The Leonids - An essay
Steve Clayworth
In November of 1966, I was thirteen years old, and had long been interested in
astronomy. I knew about the upcoming Leonid meteor shower, and I made plans to
awaken early in the morning, get out in the back yard, and spend an hour or two
observing.
It was a cool night. When the alarm went off about three in the morning, I
raised my head from the pillow, lifted the blinds by the window and peeked
outside. I think I saw a flash of light. I was exhausted. Sleep won over
curiosity and I decided it wasn't going to be that good.
The next morning, I heard someone in math class say that his dad had awakened
him early in the morning and took him outside to look at the meteor shower, and
it was spectacular. Later on I read of the amazing show that the Leonids had
put on that year. And I regretted being more interested in sleeping than the
nighttime sky.
The years pass.
In November of 1999, Linda and I went to Brazos Bend State Park, and settled in
at the late arrival parking lot for a night of meteor observing. This was the
potential of a peak year.
It wasn't. There were the usual 10-15 fast meteors per hour. The Leonids
reserved their majesty for Asia that year.
I didn't bother in 2000. I was working a new job, and sleep seemed more
interesting than a weak showing. As I recall, some places had a good show, and
some didn't.
But 2001 was different. For one thing, the moon was just a couple of days old,
and wouldn't interfere with observing at all. Another factor was the
predictions. Astronomers have become quite adept at measuring the orbits of
varying streams of dust left by Temple-Tuttel on its 33-year swings around the
sun. They were predicting that the United States should get a good show this
year, with some predictions of 4000 meteors per hour. That's a meteor better
than every second. That's a storm. (The 1966 Leonids were a hurricane of
meteors, estimated at its peak at over 40 per second).
Plus, the peak would occur early Sunday morning - no need to worry about
getting to work bleary-eyed and yawning.
So I made my preparations Saturday afternoon. A couple of years prior to this,
I had purchased a cheap folding chaise lounge for $9.99 at Academy. I got down
from the attic and stretched it out and reclined in it. The aluminum frame
bent like a crooked politician. So it's back to the store.
I found a much nicer chaise at Lowe's for three times the price, and brought it
home. I folded down the seats in the CR-V, and started to load my gear.
Here's what the well-equipped meteor watcher took with him.
· One folding chaise lounge, newly purchased
· One utility box containing binoculars, bug spray, and other
miscellaneous stuff
· One small telescope (for observing in case the meteors were a wash)
· One tripod for said telescope
· Eyepieces for the telescope
· Two pillows for the weary head, one large and one small
· A thermos of hot chocolate
· Two bottles of Ozarka water
· One old large comforter
· One flashlight
(Astronomy is a hobby that * requires * only curiosity and at least one
functioning eye. But it's also a hobby that * wants * a lot of stuff.)
The car was packed up by sunset, but I wasn't planning on leaving until ten or
so that night. So Linda and I went out and watched a friend eat (well, I had a
Margarita) and then came back home. Linda was too tired to go observing, so it
was just me. She went to bed about 11:30.
I decided that since the peak wasn't going to be until 4:00 AM Central, I
didn't need to leave until midnight. So I surfed the cable channels, and I
found myself growing tired.
Doubt started to work its way in. I felt like the cartoon character, with the
shoulder angel and the shoulder devil goading me into either staying home or
pressing forward.
I checked outside just before midnight. Clear as a bell. The forecast was
mostly clear skies, high humidity, and a good chance of fog in the morning.
No. I wasn't going to miss the chance again. I wasn't going to be around in
2099 (or at least, not actively observing anything), which was when the next
good appearance of the Leonids was scheduled.
So I closed up the house and left. The trip down US 59 went smoothly, and I
took the Crabb River Road exit and headed down FM 762 towards the park. There
were a few brief patches of fog here and there, but nothing worrisome.
About a half-hour after I left the house, I pulled into the road for the park,
got up the main entrance, and turned off my headlights, leaving my parking
lights on. I crept into the driveway of the late arrival parking lot, and
found a slot for the CR-V. There were about thirty or so vehicles already
there.
I opened up the back of the Honda, and got my lounge out. (Out of all the
stuff I brought, all I ever used was the chaise, the small pillow, the
flashlight and the hot chocolate. Oh, yes, I did have one bottle of water.)
I walked down a little ways and found a group of people sitting out watching.
