Guide To Astronomy

The Life Expectancy of a Star

2011-05-31T22:51:00.000-07:00

A star dies when it consumes its nuclear fuel, its mass. We might be tempted to conclude that the greater the supply of fuel (the more massive the star), the longer it will live; however, a star’s life span is also determined by how rapidly it burns its fuel. The more luminous a star, the more rapid the rate of consumption. Thus stellar lifetime is directly proportional to stellar mass and inversely proportional to stellar luminosity (how fast it burns). An analogy: A car with a large fuel tank (say a new Ford Excursion that gets 4–8 mpg) may have a much smaller range than a car with a small fuel tank (a Saturn which might get 30–40 mpg). The key? The Saturn gets much better mileage, and thus can go farther with the limited fuel it has.
Thus, while O- and B-type giants are 10 to 20 times more massive than the our G-type sun, their luminosity is thousands of times greater. Therefore, these most massive stars live much briefer lives (a few million years) than those with less fuel but more modest appetites for it.
A B-type star such as Rigel, 10 times more massive than the sun and 44,000 times more luminous, will live 20 106 years, or 20 million years. For comparison, 65 million years ago, dinosaurs roamed the earth! The G-type sun may be expected to burn for 10,000 106 years (ten billion years). Our red dwarf neighbor, Proxima Centauri, an M-type star that is 1⁄10 the mass of the sun (and 1⁄100 that of Rigel), is only 0.00006 times as luminous as the sun, so will consume its modest mass at a much slower rate and may be expected to live more than the current age of the universe. In the next two chapters we will see how stars go through their lives, and how they grow old and die.

Understanding Stellar Mass

2011-05-31T22:48:00.001-07:00

The overall orderliness of the main sequence suggests that the properties of stars are not random. In fact, a star’s exact position on the main sequence and its evolution are functions of only two properties: composition and mass.
Composition can be evaluated if we have a spectrum of the star, its fingerprint. But how can we determine the mass of a star?
Fortunately, most stars don’t travel solo, but in pairs known as binaries. (Our sun is an exception to this rule.) Binary stars orbit one another.
Some binaries are clearly visible from the earth and are called visual binaries, while others are so distant that, even with powerful telescopes, they cannot be resolved into two distinct visual objects. Nevertheless, these can be observed by noting the Doppler shifts in their spectral lines as they orbit one another. These binary systems are called spectroscopic binaries. Rarely, we are positioned so that the orbit of one star in the binary system periodically brings it in front of its partner. From these eclipsing binaries we can monitor the variations of light emitted from the system, thereby gathering information about orbital motion, mass, and even stellar radii.
However we observe the orbital behavior of binaries, the key pieces of information sought are orbital period (how long it takes one star to orbit the other) and the size of the orbit. Once these are known, Kepler’s third law can be used to calculate the combined mass of the binary system.
Why is mass so important? Mass determines the fate of the star. It sets the star’s place along the main sequence and it also dictates its life span.

Making the Main Sequence

2011-03-31T23:29:00.000-07:00

Working independently, two astronomers, Ejnar Hertsprung (1873–1967) of Denmark and Henry Norris Russell (1877–1957) of the United States studied the relationship between the luminosity of stars and their surface temperatures. Their work (Hertsprung began about 1911) was built on the classification scheme of another woman from the Harvard College Observatory, Antonia Maury. She first classified stars both by the lines observed and the width or shape of the lines. Her scheme was an important step toward realizing that stars of the same temperature could have different luminosity. Plotting the relationship between temperature and luminosity graphically (in what is now known as a Hertzsprung-Russell diagram or H-R diagram), these two men discovered that most stars fall into a well-defined region of the graph. That is, the hotter stars tend to be the most luminous, while the cooler stars are the least luminous.
The region of the temperature luminosity plot where most stars reside is called the main sequence. Most stars are there, because as we will discover, that is where they spend the majority of their lives. Stars that are not on the main sequence are called giants or dwarfs, and we will see how stars leave the main sequence and end up in the far corners of the temperature-luminosity plot.

Sorting the Stars by Size

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The radius of a star can be determined from the luminosity of the star (which can be determined if the distance is known) and its surface temperature (from its spectral type). It turns out that stars fall into several distinct classes. In sorting the stars by size, astronomers use a vocabulary that sounds as if it came from a fairytale:

A giant is a star whose radius is between 10 and 100 times that of the sun.
A supergiant is a star whose radius is more than 100 times that of the sun. Stars of up to 1,000 solar radii are known.
A dwarf star has a radius similar to or smaller than the sun.

How Hot Is Hot?

2011-03-31T23:24:00.000-07:00

Stars are too distant to stick a thermometer under their tongue. We can’t even do that with our own star, the sun. But you can get a pretty good feel for a star’s temperature simply by looking at its color.
The temperature of a distant object is generally measured by evaluating its apparent brightness at several frequencies in terms of a blackbody curve. The wavelength of the peak intensity of the radiation emitted by the object can be used to measure the object’s temperature. For example, a hot star (with a surface temperature of about 20,000 K) will peak near the ultraviolet end of the spectrum and will produce a blue visible light. At about 7,000 K, a star will look yellowish-white. A star with a surface temperature of about 6,000 K—such as our sun—appears yellow. At temperatures as low as 4,000 K, orange predominates, and at 3,000 K, red.
So simply looking at a star’s color can tell you about its relative temperature. A star that looks blue or white has a much higher surface temperature than a star that looks red or yellow.

Creating a Star Scale of Magnitude

2011-02-28T22:31:00.000-08:00

So astronomers have learned to be very careful when classifying stars according to apparent brightness. Classifying stars according to their magnitude seemed a good idea to Hipparchus (in the second century B.C.E.) when he came up with a 6-degree scale, ranging from 1, the brightest stars, to 6, those just barely visible. Unfortunately, this somewhat cumbersome and awkward system (higher magnitudes are fainter, and the brightest objects have negative magnitudes) has persisted to this day.
Hipparchus’ scale has been expanded and refined over the years. The intervals between magnitudes have been regularized, so that a difference of 1 in magnitude corresponds to a difference of about 2.5 in brightness. Thus, a magnitude 1 star is 2.5 ×2.5 ×2.5 ×2.5 ×2.5=100 times brighter than a magnitude 6 star. Because we are no longer limited to viewing the sky with our eyes, and larger apertures collect more light, magnitudes greater than (that is, fainter than) 6 appear on the scale. Objects brighter than the brightest stars may also be included, their magnitudes expressed as negative numbers. Thus the full moon has a magnitude of –12.5 and the sun, –26.8. In order to make more useful comparisons between stars at varying distances, astronomers differentiate between apparent magnitude and absolute magnitude, defining the latter, by convention, as an object’s apparent magnitude when it is at a distance of 10 parsecs from the observer. This convention cancels out distance as a factor in brightness and is therefore an intrinsic property of the star.

Luminosity Versus Apparent Brightness

2011-02-28T22:30:00.001-08:00

Ask an astronomer this question, and she will respond that the flashlight, a few feet from your eyes, is apparently brighter than the distant headlights, but that the headlights are more luminous. Luminosity is the total energy radiated by a star each second. Luminosity is a quality intrinsic to the star; brightness may or may not be intrinsic. Absolute brightness is another name for luminosity, but apparent brightness is the fraction of energy emitted by a star that eventually strikes some surface or detection device (including our eyes). Apparent brightness varies with distance. The farther away an object is, the lower its apparent brightness.
Simply put, a very luminous star that is very far away from the earth can appear much fainter than a less luminous star that is much closer to the earth. Thus, although the Sun is the brightest star in the sky, it is not by any means the most luminous.

Do Stars Move?

2011-02-28T22:25:00.000-08:00

The ancients believed that the stars were embedded in a distant spherical bowl and moved in unison, never changing their relative positions. We know now, of course, that the daily motion of the stars is due to the earth’s rotation. Yet the stars move, too; however, their great distance from us makes that movement difficult to perceive, except over long periods of time. A jet high in the sky, for example, can appear to be moving rather slowly, yet we know that it has to be moving fast just to stay aloft and its apparent slowness is a result of its distance. Astronomers think of stellar movement in three dimensions:

The transverse component of motion is perpendicular to our line of sight—that is, movement
across the sky. This motion can be measured directly.
The radial component is stellar movement toward or away from us. This motion must be measured from a star’s spectrum.
The actual motion of a star is calculated by combining the transverse and radial components.

The transverse component can be measured by carefully comparing photographs of a given piece of the sky taken at different times and measuring the angle of displacement of one star relative to background stars (in arcseconds).
This stellar movement is called proper motion. A star’s distance can be used to translate the angular proper motion thus measured into a transverse velocity in km/s. In our analogy: If you knew how far away that airplane in the sky was, you could turn its apparently slow movement into a true velocity.
Determining the radial component of a star’s motion involves an entirely different process. By studying the spectrum of the target star (which shows the light emitted and absorbed by a star at particular frequencies), astronomers can calculate the star’s approaching or receding velocity. Certain elements and molecules show up in a star’s spectrum as absorption lines (see Chapter 7). The frequencies of particular absorption lines are known if the source is at rest, but if the star is moving toward or away from us, the lines will get shifted. A fast-moving star will have its lines shifted more than a slow-moving one. This phenomenon, more familiar with sound waves, is known as the Doppler effect.
How fast do stars move? And what is the fixed background against which the movement can be measured? For a car, it’s easy enough to say that it’s moving at 45 miles per hour relative to the road. But there are no freeways in space. Stellar speeds can be given relative to the earth, relative to the sun, or relative to the center of the Milky Way. Astronomers always have to specify which reference frame they are using when they give a velocity. Stars in our neighborhood typically move at tens of kilometers per second relative to the sun.

Nearest and Farthest

2011-01-31T21:30:00.000-08:00

Other than the sun, the star closest to us is Alpha Centauri, which has the largest known stellar parallax of 0.76 arc seconds. In general, the distance to a star in parsecs (abbreviated pc) is equal to 1 divided by the stellar parallax in arcseconds—or conversely, its parallax will be equal to 1 divided by the distance in parsecs. The measured parallax, in any case, will be a very small angle (less than an arcsecond). Recall that the moon takes up about 1,800” on the sky when full, so the parallax measured for Alpha Centauri is about 1⁄2000 the diameter of the full moon! Using the rule above to convert parallax into distance, we find that Alpha Centauri is about 1.3 pc or 4.2 light-years away. On average, stars in our Galaxy are separated by 7 light-years. So Alpha Centauri is even closer than “normal.” If a star were 10 pc away, it would have a parallax of 1⁄10 or 0.1”.
The farthest stellar distances that can be measured using parallax are about 100 parsecs (333 light-years). Stars at this distance have a parallax of 1⁄100” or 0.01”. That apparent motion is the smallest that we can measure with our best telescopes. Within our own Galaxy, most stars are even farther away than this. As telescope resolutions improve with the addition of adaptive optics, this outer limit will be pushed farther out.

How Far Away Are the Stars?

2011-01-31T21:27:00.000-08:00

Like the campsite separated from you by the Grand Canyon, the stars are not directly accessible to measurement. However, if you can establish two view points along a baseline, you can use triangulation to measure the distance to a given star.
There is just one problem.
Take a piece of paper. Draw a line one inch long. This line is the baseline of your triangle. Measure up from that line, say, one inch, and make a point. Now connect the ends of your baseline to that point. You have a nice, normal looking triangle. But if you place your point several feet from the baseline, then connect the ends of the baseline to it, you will have an extremely long and skinny triangle, with angles that are very difficult to measure accurately, because they will both be close to 90 degrees. If you move your point several miles away, and keep a 1-inch baseline, the difference in the angles at Points A and B of your baseline will be just about impossible to measure. They will both seem like right angles. For practical purposes, a 1-inch baseline is just not long enough to measure distances of a few miles away. Now recall that if our Earth is a golf ball (about 1 inch in diameter), that the nearest star, to scale, would be 50,000 miles away. So the baseline created by, say, the rotation of the earth on its axis—which would give 2 points 1 inch away in our model—is not nearly large enough to use triangulation to measure the distance to the nearest stars. The diameter of the earth is only so wide. How can we extend the baseline to a useful distance?
The solution is to use the fact that our planet not only rotates on its axis, but also orbits the sun. Observation of the target star is made, say, on February 1, then is made again on August 1, when the earth has orbited 180 degrees from its position six months earlier. In effect, this motion creates a baseline that is 2 A.U. long—that is, twice the distance from the earth to the sun. Observations made at these two times (and these two places) will show the target star apparently shifted relative to the even more distant stars in the background. This shift is called stellar parallax, and by measuring it, we can determine the angle relative to the baseline and thereby use triangulation to calculate the star’s distance.
To get a handle on parallax, hold your index finger in front of you, with your arm extended. Using one eye, line up your finger with some vertical feature, say the edge of the window. Now, keeping you finger where it is, look through the other eye. The change in viewpoint makes your finger appear to move with respect to a background object. In astronomy, your eyes are the position of the earth separated by 6 months, your finger is a nearby star, and the window edge is a distant background star. This method works as long as the star (your finger) is relatively close. If the star is too far away, parallax is no longer effective.

The Parallax Principle

2011-01-31T21:23:00.000-08:00

First, how do we know that the nearest stars are so far away? For that matter, how do we know how far away any stars are? We’ve come a long way in this blog, and, on our journey, we have spoken a good deal about distances—by earthly standards, often extraordinary distances. Indeed, the distances astronomers measure are so vast that they use a set of units unique to astronomy. When measuring distances on the earth, meters and kilometers are convenient units. But in the vast spaces between stars and galaxies, such units are inadequate. As we’ll see in this chapter and those that follow, the way astronomers measure distances, and the units they use depend upon how far away the objects are. Distances between a given point on the earth and many objects in the solar system can be measured by radar ranging. Radar, a technology developed shortly before and during World War II, is now quite familiar. Radar can be used to detect and track distant objects by transmitting radio waves, then receiving the echo of the waves the object bounces back (sonar is a similar technique using sound waves). If we multiply the round-trip travel time of the outgoing signal and its incoming echo by the speed of light (which, you’ll recall, is the speed of all electromagnetic radiation, including radio waves), we obtain a figure that is twice the distance to the target object.
Radar ranging works well with objects that return (bounce back) radio signals. But stars, including our sun, tend to absorb rather than return electromagnetic radiation transmitted to them. Moreover, even if we could bounce a signal off a star, most are so distant that we would have to wait thousands of years for the signal to make its round trip—even at the speed of light! Even the nearby Alpha Centauri system would take about eight years to detect with radar ranging, were it even possible.
Another method is used to determine the distance of the stars, a method that was available long before World War II. In fact, it is at least as old as the Greek geometer Euclid, who lived in the third century B.C.E. The technique is called triangulation—an indirect method of measuring distance derived by geometry using a known baseline and two angles from the baseline to the object. Triangulation does not require a right triangle, but the establishment of one 90-degree angle does make the calculation of distance a bit easier. It works like this. Suppose you are on one rim of the Grand Canyon and want to measure the distance from where you are standing to a campsite located on the other rim. You can’t throw a tape measure across the yawning chasm, so you must measure the distance indirectly. You position yourself directly across from the campsite, mark your position, then turn 90 degrees from the canyon and carefully pace off another point a certain distance from your original position. This distance is called your baseline. From this second position, you sight on the campsite. Whereas the angle formed by the baseline and the line of sight at your original position is 90 degrees (you arranged it to be so), the angle formed by the baseline and the line of sight at the second position will be somewhat less than 90 degrees. If you connect the campsite with Point A (your original viewpoint) and the campsite with Point B (the second viewpoint), both of which are joined by the baseline, you will have a right triangle. Now, you can take this right triangle and, with a little work, calculate the distance across the canyon. If you simply make a drawing of your setup, making sure to draw the angles and lengths that you know to scale, you can measure the distance across the canyon from your drawing. Or if you are good at trigonometry, you can readily use the difference between the angles at Points A and B and the length of the baseline to arrive at the distance to the remote campsite.

Radius, Luminosity, Temperature: A Key Relationship

2010-12-31T23:29:00.000-08:00

We don’t have to give up on measuring the sizes of stars, however. We just have to be more clever. What astronomers do is determine the temperature and mass of a star, which can be done using a star’s color and spectrum. Then, using numerical models of how stars hold together, they derive the quantity that they are interested in (radius, for example). It is akin to looking out over a parking lot and seeing a Cadillac. Now, you may not know its size, but you know (consulting a chart) that this model of Cadillac is 18.5 feet long. You can see clearly that it is indeed this particular model of Cadillac, so you know its length, even though you didn’t actually measure it with a ruler.
Stefan’s law states that a star’s luminosity (its wattage, or the rate at which it emits energy into space) is proportional to the fourth power to the star’s surface temperature. This relationship can be extended further. A star’s luminosity is not only related to its temperature, but to its surface area. Heat the head of a pin to 400 degrees F and a large metal plate to the same temperature. Which will radiate more heat? Obviously, the object with the larger surface area. Given the same surface temperature, a larger body will always radiate more energy than a smaller one.
This relationship can be expressed in this way: A star’s luminosity is proportional to the square of its radius (that’s the surface area term) times its surface temperature to the fourth power (luminosity ×radius2 ×temperature4). Thus, if we know a star’s luminosity and temperature (which can be measured by available astronomical instruments), we can calculate its radius. How do we measure a star’s luminosity and temperature? Let’s see.

