Celestial summer visitor

The comet C/2020 F3 (NEOWISE) hangs over the community of gore, Nova scotia, on July 21, 2020. - john mcphee

Forty-eight years ago, I watched the day turn into night on a July afternoon.

I was seven years old for the solar eclipse of July 10, 1972. I knew the basics of what was going on - the moon was blocking the light of the sun. I remember chatting excitedly with my siblings as we crowded around a window in our home in Cape Breton. We watched from inside after hearing warnings about looking directly at the sun (It’s only safe during the brief moment of totality).

I felt unsettled and a little afraid as an eerie twilight descended on that summer day. But the eclipse sparked a lifelong curiousity about the moon, stars and planets.

That interest waxed and waned over the years until 1996, when another remarkable celestial event steered me back into the hobby. The comet Hyakutake put on an amazing show in March of that year as its long tail spread across the meridian.

comet C/2020 F3 (NEOWISE) on july 21, 2020. The comet’s sweeping dust tail as well as a narrow blue ion tail are visible- john mcphee

I was living in Annapolis Royal at the time, where the skies were, and remain, mostly unspoiled by light pollution. We had an excellent view of Hyakutake.

Just a year afterward, a smaller but brighter comet, Hale-Bopp, was visible to the naked eye for a record 18 months. Other comets have come and gone in the intervening years but none have approached the spectacle of those two celestial visitors.

Comet C/2020 F3

Photo by Stefan Ziegenbalg

But over the past month, C/2020 F3 (NEOWISE) has put on a pretty good show. This comet appeared in the northern hemisphere as a pre-dawn binocular object in early July. By the latter part of the month, it had moved into the evening sky in the northwest, when it became visible to the naked eye away from light pollution. NEOWISE reached its peak brightness when it came closest to the Earth - about 103 million kilometres - on July 22/23.

I had my best moment with the comet the night before, along with dozens of other people who had gathered on Courthouse Monument Hill in Gore, Hants County. That vantage point allows a sweeping view of the northwest, where NEOWISE’s faint spray of light was visible under the Big Dipper once darkness fell.

C/2020 F3 (NEOWISE) hovers below the big dipper on july 21, 2020. The open cluster of stars on the left is the tiny constellation Coma Berenices. - john mcphee

It was a lovely sight in binoculars and also made for an interesting photo target with its narrow blue ion tail and sweeping white dust tail. Astrophotographers have captured amazing images of the comet’s fascinating structure.

Over the past few days, It’s dimmed considerably as it moves away from the sun. Who knows if humans will still be around to see it but NEOWISE will make a return visit in about 6,000 years.

Let's play name that star

the double-star star Zubenelgenubi is seen to the lower left of jupiter in august 2018. . - john mcphee

About 10,000 years ago, skywatchers in the cradle of civilization, Mesopotamia, were the first to put names to what they saw in the heavens.

And they came up with some great ones: Zubenelgenubi. Unukalhai. Rasalhague.

The stars that inspired these names were more than just pretty things to look at for the ancient Arabs. Since agriculture was crucial to the civilization in what's now Iraq, the stars that accompanied the changing seasons helped mark the best time to sow and to reap.

 Many of the names they gave the stars have survived the ages.  The star that gets my vote for best name, Zubenelgenubi (zoo-BEN-el-ja-NOO-bee), is found in the constellation Libra.

Zubenelgenubi

Zubenelgenubi, also known as alpha Librae, is a double-star system 77.2 light-years from Earth. Image via AAO/ STScI/ WikiSky

Zubenelgenubi forms the western corner of the triangle formed by Libra's brighter stars. To find this faint constellation, look between the bright stars Antares low in the south and Arcturus, higher and to the west.

 If you've got sharp eyesight, and are away from city lights, you'll notice that Zubenelgenubi has a much fainter companion. The pair, which is likely a true double-star related in space about 77 light-years away, gets more interesting in binoculars or a wide-field telescope. You can see a striking contrast between the blue main star and the whitish (some observers say it's yellow) companion.

Another celestial tongue-twister, Unukulhai (uh-NOO-kul-lye), can be seen in small, dim constellation above and to the east of Libra. Unukalhai is the only star that stands out in Serpens Caput, the Neck of the Snake. It's also a multiple-star system but its two other companions aren't visible.

Stars revolve around Polaris, the north star, in this long exposure. - john mcphee

 Not just any star 

Look to the opposite side of the sky to find another star whose name dates back through the millennia. It's easier one to pronounce, Kochab (KO-cab), which may come from al-kawkab, Arabic for "the star." According to Wikipedia, this singular name may refer to the fact Kochab was close to the northern pole at about 1,100 B.C.

For us, of course, another star has that distinction. All stars in the sky appear to revolve around Polaris, the North Star, because now it's located directly above the Earth's northern axis.

Ursa Minor

- Wikipedia Commons

You can easily track this motion by watching the Little Dipper (Ursa Minor) through the night, as Kochab and the other Dipper stars swing around steadfast Polaris.

The Dipper's appearance can be predicted from month to month as well. On June evenings at about 11 p.m., Kochab can be seen at the 12 o'clock position, if Polaris were the centre of the clock.

You'll probably notice Kochab before you see Polaris, even though Kochab is slightly dimmer. It has a distinctive orange hue that really jumps out in binoculars or a scope. Kochab is an impressive star by any measure - it's 500 times brighter and 50 times the size of our sun.

Ancient connections

The first peoples of Canada used this group of stars to guide their travels under the northern skies. The Plains Cree called Polaris the standing-still star, Ekakatchet Atchakos.

“If a Cree traveller kept Keewatin on their right shoulder while moving over land at night, they knew they were travelling towards the west,” according to information on the University of Calgary’s observatory website.

October skies

A meteor streaks above the constellatoin orion in 2019 - the green dot above the meteor is comet 46pwirtanen. - john mcphee

As the days get shorter and colder, the night sky offers a refuge of things bright and beautiful. And in October, we get a few bonuses as the seasons turn - at least for stargazers willing to lose a little sleep.

After midnight, the glittering constellations of Orion the Hunter and Gemini are rising in the east, while the Summer Triangle of the stars Altair, Deneb and Vega are hanging on for dear life in the west.

The cusp of the seasons is a good time to compare the brightness of stars that make up the constellations.

Orion's appearance is always a mixed blessing - if the Hunter is coming up, the temperatures are going down. But on the bright side, excuse the pun, this is an extraordinary group of stars.

Cygnus

- Wikipedia Commons

That's obvious when you turn from Orion to look overhead or to the west in late-night October. Most constellations have only one or two bright stars: you usually have to work to connect the dots with the dimmer remainder.

I can remember risking a neck strain trying to make out the six stars of the Northern Cross, officially known as Cygnus the Swan. This constellation straddles the Milky Way with its brightest, or alpha, star Deneb at the top of the cross.

Cygnus is now a familiar sight after years of exploring its treasures, such as the gold and blue double-star Albireo at the foot of the cross.

Then there's Orion, which stands out mainly because of his three-star belt. In a small telescope, the Orion Nebula below the belt is a facinating sight - just don’t expect to see the spectacular colours that make this such a coveted photographic object.

The Summer Triangle of Altair, Deneb and Vega (from bottom clockwise) hangs on for dear life in the west as winter approaches. - john mcphee

The brightness, or magnitude, of many of Orion’s stars are in the 0 to 2 range. That might not sound all that impressive. But under the magnitude system - which was created 2,000 years ago by the Greek astronomer Hipparchus and tuned up by the English astronomer Norman Pogson in the 1800s - the lower the number, the brighter the star.

In fact, really bright objects such as Venus, the full Moon and, of course, the Sun, go into the negative at -4, -13 and -26 magnitudes respectively.

Bears and queens

The other constellation that stands out as we scan the late-night October sky is Ursa Major or Great Bear, which prowls the northern regions.

