Alexandersmap

    Category: Stargazing

    • Life on Venus

      “Apparently it smells basically like death… It just smells horrific. We once, I think, found a report of someone saying it smelled like the rancid diapers of the spawn of Satan.” – Clara Sousa-Silva, NPR interview

      Life on Venus? Not exactly, but life swirling about in the clouds of Venus is apparently a very real possibility. That there’s a possible confirmation of life in the universe beyond Earth is extraordinary. That the life in question – Phosphine – smells like the bad gas of a rat after a night of dumpster diving is extraordinarily 2020. And yet here we are.

      In another year the announcement of life on another planet would have been front page news. But Phosphine isn’t particularly sexy as life goes, and we have enough alien life to deal with right here on Earth already. Honestly I’m happy there are brilliant people like Clara Sousa-Silva and her peer Jane Greaves are out that the very thing that we’ve all been looking at all along has potential living matter dancing in the Venus clouds. My mind simply doesn’t function in such a way that I’d make that connection between the chemical signature of Phosphine as proof of life on Venus. Or rather, life in the clouds of Venus.

      That brilliant women are leading the discovery of life on Venus leads to the rather obvious men are from Mars, women are from Venus analogy, but I dare not go further than that. I’ll simply concede that these women are far ahead of me in the brain matter department and doing mind-blowing work. I spend my time with words and images and making connections between people, not immersed in science. Shame on me, really, for this is really fascinating.

      And yes, I’ll admit it: Venus and I have had a long relationship. It’s not exclusive, mind you, but we get together often on long evening walks or quiet moments of stargazing. I admit I even take the binoculars out sometimes to get a closer look. But I knew the relationship was best kept long-distance. Venus has a toxic personality, after all. Best to look but not touch. And now to find out that she has bad breath too. It’s all too much, really. To gaze in wonder at this heavenly object for years only to find out she’s not at all what you expected her to be. But expectations are funny things, and we spend far too much time elevating objects of our affection to higher levels than they ought to occupy. That’s a lesson we can bring right back to Earth straight from the clouds of Venus.

    • Seeing Stars

      “The stars, that nature hung in heaven, and filled their lamps with everlasting oil, give due light to the misled and lonely traveller.” – John Milton

      One side effect of the wildfires in the West are the clouds of wispy smoke high up in the atmosphere turning the days an overcast grey. At night the stars are obscured by this wispy smoke, the remnants of trees and homes and life disrupted 3000 miles away masking the stars above us. I’m reminded of how much I measure the night by the stars above. Companions lost in the haze. I believe that if this doesn’t convince people of climate change what will? But the stars aren’t the only ones lost in the haze. I’m often surprised at what people will believe, but the larger tragedy is what people will make people believe to raise their own status. Even at the cost of the quality of life for all current and future inhabitants of this planet.

      “Little by little,
      You will turn into stars.”
      – Hafiz, Skinning Your Knees on God

      We’re all connected beings on this planet, and we’re all connected matter in the universe. The universe is part of us, and someday we’ll once again be a part of it. We’re all swimming about in this dance of energy and light and Faith. This interconnectedness is lost on too many people concerned more about us versus them. What impacts the west coast impacts the east coast in another way. Borders are manmade creations that betray the interconnectedness of all of us. These are the rules we’ve established in this game, but the universe knows that it’s all just a game.

      That hazy smoke above is matter that was once energy in the form of trees and grass and wildlife. Eventually the fires will burn out and the skies will clear again. The stars will come out and shine brightly. The universe is constantly in motion and will reset once more. The smoky remains of forests and lives forever altered will eventually be absorbed and convert to fuel and substance and energy once more. Will we remember the fires and the hazy days? Will we make meaningful change while there’s still time? The universe doesn’t care, but we should.

    • The Seven Daughters of Atlas

      “Many a night I saw the Pleiads, rising through the mellow shade,
      Glitter like a swarm of fire-flies tangled in a silver braid.”
      – Lord Tennyson, Locksley Hall

      Orion and Taurus, the hunter and the hunted, have a long-standing adversarial relationship in the skies above us. If the Hyades are the face of Taurus turned towards Orion, the “body” of Taurus is a cluster of stars known as the Pleiades or the less magical M45. Looking up well before the dawn this morning they took my breath away. I carefully ran into a dark house for my binoculars for a closer look. While Mars and Venus and the Waning Gibbous moon setting in the west dominated the sky, the Pleiades drew most of my attention this morning.

