Summer Solstice Night - Redemption

For me, Crumby, Summer Solstice Night just past was a miserable adventure. I squandered an average amateur astronomer opportunity plus wasted half a tank of gas while simultaneously spewing out plenty of pollution, making these parts hotter, all wickedly done, only to pursue a hobby. Boo hoo. I am truly sorry for any suffering I inflicted on myself. However, I could care less about tertiary impacts to the balance of humanity. Tough titty.

It’s like when you are a convicted whoremonger. You have been out whoring, but you got caught. Maybe your wife or mother or your sister found out what a whoremonger you are. But if you really like the hobby, whoremonger, even after you get caught and have to apologize, and cry on TV like a bitch, then there is nothing left to do but get back in the saddle at the first opportunity. Like I hear the best cure for too much coke is another snort the next morning. The same is true of whiskey. Glug, glug, glug. Whores, same thing. No wonder then that I was hot to replicate my adventure of Summer Solstice Night, only leaving off getting locked out and the missing eyepieces.

To make a long story short, this time, the average amateur astronomy totally exceeded expectations. That’s right. Even all the missing Messiers of the Virgo Galaxy Cluster, sinking low, were easy pickings after Moon went down. Yepper, I easily espied all the missing Messiers except one. That’s because I got excited and forgot to espy M74 in Pisces. But that’s OK. I have plenty of time to espy that one, Goddess willing.

OK. My favorite view of the many great views was M31, M32 and M110 all in the same FOV. That was great. Especially considering I could never espy M110 at the CB. That view is possibly why I forgot M74. I got too excited and kept going back to Andromeda.

This Heat is Killing Me - 104 in the Shade

Beelzebub is also known in Christian circles as Satan. But many also know Satan by his super secret name, Natas, which is Satan spelled backwards. Then too, Satan is also known by his Pig Latin name, Atansa, which spelled backwards is Asnata. Yepper. All these are examples among many of the various interesting ways of spelling out the name of the Devil.

Four straight days of record breaking heat puts me in mind of my childhood. That’s correct. I had the misfortune of a Christian rearing. Yepper. That’s when I learned that if I was a bad boy, Natas would surely get me and I would roast in Hell, naked. Yepper. There I would be in Hell, writhing in super hot agony. But worse, a great many other similarly wicked boys and girls would also be right there with me, also writhing, liable to writhe into me. Liable to touch me. Liable to rub their hot skins on my hot skin, without my permission. Egad! Jeez Louise! Mercy!

So yesterday one of the chores I had to do was make cuttings off a Mexican sycamore *. The Mexican sycamore has about a mm depth of duff on the underside of the leaves. That duff comes off as soon as the leaf is the most tiny bit disturbed or messed with. Once off, naturally the duff goes airborne. Once airborne that particular duff heads for the nearest nostrils.

Course too, naturally, a person requires a ladder to reach the topmost cuttings. One might assume that a ladder, since a ladder allows one to go higher, also might allow one to get further away from Hell. But that is not so. The fact is, almost nothing can get a person nearer to Hell than a ladder. A ladder always makes a bad situation, worse.

Soaked in my own sweat and breathing in plenty of Sycamore duff I began to cough. I could not stop coughing. I fell off the ladder coughing. I feel to my knees in the dewberries, coughing. Instantly, I thought, Should have worn long pants. Pretty soon I had coughed both my lungs out. I could just barely espy those twain lungs, as the blood, sweat and tears clouded my vision, lying at my knees on the ground before me. Those lungs still coughed spasmodically.

The many vermin and varmints in those parts began to assemble. Still my lungs coughed. Can we have those lungs?, some of the vermin and varmints wanted to know. Hastily I scooped those lungs back into my mouth. Fortunately, a Druid Ovate such as myself is constantly ready for most emergencies. Previously, I had practiced swallowing my lungs by swallowing Hostess Snowballs without chewing. So I managed to swallow my lungs back down. Then I headed off to the water faucet. I needed a drink of cool water.

The cool water probably saved me from certain death and an eternity in Hell. But what if there had been no handy cool water? Then what?

*Mexican Sycamore - Sycamoranus mexicanus is like a regular sycamore but with extra amounts of white tomentum (duff) on the underside of the leaf. The duff prevents the leaf from losing moisture out the underside where its stomata are. In other words, the short hairs form an interlinking web over the stomata and thus prevent excess water loss, keeping the leaf fairly turgid during Hell-like weather. But when disturbed, the duff leaps off the leaf surface, thereby afflicting the lungs and nostrils of predators fixing to fuck with that particular tree. Yes. The duff has at least twain functions. First, the duff prevents water loss, and second, the duff protects the Sycamoranus mexicanus against predators or leaf herbivores.

Governor White Trash

About all Governor Sanford could do to redeem his worthless ass is move to Argentina. Once there, Mark could whoremonger to his heart’s content, but he could also provide a useful service. That’s right. Big Mark could organize a colony in Argentina for white trash needing to head out from the US for foreign parts. There are plenty of US white trash that need to head out, whether they know it or not.

