I wear my Apollo-Soyuz 35th anniversary Speedmaster several days each week, and on numerous occasions on each of those days, I admire the intricacy of the glistening Nickel-Iron octahedrite crystals that are exposed in the single slice of meteorite that makes up the watch’s dial. I also think, often, about my lifelong interest in space and how possessing this particular watch seems like something arranged by Fate itself. Now, flash backward many decades. My father worked for most of his career in the Aerospace and Defense industry, and one of my earliest memories as a child is making trips to the barren desert in western Utah with my family to watch (and hear) thunderous test-firings of rocket engines. My young mind was completely captivated by rockets, astronauts, and space flight. As a young boy I built and flew hundreds of model rockets, and as a Boy Scout earned the Space Exploration merit badge. Modern-day rocket motor test at same location I frequented with my family in the early 1960s [Image credit: NASA] I’m of the age that allows me to remember the excitement of every manned space program undertaken by humankind, from Vostok to SpaceX. When I moved to Los Angeles at the end of the last millennium I was privileged to watch several Space Shuttle landings at Edwards Air Force Base, before post 9-11 security concerns brought an end to easy public access to military installations. Sometime in 2002, as I lay smoking a cigarette in my hammock while staring at the wonders of the nighttime sky, I had an idea. I was going to take photos of objects in Space! Photography is another lifelong interest of mine, and what better way could there be to combine these two passions – space and photography -- than by astrophotography? Because I was an adult with a well-established career and comfortable income, I knew I could go about this new “project” in a big way. I did lots of research on techniques and equipment, and then began to build a professional-grade astronomical observatory in the garden behind my home. You can’t buy an observatory off the shelf, so each component had to be carefully researched and selected such that it would be compatible and functional with all the other components. The detailed planning, equipment acquisition, and construction process took the better part of a year. With all the physical parts in place, it took another three months or so to test the telescope control and image acquisition software and get it working with all the hardware. Here’s a photo of my observatory, which I named the Francisquito Observatory for its proximity to Francisquito Canyon on the outskirts of Los Angeles. The main telescope, a Scmidt Cassegrain reflector, has an aperture of 30cm (12in.) and the smaller telescope piggybacked on top, is a fine Takahashi refractor which has an aperture of 9cm (3.5in). The Takahashi was generally used as a star tracker (to keep the main telescope precisely locked on its target during long photographic exposures), but was sometimes used for astrophotography as well. The hammock in the background is the place where the whole idea first occurred to me. Sometime around mid-2003 I began testing the components of the observatory by taking photographs of well-known objects. There is a very steep learning curve to high-quality astrophotography and the photos shown below are rather crude by contemporary standards (and 2003 standards). Messier Object 51: the Whirlpool Galaxy. Photo taken with 30cm reflector. Messier Object 42: the Orion Nebula. Photo taken with 9.0cm refractor. Messier Object 27: the Dumbell Nebula. Image produced with 30cm reflector, by taking multiple photos in three separate color channels. While in the midst of early system testing, I happened to read a news article about a guy in a nearby town who was using his backyard observatory to make scientific measurements for NASA. NASA!!! He was involved in a NASA-funded program called NEO, for Near Earth Object [program]. The (then) goal of the program was to discover and catalogue at least 90% of all near-earth asteroids by the year 2010. The amateur astronomer described in the news article was making positional measurements of fast-moving near-earth asteroids shortly after (usually within 24 hours of) their initial discovery by large, professional observatories. If the amateur’s observations were timely enough and of sufficient quality, then the amateur astronomer is listed as a co-discoverer of the object in the official discovery announcement. And this guy just down the road was getting his observations published in the scientific literature on a regular basis! THIS became my observatory’s new mission: Science! To make the leap from recreational photography to a professional branch of astronomy, called astrometry, required a whole new mindset and a whole lot of work. The good news, though, was that I had exactly the hardware required. I just needed an enormous quantity of (self-) education, and a few extra bits of software. And, there was one major hurdle that I needed to pass before I could even move beyond Square One: my little backyard observatory had to be qualified by the International Astronomical Union (IAU -- the governing body of professional astronomy) to collect scientific data. I found out what I needed to do to get my observatory qualified by the IAU, then went about doing it. Basically, this involves doing lots of actual astrometry. I sent hundreds of positional observations of well-known Solar System objects to the Harvard-Smithsonian Astrophysical Observatory (SAO), and had them process and evaluate the data for accuracy. The qualification process was arduous and sometimes frustrating, but after about 3 months of diligent effort I received a short e-mail message from the SAO: my little backyard observatory would henceforth be listed in the scientific literature as “G70, Francisquito Observatory, Los Angeles”. It wasn’t long after getting my observatory qualified for science that I was part of a Near Earth Object discovery and had my observations published in the Minor Planet Circular (MPC). The MPC is an official publication entity of the SAO, under the auspices of the IAU. It was a tremendous thrill to see my observations reported alongside observations from the Haleakala Observatory (Maui, Hawaii) and the Lincoln (National) Laboratory’s observatory in New Mexico. In the subsequent months and years, I was a part of many NEO discoveries and had thousands of observations recorded in the scientific literature for both newly-discovered Solar System objects and well-documented objects. While I was taking thousands of photographs of the night sky each month aimed at specific objects, I also developed a procedure that allowed me to quickly scan my photographs for potentially un-catalogued objects. The procedure