Your Standard Solar Model

2010-12-31T23:26:00.000-08:00

By combining theoretical modeling of the sun’s (unobservable) interior with observations of the energy that the sun produces, astronomers have come to an agreement on what is called a standard solar model, a mathematically-based picture of the structure of the sun. The model seeks to explain the observable properties of the sun and also describe properties of its unobservable interior. With the standard solar model, we can begin to describe some of the interior regions—regions hidden, beneath the photosphere, from direct observation. Below the photosphere is the convection zone, some 124,000 miles (200,000 km) thick. Below this is the radiation zone, 186,000 miles (300,000 km) thick, which surrounds a core with a radius of 124,000 miles (200,000 km).
The sun’s core is tremendously dense (150,000 kg/m3) and tremendously hot: some 15,000,000 K. We can’t stick a thermometer in the sun’s core, so how do we know it’s that hot? If we look at the energy emerging from the sun’s surface, we can work backward to the conditions that must prevail at the sun’s core. At this density and temperature, nuclear fusion is continuous, with particles always in violent motion. The sun’s core is a giant nuclear fusion reactor.
At the very high temperatures of the core, all matter is completely ionized—stripped of its negatively charged electrons. As a result, photons (packets of electromagnetic energy) move slowly out of the core into the next layer of the sun’s interior, the radiation zone.
Here the temperature is lower, and photons emitted from the core of the sun interact continuously with the charged particles located there, being absorbed and re-emitted. While the photons remain in the radiation zone, heating it and losing energy, some of their energy escapes into the convection zone, which in effect, boils like water on a stove so that hot gases rise to the photosphere and cool gases sink back into the convection zone. Convective cells become smaller and smaller, eventually becoming visible as granules at the solar surface. Thus, by convection, huge amounts of energy reach the surface of the sun. At the sun’s surface, a variety of processes give rise to the electromagnetic radiation that we detect from the earth. Atoms and molecules in the sun’s photosphere absorb some of the photons at particular wavelengths, giving rise to the sun’s absorption-line spectrum. Most of the radiation from a star that has the surface temperature of the sun is emitted in the visible part of the spectrum.

Chain Reactions in the Sun

2010-11-30T22:24:00.000-08:00

The sun generates energy by the converting the hydrogen in its core to helium. The details are complex, but we may content ourselves with an overview. When temperatures and pressures are sufficiently high (temperatures of about 10 million K are required) 4 hydrogen nuclei (which are protons, positively charged particles) can combine to create the nucleus of a helium atom (2 protons and 2 neutrons). Now the mass of the helium nucleus created is slightly less than that of the four protons that were needed to create it. That small difference in mass is converted into energy in the fusion process. One of the simplest fusion reactions involves the production of deuterium (a hydrogen isotope) from a proton and a neutron. When these two particles collide with enough velocity, they create a deuterium nucleus (consisting of a proton and a neutron) and the excess energy is given off as a gamma ray photon. In the sun, this process proceeds on a massive scale, liberating the energy that lights up our daytime skies. That’s a 4 ×1026 watt lightbulb up there, remember.

Fission in the Sun

2010-11-30T22:20:00.000-08:00

On December 2, 1942, Enrico Fermi, an Italian physicist who had fled his fascistoppressed native land for the United States, withdrew a control rod from an “atomic pile” that had been set up in a squash court beneath the stands of the University of Chicago’s Stagg Field. This action initiated the world’s first self-sustaining atomic chain reaction. Fermi and his team had invented the nuclear reactor, and the world hasn’t been the same since.
Nuclear fission is a nuclear reaction in which an atomic nucleus splits into fragments, thereby releasing energy. In a fission reactor, such as the one Fermi was instrumental in creating, the process of fission is controlled and self-sustaining, so that the splitting of one atom leads to the splitting of others, each fission liberating more energy.
Nuclear fission is capable of liberating a great deal of energy, whether in the form of a controlled sustained chain reaction or in a single great explosion, like an atomic bomb. Yet even the powerful fission process cannot account for the tremendous amount of energy the sun generates so consistently. We must look to another process: nuclear fusion.
Whereas nuclear fission liberates energy by splitting atomic nuclei, nuclear fusion produces energy by joining them, combining light atomic nuclei into heavier ones. In the process, the combined mass of two nuclei in a third nucleus is less than the total mass of the original two nuclei. The mass is not simply lost, but converted into energy. A lot of energy. One of the by-products of nuclear fusion reactions is a tiny neutral particle called the neutrino. The fusion reactions themselves produce high energy gamma ray radiation, but those photons are converted into mostly visible light by the time their energy reaches the surface of the sun. Neutrinos, with no charge to slow them down, come streaming straight out of the sun’s core. The numbers that we detect give us great insight into a region of the sun that is otherwise inaccessible.

Solar flares

2010-10-31T12:17:00.000-07:00

Most frequently at the peak of the sunspot cycle, violent eruptions of gas are ejected from the sun’s surface. The prominences and flares may rise to some 60,000 miles (100,000 km) and may be visible for weeks. Solar flares are more sudden and violent events than prominences. While they are thought to also be the result of magnetic kinks, they do not show the arcing or looping pattern characteristic of prominences. Flares are explosions of incredible power, bringing local temperatures to 100,000,000 K. Whereas prominences release their energy over days or weeks, flares explode in a flash of energy release that lasts a matter of minutes or, perhaps, hours.

Understanding Sunspot Cycles

2010-10-31T12:16:00.001-07:00

Long before the magnetic nature of sunspots was perceived, astronomer Heinrich Schwabe, in 1843, announced his discovery of a solar cycle, in which the number of spots seen on the sun reaches a maximum about every 11 years (on average). In 1922, the British astronomer Annie Russel Maunder charted the latitude drift of sunspots during each solar cycle. She found that each cycle begins with the appearance of small spots in the middle latitudes of the sun, followed by spots appearing progressively closer to the solar equator until the cycle reaches its maximum level of activity. After this point, the number of spots begins to decline. The most recent maximum occured in early 2001.
Actually, the 11-year period is only half of a 22-year cycle that is more fundamental. Recall that the leading spots on one hemisphere exhibit the same polarity; that is, they are all either north magnetic poles or south (and the followers are the opposite of the leaders). At the end of the first 11 years of the cycle, polarities reverse. That is, if the leaders had north poles in the southern hemisphere, they become, as the second half of the cycle begins, south poles.
The cyclical nature of sunspot activity is very real, but not exact and inevitable. Studying historical data, Maunder discovered that the cycle had been apparently dormant from 1645 to 1715. At present, there is no explanation for this dormancy and other variations in the solar cycle.

Sunspots: What They Are

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Sunspots are irregularly shaped dark areas on the face of the sun. They look dark because they are cooler than the surrounding material. The strong local magnetic fields push away some of the hot ionized material rising from lower in the photosphere. A sunspot is not uniformly dark. Its center, called the umbra, is darkest and is surrounded by a lighter penumbra. If you think of them as blemishes on the face of the sun, just remember that one such blemish may easily be the size of the earth or larger.
Sunspots may persist for months, and they may appear singly, although, usually, they are found in pairs or groups. Such typical groupings are related to the magnetic nature of the sunspots. Every pair of spots has a leader and a follower (with respect to the direction of the sun’s rotation), and the leader’s magnetic polarity is always the opposite of the follower. That is, if the leader is a north magnetic pole, the follower will be a south magnetic pole.
Sunspots are never seen exactly at the equator or near the solar poles, and leaders and followers in one hemisphere of the sun are almost always opposite in polarity from those across the equator. That is, if all the leaders in the northern hemisphere are south magnetic poles, all the leaders in the southern hemisphere will be north magnetic poles.
We have said that sunspots are thought to be associated with strong local magnetic fields. But why are the fields strong in certain regions of the photosphere? A meteorologist from Norway, Vilhelm Bjerknes (1862–1951) concluded in 1926 that sunspots are the erupting ends of magnetic field lines, which are distorted by the sun’s differential rotation. That is, like the gas giant jovian worlds, the sun does not rotate as a single, solid unit, but differentially, at different speeds for different latitudes. The sun spins fastest at its equator—the result being that the solar magnetic field becomes distorted. The field lines are most distorted at the equator, so that the north-south magnetic field is turned to an east-west orientation. In places where the field is sufficiently distorted, twisted like a knot, the field becomes locally very strong, powerful enough to escape the sun’s gravitational pull. Where this happens, field lines “pop” out of the photosphere, looping through the lower solar atmosphere and forming a sunspot pair at the two places where the field lines pass into the solar interior.

Sun Trivias

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We have described the layers in the sun’s outer atmosphere, but have ignored some of their more interesting aspects, the storms in the atmosphere. The sun’s atmosphere is regularly disturbed by solar weather in the form of sunspots, prominences, and solar flares. With the proper equipment—or an Internet connection (http://sohowww.estec. esa.nl)—you can observe some of the signs of activity on the sun’s surface.
A Granulated Surface
If we look at the sun, its surface usually appears featureless, except, perhaps, for sunspots, which we’ll discuss in a moment. However, viewed at high-resolution, the surface of the sun actually appears highly granulated. Now, granule is a relative concept when we are talking about a body the size of the sun. Each granule is about the size of an earthly continent, appearing and disappearing as a hot gas bubble rises to the surface of the sun.
Galileo Sees Spots Before His Eyes
People must have seen sunspots before 1611, when Galileo (and, independently, other astronomers) first reported them. (As recently as March 2001, sunspots easily visible to the unaided eye have appeared.) The largest spots are visible to the naked eye (at least when the sun is seen through clouds). Yet, at the time, the world was reluctant to accept imperfections on the face of the sun.
Sunspots were not (as far as we know) studied before Galileo. Galileo drew a profound conclusion from the existence and behavior of sunspots. In 1613, he published three letters on sunspots, explaining that their movement across the face of the sun showed that the sun rotated.

What is Solar Wind

2010-09-30T23:25:00.001-07:00

The sun does not keep its energy to itself. Its energy flows away in the form of electromagnetic radiation and particles. The particles (mostly electrons and protons) do not move nearly as fast as the radiation, which escapes the sun at the speed of light, but they move fast nevertheless—at more than 300 miles per second (500 km/s). It is this swiftly moving particle stream that is called the solar wind.
The solar wind is driven by the incredible temperatures in the solar corona. As a result, the gases are sufficiently hot to escape the tremendous gravitational pull of the sun. The surface of the earth is protected from this wind by its magnetosphere, the magnetic “cocoon” generated by the rotation of the earth’s molten core. As with many other planets, the motion of charged molten material in the earth’s core generates a magnetic field around the planet. This magnetic field either deflects or captures charged particles from the solar wind. Some of these particles are trapped in the Van Allen Belts, doughnut-shaped regions around the earth named after their discoverer. Some of the charged particles rain down on the earth’s poles and collide with its atmosphere, giving rise to displays of color and light called aurora (in the Northern Hemisphere the Aurora Borealis, or Northern Lights, and in the Southern Hemisphere, the Aurora Australis, or Southern Lights). The Auroras are especially prominent when the sun reaches its peak of activity every 11 years.

Understanding Solar Eclipse

2010-09-30T23:21:00.000-07:00

A solar eclipse occurs when the moon moves across the disk of the sun so that the moon’s shadow falls across the face of the earth. In the heart of that shadow, called the umbra, the sun’s disk will appear completely covered by that of the moon: a total solar eclipse. The umbra, however, only falls on a small region of the earth. Thus a total eclipse can be observed only within the zone of totality, a very narrow area of the earth (where this shadow falls as the earth rotates). For this reason, total eclipses are rare events in any given geographical area. Much more common are partial eclipses, in which the moon obscures only part of the sun. Observers located in the much broader outer shadow of the moon (the penumbra) see such an eclipse.
Certainly, partial eclipses are interesting, but a total eclipse can be spectacular, not only dramatically darkening the world, but allowing sight of such solar features as feathery prominences, the chromosphere, and, most thrilling of all, the corona. These features are fleeting, since totality lasts only a few minutes at any one observing location. As mentioned elsewhere in this book, observing the sun directly is very dangerous.
Looking at the sun through an unfiltered telescope or binoculars will cause irreversible damage to your eyesight. The sun is no more or less dangerous during an eclipse than at any other time; but the point is that looking directly at the sun is always dangerous and harmful.
The sun, during an eclipse or at any time, is most safely observed by projecting its image onto a piece of paper or cardboard. You can project a telescope or binocular image onto a white card held at the correct distance from the eyepiece. But you don’t need a telescope or binoculars to project an image. Just make a pinhole in a stiff piece of cardboard and project the pinhole image onto a white card or paper. (By the way: Do not look
through the pinhole directly at the sun!)
If you want to look at the sun through your telescope during an eclipse or at another time, purchase a solar filter (glass or Mylar) from any of the major telescope manufacturers. This type of filter attaches to the front of your telescope tube, it does not screw onto the eyepiece.

A Luminous Crown

2010-08-31T23:37:00.000-07:00

Corona is Latin for “crown,” and it describes the region beyond the transition zone consisting of elements that have been highly ionized (stripped of their electrons) by the tremendous heat in the coronal region. Like the chromosphere, the corona is normally invisible, blotted out by the intense light of the photosphere. It is only during total solar eclipses that the corona becomes visible, at times when the disk of the moon covers the photosphere and the chromosphere. During such eclipse conditions, the significance of the Latin name becomes readily apparent: The corona appears as a luminous crown surrounding the darkened disk of the sun. When the sun is active—a cycle that peaks every 11 years—its surface becomes mottled with sunspots, and great solar flares and prominences send material far above its surface.

Not That Kind of Chrome

2010-08-31T23:35:00.000-07:00

The sun’s lower atmosphere is called the chromosphere, normally invisible because the photosphere is far brighter. However, during a total solar eclipse, which blots out the photosphere, the chromosphere is visible as a pinkish aura around the solar disk. The strongest emission line in the hydrogen spectrum is red, and the predominance of hydrogen in the chromosphere imparts the pink hue. The chromosphere is a storm-racked region, into which spicules, jets of expelled matter thousands of miles high, intrude.
Above the chromosphere is the transition zone. As mentioned earlier, the temperature at the surface of the photosphere is 5,780 K, much cooler than the temperatures in the solar interior, which get hotter the closer one approaches the core. Yet, in the chromosphere, transition zone, and into the corona, the temperature rises sharply the farther one goes from the surface of the sun! At about 6,000 miles (10,000 km) above the photosphere, where the transition zone becomes the corona, temperatures exceed 1,000,000 K. (For detailed real-time views of the solar photosphere, chromosphere, and corona, see http://sohowww.estec.esa.nl.) How do we explain this apparent paradox? It is believed that the interaction between the sun’s strong magnetic field and the charged particles in the corona heat it to these high temperatures.

The Solar Atmosphere

2010-08-31T23:33:00.000-07:00

The sun does not have a surface as such. What we call its surface is just the layer that emits the most light. Let’s begin our journey at the outer layers of the sun (the layers that we can actually see), and work our way in. When you look up at the sun during the day, what you are really looking at is the sun’s photosphere. The layer from which the visible photons that we see arise, the photosphere has a temperature of about 6,000 K. Lower layers are hidden behind the photosphere, and higher layers are so diffuse and faint (though very hot) that we only see them during total solar eclipses or with special satellites. Above the photosphere in the solar atmosphere are the chromosphere, the transition zone, and the corona. As we move higher in the sun’s atmosphere, the temperatures rise dramatically.

Four Trillion Trillion Light Bulbs

2010-07-31T21:52:00.000-07:00

Next time you are screwing in a light bulb, notice its wattage. A watt is a measure of power, or how much energy is produced or consumed each second. A 100 watt bulb uses 100 joules of energy every second. For comparison, the sun produces 4 1026 watts of power. That’s a lot of light bulbs—four trillion trillion of them, to be exact. This rate of energy production is called the sun’s luminosity. Many stars have luminosities much higher than that of the sun.
The source of the sun’s power—and that of all stars, during most of their lifetimes—is the fusing together of nuclei. Stars first convert hydrogen into helium, and heavier elements come later. The only fusion reactions that we have been able to produce on the earth are uncontrolled reactions known as hydrogen bombs. The destructive force of these explosions gives insight into the enormous energies released in the core of the sun. Nuclear fusion could be used as a nearly limitless supply of energy on the earth; however, we are not yet able to create the necessary conditions on Earth for controlled fusion reactions.

