Miercoles a miercoles

Este post es una traducción del post "Wednesday to Wednesday" y corresponde al turno de abril.  Sobre todo querría explicar la experiencia de trabajar en el observatorio, tanto para mis amigos y amigas que hablan español como para mis amigos y family con quienes comunico en inglés.  Como siempre, disculpen mi castellano por favor (gracias al editor Pato!).

Escribo este post en el avión de vuelta a Santiago, de vuelta al mundo real, lo que sea.  En general los turnos en ALMA son un poco misteriosos al mundo afuera, y muchas veces me preguntan como es estar en ALMA.  ¿Qué estamos mirando con el telescopio?  ¿Cómo podemos observar el cielo 24 horas al día?  Estoy acampando con los antenas en una altura de 5.000 m.s.n.m?  ¿Qué hace un astrónomo de verdad?  A continuación explicaré una semana en ALMA.

Miércoles a las 14:30, el taxi me está esperando fuera de mi departamento para llevarme al aeropuerto.  Me siento como una estrella de rock porque siempre mi viaje está completamente coordinado por mi empresa.  A esta hora ya estoy "on duty," y aproveché la mañana para ponerme al día con mi trabajo, hacer la maleta, y preparar para cerrar el departamento durante 8 días.

A las 15:40, vuelo desde Santiago a Calama.  Calama es conocida por sus minas de cobre, y no es raro ver que los otros pasajeros traen cascos protectores en su equipaje de mano.  Dado este ambiente, muchas veces soy una de las pocas mujeres a bordo.  Ahora, más que antes, los asientos se llenan de turistas explorando el desierto Atacama, con Calama como punto de partida.

A las 17:30, llegamos al aeropuerto El Loa en Calama y el bus está esperándonos para llevarnos a ALMA.  De hecho, muchas veces no conozco la mayoría de las personas en el bus, aunque trabajamos por el mismo proyecto.  Ellos son ingenieros, técnicos, seguridad, administradores.  Además de algunos astrónomos.

El paisaje del desierto pasa por la ventana del bus.  La OSF de ALMA es la mancha blanca en las montañas cuando vista desde aquí.  Las antenas no se ven desde abajo.  

A las 19:30, pasamos el último tramo polvoriento en el camino al "Centro de Operaciones" (OSF, por su sigla en inglés: Operations Support Facility).  En la reja, cuando nos quedan algunos 20 km para llegar, mostramos las tarjetas de identificación para registrarnos.  Ciudadanos del campamento ALMA.  En la oficina principal, me dejaron una llave, y me dirijo a mi habitación para desempacar y descansar algunas horas antes del comienzo del turno de noche.

Campamento ALMA.  Nos alojamos en estos "containers" hasta que la construcción de la residencia permanente termine.

A las 21:30, voy a la sala de control.  Me gusta llegar algunos minutos antes del turno, para aprovechar juntarme con los astrónomos del turno anterior, seguirlos algún tiempo, acostumbrarme a la vibra de las observaciones, y conocer el plan para la noche.  Enciendo mi laptop, reviso correos, y por supuesto preparo un café.  Intento replicar mi rutina matutina, solo que ya se puso el sol.  Al caminar al trabajo y ver una puesta del sol espectacular en el fondo, vale la pena estar despierta a cualquier hora.  

La caminata desde mi habitación hasta la sala de control.

A las 22:30, el turno de noche empieza.  Los astrónomos trabajamos las 24 horas divididas en 3 turnos: "mañana" de 06:00 - 16:00, "día" de 13:30 - 23:30, y "noche" de 22:30 - 06:30.  Ves que tenemos horas en común para que las observaciones sigan durante todos los turnos; en las horas compartidas nos entregamos información de que sucede, y cual es el plan durante las próximas 8-10 horas.  Normalmente 1 o 2 astrónomos trabajan durante un turno, y llegamos al OSF o el lunes o el miércoles, entonces siempre hay un flujo de caras nuevas y conocidas en la sala de control.  Además, nos conectamos con Santiago durante una reunión todos los días a las 15:00 (aunque el turno de noche prefiere dormir y no tiene que asistir, y hay menos personas desde Santiago los fines de semana), además que un reporte diario por correo.  Se trata de un esfuerzo muy coordinado.

Desde las 22:30 hasta las 06:30 (o sea, un turno cualquier), ¿Qué estamos viendo con el telescopio?  No es lo romántico "acercar el ojo al telescopio y ver las maravillas del cielo nocturno," pero se encuentra bello igual.  ALMA es un proyecto grande, y tiempo de observaciones es altamente pedido por astrónomos de todo el mundo.  Una vez al año (en Abril), el observatorio anuncia una "llama de propuestas," y equipos compiten por tener sus proyectos aprobados y observados durante el próximo año.  Es necesario justificar el mérito científico tanto como la viabilidad técnica del plan de observaciones.  Estos proyectos se evalúan, tomando en cuenta muchos factores como tiempo, ubicación del objeto(s) en el cielo, duración del proyecto, aspectos técnicos, participantes del proyecto -- entre equipos europeos, norteamericanos, japoneses, y chilenos --, y un poco de suerte.

