Something's crooked about our home planet

The sun sets on the bay of Fundy in August 2024. - john mcphee

When we lived in the Annapolis Valley, I often dreaded the drive home from the Herald newsroom in Halifax this time of year.

People who regularly use Highway 101 know what I’m talking about. The open fields on both sides of the highway are perfect for creating whiteouts.

But winter driving has its challenges even on a clear day. 

The low-lying Sun is a constant irritation on an east-west highway like the 101. Driving west, it’s either directly in your eyes or slightly to the left, so you have to keep moving your visor around. Driving east, it's ideally positioned for optimum blinding potential between the rearview mirror and the passenger side visor. 

Darn you orbital motion and planetary axial tilt!

Tilted worlds

Most planets don’t spin completely upright in space. Their rotations were knocked askew in the early years of the solar system billions of years ago when planets, asteroids and other celestial bodies regularly whacked into one another. 

The only exception is Mercury, the closest planet to the Sun. Mercury’s rotation is almost perfectly upright, only two degrees off the perpendicular, likely due to its proximity to the Sun’s huge tidal effect. 

At the other extreme are planets such as Uranus, which has an axial tilt of about 98 degrees, creating an almost sideways rotation. 

If Earth wasn’t tilted, there would be about 12 hours of sunlight everywhere all year long. Here in Nova Scotia, the temperature would hover around 7 C, give or take a couple of degrees. So yay, no short winter days or icy sidewalks! But boo, no forests! The lack of seasonal temperature spikes would create a tundra environment in the 40 to 50 latitude zones, British meteorologist Robin Smith postulates.

But odds are there wouldn’t be any people around to bemoan the lack of trees anyway. The climate on a non-tilted Earth would have limited human development to scattered settlements, according to Don Attwood, an ecological anthropologist at McGill University.

While Earth’s tilt of 23.4 degrees is comparatively minor, it’s enough to create seasonal changes throughout the year. Beginning in the fall, Earth's northern hemisphere begins to turn away from the Sun. As a result, the Sun gradually appears lower in the sky and terrestrial temperatures take a hit from the more indirect sunlight.

When the Sun’s path hits bottom, sometime between Dec. 20 and Dec. 23, we've reached the winter solstice. Ironically this occurs at the point in Earth's orbit when we're closest to the Sun (known as the perihelion). 

Latin for “standing still of the Sun,” solstice refers to the point where the Sun reaches its most northerly (summer) or southerly (winter) point relative to the celestial equator. As a result, in summer the Sun rises in the northeast in Nova Scotia and in the southeast in winter. 

In 2024, the winter solstice will occur Dec. 21 at 09:20 Universal Time (5:20 a.m. Atlantic). Since the Sun is at its lowest angle, this will be the shortest day of the year at only eight hours, 48 minutes and 35 seconds, according to timeanddate.com

Compare that to the summer solstice when the Sun is in the sky between 15 and 16 hours. And - yippee - it’s also way higher in the sky and out of our eyes on those long drives west.

A meteor streaks through the orion/taurus region in may 2023. The green dot above the meteor is the comet 46p/Wirtanen.- john mcphee

Solstice stars

The winter solstice has been marked by festivals and other celebrations since ancient times across the world. As usual, the Caribbean folks have the coolest sounding name for their event. During Junkanoo, people dress up in flamboyant costumes and hit the streets.

After your solstice party, be sure to check out the gems of the winter sky that decorate the southeast at this frigid time of year. This region is packed with stellar show-offs — the red, blue and yellow giants that make up the winter constellations of Auriga, Taurus and Orion.

There’s no constellation like Orion for bright stars and sheer presence.The Hunter dominates the eastern horizon in December and January. You’ll likely first notice its “belt” of three stars (from left Alnitak, Alnilam and Mintaka) or the bright blue supergiant Rigel to the lower right. 

Above the Hunter is its quarry, Taurus the Bull. Its most luminous star, Aldebaran, is the only member of this constellation that really stands out. This red giant shines about 360 times brighter than the Sun.

