Part One: Opening Up to New Experiences
Part Two: Sticking with the Plan

The occasional change of a millenium, receipt of a Nobel Prize, or election by popular acclaim to the Office of the Presidency makes for an excellent excuse to go somewhere and do something out of the usual. On this particular occasion, I felt inwardly called to go somewhere new -- but not necessarily do something different. So I packed the scope into the hatchback, grabbed a sleeping bag and the usual three layers of clothing (including wool over cotton socks) and headed south and slightly east. Destination: San Francisco Bay Area's Mecca of Amateur Astronomy (Fremont Peak State Park). 60 miles and an hour and a half later, I was bumping along a barely two lane road with a setting sun playing peek-a-boo with my squinting eyes, climbing up, and up, 1000, 2000, to almost 3000 feet.

My first impression of the Peak was one of mis-matched expectations. I had thought to emerge on top of a rounded table-like hill bereft of trees, constantly scoured by wind, horizon bending below in every direction. What I actually encoutered was a rolling hill, peppered with scrub oak, nestled below a still higher "conning tower" of microwave emitters and broadcast antennae.

I also half-expected to roll into a parking lot and begin jostling for place amidst a sea of optical tubes in various states of pre-assembly as light-hearted, amateur astronomer banter burbled around me: "Hey look at that huge truss-tube dob over there -- once it starts sucking in photons there won't be any left for the rest of us!" or "Yah, I was up here last night too. Caught NGC55 in Phoenix, with a 25% moon, and low-hanging clouds even."

But this was not to be. I seemed to be the only example of my breed on site. Alone with the promise of a setting sun, a 33% moon, two gas giants, and 13,861,008 magnitude 13 and brighter stars. (The number is my own based on an abstruse series of reasonings -- the real number is one I'll leave to professional astronomers.)

As it turned out, while looking for the optimal observing site, I came across a couple sporting a 2" refractor. They had been up observing the earlier evening (from their campsite) but by the looks of the equipment they had not seen NGC55 in Phoenix. During friendly talk, I learned that the husband (Scott) had received the scope for Christmas and had experienced "First Light" of Jupiter and Saturn the evening before. Wife (Shana) was gregarious, despite her concern that Scott would "get the bug" and make of her what I have my own wife -- an astronomy widow.

After a quick tour of the rest of the site, I concluded that the best view to the south and west was had from the "Coulter" (of telescope manufacture fame?) Picnic area below the camp sites. (Why not east you ask? Because I have this long-standing debate with NGC6888 in Cygnus that I hoped Fremont Peak would finally, irrevocably resolve...)

On entering the park I had noticed a closed gate on the left leading up to a series of buildings. One of which I suspected would house the "Heart of the Fremont Peak Experience": The amateur astronomer's observatory. A sign outside the gate answered my unexpressed query: "Observatory Closed".

Note to Self: Walk this way before settling in.

With the car parked, I headed over to the gate and down the road toward the observatory. On my left was the ranger's house (rental truck half-loaded with possesions in the driveway. On the way out or in?) Further on a wheelchair accessible toilet facility. (I used it on the way out, very clean, nice red overhead light, definitely astronomer friendly.) A hundred yards beyond this was the observatory building with steeply racked south-facing, retractable louvered roof. A sundial hung suspended from the near wall. No other indications as to the building's purpose were displayed. (I expected a placard with historical notes and floor plan. Nothing like it to be found.)

Like any "good citizen" I checked each and every door knob (just to make sure the place was properly secured, of course). I also wandered around looking for a window with exposed interior view. Again, it was well bedded-down. Continued my walk past the building thinking there might be more to the complex ahead. Saw several deer trailed by a giant buck 100 yards ahead of me. Once they saw that I saw them, the group jogged up the trail out of site. I walked only close enough to the next clearing to see that there was nothing of specialized interest.

