A few nights ago I was leaning back in the outdoor tub, beginning to soften, as the 102-degree water soaked the aches from my body—under a clear, dark sky. I'd been watching the overhead stars from time to time, but at the moment was not even looking upward. Suddenly I felt a strong urge to direct my gaze overhead, and spied a bright object floating south-southeast. My previous experiences at discerning the difference between high-flying planes and satellites immediately told me that this was the latter. From the brightness of the object—far more dazzling than any star or planet—I also felt certain that it was the International Space Station (ISS).
Shaking with excitement, I watched it for the next few minutes, as it headed towards the horizon, and then suddenly it blinked out, as it entered the Earth's shadow. I sat there, up to my neck in hot water, thrilled that I had not missed this spectacular show and wondered what may have called my attention at this propitious moment. Still in the midst of my dazzlement, I then saw another satellite appear in the exact same location and pursue the same exact path—following it by only a couple of minutes.
Now I was really blown away! Tears streaming down my face, I experienced a moment of incredulity. There is only one ISS, but I had just witnessed two identical bright lights! I sat there stunned—trying to make sense of what I'd just seen. And I was sure that I'd observed a real double dazzle satellite show. I was not hallucinating. What had happened?
Then an explanation popped to mind: I remembered that the Space Shuttle Discovery had been visiting the ISS on its final mission, and was scheduled to undock and head back to Florida for its final landing and then get decommissioned. I must have seen both Discovery and the ISS—one trailing the other for awhile, before the Shuttle fired its braking rockets and descended towards home. The tears continued to flow for awhile—partly in awe of the spectacle that I'd just witnessed and partly in deep gratitude for whatever called me to be in the tub at this time and to look up at the right moment.
I knew what I'd do to verify my guess about what I'd seen: in the morning I'd go online and visit a couple of my favorite Websites—one being NASA's page on the Shuttle program and another that lists the times and properties of satellite flyovers. Yes, NASA said that the ISS and Discovery had been flying close to one another the night before, with the Shuttle in the lead. Discovery had undocked the day before, had circled the ISS, and then moved ahead of and below it, in preparation for landing a day later.
The Website that gives satellite flight details across your very own sky is heavens-above.com. It's built and maintained by a German enthusiast. When you visit the site, you need to enter your latitude and longitude (or the nearest major city) and then the site's program calculates your local times for ISS overflights, its brightness, and its path across your sky.
I've used this Website several times, to predict a time and location when I can go outside and be prepared to watch the ISS go by. It's a really spectacular show. I've sometimes alerted neighbors and friends, to share the event.
It's not an uncommon experience to see the ISS go overhead—after all, it circles the Earth several times every day. But most of the time it doesn't put on a dazzling show, because it may pass during the day, or be too close to the horizon to spot, or be invisible in the Earth's shadow. Only about twice a month are conditions such that this largest of all satellites can be seen so bright.
So that makes my experience of seeing both the Space Shuttle and the ISS so unique and sensational. Truly doubly dazzling!
Back in the tub the night before, I very slowly came down from my satellite high—now lying back, eyes riveted to the sky. I saw three more satellites over the next hour—none of them holding a candle to the scene I'd earlier witnessed—but still thrilling in their own right.
Showing posts with label satellites. Show all posts
Showing posts with label satellites. Show all posts
Friday, March 11, 2011
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Satellite Struck
Sitting in the outdoor tub, gazing upward at the night sky, eyes adjusted to the dark, there are many thrilling celestial delights that I view. The stars themselves are, of course, the main show. They provide the unvarying but constantly fascinating backdrop for various transient visitors: planes, planets, meteors, but most especially, satellites.
A satellite looks just like a star—a point of light—except that it moves. It’s as if a star took a sudden notion to yank itself from its fixed location and soar across the sky. My fancy takes flight with it. A typical satellite circles the planet in about 90 minutes, so it can take some 10 minutes or more to cross a small viewing field.
You need a pretty dark sky to spot satellites. City lights mask most of them. Out here in the woods they are common—especially on clear nights. On any given night, if I gaze into the sky for five minutes, I can expect to see a satellite cruise overhead. So an hour’s soak in the tub can treat me with as many as a half dozen of them.
Like the moon and planets, you can see a satellite only because it reflects sunlight. So it’s the ability of them to bounce sunlight down to you that governs their visibility. A satellite can be quite bright for awhile, but then suddenly wink out, as it passes into the Earth’s shadow.
There are several types of satellites I’ve seen. Some are steady points of light that drift relentlessly along. Some blink on and off, as they tumble—and like a moving mirror, send their reflected light in diverse directions. The most spectacular satellite is the International Space Station (ISS). It’s as bright as Venus. There are a few websites that, when you put in your site, list when the ISS will pass overhead. They give the time and sky location when the space station first will appear in your neighborhood. It’s a thrill to look up at that patch of sky and suddenly see this very bright light pop into view.
I’ve occasionally watched satellites cross each other’s path. Recently I saw two of them almost appear to crash into each other. I couldn’t help but wince. Once I saw three closely-grouped satellites chase each other, like some migrating constellation. They were headed east—towards the Earth’s shadow. One by one, they winked out. Another time I lay on my back, looking into the deep sky with binoculars. (I love to view the sky this way—seeing far more stars than my naked eye can.) Suddenly a very dim satellite swam across the field of view! I’d never have seen it without binoculars.
Satellites can be more fun than stars. They move. They attract the eye. But that constant backdrop of real stars engages my imagination more than satellites. Stars are truly heavenly—not just a manmade piece of hardware. Stars are much more mysterious. They speak to my mind, more than to my eye.
A satellite looks just like a star—a point of light—except that it moves. It’s as if a star took a sudden notion to yank itself from its fixed location and soar across the sky. My fancy takes flight with it. A typical satellite circles the planet in about 90 minutes, so it can take some 10 minutes or more to cross a small viewing field.
You need a pretty dark sky to spot satellites. City lights mask most of them. Out here in the woods they are common—especially on clear nights. On any given night, if I gaze into the sky for five minutes, I can expect to see a satellite cruise overhead. So an hour’s soak in the tub can treat me with as many as a half dozen of them.
Like the moon and planets, you can see a satellite only because it reflects sunlight. So it’s the ability of them to bounce sunlight down to you that governs their visibility. A satellite can be quite bright for awhile, but then suddenly wink out, as it passes into the Earth’s shadow.
There are several types of satellites I’ve seen. Some are steady points of light that drift relentlessly along. Some blink on and off, as they tumble—and like a moving mirror, send their reflected light in diverse directions. The most spectacular satellite is the International Space Station (ISS). It’s as bright as Venus. There are a few websites that, when you put in your site, list when the ISS will pass overhead. They give the time and sky location when the space station first will appear in your neighborhood. It’s a thrill to look up at that patch of sky and suddenly see this very bright light pop into view.
I’ve occasionally watched satellites cross each other’s path. Recently I saw two of them almost appear to crash into each other. I couldn’t help but wince. Once I saw three closely-grouped satellites chase each other, like some migrating constellation. They were headed east—towards the Earth’s shadow. One by one, they winked out. Another time I lay on my back, looking into the deep sky with binoculars. (I love to view the sky this way—seeing far more stars than my naked eye can.) Suddenly a very dim satellite swam across the field of view! I’d never have seen it without binoculars.
Satellites can be more fun than stars. They move. They attract the eye. But that constant backdrop of real stars engages my imagination more than satellites. Stars are truly heavenly—not just a manmade piece of hardware. Stars are much more mysterious. They speak to my mind, more than to my eye.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
