Shallow Thoughts : : science

Plotting the Analemma

My SJAA planet-observing column for January is about the Analemma and the Equation of Time.

The analemma is that funny figure-eight you see on world globes in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Its shape is the shape traced out by the sun in the sky, if you mark its position at precisely the same time of day over the course of an entire year.

The analemma has two components: the vertical component represents the sun's declination, how far north or south it is in our sky. The horizontal component represents the equation of time.

The equation of time describes how the sun moves relatively faster or slower at different times of year. It, too, has two components: it's the sum of two sine waves, one representing how the earth speeds up and slows down as it moves in its elliptical orbit, the other a function the tilt (or "obliquity") of the earth's axis compared to its orbital plane, the ecliptic.

The Wikipedia page for Equation of time includes a link to a lovely piece of R code by Thomas Steiner showing how the two components relate. It's labeled in German, but since the source is included, I was able to add English labels and use it for my article.

But if you look at photos of real analemmas in the sky, they're always tilted. Shouldn't they be vertical? Why are they tilted, and how does the tilt vary with location? To find out, I wanted a program to calculate the analemma.

Calculating analemmas in PyEphem

The very useful astronomy Python package PyEphem makes it easy to calculate the position of any astronomical object for a specific location. Install it with: easy_install pyephem for Python 2, or easy_install ephem for Python 3.

import ephem
observer = ephem.city('San Francisco')
sun = ephem.Sun()
sun.compute(observer)
print sun.alt, sun.az

The alt and az are the altitude and azimuth of the sun right now. They're printed as strings: 25:23:16.6 203:49:35.6 but they're actually type 'ephem.Angle', so float(sun.alt) will give you a number in radians that you can use for calculations.

Of course, you can specify any location, not just major cities. PyEphem doesn't know San Jose, so here's the approximate location of Houge Park where the San Jose Astronomical Association meets:

observer = ephem.Observer()
observer.name = "San Jose"
observer.lon = '-121:56.8'
observer.lat = '37:15.55'

You can also specify elevation, barometric pressure and other parameters.

So here's a simple analemma, calculating the sun's position at noon on the 15th of each month of 2011:

    for m in range(1, 13) :
        observer.date('2011/%d/15 12:00' % (m))
        sun.compute(observer)

I used a simple PyGTK window to plot sun.az and sun.alt, so once it was initialized, I drew the points like this:

    # Y scale is 45 degrees (PI/2), horizon to halfway to zenith:
    y = int(self.height - float(self.sun.alt) * self.height / math.pi)
    # So make X scale 45 degrees too, centered around due south.
    # Want az = PI to come out at x = width/2.
    x = int(float(self.sun.az) * self.width / math.pi / 2)
    # print self.sun.az, float(self.sun.az), float(self.sun.alt), x, y
    self.drawing_area.window.draw_arc(self.xgc, True, x, y, 4, 4, 0, 23040)

So now you just need to calculate the sun's position at the same time of day but different dates spread throughout the year.

And my 12-noon analemma came out almost vertical! Maybe the tilt I saw in analemma photos was just a function of taking the photo early in the morning or late in the afternoon? To find out, I calculated the analemma for 7:30am and 4:30pm, and sure enough, those were tilted.

But wait -- notice my noon analemma was almost vertical -- but it wasn't exactly vertical. Why was it skewed at all?

Time is always a problem

As always with astronomy programs, time zones turned out to be the hardest part of the project. I tried to add other locations to my program and immediately ran into a problem.

The ephem.Date class always uses UTC, and has no concept of converting to the observer's timezone. You can convert to the timezone of the person running the program with localtime, but that's not useful when you're trying to plot an analemma at local noon.

At first, I was only calculating analemmas for my own location. So I set time to '20:00', that being the UTC for my local noon. And I got the image at right. It's an analemma, all right, and it's almost vertical. Almost ... but not quite. What was up?

Well, I was calculating for 12 noon clock time -- but clock time isn't the same as mean solar time unless you're right in the middle of your time zone.

