Sunday, October 14, 2012
The Star Party Zoo
This was
supposed to be an article on imaging, muchachos, but pore old Unk was well and
truly skunked last Saturday, which had looked close to perfect all day. Just after
I had, natch, lugged a ton of gear out to the Possum Swamp Astronomical
Society dark site, the sky closed down with an audible thud. No DSLRing for moi. So, since the fall star party season is now in full swing, I thought I'd say
a few words about that instead.
Star party zoo?
The whosit of the whatsit? Believe it or not, it is fall star party season
again. That means it’s not just time for observing under blessedly cool(er)
hurricane-free skies, it is time for my semiannual rant about how we should
conduct ourselves at star parties. I know you get tired of hearing this every
cotton-picking fall and spring, but I still see way too much questionable
behavior, and me and you and Sister Sue can do better.
I am an
animal lover. Not just cats and dogs; I even love Bambi—shame he and his kin have
to be so dadgum tasty. But there are a few species I would like to see go extinct. I expect you will recognize some of
these critters, and I also expect you, embarrassedly, like Unk, will have to
admit you’ve sometimes shared some of their traits:
Fieldus Territorialis
These aggressive beasts are highly
territorial. Their natural habitat is the observing field, where they can be
spotted during the early hours of an event. Please approach with caution, as
they will vigorously defend their range with, at least, blood-curdling howls…
I am happy our
major national star parties and even our smaller regional ones are so popular. The
growth of light pollution and the more social character of today’s amateur
astronomy have seen to that. But that causes problems for events that have
experienced explosive growth over the years—The Texas Star Party and the Winter Star Party come to mind. Observing fields
that used to be spacious are now cramped, and you can’t expect more than just
enough room for you, your scope, your observing table and maybe a tailgating canopy.
Alas, some
folks just don’t understand that. Why shouldn’t THEY get two spaces? THEY like
plenty of room, and it is all about THEIR needs, after all. Fuhgeddaboutit. If
space is at a premium, you grin and bear it. When somebody pulls in beside you,
smile; don’t act like they’ve got
the cooties.
Observicus Noticus
These curious creatures, which
sometimes travel in herds, are usually inoffensive but sometimes annoy their
fellow beasts. They don’t seem to build nests, remaining constantly on the move…
I really
have to wonder why some folks go to star parties. I’m talking about the people
who set up a scope but never uncover it, or at least never use it. The telescope
may be a nice one, but the owner never does a thing with it. They don’t even
seem much interested in looking through other
peoples’ telescopes. They wander the field all night long without seeming
purpose. The Noticuses wouldn’t
bother me if not for the fact that in their aimless shambling they tend to do
things like bump into tent ropes and poles and trip over cables. More than
once, I’ve lost my mount’s go-to alignment when a Noticus has snagged my NexRemote cable in his unending progress
from Here to There.
Watchalookinatamistus
The Watchalookinatamistus is not
dangerous. It is just a pest, if sometimes a big pest; especially for the
larger animals of the field. This scavenger’s constant search for the leavings
of fellow creatures has occasionally driven field inhabitants to near madness…
Like the
closely related Observicus Noticus, Watchas never use their own telescopes. If they have brought one with them
it stands unused and unloved collecting dew all night long. Unlike Noticus,
Watcha doesn’t just shamble up and down the field, though, the Watcha cadges
looks constantly. In fact, its name
comes from its distinctive call, “Watcha lookin’ at mister? Can I see? Huh, can
I?”
Most of us
are happy to let all and sundry observe through our scopes occasionally, but
people with serious observing programs, especially those with the large telescopes,
which draw these field denizens like flies to—err…honey, get tired of not just being asked for a peek, but their
guests’ near insistence that they
turn the scope to M13 or M42 one more
time.
Raffleus Mopicus
Mopicus’ survival mechanism is its
extreme suspicion of other animals at feeding time. This scavenger finds it
impossible to cooperate with its fellow creatures, even those of its own
species, when choice prey is at stake…
Everybody
loves star party raffles. The exciting prospect of winning an Ethos or an ES
100, or even just a book or DVD is a powerful inducement to buy tickets. Alas,
even when there are lots of prizes, not everybody can win. Unk, who rarely wins
a dagnabbed thing, has learned to accept that with good grace. Some folks
cannot, and in their disappointment forget how to be good sports. You are allowed to be disappointed when that beautiful
13mm Ethos goes to Cousin Ezra and not you, but keep your whining and muttering
about RIGGED RAFFLES to yourself. We really don’t want to hear your conspiracy
theories about why the Pixley A.S. members always
win everything.
Foodus Horribilus
Foodus is something of a
contradiction. While it is an enthusiastic omnivore, feeding on just about
anything, it never seems able to find the sustenance it really wants…
When you
sign up for a star party meal plan, don’t count on five star dining. If you do you
will be badly disappointed. That said, most star party fare is at least edible.
