Ever since Christmas, the weather in Sacramento has been foggy. The thick gray fog settles in and makes everything else gray and drab, even the temperatures. When the fog is around, temperatures only vary a few degrees between the low 40s and upper 30s day and night.

After my last dark-sky observing session in October, and not having observed at all for 3 weeks, I was eager to leap at an observing opportunity when it presented itself Saturday, January 9.

Between NFL playoff games and music rehearsals, I was able to fit astronomical observing into my schedule, mainly because the bulk of it occurs at night, when I would otherwise be sleeping.

My regular observing companion, Gary Manning, a friend from work who has just over a year of observing experience, had made arrangements to meet Steve Gottlieb, a San Francisco Bay Area amateur with over 20 years of observing experience. I have two and a half years of experience. (Steve is having two observing articles published soon: One in the March issue of Sky and Telescope, and the other in the April issue of Astronomy.)

Once we had decided to go, I began getting really excited, thinking about what I might see, and the observing program I wanted to conduct. I had vague notions of doing galaxy work. I am working on the Astronomical League's Herschel 400 list, which is a kind of 'Top 400 of the Northern NGC'. But I actually observe much more than this, and last year, when I was focused solely on the Messier catalog, I purposefully ignored everything else.

I didn't to ignore anything this time, so I just observe what I can, and check off the items that are Herschel 400 objects. From dark sites, I generally see about 3 times as many non-Herschel 400 objects as Herschel 400 objects.

I decided tonight that I would try to observe galaxies in Eridanus.

I knew that the fog would be low and that we would emerge from it between 1000 and 2000 ft elevation. I neglected to think what the rest of the sky was doing: The fog does this to me. It causes me to focus only on the next step, 10 feet in front of my face, because that is only how far you can see when its very bad.

Ignorance can be bliss.

During the drive to Fiddletown, we emerged from both the fog and our bliss at the predicted elevation, discovering that high cirrus clouds were nearly covering the sky.

We had a lot invested already, so we plowed on, arrived at the site, set up our scopes and hoped for the best under skies that made nobody happy. The clouds began thinning, and dark arrived, I began observing the most obvious target in the sky at the moment, Saturn, hoping that I would be at least able to salvage some planetary viewing for the evening.

Saturn

My scope was not yet in equilibrium when I viewed it, and the image showed. In spite of this, I could still see quite a bit of detail.

Observing with the 7.5mm plossl (190x), I saw 5 moons (in order of brightness and the order that I noticed them): Titan (bright and orange-tinged), Rhea and Dione just below the rings, Tethys (just above the planet's disk) and later, Enceladus just off the western side of the ring.

I spent quite a bit of time looking for Mimas, but never saw anything resembling it. I don't even know if I *can* see Mimas in my 10" scope.

The Crepe Ring and Cassini Division were easily noted, and I thought I saw hints of darkness near the edge of the A-ring, which I had never seen before. There was the usual large dark South Equatorial Belt, which seemed to have some texture. There were hints of a dark polar region.

The shadow of the planet on the eastern side of ring was obvious and well delineated. The shadow of the ring on the front of the planet was equally obvious. I could also see the Crepe Ring in front of the planet's disk.

A quick glance at Jupiter, setting in the west, showing nothing of interest, besides the usual colorful turmoil in its atmosphere.

The Milky Way

When I looked up and stepped away from the scope, I noticed it was now quite dark, and I was stunned. The sky was crystal clear, the air was dry as a bone, the temperature was so moderate it almost felt downright warm. With Vega and Deneb visible in the west (now finishing their 'fall stall') and the Milky Way wheeling overhead all night long, it seemed like summer. The only difference was that the sky was getting dark at 5:30pm, instead of 9:30pm, which meant lots of extra observing time.

I've never seen much of the Winter Milky Way, mainly because I've never been to a dark site during winter. This night, the Winter Milky Way stretched from horizon to horizon, unbroken in its luminescent glory and majesty.

From my backyard, the Milky way visibly peters out north of Cygnus and is only visible in binoculars through Casseiopeia, Perseus and Auriga. It becomes faintly visible again in Gemini and Monoceros as it heads south.

