Twelve Years Old Again

When I was about 12 years old, I developed an abiding interest in astronomy that lasted for several years. Unfortunately, growing up in the Pacific Northwest, you don't get a whole lot of clear nights, and many of those that are, are just plain cold. Nevertheless, I managed to borrow a friend's 75x telescope and keep it for many years.

I remember staring at the moon a lot, learning names of mountain ranges and craters, mentally trekking them as I stared through the lens. I tracked and watched planets, trying in vain to make out the planetary disks, which was nearly impossible at only 75x. But it didn't stop me from trying. I loved star clusters, nebulae, and the like, and was a regular visitor to Orion's belt and the Pleiades cluster, and I spent countless hours finding constellations, stars, and various night-sky oddities. I remember trying to find Skylab, and never really succeeding.

One of my strongest memories is the great disappointment that was Comet Kohoutek. My Dad spent hours in the field across the street helping me look for it night after disappointing night. But we didn't just search the sky with my borrowed telescope, we talked and joked and laughed, huddled together against the cold winter night. It's one of my fondest memories to this day.

Thirty years have passed since Kohoutek. I eventually returned the borrowed telescope and turned my attention from astronomy to other things. I lost my Dad to leukemia in 1998, but my mom still remembers my obsession with the stars. Two nights ago, she made it a point to tell me that five planets would be visible in the night sky, and that from 7:18 pm to 7:21 pm the International Space Station would be streaking across the sky from northwest to northeast.

For whatever reason, I trundled outside shortly after dusk and peered upward at the moon and what was obviously Venus. It wasn't quite dark enough to make out the other planets with the naked eye, but peering upward into the darkening sky took me back thirty years. I rummaged around the house and dug out a cheap pair of binoculars, then went back outside shortly after 7:00 pm and hunted around for where I thought the planets would be. A lot of years had passed, but I quickly pinned down Venus, Saturn, Jupiter, and Mars.

What was the fifth planet? I wondered. It must be Mercury, I decided, but I had no idea where to find it. There was only one shining point of light in the sky that I decided fit the bill (low on the horizon, near the setting sun). Turns out I was right. With only cheap binoculars, Venus was little more than a bright star and Saturn was simply a not-so-bright star. Mars was, as usual, red. Jupiter held me enraptured for a very long time. I could make out two moons - faint pricks of light hovering around the undefined planet. For a long time I stood and stared, longing for that 75x telescope once again. To my surprise, I found myself grinning like a kid as I pondered the reality of staring at another planet - and two of its 61 moons - from millions of miles away.

Eventually, I checked my watch, ducked back into the house to check on dinner that I had stupidly started cooking about this time, and sped back outside at almost exactly 7:18 pm. It didn't take more than a few seconds to spot the International Space Station in the northwest - a tiny pinpoint of light growing brighter as it trekked from left to right at an amazingly high rate of speed. I watched it during its entire three-minute trek, following it with my binoculars and marveling at how fast it seemed to be moving. At the apex of its journey, it was surprisingly bright, and I wondered what it would have looked like at a higher power.

The three minutes ended too soon, and the ISS vanished over the forested hills to the northeast. I dropped the binoculars back to my chest and let them hang, still smiling. I was overwhelmed with a mixture of awe and nostalgia, and suddenly I wished my Dad had been there with me. I looked skyward one last time, picking out the five planets with my naked eye, staring at the moon for several minutes trying to remember the names of landmarks there, then went back inside.

The whole night had taken less than 30 minutes. But I'd once again trekked the lunar hills and valleys, touched five planets and two of their moons, and ridden the International Space Station - a modern-day Skylab - as it streaked through the sky. For 30 minutes, I was 12 years old again. And my Dad was still with me.

I need to visit the stars more often.