Jeez Louise! Every fool knows that Druids have long advocated the voluntary immigration of the Republican white trash to foreign parts. Actually, Druids have started up a fund called, Export the White Trash Wherever (EWTW). The purpose of the fund is to relocate dumbass white trash outside of the US, anywhere that will take their sorry asses.

But nobody wants our white trash. Even our colonies, Iraq and Afghanistan will only take US white trash that are subsidized 110% or more by the US. Which, of course, does US little good. If we are still paying out more than our white trash are worth to settle them in foreign parts, we might as well keep them here, cheaper. Well, actually it is worth some extra to be shut of them. But we could bankrupt the US subsidizing a US lifestyle in foreign parts for all the white trash we totally need to deport. Mercy!

OK. Governor Mark (White Trash) Sanford may have inadvertently suggested a solution to the US white trash problem. Like dudes, dudettes and dudits, millions of white trash Republicans could move to beautiful Argentina. Plus, they could move on their own dimes. That’s right. Following big Sanford’s leadership, they could go to Argentina at their own expense. Just like Big Mark.

Oops. Turns out, in the best tradition of white trash bullshit, big Mark actually charged his trips to the taxpayers. Oops. Well, I reckon the US white trash might need some federal assistance for the move to Argentina after all. Dern! I had lots of hope for a white trash colony in Argentina.

Summer Solstice Night

What do tonight and Blanco County have in common? Easy money. They are both short. That is, when traveling through Blanco County, along Hwy. 71, an average person may assume that the trip through Blanco County is a mighty short trip. So if an average person makes that trip on Summer Solstice Night, speeding through Blanco County concealed in the stygian darkness on a moonless night fit only for witches, like that could result in a time warp, maybe.

Good Goddess! I never thought of that before. I bet many a sad ass resident of Blanco County has headed out on Summer Solstice Night, hunting Blancos, only to never be seen again. Huh-huh. I mean, mercy!

Put all that aside and out of your noggin, Crumby. And fear not, Goddess Willing you shall pass the bounds of the Blancos while fickle Ogma still sails the sky, beaming down, burning up all the vegetation. On you shall venture, Crumby, though that journey shall be long, arduous and only made bearable by air conditioning. On you shall fare, westerly, racing fickle Ogma toward that westerly horizon.

OK. The hurly burly here is Coma Berenices (I finally figured out it’s her short hairs) , Ursa Major and Virgo are still up tonight and fairly high at 10:30 PM. Then also, Andromeda and Pisces are both up and fairly high by 4AM tomorrow morning. Which means that I could espy all the missing Messier galaxies tonight.

To review, the missing Messier galaxies are: M88, M91, M98, M100, M90, M108, M109, M110 and M74. These are the nine galaxies that have so far been cloaked in invisibility. Yes. So far these nine have looked just like the nine Nazgul with their clothes off. Huh-huh. Why didn’t the Nazgul take their clothes off in the movie? Easy money. They needed clothes, at least undears so they could comfortably ride on horses or Pterosaurs. The rest of the time, like when they were at home, they didn’t wear any clothes. They were probably lots scarier without clothes.

So, despite not getting to go anywhere near Stonehenge, I am fixing to maybe get to enjoy some naked heavenly bodies and have some fun anyway. Praise the Goddess!

Later

Maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe. That’s right, maybe. With the temperature hovering near 100, I loaded up the great red tube and many accouterments, some astronomical, some personal, some both, into the great vehicle. By the time many of the items I needed were stowed, I was hot and sweaty. Yet a little great vehicle air conditioning fixed me right up. West I headed, as the stinky sweat slowly dried up on my T-shirt, leaving only a salty crust.

As I drove along, I praised the Goddess with song, poetry and prose. Yes, Thanks largely to the WG, I was fixing to get to have some fun. Plus the Goddess had kept the sweat bees off me while I was loading the great vehicle. Those sweat bees could have delayed me a lot. Also, I was spared cows fixing to lick salt off me. I thanked the WG for that, too.

Off I went. Up ahead, the ever fickle Ogma Sunface blazed down relentlessly. The situation seemed to be that Ogma, shedding his relentless heat, was trying to delay me, or even turn me back. Turn back Crumby. It’s too hot for man or beast. Turn back. But inside the air conditioned great vehicle Ogma’s rays produced little effect on Crumby. Crumby drove along, happily reflecting upon all the naked celestial splendors he was fixing to get to observe in all their glory. On Crumby drove, on and on. Alas, I must pass through this shit hole, Bee Cave, before I can get anywhere, Crumby reflected.

On drove Crumby, on and on. At last with Bee Cave far gone, Crumby began to make better progress. Better, better progress, than no progress, thought Crumby.

Anon, Crumby arrived at his destination. Hey! That gate is chained and locked. Oh no! Crumby had no combination for the lock. Crumby’s site documentation had no combination information. Crumby’s cell phone was out of its service area. Crumby tried and tried, but he could not guess the combination. Crumby could not espy anyway to drive around the gate. Crumby lacked bolt cutters.

