Thems The Breaks....

Sara Camnasio (left) , Munazza Alam (center), and Haley Fica 

(right) are excited outside the DuPont telescope as we prepared

for night 1 of observing. 

As the Rolling Stones said so profoundly, "You Can't Always Get What You Want".  This observing run is the epitome of that sentiment.  I'm currently on Night 3 of 3 at Las Campanas with my undergraduate assistants Haley Fica, Sara Camnasio, and Munazza Alam.  On Night 1 we had high humidity which would not allow us to open.  We wished for winds to help clear the clouds and that wish was granted!  The winds picked up and pushed the clouds away from the DuPont telescope and lowered the humidity.  However the winds overdid their job and we couldn't open because they were too strong.  Around 1am Chile time, they died down enough so we could open but the seeing was a large 2 arcseconds (translate big fat stars that are bad for science).  It improved only slightly throughout the night.  I was attempting to get the ever important epochs on some very close by brown dwarfs for which I can measure their distances with my multitude of data.  Unfortunately, I'm not sure Night 1 data will be very useful.

Sara shows the sad picture of the 

observing conditions at Magellan 

on Night 2.  We never opened 

due to high humidity and freezing 

temperatures which left ice on

the dome.

Staying positive, we went into Night 2 with an excited fervor to be using one of the big telescopes on the mountain, the 6.5m Baade telescope.  The students were singing "I'm so excited" as we did afternoon calibrations.  Unfortunately high humidity was once again our enemy.  The wind attempted to clear the ugly clouds that sat on top of us but couldn't quite get them away at a fast enough rate.  When the sky finally cleared and the humidity dropped (ish), the temperature plummeted to a nasty -0.8 degrees.  It was cold.  And that cold froze the moisture from the clouds leaving a layer of ice on the railings between the telescopes and on the dome itself making it impossible to open.  Night 2 was a wash.

Despite poor observing conditions, my awesome trio of female
undergraduates celebrated seeing a 6.5m world class telescope.

Not to be defeated we went into Night 3 with a smile and a determined attitude to get some data!  There were some clouds on the horizon during calibrations but we were not going to let those get in our way.  By sunset the sky was looking pretty good.  But when we opened the seeing was an astonishingly bad 5 arcseconds (translate REALLY big fat stars that are bad for science)!!!!  What on Earth was going on!  I was pretty sure I needed to sacrifice a student (kidding of course). After 2 hours of sitting on a bright target we had to close because the clouds had closed in and covered the moon.  The wind then moved things and we opened.  Which is where we are now. Collecting as many photons as we can in the last hour of the night as we battle with the wind and clouds to stay open and reach our faintest (and most exciting) brown dwarf targets.

We need some luck.

Music:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7S94ohyErSw

Setting Foot in Chile (and trying to keep it still)

When I originally proposed for a National Geographic Young Explorer's Grant with my research "sister" Munazza Alam, we had planned to go to the NASA Infra-Red Telescope Facility (IRTF) on Mauna Kea (Hawai'i). Due to delays, partly caused by concerns around the controversial construction of the Thirty Meter Telescope (TMT), we ended up at Mauna Kea, but funded by a different grant. We thought we missed our shot of becoming "Nat Geo Explorers".

Shortly after our run at IRTF, National Geographic conveniently informed us we had been awarded the grant. We were ecstatic. We tweaked our proposal and asked if we could use the grant to follow up on southern targets from Las Campanas Observatory in Chile. Nat Geo gave the O.K. – it was January 2015.

Run the clock forward 9 months and I am sitting in front of my empty bag, confronting the fact that I am about to visit another hemisphere for the first time. When one packs for South America, I think there's always some sort of denial associated with the winter. I remember looking at the forecast for La Serena while picking clothes, yet I still ended up with 50% of my luggage being mysteriously filled with floral dresses, shorts and spring tanks. Since I've set foot here, I have been religiously relying on the other 50%.