Turn around, walk back past the observatory and find the ranger at work near the moving van. "Coming or going?" I smiled. A very friendly chap, he immediately engaged me in conversation. Ranger Cameron was transfering to another, larger park. He had taken over several years ago and continued the work of his predecessor in maintaining the status of the park as a Nature Preserve and Dark Sky Sanctuary (for amateur astronomers). Cameron explained that the 30-inch telescope housed in the observatory had been hand built by a single individual and "leased" to a local astronomical society (SJAA?) for a dollar a year. Funds for the building came from the sale of used and seconded telescopes (other gear as well, no doubt). The building was assembled by volunteers from the astronomy club -- many of whom were professionals, engineers, and the like. Cameron told me that the obserrvatory was dedicated to the use of amateurs but occasionally professionals would employ it (unoffically) on small projects. (Use by professionals is discouraged since it is outside the charter of the observatory and arrangements with the state parks commision.) Cameron explained that he too was an amateur astronomer and that he often gave orientations to the public during the on-season (late March through October each year). We discussed how excellent it would be if each state park had a "theme" that would draw together like-interested individuals and provide a unique identity. We both liked the idea. Cameron felt that he would articulate it to his colleagues. (I can foresee a "ballonists park", a "free-hand rock-climbers park", a "bird-watchers park" etc.) Despite any specialization the general public would be welcomed while afficianodos would be accomodated to suit there special needs. Cameron and I had a productive talk and I bade him farewell by inviting him up to Couter for a looksee through the MK-67.

Now it's getting dark. Time for some serious scope assembly and preparation. Walk back up to Coulter, unpack the scope, layout the equipment. The moon would be a hassle -- but despite what they say in Marin -- you can't have it all.

By 6pm, even with moon and remnant sunset I had split Iota Cassiopeia very cleanly and caught slightly averted sight of its "twelve-o" field star. Thence onto the Crescent nebula (NGC6888) near the spine of the cross in Cygnus. Would I be able to verify conclusions achieved at China Ridge?

Despite the very dry conditions, I saw no more (or less) of the Crescent than that seen the night previous at China Ridge. Conditions were about exactly the same: Very stable with 5.4 limiting threshold magnitude transparency. The advantage of Fremont Peak: Reduced light-dome infringement. Advantage China Ridge: Far better view to the south (and easier commute).

About this time I received my first guests. Scott and Shana came down from their campsite. Orion was well clear of the eastern horizon so I turned the scope on M42: "The Great Nebula". Naturally, they were both duly impressed with the luminsoity of the reflecting nebula, the starkness of the dark nebula, and the perfect clarity of the trapezium. (I thought the view was pretty damn good myself and would have liked to have doted over it -- but nevermind.)

I recommended that Scott bring down his refractor and we would get him started "finding things". Fifteen minutes later he returned. I explained how to orient the mount to the pole star (when it became obvious that Scott was not versed in this technique). I followed this with an explanation of how to visually determine the general location of M42 then how to target the nebula using the telescope barrel and finderscope. Scott went at it with enthusiasm but lacked the experience which avoids dis-orientation while manipulating the scope. Another fifteen or so minutes passed and we had a look at the nebula through the 2 inch. First thing I noticed was that the FOV of the ep was very narrow -- like looking down a narrow tunnel. Turning my attention to what should have been the trapezium, I noticed a large amount of coma and spherical abberation. The bright nebula itself was "not so". This I expected -- but not the lack of definition and poor image quality. Scott too was visible discouraged. BEWARE, THE DEPARTMENT STORE TELESCOPE! Odds are that Scott will pack this thing to the attic and never use it again. Another lost astronomical soul.

Scott and I talked. I recommended he take the scope out again and find a dozen or so brighter objects (planets and not-so-deepsky). Meanwhile, he might want to go to a few star parties and decide what kind of astronomy (and scope) appealed to him most. Finally, once he found his dozen objects, he would earn the right to spend the family's money on something better.

As the evening progressed, two other couples came by. At times as many as six of us were ganging up on the scope. Views of M31, M32, M110, M33 galaxies, the Pleiades, M41 and the Perseus Double (open clusters), M1, and NGC1535 planetary nebulae and M79 globular cluster all led up to that big moment when Jupiter and Saturn were in position well overhead.

First "The Ringed Wonder": Cassini's division was a given. It also looked like some detail was possible along the northern delineation of the South Equatorial Belt. However, two factors mitigated against my having an excellent view of the planet, it's ring system, and it's atmospheric details. One: About this time gusts of wind picked up from the draw leading up from the valley below. (The slightly under-mounted telescope decided to "dance to the rhythms" and made detailed inspection of the planet impracticeable.) Two: I had guests. Despite these factors, due to the dryness of the air, and the relative transparency of the sky, I was personally transported by the crispness of the limb of the planet against the blackness of space (especially apparent when viewing Jupiter.)

Now I'd heard this statement before but when I finally caught it personally, I was very amused: Shana got her look at the Saturn (one much longer than mine I might add). After the usual ooos and ahwsss. she opined "You stuck a little picture in the tube didn't you?" I laughed and explained that I had heard about this "observation" before but that I had never expected anyone to say it! I asked Shana if she had come up with this notion herself. "Yes, of course!"

