A quasi-weekly column from astronomer Mike Brown on space and science, planets and dwarf planets, the sun, the moon, the stars, and the joys and frustrations of search, discovery, and life. With a family in tow. Or towing. Or perhaps in mutual orbit.



Summer project: Build a radio telescope at home

When we moved into our house more than 7 years ago now the old owners left their Dish Network satellite TV dish attached to the roof. A few months later we got a sternly worded letter from the Disk Network demanding that we send them the dish back. With my detailed knowledge of the intricacies of the American legal system my obvious response was: come and get it. Which would have been fine with me. But, actually, that was not even my response, my response was to throw the letter in the trash while thinking in my head "come and get it."

Seven year later the dish was still on the side of the house. Luckily it is on the side that I never really see, so I didn't worry about it, but every now and then I thought to myself: "I should at least go up and take down that eyesore." But I never did. Until now.

I occurred to me a while ago that a parabolic dish like that would make a fine radio telescope (OK, it will end up a microwave telescope, but we'll get into the details later).

I'm not a radio astronomer or an electrical engineer or a Ham radio guy or any of that stuff, so I really had no idea what I was talking about, but it seemed a fun project for Lilah and I to play around with for the summer and for both of us to learn a little bit about microwaves. The caveat, though, is that my electronic explanations might not be exactly right. And I might break things.

We started last week. Step 1: remove the dish from the roof and see what was there. I had to snip the coax cables that went into the house and then undo five big screws and then everything just came unceremoniously down. The main issue was figuring out how to hold the wrench, dish, and ladder at the same time without falling. Luckily I survived this crucial part. Lilah stayed far enough away to avoid getting a dish on her head but to be able to both take pictures of me and make fun of me each time I dropped something and had to go pick it up.

The next step was to figure out what I really had. The dish itself is just a big semi-parabolic shaped piece of metal that focuses all of the microwaves into one spot. I wanted to see what was at the spot where the microwaves converge. Something, somewhere has to take the microwaves and turn them into an electrical signal that can travel down the coaxial cable. Given that coaxial cables come out the bottom of the arm, it must be that the conversion all happens right there on the end of the arm.
Here's the thing at the end of the arm. If you take the white plastic cap off (forgot to take picture; sorry!) you're looking into two things that look like funnels. I recognize those; they are "feedhorns" which really are, essentially, the funnels that will take the focused microwaves and transmit them somewhere, presumably to something inside that grey box. The grey box has, as outputs, three coaxial cables. It seemed obvious that the two feedhorns look in two slightly different directions, allowing a single dish to actually look at two TV satellites at the same time. In fact, they are labeled "119 degrees" and "110 degrees" so they presumably look at two satellite 9 degrees apart (verified. here are the TV shows you can watch on them.) One of the satellites, apparently, transmit microwaves that are polarized both up-and-down and also back-and-forth, meaning that you get twice as much TV from one satellite. The other satellite looks like it doesn't. Why not? I have no idea. But it does look like Satellite 119 (which two polarizations) is called the Main Satellite by the Dish Network and has more channels. So at least that makes sense.


The gray box is clearly the heart of the microwave receiver. From the label, it is a Digital LNBF. As I mentioned, I don't know any of this stuff. But, a judicious use of Google taught me that it stands for Low Noise Block Downconverter with Feedhorn.  We've already found the feedhorn part, that just channels the microwaves into the box, so somewhere in there there has to be an antenna which actually detects the microwaves, not just moves them around, like all we've done so far.

I really wanted to see the antenna (three of them, actually, one for each polarization). So we started taking the box apart.










File:LNB dissassembled.JPGSadly, most of the electronics are hard to get to and we never found the antenna. I can show you, however, what the inside of someone else's LNBF looks like.  From Wikipedia, here is the LNB part of an LNBF. Imagine that the feedhorn is pointed straight at you and the microwaves are going into the feedhorn and into that empty circle in the upper middle. See the two thick wires sticking out, one horizontal and one vertical? Those are the antennae. The vertical ones will detect microwaves that are vertically polarized, the horizontal ones will detect the horizontally polarized microwaves. Just like you can use polarized sunglasses to remove one polarization from sunlight, the two antennae each will detect only that single polarization and the other will be invisible to it. Again, it's almost like having two separate satellites in the same spot.