A Spectacular, Mediocre Star

2010-07-31T21:50:00.000-07:00

In terms of its size, mass and energy released, the sun is by far the most spectacular body in the solar system. With a radius of 22.8 X108 feet (6.96 X108 m), it is 100 times larger than the earth. Imagine yourself standing in a room with a golf ball. If the golf ball is the earth, the sun would touch the eight-foot ceiling. With a mass of 1.99 1030 kg, the sun is 300,000 times more massive than the earth. And with a surface temperature of 5,780 K (compared to the earth’s average 290 K surface temperature), the sun would melt or vaporize any matter we know.

What’s Sun Made Of?

2010-07-31T21:49:00.000-07:00

The sun is mostly hydrogen (about 73 percent of the total mass) and helium (25 percent). Other elements are found in much smaller amounts, adding up to just under two percent of the sun’s mass. These include carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, neon, magnesium, silicon, sulfur, and iron. Over 50 other elements are found in trace amounts. There is nothing unique about the presence of these particular elements; they are the same ones that are distributed throughout the solar system and the universe. In particular, hydrogen atoms of the sun’s core plow into one another to create helium atoms. In the process, a little mass is converted into energy. That little bit of energy for each collision means enormous amounts of energy when we count all of the collisions that occur in the core of the sun. The fact that c is a very large number means that a tiny amount of mass results in a very large amount of energy. With this energy source, the sun is expected to last not a thousand years, or even 100 million years, but about 8 to 10 billion years, typical for a star with the sun’s mass.

The Solar Furnace

2010-06-30T22:57:00.000-07:00

Greek philosopher Anaximenes of Miletus believed the sun, like other stars, was a great ball of fire. His was an important insight, but not entirely accurate. The sun is not so simple. In terms of human experience, the sun is an unfailing source of energy. Where does all of that energy come from? In the nineteenth century, scientists knew of two possible sources: thermal heat (like a candle burning) and gravitational energy. The problem with thermal energy is that even the sun doesn’t have enough mass to produce energy the way a candle does—at least, not for billions of years. Calculations showed that the sun “burning” chemically, would last only a few thousand years.
While a sun that was a few thousand years old might have pleased some theologians at the time, there was a variety of evidence showing that the earth was much older.
So scientists turned their attention to gravitational energy, that is, the conversion of gravitational energy into heat. The theory went this way: As the sun condensed out of the solar nebula, its atoms fell inward and collided more frequently as they got more crowded. These higher velocities and collisions converted gravitational energy into heat. Gravitational energy could power the sun’s output at its current rate for about 100 million years.
But when it started to become clear that the earth was much older (geological evidence showed that it was at least 3.5 billion years old), scientists went back to the drawing board. The nineteenth century ended without an understanding of the source of energy in the sun.

Understanding Sun

2010-06-30T22:54:00.000-07:00

An evening spent looking up under dark skies will convince you that stars can be breathtaking in their loveliness. We can appreciate why, for thousands of years, human beings thought that the stars were embedded in a perfect sphere, spinning and changeless. Yet, because of their great distance, theirs is a remote beauty. Many amateur astronomers are disappointed to discover that stars (other than the sun) look pretty much the same through even the best telescope. Our common sense sees little similarity between the distant, featureless points of light against a sable sky and the great yellow disk of daytime, whose brilliance overwhelms our vision and warms our world. Yet, of course, our sun is a star—and, as stars go, not a particularly remarkable one. We now turn our attention to the very center of our solar system, the parent of the terrestrial and jovian planets and their rings and moons. We have spent the last three chapters discussing the planets and their moons. But taken together, these objects represent only 0.1 percent of the mass of the solar system. The other 99.9 percent of the mass is found in the sun. Peoples of many times and cultures have worshipped the sun as the source of all life, and in some sense, they were right. The sun is our furnace and our light bulb: the ultimate source of most energy and light here on the earth. And because it contains almost all of the mass, it is the gravitational anchor of the solar system. Indeed, its very matter is ours. The early sun was the hot center of a swirling disk of gas and dust from which the solar system formed some 4.6 billion years ago. If the sun were a cake, the earth and the rest of the planets would be some flour left on the counter. But the sun is only one star in a galaxy containing hundreds of billions of stars. Astronomers feel fortunate that the sun is so nondescript a citizen of the galaxy. It is, of course, the star closest to us and its very averageness lets us generalize about the many stars that lie far beyond our reach. In this chapter we examine our own star, and begin to explore how the sun (and stars in general) generate the enormous energies that they do.

Where Did Pluto Come From?

2010-06-30T22:51:00.000-07:00

Except that it doesn’t orbit another planet—and, indeed, has a moon of its own—Pluto looks more like a jovian moon than a planet. It fits into neither the terrestrial nor jovian mold. Some astronomers believe that Pluto is really a renegade moon, escaped from Neptune’s gravitational influence due to a collision or interaction involving Triton, Pluto, Charon, and Nereid. Others regard it as a kind of spare part, something left over from the creation of the solar system, and perhaps only one of a number of such objects in the outer reaches of the solar system, the Kuiper Belt.

Charon, the Moon of Pluto

2010-05-31T04:57:00.000-07:00

If, having been discovered in 1930, Pluto was a late addition to our known solar system, its moon, Charon, is almost brand new, having been found in 1978. Named, fittingly, for the mythological ferryman who rowed the dead across the River Styx to the underworld ruled by Pluto, Charon is a little more than half the size of its parent: 806 miles (1,300 km) in diameter versus Pluto’s 1,426 miles (2,300 km). Orbiting 12,214 miles (19,700 km) from Pluto, it takes 6.4 Earth days to make one circuit. Pluto and Charon are tidally locked—forever facing one another; the orbital period and rotation period for both are synchronized at 6.4 days. Like Venus and Uranus, Pluto’s rotation is retrograde spinning on its axis in the opposite direction of most of the planets.

A Dozen More Moons in the Outer Solar System

2010-05-31T04:54:00.000-07:00

Thanks to Voyager, the six medium-sized moons of Saturn have also been explored. All of these bodies are tidally locked with Saturn, their orbits synchronous, so that they show but one face to their parent planet. They are frozen worlds, mostly rock and water ice. The most distant from Saturn, Iapetus, orbits some 2,207,200 miles (3,560,000 km) from its parent. Because these moons orbit synchronously, astronomers speak of their leading faces and trailing faces. That one face always looks in the direction of the orbit and the other in the opposite direction has created asymmetrical surface features on some of these moons. The leading face of Iapetus, for example, is very dark, while the trailing face is quite light. While some astronomers suggest that the dark material covering this moon’s leading face is generated internally, others believe that Iapetus sweeps up the dust it encounters.
The innermost moon of Saturn, Mimas is 115,320 miles (186,000 km) out. It is also the smallest of Saturn’s moons, with a radius of just 124 miles (200 km). Mimas is very close to Saturn’s rings and seems to have been battered by material associated with them. Heavily cratered overall, this small moon has one enormous crater named for the astronomer William Herschel, which makes it resemble the “Death Star” commanded by Darth Vader in Star Wars. Whatever caused this impact probably came close to shattering Mimas. Indeed, some astronomers believe that similar impacts may have created some of the debris that formed Saturn’s great rings. The Cassini mission will add greatly to our knowledge of these moons and rings. The Cassini-Huygens Mission to Saturn and its mysterious moon Titan was launched on October 15, 1997.
The spacecraft will separate into two parts as it approaches Saturn, sending the Huygens Titan probe on a mission to the surface of the atmosphereenshrouded moon. The mission will study the magnetosphere of Saturn, the planet Saturn itself and its atmosphere and rings, the moon Titan, and finally the other icy moons that orbit the planet. If there were any worries about the performance of the spacecraft, or what it will do when it arrives at Saturn on July 1, 2004, they were substantially allayed in early 2001 when the Cassini-Huygens Mission sped past Jupiter, snapping pictures of the gas giant. You can check on the progress of the mission and view its photos of Jupiter at www.jpl.nasa.gov/cassini/.
The medium-sized moons of Uranus are Miranda, orbiting 80,600 miles (130,000 km) above the planet; Ariel, 118,400 miles (191,000 km) out; Umbriel, 164,900 miles (266,000 km) out; Titania, 270,300 miles (436,000 km) out; and Oberon, 361,500 miles (583,000 km) out. Of these, the most remarkable is Miranda, which, in contrast to the other moons, is extremely varied geographically, with ridges, valleys, and ovalshaped faults. To the camera of Voyager 2, it presented a chaotic, violently fractured, cobbled-together surface unlike that of any other moon in the solar system. Clearly, this moon had a violent past, though it is unclear whether the disruptions it suffered came from within, without, or both. Some astronomers believe that Miranda was virtually shattered, its pieces coming back together in a near-jumble.

Triton, Neptune’s Large Moon

2010-05-31T04:52:00.000-07:00

Triton’s distinction among the jovian moons is a retrograde (backward) orbit—in the reverse direction of the other moons. Moreover, Triton is inclined on its axis about 20 degrees and is the only large jovian moon that does not orbit in the equatorial plane of its planet. Many astronomers believe that these peculiarities are the result of some violent event, perhaps a collision. Others suggest that Triton did not form as part of the Neptunian system of moons, but was captured later by the planet’s gravitational field.
Triton’s atmosphere is so thin that Voyager 2 had no trouble imaging the moon’s surface, finding vast lakes of water ice or water-ammonia mixtures there. Nitrogen frost, found at the polar caps, appears to retreat and reforms seasonally.

Titan: Saturn’s Highly Atmospheric Moon

2010-04-30T08:54:00.000-07:00

If Io is the most geologically active moon in the solar system and Ganymede the largest, Saturn’s Titan enjoys the distinction of having the most substantial atmosphere of any moon. No wispy, trace covering, Titan’s atmosphere is mostly nitrogen (90 percent) and argon (nearly 10 percent) with traces of methane and other gases in an atmosphere thicker than the earth’s. The earth’s atmosphere consists of 78 percent nitrogen, 21 percent oxygen, and 1 percent argon. Surface pressure on Titan is about 1.5 times that of the earth. But its surface is very cold, about 90 K. Remember 90 K is –183 C!
Titan’s atmosphere prevents any visible-light view of the surface, though astronomers speculate that the interior of Titan is probably a rocky core surrounded by ice, much like Ganymede and Callisto. Because Titan’s temperature is lower than that of Jupiter’s large moons, it has retained its atmosphere. The presence of an atmosphere thick with organic molecules (carbon monoxide, nitrogen compounds, and various hydrocarbons have been detected in the upper atmosphere) has led to speculation that Titan might support some form of life.

Jupiter’s Four Galilean Moons

2010-04-30T08:50:00.000-07:00

The four large moons of Jupiter are very large, ranging in size from Europa, only a bit smaller than the earth’s moon, to Ganymede, which is larger than the planet Mercury. Certainly, they are large enough to have been discovered even through the crude telescope of Galileo Galilei, after whom they have been given their group name. In his notebooks, Galileo called the moons simply I, II, III, and IV. Fortunately, they were eventually given more poetic names, Io, Europa, Ganymede, and Callisto, drawn from Roman mythology. These four are, appropriately, the attendants serving the god Jupiter.
Io is closest to Jupiter, orbiting at an average distance of 261,640 miles (421,240 km);
Europa comes next (416,020 miles or 669,792 km); then Ganymede (663,400 miles or 1,068,074 km); and finally Callisto (1,165,600 miles or 1,876,616 km). Intriguingly, data from Galileo suggests that the core of Io is metallic, and its outer layers rocky—much like the planets closest to the sun. Europa has a rocky core, with a covering of ice and water. The two outer large moons, Ganymede and Callisto, also have more icy surfaces surrounding rocky cores.
This pattern of decreasing density with distance from the central body mimics that of the solar system at large, in which the densest planets, those with metallic cores, orbit nearest the sun, while those composed of less dense materials orbit farthest away. This similarity is no mere coincidence and can be used to discover more about how the Jupiter “system” formed and evolved.
Let’s look briefly at each of Jupiter’s large moons.
Because of our own moon, we are accustomed to thinking of moons generally as geologically dead places. Nothing could be further from the truth in the case of Io, which has the distinction of being the most geologically active object in the solar system. Io’s spectacularly active volcanoes continually spew lava, which keeps the surface of Io relatively smooth—any craters are quickly filled in—but also angry-looking, vivid orange and yellow, sulfurous. In truth, Io is much too small to generate the kind of heat energy that produces vulcanism (volcanic activity); however, orbiting as close as it does to Jupiter, it is subjected to the giant planet’s tremendous gravitational field, which produces tidal forces.These forces stretch the planet from its spherical shape and create the geologically unsettled conditions on Io. Think about what happens when you rapidly squeeze a small rubber ball. The action soon makes the ball quite warm. The forces exerted on Io by Jupiter are analogous to this, but on a titanic scale. Don’t invest in an Io globe for your desk. Its surface features change even faster than political boundaries on the earth! In contrast to Io, Europa is a cold world—but probably not an entirely frozen world, and perhaps, therefore, not a dead world. Images from Galileo suggest that Europa is covered by a crust of water ice, which is networked with cracks and ridges. It is possible that beneath this frozen crust is an ocean of liquid water (not frozen water or water vapor). Liquid water is certainly a requisite of life on Earth, though the presence of water does not dictate the existence of life. Still, the prospects are most exciting. Europa may be a literal lifeboat in the outer solar system, although before we get our hopes up, we need to realize just how cold Europa is at 130 K and how thin its atmosphere is—at a pressure approximately one billionth that on Earth. Ganymede is the largest moon in the solar system (bigger than the planet Mercury). Its surface shows evidence of subsurface ice that was liquefied by the impact of asteroids and then refrozen. Callisto is smaller but similar in composition. Both are ancient worlds of water ice, impacted by craters. There is little evidence of the current presence of liquid water on these moons.

Moons of Gas Giants

2010-04-30T08:47:00.000-07:00

One of the key differences between the terrestrial and many jovian planets is that, while the terrestrials have few if any moons, the jovians each have several: 16 (at least) for Jupiter, over 25 for Saturn, 15 for Uranus, and 8 for Neptune. Of these known moons, only 6 are classified as large bodies, comparable in size to the earth’s moon. Our own moon is all the more remarkable when compared to the moons of the much larger jovian planets. It is larger than all of the known moons except for Ganymede, Titan, Callisto, and Io. The largest Jovian moons (in order of decreasing radius) are …

➤ Ganymede orbits Jupiter; approximate radius: 1,630 miles (2,630 km)
➤ Titan orbits Saturn; approximate radius: 1,600 miles (2,580 km)
➤ Callisto orbits Jupiter; approximate radius: 1,488 miles (2,400 km)
➤ Io orbits Jupiter; approximate radius: 1,130 miles (1,820 km)
➤ Europa orbits Jupiter; approximate radius: 973 miles (1,570 km)
➤ Triton orbits Neptune; approximate radius: 856 miles (1,380 km)

It is interesting to compare these to the earth’s moon, with a radius of about 1,079 miles (1,740 km), and the planet Pluto, smaller than them all, with a radius of 713 miles (1,150 km).
The rest of the moons are either medium-sized bodies—with radii from 124 miles (200 km) to 465 miles (750 km)—or small bodies, with radii of less than 93 miles (150 km). Many of the moons are either entirely or mostly composed of water ice, and some of the smallest bodies are no more than irregularly shaped rock and ice chunks. Thanks to the Voyager and Galileo space probes, we have some remarkable images and data about the moons at the far end of our solar system. Those that have received the most attention, since they are the largest, are the so-called Galilean moons of Jupiter; Saturn’s Titan; and Neptune’s Triton. They were first observed in 1610 by Galileo Galilei.

More Rings on the Far Planets

2010-03-31T11:22:00.000-07:00

During a 1977 Earth-based observation of Uranus in the course of a stellar occultation (the passage of Uranus in front of the star), the star’s light dimmed several times before disappearing behind the planet. That dimming of the star’s light revealed the presence of nine thin, faint rings around the planet. Voyager 2 revealed another pair. Uranus’s rings are very narrow—most of them less than 6 miles (10 km) wide—and are kept together by the kind of shepherd satellites that are found outside of Saturn’s F ring. Neptune has rings similar to those of Uranus.

