My first experience at Henry Coe Park

by Vince Dee

I've been into astronomy officially now for about 3 months or so, so don't expect much. I'm still learning to recognize constellations and find the objects that most experienced observers call "eye candy", so you won't be seeing reports from me about hard to see nebulae or 12 magnitude clusters, etc. Besides, I only have a 8" dobsonian, so I have a built-in excuse.

We (my wife Leann, our dog Foffie, and I) have actually been to Coe before. In fact, we were scouting the park out the day that the fire started. Coming from Berkeley, we have to drive down 880 to 101 south to get there. That first visit we managed to miss the huge neon "Henry Coe Park next exit" sign in Morgan Hill and ended up driving all the way into the south end of the park, where people were loading their horses for riding into the park. When we realized our mistake, we eventually did manage to make our way back to the overflow parking lot (albeit 2-3 hours later).

This time, we knew that you have to take the East Dunne Blvd exit off of 101, so there were no surprises. We slowly made our way up the 13 mile hill in our '85 Ford Camper Van, actively watching out for tarantulas crossing the road (the possibility of crushing a bird-sized tarantula under the huge 33" truck tires is not a pleasant one). Having successfully dodged one of the large spiders halfway up the hill, we arrived at the Coe headquarters at 6:30pm, technically at sunset (though twilight wouldn't be for another hour and 20 minutes so we had plenty of light left to set up camp).

I was surprised that the visitor center was still open (until 7pm, apparently) and the young lady manning (um, wommanning?) the counter quickly hung up her cellphone (from talking to her boyfriend, I gathered) as I walked in. I told her I was with the TAC list (she nodded, knowingly) and I would like to know if it's okay to pay the full camping fee and then actually camp out in the overflow parking lot instead of a regular camp site. She said that was no problem, though it seemed to me as if she thought that was a somewhat unusual request. She asked if I was here for the meteor showers. "Meteor showers?" I was stumped. She said that the folks camping in Site #1 were here to see some kind of meteor showers. I didn't know there were supposed to be any meteor showers tonight, but that would be gravy, right? I paid the $12 fee, bought a nice water-resistant map of the park, and we made our way back down the hill to the overflow lot. No one else was there yet, so we let ourselves in and left the gate open for either of the other two TACers who signed up for Coe this night.

Having been at Calstar the previous weekend, we had become accustomed to acorns falling on our vehicle (and our heads), so we opted to park under the large Oak tree so we could relive those glorious memories. The wind was blowing to the tune of about 10-15 knots (which in layman's terms means: hard) so we weren't able to set out our folding chairs or awning. No problem, says I, we're here to observe so I'll at least put the scopes out to cool in the fresh breeze. I had just bought Barska 20x80 X-Trail binoculars in order to try out more powerful binoculars, so I set those up on a camera tripod (I don't even know if you're supposed to cool down binoculars, but I figured putting two telescopes and a pair of large binos outside my van might impress anyone else who shows up and make them like me. You can tell I had a difficult childhood).

At about 7pm Matt from Berkeley (another TAC member) showed up and began setting up his C8 scope. Matt has quite the fancy setup, with red LED lights on the tripod legs and everything. We greeted one another, then he did something that made me nervous: He put on a snowsuit. With the wind now increasing to about 15-20 knots (in layman's terms: really hard), I figured he knew something I didn't, so I crawled into the van and changed from my "Dorky American Tourist" shorts into "Lazy American Astronomer" sweat pants, hoody, and GoreTex(TM) shell.

It was getting dark now (well, as dark as it can get with over half a moon blaring in the sky) and I noticed that Leann had conveniently found an excuse to stay in the wind-proofed van all this time under the guise of "getting dinner ready". I managed to talk her into heating up some soup and took some out to Matt. It was getting pretty chilly and the soup hit the spot nicely. We began viewing through Matt's scope. I can't remember everything we viewed or in what order, but it included m31 (the Andromeda galaxy and satellite galaxies, I believe m110 and m32?), m13, moon, m42, m29, m57 ring nebula, double cluster in Cassiopeia. At some point Leann finally emerged from the safety of the van and joined us. Matt was being really nice showing us many things that I suppose are really old hat to him...thanks Matt!

