Omega Centauri from Savannah, GA 20050410

WARNING - CONTAINS SOME SWEAR WORDS

I copied and pasted this from my website which also has pictures and a
longer version of my obs report from the night.

www.garmachi.com


M104 - This has always been a favorite target of mine, and it was a big
deal to see this when I lived in Pennsylvania. It is one of the
southermost objects in the Messier catalog, and from my observing spot
in PA, the Sombrero barely cleared the treetops, and often looked dim
and washed out in the thick horizon air. As I was putting away my gear
I thought to myself for the first time "Corvus 's actually pretty high
in the sky..." (This is the constellation in which M104 resides.)

Well of course it is! Savannah Georgia is a heck of a lot further south
than Pittsburgh; that would explain it. I was so focused on my target
that I'd failed to realize (until that moment) that the sky I'm
accustomed to had "shifted" many degrees above what I'd grown used to
seeing during the past few years. My hands, an eyepiece in one, a
wingnut in the other, fell to my side as I stood just gaping at how
****ing high Corvus the Crow was.

I marvelled at this for another moment and then an unfamiliar batch of
stars below the Crow distracted me.

That's when the swearing started.

If you've ever been lucky enough to spend a night under the stars with
me, you can tell immediately when I'm seeing something completely new
and for the first time, because I start exclaiming my joy in the form
of unashamed cursing. It's like a cross between a kid at Christmas and
a horny Sailor who has just learned that all whores are half-off down
at the red light district.

Could it be? Was I actually viewing a constellation that I'd never seen
before? The Centaur has always been hidden from me because the planet
Earth was blocking my view. (An ant on top of a basketball can't see
what's beneath the ball, that is until he crawls "south" to the edge of
the ball and then he can see below...)

Well if that's the Centaur, then... no... there's no way. I turned the
laptop back on, hoping that there would be just enough battery left for
five minutes of charts. I've always ignored this constellation because
I've never lived in a place where it ever rose above the horizon. But I
am aware of it's existence, and I know what lies within. Was it
possible that above the marshes to my south, I was about to see
TCJOTEFNS? (The Crown Jewel Of The Entire ****ing Night Sky)

Ah but our friends in Brazil and Australia have a beautiful secret.
Many actually, but shining brightest among them is Omega Centauri, a
Globluar Cluster in the Centaur which is so big and so bright that it
puts all others to shame. This gem belongs to the Southern Hemisphere,
and the rule of thumb has always been: "unless you live near, or south
of The Equator don't bother!"

The laptop booted, I logged in, and fired up "Where The Stars Are".
Blinking by my system clock was an tiny cartoon drawing of a battery,
drawn to look like a glass of water with only a few drops of liquid
pooled at the bottom. I dimmed the monitor to save power, and set my
coordinates to Due South.

After a millisecond of calculation, the screen diplayed a curved yellow
line representing the horizon from my location, a connect-the-dots
rendition of something that looked more like an upside-down cow than a
Centaur, and much to my surprise, a little green circle marked "Omega
Centarui" above, but practically touching, my yellow horizon.

Yeah! Above the horizon! Okay, "technically"... but will I be able to
see it?

I no longer cared about the battery; I had all the information I
needed. It was there, and I had to look for it. It was going to be hard
though. Omega Centauri was so close to the horizon that a hill, a
single tree, or even a singpost in the distance would be enough to
obscure my target.

To my south lay flat marshes, nothing but the ocean beyond them. No
light pollution. Nothing. Maybe this wouldn't be so hard after all...

I scanned the horizon with my binoculars and I was stunned, STUNNED
that it only took seconds for me to pick up what appeared to be an
impossibly large cotton ball floating in the distance. I should not
have been surprised, after all this cluster packs one million suns into
an area the size of a nickel held at arm's length. What surprised me
was that I was actually seeing it!

Of course, I immediately re-assembled the telescope. Mignight or not, I
was not going to miss this. The charts revealed that Omega would poke
above the horizon for a very short period of time, (and I would later
learn that only during a few short weeks of summer) and my hands shook
as a put the scope back on the tripod, swearing happily at the night.