Looking at Saturn with Voyager

2010-03-31T11:15:00.001-07:00

The Voyager probes told us much more about the rings than we could have discovered from our earthly perspective.
First, data from Voyager confirmed that the rings are indeed made up of particles, primarily of water ice. Voyager also revealed additional rings, invisible from an earthly perspective. The F ring is more than twice the size of the A ring, stretching out to 186,000 miles.
The D ring is the innermost ring—closer to the planet than the innermost ring visible from the earth, the C ring. F and E are outside of the A ring.
But these additional rings are only part of what
Voyager told us. Voyager 2 revealed that the six major rings are composed of many thousands of individual ringlets, which astronomers liken to ripples or waves in the rings.
Voyager 2 also revealed many gaps within the rings, which are believed to be caused by small moonlets, which may be considered very large ring particles—a few miles in diameter—in orbit around Saturn. The gaps are, in effect, the wake of these bodies. Perhaps the most remarkable Voyager discovery concerning Saturn’s rings concerns the outermost F ring. Its structure is highly complex, sometimes appearing braided. Apparently, the structure of the F ring is influenced by two small outlying moons that bracket the ring called shepherd satellites, which seem to keep the F ring particles from moving in or out.

Looking at the Saturn from Earth

2010-03-31T11:11:00.000-07:00

Galileo’s telescope, a wondrous device in 1610, would be no match even for a decent amateur instrument today. When he first observed the planet, all Galileo could tell about Saturn was that it seemed to have “ears.” He speculated that this feature might be topographical, great mountain ranges of some sort. Or perhaps that Saturn was a triple planet system. It wasn’t until a half-century later, in 1656, that Christian Huygens, of the Netherlands, was able to make out this feature for what it was: a thin ring encircling the planet. A few years later, in the 1670s, the Italian-born French astronomer Gian Domenico Cassini (1625–1712) discovered the dark gap between what are now called rings A and B. This feature is now called the Cassini division.
Six major rings, all lying in the equatorial plane of Saturn, have been identified, of
which three, in addition to the Cassini division and a subtler demarcation called the
Encke division, can be seen from the earth with a good telescope. With a typical amateur
instrument you should be able to see ring A (the outermost ring), the Cassini division, and inside the Cassini division, ring B.
If you become a serious Saturn observer, you will notice that the rings of Saturn are seen at different angles at different times. Sometimes we look down on the top of the ring system, and at other times we see
it “edge-on.” When the angle is right, it is possible to see the dramatic image of Saturn’s shadow cast onto its rings. Consult any of the guides in Appendix E for information on where to look for Saturn and when to view it.
The rings readily visible from the earth are vast, the outer radius of the A ring stretching more than 84,800 miles.
Big as the rings are, they are also very thin—in places only about 65 feet (20 m) thick. If you wanted to make an accurate scale model of the rings and fashioned them to the thickness of this sheet of paper, they would have to be a mile wide to remain in proper scale.
Speculation as to the composition of the rings began with their discovery in the mid-seventeenth century. In 1857, James Clerk Maxwell, the British physicist who had been critical of the nebular hypothesis of the formation of the solar system, concluded that the rings must consist of many small particles in orbit around Saturn. By the end of the century, the instrumentation existed to measure reflectivity, the differences in the way sunlight was reflected from the rings. These observations showed that the rings behaved as was to be expected if they were made up of particles; that is, orbital speeds closer to the planet were faster than those farther out—they were in differential rotation, not rotating as a solid disk might.
Where do the rings come from? There are two ways to think about the question, and both involve the gravitational field of the host planet. First, the rings may be the result of a shattered moon. According to this theory, a satellite could have been orbiting too close to the planet and have been torn apart by tidal forces (the same sort of forces that pulled comet Shoemaker-Levy 9 into pieces), or it might have been shattered by a collision. In either case, the fragments of the former moon continued to orbit the planet, but now as fragmentary material. The other possibility is that the rings are material left over from the formation of the planet itself, material that was never able to coalesce into planets due to the strong gravitational field of the host planet.

The Jovian Magnetospheres

2010-02-28T04:51:00.000-08:00

Jupiter’s magnetosphere is the most powerful in the solar system. Its extent reaches some 18,600,000 miles (30 million km) north to south. Saturn has a magnetosphere that extends about 600,000 miles (1 million km) toward the sun. The magnetospheres of Uranus and Neptune are smaller, weaker, and (strangely) offset from the gravitational center of the planets.
The rapid rate of rotation and the theorized presence of electrically conductive metallic hydrogen inside Jupiter and Saturn account for the generation of these planets’ strong magnetic fields. While Uranus and Neptune also rotate rapidly, it is less clear what internal material generates the magnetic fields surrounding these planets, since they are not thought to have metallic hydrogen in their cores. With charged particles trapped by their magnetospheres, the jovian planets experience Aurora Borealis, or “Northern Lights,” just as we do here on Earth. These “lights” occur when charged particles escape the magnetosphere and spiral along the field lines onto the planet’s poles. The Hubble Space Telescope has imaged such auroras at the poles of Jupiter and Saturn.

Inside the Jovians

2010-02-28T04:50:00.000-08:00

How do you gather information about the interior of planets that lack a solid surface and that are so different from the earth? You combine the best observational data you have with testable, constrained speculation known as theoretical modeling. Doing just this, astronomers have concluded that the interiors of all four jovians consist largely of the elements found in their atmospheres: hydrogen and helium. As we go deeper into the planet, the gases, at increasing pressure and temperature, become liquid. In the case of Jupiter, it is believed that the hot liquid hydrogen is transformed from molecular hydrogen to metallic hydrogen and behaves much like a molten metal, in which electrons are not bound to a single nucleus, but move freely, conducting electrical charge. As we shall see in just a moment, this state of hydrogen is likely related to the creation of Jupiter’s magnetosphere—the result of its powerful magnetic field. Astronomers are less confident about the nature of the very core of Jupiter, though most believe that it is a rocky core the diameter of the earth. Of course, the incredible temperatures and pressures at this depth in Jupiter mean that the material in the core might behave very differently from materials that we have studied on Earth. Saturn’s internal composition is doubtless similar to Jupiter’s, though its layer of metallic hydrogen is probably proportionately thinner, while its core is slightly larger. Temperature and pressure at the Saturnine core are certainly less extreme than on Jupiter.
Uranus and Neptune are believed to have rocky cores of similar size to those of Jupiter
and Saturn surrounded by a slushy layer consisting of water clouds and, perhaps, the
ammonia that is largely absent from the outer atmosphere of these planets. Because
Uranus and Neptune have significant magnetospheres, some scientists speculate that the ammonia might create an electrically conducting layer, needed to generate the detected magnetic field.
Above the slushy layer is molecular hydrogen. Without the enormous internal pressures present in Jupiter and Saturn, the hydrogen does not assume a metallic form.

The Atmospheres of Uranus and Neptune

2010-02-28T04:44:00.000-08:00

The atmospheres of Uranus and Neptune have not been probed by unmanned space vehicles, but they have been studied spectroscopically from the earth, revealing that, like Jupiter and Saturn, they are mostly hydrogen (about 84 percent) and helium (about 14 percent). Methane makes up about 3 percent of Neptune’s atmosphere, and 2 percent of Uranus’s, but ammonia is far less in abundance on either planet than on Jupiter and Saturn. Because Uranus and Neptune are colder and have much lower atmospheric pressure than the larger planets, any ammonia present is frozen. The lack of ammonia in the atmosphere and the significant presence of methane give both Uranus and Neptune a bluish appearance, since methane absorbs red light and reflects blue. Uranus, with slightly less methane than Neptune, is blue-green, while Neptune is quite blue.
Uranus reveals almost no atmospheric features. Those that are there are submerged under layers of haze. Neptune, as seen by Voyager 2, reveals more atmospheric features and even some storm systems, including a Great Dark Spot, an area of storm comparable in size to the earth. Discovered by Voyager 2 in 1989, the Great Dark Spot had vanished by the time the Hubble Space Telescope observed the planet in 1994.

Jupiter's Layers of Gas

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On July 13, 1995, Galileo released an atmospheric probe, which plunged into Jupiter’s atmosphere and transmitted data for almost an hour before it was destroyed by intense atmospheric heat and pressure. After analysis of this data (and earlier data from Voyager), astronomers concluded that Jupiter’s atmosphere is arranged in distinct layers. Since there is no solid surface to call sea level, the troposphere (the region containing the clouds we see) is considered zero altitude, and the atmosphere is mapped in positive and negative distances from this. Just above the troposphere is a haze layer, and just below it are white clouds of ammonia ice. Temperatures in this region are 125–150 K. Starting at about –40 miles (60 km) below the ammonia ice level is a cloud layer of ammonium hydrosulfide ice, in which temperatures climb to 200 K. Below this level are clouds of water ice and water vapor, down to about –60 miles (100 km). Further down are the substances that make up the interior of the planet: hydrogen, helium, methane, ammonia, and water, with temperatures steadily rising the deeper we go.

Bands of Atmosphere

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The atmospheric bands that are Jupiter’s most striking feature are the result of convective motion and zonal wind patterns. Warm gases rise, while cooler gases sink. The location of particular bands appear to be associated with the wind speed on Jupiter at various latitudes.
Anyone who watches an earthly television weather forecast is familiar with high-pressure and lowpressure areas. Air masses move from high pressure regions to low pressure regions. But we never see these regions on the earth as regular zones or bands that circle the planet. That’s because the earth doesn’t rotate nearly as fast as Jupiter. The rapid rotation of the giant planet spreads the regions of high and low pressure out over the entire planet.

The Great Red Spot

2010-01-31T08:45:00.000-08:00

The Great Red Spot was first reported by the British scientist Robert Hooke (1635–1703). It is a storm, a swirling hurricane or whirlpool, of gigantic dimensions (twice the size of the earth), at least 300 years old. It rotates once every six days and is accompanied by other smaller storms. Neptune has a similar storm called the Great Dark Spot.
How could a storm last for three centuries or more?
We know from our experience on the earth that hurricanes form over the ocean and may remain active there for days. Once they move over land, however, they are soon spent (albeit often destructively); the land mass disrupts the flow pattern and removes the source of energy. On Jupiter, however, there is no land. Once a storm starts, it continues indefinitely, until a larger storm disrupts it. The Great Red Spot is the biggest storm on the planet.

Rotation: A New Twist

2009-12-31T13:16:00.000-08:00

With all the bands and surface features of the biggest jovian planets, you’d think it would be relatively easy to calculate rotation rates “by eye.” Just look for a prominent surface feature and time how long it takes that feature to make one trip around.
Well, it’s not so easy. Because these planets lack solid surfaces, different features on the surface actually rotate at differing rates! This differential rotation is not dramatic in the case of Jupiter whose equatorial region rotates only slightly faster than regions at higher latitudes. East-west winds move at about 190 miles per hour (300 km/h) in Jupiter’s equatorial regions, and at a zippy 800 miles per hour (1,300 km/h) in the equatorial regions of Saturn. It turns out that the best way to clock the rotation rates of these planets is not to look at their atmospheres, but to measure something tied to the planets’ cores. The periods of fluctuation in the radio emission (which arise from the planets’ magnetic fields) are taken to be the “true” rotation rate.
While Neptune and Saturn are slightly tipped on their axes similar to the earth (30, 27, and 24 degrees, respectively), Jupiter’s axis is nearly perpendicular to the plane of its orbit; the planet tilts from the perpendicular a mere 3 degrees. The true oddball in this respect is Uranus, which tilts 98 degrees, in effect lying on its side. The result of this peculiarity is that Uranus has the most extreme seasons in the solar system. While one pole experiences continuous daylight for 42 Earth years at a stretch, the other is plunged into an equal period of darkness.
It’s interesting to note that if the earth were tipped on its axis like Uranus, a city like Atlanta would experience 70 days when the sun never rose, and 70 days when the sun never set. The North Pole would have 6 months of darkness, and 6 months of sunlight.
On the vernal and autumnal equinoxes, day and night in Atlanta would still each last 12 hours.

Views from the Voyagers and Galileo

2009-12-31T13:15:00.000-08:00

During the 1970s and 1980s, two Voyager space probes gave us unprecedented images of the jovian planets. Voyager 1 visited Jupiter and Saturn, and Voyager 2 added Uranus and Neptune to the list.
The Voyager missions also revealed volcanic activity on Io, one of Jupiter’s moons. As
for Saturn, a new, previously unknown system of rings emerged: several thousand
ringlets. Ten additional moons were discovered orbiting Uranus, which also revealed
the presence of a stronger magnetic field than had been predicted. And the Neptune
flyby led to the discovery of three planetary rings as well as six previously unknown moons. The hitherto featureless blue face of the planet was now resolved into atmospheric bands, as well as giant cloud streaks. As a result of the Voyager 2 flyby, the magnetospheres of Neptune and Uranus were detected. As with the Van Allen belts around the earth, the magnetospheres of these planets trap charged particles (protons and electrons) from the solar wind.
If only its namesake could have lived to see it. Launched in 1989, Galileo reached Jupiter in 1995 and began a complex 23-month orbital tour of the planet and its almost 400 years after the Italian astronomer first gazed on its colored bands and moons. Among the most extraordinary of
Galileo’s discoveries is a new ring of dust that has a retrograde (backward) orbit around Jupiter. About 700,000 miles (1,120,000 km) in diameter, this doughnut-shaped ring moves in the opposite direction of the rotating planet and its moons. Why does it move in this fashion? No one yet knows.
The Cassini space probe passed Jupiter in early 2001 and sent back images from its many cameras.

Earthbound Views: Jupiter and Saturn

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In contrast to Uranus and Neptune, Jupiter and Saturn make for easy viewing. On a good, dark night, even a quite modest telescope will reveal the planets’ belts. The use of colored filters can enhance bands in Jupiter’s atmosphere. Moreover, Jupiter rotates so fast (its day consumes a mere ten hours) that any details you see will perceptibly move across the planet’s face if you observe long enough. Its rapid rotation also makes the planet appear noticeably oblate (elongated). It is even possible to observe the near moons (like Io) emerging from behind Jupiter as they orbit. Although smaller and nearly twice as distant as Jupiter—and therefore appearing much smaller and dimmer than the larger planet—the sight of Saturn through a refractor of at least a 4-inch aperture or a reflector with at least a 6-inch aperture is thrilling. Expect to see the planetary disk and its belts and zones, as well as its celebrated rings (discussed later in this chapter). You may even catch a glimpse of the moons, including Titan, brightest and biggest of Saturn’s nine moons (which we will discuss in the next chapter). Titan’s atmospheric pressure is similar to Earth’s, although its composition and temperature are different. Titan is slightly larger in diameter than the planet Mercury.

Uranus and Neptune from Earth

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It is possible for the amateur astronomer to see both Uranus and Neptune. In fact, if you know where to look, Uranus is visible, albeit very faintly, even to the naked eye, provided that the night is very dark, very clear, and you are far from sources of light pollution. To view Neptune, which is much fainter than Uranus, requires an advanced amateur telescope. You don’t have to spend years sweeping the skies to find these dim and distant worlds.
But what can you expect to see? Uranus will appear as a greenish disk, probably featureless—though it is not impossible, given a very good telescope and superb atmospheric conditions, to see atmospheric features and bright spots. It is even possible to see Titania and Oberon, the largest of the planet’s five moons. Even many advanced amateur astronomers have not seen Neptune. Blue in color, it is aptly named for the Roman god of the sea. If you locate the planet at all, it will be a featureless disk.

Understanding Uranus and Neptune

2009-11-30T07:32:00.000-08:00

Since ancient times, the inventory of the solar system was clear and seemingly complete: a sun and, in addition to Earth, five planets, Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn. Then came along one of those scientific busybodies that the eighteenth century produced in abundance. Johann Daniel Titius, or Tietz (1729–1796), a Prussian born in what is now Poland, poked his curious nose into everything.
He was a physicist, biologist, and astronomer who taught at the University of Wittenberg.
It occurred to him, in 1766, that the spacing of the planetary orbits from the sun followed a fairly regular mathematical sequence. He doubled a sequence of numbers beginning with 0 and 3, like this: 0, 3, 6, 12, 24, 48, and so on.
He added 4 to each number in the sequence, then divided each result by 10. Of the first seven answers Titius derived—0.4, 0.7, 1.0, 1.6, 2.8, 5.2, 10.0—six very closely approximated the relative distances from the sun, expressed in astronomical units (remember, an A.U. is the mean distance between the earth and the sun), of the six known planets.
No one paid much attention to Titius’s mathematical curiosity until another Prussian astronomer, Johann Bode (1747–1826), popularized the sequence in 1772. Neat as it was, the sequence, which became known as the Titius-Bode Law or simply Bode’s Law, is now generally thought to be nothing more than numerology. For one thing, there is no planet at 2.8 A.U. This gap would be filled later by the discovery of the asteroid belt at this location. While the rule gives a number that is close to Uranus, it breaks down for the positions of Neptune and Pluto. Since those planets had yet to be discovered, no one saw it as a problem. But what about the numbers beyond 10.0 A.U.? Did the Titius-Bode law predict other, as yet unknown, planets?
The people of our planet did not have to wait long for an answer. On March 13, 1781, the great British astronomer William Herschel, tirelessly mapping the skies with his sister Caroline, took note of what he believed to be a comet in the region of a star called H Geminorum. On August 31 of the same year, a mathematician named Lexell pegged the orbit of this “comet” at 16 A.U.: precisely the next vacant slot the Titius-Bode Law had predicted.
Herschel, with the aid of a telescope, had discovered the first new planet since ancient times.
Once the planet had been found, a number of astronomers began plotting its orbit. But something was wrong. Repeatedly, over the next half century, the planet’s observed positions did not totally coincide with its mathematically predicted positions. By the early nineteenth century, a number of astronomers began speculating that the new planet’s apparent violation of Newton’s laws of motion had to be caused by the influence of some as yet undiscovered celestial body—that is, yet another planet. For the first time, Isaac Newton’s work was used to identify the irregularity in a planet’s orbit and to predict where another planet should be. All good scientific theories are able to make testable predictions, and here was a golden opportunity for Newton’s theory of gravity.
On July 3, 1841, John Couch Adams (1819–1892), a Cambridge University student, wrote in his diary:
“Formed a design in the beginning of this week of investigating, as soon as possible after taking my degree, the irregularities in the motion of Uranus … in order to find out whether they may be attributed to the action of an undiscovered planet beyond it ….”
True to his word, in 1845, he sent to James Challis, director of the Cambridge Observatory, his calculations on where the new planet, as yet undiscovered, could be found. Challis passed the information to another astronomer, George Airy, who didn’t get around to doing anything with the figures for a year. By that time, working with calculations supplied by another astronomer (a Frenchman named Jean Joseph Leverrier), Johann Galle, of the Berlin Observatory, found the planet that would be called Neptune. The date was September 23, 1846.

