Look up!
Everyone can be an astronomer. It’s not necessary to become a rocket scientist. You can simply gaze at the heavens, look at the stars, and join up the dots that make up our beautiful heavenly constellations. Or you can go the whole hog and do a doctorate in astrophysics at university. But believe me: it’s hard.
The focus of this year’s National Astronomy Week is the mighty planet Jupiter, which is sailing high in our skies. People often ask me if you can actually see planets – after the Sun and Moon, planets are highest on the agenda when it comes to brightness.
Jupiter is the king of the solar system. It could swallow up 1,300 Earths, and has an entourage of more than 60 moons (as compared to our one). Its four brightest moons were logged by Galileo, and if you have good binoculars you’ll see them.
A 78-year-old lady at one of my evening classes asked what the four ‘spots’ around Jupiter were. I asked her to sketch them. Sure enough – she’d discovered Jupiter’s major moons with the unaided eye.
How did I get into astronomy? Well, my dad was an airline pilot, flying out of Heathrow. We lived in Ruislip (someone has to), and every night, after official bedtime, I watched the planes stacking over the airport.
I must have been about eight when I suddenly saw something I’d never seen in the sky before. A green shooting star. I rushed into the living room and told my parents. Their response? ‘That’s nice, dear. But there’s no such thing as a green shooting star.’
In the paper the next day, a small headline on the front page reported: ‘Green shooting star seen over West London.’
Why was it green? Shooting stars, or meteors, are particles of debris left over from the building of our solar system: the bits that come together to create the planets. I’ll never know why that meteor was so unique. Maybe it was rich in oxygen, which glows green when heated up. Or perhaps it had copper on board. Whatever, I would be an astronomer when I grew up.
My parents encouraged me. Dad found a Philip’s Planisphere (a star dial) in my grandfather’s attic: it helped me to navigate my way around the sky. Binoculars followed and then, inevitably, the first telescope. I remember viewing double stars through it when the bedsheets were frozen on the clothes line.
My mother told me to contact Patrick Moore about becoming an astronomer. At the bottom of my letter, I added a PS: ‘I’m a girl. Is this a problem?’ Patrick replied the following day. ‘Dear Miss Couper. Let me reassure you on one point. Being a girl is no handicap at all.’
The Northern Lights can be seen in Canada and the Arctic
Despite diversions, such as working as a management trainee for Topshop in London (and I still love clothes) I studied astrophysics at the universities of Leicester and Oxford. But I became bored with academia – it all seemed very narrow – and came out to share my passions for the universe by writing and broadcasting.
But enough about me. Now is the time for everyone to gaze on our stellar landscape. The start of March, with the nights still dark, but becoming warmer, is an ideal time. National Astronomy Week runs from 1 to 8 March.
If you can get anywhere near a telescope, grab it and home in on Jupiter, the master of our solar system. Jupiter is stripy, like an old-fashioned humbug. The planet – almost entirely made of gas – spins at a reckless rate. Its ‘day’ is less than 10 hours. As aresult, its clouds of ammonia and methane are drawn out into elongated girdles circling this immense world. Brilliant Jupiter will draw your attention to the vanishing winter constellations – such as Orion, Gemini, and Auriga – setting in the west.
Plus, there will be a big nationwide project during the week to monitor light pollution. Many older people have asked me, ‘Have the stars faded since I was young?’ I explain that it’s down to the growth of street lighting.
Now, it’s not as bad an issue as it was, with engineers creating better designs of lighting, which shine downwards, rather than upwards. But during National Astronomy Week observers will be urged to join in a star-count programme to monitor stars visible in their local area.
National Astronomy Week will also feature talks, star parties, observing sessions – and a great chance to go to the pub and catch up afterwards.
But what to do after all the celebrations? Well, why not focus on our local star: the Sun (as it’s dangerous to look at directly, be safe and ensure you know exactly what you’re doing before you start studying it). Made entirely of hot gas, it’s riddled with a complex magnetic field that winds itself up roughly every 11 years.
And the time is now. The sun becomes manic, producing sunspots – dark areas where the magnetic field suppresses the normal churning motions of the Sun’s gases, producing celestial fireworks – arching promi-nences in the Sun’s outer atmosphere, the corona, and magnetic explosions called ‘coronal mass ejections’, which fling electrically charged particles towards the Earth.
Left: Jupiter is the largest planet in the solar system. Right: Orion is a beautiful constellation and one of the easiest to find
These outbursts have the power to knock out stock exchanges, as happened in Canada a few years ago. But there’s a more positive aspect to our local star’s histrionics. When the electrically charged particles from the Sun hit the Northern and Southern magnetic poles, we are in for a light show.
The result is the aurora: a glorious, shifting display of green and red curtains and rays that illuminate the sky.
The great news is that you can fly the sky for your aurora experience. It means that you’re away from light pollution. Check the internet for the aurora sites and do it soon: the Sun’s activity is declining now – so it’ll be 11 years to wait to join in the next celestial fireworks.
Meanwhile, in the next few years, you can catch up with what’s going on in the sky with the annual Philip’s Stargazing book – a month-by-month illustrated guide to the night sky. It’s written by me and my best pal, and future astronaut, Nigel Henbest – and in the book we explain what the cosmic planetarium has on view.