Ever thought much about how an antenna works? They're quite simple, really. Microwaves, radio waves, light waves, and all of the rest are traveling electric and magnetic fields. These are "microwaves" because the size of the wave -- the range of distance over which the electrical field goes from positive to negative -- is a few centimeters. Imagine now that little wire -- the antenna -- sitting inside this electric field. If the antenna is about the size of the electromagnetic wave, one end of the antenna will get a positive charge, the other end a negative charge. Current will flow. You have just detected the radio wave. What if, instead, your antenna is really small compared to the wave? The change in electrical field across your antenna is tiny, so only a tiny charge flows. Nothing really happens. What if, instead your antenna is big compared to the wave? In that case you'll have many alternating positive and negative fields, but they will mostly cancel. Bad news. You detected nothing. The moral of this story is that you want your antenna to be about the same size as your wave (there are many details I am skipping here). And notice, the picture above, the antennae look to be something like a centimeter. Perfect for detecting the microwaves we're after.

From detecting the microwaves to sending the signals out the coaxial cables at the bottom is where the magic occurs. We have just received electrical signals on the antenna, but we can't send those directly down the coaxial cable. Why not? My lack of electrical engineering knowledge hurts me here. I know that microwaves have too high a frequency (or too short a wavelength) to transmit on coaxial cables without dying out incredibly quickly. But, I am sad to admit, I can offer you no intuitive explanation of why. I'll work on it. But the bottom line is that to transmit on a relatively cheap and simple coaxial cable you need to lower the frequency. That's where the "downconverter" part comes in. All of those electronics you see in the box take the microwave frequency detected, subtract a fixed frequency just a little smaller, and leave only low frequency oscillations that can travel down the coax. I understand the principle, but I'm not so good on the details.

If you want to watch TV, then, just point at the satellite, focus the microwaves, send them through a feedhorn, convert the microwaves to lower frequencies, send them via coaxial cable to your satellite receiver, and watch all you want.

One small technical point that will matter in a few minutes is that the electric power needed to run the LNBF is sent up from your satellite receiver on the same coaxial cable. This matters to us, since we're not going to have a satellite receiver and will need to construct our own power source.



We now know how our radio telescope is going to work. We'll point at an object, focus the microwaves with our dish, collect them in the feedhorn, convert them to lower frequencies, and then detect them. For TV you have to receive and decode them, but for us, all we want to do is detect their intensity. Luckily, this is a problem that TV watchers often have, too. When they want to align their satellite dish they need to find the satellite. The easiest way is to insert a "satellite finder" between the dish and the TV which simply measures the total amount of microwave received. You then tweak your dish around until you get the maximum signal.


You can buy fancy ones of these for $100+,   but, for fun, I thought I would try something cheap, so I found this one on Amazon for $7.91 (including free Prime shipping; whoo hoo!). It has two coax inputs. One goes to the receiver, one goes to the LNBF. There is a meter, a buzzer (very useful, it turns out; the Amazon page didn't even mention it!), and a gain knob.

Recall that the LNBF gets its power from the TV receiver. This thing also gets its power from the receiver. It's the only reason for the coax to the receiver, in fact. If I had a satellite TV receiver, I could probably have just hooked it up straight and start using the dish. But I don't. So I need to power it myself. How?

The specs on the satellite finder where nearly nonexistent, but on the back (which, by the way, was easy to pop off), you could read: "Power ~13-18 V"

I like the "~" which gave me some comfort that I might be able to just wire something up quickly and perhaps the circuit wouldn't complain too much. The easiest thing I could think of to get a voltage in that range was two 9V batteries wired in series. Is this a good idea? I have no idea. You could, alternatively wire up ~10 AA batteries (at 1.5 V each) in series. Is this better? I have no idea.

It seemed easiest to me to do the 2 9V batteries, so Lilah and I headed down to Radio Shack and, for ~$3, got a bag of 9V connectors.


