life again, as a patch of NLC began to brighten and grow low in the NNW…

reappears

Sensing the display’s second act was about to begin I grabbed my gear and headed into the ruins of the castle itself, intent on taking some pictures with those ruins silhouetted against the display. And soon I was taking them, as the display grew larger and brighter again, filling the northern sky with fresh wirls, curls and streamers of noctilucent cloud…

pano5b

Soon the display was back in full swing, so I just took picture after picture after picture, swapping position and lenses every few minutes, getting as many pictures as possible, realising that with Cumbrian weather being what it is, this might be the first and last great display of the season. Here are the best pics I took, in no particular order, ok?

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pano3

pano6

IMG_4687

waves

pano16b

pano1b

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castle befpre dawn

By 3am the sky was starting to brighten with the approach of dawn, but the display was still visible…

dawn approaches b

Eventually I started to lose the display, and here are the last images I took…

last look

Back home again at around 03.30 I knew I should go straight to bed, but I was so desperate to see how my photos had turned out that it was almost half past four before my head hit the pillow!

So… finally, FINALLY a display worthy of the name. It took a while to happen, but last night was brilliant, well worth the wait. The forecast is for a clear sky again tonight, so fingers crossed for Round 2..!

No NLC yet, but…

…there are a couple of (hopefully!) clear nights coming up over the next week, so fingers crossed. Actually, to be honest, I have a bad feeling about this year’s NLC Season. I think we’re heading for another 2012. That year, you might remember, there were some decent displays, but here in Cumbria we missed all of them because of our crap weather. Last year, amazingly, the best displays occurred when the Cumbrian cloud cleared, allowing us great views. But so far in 2014 clear nights have been NLC No Show nights, and displays have happened when it has been cloudy in Cumbria… I might be wrong, I might just be having a Pessimistic Astronomer episode, but… well… just saying… I have a “feeling” about this year.

So, since the 2014 Season began at the start of the month, lured up there by beautiful clear skies, I’ve spent hours up at the castle, waiting for something to kick off, but I haven’t seen a hint of NLC. Not a whisper. Which is very disappointing, obviously, but hey, that’s something British – and especially Cumbrian – astronomers are used to. So what we do is make the best of things, and enjoy what’s up there instead, and this past week I’ve been able to take some *fantastic* photos of the International Space Station crossing the sky above my town and, at the end of last week, was treated to the magical sight of an almost Full Moon blazing above the castle with an enormous, beautiful halo around it. So, definitely a frustrating week, but a very rewarding one too. And made all the more enjoyable by having some great company up there, too – namely Stella, my great observing mate Carol, and keen local photographer James Kirby. Here’s a stunning pic Carol took of all of us together, silhouetted against the bright lights of the Auld Grey Town at silly o’clock in the morning…

NLC_hunters_12_6_14

Anyway, here are some of the pictures I took during the past NLC-free week, proving that even if you don’t get to see what  you wanted to see, if you’re patient, and willing to do a bit of work, the universe will always offer you a compensation. (And yes, it does help if your backdrop is a drop-dead gorgeous ruined castle, I know. Hard to go wring with that!)

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The “bright lights” of Kendal…

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Moon peeping out from behind a cloud bank…

ISS Kendal June 8-9 2014s

The space station dropping down towards the horizon after a beautiful pass…

ISS Castle Jun 8-9 2014s

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ISS soaring over Kendal Castle…

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Late night/early morning at Kendal Castle…

And now, those “Moon plus halo” pics…

moonbow jun  12-13d

moonbow jun 12-13sm

moonbow jun 12-13b sm

moonbow jun 12-13c

No, no NLC, but pretty pleased with what I got!

Clear sky forecast tomorrow night, so fingers crossed for a killer NLC display to get stuck into. Last year I still had a very basic DSLR, but now I have a much better one, and lots of different lenses, so really looking forward to seeing what I can do with it.

 

Stars will fall! (Well, maybe… perhaps… dunno…)

If you’re on Twitter or Facebook and have an interest – either all-consuming or passing – in astronomy, you’ll be aware that there’s a huge amount of excitement brewing over a possible new meteor shower, which may or may not occur this coming Friday night/Saturday morning. As is the case with every astronomical story nowadays, be it about an asteroid fly-past, or a newly-discovered comet or an imminent eclipse, there’s a huge amount of hype and misinformation about this online – I know! People posting nonsense on the internet!! Can you believe it???? – so what is actually going on, and what might you (yes, you reading this) actually see?