Ursa Major boasts a number of second- and third-magnitude stars, which come together in the famous Big Dipper group.

So for the dedicated night owls out there, it's a rewarding time of year.

Double Cluster

The Double Cluster (also known as Caldwell 14) consists of the open clusters NGC 869 and NGC 884. - Wikipedia Commons

But there's lots to see at a more civilized hour. For example, the royal couple of autumn holds court in the northeast. Queen Cassiopeia (cass-ee-oh-PEE-uh) and the king Cepheus (SEE-fee-us) reign in the eastern wing of the Milky Way, which is studded with star clusters.

The big draw in this region is the Double Cluster, which technically is in the constellation Perseus. However, I find that two stars in Cassiopeia act as a handy pointer to this beautiful pair of star clusters, located about 7,500 light-years away from Earth.

In dark skies with the naked eye, the Double Cluster looks like a couple of dim, fuzzy stars. But through binoculars (see below), the clusters break down into glittering splashes of stars that easily fit into one binocular field.

the w-shape of cassiopeia is seen between the clouds in nova scotia. - john mcphee

To find them, locate the slanted W of Cassiopeia. The central star in the W and the dimmer star below and to the left point toward Perseus. The Double Cluster lies in this direction about halfway to Perseus.

Another nearby cluster, called M52, boasts more than 100 stars. It can be found between Cassiopeia (its top two stars point toward the cluster) and the house-shaped and relatively dim constellation of Cepheus.

Turning to the south, the skies in this direction look pretty desolate in late-evening October, after Sagittarius and Scorpius dip below the horizon. Shining a little light into the gloom is the first-magnitude star Fomalhaut (FO-mal-owt) which reaches its highest point in the south this month. At a distance of 22 light-years, it's one of our closer neighbours in space.

If you like stuff that moves, two meteor showers can be enjoyed in October and November. The Orionids and Northern Taurids aren't usually very active showers, producing about 10 to 25 meteors an hour. But both have been known to feature bright meteors and even fireballs.

Two eyes better than one

Back to those binoculars.

You often read in astronomy that the best telescope is the one you'll use the most. (if you’re in the market, here’s a great primer on buying your first one.)

A big scope is great for sucking up those photons from space, revealing distant galaxies and dim nebulae. But don't forget the time and effort it takes to set up this optical beast and drag it out to the backyard. I have two scopes - a 90mm refractor and an 8-inch Dobsonian. They're not monsters by any means but the Dob in particular takes a little muscle to move around.

Size does indeed matter and sometimes smaller is better, certainly when you're talking about portability.

So it's no surprise the optical equipment I use most often is my trusty set of 10 by 50 Carton Adlerblick binoculars. There's no setup time (except for occasionally mounting them on a tripod) and you might be surprised how many objects are within the grasp of those little twin barrels, particularly away from light polluted skies.

The pleiades star cluster is a lovely binocular object. this photo - taken on feb. 4, 2019 - includes the comet 46p/wirtanen, which shows up as a green spot at bottom centre. - john mcphee

 If you have binoculars already, give them a try on the Moon and bright star clusters like the Pleiades. The Moon in particular offers a wealth of detail for binocular users. Try observing when the Moon is at first quarter or last quarter phases, when craters are highlighted by the shadow of the terminator, the line that separates the sunlit part of the lunar surface and the darker portion.

 You can see a lot during the full Moon as well. Craters such as Tycho and Copernicus have ray systems that are spectacular in binoculars. The rays result from the spray of molten material ejected from the meteor impacts that created the craters.

run away from the monsters

If you're looking to buy a first pair of binoculars, choose ones that will be useful for astronomy, as well as terrestrial observing such as birdwatching. You’ll want a pair with a magnfication of 7 to 10 in order to glean the most detail out of star clusters and lunar craters.

The suggesetions in the review I linked to above include monster sizes such as 25 by 100, which must be mounted on a tripod. These are not recommended for first-time buyers - while they can provide amazingly wide and bright views, they’re cumbersome and usually much more expensive.

Astro nuts

A group of astronomy enthusiasts (including me in middle) talk shop in St. Croix, Nova Scotia. - Halifax RASC

But do buy binoculars that have a tripod adapter socket. It’s amazing how simply steadying your equipment will improve your viewing experience. (That “steadier the better” motto also applies to telescopes - a poor tripod will render even a good scope useless.)

You may not get a tripod right away but after you become comfortable observing with binoculars, it’s a helpful next step. You’ll also need a 1.25-inch adapter to connect your binoculars to the tripod.

I find it gets uncomfortable to hold even my 10 by 50 binoculars for any length of time, so for extended observing I plunk myself in a deck chair in mild weather to steady my arms or mount them on a tripod.

Red planet redux

From top, Saturn, Mars and the star antares are seen in August 2016. - John mcphee

IT'S CAPTURED the imagination since the time of the Egyptians, who called the wandering "star" Har decher, the Red One. The Greeks and Romans, inspired by that distinctive bloody hue, named it after their gods of war.
As with most of the planets' names, the Romans had their way.

While Mars is perhaps the most intriguing planet, mostly thanks to  its prominence in fiction and movies, it's not usually an impressive object to the naked eye.

While its rusty orange colour is eye-catching, it's a small world and must be relatively close to the Earth to be bright enough to really stand out .At about 6,800 kilometres in diameter, the rocky planet is only half the size of Earth. So even during close approaches, you need a good-sized telescope to make out specific features.

Unlike Venus or the gas giants Jupiter and Saturn,  Mars doesn't have clouds in its atmosphere to reflect light back to observers on Earth.

But when it does get close enough, like right now, it's a a beautifully eerie sight in the late evening in the southeast.  Mars will makes its closest approach, about 57 million kilometres, on July 31. At its farthest point, Mars is about 400 million kilometres from Earth. 

 While it will be at its brightest since 2003, Mars won't get very high in the high during this apparition. It will rise into more favourable viewing during its next opposition on Oct. 6, 2020. 

The dark skies of Kejimkujik

The trails of red-filtered flashlights are seen during dark sky weekend at kejimkujik. (john mcphee)

Check out any astronomical event and you’ll find two kinds of observers.

There are the extroverted types for whom the social aspects of the gathering are just as important as the celestial.

During an interview in the spring, fellow observer Art Cole told me he often sets up his camera/telescope rig to automatically take photos or video of a particular celestial object for hours. Then he makes the rounds to chat with fellow astronomers.

On the other end of the extrovert/introvert spectrum, there are people like, well, me. My routine at an astronomical gathering is exchanging a few pleasantries after arrival and finding a good spot to plant my ‘scope. For the rest of the evening, my eye is stuck to the eyepiece and you might hear an appreciative mumble once in a while when I get a good view of an object.

No, I’ll never be the life of the astronomical (or any other) party. But I try to come out of my shell each summer for Dark Sky Weekend at Kejimkujik National Park and National Historic Site in western Nova Scotia. I have offered my telescope and limited astronomical know-how several times at the event's public observing sessions.

It’s a great time. Hundreds of people converge in the evening at the Sky Circle in Jeremy’s Bay Campground for astronomical and native cultural presentations by RASC members and Parks Canada interpreters. Afterward people line up to peek through the telescopes set up around a large field surrounding the Sky Circle.

I particularly enjoy providing celestial views to enthusiastic younger observers, many of whom have never looked through a telescope. 

Keji’s dark sky program is the result of a collaboration between Parks Canada and the Halifax Centre of the Royal Astronomical Society of Canada. The society, represented by members Quinn Smith and Dave Chapman, approached Parks Canada in 2009 about getting Keji designated as a dark sky preserve. 

Parks Canada would have to implement light pollution controls at the park, offer astronomical programming and public outreach activities, and promote Keji as a stargazing destination.

A former civil servant, Chapman braced for a long haul of bureaucratic stonewalling.

“What happened to our surprise was ... we got invited down and it turned out the people at Keji were all for it,” Chapman said in an interview.

RASC members helped train park interpreters on such things as features of the night sky and astronomical equipment (the park bought a large Go-To telescope for use at the Sky Circle). And society members remain heavily involved, particularly on Dark Sky Weekend every August.  

RASC members Dave Chapman and Quinn Smith spearheaded the creation of the Dark Sky Preserve at Kejimkujik National Park and National Historic Site.

Six years later, Chapman says he’s very pleased with how the program has evolved.

“I’m very impressed at how they’ve handled it. It wasn’t like, ‘OK thanks, we’ll take that and we’ll put it on a webpage.’ They’ve really embraced the whole idea of the preserve and how it adds to the park and they’ve incorporated it into their programming.”

RASC members Dave Chapman and Quinn Smith spearheaded the creation of the Dark Sky Preserve at Kejimkujik National Park and National Historic Site.

RASC members have tailored their own contributions to Dark Sky Weekend over the years. For example, they’ve reduced the number of daytime activities, which weren’t drawing a lot of people, in favour of “drop-in” events, Chapman said.

“We set up a station, a little tent (near the Tuck Shoppe at Jeremy’s Bay Campground) where we could sit under the shade and we basically have a drop-in where people could just come to us,” he said. “We’ll show them free handouts, talk to them about telescopes and do solar observing. That was really quite successful last year so we’re going to do that again this year.”

Chapman’s involvement with the dark sky project is but one of his many irons in the astronomical fire. He’s edited the internationally renowned Observer’s Handbook published by the RASC, he curates the www.astronomynovascotia.ca website and, along with Mi’kmaq cultural interpreter Cathy Jean LeBlanc, he created the Mi’kmaw Moons project.

Public outreach in astronomy hadn’t been a big interest for him until relatively recently. But Chapman has come to enjoy the one-to-one contact with people at events such as Dark Sky Weekend.

“It’s amazing how many people you meet who just have never — well, they may have looked at the sky but they don’t know what they’re looking at. So ...  you point out the Milky Way, this is our galaxy, these are the stars, that one’s a double star, that one’s a planet — people love that stuff, they want to appreciate it.

“What I tell people all the time is, you don’t have to be a scientist or an astronomer to appreciate the sky. You can appreciate it for what it is, from wherever you’re coming from. You don’t have to understand the physics of it all. If you want to understand the physics, we can tell you that too, but if you just want to enjoy it, we can tell you what you’re looking at.”

Secret codes and nocturnal encounters

Look closely at the bottom of the photo for four green streaks created by a passing firefly in this long exposure of Scorpius. (JOHN McPHEE / Local Xpress)

Many a night I saw the Pleiads rising thro' the mellow shade,

Glitter like a swarm of fireflies tangled in a silver braid.

Alfred Tennyson

It’s a warm sultry summer night. The stars are twinkling, a light breeze teases the trees, a barred owl hoots in the distance.

Perfect for a little romance.

Actually, judging from the number of little lights flitting about the woods and lake shoreline where I’m observing the night sky, there’s lots of hooking up going on.

Yes, the fireflies have come out to play on this late June evening. Their mesmerizing now-you-see-them-now-you-don’t performance is keeping me entertained while my camera soaks up photons from the great beyond. The planets Mars and Saturn are passing by the constellation Scorpius low in the south so I’m shooting some long exposures to capture this celestial grouping for posterity.

Fireflies have been synonymous with summer for me since childhood. I was fascinated by these “lightning bugs” who seemed to be visitors from a magical fairy world.

Alas, the reality is less romantic. Fireflies aren’t actually even flies, they’re soft-bodied beetles. If you held one in your hand during the day, you’d see a bug with a dark backside and an orangish front.

And those ethereal lights are actually the result of a protein reacting with an enzyme. Nothing very magical there. 

After my night among the celestial and insectoid lights, I called up Andrew Hebda, the curator of zoology at the Nova Scotia Museum of Natural History, for the scoop on these summer visitors.

There’s indeed a romantic aspect to the reason these insects light up the night. Well, romantic in a glowing beetle butt kind of way.

The light produced on the insect’s tail end is created by a fairly simple chemical reaction, Hebda explained.

“They have a photo-luminescent protein called luciferin. When it’s exposed to an enzyme called luciferase, which is released upon a given stimulus, it essentially causes the excitation of luciferin to a higher stage, and as it decays, then it releases light. It’s a very straightforward chemical decay process.”

Not so straightforward is exactly how the message “OK, turn my backdoor light on” is triggered in the beetle’s brain.  “That’s the process they don’t understand clearly,” Hebda said.

But the goal of this photochemical wizardry is clear:  Find a mate and fast. The males produce their signal in a particular pattern to tell females that they’re around, they’re available to mate, Hebda said.

Fireflies love a warm and calm summer evening. This is a stack of 29 30-second exposures taken on a country road in nova scotia. - John Mcphee

“Essentially the pattern is sort of like a Morse code, it’s very species-specific. You can use the analogy that one may be flashing an S and one may be flashing the letter P.  Based on the pattern of flashes, the potential mate will recognize that and respond to that.”

Fireflies don’t have the best eyesight so the successful light signal must be close by, he said. 

The females also use light patterns to respond to males or to attract them — both for sex or for a free lunch, it turns out. Some female fireflies mimic the light patterns of other species, lure the unsuspecting Romeo into their lair and gobble him up. Nice.

If there’s a happier ending to the love story, the female usually lays her eggs soon afterward. The mating and subsequent egg-laying usually takes place in sheltered wetlands and bays.

“You’re not going to find them in the middle of open, windy dry areas,” Hebda said. “They’re not aerodynamically designed to cope with strong winds so you tend to find them in wetland areas where you have some protection from wind ... They have to be near the appropriate habitat for both the eggs to be able to ripen and hatch and larvae to feed.”

There are about 2,000 species of fireflies across the world. The nine types found in Nova Scotia are true fireflies — some species that fall into the Lampyridae family don’t light up. Exactly how many fireflies flit around on a typical Nova Scotia summer night isn't known, Hebda said. 

“I have a farm on Cobequid Bay and there are a couple of wetland areas there and it’s not unusual to see 40 or 50 (fireflies). Within that individual one hectare of wetland, we may have several hundred individuals because, of course, you’re only seeing the males. The females will either be up in the shrubbery or down in the ground. You tend not to see those ones.”

As a zoologist, Hebda is obviously interested in the creepy crawly set. “Anything that runs, flies, swims or crawls. If it’s dead, it stinks. If it doesn’t stink, we call it palentology.” (We’ve only met on the phone but it’s clear this scientist comes equipped with a tinder-dry sense of humour). 

It’s fair to say most people don’t share his love of the insect world. Even those who enjoy the spectacle of fireflies at night would get out the broom if they spotted one of those beetles crawling across the floor in the daytime. 

“I blame our parents completely for that,” said Hebda, perhaps only half-jokingly. “Of course, we’re supposed to keep things clean ... ensuring that you don’t have vermin and insects that are crawling around.”

When it comes to fireflies, “the other elements that some people may find repulsive are masked by that absolutely gorgeous and mysterious sight. We may know the chemical processes as to how it works but still it’s a mystical thing.”

I can only agree as I later look over my exposures from the Scorpius session. A few have been firefly photobombed with short, green streaks of light. Just beetles. But pretty magical ones just the same. 

Planets in focus: Secrets of an astrophographer

Astrophotographer Art Cole stands next to his Schmidt-Cassegrain telescope at his Hammonds Plains home. (JOHN McPHEE)

When Art Cole started out in astronomy, he used a 20mm plastic refractor telescope to explore the skies.

“It was basically garbage but you could look at the moon with it and that’s pretty cool if you’re a kid,” Cole told me during a chat at his home in Hammonds Plains.

Several decades later, he’s still captivated by the moon, as well as the planets and deep sky objects such as nebulae and galaxies.