Our flight from Santiago to La Serena was fun. My colleague and travel buddy Haley and I landed on the national holiday of "Dieciocho", so we were treated with all sorts of delicious treats. Some highlights include a divine yogurt and honey bar, a crunchy chocolate cookie, and a dulce de leche filled "tube" (any suggestions?). The weather was crisp and pleasant. When astronomer Katie Kaleida picked us up from the airport to drive us to the AURA Recinto, we had not seen any signs of the earthquake and tsunami yet.

My travel buddy Haley Fica and Katie Kaleida walking uphill to a Dieciocho BBQ in the AURA Recinto

We spent the weekend at BBQs and get togethers at different astronomers' houses, celebrating Dieciocho – or at least trying to. There was a lot of small talk about the inconveniences everyone at the recinto had experienced due to the quake. Water and power outages, broken decorations and pepper shakers, and power lines exploding into fireworks all sounded very unfortunate, but I could feel that a much bigger shadow had been casted on La Serena that week. So Katie took us to the beach.

We started our post-disaster trail from La Serena beach, a little before (what remains of) Tsunami bar, for the locals, and we headed South from there towards Coquimbo. What unraveled in front of our eyes was a scene of increasing destruction.

We started off with gorgeous views and barely any visible debris

We noticed debris as we proceeded towards Coquimbo

"Chile" / Kids with kite / Walking into tsunami aftermath

Getting closer to Coquimbo

Probably best DYI of the year: when a local American farmer returned to find his home and front yard completely submerged by ocean water, he rolled up his sleeves and put his 3 water pumps to action. 3/4 of his job now that the water is getting drained at 1 cm/hour is explaining passersby that he's not dumping water into the street at random – he's actually unclogging a drainage system and re-directing the water to a nearby functioning one. 

Chilean army gathered on one of Coquimbo's beaches earlier today. Aftershocks from the big quake are still going strong (felt a couple of ones within the past hour). Looks like the birds have had enough, they're gonna hang on a boat until the ground stops being moody.

By the time we arrived to Coquimbo our feet felt really heavy, perhaps from stepping on too many plastic remains and rotten fruits. We headed back to La Serena to have some pescado and some hot tea at a local restaurant.

The rest of the weekend was more cheerful: we had lots of Carmenère wine and we listened to some good records while talking about Alejandro Jodorowsky and his crazy films.

After three days of La Serena ups and downs, we were ready to get to work. We picked up Jackie Faherty and Munazza Alam from the airport, and we headed for the mountains...

In the next post: "0 to 8000 – a first-timer's guide to Las Campanas Observatory"

It's a Ladies Extravaganza at Las Campanas

Sara Camnasio (left) , Haley Fica (center) , and Munazza Alam
(right) join me for a three night observing run at Las Campanas.

Tonight I report to you from a seriously female full control room at the DuPont Telescope.  I'm joined by three undergraduate students who work with my Brown Dwarf New York City (BDNYC) research group.  The fantastic trio includes Munazza Alam and Sara Camnasio, two City University of New York seniors, who have been members of my group for 3.5 years!  That's right, myself Kelle Cruz and Emily Rice have been training these excellent female researchers for most of their undergraduate careers.  And now they are ripe and ready for graduate school.  Both will be applying for programs or fellowship opportunities this fall.  Sara has an interest in the intersection of Science and Art and Munazza will do traditional Astronomy PhD programs.  They have both made their way here to Las Campanas with National Geographic Young Explorers grants.  Rounding out the fantastic three is Haley Fica who joined my team this past summer.  She is currently a junior at Barnard college and earned this trip because she spent two months reducing FIRE data for an upcoming exciting paper I have on the edge of submission.  On this run we are obtaining parallaxes for young brown dwarfs using CAPSCam on the DuPont and then parallaxes for cold brown dwarfs using FourStar on Baade and spectra for a potpourri of objects using FIRE.  Stay tuned for some posts from my female crew as we adventure through the land of (current) high humidity, high winds, and earthquakes.