      The Pleiades cluster has many names across the globe, but my favorite is the Seven Sisters. The Seven Sisters, all daughters of Atlas, dance in place, forever hunted by Orion (but just out of reach!) as their father holds up the heavens. I have but a sketchy knowledge of Greek mythology and rely heavily on Wikipedia and Google to help me out (the Tennyson above and the Hesiod poem below were both posted originally on Wikipedia). But the cluster was familiar to me, having always been there waiting for me to pay more attention.

      “And if longing seizes you for sailing the stormy seas,
      when the Pleiades flee mighty Orion
      and plunge into the misty deep
      and all the gusty winds are raging,
      then do not keep your ship on the wine-dark sea
      but, as I bid you, remember to work the land.”
      – Hesiod, Works and Days 618–623

      This poem serves as a warning, for in late October and November when Pleiades is seen setting in the western sky it signals that winter is coming, and with it storms. Get your ships off the ocean and work the land instead. It’s September of course, but there have been plenty of storms already in 2020. And more change is in the air as the days grow shorter and we pivot towards Autumn. Our lives are nothing but change, no matter how much we sometimes wish to just dance in place forever like the Seven Sisters. But that’s not our fate.

      Pleiades reminded me that I need to get up earlier more often, for the brilliance of the sky above is wasted on me in my sleeping ignorance. The magic hour between 3 and 4 AM seems to be the time with the most to see, but how rare it is for me to be outside at that hour to witness it! I feel like an overnight passage or a night awake on a summit are required in the near future. Sleep is essential, but the stars silently dance without you while you’re blissfully dozing. Like Orion, those Seven Sisters are just out of reach for me, but I swear they flirt back at a fellow Taurus. And stir my imagination.

    • Dazzling Infinity

      “The buying of more books than one can read is nothing less than the soul reaching toward infinity.” –  A. Edward Newton

      I have an ongoing fascination with the infinite.  Maybe it’s because I’m rather finite myself, with only so many days left at the dance with life.  Or maybe its the humility that comes with thinking about things bigger than yourself that attracts me.  Whatever, the attraction is real.  The French have an expression for it: l’éblouissement de l’infinit or “dazzling infinity”.  I think that’s a fitting adjective to tack on to the infinite. For who among us who bothers to look up from their phone isn’t dazzled by the vastness of the universe?

      I try to create infinity bookends in a day by getting up early for sunrises and going out late to look at the stars as one way of putting myself at the edge of forever.  And it might explain the draw of rivers and the ocean and the mountains.  Each dazzles in their own way because they’re both silent witnesses to forever while simultaneously the embodiment of it.

      The Newton quote above hits close to home.  I do collect impossibly large stacks of books that I fear I’ll never get around to.  But rather than reign in my collection I add to it.  Someday maybe I’ll finish the stack, but I know its almost certainly blind optimism talking.  I may never get to all of the books or all of the places I want to go to, but that doesn’t mean I won’t vainly believe deep down that its possible I could.

      Watching the post-sunset show along the shore of Buzzards Bay a couple of nights ago I thought about the long list of experiences I’d like to have before I go gently into the night.  It seemed a rather long and impossible list given the state of the world at the present moment, but I think its rather like the stack of books.  I may not get to everything on the list, but hopefully I’ll get to enough.

      “Watch the stars in their courses and imagine yourself running alongside them. Think constantly on the changes of the elements into each other, for such thoughts wash away the dust of earthly life.” – Marcus Aurelius, Meditations

    • To Visit All the Celebrated Places

      “Now is the time to visit all the celebrated places in the country, and fill our heads with what we have seen, so that when we become old and bald we will have something to talk about over the teacups.” – Jippensha Ikku

      Credit to Smithsonian Magazine for the Ikku quote, for it made me smile when I read it.  Ikku lived in Japan during a fairly important period in American history (1766-1831) so its easy to overlook what might have been happening in other places in the world.  The quote reminds me that our feelings about travel and aging are timeless.  We all hope to see the world while we’re young and full of vigor, that we might have epic stories to tell over a favorite beverage when we’re older and less mobile.

