Just past 8 am I am forced awake by the noises of my neighbours from Itzehoe; they have to go home because they have to work today. Still, BBQ for breakfast. I join the fun with the leftovers from yesterday; cheese sausages and pork belly sticks with a little flatbread. A cup of coffee allows me to make a round of the still largely sleeping premises. Ollie is either again or still awake and active; I wish I had his stamina. The wind is mostly gone; I start up my mount and look into the sun; yesterday’s spots have wandered almost off the disc, but are still well visible. Around 11 am I decide I have not yet collected enough Zs and go back to bed.
Close to 4 pm I can’t stand it any longer and get back up; I do what a man has to do and have another look at our central stellar body. After a while my stomach starts grumbling. Yesterday, I had tried to fight an instant BBQ kit into giving up sustenance. This time, I try at far lower winds and inside my tent’s atrium so the coal can burn more uniformly. My leftover Nuremberger Rostbratwurst and one pork chuck steak go on the grill; the sausages work out OK, but the steak is only just barely done after the coals have given their last. I don’t really have high expectations, only lots of hunger. Hooray for Kraft’s Crazy Curry Sauce; with that stuff, everything turns into a meal. But next time, I’ll take along a real Barbie.
A short inspection of the tent shows that two of the struts are seriously bent. I hope that that is the complete extent of the damage. Just before sundown, I walk over to my club buddies; Ollie has been joined by another clubmate. Ollie is preparing for sunset in the vague hope for a Green Flash. Not happening, though. I join the photography orgy; nothing really amazing results, but still better than nothing.
During the long dawn I get the idea that there are a few objects in the sky that can be observed even in daylight. So I fire up my mount and set it on Saturn. The result is a clear sky, so I take another look at the mount’s settings: the thing is mentally retarded by one day. Giving it the time of day and correct date works wonders. Another go at Saturn is successful, showing a ridiculously clear image of the Lord of the Rings. I cry out with delight, but nobody seems to notice. Me, I put on the webcam and record a few sequences; the last of those actually is halfway sharp. The processing a few days later results in a usable image, though with a lot of potential for optimisation.
After the night has reached astronomical darkness (meaning no leftover light from sunset) I go for M56 again. Not much luck, so I set up for photography with the DSLR. This time, I’m not all that good; after a few attempts show no changes at all, I notice that my focuser is not focusing any longer, because I have set too little tension on it. That fixed, I go for M92 — another globular cluster. I start a sequence of 30 exposures of 30 seconds each. In the meantime, my red lamp has given up; after almost two years the battery has given its all. I can borrow a rechargeable battery from a club buddy which I can put in with some difficulty only to see that it is every bit as empty as my battery. Off to the hostel for about an hour, which is how long the imaging takes. After this series of pictures I reset to M102, a galaxy, and go back up to the hostel. I won’t see the results before the next day anyway: not bad for a first attempt. A less wiggly result would of course have been nicer.
After almost an hour I return to see whether there is anything else to see. It is not, the corrector plate of my telescope is completely fogged up. After the stormy winds yesterday I had feared for my mount, so had left the dew cap in the car. It is already rather early, so I put the lid on the ‘scope and crawl into my sleeping bag.
On Sunday I awake around 11 am; I get myself a cup of coffee to wake up and slowly start packing my stuff. I burn another instant BBQ kit, wash dishes and sort my garbage. Striking my tent, I notice that one strut has not only bent but burst, and there are several rips in the fabric of the outer hull. Oh well, Rust in Pieces. I offer a colleague who has the same model of tent to take anything he likes as spare parts; he selects one of the undamaged struts and helps be disassemble everything. The leftover struts is recycling materials — glass fibres, plastics and aluminium; I place it next to the recycling bag in the hostel. For this, I am getting a lecture that I should take my bulky waste with me. I don’t feel like having a big discussion and throw the things into the car, to put into the recycle bin back home. The leftovers of the tent’s hull I also take home, in the hope that my mother can use it to fashion a weather hull for my telescope from it. I take a last look around to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything, unsuccessfully look around for people to say goodbye to, and get into my new car to drive home.