The Moon Does That to You

Twilight observations draw a range of memorable reactions from strangers.

The late Sir Patrick Moore, perhaps the world’s most famous amateur astronomer, liked to say, “Once a Moon man, always a Moon man.” Those are my sentiments exactly and why I receive great pleasure showing people our planet’s satellite through my telescope.

My wife and I once owned a condominium in Boca Raton, Florida and did the annual snowbird routine to avoid cold weather. I always brought along a telescope — my 90-mm f/13.8 Maksutov-Cassegrain — as Florida skies are commonly clear at that time of year. I routinely set up the scope and invited passersby to observe the Moon. I relied on trusted 26- and 32-mm oculars, knowing both provided sharp images of our neighboring orb.

Typically, I would set up my telescope before dawn or sunset on the walk running along Ocean Boulevard in front of our building. People strolled, jogged, or cycled on that path all day, but early risers in particular enjoyed extra benefits. They could often view the Moon and then watch a beautiful sunrise over the Atlantic Ocean. When people came close to me, I eagerly announced, 

“Want to see the Moon?” 

Some immediately said yes, others kept going, and a few needed a little encouragement: “Have you ever observed the Moon through a telescope? It’s amazing. Come have a peek.”

One pre-dawn morning a lovely crescent shone boldly in a nearly cloudless sky. Various people accepted my offer. I showed them how to fl oat their eye over the ocular and politely warned them not to touch the scope as it might jiggle our target from view. There was a brief silence as they found the sweet spot in the eyepiece, followed by gasps of “Ooh,” “Beautiful,” and “You made my day!”

When they lifted their heads I gave them a few seconds to absorb the experience and then said, “Have another look!”

When they did so, a sense of accomplishment swept through me. I knew I had impacted their lives in a special way, and they would likely never again take the Moon for granted. Nor would they forget their pre-dawn outing when brilliant Luna looked almost touchable. They would tell everyone how they saw the bright, ashen sphere through a telescope and what a stunning sight it was. A crescent or gibbous Moon displaying cavernous craters, majestic mountains, and deep, shadowy valleys is always mesmerizing.

After the initial exhilaration wore off the questions began. “What is that dark, smooth area?” “How tall are the mountains?” “Can you see the American flag?” And the query that always made me chuckle: “How much does a telescope like this cost?” A Canadian man made one of the funniest comments. After thanking me he started walking up the path then suddenly stopped, glanced over his shoulder, and exclaimed in all seriousness, “You should charge for that.”

Occasionally, a view of the Moon elicits a deeply personal response. One evening a woman peered through the eyepiece, and when she lifted her head she was crying. “What’s wrong?” I asked, a bit confused. In a low voice she explained that her daughter had recently died, and when she observed the Moon she felt the two of them were communicating on a spiritual level. Through teary eyes she blessed me. That left me speechless. I simply nodded my head and thought to myself, “The Moon does that to you.”