Gas Planets Statistics

2009-11-30T07:26:00.000-08:00

The most immediately striking difference between the terrestrial and jovian worlds are in size and density. It is useful to recall our rough scale: If the earth is a golf ball 0.2 miles from the sun, then Jupiter is a basketball 1 mile away from the sun, and Pluto is a chickpea 8 miles away. At this scale, the sun’s diameter would be as big as the height of a typical ceiling (almost 10 feet). While the jovian planets dwarf the terrestrials, they are much less dense. Let’s sum up the jovians, compared to the earth:
We have given a gravitational force and a temperaturenat the surface of the jovian planets, but as we’ll see, they do not really have a surface in the sense that the terrestrial planets do. These numbers are the values for the outer radius of their swirling atmosphere. One surprise might be that the surface gravity of Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune is very close to what we have at the surface the earth.
Gravitational force depends on two factors, you’ll recall, mass and radius. Although these outer planets are much more massive, their radii are so large that the force of gravity at their “surfaces” is close to that of the smaller, less massive Earth. Of the jovians, Jupiter and Saturn have the most in common with one another. Both are huge, with their bulk mainly hydrogen and helium. If you recall from our description of the early, developing solar system, the outer solar system (farther from the sun) contained more water and organic materials, and the huge mass and cooler temperatures of the outer planets meant that they were able to gravitationally hold on to the hydrogen and helium in their atmospheres.
The terrestrials consist mostly of rocky and metallic materials, and the jovian planets primarily of lighter elements. The density of a planet is determined by dividing its mass by its volume. While the outer planets are clearly much more massive (which, one might think, would make them more dense), they are much larger in radius, and so encompass a far greater volume. For that reason, the outer planets have (on average) a much lower density than the inner planets, But what of Uranus and Neptune—distant, faint, and unknown to ancient astronomers? While they are both much larger than the earth, they are less than half the diameter of Jupiter and Saturn; in our scale model, they would be about the size of a cantaloupe.
Uranus and Neptune, though less massive than Saturn, are significantly more dense. Neptune is more dense than Jupiter as well, and Uranus approaches Jupiter in density. Take a look at the following “Astronomer’s Notebook” sidebar to understand
why this is so.
Consider Neptune. Remember, density is equal to the mass of an object divided by its volume. While the mass of Neptune is about 19 times smaller than that of Jupiter, its volume is 24 times smaller. Thus, we expect its density to be about 24⁄19 or 1.3 times greater.
While we cannot yet peer beneath the atmospheric surface of Uranus and Neptune, the higher densities of these two planets provide a valuable clue to what’s inside.
Reflecting their genesis, all of the jovian planets have thick atmospheres of hydrogen and helium covering a core slightly larger than Earth or Venus. The rocky cores of all four of the jovian planets are believed to have similar radii, on the order of 4,300 to 6,200 miles (7,000 to 10,000 km); but this core represents a much smaller fraction of the full radius of Jupiter and Saturn than do the cores of smaller Uranus and Neptune— thus the higher average density of the latter two planets.
The atmospheres of the jovians are ancient, probably little changed from what they were early in the creation of the solar system. With their strong gravitational fields and great mass, these planets have held onto their primordial atmospheric hydrogen and helium, whereas most of these elements long ago escaped from the less massive terrestrial planets, which have much weaker gravitational pull. But here’s where it gets really strange. On the earth, we have the sky (and atmosphere) above, and the solid ground below. In the case of the jovians, the gaseous atmosphere never really ends. It just becomes denser with depth, as layer upon layer of it presses down.
There is no “normal” solid surface to these planets! As the gases become more dense, they become liquid, which is presumably what lies at the core of the jovian worlds. When astronomers speak of the “rocky” cores of these planets, they are talking about chemical composition rather than physical state. Even on the earth, rock may be heated and pressed sufficiently to liquefy it (think of volcanic lava). Thus it is on the jovians: gas giants, whose atmospheres become increasingly dense, but never solid, surrounding a liquid core. In the case of Jupiter and Saturn, the pressures are so great that even the element hydrogen takes on a liquid metallic form.

Understanding gas planets

2009-10-31T07:23:00.000-07:00

If you’ve ever been outside late at night looking to the south, chances are you’ve already seen the largest planet in the solar system, Jupiter. You may have thought that it was just a bright star, and that is exactly what the ancients thought, except that they realized it moved in a way unlike the other stars. Imagine Galileo’s surprise, then, in 1610, when he pointed a telescope at the planet and saw its surface and four smaller bodies orbiting it. His discovery would cause a good deal of upheaval in the way humans viewed themselves in the universe, and Galileo himself would end up in trouble with the Church. All this because of that wandering star in the sky. All of the planets are found near an imaginary arc across the sky that we call the ecliptic. Long before astronomers knew that the terrestrial planets shared common features, they knew that two of the “wanderers” that they watched were different. While Mercury and Venus never strayed far from the sun, and Mars moved in a fairly rapid path across the sky, Jupiter and Saturn moved ponderously, majestically across the stellar ocean. In that motion, we had a clue that the outer planets—those farthest from the sun—were unique long before we had telescopes. Mercury, Venus, and Mars may seem inhospitable, forbidding, and downright deadly, but our sister terrestrial planets have more in common with the earth than the giants of the solar system’s farthest reaches. The jovian planets are truly other-worldly, many times larger and more massive than the earth, yet less dense: They are balls of gas that coalesced around a dense core, accompanied by multiple moons and even rings. In recent years, thanks to the Hubble Space Telescope and planetary probes such as the Voyagers and Galileo, the jovian planets and their moons have given up some of their mysteries.

Martian Moons

2009-10-31T07:07:00.000-07:00

Mars and Earth are the only terrestrial planets with moons. As we have said, the earth’s moon is remarkably large, comparable in size to some of the moons of Jupiter. The moons of Mars, colorfully named Phobos (Fear) and Deimos (Panic), after the horses that drew the chariot of the Roman war god, were not discovered until 1877. They are rather unimpressive as moons go, resembling large asteroids. They are small and irregularly shaped (Phobos is 17.4 miles long 12.4 miles [28 km 20 km] wide, and Deimos is 10 miles 6.2 miles [16 km 10 km]). They are almost certainly asteroids that were gravitationally captured by the planet and fell into orbit around it.

Water in Mars

2009-09-30T02:00:00.002-07:00

Clearly visible on images produced by Martian probes are runoff and outflow channels,
which are believed to be dry river beds, evidence that water once flowed as a liquid
on Mars. Geological evidence dates the Martian highlands to four billion years
ago, the time in which water was apparently sufficiently plentiful to cause widespread
flooding. Recent theories suggest that at the time, Mars had a thicker atmosphere that
allowed water to exist in a liquid state, even at its low surface temperatures.
The Mars Global Surveyor mission, which has established an orbit around the red
planet and is transmitting early data back to the earth, has found further geological
evidence for the presence of liquid and subsurface water. Such evidence has kept alive
hopes that life may have existed—or may even yet exist, perhaps on a microbial
level—on Mars.

Volcanoes, Craters, and a “Grand Canyon”

2009-09-30T01:51:00.000-07:00

The Mariner series of planetary probes launched in the 1960s and 1970s revealed a startling difference between the southern and northern hemispheres of Mars. The southern hemisphere is far more cratered than the northern hemisphere, which is covered with wind-blown material as well as volcanic lava. There have even been recent proposals that the smooth northern hemisphere hides a frozen ocean.
Volcanoes and lava plains from ancient volcanic activity abound on Mars. Because the planet’s surface gravity is low (0.38 that of the earth), the volcanoes can rise to spectacular heights. Like Venus, Mars lacks a strong magnetic field, but, in contrast to Venus, it rotates rapidly; therefore, astronomers conclude that the core of Mars is nonmetallic, nonliquid, or both. Astronomers believe that the core of the smaller Mars has cooled and is likely solid, consisting largely of iron sulfide.
Unlike the earth, Mars failed to develop much tectonic activity (instability of the crust), probably because its smaller size meant that the outer layers of the planet cooled rapidly. Instead, volcanic activity was probably quite intense some 2 billion years ago.
Also impressive are Martian canyons, including Valles Marineris, the “Mariner
Valley,” which runs some 2,500 miles (4,025 km) along the Martian equator and is as
much as 75 miles (120 km) wide and, in some places, more than four miles (6.5 km)
deep. The Valles Marineris is not a canyon in the earthly sense, since it was not cut
by flowing water, but is a geological fault feature.

Why Mars Is Red

2009-09-30T01:48:00.000-07:00

If we feel any disappointment at the loss of our cherished Martian canals, at least we can still enjoy the image of the “angry red planet.” Yet the source of the reddish hue is not the bloody spirit of the Roman god of war, but simple iron ore. The Martian surface contains large amounts of iron oxide, red and rusting. As Viking 1 and Mars Pathfinder images revealed, even the Martian sky takes on a rust-pink tinge during seasonal dust storms.
The dust is blown about by winds that kick up in the Martian summer. These winds play a prominent role on Mars, forming vast dunes and streaking craters. An especially large dune is found around the north polar cap.

The Martian Chronicles

2009-08-31T01:18:00.000-07:00

Percival Lowell was born in Boston in 1855, son of one of New England’s wealthiest and most distinguished families. His early career was absorbed in literature (his sister Amy Lowell became a famous poet) and Far Eastern travel. He became a diplomat, serving as counselor and foreign secretary to the Korean Special Mission to the United States. But in the 1890s, he read a translation of an 1877 book by Giovanni Schiaparelli, the same Italian astronomer who had concluded that Mercury’s rotation was synchronized with its orbit. Reporting his observations of the surface of Mars, Schiaparelli mentioned having discovered canali.
The word, which means nothing more than “channels” in Italian, was mistranslated as “canals” in what Lowell read, and the budding astronomer, already charmed by exotic places, set off in quest of the most exotic of all: Mars—and whatever race of beings had excavated canals upon it.
Lowell dedicated his considerable family fortune to
the study of the planet Mars. He built a private observatory in Flagstaff, Arizona, and, after years of observation, published Mars and Its Canals in 1906. Noting that the canal network underwent seasonal changes, growing darker in the summer, Lowell theorized that technologically sophisticated beings had created the canals to transport crop irrigation water from the Martian polar ice caps. In 1924, astronomers searched for radio signals from the planet (using a technique that anticipated the current search for radio signals from the universe), but to no avail. Yet the idea of intelligent life on Mars was so ingrained in the public imagination that, on October 30, 1938, Orson Welles’s celebrated radio adaptation of H. G. Wells’s 1898 science fiction novel about an invasion from Mars, War of the Worlds, triggered national panic. A variety of space probes have now yielded very high resolution images of Mars, revealing the apparent canals as natural features, such as craters and canyons. While it is true that Mars undergoes seasonal changes, the ice caps consist of a combination of frozen carbon dioxide and water.

Mars: “That Looks Like New Mexico!”

2009-08-31T01:04:00.000-07:00

Those of us who were glued to our television sets when NASA shared images of the Martian surface produced by the Mars Pathfinder probe were struck by the resemblance of the landscape to the earth. Even the vivid red coloring of the rocky soil seems familiar to anyone who has been to parts of Australia or even the state of Georgia—though the general landscape, apart from its color, more closely resembles desert New Mexico.
In contrast to Mercury and Venus, which are barely inclined on their axes (in fact, their axes are almost perpendicular to their orbital planes), Mars is inclined at an angle of 25.2 degrees—quite close to the earth’s inclination of 23.5 degrees. And that’s only one similarity. While Mercury and Venus move in ways very different from the earth, Mars moves through space in ways that should seem quite familiar to us. It rotates on its axis once in every 24.6 hours—a little more than an Earth day—and because it is inclined much as the earth is, it also experiences familiar seasonal cycles.
The peculiarities of Mercury and Venus make Mars look more similar to the earth than it really is. Generations have looked to the red planet as a kind of solar system brother, partly believing, partly wishing, partly fearing that life might be found there. But the fact is that life as it exists on Earth cannot exist on the other terrestrial planets.

The Earth: Just Right

2009-08-31T01:03:00.000-07:00

In our march through the terrestrial planets, the next logical stop would be Earth. We have mentioned some of the unique aspects of our home planet in earlier chapters, and will mention more in the course of the book. In particular, we will look at the earth as a home to life when we discuss the search for life elsewhere in the Milky Way. But let’s take a brief moment to think of the earth as just another one of the terrestrial planets. The earth is almost the same size as Venus, and has a rotational period and inclination on its axis almost identical to Mars. How is it, then, that the earth is apparently the only one of these three planets to support life?
As in real estate, it comes down to three things: location, location, and location. The earth is far enough from the sun that it has not experienced the runaway greenhouse effect of Venus. It is close enough to the sun to maintain a surface temperature that allows for liquid water, and massive enough to hold onto its atmosphere. The molten rock in the mantle layer above its core keeps the crust of the earth in motion (called plate tectonics), and the rotation of this charged material has generated a magnetic field that absorbs and holds on to charged particles that escape from the sun in the solar wind.
These conditions have created an environment in which life has gotten a foothold and flourished. And life has acquired enough diversity that the occasional setback (like the asteroid that struck the earth some 65 million years ago) may change the course of evolution of life on the planet, but has not yet wiped it out. Our home planet is truly remarkable, and remarkably balanced. The more we learn about our terrestrial neighbors, the more we should appreciate the delicate balance that supports life on Earth.

Venusian Atmosphere

2009-07-30T09:19:00.000-07:00

Chemically, the atmosphere of Venus consists mostly of carbon dioxide (96.5 percent). The remainder is mostly nitrogen. These are organic gases, which might lead one to jump to the conclusion that life—some form of life—may exist on Venus. Indeed, during the 1930s, spectroscopic studies of Venus revealed the temperature of the planet’s upper atmosphere to be about 240 K—close to the earth’s surface temperature of 290 K. Some speculated that the environment of Venus might be a dense jungle.
In the 1950s, radio astronomy was used for the first time to penetrate the dense cloud layer that envelops Venus. It turned out that surface temperatures were not 240 K, but were closer to 600 K. Those temperatures are incompatible with any form of life we know. But the outlook got only worse. Spacecraft probes soon revealed that the dense atmosphere of Venus creates high surface pressure—the crushing equivalent of 90 Earth atmospheres—and that surface temperatures actually top 730 K. And what about those clouds?
On Earth, clouds are composed of water vapor. But Venus shows little sign of water.
Its clouds consist of sulfuric acid droplets.

The Sun Sets on Venus (in the East)

2009-07-30T09:15:00.000-07:00

As we’ve seen, Mercury’s peculiar rotational pattern can be explained by its proximity to the sun. But no such gravitational explanation is available for the peculiar behavior of Venus. If at 59 days, Mercury rotates on its axis slowly, Venus is even more sluggish, consuming 243 Earth days to accomplish a single spin. What’s more, it spins backwards! That is, viewed from a perspective above the earth’s North Pole, all of the planets (terrestrial and jovian) spin counterclockwise—except for Venus, which spins clockwise.
Nobody knows why for sure, but we can guess that the rotational peculiarities of Venus were caused by some random event that occurred during the formation of the solar system—a collision or close encounter with another planetesimal, perhaps. A violent collision, like the one that formed the earth’s moon, might have started Venus on its slow backward spin.