You can calculate what your real localtime is (regardless of what politicians say your time zone should be) by using your longitude rather than your official time zone:

    date = '2011/%d/12 12:00' % (m)
    adjtime = ephem.date(ephem.date(date) \
                    - float(self.observer.lon) * 12 / math.pi * ephem.hour)
    observer.date = adjtime

Maybe that needs a little explaining. I take the initial time string, like '2011/12/15 12:00', and convert it to an ephem.date. The number of hours I want to adjust is my longitude (in radians) times 12 divided by pi -- that's because if you go pi (180) degrees to the other side of the earth, you'll be 12 hours off. Finally, I have to multiply that by ephem.hour because ... um, because that's the way to add hours in PyEphem and they don't really document the internals of ephem.Date.

Set the observer date to this adjusted time before calculating your analemma, and you get the much more vertical figure you see here. This also explains why the morning and evening analemmas weren't symmetrical in the previous run.

This code is location independent, so now I can run my analemma program on a city name, or specify longitude and latitude.

PyEphem turned out to be a great tool for exploring analemmas. But to really understand analemma shapes, I had more exploring to do. I'll write about that, and post my complete analemma program, in the next article.

Tags: analemma, astronomy, science, programming, python, writing
[ 19:54 Dec 29, 2011    More science/astro | permalink to this entry | comments ]

Calculating the Solstice and shortest day

Today is the winter solstice -- the official beginning of winter.

The solstice is determined by the Earth's tilt on its axis, not anything to do with the shape of its orbit: the solstice is the point when the poles come closest to pointing toward or away from the sun. To us, standing on Earth, that means the winter solstice is the day when the sun's highest point in the sky is lowest.

You can calculate the exact time of the equinox using the handy Python package PyEphem. Install it with: easy_install pyephem for Python 2, or easy_install ephem for Python 3. Then ask it for the date of the next or previous equinox. You have to give it a starting date, so I'll pick a date in late summer that's nowhere near the solstice:

>>> ephem.next_solstice('2011/8/1')
2011/12/22 05:29:52

That agrees with my RASC Observer's Handbook: Dec 22, 5:30 UTC. (Whew!)

PyEphem gives all times in UTC, so, since I'm in California, I subtract 8 hours to find out that the solstice was actually last night at 9:30. If I'm lazy, I can get PyEphem to do the subtraction for me:

ephem.date(ephem.next_solstice('2011/8/1') - 8./24)
2011/12/21 21:29:52

I used 8./24 because PyEphem's dates are in decimal days, so in order to subtract 8 hours I have to convert that into a fraction of a 24-hour day. The decimal point after the 8 is to get Python to do the division in floating point, otherwise it'll do an integer division and subtract int(8/24) = 0.

The shortest day

The winter solstice also pretty much marks the shortest day of the year. But was the shortest day yesterday, or today? To check that, set up an "observer" at a specific place on Earth, since sunrise and sunset times vary depending on where you are. PyEphem doesn't know about San Jose, so I'll use San Francisco:

>>> import ephem
>>> observer = ephem.city("San Francisco")
>>> sun = ephem.Sun()
>>> for i in range(20,25) :
...   d = '2011/12/%i 20:00' % i
...   print d, (observer.next_setting(sun, d) - observer.previous_rising(sun, d)) * 24
2011/12/20 20:00 9.56007901422
2011/12/21 20:00 9.55920379754
2011/12/22 20:00 9.55932991847
2011/12/23 20:00 9.56045709446
2011/12/24 20:00 9.56258416496

I'm multiplying by 24 to get hours rather than decimal days.

So the shortest day, at least here in the bay area, was actually yesterday, 2011/12/21. Not too surprising, since the solstice wasn't that long after sunset yesterday.

If you look at the actual sunrise and sunset times, you'll find that the latest sunrise and earliest sunset don't correspond to the solstice or the shortest day. But that's all tied up with the equation of time and the analemma ... and I'll cover that in a separate article.

