The truth can now be revealed. Not only can we say, ‘We are what we eat’ but behavioural psychologists have concluded after years spent studying the amateur astronomer that our most treasured possessions, our telescopes, expose the dark matter that lies deep within us all.
It is quite a difficult machine to use, but in the hands of a patient and determined owner affords stunning views of the Moon and planets once these objects can be located. However, this machine often drains the enthusiasm of the owner within six months and it ends up in its packing case while the hapless owner moves to another great hobby such as growing orchids or raising ferrets.
Unfortunately, owners of this instrument have now entered the hobby roundabout and will one day end up collecting beer mats or worse still, hub-caps, regarded by experts as the final stages of dementia.
A comprehensive hand-book adds weight and seriousness to this modest investment and family members and friends readily acknowledge that the owner has joined an elite group. Now watch as the instrument is put through its paces.
The Celestial North or South Pole is sought with scout compass. The counter-weights are added with all the aplomb of a confident Olympic weight-lifter. The finder scope is jiggled into place and the telescope is turned to a setting Jupiter.
The left shoulder sags, the neck is twisted downwards and the unfortunate victim gropes in vain for the RA and Dec controls. Eager viewers crowd around and the frustrated owner keeps them at bay with phrases such as: "Once I’ve ironed out the bugs, I’ll really show you something. Would anyone like to see the craters on the Moon?”
The owner of this instrument will unfortunately end up as a mere sporadic and stunted viewer of the night sky. He or she will forever be weary of machines which include detailed hand-books and will always call on an offspring to program the video recorder. Their remaining days will be spent in search of a good chiropractor.
In the first weeks of ownership, a long list of Messier objects floats across this observer’s field of view. The Tarantula is impressive, the Dumbbell begins to assume the correct shape and even the fainter galaxies of Grus are glimpsed on really dark nights.
Feet are still on the ground and eyepieces are still available for the cost of a reasonable night out. The heady days of Nagler eyepieces are still not born. These days are brief. Enjoy them. One look through a behemoth machine at an accursed star party will change all this forever.
For some inexplicable reason patches are not yet available to cure the bane of this sufferer. The only sense his partner can get out of this wretched individual is, “Look, love, don’t worry, I can sell the second car.” More on where all this leads later...
The wonder-workers of science have surpassed themselves in packing so much telescopic promise into such a small container.
I don’t think I am demystifying the aura surrounding these exotic creations when I state that the secret of this design is that instead of having a decently large image form at the end of a mirror or lens of large focal length, your designer has simply put a series of reflecting surfaces at various ends of the tube so that the long focal length is retained in a tube no bigger than a five litre can of paint with the price tag of a decent world cruise.
It takes little imagination to realise that your light path is not only being reflected but blocked as well. The sorry truth about owners of these machines is that they are folks with abiding faith, big bankbooks and short legs.
You have only to visit the back-yard or shrine of the fifth Earl of Rosse to see where the madness of this machine started.
Those who visit star parties and have seen the cloud and rain that these insidious machines generate will not be surprised to know that Birr Castle, in the centre of Ireland receives a record 365 days of cloud cover a year.
This, apparently was not always so. Ancient Druidic manuscripts record that in early Ireland the Sun and stars were regularly seen, and for extended periods. Word has it that the Third Earl of Rosse or ‘Maddy’ as he was popularly known, put an end to all that when the first Leviathan (lit. Sea or Water-generating Monster) was built. So owners of this machine certainly follow a very nefarious tradition and are destined to spend endless nights at what the Celts call pining.
Ladders are climbed and fallen off, life-savings are carelessly thrown away on multiple-lensed eyepieces, planets burn holes in the retina, and all for what? For- it must be said,-dim objects that are merely glimpsed or imagined.
In short, the star atlas has not been compiled or the eyepiece invented that will satisfy these cosmic feeders. And, whatever you do, don’t mention the Moon in their presence...
This machine is programmed to find all the hidden objects in the universe. No prior knowledge of the sky is required. In fact, this telescope operates better without an owner. Like a good computer, its only limitation is its user.
Sadly, this is the wonder machine that sits there blinking like an abandoned robot at a star party, surrounded by neophytes who are forever on the point of figuring out how this machine works.
The owner is easily recognised. He is the one carrying the hand-book and the red lamp and pleading sadly, “It worked OK last week! The reason it is pointing to the ground is because the Whirlpool Galaxy isn’t up yet.”
They seek out main mirrors and eyepieces from the remote corners of the U.S.A. Optics are coated, double-coated, super-coated, with ever-increasing wave accuracy. No telescope is complete without the auto-focuser. The laser-collimator, the reducer-corrector and of course the Telrad - that Guide Dog of the night blind.
Make no mistake about it, the Cosmos is not the goal here: the main business is the work down in the back shed - and it never ends. One job leads to another. No sooner is one telescope nearly completed than another has begun.
This activity is well labelled ‘The Obsession’, by one man who finally saw the truth and had the courage to turn it to his advantage. Unfortunately, not many ATMs reach this plateau of enlightenment.
Viewing fields are turned into blood-red darkrooms, with regular lights shunned, while the telescope is a mere addendum to bristling electronic equipment.
The results are staggering to say the least. With digital enhancement, Saturn becomes a rainbow-banded urn surrounded by coloured bangles of rings, never before imagined. Dim Messier objects such as the dismal blob of the Crab Nebula can be transformed into a glowing silk scarf.
The possibilities are endless and the ‘wow’ factor is high. Don’t let this amateur’s humble telescope fool you. Make no mistake about it, what we have here in the director’s chair is a plenipotentiary from a Steven Spielberg production.
This magical illusion can now be finally exposed. For a small fee and with basic computer skills you can connect to a fully remote telescope under a clear sky in a distant continent, take stunning pictures of your favourite objects and collect them through your internet server.
This is beyond the wildest dream of even the most entrenched arm-chair observer. No expensive telescope, no eyepieces, no detailed maps under red lights, and above all no insects, storms, rain, sleet and snow.
If this idea takes off, think of the possibilities for long distant travellers yearning to sip tea among the yaks in Tibet.
From the comfort of our own homes, collectively and for a small fee we could get someone to travel to distant lands and send us back the post cards!