involved processing the photographs in a way that would reveal slow-moving objects in the Main Asteroid Belt, as opposed to a fast-moving object like a Near Earth Asteroid. Night after night and month after month I scanned my photos for a potential new discovery, and occasionally I found a few prospects, only to have my hopes dashed when the object turned up in some obscure catalog that only the SAO had access to. On the night of August 10, 2004, after processing my photos of a recently discovered NEO and sending the positional data to the SAO, I went through my usual ritual of looking again for slow-moving objects. In a series of five images taken at 20-minute intervals I noticed one faint yet distinct smudge of light that moved resolutely from image to image. I was pretty sure this was a Main Belt Asteroid, based on the way it moved through the 5-photo sequence. But it didn’t show up in any catalog that I had access to. I felt a slight twinge of excitement. I knew that before I could report a potential discovery, I had to observe the same object on at least one more night. I made some back-of-the-envelope calculations on where I should see Object X the next night, then went to bed with a distinct feeling of anticipation. The discovery image for Object X is shown below, with the object marked by the red cross-hair. The yellow box and text indicate the location of the NEO that I had targeted that night. Fortunately, the next night was clear and I programmed the 30cm telescope to take five more images at 20-minute intervals, at the location I expected Object X to be that night. I could hardly wait to review images after the last photo showed up on my computer monitor. There it was, again, and right where I expected to be! Then, I noticed yet another faint smudge of light, near the edge of each photo frame, but moving frame-to-frame just like Object X, albeit with a slightly different path of apparent motion. Again, this object (I’ll call it Object Y) did not show up in any catalogue that I could search. Was it possible…? A second potential discovery? While puzzling over the highly unlikely occurrence of two discoveries on successive nights, I sent the two nights of observational data for Object X to the SAO and within a few hours I was notified that I had indeed made a new discovery. The IAU designated it 2004PC27. I was thrilled beyond words. In fact, I’d put the official confirmation of that discovery into my personal list of Top 5 Life-Defining Events. I still had Object Y to worry about. I calculated the estimated position of Object Y for a second night’s observation, then went to bed. The next night was clear, and sure enough, I got 5 more images of Object Y where I expected it to be. Again, I sent two nights of observations to the SAO, and within a few hours the IAU designated my second discovery as 2004PX42. The discovery image for Object Y (marked with red cross-hair) is shown below, and the yellow box marks the position of the object I was aiming for: my first discovery, 2004PC27. After those two unlikely discoveries on successive nights, I took tens of thousands of deep-space photographs over the next several years and never made another discovery. When all is said and done, the two Main Belt Asteroids that I did discover were partly the result of luck, and partly the result of diligent searching. As the discoverer of a Solar System object, I had the prerogative (granted by the IAU) to propose a permanent name for the object. Before a name proposal can be made, however, the object has to be observed a sufficient number of times over a long enough period of time such that its orbit can be calculated to a very high level of precision. When this occurs, the IAU gives the object a permanent serial number and opens up the naming process. Because each of my discoveries are only observable for a few weeks every 18 months, it wasn’t until 2006 that 2004PX42 received its permanent serial number, and object 2004PC27 didn’t get its permanent serial number until 2010. Shortly after 2004PX42 received its serial number, I proposed the name “Johnmuir” to honor the famous naturalist, conservationist, and co-founder of the Sierra Club, John Muir. The IAU’s Committee on Small Body Nomenclature announced the approval of my name proposal in the June 2006 Minor Planet Circular. Now, when catalogue information for 2004PX42 is retrieved, the circumstances of its discovery and rationale for its naming are listed as part of the permanent, scientific record. See the catalog extract below. The Sierra Club made a big deal about a newly discovered minor planet being named for its founder. There was a write-up in Sierra magazine, accompanied by a sketch showing Muir putting yet another award (a little planet) on his trophy shelf. Newspapers in Muir’s home state of Wisconsin, and his birthplace in Scotland carried short features on the planetoid naming as well. Illustration from Nov/Dec 2006 issue of Sierra Magazine When object 2004PC27 received its permanent serial number in 2010, I proposed the name “Eliewiesel” to honor the famed Peace Prize recipient and human rights activist. I had contacted Professor Wiesel beforehand, asking if he was agreeable to the name proposal and he graciously gave his consent. Shortly after the name proposal was approved by the IAU, I had the privilege of meeting privately with Professor Wiesel when he came to speak at a local university. He had what seemed like a very long list of questions about science and astronomy, many of which as an amateur astronomer I had no idea how to respond to. But he understood my position and background and was appreciative of the few answers that I was able to provide. My meeting with Professor Wiesel also made it into my personal list of Top 5 Life-Defining Events. As I knew would eventually happen, successive waves of home building boxed my little observatory in with walls of impenetrable light at night. I made my last scientific observations in early 2006, before finally pulling the plug on Francisquito. Frankly, by that time I was relieved that I could give up my “night job” and just worry about normal family responsibilities, and my day job. Looking back, I get a feeling of great satisfaction at having had a small role, for a short period of time, in enlarging our understanding of our little corner of the Universe. Which takes me back to my wristwatch. It is believed that the type of Nickel-Iron meteorite that is used to make the dial of the Apollo-Soyuz Speedmaster, originated from the collision of two or more large, Main Belt Asteroids. The Nickel-Iron octahedrite would have come from the solid, metallic core of the asteroids. And now, after discovering a couple of asteroids myself, I’m wearing a little bit of one on my wrist! That, I think, is really quite amazing.