      The travel list of celebrated places is ready, and all earnest travelers wait for the starting gun to set us free to explore once again.  We’re all rooting for a vaccine and some level of herd immunity, some measure of personal responsibility from society at large and perhaps stronger political leadership to set policy that makes sense.  May we see it sooner than later.  But in the meantime, I’m traveling as Thoreau traveled: exploring the place where I am in ways that I hadn’t before.  Walking fully aware in the woods, or the mountains and shores of New Hampshire, stopping at local landmarks previously unknown to me, and exploring space  while looking up at the stars to pick out planets and constellations.  For the adventurous spirit, there’s no shortage of opportunities to explore, even in a pandemic.

      “Travel spins us round in two ways at once: It shows us the sights and values and issues that we might ordinarily ignore; but it also, and more deeply, shows us all the parts of ourselves that might otherwise grow rusty. For in traveling to a truly foreign place, we inevitably travel to moods and states of mind and hidden inward passages that we’d otherwise seldom have cause to visit.

      All [great travel writers]… believed in “being moved” as one of the points of taking trips, and “being transported” by private as well as public means; all saw that “ecstasy” (“ex-stasis”) tells us that our highest moments come when we’re not stationary, and that epiphany can follow movement as much as it precipitates it.

      Travel, then, is a voyage into that famously subjective zone, the imagination, and what the traveler brings back is — and has to be — an ineffable compound of himself and the place, what’s really there and what’s only in him.” – Pico Iyer, Why We Travel

      While nice on the surface, I chafe when spending too much time at resorts because I’m not looking for pampering or losing myself in a cartoon world.  Travel at its best isn’t distraction, but exploration.  It isn’t running away from ourselves, but finding ourselves.  And that can happen anywhere if we let it.  Our highest moments come when we’re not stationary…  and so we hear the call to explore.  I’m conspiring to travel locally over the next couple of weeks to places near, while foregoing far.  At least for now.  For there’s so much to see right in our own backyards that we rarely celebrate.  Over the next few weeks I’ll explore some of those places in New Hampshire and Massachusetts.  And as you might expect having read any of this blog, explore hidden inward passages too.

    • A Shelf Full of Worthy Pursuits

      “We are our choices.”  – Jean-Paul Sartre

      I found myself in a store that specializes in astronomy-related equipment like higher end telescopes and the like. I was there to upgrade my binoculars, which left a lot to be desired when hunting down that elusive Comet NEOWISE. While there he showed me a stunningly gorgeous Questar Standard 3.5 telescope that would only set me back $5000 dollars.  It was breathtaking in its detail, and I could imagine myself having it set up on the deck gazing in wonder at the universe with a glass of scotch in my hand conversing astronomy tidbits with adoring family and friends.  Enticing?  No doubt.  But I stuck with the binoculars and kept my savings account and marriage intact.  I also took his brochure on the local astronomy club and tucked that away safely on a shelf with my other worthy pursuits.  Life is about the choices we make, and Lord knows there’s an abundance of choices we can make in this country.

      “You can’t always get what you want
      But if you try sometime you find
      You get what you need”
      – The Rolling Stones, You Can’t Always Get What You Want

      You may recall a recent post about getting back into scuba diving.  I had almost the exact interaction with the dive shop I visited as the one I had at the astronomy shop, complete with cutting edge dive gear, underwater photography equipment, and that special pricing that comes when you’re in a pandemic and concessions need to be made to keep business flowing.  I’ve shelved that indefinitely as I tackle other projects, and added the brochure about scuba certification to the shelf to revisit another day. Such is the way with worthy pursuits: you can’t have it all. But you just might find you get what you need.

