A Galaxy of Planets

An evening under the Milky Way in Marfa, Texas (C) Steph Goralnick 2011 (used by permission)

As far as we know, it was Galileo who first aimed a telescope at the night sky. This is easy to believe, since we can imagine that most other men of Galileo’s time were interested more in enemy encampments, brothel windows, and then, maybe, and a very distant third, the night sky.* Galileo was a nerd even by Renaissance standards.

Anyway, it was Galileo who first resolved the Milky Way into its constituent stars, in 1610, thus confirming what many philosophers, from 5th century BC Greece to Galileo’s 17th-century Italy, had surmised: that the Milky Way was a collection of stars, too distant and dim to be resolved by the human eye, and that our sun was but one of many stars in an island universe, a galaxy.

And this has remained the predominant understanding of our Milky Way home, until today. Astronomers at the 221st meeting of the American Astronomy Society have reported that their best estimate, according to the data presently on hand, is that the Milky Way galaxy may contain up to 17 billion earth-like planets. “Earth like” doesn’t mean you should book your vacation to one of these worlds, but it means terrestrial (rocky) planets of a size comparable to the earth, orbiting their parent stars at a distance that might be favorable to the conditions of life. In other words, 17 billion (somewhat) earth-like planets that might support life.

Growing up, I would wonder, sometimes aloud with parents or friends, if there were planets orbiting around the stars we see in the night sky. And, of course, if those planets had people on them. And if those people had telescopes, looking at us. (Okay, my thoughts were more along the lines of: if those people slimy creatures were donning latex human masks, marching onto troop ships with laser guns charged, and setting forth in our direction at ludicrous speeds for some high-tech interstellar pillage. But anyway.)

The first hard evidence for extrasolar planets, or exoplanets, came in 1992. Our view of the universe once again shifted, and one of our fundamental questions were answered. Since then scientists–and even some amateur astronomers with pretty nice telescopes–have discovered 874 exoplanets. Nasa’s modest but amazing Kepler orbiting space telescope, which has found over 100 confirmed worlds, is providing some of the richest data we have yet had access to. And it’s got another 2000 possible planets, called candidates, that it’s keeping it’s one-meter eye on. The 17 billion estimate comes from Kepler findings.

To quote Malcolm Reynolds, “It’s getting awful crowded in my sky.”

I can now open an Ipad app called Exoplanet, and pull up a list of all 874 planets. I can tell you when they were discovered, by whom and what method was used to detect them. Orbital period and eccentricity, which is not how weird they are but rather how ovular their orbits are. Mass and even basic type: terrestrial, gas giant, hot jupiter. I can look at a simulation of the solar system the planet belongs to, and even go to a wide angle model of the Milky Way and then zoom in to that particular star. I can find a list of links to publications about that system. Every couple of days, I get an alert that a new exoplanet is discovered, and I have to update the app’s database. It’s almost the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.

Exoplanet will even tell me where in the sky I can find the parent star. And I can go outside, find that star, and know there’s a planet there. I can find the band of the Milky Way, and know that I’m seeing not just a river of billions of stars, but planets.

It’s an incredible time to be alive.

I will never look up in the same way again. I will never again have to say to a gathering of the interested public, “Well, we believe there are lots of planets orbiting around those stars, but we don’t really know…”

Now I can talk about evidence. I can tell people that, based on the publically-funded Kepler mission, astronomers now have evidence that there are as many planets as there are stars in the Milky Way, and that 17 billion of those are similar to earth: rocky, about earth-sized, and orbiting in a potentially habitable zone. And then I can tell them that this number is based on the idea that there are 100 billion stars in the Milky Way. There could be as many as 4 times as many stars, so…do the math.

Our sky is full of worlds.

* If the women of Galileo’s day were allowed to be educated, you can bet we wouldn’t be flabbergasted today at the idea that, of all the Europeans with telescopes in the 17th century, only one of them though to look at the moon with it. For more on this, see Kim Stanley Robinson’s excellent historical sci-fi novel, Galileo’s Dream.