Tags: astronomy, science, programming, python, writing
[ 10:28 Dec 22, 2011    More science/astro | permalink to this entry | comments ]

Make your own Saturn sketching template with GIMP

My SJAA Ephemeris planetary astronomy column for next month will discuss Saturn, among other topics, since Saturn is the main planet visible in the evening sky right now.

Saturn has some storms visible right now in the north polar and equatorial bands, and a great way to focus your attention to see more detail through a telescope, especially on subtle details like Saturnian storms, is to take pencil and paper and sketch what you see. I've recommended sketching in my column many times before, but don't talk about it on the blog very often.

When sketching Saturn, it helps to start with a template, so you can concentrate on the interesting details of the rings and bands rather than fussing over trying to get the exact width of the rings right. Saturn's tilt changes with time -- right now it's tilted at 8° to observers here on Earth -- so sometimes the rings are open wide, sometimes they're narrow, and sometimes (as last year) they're edge-on and invisible to us. That's a hassle to try to get right in a sketch, when you'd rather be focusing on the gaps in the rings and the pastel colors of the cloud bands on the planet.

ALPO, the Association of Lunar and Planetary Observers, makes templates for sketching Saturn; but I had trouble finding any online that showed a tilt appropriate for this month's Saturn. You can get observing materials by joining ALPO, but sheesh! you shouldn't have to join an organization just to get a simple sketching template. And I wanted one for my column. Besides, the ALPO templates fill in too much detail -- they don't really give you a chance to do your own ring sketch.

So here's an easy way to make a Saturn sketching template with GIMP.

Start with an image

You can calculate the aspect ratio you need for the planet from the ring tilt, but why go to all that trouble? I started with an image of Saturn I got by running XEphem. Call up View->Saturn, then make the window as big as you can. Of course, you may substitute any planetarium program of your choosing, as long as it shows Saturn with the right ring tilt.

I used GIMP's screenshot facility to open this as an image: File->Create->Screenshot..., then Select a region to grab.

You can also use a recent photo of Saturn. The point here is to get something that's the right shape: it doesn't matter if it's beautiful or large.

Fix the rotation and size

You want the rings horizontal, if they're not already. Use GIMP's Free Rotate tool to do that. You can eyeball it to make it approximately right, or if you want to be more accurate, use the Measure tool (the icon looks like a drawing compass) to measure from one edge of the rings to the other and note the angle in the status bar at the bottom of the window. Then when you use Free Rotate, type in the number you measured.

You'll be printing this out on sketching paper, so if the original image is small, use Image->Scale to expand it. Remember, you won't be looking at this original image -- it's just for tracing -- so don't worry if the image comes out fuzzy after you scale it up. I made mine about 1000 pixels wide.

Make a white background layer

Layer->New Layer... to make a new layer; check "white" in the dialog. Then click the eyeball icon next to it in the Layers dialog to make it invisible. You'll want it later.

Outline the planet on its own layer

Layer->New Layer... to make a new layer; this time make it transparent, not white. I named mine "planet", since this is where I'll draw the ellipse for the planet. (Yes, Saturn is an ellipse, not a sphere. So is the Earth, for that matter, but Saturn is a lot less spherical than Earth is.)

Choose the ellipse selection tool and drag out a selection that matches the outer edges of the planet. Use the resize handles to adjust the selection until it fits as closely as you can manage.

In the Toolbox or the Brushes dialog, choose the smallest hard brush, "Circle (01)".

Then Edit->Stroke Selection.... Click "Stroke with a paint tool", and click Stroke.

Tip: You may notice my template ended up with very jaggy lines. That's a common artifact of GIMP's Stroke Selection. I'm not worried about it for a sketching template, but if the jaggies bother you, you can get a much smoother line by converting the selection to a path and stroking the path instead of the selection.

Preview your work so far

Go back to the Layers dialog and make that white layer visible again, so you can see the outline you just made. You may want to do Select->None and click on some tool other than ellipse select, so the selection outline disappears and you can see the line better.

If you're not happy with your planet outline, Edit->Undo and repeat with a different selection, a thicker line or whatever.

