“When you see the Southern Cross for the first time

You understand now why you came this way…”

- Crosby, Stills & Nash 

When I visited my mother in Naples, Florida recently, I admit my thoughts went not to tans and sand but to my proximity to the Southern Hemisphere. 

Naples is 26 degrees of latitude above the equator, a full 15 degrees farther south than New London. That shift in topography means a shift in the horizon significant enough to reveal stars and constellations not visible in the sky at home. 

I learned I was just barely south enough to observe Crux, a.k.a. the Southern Cross — a fairly well-known constellation that no homebody northerners have ever seen. It was so close to the horizon from Naples that the smallest tree would obscure its bottom star. I figured if I drove about half an hour to Marco Island, which I was familiar with because my mother and her husband lived there before moving to Naples, I could find a good spot at a beach and enjoy a completely clear horizon. 

But first, I had an idea. I Googled astronomy clubs in the area and found a website for the Everglades Astronomical Society, based on Marco Island. I emailed the club to introduce myself and let them know I was in the area for a few days. Someone named Charles quickly replied and invited me to the group's observing session in the Everglades that night. 

I shared my plan with my mother, who promptly worried aloud about her only daughter driving out to the Everglades at midnight with a strange man to meet other strangers, albeit ones with telescopes. I knew better than to ask her to join me since she’s asleep by 9 p.m. every night. I thanked Charles for his invitation, but said this time I’d go it alone. My mom and I took her little red convertible through the sunburned afternoon to scope out viewing spots for my solo trek to the island. 

By the time midnight rolled around, I risked my amateur astronomer cred by deciding I was loath to drive anywhere, even to observe rare celestial wonders. I could probably see Crux from my mother’s driveway. There were enough gaps in the trees to reveal Crux’s bottom star, no? 

Around 1 a.m. or so, I walked outside and looked south through the palms and slash pines. I was able to see what I believed to be the cross’s top three stars, but I imagine it didn’t have the same effect as seeing the fully formed cross in all its glory. Next time I go down there, I’m finding a clear horizon, and maybe meeting up with Charles and his Everglades buddies. (In fact, today, Mother's Day, would have been good.) 

The night wasn’t a total loss — Around 10 p.m., I had noticed Orion floating much higher in the sky than he ever does in Connecticut. At home he seems closer to us, more accessible. In Florida, he looked more remote, a king in an ivory tower instead of a hunter among the people and animals. 

In the northern sky, I was surprised to see Cassiopeia sinking below the horizon, something that never happens in more northern latitudes. The north star was also, of course, much lower in the sky than I was used to. I was also able to see Canopus, the second-brightest star in the night sky after Sirius, which we can see from Connecticut. This far south, both of the two brightest stars were visible that night. Canopus is never visible from Connecticut — the farthest north it can possibly appear is 37 degrees of latitude, four degrees shy of New London. 

You don’t have to be in Florida to watch Mercury transit the sun tomorrow (but you do need the proper viewing equipment). See the sky calendar to learn more. 

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@bymeljohnson

SKY CALENDAR

May 9: Mercury transits the sun from about 7:15 a.m. until about 2:45 p.m. our time, meaning we’re in a prime spot to see the entire event. Viewers with telescopes and proper solar filters (this is important!) will be able to watch Mercury slide across the face of the sun as a tiny black dot. The next Mercury transit is in 2019 and then not again until 2039.

May 21: Full moon

May 22: Mars at opposition. The red planet makes its closest approach to Earth. It will be brighter than any other time of the year and visible all night. A telescope with a six-inch aperture or wider should reveal some details on the planet’s orange surface.