Of auroras and candlelight
King's Birthday weekend saw the Griffin clan decamp to our new crib in Middlemarch. It was meant to be quiet. Slow. Reflective. Books, board games, and an experimental stew I'd prepped with the kind of seriousness usually reserved for museum board meetings.
What I didn't know as we rattled west out of Dunedin Friday afternoon was that the Sun — never one for observing public holidays — had exploded.
Not literally, but close enough: a giant solar eruption had sent a blast of charged particles careening towards Earth. By Saturday morning, my phone was buzzing with coded messages from my usual back-channel sources: geomagnetic storms incoming. Major aurora alert. Charge your batteries. Cancel your plans.
Now, I am an astronomer. A professional, as my accountant and increasingly weary family would attest. And so, on Saturday evening, while the rest of the household settled in with books and red wine, I was outside, deploying cameras like a man possessed. Across both paddocks. Tripods bristling with optics.
I had the look of someone trying to film an NHNZ documentary on migrating hedgehogs.
The trouble was, the house was ablaze. Every window shone with warm yellow light, leaking out across the section like a lighthouse designed to ruin astrophotography. Even the bathroom window glowed like a warning beacon from low orbit.
I went inside, said something that began kindly and ended with a phrase I now regret: "You're blowing out the histograms."
There was a silence. Then, one by one, they turned off the lights. My daughter lit a candle. Then another. Soon, the whole family was reading by flickering flame, the house aglow like some 19th-century Scandinavian lodge, with the aurora blazing behind it in shades of lime and crimson.
Someone passed around chocolate. Someone else found a blanket. The dog snored. Outside, the sky shimmered and danced, ancient and alive.
This week's photo shows that moment: Griffins around a table, each caught in the act of quiet rebellion — or possibly love — beneath a sky performing miracles.
Am I obsessive? Yes.
But sometimes, obsession lights the way.
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Otago Daily Times
a day ago
- Otago Daily Times
Of auroras and candlelight
King's Birthday weekend saw the Griffin clan decamp to our new crib in Middlemarch. It was meant to be quiet. Slow. Reflective. Books, board games, and an experimental stew I'd prepped with the kind of seriousness usually reserved for museum board meetings. What I didn't know as we rattled west out of Dunedin Friday afternoon was that the Sun — never one for observing public holidays — had exploded. Not literally, but close enough: a giant solar eruption had sent a blast of charged particles careening towards Earth. By Saturday morning, my phone was buzzing with coded messages from my usual back-channel sources: geomagnetic storms incoming. Major aurora alert. Charge your batteries. Cancel your plans. Now, I am an astronomer. A professional, as my accountant and increasingly weary family would attest. And so, on Saturday evening, while the rest of the household settled in with books and red wine, I was outside, deploying cameras like a man possessed. Across both paddocks. Tripods bristling with optics. I had the look of someone trying to film an NHNZ documentary on migrating hedgehogs. The trouble was, the house was ablaze. Every window shone with warm yellow light, leaking out across the section like a lighthouse designed to ruin astrophotography. Even the bathroom window glowed like a warning beacon from low orbit. I went inside, said something that began kindly and ended with a phrase I now regret: "You're blowing out the histograms." There was a silence. Then, one by one, they turned off the lights. My daughter lit a candle. Then another. Soon, the whole family was reading by flickering flame, the house aglow like some 19th-century Scandinavian lodge, with the aurora blazing behind it in shades of lime and crimson. Someone passed around chocolate. Someone else found a blanket. The dog snored. Outside, the sky shimmered and danced, ancient and alive. This week's photo shows that moment: Griffins around a table, each caught in the act of quiet rebellion — or possibly love — beneath a sky performing miracles. Am I obsessive? Yes. But sometimes, obsession lights the way.
Otago Daily Times
2 days ago
- Otago Daily Times
Stalwart stargazers' service honoured
A Lake Tekapo couple are among the seven people across South Canterbury named in this year's King's Birthday honours. Stargazers Alan Gilmore and Pamela Kilmartin have both been made Members of the New Zealand Order of Merit (MNZM). The couple have both received honours for services to astronomy. Mr Gilmore and Ms Kilmartin were recognised for their contributions to furthering astronomy in New Zealand since the 1970s, particularly through research on hazardous near Earth objects. Ms Kilmartin said while they were both delighted to be honoured, they had a feeling there were others were more deserving in the district including volunteers and first responders. "We were doing work that we love doing, and it was its own reward really," Mr Gilmore said. The couple had been living at Lake Tekapo for 45 years. Ms Kilmartin grew up in Mananui, near Taumarunui, where the night sky was bright with stars. She later moved to Auckland where she joined the Auckland Astronomical Society and took courses organised by the society. Mr Gilmore was born in Greymouth. His father worked on the railways, and he was transferred to Otoko, north of Gisborne. "I think that was probably where I got a first inkling of an interest in stars, because we were walking home from visiting neighbours one night, and I saw a star fall. And my dad was very well read, and he explained that this was a rock falling from space," Mr Gilmore said. Their paths collided in Christchurch, where the two struck up a conversation. "We first met at an astronomical conference, which was very appropriate," Ms Kilmartin said. While she had been living in Auckland at the time, finishing a master's degree, he was in Wellington working at the Carter Observatory. After graduating — and studying further — Ms Kilmartin applied for a job at the same observatory. Mr Gilmore said the board was "a little bit diffident about it". "Pam was obviously the best qualified person, but they knew that we were sort of going round together, and they were not quite sure about it. Anyway, they took a gamble on it." When he had started at the observatory years earlier, his employers had been wanting him to find a scientific programme for a telescope purchased in the 1960s. "So after some experimentation, I built a gadget that allowed us to move the photographic plates, it was all photographic stuff in those days, in the telescope, so that it kind of tracked the movement of a comet or an asteroid against the background stars. "The two of us developed skills in both taking pictures of comets and asteroids and doing the measuring and doing all the tedious sums." They got very good at it, he said. "And then by an extraordinary stroke of luck, we heard about a measuring machine for this work that was going begging at Yale Observatory in the [United] States. "We were sort of invited to ask for it, which we did, and they very kindly sent it out to us. That transformed our work." The couple become observer technicians at Mt John Observatory for the University of Canterbury in 1980. They undertook a voluntary research programme on astronomy during their employment and have co-discovered 41 asteroids and a comet. Retiring in 2014 they have continued their voluntary research in retirement, making observations and sending data to the Minor Planet Center funded by NASA, helping observe asteroids to improve the safety of space missions and planetary defence.
NZ Herald
6 days ago
- NZ Herald
Dazzling aurora lights up New Zealand's skies, display may return tonight
By If you missed out on the aurora light show that lit up southern lights on Sunday night, you might have another chance, as night falls on King's Birthday Monday. Aurora Australis, the colourful natural phenomenon also called the southern lights, put on a