It was about 12:45. They said hi. I said hi. It seemed a friendly bunch. So
I asked if they minded if I stretched out here, and they had no objection.
The temp was about sixty, and there were some clouds out to the south. The
huge light dome of Houston wiped out most of the northern sky. Orion and Canis
Major were bright, and Jupiter was high overhead. The Milky Way was barely
visible. The sickle of Leo was starting to rise in the east. I settled back to
watch, making some casual conversation with people around me.
About ten minutes later, I saw my first official Leonid of 2001. It headed
west and left a train that faded after half-a-second.
Over the next hour or so, I watched an increasing number of meteors. One
interesting one made a very bright but short slower streak of light right in
the sickle of Leo. The train left by that one persisted for over thirty
seconds, glowing faintly and being blown north by extremely high-altitude
winds. A couple of the brighter ones lit up some high clouds a little.
The oohs and ahhs were becoming more numerous. Meteors are rated by verbal
exclamation. The louder the ooh! the more impressive the show. One in the
south drew a surprise clap of delight from me. It was bright, at least twice
as bright as Venus, and it actually illuminated the ground a bit! It also
briefly split before it faded. Marvelous!
Through this time, cars were coming and going. I think the park drew a couple
of hundred visitors easily that night. (When I left, I saw a couple of dozen
cars parked along the sides of the road heading out of the park). Some of the
visitors were aware of astronomical protocols and cruised by with just their
parking lights on. Others didn't seem to know, and had their headlights on.
The only thing to do then was cover your eyes and wait for them to drive by,
hoping you wouldn't miss some really spectacular meteor.
I listened to the conversations going on around me. Some groups of young
people seemed more interested in other matters than astronomy. Fits of
giggling would erupt from them as the night went on. One woman behind me had a
burst of sneezes accompanied by numerous "gesundheits". I suggested out loud,
"How tragic. Allergic to meteors." That earned me a laugh.
During the moments when the people's voices settled down, and the vehicles
weren't moving, the sounds of nature were evident. A couple of owls a few
hundred feet away (I estimate) voiced their opinion of the assembled
sky-watchers with some loud echoing hoots. Insects and frogs added to the
symphony. (Fortunately, no mosquitoes were in evidence.)
One of the people sitting near me was a man named Dennis Webb. We talked a bit
as he set up his camera for some time exposures (which were sometimes
interrupted as cars drove by or some kid waved a flashlight). Dennis is an
electrical engineer at NASA, and he's been working on the space station project
for a while. Nice fellow, friendly and knowledgeable. We talked about
equipment and past experiences.
Around three in the morning, the activity started to pick up. We would go for
a few minutes without a sighting, then bang, four or five in less than ten
seconds. I was constantly moving my head, following that streak or the next,
and reverting to the expressions of childhood. Gosh! Wow! Look at that!
Then another fallow period, followed by another burst of activity. I realized
that by four in the morning, I had seen more meteors that night that I had seen
in all the years prior.
I got up shortly before four and went to the bathroom in visitor center. Even
as I was walking, I would see the occasional streak of light.
I came back and settle down in the chaise again. I shivered a bit. The
temperature had dropped, and I was just wearing a light jacket. But I didn't
want to go back to the car and get the comforter. So I shivered and drank the
last of my hot chocolate.
One of the things that had always surprised me about meteors is their utter
silence. You just expect something that bright to make a noise. (On rare
occasions, people do report sounds with meteors, but these are usually for
extremely slow and bright stony or iron objects that have penetrated deep into
the atmosphere.) But these flashes of light were occurring fifty or so miles
high. So they sweep the sky in silence. We supply the sound effects.
Between four and five in the morning, I must have seen several hundred. The
grin wouldn't leave my face. I turned my chair around to face more towards the
southwest (the darkest part of the sky) and watched in delight as one meteor
after another came in fast and hot and occasionally quite bright. Little
particles of comet dust meeting an incandescent end in the air up there.
Dennis and his friend packed up and left about five in the morning. Other cars
started to pull out. I moved my lounge out of the way and continued to watch.
At five-thirty, I felt quite tired. The two-hour nap I had Saturday afternoon
had sustained me just so far. I reluctantly gathered my gear together and
headed for the car. I loaded it in and made one final trip to the bathroom.
Again, streaks of light accompanied my walk.
I returned to the card and I took a fistful of Kleenex and wiped most of the
dew from the windows. A mist hung over the flat meadow area to the north. I
got the car started and the defroster turned on. Shortly after that I headed
home.