Ok, well, let’s start by looking at the whole “shooting star” thing. Shooting stars – or “meteors” as astronomers prefer to call them – aren’t stars at all. They’re just tiny grains and flecks of space dust, burning up as they plunge through Earth’s atmosphere. Many people think they’re incredibly rare – hence the superstition about making a wish when you see one – but really, they’re not. Well, if you do your sky-watching now and again from your garden, in the middle of a light polluted town or city they’re rare, because you can only see a teeny tiny portion of the sky under such circumstances. But if you do your sky-watching from somewhere dark, I mean proper dark, where there’s a good view of a lot of the sky, you will see shooting stars fairly often, because they’re flying around all the time. You just need to be looking in the right direction, at the right time, and you can see a few every night. But seeing meteors like that is purely a matter of luck, to be honest.

Most meteors are faint, so faint the naked eye just registers them as they dash across the sky in a fraction of a second. Some are brighter though, very obvious to the naked eye, and genuinely do look like a star cut free from the sky to fall to the ground. Occasionally a VERY bright meteor – known as a fireball, or “bolide” – streaks across the sky, and that can be a memorable sight. Slower, far brighter (sometimes as bright as the Moon!) and more colourful than a “normal” shooting star, they can look like distress flares fired across the heavens…

20080930bolide_edin

…and even after they have faded they can leave behind a ghostly, smoky “trail” in the sky, which can linger for many minutes afterwards, twisting, twirling and contorting as its caught by winds in the upper atmosphere. But again, usually you catch sight of one of these purely out of luck.

However, at certain times  of the year we know – yes, we KNOW – we will be able to see more shooting stars than usual, because we know that Earth will be encountering more space dust than usual as it ploughs through a stream of dusty, gritty debris left behind by a comet. When this happens the number of shooting stars visible increases dramatically, and on the night of maximum activity you can hope to see a hundred or more shooting stars spitting across the sky every hour. Astronomers call these events “meteor showers”.

There are around a dozen good, reliable showers every year, they’re annual events astronomers and sky-watchers look forward to and make plans to observe, often travelling many hundreds of miles to observe them from places where weather forecasts have preducted the clouds will not interfere with or ruin the show.

What’s happening this coming weekend is that Earth is going to plough through a stream (actually several streams) of dust left behind by a comet called LINEAR, and this may – OR MAY NOT – result in a brand new meteor shower as it burns up “up there”.

But what’s the big deal? Why has this got so many people so excited?

Well, predictions for the number of meteors visible during this shower’s peak on Friday night/Saturday morning vary from a handful per hour, to a few dozen per hour or even several hundred per hour. Some are even suggesting that a “meteor storm” might occur, which is when many hundreds or even thousands of shooting stars spill out of the sky during a short period. Meteor storms have been seen before, probably most famously in 1833 when the annual Leonid meteor shower went absolutely nuts and meteors fell “like snowflakes”. Long before astrophotography and digital cameras, the meteor storm was recorded in illustrations like this…

1833 leonids

It would be INCREDIBLE to see something like that today, wouldn’t it? Twitter and Facebook would melt under the pressure as countless thousands of photos and reports were posted the next day…!

But others warn a storm is very unlikely, and are urging caution and warning people not to get the public’s hopes up. The truth is we just don’t know what is going to happen this coming weekend. We might see nothing special,no more shooting stars than usual, or we might see a handful more, or we might be in for a real treat. Why the uncertainty? Because as good as modern computer predictions and models are – and trust me, they are astoundingly good compared to how things were in Ye Olden Days – what we’re talking about here is trying to guess the behaviour of dust released hundreds of years ago and many millions of miles away. No-one cam know for sure what is going to happen. All of us, ALL of us, really do just have to wait and see.

Of course, this story is all over the internet like a picture of a sleepy kitten or a baby dressed in a dinosaur romper suit. The most optimistic Tweeters, Facebookers and bloggers are predicting with unshakeable and frankly foolish confidence that there WILL be a spectacle to enjoy, and that the sky will fall this coming weekend and everyone should go out and see it and be amazed. At the other end of the spectrum, the most pessimistic are dismissing the whole thing as hype. But sandwiched somewhere in the middle, the realists (like me) are suggesting that it will be worth keeping an eye on the sky Friday night/Saturday morning because there’s a POSSIBILITY that we MIGHT see more shooting stars than normal for this time of year IF WE’RE LUCKY AND THINGS WORK OUT FOR US.

