Telescope city

Kitt Peak National Observatory (KPNO) in Arizona, and its sister observatory Cerro Tololo Inter-American Observatory (CTIO) in Chile, are incredibly interesting for the diversity in telescopes at each location.  These observatories are like miniature mountain-top cities, with dynamic citizenships of astronomers and support staff, and skylines dominated by domes that house diverse telescopes.  It is the diversity and the complexity of the instruments that intrigue me, leading me to wander around all of the domes on afternoon walks or during cloudy-nights, when the weather dictates that we take a break from observing. 

As a final Kitt Peak post, I will present a few photographs of the telescopes at Kitt Peak.  In fact, KPNO is so sprawling that I could only visit the telescopes in closest proximity to WIYN.  Others could be viewed from a distance, across the peaks.  In all, KPNO is home to 22 optical and 2 radio telescopes.

The Mayall 4 meter telescope.  This was the 2nd largest optical telescope in 1973.  Its twin, the Blanco 4 meter telescope, was built in Chile a few years later. The Mayall maintains its retro look, especially in the wood-paneled control room.

University of Arizona's Steward Observatory Bok Telescope.  A 90 inch reflector telescope accessible by a spiral staircase, this dome was fondly described to me as the spray-paint can for its unique outward appearance.  The Mayall 4m overlooks in the background.

Left to right, the WIYN 0.9m, a smaller telescope for public outreach, and the WIYN 3.5m telescope.  Notice the 3.5m dome is rather angular, and designed to be very compact.

Here I tried to get as many telescopes as possible in one shot.

And more telescopes.  In the far left is the solar telescope, pictured in a previous post. To the right is the "Spacewatch" telescope, responsible for discovering the asteroid 2005 YU55, which recently passed between the Earth and the moon.

Seeing colors

Data are awesome and I have been known to call a spectrum beautiful, but the images that we're taking here may not be what you consider "pretty".  Here's one of the images (preliminary results) we took the other night:

Exciting and interesting, huh?  The even more intriguing part is that the bright points you see are not actually what we're looking for.  The reason why I have a "job" as a grad student is because when I come down the mountain from an observing run, there is plenty of work to be done to reduce the data.  When we correct for electronic and sky noise, calibrations, etc, faint features will pop out and we will be able to tell what exactly is happening in this region.  So, what is happening in this region?  Well, here is a much nicer picture to show the complex activity in the area of the sky where we point our telescope:

The image above was taken with Spitzer Space Telescope and it shows the region NGC 1333, a young cluster where star formation is very active.  This star forming region is the focus of my dissertation, and quickly becoming my favorite zip code in the Universe.  NGC 1333 is located in the direction of the Perseus constellation, about 1000 light years away from us and it has been forming stars for (only) about 1 million years.  The colors above represent different infrared wavelengths, and signify gas of various temperature, density and composition.  With the WIYN telescope we're looking at yet another wavelength of near-infrared light, and with CARMA (from previous posts) we were looking at millimeter-wavelength light. 

Looking at the same region in various wavelengths (colors) tells us a lot about the activity of forming stars.  As stars form, some gas is ejected outward in what are known as "bipolar outflows".  These ejections shock the surrounding gas, and that gas emits light.  Depending on what wavelength of light is emitted, we can tell what type of gas, and how much energy is in a star forming region.  This is important for understanding how stars form, how long they will be forming, and what might eventually halt further formation of stars in a cluster.

My observations at WIYN will tell about the shocked gas in the region NGC 1333.  In 2008 my professor made similar observations, and now we can tell what has changed in this region in the three years since.  How fast is the gas being ejected from regions where stars are known to be forming, and in what direction?  Stay tuned...

WTF WTTM!!!

I should begin by documenting the fact that last night the telescope operator told me that I must be a glutton for punishment.  Unsure of how to take that, I hesitated a moment so that she would explain, and she did so by telling me that most astronomers don't stay up the whole night before their run just to watch someone else observe, and then proceed to stay up the entire first night of a run marred by clouds and humidity.  She seemed to imply that others would have given up.  But not me!  I prefer to call it optimism, not gluttony and certainly not punishment.

Sunsets seen from the mountain are really pleasant times during an observing run.  Zen moments before the rush to observe.

Well, to further prove my naivety as an observer, tonight we attempted (and had some success!!) to use an instrument here called the "WIYN Tip Tilt Module (WTTM)", which uses a form of adaptive optics to correct for instabilities in the atmosphere and make our images more crisp.  WTTM does this by making small adjustments in the orientation of its optics, keeping a (bright) guide star stable in the field of view.  This adds a level of complexity to the observations, and the telescope operator must pay much more attention to the observing set-up.  As a result, using WTTM can sometimes be less efficient, and often times much more frustrating, than typical guiding.

