Into the night

Sunset, Nov, 1998 by Peter Fish

The prospect from the summit of Mauna Kea, on the island of Hawaii, is as celestial a view as you are likely to be granted in your lifetime. The Pacific is gauzy blue silk stretched over the curving earth. To the north swims the island of Maul. The thin, brilliant air produces a clarity of vision that is impossible to separate from light-headedness. In this setting the great instruments that surround you - telescopes, 12 of them, their geometric shapes ice white or reflective silver - appear like emissaries from the future.

The instruments atop Mauna Kea are the most important cluster of telescopes anywhere in the world. But sky-stretching work is also being done at Kitt Peak in Arizona, at Mount Palomar in Southern California, and at other sites in the West. On this planet, at least, the West is the center of the astronomical universe.

Even laypeople can share in this excitement. Many big telescopes welcome public visits. Smaller observatories and amateur astronomical organizations invite you to gaze up in awe. This month is a propitious time to turn your eyes skyward, because November skies promise among the most dazzling meteor shows of this century.

The West's astronomical supremacy is a matter of climate and terrain. Bundled in clouds, haze, and water vapor, Earth makes a poor platform from which to examine the heavens. Astronomers want as little atmosphere as possible. They like mountains. They like dry air. The West has both.

A third ingredient for good stargazing has often been necessary, and that is somebody very, very rich to fund a telescope. In the 19th century, California businessman James Lick wanted to erect (1) a monument larger than the pyramid of Cheops on the shores of San Francisco Bay and (2) a giant telescope. The pyramid was a no-go, but Lick got his 'scope, a 36-inch refractor built on Mount Hamilton east of San Jose.

Bostonian Percival Lowell sought a site to observe Mars and found it on a mesa near Flagstaff, Arizona. But Lowell Observatory's most famous triumph was the discovery of the planet Pluto in 1930.

Farther to the west, the 200-inch Mount Palomar telescope in San Diego County, California, was completed in 1947 after many delays. For decades it was the preeminent telescope in the world, fostering such achievements as the discovery of quasars.

Palomar, Lowell, and Lick observatories still perform important research today. But these older instruments have been surpassed by the big guns of the late 20th century: the telescopes atop Kitt Peak, in Arizona, and those atop Mauna Kea.

The first telescope on Mauna Kea was completed in 1968. The newest, the Japanese government's Subaru, is slated to be finished next year. Mauna Kea makes for splendid viewing. At 20 [degrees] latitude, the mountain permits views of Southern Hemisphere skies hidden from more northerly observatories; over the course of a year, about 90 percent of the sky can be seen from here. At 13,796 feet, the mountaintop lies above 40 percent of the Earth's atmosphere and 90 percent of its water vapor. The clarity of the view and the power of the instruments here have helped astronomers achieve success after success. In the last year and a half alone, two Mauna Kea telescopes - the twin Kecks, at 394 inches each, the largest in the world - have pushed back the boundaries of the known universe twice, discovering the two most distant objects known to man (some 14 billion light-years away).

For Mauna Kea astronomers, such success has its price. Glenn Orton, senior research scientist at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Pasadena, regularly flies to Hawaii to work at NASA's Mauna Kea facility. "It's hard on the body," he says. "You get nosebleeds. Fatigue is a big factor. Every first day I wonder why the hell I'm doing this."

And yet, in the end, the sheer excitement of discovery is worth any cost. Frederick Chaffee is director of the California Association for Research in Astronomy, which operates the twin Kecks. "I've never been associated with a place where so many discoveries have been made, week after week. This is the most exciting place on Earth to be an astronomer today," he says.

The sun is sinking below that blue silk horizon. It's time for Mauna Kea's non-astronomers to retreat - to head down to the visitor center at 9,200 feet for a more comfortable if slightly less translucent view of the stars. Up on top, the telescopes and the astronomers set to work. In the ink sky shines a dazzle of stars and galaxies, each one with secrets to be revealed. When they are, Mauna Kea will likely learn them first.

Eyes on the skies

Each of these major observatories welcomes visitors. Not all of them let you peer through the big telescopes, but you'll still be enlightened and educated by their tours and exhibits.

It's in the nature of telescopes to be in high places; altitude sickness is a threat. As winter approaches, it's wise to call ahead to make sure roads are open.

ARIZONA

Flagstaff. Lowell Observatory. Lowell is charming: both the observatory and its locale, a forested mesa, are cozy and otherworldly. The observatory sponsors particularly good public programs. Visitor center tours exhibit telescopes through the ages. This month staff members portray famous astronomers and lead tours of the night sky for the evening program "Voices from the Past."