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by Jay Reynolds Freeman
In June, 1999, I had an unusual opportunity to combine a short trip to an area interesting in its own right, with a hobby activity of the kind about which I am most manic: The Sacramento Valley Astronomical Society had invited some of us San Francisco Bay area amateur astronomers to an observing session at a site some 5000 feet up in the Sierra Nevada, on the evening of June 12. I had been observing the night before -- I told you I was manic -- so my big telescope, "Harvey" was already stuffed into my Geo Metro. After sleeping late on Saturday morning, I tossed travel gear into a duffel bag and set out. The drive up highways US 880 and 80 through Sacramento had rather too much traffic and too much heat for my personal taste, but as the freeway trended upward into the Sierra foothills, the air cooled, and the countryside no longer felt like the great valley.
I had traveled this route before, but never this road -- my one previous ground passage in this part of the Sierra was in 1965, going downhill, driving my first car out to my sophomore year in college. The new road was not finished then. Since, I have flown over the Sierra numerous times in lightplanes, but a pilot's view of these mountains is different from a driver's -- to an aviator approaching from the west, the vast mass of the Sierra rises almost imperceptibly, like the broad, flat back of leviathan, from the haze and smoke of the valley. Yet from the highway, the mountains are at first more sensed than seen, by way of declining temperature and changing plant community. In the cooler, moister air, the oak woodlands and open grassy areas of lower elevation become denser, and here and there occasional conifers make a stately appearance. It is no surprise when the road rises steeply, and glimpses through cuts and gaps reveal yet far-distant peaks.
I felt sad as I drove on the wide road through Auburn. A good friend was raised here, not far from town. I remember the strength of her grief as she told me, decades after the fact, how an orchard of giant and beloved pear trees on her family's farm was torn down to make way for the highway. Perhaps not all change is progress.
Internet search had suggested there might be a motel in Colfax. I exited, drove around town, and finally found it. The location is too far from Sacramento for business travelers, and too low in the mountains for a resort, so rates were dirt cheap. I paid for two days' room at not quite $29 a night, just so I could sleep late the next day. I cleaned up and stepped out the door, to find a slender young calico cat staring expectantly up at me. This resident feline was a nursing mother, with four half-wild month-old kittens hidden in the crawl space beneath the motel walkway. I walked across the street to a market to buy food for dinner and the star party, and brought home an extra large brick of sharp cheddar cheese to share with the little family.
I arrived at the observing site at about 7 PM. I had missed most of the day's activity -- there was a barbecue and stuff -- but that was because I had slept late from observing the night before, and for me, stars are better than food any old day. Telescopes abounded, mostly of common varieties, but a few were unusual. A late-1940s vintage Unitron refractor had a weight-driven mechanical clock drive to track the stars, instead of the ubiquitous electric motors of more recent instruments. Its finely-machined brass governor was a thing of elegance and polished beauty, whirring smoothly as the weight slowly descended. I wonder if there might be a market for retro telescopes.
I set up my own instrument, a Celestron 14, and then looked for other Bay area amateurs. Only a few of us were present, but I felt at home among fellow star-gazers, and besides, I had brought chocolate-chip cookies so as not to lack for friends.
Medium-level clouds obscured much of the sky at sunset, but dissipated fairly quickly as the shadows deepened. The weather was cool enough to warrant hat and jacket -- 11 or 12 C -- but by no means cold.
I looked at Mercury and Venus in early twilight, then Mars, then followed Markarian's Chain -- a prominent zig-zag thoroughfare of galaxies in the central part of Virgo, out to the galaxy Messier 88, in which a recent supernova was still visible. This one did not outshine all the rest of the galaxy put together, as some sometimes do, but even so, it was startling to think that a tiny point of light, tucked in close to the central core of Messier 88, was a single star -- just one -- detectable as an individual across scores of millions of light years.
Next I found the planet Pluto. I had looked at it the night before, and so was able to find it again quickly, and happily confirm that the unremarkable dot of light that I had decided was Pluto had in fact moved during the ensuing twenty-four hours -- meaning that I was right. Calls of "Hey, anybody want to look at Pluto?" brought a long line. Most amateur astronomers -- shucks, most professional astronomers -- have never seen this farthest and faintest member of the Sun's traditional family. I must have shown Pluto to thirty people, only one of whom mentioned a previous view of it. I was surprised to find that most of these folks also did not know that you are not allowed to log observations of deep-sky objects until you have seen all the planets in the solar system -- it's kind of like not getting to score a home run unless you touch all the bases first. I made sure to tell everyone in line that that was so. I think some of them may even have believed me.
As I searched for more objects, I noticed bands of clouds starting to cross the sky again. Such conditions do not make finding new things easy, so I turned successively to several old favorites among emission nebulae, and put in an Orion "Ultrablock" filter to bring out their details. The viewing conditions were interesting and unusual -- objects would fade from sight as clouds crossed in front of them, but in the spaces between clouds the sky was dark and clear. I had some of my most spectacular views ever of the Lagoon, Trifid, Swan, Eagle, Dumbbell and Veil nebulae, even as all the other amateur astronomers within earshot were complaining bitterly about the weather and either disassembling their telescope to go home or getting into sleeping bags for the night.
As the clouds solidified, I sought out my friends from the Bay area, and opened my second package of chocolate-chip cookies. For some reason, we ended up talking about recipes. I told them about some of my old favorites from graduate-school days, like Tomato Ambiguous, Synthetic Tuna Fish, and Old Doctor Freeman's Universal Vegetable Ichor. By then, I was glad I had brought plenty of chocolate-chip cookies...
I packed my equipment and headed back to the motel. En route, I encountered a few drops of rain, and others subsequently reported hail at the star party site itself. No matter, I was snug in my motel room. I wrote up my observing notes as the coffee I had drunk wore off, then turned in.
Next day, I killed time being lazy and watching television till I felt good and rested. I petted the cats and left them the rest of the cheese, strewed bread crumbs for the birds, and took state route 174 north from Colfax to Grass Valley. The route is a leisurely two-lane blacktop country road, that descends slowly, winding through hills and farm country -- the lower Sierra foothills at their best. The route from Grass Valley back to Auburn is faster, wider, and straighter, but just as scenic. Back on US 80, I did a double-take to see what I thought were mesas and buttes rising from the Sacramento Valley far ahead of me, but no, they were just the high-rise buildings of central Sacramento, rising from the plain, thirty miles ahead, in unusually clear air.
Nearing the Bay area, I detoured through Walnut Creek, where I know some of the restaurants, to stop for dinner. I had a delicious veggie pizza in Tomatino's -- roast eggplant, peppers, tomato sauce, and just a smidge of parmesan -- yum! Expresso and a biscotti in La Scala finished up my break, and then I continued home to Palo Alto.
The middle Sierra Nevada seems to be a wonderful place to do astronomy. I'll be back.