But, that didn't scare me!  Two telescope operators were working together to make WTTM a success, and we forged ahead with several really great observations.  Then, some clouds rolled in, leaving our guide star obscured, and coaxing us back to our alternate observing method, which still requires a guide star, but the star can be fainter and the guiding is less complex.  We're continuing with our observations, and several breaks in the clouds have given us very good conditions (also known as "good seeing").  

What have I learned about WTTM?  Don't be afraid of a little challenge if it means the data are better.  After all, I don't do astronomy because it's easy, but rather because the journey is always exciting and I'm bound to learn something(s) new along the way. 

Clear skies?

We shut down last night around 4 am due to high humidity and threats of snow.  Ready for some sleep, I set my alarm for the early afternoon, giving me enough time to take a walk around the mountain before meeting the scientist/support staff who would teach me how to operate the instrument I'll be using for the next four nights.  I woke up to fresh snow on the ground but some sun, which was soon trailed by thick fog and clouds.  Ever optimistic, I hoped this oppressive weather would blow through, so I took my walk, and got ready for the afternoon. 

Too much fog over the WIYN telescope.  No clear skies for now.

Something I especially love about visiting major observatories is seeing the variety of telescopes, and meeting the scientists using those telescopes.  Just in a 30 minute walk, you can see so many different styles, sizes, and generations of telescopes. One really cool telescope here is a McMath-Pierce solar telescope, built in the 1960s.  Although the mirror is just 1.6m, the light travels along a really long path below-ground, making this structure appear to be on the verge of take-off into outer space.

The solar telescope.  Notice the old rec facilities in the foreground.  Astronomers clearly have no time for fun.

Another cool facility here, and particularly relevant these days, is the Spacewatch telescope, which monitors near-earth objects which may be a hazard to Earth.  This is where scientists discovered the asteroid 2005 YU55, a rock the size of a city block that will travel within the orbit of the moon tomorrow night.  Plans are being made to use this telescope to observe this object again, although it will be extremely challenging due to the objects high velocity.  Tomorrow should be an exciting day to be at the observatory.

I'm able to report about my afternoon, and the interesting telescopes nearby, because sadly we haven't been able to open our dome tonight for our own observations.  Why? The humidity is too high.  There are certain regulations for when we can open the dome, and it must be dry enough so that the optics and instruments won't be compromised.  

Alas, there are no rain checks for astronomers, and we are at the mercy of the weather gods. So, what do we do when we can't open the dome to take a look at the sky?  Well, at least this gave me a few extra hours to plan my observations (fingers crossed, hoping that it will clear up).  We don't want to head down the mountain yet and give up altogether.  To keep our spirits up, another staff member here came by for a visit.  She told us all about her adventures site testing at another telescope on the Canary Islands -- equipped with heavy parkas and boots on charter planes alongside holiday-bound Europeans, hiring donkeys to carry their gear up the mountain, no comfortable housing options or control rooms, but plenty of excitement of course.

The characters I have met while observing make this experience all the more interesting, and I hope that I will have my own adventures to share with future generations on observing runs to come.  As for now, at least we can see some stars instead of just clouds.  Let's hope the air dries out and we can open the dome for a while at least.  I'll let you know what we see!

Adventures at Kitt Peak National Observatory

I am excited to add another major observatory to my list of observing experiences, and hence an occasion to continue my blog.  Kitt Peak National Observatory (KPNO) is located in Arizona, southwest of Tucson, and I will be here for 5 nights.  Already, even my travels to the mountain have been enjoyable, although somewhat rocky. 

The fortunate part of traveling through Tucson was that I could spend one night with my adviser from my time doing research in Chile, Dr. Simon Schuler.  Simon works at the National Optical Astronomy Observatory (NOAO), which runs KPNO.  In the time since I was working with Simon, he married his wife Nancy, moved to Tucson, and most recently had a beautiful baby girl, Evie.  It was a real pleasure to spend some time with their family, and I'm excited to see Evie in the coming years as she grows into a soccer player, scientist, and many more incredible things I'm sure.

This is somewhat a diversion from my real purpose here, which is to observe using the WIYN (Wisconsin-Indiana-Yale-NOAO) 3.5m telescope.  I consider this experience a big step in my "career", as it's the first time I will be observing as a solo astronomer (with the assistance of the telescope operator, of course). As flustered as I was to plan my travel to Tucson and prepare my own observations, learning about how the telescope functions and deciding my observing plan, I realized at the last minute that I had no confirmation of how I would actually get to the telescope from Tucson.  Fortunately Simon was "in the know" and helped me find a security guard at NOAO in Tucson, who called in permission to leave me with a set of keys to the NOAO-emblazoned Ford Escape Hybrid.  Behind the wheel, I got on the road excited for the hour and a half drive up the mountain...  Good thing I love to drive, and I love wide open spaces! 