Outline the rings on their own layer

Repeat what you just did for the planet, this time for the rings. I recommend using a new layer for just the rings (you'll see why in the next step).

I outlined just the outside of the rings, so the sketch can show the ring thickness. ALPO's templates don't do this, but how much ring you can see can vary based on seeing conditions. If you want the inner edge of the ring on your template, add it now.

Erase the hidden parts of the ring and planet outlines

You can't see the rings where they go behind the planet, or the part of the planet hidden by the rings. And you don't want your template lines spoiling your sketch in those regions. So use GIMP's eraser tool and a large brush to erase the appropriate parts.

This is a little easier if you used separate layers for the rings and planet: you won't have to be as careful with the eraser. But it's not a big deal: this is a template, not a finished artwork, and you're going to be drawing over it anyway. So don't sweat it too much.

Optionally, make the lines fainter

I made the template lines fainter using the Opacity slider in the Layers dialog on the planet and ring layers. Of course, you can just draw in grey in the first place, but I like being able to decide afterward what color I want, or change it later.

Label the template

Trust me, you'll be really annoyed if you decide in 2026 that you want to make another Saturn sketch, find your old template but can't remember what ring tilt it's for. So use the Text tool to label either the current date or the approximate ring tilt. Or put that information in an image comment under Image->Image Properties..., or in the filename.

Save your template as XCF.gz, save a copy in some other format like jpg, png or gif, and you're ready to print templates on paper. Then go out and sketch Saturn!

Tags: astronomy, sketching, gimp
[ 14:13 Jun 07, 2011    More science/astro | permalink to this entry | comments ]

Measuring Mars Methane -- Messy!

I write a monthly column for the San Jose Astronomical Association. Usually I don't reprint the columns here, but last month's column, Worlds of Controversy, discussed several recently controversial topics in planetary science.

One of the topics was the issue of methane on Mars -- or lack thereof. We've all read the articles about how the measurements of Mars methane points to possible signs of life, woohoo! But none of the articles cover the problems with those measurements, as described in a recent paper by Kevin Zahnle, Richard S. Freedmana and David C. Catling: Is there methane on Mars?

Lack of life on Mars isn't sexy, I guess; The Economist was the only mainstream publication covering Kevin's paper, in an excellent article, Methane on Mars: Now you don't...

Here's the short summary from my column last month:

I'm sure you've seen articles on Martian methane. Methane doesn't last long in the atmosphere -- only a few hundred years -- so if it's there, it's being replenished somehow. On Earth, one of the most common ways to produce methane is through biological processes. Life on Mars! Whoopee! So everyone wants to see methane on Mars, and it makes for great headlines.

The problem, according to Kevin, is that the Mars measurements show changes on a scale much shorter than hundreds of years: they fluctuate on a seasonal basis. That's tough to explain. Known atmospheric oxidation processes wouldn't get rid of methane fast enough, so you'd need to invent some even more exotic process -- perhaps methane-eating bacteria in the Martian soil? -- to account for the drops.

Worse, the measurements showing methane aren't very reliable. The evidence is spectroscopic: methane absorbs light at several fixed wavelengths, so you can measure methane by looking for its absorption lines.

But any Earth-based measurement of Martian methane has to cope with the fact that Earth's atmosphere has far more methane than Mars. How do you separate possible Mars methane absorption lines from Terran ones? There's one clever way: you can measure Mars at quadrature, when it's coming toward us or going away from us, and any methane spectral lines would be red- or blue-shifted compared to the Terran ones. But then the lines overlap with other absorption lines from Earth's atmosphere. It's very difficult to get a reliable measurement. Of course, a measurement from space would avoid those problems, so the spectrograph on the ESA Mars orbiter has been pressed into service. But there are questions about its accuracy.

The published evidence so far for Martian methane just isn't convincing, especially with those unlikely seasonal fluctuations. That doesn't mean there's no methane there; it means we need better data. The next Mars Rover, dubbed "Curiosity", will include a laser spectrometer which can give us much more accurate methane measurements. Curiosity is set to launch this fall and arrive at Mars in August of next year.