Nuestro (los astrónomos) trabajo durante un turno en ALMA es realizar los proyectos en (aprox.) el orden de preferencia, comprobar la calidad de los datos preliminares, solucionar problemas cuando sea necesario, y registrar el progreso de un proyecto para que los datos de alta-calidad puedan ser entregados a los científicos en algún lugar del mundo. 

La sala de control.  No sé como, pero las sillas suelen juntarse aquí.  Muchas veces las personas también.  Los astrónomos y los operadores del telescopio trabajan juntos.

Intentamos trabajar con eficiencia.  Me dijeron que el proyecto cuesta mas de US $1.000.000.000, dividido durante los años esperados del proyecto, equivale cerca US $100.000 por día, o mas que US $50 por minuto.  El dinero de los contribuyentes de todo el mundo se llega a un solo proyecto científico compartido, y nuestro trabajo es hacer efectivo las metas propuestas de cada uno de los equipos científicos.  Yo estaba pensando en esto, y me asombré que resulte.   

A las 06:30, se acabó mi turno.  Pero las observaciones siguen durante las 24 horas (con algunos descansos para pruebas del equipo de ingeniería), y los astrónomos del turno de la mañana están listos para tomar control.  ¿Cómo podemos observar el cielo durante 24 horas al día? ALMA detecta luz con longitud de onda mas larga que la luz que podemos ver con nuestros ojos, o binoculares, o un telescopio óptico -- como a lo mejor se puede imaginar, el tipo con una lente de vidrio o un espejo.  Éstas son casi del tamaño de la longitud de onda "radio" (la "M" en ALMA quiere decir "milímetro"), y las estamos viendo no escuchando.  Toda la materia  (con temperatura mayor a 0 K) emite luz, y la longitud de onda corresponde a la temperatura -- longitudes de onda mas cortas desde objetos calientes, mas largas desde objetos fríos.  La razón por no poder ver las estrellas durante el día es porque la estrella mas brillante que emite luz visible -- el Sol -- está arriba al mismo tiempo.  Pero el Sol no emite tanta luz con longitud de onda en el rango radio, y podemos detectar emisión radio desde otros objetos que se encuentran arriba el horizonte.  La radio astronomía nunca descansa.

El cielo en "radio" -- emisión radio se emite en todo el cielo durante día y noche.
Imagen desde NRAO/AUI

Claro que los radio astrónomos tienen que dormir, y ahora me toca a mí.  Primero voy a tomar el "desayuno", lo cual ahora es mi cena, antes de volver a mi habitación mientras que salga el sol.  ¿Estoy acampando en 5.000 m.s.n.m con las antenas? No.  Todo lo que he descrito durante el turno ha sido en el OSF, a los 3.000 m.s.n.m.  Solo los ingenieros necesarios y el equipo de seguridad trabajan en el mismo sitio con las antenas en el "Sitio de Operación del Arreglo/Conjunto" (AOS, por su sigla en inglés: Array Operations Site) en el Llano Chajnantor en una altura de 5.000 m.s.n.m.  De hecho, durante los primeros turnos ni vi las antenas.  Lamentablemente no trabajamos en una proximidad cercana a las antenas, pero de manera fiable nos mandan sus señales abajo a través de fibras ópticas.  Parece desconectado, pero nos permite trabajar y vivir en un ambiente mucho mas agradable.  El cerebro no funciona con su capacidad máxima en una altura mayor a 3.000 m, y dormir es bastante difícil aun a esta altura.

Me despierto un día con la puesta del sol.

Pongo el despertador para las 21:37 (prefiero los números impares en este momento), aunque muchos días me despierto más temprano por alguna razón o otra -- leve efectos de la altura, hambre durante la tarde cuando mi cuerpo no entiende porque me quedaba dormida durante el almuerzo, o pura emoción de anticipación.  En mis horas de ocio, sigo con mis propias investigaciones, participo en tele-conferencias con colaboradores, hago flojera como leer o mirar Netflix, hago ejercicio o un tipo de yoga inventada.

A las 22:30, el turno de la noche empieza otra vez, y lo voy a repetir durante 7 días-y-noches, hasta el octavo día...

