Filmy Gauze – ND #7

Waxing Moon Wrapped in a Filmy Gauze – Photo: L. Weike

Filmy Gauze

It’s only right that I give you an update on my effort to enjoy the Geminids last night. As I mentioned, when I took the pups out to be watered and saw how the moon was wrapped in a filmy gauze, I didn’t hold out a lot of hope. Nevertheless, I persisted.

I published my post and waited until the recommended witching hour (2:00 a.m.) to give myself the best chance of seeing these vaunted meteors. The moon, hanging even lower in the western sky than earlier, remained hazy. But looking directly up? Oh my. A crisp and pure December atmosphere only enhanced the brilliance of the stars above.

(l to r) Sirius, Orion, Betelgeuse (above Orion) and Rigel (below Orion) – Photo: L. Weikel

Clarity Rewarded

I drove to the former horse farm (one of my two favorite stargazing haunts) and, surrounded by fields, turned off the car and plunged myself into darkness. The chill wasn’t too bad – it was only 30 degrees. My Sky Guide app on my phone made it clear the Geminids would be emanating from directly overhead, so I just leaned back against my car and took it all in.

In the half hour I spent there, I saw about 12 meteors. They were zipping here and there – certainly not heading in a dominant direction, nor did they seem to originate from anywhere specific. The majority were sprite-like, similar to most meteoric displays, playfully catching my attention out of the corner of my eye.

But at least three times brilliant yellow arcs blazed across the sky. I felt such a sense of joy when those ‘big ones’ occurred – as if they were heavenly gifts just for me.

Of course, I had to give my other favorite spot a chance to dazzle me. I parked in the rutted dirt of the field’s tractor entrance for about ten minutes. And yet I was rewarded here, too, with a handful of little spritzers and one magnificent beauty. Every large meteor I saw last night all was left a lemon yellow tail, while the little ones were brilliant white.

Screen shot from Sky Guide app – Photo: L. Weikel

Other Sights

The most prominent sector of the night sky that caught my attention contained Sirius and the constellation Orion, which includes Rigel and Betelgeuse. I’m always surprised by how red Betelgeuse appears and how brilliant Sirius can be, although my photos didn’t seem to catch the red hue very well.

I’m including the star map from my Sky Guide for reference.

What a treat it was to converse with the stars. Contemplating the immensity of space always takes my breath away.

(T+7)

Stuff of Nightmares – Day 969

Wassup? – 17 year Brood X Cicada – Photo: L. Weikel

Stuff of Nightmares

I don’t know about you, but I’m missing the whirring purr of the Brood X 17-year cicadas that emerged from the ground in droves this past May. As of today, I didn’t hear the distinctive call of a single periodical cicada. The silence made me sad. As I’ve said before, the whirr emitted from the males’ tympanae mesmerized me. And the occasional <clang clang clang> reminiscent of one of those wind up stuffed monkeys with cymbals would interject unexpected color to the otherworldly hum. I loved it all. Two days ago, though, I heard the high pitched screech of an annual cicada. Only a few hours later I discovered an article that is the stuff of nightmares.

Turns out the stars of these nightmares feast only on annual cicadas. I’d say they haven’t acquired a taste for the 17-year brood, but it’s more likely that they simply haven’t had a chance to try that flavor.

Brood X Cicadas Swirling in the Sunlight – 23June2021 – Photo: L. Weikel

Cast of Characters

In order to avoid any confusion in this entymologically-heady discussion, permit me to identify the cast of characters about which I’m writing.

The 17 year Brood X periodical cicadas

These are the ones that emerged in our area in May of this year. After munching on the roots of bazillions of trees in our area for the past 17 years, they burrowed to the surface, shed their exoskeletons, and then engaged in some intense, red-eyed, cacophonous mating rituals. The males, of course, were the attention-seeking noise-makers. The females, after selecting and allowing their mates to have their way with them, laid their eggs in slits in the bark of deciduous trees. They conked out shortly thereafter. Toward the end of July, those eggs will develop into pupae that will drop to the ground and burrow into the dirt, ready to latch onto the roots of their home trees and go through 5 stages of metamorphosis over the next 17 years, only to re-emerge in 2038.

As we pretty much all learned this year, Nature’s survival strategy for these periodic cicadas was to unleash vast waves of these creatures upon the environment. So many emerged from the ground that their predators essentially ate until they made themselves sick of cicadas. Birds, dogs, snakes, you name it: it was All-U-Can-Eat Cicada Summer ’21.

Annual Cicadas

Also known as ‘Dog-day Cicadas,’ these are the larger, very green cousins of those that emerge after 17 years of underground recon. These cicadas are the ones that we hear every year – the very high pitched buzz that starts slow but builds to a piercing whine – starting when the weather becomes oppressive, usually in July and definitely in August. Those hot, muggy days are known as the ‘dog days’ of summer, but the cicadas’ name also derives from the fact that the so-called ‘Dog Star,’ Sirius, is distinctly visible in the night sky during this time of year. You an always tell when summer is settling in and getting long in the tooth when the cicadas start their droning.

It’s interesting that the so-called ‘annual’ cicadas do not arrive on the scene, have rampant sex, and then die – all of a piece in one single season. No. The annuals cicadas are rather erroneously named, since they live an average of 2-6 years. They’re definitely the far less flashy and dramatic of the species.

Possible Cicada Killer – Photo: L. Weikel

Cicada Killers

These are the creatures I referred to above as the stuff of nightmares. Follow this link and take a look at these beasts. Those are some nasty looking flying artillery. But honestly? Even worse is the description of what these cicada killers do to their prey. It’s hideously awful. They essentially drug one of the big Dog-day lugs and frantically drag it into the array of tunnels it created in its barely weeks-long life span. And there, rather horrifically, these cicada killers cannibalize over time the annual cicadas they’ve drugged, but haven’t actually killed. Yet.

