Issue #486: The Last Gasp of the Go-to Wars...

Rod as a Junior OP...

Yeah, I know this was supposed to be another installment in my refractors series, but I got to thinking about something else, and ‘round here thinking about something inevitably leads to writing about it. 

Perhaps in part because of the lousy weather we’ve had of late, I’ve been practicing my other passion, ham radio, a lot more than I have in recent times. That led to me thinking about the Morse Code War that nearly ended amateur radio in the 1980s-1990s. That started me ruminating on how similar amateur astronomy’s go-to war is and how potentially damaging to my other avocation.

Let me tell you a story… Daddy, an engineer and a real old timer of a ham radio operator, an “OT” in our parlance, W4SLJ (now a Silent Key), was adamantly  in favor of the code requirement for licensing. He made sure I was a good CW (code, that is) op, too, pushing me to go for the gold of the Amateur Extra Class license in the days when it took quite a bit of effort and study, and, most of all, code proficiency to earn that "ticket."

Back when I got my Extra, you had to be able to copy 20 words per minute, a not inconsequential speed at which to “read the mail.” Especially if you had to copy it with a pencil and paper under the steely-eyed gaze of the FCC Radio Examiner. 20 w.p.m is about the point where you have to stop hearing letters and begin hearing words.

Luckily, I had no problem with that 20 w.p.m. hurdle,since I apparently had a built-in affinity for the code—sometimes I think talent for Morse code is akin to a talent for music. Some folks have got it and some folks ain’t. Anyhow, while I liked CW a lot and kept using it after I got the Extra ticket, it took me a long time to figure out why my dad and other older hams—many of them the the most prominent in the hobby—were so fixated on Morse code.

After all, as an important communications mode Morse wasn’t just dying by the late 1960s, it was nearly dead except as a means of communicating reliably with ships at sea. Even that was going. Teletype, and, soon, satellite and digital modes, were coming in and would shortly make CW laughably irrelevant as anything other than a backup/emergency mode or maybe a  backup of a backup.

I did finally figure out to my satisfaction why so many Old Timers, especially, were so insistent about testing new hams’ ability to copy Morse code despite its lack of relevance in modern communications. For many hams, CW was a "gate keeper" for the hobby. It kept the riff-raff out or kept 'em confined to the ranks (and minimal band space) of the Technician Class license (which only required 5 words per minute of code proficiency). 

The sad thing about that was that many Tech-class hams were competent technically and would have made good additions to the general amateur ranks. Unfortunately, more than a few of them of them could never get past the 13 w.p.m. requirement that was the entry to“real” ham radio with the General Class License.

My first major go-to rig...

Large numbers of these folks eventually tired of the restrictions imposed by the Technician license and dropped out of the hobby, not a few of them switching to CB radio when that craze hit in the 70s.  Hams, me included, noticed the popularity of CB. Boy did we.

And not in a good way. We, almost to a man and woman, most assuredly did not see the Chicken Banders as a potential resource. Rather than trying to bring CBers into ham radio, what did we do? We (to include our national organization) did everything we could to keep them out. Tens of thousands of good potential amateur radio recruits were lost as the seventies ran out and computers soon began to attract technology crazy youngsters more than radio.

Ham radio became a troubled pursuit with a graying profile that still affects it today. Luckily, though, hams led by a strong national organization, the American Radio Relay League (I wish amateur astronomy had a national organization a little more willing to assert itself), finally came to realize the day of the code was over, and that if we were to bring in new blood the Morse code requirement had to go and go quickly. And it was by now obvious that if we didn't get a transfusion of that new blood, we were done. The FCC agreed, the Morse code requirement for licensing was dropped, and amateur radio began to recover.

Post-code, amateur radio went from being a graying hobby on its deathbed, to one that shortly regained a surprising degree of vitality. Ham numbers are now higher than they’ve ever been, and the youngsters are beginning to trickle back in. The amateur radio population is undoubtedly much higher than the amateur astronomer population, though, since you don’t need a license to practice amateur astronomy, it’s more difficult to determine how many astronomers there are. 

Anyhow, what fixed ham radio was us hams waking up to the frightening fact that amateur radio was going away. It also took the leadership of the ARRL to do something about it with the government (though ironically the ARRL had for many years been going in the opposite direction). But we are good now. We in amateur radio are good, anyway.

“Well, Rod, that’s a nice story and all, and I’m glad it had a happy ending for you and your ham buddies, but what does it have to do with us amateur astronomers?” A lot, rather unfortunately. Yes, we’ve got our own Morse code dust-up in progress due to those go-to wars. I’d thought this was a dead issue, since it’s clear that rank and file amateurs have embraced the technology, but lately it seems to to be coming up again and again. Not just in the online places amateurs gather like Cloudy Nights, but at local clubs. Hearing this stuff again, especially considering the fact that our ranks are at least as gray as ham radio’s were in its darkest days, has me worried.

When did this all get started? The go-to wars have been with us almost since the day computerized telescope technology was released in practical, affordable form. Since about 1992, that is, when Meade’s amazing LX-200 hit the streets. While it didn't look much different from Meade's previous SCTs, the LX-5 and LX-6, the LX-200 was, Meade claimed, "revolutionary."