Of course, the equipment he uses has moved up several notches on the cool scale since his observing days as a child in Lower Sackville. Cole’s setup includes an eight-inch Celestron Schmidt-Cassegrain telescope, an 80mm Orion refractor, two DSLRs (Canon 7d Mark II and Canon T3i) and an array of photo-processing software programs.

As the cameras and processing wizardry indicate, Cole’s specialty is astrophotography, which is why I ended up in his living room sipping tea and munching cookies under the watchful eye of the family dog Romeo.

As a fellow member of the Royal Astronomical Society of Canada, I’ve come to admire his work on planets such as Mars, Jupiter and Saturn, as well as deep sky targets such as the Orion Nebula and the Andromeda Galaxy. (Check out his Flickr page here).

Cole and other RASC astrophotographers such as Blair MacDonald and Jeff Donaldson produce amazing celestial portraits full of detail and colour.

I wanted to talk about Cole’s planetary photography techniques in particular because Mars (in the constellation Scorpius) and Saturn (in Ophiuchus) are rising into view in the evening southeast.

While Saturn and its famous ring system is a perennial favourite of astrophotographers, Mars’ disc is often too small to capture details of polar ice caps and vast lava plains. But Mars is closer to Earth than it’s been for 13 years so many planetary specialists are turning their camera-laden telescopes toward the Red Planet this time around.

So how does Cole get those sharp, detail-filled planetary shots? The short explanation is, don’t take photos, take video. And be prepared to spend a lot of time with those photo-processing programs.

Cole explains.

“If you’re looking through a telescope at an object, they’re blurry and all of a sudden, boom, you can see the Great Red Spot (on Jupiter). Or if you’re looking at Mars, boom, you can see the polar ice cap and other features and all of a sudden it disappears again.”

That inconsistency is caused by atmospheric turbulence. When the atmosphere is calmer, that’s known as a night of good "seeing."

“The idea behind video astrophotography is, you’re capturing an incredible amount of frames. ... I usually capture about 30 frames per second with my gear. ...  Most of those frames are going to be in moments of poor seeing when the planet’s blurry and you’ll never get any detail. Whereas a certain percentage of them will be moments of good seeing. The planetary imaging details will be nice and sharp.”

Mars is seen in April 2014. The Red Planet is now about 75 million kilometres from Earth, its closest approach in 13 years. (ART COLE)

 Jupiter and a couple of its moons are seen in February 2014. (ART COLE)

Cole captured this image of the lunar crater Bullialdus with his iPhone 4s from the 60-inch telescope at Mount Wilson Observatory. (ART COLE)

An image of Saturn processed from video taken through an iPhone in February 2014. (ART COLE)

Art Cole designed a bracket that attaches his iPhone to his telescope, which keeps the phone camera steady taking video of the planets and the moon. (ART COLE)

 Cole visits with Tom Mason, a telescope operator at Mount Wilson Observatory near Los Angeles, in December 2012.

That’s where the processing software comes in.  

He recommends a popular, and free, software program called Registax. He also uses PIPP, which stands for Planetary Image Pre Processor.

“It goes through your video, every single frame. It determines whether or not they’re blurry or they’re sharp. And it will re-order them from best to worst. And you can say, I want to keep the best 10 per cent or 25 per cent or whatever.

“If you have really, really good seeing, you might keep 80 per cent of the frames. With poor seeing, you might keep 10 per cent. But usually I keep around 25 per cent, that’s OK. In the end, you wind up with a much shorter video with much better frames in it.”

 But wait, there’s more — processing, that is.

Because it’s video and the exposures are short, they tend to be very grainy: there’s a lot of “noise” from the camera. As well, the image of the planet will jump around in the video because the wind slightly nudged your telescope or your tracking drifted a bit.

Registax and PIPP can be used to align the frames so the planet remains in the same spot and reduce the noise.  

For the finishing touches, such as bringing out the details in the image, you guessed it. More processing! Cole favours Images Plus, although other programs such as Photoshop can be used.

Cole offered a few other tips to budding astrophotographers:

• Use the gear you have (if you have it.) Don't spend money on expensive new gear until you've mastered what you have.

• Learn the ins and outs of your processing software. You can work miracles out of digital data if you understand what digital processing tools you have at your disposal.

• Be creative in your processing techniques and try out lots of new ideas.

• Learn from other people to find out how they create their images. The Internet can be helpful too, but beware — much of the information in online discussion forms can be misleading or just plain wrong.

Cole’s grasp of the technical aspects of astrophotography comes naturally. He’s an engineer for JASCO Applied Sciences, an underwater acoustics company that measures the exact amount and impact of sound for environmental reviews of offshore and other projects.

He’s also worked as a systems engineer at MDA Corporation, a communications company that specializes in satellite technology and robotics. MDA’s projects have included the Canadarm on the International Space Station and the Earth observation satellites RADARSAT-1 and 2.

“I’ve always been interested in all kinds of sciences — biology, physics, math, astronomy, the whole thing,” Cole said. “I used to read encyclopedias for fun when I was a kid!” (Courtesy of his mom, who bought an entire set from a door-to-door salesman.) 

Not surprisingly, he’s put his engineering and design skills to good use as an astrophotographer. He designed his own bracket (see photo above) to attach his iPhone to his telescope, which in fact sparked his interest in astrophotography several years ago. He wrote an article for Sky and Telescope's February 2013 issue about the project, which in turn led to an invitation from Mount Wilson observatory near Los Angeles to experiment with the iPhone bracket on the venerable 60-inch telescope.

Besides possible upgrades in equipment (“there’s always the appeal of better cameras”), Cole doesn’t foresee any big changes in how he captures his celestial portraits.

When he started out in astrophotography, he figured he’d be able to image three deep-sky objects a night. Not so much.

“You might do three nights per object. At this rate, I’m never going to run out of stuff to take pictures of. I just really enjoy it.”

Finding light in the darkness

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A little light painting can help pass the time during a long exposure of the night sky. (JOHN McPHEE)

The constellation Orion is sinking in the west and Lyra is rising on the other side of the sky.

I’m driving as slowly as possible to avoid breaking an axle on this obstacle course of bumps and potholes, otherwise known as a road. 

It’s cold but not so cold that I have to don long undies and heavy duty footwear to prepare for an evening of stargazing. 

Yes, it’s springtime in Nova Scotia.

The dirt road that’s giving my aging car such a hard time leads to an observing site owned by the Royal Astronomical Society of Canada (Halifax Centre). Since we moved to the city five years ago, it’s been my go-to observing site when I want to see fainter objects than planets or the moon. 

While secluded enough for decent dark sky observing, it’s a fairly quick drive from Halifax.  (That’s about all I’ll say on that score because the society prefers to keep its specific location under wraps for security reasons.)

If you’ve been a member for long enough and have been given a rundown on site operations, you get a key that gets you past the locked gate.

Quick, raise your hand if you’re good at not losing things like keys. Not so fast, McPhee. 

No problem. I’ll just heave my Orion Dobsonian telescope, camera gear and observing chair over the gate and forgo the comforts of the warm-up room. One thing about astronomy as a hobby, you learn how to lug things around in the darkness. (Pro tip: Get a good headlamp with a red-filter option to keep your eyes dark-adapted and your hands free for the lugging. Mine is a Petzl Tikka XP. ) 

Usually I don’t have to jump the gate because other key-carrying members are around. But there’s a moon tonight and even though it will set quickly, observers usually wait for moonless nights. Fainter objects such as galaxies and nebulae are washed out even when the moon is not full, like tonight. 

As it turns out, that crescent moon is one of my photo targets. The bright reddish star Aldebaran will be very close by, known in the business as a conjunction. Usually these events involve the moon and planets, but sometimes a star that lies on the ecliptic (the path in the sky followed by the moon, sun and planets) steps up for a conjunction photo-op.