      “Books are like imprisoned souls till someone takes them down from a shelf and frees them.” – Samuel Butler

      Those shelves that imprisoned books also hold those brochures with unfulfilled dreams of adventure travel, cooking with fire, sailing around the world, hiking the Appalachian Trail, gardening, sea kayaking and other pursuits waiting to break free, or dare I say, mastered.  Life is chock full of worthy pursuits, and full of experts to guide you down the path.  But life isn’t full of enough time to master every pursuit that strikes a fancy, and so we must choose what to live with and what to live without.  Something has to give, and the shelf is stacked with victims of the time, money and focus equation not working in their favor.  I’m very interested in astronomy, but I’m not quite there yet for jumping into the deep end on astronomy club activities and diverting $5K towards a telescope…  No, not just yet.  But hey, if we’re both still around in ten years let’s get reacquainted.

      In the casual pursuit of Comet NEOWISE, the binoculars made all the difference.  Even with wispy clouds threatening to mask the view, I was able to see the comet clearly with the new binoculars.  And here’s the reason I chose those binoculars (besides the price tag relative to the telescope of my dreams): the binoculars are small enough to fit into a backpack or a sailing bag or brought outside with a cup of coffee for backyard bird-watching.  And thus combining multiple worthy pursuits with one modest purchase.  Is that the answer when choosing the worthiest of pursuits – what offers the best bang for the buck?  Not necessarily, but surely it helps justify the initial financial step into the new-to-you.

      I may not own the title of the most interesting man in the world, but who has time to do everything anyway?  Follow your passions where they might lead you, but do it responsibly.  The world has enough attention deficit disorder with Twitter and YouTube and sound bite news.  Keep trying new things and you never know what rises to the top of the priority list.  I’m a jack-of-all-trades, who invests time to eventually master some. Or not master some but enjoy the ride anyway. I’ve seen friends drift further and further into pursuits as diverse as sailing and hiking and photography, and I recognize and admire the passion of pursuit and growing expertise within them.  Everything has its time, and some pursuits will be there when the time is right… or perhaps not at all.   There’s joy in focusing on the singular pursuit of something, and happily living with the sampler pack with other, otherwise worthy pursuits.   There’s freedom in learning to say no, not now.

    • Hiking Mount Tecumseh on a Foggy Night

      It seemed like a good idea at the time is a beginning statement that might indicate more adventure than bargained for.  And so it was that I hiked solo up Mount Tecumseh at 6:30 PM on a random Thursday, with noble intent to meet the Comet Neowise halfway by climbing a relatively easy mountain and looking at the stars.  Except that the stars were hidden in overcast, and the stakes of a solo hike ratchet up when it gets dark on a steep and wet trail.  But I had a plan B for the descent all the while, which turned out to be an epic adventure of its own.

      Mount Tecumseh is a relatively small mountain that was recently demoted from an official 4000 footer to a just short of greatness 3997 foot.  The mountain is named for the Shawnee Chief who unified tribes against settlement in the Great Lakes region and fought against America in the War of 1812.  There’s no logical connection between Tecumseh and New Hampshire that I’ve seen, but I can respect his name more than some others I’ve come across hiking.  I’ve hiked it before and remembered it as a relatively easy hike save for a steep mile of the trail known as the staircase.  This made hiking the trail as it was getting dark less concerning for me.  But the last time was in winter when Tecumseh’s famous staircase is softened by a heavy snow blanket.

      The ascent was easier than I thought it would be, which bodes well for the trend in my overall fitness level I suppose.  I arrived at the summit at 8 PM with plenty of light to see the view, if the clouds hadn’t dropped down to start blanketing the mountain anyway.  I changed into a long sleeve shirt and began my descent quickly after arriving.  I knew I had a challenging descent to deal with if I chose to hike down the Tecumseh Trail, though I had the gear necessary for a hike in the dark.  But there was that fog to consider, which makes a headlamp beam about as effective as your high beams in your car in fog.  I decided to hike as long as it was safe to do so without using the headlamp.  And after considering the Tecumseh Trail made the decision to hike the Sosman Trail on the descent.  I’ve hiked this one before and knew it was relatively easy for a descent, partially following the ski trail for Waterville Valley.