Views of Jupiter were every bit as striking. Detail all over the planet. (Subtle in the polar reqions but still possible.) Moons like tiny disks (at 180X). The sharp line of demarcation between the globe and space (no light-spill to be seen whatsoever). Glorious, but again all too brief...

The time was about 10:30. The couples began to disperse. All were very grateful for the opportunity to see the heavens on this very special night. I pointed out the oft-noted fact that a good view of Saturn's rings often stimulates the female of the species to a certain "heightened receptivity". Shana laughed and prodded Scott in the general of their campsite...

Meanwhile, I turned to the charts to consider my "planned" observations. There were several deepsky objects on the list between right ascension 1 and 2 hours. Thankfully none of them were below the celestial equator. So the lateness of the hour would not be a factor. Before proceding, I gabbed a bite to eat and waited for the moon to finally drop below the horizon. It was now about one hour to the PST Millennium change. There was more sky to cover. So much out there, so little of which has entered my optic nerve (wittingly) and passed into my visual cortex for processing, study, evaluation, recognition, speculation, and wonder!

Part Two: Sticking with the Plan

Arrived on site at Fremont Peak State Park 11 miles west of San Juan Bautista, CA around 5pm Sunday evening. Half-expected to have to squeeze myself into a crowded field of other observers there for the same reasons: The New Millenium, the unseasonably warm dry air, and expected clear and stable seeing conditions. The actualities of the situation were quite different.

Observation goals for this evening were to, once again, revisit NGC6888 (this time from an alternative locale) and to absolutely, positively, unquestionably establish whether the "nebulosity" seen in association with the "keystone asterism" is real or imagine-X. Other goals were to finish up my short list of objects found between hours 1 and 2 Right Ascension and -40 to 90 degrees declination.

By 6:00pm the sky was dark enough to show the 12th magnitude field star associated with Iota Cassiopeia. Stability tests on the Iota triple also demonstarted unusual calm. For the very first time I noticed how each of the three stars looked like tiny colored gemstones. Exquisite.

Turning to the 6888 Keystone, I had no difficulty seeing the handful of 13th magnitude stars revealed under the fine conditions experienced at China Ridge the night before. In fact, based on these two experiences (plus early intimations from observations at the Bonny Dune SCAA locale), I came to the insight that there is a world of difference between "twelve-o" and "Thirteen-Ohh!" seeing. Twelve-o will let you work, but Thirteen-Ohh inspires your work. At 13.0 LTM, it is almost like the view God has when S/He wants to "tunnel" through the universe and inspect some "small" part of creation. Magnificent!

But, like the night before, it was still impossible to distinguish between "connect the dot" imagin-osity and nebulosity. But my, weren't those 13th magnitude stars pretty...

4 hours later... The retinue of campers collected during the evening has begun to disperse. Pull down the face-on galaxy M33 in Triangulum. The hope is to track down the small, bright knot of luminosity designated NGC604 northeast of the core. Problem is, there is nebulosity everywhere. Most, no doubt, is star haze. Some, the real thing. Who can tell? Nothing particularly outstanding visible once I move away from the luminous core. For the next twenty minutes I continue to scan a region up to one degree north and east of M33 core. Certainly found nothing to map against Harrington's claim that this small knot (2 X 1 arc-minutes in size) is "one of the brightest nebulae in the mid-autumn sky...". I'll be re-visiting this one in the same way that I have attempted to nail down NGC6888.

Next on tap is NGC752. Like M33, 752 lies between Triangulum and Andromeda. To locate it, I first turned up in the finder a 5th and 6th magnitude visual double in the region between Beta Triangulum and Gamma Andromedae. The open cluster lies just north and east in the same 1 degree field. What I see is one to two hundred stars ranging from the mid 7th to the 13th magnitude. At the west of the cluster are two side by side arches of stars oriented north-south. About 10 arc-minutes further east, a second double-arch appears -- but much smaller and consisting of fewer stars. 5 arc-minutes further east lies a small wedge of even fewer (and dimmer) stars. The entire effect is that of a long-headed ram oriented east to west. Chin to east, horns to west. Embedded near the root of the southern horn is a blue 7.5 magnitude star. Very pretty. A barely perceptible 13th magnitude star is visible at the chin.