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The star Aldebaran is seen in conjunction with the crescent moon on April 10, 2016. (JOHN McPHEE)

After the moon sets and true dark sets in, I’ll point my camera and telescope toward Leo and Virgo to do some galaxy hunting. 

But mostly I’ll just sit back in the darkness and soak up the silence. In these parts, the quiet is often punctuated by hoots of barred owls and howls of eastern coyotes. Even better. 

If I’m to remain a respectable member of society, I must escape it on a regular basis. Halifax may be a small city but it’s got more than enough concrete, noise and people for my comfort level.  

The urge to escape has been more intense than usual lately. I and over 50 other newsroom staffers have been on strike from a certain Halifax newspaper for about 100 days now. It’s been an incredibly stressful and uncertain time for us and our families.

I’ve never been a glass-half-full guy. If you’re looking for somebody with a sharp eye for the downside, I’m your man. But in the cesspool of negativity that constitutes a bitter strike, you’ve got to hang on to the positive things. 

For me,  it’s hearing, “Come over here, Poppa,” from a twinkle eyed two-year-old beckoning me to the sofa to watch The Wiggles.

It’s the amazing support we’ve received from other unions or from strangers who drop by the picket line with coffee, gift cards or simply words of encouragement.

It's that warm feeling when you've nailed Famous Blue Raincoat, even after your third glass of wine. 

It's my spouse's laugh. Kathy's got a great laugh. 

And it’s nights like this one under the starlit sky.  I’m alone in the dark but hey, I’ve got my fancy headlamp. All’s well. 

---

Spring ahead to the vernal equinox

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THE SUN SETS OVER KEJIMKUJIK LAKE IN NOVA SCOTIA. THE SUN WILL CROSS THE CELESTIAL EQUATOR INTO THE NORTHERN HEMISPHERE ON MARCH 20 AT 1:30 A.M., MARKING THE BEGINNING OF SPRING. (JOHN MCPHEE)

While the bright constellations of winter depart the celestial stage, the star that gives us life will also make a noteworthy transition this month. 

The sun will cross the celestial equator from the southern hemisphere to the northern half on March 20 at 1:30 a.m. ADT - the vernal equinox. 

Of course, the sun isn't actually moving - we are. As the Earth zips around our home star, different parts of the planet get more or less sunlight at various points in that orbit.

That's because the Earth's spin is a little crooked - it's tilted 23.5 degrees compared to the plane of our orbit. 

From late March onward, we northerners get the benefit of the tilt, while the sunlight begins to fall more directly on the southern hemisphere in September. 

Earth isn't the only off-kilter planet in our system. On the extreme end is the cold gas giant Uranus, which rotates virtually sideways in space at 82 degrees, according to NASA's website on weather in the solar system. 

But another gas giant, Jupiter, is tilted only three degrees. And Jupiter's spin isn't only super straight, it's super fast.  The planet whirls around so quickly that its poles are slightly flattened.

Jupiter has moved into prime viewing position in the evening sky this month, after being part of the planetary party at dawn last month. It's high in the southeast by 10 p.m. in Nova Scotia in the constellation Leo.

Even a small telescope will reveal the faint cloud bands that wrap around this gas giant. You’ll also notice dots of light around the planet, which are Jupiter’s largest moons. 

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I took this (Not great) photo on Feb. 23, 2016, when all four of Jupiter's Galilean moons were visible.

You’ll often see all four of the “Galilean” moons Callisto, Io, Europa and Ganymede, which are named after the Italian astronomer who first saw them in his newly upgraded 20x telescope on Jan. 7, 1610.

Turning our gaze out beyond our solar system, we see the changing of the guard from the winter showpieces of Orion, Canis Major and Taurus to the more subtle spring constellations.

Leo the Lion leads the charge in the east ‐ this rather faint constellation is easier to locate than usual. As noted above, this month it encompasses the planet Jupiter, the third brightest object in the night sky after the moon and Venus.   Above Jupiter is the brightest star in Leo, the blue‐white Regulus, which marks the bottom of the constellation's trademark reverse question‐mark.

The much brighter Arcturus marks the otherwise dim constellation Bootes (buh‐OH‐teez) to the east of Leo. When you see this striking rusty star rise in the evening, you know winter's days are numbered. 

King of the planets rising

There’s lots to admire about the planet Jupiter, which rises in the evening in late January into February.

It’s the largest body in the solar system, besides the sun of course. About 1,321 Earths could fit within its sphere.

A celestial body this size creates huge gravitational field in space. Its effects reach all the way to our planet from 778 million kilometres away, which can be a good thing. Asteroids and comets headed for the Earth can be deflected out of harm’s way.

On the other hand, this immense gravitational slingshot can fling objects toward us. It all depends from what part of the solar system the comet or asteroid originates. 

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Mars at top left, Jupiter below with nicely arrayed line of moons (bottom up) Callisto, Ganymede, Europe and Io. The star to the far left is HIP54057. I shot this in 2015 through my old Meade refractor. (JOHN MCPHEE)

Besides the grandeur of the planet itself, Jupiter’s array of moons is unparalleled in our system. At last count, 67 bodies were known to orbit the planet.

The four largest  - Callisto, Io, Europa and Ganymede - are known as the Galilean moons, after the Italian astronomer who first documented them using his rudimentary telescope.

Over 400 years later, they remain a favourite target of astronomical observers. In typical backyard telescopes and good quality binoculars, they appear as specks of light lined up on one or both sides of the planet. Sometimes  the moons and/or their shadows can be seen slowly crossing Jupiter's disc, known as transits.  You’ll need a telescope that has a lens or mirror at least 90 millimetres in diameter to observe these events. 

Usually only one moon or one shadow can be seen at a time but occasionally two are visible. Much rarer, usually only once or twice a decade, is a triple transit. Check out Sky and Telescope's calendar of Jovian moon events here. 

Jupiter is the only planet that's prominent in the evening this month. But early birds can catch the sight of all five naked eye planets. From east to west, Mercury, Venus, Saturn, Mars and Jupiter will span the sky at dawn. Mercury will be the toughest to spot low in the east because it's relatively dim and closest to the sun. But this plenitude of planets hasn't happened for a decade so get up early and enjoy the show. 

Ancient names in the sky

THE LITTLE DIPPER AS SEEN FROM PEI, CANADA

About 10,000 years ago, skywatchers in the cradle of civilization, Mesopotamia, were the first to put names to what they saw in the heavens.

And they came up with some great ones: Zubenelgenubi. Unukalhai. Rasalhague.

The stars that inspired these names were more than just pretty things to look at for the ancient Arabs. Since agriculture was crucial to the civilization in what's now Iraq, the stars that accompanied the changing seasons helped mark the best time to sow and to reap.

Many of the names they gave the stars have survived the ages.  The star that gets my vote for best name, Zubenelgenubi (zoo-BEN-el-ja-NOO-bee), is found in the constellation Libra. (Look to the right of the waning gibbous moon after midnight on April 7).

Zubenelgenubi can be found at the western corner of the triangle formed by Libra's brighter stars. To find this faint constellation, look between the bright stars Antares low in the south and Arcturus, higher and to the west.  

If you've got sharp eyesight, and are away from city lights, you'll notice that Zubenelgenubi has a much fainter companion. The pair, which is likely a true double-star related in space about 77 light-years away, gets more interesting in binoculars or a wide-field telescope. You can see a striking contrast between the blue main star and the whitish (some observers say it's yellow) companion.

Another celestial tongue-twister, Unukulhai (uh-NOO-kul-lye), can be seen in small, dim constellation above and to the east of Libra. Unukalhai is the only star that stands out in Serpens Caput, the Neck of the Snake. It's also a multiple-star system but its two other companions aren't visible.

