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Who cares about Mars? I've seen Draco!
Yep, we did indeed go camping at Point Lookout State Park. Point Lookout is at the southernmost tip of the western shore of Maryland, the point where the Potomac, Patuxent and Chesapeake come together. We discovered it two years ago when I was trying to decide whether I wanted to go to St. Mary's college, and it's a really wonderful place. Camping, hiking, biking, beaches on the lake, river and bay, haunted ruins, miniature golf-- everything.
It's nearly a three-hour drive from our house, and we were in the old Ford, of which the air conditioner doesn't work well, and it was about the hottest day of the year; luckily I was sleep- deprived, and dozed through the trip, although I was about drowned when I woke. So of course as soon as the tent was set up Dad made us take a bike ride through the park. Everyone who camps at Point Lookout takes bikes; since, being on a point, everything is long and narrow, it's all too far for walking but no room for parking. By the time we made it back, me and Mom nearly dead, it was almost dark. After dinner Mom taught me Pinochle (which is an unecessarily complicated game), me with a punk stick clenched in my teeth.
Later we went out to the pier on the lake to look at Mars. Mars was indeed bright, and rather orange, and somewhat mesmerising. We also kept seeing eerie lightning flashes way off across the bay. One of our neighbors mentioned all the animals he'd been seeing in the lake, so Dad and I tried our luck. It was about the most fun I've had on the water. The water looks absolutely black until the flashlight beam hits it, and then you see a blue crab going about its business, or a huge needlefish, or an absolutely gorgeous jelly. Some of the minnows would come to the light and dance in circles in the beam. Depth becomes deceptive, and the water/air interface is invisible, so it looks as if they're floating, or you're underwater. Dad saw a tiny speck of something that glowed brilliant green, and we spent forever trying to figure it out (Mom got bored and went home). Was it the top of a jellyfish? A bioluminescent minnow? Some kind of plankton? A primitive coelenterate? Finally it drifted close enough to the pier for Dad to scoop it up, and it become obvious it was man-made. Dad thought it was wierd, and possibly toxic; I decided it was a fishing lure, made the same basic way as glowsticks. Dad gave it to me, and said fine, but if I woke up the next morning with strange superpowers, not to come crying to him.
I didn't, sadly. I did wake up at about two to witness the most brilliant thunderstorm I've ever been out in; and considering my family's camping luck, that's something. It rained so hard that ti drove through the roof of the tent in a fine mist; but not for long enough that anything actually got wet. the thunder was loud, and long, and near; the lighting made shadows sharp as knives. And the lure gave everything a creepy green tinge.
The storm cooled things down enough that when Dad took us on an even longer bike ride Saturday morning it was actually pleasant. We went all the way out to the point where the lighthouse is, then came back, by way of everywhere. Wandered throught the old fort, and the beach below it which is always deserted due to the nasty flies, then went out on the long fishing pier. I considered going fishing-- we had kite string, lots of cane around to cut for poles, minnows for the taking, and apparently you don't need a license to fish in the Potomac-- and I had plenty of tackle; just walking up and down the causeway I had collected half a dozen rusty hooks, a sinker, a bobber, and more chemoluminescent lures. People depress me sometimes.
We ended up at the pet beach, a perfect little curve of beach on the bay side, and the only reason it's usually empty is that no swimming's allowed. Didn't stop me from falling asleep to the sound of the water, or Dad pulling a kite out of his bike bag. It was an inflatable kite. Very odd. Inflated, it had basically the same shape as the USS Enterprise (TOS). It flew very well though. Now I want to paint it like the Enterprise.
After lunch we went to the main picnic beach/swimming area on the river. It was extremely crowded, full of huge family groups of which I was extremely jealous, because not only todos de ellos puedan hablar espanol mucho mejor que yo, but they all had lots and lots of really big, really colorful, really comfortable-looking hammocks set up all over the place which I coveted. Wnet swimming instead, until the jellyfish drove me out of the water, and then I went to sleep on the beach again.
We had a campfire that night, but we brought the wrong kind of graham crackers, so I had to make do with just chocolate and marshmallows on my s'mores. It was 'orrible. 'orrible, I tell you. I had to eat more just to make up for it.
Then Dad and I decided to go out to the pier again and look at Mars and see if we could find any more glowing things in the water--we'd kept seeing blue flashes the night before that I thought might be comb jellies, but Mom didn't believe us. But we only got as far as the road, where he trees began to clear out, before we stopped in our tracks, completely awed, and then ran back to the campsite and dragged Mom out with us. Why? Because we could see stars.
For the first time in my life, I have seen the night sky. It actually looked like the night sky. Not a few dim pinpricks through a shroud of faded purple-gray, but like endless balls of flame impossibly far away in the dark void. There were too many stars to count. I could see the Milky Way. I could actually see the Milky Way. I saw what I'm faily sure were satellites, and over thirteen shooting stars. No clouds, no moon, and the sky was full of stars. There wasn't room for any more. Dad and I spent three hours just lying out on the pier, staring at the sky, even though neither of us knew any constellations to speak of. After all, what's the point of learning the stars if you're trapped under the blindness of civilization? (I did pick out ursae major and minor, cygnus, cassiopeia, and draco.)
With a sky like that every night, astrology becomes comprehendable. So does la reve d'etoiles. The stars are beautiful. The stars are infinite. The stars are mysterious, and compelling, and addictive, and starry.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
stellar_dust, no more angsting allowed. You promised you'd find a way up there. Get cracking. (Also, all people should read her essay on the topic, as I can't match her heights of eloquence.)
After that, nothing else was important.
Although, I have thirty-seven mosquito bites. That's kinda impressive.
p.s. Remind me to write a beach node for e2.