It gets worse: the kapton tape issue

But it gets worse. That Curiosity rover whose sensitive equipment is going to answer the question for us? Well, check out an article in Wired last week: Space Duct Tape Could Confuse Mars Rover.

It seems the materials used to build Curiosity, notably the kapton tape used in large quantities to hold the rover together ... emit methane! Andrew C. Schuerger, Christian Clausen and Daniel Britt, in Methane Evolution from UV-irradiated Spacecraft Materials under Simulated Martian Conditions: Implications for the Mars Science Laboratory (MSL) Mission (abstract), take a selection of materials used in the rover, plus bacteria that might be expected to contaminate it, and subject them to simulated Mars conditions. They conclude

... the large amount of kapton tape used on the MSL rover (lower bound estimated at 3 m²) is likely to create a significant source of terrestrial methane contamination during the early part of the mission.

A skeptical eye

So let's sum up:

* We desperately want to see methane on Mars, because it might point to biological processes and that would be cool.
* But we don't currently have any reliable way to measure Martian methane.
* So we build a special mission one of whose primary purposes is to get accurate measurements of Martian methane.
* But we build the probe with materials that will make the measurements unreliable.

It's apparently too late to fix the problem; so instead, just shrug and say, well, it might not be so bad if we measure at night, or if we wait a while (how long?) until most of the methane outgasses. The methane emission from the kapton tape is fairly small -- though it's hard to know exactly how small, since it's impossible to test it in a real Martian environment.

So in a couple of years, when you start seeing news releases trumpeting Curiosity's methane measurements and talking about life on Mars, read them with a skeptical eye.

Maybe Curiosity will see methane levels on Mars so large that they swamp any contamination issues. Maybe not. But we won't be able to tell from the reports we read in the popular press.

Tags: astronomy, mars, science
[ 11:38 Mar 13, 2011    More science/astro | permalink to this entry | comments ]

Lunar Water Strip-Mines?

You may have seen the headlines a few weeks ago, when everyone was crowing "Water on the Moon!" after the LCROSS results were finally published. Turns out the moon is wetter than the Sahara (woo!) and all the news sites seemed excited about how we'd be using this for a lunar base. It only takes a ton of rock to get 11-12 gallons of water!

I wondered, am I the only one who thinks 12 gallons isn't very much? I couldn't help envisioning a tiny lunar base surrounded by acres of mine tailing devastation.

So I calculated how much rock it takes to make a ton (assuming basalt; lunar highland anorthosite would be a little less dense). Turns out it's not very much: a ton of basalt would make a cube about 8.6 feet on a side. So okay, I guess it would take quite a while to work up to those acres of devastation. It was an interesting calculation, anyway; rock is a lot less dense than I thought.

You can read the details in my SJAA Ephemeris column this month, Full of Moon.

Tags: astronomy.science, nature
[ 18:55 Nov 21, 2010    More science/astro | permalink to this entry | comments ]

Making "Citizen Science" compelling

I had the opportunity to participate in a focus group on NASA's new "citizen science" project, called Moon Zoo, with a bunch of other fellow lunatics, amateur astronomers and lunar enthusiasts.

Moon Zoo sounds really interesting. Ordinary people will analyze high-resolution photos of the lunar surface: find out how many boulders and craters are there. I hope it will also include more details like crater type and size, rilles and so forth, though that wasn't mentioned. These are all tasks that are easy for a human and hard for a computer: perfect for crowdsourcing. Think Galaxy Zoo for the moon. The resulting data will be used for planning future lunar missions as well as for general lunar science.

It sounds like a great project and I'm excited about it. But I'm not going to write about Moon Zoo today -- it doesn't exist yet (current estimate is mid-March), though there is a preliminary PDF. Instead, I want to talk about some of the great ideas that came out of the focus group.

The primary question: How do we get people -- both amateur astronomers and the general public, people of all ages -- interested in contributing to a citizen science project like Moon Zoo?