Otro dia miércoles, a las 06:00, me voy del turno 30 minutos adelantada (gracias al Erik y Kurt) para rápidamente terminar mi trabajo, cerrar el computador, ducharme, devolver la llave de la habitación, y estar en el bus a las 6:30.  Está oscuro todavía, entonces mantengo una vista de las estrellas encima el desierto que pasamos en el bus.

En la reja, nos registran las tarjetas de identificación de nuevo, y nos devuelven al mundo.  Doblamos en el camino principal, y el campamento ALMA se convierte en una luz leve y borrosa arriba en el cerro.  Me doy cuenta de que Venus aparece de manera brillante e impresionante arriba del horizonte montañoso (volcan-oso?) al este.

Venus es el punto pequeño en el cielo, arriba de la brecha en la montaña (de hecho, es el volcan Licancabur).  San Pedro de Atacama duerme abajo.

A las 09:40, mi vuelo a Santiago despega, y tengo el tiempo para escribir este post.  Otras veces, me pego a la ventana, con buena música como fondo, y me asombro con el paisaje andino abajo.  Estaré en el aeropuerto SCL en menos de 2 horas, con un taxi esperándome, y volveré con la sensación de astrónoma rock-star de nuevo a mi departamento, pequeño y tranquilo.  Mis "días de descanso" ya empezaron, pero sé que las operaciones en ALMA siguen. 

Wednesday to Wednesday

I write this on the plane back to Santiago, to the "real world", whatever that means.  In general the shifts at ALMA are somewhat of a mystery to the outside world, and I get a lot of questions about what it's like.  What are we looking at with the telescope? How is it that we can observe the sky 24 hours per day? Am I camping out at 5000 m with the antennas? What, really, does an astronomer do?  This is a week at ALMA.

Wednesday at 2:30 pm, the taxi is waiting outside my apartment to take me to the airport. I feel like a scientific rock star every time my travel is arranged for me. I'm sort of technically already on duty today, and I used this morning to catch up on work, pack, and prepare to lock up my apartment for 8 days.

3:40 pm, flight from Santiago to Calama.  Calama is known for its copper mines, and it's not uncommon that the other passengers have hard hats as their carry-on luggage. Given this setting, I'm often one of only a few women on board.  I have noticed that more and more, the seats are also filling with tourists exploring the Atacama desert, with Calama as their gateway.

5:30 pm, we arrive at the Calama airport and I find the charter bus waiting to drive us to ALMA.  Actually I usually don't know the majority of the others on the bus, even though we work for the same project.  There are engineers, technicians, security, admin. And a few astronomers.

The desert landscape races past the bus window.  The ALMA OSF is the white spot in the mountains when viewed from here.  The antennas can't be seen from below.

7:30 pm, we drive up the dusty final stretch of the road to the ALMA Operations Support Facility (OSF). At the gate, with about 20 km still to go, everyone's ID card gets scanned and we are accounted for. Citizens of the ALMA camp. At the main office, a key is waiting for me, and I head to my room to unpack and rest for a couple of hours, before my shift starts.

ALMA camp.  We stay in these "containers" until the permanent residencia is built.

9:30 pm, I head to the control room. I like to arrive ahead of my shift, so that I can meet with whomever is on the previous shift, shadow them for a little while, get acquainted with the vibe of how observations are going, and hear the plan for the night.  I also set up my own laptop, catch up on emails, and of course make a fresh cup of coffee.  I pretend like it's my morning routine, except after the sun goes down.  Walking to work and seeing a spectacular sunset as the backdrop is worth any sleepiness behind my eyes.

The walk from my room towards the control room building.

10:30 pm, the night shift begins. Astronomers here divide 24-hours into 3 shifts: "morning" at 6:00 am - 4:00 pm, "day" at 1:30 pm - 11:30 pm, and "night" at 10:30 pm - 6:30 am. You can see we have some overlap, so that observations continue smoothly across all shifts. During the overlap we have time to share what's been happening, and what's the plan for the next 8-10 hours.  Typically 1 or 2 astronomers are on duty at any time of the day, and we arrive at the OSF either on Monday or Wednesday, so there is a constant flux of new and returning faces in the control room.  We are also connected with Santiago via a 3 pm meeting every day (although night shift is excused for need of sleep, and fewer join from Santiago on weekends), as well as a daily email report. This is a very coordinated effort.

10:30 pm - 6:30 am (or, a typical shift), What are we looking at with the telescope?  This is not the romantic "put your eye to the eyepiece and see what wonders of the night sky you can find," but the beauty is still there.  ALMA is a big project, and observing time is in high demand by astronomers all over the world.  Once per year (April), the Observatory advertises a "call for proposals", and teams compete to have their projects observed in the coming year.  This includes justifying the scientific merit and the technical feasibility of the observing plan.  These projects are ranked, taking into account a lot of factors including weather, location of the object(s) in the sky, duration of the project, technical aspects, representative balance of projects -- among European, North American, Japanese and Chilean teams--, and a little bit of luck.  