It's nearly a three-hour drive from our house, and we were in the old Ford, of which the air conditioner doesn't work well, and it was about the hottest day of the year; luckily I was sleep- deprived, and dozed through the trip, although I was about drowned when I woke. So of course as soon as the tent was set up Dad made us take a bike ride through the park. Everyone who camps at Point Lookout takes bikes; since, being on a point, everything is long and narrow, it's all too far for walking but no room for parking. By the time we made it back, me and Mom nearly dead, it was almost dark. After dinner Mom taught me Pinochle (which is an unecessarily complicated game), me with a punk stick clenched in my teeth.
Later we went out to the pier on the lake to look at Mars. Mars was indeed bright, and rather orange, and somewhat mesmerising. We also kept seeing eerie lightning flashes way off across the bay. One of our neighbors mentioned all the animals he'd been seeing in the lake, so Dad and I tried our luck. It was about the most fun I've had on the water. The water looks absolutely black until the flashlight beam hits it, and then you see a blue crab going about its business, or a huge needlefish, or an absolutely gorgeous jelly. Some of the minnows would come to the light and dance in circles in the beam. Depth becomes deceptive, and the water/air interface is invisible, so it looks as if they're floating, or you're underwater. Dad saw a tiny speck of something that glowed brilliant green, and we spent forever trying to figure it out (Mom got bored and went home). Was it the top of a jellyfish? A bioluminescent minnow? Some kind of plankton? A primitive coelenterate? Finally it drifted close enough to the pier for Dad to scoop it up, and it become obvious it was man-made. Dad thought it was wierd, and possibly toxic; I decided it was a fishing lure, made the same basic way as glowsticks. Dad gave it to me, and said fine, but if I woke up the next morning with strange superpowers, not to come crying to him.
I didn't, sadly. I did wake up at about two to witness the most brilliant thunderstorm I've ever been out in; and considering my family's camping luck, that's something. It rained so hard that ti drove through the roof of the tent in a fine mist; but not for long enough that anything actually got wet. the thunder was loud, and long, and near; the lighting made shadows sharp as knives. And the lure gave everything a creepy green tinge.
The storm cooled things down enough that when Dad took us on an even longer bike ride Saturday morning it was actually pleasant. We went all the way out to the point where the lighthouse is, then came back, by way of everywhere. Wandered throught the old fort, and the beach below it which is always deserted due to the nasty flies, then went out on the long fishing pier. I considered going fishing-- we had kite string, lots of cane around to cut for poles, minnows for the taking, and apparently you don't need a license to fish in the Potomac-- and I had plenty of tackle; just walking up and down the causeway I had collected half a dozen rusty hooks, a sinker, a bobber, and more chemoluminescent lures. People depress me sometimes.
We ended up at the pet beach, a perfect little curve of beach on the bay side, and the only reason it's usually empty is that no swimming's allowed. Didn't stop me from falling asleep to the sound of the water, or Dad pulling a kite out of his bike bag. It was an inflatable kite. Very odd. Inflated, it had basically the same shape as the USS Enterprise (TOS). It flew very well though. Now I want to paint it like the Enterprise.
After lunch we went to the main picnic beach/swimming area on the river. It was extremely crowded, full of huge family groups of which I was extremely jealous, because not only todos de ellos puedan hablar espanol mucho mejor que yo, but they all had lots and lots of really big, really colorful, really comfortable-looking hammocks set up all over the place which I coveted. Wnet swimming instead, until the jellyfish drove me out of the water, and then I went to sleep on the beach again.
We had a campfire that night, but we brought the wrong kind of graham crackers, so I had to make do with just chocolate and marshmallows on my s'mores. It was 'orrible. 'orrible, I tell you. I had to eat more just to make up for it.
Then Dad and I decided to go out to the pier again and look at Mars and see if we could find any more glowing things in the water--we'd kept seeing blue flashes the night before that I thought might be comb jellies, but Mom didn't believe us. But we only got as far as the road, where he trees began to clear out, before we stopped in our tracks, completely awed, and then ran back to the campsite and dragged Mom out with us. Why? Because we could see stars.
For the first time in my life, I have seen the night sky. It actually looked like the night sky. Not a few dim pinpricks through a shroud of faded purple-gray, but like endless balls of flame impossibly far away in the dark void. There were too many stars to count. I could see the Milky Way. I could actually see the Milky Way. I saw what I'm faily sure were satellites, and over thirteen shooting stars. No clouds, no moon, and the sky was full of stars. There wasn't room for any more. Dad and I spent three hours just lying out on the pier, staring at the sky, even though neither of us knew any constellations to speak of. After all, what's the point of learning the stars if you're trapped under the blindness of civilization? (I did pick out ursae major and minor, cygnus, cassiopeia, and draco.)
With a sky like that every night, astrology becomes comprehendable. So does la reve d'etoiles. The stars are beautiful. The stars are infinite. The stars are mysterious, and compelling, and addictive, and starry.
stellar_dust, no more angsting allowed. You promised you'd find a way up there. Get cracking. (Also, all people should read her essay on the topic, as I can't match her heights of eloquence.)After that, nothing else was important.
Although, I have thirty-seven mosquito bites. That's kinda impressive.
p.s. Remind me to write a beach node for e2.
no subject
If you saw moving points of light in the sky that went from one point on the horizon to another in a straight line but weren't planes they're probably satellites. It's more likely that you saw them than shooting stars, but I'm not sure what a shooting star would look like.
Write a beach node, slacker.
no subject
no subject
We saw lots of shooting stars that night, or at least I don't know what else they would've been. Very fast streaks of faint light, too fast to be a satellite, and only visible for a couple degrees of sky anyway. You won't typically see them in the center of your vision because they're so faint - has to do with the distribution of roddy and coney things in your eye.
I kissed her that night, which was probably a mistake.