How big is the biggest star? Freakin’ BIG!

One of the great challenges, and thus joys, of studying the universe is getting a sense of the scale of what you’re looking at. We are very tiny. The universe is very large. Language begins to fail here. Large is the smallest cup of coffee you can get at most American coffee shops. We’re talking larger than that.

I’ve been recently chastising my daughter for using the word “ginormous”. I considered it a new, fake kind of word. Isn’t gigantic good enough? Or enormous? Turns out it isn’t that new. Merriam Webster claims it dates to 1948. I find that interesting. 1948 is about when we got our first photographs of the earth from space (as mentioned elsewhere on this blog, taken from the nosecone of a captured German V2 rocket). So maybe “ginormous” has its roots in humankind’s deepening understanding of our own puniness–and the lack of a vocabulary to describe it. So…the universe is ginormous. It eats gigantic and enormous and Starbucks trentas for breakfast, rather like some whales filter krill out of the ocean in their comb/mouth apparatuses.

Talking about how large things are, or how far away they are, at the telescope eyepiece is challenging. The numbers quickly become unapproachable. The Andromeda Galaxy, the farthest object you can see with the naked eye (if the light pollution isn’t getting in the way) is 2.5 million Light Years away. A Light Year is about 6 trillion miles (that’s a 6 followed by 12 zeros). Unless you study the US budget, that doesn’t mean much. Multiply 2.5 million times 6 trillion…well, it’s a ginormous number.

So let’s back away from that one, close the door and say “Whoa”.

2.5 million x 6 trillion = whoa! (actually, it

Let’s try another approach. Go outside around 9pm and look South/Southwest. Find the constellation Orion. If you want, download a free monthly sky chart to help guide you. It’s easy to use, just hold it up with the direction you are facing reading normally, and you should be able to line up the stars in the sky with the chart. We’re going to look at something called the Winter Hexagon. It’s an imaginary asterism (formation of stars) of 6 stars (hexagon!): Sirius, Procyon, Pollux, Cappella, Aldebaran and Rigel.

These stars are all quite interesting in their own ways; they are some of the largest, brightest, or nearest stars we can see, and by comparing them we start to get a sense of the scale of the universe, even if the picture is far from complete. First things first. All those stars you see? They are in the Milky Way, “our” island city of stars. You can’t see any stars that are in other galaxies with your naked eye, though you see the collected light from a whole mess of them when you’re looking at Andromeda, another island city of stars.

We measure the size of stars using our own sun as a standard measure. Our Sun is about 109 times the diameter of the Earth. If you had a bunch of earths and you strung them side by side on a string like popcorn and cranberries on a Christmas tree, you’d need 109 of them to get a string long enough to equal the diameter of the Sun. The diameter of the earth is 7,926 miles, which would make the diameter of the Sun about 870,000 miles.

Let’s start at Sirius, the “dog star” in the constellation Canis Major, or big dog. Sting sings about it. Legends were told about it. The ancient astronomer Ptolemy wrote that it was red, though it’s clearly white–a blazing, shimmering white fitting the Greek meaning of it’s name: Scorcher. Sirius is the brightest star in our sky, not because it’s so intrinsically bright as much as it’s close to us. It’s only 8.6 light years away, which means at the time of posting the light hitting earth from Sirius started it’s journey around the time of the Salt Lake City Olympics, the beginnings of the Enron Case, the invasion of Afghanistan, and around the time the Larsen ice shelf started peeling away from Antarctic, a whopping 1200 miles of ice cracking into the sea. In that time the light travelled 8.6 x 6 trillion= 51.6 trillion miles.

Whoa!  Get in your space car and start driving towards Sirius at 65 miles per hour (watch out in the Oort Cloud–starship troopers love to hang out there and issue speeding tickets). In 92,307,692,307.7 years, you’ll reach Sirius. That’s 92 billion years. The universe is only about 14 billion years old. We need to raise the mileage standards for cars.

