The Solstice Dec 2023 and Skyward January 2024 with Dr. David Levy

/Below is our monthly guest post from Dr. David Levy, a timely post for the Solstice. Blessed be. Solstice 2023 Lightness Unfolds Light descends to its lowest spark. Every shadow grows, an individual with its own personality. Tonight Hecate takes a final bow, At sunrise, Apollow takes over. His chariot rides, And as it goes, Another petal of light unfolds. 3 months to spring

Skyward for January 2024 By David H. Levy This month let us explore one of the seminal galaxies in the nigh sky, NGC 253, Caroline Herschel’s galaxy. It shines deep in the southern portion of the sky, south of the bright star Beta Ceti and southeast of the even brighter star Fomalhaut. This is one of my favorite galaxies, largely because of the beautiful story that is associated with its discovery. This galaxy, which I call Caroline Herschel’s Galaxy, is a starburst galaxy. It is so named because it is undergoing a burst of formation of new stars. This process was set off relatively recently, at lest in cosmic timekeeping. About two hundred million years ago, a smaller dwarf galaxy probably collided with this larger one, and it set off this cacophony of new stars being formed. That other galaxy was probably rich in gas, which provided the raw material for the births of the new stars. There is one thing that this galaxy does not share with other starburst galaxies, however; usually these galaxies exhibit frequent exploding stars or supernovae. This one, however, has only one recorded supernova, in 1940. This galaxy is aligned at almost right angles to our Milky Way. When you look at it, it appears as a thick pencil-like structure. While searching for comets during the year 1783, Caroline stumbled across this long, slender galaxy hanging above the southern horizon. Duly recorded in her log “the Bills and Rec.ds of my comets,” she also began and maintained a list or catalogue of the many objects she and her brother William had discovered, including beautiful drawings of most of them. As a young girl Caroline was close to her father, who brought her outdoors on a cold evening some winter constellations like Orion. It is possible that this was one of the special moments during which she began her love of the night sky. As much as Caroline enjoyed working with her brother William, there were some issues. On one night Caroline fell upon one of the large iron hooks that helped support the telescope on its mount. The accident left a large gush in her thigh. Her brother, not seing his telescope moving, yelled out “Make haste!” to which Caroline cried out, “I am hooked!” William immediately rushed over to help his sister, and she eventually recovered, with lots of rest and ointment. When William married Mary Pitt in 1788, there was an obvious increase in tension among the Herschels. She continued working with her brother, although the increased “family dynamics” did cause a problem. William very much wanted his sister to continue helping with his observing, and he was successful in arranging a royal stipend for her. In 1802 the Royal Society published the catalogue that Caroline had kept over many years. However, the publication in Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society was credited to William, even though it was her catalogue. Over a long period of time, thanks to the work of later astronomers like John Louis Emil Dreyer, the almost 8000 objects now comprise the New General Catalogue. The woman who discovered the wonderful galaxy in Sculptor certainly enjoyed a remarkable life and career, living until she was almost 98 years old. In the 1980s Caroline’s eight comet discoveries were surpassed by Carolyn Shoemaker, in what was seen at the time as the highlight of Carolyn’s career. However exciting that achievement might have been, it was completely eclipsed by her discovery of Comet Shoemaker-Levy 9 in March of 1993. That comet gave humanity its first lesson in what happens when a comet strikes a planet, and by inference, how comet collisions can lead to the origin of life on a world. As I gaze upon Caroline Herschel’s galaxy on these winter nights, I imagine life forms there looking back, trying as we do, to share our cosmic heritage.

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Skyward by Dr. David Levy; Meteors Scratch the Sky

Skyward August 2023 Meteors scratch the sky David H. Levy Despite what you read online, it is possible to think of meteor watching as one of the most boring things you can do with the night sky. No cosmic connection, no postulating about the origins of the Universe, no understanding of what dark matter might entail. When we look for meteors, we are in our own celestial backyard. We usually do not even use a telescope or binoculars; it’s just sitting on a comfortable lawn chair and looking up at the sky. Even if we spot a shooting star as bright as the brightest of stars, it is only a large speck of dust that is probably only a few dozen miles above our lawn chair. So why bother with watching meteors at all? Actually, it is because they are so close, so local, that makes this activity unique. A meteor may be a large speck of cosmic dust, but it strikes the Earth’s upper atmosphere at a velocity of 40 miles per second. And that is precisely what I saw, 44 times, on the beautiful night of August 12, 2023. That night began with the usual thickness of clouds, typical of the Arizona summer monsoon. But the clouds rapidly dissipated. Instead of clouds, stars began to appear. Well before midnight, I was out with Eureka, my 12-inch diameter telescope with which I would complete 2 hours of comet hunting before the night ended. One hour before midnight, another before dawn. In between, I counted my 44 meteors, one of which is in the accompanying picture. The Perseids of 2023 were a very good meteor shower, but not the best. In November of 2001, Wendee and I were in the Australian outback during the peak of that year’s Leonid meteor shower. We gathered on the shore of a dry lake bed and watched carefully as Leo the lion reared its handsome head above the eastern horizon. Then silently and swiftly, a bright shooting star appeared in the east, made its way across the sky, then slowly vanished in the west. One watcher said it all: “Tthis trip was worth it!” A few minutes later, a second meteor did almost the same thing. After that the meteors came thicker and more often until, at around three in the morning, they suddenly began pouring out the sky at the rate of about one meteor per second. One observer even saw a meteor after the Sun rose. What caused this burst of shooting stars? It appears that they originate from a comet. In December 1865 and January 1866, that comet was discovered by the German Wilhelm Tempel and Horace Tuttle of the United States. Because its orbit was identical to the orbits of the meteors, it was subsequently identified as the “parent comet” of the Leonid meteor stream. Moreover, because the comet passes close to Earth every 33 years, it was connected to the great meteor “storms” of 1833 and 1866. In a similar way, Comet Swift-Tuttle, discovered in 1862 by the Americans Louis Swift and Horace Tuttle, was determined to be the parent comet of the Perseid meteors. As I watched them that unforgettable night, I was struck by the awe these tiny specks can generate as they race through our atmosphere. I was struck also by the wonder they generated in my mind: these always welcome visitors from space invariably enchant my soul. A final note: One night in 1833, when Abraham Lincoln was a young lawyer, a deacon friend pounded on his door and woke him. “Arise, Abraham,” he yelled. “The day of judgement has come.” Lincoln leapt out of bed and strode to a window, and he saw countless shooting stars.” Shortly after he became president, when several states left the union, Lincoln told this meteor story to some visitors. As he watched the falling stars in wonder, he also saw that the familiar constellations were still there in the sky. “The world did not come to an end then,” he said wisely. “Nor will the Union now.” A fellow citizen who lived at the same time as Lincoln, and who likely admired and respected him, was Carl Schurz, who would be elected to the U.S. Senate a decade later. On April 18, 1859, on the eve of the American Civil War, he gave a lecture in Boston’s Faneuil Hall. He said:” Ideals are like stars; you will not succeed in touching them with your hands. But like the seafaring man on the desert of waters, you choose them as your guides, and following them,, you will reach your destiny.”

Meteors Perseids 2023 August

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Skyward May 2023 David H. Levy March 23, 1993: Comet Shoemaker-Levy 9 Thirty Years On

The photograph is the discovery images of Comet Shoemaker-Levy 9. Photographs by David Levy using the Palomar 18-inch Schmidt camera, two eight-minute exposures. separated by about 1 hour and 45 minutes. A lot can happen in thirty years, especially when it involves comets and asteroids that creep across the sky, and even more particularly with comets that go bump in the night. Such is the case with Comet Shoemaker-Levy 9, which is by far the most important and seminal of the 23 comets I have discovered. The Jupiter-Comet story began for me on September 1, 1960, when I looked through a telescope for the first time. Jupiter was my target and I still recall that view. Years later, Gene Shoemaker proposed that Comet Shoemaker-Levy 9 might have been orbiting Jupiter as early as 1929, and that it made a close approach to Jupiter during the year I first sighted the planet. Obviously, I did not see the comet that night; neither did anybody else. On the first night of our March, 1993, observing session at the 18-inch Schmidt telescope at Palomar Observatory, Gene Shoemaker developed the first four exposures and found them all blank. It appeared that someone had opened the film box since our February session and exposed the films to light. Examining the pile of films, I suggested that the ones near the bottom might be partially usable. Gene developed one of them and agreed. We continued most of the rest of that night with the partially damaged films until about 3 am, when we switched to a new set of prepared films. On that same night, I guided an 8-minute exposure. It was difficult to stay centered on the guide star since the glow from nearby Jupiter was interfering. We then did three other fields of sky. Clouds arrived before we had a chance to begin the second set of exposures (so that each field would have two exposures). We stopped observing and left the building to examine the sky. I noticed a slight break in the clouds to the southwest. Gene teased me as being the ”eternal optimist.” We had a strange discussion about money. Gene said that it costs eight dollars each time we load a film into that telescope. When I suggested that $8 was not too much, Gene quipped, “That’s eight American dollars! Not that Canadian play money you try to get away with!” But after Carolyn agreed that there was a break coming, Gene said, “Let’s do it!” We somehow managed to take four exposures before more clouds came and ended the night. On the afternoon of March 25, the sky was completely cloudy with snow flurries. Gene was reading Time Magazine. I was working on a book about my favorite subject, comets. Carolyn was scanning the two Jupiter films. Suddenly she stopped, looked towards me, and exclaimed, “I think I have found a squashed comet.” As Gene got up to look, Carolyn approached me. “You are joking, of course?” I inquired. Carolyn shook her head. Gene then looked toward us with the most unusual expression I had ever seen on his face. Then I looked. There was a long bar of cometary smudge, with at least five darker centres, each with a tail going towards the top of the films. There was also a trail of cometary light stretching off either side of the central structure. We needed to get a confirming image. I telephoned my friend Jim Scotti, who was observing on the 36-inch diameter Spacewatch camera atop Kitt Peak in Arizona. He simply did not believe me when I explained what we had. He said he would try to find the time to take a confirming picture. Two hours later I telephoned him again. Jim simply grunted. “The sound you just heard,” he explained, “was me trying to lift my jaw off the floor. “Do we have a comet?” “Wow, do you guys ever have a comet.” That is the story of how we discovered Comet Shoemaker-Levy 9 in the pinnacle moment of our professional lives. Sixteen months later we watched, along with the rest of the world, as the pieces slammed into Jupiter at the incredible velocity of 60 kilometers (37 miles) per second. (a plane travelling that fast would cross the United States in just over a minute.) We spent some time with both then-vice president Al Gore and President Clinton. Impact week was unforgettable. And it all began with a single look at Jupiter through my first telescope, a cloudy night, and some damaged film, on the never-0to-be-forgotten night of the 23rd of March, 1993.

