Natural Perspectives

Vic Leipzig and Lou Murray

The predawn hours of Nov. 18 furnished us with one of the most

phenomenal astronomical events that we’ve ever had the pleasure of

witnessing.

We’re not really astronomy buffs. Oh sure, we went to the desert to

see the widely touted Hale-Bopp, Kahotec and Halley’s comets, but we were

disappointed in them. We didn’t understand all the fuss some people made

over those tiny green fuzz balls.

Some years we gazed skyward during the night the sky rained fire

Perseid meteor showers in August and the Leonid showers in November,

hoping to see large numbers of shooting stars. Usually, we saw only a

few. This year’s Leonid event was supposed to be the biggest meteor

shower of our lifetimes, but we didn’t expect much because we’ve heard

that kind of hype before. However, a camping trip to the desert with our

buddy Larry Rolewic to see shooting stars sounded like a fine excuse for

tasty food cooked over a camp grill, eaten under the open sky, and washed

down with a good wine, accompanied by a pleasant evening of talk by the

campfire.

Rolewic is an astronomy buff. When he suggested watching the meteor

shower from an obscure canyon rim on BLM land near Red Rocks State Park

in the Mojave Desert, we quickly agreed. We set up camp on an isolated

scenic overlook that had an unobstructed 360-degree view.

We snacked on red grapes, brie and French bread from Trader Joe’s and

sipped an Australian cabernet-merlot while Rolewic grilled salmon and

cooked asparagus. We followed this delicious repast with our homemade

lemon-blueberry squares. Ah, wilderness!

About 9 p.m., a chill set into the air. The meteor showers were

predicted to begin shortly, and peak between 1 and 3 a.m.. Rolewic threw

a tarp on a slope facing east and we settled down under our sleeping

bags, looking for the first falling star. Finally we saw one, then

another, then another. The meteors emanated mainly from the constellation

Leo, crossing the sky from east to west, some high, some low.

Then came the first fireball. It shot through the southern sky before

it burned out. No mere shooting star, this. The head burned a fiery red,

followed by a long green tail that lingered luminously in the sky long

after the meteor had burned out. It was only 9:30 p.m.

An entire night of such sights awaited us.

Rolewic explained that the earth was passing through cosmic dust

trails left in space by the passage of the Tempel-Tuttle Comet several

centuries ago. The debris trail was especially dense this year, which is

why the falling stars were supposed to be unusually good. Of course, we

knew that meteors are not really falling stars, but are simply specks of

dust that burn on entry into our atmosphere. But such scientific

explanations merely detracted from the pure poetry of the evening.

At the peak, stars were falling every few seconds. Sometimes there

were five or six in the sky at once. We had never seen anything like it.

This was no meteor shower; it was a storm. Fire balls with red, yellow

and orange heads became almost commonplace, with double green-tailed

meteors becoming the sought-after rarities.

As we watched the aerial display, we talked about the nightly American

bombardment of the Taliban. We wondered what the Afghanis would think of

the meteor storm, and how they would interpret it as star after star

appeared to fall out of the sky. The sight might be viewed as the end of

the world for the Taliban. We hoped the storm signaled the end of a reign

of terror and the beginning of a world at peace.

Nature’s fireworks continued through the night. Then the biggest

fireball of the evening shot south of us, low on the horizon, its huge

glowing head cutting an incredible swath through the dark. It was bright

enough to cast a shadow. We were dumbstruck by its beauty, incapable of

uttering anything but “Oh, oh, oh.” Finally, physiology prevailed and we

drifted off to sleep. A couple of hours later, we stirred to see if the

meteor storm was over. Far from it. The best was yet to come. We stood to

get a view of the entire sky because the direction of the meteors had

shifted. Instead of shooting toward us from the east, stars were falling

on the horizon all around us, dozens of meteors a minute. Green and white

meteor trails filled the sky. We watched until the light from the rising

sun made viewing impossible. We saw more meteors in that one night than

we had seen in all our lives before.

After a couple of hours of post-dawn sleep, we scrambled eggs with

green onion, crumbled bacon and leftover salmon, and served the

concoction with grilled English muffins and hot coffee. After breaking

camp, we explored a nearby mine and searched the desert floor for pretty

rocks, finding plenty of jasper and agate. Throughout the day, we

marveled at our incredible experience the previous evening, the night the

sky rained fire.

* VIC LEIPZIG and LOU MURRAY are Huntington Beach residents and

environmentalists. They can be reached at o7 [email protected] .