No Comets Here

The week-long spell of fog broke this Saturday and there was a possibility that Comet ALTLAS G3 would be visible in the Northern Hemisphere, at least according to the photos shared on the EarthSky website. A secondary web ephemeris painted a less rosy picture, and an app on my phone split the difference.  ALTAS G3 was there, and maybe, just maybe, it would be visible from Eugene.

Thinking that I would kick myself if I missed a chance to get a viewing—and photograph—of the comet, I bundled up against the 38F temperature, loaded up my camera and tripod into the car and sped off to Spencer Butte. I was pretty sure that if I tried to see the comet from the top of our local hill, the comet would be behind the South Hills of Eugene.  Or someone's house.  Or a streetlamp.

Spencer Butte isn’t that far away, but it’s about a 25 minute mile hike to the 2054 foot summit. Eugene spills out to the northeast, there’s a good view of the Cascade Mountains to the east, and the Coastal Mountains to the west. When I got to the butte's parking lot around 4:30,  it was packed. I rested the tripod and camera against my shoulder and began the assent. It’s been a few months since I last climbed the butte, my not-quite-huffing-and-puffing was a reminder of how I’ve gotten out of shape.

The setting sun painted the west sides of the pines and shrubs ruddy gold.  A little over halfway up, there was something like white ash on the trail, and occasionally, white flakes of not-snow fell.  I reached over and touched a frosty white branch of underbrush.  The water drop hanging from it was rigid ice.  Closer to the summit, the sun turned the frost golden. I paused for just a moment to take a photo with my phone, then I continued on to the final steps along hewn stone stairs.

The sun had just gone below the horizon around 5:00 when I unfolded my tripod just below the old observation point at the butte’s peak. A wind from the north whipped loose strands of my hair. Haze from the week’s inversion smudged the edge of the sky, and low clouds on the horizon glowed pink and crimson. 

The sky was way too bright for any comet to show up.

I was under the impression that the parking lot closed at 6:00, which meant that I’d only have about a half hour to get any good photos. I scanned the horizon, thinking that the comet might be at a magnitude to be visible, but all I saw was a really nice twilight glow and one striking cloud formation that looked like a trireme. The comet might have been behind a band of clouds, or it might have been much dimmer than I thought.

Venus became apparent, so I snapped a photo of it. The layer of haze from the inversion also became apparent.

A young woman—I wasn’t sure if she was in high school or college—asked me, “Is that a camera?” I was a little puzzled by the question—maybe she thought my camera was a telescope, or maybe she meant to ask “What are you doing?”—but I explained that it was a camera, that I was hoping to spot ATLAS G3 (here I whipped out the astronomy app), but that so far all I was seeing was Venus, and that as the comet moved away from the sun, it might be in a better position for viewing, but that it might get too dim.” This seemed to make an impression on her and her female friend, and they left with a benediction of good wishes.

More and more folks left the summit.

I pulled out my iPhone, which sometimes can capture traces of auroras and comets that I’m missing, and snapped a series of photos along the horizon. At 5:30, I checked the astronomy app: it showed ATLAS G3 setting. I took some more photos of the area of the sky where I guessed the comet might be, thinking that seeing the comet would have been much easier from Australia or Ecuador or some other place other than Eugene. 

Then it was time to head back.

The darkness grew. I had rushed out of the house without a proper flashlight. This wasn’t so bad; I could have used my phone’s light, and in any case, I like to walk at nigh without a light. The stone stairs weren’t too much of a problem, but I was glad that it wasn’t too dark when I descended. Two (different) women about thirty feet ahead of me walked with a cell phone light, so it was easy to see where the dark path was going.

As I followed, I thought to try to really listen to the woods as I walked (and not think about cougars). I caught glimpses of Venus through the shadows of the tree trunks. Eugene traffic noises floated up from the city. I became aware of brain chatter, and a soundtrack in my head. When I tried not to name the trees or Venus, I heard Ursula Le Guin reading a passage from “She Unnames Them.” I never really got rid of the soundtrack. I did change the brain chatter to “crunch, crunch, crunch” to match my footsteps on the gravel path, but it was still getting in the way of a zen moment in the woods.

