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A LETTER FROM MATINICUS nearby expressed interest in a bright mercury-vapor light for his truck-filled driveway, our stargazer, also being the island electrician, simply refused to install it because he didn’t want the light to overpower the night sky. His computer alerts him whenever the International Space Station will be visible crossing the sky overhead, and he in turn alerts the parents of small children who might wish to step outside and wave to the astronauts. He reminds people that the shapes of the constellations you hold in your mind depend upon where you grew up. He has a stockpile of #14 extra-dark welding shades duct-taped into cardboard boxes for solar-eclipse viewing. He carries a red flashlight and a green laser pointer, taught his kids what Flamsteed and Messier did for civilization, and put aluminum light-pollution-reduction shields on the municipal mercury-vapor lamps. He has seen the “green flash” in the early morning from the deck of the Jan Ellen. His neighbors seek him out to ask about the night sky.
He does not own a telescope. Most of what’s happening on this island isn’t really “astronomy.” It isn’t even really “stargazing.” It is more like “sky watching,” which includes turning a lens toward the craters of the moon, tracing the paths of planets, waking people up to see the northern lights, stepping out on the lawn with a wristwatch to catch an Iridium flare, admiring the Milky Way on a really, really starry night, viewing the moons of Jupiter with powerful binoculars on a mount, hiking around in the snow to find a good vantage point to see a comet, saluting the International Space Station, enjoying the “shooting stars,” preparing a contraption with which to look at any solar eclipses that might happen to be visible, hoping to see the elusive “green flash” some day, all while trying to avoid pneumonia and frostbite (astronomy is such a cold hobby). By the way, that green flash—which few are fortunate enough ever to see—is an instant of lime-green light occasion-
ally visible just as the sun sets or rises, when the horizon is visible and perfectly flat, such as on a calm sea. I have never seen it. What one does see depends to a considerable extent on the season of the year. Without the fog of summer, and with only a short walk or drive needed to see an ocean horizon in almost any direction, winter on Matinicus Island is the season for stargazing. (Many properties are unoccupied this time of year, and we hope the owners don’t mind a little harmless trespassing for scientific purposes.) Frequently there are clear skies without too much interference from city lights. If anything, the lights of Rockland in the distance to the north, eerily reflected off a cloud layer, can look at first like a washed-out Aurora Borealis, until you realize it’s just ol’ Rockland and those colors never are going to develop. Some nights, you go outside in the early dark on an errand, perhaps to cross the yard to the shop for a tool or what-
Holland 32
Likes to work. Likes to play. You make the call. HOLLAND 14 32 38
Workboat-Tough, Yacht-Like Finish
HOLLAND’S BOAT SHOP, INC. 7 Mill Lane, Belfast, Maine 04915
207-338-3155 hollandboat@roadrunner.com 30
MAINE BOATS, HOMES & HARBORS
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April / May 2008
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Issue 99