Oct. 25 – Once while well-known astronomy lecturer and author by George Lovi (1939-1993) was running a public night at the Brooklyn College Observatory in New York, the telescope was pointed at Venus, displaying a delicate crescent shape. Yes, Venus goes through phases, just like the moon does, as seen from our point of view. A student, surprised by the crescent, stubbornly insisted he was really looking at the moon. Lovi pointed out that the moon wasn't even in the sky that night. "So what?" the student said. "Doesn't a telescope show you things you can't see without it?" This is but one of a number of popular misconceptions in astronomy. Some are widely held, others linger more as confounding questions in the backs of peoples' minds. Here's my own personal list of ten Confounding Cosmic Questions, in no particular order, along with some less confounding answers:
IS A HALF MOON HALF AS BRIGHT AS A FULL MOON?
WHY DON'T COMETS ZOOM ACROSS THE SKY?
IS JULY HOT BECAUSE WE'RE CLOSER TO THE SUN?
WHY ISN'T THE NORTH STAR THE BRIGHTEST STAR?
SO WHY IS THERE NO SOUTH STAR?
CAN ARTIFICIAL SATELLITES BE SEEN WITH THE UNAIDED EYE?
MUST I WAIT CENTURIES TO SEE A TOTAL SOLAR ECLIPSE?
WHY DOESN'T THE EQUINOX OCCUR ON MARCH 21 ANYMORE?
WHY DON'T METEOR SHOWERS PRODUCE A SHOWER?
CAN YOU SEE THROUGH CLOUDS WITH A TELESCOPE?
© 2002 Space.com. All rights reserved.
It is certainly logical to expect that when the moon is 50 percent illuminated
(at first or last quarter phase; also sometimes called the "half-moon"), that
it would be shining only half as bright as a full moon.
Indeed, if the moon's disk was flat like a white piece of paper or a
projection screen, then its surface brightness would be the same all over and
this would be true.
But of course, this is not the case. The moon is a sphere, and the amount of
reflected light from the sun per unit of moon area decreases toward the lunar
terminator (the dividing line between the bright and shaded regions). Near and
especially along the terminator, mountains and boulders strewn across the
lunar landscape cast innumerable shadows. This gives the effect of the moon
appearing brightest near and along its edge, but grayer toward the terminator.
In contrast, at full moon, the sun is shining straight down virtually
everywhere on the lunar surface so that there are no shadows at all. Believe
it or not, only about 2.4 days from full moon does the moon shine half as
bright as when it's full. And when the moon is at first quarter phase, it is
actually only 1/11 as bright as full!
At last quarter it's even dimmer – 1/12 – because of the greater
visible area of the dark maria (or lunar "seas") on its illuminated portion.
Before answering this question, think about this: Have you ever seen the moon
whiz across your line of sight like a meteor? Even though the moon is
traveling around the Earth at more than 2,000 mph (3,200 kilometers per hour),
at its average distance of 239,000 miles (382,000 kilometers) from Earth, its
orbital motion is barely perceptible.
Similarly, although a bright naked-eye comet might be moving at many tens of
thousands of miles per hour through the inner solar system, its distance from
Earth typically will measure in tens of millions of miles. So while a bright
comet will indeed appear to move, because of its distance from Earth, its
apparent night-to-night movement against the background stars is very slow.
A comet moves across the sky in the fashion of the moon (or the planets for
that matter). Not in the fashion of a streaking meteor.
In fact the Earth is at its farthest point from the sun in early July and
closest to the sun in early January.
The difference in distance from the Earth to the sun between these two
extremes is about 3 million miles (5 million kilometers), or 3.3 percent,
which makes a difference in radiant heat received by the Earth of nearly 7
percent. Thus for the Northern Hemisphere one might assume that this
difference tends to warm the winter and cool the summer.
The seasons, however, are not caused by the change in the distance of the
Earth to the sun. Rather, they are due to the 23.5-degree tilt of the Earth's
axis, which causes various parts of our planet to be turned toward or away
from the sun at various times of the year. Summer in the Northern Hemisphere
is when that half of the planet ispositioned for longer days and maximum
sunlight.
The preponderance of large landmasses in the Northern Hemisphere has an
effect, too, tending to make winters colder and summers hotter than those of
the Southern Hemisphere. Land warms and cools more quickly than water. The
Southern Hemisphere has a far greater amount of ocean coverage, which
moderates temperatures, helping to make the winters a bit milder and the
summers a bit cooler.
Here's another way to think about this: In the Northern Hemisphere, when we
think of "cold outbreaks" during the wintertime, we think of cold surges of
air coming down from Canada or Siberia, where the frigid air builds up. There
are no such similarly large land regions in the Southern Hemisphere that can
produce comparably large outbreaks of cold air.