The most challenging part of the hike was returning to the parking lot, which was illuminated by a Very Bright Light that blinded me and made staying on the pathway difficult.

And the mounting socket on the bottom of my camera fatigued off when I set the camera against the car's seat.  This will make using the tripod to take pictures of stellar objects difficult.

At home, looking at the photos on a larger screen, I might have gotten a picture of the comet, but its much more likely a bright cloud lit up by the setting sun.  

Moon, Saturn, and Jupiter

 

In less than a month, I'm hoping to get some good photos of Jupiter, Saturn, and the Moon.  On December 16, a two-day old Moon will be in the vicinity of Jupiter and Saturn; sunset's at 4:28, twilight at 6:16, and moonset at 6:40 and (I'm guessing) Jupiter and Saturn set around 7:15 -- so I'll have to climb up the hill if I want a good shot (assuming it isn't raining).  On the Solstice, December 21, about 2 AM, Jupiter and Saturn will be about a tenth of a degree apart from each other.

With any luck, sky will be cloud free.  That's a tall order, as there is usually a winter storm in late December.  Fingers crossed.

One difficulty with photographing the Moon with other objects is that the Moon, once it's more than half full, can easily wash out fainter objects like Saturn or Mars.  Another difficulty is that if the Moon is much farther away than a stretched and held out hand (about eight degrees) from a planet, the resulting field of the photograph makes the moon look like a very small (but bright) object in a mostly dark field.

 I suppose photographing the Moon has become my lunar ritual.  By recording the Moon's image over the year, I've become more aware of the  its dance along the ecliptic:  this full moon is near Orion, last month it was near Aldebaran; that crescent is near Regulus.  And images taken over several nights has made me aware of certain craters and other features of jagged light.

This begs the question, where among the ritual tools of lamp and chalice, blade and wand, of thurible and pentacle, does one place one's camera? 

Moon, Mercury, and Venus

I climbed the hill, camera and tripod in tow, to see what I could see Saturday night.  The late afternoon had gained a pall of overcast, and I figured it would be just my luck that an otherwise clear day would gauze over at sunset and hide the conjunction of inner planets and the moon Yet Another Night.

I crested the hill and ... nothing.  Some sanguine clouds hung in an otherwise featureless sky over the darkening hills of the southern end of the Willamette Valley. 

I scanned the skies and saw one of the thinnest crescent moons I've ever seen in my life:  a whisker thin bend a shade lighter than the darkening blue-beige sky. 


Finally!  I set up the tripod, and discovered the camera was loose.  I fiddled with the knob on the tripod that tightens the mounting screw--there was a snap, and the camera came off the tripod in my hands.  A small, rectangular plate was still attached to the screw, and there was a corresponding hole in the bottom of the camera's plastic body, through which I could see the barrel of the lens and sensor mechanism. 

I rested my hand on top of the tripod, focused the camera on the Moon, and took a photo.  The camera seemed to be working, even with a hole in it.  I took a few more photos, during which a smudge of a cloud moved and unveiled Venus.

I knew Mercury would be above Venus, and took a few more photos before locating it.  I figured that if I kept the shutter speed at or faster than 1/20th of a second, I'd be able to hold the camera steady enough for sharp pictures. 

I don't know what I'm going to do with the camera.  The plastic has fatigued around the metal socket where there mounting screw goes; obviously, the weight of the fully extended lens combined with me tightening the screw extra tight was too much for the plastic parts.  I've briefly read about camera clamp mounts, which might necessitate purchasing a whole new tripod.  For now, I've covered the hole with tape to keep out bugs, dirt, moisture, and hair. 

Photographing Raptors In December

 Last Friday I went to the Raptor Center.  Clouds hid the sun and turned everything grey, which made photographing the hawks, owls, and vultures difficult because the mesh of their mews popped out.  I played with the ISO of the camera a bit, which improved the shots a little.   The best shots were when the handlers came out and displayed the birds.