      But here’s where the story takes a twist.  The fog and darkness made it very difficult to mark the trail, and I lost it in the swirling mist at the summit of the ski lift.  And so I said my first WTF of the night, looked at the ski trail sloping down and decided to just walk down that instead.  I kept to the green trails, which are a combination of gravel road and grassy meadow in the summer.  Skiing down a slope and hiking down are very different things, and I found it slow going.  At one point I spooked a couple of large birds roosting in a tree – likely those turkey I’d been wondering about earlier in the week, and it startled me enough that I thought I might just expire right then and there.  But that would’ve been too easy.  I uttered another WTF and kept descending.

      After walking for what seemed like hours I reached the middle chair lifts at the ski area and looked down to see the lights of the ski lodge depressingly far away.  I said another WTF and made the fateful decision to follow the chair lifts down instead of the gravel access road that would add a lot of time to the hike.  And I discovered just how tall the meadow becomes on the walk down.  By now it was completely dark and I used the beam to illuminate every step and the hiking poles to probe for gopher holes and other hazards.  Eventually I made it down to the base and glanced around at just how lonely a ski area looks at 9:30 on a foggy summer night.  I arrived at my car, used the beam to check for ticks and headed home.  Not your average Thursday night.

      Lessons learned on this one.  Hiking solo in the dark wasn’t the best idea I ever had.  Even though I knew the trails I was hiking, they always look different in the dark, and especially when there’s fog.  I would’ve been better off descending the Tecumseh Trail.  Even if it was slow going its clearly defined and I would have arrived at roughly the same time as taking the Sosman Trail.  The point of this hike was to see the night sky, and I might have been better off just bagging the hike when I saw the overcast at the summit.  But I don’t panic when I hit WTF moments, I assess.  There were things that could have gone wrong but I took it slow and easy and got back safely.  I’m glad I hiked it, and all the extra drama of darkness and fog and overgrown ski trails made it memorable, if slightly reckless (but calculated reckless). Another 4000 footer completed, and a story to tell.

    • Collecting Daily Microadventures

      I heard a Rolf Potts podcast interview with Alastair Humphreys during a long walk around town.  I listen to podcasts when walking on loud roads because I can never fully immerse myself in nature when heavy objects traveling at terminal velocity are close enough to know the deodorant of choice of the driver.  Of course, I always keep an eye on the driver and the relative distance between their passenger mirror and my rib cage.  But a podcast gives me something else to think about during this regular dance on the narrow shoulders of New Hampshire roads.

      Potts and Humphreys captured my imagination during my dance with the drivers with a discussion of microadventures.  Microadventures is Humphreys’ term, but the pursuit of adventures isn’t a new concept.  I’ve been doing many of the things he lists on his site already, and think of them as exclamation points on a day of living on this planet.  But impressively he does take it to another level.  This well-made video explains the concept, or do a deeper dive on his web site (I felt a bit of web site envy visiting his site, and it once again prompted me to up my alexandersmap.com game.  You can see my ongoing progress on the site).  There are many microadventures available for the able and willing, I could get in my car and drive to the White Mountains for a hike, or drive to a waterfall for a shower under bracingly cold water, or camp out on a sleepy beach for sunrise.  But I wanted something close to home and on a somewhat smaller scale as a nod to the spirit of microadventuring.

      And so it was that I found myself getting in my car with a camera and tripod and driving a couple of miles away from home to an entirely different world: the soccer fields my kids once competed on, which last night transformed into a dark and mysterious upside down world with vaguely familiar fences and sheds providing anchors of bearing.  I was challenged by three separate people to go out and see the Comet Neowise, dancing just below the Big Dipper just after sunset.  It seems people have noticed my affinity for the stars over the years.  I’ve silently been plotting a viewing all along, but the weather proved frustratingly unreliable for comet gazing.  Last night was a micro adventure of comet hunting, confirming that my Nikon Coolpix B500 camera wasn’t up to the task (or more likely its owner), and learning from the experience.  Perhaps I’ll get that evasive picture tonight or in the next few days before Neowise travels on for another thousand generations, or maybe I’ll just bring the binoculars out and just view it.  Plenty of better photographers are taking stunning photos of Neowise already.   My micro adventure wasn’t for a picture anyway, but for the experience of trying something new right in my own town.  It was me alone in a dark field, strange noises in the forest beyond, constellations and planets spinning above and satellites zipping past.  Memorable even without a digital image to post on social media.