Not just any star 

Look to the opposite side of the sky to find another star whose name dates back through the millennia. It's easier one to pronounce, Kochab (KO-cab), which may come from al-kawkab, Arabic for "the star." According to good old Wikipedia, this singular name may refer to the fact Kochab was close to the northern pole at about 1,100 B.C. (It's the star in the image above at the bottom left of the Little Dipper bowl. Polaris is the star at the end of the dipper's handle.)  

For us, of course, another star has that distinction. All stars in the sky appear to revolve around Polaris, the North Star, because now it's located directly above the Earth's northern axis.

You can easily track this motion by watching the Little Dipper through the night, as Kochab and the other Dipper stars swing around steadfast Polaris.

The Dipper's appearance can be predicted from month to month as well. On April evenings,  Kochab can be seen at about the 3 o'clock position, if Polaris were the centre of the clock.

You'll probably notice Kochab before you see Polaris, even though Kochab is slightly dimmer. It has a distinctive orange hue that really jumps out in binoculars or a scope. Kochab is an impressive star by any measure - it's 500 times brighter and 50 times the size of our sun.

The Hunter ascendent

Canis Major and Orion are seen in the Annapolis valley. - John McPhee

Orion the Hunter has risen into view above the city skyline on a frosty late November night.

That’s no small feat given the light pollution that blights the sky above that cityscape. Even on the clearest and most transparent nights, all but the brightest stars are dimmed by the ever-expanding orange washout that comes with urbanization.

Luckily, the winter constellations such as Orion and Canis Major boast some of those stellar beacons.  

It’s particularly easy to track down the Hunter, mainly because of the diagonal trio of stars that make up his belt. (The photo above shows a dark sky view with Orion at upper right and Canis Major to the left). 

Alnitak, Alnilam and Mintaka (from bottom up) appear to line up neatly to hold up the Hunter’s pants. In fact, these stars are dozens and hundreds of light-years away from each other in space.

If you look above Orion in December's evening skies, two bright stars might catch your eye, one red and the other blazing yellow.

Let's begin with the brighter of the pair, the yellow star Capella. This is the brightest star nearest the northern celestial pole, so it's visible every night at some time in our latitude. Capella, the fifth-brightest star in the northern night sky, is quite similar to the sun, except for its huge size. It's the alpha star of the constellation Auriga (oh-RYE-guh), which contains some interesting sights for binocular and telescope observers.

Its main attractions are three open star clusters, M36, M37 and M38. It's rare to have so many bright clusters in one constellation, especially in the relatively sparse winter skies.

In summer, the Milky Way, particularly around Sagittarius, fairly bursts with open and globular clusters.

You don't have to look far from Auriga to find more clusters high in the December sky. That red star I mentioned would be Aldebaran (al-DEB-uh-ran), a supergiant that marks the spot for the huge open cluster, the Hyades (HY-uh-deez). Aldebaran is not actually part of the V-shaped cluster; it lies only 68 light-years from Earth, while the cluster is 150 light-years away.

The Hyades contains about 200 stars and it's a spectacular sight in binoculars, covering too much of the sky to be easily viewed in a telescope.

Comet 46pwirtanen (the green dot) is seen below the pleiades cluster on feb. 4, 2019. - john mcphee

Another must-see for binocular observers is M45, also known as the Pleiades (PLEE-uh-deez). There's nothing else like it in northern skies. This open cluster is small enough to present a stunning sight when using low-power views in a telescope. But it's big enough to be easily visible to the naked eye; it's claimed that people with excellent eyesight can see six or even seven of the cluster's brightest stars. No problem seeing those stars with binoculars - the cluster fits easily in most binocular fields. Your neck will probably give out before you want to move on from this celestial jewel box.

You can put away your binoculars and still enjoy another highlight of the winter sky.  The constellation Perseus (PURR-see-us) rewards you with a glittering ladder of stars that climbs toward the zenith in mid-evening. Look just to the east of M45 to find this much larger celestial group. 

You can give your neck a rest and look low in the east to find the brightest planet in the evening sky this month, Jupiter. This largest of the planets (and second brightest after Venus) rises after 10:30 p.m. in November.

If you’re up with the birds, you’ll see the ringed planet  Saturn (but you’ll need a small telescope to see those rings). It rises just before the sun in the southeast in November and later as the winter really takes hold. 

Springing into the night sky

I'm dreaming of the mountains, where the children learn the stars.

Rexroth's Daughter, Greg Brown

The planet mars - at left - rises with the Milky Way in PEI. - John McPhee

IN THIS light-polluted, screen-obsessed time, learning the stars probably doesn't rank high on many to-do lists. That's too bad. It's really not that difficult to develop at least a passing acquaintance with the universe around us.

And it's free, at least before you get hooked enough to start buying equipment. Once you get a feel for the patterns and motions of the stars, you get a new appreciation for how our planet fits into the scheme of things.

There's a lot of talk about reality this and reality that, these days. Well, turn off the TV, step outside on a clear night and there's a beautiful reality for you. It's home. We're hitching a ride on a hunk of rock circling a huge nuclear furnace, our sun, which is a pretty ordinary star among the 400 billion or so that make up our Milky Way galaxy alone.

This is a good time of year for getting to know our cosmic neighbourhood - at some point, surely, we'll enjoy real spring temperatures, before the invasion of the insect world has yet to begin.

Celestial guidebooks

Before you venture out under the stars, make sure you spend some time indoors with some good guidebooks. I have sung the praises of Nightwatch (Firefly Books) before in this space, and I may as well repeat the chorus. Canadian astronomer Terence Dickinson offers an appealing, informative source of information for the beginning and intermediate stargazer.

A couple of other Firefly publications may help as well. These are lower-cost alternatives to larger format tomes such as Nightwatch. Practical astronomy: A Beginner's Guide to the Night Sky, by Storm Dunlop, covers the whole gamut of amateur astronomy, while the title of the Moon Observer's Guide, by Peter Grego, explains its purpose.

Both publications have their good points, which I'll get to, but let's get the quibbles over with first. With any guidebook, I want to know the background and expertise of the author. Strangely, the books offer no information at all about Dunlop or Grego. Both are based in Britain, and a Google search revealed they are prolific writers and members of the astronomical community.

Dunlop's book calls itself a beginner's guide but doesn't pitch itself to the younger reader, and that's probably a smart move.

Only young adults and older readers who have a serious interest in the hobby would likely get through this book: Dunlop offers a lot of information here.

But it's almost too much of a good thing. This compact volume is stuffed with graphics, sidebars and illustrations. There are no obvious divisions of content, so everything tends to run together.

But if you are intent on absorbing as much as possible about this hobby, this is a reasonably priced, valuable volume. I particularly like Practical Astronomy's mini-tables of contents that direct the reader to pages within a section that refer to more specific observing topics.

I'm also impressed with the Moon Observer's Guide. Like many such volumes, it's organized by lunar days - that is, the first day after new moon, Day 2 and so on. Each section includes a map of that particular slice of moon, accompanied by descriptions of the craters, "seas" and other lunar sights to be seen during that phase.

Grego also gives tips on instruments best suited for observing the moon, as well as pointers on photography, videography and drawing your observations. The final chapters offer a glossary of terms and information on eclipses and exploration programs such as Apollo.

Star trails are seen in this stack of long exposures of the Milky Way. - John McPhee

Under the dome

If you've yet to delve into the bookstore, buy a magazine such as the Canadian publication Sky News or Sky and Telescope from the United States. These magazines have simple star charts so you can begin orienting yourself under the celestial bowl.

Hold the star chart at about chest level and face south. Turn the chart so that south is at bottom - this way the chart accurately reflects the orientation of the stars when you look up.

As I've mentioned before, star charts can be tricky and take a bit of mental gymnastics. For example, the southern horizon as represented on our chart may look like it should be behind you, when that direction is oriented at bottom. But remember that's the direction you're facing - the sky is like an inverted bowl, so the usual terrestrial map orientations don't work.

