Glenn Chaple's observing basics: Ease into the Messier marathon

Last month, I admitted to being one of those individuals the general public might call a "no-lifer." Does the fact that I prefer spending hours under a starlit sky to watching "must-see" TV mean I have no life? I wonder. • Let me take you back to March 13, 1989.

According to my calendar, the Moon was supposed to be close to Jupiter that evening. I decided to share that knowledge with my 8th-grade science students. "Go outside after dark tonight and look for the Moon," I told my class. Near the Moon, you'll see a bright star. That "star" is the planet Jupiter!"

There was no spontaneous applause. No collective gasp of awe. "Big deal!" snorted a boy sitting in the back of the room. I felt my face flush, but ignored his comment. It was typical of anyone who regards backyard astronomy as a "no-life" activity.

That night, I noticed a reddish glow in the northern sky — an aurora! For the next hour, I stared in awe at the most magnificent auroral display I had ever seen.

Reports of this aurora filled the morning news broadcasts. When I arrived at school, students rushed me, asking if I viewed the aurora. "Mr. Big Deal" joined our conversation and sheepishly asked, "Will we be able to see the northern lights tonight?"

"Possibly," I replied. "But nature doesn't always give you a second chance." And it didn't. There was no aurora that night, and I haven't seen one as glorious since.

So I again ask, "Do amateur astronomers lack lives?" We spend hours alone under the sky viewing amazing things: Jupiter's moons dancing or the Moon occulting a star. We experience cosmic events that the rank and file of society cannot even imagine. Whenever I hear people discussing the latest reality TV show after I've spent an evening under the stars, I question who really needs to get a life.

The sky's mini-marathon
For the recreational runner, the ultimate challenge is the marathon. The backyard astronomer has a similar lofty goal: the Messier marathon. In this "race," participants try to view as many of Messier's 109 deep-sky objects as possible in a single night. A marathon — on the ground or in the sky — isn't something the novice should attempt. In the running world, there is a race that's appropriate for the beginner: the 5K. If you're an astronomical newbie (or a veteran skygazer unwilling to commit to an all-nighter), I offer you a "Messier 5K."

The targets in our Messier 5K are conveniently placed in the early evening sky. Their locations are plotted on the all-sky map you'll find in the middle of this issue. Most of them can be viewed in binoculars, especially from a dark-sky site.

The starting line for the Messier 5K course is the Pleiades (M45). Once you've spotted this open cluster, off you go! From M45, you'll run through M35, M37, M36, and M38. These open clusters are aligned in a row that winds from Gemini's foot through Auriga's heart. Each appears as a hazy puffball in binoculars and a sprinkle of starlight in small scopes.

The best road races offer a scenic course, and our Messier 5K is no exception. When you arrive at the Orion Nebula (M42), take a breather to admire one of the heavens' most splendid wonders. Once you're ready to return to action, move southeastward to pick up the star clusters M41 and M47. Higher up and visible as a patch of light midway between the twin stars Pollux and Castor and the "sickle" of Leo is the Beehive Cluster (M44).

Next, standing at the finish line are the galaxies M81 and M82, both located a staggering 11 million light-years away! You can resolve both in the same eyepiece field of your scope, if you use a low magnification.

The weekend of March 17–18 offers the best conditions for a Messier 5K, thanks to a New Moon on the 19th.

Questions, comments, or suggestions? E-mail me here.