To my thinking, that icy chunk had been misrepresented to the public for some time.
By PATRICK ROWAN
Someone I once knew had an answering machine that greeted callers with the standard "wait for the beep" message, but then only silence, and no beep. A short pause later we heard "It's coming," followed by more silence and then "Not yet." And more quiet. Then, haltingly, "Wait . . . wait . . . " and the taunting, "It's almost here." Just when you were ready to hang up, came the final "OK, here it is!" followed by the actual beep.
Except for that last part, this year's so-called "Comet of the Century" evokes a similar impression: "Yep, it's coming. Nope, wait a minute. Be patient . . . OK . . . Now! Oops, sorry. False alarm. Wait, it's coming after all. Oh no, it's breaking up. It's gone! Ummm, no, it isn't. Well, kinda, mostly it is, but not totally."
That's actually a fair representation of the "roller coaster ride" that was, or is Comet ISON.
After a year of hopeful speculation and optimistic predictions of a glorious cometary display, it was all over in a matter of hours on Thanksgiving Day . . . a breathtakingly quick end to the curious saga of Comet ISON. Almost.
There had been great suspense over whether or not the mile-wide nucleus, or icy core of the comet, would survive a close shave with the sun. Early on Thanksgiving eve, it looked as though the comet was "healthy" and that it might well make it through on Thanksgiving Day. Then came word that the comet may be falling apart. Since that almost certainly sealed the comet's fate, bloggers and others began preparing obituaries.
Then someone tweeted "not so fast!" as it looked again like it had not really disintegrated. That was important because if it survived, there was still a possibility that it would put on a nice morning show in the coming days. Or not.
On Thanksgiving, it once again looked as though ISON had come apart when it did not reemerge from the solar atmosphere. But then it did, or at least some of it. The remaining portion was too small to fulfill the dream that this might yet blossom into a great comet, although the consensus had cast doubt on that anyway.
So, as of this writing, I have yet to glimpse any trace of Comet ISON with my own eyes, and I do not know of anyone locally who has. I did miss some clear mornings a few weeks ago when it was supposed to be visible low in the east-southeast dawn, but even then, based on reports from around the country, I probably would have failed.
To my thinking, that icy chunk had been misrepresented to the public for some time. Speculation that this could develop into an historic event was too often presented as a certainty, especially for those who didn't dig past the headlines. No such clarion calls should have been sounded until we were closer to the real show, and could actually be more certain that something amazing was happening.
I like optimism, and regularly express my own. So like many, I reveled in the enthusiastic predictions being made by people who knew more about these things than I. But, detailed predictions were premature, and not modified even when the comet was not developing according to expectations.
As a lifelong skywatcher, I understood that these were often exuberant expressions of best-case scenarios. The kinks would be worked out over time, I assumed, and something closer to the truth would emerge. Still, I was perplexed by the absolute nature of so many "once in a lifetime" statements coming from respected researchers.
Comet ISON failed to live up to almost every milestone, so early on, I began to wonder if the media hype feedback machine might be spinning out of control. We needed clear, prominent statements, like "these are really just educated guesses" to help temper public expectations. But when astronomers, or any scientists for that matter, have the public's ear, I understand it can be hard to let go.
Then came Astronomy Magazine's November "special issue," with the banner headline "Comet ISON Blazes Into Glory," pasted across the top of an over-exposed full-page photo of Comet Hale-Bopp. With that, any remaining doubts I had that hysteria was in the air, vaporized like a fleck of cosmic ice wandering too close to the Sun.
You might remember Hale-Bopp, which remained prominent in our skies through most of 1997. (With my apologies to the late Senator Lloyd Bentsen) "Dear Astronomy Editors, I knew Comet Hale-Bopp. Hale-Bopp was a friend of mine. Editors, ISON is no Hale-Bopp."
There was a disconnect here somewhere. The Astronomy cover seemed from an alternative reality. It did not reflect what I had come to understand about Comet ISON. Nevermind the disclaimers in the articles, there was no mistaking the impression this sensationalist cover was meant to convey.
Astronomy continued the weirdness with its December issue, but in smaller print across the top of the cover: "Comet ISON's dazzling all-night show". Dazzling? Really? A major competitor of Astronomy, Sky & Telescope magazine, trumpeted ISON on its December cover, but with the more carefully nuanced wording "Comet ISON takes Center Stage."
Of course, Astronomy Magazine by itself cannot be held accountable for the ensuing ISON flap, but there's little doubt that the boldness of that November cover encouraged further hyperbole throughout the media world.
Luckily for me, I resisted adding to the wave of hysteria with this column, and I'm glad about that. So, for how long will this whole episode will be remembered? Does it matter? It most certainly does.
It would be nice to see the media -- and the scientists who encouraged them -- avoid the hype, but at the same time not to recoil from more carefully considered predictions in the future. My concern is for a new "Kohoutek effect." (Curiously, the original Kohoutek affair took place 40 years ago … almost to the month.)
Kohoutek was a comet that in 1973 some astronomers predicted would -- like ISON -- become "the comet of the century" as it fell sunward from the outer regions of the solar system. Astronomers realized that -- like ISON -- it was brighter for its given distance than comets typically are. Initially, its trajectory also made it look as though -- just like ISON -- it was on its first journey in from the cold, dark reaches of the outer solar system … a virgin comet from the Oort Cloud, a vast reservoir of comets likely extending halfway to the nearest star.
That would mean its icy core would not be battered and worn away by repeated passes by the Sun, but chock full of pristine material leftover from the formation of our solar system 4.5 billion years ago -- ice, gases and other materials just waiting to be set free.
As with all comets, the pressure of the solar wind and sunlight light itself would sweep the resulting vapors back to form a tail… although this one would be so large that millions around the world could see it with little effort. It would have been an historic occurrence.
But Kohoutek was a bust.
On one clear evening around the time Kohoutek was expected to appear, my Dad drove me to an Easthampton hilltop -- one I still employ for its particular vistas -- to see if we could catch a glimpse of the highly publicized event, but to no avail, like many thousands of others around the world.
The comet was there, just not nearly as bright as predicted. (Practiced amateurs found it without much trouble.) This no-show gave media outlets cold feet for passing similar future stories on to the public. This is widely accepted as the reason so many people missed out on the truly remarkable sight of Comet West just two years later. The internet probably lessens this as a concern due to its many sources for information.
West was my first comet, and it was a revelation. The mass media stayed largely silent on this one, and I learned of its visit only by luck. When I stepped out into the field near the end of my street where the stars filled the sky, I spotted it in an instant.
How out of place the ghostly apparition looked. It was totally alien. My brain rejected it. It wasn't supposed to be there. This didn't seem right at all.
That experience remains one of the strangest of my skywatching life. But now I have a clue as to why peoples of the past were so spooked by comets. It disrupted the normal order and made the night look … well not right. I can now understand in my gut why comets were once been considered omens.
Be sure to check out the dependable planets, especially brilliant Venus lowering in the southwest from early to late dusk, and bright Jupiter climbing into the east in the later evening.
Find rise and set times for the sun and moon, and follow ever-changing celestial highlights in the Skywatch section of the Weather Almanac in the Daily Republican and Sunday Republican.
Patrick Rowan has written Skywatch for The Republican since 1987 and has been a Weather Almanac contributor since the mid 1990s. A native of Long Island, Rowan graduated from Northampton High School, studied astronomy at the University of Massachusetts-Amherst in the 1970s and was a research assistant for the Five College Radio Astronomy Observatory. He lives in the Florence section of Northampton with his wife, Clara, and cat, Luna.