I can count on one hand the times I’ve had meals at star gazes that were or
were close to indigestible. Good old Foodus,
though, never stops complaining
about the victuals (and also never, ever volunteers to help prepare meals).
Funniest
thing? Foodus complains a lot, but
only between large mouthfuls; a meal’s supposed poor quality never affects its appetite. It usually fails to sign up for the bad old meal plan in advance, but
is right put out if it can’t be accommodated at the last minute when it decides
supper looks OK after all.
Whiteliticus Rex
Whiteliticus is less common than it
used to be on most observing fields, thanks in part to the downright aggression
most other species display to these dim-witted beasts. One’s mere presence evokes
the deafening call “DOWSE THAT LIGHT!” from other fauna…
You would
think amateurs who attend major star parties would know not to blind everybody
around them with a white flashlight or a too bright red one, but a few folks
never seem to get the message. Even when they’ve been embarrassed a time or
two. The way to make this one go extinct? I don’t know, but hollering won’t do
it. Having one of the star party staff give ‘em a good talking to, which, if
appropriate, includes the phrase “Or you will be shown the gate” is the best
defense against these brutes.
One promising
development? Use of (too) bright red headlights,
the LED lights that go on your head with an elastic band, seems to have fallen
off. These things are not a bad idea, but their red LEDs are almost always too
bright, and most wearers are not careful to keep them pointed down, even though
that is easy to do.
Earliupicus
Most star party species are
nocturnal. The Earliupicus, conversely, is out foraging at the break of dawn
and returns to its nest shortly after sundown…
I used to be
surprised to be awakened at 6 a.m. at a star party, but eventually came to
expect it. At oh-dark-thirty a few worthies start rustling around in the
bathroom, gargling their little throats out and SINGING, and trotting around
the field chatting happily and at full volume with fellow Earliupici. You can
shush these folks, but they will never change, and by the time you’ve finished
giving them a good piece of your mind, you are fully awake, anyhow. Best bet?
Ear plugs.
Why do some
people get up so early at a star party? Because some folks go to bed early,
even at star parties, I reckon. Yeah, I know it’s difficult to switch over from
the 9-5 routine for just a few days, and it’s rare for Unk to make it past 2 or
3 a.m. for that reason. That doesn’t explain why it is not unusual to see some
Bubbas hitting the hay at 2100, though. When I ask ‘em “why,” the response is
invariably “Big day tomorrow, best turn in.” OK…well bless their pea-picking little hearts, I reckon.
We all enjoy
star parties in own way, and if you are an Earliupicus, that is cool; all I ask
is that you keep it quiet in the a.m.—no more marching to the showers singing
"Hippity-Hop to the Barber Shop" in off-key fashion. Oh, and don’t get all
huffy about observers returning to the cabin in the wee hours and disturbing
your beauty rest.
Walkonasaurus
These lumbering, solitary beasts have
no home range. They are strictly nomadic, appearing on the field’s savanna without
warning…
In
principle, “walk-ons,” folks who don’t register in advance for a star party,
are not a bad thing. Nothing wrong with a little extra moola in the event’s
coffers is there? But when you think about it, they are another species that
needs to go extinct. What’s so bad about somebody appearing at the star party after
it’s got underway and asking to register? Planning, for one thing. If the organizers
don’t know how many folks will attend, they cannot guarantee there will be
space on the field and in the cabins for everybody. If there’s to be a meal
plan, it will be impossible to know how much food will be required.
If everybody
were to decide to play this game, not registering in advance for the Possum
Holler SP and only showing up for it if and when they are sure the weather will be nice, there wouldn’t be many star parties. The organizers would not have the money to
put on the event even if they were able to estimate the resources they’d need.
The worst thing
about walk-ons? Many of ‘em do not arrive in the morning. Or in the afternoon.
They wait till dark and try to drive onto the field in a vehicle with
headlights blazing, causing major disruption. That alone is enough to encourage this as a standard response: “I am very sorry. You can’t attend the star
party if you are not already registered. We look forward to seeing you next
year.” I’ve got a heart, and am willing to consider individual/special cases,
but, hey, y’all, in the absence of extenuating circumstances just register by the date you are told to
register by.
Musicus Dratticus
Who doesn’t enjoy the melodious calls
of our wildlife? Unfortunately, few of their fellow creatures can tolerate the
loud and grating song of Musicus. Despite the annoyed and even threatening responses
of other creatures, Musicus persists in his unending symphony of distraction...
I like
music. Sometimes I even like to listen to music while I am observing. Usually
when I’m doing casual star gazing rather than a serious project, and usually
when most of my fellow partiers have gone to bed. And when I listen to music, I listen with headphones. I wouldn’t
dream of imposing my musical tastes on the people around me on the field. Amazingly,
some amateurs don’t get that.