And that’s the fundamental truth of this. Something might happen. Or it might not. It’s worth taking a look if you can. If you look and nothing happens, well, nothing lost. But if you don’t bother looking you will absolutely definitely see nothing. And then if something does happen, and you miss it because you couldn’t be bothered to make just a *little* bit of effort, you’ll kick yourself, especially if a meteor storm does light up the sky and you sleep through it, only to read about it all over the internet the next day…

So, let’s assume that after reading all the above you’re now thinking “Ok, yeah, I’ll take a look, thanks for the heads up…” What do you do? And when?

Well, if anything happens it will be the US which will get the best view, overnight on their Friday and into their Saturday morning. I know, I know, I’m groaning too, believe me. The US gets front row seats for an exciting astronomical event ***AGAIN***!!!! Eclipses, meteor showers, big auroral displays, they seem to get them all, the greedy -

But as the great man said, “Ye cannae change the Laws of Physics…” and the Laws of Physics dictate that, thanks to the rotation of the Earth, the US will be turned into the path of the meteors as the new shower reaches its peak. That’s just the way it is. Deal with it. So, come Friday night, all across the US people will be gazing at the sky hoping to see the heavens spitting out shooting stars like crazy. Good luck to them.

Here in the UK, the peak of any new shower is predicted to occur between 7am and 9am, or well after sunrise, in broad daylight, so we’ll miss out. Again.

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BUT that doesn’t mean it’s not worth UK skywatchers looking Friday night/Saturday morning. Not at all. We might still see something. How come?

Well, it’s a long shot, but there’s always a chance that the predictions of the peak are wrong. If they’re out by a few hours and any new shower peaks early, we might nick those front row seats from under the Americans! Yaaay! :-) Have to be honest, that seems unlikely though. The meteor experts making these predictions really are very good at this stiff nowadays. But hey, it can’t hurt to try. And as I always say, if you don’t look you’re guaranteed to see nothing.

And even if the peak does occur after dawn across the UK, it will be worth keeping an eye open for any early meteors from the shower, especially the “Earth-grazing”  fireballs, which come in at such a shallow angle they skip across the top of the atmosphere like a stone skimmed over a pond or lake, flaring and spurting before fading out of sight. We may see some of those after midnight, or we may not.

So, what does all this frantic hype, fevered speculation and sheer guesswork boil down to? This:

* Friday night / Saturday morning there might be a new meteor shower to see. Or there might not. There’s a chance absolutely nothing will happen, we just don’t know. But we’re crossing our fingers.

* We can’t predict how impressive/unimpressive any new shower will be at its peak. Best to hope for dozens every hour, be prepared to settle for a dozen or so, but cross your fingers for hundreds! At the end of the day it will do what it does.

* If the current predictions are correct, the peak of activity will occur well after sunrise from the UK, meaning the US will have the best view and we might even miss the whole thing. But it’s still worth looking in the early hours of Saturday am from the UK, just in case the shower peaks early or throws up some surprises before dawn.

* The people who enjoy the best views of whatever happens will be those who make the effort to find somewhere well away from light pollution and with a “big sky” to watch. The darker the sky above you, and the more of that sky you can see, the better your chances will be of seeing something.

* Before you go out, make sure you’re wrapped up warmly, have a drink (preferably hot) with you, and grab your binoculars, just in case any fireballs leave smoky trails behind; it’s fascinating watching those dance slowly through binoculars…

And where do you look? Well, you want to be facing the north, because that’s the direction the meteors will appear to come from. If you’re not sure which way is north, just look to the lower right of the familiar stars of the Big Dipper “or “Plough” or “Great Bear” or whatever you know it as) and you’ll be facing roughly the right direction. Then just wait and see what happens.

May 24th

And finally…

Surprise surprise, the same hordes of unwashed, X-Files worshipping, tin foil hat-wearing, chemtrail-fearing, Apollo Landing Hoax believing, Climate Change denying, gibbering lunatic Internet nutters who predicted Comet ISON would rain death and destruction from the skies (and who fell totally silent after the Sun ate it) are predicting this new meteor shower is dangerous, or a Sign of our imminent doom… yeah, yeah, yeah. Blah, blah, blah… shut up. There’s no risk. This isn’t going to be like that (brilliant!) scene from Armageddon where space rocks thunder down from the sky and shattered buildings burst into flames. We’re talking about DUST here. There’s no need to phone Bruce Willis.