So give it a try on the next clear night. Look south. If you have a clear view of the horizon, you will see the star Spica (SPIKE-uh). As your chart should indicate, this star is in the faint constellation Virgo. Spica stands out, because it's one of our brightest stars and it's located in a sparse section of sky.

Look higher in the sky and to the left for another bright star, Arcturus (arc-TOUR-us), in the kite-shaped constellation Bootes (buh-OH-teez), the Herdsman. 

The most recent maps also should include the planets, at least the ones visible at about 10 p.m. You'll have plenty of opportunity to spot a planet this summer.

Let's start with the ringed jewel of the solar system, Saturn, which will put on a great show this summer as it climbs higher in the sky.  Go back to Spica in the south.  Look below it and to the left for Saturn, a pale yellowish orb that is slightly brighter than the blue Spica. 

Turn your gaze above and slightly right of Spica to find a closer solar system neighbour, Mars. The Red Planet, which has more of a subdued rusty hue to the naked eye, is making one of its closer approaches to Earth. 

Now turn around and face the west. You’ll find Jupiter, the largest planet, closing out its winter apparition in the west. Later this month in the west after sunset, tiny Mercury (it's only slightly larger than our moon) will put on a good show.  This sun-hugging planet is always relatively low in the west at dusk or in the east at dawn. But this time around it will climb high enough for a good view, particularly on May 30-31 when a very thin crescent moon will appear to the left of this little rocky world. 

Lost among the galaxies

OK, I’M TRYING not to panic but I’m definitely lost.

I’m supposed to be at the spiral galaxy M98, but this really looks more like M87. Or maybe it’s M99.

Don’t you hate it when you’re 50 million light-years from home and you get off at the wrong stop?

When you’re exploring the Virgo galaxy cluster, it’s easy to lose your way. This is my first journey into an incredible conglomeration of galaxies with a larger scope, which can bring out the “faint fuzzies,” each of which represents billions upon billions of stars. Check out the left-centre area near the blue star 6-Coma. Anything that has a horizontal shape or looks like a greyish out of focus star is likely a galaxy.

You can track down the brightest galaxies with good binoculars but in a good-sized telescope (an eight- to 12-inch Dobsonian or Schmidt-Cassegrain), you can tease out hints of structure such as the arms of spiral galaxies, which look so spectacular in long-exposure pho­tographs.

The leo-virgo region contains dozens, up to hundreds, of galaxies visible in a telescope, depending on its size. The brightest galaxies can be found around the star 6-coma. The bright star to the right is denebola in leo. - john mcphee

This huge Virgo cluster of about 2,000 galaxies lies about 50 to 90 mil­lion light-years away. How many you can actually see in a telescope de­pends on light pollution — galaxy hunting requires dark skies away from city lights — and your scope.

For example, in my Dobsonian reflector, which has an eight-inch mirror, I should be able to nab over 20 members of the cluster. That number zooms up to more than 100 if you have a 12-inch telescope, according to Saint Mary’s astronomer David Lane, a fellow member of the Royal Astronomical Society of Canada. He also has created a telescope and planetarium software program called Earth-Centred Universe, which can be used to calculate just this sort of thing. (Go to www.nova-astro.com for more information.)

Once you start exploring the clus­ter, you’ll notice most of the galaxies appear as oval blobs of light, like faint comets. These are called elliptical galaxies, which are the most numer­ous and brightest type in the Virgo region. They’re not as interesting visually as spiral galaxies, which boast starry arms curling out from a bright core, but ellipticals are far from boring.

A bright elliptical, M87, lies at the heart of the Virgo cluster, to the west of the star Denebola that marks the tail of Leo, the Lion.  It’s an unimaginably huge city of stars — M87’s mass has been estimated in the range of several trillion times that of our sun. Even at 80 million light-years away, it’s visible in large binoculars and certainly small telescopes.

Besides sheer size and luminosity, M87 is known for the incredible jet of subatomic energy streaming out from the galaxy. The jet originates from a disc of superheated gas around a massive black hole at M87’s centre.

The inserted close-ups show mini-clusters of galaxies in the virgo-Leo region. On the right, the eyes in the “face” are made up of m86 and M84, the nose is the elliptical galaxy NGC4387 and the mouth is the spiral galaxy NGC4388. On the left, the insert shows galaxies around the blue star 6-coma including the spiral M98 . - john mcphee

I’ve found the book Astronomy: The De­finitive Guide very helpful as I make tentative steps into this incredible realm of star cities. The book's “galaxy-hop­ping” chart for the Virgo and Coma clusters is clear and simple, but provides enough detail to make it easier to figure out which fuzzy is which in your eyepiece.

For those who just want a quick look at something beautiful, the most modest binoculars will reveal a rich spattering of stars that make up the dim, tiny constellation Coma Berenic­es. It can be found between Denebola and the bright star Arcturus.

Leo lies on the ecliptic, the path followed by the sun, moon and planets. The outer planets such Saturn and Jupiter are regular visitors to the Lion's den.

Saturn, with its magnificent ring system, is familiar even to those who haven’t actually looked at it through a telescope.

But you really haven’t seen Saturn until you’ve done just that.

There’s a surreal quality to the sight of this strange object floating in your field of view that can’t be duplicated in photos.

As for those famous rings, they can either be really prominent or almost invisible, depending on how the planet is tilted from our perspective on Earth. If you’re observing with a telescope, try to find the tiny speck of Saturn’s brightest moon, Titan, and the many dimmer moons closer to the planet.

Escaping the light

THERE'S no doubt, the farther you are from the city lights, the better your stargazing will be. Light pollution robs us of the subtle beauties to be found in the night sky, whether it's the ribbon of stars and glowing gases of the Milky Way or the faint constellations of spring.

For instance, if you're in the city, you'd be hard-pressed to pick out groups like Virgo, low in the east, or Hydra's sprawling ladder of stars that now stretches from the southeast to the high southwest.

There are plenty of places in my province, Nova Scotia, where you can find dark skies. In fact, some of them rank among the best in Canada. But there's good news for urban observers: light pollution doesn't affect planet observation. The sun does a great job of lighting up these objects for our enjoyment and even small details in planets' atmospheres and surfaces make it through the glare.

Of course, sometimes nearby lights that shine directly into your eyes can make even planet watching difficult. In that case, you have to do some creative positioning to use trees or structures to block these offending photons.

even distinctive constellations like ursa major can be hard to find in light-polluted skies. In dark sky preserves like kejimkujik national park, it’s a cinch to scoop up the big dipper. - john mcphee

I usually drape an old blanket over deck rails or a high deck chair and sit on a lower chair in my attempts to shut out neighbours' porch lights or street illumination.

The most interesting planets to observe in a telescope, I think most observers would agree, would be Saturn and Jupiter.

While you need a telescope to enjoy Saturn's rings and surface features, a good pair of binoculars are enough to keep you coming back to Jupiter night after night. That's because its four brightest moons - Ganymede, Io, Callisto and Europa - are easily visible with just 10x power, although as tiny specks. You can detect changes in their positions over a matter of hours as they orbit around Jupiter.

This moon dance is obvious when you take another look on the following night - the lineup will likely be quite different.

If you're more ambitious and have your eye on objects a lot farther down the cosmic road than our solar system, such as galaxies, you must flee the light and seek out a nice dark spot in the country.

In Nova Scotia, it doesn't take too much of a drive to escape light blight,  even if you live in Halifax or Sydney. But you should get at least an hour's drive away from the city, since it doesn't take much sky glow to wash away detail in deep-sky objects.

Some of the province's dark sky areas are described on cleardarksky.com, a website that mainly focuses on weather and sky conditions for amateur astronomers. I say some because the website gets its light pollution information from the World Atlas of Artificial Night Sky Brightness, which oddly enough doesn't include Cape Breton and other parts of the province.