Golless dang it! OK. I shall just set up right here at this gate. Uckfa ema ackedna, astardsba!

The obligatory tantrum out of the way, Crumby knew he had to collimate the great red tube in a hurry before fickle Ogma faded. Crumby unloaded all the gear. Crumby collimated the great red tube, which amazingly, despite the ride, was spot on.

Ha! I am all set, Crumby figured, as Ogma sank slowly in the west. I’ll just rig up an eyepiece or two and............................ Oh no.

Mercy. Crumby forgot his eps. Crumby did not have even one ep. Not even one. No Messier glaxies tonight. Not even one. There was nothing left to do but load up all the gear and head back out. Yes. Head back, all sweaty again from the exertion of unloading and loading up all the gear. Once more the ac dried the sweat on Crumby’s salt-rimed T-shirt. Mercy!

So. This one was the worst Summer Solstice Crumby can recall on a personal level. However, the summer solstices are, on the climatic level, fixing to get way worse for these parts, even than this one, from here on out. Way worse.

Yes. The White Goddess is seeking retribution on evil doers that dwell in these parts. Once those evil doers have made the place plenty hot, and used up all the water, the WG shall make sure they all rot in Hell. To avoid this certain fate, the young and hopeful should move along. My Druid Ovate advice is, move to Deeeeeeee-troit. There's plenty of water in Deeeeeeee-troit.

Second Cicada Species Documented for Cow Barn

I confess. The fruit flies are a nuisance at the CB. That’s right. As the fruit ripens, the fruit flies like to get on the ripening or gradually rotting fruit that is set out on the kitchen counter in a great bowl. The next step for the rotten fruit is the butterfly feeder. Sometimes, the rotten fruit does not make it out to the butterfly feeder in a timely fashion.

Next to the great bowl is a tray which holds a bottle of extra virgin (is there any other kind) olive oil. Between the bowl and the tray, a tiny red spider has spun its nefarious web, generally to catch the fruit flies in. However, this morning the little red spider hit paydirt.

Correct. At 5:30AM this morning I awoke to a tiny voice shouting excitedly in the kitchen. Well boys, this is it. I have hit the jackpot. No more worries. Nothing to fret over ever again. I am rich. That’s right boys. Rich beyond my wildest dreams.

Crumby, go see what all that infernal hollering is all about. Wearily Crumby pushed himself up off the Ample Bosoms. Wearily Crumby headed off down the dusty hallway with only a cat and a dog for company. I better document this situation, Crumby surmised.

This particular cicada may be Pacarina puella, maybe. It is about 24mm from its snout to its wingtips.

The Longest Day of the Year

That's right. The summer solstice is arrived. Now the days are fixing to shorten up. However, despite that, these parts won't begin to cool off until November, maybe late November. Yepper. The great heat could easily produce 100 days with a diurnal high of 100 degrees between now and then. Many shall cry out, Mercy, spare me! But only the air conditioned and irrigated shall be spared. It is the doom of this time and place. Each day, we make the great heat, hotter. Immigrants, bring your own water.

Man. I'd like to get to go to Stonehenge. That's right. I could faunch around with the rest of the Pagans, take drugs, listen to rock and roll, etc. But I don't get to go to Stonehenge. Not only do I not get to go to Stonehenge, we are not even fixing to have a replica of Stonehenge ready for the CB tonight. Correct. Ray was supposed to build a replica out of popsickle sticks. But somebody threw out the popsickle sticks. So, no replica. Dern it!

Whut’s This Bee?

This kind of bee is the most abundant bee at the CB after the honey bee, maybe. I Crumby, once was fixing to join bug guide. The theory was, as a member of bug guide, the many could assist me, Crumby, in identifying the CB insects, like this bee. However, membership was not to be. Cause, the first time I was fixing to upload an image to bug guide, something went amiss. The Crumby rule is, when dealing with computer related bullshit, if it does not work right off, fuck it. So after that initial attempt, I never tried to submit anything to bug guide again ever. Though, from time to time I compare pictures of my insects to insects featured on bug guide. It’s the least bug guide can do after fucking me around.

I have a great many more pictures of this kind of bee. These bees are a little smaller than a bumblebee. They have big blue eyes. They chew holes in the floret tubes to get at the nectar. I suspect these bees may be in the Family Megachilidae.

Globular Clusters

Apart from the Messiers plus Omega Centauri, globular clusters (gcs) have not previously drawn a beetled brow from this particular noggin. Last night though, before mighty Juipter came out from behind the hackberry and the clouds swept up from the south, a beetled Neanderthal brow overhung these eyeballs peeled for gcs. Praise the Goddess.

That’s correct. The WG allowed a few hours of decent seeing before She shut me down at 1:30AM. The fun started with M5. Then M9. But what about those two that are hard upon M9; NGC 6356 and NGC 6342. May I espy those also?, Crumby wondered.