Here's my first view of Kitt Peak (and the giant 4-m telescope dome)

Once at KPNO, I found the WIYN house and then proceeded to the WIYN telescope, where I met the two other observers here prior to me.  They are observing star clusters using the same instrument that I will be using, and they very generously allowed me to "observe" them observing for one night.  I was taking notes, learning the drill, and generally getting adjusted to life at the telescope.  I also took a walk over to the 4-meter telescope to see a friend of mine from Clemson who's observing supernovae, and she showed me around the giant, vintage telescope dome. 


Tonight their observations lasted about 9 hours (before humidity set in and the dome was closed), a welcome improvement over the previous nights of clouds and snow.  We may have some snow for our walk down to the house, but hopefully it will blow through before my observations officially begin tomorrow night. 

Looking back on lessons learned

It has now been about one week since I came "down the mountain" after 6 nights as guest observer at CARMA (http://www.mmarray.org/) in the Inyo Mountains of eastern California.  I then drove straight (9 hours, due to mountain pass closures) to Berkeley, where I spent two days at the CARMA Science Symposium.  There, I presented a poster about my research on the star-forming region NGC 1333. In fact, a good portion of the Symposium participant list turned out to be a "who's-who" of experts in studying this region, so I left with a lot to think about.

Several days after returning to school, I've cut back my intake of caffeine and sugar, caught up on sleep, and my body is finally adapting to East-coast time.  I spent some time to evaluate my experiences, and I've put together a list of the most important lessons learned on my trip:

1. Take notes and be organized (easier said than done).  The first few nights observing, I was learning and seeing everything for the first time.  Fortunately, I was matched with an experienced observer who first showed me how to do everything, how to choose what tracks to run, and then let me try commanding the telescopes myself.  The final nights, I was the "experienced" observer, and I had to show the new observer what I had learned.  (Actually, he picked everything up quicker than I had, and even taught me a few more things.)  What helped me the most was writing down as much as I could whenever I learned something new, so that I could return to my notebook and recall what had been done during previous nights.  Also, I had learned a lot at the CARMA Summer School in July, so if you’re interested in observing somewhere, see if they have a summer school to teach you the basics. 

2. Sleep when you can, because when the alarm sounds, it's go-time.  Ideally, CARMA observes twenty-four hours a day, which means that CARMA observers are on duty during that time.  There were two of us at all times in the control building (except for our daily trip to the valley for lunch), and when an error occurred, an alarm sounded and we rushed to the computer to see what the alarm said.  The true test of wit is if you can successfully type computer commands at 4 am, sleepy-eyed and wearing your pajamas, alarm blaring.  The greatest sense of accomplishment came when that alarm quieted, silently telling us that we’ve done a good job.

3. Meet as many people as you can, ask them about their job or their research.  I was happy to meet dozens of new people within such a short time, including the scientists and support staff at CARMA, my fellow observers, and the others at the Science Symposium. I learned that it takes a huge crew to keep a facility like CARMA operating: a talented chef who powered the whole crew, skilled maintenance people to keep the antennas functioning, and a team of volunteer observers (often students and post-docs), just to name a few.  At the Symposium were diverse astronomers who have used CARMA in novel ways to do a wide range of science, from star formation to galaxy evolution.  Each person I met had something to teach me, so I tried to listen well, and now I’m working on keeping in touch. 

Just for fun, ready to clear snow off of antennas. 

4. Have fun and enjoy the beauty of it all! Work doesn’t have to feel like, well, work.  I often find myself in situations where I think, “Wow, I would never have guessed that grad school involved this!”  Sometimes in grad school, “this” has meant dreadful hours of studying, but not here.  By “this”, I mean that I got to spend a week eating out of an endless bowl of candy, staying in the Inyo mountains away from all city lights, “playing” in the snow (this entailed shoveling snow off of antennas at midnight in a driving snow storm, but the next day as the antennas dried out we took a break to bike and sled in the fresh powder!).  Grad school can be what you make of it, and I’ve been fortunate to “make” plenty of fun opportunities for myself (thanks in large part to a supportive advisor).

5. One more lesson, that I’m not proud to include, but should be shared.  I learned to synchronize my clocks to Eastern time when I returned east.  On the day I returned to school, I showed up to class at 9 am -- west coast time, which is 12 pm east coast time.  I had unintentionally missed both classes!  Hence the line at the beginning of this post about “finally adapting to East-coast time.”