I think the trick to photographing animals in cages is to get close to the bars or mesh and only photograph animals that are far away from the barrier and zooming in as much as possible; this will blur the barrier, especially if you make sure to manually focus on the animal's eyes, feathers, or fur (yes, this works a lot better on subjects who are staying mostly still).   Shorter lens-to-subject distance, shorter depth of field.

Arg, and I had set the aperture to an 8 f-stop, so I had a really wide depth of field for the photos; if I had used an 1 f-stop, the aperture would have been wider, I could have used a shorter exposure time, the depth of field would have been narrower, and I would have been able to blur the bars out more.  Oh well; on the plus side, the grid in some of my photos is useful for studies of the birds' symmetries.


If the sun had been out (it had been the day before) there would have been more light on the birds.  And it would have been warmer.  There were quite a few folks there:  families and possibly a group of home-schoolers.  I was slightly surprised because it was Friday after Christmas (i.e. the Third Day), and I thought folks would be out of town or shopping, but I'm sure it was good business for the Center.


The birds seemed interested in me, which was charming and also made me worried that I was agitating them.  I was wearing my grey/green wool cloak to stay warm and to also have something to cover the camera with, and in the back of my mind I worried the birds might think I was a Really Large Bird.


Luckily none of them seemed to freak out.  I don't know if it was the cloak, or the camera, or the tripod, or my voice, but they all seemed to follow my movements as I aimed the camera at them and took photos (the vulture seemed very curious about my singing).  The exception were the birds on the wrists of handlers; then they were mostly interested in eating rats and mice.


It's rewarding to see the raptors and photograph them.  The hawks always remind me of Egyptian art, and I could look at the feather patterns (on their wings especially) all day.  Next time, I'm going to have to go on a more pleasant day and bring my Book of Art so I can try sketching them.

Near the end of my visit, I ran into an old acquaintance from my madrigal days with Pearwood, and we spent about five minutes catching up.

Venus Almost Conjunct Jupiter

Last night's big adventure was taking photographs of Venus and Jupiter.  I was a little over-enthusiastic, and went clumping up the hill with my camera and tripod around 4:40, just as the sun set.  The extra time searching for a suitable west-facing spot was rewarded, though, as our part of the valley brings an early sun- and planets-set.

I set up at a street corner (sort of near a street-lamp, as it turned out).  I'm pretty sure that no local residents were too freaked out by a heavily jacketed person hovering over a camera, pointed vaguely west.  Around 5:15 Venus became obvious enough for me to find it -- I kept casting about, worried that I'd be looking and looking for Venus and Jupiter, only to find them hiding behind a tree, five seconds before they set.

What I learned was.

An f-stop of 8 will bring out the reds and purples in a evening sky.   An f-stop of 1will flatten the color.   Also, a f-stop of 1 has a narrow field-of-focus; 8 has a wider field.   I think, also, that an f-stop of 1 is more likely to bring out the snow-flake asterism effect when Venus is over-exposed (hmm, I'll have to check on this, because it seems backward).

Venus will wash out and over-saturate its pixels at a lower f-stop and a longer exposure time.

Starting at a half-second, at extreme zoom (55mm and above), exposure times above a half second will begin to show streaked planets as they move in their orbits.

Whoa!  An ISO of 400 will show up the moons of Jupiter!  Without streaking.  It does, however, increase the graininess of the photograph with extra noise.

Changing the field of view (wide or zoom) requires slight adjustment to the focus.

For most astro shots, I'm thinking that I want a f-stop of 8, a shutter speed of about a fourth or eighth of a second, and an ISO of 100.   For Jupiter's moon shots, I think I want a midnight Jupiter, an ISO of 400, and a fourth of a second exposure.

I have to make a note-card with all of this on it so I can remember correctly for next time.  Sunday (11/24) is a Big Astro day, as the Moon will be conjunct Mars early in the morning (fingers crossed against fog) and Venus and Jupiter make their closest conjunction in the evening (fingers crossed against rain).

Full photoset here:  https://photos.app.goo.gl/354ESCRxbCLkrUNJ7

Photographing the Moon

Managed more writing yesterday (Thursday) afternoon (about 600 words)  and again this (Friday) morning (about 300 words).  I actually did get up at about 4:55AM -- but I realized that I was in that funny pre-verbal pre-awake state.  So... I photographed the waning moon though the telescope (all of the photos came out fuzzy), opened the house to cool it down, and then crashed on the sofa.