Turns out those twain gcs are fairly easy compared to craters on Pluto. No, no, no. They are way easier than craters on Pluto. Craters on Pluto are impossible. But espying those twain got Crumby cogitating. What if, most of the gcs in these parts are also fairly easy to espy? Maybe they are all easy as pie. What if I espied them all? Would I make history? Course not.

Anon, worn out from cogitation, Crumby set about espying more NGC gcs in those general parts that were near conspicuous stars and therefore easy star hops. OK. Crumby found four more in Sagittarius that were easy. These are NGC 6638 near Kaus Borealis, NGC 6652 near Kaus Australis, M69 and M70, and the twain funsters, NGC 6528 and NGC 6522 near Alnasi. The last are neat because they are very close, each to the other, with only a couple of tiny stars in between.

Why are the Lagoon and Omega nebulas very nebulous when compared to the Trifid and Eagle nebulas, which, absent filters, are miserably nebulous? The fact is, even with filters they are comparatively pitiful. Why is that?

Anyway, Crumby is fixing to head out to darker skies again pretty soon. All this practice shall insure that Crumby is fairly efficient and does not waste darker sky time. Praise the Goddess with great praise.

The Box Nebula, NGC 6309

I am a fairly regular reader of the Cloudy Nights offering, Small Wonders: Insert Constellation Name. That particular column is where an average amateur astronomer like me may review what he/she/it may have not espied or needs to espy again, maybe. This time around the featured Small Wonders constellation is Ophiuchus.

As even rank fools and scum suckers may know, Ophiuchus is a serious constellation containing a great many naked heavenly features of potential interest to the unprofessional amateur. For example, in Ophicuhus may be found a good many of the semi-famous Messier globular clusters including two of the most troublesome, M107 and M9. M107 and M9 are faint and low from these parts, thus troublesome, especially factoring in plenty of light pollution.

M14 can also be similar to looking for a particular pubic hair among many. I do not know this fact about M14 from personal experience, yet I suspect such may be so. Looking backward, I once noted that M14 is an easy hop from gamma Ophiuchus. I wish I had remembered that last night. Jeez Louise plus all the Whores and Whoremongers of Babylon and Greater Houston! Last night I kept attempting to hop from like Sabik. What a retard? It’s like looking for one pube among many. If I’m fixing to be that kind of retard, kill me before I vote Republican.

Whew! OK. The Box Nebula is only exciting to an average amateur astronomer in these parts who wants to espy the Box Nebula, but is indifferent about how well the Box Nebula eventually is espied. Joto! Pendecho!

OK. From these parts, the Box Nebula in a 10" Newt is little, faint, yet discernible. An Orion Ultrablock helps. But try to increase the magnification, forget that dude, dudette, or dudit.

All righty then. Does anybody know if they make like hamster balls big enough for cats? Like my new cat needs one of those large hamster balls so he can like go out on the street and play without getting run over. Right?

Carolina Wren with Cutworm

Here’s a good supper. Good in so many ways. That particular meal is probably a cutworm or maybe an armyworm.

More and more though, when it comes to mundane fauna that any fool knows all about, like, for Goddess’ sakes, birds, I feel like I am getting the Sodom or Gomorrah treatment from my camera. Huh-huh. Many may know all about the Sodom or Gomorrah treatment.

Yet how is my camera sticking it up my ass one might wonder? Easy money. Noise! That’s how.

To get the dern shutter speed up so the dern camera can be hand held, I need to keep the ISO on 400. Those dicky birds live in the shadows, so the dicky bird pictures are always noisy. Course, the trade off is the 2x crop factor and the relatively cheap 70-300mm lens. Without those items, I probably would not even attempt faunching around with hand held dicky bird pictures.

So mostly this mistle is for the picture which I want to see blown up to 100% on the web page

Spooky Facts of Nature

Beelzebub has descended or ascended upon the land. Yes. The great Christian demi-god, Satan, that some call Natas, is totally in charge of these parts. How do I know that Natas is in charge? Easy that, it is hot as Hell or Hades. So I figure, since it is hot as Hell, and Natas is purportedly in charge of Hell, he is also probably responsible for the great heat afflicting these parts. That’s right. The heat gripping the Republico Booblico is rising up from Hell, via abandoned yet improperly plugged wells, thanks to Natas.

Regardless where the heat is arising from, the heat, is good for the economy. Yet what’s good for the economy is bad for nature. This year, the bald cypress and the red buckeye at the CB decided to go deciduous the first week of June. Normally they wait until the last week of June. This year, only two butterflies have shown up in any numbers; queen and gulf fritillary. Spooky!

What’s with the wind? Is it Natas that has stirred up the wind so that the wind blows furiously all night long? Maybe. Furiously whipping nocturnal winds plus Newtonian telescopes on Dobson mounts are a bad mix. Terrible shit can happen.

Like one time Karl the Tracker Druid got a job finding a lost Boy Scout. What happened was, the Boys Scouts were all lined up, each awaiting a turn at looking through a great big Newtonian. That Newtonian was so huge, the little boys had to climb up a ladder to reach the peephole.

