As I drove up the winding road to Dinosaur Point, I idly mused upon the inner workings of Norse mythology as I contemplated the past week of rain. When I arrived at the parking lot, it was filled with friends eager for a night's observing. I counted at least 26 telescopes set up.
I started my night's observing with one of my favorite objects, M 57 in Canis Major. It was a blurry likeness of the invisible man. Next, attacking my personal nemesis, I jumped to Abell 87. It was not quite as bright as cream being swirled into hot coffee. With that checked off my list, I nudged my telescope to NGC 3105. It was as bright as a swarm of bees. With that checked off my list, I star-hopped to M 13. It looked uncannily like its Hubble photograph. Then, for a real challenge, I sought NGC 1777. It looked a bit like a swarm of bees. Next, attacking my personal nemesis, I identified IC 2320. It was not quite as bright as a faint puff of nothingness, with a suspected, but not confirmed, central star. Then, for a real challenge, I helped a beginner find B 596. It appeared in the eyepiece like the face of God. Next, attacking my personal nemesis, I tried for Abell 77. It looked exactly like the clouds I'd seen earlier. Next, attacking my personal nemesis, I glimpsed B 162. It would be easy to confuse with the eternal nothingness of being. Then, for a real challenge, I hunted NGC 4242. It reminded me of its Hubble photograph. With that checked off my list, I checked off IC 721. It took me back to the first time I saw cream being swirled into hot coffee.
Finally, it was time to pack up and leave. As I drove home, I contemplated the events of the night, and realized that any night out under the sky with good friends is better than a 24-hour 007 marathon.