Here are some of the key ideas:

Make the data public

This was the most important point, echoed by a lot of participants. Some people felt that many of the existing "citizen science" projects project the attitude "We want something from you, but we're not going to give you anything in return." If you use crowdsourcing to create a dataset, make it available to the crowd.

Opening the data has a lot of advantages:

• People can make "mashups", useful sites that display your data in useful ways or combine it with other data. This can generate more interest in your project and more contributors.
• School groups can work on class projects or science fair projects, probably contributing more data along the way.
• It might help the next generation of scientist get started.
• It shows openness and good faith: witness the recent blow-up over the leaked IPCC emails and the debate over how much climate data has been kept private.

Projects like Wikipedia and Open Street Map, as well as Linux and the rest of the open source movement, show how much an open data model can inspire contributions.

Give credit to individuals and teams

People cited the example of SETI@Home, where teams of contributors can compete to see who's contributed the most. Show rankings for both individuals and groups, so they can track their progress and maybe get a bit competitive with other groups. Highlight groups and individuals who contribute a lot -- maybe even make it a formal competition and offer inexpensive prizes like T-shirts or mugs.

A teenaged panel member had the great suggestion of making buttons that said "I'm a Moon Zookeeper." Little rewards like that don't cost much but can really motivate people.

Offer an offline version

They wanted to hear ideas for publicizing Moon Zoo to groups like our local astronomy clubs.

I mentioned that I've often wanted to spread the word about Galaxy Zoo, but it's entirely a web-based application and when I give talks to clubs or school groups, web access is never an option. (Ironically, the person leading the focus group had planned to demonstrate Galaxy Zoo to us but couldn't get connected to the wi-fi at the Lawrence Hall of Science.)

Projects are so much easier to evangelize if you can download an offline demo.

And not just a demo, either. There should be a way to download a real version, including a small data set. Imagine if you could grab a Moon Zoo pack and do a little classifying whenever you got a few spare minutes -- on the airplane or train, or in a hotel room while traveling.

Important note: this does not mean you should write a separate Windows app for people to download. Keep it HTML, Javascript and cross platform so everyone can run it. Then let people download a local copy of the same web app they run on your site.

Make sure it works on phones and game consoles

Lots of people use smartphones more than they use a desktop computer these days. Make sure the app runs on all the popular smartphones. And lots of kids have access to handheld web-enabled game consoles: you can reach a whole new set of kids by supporting these platforms.

Offer levels of accomplishment, like a game

Lots of people are competitive by nature, and like to feel they're getting better at what they're doing. Play to that: let users advance as they get more experienced, and give them the option of doing harder projects. "I'm up to level 7 in Moon Zoo!"

Use social networking

Facebook. Twitter. Nuff said.

Don't keep results a secret

Quite a few scientific publications have arisen out of Galaxy Zoo -- yet although most of us were familiar with Galaxy Zoo, few of us knew that. Why so secretive? They should be trumpeting achievements like that.

How many times have you volunteered for a survey or study, then wondered for years afterward how the results came out? Researchers never contact the volunteers when the paper is finally published. It's frustrating and demotivating; it makes you not want to volunteer again. Lots of us sign up because we're curious about the science -- but that means we're also curious about the results.

With citizen science projects, this is particularly easy. Set up a mailing list or forum (or both) to discuss results and announce when papers are published. Set up a Twitter account and a Facebook group to announce new papers to anyone who wants to follow. This is the age of Web 2.0, folks -- there's no excuse for not communicating.

I don't know if NASA will listen to our ideas. But I hope they do. Moon Zoo promises to be a terrific project ... and the more of these principles they follow, the more dedicated volunteers they'll get and that will make the project even better.

Tags: science, astronomy, open source, crowdsourcing
[ 19:25 Feb 06, 2010    More science/astro | permalink to this entry | comments ]

Pluto Visits the States

This is a reprinting of an article I wrote for my monthly planet column in the SJAA Ephemeris:

Is Pluto a planet, or not? Maybe you caught the news last month that Illinois, birthplace of Clyde Tombaugh, has declared Pluto a planet. It joins New Mexico, Tombaugh's longtime home, which made a similar declaration two years ago.