Suddenly a great gust of nocturnal wind caught the mighty Newtonian. The little Boy Scout atop the ladder let out a squeal. Whee! He threw his little arms around the neck of the great tube. He hung on for dear life. Mercy! Yet anon, centrifugal force overcame the friction of the little Boy Scout’s grip.

Karl eventually found that particular Boy Scout in the next county which happened to be Blanco County. Karl arrived just in time. Because as everyone with any sense knows, the main combo industry and sport in Blanco County is shooting Blancos. And Blancos can easily be mistaken for Boy Scouts. That’s how similar the twain is. So Karl arrived just in the nick of time to save that Boy Scout.

Three Big Coyote Yips for Mr. Sam Hamilton

Whoa! According to the daily, Mr. Sam Hamilton may be fixing to get to head up the entire US FWS. That’s right. Cool. Praise the Goddess! Mr. Hamilton may probably get an office and everything.

When Mr. Hamilton worked here, everybody called him Sam. He didn’t get much respect. The fact is, the property rights goons, eternally pissed off over the loss of great grand dad’s Negroes, were constantly fixing to murder Sam. Plus, Sam had only the miserable resources of the US FWS to rely on. He couldn’t just call in the 82nd Airborne to protect himself.

So there Sam was, receiving terrorist death threats over the phone while simultaneously breathing in carpet mold. That’s right. Anybody who has been to the Fish office knows that the greatest threat to life in those parts is carpet mold.

Anyhow, Mr. Hamilton survived both the property rights terrorists and the carpet mold. So congratulations on your knew potential job, Mr. Hamilton.

Sunkist Bandit or en Espanol, Bandito Sunkisto

What the fuck?

Here is an unusual sight even for that twilight zone, that edge, where civilization and wilderness meet up in these parts.

In Beelzebub’s Grip

Yesterday, about 10:30AM, I decided to head off behind the world class liquor store for a little hike. Soon as I dismounted out of the great vehicle I thought to myself, Crumby it’s too hot for man or beast. Yet I had already braved the many hazards of Brodie Lane to get so far. So I said to myself, Crumby, no sense in turning back now.

Out I headed, on foot, toting my trusty camera bag. These are the bigger and heavier items the camera bag contained. The camera bag contained a fairly trusty E330, a super trusty 70-300mm, a 40-150mm kit lens and a Raynox 150. This dern bag is heavy, Crumby thought to himself, his breath coming in wheezes, rasps and pitiful gasps.

Soon as Crumby got along away there was a new sign of impending doom right on the edge of the wilderness. Hark! Some cheap labor is putting in an irrigation field. Don’t know why? Reckon they got a permit for construction during the nesting season in known, occupied, GCW habitat?

Huh-huh. Crumby reckons not.

Off we went. The purpose of the hike is nymphs or satyrs. As everyone in their right minds knows, I, Crumby, have been denied getting to espy all the nymphs and satyrs that may allegedly, according to a few, inhabit these parts. That’s right. Plus it would take something major, similar to nymphs and satyrs, to get me, Crumby, out of the air conditioning on such a miserable hot and humid day. Yet, there I went.

The lay of the land in those parts is uneven. To get along, an average naturalist similar to Crumby must go up and down. The way is treacherous. The mud and rocks are snot slick from the previous night’s rain. Progress is slow.

The heat and humidity settle on Crumby. Yes. The twin sister Goddesses, Heat and Humidity cloy onto Crumby. Anon, Crumby is all embraced by the cloying arms of those twain stifling Goddesses. Mercy! Both those Goddesses have wrapped twain hot, naked legs around Crumby. Mercy! Both those dern Goddesses are rubbing twain hot sweaty bosoms in Crumby’ face. Mercy! Both those Goddesses are exhaling hot, humid fumes onto Crumby’s ears and neck. Mercy! Crumby prays to Upup for a little relief. Mighty Upup, Crumby wheezes, send me a down grade. These Goddesses, Heat and Humidity, are killing me.

Anon, Crumby finds himself on the west bank of an ephemeral creek. A torrent is raging. Crumby estimates the depth of the torrent. Dang. That torrent may be eight inches deep. I could get swept away. For sure, I could get my tennies wet. Crumby decides he can go no further. Plus, in all that long journey to that point on the edge of that raging torrent, no butterfly, much less a nymph or satyr, has Crumby espied.

Yet just at that very instant of darkest despair in the whole natural history of life as many know it, suddenly a gulf fritillary comes frittering along. Hold it, Cumby cries out, there must be a passion vine or two in these parts. Sure enough, Crumby only has to scout around a little while before he espies a passion vine growing in the limestone rubble that, over the centuries, or up to but not exceeding 8954 years, has eroded down into this steamy valley.

