Sky & Telescope - December 2023 - 84

LEAH TISCIONE / S&T
FOCAL POINT by Ted Forte
Caught Unawares
While giving a companion a celestial tour aboard ship
one night, the author had no idea how many others he
was captivating.
MANY, IF NOT MOST, amateur astronomers
have jobs unrelated to astronomy.
It's almost as if their working
hours are spent in a different world
than the one they inhabit when out
under the stars. They're surrounded by
a separate circle of associates and even
speak a distinct sort of language.
Seldom do these two disparate
worlds intersect, but when they
unexpectedly converge, it can be a
surprisingly rewarding experience. I
enjoyed one of these rare moments on
a September evening in 2001.
My day job back then was as a contract
technician providing support for
shipboard guided-missile launchers for
the U.S. Navy. My assignment that day
involved riding a ship on an overnight
assessment. I was a member of a team
conducting an INSURV (Inspection
and Survey) on the USS Kauffman,
a Perry-class guided-missile frigate
based in Norfolk, Virginia.
After dinner that evening,
a teammate and I strolled out
onto the helicopter flight deck
to get some air. It was a pleasant
eve with calm seas and clear
skies. We were miles off the North
Carolina coast, with only the ship's
navigation lights to compete with the
emerging stars as twilight faded.
84 DECEMBER 2023 * SKY & TELESCOPE
My associate knew I was an
amateur astronomer but had only
a vague understanding of what
that meant. I suppose it was to test
me, as much as anything else, when
he asked me to identify the " star " that
was brightening in the southern sky.
When I told him it wasn't a star but
the planet Mars, it piqued his curiosity.
I directed his gaze higher up and
pointed out the Summer Triangle. I
explained how its three bright stars -
Vega, Deneb, and Altair - belong to
three different constellations. When
Antares rose, I asked him to compare
its ruddy color to Mars, noting that
the name Antares comes from ancient
Greek and means " rival of Mars. "
When the Big Dipper came into
view, I showed my companion how to
follow the arc of the dipper's handle
to Arcturus and then on to Spica, and
mentioned how the two stars at the
top of the bowl are known as the
Pointers. He was able to deduce
that they point to Polaris, the
North Star.
Soon the Milky Way materialized.
The Teapot asterism in
Sagittarius became obvious, as did
the stars of the Scorpion. I remarked
how Cygnus the Swan seems to be
flying down the Milky Way, leaving
a dark rift below its wings. I
showed him how the W of Cassiopeia
can direct the way to
M31, the Andromeda Galaxy,
which was already visible to our
unaided eyes. We were even able to
discern the Great Globular Cluster
M13 in Hercules.
It was then I realized that a group
had silently gathered behind us.
Twenty or more ship riders and crew
had become celestial tourists.
They stood transfixed, gazing
upward without making a
sound. They'd apparently
been listening the whole time.
My two worlds had merged.
The moment passed - it was
time to go back inside and return
to work. But I often wonder if that
impromptu lecture sparked anything.
Did I inspire someone with that visit to
my other world? I'd like to think I did.
¢ Contributing Editor TED FORTE
enjoys astronomy outreach the most
when it's unplanned.
Sky & Telescope - December 2023

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