I thought about the human ship and the alien ship in my current story, and a couple of scenes suggested themselves.  I was in a kind of day-dream lucid-dream state.  I'm not sure if the cats' antics were a bad thing that interrupted my dream-train-of-thought or a good thing that woke me up enough so I'd remember stuff.  It's possible that Spencer the neighbor cat (and Cicero's brother) was in the house, because Smokey (who has never done this before) was reaching out and batting me on the face.

 On the astronomy front, I cut out a cardboard tube that fits on the end of the telescope and over the lens of my camera:  this lets me butt the camera lens up against the eyepiece, with the result that I can snap photos of the moon.

 I was hoping to be able to use the telescope as a zoom-lens for photographing the eclipse... but after watching how easy it is for my camera to be confused about what to focus on during day-time shots of the moon, I'm almost certain that that is going to not work.  The process works well for photographing the moon, but so far I haven't gotten it to work for stars or planets.

The best photos happen when the sky is still fairly dark, when I put the camera in its almost-but-not-quite-full telephoto focus, and if I let the camera choose the F-stop.  When I've tried to open up the F-stop, the camera can't seem to focus on the moon (although this would let in more light).  Going full telephoto confuses the auto-focus, and I haven't had much luck getting the camera to auto-focus on the moon during the day.

---

Gym - went Friday night.  25 minutes for about 300 calories on the cable row machine.  Downstairs, 3x12x60lbs pec fly.  3x13x80lbs on the lat pull-down.  3x12 Roman chair curls, plus some 2x6 side curls.

Colonizing Menace

Up until Sunday, it's been fairly damp here in the Pacific Northwest.  When I went traipsing through the backyard to photograph flowers, I saw that the dandelions have wasted no time pushing up invading stems.  The last couple of weeks it's been raining or drizzling with a high of about 50F.  I suppose it's only a matter of time before the slugs come out in full force.

This is another macro lens shot, and I manged to get the focal point somewhere near the tip of the stem, with resulting fuzziness in the fore- and background.  What I like about this shot is that it's not so much about the fluffy parasols so much as it's about the seeds they carry.

Grape Hyacinth in April

April is the month we get flowers. The grape hyacinth in our yard is blooming.  It's one of my favorite blooms, probably because it's purple, and also because the blooms last fairly long.  The globular clusters of flowers are fun, too.

The camera does pretty well with these flowers, and I'm pleased with how the macro lens was able to get some great details of the inside of the flowers and also the buds at the top of the stem.  Looking at these, I don't know what kind of bug would be small enough to pollinate them.

Tree Rings

 The feature that I like the most about my camera is the macro lens.  It can take a small ladybug and make it the size of Mothra.  Or, as in this case, bring out fine details in a driftwood tree stump.

The stump was part of an assemblage of driftwood.  Some other photos I took came out looking like someone's failed barn-raising.

I like these photos because they look like an arena, and the cracks look like a snowflake or star.   I managed, by luck more than anything, to make the long crack in the second photo down be positioned just behind the focal point, which makes the crack  a boundery between the focused and the unfocused.

These pictures came out nicely, mostly because the sun was about an hour away from setting, which gave an exciting light angle.

The camera feature I like second most is the really long shutter speed setting, which works well for writing with LEDs at night.

"God Creating..."

...no wait. "Pirate Creating..." Is that a compass or just a stick?  OK, "John With His Geometry Fetish."  (Or, "Help, I've Fallen And I Can't Take a Photo.")

I wanted to take a self portrait with me and the sand drawings I'd done.  Secretly, I wanted something like Blake's "God Creating the Universe."  Only with more clothing, because, man, that coastal wind was cold.

I had problems getting the camera to take a picture.   It was so apparently obvious that I was lying on the sand, struggling with a camera, that a woman (bundled up and with a very large mixed drink) offered to take my picture for me.  By then, the cold had sapped the energy in the batteries and the camera died.

But just before she walked over to where I was, I managed to take this.