I better take a picture of this passion vine, Crumby reasons. This one is Passiflora lutea. I don’t have any pictures of Passiflora lutea. Sweatily, Crumby sits down cross-legged next to the passion vine. The passion vine has much to recommend it. It has a caterpillar. It has flowers. It has roots at the leaf nodes which indicate to Crumby that he needs to come back and make some cuttings. The only short coming the passion vine exhibits is a lack of fruit. No dern fruit, Crumby complains.

Here’s a picture Crumby took. Once again, the Raynox 150 and 40-150mm kit lens combo disappoints. Crumby reflects, I should have brought the 35mm. Also, I need to lose some weight.

The climb out of that terrible valley was long and arduous. Those twain Goddesses, Heat and Humidity, clung to Crumby. Peel these Goddesses off me, Crumby prayed. At last, his breath coming in great gasps, drenched in his own sweat plus the perfumed exhuments of those stifling Goddesses, Crumby reached level ground at last. Praise Upup. I have reached level ground at last. Perhaps I shall survive long enough to record this fantastic tale anon, alas.

Another Shameless Product Endorsement, Orion Padded Bag # 15170

How many vendors vend padded bags of a size and shape commodious to occupation by a 10" Newtonian telescope? Only Orion. That’s right, so far as I know, Orion is the only such vendor.

Yesterday, my new padded bag arrived. It arrived swiftly and in good condition. It arrived exactly as described by Orion. Even the finder easily fits inside the padded bag, just like the picture of the telescope and finder on the Orion website shows a finder also fitting.

So, if you need a padded bag for your Newtonian reflector, choose Orion. You have no choice. Yes. It’s a good thing Orion is the only vendor of padded bags for Newtonian reflectors. Because, if some other vendor had the monopoly, none of the above might apply. Correct. The product and service might be incredibly shitty. And it’s not like there is a huge market for giant padded bags exclusively designed for Newtonian telescopes. No. Without Orion in this market, average amateur astronomers might very well be stuck with either no giant padded bags, or, poor quality padded bags, or Oklahoma credit card type bags.

Ugh! How would I have felt yesterday when I tried out my new padded bag, if the dern zipper had snagged on the finder? What if the padded bag had ripped, soon as I put in the telescope? What if I pulled on a thread, and like ten feet of the bag unraveled? What if the zipper got stuck? Yes. These are just a few of the horrible eventualities possible with an alternative potential vendor.

The Orion padded bags for medium sized Newtonian reflectors monopoly is an example of why competition is over rated. Sure, if there was competition an average amateur astronomer might get a giant padded bag for less than Orion charges, $103.00. But then, the average amateur astronomer might fret over the price of the bag, eternally seeking that elusive lowest price bargain. Or, alternatively, the average amateur astronomer might seek out the most expensive possible bag, believing as many do, You get what you pay for. Yikes! And as those imaginary giant padded bags varied in price, they might most certainly also vary in quality and features. Mercy! Decisions, decisions!

No. The status quo is way better. The only small sweat is maybe the labor conditions at the Orion padded bag factory. Are the little child laborers chained to work benches or shackled to sewing machines? Are the overseers cruel and hopped up on generic Viagra? Mercy!

Ranchland in Recovery

Yepper. Forty years later, the ranchland is in recovery. Yepper. The ranchland is fixing to be entirely recovered. Selah! Hallelujah!

Well. Well. Well. The daily ran its annual Bamberger Ranch story today, front page and most of another page. Turns out, joy and water are just plumb bubbling up at the Bamberger Ranch. Yepper. The invasive “cedar” is nixed, the grass is seeded, the creeks are, uh, flowing maybe, the wells are cased, the berms are coming along. And, the joy and water are bubbling up everywhere.

Selah! The birds sing joyfully. Turns out, after forty years of recovery, bird species on the ranch have increased from a mere 48, 40 years ago, to 200 species today, in defiance of the national trend. Imagine, the joyful and bubbly song of 200 bird species all fired up at once. Hallelujah! Selah!

Well. Well. Well. The only sad tiding in this joyful and bubbly scenario is the stocking rate needed to be cut in half due to the “drought”. That dang old drought.

Well. Well. Well. Nowhere else in the miserable Hill Country can one get a glimpse of how nature once appeared, minus the herd of of scimitar-horned oryx, in these parts. Yepper. These days only the Bamberger Ranch looks like the whole of the Edwards Plateau once looked, oryx aside, when all nature appeared as a sea of grass with hardly a tree or shrub anywhere.

Well. Well. Well. Coincidentally with all the joy and bubbles, those of us who disbelieve most of the above, must concede defeat. Yes. We have been routed, utterly. How badly have we been routed? Well. Well. Well. An anecdote may suffice to indicate our utter discomfiture.

A common native shrub in these parts is Texas persimmon (Diospyros texana). Texas persimmons, the fruits, are consumed by most of the mammals that inhabit these parts. The flowers are an important nectary for native insects. Yet Texas persimmon may be in competition with “native grass” for water, nutrients, time and space.

