Wherefore art thou Leonids?

by Philip Parodayco // written on 21 November 2002, saved in Pjournal

I awoke to a beautiful fog this Tuesday morning. And while it was a soft and lovely thing to behold, I was left with a touch of remorse for what it had veiled — the last great passing of the Leonid meteor shower. For those of you lucky enough to have seen it, you were witness to the last great meteor show you will probably ever see. I, on the other hand, was witness to a night of thick clouds and drizzling rain, typical November weather in the Pacific Northwest.

Last year, with the Leonids making their first spectacular pass by our home, Christie and I set out for the darkest place we knew, Sauvie Island. I’ll never forget that night. It was one o’clock in the morning with the meteor shower scheduled to peak around two. The clouds were more scattered than they were this year and we hoped to get a good look through the patches. Sauvie Island has a low elevation and my heart sank as we crossed the bridge and drove into an opaque mass of fog. Many others had already arrived and were driving to and fro looking for that magic spot where the sky was clear and visible. We joined a small group along the side of the road were an opening had appeared. We were quick to learn that these openings came and went freely. Once the initial frustration wore off, we settled in for an unforgettable night.

I don’t usually find myself so far from the city at such an hour. But there I was standing in mud, two in the morning, engulfed in fog with temperatures dropping low. The honking of geese defined this invisible landscape. We huddled silently, our heads craned up to survey the sky. Fog turned every meteor into a soft smear. These moments felt so alien because of their accompanying silence. Fireworks were my only reference point and, of course, fireworks are the noisiest things I know. But these flashes and streaks and needles of light were accompanied by nothing but a soft rush of wind and distance talk of geese. When the clouds thickened, the meteors softened to a delicate blur. There was no pattern to them, streaks were coming from all sides and going in every direction. We felt like small children spinning around with our faces pointed high, trying to catch every mark they made.