Life Too Dramatic? Look Up

When the scene on earth gets too heavy, we humans turn to the skies. 

Well, we used to, anyway. For millennia, the only evening entertainment options were to observe the universe’s very slow plot line or come up with new shadow puppets for the cave walls. 

Now with our flashy little smart boxes offering endless information and amusement, the night’s sparkling tapestry literally pales against the glow of modernity. Who cares about long elliptical orbits and strange stars light years away when there’s a new season of Ancient Apocalypse?

Yet what’s been happening in the heavens lately rivals anything on Netflix. 

First, we had the partial lunar eclipse last month giving the Harvest supermoon a sexy smokey smudge, followed by another surprise appearance from the aurora borealis on October 10.

The astronomers tell us that the Northern Lights’ southern creep is due to “unusually active solar storm activity,” which sounds like a fancy term for shitty space weather. As if we didn’t have enough going on with these hurricanes, Sunny?

The celestial drama continued with the fierce flight of Comet Tsuchinshan-ATLAS, much easier to track than pronounce as it streaked across the twilight horizon. Just before muscly Atlas sauntered off into the sunset for another 80,000 years, it found its zenith last week with yet another supermoon rising in the opposite direction.

Apparently it’s only considered “super” when the moon is closest to the earth, but as far as I’m concerned it’s stunning every time our gorgeous alabaster satellite shows her full face. This one bears the name Hunters’ moon since it’s when prey is at its plumpest, possibly from too many oatmilk pumpkin spice lattes.

I’d anticipated catching the Supermoon-comet-alodicious spectacle from the bow of Captain Mike Neal’s barge Thursday evening, positioning myself so I could swivel between east and west.

Hosted by the sagacious naturalists of Wilderness Southeast, this sunset cruise brought together heaven and earth to benefit Fish Gotta Swim, WiSE’s pioneering educational program that has introduced hundreds of local middle schoolers to the marshes, waterways and other wonders of coastal Georgia.

“You have to get in it to understand it,” said WiSE co-founder and indomitable yogini Joyce Murlless of our precious local ecosystem. “Seventy-five percent of these students live in downtown Savannah but have never been to the beach or coastal wetlands. This program opens up worlds.”

Dolphins frolicked along the spartina grass as guests enjoyed a sumptuous spread arranged by Executive Director Lisa Goodman, including wellness coach Shannon James and Oceana field rep and Gullah Geechee activist Hermina Glass-Hill.

(Hermina also attended the Sapelo Island Cultural Festival two days later, where seven elders died after the dock collapsed—much gratitude for her safety and continued updates about the tragedy. The endangered Hogg Hummock community needs our help now more than ever to preserve their land; pledge your support here.) 

In spite of the fine company and splashy water show, guess who was the anti-social weirdo who wouldn’t put down the binoculars? 

Legendary local biologist Cathy Sakas (no one knows the Okefenokee Swamp better) tried to help me by pointing out Atlas’ supposed location between Venus and ruby red supergiant Antares, but gave up after getting nothing but grunts.

“Would you look at that,“ said Cathy instead, marveling at the melted orange sherbet of the setting sun. Through my obsessive lens I managed to note that after 50 years of leading nature trips all over the world, this lifelong outdoorswoman is still bowled over by the beauty that happens at home every day.   

Nevertheless, whether it was the annoying marine layer or the bright light reflecting off the Hunter’s moon, I did not catch a glimpse of the comet and might have spent the rest of the boat ride pouting next to the beer cooler.  

I had better luck the next evening at the beach on Tybee, where Mark, the dogs and I posted up on the 12th Street walkway for a full-sky vista. In the west, the comet became clear with the help of our phones, its gossamer tail sailing behind as the sun slipped past the tree line. (Though if you think about it, the sun doesn’t actually go down—we’re just rolling backwards.)

On the ocean shimmering with the last of the day’s light, the moon ascended like a titian warrior queen ready to address her earthly subjects in her cape of stars.

But the sky had even more majesty in store. As we were oohing and ahhing, here came a strange object streaking sideways across the sky. It was shaped like a jellyfish and moved steadily, not like the quick flash of a meteor or a flare from one of the tankers anchored offshore.  

“What the—definitely not a plane,” said Mark, blinking hard as the jellyfish crossed the moon’s path. 

“Too low to be a flyby from those poor stuck souls on the International Space Station?” I guessed, my mouth gaping open.

We looked at each other and shrugged. With everything else happening up above and down here lately, spotting a UFO on a Friday night seemed totally reasonable. 

The full moon rise, the lights of a freighter ship…wtf is THAT in the upper right corner?

A quick search later identified it as the SpaceX Falcon 9 rocket launched from Cape Canaveral earlier that evening, ready to disperse a batch of Starlink satellites courtesy of the world’s ickiest billionaire. If only connecting humanity was as easy as blanketing the planet with high-tech spaceballs! Still, we’ve got to admit that recent rocket booster chopsticks catch was pretty impressive.

But don’t worry if you missed the intercosmic pageantry: Even without the addition of human detritus, the skies aren’t quieting down anytime soon. 

Another comet, C/2024 S1 (ATLAS), is headed this way this week, spawned by the mysterious Oort Cloud that may or may not be preparing to rain down space debris upon us and cause cataclysmic chaos (been on an Ancient Apocalypse binge, sorry.)  

There’s also more aurora on the way thanks to the sun’s tempestuous tantrums, and the astral parade ramps up this weekend with the Orionid meteor shower, which is really just debris from the grandmother of all comets, Halley's. Remember when there used to only be ONE comet to worry about and life was a lot less complicated?

If that wasn’t enough to get the stars spinning around your head like some kind of cartoon character, did you know about the second moon that’s suddenly glommed on near the regular one like a little pet dog? Every Supermoon needs a sidekick, I suppose. 

Isn’t it astounding that the wildest show in the universe can be seen with our plain ol’ eyes, no streaming platform necessary?

Well, we might need a little help from the binoculars and our fancy phone lenses—or better yet, the patient astronomers of the Savannah Astronomy Club, who often set up their telescopes in the darkness of Fort Pulaski or the Tybee Pier to share the wonders beyond. (I’ve observed Saturn’s rings and Jupiter’s four moons thanks to these generous folks and it’s always a breathtaking experience.)

Even if we don’t see a thing, stepping away from civilization’s searing bright lights is all it takes to remind us of what our ancient ancestors already knew: 

That we all live under the same sky, and every single sunset is a gift.

As above, so below ~ JLL

See ya in 80,000 years, Atlas