Forecast for Venus: “Hot, Overcast, and Dense”

2009-07-30T09:13:00.000-07:00

Venus’s thick atmosphere and its proximity to the sun are a cruel combination. The planet absorbs more of the sun’s energy (being closer to the sun than the earth) and because of its heavy cloud cover, is unable to radiate away much of the heat. Even before astronomers saw pictures of the planet’s surface, they knew that it would not be a welcoming place.
Until the advent of radar imaging aboard space probes such as Pioneer Venus (in the late 1970s) and Magellan (in the mid-1990s), the surface of Venus was a shrouded mystery. Optical photons bounce off the upper clouds of the planet, and all we can see with even the best optical telescopes is the planet’s swirling upper atmosphere. Modern radio imaging techniques (which involve bouncing radio signals off the surface) have revealed a Venusian surface of rolling plains punctuated by a pair of raised land masses that resemble the earth’s continents. Venus has no coastlines, all of it’s surface water having long ago evaporated in the ghastly heat. These land masses, called Ishtar Terra and Aphrodite Terra, are plateaus in a harsh waterless world.
The Venusian landscape sports some low mountains and volcanoes. Volcanic activity on the surface has produced calderas (volcanic craters) andcoronae, which are vast, rough, circular areas created by titanic volcanic upwellings of the mantle.
Venus is surely lifeless biologically, but geologically it is very active. Volcanic activity is ongoing, and many astronomers believe that the significant, but fluctuating, level of sulfur dioxide above the Venusian cloud cover is the result of volcanic eruptions. Probes sent to Venus thus far have not detected a magnetosphere; however, astronomers still believe that the planet has an iron-rich core. Scientists reason that the core of Venus might simply rotate too slowly to generate a detectable magnetic field.

“I Can’t Breathe in Mercury!”

2009-06-29T21:20:00.000-07:00

Like the earth’s moon, Mercury possesses insufficient mass to hold—by gravitation—an atmosphere for very long. In the same way that mass attracting mass built up planetesimals, so the early planets built up atmospheres by hanging on to them with their gravitational pull. If an atmosphere was ever associated with Mercury, the heating of the sun and the planet’s small mass helped it to escape long ago. Without an atmosphere to speak of, the planet is vulnerable to bombardment by meteoroids, x-rays, and ultraviolet radiation, as well as extremes of heat and cold. In sunlight, the planet heats to 700 K. In darkness, with no atmosphere to retain heat, it cools to 100 K. Despite the absence of atmosphere, regions at the poles of Mercury may remain permanently in shadow, with temperatures as low as 125 K. These regions, and similar regions on the earth’s moon, may have retained some water ice.

Close Encounter with Mercury

2009-06-29T21:19:00.000-07:00

If Mercury was difficult for a professional astronomer like Schiaparelli to observe, it is even more challenging for the amateur. It is never farther than 28 degrees from the sun (due to its small orbital radius) and always seen very low in the sky, either in the west just after sunset or in the east, just before sunrise. Because it is visible only close to the horizon, obstacles and atmospheric conditions (light pollution, smog, and turbulence) may often make it impossible to see. Like the moon (and, as we saw in Chapter 2, Venus), Mercury exhibits phases as different fractions of its face are seen to be illuminated by the sun. The best time to see Mercury is at its crescent phase, because it appears largest in the sky at this time. The reason for the variation in size with phase is that when the planet is on the near side of the sun (at a distance of approximately 0.6 A.U. from us), it is backlit and closer and thus appears large. When it is on the far side of the sun, it is fully illuminated (full), is 1.4 A.U. away, and appears smaller. To get a good look at Mercury, you need a telescope, preferably fitted with an eyepiece that offers about 150magnification. It is also possible to see Mercury in the daytime, but this can be dangerous. Because the planet is so close to the sun, there is a real danger that you might accidentally focus on the sun. Doing so for even a moment can permanently damage your eyesight! If you want to look for Mercury during the day, you should consult a good ephemerides guide (see Chapter 17 and Appendix E) and use a telescope fitted with setting circles (see your telescope’s instruction manual and Chapter 17) to locate the planet precisely. For added safety, always keep a solar filter on the telescope until you have precisely located the planet.
Better yet: Restrict your viewing of Mercury to just before sunrise or shortly after sunset.

Lashed to the Sun

2009-06-29T21:15:00.000-07:00

In the days before space-based telescopes and probes, earthbound astronomers did the best they could to gauge the rotation of Mercury. The nineteenth-century astronomer Giovanni Schiaparelli observed the movement of what few, indistinct surface features he could discern and concluded that, unlike any other planet’s, Mercury’s rotation was synchronous with its orbit around the sun.
Synchronous orbit means that Mercury always keeps one face toward the sun, and the other away from it, much as the moon always presents the same face to the earth. Technology marches on. In 1965, by means of radar imaging, unavailable to Schiaparelli in the nineteenth century, astronomers discovered that Mercury’s rotation period was not 88 days, but only 59 days. This discovery implied that Mercury’s rotation was not precisely synchronous with its orbit, but that it rotated three times around its axis every two orbits of the sun.

Mercury: The Moon’s Twin

2009-05-30T03:49:00.001-07:00

In many ways, Mercury has more in common with the lifeless moon of our own planet than with the other terrestrial planets. Its face is scarred with ancient craters, the result of massive bombardment that occurred early in the solar system’s history. These craters remain untouched because Mercury has no water, erosion, or atmosphere to erase them. The closest planet to the sun—with an average distance of 960,000 miles (1,546,000 km)—
Mercury is difficult to observe from the earth, and can only be viewed near sunrise or sunset.
Its surface, revealed in detail for the first time in images transmitted by such unmanned probes as Mariner 10 (in the 1970s), is pocked with moonlike craters.
Mariner 10 also discovered a weak but detectable magnetic field around Mercury. As a result, astronomers concluded that the planet must have a core rich in molten iron. This contention is consistent with the planet’s position closest to the center of the solar system, where most of the preplanetary matter—the seeds that formed the planets—would have been metallic in composition

The Terrestrial Roster

2009-05-30T03:35:00.000-07:00

The terrestrial planets are Mercury, Venus, Earth, and Mars. Except for Earth, all are named after Roman gods. Mercury, the winged-foot messenger of the gods, is an apt name for the planet closest to the sun; its sidereal period is a mere 88 Earth days, and its average orbital speed (30 miles per second or 48 km/s) is the fastest of all the planets. Mercury orbits the sun in less than a college semester, or about four times for each Earth orbit.
Venus, named for the Roman goddess of love and fertility, is (to observers on Earth) the brightest of the planets, and, even to the naked eye, quite beautiful to behold. Its atmosphere, we shall see, is not so loving. The planet is completely enveloped by carbon dioxide and thick clouds that consist mostly of sulfuric acid. The name of the bloody Roman war god, Mars, suits the orange-red face of our nearest planetary neighbor—the planet that has most intrigued observers and that seems, at first glance, the least alien of all our fellow travelers around the sun. Here are some more numbers, specifically for the terrestrial planets. Notice that the presence of an atmosphere (on Venus and Earth) causes there to be much less variation in surface temperature.
If you recall, when we discussed the formation of the solar system, we mentioned a few observational facts that “constrained” our models of formation. A few rules of planetary motions are immediately apparent. All four terrestrial planets orbit the sun in the same direction. All except Venus rotate on their axes in the same direction as they orbit the sun. The orbital paths of the inner four planets are nearly circular. And the planets all orbit the sun in roughly the same plane. But the solar system is a dynamic and real system, not a theoretical construct, and there are interesting exceptions to these rules. The exceptions can give us insight into the formation of the solar system.

April Showers (or the Lyrids)

2009-04-29T19:57:00.000-07:00

Whenever a comet makes its nearest approach to the sun, some pieces break off from its nucleus. The larger fragments take up orbits near the parent comet, but some fall behind, so that the comet’s path is eventually filled with these tiny micrometeoroids. Periodically, the earth’s orbit intersects with a cluster of such micrometeoroids, resulting in a meteor shower as the fragments burn up in our upper atmosphere.
Meteor showers associated with certain comets occur with high regularity. They are known by the constellation from which their streaks appear to radiate. The following table lists the most common and prominent showers. The shower names are genitive forms of the constellation name; for example, the Perseid shower comes from the direction of the constellation Perseus, the Lyrids from Lyra. The dates listed are those of maximum expected activity, and you can judge the intensity of the shower by the estimated hourly count. The table also lists the parent comet, when known.
You can detect meteor showers on your FM radio or even on unused VHF television frequencies. But if it’s clear outside, we suggest that you take your radio outside, and as you listen for distant radio stations to pop up, look up at the skies and watch as well. It might be hard to believe that most of those streaks of light are following meteoroids no larger than a pea. But be thankful that they are!

Meteors, Meteoroids, and Meteorites

2009-04-29T19:25:00.000-07:00

Meteors are commonly called shooting stars, although they have nothing to do with stars at all. A meteor is a streak of light in the sky resulting from the ionization of a narrow channel in the Earth’s upper atmosphere. The heat generated by friction with air molecules ionizes a pathway behind the piece of debris.
While smaller meteoroids (often called micrometeoroids) are typically the rocky fragments left over from a broken-up comet, the meteor phenomenon is very different from a comet. A meteor sighting is a momentary event. The meteor streaks across a part of the sky. As we have seen, a comet does not streak rapidly and may, in fact, be visible for many months because of its great distance from the earth. A meteor is an atmospheric event, whereas a comet is typically many A.U. distant from the earth.
Meteor is the term for the sight of the streak of light caused by a meteoroid—which is the term for the actual rocky object that enters the atmosphere. Most meteoroids are completely burned up in our atmosphere, but a few do get through to strike the earth. Any fragments recovered are called meteorites.
While most of the meteors we see are caused by small meteoroids associated with comet fragments (about the size of a pea), larger meteoroids, more than an inch or so, are probably asteroid fragments that have strayed from their orbit in the asteroid belt. Such fragments enter the earth’s atmosphere at supersonic speeds of several miles per second and often generate sonic booms. If you see a very bright meteor—the brightness of the planet Venus or even brighter—it is one of these so-called fireballs. It is estimated that about 100 tons of meteoric material fall on the earth each day.

A-Hunting We Will Go

2009-04-29T19:16:00.000-07:00

Visitations by major comets, such as Comet Hyakutake in 1966 and Hale-Bopp in 1997, are newsworthy events. Turn on the television or read a newspaper, and you’ll be told where to look and when. But most comets don’t make the front pages. For the latest comet news, check out the NASA comet home page at encke.jpl.nasa.gov. Sky and Telescope magazine also publishes comet information Of course, you don’t have to limit yourself to looking for comets whose presence or approach is already known. You can head out with your trusty telescope and hunt for new ones.
Comet hunting can be done with or without a telescope, but a good telescope greatly increases your chances of finding a new comet. Remember that telescopes catch more light than our eyes, and most comets are discovered as a tiny, wispy smudge. The coma will not appear much different from a star, but you should see a gradual, not sharply defined, tail attached to it. The tail may be a short, broad wedge or a long ion streamer.
The following tips will increase your chances of finding a comet:

Set up your telescope in a rural area, away from city lights. Choose a moonless night so that the skies are as dark as possible. You will be looking for a faint object.
According to David H. Levy, just before dawn, two days before or five days after the new moon, is an ideal time to search.
Comets can be seen in any part of the sky, but they are brightest when they approach within 90 degrees of the sun. You might concentrate on this part of the sky. That is, at sunset you could look from directly overhead to the western horizon.
Gradually and methodically sweep the sky with your telescope. Stake out perhaps 40 degrees of sky and sweep in one direction (either from east to west or west to east).
Remember one thing. Discovering a comet requires you to see something unusual or different in the sky. For this reason, you would do well to spend time becoming familiar with the sky, the constellations, and your telescope, so that you will be better able to recognize when something is not quite right.

“Mommy, Where Do Comets Come From?”

2009-03-30T21:00:00.000-07:00

The solar system has two cometary reservoirs, both named after the Dutch astronomers who discovered them. The nearer reservoir is called the Kuiper Belt. The short-period comets, those whose orbital period is less than 200 years, are believed to come from this region, which extends from the orbit of Pluto out to several 100 A.U. Comets from this region orbit peacefully unless some gravitational influence sends one into an eccentric orbit that takes it outside of the belt. Long-period comets, it is believed, originate in the Oort Cloud, a vast area (some 50,000–100,000 A.U. in radius) surrounding the solar system and consisting of comets orbiting in various planes. Oort comets are distributed in a spherical cloud instead of a disk.
The Oort Cloud is at such a great distance from the sun, that it extends about 1⁄3 of the distance to the nearest star. We don’t see the vast majority of these comets, because their orbital paths, though still bound by the sun’s gravitational pull, never approach the perimeter of the solar system. However, it is believed that the gravitational field of a passing star from time to time deflects a comet out of its orbit within the Oort Cloud, sending it on a path to the inner solar system, perhaps sealing our fate.
Once a short-period or long-period comet is kicked out of its Kuiper Belt or Oort Cloud home, it assumes its eccentric orbit indefinitely. That is, it can’t go home again. A comet will, each time it passes close to the sun, lose a bit of its mass as it is boiled away. A typical comet loses about 1⁄100 of its mass each time it passes the sun, and so, after 100 passages, will typically fragment and continue to orbit or coalesce with the sun as a collection of debris. As the earth passes through these orbital paths, we experience meteor showers.

A Tale of Two Tails

2009-03-30T20:56:00.000-07:00

Most comets actually have two tails. The dust tail is usually broader and more diffuse than the ion tail, which is more linear. The ion tail is made up of ionized atoms—that is, atoms that have lost one or more electrons and that, therefore, are now electrically charged. Both the dust tail and the ion tail point away from the sun. But the dust tail is usually seen to have a curved shape that trails the direction of motion of the comet. Careful telescopic or binocular observations of nearby comets can reveal both of these tails.
What we cannot see optically is the vast hydrogen envelope that surrounds the coma and the tail. It is invisible to optical observations.
Common sense tells us that the tail would stream behind the fast-moving nucleus of the comet. This is not the case, however. The ion tail (far from the sun) or tails (the dust tail appears as the comet gets close to the sun) point away from the sun, regardless of the direction of the comet’s travel. Indeed, as the comet rounds the sun and begins to leave the sun’s proximity, the tail actually leads the nucleus and coma. This is because the tail is “blown” like a wind sock by the solar wind, an invisible stream of matter and radiation that continually escapes from the sun. It was by observing the behavior of comet tails that astronomers discovered the existence of the solar wind.

Anatomy of a Comet

2009-03-30T20:54:00.000-07:00

The word comet derives from the Greek word kome, meaning “hair.” The name describes the blurry, diaphanous appearance of a comet’s long tail. But the tail is only part of the anatomy of a comet, and it is not even a permanent part, forming only as the comet nears the sun. For most of the comet’s orbit, only its main, solid body—its nucleus—exists. It is a relatively small (a few miles in diameter) mass of irregular shape made up of ice and something like soot, consisting of the same hydrocarbons and silicates that we find in asteroids.
The orbit of the typical comet is extremely eccentric (elongated), so that most comets (called longperiod comets) travel even beyond Pluto and may take millions of years to complete a single orbit.
So-called “short-period” comets don’t venture beyond Pluto and, therefore, have much shorter orbital periods.
As a comet approaches the sun, the dust on its surface becomes hotter, and the ice below the crusty surface of the nucleus sublimates—immediately changes to a gas without first becoming liquid. The gas leaves the comet, carrying with it some of the dust. The gas molecules absorb solar radiation, then reradiate it at another wavelength while the dust acts to scatter the sunlight. The effect of this is the creation of a coma, a spherical envelope of gas and dust (perhaps 60,000 miles across) surrounding the nucleus and a long tail consisting of gases and more dust particles.

Impact? The Earth-Crossing Asteroids

2009-02-27T16:23:00.000-08:00

Most of the asteroids in the asteroid belt remain there, but some have highly eccentric orbits that take them out of the asteroid belt and across the orbital path of the earth (as well as the paths of other terrestrial planets). Nearly 100 of these so-called Apollo asteroids have been identified so far, and a number of astronomers advise funding efforts to identify and track even more, because the potential for a collision with Earth is real. With advance warning, scientists believe, missiles with thermonuclear warheads could be exploded near an incoming asteroid, sufficiently altering its course to make it avoid the earth, or shattering it into a large number of smaller asteroids. You’re local movie theater or video store is a good source to study Hollywood’s take on these nightmare scenarios, but they are a very real threat. Project NEAT (Near Earth Asteroid Tracking) is funded by NASA. For more information see neat.jpl.nasa.gov.
It is believed that a few asteroids of more than a halfmile diameter might collide with the earth in the course of a million years. Such impacts would be disastrous, each the equivalent of the detonation of several hydrogen bombs. Not only would a great crater, some eight miles across, be formed, but an Earth-enveloping dust cloud would darken the skies. It is thought that the great extinction of dinosaurs 65 million years ago was due to such an impact. Were the impact to occur in the ocean, tidal waves and massive flooding would result.
Earth impacts of smaller objects are not uncommon, but on June 30, 1908, a larger object—apparently the icy nucleus of a very small comet—fell in the sparsely inhabited Tunguska region of Siberia. The falling object outshone the sun, and its explosive impact was felt at a distance of more than six hundred miles. A very wide area of forest was obliterated—quite literally flattened. Pictures from the time show miles of forest with trees stripped and lying on their sides, pointing away from the impact site.