Sometime about 8pm a young man suddenly appeared from out of the dark and asked us if we had the keys to unlock the gate. His name is Dustin and he and his girlfriend Irene would like to do some observing. I walked him over to the gate and "unlocked" it for him (he was embarrassed that he hadn't figured out the trick to unlocking the gate, but the point of the chain is to look locked to people, right? So no worries, Dustin. It turns out that Dustin is as new to astronomy as I am and even has the same telescope (Orion XT8 classic). He began setting up his scope, but like me was soon sidetracked by viewing through Matt's Celestron.

It was about that time that the wind decided to increase to about 20-25 knots (in laymans terms: super duper hard) and gust at the same time, which promptly blew over the tripod with my new Barska binoculars. The good news is that the lenses didn't get cracked and the binos still seem to work (though I'm betting collimation is REALLY off now). The bad news is that the gravel-strewn parking lot left a nice chew mark in the side of the tube. Oh well. I guess I own them now, like it or not. I've recently done the lazy susan mod on my XT8 in order to make the movement much smoother. Unfortunately, in 20+ wind the movement is smooth indeed, like a windvane on top of a barn. That pretty well made viewing with my scope pointless on this night.

At about 9pm or so another couple showed up, Henry and Chris. They are extremely new to astronomy, and were using their digital camera lenses (very nice ones, though) to observe with. I showed them the moon through my scope (warning them first that it would likely blast out their night vision, even with a neutral density filter), then we all gathered around...you guessed it...Matt's telescope. Matt was kind enough to show them many of the previously seen objects including open clusters, globulars, and the Pleiades (which had only just come into view). This is the kind of torture that an experienced amateur astronomer must endure if it becomes clear to newbies that you know something. I'm telling you, us newbs can sniff out and gang up on some of you knowledgeable people, like a pride of kitty cats surrounding a ball of yarn (um, not that Matt is a ball of yarn...or that a bunch of kitty cats are a pride. Actually, nevermind that analogy). I believe we observed m13, m42, m31, m34? in this go round.

Soon it became clear that the wind was just too much on this night. Plus, it had been gradually clouding over, with a high layer of clouds coming in from the Pacific slowly working their way inland. It also didn't help that the Moon was obscuring just about half of everything. Henry and Chris decided that was enough for them, and Dustin and Irene also packed up and left. Matt and I had some hot chocolate (thanks, Leann) in the warmth of the van, then Matt packed up and called it a night. I decided to go to bed and get up later to see if there was a chance that the clouds might clear. What I didn't know yet was that things were about to get much, MUCH better.

Chapter 2 (hey, if you've read this far I may as well make you feel like you're reading a novel and getting your money's worth, right?)

It was about 2am when I woke up. I had been sound asleep for the past hour or two and I was SOOOO comfortable. You know what I mean, when it's really cold and stormy out, and you're in a nice warm bed snuggled up to a nice warm person (and a dog)? You just don't want to get up. So I didn't. I just laid there in the dark, listening to the wind brush against the sides of the van and the occasional acorn thump unceremoniously on the roof, then roll off onto the ground. The odds of me getting out of bed were about 5% at that point. I slowly drifted back to sleep to the rhythmic sound of falling acorns.

At 3am (okay, 2:52 according to my atomic-clock-setting Casio watch) I woke up and heard...nothing. No wind, no acorns. I laid there for a few minutes and listened to the silence, wondering if it was worth it to even get up. After all, I'm still warm and comfy under this sleeping bag. I could easily stay put and just do what I'm sure every sane human on the planet is doing by now...sleep (and, yes, If you were up at 3am I'm accusing you of being not-sane). I decided that I would at least get up and open the door, look up, and verify that the sky had clouded over so I could say that I tried. That would be the best compromise. After all, I have to at least be able to say that I made the effort.