That’s dim compared to the luminosity of other giant and supergiant stars, but Aldebaran is relatively close at 67 light-years.

Aldebaran appears to be a part of an arrow-shaped cluster called the Hyades. But that’s an optical illusion caused by our perspective on Earth. The rest of the Hyades group lies on the same line of sight as Aldebaran but they’re about twice as far away.

Finding light in the darkness

A little light painting can help pass the time during a long exposure of the night sky. (JOHN McPHEE)

The constellation Orion is sinking in the west and Lyra is rising on the other side of the sky.

I’m driving as slowly as possible to avoid breaking an axle on this obstacle course of bumps and potholes, otherwise known as a road. 

It’s cold but not so cold that I have to don long undies and heavy duty footwear to prepare for an evening of stargazing. 

Yes, it’s springtime in Nova Scotia.

The dirt road that’s giving my aging car such a hard time leads to an observing site owned by the Royal Astronomical Society of Canada (Halifax Centre). Since we moved to the city five years ago, it’s been my go-to observing site when I want to see fainter objects than planets or the moon. 

While secluded enough for decent dark sky observing, it’s a fairly quick drive from Halifax.  (That’s about all I’ll say on that score because the society prefers to keep its specific location under wraps for security reasons.)

If you’ve been a member for long enough and have been given a rundown on site operations, you get a key that gets you past the locked gate.

Quick, raise your hand if you’re good at not losing things like keys. Not so fast, McPhee. 

No problem. I’ll just heave my Orion Dobsonian telescope, camera gear and observing chair over the gate and forgo the comforts of the warm-up room. One thing about astronomy as a hobby, you learn how to lug things around in the darkness. (Pro tip: Get a good headlamp with a red-filter option to keep your eyes dark-adapted and your hands free for the lugging. Mine is a Petzl Tikka XP. ) 

Usually I don’t have to jump the gate because other key-carrying members are around. But there’s a moon tonight and even though it will set quickly, observers usually wait for moonless nights. Fainter objects such as galaxies and nebulae are washed out even when the moon is not full, like tonight. 

As it turns out, that crescent moon is one of my photo targets. The bright reddish star Aldebaran will be very close by, known in the business as a conjunction. Usually these events involve the moon and planets, but sometimes a star that lies on the ecliptic (the path in the sky followed by the moon, sun and planets) steps up for a conjunction photo-op.

The star Aldebaran is seen in conjunction with the crescent moon on April 10, 2016. (JOHN McPHEE)

After the moon sets and true dark sets in, I’ll point my camera and telescope toward Leo and Virgo to do some galaxy hunting

But mostly I’ll just sit back in the darkness and soak up the silence. In these parts, the quiet is often punctuated by hoots of barred owls and howls of eastern coyotes. Even better. 

If I’m to remain a respectable member of society, I must escape it on a regular basis. Halifax may be a small city but it’s got more than enough concrete, noise and people for my comfort level.  

The urge to escape has been more intense than usual lately. I and over 50 other newsroom staffers have been on strike from a certain Halifax newspaper for about 100 days now. It’s been an incredibly stressful and uncertain time for us and our families.

I’ve never been a glass-half-full guy. If you’re looking for somebody with a sharp eye for the downside, I’m your man. But in the cesspool of negativity that constitutes a bitter strike, you’ve got to hang on to the positive things. 

For me,  it’s hearing, “Come over here, Poppa,” from a twinkle eyed two-year-old beckoning me to the sofa to watch The Wiggles.

It’s the amazing support we’ve received from other unions or from strangers who drop by the picket line with coffee, gift cards or simply words of encouragement.

It's that warm feeling when you've nailed Famous Blue Raincoat, even after your third glass of wine. 

It's my spouse's laugh. Kathy's got a great laugh. 

And it’s nights like this one under the starlit sky.  I’m alone in the dark but hey, I’ve got my fancy headlamp. All’s well.