The sheer beauty of the site, and all 23 antennas working together.

For more photos from this observing trip, check out my Picasa album

'Snowtrack'

When it began to rain during lunch down in the valley, I suspected we might be in for a somewhat colder version of precipitation at the CARMA Cedar Flat site, elevation ~8000 feet. We were briefed on the snow policy for the telescope, and headed back up the mountain to watch over the antennas during the snow storm and for the duration of the weekend.

The first task in a snow storm is to divide the antennas into sub-arrays, one which included the larger antennas (10-meter, which collect the most snow), one for the central (6-m) antennas which have a possibility of colliding, and a third sub-array comprised of the smallest (3.5-m) antennas.  For the 10-m antennas, we issue the command 'snowtrack', which measures the wind direction and points the antennas with their back to the wind, minimizing the accumulation of snow on the collecting area of the antennas.  We then 'stow' the 6-m antennas, pointing towards the zenith (straight up).  For the 3.5-m antennas, we keep them tracking a source in the sky that never sets.

That's the easy, and warm (done from the control room), part of our responsibilities during the recent ~24 hour snowstorm.  During that time, we monitor the snow-fall rate, and any time more than 2 inches of snow accumulates on the 10-m antennas, we trek out to the array and begin clearing snow.  Now, I'll reiterate that the antennas are 10-m in diameter, so we can really only reach the bottom half, even with long extend-able squeegees.  The other part we didn't consider is that when you start clearing snow from over your head, the only place the snow will go is... down... on top of us!  The second time we went to clear snow, we suited up in fully waterproof overalls and parkas, what we deemed our "spacesuits".  The third time, we suited up with even more layers, and much to our relief, the snowfall had lightened and the snow was no longer sticking to the antennas.  The command 'snowtrack' had done its job so that we didn't have to do ours! 

Hiking out to the array with the squeegees, around 6 pm, the first of our trips to clear snow.

We continued to monitor the snowfall rate, and in the morning pointed the telescopes toward the sun to dry them out.  In all, we had about 6 inches of snow, coming down at 0.25-1 inch per hour over about 24 hours.  At some point, feeling cooped up, with icy roads and no where to go, we decided to try out the bikes on the snowy paths nearby, and my co-observer spotted the perfect sledding hill.  In our spacesuits, we cleared a luge and enjoyed a few sledding runs down the hill, soaking in some of the Saturday afternoon sun.  Then, when the telescopes appeared clear, it was back to science and business as usual.

A day (or night) in the life

Observing at CARMA is a unique experience, certainly compared to my daily life as a grad student, and even compared to observing at other telescope facilities.  For one, we can observe all night and all day here, because the visible light from the sun during the day doesn't affect the detection of radio-wavelength light.  And second, in queue mode, we're taking data for other scientists and operating the telescope for projects that we may know little about.  Granted, we have learned how to operate the array, and we have some idea of what kind of science is possible with these observations (I use CARMA data for my own research), but we can be somewhat anonymous during the whole process.

Because this is such a break from the norm for me (and maybe it would be for you too), I've been trying to think of a way to describe what we do here.  Because I like to cook when I'm not studying, an analogy came to mind.

In a way, this week is like cooking a meal for people you don't know.  Imagine that you really like to cook (and maybe you do), and you are going to treat a group to a dinner party.  The deal is that they will provide you with the raw ingredients, tell you what kind of food they want you to make, and you will actually go to cook those ingredients in someone else's kitchen.  Sure, you've used a stove before, but never a stove exactly like the one provided. And, you think you know how to use the microwave, but there's a unique combination of buttons you must push to make it work properly (the instruction manual is provided, but it's long and seems like some important parts are hidden just to test whether you can find them).  In fact, some of the raw ingredients you have never actually seen before, so you'll just guess what they might be used for.

You begin cooking, and the first part is very time consuming -- lots of preparing the ingredients just so, and making sure that you're not falling behind schedule.  Then you figure out how to use the appliances, and you begin to bake the food in the oven.  Finally, you can take it easy for a while, as the food cooks (and maybe you can make a bite to eat for yourself!).  Then, an ALARM.  You need to quickly diagnose the problem.  Is the whole house going to catch on fire, at which point you better call the fire department (remember, it's not even your house)?  Or, is it just the food burning in the oven?  This isn't the best outcome, and dinner will be late (again, the food isn't even for you), but you can try again.  Or, there is some possibility that the fire alarm is faulty, and there's really no problem with the house or the food after all, but you should just change the battery on the alarm. Regardless, your guests are expecting a nice meal, and soon.  You'll be busy again when it's time to serve the meal, and you really hope they like the food and the service, understanding how difficult it was for you to prepare this meal. 