Our job, while on shift at ALMA and trained with the technical aspects of the system, is to carry out the projects in (roughly) rank order, make a first check of the data quality, troubleshoot when needed, and record the progress of a project so that high-quality data can soon be sent to the scientist somewhere in the world.  

The control room.  Somehow chairs tend to congregate.  Often people do too.  The astronomers and telescope operators work closely together.

We try to be efficient. I was told that the $1+ billion project, divided over the expected years of operation, equates to about $100,000 per day, or more than $50 per minute. These are taxpayer dollars from around the world being put into a pot for a single scientific project, but enacting the individually proposed goals of the scientific teams that these dollars represent.  I was pondering this, and I can't get over how incredible it is that this works.

6:30 am, my shift is over.  But observations continue 24 hours (with periodic breaks for engineering tests), and an astronomer for the morning shift has already arrived to take over. How is it that we can observe the sky 24 hours per day?  ALMA detects light with wavelengths longer than the light we see with our eyes, or binoculars, or an optical telescope -- the kind you might think of, with a glass lens or mirror.  These are close to radio wavelengths (the "M" in ALMA is for "millimeter"), and we are looking not listening.  All matter (hotter than 0 K) radiates light, and the wavelength is determined by its temperature -- shorter wavelengths from hotter objects, longer wavelengths from cooler objects.  The reason we can't see many stars during the day is because the brightest star radiating visible light in our sky is up at that time -- the sun.  But the sun is not such a prolific radio-emitter, and we can still detect the radio emission from whatever other objects are above the horizon.  Radio astronomy never sleeps.

The "radio" sky -- radio emission being emitted throughout the sky, day or night.
Image courtesy of NRAO/AUI

But radio astronomers still need to sleep, and now it's my turn.  First I head to "breakfast", which is now my dinner, before retiring to my room as the sun is rising.  Am I camping out at 5000 m with the antennas? No. Everything I have described during my shift has been at the OSF, at 3000 m.  Only the necessary engineers and security team work with the antennas at the "Array Operations Site" at 5000 m. In fact, I haven't even seen the antennas yet this year.  Sadly, we don't work in close proximity with the antennas, but they reliably send their signals to us via fiber optics. It may seem detached, but this makes the working and living environment much more bearable.  The brain doesn't function at full capacity any higher than 3000 m, and sleeping is hard enough even at this elevation.

Waking up to the sunset one day.

I set my alarm this week to 9:37 pm (feeling like odd numbers), although most days I wake up earlier for one reason or another -- mild elevation effects, hunger around mid afternoon when my body can't figure out why I slept through lunch, or just plain excitement.  In my off hours these days, I keep up with my own research, have a couple of telecons with collaborators, laze around reading and watching Netflix, exercise or make-shift yoga.  

10:30 pm, the night shift begins again, and I'll repeat this for 7 days-and-nights, until on the 8th day...

Another Wednesday, 6:00 am, I leave my shift 30 minutes early (thanks Erik and Kurt) so that I can quickly wrap up my work, pack up my computer, jump in and out of the shower, return my key and catch the bus at 6:30 am. It's dark, so of course I keep my eye on the stars over the desert landscape through the bus window.

At the gate they scan our ID cards and we are back into the world. We turn onto the main road and the ALMA camp begins to look like a small blur of dim light up in the hills.  I notice Venus making an impressively bright appearance over the mountainous (volcanous?) horizon to the east. 

Venus is the small dot in the sky, above the dip in the mountains.  San Pedro de Atacama sleeps below.

9:40 am, my flight to Santiago departs, and I spend the time in the air to write this post. Other times, I just stare out the window, with some good music as a soundtrack, and take in the impressive Andean landscape from above.  I'll be at the SCL airport in under 2 hours, with a taxi waiting, and I'll return feeling like a rock star astronomer once again to my own quiet little apartment.  My "rest days" begin, but I know that ALMA operations carry on.

Signs (of life?) at ALMA

I get asked quite often if at ALMA we see any "signs" of extraterrestrial life, UFOs (OVNIs in Spanish), communication from outer space. This post is not about that kind of signs.  This is about the real, physical, signs that caught my attention while taking a short walk around the ALMA operations site one day.  And the stories they tell about the life cycle of the ALMA project.