So, for the first time ever, recently, I heard the common name Mexican persimmon applied to Diospyros texana. Rumor has it that Texas persimmon is really an invader from Mexico. Yepper. Texas persimmon, just like Ashe juniper is not native to these parts. Instead, that dang old Mexican persimmon has proliferated like crazy, absent the fires and roaming buffalos that once kept it out, and the sea of grass pristine.

Not only is Mexican persimmon a non-native invasive species, it is no good for “wildlife” either. Noper. The Mexican persimmon needs to be eradicated to improve wildlife habitat.

Yepper. Utterly routed, defeated. Everyone, except RGVECB, which nobody reads, publicly whoops up the Bamberger scenario. The Bamberger scenario is the model for habitat restoration in these parts, even on public land where ranching is never fixing to reoccur. And of course, brush eradication is always a necessary precursor to development. Yepper. But at least Bamberger is saving Selah Bamberger Ranch from development. I’ll give him that, maybe.

Flies and Hot Pixel Mapping

Hot pixel mapping is a feature of the Olympus dslrs. I don’t actually know if my Olympus dslr has, or ever had, hot pixels or not. Nevertheless, I have used the feature twice, both times after examining pictures of flies at 100%.

I now suspect that what I am pixel peeping, is not hot pixels, but oily spots on the flies. Yes. Those oily spots are probably what is messing up my fly pictures, not hot pixels. Nevertheless, the hot pixel mapping feature, having now been run twice, ought to have managed to get shut of any hot pixels I may have, thanks be to oily flies.

Here’s an example. This picture was shot in RAW. A copy of the picture was saved as a TIF. A TIF may be edited in old versions of Paint Shop Pro. An average amateur photographer may use the clone tool to clone out big purple globules situated on a flies fore-noggin. But then that average amateur has to save the TIF file again as a TIF file. Then, that TIF file can be saved as a JPG, for use, for example, on this venue. It’s a long, miserable process but eventually you get to look at your fly’s picture with no big purple blob in the center of its fore-noggin.

This oily fly is the famous and generally well-known Mydas clavatus.

Why I am Doomed

At considerable expense, in an effort to negate the noise pollution in these parts, the CB has just been fitted with double pane windows that were supposed to reduce the noise pollution from the Goddess Damned Burger Center. This morning, Saturday early, the new windows got their first test. They failed miserably. The new windows, much like the old windows, are no match for the Burger Center sound system. So, despite the new windows, this fall, once again, the football festivities shall be audible inside the CB. There ought to be a law.

Why Your Offspring are All Doomed

That’s right. Your offspring are fixing to get doomed. The fact is, sooner are later, even Chitlin Cheney’s offspring are fixing to get doomed. Chitlin’s offsping are fixing to get doomed later because our society has made provisions and sacrifices that keep Chitlin’s offspring insulated and protected from deteriorating environmental conditions. Yet sooner or later, even Chitlin’s offspring shall be totally doomed.

OK. What spell or verb does doomed most likely substitute for in this particular article? Did you guess, fucked? Yes. All of your offspring are either doomed or fucked.

A tiny example ovating the impending doom are these light poles. These lights and associated poles are located outside. Their function is to light up a parking lot. Also, anybody needing to recycle cardboard in the dumpster at night may espy what they are doing slightly better thanks to these lights, maybe.

Notice how these lights point straight down. By design, and because they point straight down, these lights put out only a smidgin of light pollution. They may be energy efficient too. Although, it’s daytime and that one in the middle appears to be leaking.

Yet even casual fools know that on most nights, whether these lights are lit or not, all the other lights, lit in these parts, make the night outside environment so bright a literate person can read large print, like 14 Pica. See that light situated just to the left of the leaking decorative light. Now that sucker puts out some night light.

So the point is, we have all these environmentally friendly lights in addition to all the serious outdoor lights. And that is my ovation or portent indicating precisely why your offspring are totally doomed or fucked. Good riddance!

Crumby and the Impossible Messiers

These are the Messiers that turned out impossible at the CB.

M33 - Triangulum
M74 - Pisces
M88, M91, M98 and M100 - Coma Berenices
M90 - Virgo
M101, M108, and M109 - Ursa Major
M110 - Andromeda

One might assume that given all the time I have wasted fixing to espy these at the CB, I would have immediately set up to epsy them all on my visit to darker skies. Maybe next time. Yet during the hour 4-5AM when the sky was almost completely clear, I was so in awe of the Milky Way under darker skies that I almost forgot about mere Messiers. Yes. The Milky Way is unbelievable. Forget about Upup the Bisexed Deity of Gravity. Why don’t we worship the Milky Way? A case can be made!

Well, I did manage to espy two of the Messiers that night under darker skies. M101 has been particularly irksome for this amateur average astronomer. When the clouds parted below the Big Dipper, I looked for M101 first. Then, I had to espy M33.

Next time I head out to darker skies, I shall most certainly be way better organized. That’s right. Anon, a padded bag for the Great Red Tube may arrive. When I get that padded bag, I shall tote the Great Red Tube to darker skies, not merely tote the Bushnell Voyager Family Table Top Model. Then I shall easily and eventually epsy all those Messiers. Hmm. It may be too late this year for all those Virgo type galaxies. That’s because Moon is bright and up all night as Virgo sinks slowly in the west.