  

Classical vs. queue observing - a radio-turned-optical perspective

As a radio-turned-optical astronomer (I fully embrace the dark side now), I wanted to write about observing schemes. In astronomy, there are two main schemes to observing, classical and queue observing.

Edwin Hubble classically showing us how it's done

Classical observing

An astronomer submits a proposal for a certain number of nights at a telescope. Upon proposal acceptance, the astronomer is scheduled to run said telescope for a certain number of nights. On those nights, the astronomer has complete control of what the telescope looks at. This is the much older-school way to observe (think: Edwin Hubble).

Pros: spontaneity, ability to change observing strategies “on-the-fly”, a deeper relationship with the instrument.

Cons: one must travel to the site, which can be very remote, no guarantee that you will get any data (it could be too windy, too cloudy, an instrument could have had problems…) without the ability to make up for the lost time. And you are going to be completely flipping your sleep schedule.

Queue observing

The CARMA array at Cedar Flat, purely queue based

An astronomer submits a proposal to observe a certain set of sources. Upon proposal acceptance, the astronomer sets up the observing strategies / scripts and submits them to the telescope. Staff experts check the script, and submit the observations to a common queue to be observed in order of priority, optimizing the telescope itself to take the most data.

Pros: If you have a high priority project, you are very likely to get your data, without a dependence on the weather. Experts set up the telescope for you to optimize the telescope for your particular science goals, you do not have to travel to the remote site (in the case of Hawaii, this might also be considered a con…)

Cons: Basically the same as the pros of classical observing. You are not able to change your mind about sources, and you won’t have a personal relationship with the telescope when you are reducing your data.

For decades, the radio astronomy community has favored a queue observing format, partially because understanding an interferometer like the Very Large Array is highly complex, and usually takes many years to truly understand how the data go from acquisition to publishable. Because of this, only a few people were able to dedicate the time it took to have a personal relationship with the telescope. I served enough shifts at the CARMA array (RIP…) to understand the special pitfalls and quirks, but it took me years. In these cases, the queue observing is likely the best method. This is how ALMA works - they hire experts that have a personal relationship with the ALMA telescope to write your observing scripts and reduce your data for you. At the same time, something special seems to be missing.

The 6.5m Baade Telescope at Las Campanas Observatory

Magellan on the other hand is a pure classical instrument. If you are awarded time, you will be flying to Chile and staying at Las Campanas. Currently, I am spending time at a summer school for the IRAM 30m, a single-dish millimeter telescope located in the Sierra Nevada in Spain. The 30m is a hybrid, where you propose for sources which go into a queue, but also has an on-site option, which is currently how I am using it. In both my recent Magellan run as well as this current IRAM run, I am really glad we were classically observing, because the spontaneity was essential. At Magellan, I looked at my final source of the run, and realized that it was not as interesting as I thought it was, so I dropped it. So all of a sudden, I had 2 free hours of 6.5m time and needed something to do. I took to Twitter and Skype to chat with my collaborators, and we decided that it made a lot of sense to get a spectrum of a mysterious clump located to the northwest of the nucleus of the galaxy I had already observed, so we to get a spectrum of the clump, requiring a longer integration. Because we had that flexibility, it is possible I found something new and novel.

At the 30m, a similar thing happened. We are observing CO lines to try to determine the redshift of a submillimeter galaxy. We had a few guesses as to where the lines might be, but were blown away at how bright it was when we found the correct redshift. Instead of taking an hour to get the line, we needed only 15 minutes! So, what to do with the last 3 hours of the night… if this was queue observing, we would have had one amazingly high signal-to-noise spectrum of one line. Instead, we zipped back to our other possible lines, switched the observing strategy to detect more lines in the forest, and even attempted to detect other fainter lines (and succeeding). Instead of one “the redshift of this thing is z=XX”, we now have the possibility to publish a paper with a CO SLED, and astrochemical analyses from the additionally detected lines.