ALMA operates 24 hours, because we can detect radio waves from the stars, planets, galaxies, outer space all the time. Most of the manpower at ALMA is on duty during normal human working hours, but astronomers, telescope operators, some engineers, guards, some kitchen staff, etc, share responsibility for all of the necessary operations to keep the observatory functioning 24 hours. Astronomers work one of three shifts: morning (6am-4pm), day (1:30pm-11:30pm), and night (10:30 pm-6:30am). Signs around the hotel rooms remind passersby that someone is always sleeping, even when the sun is shining bright. Sleep is not easy in the desert at 3000m elevation, but still the day sleepers need plenty of rest to keep the telescope running through the nighttime hours.

During the construction phase at ALMA, antennas were being assembled at the Operations Support Facility in one of three "camps", before being tested and transported to the high site so that they could function as part of the telescope array.  The three camps belong to the European (AEM), Japanese (Melco), and North American (Vertex) teams responsible for contributing a previously agreed-upon quantity of antennas.  Back in 2012, I toured each of these camps, learning the subtle and less-subtle differences in each antenna and its assembly.  Each group developed their own design, ensuring that the final product met certain predetermined specifications so that the antennas function together in the array. (To me, this is the most beautiful example of international collaboration to advance science, and also cultural understanding.) Here you see one of the signs that has undergone wear and tear from the harsh desert during the years that the European antennas were being assembled.  The 25 European antennas have now been delivered and accepted as part of the array, functioning as an integral part of the telescope project. The antenna camp behind this sign is rather quiet, a sign of progress! 

This is just one of a number of safety signs around the site, this one at the entrance to the European antenna camp.Signs are typically presented in spanish and English (sometimes Japanese), although the translations aren't always direct.  But the point gets across, even from the pictures.  For the record, my job as astronomer does not require any of the precautions in the first row!  We are quite safe and pampered in the control room.  There are even cookies delivered twice a day, and an espresso machine operating at all hours. 

We see this sign near the safety room as we approach the control building.  I don't actually know what it implies, or what counts as an "accident".  But the message to "keep your mind on the task" is a good one. In fact, more philosophically, I was reflecting on what I enjoy so much about my shifts at ALMA. In spite of the long work hours and the fairly extreme environment (dirt everywhere, you can see), I feel invigorated at ALMA because we are all working together on one task, alert to the responsibility granted to function a billion dollar telescope project. When I'm in the control room, there is just one task at hand: observe (in the active rather than passive sense).

It's not a sign, but this sticker greets everyone who stays in a room at ALMA ("relax, your towels are clean"). Rooms are comfortable and private, with daily housekeeping service! For now the facilities are basic, temporary, shipping-container-esque.  Rest assured, a fancy new "residencia" (hotel facility) is under construction. For an idea of what it might be like, check out the equivalent facility at Paranal Observatory, featured (and exploded) in the James Bond movie "Quantum of Solace".

Disclaimer: In the end, my photo tour does not represent all signs of "life" at ALMA, but just what seemed worthy of a quick photo op. I thought to perhaps extend this "photos of signs" series, until I became distracted with other projects (the type more directly related to telescope operations). So I document what I have thus far.  My second "turno" as an ESO fellow at ALMA. 

Turno #1 as an ESO/ALMA Fellow

In January (2016) I returned to ALMA for my first "turno" (shift) as an ESO/ALMA fellow.  For the next three years, I will spend about 8 days every month at ALMA as part of my "duties" for the fellowship, but to me "duties" does not capture the experience.  Duty implies more obligation rather than opportunity. Opportunity to learn the intricacies of ALMA, opportunity to operate the world's largest astronomical project, opportunity to work with people from all over the world, opportunity to experience life in the "driest place on earth".  These duties, or rather opportunities, are an important reason why I chose this job.  

ALMA Operations Support Facility.
Click here for larger, zoomable panoramic image.

Posts in this blog from 2012 January -- March, plus a recap here, documented my experience as a visiting scholar (term that we made up because I was possibly the first US grad student to weasel her way into the project) during the "Early Science" phase of ALMA operations.  To explain concisely, in 2012 ALMA was already on the path to become the largest radio telescope array, with 16 antennas (each with 12-m diameter) and counting.  In 2013, ALMA was formally inaugurated with 50 functioning antennas (now with 12-m and 7-m diameter antennas).  In 2014 the phase known as "Commissioning and Science Verification" transformed into "Extension and Optimization of Capabilities", and full operations include 66 antennas.  

I wrote in a previous post (and was happy to revisit what I acknowledged 3 years ago): 

"ALMA has been integral in the development of my own career."

At the time I hoped, but did not know, that I would have the opportunity to return here for work after finishing my PhD.  In the meantime, we (with my PhD advisor Héctor Arce at Yale, and collaborators) actively applied to use ALMA for our research, and I was successful in publishing data from observations performed in 2014.  We have more data to analyze, and more observations in the queue, and when data are delivered it's like opening up presents on Christmas morning.  In other words, in the meantime, I realized how scientifically beneficial ALMA can be.

