I was warned--oh, yes, I was warned: piping gets hard when you start playing the real instrument with the chanter attached. Well, it does! So far my attempts to play tunes have come across as rather pathetic, while muscles in my fat belly start hurting with the effort of trying to keep enough pressure in the bag, as at least one drone cuts out (which I'm told isn't important at this stage). Yikes. And people march while they're doing all this?

The Charaxian Piping Chronicle now gets a drastically needed update. I now have the bagpipe we'd recently expected to buy. Our band's pipe sergeant bought it from an acquaintance, the pipe major of a Winnipeg band, for US$1000 (which my mother had made in a royal flush on a poker machine & offered for this purchase). Word is it appears to be a Henderson, made in the heroic year of 1943 or '44 & worth twice what we paid for it! Materials are traditional, except for the yellowed faux ivory, & I'm told the bag is rather large. Our PS & others--like his dad, a distinguished piper from the Auld Country--agreed the drones were "sweet."

The reeds are hardly original, & they presumably make playing easier. So far I've been instructed in sounding the instrument without its chanter. The PS says I'm the only student he knows of--after himself--who's started on all three drones! There does seem to be something natural about playing the thing. Now, besides chanter practice, I'm supposed to just blow the drones every day, & the former endeavor is coming along: By now I've more or less memorized a set of 4/4 marches.

This "piping progress report" actually involves a lack of progress. Earlier this month I routinely washed my practice chanter, including the reed--which I've since been told was a mistake--after which it just sounded hideous. Despite acquiring replacements, I couldn't seem to get it playing properly. Since then there's been one regular band meeting & a special teaching session. Now my instrument's almost working normally. Meanwhile I'm anticipating a full set of pipes in the near future: A rather intimidating prospect, I'll admit, though one I've obviously been working toward.

Piping progresses. It's a gradual process, but I sometimes surprise myself with the results: Practice is producing its desired effects--& I'm not even putting in nearly the recommended amount! At this point I've roughly memorized a few marches and am playing pages of more tunes, which definitely makes the effort more enjoyable.

An update: months after being hauled to its Mt. Graham observatory, the first Large Binocular Telescope mirror has finally been installed--more or less.

Some time ago I found an online photo showing me--at the haggis fest a few months ago. The quality's so poor I'm not really identifiable, & neither is my tartan. It's not even obvious I'm brandishing a sword. Maybe the anonymity's just as well.

As my mother & I were driving through the countryside a few days ago, en route to one of our favorite area casinos, we saw a bald eagle take off near the roadside. It's hardly uncommon to glimpse these birds along our rural highways, but this seemed an interestingly close look.

The gambling, by the way, wasn't bad.

Might as well mention that, on this last day of March, I noticed one or two robins in the backyard. Come next morning's twilight, I could hear the species up to their old spring twittering.

Made a brief astronomical observation during a nighttime power outage that affected most of our town & darkened our clear skies beyond the usual clarity. Glimpsing an unfamiliar fuzzy patch, I realized I must have seen the Coma Berenices cluster for the first time as the ancients knew it.

Well, this is an interesting time astronomically in more publicized ways, what with Mars rovers, a newly-discovered planet-like object in a strange orbit way out there, & a previously-unknown little asteroid making the closest terrestrial approach on record!

First I must apologize for taking so long. This entry is meant to describe events which took place a month ago now. [Plus a few more weeks by the time I finished this entry!]

It seems I failed to record in advance the band's plan to put on a traditional Scottish Burns Night as a fundraiser. The concept's a standard in some places, but to our knowledge it had never been done in this town. Well, we did it, packing the local Elks' Club with a sell-out crowd: success. As a brother of mine pointed out, there's nothing going on here in late January to compete with it. (Yes, the Cornells showed up; I knew they wouldn't be afraid of haggis.)

The occasion, of course, officially commemorates Robert Burns, known as Scotland's national poet. The more literate may recall perhaps his two most famous lines, which I might quote if this project wasn't so far behind: One literally about a mouse, the other a louse (with lessons drawn for us humans). Besides dinner, our production included a dancing outfit I didn't know much about, plus pipes & drums from out of town to bolster our little band. We imported a few other guys to help out, including the MC, who it seems in fact was born in Glasgow. (He surprisingly asked if I was wearing the Black Stewart tartan; I don't think my Old Sutherland looks much like it.)