Well, there is no real moral to the story.  In fact, we get all of these types of alarms.  Luckily, nothing has caught on fire here at the telescope.  The septic has stopped working, but that's minor I guess.  And, we have "burned" some of the data we should have been taking because we didn't use the right settings, but we give those observations a second chance.  More often, there are alarms that we can't diagnose or fix, and we ask the experts who built this place and work here full time to solve the problem for us -- a humbling experience, but at least the science is taken care of.   It's truly about the learning experience, which is why grad students are taught to run the observations here. 

There might be one other reason why they have grad students working here: no one else wants to stay up all night just to clear snow off the antennas every two hours.  I'll get to that story in my next post.  Before that, I'll show you the array in good 'A+' weather:

Early morning post

As you may know, my research uses radio and sub-mm wavelength observations.  Is my job like Jodie Foster in the movie Contact?  I saw that movie for the first time recently, just so that I could answer that question.  And the answer is: yes and no.  I do travel to observatories, like Arecibo and the VLA which were featured in the movie, and the locations of the observatories are often (always?) remarkable.  Although I haven't been to those two particular observatories (and I would like to!), I have used both types of telescopes: "single dish" (like Arecibo in Puerto Rico) and "interferometer" (like VLA, and CARMA).  But, I have never "listened" to my data, nor have I been in a spacecraft like in Jodie Foster's adventure.

There are also several "modes" of observing, two of which are queue observing and non-queue (well, I don't actually know the proper name for that).  Here at CARMA we are doing queue observing, in which many scientists from all over the world have applied for telescope time, and told us what they would like observed, so that we can schedule most efficiently.  That means that I am not currently observing for myself, nor is my own data flowing in.  Rather, the data get piped out to the respective scientists, and they don't have to lose sleep over the data acquiring.  They also miss out on all the fun ;).

That "fun" comment seems fitting, as it's 5:21 am, and I'm awake waiting for the current observation to finish, an alarm will go off, and I can proceed with the observations.  In fact, we're running two observations at once, because we have split the array of 23 antennas into one array of 15 and the other of 8 antennas.  I woke up at 4:30 to run the second array, and in a short while, the first array will finish what it's currently observing and we can move onto the next target. The brilliant thing is that I can run a "queue" script and (if I do it properly), it should proceed with the observations automatically, so I can "sleep on the job" until it's time to start the day for real.  But, when something goes wrong, that alarm will sound with circus music, and I will (bleary-eyed) attempt to diagnose the problem.   So, as I said, I have never listened to my data like Jodie Foster, but I do in fact keep a keen ear listening "for" the data, and no noise is what I like to hear.

I leave you with a photo:

This is my co-observer.  I'm looking in from outside to take the photo, through the blinds of the window with the greatest view of the antennas.  The blue and white screen towards the right is the control computer.  Right now, I'm sitting at one of these desks as I write, and I'm looking out at the sun reflecting off the antennas, waiting for the snow to come.

Guest Observer

Greetings from CARMA, the Combined Array for Research in Millimeter-wave Astronomy.  I have had this idea to blog about my observing runs for several months now, and in fact I have been on several observing runs during that time.  The problem is that observing can be very intense and tiring, and when I finally make it to the mountain, I become so focused on the task at hand, I hardly find time to properly document the experience.  But, lest I forget the true joy and novelty of what I do, I am committed to share these wonderful trips with you.  I regret that I didn't write about my previous observing runs (Chile, Hawaii, then Chile again), but I start now, with my current observing responsibilities at CARMA in California.

I should briefly explain the title of this blog.  It was inspired by a required component of observing, which is keeping a detailed log of all sources that were observed during the run.  The first place I kept an observing log was at Cerro Tololo Inter-American Observatory (CTIO) in Chile, and in fact, at CARMA, we instead complete a "Nightly Report", but the idea is the same.  It is very important to document the observations.  Later, when we come down the mountain with our data, or when we send the data to the scientists who proposed the observations, it is imperative that we/they know exactly what was observed, when the observations occurred, and some specific information about the set-up of the observations (as well as any errors encountered). 

I will be observing for four more nights (and days -- we observe round-the-clock here!), and I will try to document some of the day-to-day business.  If you have specific questions at any point, please comment.  I hope you will enjoy the adventure while I am here at CARMA, and as I travel to other telescopes in the future.  Thanks for following!

The setting of the observatory "low site", Owens Valley (CA)