So I’m sure everyone heard about the transit-of-Venus thing that happened Tuesday, right? That once-in-a-lifetime astronomical event when the next planet inward from us passed between the Earth and the sun? Did you all manage to catch a glimpse of it? Well, good for you… The Girlfriend and I, on the other hand, got hosed. And considering this only happens every 105 years, I’m a little peeved about it.
I heard a couple days prior that our local planetarium was going to host a viewing party at the Gateway mall in Salt Lake. That’s only a couple blocks from my office, so I suggested Anne pick me up at quitting time and we drive over there for a quick peek, then go for dinner some place in the downtown area. A great plan… if only the weather had cooperated with us. When Anne arrived at my office, the skies were overcast and a cold wind was making it miserable to be outdoors. We still had a couple hours before sunset, so we decided to reverse our schedule, have dinner first and hope the clouds would break while we were eating. No such luck, though; we walked out of Sizzler an hour later beneath churning gray skies. But I wasn’t willing to give up yet… looking off to the west, toward the Gateway, I thought I could see a little patch of sunlight. Surely, I thought, that spot ought to be visible from the Gateway.
It took us a mere five minutes or so to drive across town and find a parking space. The viewing party — such as it was — was set up atop the broad concrete stairs overlooking the Olympic Fountain, an interactive water feature that commemorates the 2002 Winter Games that put Salt Lake City on the map. Not to mention Mitt Romney, the presumptive Republican nominee for president. But that’s another blog entry.
There was but a single telescope there, a stubby, fat-barreled model presided over by three very dejected-looking young people. One of them stepped forward to meet us as we approached. Wrapped in a blanket, with a shaggy mane of dark hair and sporting a pointy Van Dyke-style beard with carefully waxed and curled mustachios, he gave the general appearance of a Spanish conquistador.
“Have you been able to see anything?” I asked, hoping he’d have a more hopeful answer than the one I anticipated.
“Nah, we’ve been here since four o’clock and we haven’t been able to see shit, man,” he replied.
Anne and I commiserated with him for a moment, then decided there wasn’t any point in pretending any longer. We thanked the conquistador for his time and wandered into the nearby Barnes and Noble, where we killed close to another hour browsing. We were disappointed to have missed the transit, but it’d been a long time since we’d been in a bookstore with nothing in particular to buy and nowhere in particular we needed to be. It seemed an adequate consolation prize.
The final insult remained to be delivered, though. When we finally made our purchases and left the bookstore, to our surprise, we found the plaza outside was awash in lovely, golden-hour light! The skies had cleared after all, just as we’d hoped they would, and the sun was setting directly in front of us, framed in the gap between the buildings across from where we’d spoken to the conquistador. Except… he and his science-loving buddies were gone. They’d evidently given up and called it a night, and they’d taken their telescope with them. So Anne and I were left with a perfect view, but no equipment through which to view it. We didn’t even have any of the specially filtered sunglasses the planetarium sells for viewing eclipses. Somewhere, I thought I heard quiet, mocking laughter. It might have been the little kid playing in the Olympic Fountain, oblivious to the chilly temperatures. At least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself.
The next transit is due on December 10, 2117. I suppose there’s always a chance that someone will develop a longevity serum in the next couple decades…