I'd previously offered the use of a basket-hilted sword from my disorganized collection of archaic weapons & exotic blades, having learned one was needed for the requisite ceremony. Well, just this day I found out that the gal who was going to carry it wouldn't, since the old member who was going to lend her his kilt reneged for some reason--so our management asked Yours Truly to "guard" the haggis being paraded in. (Some of us agreed this wouldn't be hard--who'd try stealing this stuff?) My name had already been printed in the program for this segment, anyway. Thus, when our pipe major came out playing, our pipe sergeant following with a haggis tray, I marched behind them holding my sword, which wasn't sharp anyhow. We stood at the head table while the MC recited Burns' famous address to Scotland's national food. Didn't realize this performance meant I'd be slugging down a shot of whisky. (I like booze in general but am not a Scotch drinker & don't take most liquor straight; it wasn't as big a deal as all that, except that I wasn't careful to drain the glass at once--& then there was the acquaintance "cheering" me on from my family's table.)

Stayed into the evening but had to leave early, evidently missing the fancier piping heard there afterwards. My main point, however, is this: Haggis ain't half bad.

A new year, & now the first piping session in nearly a month. The band's sergeant, who's responsible for my current instruction, didn't show, though I heard he'd been out fundraising. The other student near my supposed level claimed my grace notes were better than hers--but then I noted one of the current first-year students apparently playing along with more experienced members to music I hadn't even looked at yet! The pipe major now presented me with the band's entire repertory.

I inattentively let the centennial of powered/winged flight go by without online acknowledgement. How easy is it now to believe the airplane is 100 years old? I recall learning the date at age ten and probably never forgot it: One of the great set-pieces in the history of progress--& the progress of history.

In the past few weeks I unintentionally managed to omit here any reference to the 40th anniversary of JFK's demise. (My recent reference to LOTR could have served as a reminder, had I been thinking; Tolkein's pal C.S. Lewis happened to die on the same date.) I'll say this much about JFK: He was the first President I remember. In fact, a few months earlier my family had actually visited DC, & I have a dim memory of our driving by the White House & my wondering whether he was in. (The famous March on Washington had evidently just taken place, but I knew nothing about this.)

Anyhow, I've noticed commentators referring to how the nation lost its innocence then. I find such remarks a bit exaggerated, though they're understandable from the Boomer generation's viewpoint--& I'm officially a member. One could perhaps make a more valid claim of lost innocence regarding Pearl Harbor--or Ford's Theatre--or First Manassas, for that matter.

Meanwhile I find myself at the same age as JFK when he bought it.

Just saw a _National Geographic_ program about _The Lord of the Rings_, confirming something I once saw alluded to somewhere about the author. It seems he did know Finnish; _NG_ stated that J.R.R. Tolkein taught himself the language in order to study the _Kalevala_, Finland's national epic. Not knowing this years ago, I did have occasion to notice certain similarities between Turin's & Kullervo's stories; so, as I suspected, they weren't coincidental.

This revelation would have been exciting news to my girlfriend, whom I introduced to his works in the mid-80s, reading the whole trilogy to her two or three times at her request. The daughter of Finnish immigrants, she would have greatly appreciated this knowledge--& so, perhaps, would I. I didn't come to Tolkein's works myself till about age 20, a few years after the Master's passing. Then I could see a few curious resemblances between his work and my own--suggesting, in my view, a certain amount of truth to the concept of the collective unconscious. Anyhow, my late friend conceivably already knew of J.R.R.'s learning Finnish, having gone transluminal herself three years ago.

Funny this should happen on Finland's Independence Day, when I lit a candle in a window as she taught me to.

A few unusual things have gone on lately around here. The big deal is a construction project proceeding in our street: it's getting city sewer. We're not directly involved, since our position adjoining the city limits allowed us to petition for annexation years ago, clearing the way for our own connection in back. The commotion's been considerable, of course, though by now the action's moved on down the block and most of the noise is from dopey dump trucks.