Me in front of the IRAM 30-meter single dish in the Sierra Nevadas in Spain

In an era where we are seeing classical observing facilities go extinct in favor of queue observing, I think we need to recognize what we might be losing. As a radio astronomer who was raised as a queue observer, it was my experience on a radio telescope classically observing that has motivated my call to keep the option of classical observing - you never quite know what you are going to get!

A radio astronomer goes to Mars... or, Las Campanas Observatories

Coming up the mountain and passing the sign to La Silla seems a bit like traversing to a different planet, so foreign is the landscape around Las Campanas Observatory in the high desert of Chile. Barely do we have enough time to put our suitcases in our rooms before we rush to dinner, which is renowned as some of the best Observatory food around. They did not lie with this boast, the dinner is braised pork with potatoes, beets, and fresh avocado. I’d say this is a new experience for this radio astronomer, but in truth, the food at Owens Valley Radio Observatory is also exceptional. I find Ramesh, the preceding observer to my shift to make arrangements to shadow him. He’s obliging, and so Diane (the undergraduate who is accompanying me on this virgin observing run) and I follow him up the mountain. Sadly, the sky has clouds that night, but we see how to take flats, take calibration spectra, and set up our observations. We thank him and head down early, aware that 1 day from now there will be no heading down early.

The next day, I am nervous. At lunch I plot over and over in my head how the observing schedule needs to be run. What have I missed? Wait, those are empanadas. Many people have told me about the empanadas. And they live up to their expectations. I ask for two for my night lunch. One to savor tonight, and one to savor tomorrow. Diane and I arrive at the telescope just before the sun sets. I run a practice arc lamp observation, and decide to do flats in the morning. Wise move? Depends on if my prediction that my California jet lag is actually beneficial. 7am feeling like 3am seems like it would work to my benefit in terms of night time fatigue.

It becomes clear that my lessons the previous day are not the complete set of instructions I need to run the telescope, but we start. A near-IR expert on Skype with me. Then the earth under our feet starts shaking - the telescope operator knows before we do from the jiggling in the pointing of the telescope. I head toward the heavy desk in case I need to jump under it - yes, it was that big. Magnitude 6.0. Biggest earthquake this Californian has been in, and the Chileans eat 6.0s for breakfast. That is when the internet goes out, having been taken out by the earthquake. So much for my near-IR expert on Skype. No crutches for me - time to dive headfirst into the deep end.

Post-earthquake is also when the GUIs start misbehaving. At first, I think this is due to my own inexperience. The instrument scientist is called up, he comes, and it becomes clear that it is not my ignorance, but likely a cable that got jiggled in congress with the mountain. Instrument scientist and observer go and check it out, “turn it off then back on again,” and we start anew, this time I have an expert making sure that I am running things properly (word to the wise: go up in the afternoon before your run. People might not tell you to, but I am. Seriously. Do that. Don’t be like me.) Things start running smoothly, and we get a rhythm. Diane, having weathered her first (and second!) earthquake runs things like a champ, though we release her from observing a little early since her cough seems to be getting worse, and sleep is the best cure for a cold.

As I write this, it is 4:47am. A half hour ago the moon set and we got to sneak outside during a 15min integration to stare at the stars. I saw the Magellanic clouds, as well as a meteor or two. Dark sites are pretty spectacular things. We are observing the last source of my night right now, working our way to the daylight, when I will observe some twilight flats and then head down the mountain, ready to observe first thing tomorrow evening. The moon is getting fuller, but I am no longer a rookie, having scaled the learning curve without internet and with the earth shaking beneath my feet.

Calling the Night

This is my first post on this blog, and it's a bit of a shame because tonight will not be a good night for astronomy from Las Campanas.  Exhibit A, the sunset this evening:

Last night was my first night "observing" on this run. I am the PI for three nights on Baade, hoping to find some unique high-redshift galaxies to study. I put "observing" in quotes because in reality we did not open the dome. There was a brief moment of hope. The clouds looked like they were parting! But then the wind picked up. (If the wind speed is higher than 35 miles per hour, we can't open the dome because the wind could damage the telescope.) So the telescope remained shuttered and no data was collected. Well, unless you count this lovely photo of the Belles of Campanas standing on the Nasmyth platform of the Baade Telescope. 

