f-stop: Sunset On The Alboran

Writer's Block

It amazes me how a good, productive day can be utterly ruined by one cretin with a well-timed and pointless interruption. Case in point: I was rounding-out a successful Sunday of writing--feeling really good about what I'd accomplished on an essay that'd been on the burner for weeks--when the phone rang. It was a stupid person with a stupid problem and I had to walk him--slowly--through the solution. By the time I'd hung-up the phone my writing mojo had gone to Tahiti for an unscheduled rest-cure and I was left staring helplessly at the screen, trying to remember where the hell I was going with that particular paragraph. Not only is the rhythm of the essay broken but I'm left unsure of what exactly I was doing with it. Day destroyed.

Sicily!

Mount Etna looms on the horizon as we begin the approach to Augusta Bay, welcoming me back to the Island almost exactly 17 years since I was mobilized here after 9-11--and nearly 40 years since my first visit in 1982.

Time after time, cruise after cruise, I have known the spell of this place. I even lived here for nearly two years (tho' I'm embarrassed at how little Sicilian I picked-up in that time). Even without a linguistic edge I have had so very many adventures here, both alone and with my darling Lucilla. From Siracusa to Messina, Catania to Palermo, Erice to the ancient cities of Segesta and Selinunte...from the ruins of Agrigento to the estate of Horatio Nelson at Bronte. What a wonderful place!

I have a hundred stories, a thousand memories...can this island have been SUCH an important part of my life for SO long?

Oh yes.

Missing The Boat

Well, that's disappointing. I planned the day with care and precision--and almost everything fell through. The Plan was to take a day off here in Sicily, do some tourism-type stuff and some shopping in Catania, come back to the ship to get my equipment and then take a taxi out to Siracusa and join my new Astro-Friends there for an evening of star-gazing 'way out in the hills. Good plan, it was...

 

Unfortunately things began to unravel almost immediately. Buses were late, my cellphone died, and when I came back to the pier in order to clean up, dress in my woolies and gather my observing gear, I discovered that the ship wasn't THERE anymore. It's anchored out in the middle of the bay, with no boats running, and I'm NOT that good of a swimmer--let alone a member of the Polar Bear Club!

 

Now I'm waiting on the pier for Laramie to raise anchor and come back in. That is, I HOPE it will come back in. What a day! On the bright side, I DID get my shopping done...

 

The Next Morning: I’m back on-board 'Laramie' after spending the night aboard USNS Trenton (EPF-5). I’m certainly glad she was in port—though if she HADN’T been there would have been no reason for The Tanker to spend the night at  anchor! Causality can certainly suck. Things didn't work out perfectly yesterday but I'm a "lessons-learned' kind'a guy and I'll take the complications on-board for future planning. Live and learn!

Sicilian Sunrise--17 Years Later

Watched the sun rise over the Ionian Sea. A clear morning with Venus high in the east; I was struck by the dawn creeping down Mount Etna's slopes. And THEN...I realized that it was this exact date, back in 2001, when I stood on the battlements of Motta's lava-black castle in the bitterly cold morning air, watching the exact same sunrise and falling then and ever in love with this rugged, beautiful island in the center of the Mediterranean.

 

Happy anniversary, Sicilia! You and I have seen a few sights, eh?

Meditations on an Inland Sea

The Med! We've transited the Suez Canal--leaving behind the Red Sea, Arabian Sea, and the Gulfs of Oman, Aden and assorted Persians--and now sail the choppy waters of the Mediterranean Sea. After spending Summer in the Middle-Eastern "Sandbox" I find the cool November breezes and haze-free skies immensely refreshing. Of all the bodies of water I have sailed in nearly forty years of seafaring, THIS is my favorite, with its even, pleasant climate and the fascination of millennia of history hidden beneath its swell.

My first six naval deployments (beginning in 1981) were to the Med, and I've explored and sampled the cultures of many of the lands that border this ancient sea; Portugal, Spain, France, Italy, Monaco, Algeria, Tunisia, Morocco, Turkey, Israel, Greece, the Balearic Islands, Romania, and the states of the former Yugoslavia. I well know that in fact I've only scratched the surface--there is SO much to see, to learn!

And perhaps to teach; in my small way I have always worked to dispel the popular image of the American Sailor or Mariner in-port as drunken, loud and crude--heading straight to the bars and houses of ill-repute and of course to 'McDonalds'; to break the stereotype of the Ugly American. I've had some success in this effort, but there is much to be done.