There are quirks in all this, however. When we compare temperatures of the
North Pole versus the South Pole, the South Pole wins because Antarctica is a
land-locked continent as opposed to the North Pole, where a similar solid
landmass does not exist.
But Antarctica is completely surrounded by water, so any frigid air that might
originate from it is significantly modified when is spreads out toward
Australia, South Africa and South America.
When I was a very young boy an uncle of mine took me out on a balmy summer
evening, pointed to a brilliant blue-white star directly overhead and said:
"See that? That's the North Star" (I later would learn that it was actually
Vega, the fifth brightest star in the entire sky).
Granted, Polaris, the real North Star, is probably the most important star
visible in the northern sky. Yet many people are under the mistaken impression
that it's also the brightest. It actually ranks only 49th in brightness and,
for most viewers, is not directly overhead.
Polaris is the closest bright star relative to the north celestial pole. Only
the apparent width of about 1½ full moons separates Polaris from the pivot
point directly in the north around which the stars go daily, as seen from any
vantage point in the Northern Hemisphere.
Interestingly, because of the wobbling motion of the Earth's axis (called
precession) the celestial pole will draw even closer to Polaris (closest in
the year 2100), but then as time wears on it will gradually draw away from
it. In fact, in about 12,000 years our descendants will have Vega as the North
Star. My uncle will be happy to hear that.
Actually, there is a South Star, but unlike its northern counterpart it is a
small, faint star. It is Sigma Octantis, in the very dull southern
constellation of Octans, the Octant.
It is, in essence, the "Polaris of the Southern Sky" (some texts even refer to
it as "Polaris Australis"), although at magnitude 5.5, this South Star is only
1/25 as bright as the North Star.
Northerners might wonder how those in the Southern Hemisphere find their way
around without a bright benchmark near their pole. For that they can rely on
Crux, the Southern Cross, whose longer bar points almost precisely toward the
south pole of the sky.
Most definitely they can! In fact, many people are surprised that an object
orbiting hundreds of miles above our heads can be readily seen without the use
of binoculars or a telescope.
From the launch of the first Sputnik in 1957 to the present, the number of
satellites in space has grown at a spectacular rate – there are now more
than 10,000 good-sized hunks of metal orbiting the Earth, though not all are
functional satellites. In fact, the total number of active satellites is about
600. From the days of the old Soviet Union, countless hundreds of discarded
rocket casings and cylinders from their Kosmos program alone were left in
orbit. Some of these can shine like a moderately bright star.
British astronomer Desmond King-Hele once noted that a satellite "looks like a
star that has taken leave of its senses and decided to move off to another
part of the sky."
If you go out and carefully study the sky near dusk or dawn, the odds are that
you should not have to wait more than 15 minutes before you see a
satellite. Most are too faint to be seen with the unaided eye. But a few
hundred are large enough (over 20 feet in length) and low enough (100 to 400
miles, or 160 to 640 kilometers above Earth) to be visible.
Satellites are seen at night because they are illuminated by the sun. A
satellite entering the Earth's shadow immediately vanishes from view and
pursues an unseen path until it again emerges into full sunlight.
The International Space Station ("Alpha") and the space shuttle are by far the
brightest. Orbiting the Earth at an average altitude of 240 miles (380
kilometers), they can appear to move as fast as a high-flying airliner;
sometimes taking about three to four minutes to cross the sky. They can easily
be confused with aircraft lights, though at their brightest they can sometimes
appear to rival Jupiter in brilliance.
Not if you don't mind doing some traveling. On average, a total solar eclipse
is visible about every 18 months somewhere on the Earth's
surface. Unfortunately, the tracks of total solar eclipses seem to have this
perverse habit of occurring over sparsely populated regions of the Earth or
out over the open oceans. The planet is two-thirds water, after all.
And even though a typical eclipse track can run for several thousand miles or
more, the width of that track is likely to be less than 100 miles. So, the
odds are that any one particular spot on the Earth will have to wait a very
long time – about 375 years) – between total solar eclipses.
But that nearly four-century wait is merely a statistical average. Indeed, the
paths of different eclipses sometimes will criss-cross over a specific place,
so in some cases the wait isn't so long at all.
For example: a forty-mile stretch of the Atlantic coast of Angola, just north
of Lobito, experienced a total solar eclipse on June 21, 2001 and will be
treated to another later this year (December 4) after a wait of less than 18
months. On the other extreme, we can cite the case of the islands of
Bermuda. Their last total eclipse was on August 30, 1532 with the next one
scheduled for February 16, 2352!