Fantastic story, great writing and I'm kind of sad that you stopped in 2006. Maybe sometime in the future when the day job isn't so demanding and you have more time you can start up again? Thanks for sharing, I personally love posts like this.
Great story! It really gives some meaning to your watch, making it much more than just another luxury item.
Thanks to all who've taken the time to read my exceptionally wordy story One thing I enjoy doing from time to time is looking in on my discoveries. I can plot their position using a tool on the NASA.gov web site for any day, past, present or future. I can also find out who's been observing them. For example, here's a plot of where Minor Planet Johnmuir (2004PX42) is today. It's now close to Opposition (the optimal time for Earth-based observations) so it's been observed a number of times in the last couple of months and will probably be observed quite a few more times in the next month or two. Johnmuir was observed by the Pan-STARRS Observatory on Mt. Haleakela, Maui, last July, and also observed in August by the super-secret (well...maybe not-so-secret) DARPA Space Surveillance Telescope at White Sands, New Mexico, and the Catalina Observatory west of Tucson, Arizona. Here's a plot of where Minor Planet Eliewiesel (2004PC27) is today. It's well past its most recent Opposition, and in fact is about 300 million kilometers from Earth, putting it out of reach for all but the very largest telescopes. Eliewiesel was last observed by the Pan-STARRS (Maui), Catalina (Arizona), and Siding Spring (Australia) observatories in early- to mid-2014.
Fanfkingtastic story. Thanks for posting it. What were those nights like? When could you get started? Set up time? etc. It sounds as though you were extremely sleep deprived for a few years.
Great great story. I get so happy reading stuff like this about people spending their own time advancing our scientific understanding. And what great choices for names. You sir are added to my hero list and have made me a little more proud wearing my own Speedy.
@flyingout, the nights were generally not as sleepless as you might imagine. In the late afternoon, after reviewing what the SAO had posted on-line for desirable NEO observations, I would write a script for the telescope which indicated which parts of the sky that I wanted to image that night, and how many images I wanted to take at each location over X-amount of time. In this simple scenario, all I had to do is collect the images the next morning, process them to get object locations, then send the observations to the SAO. Each night that I operated the telescope, I did have to do a manual star alignment procedure which began about 45 minutes after sunset and took about 20 minutes to complete; for much of that time I could lay in the hammock and look at the sky with a pair of binoculars and/or smoke a cig. There were occasions, however, which required some late night work. If the SAO had a super high-priority NEO that had just been detected within the previous 12-24 hours, then I would often stay up until I had the last photo in the can and then got immediately to processing the photos and reporting the object's position to the SAO. In such cases there was also an element of competition among both professional and amateur observatories: once the SAO had received enough observations from contributing observatories to get a reasonable orbit calculation for the NEO, the discovery announcement was made immediately. Observations which came in after the orbit calculation was made didn't make it into the discovery announcement, which meant you didn't get credited as a co-discoverer. You could call the desire to get your name in print pure vanity, which is exactly what it was. Astronomers are humans, too! One more thing. When my observatory was going full-bore pretty much every night, I really looked forward to the three nights which bracketed and included the full moon; these are Vacation Days for astronomers.
A few images from our observation of the Great Conjunction of 12/21/2020 ...all set up, waiting for the Big Show ...goofing around, waiting... ...the Opening Act... ....and the Main Event... ...this is a realistic depiction of what we saw, though the atmosphere was rather roiled due to the conjunction's low position in the sky. Image credit: NASA
Awesome! I was in Seattle, so of course it was complely clouded over. I'm enjoying the view vicariously
Definitely cool I’m pretty sure I would have tried to name everything after myself in one variation or another. If not they would all be walrus and cats
Thanks! Both are estimated to be within 1 to 2 kilometers in diameter — the size estimate is based on measured brightness, calculated distance, and assumptions about the physical make-up of material on the objects’ surface.