Hence my fortune in returning to ALMA with regularity, which I intend to document in this blog.  Now I'm on the "operations" side of delivering fantastic data to the astronomy community.  Just as my own career has developed in the last few years since being at ALMA, ALMA has developed substantially as well.  A few changes, a few "appearances", and a "disappearance" of sorts.   To conclude this post, I'll document these with photos that I took during my January turno.

CHANGES

The tiny little building to the left (that you can't even really see) is the Calama airport I knew back in 2012-13. Now a two story airport, complete with jetways, restaurants, gift shops, and plenty more amenities towers next door.  From the mining town of Calama, we take a bus for about 1.5 hours to ALMA.

The control room (sala de control) has been switched around, so the antenna operators control the telescope from the far right corner, and workspaces are set up to the left of the entrance.

APPEARANCES

Big new project on the site: the residencia (hotel)!  This should include hotel rooms for employees and visitors, dining room, recreation facilities, and a swimming pool.  These already exist on the site (except for the swimming pool), but in the form of temporary modular buildings.

These guys seem to come and go over the years, but I think they have become much more friendly.  Here's one burro (donkey) greeting us at the door to the control building, and inspecting the hand of a co-worker.

DISAPPEARANCES

The camps where the antennas were being assembled by the European, Japanese, and North American teams are now nearly devoid of antennas, because nearly all (66 in total!) are at the "high site" and acting as reliable members of the array.  Here it appears that one lone antenna is being worked on by the Japanese (center).  The rest of the antennas are at 5000 meters elevation, whereas we work and operate the telescope array from 3000 meters.

Habemus ALMA!

Yesterday was a career-defining day for many people.  No, I'm not referring to the new Pope.  March 13th, 2013 marked the official inauguration of the ALMA observatory, a multi-national scientific collaboration many years in the making.  The inauguration event took place at the ALMA Operations Support Facility (OSF), located at an elevation of 3000 meters in the Atacama Desert of Northern Chile, where more than 500 people gathered, with the President of Chile, Sebastián Piñera as the guest of honor.  Joining President Piñera were representatives of ALMA’s international partners, foreign ambassadors, ALMA executives, ALMA personnel and representatives of the neighbouring communities.

Important guests at the inauguration, on one of the antenna transporters.
Photo credit: ESO

Although commissioning and science verification, as well as early science projects have been undertaken during the construction phase of ALMA, the inauguration event officially marks the transition to a fully-operating observatory.  While I wasn't one of the lucky few (hundreds of) people invited to the inauguration, I watched the video feed from the ALMA Santiago Central Offices, along with many of the ALMA employees responsible for various components of the observatory.  After about one hour waiting in anticipation for the President to arrive at the OSF and for the ceremony to begin, it was a festive environment in the conference room which typically hosts routine meetings or seminars.

Several speeches during the event reminded us of the complexity and longevity of the ALMA project (check out this video for the full story).  In fact, the observatory had been independently conceived as three separate projects by the Europeans, North Americans and Japanese in the 1980s.  Each cohort was hoping to access the best site in the world for radio astronomy, and investigate the southern skies at wavelengths that had previously been basically invisible to humans.  In the 1990s, the independent groups came together with an agreement to build the largest observatory in the world, something that no individual member could achieve on its own, considering the total construction cost of ALMA is more than a billion US dollars.  Construction began in 2003, and here we are in 2013 celebrating the observatory's inauguration!

You can find a brochure about the ALMA partnership here.

Some people at the inauguration have devoted their careers to this observatory, and they must be very proud, perhaps amazed, at what it has achieved, and what it will achieve during its expected operating lifetime of 30 years.  I should be very thankful to these people, because watching the inauguration, I also began to reflect on the role that ALMA has played in my own "career".  When I entered graduate school at Yale, I was interested in learning about astronomy as much as I was interested in learning about how to do astronomy.

The idea that what we know about star formation is limited by the capabilities of the most powerful telescope fascinated me, and I knew that ALMA would provide ground-breaking data in the coming years.  Equally fascinating to me was the idea that only via an international collaboration on the grandest scale could a sufficient telescope be constructed.  And, lucky for me, this observatory was being built in the Atacama Desert, a landscape which I already loved and to which I hoped to return.

My thesis has been exciting because I'm learning the capabilities of ALMA along with the majority of other astronomers, grad students and professors alike. I have been fortunate to be visiting ALMA during 2012-2013, to learn from the experts how ALMA operates, and to see as the first ALMA results are released.  This year we will have our own science project observed with ALMA, and we're eagerly awaiting answers to questions we have been asking for several years about our designated target.