Earth 🌎 Day

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Skyward

 

January 2023

 David H. Levy

 

“When sorrows come, they come not single spies,

But in battalions.”  (Hamlet 4.5.76-77)

This column begins with a delightful quotation from Hamlet, where King Claudius reflects on the deaths of Hamlet’s father, Polonius, and the madness of Ophelia.  In this lonely period of my own life, the one constant I have is being able to continue doing the stargazing that I love so much.  In recent months, the losses of Don Machholz, Constantine Papacosmas, and Wendee have tested the strength of observing the night sky as never before.  But I must add to this the passing of my closest friend from my youth, Carl Jorgensen, on October 18.  Of these four transitions that occurred late this year two of them—Don and Carl, both died from Covid.  This is strong evidence that we are nowhere near being done with this dreadful illness.

Our lifelong friendship began in November of 1963.  I had just returned from a 14-month stay at the Jewish National Home for Asthmatic Children in Denver.  At the observatory of the Royal Astronomical Society of Canada in Montreal,  Isabel Williamson introduced “young Carl Jorgensen” to “young David Levy” and our friendship never wavered over 59 stargazing years after that.

We both especially enjoyed observing shooting stars.  In the late summer of 1965 Carl and I were counting Perseid meteors (that all seemed to radiate from the constellation of Perseus) when Carl began to sing to himself the lyrics of a newly released song.  Carl went on and on under that clear sky.    “Carl,” I asked, “what are you singing?” 

“Bob Dylan’s new song,  ‘Like a Rolling Stone.’”

“How long is this song supposed to last?”

“About six minutes.”

“Carl, you’ve been singing it for over half an hour.”  By the next time Carl and I met for observing, I had become a staunch Dylan fan as well.

In March 1976, those of us who liked comets were still reeling from the failure of Comet Kohoutek to live up to expectations.  Another comet, found by Richard M. West, was supposed to be in the predawn sky, and Carl drove me out to see it.    As we drove into a darker sky south of Montreal,  I looked out past Carl’s window and saw a magnificent comet rising in the east.  Carl reacted to my exclamation: “OK, we’ll find a spot, set up the telescope, and try to find it.”
            “Carl, just look to your left!”  Carl glanced out his window, and nearly drove the car off the road.  What an unforgettable morning that was.

Carl enjoyed a lifelong interest in double stars.  His favorite (and mine) was a beautiful triple star in the constellation of Cepheus.  Known as Struve 2816, it is a magnificent triple sun.  It is easy to find and wonderful to watch. 

It is particularly evocative now . “Doubt that the stars doth shine,” Hamlet might have complained, but I think that even he would enjoy being with Carl to enjoy the sight of that lovely star.

 

 

 

The picture is of Carl Jorgensen and his eldest daughter, Christine.
in front of the old Isabel K. Williamson observatory. Photograph by
David H. Levy.