Osprey - 6-16-2006 at 10:30 AM
Another Unique Baja Observatory
Just a few clicks from the Tropic of Cancer is a one of a kind window on the world. It?s not very high ? 62 feet above sea level. It?s not big ? 8
feet by 4 feet of clear glass in a concrete frame. When the glass panels are thrown all the way open the view is impressive; lots of sky, miles of
beach, leagues of salt water stretching to a flat, clear horizon. The view is north and east across the Sea of Cortez toward the shores of the state
of Sinaloa about 110 miles as the seagull flies.
It?s no more than an accident that this wondrously unique point of view is in my bedroom. The bedroom is small so my bed can only face the wall with
the window. My personal window on the world is open the second I lie down on the bed for a siesta or a long, deep sleep.
Radio observatories and astronomical observatories record the events captured by their antennae and mirrors so I feel a responsibility to jot down
some of the tropical unscientific happenings seen or heard through this casual data gathering post.
I think the bats who make my palm shades their summer home and nursery are Mexican Long-nosed bats. Since there are no screens on my big window the
bats sometimes flew into my bedroom, hit the ceiling fan (they were drawn to the sound/vibration because it mimicked insect sounds or movement) and
were either killed, injured or survived. I learned from my Mexican neighbors to hang a branch of cactus (pitahaya works) in the window to keep the
bats out ? it worked; 34 dead or injured bats one summer, none the next with the cactus treatment.
I get to see the whole cycle of bat life from my place on the bed. I sometimes find the telltale blood, placental fluid on the adokin beneath the
nursery that announces yet another little fur-ball has entered the world. The mother bats make dozens of trips to the nursery to teach the babies to
fly, to coax them from the fronds, to wean them, teach them to fly and to capture insects. There may be some inexplicable imprinting going on around
my patio because 3 years ago I took the bat-cactus device down for the winter, forgot to put it back up in the spring. Since then, not one bat visit
? the same ceiling fan noise and vibration, the same conditions, no injured or dead bats. Did they learn? Are they the same bats? Did they pass the
knowledge on to their offspring?
Since I spend most of my time observing at bedtime, dusk and dark are the usual conditions. The light sources are many ? one big streetlamp floods
the window, the wall of my small room. Starlight, moonlight, moonlit waters allow a variety of observations after sunset ? earthshine on the moon is
too dim to be a factor. The streetlight casts a sharp shadow of the long branches of bougainvillea in the yard ? I need only to turn my head, read
the shadows, tell by their movement if the winds have calmed the sea, prepared the dawn for a safe fishing day or not.
After midnight the big lamp paints anything flying an incandescent yellow so the bats, poorwills and owls, seen flashing against the obsidian back
round of sea and sky become an animal show others do not have the chance to see. On steamy summer nights it seems my back yard could use a traffic
tower. The street lamp is not so bright it cancels the colors of dusk and dark. I can see falling stars streaming across the blackness. At the
magic hour of day to dark I have seen the sky burn an intense Jay blue one minute and blink to gray-black as though a switch had been thrown. The
switch is moonlight-stardust suddenly lighting up the airborne droplets in a way the sun could not. The cloying fog drips from your brow, hides the
mountains for days on end.
With a scientific device, a glass for the eyes, a binocular, I have captured events along the shore unseen by others. One event was so unbelievable
I got up from my nap, walked to the shore to check first hand what I had seen from my window. The glass narrows the perspective while bringing it
closer. What did not register for the unaided eye was the movement of the surface water at the edge. Through the binoculars the water was moving
along the shore in headlong fashion, all of one direction. A river in a sea, it was steady, strong and uniformly moving at great speed. I marveled
at the movement and thought about the great volume of water (and all the fish and other animals in it) being shuttled about. Without the glass from
afar, with the naked eye while standing in the water or on the shore, the movement is not in evidence. The eye perceives the ripples to be wind
driven like almost all waves in water. This magnificent current, changing everything in its path for who knows how many kilometers, can only be seen
from afar.
Now and then, just before my noon siesta, I take a moment or two to observe the daytime scene. With the binoculars I sometimes catch rays (an
occasional billfish) and dolphins jumping near the shore. I can zoom in on the hawks and buzzards, the ospreys, Falcon Playera, the T-Shirt falcon,
the frigate birds and terns near the beach.
The big window invites all the sounds near my little house. The vocino trucks hawking their wares tell me I?m in Mexico. The teens screaming and
chanting remind me how much Mexicans love soccer. The construction trucks remind me how fast my lazy little village is disappearing, losing to the
mall and sprawl of popularity. The ice cream cart lets me know school is still in session, police cruisers make me feel safe and secure. I have more
than once been awakened by the booming calls of lobo del mar, sea lions hunting in the shallows. Since there is no midnight commerce here, not much
night fishing, the car that growls slowly through our dirt streets at 2:30 in the morning recalls my mother?s admonition that anybody, moving about at
that time, ?is up to no good.?
Mosceros, window screens, won?t work for me on this little personal observatory so I have to endure some bugs. When I remember, I spray on some
repellent. When the bugs find an opening, leave behind itchy welts, I dab on a little toothpaste and go right back to my observation post. On hot
summer nights my Mexican neighbors sleep on their roofs. It?s cooler up there and they can see and hear much more than I can from my little room.
There?s a price. Last year alone two stargazers fell to their deaths. Glad I didn?t see it happen.
Cincodemayo - 6-16-2006 at 02:33 PM
Osprey...
You sure have an incredible writing ability. Keep on amigo.
vandenberg - 6-16-2006 at 06:28 PM
Hey Osprey,
Enjoyed your post.
Natalie Ann - 6-16-2006 at 06:44 PM
thank you, amigo
Sharksbaja - 6-17-2006 at 12:16 PM
"Last year alone two stargazers fell to their deaths. Glad I didn?t see it happen."
No, but those furry little friends of yours might have.
Good read Osprey.
bajalera - 6-17-2006 at 01:01 PM
Jorge, how many times do I have to tell you that you need to write that book?
astrobaja - 6-18-2006 at 05:13 PM
A beautifully written essay Osprey! I really enjoy the atmosphere you create with your words! Just goes to show there are lots of different ways to
have an observatory
You should submit some of these gems to magazines!
--Mike W