Rocks and Hard Places

2009-02-27T15:54:00.000-08:00

Asteroids are composed of stony as well as metallic materials—mostly iron—and are basically tiny planets without atmospheres. Some asteroids have a good deal of carbon in their composition as well. These, called carbonaceous chondrites, are thought to represent the very first materials that came together to form the objects of the solar system. Carbonaceous chondrites are truly the solar system’s fossils, having avoided change for billions upon billions of years.
Earlier astronomers surmised that asteroids were fragments resulting from various meteoric collisions. While some of the smaller meteoroids were likely produced this way, the major asteroids probably came into being at the time of the formation of the solar system as a whole. Theoretical studies show that no planet could have formed at the radius of the asteroid belt (at about 3 A.U. from the sun). The region between Mars and Jupiter is dominated by the gravitational influence of the giant planet Jupiter. These forces stirred up the potential planet-forming material, causing it to collide and break up instead of coming together to create a planet-sized object. The smaller asteroids come in a wide variety of shapes, ranging from nearly spherical, to slab-like, to highly irregular.
During 1993–1994, the Galileo probe passed through the asteroid belt on its way to Jupiter and took pictures of an asteroid orbited by its own miniature moon. Potato-shaped, the asteroid was named Ida, and is about 35 miles (56 km) long, orbited at a distance of roughly 60 miles (97 km) by a rock less than 1 mile in diameter. This little moon is the smallest known natural satellite in the solar system.

The Asteroid Belt

2009-02-27T15:53:00.001-08:00

Astronomers have noted and cataloged more than 6,000 asteroids with regular orbits, most of them concentrated in the asteroid belt, between the orbits of Mars and Jupiter. So far, every asteroid that has been noted orbits in the same direction as the earth and other planets—except one, whose orbit is retrograde (backward, or contrary to the direction of the planets). Although the asteroids move in the same direction—and pretty much on the same plane—as the planets, the shape of their orbits is different. Many asteroid orbits are more eccentric (the ellipse is more exaggerated and oblong) than those of the planets.
In early 2001, an asteroid-exploring probe orbited and finally landed on the surface of Eros. As it (slowly) crashed to the asteroid’s surface, it sent back tantalizing close-up images of the surface.

Serving Up the Cosmic Leftovers

2009-01-30T09:31:00.000-08:00

What’s the oldest stuff in your refrigerator (aside from that rubbery celery you bought but never ate)? Leftovers! The same is true in the solar system. The fragmentary leftovers of the formation of the sun and planets are some of the oldest objects in the solar system. For a long time, few scientists paid much attention to this debris or knew much about it. More recently, however, astronomers have come to realize that many significant clues to the origin and early evolution of the solar system are to be found not in the planets, but in the smaller bodies, the planetary moons and solar system debris. For the most part, the planets are very active places. Atmospheres have produced erosion, and internal geological activity has erased ancient surfaces. On the earth, weather, water, and tectonic motion have long since “recycled” the earth’s original surface.
So studying the planets reveals relatively little about the origins of the solar system. However, on moons and asteroids, atmospheres are sparse or nonexistent, and geological activity is minimal or absent. The result? Many of these bodies have changed little since the solar system was born. They are, in effect, cosmic leftovers.

The Inner and Outer Circles

2009-01-30T09:29:00.000-08:00

Astronomers think of the planets as falling into two broad categories—with one planet left over. The four planets (including the earth) closest to the sun are termed the terrestrial planets. The four farthest from the sun (not counting Pluto) are the jovian planets. And Pluto, usually the farthest out of all, is in an unnamed class by itself. Its location is jovian, while its size and composition put it more in a class with the moons of the jovian planets. Some astronomers prefer to think of it as the largest Kuiper Belt object rather than the smallest (and hardest-to-categorize) planet.

Snapshot of the Terrestrial Planets
Mercury, Venus, Mars, and Earth are called the terrestrial planets because they all possess certain Earth-like (terrestrial) properties. These include proximity to the sun (within 1.5 A.U), relatively closely spaced orbits, relatively small masses, relatively small radii, and high density (rocky and solid-surfaced). Compared to the larger, more distant jovian planets, the terrestrials rotate more slowly, possess weak magnetic fields, lack rings, and have few moons or none. In fact, within the terrestrial “club” the earth’s large moon is unique. The moon is only slightly smaller than the planet Mercury and larger than Jupiter’s moon Europa! As we have seen, the moon’s large size is one clue to its origin.

Snapshot of the Jovian Planets
The jovians are far from the sun and travel in widely spaced orbits. They are massive planets with large radii, yet they are of low density with predominantly gaseous makeup and no solid surface. In contrast to the terrestrial planets, they rotate faster, possess strong magnetic fields, have rings, and are orbited by many large moons.
The outermost jovian planet is Neptune.

Planetary Report Card

2009-01-30T09:26:00.000-08:00

Let’s make a survey of the planets. Here’s what we’ll be measuring and comparing in the table that follows:

Semi-major axis of orbit. You’ll recall from Chapter 4 that the planets orbit the sun not in perfectly circular paths, but elliptical ones. The semi-major axis of an ellipse is the distance from the center of the ellipse to its farthest point. This distance does not exactly correspond to the distance from the sun to the farthest point of a planet’s orbit, since the sun is not at the center of the ellipse, but at one of the ellipse’s two foci. We will express this number in A.U.
Sidereal period. The time it takes a planet to complete one orbit around the sun, usually expressed in Earth years.
Mass. The quantity of matter a planet contains. The mass of the earth is 5.977 1024 kg. We will assign the earth’s mass the value of 1.0 and compare the masses of the other planets to it.
Radius. At the equator, the radius of the earth is slightly less than 6,400 km (3,963 miles). We will assign the radius of the earth a value of 1.0 and compare the radii of other planets to it.
Number of known moons. Self-explanatory—an ever-changing number for the outer planets.
Average density. This value is expressed in kilograms of mass per cubic meter. The substance of the inner planets is dense and tightly packed; in the outer planets, the densities are typically lower.

Some Points of Interest

2009-01-14T07:11:00.000-08:00

The orbits of the planets lie nearly in the same plane, except for Mercury and Pluto, which deviate from this plane by 7 degrees and 17 degrees, respectively. Between the orbit of Mars and Jupiter is a concentration of asteroids known as the asteroid belt. Most of the solar system’s asteroids are here. The orbits of the planets are not equally spaced, tending (very roughly) to double between adjacent orbits as we move away from the sun.
To say that the distances between planets and
the sun are very great is an understatement.
Interplanetary distances are so great that it becomes awkward to speak in terms of miles or kilometers.
For that reason, astronomers have agreed on something called an astronomical unit A.U.), which is the average distance between the earth and the sun—that is, 149,603,500 kilometers or 92,754,170 miles.
Let’s use these units to gauge the size of the solar system. From the sun to the average distance of the outermost planet, Pluto, is 40 A.U.
(3,710,166,800 miles, or almost 6 billion km). At just about a million times the radius of the earth, that’s quite a distance. Think of it this way: If the earth were a golf ball, Pluto would be a chickpea about 8 miles away, Jupiter would be a basketball about 1 mile away, and the sun would go floor-to ceiling in a 10-foot room and be less than a quarter- mile away. However, compared to, say, the distance from the earth to the nearest star (after the sun), even Pluto is a near neighbor. Forty A.U. is less than 1⁄1000 of a light-year, the distance light travels in one year: almost 6 trillion miles. Alpha Centauri, the nearest star system to our sun, is about 4.3 light-years from us (more than 25 trillion miles). On our golf ball scale, Alpha Centauri would be about 55,000 miles away.

Let’s Take a Stroll

2009-01-14T07:10:00.000-08:00

Our solar system is centered on a single star, the sun. We have recently come to appreciate that about 50 percent of all stars form in binary systems (containing two stars), so our sun is a bit lonely as stars go. In orbit around the sun are nine planets (in order of distance from the sun): Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, and Pluto. Around some of these planets orbit moons—more than 70, at latest count. By the 1990s, astronomers had observed more than 6,000 large asteroids, of which approximately 5,000 have been assigned catalog numbers.
(Such an assignment is made as soon as accurate orbital data is recorded.) Most asteroids are rather small; it is estimated that there are 1 million with diameters greater than 1 km (or about 3⁄5 of a mile). Some, perhaps 250, have diameters of at least 62 miles (100 km). About 30 have diameters of more than 124 miles (200 km). All of these planets and asteroids are the debris from the formation of the sun. They coalesced through the mutual attraction of gravity.
In addition, the solar system contains a great many comets and billions of smaller, rock-size meteoroids.

Solar System Family

2009-01-14T07:07:00.000-08:00

A snapshot freezes an instant in time. When we think about our solar system, we usually assume that it has always been much as it is now, and always will be. But what we know of the solar system (4,000 years of accumulated knowledge) is only a mere snapshot in comparison to its 4.6 billion–year age. It took humankind millennia to reach the conclusion that our planet is part of a solar system, one of many planets spinning on its axis orbiting the sun. These were centuries of wrestling with the earth-centered planetary system first of Aristotle, then of Ptolemy, trying to make the expected planetary orbits coincide with actual observation. This knowledge arose in some sense as a side product of the real initial goals: to be able to predict the motion of the planets and stars for the purpose of creating calendars and (in some cases) as a means of fortune-telling. However, even the earliest astronomers (of whom we know) wanted to do more than predict the planets’ motions. They wanted to know what was “really” going on. When Copernicus, Galileo, Tycho Brahe, and Kepler finally succeeded in doing this quite well in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, it was a momentous time for astronomy and human understanding.
Understanding how the planets move is important, of course, but our understanding of the solar system hardly ends with that. In the last few decades of the twentieth century and now into the twenty-first, astronomers have learned more about the solar system than in all the 400 years since planetary motions were pretty well nailed down. As this chapter will show, the planetary neighborhood is a very interesting place, and our own world, the earth, is unique among the planets as a home to life.

Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust

2009-01-14T07:05:00.000-08:00

In the chapters of this book’s final section, we will consider questions of time and eternity as they relate to the universe. But as to the solar system, we know that it was born about 4.6 billion years ago, and that it will die when its source of energy (the sun) dies of old age.
Just as the specifics of the formation of the solar system depended on the formation of the sun, so its death will be intimately related to the future of our parent star. The evolution of the sun will presumably follow the same path of other stars of its size and mass, which means that the sun will eventually consume the store of hydrogen fuel at its core. As this core fuel wanes, the sun will start to burn fuel in its outer layers, grow brighter, and its outer shell will expand. It will become a red giant, with its outer layers extending perhaps as far as the orbit of Venus. When the sun puffs up into a red giant, Mercury will slow in its orbit, and probably fall into the sun. Venus and the earth will certainly be transformed, their atmospheres (and, in the case of Earth, also water) being driven away by the intense heat of the swelling sun. Venus and Earth will return to their infant state, dry and lifeless.
Some recent models of solar evolution predict that the sun will slowly grow to this state sooner, giving us only another billion or so years before the earth becomes uninhabitable. But don’t fret. All of this is another one to five billion years away. The sun is in its midlife now, and, we hope, will avoid any crisis. The sun will then eject its outer layers (to become a planetary nebula), leaving behind a burned-out star called a white dwarf. A white dwarf does not have sufficient mass to continue fusing elements. It will slowly cool, radiating its internal heat into space, and eventually become a black dwarf—a strange object composed mostly of oxygen and carbon, the size of a planet with the mass of a star. Let’s hope humanity has pushed on by then!

Do the Pieces Fit?

2009-01-14T07:01:00.000-08:00

By combining the nebular and condensation theories, we have arrived at an explanation that appears to address the major constraints that we listed at the beginning of the chapter. Does that mean that this theory is “right”? Perhaps.
But like any model, it is subject to future observations that might cause us to reject or revise it. Let’s revisit some of the constraints that we outlined.

A rotating cloud of gas, collapsing gravitationally, can account for the “counterclockwise” (as seen from the North Pole) orbit of the planets, rotation of the sun, and rotational orientation of their moons. What we are seeing in all of these is the direction of rotation of that original solar nebula.
The rocky nature of the inner solar system, and the gaseous nature of the outer solar system follow directly from the temperature of these regions as the dust grains were formed. Only the heaviest materials (metals) survived intact close to the sun, whereas more fragile molecules (like water) survived in the outer reaches.
The planets are all found close to the ecliptic because, as the solar nebula contracted gravitationally, it naturally flattened. This flattened disk was where the planets most likely formed.
The existence and location of asteroids, comets, and other debris is a natural byproduct of the accretion and early gravitational interaction process. Yet, as expressed here, the condensation theory does not account for absolutely everything we observe in the solar system.

For the theory allows for an element of randomness, primarily in the form of close encounters and collisions among the planetesimals and protoplanets, which probably influenced certain variations we see in the orbital motions and orientation of some of the planets. As we saw in the last chapter, it is very likely that our own moon is the remnant of a catastrophic collision between the earth and a planetesimal that was the size of Mars. That collision also likely explains the anomalous tip of the earth’s rotational axis, and thus the seasons that grace our planet.

Into the Fire

2008-12-30T23:05:00.000-08:00

Closer to the protosun, in the hottest regions of the forming solar system, it was the heaviest elements, not ices and gases, that survived to form the planets. Thus the terrestrial planets are rich in the elements silicon, iron, magnesium, and aluminum. The dust grains and then planetesimals from which these planets were formed were rocky rather than icy. It is fortunate that water ice and organic compounds later rained down on the early Earth, or the present-day planet would be as lifeless as the moon.

Out of the Frying Pan

2008-12-30T23:04:00.000-08:00

As the solar nebula contracted and flattened into its pancake-like shape, gravitational energy was released in the form of heat, increasing its temperature. Due to the inverse-square law of gravitational attraction, matter piled up mostly at the center of the collapsing cloud. The density of matter and the temperature were highest near the center of the system, closest to the protosun, and gradually dropped farther out into the disk.
At the very center of the nascent solar system, where heat and density were greatest, the solar mass coalesced. In this very hot region, the carefully assembled interstellar dust was pulled apart into its constituent atoms, while the dust in the outer regions of the disk remained intact. Once the gravitational collapse from a cloud to a disk was complete, the temperatures began to fall again, and new dust grains condensed out of the vaporized material toward the center of the solar system. This vaporization and recondensation process was an important step in the formation of the solar system, because it chemically differentiated the dust grains that would go on to form the planets. These grains originally had a uniform composition. In the regions nearest the protosun—where temperatures were highest—metallic grains formed, because metals survived the early heat. Moving farther out, silicates (rocky material), which could not survive intact close to the protosun, were condensed from the vapor. Farther out still, there were water ice grains, and, even farther, ammonia ice grains. What is fascinating to realize is that the heat of the protosun depleted the inner solar system (which is home to the earth) of water ice and organic carbon compounds. These molecules, as we will see, survived in the outer solar system and later rained onto the surfaces of the inner planets, making one of them habitable.
The composition of the surviving dust grains determined the type of planet that would form. Farthest from the sun, the most common substances in the preplanetary dust grains were water vapor, ammonia, and methane, in addition to the elements hydrogen, helium, carbon, nitrogen, and oxygen—which were distributed throughout the solar system. The jovian planets, therefore, formed around mostly icy material. And in the cooler temperatures farthest from the protosolar mass, greater amounts of material were able to condense, so the outer planets tended to be very massive. Their mass was such that, by gravitational force, they accreted hydrogen-rich nebular gases in addition to dust grains. Hydrogen and helium piled onto the outer planets, causing them to contract and heat up. Their central temperatures rose, but never high enough to trigger fusion, the process that produces a star’s enormous energy. Thus the jovian worlds are huge, but also gaseous.

Whipping Up the Recipe

2008-12-30T23:00:00.000-08:00

While there is substantial variety among the nine planets, they tend to fall into two broad categories: the large gaseous outer planets, known as the jovians, and the smaller rocky inner planets, the terrestrials. Why this particular differentiation?
As with just about any recipe in any kitchen, part of the difference is caused by heat.

