Stargazing Opportunities Lost and Found

Have you ever wished that trees and surrounding buildings would automatically recede into the ground at sunset, leaving an unobstructed view in every direction?

I have long been hindered by visual obstacles.

Several weeks ago, I went to bed with great expectations of finding and imaging Comet Lemmon (C/2025 A6) in the wee hours of the morning. Stirring with the 5 a.m. alarm, I packed up my smart telescope, tripod, and red-light lantern before heading outside. I was just about to set up my equipment when I thought to check the comet’s position in the sky. Sure enough, it was behind a tree, and it wouldn’t clear the branches and foliage until well past dawn.

Annoyed and disappointed, I headed back inside. I felt stymied and let down. I took the failure a little personally, I guess. Why did so many targets have to hide behind trees and buildings? I was exhausted but couldn’t sleep. As silly as it sounds, my stubbornness tempted me to sit outside and stew about not being able to see the comet from my backyard. I didn’t oblige.

Every year, the trees grow a little taller and broader, and I have to alter my plans, often at the last minute. My father has started joking about adding a chainsaw to his observing kit. The sad reality is that there are no guarantees in life, and that includes physical obstacles and unreliable observing conditions.

If you’ve been an observer for any length of time, you’ve probably run into this yourself, again and again. We don’t get to control our environment, the weather, Earth’s rotation, or any of it.

Like when there’s finally a strong aurora borealis forecast for Portland — accompanied by a night of heavy rain. (This has happened rather a lot.) Or when the stars literally align for observing the Small Sagittarius Star Cloud from my driveway, only for a couple of pesky power lines to ruin the view.

Even a darker sky site doesn’t guarantee a good observing session — there was the night M and I made the hour-long trek to a state park to see the Perseid meteor shower in 2024, only for clouds to come rushing in just as the show was starting.

These feel like lost opportunities — missed chances for wonder. They don’t happen often enough for me to outright abandon my cosmic pursuits, but they can leave me feeling grumbly and wondering why I even bothered to make plans.

But then there was the late winter night I was watching someone else’s observing session online, only to realize that my own skies had unexpectedly cleared — giving me an early peek at M51. I stayed up past midnight to study one of my favorite galaxies as my telescope tracked it across the sky. I felt like I’d stolen those hours from the cloud gods, and it was magic.

Yes, there are many foiled nights, but sometimes observation opportunities come knocking when I’m not expecting it, and these moments of stellar serendipity more than make up for the frustration of terrestrial obstacles and disappointing weather.

Like one time, when I hadn’t had the time or energy to put together an observing plan, my friend Dale texted me about a deep-sky object he was hunting, one I’d never considered before. That’s how I came to marvel at the Sadr region for the first time and then venture into other pockets of the Cygnus constellation.

Other found opportunities have come from astronomy articles Dad has read. He’d seen mention of a new-to-me asterism, Webb’s Wreath, prompting a fun and satisfying stellar treasure hunt for us both.

There was the early morning text from my stepmother in May 2024 about promising aurora conditions, and twelve hours later I was looking up at the Northern Lights for the first (and so far only) time in my life.

And when I hosted a star party in the neighborhood park, someone asked why the Dumbbell Nebula looks green. “I don’t know,” I replied. “Let’s find out together.”

No matter how many times my observing plans are thwarted — or how many trees, power lines, or clouds get in the way — there will always be another opportunity. There will never be an end to what I can learn and explore. Even when I must adapt my expectations and search instead for a target not hiding behind a bush, I can still embrace the chance at unanticipated wonder.