Wild Geese

by Christopher Hendrie

... unless your long refractor is pointed near the zenith. (with apologies to Mary Oliver)

I finally got back out tonight after a hiatus which unfortunately swallowed my Calstar plans (long non-astro-related tale of modest woe omitted, consider implicit yet inadequate excuses proferred). The clear night and near full moon brought me out onto my patio. While waiting for the moon to find a window between the trees and buildings (I have only a constellation or two of sky available from my patio inside an apartment complex), I spent some time exploring Aquila and Sagitta.

While looking at the Dumbbell (unfortunately faint and indistinct through South Bay light pollution), I was shocked by a ghostly line of geese (presumed) winging their way through the field. I followed them across the stars, their wings lit by cityglow to about the same brightness as the stars they crossed. I was immediately reminded of the titular Mary Oliver poem.

The moon, too, was awe-inspiring. I've been away too long! I didn't have any particular goals in mind, but I got to try the S&T Field Map of the Moon (mirror reversed for my telescope). Reiner was picture perfect, half in shadow with an clear central peak, reminding me of a Foucault image. Damoiseau nested craters showed what looked like a clock face to me, with hands at 8 o'clock (but 4 o'clock if not reversed, I guess). Rimae Sirsalis caught my eye, and now I'm quite curious about what causes the linear valley-like features on the moon (I'll go look it up after I hit send). I was surprised to find that 50x per inch showed the most detail; I guess the moon has such high contrast that it can afford very high magnifications. I actually wish I could have spent more time at 75x per inch, but I got careless and gummed up my ortho with eyelash grease.

Regards,
Christopher