It doesn't seem right, does it? I mean, when many of us were growing up, the
first day of spring, also known as the vernal equinox (in the Northern
Hemisphere) was on March 21, not March 20. Now, all of a sudden spring is
arriving on March 20. How did that happen?
During the 20th century, at the longitude of Greenwich, England, the vernal
equinox landed on March 21 no fewer than 58 times (39 times between 1901 and
1951). Yet, in Europe and Asia only the years 2003 and 2007 will see the
equinox arrive on March 21.
For North America throughout the entire 21st century, the equinox will arrive
no later than March 20. And in 2004, for those in the Mountain and Pacific
Time zones, spring will officially arrive on March 19!
There are several factors to account for the date shift, including variations
in our Gregorian calendar, the precession or "wobble" of the Earth's axis and
the pull of gravity from the other planets, which (ever so slightly) affects
the location of the Earth in its orbit.
Interestingly, in the Northern Hemisphere, spring is currently being reduced
by approximately one minute per year and winter by about one-half minute per
year. Summer is gaining the minute lost from spring, and autumn is gaining the
half a minute lost from winter.
Winter is the shortest astronomical season. With its seasonal duration
continuing to decrease, it is expected to attain its minimum value of 88.71
days by about the year 3500.
When an announcement is made through the news media about an upcoming meteor
shower, it likely will conjure up visions in the minds of many of a sky filled
with meteors pouring out of the sky like water from a hose. Unfortunately, in
just about all cases, your average meteor shower is far cry from that.
Typically, if you're outside on a clear, dark night you might catch a glimpse
of perhaps 3 to 6 meteors (popularly called "shooting stars") over the course
of an hour's watch. On certain nights, the hourly rate may be somewhat higher,
in which case astronomers would say that a "meteor shower" is in progress.
In the middle of August or the middle of December for instance, you might
notice that meteors are comparatively plentiful; perhaps coming at a rate of
about one per minute. Indeed, these are the times of the two best meteor
displays of the year, although one would not conclude that a true "shower" was
in progress.
There are rare occasions, when Earth interacts with a dense trail of dust
recently shed by a passing comet, that meteors will seem to literally pour
from the sky in shower-like fashion. Unfortunately, such opportunities are few
and far between. In recent years, the Leonid Meteor Shower in mid-November has
provided us with some spectacular meteor outbursts. While perhaps not falling
as thick as snowflakes, Leonid rates reached into the thousands per hour in
1999 and again in 2001.
Another spectacular Leonid outburst is due this year – perhaps the last
for a very long time.
Not a chance. Although some people believe that a telescope is capable of
revealing objects otherwise masked by cloud cover. Here are just two examples.
In December 1973, a special gathering was organized in lower Manhattan at dawn
to observe the newly discovered Comet Kohoutek. Prospective viewers were
invited to view the comet through a variety of telescopes in the pre-dawn
hours, followed by a chowder breakfast.
On the appointed morning, the sky was hopelessly overcast, yet thousands of
people came just the same, many still expecting to get their promised view of
the comet – despite the clouds – through the assemblage of
telescopes.
After an astronomer explained from a sound truck that the comet would not be
visible he asked if there were any questions. From out of the crowd somebody
asked, "So what do we do now?" To which the astronomer replied: "Have another
bowl of chowder!"
A year later, in December 1974, a partial eclipse of the sun occurred over
much of North America. In New York, local astronomical societies had gathered
with their telescopes on the 86th floor observation deck of the Empire State
Building. A large number of reporters were also there to report on the viewing
of the eclipse.
Unfortunately, a solid deck of low, gray clouds completely obscured any
possible view of the sun (some attributed the bad luck to the fact that it was
also Friday, the 13th)!
One reporter for a local news radio station arrived just moments before the
predicted peak of the eclipse. He pushed his way through the group and,
somewhat out of breath, asked which telescope he could look through to view
the eclipse.
When it was explained to him that the eclipse couldn't be seen because of the
clouds, he was incredulous, saying in exasperated tones, "You mean I came all
the way up here for nothing?" But in the end he had the last laugh. Composing
himself, he quickly filed his report from a nearby phone booth: "The clouds
eclipsed today's eclipse, and this reporter was rather surprised to discover
that not even these impressive telescopes could provide us with a glimpse. If
you ask me, this is the biggest cover-up since Watergate!"
Joe Rao serves as an instructor and guest lecturer at New York's Hayden Planetarium. He writes about
astronomy for The New
York Times and other publications, and he is also an on-camera
meteorologist for News 12 Westchester,
New York.