So, there you go. The best – the very best – we can hope for is a good display of several hundred shooting stars overnight Friday. Worst case scenario? Nothing happens. Nothing at all. The reality will probably lie somewhere in-between. All we can do is go out Friday night, look up, wait, and take whatever the Universe deigns to give us.

Good luck everyone, wherever you are!

Watching the world go by…

In Ye Olde Days of the early internet, when “tablets” were little pills you took when you had a bad head and bedrooms and dens around the world echoed to the screeching whistles, chirps and beeps of dial-up phone connections (“broadband” hadn’t even been invented yet kids) webcams were seen almost as dark sorcery. Just by clicking on a link you could be magically transported to Somewhere Else, and you could watch a migraine-inducingly low quality jerky video feed of the view from a tower block looking down on somewhere famous, or well known, perhaps a street in Paris or New York, or the shore of a lake, etc.

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Oh how we loved webcams! We spent many happy… minutes… sitting at our PCs straining to make out the shapes of people wandering around Trafalgar Square or somewhere equally exotic before the picture froze or someone just switched it off (or tripped over the lead, pulling the plug out)…

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We truly were living in the future…

My, how things have changed.

Today, as you’re probably well aware, thanks to mega fast broadband connections, faster computers and better software and hardware, the Internet offers countless channels of high quality – even high definition – streaming video. Just with a simple click of a mouse – or, more likely now, a tap of a finger on the touchscreen of a tablet or smartphone – you can watch uninterrupted coverage of cute puppies sleeping, kittens tumbling over each other, or planes taking off from or landing at busy airports. Other channels offer live views of famous cities or landmarks, allowing you to watch thousands of people milling around them like termites. And, of course, more, um, adult channels offer, er, other… views…

Anyway, we now live in a streaming video world, with gazillions of channels and feeds to choose from. And now there’s one more to bookmark, one which will hypnotise you within moments of your first visit, and might become an obsession if you let it…

And where is this magical video coming from? Well, from “up there”, way, way above your head. Incredibly, a camera mounted to the outside of the International Space Station – which whips around the globe once every 90 minutes, travelling at over 17,000 miles per hour – is now streaming live, high definition video of the Earth. Watching the video feed is like sitting on top of one of the space station trusses, with your legs dangling down, just watching the world go by…

I clicked on the link to the website last night for the first time, and it really is hypnotising, you simply can’t drag your eyes away from the screen. And why would you when you are shown views like this…

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That’s beautiful isn’t it? But that’s just one frame, one screen-grab. The joy of the site is that the view changes, every moment, it is literally a camera, pointed down at the Earth, sending back live video, so you see the clouds rolling towards you (or away from  you; the camera switches now and again between forward- and backward-facing). You see coastlines approaching then receding. You see the Sun dropping towards the curved horizon, blindingly bright, throwing beams of silvery light across the screen…

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…then vanishing beyond it, leaving behind a spectacularly-beautiful and impossibly graceful arc of shocking, azure blue…

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…before that too fades away and darkness fills the screen once more…

As if the view itself wasn’t amazing enough, you can follow the ISS as it orbits the Earth thanks to animated maps, which show the ISS’s position over the globe. Of course, this means you can (try to!) identify objects and features on the video feed with objects and features on the chart, spotting the coastlines of the US, Europe and Australia as they approach or fall away behind…

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Be warned though, this is a dangerously addictive site. If you’ve ever wondered how these guys in Wall-E got so fat…

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…it’s because they became addicted to viewing this site! And it’s not just addictive for humans. Here’s Chi staring at the screen, illuminated by “Earthlight”…

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But seriously, this is one streaming video channel worth bookmarking. It’s just magical. A place that will reward your visit with views like these…

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(Please note, I’ve upped the contrast on those pics a little, just to bring out the beautiful colours even better)

By now I’m sure you’re wanting to go take a look yourself, so here’s the link – but be warned, once you’ve started watching, you’ll have a very hard time stopping. So go there, but don’t blame me if your publisher’s deadline is missed, or that school essay doesn’t get handed in on time, or you wake up with your drool-encrusted face lying on the keyboard at dawn tomorrow…

http://eol.jsc.nasa.gov/HDEV/

You’re welcome :-)

 

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UPDATE

Since I posted that earlier today (but not because of it!) it seems like a LOT more people have found out about the camera and are following it and the ISS. I was amazed to have one of my screen grabs retweeted by none other than Professor Brian Cox earlier today, and since then many hundreds of people (likely to be thousands by day’s end, surely) have seen it. Here it is…

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Isn’t that beautiful?

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