Let’s move on to Procyon in the constellation Canis Minor, the little dog. Procyon is also a sun-like star (twice the diameter of our Sun) about 11.41 LY away. It’s intrinsically brighter than Sirius, but farther away, so it only appears as the 7th brightest star in our sky. Procyon, apparently, means “before the dog” in Greek.

Pollux, our next destination, is part of the head pair of the constellation Gemini, the twins. Pollux is a much different star than Sirius or Procyon. It’s an orange giant about 34 Light Years away. Pollux is about eight times the diameter of our Sun, or 856 earth diameters. Give a good look at Pollux. In 2006, a planet was discovered in the Pollux system, a gas giant 2.3 times the size of Jupiter. When I was growing up planets around other stars were just conjecture. Now we have direct evidence of thousands of them.

Capella in Auriga is the 6th brightest star in our night sky. It’s actually a multiple star system consisting of 2 double stars, two giants and two red dwarves. The system is 42 Light Years away, and the two giants are 12 and 9 times the diameter of the Sun. Big, but not nearly as big as stars can get. How many earths would you need to line up to equal their diameters?

Aldebaran in Taurus is our next stop. It’s also an Orange Giant, and it’s 44 times the diameter of the Sun. It’s 65 Light Years away. Notice a pattern? We’re getting larger stars that are farther away. There’s no order or reason to this pattern, it just happens to be that way and we just happen to be taking them in that order so that you feel like we’re leading up to something. We are.

We arrive at Rigel, the foot of Orion. Rigel is 772 Light Years away, and it’s a Blue Supergiant star 78 times the diameter of the Sun! You could line up 8,502 earths side by side and that’s the diameter of Rigel. Send us a few of those earths, by the way, we’re using this one up at an alarmingly fast rate.

Rigel isn’t the biggest star in the Winter Hexagon. What? Didn’t we got through all six? Yes, but there’s a star in the Hexagon that’s even larger. It’s Betelgeuse, and that word means “armpit of the central one” in Arabic. I prefer to call it The Shoulder Of Orion after a great line spoken by Rutger Hauer in his character’s death monologue at the end of the movie Blade Runner. You can watch that here. Chills!

Anyway, Betelgeuse is a Red Supergiant. If we swapped it out for our Sun, its surface would be close to the orbit of Jupiter. It’s 1,180 times the diameter of the Sun and its 140,000 times as luminous. It’s 640 Light Years away. How many earths would it take side by side to equal the diameter of Betelgeuse?

Here’s a little video that compares the sizes of the planets in our solar system, the Sun and some of the largest stars (including the big ones we’ve talked about), though it does so with volume and not diameter. If you go to www.giantstars.de you can see a great flash animation that compares the diameters of the earth, other planets, sun and these stars. It’s a bit clearer, and you can scroll through at your own pace. Chills!

The Great Vanishing Act (of the Night Sky)

Ever drive out into the countryside and marveled at the big strip of the Milky Way arching across the sky and thousands of stars shining everywhere, then wondered why you couldn’t see that from downtown Geneva or from your own driveway? No, the air is not clearer. There’s simply less lights.

The Author, His Telescope and the Milky Way, Cherry Springs State Park, PA

The Author, His Telescope and the Milky Way, Cherry Springs State Park, PA

The splendor of the night sky is all but invisible from most of the places we tend to live and congregate because of what’s called light pollution. Roughly defined, light pollution is too much light in general and light needlessly shining where it is not wanted.

The cause of light pollution is bad lighting design. For the most part, we put lights outdoors to illuminate what’s below them: walkways, parking lots, streets, driveways, and doors. Yet most outdoor lighting shines in every direction: out the sides and even up. The sideways light causes glare, which makes it harder to see anything at all at night, and light trespass, light that shines where it’s not wanted, like in your bedroom windows at night. The upwards light causes sky glow, an orange haze over heavily lit areas that hides the stars and Milky Way.

All these components of light pollution have real life consequences. That’s why we call it pollution. And it’s a global problem. In a November 2008 cover story, National Geographic reported that 1/5 of humanity (that’s over 1 billion people) live in skies so light polluted that they cannot see the stars and the Milky Way. 2/3 of humanity (that’s 3 billion people) suffers some kind of light pollution. It’s bound to get worse. Our race just recently turned a corner; just over 50% of all humans alive now live in cities. As these cities grow and develop, they’ll get brighter. And the night sky will cease to be a source of visible wonder for most humans.

