I decided to become a comet hunter on a bright, clear morning 50 years ago in Montreal. It was a bit of an impromptu decision. I had a French test coming up and knew that the examiner, a Mr. Hutchison, would ask me about my career plans. I had to come up with something that was both credible and easily translated into French. About six years earlier I truly had become passionate about the night sky, but to stand up and say, “Astronomie!” was not enough. Mr. Hutchison would want details. I recalled a comet that had recently been discovered from Japan—one that eventually became the brightest of the 20th century. Without a further thought, I decided that I was going to be a searcher for comets, among other things. Not coincidentally, the English and French words for a comet (une comète) sound very much alike, and thus my new vocation was relatively easy to talk about in French. By the time I arrived in school that day, I had developed a search plan that would last a lifetime. And true to the answer I gave Mr. Hutchison, I began on Friday evening, December 17, 1965, when the moon was a waning crescent and its light would not interfere too much. I have not stopped searching for comets since that night. Fortunately, working as a science journalist and giving lectures about the night sky—not to mention the loving support of my wife, Wendee—have allowed me to pursue my cosmic passion and still pay the bills. Searching for comets was far easier than finding them. I had the right equipment—an eight-inch-diameter telescope named Pegasus, later augmented by more powerful instruments. But actually discovering my first comet took almost 19 years. On that particular night, November 13, 1984, I got my bearings by finding a faint galaxy, then a planetary nebula (the remnant of an ancient star’s lethal outburst) and then a pretty cluster of stars. My attention was soon drawn to a fuzzy object a bit to the cluster’s south. Although its glow was diffuse, it lacked the symmetry of a galaxy. Nor did it have the mottled appearance of a densely packed star cluster. I drew the object and some surrounding stars as reference points on a sketch pad. As I looked through the telescope again and again and made new drawings, I slowly realized that this fuzzy object was not staying in the same place relative to the nearby stars but was creeping northward, as only a comet would. I telephoned an astronomer at Lowell Observatory in Flagstaff, Ariz., who confirmed my find with an abrupt, “Better send a telegram.” I felt as though I could float right up to the sky I loved so much. It turned out that Michael Rudenko discovered the comet independently the next evening, and thus the new object became known as Comet Levy-Rudenko. In the following years, I discovered 22 other new comets, either working alone or with others. Perhaps the most famous was Comet Shoemaker-Levy 9, which was the first comet ever observed crashing into a planet, Jupiter. Working together in 1993, Carolyn and Eugene Shoemaker and I found this odd space ball, 16 months before its fiery collision. I am still searching for comets, but I rather doubt I will find any more new ones. Comet hunting has become completely automated—with computers scanning robotically captured photographs of the night sky for fuzzy objects that move in just the right way. My original method—peering directly into a telescope to witness what no one else had seen before—is no longer needed. I still enjoy the visual hunt, however. After 50 years, it is the joy of the search, more than the discoveries, that keeps me going.
About six years earlier I truly had become passionate about the night sky, but to stand up and say, “Astronomie!” was not enough. Mr. Hutchison would want details. I recalled a comet that had recently been discovered from Japan—one that eventually became the brightest of the 20th century. Without a further thought, I decided that I was going to be a searcher for comets, among other things. Not coincidentally, the English and French words for a comet (une comète) sound very much alike, and thus my new vocation was relatively easy to talk about in French.
By the time I arrived in school that day, I had developed a search plan that would last a lifetime. And true to the answer I gave Mr. Hutchison, I began on Friday evening, December 17, 1965, when the moon was a waning crescent and its light would not interfere too much. I have not stopped searching for comets since that night. Fortunately, working as a science journalist and giving lectures about the night sky—not to mention the loving support of my wife, Wendee—have allowed me to pursue my cosmic passion and still pay the bills.
Searching for comets was far easier than finding them. I had the right equipment—an eight-inch-diameter telescope named Pegasus, later augmented by more powerful instruments. But actually discovering my first comet took almost 19 years. On that particular night, November 13, 1984, I got my bearings by finding a faint galaxy, then a planetary nebula (the remnant of an ancient star’s lethal outburst) and then a pretty cluster of stars. My attention was soon drawn to a fuzzy object a bit to the cluster’s south. Although its glow was diffuse, it lacked the symmetry of a galaxy. Nor did it have the mottled appearance of a densely packed star cluster. I drew the object and some surrounding stars as reference points on a sketch pad. As I looked through the telescope again and again and made new drawings, I slowly realized that this fuzzy object was not staying in the same place relative to the nearby stars but was creeping northward, as only a comet would.
I telephoned an astronomer at Lowell Observatory in Flagstaff, Ariz., who confirmed my find with an abrupt, “Better send a telegram.” I felt as though I could float right up to the sky I loved so much. It turned out that Michael Rudenko discovered the comet independently the next evening, and thus the new object became known as Comet Levy-Rudenko.
In the following years, I discovered 22 other new comets, either working alone or with others. Perhaps the most famous was Comet Shoemaker-Levy 9, which was the first comet ever observed crashing into a planet, Jupiter. Working together in 1993, Carolyn and Eugene Shoemaker and I found this odd space ball, 16 months before its fiery collision.
I am still searching for comets, but I rather doubt I will find any more new ones. Comet hunting has become completely automated—with computers scanning robotically captured photographs of the night sky for fuzzy objects that move in just the right way. My original method—peering directly into a telescope to witness what no one else had seen before—is no longer needed. I still enjoy the visual hunt, however. After 50 years, it is the joy of the search, more than the discoveries, that keeps me going.