This was one time when hyperbole-happy Meade was right. There really was an LX-200 revolution. When most amateurs got a look at what the scope could do, they were mucho impressed. Not that Meade was there first with a commercial telescope that pointed automatically at objects. That was Celestron. Unfortunately, Celestron’s go-to SCTs, the Compustars, were expensive and finicky. Meade improved the workability of the idea and got prices down to what serious amateurs could afford.

Like to hunt? Grab your water heater and hunt!

Me? I was skeptical in the beginning. Not just because I thought learning/knowing the sky was essential and central to amateur astronomy, but because I was skeptical about the accuracy and reliability of this new technology. Any concerns I had about the efficacy of go-to were pretty much put to rest in late ’92, however. A fellow club member had invested his entire IRS refund in a 10-inch LX-200, and brought it out to the club dark site one evening when I was out there cruising along with my 6-inch Dobbie. “Ha,” thought I. "Danged thing will never work. Get a horse!”

How wrong I was. My pal invited me to give his new scope a spin. Punched in M13. There it was looking beautiful in the eyepiece. M5? Yep. M8, M20, M92, and all the rest of the summer wonders fell to the LX-200 as quickly as I could mash the hand control buttons. The reliability? I was soon reassured about that as well. The original LX200 was not perfect in that regard, but, still, it was pretty darned solid.

The left only the question of whether real amateur astronomers use go-to. That, I wasn't so sure about. And I must admit that early on, when the subject came up at club meetings (not much Internet astronomy in the early 1990s), I tended to side with the curmudgeons who were condemning those damned “coffee grinder” scopes to perdition even as they were springing up like weeds on our observing fields. You had to know the sky to be an amateur astronomer. Period.

That’s what I thought till I stopped and really thought about it. While I believed, and still believe, that knowing the sky is good for a number of reasons—and especially because of the feeling of accomplishment it brings—I don’t think it is what makes you an amateur astronomer. Knowing something about the objects you observe and knowing how to observe them is probably more important than knowing how to find them with a finder and star chart. Most of all, for me, what makes you an amateur astronomer is a love of the night sky, no matter how you show that love.

What really won me over to go-to, though, was two things. First, plenty of people enter astronomy, are enthusiastic about astronomy for a while, and then drop out of astronomy. Why? Once they get past the Moon, bright planets, and a bright deep sky object or two, they run out of interesting things to view. Go-to changes all that. It’s all well and good to say they should just learn to use a star chart and that soon they’ll be seeing plenty of good stuff if they do, but it’s not always that simple.

Most people want a little more return on their investment of time and money than being told, “Well, stick with it for a couple of years and you’ll eventually be able to see something.” Remember, too, that even for veteran star hoppers light pollution can be a killer. There is actually plenty to be seen from the average light-polluted suburban yard, but finding it can be very difficult. There just are not enough “guide stars” to make star hopping to dimmer objects practical. And in the beginning it is vital new astronomers get into the backyard and observe as often as possible to keep their enthusiasm up.

Yes, knowing the stars and constellations can be a good thing, but guess what? If someone stays with the hobby, they will learn the sky, go-to scope or no. It just comes naturally after you’ve been in our avocation for a while. The beautiful thing about go-to is that Joe and Jane Novice get to see cool stuff while they are learning.

I even deforked my Ultima 8 and put it on a go-to GEM!

One other thing I hear from the curmudgeon crowd?  “What they gonna do when that fancy go-to breaks down, huh?” That is really not much of a reason not to go go-to. Like any new technology, go-to technology has gotten simpler electronics-wise as the years have passed. That is good for the manufacturers since it makes the scopes cheaper to produce, and it is good for us since it tends to make them more reliable. Anything can break down, of course, but that’s not a reason to forego it. Your TV is just as likely to malfunction as today’s go-to mounts and telescopes, so what are you gonna do? Give up TV? You think you’re gonna go back to listening to Fibber McGee and Molly on the radio?

The other thing that convinced me go-to is a good thing was the way the blasé faces of the teenagers at public outreach sessions lit up at the sight of those computerized hand controls. And really lit up at a telescope hooked to a laptop running Stellarium. And really, really lit up at one of our members sending her scope to targets wirelessly with a cell phone. Kids like computers and phones, and if that is a hook to get them into astronomy, where they will find that computers are just the tip of the iceberg coolness-wise, so be it.

Should I worry that these younguns are not being exposed to the real amateur astronomy? The amateur astronomy of Arthur Norton and Patrick Moore? No. The amateur astronomy of go-to and computers is the real amateur astronomy now. Astronomy has changed, just as the amateur radio of Hiram Percy Maxim has changed. The important thing is that there is still an amateur astronomy and an amateur radio. They are still around only because they have been able to change with the culture. Maybe grudgingly, but they have changed.

Yes, even staid old amateur astronomy has changed. I don’t know why I’m worried about the last sputtering debate about go-to. The go-to wars are really over. Amateurs have voted with the their wallets. Go-to is here to stay. Don’t like it? Don’t use it. But don’t necessarily condemn it till you do some thinking about it.  If you like hunting, by all means hunt. But let’s stay focused on product, the enjoyment of the sky, rather than process, the type of tool you use to reach night sky nirvana.