After what seemed like near two months of not having to mow the lawn because of scant rainfall, I went at it again as the street was dug up. Suddenly a small mammal popped up, alerting me to a hole stuffed with baby rabbits: Perhaps the epitome of cuteness. We'd noted holes in the yard before, though without any obvious occupant. (The presumed mother had been hanging around here recently.) Evidently there were four bunnies, including one that had run away but stationed itself on a nearby dirt pile as if intent on the giant backhoe operating close by. Next day the fertilizer guys showed up unannounced to treat our lawn; just one rabbit remained for them to see. One of them got permission to take it home, explaining that his family had experience raising rabbits.

Well, I started this post before the new work week opened, finding the sewer crew moved on so far down the street even the "dumb trucks" don't bother us.

Meanwhile I'm packing for my first vacation in two years, which I'll probably insist on reporting on afterwards. Off in a few days.

And now a postscript about the condors of the Grand Canyon. Recently happened to catch a TV item about them--how convenient! Anyhow, it seems they naturally take an interest in commotion on the ground, which is evidently why they're attracted to human activity on the South Rim.

Well, here it is--at last! I hope no one had problems waiting for this account to show up (as if this blog has a readership). It just took me that long to write the thing down properly. After completing it, however, editing this narrative to render it suitable for posting required less than an hour. It follows immediately.


Here begins my account of Sky & Telescope’s Deep Skies & Deserts Tour--September 2003. I did take notes along the way, though of course I fell behind...

After passing through security here for the first time, I took my first turboprop out of my hometown in three years. Had a long layover in [the regional hub], which was OK particularly as I had to cross the entire terminal layout--but then finding an open bar proved less easy. Finally came upon a nice pub; by the time I was done there & at a fast-food outlet, my 757 to Phoenix was well into the loading process.

Boring night flight. While my (borrowed) suitcase may have been one of the first to appear at Sky Harbor, the weakest link followed: catching a taxi to my early-arrival hotel, since it was too late for a shuttle. Despite the hour, the heat hit me first thing. (For the record, this was billed as the end of the monsoon season here.) Someone gave the driver directions, but the place turned out not easy to find, hidden behind trees... (Incidentally, it seemed my plane may have been packed with Packers fans attending the next day’s game with Arizona.)

Late next morning the actual tour began, most of the participants gathering as planned in this hotel’s lobby, where we met one of Sky & Telescope’s editors, Paul Deans; he’s evidently been at the magazine three years & I don’t recall any more specific description of what he does. Then there were the agency people, including the bus driver. I’m not sure of the number of participants, but it appeared not to quite reach the advertised minimum of 16. Anyhow, our first stop was the airport, where two more joined: a Michigander & one of two Brits--though this latter guy, an investment analyst, had long lived in Japan. (The other Brit happened to be named Newton.) The Midwesterner came to reveal a penchant for collecting rocks...Then there was the Mexican father-son duo.

Lunched at a nice barbecue place. Our leaving for the tour’s first destination then was postponed because the bus’s air conditioner failed. We wound up at a sort of open-air mall in downtown Phoenix waiting for the vehicle’s repair or replacement--in a word: Hot...We were stuck there maybe two hours, & it proved not our last bus trouble, though it’s the last I’ll say about it. Drove southeastward to the campus of the quasi-notorious Biosphere 2, currently a satellite of Columbia U--till the school pulls out at the end of this year.

Turned out the facility hosts academic astronomy studies. After dinner we attended a presentation by a Sky & Telescope lunar specialist. [I think his new moon book has just come out.] Then we had our own chance to peer through available telescopes, including a 24” mounted in a dome. Earlier that evening, despite a little remaining twilight (not to mention light from creeping residential development the locals here complained of, advancing from relatively nearby Tucson), I could already tell that the view from here at some 4000’ showed more of the finer structure along the Great Rift than what I’m used to seeing. I believe it was Mr. Newton who told me he’d never seen the Sagittarius Teapot before. Scorpius, crawling sideways, appeared immense. Eventually I looked at Mars & M57 with the domed scope.

Woke around 4 AM & went out on my little patio to gawk at Orion & Co. In contrast to the splendid summer Milky Way we’d admired, its winter span got washed out by the waning moon--which, Mr. D. later said, is typical...

Toured the Biosphere itself next morning. About all I set down about it was that it might have impressed me more when I was younger. Not that the tour wasn’t thorough enough, taking us through the basement & an extension.

So: on to Tucson, where there was little time to appreciate our suites before it was back on the bus for the drive west to Kitt Peak, probably the most well-known astronomical site we visited, on the big reservation [west of town]. Well, we were up there for the rest of the day: a long story! Early on we toured the tallest dome (4-meter scope); later we looked inside the famous solar scope at the installation’s other end. Tramped all over. Couldn’t identify much of the vegetation here at 7000’, but I learned a new flower: the source of a dangerous drug used in local shamanism. Mexican jays & a raven at our picnic. [No, we didn't eat them.] Around sunset we were shown a remote-controlled scope operated from someone’s desktop in Florida. After dark the PR people passed out binocs. I guess [our] previous night’s view was so good, it was hard telling any difference unaided. Eventually my group occupied a dome & took turns on the automated 16” scope gazing at various targets. As expected, we didn’t arrive back at our lodgings till midnight.

Interesting historical note: The day we did Kitt Peak marked the end of Galileo’s mission to Jupiter, the rugged probe, running out of fuel, being finally sent into the planet to make sure it never crashed on & contaminated Europa.

Another day, another mountain: The following morning we headed south to the lesser-known Mt. Hopkins. Along the interstate we passed, to my surprise, Arizona’s most famous mission, plus copper-mining residue & pecan orchards. Boarded a school-type bus for the the ride up. The people in the seat ahead of me insisted on opening a window--which allowed one of the big local grasshoppers to fly in & whack me in the head! To the west we could see the reservation’s sacred world-hub sugarloaf [Baboquivari Peak] &, not far from there, Kitt Peak itself, its white buildings clearly standing out in the sunshine. Eventually, gaining altitude, we stopped at a separate part of the installation where an old solar furnace had been set up as an X-ray telescope. Our guide encouraged us to climb onto a nearby roof & check out the instrument’s peculiar optics, which presented us with giant images of ourselves. Someone pointed out the distant site of Mexico’s observatory, illustrating how Mt. Hopkins sits in the middle of this activity--there being another facility in an unvisited place somewhere to the north [Mount Graham]. (Tucson itself is billed as our astronomy capital.) Onward & upward: I don’t positively remember the summit elevation, but it’s higher than Kitt--& stands next to another mountain we were told is the tallest in southern AZ. (Mt. Graham evidently doesn’t count.) A little below the top, with construction going on, we took another vehicle up the steep grade to the MMT--formerly the Multiple-Mirror Telescope & still known by that abbreviation, though it’s been converted to a single adaptive-optics main mirror. After we saw this instrument, some of us walked back to the “staging area,” where we lunched under the few ponderosa. Asking about some purple flowers, I learned another dangerous plant: deadly nightshade. On our descent we were shown what was claimed to be a rare “Apache pine”--allegedly common before the last glacial period--though I couldn’t tell it from a ponderosa.

Skies were clouding from a “feeder band” to a Pacific tropical storm. We returned to Tucson & went on the U of A campus. With some delay we toured the University’s mirror lab, lying mainly under the stadium stands. Here we got what amounted to a privileged glimpse of the new Large Binocular Telescope’s two 8.4-meter (28’) mirrors, officially the world’s largest, in separate rooms. Then it was off to the nearby Image Center, hardly exciting but of major rank as an archive.

At this point I’ve outrun my notes and am working completely from memory. Also at this point comes my tour’s main sidelight--if that’s indeed what it is. It happened that our second night in Tucson was free...


Here I'm cutting a segment about meeting an old classmate--from elementary school into college--& dining out with her. While there's nothing inappropriate to report, merely noting details would in itself be inappropriate: a breach of privacy. However, I'll admit she's the previously-mentioned daughter of the late judge.


So that was Tucson. Next morning I managed to hold up our departure by going late for breakfast, then getting confused by the place’s layout. One of the travel agency people came looking for me & encouraged me to put my cereal in a cup & run. Headed for the state’s north end, losing the abovementioned gal & her husband at a rest stop; guess they went back to HQ, leaving our driver as the only representative. Elsewhere we passed what we were told was the site of the Civil War’s westernmost battle. Lunched at Flagstaff...