At this dark site, it was easily visible across this whole stretch, and not just visible, but actually showed some detail. I noticed rifts or texture in Casseiopeia, Cepheus and Perseus. From Monoceros to Puppis it started becoming thicker in a way that was reminiscent of, though nowhere near as bright as Scutum/Sagittarius. This southern section was also filled with bright naked-eye delights.

How Dark Can It Get?

Steve asked the question, "How does the darkness at this site compare to Blue Canyon?"

When first asked, early in the evening, the question was hard to answer. It appeared to be about the same. It seemed there was quite a bit of skyglow from the west (Sacramento), there was a small (3-5 degree lightdome) in the northeast (Tahoe/Reno), but the western glow was blocked by trees, so the telescope area was not illuminated.

A short while later, the western skyglow had disappeared. The only illumination was coming from the stars and Milky Way and bright winter stars surrounding Orion. The light from these objects cast an eerie and faint pearly light over everything that seemed to come from no particular direction. This was much darker than Blue Canyon, where the skyglow from Sacramento causes my scope to cast shadows.

The extreme darkness was due to the fog in the valley. It was still fairly easy to see, but it was noticeably darker than Blue Canyon (in the summer and fall when there was no fog). I wondered how dark it was possible to get and how close we were to that level. It seemed like it would have been still darker with fewer bright stars in the sky and no Milky Way. Jupiter, Saturn, the bright winter stars and the Milky Way were contributing a lot of light.

At one point, there were some clouds low in the east, and they appeared DARK against the sky. I have never seen DARK clouds before.

The excellent clarity and extreme darkness caused the sky to yield more new treasures for this night than ever before in my 2.5 year astronomy career. Here are the highlights:

The Great Nebula in Orion (M42)

For some reason, I decided to look at this object, even though it wasn't very high. I have not studied it much from dark sites, and for some reason, I was not expecting anything different tonight, and hence I was not prepared for what I saw.

The nebula was bright (as usual) and enormous! As I was exploring the familiar central region, I could easily see 6 stars in the Trapezium. I moved out to one of the wings, and began tracing it as far as I could go. It never seemed to end! It looped up and over the main part of the nebula, and returned down the other side getting brighter. I could believe it!

In Steve's 17.5", the wings were definitely a warmer pinkish or brownish gray, compared to the cold green fluorescence of the center.

The Horsehead Nebula

I attempted to find this difficult object without a filter in my 10", and I thought I could see some hint of something in it, but when I called Steve over to confirm or deny it, he couldn't see it. He got it in his 17.5" (doubtless interrupting his 'work'), with an H Beta filter. It was very obvious.

The strange thing about this nebula and the so-called Tank Tracks Nebula nearby was that they got darker when I used my Orion Ultrablock filter, which mainly passes the O II and O III emission lines, but not H Beta, which is the light with which these somewhat less energetic nebulae glow.

Eridanus the River

I set out to observe from my list of Herschel 400 objects. I knew there were lots of galaxies in Eridanus, the River, judging from many reports I've read.

Although I've known where it is, I've never seen Eridanus before, because it's a winter constellation composed solely of faint stars in the south, and the faint stars that are not obliterated by the light pollution are obscured by my house, or by clouds and fog. This night, I could easily see this beautiful group of stars making a giant backwards "C" as it meanders to the south. They even shone relatively brightly and were easy to see.

I knew the Eridanus galaxies were probably faint, but I'm not disturbed by faintness, so I looked for Herschels in this area -- and didn't find any! In the general neighborhood on my list, there were lots of H-400 open clusters and nebulae and planetaries, but these were in the Milky Way.

There was nothing in Eridanus! (Well, there are two, but I was a little dismayed by this discovery) I scanned up the list (binned by RA) and found some H-400 galaxies in Cetus, but Cetus was already in the west.

So I dumped the H-400 list and opened my atlas to Eridanus, which had a special zoomed in chart just for Eridanus! Now I was gonna cook.