We wanted two batteries in series, so I connected the red (+) wire of one to the black (-) wire of the other. I soldered them together, but, really, that's over kill, isn't it? Just twisting and wrapping in electrical tape would probably be fine. Now we just need to figure out where to put the power in.




When you pop off the back you see this:




It's pretty easy to figure out where the power needs to come from. The only point of the coax from the receiver is to deliver that ~13-18V, so if we deliver it by battery instead we should be in business. On a coaxial cable the outside is ground (-) and the inside wire is the power (+), so we need to hook up our batteries appropriately. It's pretty easy to see what is connected to the outside and inside of the coax.

I did a simple soldering job connecting the red wire of the battery pack to the thing labeled "power input" above and connecting the black wire to the thing labeled "ground". Soldering! The smell reminds me of my father. Until recently I had his old soldering gun, but it, too, finally stopped working. Lilah loves it, too. I'm not quite bold enough to let her solder herself, but I think the time is quickly approaching. We talk a lot about proper technique, heating the wire, not the solder, checking the connections afterward with the voltmeter. I think she's ready.




The final product looks just fine. Red wire to the middle pin, black wire to the outer ground. I drilled a hole in the plastic back to allow the wires to pass through, and we got out the batteries for the moment of truth. What would happen when we plugged the batteries in? We really weren't sure. Smoke? Flame? Probably not. Nothing? Hard to say. So we did it. And here's what happened: a light came on on the front side! I didn't realize it, but the meter was backlit and we had just turned on the back lighting. We were powered, there was no smoke, and nothing seemed to be overheating! If I turned up the gain know I could eventually even get to a point where the buzzer was buzzing. It was time to try our microwave telescope!

All we had to do at this point was to go outside, attach the coax cable coming from the LBNF (there are two, actually, since they were originally attached to the two polarizations of the 119 degree satellite. Things in the sky are in general not polarized so it doesn't really matter which I used). And starting trying to find something. It looks something like this. The blue rubber bands hold the two batteries in place on the back. Quite professional, I know:



We turned the gain knob down until no sounds were being made and then I had an idea. The feed horn itself is like a tiny telescope, right? The dish just is a way to feed it even more microwaves. But shouldn't the feed horn detect thermal emission from something about 100F? Like, say, my hand? And the answer is, yes. When I put my hand in front of the feed horn the satellite finder started buzzing slightly. Lilah and I both yelped. Regardless of whatever else was going on, our feedhorn had just detected something when I put my hand in front. She put hers in front. Same sound.  We were ready for astronomy!


Lilah and I had been talking about radiowaves and microwaves and how they were related to radios and to light and to things in the sky, so I asked her: "Lilah, what do you think would be the brightest thing in the sky in the microwave." "Well, dud, Daddy, it will be the sun," she said. She was right (well, almost). Unfortunately, for our first day of radio telescoping, we hadn't yet built a mount for the dish, so we used me.

I looked up, pointed the dish in the direction of the sun, and..... nothing. I waved it around, up, down, back, forth..... Nothing.We retested our hands: good. I pointed at the side of the house: good. But up in the sky there was nothing to be seen or heard.

Curious, I pointed all around the sky. When I started scanning south, the buzzer started going crazy now and then. I had just found the geosynchronous satellites broadcasting in the microwave. In fact, I was pointing in more or less the direction that our own dish had been pointing before I had removed it from the side of the house. I might have found the 119 degree Dish network satellite, even.

Knowing that we were capable of finding something I tried even more systematically for the sun. With Lilah helping to line up, we pointed right at the sun and slowly spiraled out, until, all of the sudden BUUUUUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!!!!! First light! We had detected something beyond earth orbit. When I looked where I thought we were pointing I realized the problem: the feedhorn was offset from the center so that the dish could look at two satellites at once. We will be addressing that difficulty later.  But the exciting thing about how hard it was to find the sun is that it means our dish is quite directional. It must be precisely pointed, even at something as bright as the sun.

