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: