On the morning of 3 March, 2026, a total eclipse of the Moon darkened the night sky over all of the world that was in night.  The eclipse was fabulous.  During its total phase, the Moon was not really its usual coppery red color but more of a greyish-brown.  On the Danjon luminosity scale, I gave it about a 1.5 on the scale of 0 to 5.   I was lucky to view this eclipse during the inaugural session at the San Diego Astronomical Association’s newest acquisition.  I do not recall an eclipse that was more fun than this one.  And I have viewed 104 eclipses ranging from penumbral lunar to total solar.

On 1 March of this year, Dr. Mario Motta, a nationally known cardiologist and an expert on the history of Stellafane and light pollution, and I, travelled to San Diego, in order to view the total lunar eclipse and to meet Jean Mueller. We wanted to see it from the American west coast, where we could view the entire predawn affair with the Moon well above the horizon.  We were viewing it with Jean, world renowned as an observer at Palomar Mountain Observatory.  She has discovered 15 comets, 13 asteroids, and 107 supernovae in far-off galaxies.  The combined accomplishments of these two viewers of the night sky are truly spectacular. But what was even better were her stories about life at Palomar, her work there at the Samuel Oschin 48-inch on the Second Palomar Observatory Sky Survey, and later at the 200-inch.  She spoke to a group that was unequivocally spellbound.   Jean was delightful.  Mario built and uses a wonderful 32-inch f/6 telescope which peeks far into the Universe from the sky above the eastern United States.

Mario is an accomplished deep-sky observer, and has spent a lifetime learning about and living the history of his beloved Stellafane. In fact, during the drive westward we were also driving back in time and there was Russell Porter, sitting in the back seat, sharing tales and laughing with us.

As we waited for the first penumbral tinge of Earth shadow to touch the Moon, Mario admitted that he “hates” the Moon because it prevents him from more enjoyment of his cherished remnote galaxies, clusters, and other deep sky objects.  He and I enjoyed a verbal joust about the Moon right during the eclipse!  I love the Moon, but he appeared to be winning until I offered a comeback.  It was from Leslie Peltier’s Starlight Nights, where Leslie introduced me to a nursery rhyme.  We ended up turning this into a standing joke to which we laughed all the way back to my Arizona home.

“Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving?”
“Over the sea, over the sea.”
“Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving?”
“All that love me, all that love me.”

As joyous as the total eclipse was, our visit to Palomar the afternoon before the eclipse was truly magical.  Again, Russell Porter was right with us.    There, Jean recalled her many years there, first as an observer for the Second Palomar Observatory Sky Survey, then operating the mighty 200-inch telescope.

While there I finally got to complete a dream.  In my 77 years I have delivered more than 3150 lectures.  I like to imagine that the very first lecture was at the opening of the great telescope.  Mueller, as versed in the history of Palomar as Motta is with Stellafane, told us that the telescope was dedicated on 3 June 1948.  Was my first lecture (Lecture zero)  delivered that day?  I was twelve days old.  On this day, 77 years later, I finally turned that into a reality.  I gave a brief lecture near the wonderful 200-inch mirror, and another lecture at the visitor center near the 18-inch Schmidt camera which I used with Gene and Carolyn Shoemaker for seven wondrous years.

Enter Russell Porter, who seemed to accompany us throughout this visit. We got to have a really special visit with the person who designed the telescope and whose sketches are among the finest in the world.  Even though Russell Porter died before Mario was born, and when I was but a year old, it felt as though he had been recalled to life for us.  Had he been alive I would have asked him,  “In Berton Willard’s biography of your life, he explained how you accepted Hale’s offer of a position designing the 200-inch telescope.  How many seconds did it take you to accept this life-changing proposition?”

“Less than 3.14159 seconds,” Porter might have replied with his trademark wide grin.

Porter’s original sketched design needed revision.  I envisage the meeting where that design was turned down, and what the other committee members said about it.  “We reject this design, but we love your sketches; they are splendid, magnificent!”  Porter’s later design was accepted.  In a stroke of genius, he took his now-famous design of a small garden telescope with its split-ring mounting, and upgraded it to the horseshoe mount we know and love.

What might have surprised the Palomar engineers in Porter’s time was the elegance of the 200-inch design.  It was and still is simplicity itself.  The split-ring of its design descends directly from the split-ring he used in his wonderful garden telescope; I love to think of the mighty 200-inch as being the largest Porter garden telescope ever built.  Finally, in the hallway surrounding the telescope are mounted many of Porter’s sketches, among the finest artistry I have ever seen.  But according to Jean, Russell Porter did much more than design the Hale telescope.  He also chose the locations of the buildings that dot the Palomar mountaintop, from observatories to the offices and the houses.   This mountain belongs to Russell Porter.

The only negative aspect of Porter’s move to Palomar was the possible loss of his close friends at Stellafane, the amateur telescope makers event he founded in 1925.  But according to Mario, Porter managed to return to his cherished Stellafane every summer.  In my lifetime, I have been privileged to visit Stellafane many times, and once a month for seven years, I considered Palomar my second home.  On this visit, the place displayed its rich times past like a brilliant full Moon, after the eclipse, lighting up the sky.  The precious words he inscribed on the front gables of Stellafane’s pink clubhouse inspire us to this day and this night:  From the first line of Psalm 19:

“The heavens declare the glory of God.”

Skyward is a contribution from DAS Poet Laureate, David “Doveed” Levy