The time is now 11pm, December 31st, 2000. I turn on the car radio and listen to an alternative radio program featuring obscure renditions of well-known songs and memorable renditions of not so well known songs. I recall a version of "Bill Bailey" by Marianne Faithful. Johnny Cash singing "I'm on fire". It's like eaves dropping at a speaker connected to a time machine. A ghostly haunting feeling of the timeless flow of human suffering, heartfelt aspirations, un-checked drives and ambitions. Like the Grinch confronted by Cindy Lou Who, my heart expands and I feel alone yet connected with the immensity of space and the immediacy of human limitation.

The moon is no longer a factor. I do an atmospheric extinction check. From above me to the belt of Orion (the celestrial equator) the sky is a mottled dark, dark gray sprinkled with numerous starry points. From the celestial equator to Sirius (-15 degrees) the sky lightens by a factor of two (perhaps .8 magnitudes). Another .8 magnitude change is seen between Sirius and Epsilon Canis Majorus (-30 degrees). From this point to the horizon the sky progressively lightens until it is a murky gray. Few stars can be seen in this region. Binoculars can be used to penetrate it. When so inspected, a confusing blend of un-interpretable shapes and inexplicable names is encountered. It is in to this murk that the most experienced amateurs travel -- once they come to navigate the well-travelled sky above and to the south, without vexation.

But tonight I probe well north of the murk, even above the celestial equator. I travel within Andromeda and the better known and well-lit Cassiopeia. Galaxy NGC404 is my next goal. An easy search, just find Beta Andromeda then, without being over-powered by Her 2nd magnitude radiance, catch an ill-defined glimpse of a small 3 arc-minute haze with central brightening. Amazingly enough, at 50X I see it immediately, some 10 arc minutes north and west of Beta.

I am pleased, a good catch. I am displeased, no real sense of shape or orientation. Just estimating the size of this 10.1 magnitude patch is difficult enough. Switch to 120X, better, much better -- the further the distance from Beta the better. Put her outside the field, even better. The higher the magnification, the darker the sky. Push too far and the study itself is bled of luminosity. Yes, 120X is fine. Possible elongation along the north-south axis. Brightest region in the center possibly 11th magnitude surface brightness. Bleeding inexorably off past the 13th magnitude limit. I am seeing the very brightest part of a distant island universe whose actual apparent size (at this distance) is probably 5 or 6 arc-minutes...

It's now about 11:30. Three open clusters in Cassiopeia and the evening, the year, the millennia is complete. NGC 457. So this is the ET cluster I'd seen at star parties. Little stick figure humanoid with two glowing eyes. Orientation roughly east west. The eyes to the south east. The brighter yellow, the dimmer, bearing a greenish tint. The bulk of the 40 to 50 visible stars lie in the range of the 9th through the 13th magnitude. Probably more visible -- on even darker nights. The cluster is maybe 20 by 20 arc-minutes in size. As I get ready to move on, it looks like the little fella has wings, flapping gently to keep himself aloft.

NGC663: "The Showering Christmas Tree" cluster (my name). This cluster takes up much of the 1 degree FOV along the northeast to southwest axis. Along the perpendicular, perhaps half that size. The more populous northeastern region is smaller and distinctly different in shape and luminosity from the larger, more sparsely populated southwestern section. In fact it is possible that the "V-shaped" southwestern section is not part of the cluster at all -- only a chance line of site aggregate of stars. The northeastern "shower of lights" consists of maybe thirty or forty mostly 9th and 10th magnitude stars (quite uniform in brightness actually). It is roughly 10 by 20 arc minutes in diameter. The southwestern section is comprised of maybe a dozen widely sperated, mostly 11th and 12th magnitude stars. A nice study in contrasting shapes, sizes, luminosities, and densities.

"Let old acquaintence be forgot..." The flame is now passed, the page is turned, the hour is struck, humankind makes another small step forward. And the first light of the new millenium bounces around inside my scope and into my eye from M103 in Cassiopeia.

M103 is a relatively small (5 arc minutes in diameter) group of 15 to 20 stars whose brighter components give the general appearence of a straightened out "Little Dipper" oriented with the handle to the northwest. Stars begin around the 10th magnitude. But the bulk are of the 12th. A good test here is to count the stars at 50X then switch to 120X and 180X to get an accurate sense of how many more stars are visible as higher magnification darkens the background sky. I'll have to put this particular test into my observing plan for future follow up.

I'm tired. It's a new day. It's a new month. A new year. A New Millennia. I disassemble the scope, pack everything into the trunk and slip into something more comfortable -- a sleeping bag.

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