I slowly pulled the sleeping bag off (brrrr!) and crawled out of bed, managing to climb over the dog without stepping on her. I looked out the windshield of the van and saw what I expected...haze. Yep, I thought to myself, it's about as I expected. But the van was facing West, toward Morgan Hill, so I realized that most of what I was seeing was likely light pollution. The litmus test would be opening the door and looking up, so I opened the side door and looked up. I saw nothing but....STARS?? I actually had to do a double take. No, I mean a real one. I closed the door, opened it up again, and looked up. It was actually clear out and I saw real stars! And not only that, it was calm. No wind. It was still a bit chilly, but that wasn't going to be a good enough excuse to go back to bed. I knew that I was obliged to at least go out and see what it was like out there, so I donned my "Lazy Astronomer" uniform and stepped out into the night.

I flashed my red-filtered mini-maglight at my feet as I got out (so I wouldn't step on any tarantulas) and looked around. It was eerily quiet. There were no animal sounds, no wind, no people sounds. I walked out into the middle of the lot and looked up. wow. WOW. Everything in the sky was so clear! The haze that I had seen from inside the van was just the light dome above Morgan Hill. The rest of the sky was spectacular. The moon had gone down, there wasn't a cloud in the sky and I could even clearly see the Milky Way. wow. The cool air was beginning to wake me up and I began to realize that I was being handed a beautiful, rare opportunity. I hurried back to the van and grabbed my scope, a chair, and the dog (hey, I'm not sitting in the middle of a deserted parking lot in a tarantula-filled park with mountain lions and coyotes wandering around without some kind of protection). I also grabbed the Barska binoclulars and my star chart on a second trip and then I set up shop. I quickly found that using a process of looking at the star chart, then finding with the binos, then slewing the scope over to the newly found target yielded a number of seeing opportunities.

I started with the Orion Nebula (m42). Granted, this is supposed to be an easy one, but from downtown Berkeley I just don't get enough opportunities to see something even as obvious as this. It was amazing to see. Naturally it looks nothing like the photos, but you know you're looking at something special when you see it. Those two stars just staring at you from behind a white mask; it's really remarkable. Then I looked at m35 in Gemini, an open cluster. I now notice in photos that there's a smaller cluster nearby that I didn't see. I slewed over to m41, an open cluster in Canis Major. By the way, the Sirius star was really interesting, pulsating blue/white. It's so active and strobe like that you don't want to view it for too long. I looked at the Praesepe cluster (m44) and checked out Mars. I was disappointed in Mars (rather, I was disappointed that I don't have better eyepieces to see Mars with). Leann woke up and joined me at about 4am, also making me bring out the propane heater and sleeping bag so she could stay warm (sheesh). I dragged the generator into the middle of the parking lot so we could use the laptop and Stellarium software to find more objects. As had been predicted, there were many meteorites throughout the morning. So many that I lost count, including one that was so large and spectacular that it lit up the night and left a huge contrail. Leann and I were both surprised by that one. We saw the m81 (Bode galaxy) but I didn't realize until later that there's another galaxy nearby (m82) that we might have been able to see if we had looked. We also tried to find m101 (pinwheel galaxy), but I had absolutely no luck locating it. I don't know what I was doing wrong, but I just couldn't find it near the Big Dipper. I also tried to find m46, expecting to find a nebula. I didn't realize until later that it's a open cluster with a planetary nebula superimposed. Do you think my 8" could pick out that nebula? We finished our viewing by checking out Venus and Saturn. The sunrise was beginning to light up the morning sky by then, so we packed everthing back into the van and slept for a couple more hours.

The experience at Henry Coe Park was fantastic. Between meeting new people, experiencing some of the worst (wind, moon, clouds) and the best (near-perfect, dead-quiet viewing) that the park has to offer, we feel like we really have gotten to know Coe in just one night. You can bet that we'll be back for more overnighters, and we look forward to meeting more of you there. Thanks for reading, and thanks for maintaining the TAC list!

Vince Dee (and Leann and Foffie)