OK. To summarize I need my padded bag to arrive. I also need a totally clear moonless night. Jeez Louise! Hold it! Shit me a river! Turns out the Beelzebub Solstice and the next New Moon occur on June 21 and 22 of the Julian. My padded bag surely ought to arrive by then!!!!

Neptune is Easy

The average amateur astronomers may know, Neptune is easy at this particular nonce due to its proximity to Jupiter. Even a simple yet adorable appearing telescope like the Bushnell Voyager Family Table Top Model and a low power eyepiece may reveal Neptune in the same field as Jupiter. Many, sadly, could care less about average amateur astronomy, much less about the inconspicuous gas giant, Neptune. Why do the many eschew the signs or portents obvious in the heavens? Easy that, many lack the where with all necessary to espy the signs or portents in the sky. Out of sight, out of mind.

Yes. Many are blind or nearly blind. Many see poorly and don’t get glasses. Many see poorly and don’t get bins or a telescope. Many are crowded into light polluted areas. Many never look up. Many are afraid to go outside at night. Many go to bed at night. Many stay up all night watching TV. Yes. These are among the many reasons many are not fixing to espy Neptune any time soon or ever.

I, Crumby, urge many to head off to the nearest big observatory. When many arrive, demand entrance. Say to the responsible party in charge, I urgently need to espy Neptune. OK. If everyone lit out to the nearest big observatory, there is a slim chance the economy would be stimulated and all might then be OK after all.

Evening Bloomers

Malvastrum aurantiacum flowers open up in the afternoon, which leads me to believe most of its pollinators are nocturnal or nearly nocturnal. To establish my opinion I have spent some of my leisure time watching the Malvastrum aurantiacum to see what shows up on the flowers in the afternoon. Practically nothing ever shows up. That’s correct. There are a hundred or maybe twain tousands of beckoning blossoms with nary a pollinator on any of them

Chlosyne lacinia is not picky. Chlosyne lacinia feeds on just about every flower in these parts. No wonder then, Chlosyne lacinia showed up on this handy Malvastrum.

Course pollinators, especially butterflies, are generally scarce in these parts lately anyway. So maybe there are more diurnal pollinators on the Malvastrum normally. Or maybe not.

Crumby Goes for Dark Skies

Any fool knows that these parts are massively afflicted with light pollution. Yet I, Crumby, have resisted going off to actually see some stars under darker skies. I had my reasons for sticking to these parts, night after night, cursing the light pollution.

One reason, among many, I didn’t drive off west into the Tejas hinterlands was the probability of arriving at my destination under cloudy skies. I was fearful that I would drive off quite a ways, look up, and discover clouds or maybe be afflicted with heavy dew or a tornado might get me. Matter of fact, my worst fears were confirmed when I actually did drive off a ways Saturday night, looked up, and got hit smack on the noggin by a raindrop or two.

That’s right. There I was out in the terrible wilderness. Billions of stars were overhead, generally concealed by the clouds. A few miserable stars occasionally peeped out here and there. Yes. Once in awhile I might espy a tousand or maybe two tousand stars. But those miserable few stars I could espy only equaled the stickers that accrued to my wretched socks. Mercy! There were maybe a tousand or so stars visible in heaven, and maybe an equal number of stickers on my socks and shoe laces.

Stickers (Cenchrus incertus) grow best in sandy soil. I knew that. Yet, for my virgin adventure off into the astronomical wilderness I wore shorts. This is an example of how even a Druid Ovate can goof up on predicting the future. How could I goof up so badly? Yes. There I was, off in the wilderness, the stygian darkness all around, dressed up only in shorts, a T shirt, white socks, semi-sensible shoes and my trusty undears. What I should have had on was my rubber boots, or regular boots and chaps to keep those dang stickers at bay. I knew all that. Also, by 5AM, a jacket would have come in handy. Yes. I forgot proper footgear, long pants and a jacket. But I did remember to bring along a small dog.

OK. I did a bad job of planning for the future I knew was approaching because I got distracted. There were too many stimuli headed my way on Saturday morning. The Druid ovational system got overloaded. That’s why the stickers got me and the small dog.

All that complained about, once in a while the clouds did part. Matter of fact, about 4AM, those clouds departed at last to reveal naked heavenly bodies, horizon to horizon in most of the naked splendor long associated with the many celestial bodies. That’s when I espied along the Milky Way, from Sagittarius to the noggin of Queen Cassiopeia. Worth the price of admission.

Yip, yip, yip for the Bushnell Voyager table top family style telescope. M101, no problem. Also, I got to espy M33 in my trusty Nikon 10x42 Superior Elites. Uh. Even so, M 33 is an averted vision pain in the ass.

Well, I really enjoyed espying the Milky Way. Plus, I am now inspired to go back on a good night, metaphorically speaking.