Jun. 8th, 2004 09:34 am
Sic transit gloria Veneris
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muckefuckYes, I was up on my building's roof at 5 a.m. this morning with a pair of solar film sunglasses to observe the transit of Venus across the sun.
No, I honestly didn't think I'd be the only one up there.
I wasn't sure of the timing; The Economist only told me "at sunrise" and my memory of what I heard on the radio the day before was vague. Did it start or end at 5:30? I was afraid to sleep too late and miss it, so, when it began to grow light, I pulled on some shorts and a shirt, slipped on![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
monshu's rubber sandals, and took the stairs to the roof. It was so dim, I couldn't even tell where the sun would appear. I guessed, based on where I remember it setting, and took up a position. One could already feel the humidity, but a stiff cooling breeze was blowing from the southwest. (As a bred Missourian, that's enough for me.)
The brilliant half moon was surprisingly high in the sky, higher than the massive apartment building to the south. As it grew lighter, the band of mist and clouds over Lake Michigan became more distinct and I thought, Great, the heavens are entirely clear except for the very location where anything interesting is happening. A glowing area just above the gray band of water vapour appeared in the northeastern sky. That's where it's going on, behind those clouds, and I'm missing it. Falsely-modest Venus, thou art a bitch!
I kept watching, though, hoping for a glimpse at the end. Then the sun shocked me by emerging from the clouds barely above the horizon. So it was just lake mist after all! The light from the rosy disk was mild enough that I thought I could stare at it unprotected without much risk. Shortly after it became orangey and a perfect circle, I saw it: A tiny but distinct black spot in the lower right, like a beauty mark on an ingenue's face.
I couldn't focus on it long enough to discern any motion, but I was anticipating the "oil drop effect" described in the Economist article as it neared the outside of the solar disk. Unfortunately, I soon reached a point where the sun was too strong to look at directly and too faint to shine through the sunglasses. When I did finally put them on, I was bedeviled by intense afterimages that obscured the shape. After a while, I concluded I had missed the rest of the transit and headed back downstairs. But the radio told me there was fifteen or twenty minutes more left, so I went back up.
I found I got the best results by putting the solar foil as close to my eyes as possible, which necessitated removing my glasses, turning them around, and pressing them against my eyes. Even with this dorky workaround, I couldn't find Venus; I would see a spot, but then it would start hopping about, appearing in the upper left or middle or disappearing. I finally concluded that I was merely imagining it and made my way back to my bedroom to prepare flash cards and get ready for work.
This is going to be a long day; I wish I could go back to sleep right now. But it was worth it for that one glorious moment when the sun was a perfect crimson orb with a tiny black hole at its edge.
No, I honestly didn't think I'd be the only one up there.
I wasn't sure of the timing; The Economist only told me "at sunrise" and my memory of what I heard on the radio the day before was vague. Did it start or end at 5:30? I was afraid to sleep too late and miss it, so, when it began to grow light, I pulled on some shorts and a shirt, slipped on
monshu's rubber sandals, and took the stairs to the roof. It was so dim, I couldn't even tell where the sun would appear. I guessed, based on where I remember it setting, and took up a position. One could already feel the humidity, but a stiff cooling breeze was blowing from the southwest. (As a bred Missourian, that's enough for me.)The brilliant half moon was surprisingly high in the sky, higher than the massive apartment building to the south. As it grew lighter, the band of mist and clouds over Lake Michigan became more distinct and I thought, Great, the heavens are entirely clear except for the very location where anything interesting is happening. A glowing area just above the gray band of water vapour appeared in the northeastern sky. That's where it's going on, behind those clouds, and I'm missing it. Falsely-modest Venus, thou art a bitch!
I kept watching, though, hoping for a glimpse at the end. Then the sun shocked me by emerging from the clouds barely above the horizon. So it was just lake mist after all! The light from the rosy disk was mild enough that I thought I could stare at it unprotected without much risk. Shortly after it became orangey and a perfect circle, I saw it: A tiny but distinct black spot in the lower right, like a beauty mark on an ingenue's face.
I couldn't focus on it long enough to discern any motion, but I was anticipating the "oil drop effect" described in the Economist article as it neared the outside of the solar disk. Unfortunately, I soon reached a point where the sun was too strong to look at directly and too faint to shine through the sunglasses. When I did finally put them on, I was bedeviled by intense afterimages that obscured the shape. After a while, I concluded I had missed the rest of the transit and headed back downstairs. But the radio told me there was fifteen or twenty minutes more left, so I went back up.
I found I got the best results by putting the solar foil as close to my eyes as possible, which necessitated removing my glasses, turning them around, and pressing them against my eyes. Even with this dorky workaround, I couldn't find Venus; I would see a spot, but then it would start hopping about, appearing in the upper left or middle or disappearing. I finally concluded that I was merely imagining it and made my way back to my bedroom to prepare flash cards and get ready for work.
This is going to be a long day; I wish I could go back to sleep right now. But it was worth it for that one glorious moment when the sun was a perfect crimson orb with a tiny black hole at its edge.