However, cleardarksky does indicate that areas such as Kejimkujik Natinoal Park in Queens County and the Argyle area near Yarmouth are little affected by light pollution. The Milky Way, the central region of our galaxy best visible in the summer, is so bright in these areas that it can cast shadows.

find a dark sky and point a telescope toward the coma berenices region of the night sky. You’ll find dozens of smudges of light, which are galaxies that contain billions of stars. - john mcphee

If you look at the entire light pollution map of North America, it's clear that this kind of observing is to be treasured.

While the Liscombe Game Sanctuary area on the Eastern Shore is one of those areas left out of the light pollution grading, it's well known among local amateur astronomers as an excellent dark-sky site.

As for Cape Breton, the skies over the East Bay and Bras d'Or area first tweaked my interest in stargazing, way back when. I can remember being more interested in the satellites and airplanes zooming across the sky, but I was also captivated by the glittering blanket of stars over the island hills. 

If you do find yourself a dark, safe place, and you have even a small telescope, you can observe many galaxies in April and May. Hundreds of galaxies are visible with a larger telescope in the Leo-Virgo region.

Two of the brightest in April, M65 and M66, can be found in the isosceles group that makes up the Lion's hindquarters. Find the star at the right bottom corner of the triangle, and look slightly below and to the left for M65 and M66. These two are so close together that they both fit into the viewing field of a small telescope.

It's worth escaping the city lights to marvel at these star cities so many light-years away. ​

Starry, starry night

Starry, starry night, 

Flaming flowers that brightly blaze,

Swirling clouds in violet haze,

Reflect in Vincent's eyes of china blue.

Vincent (Starry, Starry Night) - Don McLean

THE SUBJECT of the painting that inspired this pretty song can be seen in the east in our October skies.

But you may have to look hard for tiny Aries, the constellation that is seen with the crescent moon and Venus in Vincent van Gogh's painting Starry Night.

The Ram's three brightest stars are not that bright - they are arranged in a "broken stick" pattern that would easily escape the eye if the group weren't located in a barren patch of sky.

Van Gogh painted Starry Night in June 1889 at the Saint-Remy asylum, where he had himself committed after the famous breakdown that saw him cut off part of his left ear.

There's a fascinating side-by-side comparison of the painting and the constellation at http://www.vggallery.com/forum/forum_18a.htm.

It's not known why van Gogh chose this obscure constellation for his subject, although the online van Gogh gallery notes that Aries was the painter's astrological sign.

The constellation aries. - john mcphee

Turn a pair of binoculars or a telescope on Aries and the constellation becomes much more interesting. It's small enough that the three brightest stars will fit into the field of a 7 x 35 pair.

There are pleasing sprinklings of fainter stars surrounding the trio, particularly near the easternmost star, which forms a neat little triangle with two fainter stars in binoculars. If you like doubles, aim your telescope just below the westernmost star, the dimmest of the three, and you'll be rewarded with a tight pair of very similar stars.

If city lights make it difficult to find Aries, you'll likely have to seek darker skies to find the other inconspicuous trio in this region, Triangulum. Like Aries, this group will fit into view through wide-field binoculars.

When you try to pick out fainter constellations like these, you're putting a lot of things to the test, such as figuring out the faintest stars you can see in your area (the fancy term being limiting magnitude) and also how 'good' the atmosphere is that night (astronomers call this seeing). It also demonstrates how our eyes adapt to the dark.

The international space station moves through the constellation andromeda. - john mcphee

For instance, on a September night way back when during a break at work, I was  three storeys above the street lights of downtown Halifax. It was a steady, clear night with low humidity - great conditions for stargazing. At first, I could see only the brightest star in Aries, nothing of Triangulum. But 10 minutes later, I could easily see the two brighter stars in Aries, with more difficulty its dimmest star, and all of Triangulum.

When I'm in the country, no dark adaptation is needed on this kind of night. Even faint constellations pop into view away from the scourge of light pollution.

Another thing about spotting fainter constellations - wait until they become higher in the sky, away from horizon glow and the air currents of the lower atmosphere. Spare your neck and do your high-sky gazing in a lounge chair with a blanket and maybe a warmed-up Magic Bag on these cooler nights.

The other faint constellations this month, Andromeda and Pegasus, couldn't be more different than the diminutive Aries and Triangulum. From Andromeda in the northeast to the western-stretching wings of the horse Pegasus, they take up a huge part of the sky.

The big square that makes up the body of the Pegasus starts to push the Summer Triangle off centre stage at the zenith in October. As geometrical contests go, there's none between the blazing trio of the triangle and the shy foursome that make up the Great Square.

- @ Simulation curriculum Corp

But there are treasures hiding in that unassuming eastern sky.

Look above the middle star of the three that stretch out from the Square to find the Andromeda Galaxy, or M31. (Astrophotographer extraordinaire Blair MacDonald of Halifax made this amazing shot).  I can make out M31 in darker suburban skies with the naked eye, and on very good nights, I can spot this patch of fuzzy light in binoculars from Halifax.

It's a wonder to behold in my telescope at home - although if somebody new to astronomy looked in the eyepiece they might wonder what the fuss is about. Well, the thing is, the light from this fuzzy glow first started its journey toward our eyes two million years ago. Andromeda, somewhat bigger but quite similar to our own spiral galaxy, the Milky Way, is the most distant object we can see with the naked eye.

Northern exposure

The big dipper shines through moonlight on a july evening in brackley, PEI. - john mcphee

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness; close bosom–friend of the maturing sun. – John Keats, Ode to Autumn

HERE IN THIS season of changes, the night sky comes upon us ever more quickly and the days of bare–headed stargazing are fading fast.

The transitory nature of things has come close to home this autumn.

An old friend – a burly, blue– and yellow–eyed guy named Phoenix – has departed for the great catnip patch in the sky. Whenever my heart needs some warming up, I'll think of him dozing in a comfy patch of light from his favourite star, head nestled between his big white paws.

And a recent move has changed my astronomical ways. On the bright side (or dark, as it happens), we're temporarily even deeper in the sticks than our previous abode. While our new digs are being built, I'll enjoy probably the least light–polluted skies I've ever had.

The back deck now faces north – not usually a direction coveted by stargazers.

The northern horizon is on the opposite side of the sky from the richer parts of the Milky Way. Besides that, not much changes in this region. Many of the constellations are circumpolar, a fancy way of saying they never completely set.

The six circumpolar constellations slowly wheel around the North Star, Polaris, in a counter–clockwise motion throughout the year.

For example, probably the most famous star group, the Big Dipper, is now very low in the 7 o'clock position, and by next month will be striking about 6 o'clock.

The Big Dipper is part of Ursa Major, the Great Bear. The outside stars of the Big Dipper's bowl point up to Polaris, at the end of the Little Dipper's handle in Ursa Minor.

Keep tracing this imaginary line past Polaris and you'll come to the peak of the house–shaped constellation Cepheus (SEE–fee–us), the King.

If you've found Cepheus, your eye should certainly catch the brighter W–shape of Cassiopeia (kas–ee–oh–PEE–uh), right next door.

Probably the least known member of the circumpolar club is a real mouthful: Camelopardalis (kam–uh–low–PAR–da–lis), the Giraffe.

This is one tough beast to track down.

When I first got into this hobby, I thought I'd found the Giraffe with no problem. I looked up in the northeastern winter sky, saw a curving line of stars that seemed to form a long neck, with two stellar "legs" on either side. Hello, Camelopardalis.

Not so much. I was actually looking at Perseus, the mythological hero equipped with sword and shield.

This glittering constellation is now low in the northeast just after dark.

You can use Perseus to find the real giraffe. Camelopardalis is just to the left of Perseus, a much dimmer version of its wishbone shape.

Another elusive circumpolar beast, the faint and sprawling Draco (DRAY–ko) the Dragon, weaves its tail around the Little Dipper and arches up toward Cepheus. The Dragon's head lies farther west, perilously close to Hercules, the strongman demi–god who killed Draco.