We represent the ALMA partners: East Asia, Europe, North America and Chile
Photo credit: ESO/Max Alexander

I estimate that if my astronomy career dates back to 2008 with my first astronomy research project at Cerro Tololo, then ALMA-anticipation has occupied about 50-75% of my career.  It's not that I myself have been integral in the construction of ALMA, but rather that ALMA has been integral in the development of my own career.  I wonder if one day I will witness the inauguration of another major astronomical project like ALMA, but from the perspective of one of those who made it happen.

Not only the scientific results, but the economic and cultural components of astronomy keep me interested, and keep me traveling to observatories around the world, the majority in Chile.  We have a lot to learn about the Universe, and a lot to learn about people working together to make these discoveries possible.

On astronomy and international relations

Photo of James Bond filming at Paranal in 2008, photo courtesy of ESO.

It was in Chile that I first became passionate about astronomy in 2008. During the REU at Cerro Tololo Inter-American Observatory, we had an opportunity to visit several of the major observatories in Chile, including the European Southern Observatory (ESO) at Cerro Paranal, coincidentally just weeks before James Bond would be filmed at the observatory's residencia.  Astronomy in Chile was gaining world-wide notice, and at the same time I was contemplating what to do with a liberal arts major in physics, minor in economics and an interest in international relations.

My first visit to Paranal, learning about astronomy in Chile in 2008.
Behind me are some of the 1.8m ESO telescopes.

You probably know where this led me -- to pursue a PhD in Astronomy at Yale, Fulbright fellowship and year in Chile.  I find myself fortunate to follow a path which returns to the places where my passion began.  Recently I had the opportunity to travel to Paranal again, this time with several ALMA astronomers.  Our goal was to learn how Paranal operates and how ALMA might aspire to operate once the construction and commissioning are complete.  ALMA and Paranal are two great examples of international projects, based on a worldwide effort of scientists and governments working together, with the goal of investigating the physical secrets of our Universe.  In other words, physics, economics and international relations.

In 2012, I spent about 6 weeks at observatories, all the time observing light with wavelengths of about 1 mm, also called millimeter or sub-mm wavelengths, so my visit to Paranal was an opportunity to become re-acquainted with optical astronomy.  While the mm/sub-mm telescopes look like giant satellite dishes, the telescopes at Paranal use giant mirrors enclosed within domes.  Paranal has four 8.4 m telescopes called the Very Large Telescopes, as well as several 1.8 m telescopes, which can work together to comprise the Very Large Telescope Interferometer.  With an ESO scientist and interferometry expert, we toured the telescopes and interferometer lab, and we watched the scientists at work in the control room.  We asked a million questions about optical interferometry; of particular interest to us were comparisons with interferometry at longer wavelengths with ALMA.

An 8m mirror...

...inside one of these giant domes!

Paranal is run very efficiently, a joint-effort of astronomers, telescope operators, engineers, computer programmers, and other staff.  To give you some idea, there seemed to be about 10 astronomers and operators working in the control room at the beginning of the night, with decreased demand as the nights' observations progressed smoothly. During the day was time for engineers and programmers to maintain the equipment, or for astronomers to catch up on science projects.  We heard that it took years for many of these operations to be stream-lined following the construction of Paranal in XX, giving hope to the scientists at ALMA where construction only began a few years ago and inauguration is planned for March 2013.

Isolated from the nearest city of Antofagasta, about two hours by bus, the location of Paranal ensures very dark skies, and the facilities provide a very conducive work environment for the staff and visitors. The blast of humidity as you step into the residencia will rejuvenate your desert-dried skin, as the lush indoor greenery and swimming pool will also refresh your senses.  I was impressed by a photo exhibit featuring work by ESO astronomers, as well as professional artwork in the lobby. Small touches like these acknowledged that astronomers are people too.  For the creative, artistic or spiritual guests, there is also a music room, theater, gym and non-denominational chapel on site.  Three square meals a day at the cafeteria, and cookie cabinets in the control room, sustained the necessary scientific and extracurricular endeavors.

The residencia at Paranal, an oasis in the desert.

I only had the opportunity to spend one night at Paranal, but I enjoyed very much the first-hand account of how a major observatory operates.  A successful observatory seems to depend equally on human and technical capital.  Paranal certainly does have cutting edge telescopes, with multi-ton structures, perfectly polished mirrors and precise lasers.  To make all of this function, it also has trained personnel from many countries (in this case, mostly Europe and of course Chile), who are passionate about their work and their working environment.  ALMA is one degree more international, considering that ESO, which runs Paranal, is one of three partners, including North America and East Asia, in collaboration with Chile.  In the control room or cafeteria at these observatories, it's not uncommon to hear several languages, or to strike up conversations about careers and experiences around the world.