From the left: myself, Johanna, Angelica, and Cindy

Since there is no observing going on again tonight, I thought I'd write a post about Calling the Night... This is one of the most agonizing decisions a PI at the telescope must make. At one point during a terribly hopeless bought of bad weather you say to yourself and those with you at the telescope: "Ok, we are done. I call the night. We can all go to sleep." For most of us, we stay up all night hoping and hoping that the skies will clear, that the wind will die down, or that the humidity will drop. Observers all care very deeply for the telescopes they use, and so we remain patient and understanding about the fact that the telescope remains closed - but many of us still hold out hope. You see, we plan - sometimes for weeks - for a few nights on the telescope. We make target lists, calculate optimal observing strategies and exposure times. But in the end, Nature decides. 

Last night, I called it at 5AM. The wind was above 35 mph, and one must wait for the wind to stay below that mark for a full 30 minutes before the telescope can be opened. Twilight begins around 6AM, and while I can observe for a while after twilight begins, obtaining less than an hour of data is unfortunately not very useful for my current project. But trust me, it's an agonizing decision. Last night, I made the right call. There was no way we could have opened. 

Sadly, it's a decision I expect to make again tonight. The weather does not look good. 

We are currently suffering from an extreme winter storm that is expected to last well past the end of my run and drop a tremendous amount of snow in the Andes south of here. Right now, as you can see we have 50 mph winds. You can feel the wind shake the telescope building from time to time. It's kind of gloomy. 

I've called nights before. Last year, I was at Magellan for the 4th of July. It snowed. 

When there is snow on the dome, you call the night. Even if it stops snowing, the snow on the dome can melt and drip onto the telescope - or blow off the dome and onto the telescope. That's an easier decision - there is no chance for the night once there is snow on the dome. 

I'm here until Tuesday - I'm hoping before I leave we get to collect some interesting photons. But you never know - Nature decides. 

First Observations

Visiting Las Campanas in winter means that weather somewhat occasionally does not cooperate with observational astronomy.  This storm that we're experiencing the last few days has been particularly harsh and unusual.

The clouds are low, the wind is strong, and we keep getting suckered by seeing clear skies at the edge of the cloud deck.

I planned for 8 nights at LCO expecting that at the worst about half would be a loss due to weather.  We saw some stars for an hour or two on my first night, and not a thing since.  Unlike the rays of sunshine in the photo above there's no good weather news on the horizon.  Despite this, we've been keeping busy with regular work and taking advantage of other things LCO has to offer.

Instead of stars, galaxies and planets, I have other observations for you:

Observation #1:  Astronomers are weather bugs.

The last four nights have been spent in part staring at our weather monitors, and trying to guess if there will be a break in the clouds between the multicolored bands coming in off the coast.

Observation #2: The viscachas know what's up.

Warm furry coat, hiding from the wind, protected under the eaves, and facing the sunset. 

Observation #3: Clouds are bad for observational astronomy, but utterly stunning for sunsets in the Atacama.

When I saw this sight out the window of my room, I dropped my toothbrush, grabbed my camera and ran to capture the sight.

Observation #4:  There is still plenty to do to keep ourselves busy productive members of the Observatory.

Views: Magellan Clay Telescope by Cynthia Hunt
Click and drag the photosphere above to explore inside the Magellan Clay Telescope!

The most important observation of the last four nights is that the LCO Telescope Operators are golden. They are incredibly knowledgable, there to help you get your work done, not to mention warm and friendly.  They indulged my questions, and even moved the telescopes around so I could take the best photospheres and movies.

Many people here have told me that working at LCO is like being part of a family, and it's absolutely true.  What a place to do science!