When I first heard about the New Mexico resolution, I was told that they had declared that Pluto would be a planet within the state's boundaries. That made me a bit curious: would Pluto even fit inside New Mexico? I looked it up: Pluto has a diameter of 2300km, while New Mexico is about 550km in longitude and a bit more in latitude. Not even close (see Figure 1). Too bad -- I liked the image of Pluto and Charon coming to visit and hang out with friends. Though at Pluto's orbital velocity (it takes it just under 248 years to complete its 18 billion kilometer orbit, meaning an average speed of 23 million km/year or 63,000 km/day) and its current distance of about 32 AU (4.8 billion km), it whould take it about 207 years to get here.

But it turns out that's not what the resolution said anyway. Both states' resolutions said roughly the same thing:

BE IT RESOLVED BY THE LEGISLATURE OF THE STATE OF NEW MEXICO that, as Pluto passes overhead through New Mexico's excellent night skies, it be declared a planet and that March 13, 2007 be declared "Pluto Planet Day" at the legislature.

RESOLVED, BY THE SENATE OF THE NINETY-SIXTH GENERAL ASSEMBLY OF THE STATE OF ILLINOIS, that as Pluto passes overhead through Illinois' night skies, that it be reestablished with full planetary status, and that March 13, 2009 be declared "Pluto Day" in the State of Illinois in honor of the date its discovery was announced in 1930.

So the law applies to anyone (though it's probably not enforceable outside state boundaries) -- but only when Pluto is overhead in New Mexico or Illinois.

But wait -- does Pluto ever actually pass overhead in those states?

New Mexico stretches from 31.2 to about 37 degrees latitude, while Illinois spans 36.9 to 42.4. Right now Pluto is in Sagittarius, with a declination of -17° 41'; there's no way anyone in the US is going to see it directly overhead this year. Worse, it's on its way even farther south. It won't cross into the northern hemisphere until the beginning of 2111. But how far north will it go?

My first thought was to add Pluto's inclination -- 17.15 degrees, very high compared to other planets -- to the 23 degrees of the ecliptic to get 40.4°. Way far north -- no problem in either state! But unfortunately it's not as simple as that.

It turns out that when Pluto gets to its maximum north inclination, it's in Bootes (bet you didn't know Bootes was a constellation of the zodiac, did you? It's that 17° inclination that puts Pluto just past the Virgo border). That'll happen in February of 2228.

But in the Virgo/Bootes region, the ecliptic is 8° south of the equator, not 23° north. So we don't get to add 23 and 17; in fact, Pluto's declination will only be about 7.3° north. That's no help!

To find the time when Pluto gets as far north as it's going to get, you have to combine the declination of the ecliptic and the angle of Pluto above the ecliptic. The online JPL HORIZONS simulator is very helpful for running data like that over long periods -- much easier than plugging dates into a planetarium program. HORIZONS told me that Pluto's maximum northern declination, 23.5°, will happen in spring of 2193.

Unfortunately, 23.5° isn't far enough north to be overhead even from Las Cruces, NM. So Pluto, sadly, will never be overhead from either New Mexico or Illinois, and thus by the text of the two measures, it will never be a planet.

With that in mind, I'm asking you to support my campaign to persuade the governments of Ecuador and Hawaii to pass resolutions similar to the New Mexico and Illinois ones. Please give generously -- and hurry, because we need your support before April 1!

Tags: science, astronomy, pluto, humor, writing
[ 19:09 Apr 01, 2009    More science/astro | permalink to this entry | comments ]

For Ada Lovelace Day: Vera Rubin

For Ada Lovelace Day I'm honoring Vera Rubin.

In 1948, when she applied to Princeton as an aspiring astronomy grad student, they wouldn't let her in because women weren't allowed. (They finally started admitting women in 1975.) Fortunately, Cornell was more accommodating.

For her thesis, she worked on a project that seemed useful and uncontroversial. She took other people's data on the redshifts of galaxies, and catalogued them to see how fast they were all moving away from us.

