Leonids

Meteor counting log, Leonids shower, from November 1934
Up to three per minute!

Ninety years ago, during the Leonids meteor shower, someone was counting a lot of burning bits of debris from comet 55P/Tempel-Tuttle. With one fifteen-minute window boasting forty-five meteors (!), that’s a powerfully active shower. Not quite a storm, but those happen with the Leonids sometimes.

According to NASA, the Leonids peak about every 33 years, with 1966 being a spectacular meteor storm. In one fifteen-minute window, thousands of meteors fell like glowing rain. How amazing is that?

Also: check out the times indicated. We’re assuming the counting started at 11:00pm and ran until early morning, with a 24-hour clock opposite how we’d expect it. (Maybe sleep deprivation?) Either that or it was a truly spectacular meteor shower!

Radio Telescope Repair

Radio telescope nose with cracked plastic structure
Proceed with caution.

After enough years of outdoor UV exposure, temperature fluctuations, and who knows what all else, most plastics start to break down. The thin support ring – looks like polyethylene of some sort – has started to crumble, and the radio telescope’s nose cone is hanging loosely.

Interior electronics of radio telescope.
Still working!

Inside, the receiver and amplifier appear to be in good enough shape. Note that many birds and many bugs have made a real mess of things.

Bird's nest filling nose cone.
Not suitable for single-stream recycling.

And they’ve built an astounding nest inside. Dried grass, last year’s hydrangea blooms, torn bits of plastic bags, some shredded paper, a few ripped-up bits of surgical masks. Removing all of this did not endear us to the starlings.

Machined aluminum brackets with screws
Measure twice, mill once.

The plastic solution worked for a while, but it’s time to up our game. Aluminum brackets, precisely machined out of solid blocks, drilled and tapped for stainless steel hardware. Bright and shiny and destined to be hidden away from view.

Radio telescope with restored nose cone, gaps sealed with duct tape.
Duct tape buys time.

And then, with summery Pennsylvania weather on the horizon (read: thunderstorms), we seal the whole mess up with duct tape. Maybe it’ll deter the birds until we can deal with the rest of it some fall.

The most amazing part is that we didn’t end up using hot glue.

Construction Photo

Aerial photograph of the Observatory construction, 1963
1963: a quiet corner of campus.

Six decades ago, there wasn’t much on the south end of campus, making it an ideal place for the new Observatory. Relatively calm, not much to block the view, and few sources of nearby light pollution. A lot can change in that time.

Today’s maples and oaks – not pictured, because they were maybe saplings? – are now large enough that they block some low areas of observation and are losing limbs due to disease and age. The stadium has been wreathed by parking lots and festooned with high-intensity lights. Campus buildings have crept southward, surrounding the site. Lewisburg and its surroundings have developed, installed more nighttime lighting, and the sky has grown brighter, obscuring more of the night sky.

Clouds, however: they’re here as much as they ever were. Oh, central Pennsylvania.

Wind Speed Indicator

Wind speed indicator with wind chill chart
Must get real cold at some weather stations.

This particular wind speed indicator hasn’t been functional in ages, but at some point it was probably useful in determining whether or not to go outside for telescope observations. Wind is of concern in astronomy, as it can produce poor seeing and – when really strong – cause telescopes to shake. But wind chill is the more immediate concern. Cold nights can be good for observing, with clear skies and good seeing, but rough on fingers and toes.

All of that standing still, lack of warming sunshine, etc. doesn’t do a lot to counter a cold night. Maybe think ahead and bring along a hot beverage?

An awful lot of that chart is devoted to conditions when no one should be outside at all. One line of thought considers that a chart with all of your category indicators bunched up on the left isn’t the ideal for communicating information visually. Another notes that an endless tundra of negative numbers tells you enough without needing the particulars.

Ranger 4

NASA press release details on the Ranger 4 launch
The rest were on white paper. Why yellow for Ranger 4?

We have several boxes of NASA press releases from the height of the space age, for the simple reason that it’s easier to pack things away than to sort and dispose of junk. None of them are worth much, really, but they can be entertaining. Take this, for example, a summary of the Ranger 4 launch. Not mentioned here, but interesting: Ranger 4 was the first US spacecraft to reach another solar system body.

By crashing into the Moon, as intended. You can read more in a brief summary by Leonard David, or by skimming Wikipedia.

Entertaining bits gleaned from the Space Activities Summary:

  • Major Objectives Impact Moon”
  • Major Results Impacted Moon”
  • Velocity is listed as “At lunar impact, 5,963 mph,” but can safely be assumed to be zero very shortly thereafter.
  • The “rough-land survivable seismometer” likely didn’t, although the fact that it crashed on the far side means we’ll never know.
  • There may have been “[n]o scientific data obtained,” but they did slam a space probe into the Moon, and before anyone else.

Big Dipper

Pushpins in a Big Dipper shape
The backside of the bear.

A surprise discovery on a hallway bulletin board at the Observatory: a push pin Big Dipper!

It’s good and charming and subtle, and we can forgive that this version has eight stars instead of the night sky’s seven. (Not counting the visual double of Mizar and Alcor where the handle kinks.) Someone did this on a whim, and now it’s hard to resist the idea of putting up others all over campus to see who notices.

Have a great semester break!