In rapid succession, I looked at NGC 1700, 1637, 1625, 1622, and 1618 on the northeast extreme of Eridanus. The last 3 were together in the same field, forming a short line.

Work versus Play

After looking at the Medusa Nebula in Steve's 17.5", I said to myself, "OK, that was cool, now I need to get back to work rummaging through the galaxies in Cetus."

Work? Is it work? Isn't this a hobby? Yes and no. It's not work that I get paid for, and it's not work that is drudgery. It is work in the sense that it takes some effort and skill to find these things. They are not found by accident, they don't jump out at me.

When Steve was doing his 'work' (chasing down faint Hickson galaxy groups), he was very quiet and focused and careful as he meticulously wrote down his observations in his log.

Except for his periodic involuntary hooting when a meteor shot across the sky. Usually, I would look in his direction, instead of the direction of the meteor.

Cetus the Whale

I looked at these galaxies in the neighborhood of M77: 1073, M77, 1087, 1055, 1090, 1032, 1016.

Leo the Lion

Most of Cetus was now blocked by trees, so I decided to cross the river and the Milky Way, and see what was happening in Leo, the Lion. I have visited Leo's belly and hindquarters in the past, so I elected to go for virgin territory in Leo's mane, and back and up into Leo Minor.

I first located Gamma Leonis, a beautiful golden double, and then moved slightly toward Leo's back and found 3222, a faint small galaxy with a concentrated and stellar center. Continuing to move further back, I came across a lovely bright pair of galaxies, 3227 & 3226.

Moving up Leo's mane, I hit 3185 & 3190 & 3193 (I did not see 3187 at 13.4, although I think now I *should* have seen it. I spent some time looking for it). This is a fantastic little group of galaxies all in a row. I love galaxy groups, and I stumbled upon a great one here. I discovered later that this is Hickson 44 in Hickson's catalog of compact galaxy groups.

Next was 3162, near Zeta Leonis (Adhafera). Periodically I looked longingly at Ursa Major, the Great Bear, and Canes Venatici, the Hunting Dogs, knowing that this was also prime galaxy hunting ground. But I never visited there this night. They will be waiting for me next time.

Further off towards Leo's rear lay 3301, a small bright galaxy, with more concentration towards the non-stellar center.

Leo Minor the Little Lion

I now moved into Leo Minor to gaze on the big bright galaxy NGC 3344. I hit another cosmological jackpot when I found another galaxy group near 46 Leonis Minoris: 3395, 3396, 3413, 3424, 3430. I got really excited when I saw These 5 galaxies in two groups: A row of three, and two close ones a ways off the row and parallel to it. 3396 was pretty elongated.

Just as I was writing my log entries for this very cool group of galaxies, it appeared that someone turned on a bright white light. I was puzzled, annoyed and perplexed when I heard Steve and Gary shouting. I turned around as the light out, and Gary and Steve were talking excitedly about the huge bright fireball that I completely missed that blazed through Ursa Major.

I looked at a couple more galaxies in Leo Minor, 3504 and 3512, and was looking for another, but the moon's light was visibly starting to blot stuff out, even though it hadn't risen yet.

I gave up on faint stuff, and noticed a beautiful naked-eye open cluster in Puppis, so I swung the scope to the south and it was nearly horizontal as I observed the two magnificent open clusters NGC 2477 and 2451. These clusters seem analogous to M46 and M47, respectively, except that they are much, much bigger and brighter. If they weren't so far south, these would be major showpieces in the northern sky.

Finally, I looked at two more galaxies, 2855 and 2884 near Alphard in Hydra.

Again, I was reminded of Spring and Summer when M3, M5, Arcturus and Spica rose shortly before we packed up at 1:30am. Hercules and Vega (again) were not far behind! We took a look at Mars near Spica only about 10 or 20 degrees above the horizon. The surface was a shimmering, boiling and featureless mess of orange, but it was very bright, and relatively large. Mars looks to be good this year!

All in all, this was probably the best night observing I've ever had. I saw 36 new objects (nearly doubling my previous record), including 10 Herschels.