Showing posts with label Refractor Telescope. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Refractor Telescope. Show all posts

Monday, July 24, 2017

Out with Selfies, In with Wonder

You can also read it in the Mercury News 


At the Montgomery Hill Observatory of Evergreen Valley College in San Jose, there is a public stargazing night on the first Friday of every month. It is here that a decade ago I first saw Saturn through the observatory’s 7” refractor telescope. I will never forget that magical moment. The “Lord of the Rings” planet 750 million miles or so away from the earth seemed so inviting that I wanted to reach out and touch it.
With Jupiter and Saturn gracing the night sky now, I decided to visit the observatory after a hiatus to renew my acquaintance with the two planets.

About fifty of us gathered at the observatory recently to take in the beauty of the starry sky. The line was long for the domed building that housed the telescope focused on Saturn.
What I witnessed, however, was unexpected and, frankly, shocking.
Most of the “stargazers” spent more time taking selfies than looking at the planet. Parents held their babies close to the telescope and snapped photos as the unnatural light of their smartphones lit up the dark interior of the building. They photographed the telescope’s view of Saturn, experimenting until the image was to their satisfaction.
What I found incongruous was that everyone acted as if this was normal, that unless Saturn was captured in the circuitry of their hi-tech gadgets, the physical experience of observing the ringed planet through a telescope wasn’t worth much.
It was the same with Jupiter in the adjacent roll-off roof building. Jove and his moons took a backseat to the selfies, to the document-by-camera excitement that gripped so many of the visitors. A remark I overheard put the selfies in perspective. A man turned to his spouse and said, “It’s already on Facebook and Instagram.”
The standalone selfie was apparently not worth much by itself, unless authenticated by social media and “liked.”
I managed to see Saturn, its ring tilted at a steeper angle than when I saw it last, magical and awe-inspiring as always. But the flash and whirr of the cameras seemed so pervasive that afterwards, when I looked up with unaided eyes outside, I half-expected to see the image of a partially-eaten translucent silver apple dominating the night sky.
The selfie syndrome is everywhere, not just at public events and tourist spots but in parks, woods, shores, malls, stadiums, restaurants, museums, even at graveyards and funerals!
How is it that we have so casually surrendered substance to shadow, real to virtual? Why are we so in thrall to our devices 24×7?
One reason is that smart gadgets and social media allow us to unleash our very human instinct for self-expression to a degree unprecedented in history.
But pushed to extreme, self-expression can devolve into narcissism. In particular, in the presence of the sublime and the transcendent, self-expression through selfies, rather than engaging through the senses, can be foolish and short-sighted. It is like ignoring the eternal for the ephemeral.
How to subdue this abnormal selfie craving? One way would be to renew our acquaintance with nature.
“The world is too much with us,” lamented Wordsworth at the dawn of the 19th century when the poet felt that people had lost their connection to nature because of their growing attachment to materialism. “Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:/Little we see in nature that is ours/…/For this, for everything, we are out of tune.”
Next time we go to the woods, the shore or the observatory, let’s leave behind the devices with the flickering screens so we can experience with our five senses the music of songbirds, the lullaby of surf, and the pageantry of stars and planets.

Tuesday, June 05, 2012

Venus as a Beauty Spot

We gathered at the Montgomery Hill Observatory in the northern hills of the Evergreen Valley College (EVC) around 3 in the afternoon, all agog about the celestial drama unfolding in front of the sun. Venus was moving across the solar disk, something that would repeat 105 years from now, in 2117, making viewing it literally the chance of a lifetime.

Parents brought their infants (one of whom promptly let out a wail to the amusement of all), toddlers and teenagers. Several grandmothers in saris and flowing dresses lined up like kids to peer through the telescopes.

Inside the dome was the 7-inch refractor telescope that Dr. Celso Batalha, professor of astronomy at EVC, fitted with an H-alpha filter to let in only the red light (wavelength of about 656 nanometer) emitting from the sun. Outside the dome, he had also set up four 8-inch portable, parabolic Dobsonians with clear filters. He was wise to do so because the space around the dome was soon milling with eager and curious visitors.
My first view of the transit was through the refractor telescope. The dark, perfect circle of Venus making its shy entrance at the lower left edge of a crimson sun was wondrous, simply wondrous. I looked for as long as I could before the next person in line gently nudged me to remind that there were others waiting for a chance to glimpse the wondrous sight as well.
Last night I read a piece in the New York Times by a professor of astronomy named Jay M. Pasachoff who wrote that “people on Earth can see with their own eyes the beauty spot — as beautiful as Marilyn Monroe’s — bestowed by Venus on the Sun.”
The imagery seemed perfect as I was viewing the transit: Venus was indeed a beauty spot on the sun, and its changing location only enhanced the fierce beauty of the duo. I also reminded myself to look up a picture of Marilyn Monroe. The sun as MM? I bet no poet ever thought of that. Kudos to Dr. Pasachoff.

If there was a hush of awe inside the observatory, outside was noisy celebration. Kids and grandmothers gave running commentaries on the minute-by-minute progress of Venus’s journey from left to right as they squinted through the Dobsonians. Of course, the experience had to be preserved for posterity, and so everyone (and I mean everyone) brought out their iPhones, Androids and SLRs and tried to capture the celestial scene. It was no simple point-and click, though. Only at certain frustrating angles could the view be captured and that required endless trial-and-error.
A teenage girl grew impatient with her father who kept fiddling with his camera for the perfect shot. Finally she could stand it no longer. “He will be doing this until Venus has completed her journey in six hours,” she said to everyone around. “He will still not be done.”

The girl’s mother, also getting angry at her husband, corrected the daughter. “No, Casalco will still be looking for the perfect picture when Venus returns again in one hundred years.”
As laughter erupted, the otherwise-imperturbable Mr. Casalco sheepishly withdrew.

Through the Dobsonians, we viewed the bright-yellow sun and the backlit Venus in the clear California sky. There were clouds but they were near the horizon. I helped Dr. Celso adjust the eyepieces as excited kids kept moving them.

The atmosphere was festive and yet there was an undertone of sadness. This was it for us. No more view like this in our lifetime. I felt the chill of mortality.

Scientists have correctly predicted the transits of Venus that come in pairs of 8 years: 1761 and 1769, 1874 and 1882, 2004 and 2012. What will the earth be like in 2117 and 2125? Will we still be fighting wars? Will there still be 1-percenters and 99-percenters, tyrants who indulge in unimaginable luxury while the rest survive on crumbs? Or will our succeeding generations conclude that our ways were unimaginative and untenable, and after much sacrifice and soul-searching, design a peaceful world where everyone led a reasonably good life?

Who can say? The thought  that I came away with from the celestial drama was that we were a part of what we had witnessed, no more and no less, and that the fate of our earth was entwined with the fate of the big, beautiful star and the planet moving across it, not only in a scientific but also in a transcendental sense.