A dramatic coda to a Northwest sailing season

[Teranodon]

The cruising season is winding down in the San Juan Islands. Soon, the cold, rainy, endless winter will be upon us. Last Friday, my wife and I started a four-day cruise to some of our favorite destinations. Saturday evening found us in well-sheltered Reid Harbor - one of two large anchorages on Stuart Island. We cooked a nice dinner, put in the hatch boards and fired up the cabin heater. At about 9:20 I went on deck for a last look at the anchor, dinghy and other gear. The water was like glass between the high, black, silent wooded shores, Jupiter very bright in the East, a few anchor lights here and there. I glanced forward to the western horizon and was shocked to see an astonishing sight. Moving slowly eastwards above the horizon was a perfectly straight string of twenty or thirty lights, each as bright as first magnitude stars, exactly spaced about five degrees apart like pearls on a string. Under the handle of the Big Dipper they vanished one by one as new ones appeared on the horizon. In ten minutes or so it was all over. It was something utterly unexpected, a sight I had never come close to seeing in a lifetime of observing the night sky (and with a college degree in Astronomy). My mind raced. What could it be? Alien visitors? Russian warheads? Slowly, I converged on a more plausible hypothesis. I could tell that the speed of the objects was approximately that of low-orbiting satellites (I had often seen the International Space Station moving overhead and disappearing suddenly in the Earth’s shadow). So, I decided t must be a string of satellites, newly launched before gravity randomized their orbits. And so it proved to be! We had no cellphone coverage in Reid harbor, but on Sunday, en route to Deer Harbor, I was able to verify that SpaceX had launched 52 internet satellites from Florida, about three hours before my sighting. So it was nothing special after all but, still, an amazing sight I will always remember, like seeing a vast aurora, or a total eclipse, or the Green Flash at dawn - a fitting coda for a Northwest sailing season.

 

[goldenstate]

The cruising season is winding down in the San Juan Islands. Soon, the cold, rainy, endless winter will be upon us. Last Friday, my wife and I started a four-day cruise to some of our favorite destinations. Saturday evening found us in well-sheltered Reid Harbor - one of two large anchorages on Stuart Island. We cooked a nice dinner, put in the hatch boards and fired up the cabin heater. At about 9:20 I went on deck for a last look at the anchor, dinghy and other gear. The water was like glass between the high, black, silent wooded shores, Jupiter very bright in the East, a few anchor lights here and there. I glanced forward to the western horizon and was shocked to see an astonishing sight. Moving slowly eastwards above the horizon was a perfectly straight string of twenty or thirty lights, each as bright as first magnitude stars, exactly spaced about five degrees apart like pearls on a string. Under the handle of the Big Dipper they vanished one by one as new ones appeared on the horizon. In ten minutes or so it was all over. It was something utterly unexpected, a sight I had never come close to seeing in a lifetime of observing the night sky (and with a college degree in Astronomy). My mind raced. What could it be? Alien visitors? Russian warheads? Slowly, I converged on a more plausible hypothesis. I could tell that the speed of the objects was approximately that of low-orbiting satellites (I had often seen the International Space Station moving overhead and disappearing suddenly in the Earth’s shadow). So, I decided t must be a string of satellites, newly launched before gravity randomized their orbits. And so it proved to be! We had no cellphone coverage in Reid harbor, but on Sunday, en route to Deer Harbor, I was able to verify that SpaceX had launched 52 internet satellites from Florida, about three hours before my sighting. So it was nothing special after all but, still, an amazing sight I will always remember, like seeing a vast aurora, or a total eclipse, or the Green Flash at dawn - a fitting coda for a Northwest sailing season.

Space X is going to put accessible Netflix streaming in the middle of the ocean. It’s way worse/better than the data trickle from the Iridium, depending on one’s perspective. Nowhere left to be without the internet.

I like your satellite observation story though….

 

[bsangs]

Disagree with your assessment that it "was nothing special after all." That was a great story, and it certainly excited you at the time. Sounds special to me. Great detail about your surroundings btw. Sounds very serene. Hope the winter isn't too miserable up there.

 

[Saverio]

Beautiful story of a very exciting nature, unfortunately I'm also sorry that winter is coming,

 

[william.haas]

I was able to witness this same phenomenon on the last evening on the Race to Mackinaw... calm seas, favorable wind, making good progress - it was amazing. After 36 hours of limited sleep we all had no idea what we were observing until my brother came on deck and immediately knew the answer. Thanks for sharing.