According to the experts, here’s why light pollution is bad:

• It disrupts melatonin production in humans, which messes with our sleep cycles. • It makes driving at night way more dangerous because of glare, which makes it harder to see anything but the bright lights. This problem is worse with older drivers. • It disrupts the normal cycle of hormone production in women, which puts them at greater risk of breast and other cancers. • It kills 100 million birds a year because they collide with lighted buildings and towers. • It disturbs the reproductive cycles of frogs (kermitus interruptus) who are already dying off worldwide for unknown reasons. • It hurts sea turtles, who can’t find dark beaches to lay their delicate eggs.

The American Medical Association (AMA) just declared light pollution a public safety and health hazard, citing the above reasons as well as the 2.2 billion dollars a year we waste on lighting things we don’t intend on lighting (like the night sky.)

The solution to the light pollution is unbelievably simple. It’s better lighting design. Most outdoor lighting (like the irritating “old fashioned looking” globes that line downtown Geneva or HWS campus) are non- or semi cut-off fixtures. Common streetlights are the latter. They don’t shine line up, but they do shine a lot of light sideways.

Full cut-off lighting only shines light down, where we really want it. You can’t see the bulb itself (unless you are under it) but you can see what it is supposed to light up. These lights don’t need to be as powerful since all the light is going where we want it, so that saves money over time. The city of Calgary, Canada, saved over 1.7 million dollars a year in energy costs when it switched its streetlights to lower-wattage, full cut-off designs.

One of the reasons often cited for not solving the light pollution problem is safety. The more lights, the better, and everywhere, the argument goes. Let’s not give crooks and rapists shadows to hide in, the argument goes. Let’s light up the roads so that drivers can see.

Bad lighting actually makes the situation worse. Take two flashlights and go outside. Shine one at your face and one at your car. Can you read your license plate number? Now shine both of them at your license plate. That’s better, right? That’s how full-cut off lighting works to make your nighttime safer and your night sky prettier.

You can help solve the problem yourself. Next time you’re changing or adding a light fixture outside, choose a full cut-off design. You’ll sleep better at night, perhaps literally.

The problem is also solvable at the municipal level as well. Many cities, like Calgary, Canada, and Flagstaff, Arizona, have enacted dark sky ordinances that essentially call for all newly installed outdoor fixtures to be low-wattage full cut-off designs. Some communities have grandfathered in existing fixtures but stipulated that when they are replaced, full cut-off designs are used.

Having visited Flagstaff this July, I can tell you that it’s a pleasure to drive there at night. You see the roads but not the glaring streetlights. And from the middle of the city, you can see the Milky Way!

There are a lot of reasons to solve the light pollution problem: economics, the environment, public health and safety. But let’s not overlook an important but immeasurable benefit of the night sky. Our window to the universe is critical to the development of the human mind and the cultivation of a far-seeing wisdom. I see the effect of it every time I let someone look through my telescope. I saw it this summer out west, in National Parks that have fought hard to preserve their dark skies. The starry night changes people’s behavior; it stops and makes them think, and we need more thinking. It gets people talking in wonder together, and we need more community. We need the natural world—and the night sky represents the part of that world that is most challenging to our understanding—to inspire us and humble us in a way that no computer generated graphic ever can.

You can learn more about light pollution…online, of course. Visit the International Dark Sky Association webpage for lots of infomration: http://www.ida.org

New Mexico (Astro) Photos

The night sky over Valley of the Gods, Utah

The night sky over Valley of the Gods, Utah

GB and Jim check out Chacos new goto telescope

GB and Jim check out Chaco's new goto telescope

Outreach: Jim and GB show a crowd Saturn before it sets

Outreach: Jim and GB show a crowd Saturn before it sets

The moon rises over South Mesa

The moon rises over South Mesa

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