      Here’s the thing: we get caught up in the big bucket list stuff.  Hiking the Appalachian Trail, sailing across the ocean, hiking to Machu Picchu, visits to Amsterdam, Paris, London and a hundred other great cities.  Heck, even hiking the 48 NH 4000 footers in my home state requires time investment and planning on a larger scale than a simple microadventure.  Life should be full of the great exclamation points that a bucket list offers, but lifetimes are made up of a collection of days.  Why not downsize the scale of the adventure and do something interesting today?  So when someone asks you tomorrow what you did last night, you aren’t replaying the same old soundtrack of streaming Netflix series or watching YouTube videos of other people’s adventures.  Yesterday, in between the traditional fare of a random Wednesday, I began my day with a plunge in the pool at 6 AM and ended it with a hunt for Comet Neowise until past my bedtime.  So a memorable yesterday, if only for the endcaps.  So what shall today bring?

       

    • The Moon, Pluto, Jupiter and Saturn

      The deep orange sky at 4 AM was largely faded by 5 AM. What kind of world is this that 5 AM is too late in the day for the show? It’s the price of the longer days of June. You want the full show? Get up earlier. And I’ve learned another lesson in my time with the sky; You really want the full show? Look around. For there directly behind me was the Moon, Jupiter and Saturn in a dance with a faded Pluto. It seems 4 AM wasn’t quite early enough to find Pluto, even with binoculars. But now that I know you’re out there I’ll look more closely tonight.

      A sunrise marks the beginning, a sunset announces the end. Nothing revolutionary in that observation. Here’s the thing about sunrises and sunsets that really strikes me: there’s far more of them that we miss than we can ever possibly see. I’ve missed thousands of stunning sunrises simply by being in the wrong place. Or, as with Pluto this morning, sometimes you just don’t get there in time. And sometimes you’re busy with other things. Or sometimes Mother Nature makes the decision for you. Then again, sometimes it’s on you. And I figure if I’m blessed with another day I ought to at least make the effort. There are only so many sometimes, aren’t there?

      Monday is upon us. And with it a new beginning. Work to do, people to help, life to live. A chance to put a dent in the universe. A handful of sunrises and sunsets there for the viewing should you choose to put your eyes in front of them. And a planet dancing with two other planets by the glow of the moon. Now tell me, who would want to miss that?

    • A Walk Amongst the Stars

      Walking out, the night was pleasantly still and clear, and I instinctively glanced up to see what the walk had in store for me in the darkening sky.  Venus shining brightly in the west offered promise, with a faint El Nath riding just above her.  El Nath is the star that marks the tip of the left horn of Taurus.  I’m a Taurus myself, and so I’m pleased to see a bit of the constellation as it drops down for the night.  Taurus, like his eternal hunter nemesis Orion, roams the winter sky. Everything has its season, even the stars.

      A quick survey around reveals Gemini to the southwest and further up Leo prowls above.  Like bird songs and French and cooking Indian food, I know the basics but I’m in no way a master at the night sky. But like those other pursuits I chip away at it when I can.  Tonight was no exception and I work at it a bit longer but the evening is already getting too bright.  Reaching the top of the hill I turn around and gasp at the stunning full yellow moon rising above the tree tops.  I linger in the middle of the road for a minute when I’m startled by a noise behind me.  A woman out for a walk is powering past, loud music vibrating out of her earbuds and reaching across to jolt me.  I mention the moon but she’s in no mood to talk to a stranger in the dark.  Neither was I, honestly.  I let her walk ahead to give her the space we all need on such a night.

      The walker shook the magic out of the moment and I reluctantly walk back home.  I’m teased by a shooting star off in my peripheral vision.  They have a way of doing that, the rascals.  As I walk down the hill the moon disappears into the trees, but still illuminates the sky.  The stars, just emerging, grow faint again and I know it’s time to call it a night.  One last look around; Leo nods down at me and I say my farewells.  Another evening walk in the books, different from others in so many ways, as they always are. I didn’t focus on how far I walked, but my watch tells me I spent most of my time in the stars. That’s just like me.