Introduction

"Nothing but stars, scattered across the blackness as though the Creator had smashed the windscreen of his car and hadn't bothered to stop to sweep up the pieces. This is the gulf between universes, the chill deeps of space that contain nothing but the occasional random molecule, a few lost comets..."

~ Pyramids by Terry Pratchett

Can you remember the defining moment that drew you into astronomy? Perhaps it was a celestial event of some importance or perhaps it was just a wonder and awe of the night sky. For myself, I can pin down that moment to a certain night in 1986. Yes, you guessed it, the appearance of Halley's Comet.

Alright, I had a nibble at it a little before when a friend, Frank showed me the heavens through his home made telescope. I can still visualise the slim crescent of Venus and the glorious four diamond-like stars of the Trapezium, immersed in a softly glowing fog of the Orion Nebula. Magical! Later as I walked home, I gazed up dreamily at fiery Mars, hanging almost within arms length among the clutter of local street lights.

Of course, with the arrival of Halley's Comet, my commitment to all things astronomical was heightened and not long after, I joined the Auckland Astronomical Society. So much to see, so much to learn, where to start? Somehow, I volunteered as one does when one is new, to show the public the sky through a C5 Celestron telescope. Talk about the blind leading the blind. There I was on Public Night, trying to act and sound as though I knew what I was doing.

I would sweep the sky until I stumbled upon a bright star or cluster and pretend that it was the one I was looking for all the time. A quick blurb about it being a cluster of many stars and some of them are of different colours, you know, the sort of things that any idiot can see if they really look . Anyhow the public bought it and I was off on my astronomical journey.

One thing that I did have stood me in good stead. A beard! For some reason, the public think that real astronomers have beards and, if I was the only person there with one, it was I who was asked the tricky questions. Talk about a steep learning curve. Anyway, it fits along with those other fallacies that real telescopes are long tubes on a tripod and astronomers are normal and stable people.

A number of people become interested in astronomy when they see beautiful pictures of celestial objects. The ones that adorn the glossy pages of popular books in all their colourful glory. Try telling a tourist that the Horsehead Nebula cannot be seen from city skies, and anyway, the poster of it hanging on the Observatory wall was taken with a long photographic exposure. It seems that if an object does not jump out and hit the observer squarely between the eyes, then that observer quickly becomes disillusioned and loses interest.

Admittedly, there are a few gems of the sky that live up to all the hype, take 47 Tucanae for example. Anybody taking a first look at this superb globular cluster cannot resist a loud gasp and if one listens carefully, one might just make out the sound of its photons hitting the back of the observer's skull.

The majority of deep sky objects, especially galaxies, are faint and devoid of the splashes of garish colour seen in photos. So what do I personally get out of looking at these non-descript objects and other phenomena? That faint galaxy just on the edge of visibility if I use my imagination, breathing deeply to saturate my blood with oxygen, rocking the telescope to try and catch a hint of movement with averted vision. Simple. The thrill of the chase.

To look at an object that very few people have seen visually before. One of the few. That's exciting. To think that light has taken millions of years to travel from that galaxy, gathered up by the telescopes optics and beamed into my eye. That's exciting. To imagine all the worlds that orbit that galaxy's stars, wondering if someone or something is looking back at our Galaxy. Mind blowing.

To stand with friends under a dark sky bedecked with glittering stars and watch a bright meteor race across the heavens. To listen to the excited cries of observers as they come across another favourite object. To feel a part of the Cosmos. To wonder what it is all about.

So next time you are outside looking at that faint smudge in the eyepiece, use not only your eyes but your imagination as well. Delight in the magic of it all. I'll leave you with the final word from Terry Pratchett (Equal Rites). Good hunting and clear skies.

"A bass note sounds. It is a deep, vibrating chord that hints that the brass section may break in at any moment with a fanfare for the cosmos, because the scene is the blackness of deep space with a few stars glittering like the dandruff on the shoulders of God."