Accretion and Fragmentation

2008-12-16T04:10:00.001-08:00

The preplanetary clumps grew by accretion from objects that might be imagined to be the size of baseballs and basketballs to planetesimals, embryonic protoplanets several hundred miles across. The early solar system must have consisted of millions of planetesimals. While smaller than mature planets, the planetesimals were large enough to have sufficiently powerful gravitational forces to affect each other. The result was near misses and collisions that merged planetesimals into bigger objects, but also fragmentation, as collisions resulted in chunks of some planetesimals breaking off. As we saw in the last chapter, the formation of the moon likely happened at this point in the history of the solar system.
The larger planetesimals, with their proportionately stronger gravitational fields, captured the lion’s share of the fragments, growing yet larger, while the smaller planetesimals joined other planets or were “tossed out.” A certain number of fragments escaped capture to become asteroids and comets.
Unlike the planets, whose atmospheres and internal geological activity (volcanism and tectonics) would continue to evolve matter (the earth, for example, has rocks and minerals that vary greatly in age), asteroids and comets remained geologically static, dead; therefore, their matter, unchanging, marks well the date of solar system birth.

Birth of the Planets

2008-12-16T04:09:00.000-08:00

Let’s put the nebular theory and the condensation theory together, as most current astronomers do.
Here is a possible portrait of the formation of our solar system: A cloud of interstellar dust, measuring about a light-year across, begins to contract, rotating more rapidly the more it contracts. With the accelerating rotation comes a flattening of the cloud into a pancake-like disk, perhaps 100 A.U. across—100 times the current distance between the earth and the sun.
The original gases and dust grains that had formed the nebular cloud have contracted into condensation nuclei, which begin to attract additional matter, forming clumps that rotate within the disk.
The clumps encounter other clumps and more matter, growing larger by accretion. Accretion is the gradual accumulation of mass, and usually refers to the building up of larger masses from smaller ones through the mutual gravitational attraction of matter.

Pearls the Size of Worlds

2008-12-16T04:07:00.000-08:00

Beginning in the 1940s, astronomers returned to the idea of the solar nebula to create a modification of it called the condensation theory.
There were critics of the nebular theory in the nineteenth century, among them James Clerk Maxwell, who had figured out the fundamentals of electromagnetic radiation. What Maxwell and the other critics of the Kant-Laplace theory didn’t know about was interstellar dust. Microscopic dust grains—ice crystals and rocky matter—formed in the cooling atmosphere of dying stars, then grew by attracting additional atoms and molecules of various gases. These dust grains served two purposes in the formation of planets:

The presence of grains hastened the collapse of the nebular cloud by promoting the radiation of heat from it. This radiation of heat cooled the cloud, accelerating its collapse.
Each grain acted as a condensation nucleus, like the grain of sand in an oyster that eventually becomes a pearl. These grains eventually grew into pearls the size of worlds. In effect, these grains were planetary seeds.

Angular Momentum Explained

2008-12-16T03:58:00.000-08:00

Most importantly, Laplace introduced conservation of angular momentum to the discussion of planetary formation. He demonstrated mathematically that the solar nebula—the gaseous mass that would become the solar system—would spin faster as it contracted. Anyone who has watched an ice skater spinning knows this is true. As a skater pulls in his arms, bringing his mass closer to his axis of rotation, he will spin faster. If he were to put his arms out at his side, his rotation would slow. Newton described how all objects with mass were mutually attracted. As the cloud of gas that eventually formed the solar system started to collapse, it would have to rotate faster and faster to conserve angular momentum. And, as the speed of rotation increased, the shape of the solar nebula would change, becoming the pancake-like disk Kant had first pictured. Think of that the next time you watch the local pizza maker throw dough in the air, making it spin, flatten, and strech all at once.
Laplace theorized that as the spinning disk contracted, it would form concentric rings, each of which would clump together into a “protoplanet” (a sort of embryonic planet), which ultimately developed into a mature planet. The center of the disk (in this picture) would coalesce into a hot, gaseous “protosun,” which ultimately became the sun.

From Contraction to Condensation

2008-11-30T05:05:00.000-08:00

In 1755, the great German philosopher Immanuel Kant (1724–1804) theorized that the solar system had begun as a nebula—a cloud of dust and gas—that slowly rotated, gradually contracting until it became flattened into a spinning disk that variously coalesced into the sun and planets.
Later, in 1796, the French astronomer and mathematician Pierre-Simon Laplace (1749–1827) suggested a similar hypothesis, though he thought the planets formed before the sun.

What Do We Really Know About the Solar System?

2008-11-30T04:54:00.000-08:00

In a very real sense, then, we do have—in meteorites and moon rocks—“witnesses” to the creation of the solar system. These geological remnants are relatively unchanged from the time the solar system was born. But how do we make up for an absence of precedents from which to draw potentially illuminating analogies? Why can’t we just go find another planetary system forming (around a star younger than the sun) and draw our analogies from it? Well, that has been one of the main goals of astronomers in the past decade or so. In fact, NASA has defined one of its primary missions in terms of this search, called the Origins program. We are just now starting to see the results of these searches. The Hubble Space Telescope, in particular, has given us tantalizing clues about the formation of planetary systems. Around the star Beta Pictoris, astonomers have imaged a disk of material larger than the orbit of the most distant planet in our solar system, Pluto. Are the inner reaches of this disk even now taking shape as planets around that star?
The truth is, even with the best instruments that we have today, we can still learn a lot more about how our solar system formed by looking closer to home. There are a number of fundamental things that we know about our solar system, and any explanation that we come up with must, at the very least, account for what we observe. Here are some undeniable facts that the last 300 years of planetary exploration have given us:

Most of the planets in the solar system rotate on their axis in the same direction as they orbit the sun (counterclockwise as seen from the North Pole of Earth), and their moons orbit around them in the same direction.
The planets in the inner reaches of the solar system are rocky and bunched together, and those in the outer part are gaseous and widely spaced.
Most of the planets (with the exception of Pluto) orbit the sun in elliptical paths that are very nearly circles.
Except for the innermost planet (Mercury) and the outermost (Pluto), the planets orbit in approximately the same plane (near the ecliptic), and they all orbit in the same direction.
Asteroids and comets are very old, and are located in particular places in the solar system. Comets are found in the Kuiper Belt and Oort Cloud, and asteroids in the asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter.

In addition, it is clear that the asteroids we have examined are some of the oldest unchanged objects in the solar system, and that comets travel in highly elliptical orbits, originating in the far reaches of the solar system. The most important conclusion we can draw from these observations is that the solar system appears to be fundamentally orderly rather than random. It doesn’t appear that the sun formed first, and then gradually captured its nine planets from surrounding space.
Although there are important exceptions, the counterclockwise”
(as viewed from above the North Pole of the Earth) aspect of so many properties in the solar system suggests that the planets fragmented and formed from a large rotating cloud of material. That the orbits of the remaining planets are very nearly circular suggests that the solar system has settled down, as it were. Any planets or planetesimals that were on highly elliptical orbits have been cleared out in the last 4.6 billion years. The inclined, markedly elliptical orbit of Pluto is one of the arguments for its being an escaped moon from an outer planet. The physical differences in planets that are related to their distances from the sun suggests that the sun influenced the formation of the planets; that is, the sun must have formed first.

The Biggest Problem: We Weren’t There

2008-11-30T04:52:00.001-08:00

Of course, there was no one around to record the series of events that created the solar system. But there are a few fragments that survive from those early moments, like the years-old crumbs from behind the sofa, that give us clues to how the planets took shape around the youthful sun. The most important clues to the origin of the solar system are to be found not in the sun and planets, but in those untouched smaller fragments: the asteroids, meteoroids, and some of the planetary moons (including our own). These objects make up the incidental matter, the debris of the solar system, if you will.
This solar system debris, though rocky, is not mute. As the English Romantic poet William Wordsworth (1770–1850) wrote of hearing “sermons in stones,” so modern astronomers have extracted eloquent wisdom of a different kind from meteorites as well as “moon rocks.”
Atoms are made up of three basic particles, protons and neutrons in the nucleus, orbited by electrons. Most elements exist in different atomic forms, which, while identical in their chemical properties, differ in the number of neutral particles (neutrons) in the nucleus. Deuterium and Tritium are famous radioactive isotopes of the more familiar hydrogen.
For a single element, these atoms are called isotopes. Through a natural process called radioactive decay, a specific isotope of one atom is converted into another isotope at a constant and known rate, often over many millions of years, depending on the element and isotope involved.
Using a device called a mass spectrometer, scientists can identify the “daughter” atoms formed from the “parent” atoms in a sample, such as a meteorite. If the decay rate of the elements in the sample is known, then the ratio of daughter atoms to parent atoms (called isotopic ratios), as revealed by the instrument, betrays the age of the sample. The results of this dating process have been remarkably consistent. Most meteors and moon rocks (which are the only “bits” of the solar system other than the earth we have been able to study exhaustively ) are from between 4.4 and 4.6 billion years old, which has led scientists to conclude with a high degree of confidence that the age of the solar system is about 4.6 billion years.

Solar System History

2008-11-13T23:53:00.000-08:00

Historians of human events generally enjoy two advantages over would-be historians of the solar system. Those who chronicle human history often have records, even eyewitness reports, and they have the availability of precedent events and subsequent events. For example, a historian of the American Civil War not only has a wealth of eyewitness accounts to draw on, but may also look to civil wars both before and after 1861 to 1865 to help explain the War between the States. Comparing and contrasting the American Civil War to the English civil wars of the seventeenth century or the Russian Civil War of the twentieth may help illuminate analysis and make explanations clearer.
The solar system historian lacks both witnesses and precedents. But she has several advantages as well. Human history is complicated by the infinite depths of the human mind. But if we understand the fundamental laws of physics, and make good observations of our solar system today, a recounting of the early history of the solar system should be within our grasp.

And What’s Inside the Moon?

2008-11-13T23:50:00.000-08:00

Geologically, the moon is apparently as dead as it is biologically. Astronauts have left seismic instruments on the lunar surface, which have recorded only the slightest seismic activity, barely perceptible, in contrast to the exciting (and sometimes terribly destructive) seismic activity common on Earth and some other bodies in the solar system. It is believed, then, that the interior of the moon is uniformly dense, poor in heavy elements (such as iron) but high in silicates. The core of the moon, about 250 miles (402 km) in diameter, may be partially molten. Around this core is probably an inner mantle, perhaps 300 miles (483 km) thick, consisting of semisolid rock, and around this layer, a solid outer mantle some 550 miles (885 km) thick. The lunar crust is of variable thickness, ranging from 40 to 90 miles (64 to 145 km) or so.
The moon is responsible for everything from the earth’s tides to the length of our day, and perhaps the presence of seasons. Most astronomers think that the moon is with us today because of a gigantic collision early in the life of the solar system.
The moon’s gravity pulls tides across the earth’s surface, and its presence has slowed the rotation of the earth from a frenetic 6 hours to our current 24. Think of that next time you see the moon shining peacefully over your head.

Pocked Face Moon

2008-11-13T23:48:00.000-08:00

Look at the moon through even the most modest of telescopes—as Galileo did—and you are impressed first and foremost by the craters that pock its surface. Most craters are the result of asteroid and meteoroid impacts. Only about a hundred craters have been identified on Earth, but the moon has thousands, great and small. Was the moon just unlucky? No. Many meteoroids that approach Earth burn up in our atmosphere before they strike ground. And the traces of those that do strike the ground are gradually covered by the effects of water and wind erosion as well as by plate tectonics. Without an atmosphere, the moon has been vulnerable to whatever comes its way, and preserves a nearly perfect record of every impact it has ever suffered.
Meteoroid collisions release terrific amounts of energy. Upon impact, heat is generated,
melting and deforming the surface rock, while pushing rock up and out and creating an ejecta blanket of debris, including large boulders and dust. It is this ejected material that covers the lunar surface.
It is believed that the rate of meteoroid impact with the moon (and with other objects in the solar system) was once much higher than it is now. The rate dropped sharply about 3.9 billion years ago— at the end of the period in which it is believed that the planets of the solar system were formed—and, some time later, lunar volcanic activity filled the largest craters with lava, giving many of them a smooth-floored appearance.

Moon, The Green Cheese?

2008-11-13T23:43:00.000-08:00

Even with the naked eye, the moon doesn’t look particularly green. And Neil Armstrong confirmed that the surface of the moon was more dusty than cheesy. On any night that the moon is visible, the large, dark maria are clearly visible. These are vast plains created by lava spread during a period of the moon’s evolution marked by intense volcanic activity. The lighter areas visible to the naked eye are called highlands.
Generally, the highlands represent the moon’s surface layer, its crust, while the maria consist of much denser rock representative of the moon’s lower layer, its mantle. The surface rock is fine-grained, as was made dramatically apparent by the image of the first human footprint on the moon. The mare resemble terrestrial basalt, created by molten mantle material that, through volcanic activity, swelled through the crust.
The mass of the moon is insufficient for it to have held on to its atmosphere. As the sun heated up the molecules and atoms in whatever thin atmosphere the moon may have once had, they drifted away into space.
With no atmosphere, the moon has no weather, no erosion other than what is caused by asteroid impacts—and no life. While it was thought that the moon had absolutely no water, recent robotic lunar missions have shown that there may be water (in the form of ice) in the permanent shadows of the polar craters.

Earth & Moon: Give and Take

2008-11-13T23:36:00.000-08:00

Newton proposed that every object with mass exerts a gravitational pull or force on every other object with mass in the universe. Well, the earth is much more (80more) massive than the moon, which is why the moon orbits us, and not we it. (If you want to get technical, we both actually orbit an imaginary point called the center of mass.) However, the moon is sufficiently massive to make the effects of its gravitational field felt on the earth.
Anyone who lives near the ocean is familiar with tides. Coastal areas experience 2 high and 2 low tides within any 24-hour period. The difference between high and low tides is variable, but, out in the open ocean, the difference is somewhat more than 3 feet. If you’ve ever lifted a large bucket of water, you know how heavy water is. Imagine the forces required to raise the level of an entire ocean 3 or more feet! What force can accomplish this?
The tidal force of gravity exerted by the moon on the earth and its oceans. The moon and the earth mutually pull on each other; the earth’s gravity keeping the moon in its orbit, the moon’s gravity causing a small deformity in the earth’s shape.
This deformity results because the moon does not pull equally on all parts of the earth. It exerts more force on parts of the earth that are closer, and less force on parts of the earth that are farther away. Just as Newton told us: Gravitational forces depend on distance. These differential or tidal forces are the cause of the earth’s slightly distorted shape—it’s ovoid rather than a perfect sphere— and they also make the oceans flow to two locations on the earth: directly below the moon, and on the opposite side. This flow causes the oceans to be deeper at these two locations, which are known as the tidal bulges. The entire Earth is pulled by the moon into a somewhat elongated—football—shape, but the oceans, being less rigid than the earth, undergo the greatest degree of deformity.
Interestingly, the side of the earth farthest from the moon at any given time also exhibits a tidal bulge. This is because the Earth experiences a stronger gravitaional pull than the ocean on top of it, and the Earth is “pulled away” from the ocean on that side. As the Earth rotates beneath the slower-moving moon, the forces exerted on the water cause high and low tides to move across the face of the earth.
The tides of largest range are the spring tides, which occur at new moon, when the moon and the sun are in the same direction, and at full moon, when they are in opposite directions. The tides of smallest range are the neap tides, which occur when the sun and the moon are at 90 degrees to one another in the sky. Tides affect us every day, of course, especially if you happen to be a sailor or a fisherman. But even if you live high and dry in Kansas or Nebraska, say, tides (and the moon) still affect you. Every day, the earth is spinning a little slower on its axis because of the moon. The earth’s rotation is slowing down at a rate that increases the length of a day by approximately 2 milliseconds (2/1,000 of a second) every century. Over millions of years, though, this slowing effect adds up. Five hundred million years ago, a day was a little over 21 hours long, and a year (1 orbit of the sun) was packed with 410 days. When a planetesimal plowed into the earth early in the history of the solar system, it was rotating once every 6 hours. (And you think there aren’t enough hours in the day now!)
How does this happen? Well, let’s think again of why tides occur. The moon’s gravity causes two bulges to form in the earth’s oceans, and the earth rotates (once every 24 hours) beneath that bulge. As the earth spins, friction between it and the oceans tends to pull the high tide ahead, so that the “bulge” actually leads the position of the moon overhead.
With the ocean’s bulge thus slightly ahead of the moon’s position, the moon’s gravity exerts a force that tends to slow rotation. Eventually, the earth’s rotation will slow sufficiently to become synchronized with the orbit of the moon around the earth. When that happens, the moon will always be above the same point on Earth, and the earth’s rotation period will have slowed (billions of years from now) from its present 24 hours to 47 days.
But that is only half of the picture. The earth can’t be slowing down without something else speeding up (as a result of one of the fundamental conservation laws of physics). What’s speeding up? The moon. And what does that mean? That it’s spiraling away slowly, and getting smaller and smaller in the sky.

Tidal Forces and Moon

2008-10-30T07:46:00.000-07:00