It sounds like a horrible way to go.

The only good news, I suppose, is that these so-called cicada killers won’t sting us with their massive stingers unless actively provoked. Nah – they’d rather save that anesthetic for their cicada slaves that they stuff into their basements for their nymphs to feast off of for months. Ew.

It’s quite a world out there.

Sirius – but in the winter – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-143)

I Blinked – Day 819

Tundra – Photo: L. Weikel

I Blinked

I blinked and the weekend was over. It feels like I fell into a time warp or something.

The really weird thing is that all day Friday I kept thinking it was Saturday. So you’d think having an ‘extra’ day would’ve made the weekend feel longer. Alas, it did not.

Perhaps it was all the big plans I had for the weekend. I had my sights set on crossing a lot of things that have been hanging over my head (or lurking in the recesses of my mind) off my list. Just setting them up like pins and knocking them down: plink, plink, plink.

I think I may have succeeded in getting one plink plunked. But then the snow came.

Classically Lovely

Somewhat surprisingly given the bland wimp-out winters of virtually no snow we’ve experienced over a past fair number of years, we actually got an additional 8-10” of snow today. And that’s on top of the 18” or so we received just last Monday!

This snow, though, was one of those classically lovely ones where the fluffy precipitation piles up on even the tiniest branches of all the trees, as well as the bushes, fence posts, weeds and wires. Suddenly the world is outlined in a generous blanket of cotton candy.

It’s been a veritable snow extravaganza here over the past seven days, to be honest. And I hear there’s potential for more in the offing, perhaps as soon as Thursday. It makes me want to get a sled out of the garage and go sleigh-riding down the hill near the creek. Much to my chagrin, however, I can feel black and blue spots just itching to be birthed should I indulge that desire. The sadness I feel in admitting that truth is real.

Starry Forest – Photo: L. Weikel (Note: Sirius at the bottom center of the photo)

Nevertheless, We Walked

In spite of all the shoveling, Karl and I did squeeze in a walk. Neither one of us really felt like it, but we were rewarded for our persistence beyond measure.

I was able to capture some moments that are startlingly diverse. One shot looks like we were walking in the tundra. Another feels more like a stroll along a path in the midst of a vast forest with only the stars to guide us. And a third makes our yard look like a fairy wonderland courtesy of the Christmas lights we left up for just this opportunity.

The leg of our journey that took us through the forest yielded a shout out from both a screech owl and a Great Horned owl.

It just doesn’t get any better than this.

Candy Lights – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-292)

Aurora Borealis Nullius – Day 760

Aurora Borealis Nullius – Photo: L. Weikel

Aurora Borealis Nullius

For the past couple of days I’ve noticed the articles peppering Facebook, Huffpost, and other information outlets ginning up the prospect of seeing the aurora borealis play across the sky all the way down here in Pennsylvania. This expanded engagement was expected due to some more powerful than usual solar ejections from the sun’s surface. Alas, in spite of the breathtaking clarity of the night sky tonight, I have to declare my experience as aurora borealis nullius.

Nope. As can be seen from the photo above, there was some lightening at the northern horizon, but try as I might, I could not talk myself into thinking it was even the remotest form of the northern lights. But I took a photo anyway because, well…you guys!

I’ll admit it. I’m disappointed. I went out on my porch last night and gave a cursory glance toward the north, but there was some cloud cover, so I didn’t bother to trek to my favorite stargazing haunts. Tonight, though? Oh…I was psyched.

As soon as I stepped outside this evening, I could tell it was a perfect night for communing with the cosmos. Stars were everywhere and so clearly visible. I didn’t even put on my coat – I grabbed my keys, hopped in my car, and took off for my first favorite star-haunt. (The place I was when we heard the coyotes this summer.)

Constellations

Although the lightening of the atmosphere along the northern horizon was not, to my knowledge, related to the aurora borealis, I did managed to take some photos of the simply stunning array of celestial bodies splashed from one horizon to the other, arcing over my head.

Below you can see the Pleiades, a cluster of seven stars that look like a smudge in the sky.

The other shot, even further below, is of the constellation Orion, with the ‘Dog Star,’ Sirius, shining brightly to the lower left of the three obvious main stars of Orion’s belt.

Pleiades 1/4 from top, just left of center – Perseus and Alpha Persei Cluster to the right – Photo: L. Weikel

Unexpected Treat

While I was trying to capture the vast expanse of the night sky to share it with all of you, I was surprised by a meteor shooting across the expanse. What a delight! How many times have I traveled to that very same spot over the past several months to get a glimpse of some meteor shower or another, only to be disappointed?

After a few minutes, I decided to drive to my other favorite celestial appreciation spot. On my way, a rather substantial, clearly well-nourished raccoon swiftly trundled across the road in front of me. Only forty yards further down the road, a doe ambled across as well. I felt kissed by their presence and thanked them for allowing me to be in their domain at a time of night when humans just shouldn’t be trespassing.

Arriving at my ‘Other Favorite Spot,’ I again turned off my car and quenched all extraneous lights. With hope in my heart, I gazed all about, craning my neck in awe of the vastness all around me. Nope. Not a colorful wave in sight. (And I’ve seen them before, both when I lived in Sweden and when we lived in Buffalo, so I’d recognize their magical dance.)

But as consolation prize, I was treated to not one but two more shooting stars! They say good things arrive in threes, so I designate this a banner evening.

Once I got home, I checked online and discovered that, indeed, the likelihood of seeing the lights this far south had been downgraded earlier this evening. This definitely turned into an aurora borealis nullius!

Constellation of Orion, slightly right of center, 2/3 down, with Sirius left of center just up from the bottom – Photo: L. Weikel

 

(T-351)