Except something unexpected happened. She found that galaxies in one direction weren't moving away as fast as galaxies in the other directions. The universe was supposed to be expanding evenly in all directions -- but that's not what her data showed.

In 1950 she presented her results to a conference of the American Astronomical Society. The results were not promising. Famous astronomers she'd read about but never met stood up in the audience to ridicule her paper and say it couldn't be true. No one would publish her master's thesis. It wasn't a good start to her career. She decided to try to find something less controversial to study.

Her husband finished at Cornell and moved to Washington, D.C.. Rubin and her new baby moved with him, and she enrolled as a PhD student at Georgetown. They had two children by now; her parents watched the kids while she took night classes.

She hooked up with George Gamow at Georgetown. He called her to ask her about her research -- but said they'd have to talk in the lobby, not in his office, because women weren't allowed in the office area of the building.

After Rubin finished her PhD with Gamow in 1954, Her experience trying to present her 1950 paper made her leery of confrontation. She's said, "I wanted a problem that no one would bother me about." Working with Kent Ford at the Carnegie Institute in Washington, she helped design a super-sensitive digital spectrograph, and they set out to make a huge catalog of data on boring "normal" galaxies no one else was looking at. They started with the Andromeda galaxy, M31, the closest large galaxy to us (and the easiest one to see with the naked eye, if you go somewhere away from city lights).

And right away they found something weird. Normally, you'd expect the outer parts of the galaxy to be rotating a lot slower than the inner parts. Think of our solar system: Mercury goes around the sun really fast (a Mercury year is only 88 days), Earth goes not quite as fast, and when you get all the way out to Pluto, it takes 247 years to go around the sun once. It's not just that it has farther to go to make a circuit around the sun; it's that the sun's influence is so weak way out there that Pluto goes a lot slower in its orbit than we do.

Galaxies should be the same way: stars in the center should just whiz around in no time, while stars at the outer edge take forever.

But Rubin and Ford found that Andromeda wasn't like that. When they started looking at the stars farther out, they were all going about the same speed. If anything, the stars at the edge were going a little faster than the stars in the center.

That made no sense. It didn't follow any normal model of gravity or galaxy formation. They published their results in 1970, but no one took them seriously. They decided that maybe something was wrong, or their equipment was faulty. They decided to try studying a simpler problem: just measure the redshift of some faint galaxies and make a catalog of those.

That went well for a while -- except that pretty soon, they ran into the same thing Rubin had discovered as a graduate student back at Cornell. Galaxies in the direction of Pegasus were moving away from us at a different speed from galaxies in other parts of the sky. She and Ford tried again to present that, but the reaction wasn't any more positive this time.

Discouraged, they went back to trying to measure galaxy rotation, hoping Andromeda had just been a fluke. But every galaxy they studied looked the same as Andromeda, with the stars far out near the edge of the galaxy rotating as fast, or faster, than the stars near the hub.

There were only two possible explanations. Either the law of gravity doesn't work the way we think it does ... or there's a lot more matter inside a galaxy than what we see with a telescope.

When they tried to present this result, no one believed it, so they kept measuring more galaxies, always with the same result.

By 1985, they had enough evidence that people finally started paying attention. As their results got talked about more and taken more seriously, they came up with a name for the extra mass that makes the galaxy rotation flat: "dark matter". Yes, the dark matter you hear about that apparently makes up more than 90% of all matter in the universe. Not a bad discovery for someone who was just trying to lay low and catalogue a lot of data that might be useful to other people! (Rubin's first graduate project, on the rotation of the universe, has also since been vindicated.)

Vera Rubin is still working at the Department of Terrestrial Magnetism. Her intellect, hard work and perseverance are an inspiration, and I salute her on Ada Lovelace Day. (You can read other people's Ada Lovelace Day posts in the Ada Lovelace Day Collection.)

Tags: AdaLovelaceDay09, chix, astronomy
[ 19:12 Mar 24, 2009    More science/astro | permalink to this entry | comments ]