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The Eyepiece |
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| TABLE OF CONTENTS
April at a Glance: Page 1 For Sale-Want Adds: Page 1 April in Detail: Page 1 A Look At Our Past: Page 2 Down the Road: Page 2 Eyepiece Features: Page 3 |
APRIL AT A GLANCE
08th: Monthly Meeting-Constellations 15th: NEWSTAR Monthly Meeting 18th: Field Trip to Fermi Lab 22nd: Astronomy Day Planning Meeting 24th - 25th: Parmentier Observatory Weekend 24th - 25th: Crivitz Site Cleanup Weekend |
| (Continued from page 2) but let’s not travel there.
In November of 1983, I saw the Andromeda galaxy like I have not seen it since. While lying on a blanket in 40-degree weather about 60 miles south of the Twin Cities, I saw the silent, majestic star city with a borrowed pair of 7 x 35 binoculars. The sky-glow of the Minneapolis/St. Paul rose a fist-width above the northeast horizon, but otherwise the sky was calm, and the darkness deep. I don’t recall the precise field of view of those small binoculars, but it must have been between two and three degrees. The central hub of M31 glowed like a lighthouse across the emptiness of space, and I remember being amazed at the enormity of the star city as I swept the binoculars from one spiral arm, across the galaxy’s hub, to the other spiral arm. In the outer edges of the galaxy, I could easily tell when M31 began and ended; the transparency of the earth’s atmosphere, a small pair of binoculars, and my mind arrived at an unforgettable moment. No, I didn’t see dust lanes in the galaxy, but for the first time, I sensed the size and power of M31. I can still see it in my mind. Today, I own a small wide-field refractor (80mm objective), a small long-focus refractor (60mm objective, F-15), and a pair of 7 x 35mm binoculars. Before I settled with these modest optics, I purchased and resold Newtonian reflectors with 3-, 6- and 18-inch mirrors. There is nothing wrong with coveting or owning advanced optics with large apertures, but there are rewards in the night sky when humble optics become wedded with curious minds. A Walt Whitman poem always reminds me that we need so little to experience so much. Penned in 1865, Whitman's poem shines back to us across time, just like the light of M31. WHEN I HEARD THE LEARN’D ASTRONOMER When I heard the learn’d astronomer,
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When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much applause
in the lecture room,
How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick, Till rising and gliding out I wander’d off by myself. In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time, Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars. SCENES FROM THE MESSIER
MARATHON
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