The sky was starting to lighten in the east as I pulled in the driveway.
I'm no longer thirteen years old. But that thirteen-year old is still
contained within. And he's still smiling.
Nate Thames
Leonid show in 1999 at the age of 16. I remember almost not getting out of bed
when the alarm went off. The thought of a full school day ahead of me filled my
mind with doubt. I never the less drug myself out of bed and went to a field
outside of town. I know now that the show that year wasn't impressive, but I
clearly remember thinking how neat it was. This year, as central Kansas was socked
in with clouds, I took a 1000 mile round trip to get clear skies and loved every
minute of the drive. This year was really magical. I am certain I will tell my
future kids about it. Being in incredibly clear, incredibly dark skies in the
middle of northwestern Nebraska made every meteor stand out. Thank you for the
story. Know that the feeling of magic that comes from meteors still pulls at the
hearts of at least some young people.
Steve Clayworth wrote:
>
> I'm no longer thirteen years old. But that thirteen-year old is still
> contained within. And he's still smiling.
--
+++++++++++++++++++
Nate Thames
Db...@kscable.com
+++++++++++++++++++
Bill Byrd
news:20011118220559...@mb-mj.aol.com...
> The Leonids - 2001
>
Steve: Excellent report. Totally clouded out in San Antonio.:(
Bill
--
Bill Byrd we...@flash.net San Antonio, Texas
Matt McIrvin
sve...@aol.comnospam (Steve Clayworth) wrote:
> I decided that since the peak wasn't going to be until 4:00 AM Central, I
> didn't need to leave until midnight. So I surfed the cable channels, and I
> found myself growing tired.
>
> Doubt started to work its way in. I felt like the cartoon character, with
> the
> shoulder angel and the shoulder devil goading me into either staying home or
> pressing forward.
I set my alarm for 3:30 AM, but woke up fifteen minutes earlier on some
internal alarm clock. The weather forecasts for Massachusetts called
for "partly cloudy" skies, and the area is notorious for ruining my fun
in such ways, but I had been encouraged by completely clear skies
earlier that night. I threw on the warm clothes I had laid out the
previous evening and made myself a cup of coffee to fortify my brain.
While that was brewing, I turned off the lights and looked out the
living room window in the direction of Orion and Canis Major-- and saw
three meteors before the coffee was done! That gave me a lot of
encouragement.
Arlington, Massachusetts is not a very dark place, and I didn't feel
sufficiently alert to go driving off somewhere, but, undaunted, I
bundled up and set out on foot in search of the darkest place I could
find in the immediate vicinity. Mystic Valley Parkway had bright
streetlights, but there was a stretch between lights that was pretty
dark; unfortunately there were too many trees in the way to see much.
I kept going and eventually settled on a field near the shore of Lower
Mystic Lake where one of the streetlights was broken and I could walk a
couple hundred feet or so back from the road. Every so often cars came
along and ruined my night vision, but most of the time things were OK,
for a semi-urban environment.
I stayed out there from about 3:45 to 5:40 Eastern Time. I tried to
estimate rates roughly by counting off approximate seconds in my head.
I was alone, and after the first hour or so I put on a hood that
restricted my peripheral vision a little bit, but, even so, I was
seeing an average of about four meteors a minute for most of that time,
and at the peak of the shower (around 5:20 to 5:25, just before the sky
started to brighten in the east) there were several minutes in which I
saw nine or ten meteors. Many left trails; one very bright one
brightened, darkened and brightened again before fading out. There
were several thrilling moments when three or four meteors appeared in a
period of a few seconds, or two appeared simultaneously.
Early on I was lying on the ground, but the ground gets really cold
at these hours. I should have brought a sleeping bag or a thick
blanket.
A little before dawn I saw what must have been a satellite, tooling
across the sky from the east toward the north. Today I tried to figure
out what it was with NASA J-Pass and found several candidates, so I'm
still not sure.
The sky started to brighten just as the chill and my full bladder
were becoming too much to bear by jogging in circles. Walking back
past the local Dunkin' Donuts, I saw my last meteor of the morning,
falling vertically out of an increasingly blue sky.
Time for bed. My wife Samantha woke up momentarily, and seemed pleased
at my adventures but happy that she wasn't the one to go out in the
cold at a quarter to four. Then I slept until ten.
--
Matt McIrvin