To put it
simply: if you don’t want to be made to listen to Uncle Rod’s music, Tammy
Wynette’s “This Good Girl’s Gonna Go Bad” or The Allman Brothers’ Live at the Fillmore East, don’t make me
listen to your “Pachebel’s Canon” or Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. Nuff said?
Messasaurus
Most species do not foul their own
nests. Messasaurus, who is anything but extinct, is an exception. Evolutionary
biologists speculate these animals save energy by forcing other field inhabitants
to clean their dens…
I’ve
addressed this more than once. Bottom line? Unk
ain’t your mama. In the cabins, clean up after yourself. On the field,
clean up after yourself. I don’t want to see or deal with the mess you leave in
the bathroom. The star party organizers sure don’t want to deal with the mess
you leave on the field after you’ve gone home. Savvy? I thought so.
Anythingbutastronomicus
The Anything is a creature that is
seemingly poorly adapted to the observing field. Nevertheless, they are common
there...
Why do
people go to star parties? I know there are many reasons other than or in
addition to observing: to spend time with their fellow amateur astronomers, to
look longingly at dealer tables, to attend presentations. Still, I wonder about
some folks. I mean the people you’ll find on the field and in the chow hall
talking anything but amateur astronomy
or astronomy in general. Ever. That's not the problem, though; the problem is their choice of topics. They aren’t always
obnoxious, but often are, since their gab-fests almost inevitably devolve
into elevated-volume “discussions” of Democrat versus Republican/Conservative
versus Liberal. Y’all can listen to Rush Limbaugh or watch Bill Maher at home, so why doncha?
Headlightonicus
This creature is notorious for its
tendency to sudden flight from the field at any moment. It may be grazing
peacefully one second, and take to its heels the next, sending its fellow field
residents into a panic...
I do not
mind people walking off the field early. Heck, I don’t even mind them driving off early. Hardcore as Unk used
to be and would still like to be, by 3 a.m. he most assuredly feels the strong
pull of the motel or cabin. What is hard to stand is Headlightonicus’ usual behavior: blinding the whole field with his vehicle’s
backup lights, interior lights, trunk lights, and headlights.
This is a
no-brainer, y’all: if you know you will want to leave before dawn—and most
times you will know—park your car well
off and facing away from the observing field. Turn off interior lights and
disable backup and running lights if possible, but if you are sufficiently far
from the field, that won’t be a problem. If it is possible to do so safely, you
might even navigate by parking lights until you are down the road apiece.
Burglaraticus
The most timid of all star party field
creatures, Burglaraticus will emit deafening alarm cries when it feels
threatened, which is “often.” This species is so constantly fearful its howls
of terror are frequent even when it is not in observable danger…
It happens
every star party: Goo-goo Mew-mew decides he needs something out of his
vehicle. He grabs the door handle, forgetting he’s turned on the car alarm. Or
he squats down at his scope activating the horn and lights with the key fob in
his pocket, or at least unlocking the jitney and flashing the lights and
beeping the horn. Nobody likes him.
Kats and
Kittens, it is easy to turn off the car alarm. Or, if you can’t do that, you
can leave the vehicle unlocked.
Scout’s honor, none of us is out to pilfer your beautiful Ford Fiesta. Put the keys somewhere where you won’t keep unintentionally
mashing the buttons—and where you won’t lose them, of course…
Yeah, every one
of these beasts should go extinct, and that could happen very easily. If each
and every one of us—including Unk, who is hardly
innocent of assorted star party foolishness—would simply remember the good ol' Golden Rule: TREAT OTHER PEOPLE LIKE
YOU’D LIKE TO BE TREATED.
If we all
did that, there’d be none of the unhappiness and friction that sometimes
happens at star parties. Which would be a good thing. Star parties are supposed
to be fun, and I don’t know about
you, but I have a hard time having fun if the people around me aren’t having a
good time, too. Now, get out there and party.
Just be sweet and all will be well,
muchachos.
Next Time: Unk's Yearly M13...
Comments:
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I am extremely tolerant of what fellow (serious) observers may do at the observing site. Somebody (accidentally) flashes the car lights, it's OK. Somebody needs to leave early, arrive late... run the engine, smoke... it is all fine. It is fine for four people on the field. Not forty, not even sixteen. I am yet to attend a star party. I've set up in the field across the road from star parties, on the mountaintop above star parties, the nights before star parties, the nights after star parties... Your "zoo" is hilariously described but it is scary.
I enjoyed your article, when "light" accidents happen it's usually obvious when someone regrets it immediately or is truly oblivious. Modern vehicles are definitely making it a challenge with their light management systems. My own truck is fully automatic with a light sensor to turn lights on - there's no way to override it. It takes some extra planning and some realization that you just will not have the option to use the vehicle after twilight.
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