No snow on the San Francisco Peaks this time [compared with my first look several years ago]. I’m glad for my prior visit to the Grand Canyon, because this tour’s segment there didn’t impress. Our hotel was allegedly right on the edge of the South Rim, but my room proved to be on the less interesting side. We walked around a bit, our driver/guide pointing things out, perhaps most surprisingly several reintroduced condors which for some reason were flying & perching in the Canyon here just below the tourist facilities...That night Mr. D. led a stargazing detachment down Hermit Road, but a thin cloud layer mostly blurred images unacceptably. Saw mule deer hanging out by the hotels when we returned.

Next morning it was a conspicuous raven outside the window by my breakfast table at the nearby big old lodge [El Tovar]. Meanwhile I’d started coming down with some bloody rhinovirus... Anyhow, we headed east, glimpsing the Canyon partly veiled in smoke. At Desert View we were brought to the tower... officially marking the South Rim’s highest point. Naturally I had to climb it. Some inspired doofus loudly (& cornily) made noise about a “haunted castle.”

On to the Navajo reservation & efficiently-served lunch in touristy Cameron. South to Flagstaff again--& cloudy skies. Here we went through the US Geological Survey offices, previously involved in the manned space program & now concentrating on planetary imaging. As a bonus we got to shake the hand of Carolyn Shoemaker, comet hunter & widow of Gene, who works there. [Carolyn, not her late husband!] Then the “star party” scheduled for that night was canceled due to overcast...

Next morning we drove east to the famous Barringer Meteor Crater, which is maybe a bit closer to Flagstaff than I’d realized...The cold I’d caught was already complicating elevation changes--fortunately, it proved, not too much. One curious feature about the Crater is that its scale is difficult to gauge from appearance. Eventually we joined some other tourists for a guided walk around part of the rim. Happened to be a sub shop in the visitor center; I ate half a tuna sandwich with Mr. Newton, who revealed that he’d scarcely been to the States before. Headed back toward town, stopping at Anderson Mesa, an apparently raised section of the area’s piney woods favored by astronomers & studded with domes. A guy came to show us around, giving us a glimpse of the biggest scope before taking us through the big new interferometer installation.

That night we enjoyed an excursion to nearby Mars Hill & the Lowell Observatory, Arizona’s oldest. Our primary host there turned out to be a gal we’d chanced to meet as she left some work at Anderson Mesa; now I had to compliment her on her new BMW convertible. The main attraction here is the antique 24” refractor in its old wooden dome; here Mr. P. Lowell himself famously sought life on Mars. [His observatory-shaped tomb, as some people know, stands beside the installation.] Appropriately the first target we viewed through this instrument was Mars, and at least part of this gazing was through Mr. Lowell’s original eyepiece (wow!). We also looked through different color filters; the best tint for the Red Planet wasn’t so obvious to my eye. We each took our turn with a series of deep-space objects before ending on Uranus--which happened to be not far from Mars in the sky & appeared as in recent photos, bluish-green & featureless.

Next day we departed via the route down Oak Creek Canyon, the same way [I & other family members] came to Flagstaff before. Descended the Mogollon Rim to Sedona & took the freeway back to Phoenix & Tempe, where astronomer J. Hester joined us for lunch, then gave a presentation on “The Origin of Structure In the Cosmos.” Seems this guy had something to do with the famous Hubble ‘Scope shot of M16 (the "Pillars of Creation").

Well, there was one production left: our last dinner, arranged at a spot in Old Scottsdale not far from our lodgings. I chose the rib, which was revealed as about the biggest cut we’d ever seen. (I may have been the only guest to finish one.)

Somewhere around noon the following day I apparently became the last to bail for Sky Harbor...

Enjoyed a $10 lunch while flying by territory I’d seen before, closer up. Confirmed my impression that the rocks of Sedona form an enclosure. Seated by a port window, I was able to look down on Meteor Crater itself, now amazingly small....


The end. Here are two postscripts, though. While I can't say I was familiar with Jeff Hester by name before this episode, I have noticed him once on TV since, probably on the Science Channel. Meanwhile S & T news informs us that the first Large Binocular Telescope mirror has been hauled up to its observatory on Mt. Graham.