 

And that's okay, for I know that I'll continue to explore these waterways, countries and islands--and I'll have many, many more opportunities to interact with the wonderful peoples that I chance to meet along the way. And THAT is why a life at sea has held me in thrall since I was a teenager; my chosen career gives me the opportunity to explore strange, new lands, the worlds of fascinating people and cultures, and the deep, deep history that lies as foundation for all we know. And it gives me the chance to explore something else; myself in the context of all of these things.

 

This is the Mediterranean Sea, and this is what it means to one particular Mariner.

Amateur Astronomy: Back To Basics

I've come to a decision, one I would like to share with you.  For a long time I've labored to learn a set of star-gazing skills and techniques strange to me in hopes that their mastery would improve my ability to successfully utilize a sub-set of my telescope collection and thus enhance my enjoyment of the night skies.  Over nearly two decades I've spent a considerable sum of money and many, many hours of precious observing time struggling with recalcitrant equipment and the arcane technological spells that promise to make astronomy easier but seem instead to simply complicate and render my observing opportunities both tedious and frustrating.

 

So now I've come to the end.  I give up. Perhaps it's a simple case of prolonged operator error, or even a subconscious desire to rebel against a trend in amateur astronomy with which I've never been entirely comfortable, but as of today I'm calling a halt.  No more. No. More.

GO-TO, you are now dead to me.  Begone!

 

For those of you unfamiliar with the term, Go-To technology appeared on the amateur front over twenty years ago; it consists of telescope mountings and in some cases entire telescopes that incorporate sophisticated computers and software that actually control the instument.  It's impressive stuff, really, requiring only a few simple inputs from the observer to allow the mount to orient ("align") itself to the sky; after this point the astronomer need only press the appropriate buttons to begin an automatic tour of the heavens (in some cases, complete with "narration"!).

In principle, I have long had reservations on the subject of these systems.

 

Firstly, any telescope you buy with a computer system incorporates naturally the price of the go-to into the cost of the scope--and this means that less of its expense is for quality optics. With big scopes this is less of a problem; the computer represents a small fraction of the $$ paid for the telescope. Less pricey go-to scopes seem to be more about the technology and less about the optics--to the point that you are probably paying less than half of the sticker price for the actual telescope.

 

My first reservation is just that--a matter of economics and getting the most optical “bang” for your buck—but my second is purely subjective. In my metaphorical heart-of-hearts I believe that exploring the night sky is a learning experience; that an amateur astronomer misses out on part of the grand adventure of stargazing if he doesn't take the time to learn his way around the neighborhood and get to know the neighborhood and neighbors therein. Go-to telescopes skip several steps; a beginning amateur doesn't NEED to learn the constellations, or how the ecliptic serves as the highway for Sun, planets and Moon, or even how to find the Northern Star, in order to observe galaxies and quasars. Those "baby steps" just aren't required in this newly computerized hobby.

 

In my experience this is a real problem in amateur astronomy these days; I can recall a gentleman coming to one of my group's Star Parties, setting-up an impressive PAIR of 11-inch reflectors linked to a state-of-the-art control and a powerful imaging system (all of which probably cost him more than my car when new), and commencing to take digital photos of a galaxy in Canes Venatici. I was quite impressed--at least until he turned to me and asked which star was Vega. At that point I was just embarrassed for him. He had an observing setup which any professional observatory of forty years ago would have been proud, but had never troubled himself to invest any time in actually LOOKING at the starry sky or learning its fascinating "geography". Think for a moment...imagine all the wonders he'd missed out on!

 

I’ve long believed that these telescopes are having a deleterious effect on the avocation of amateur astronomy as a whole, and on the introduction of new observers to the fold in particular. For the past twenty years, newcomers to the hobby have been bombarded with GOTO telescopes from most of the major producers and importers, promised extraordinary telescopic views and rousing observing experiences without the apparent down-side of actually having to LEARN anything about the sky, such as how to locate stars, constellations, planets, and deep-sky objects.

 

Over the years I’ve watched as new astronomers have purchased these telescope packages, used them a few times, and then put them up for sale. I’ve not only seen but actually experienced myself the anguish of having a recalcitrant computer refuse to operate as advertised, which leads sometimes to entire wasted observing sessions while I argue with a machine.

 

And that is the straw that has broken this particular camel’s back; I simply don’t get enough opportunities to get out, under the heavens. My work and travel keep me away from the eyepiece for much of the year, and I simply refuse to allow balky electronics to limit further my “quality” observing time. This ends now. I plan to spend the rest of my observing life using basic telescopes with a minimum of gadgetry and cabling. Call me old-fashioned, call me over-the-hill, but when you see me at the next star party I’ll be the guy with the plain, simple observing rig—and  I’ll spend a LOT more time at the eyepiece,  which is after all the point of the exercise!

 

Anyone want to buy a very slightly-used GO-TO scope?