Comets are
my favorite celestial objects. Whenever I hear that a comet
has been
discovered or recovered, I get a bit antsy. I wait for an
ephemeris,
wondering how bright it will get and what direction it is
headed. I
hope for clear nights during the dark of the Moon. When I see
a comet,
I know that I am observing something that is just passing
through and
will only grace our skies for a short time. Some comets are
visiting
the solar system for the first time, others for the first time
in
thousands or millions of years. Then there are the periodic comets,
most of which have been observed and recorded many times before. Each
one is different, but they all share a common origin very closely tied to
the origin of life on Earth and the shaping of the solar system as we
know it.
Even with the interest in comets brought about by the
Shoemaker-Levy 9
collisions with Jupiter, I don't often get to share the
experience of
observing a comet. There are a number of factors that
make comets less
accessible to new skywatchers. First, we haven't had a
bright comet in a
while. Comets of 7th or 8th magnitude don't exactly
jump out from the
eyepiece, especially for someone who is not used to
using a telescope.
Second, comets tend to be brightest when they are
near the Sun. This
means observing right after sunset or, worse yet,
right before sunrise.
I know few people who will commit to getting up
at 4:00 am just to
(maybe) see a fuzzy patch. Finally, the same
fleeting nature that makes
comets intriguing means that there is only a
limited observing window. A
comet may be visible this week and gone the
next, and with bad weather
and moonlight one really has to be prepared
to observe whenever
possible.
So, my comet viewing is a lonely
pursuit. A lone observer waits for the
waxing gibbous Moon to set, as
he prepares his telescope and finder
charts. The temperature is about
15 degrees F, and an East Wind is
keeping the skies clear but playing
havoc with loose papers and 'scope
covers inside the dome. The observer
uses the telescope's setting
circles to zero in on the first target, and
the morning begins for
real...
On 1996 February 1 between 1253UT and
1405UT (4:53-6:05 am, PST), I
searched for the three bright comets
visible in the morning sky. Here are
my observations with a Celestron
C-8 telescope from the James H. Karle
Observatory at Lewis and Clark
College in Portland, Oregon.
This comet was just discovered a couple of days earlier, near the handle
of the Big Dipper. By 4:30 am, it was nearly overhead, away from the
worst light pollution of Portland. Still, I had heard that this comet
was large and diffuse. Something every observer should know: If two
objects have the same total brightness, the larger one will have a lower
surface brightness and thus be more difficult to see. A diffuse comet of
8th or 9th magnitude could be a challenge. Using digital setting
circles, I zeroed in on the place the comet should have been. Nothing.
I made a few sweeps to either side and up and down. Still nothing. Then
I remembered that I had the comet's position for 0 hours Universal time.
It was now almost 13 hours, so to get the best position I would have to
interpolate between today's and tomorrow's positions. I quickly did the
math in my head and nudged the telescope in the correct direction.
There! At the top of the field was one of the largest and dimmest
smudges I had ever seen. I brought it into the center of the field,
trying to shield my eyes from stray light to get the best view. It
didn't seem to have shape or condensation. It was just...there. Not
satisfied, I put a light pollution filter on a low power eyepiece.
Sometimes these filters will improve a comet's view, sometimes not. The
filter killed a few of the faint stars in the field, but the comet swam
to the foreground. It was still a large, round, indistinct patch, but
the southern part looked a bit more concentrated. I jotted down a few
notes and made a sketch.
The comet
was sighted at 1253UT, using
the C8 at 71x. Near the zenith, the
naked-eye limiting magnitude was 5.4.
The comet appeared very diffuse,
with little condensation. With an Orion
Broadband Light Pollution Filter
and 67x magnification, the comet was much
more prominent and visible with
direct vision. There was a slight
condensation to the south, but no clear
nuclear region. I estimate the
total magnitude to be around 8.5, but the
comet appears much fainter
because of the low surface brightness.
Observed coma diameter was 11
arcminutes and there were no prominent
extensions. Degree of condensation
was 2 on the 0-9 scale. One
down, two to go.
This
comet promised to be diffuse as well. A periodic comet, it had
already
passed perihelion (closest approach to the Sun). It was headed
in
Earth's direction, so its apparent size was increasing rapidly. I
missed seeing this comet before its perihelion passage, losing out to
twilight glow and light pollution. Now I would get another chance. The
comet was a short distance from the bright globular cluster M10. The
previous day, an observer had posted on the Internet that the two objects
were about the same total brightness. I was skeptical but hopeful
nonetheless. I looked at M10 for a bit, then hopped around to its
south.
This comet was a bit
difficult to locate
from a finder chart and ephemeris, due to its rapid
motion. I finally
pinned down its position. When I first saw it, at
1335UT, it looked like
a replica of C/1996 B1. As I observed it more
carefully, I noticed that it
was both brighter and more elongated. There
was a prominent nuclear
condensation to the SE, and the northern edge of
the coma appeared more
defined than the others. Eventually, I could make
out a tail extending 15'
to the WNW. I estimate the total magnitude to be
7.9. Observed coma
diameter was 9'. Degree of condensation was 4.
Although most comets develop tails when they are in the solar
neighborhood, it is usually difficult to see these tails visually because
of lack of contrast. Light pollution really complicates things. I
considered myself lucky to even see this comet, and doubly lucky to see
its tail. I pulled myself away from the eyepiece and prepared to hunt
for the last comet of the morning.
I saved this comet for last. While it had a total
brightness near that
of the other two comets, other observers had noted
that it was more
condensed. Also, it was farther to the South and East
in the sky, so I
wanted to let it rise higher. It was a disappointment
when I looked in
the eyepiece and saw nothing. I re-interpolated its
position from the
ephemeris. Nothing. I swept the sky frantically
before realizing that I
had made an error of 1 degree in my math. A bit
sheepish at forgetting
how to subtract, I moved the scope a degree to
the South and there it
was.
As
expected, this was the easiest and
most condensed of the three comets.
At 67x with filter, it appeared as a
compact glow about 5' in diameter.
There was no sign of a tail, and
little elongation, but the N edge
appeared indistinct and fuzzy. I
estimate the total magnitude to be 8.4.
Degree of condensation was
6.
Twilight seemed to come suddenly,
as just 15 minutes after I located the
comet it started to fade. Dawn
was approaching. I moved the 'scope to
M13, the Great Hercules Cluster,
and marveled at its thousands of
glittering points. I then closed the
dome and sought a warmer
environment. Three comets in a night was a new
record for me, but I
expect I'll break it sooner or later. I probably
won't see 45P until its
next favorable trip sunward. As for the other
two, the Moon is nearly
full. I'll have to wait a couple of weeks for
another shot, and that's only if the weather cooperates. Who knows? By
the next clear, moonless night, there may be another comet or two for me
to track down!
C/1996 B1 (Szczepanski)
45P/Honda-Mrkos-Pajdusakova
C/1995 Y1
(Hyakutake)