The heavens are our starscape. Enjoy.
For more details of special observing events during National Astronomy Week (1 to 8 March), go to www.astronomyweek.org.uk
The focus of this year’s National Astronomy Week is the mighty planet Jupiter, which is sailing high in our skies. People often ask me if you can actually see planets – after the Sun and Moon, planets are highest on the agenda when it comes to brightness.
Jupiter is the king of the solar system. It could swallow up 1,300 Earths, and has an entourage of more than 60 moons (as compared to our one). Its four brightest moons were logged by Galileo, and if you have good binoculars you’ll see them.
A 78-year-old lady at one of my evening classes asked what the four ‘spots’ around Jupiter were. I asked her to sketch them. Sure enough – she’d discovered Jupiter’s major moons with the unaided eye.
How did I get into astronomy? Well, my dad was an airline pilot, flying out of Heathrow. We lived in Ruislip (someone has to), and every night, after official bedtime, I watched the planes stacking over the airport.
I must have been about eight when I suddenly saw something I’d never seen in the sky before. A green shooting star. I rushed into the living room and told my parents. Their response? ‘That’s nice, dear. But there’s no such thing as a green shooting star.’
In the paper the next day, a small headline on the front page reported: ‘Green shooting star seen over West London.’
Why was it green? Shooting stars, or meteors, are particles of debris left over from the building of our solar system: the bits that come together to create the planets. I’ll never know why that meteor was so unique. Maybe it was rich in oxygen, which glows green when heated up. Or perhaps it had copper on board. Whatever, I would be an astronomer when I grew up.
My parents encouraged me. Dad found a Philip’s Planisphere (a star dial) in my grandfather’s attic: it helped me to navigate my way around the sky. Binoculars followed and then, inevitably, the first telescope. I remember viewing double stars through it when the bedsheets were frozen on the clothes line.
My mother told me to contact Patrick Moore about becoming an astronomer. At the bottom of my letter, I added a PS: ‘I’m a girl. Is this a problem?’ Patrick replied the following day. ‘Dear Miss Couper. Let me reassure you on one point. Being a girl is no handicap at all.’
The Northern Lights can be seen in Canada and the ArcticDespite diversions, such as working as a management trainee for Topshop in London (and I still love clothes) I studied astrophysics at the universities of Leicester and Oxford. But I became bored with academia – it all seemed very narrow – and came out to share my passions for the universe by writing and broadcasting.
But enough about me. Now is the time for everyone to gaze on our stellar landscape. The start of March, with the nights still dark, but becoming warmer, is an ideal time. National Astronomy Week runs from 1 to 8 March.
If you can get anywhere near a telescope, grab it and home in on Jupiter, the master of our solar system. Jupiter is stripy, like an old-fashioned humbug. The planet – almost entirely made of gas – spins at a reckless rate. Its ‘day’ is less than 10 hours. As aresult, its clouds of ammonia and methane are drawn out into elongated girdles circling this immense world. Brilliant Jupiter will draw your attention to the vanishing winter constellations – such as Orion, Gemini, and Auriga – setting in the west.
Plus, there will be a big nationwide project during the week to monitor light pollution. Many older people have asked me, ‘Have the stars faded since I was young?’ I explain that it’s down to the growth of street lighting.
Now, it’s not as bad an issue as it was, with engineers creating better designs of lighting, which shine downwards, rather than upwards. But during National Astronomy Week observers will be urged to join in a star-count programme to monitor stars visible in their local area.
National Astronomy Week will also feature talks, star parties, observing sessions – and a great chance to go to the pub and catch up afterwards.
But what to do after all the celebrations? Well, why not focus on our local star: the Sun (as it’s dangerous to look at directly, be safe and ensure you know exactly what you’re doing before you start studying it). Made entirely of hot gas, it’s riddled with a complex magnetic field that winds itself up roughly every 11 years.
And the time is now. The sun becomes manic, producing sunspots – dark areas where the magnetic field suppresses the normal churning motions of the Sun’s gases, producing celestial fireworks – arching promi-nences in the Sun’s outer atmosphere, the corona, and magnetic explosions called ‘coronal mass ejections’, which fling electrically charged particles towards the Earth.
Left: Jupiter is the largest planet in the solar system. Right: Orion is a beautiful constellation and one of the easiest to findThese outbursts have the power to knock out stock exchanges, as happened in Canada a few years ago. But there’s a more positive aspect to our local star’s histrionics. When the electrically charged particles from the Sun hit the Northern and Southern magnetic poles, we are in for a light show.
The result is the aurora: a glorious, shifting display of green and red curtains and rays that illuminate the sky.
The great news is that you can fly the sky for your aurora experience. It means that you’re away from light pollution. Check the internet for the aurora sites and do it soon: the Sun’s activity is declining now – so it’ll be 11 years to wait to join in the next celestial fireworks.
Meanwhile, in the next few years, you can catch up with what’s going on in the sky with the annual Philip’s Stargazing book – a month-by-month illustrated guide to the night sky. It’s written by me and my best pal, and future astronaut, Nigel Henbest – and in the book we explain what the cosmic planetarium has on view.
The heavens are our starscape. Enjoy.
For more details of special observing events during National Astronomy Week (1 to 8 March), go to www.astronomyweek.org.uk