Although my day-job usually finds me staring at a computer screen in a more urban office environment, my experiences at observatories, often in foreign countries and among remarkable landscapes, remind me of the multi-faceted lure of astronomy, which I consider the greatest example of international relations and scientific endeavor.

How To: Observe with APEX

Something I find exciting, interesting about a thesis on observational astronomy is the experience to learn how to use a variety of telescopes, often in stunning locations.  One purpose of this blog is to document the diversity in observing experiences, since each telescope, location, team has a story to tell.

Getting ready for observations at APEX.

Last week at APEX, circumstances obliged me to take the role of operator and astronomer at the telescope, and I had the privilege and responsibility to learn and synthesize the observing techniques and requirements.  My informal training consisted of watching over the shoulder of a staff astronomer for a couple of days at the telescope, and then following remotely via a virtual network connection to the telescope during the morning shift preceding my afternoon shift.  I took note of important commands, and planned my strategy for the afternoon.

When the time came, so did the adrenaline, and to add to the excitement of observing, I was stunned when the first command I sent to the telescope by typing "go" triggered an alarm!  In fact, it was just a warning that the telescope was beginning to move, as intended, and the operations went ahead.

Over the next few days, I learned by experience the observing routine, the quirks of the system, and methods to make the job simpler.  The most valuable lessons which will help me in the future were the general observing routine, which might also interest you, so I'll describe it here.

In the control room at the telescope. Who knows what to do now?

Observing routine
An observing routine includes several general categories, including set-up, calibrations, and science targets.

Set-up
We need to tell the telescope where in the sky we want it to point, and what frequency to observe.  To test this, we point to an object we know well, for example a bright planet like Venus, and make a few observations called pointing and focus.  We run scripts that tell the telescope to scan across venus, and calculate the corrections in each direction we need to make to get the best signal.

Calibrations 
When we observe, we are essentially measuring the intensity of light that arrives to the telescope.  To tell anything physical about our target (in our case, the molecular gas of a star forming cloud), we need calibrations to measure all of the stray light that leaks into the signal between our detector and our target region XX light years away.

For the ambient light in the sky, we observe a point in the sky that we expect to be free of any light related to our target.  This is our "off position", and we will subtract this signal from our "science" target observations.

But wait, closer to home, we need to understand the signal from our electronics and the path the light takes within our telescope.  For this we measure the temperature of the system electronics.  So in reality our detection will be (target+sky+electronics) minus (sky) minus (electronics) equals just target.

If we don't have the set-up and calibrations done right, our science observations lose their physical meaning.  Sometimes we even spend more time on the previous than the latter.

Science
Ultimately, what excites us is the detection of radiation from the "science" target that we are studying.  We can study just one point in the sky and integrate for a really long time, or we can make a map by scanning over a larger region of the sky and observing each point for a shorter amount of time.

Etc.
APEX observes radiation with wavelengths called sub-mm, which are longer than visible wavelengths but shorter than radio.  A sub-mm telescope can operate 24 hours per day, observing different sources as they rise and set all day and all night.  We can only observe regions of the sky above the horizon but not directly over head, and also away from the sun or we will fry the telescope.  We need to make a detailed schedule of what is possible to observe and when.  As we observe, a source is either rising or setting, so we can only observe a given source for a limited time, in this case we generally stayed on a project for a few hours.

Ambient weather, such as wind and precipitation can damage the telescope, and at some point I noticed a flashing red box on the control screen notifying me that the wind gusts were exceeding 20 meters per second (45 mph).  Had this wind sustained, we would have stopped observing because this grad-student-turned-antenna-operator didn't want to be held responsible for the antenna blowing away.  The telescope is designed to sustain the extreme weather conditions of the Atacama, and in fact we had no problems.

In practice
The control system has been designed to relieve many of these concerns and simplify the observing procedure, at least in theory.  Scripts made by engineers or astronomers responsible for a particular project tell the telescope the sequence of calibrations and observations.  Blinking red lights on the control screen generally mean that something is not right, and a vigilant operator can catch a problem before it manifests.

Even so, the observer might think that the telescope is happily observing, when in fact for some reason a setting is not right.  During observations, it's good practice to take a quick look at data as they arrive and verify that the observations are what we expect.  Of course, we don't know the exact signal we expect, or we wouldn't need the observations in the first place, but we have a general idea of the frequency and intensity of radiation we hope to detect, and where in the sky to point the telescope. If we don't detect anything, we can do a thorough check of the system and perhaps re-calibrate.  By understanding the entire system and environment, from detector on the telescope to source in the sky, we can be more confident in the detections that we report as science.

Somewhat unrelated, but I think these are the coolest things at 5000 meters, the "penitentes" ice formations.