The sky did not look promising, but I was committed. I loaded up the gear and the wife and set out. We arrived at the dark site even with the setting of the sun, selected a spot and in the failing light unloaded and set up the gear. An unhealthy amount of bug repellant was applied. In short order, the gentleman who organizes these trek's prophecy about the cloud cover proved true and they began to clear out, taking some of the humidity with them. The wind gave way to a light breeze. I decided to begin in the western sky as it grew dark, since I did not formulate a game plan I traveled over some familiar ground. The Orion Nebula, before it disappeared from view. M47 and the Beehive Cluster. For the most part, I was happy to just wander through the Milky Way and observe the stars whose names I did not know.
Somewhere close to zenith I observed a flashing light, a white pulse every two seconds or so. After some minutes observation I deduced it to be (hopefully) a satellite in geostationary orbit, as my scope did not move to track it while I watched the background of stars crawl slowly by. I observed more than a few objects I took to be satellites throughout the evening, dim specks of pale light moving purposefully across the heavens.
By this time, a small cell to the southeast had developed into a full blown lightshow somewhere over Ft Lauderdale I suspect, some 30 miles or more distant. The lightning flashes would light up the eyepiece, so I too a break to observe the storm through my binoculars. White lightning lanced through mountains of cloud, illuminating them to an impressive degree, their force and frequency frighteningly spectacular. A jet passing extremely close to the tempest could not have contained very comfortable passengers.
Well into the second hour the wife had retreated underneath her hoodie, which she turned backwards and draped over herself. The fabric could not entirely conceal the dancing lights of what I am sure was some form of Candy Crush or other. Around this time I swung the maw of The Beast around to the north, and had not made two passes when suddenly my view lighted upon two shapes I immediately recognized as galaxies. Impossible. I had looked around Ursa Major many times from my back yard in Jersey only to repeatedly come up empty. Yet now, by complete serendipitous happenstance, were two unmistakable diaphanous entities. Unfortunately, the tablet I usually use that has Sky Safari installed was left at home, I was trying to verify my discovery on my cell phone, whose software was completely refusing to cooperate, when one of the gentlemen who was imaging on the far side of the parking lot happened by. I asked him if wished to take a look and he confirmed for me I had indeed found M81 and M82. The former, a pale spiral with the distinct core and arm structure almost discernable through averted vision. The latter, an elongated grey smudge. I observed for a good long while and marveled at how obvious they stood out, and thought either the combination of the scope and 24mm UWA were performing exceptionally well tonight, or in previous attempts was either foiled by too much skyglow or just by missing the mark badly.
Upon the gentleman's suggestion (I'm sorry I'd forgotten his name) I decided to make a try for M51, and after several attempts, found. This was a more difficult target, the surface brightness did not appear so great as M81 or 82, I suspect due to its face-on disposition, and perhaps partly because it is situated further east towards the direction of the light dome towards the coast, or both. Yet there it was, it and its companion galaxy two featureless grey blobs cozying up to each other.
I was felling pretty good by this time, having knocked down three targets that have eluded me for a while I decided to try for a fourth before calling it a night. The storm having moved off a bit, I swung around again to the south-southeast and targeted the Sombrero galaxy. My starhop path and drop was right on and I found it immediately. The bright core and harsh line of it's dust lanes were apparent using an 18mm BCO. Not sure why, but throughout the evening I did not try for greater magnification than this. I didn't feel I needed to.
I felt extremely happy and accomplished packing up, or as much as one could be policing up everything in the dark so as not to disturb the people imaging across the parking lot. Still, I did well, my efforts marred only by the accidental opening of the truck's tonneau cover while I had my flashlights and keys on top of it. They slide down in between the cab and the bed, and luckily all they way to the ground. I said goodnight to the others at hand, and drove the 45 minutes or so home with a felling of extreme satisfaction.
That is, until I got home. After unloading everything, dipping my hand into my back pocket as is habit and reaching for my cell phone, I found the pocket empty. A quick search of the truck cab also failed to turn it up. I asked my wife if she had it. Negative. I turned everything upside down to no avail, searched my memory intensely but could only come up with one answer: It had to have been on the tonneau cover when I opened it. That meant one of three things. Either it slid off like my keys and got lodged between the cab and the bed and is sitting there, or it fell to the ground and landed where I did not see, or it got caught between the cab and the bed and slipped out somewhere on the drive home. Only one way to find out. Forty five minutes later, sometime after 1AM we arrived back at the lot. Two people were still there, imagers going. Luckily, there in the spot where I had parked, was my phone. Face down, black case, no wonder I did not see it. I jammed it in the cupholder and sped off back home, mulling over in my mind how too much of our lives seem to be connected to these ridiculous devices, and not more to everything around us.