A few unusual things have gone on lately around here. The big deal is a construction project proceeding in our street: it's getting city sewer. We're not directly involved, since our position adjoining the city limits allowed us to petition for annexation years ago, clearing the way for our own connection in back. The commotion's been considerable, of course, though by now the action's moved on down the block and most of the noise is from dopey dump trucks.

After what seemed like near two months of not having to mow the lawn because of scant rainfall, I went at it again as the street was dug up. Suddenly a small mammal popped up, alerting me to a hole stuffed with baby rabbits: Perhaps the epitome of cuteness. We'd noted holes in the yard before, though without any obvious occupant. (The presumed mother had been hanging around here recently.) Evidently there were four bunnies, including one that had run away but stationed itself on a nearby dirt pile as if intent on the giant backhoe operating close by. Next day the fertilizer guys showed up unannounced to treat our lawn; just one rabbit remained for them to see. One of them got permission to take it home, explaining that his family had experience raising rabbits.

Well, I started this post before the new work week opened, finding the sewer crew moved on so far down the street even the "dumb trucks" don't bother us.

Meanwhile I'm packing for my first vacation in two years, which I'll probably insist on reporting on afterwards. Off in a few days.

And now: We're getting a new garage door.

OK, here at long last is a (rudimentary) progress report: My piping instructor has started giving me further tunes to learn, but at this point one has seemingly dropped out of discussion, while the next, the "Skye Boat Song," evidently is of low priority.

Admittedly more interesting is the Mars flap. First of all it seems amazing that this planet should approach the Earth (marginally) closer in my own lifetime than at any point in virtually the last 60,00 years! Of course, we could say the same thing if we lived in the 22nd century. Furthermore, some might question whether this life is what it appears anyway--but I'd prefer not to get into metaphysics now. Well, also amazing is the fact that, without a global dust storm, Mars became bright enough in our skies to lose most of its color, blazing at midnight like a misplaced Venus. Early on the 28th my brother & I peered at it through binoculars. Keeping the image steady proved practically impossible, but we thought we saw a disk, which a good pair would reportedly show. He described it as resembling a reduced but intense version of the Moon.

Having missed piping for two weeks, I was back just today. First, as usual now, I checked email to make sure the session hadn't been canceled again. In the process I turned on public radio, which greeted me with the strains of _Scots Wha Ha'e_ --which I was supposed to have memorized-- via Berlioz's _Rob Roy_ overture! Despite performance imperfections, our pipe major this time declared that I had indeed memorized the tune correctly: official progress.

[My original text for this entry begins with an apology for tardiness in chronicling. A further explanation may now be in order. For several weeks I was unable to log in here because of some unknown problem at the other end. If anyone else out there experienced the same glitch, you know what I mean.]

It may be time to apologize again for a delay in the Chronicles. I've been meaning to report about St. Patrick's Day; but, for starters, it took me ten days to finish my account of those events. (I do, after all, supposedly work for a living.)

The day before--which some call St. Urho's Day--I joined some of our little band's members at the pipe sergeant's house, which I'd just learned was on the same street as mine: half a mile away at the other end. Turned out to be the former home of the English prof who served as my adviser back in my State-U years; I'd never actually set foot there, however. Some acquaintances of our officer's, members of a Canadian pipe band, joined some of us local players/wannabes. All I'll say about it now is that the experience reaffirmed my observation that the Highland bagpipe is too loud for confined indoor spaces!

Late next afternoon I accompanied our three pipers & as many drummers (two from out of town who regularly help out, plus a new guy from New York City on the bass) on a prearranged St. Patrick's Day "bar-hopping" excursion--during which we also passed the glengarry for dollars. Originally expecting to open doors for the players, I also found myself assigned custody of the bag we stuffed our take into. First time I'd worn my kilt (Old Sutherland, modern colors!) in four years. Our pipe sergeant "expressed amazement that I had a kilt; what I found amazing was the fact that its tight waist didn’t bother me..." (I've added inches since acquiring it; it already was big enough to give a new meaning to the term "the whole nine yards.") No need to include too many details. We picked up a free-lance piper in one of the joints: a new band member with experience. Twice we visited perhaps the town's leading dining establishment, where the Canadians were performing; we didn't compete. Later our pipe major designated me MVP for my door work & for sticking with the band the whole evening!