We listened to the buzz of the sun's microwave emission for a while, while bathing in the shorter wavelength light of the sun also, feeling very proud of ourselves:




This is just the start of our summer project. We have proved to ourselves that we can repurpose the TV dish to detect things other than TV satellites (and we can detect those!). There is so much more to do. Here are the first few tasks we have:

  1. Build a mount. Really. I am not that steady. A good mount will allow us to really explore the sky and see what is there.
  2. Connect it to the computer. Right now we have a meter and a buzzer, which is good to see if things are working, but not so good for more quantitative exploring. I think connecting the buzzer to the microphone input of a laptop and then analyzing the signals might be doable. 
  3. See what else is in the microwave sky. The moon seems a likely target, because it is big and moderately hot. Venus? It's hot, but not so big, so I don't know. Other things? We'll found out.

Our telescope is crude, but I think both Lilah and I learned some stuff we didn't know before, which is always the goal. Plus we will have more of the summer to see what we can really find out there. We spent $7 on the satellite finder, $3 on the battery connectors, and got a dish for free. Looking at ebay it appears you could get a dish+LBNF for under $100. Go out and explore the microwave sky!


The dwarf planet that gets no respect

Quick: name the three largest known objects in the Kuiper belt. If you’ve been paying close attention you will instantly get Eris and Pluto, and, if pressed, you will admit that no one knows which one is bigger. And the third? An unscientific poll of people who should know the answer (my daughter, my wife, my nephew) reveals that not a single one does.

The answer, of course, is Makemake (you remember how to pronounce this, right? Mah-kay-mah-kay, Polynesian style).  Makemake was discovered just months after the discoveries of Eris and of Haumea, and all were announced within days of each other. Eris and Haumea had important stories immediately attached to them (Eris was as big as Pluto! Haumea had suspicious discovery circumstances!), so poor Makemake stayed in the shadow of its more famous contemporaries. It was so overlooked that, in the hastily called press conference in which we announced the discoveries, I couldn’t even remember the official designation of Makemake when asked (it was 2005 FY9, of course; how could I have forgotten that?).





Comets!

Sometimes I like to write about things in the sky that I've been studying. Sometimes I like to write about scientific discoveries in the outer solar system. Sometimes I even write about wild speculations I have about the solar system. But, every once in a while, I get to just sit back and watch the sky go by.

I love comets. When I first started graduate school to get my Ph.D. in astronomy, I wanted to study the most distant galaxies in the world. But my Ph.D. advisor really wanted me to start by doing a project studying a comet (actually, he wanted all  of his graduate students to start with comets, because no one stuck with them; they jumped to galaxies as fast as they could). I fell in love with comets. Mostly, I think, I fell in love with the fact that you could use huge telescope to study things in the sky that you could actually see with your eyes or with binocular or with a camera. Things that were real. 

So I was pretty excited  about the prospect of Comet Panstarrs close to the tiny tiny crescent moon tonight. We have a great western horizon from my house and I was pretty sure we would have good views. Scientifically, I have nothing at stake. I'm not involved in any attempts to look at the comet with telescopes big or small, on the ground or in space. I just wanted to see it.

So I waited.

The tiny crescent moon was going to be easier to see, so up and down, back and forth, with binoculars I searched. THERE! It was, 25 minutes after sunset, higher than I thought. This was good news. It would be a good ~30 minutes before the comet set. Long enough that even my daughter Lilah would be able to see it.

(Lilah uses a placemat every day that has astronomy pictures [including, yes, Planet Pluto. It was a present. Really] on it, including comets. She is really really excited about seeing one in real life).

I had set out the camera and tripod earlier, and started taking long exposures, hoping to capture the comet. I kept seeing something. Maybe. To the left. Where I knew it should. Be. But? Well? I dunno.

Until, finally, jackpot:



See it? Barely? Something like 6 lunar diameters to the left of the moon?

And, I should mention, that I spend much less time than I should staring at the thin thin thin crecent moon with binoculars. It was spectacular. And it is monthly. Missed it tonight? Go next month.

The moon and comet slowly set in the west, while the sky got darker. Here, now, are a series of pictures where I just got to be a sky tourist. No big telescopes, no data collection, just me, a telephoto, a camera, my family [yes! Diane and Lilah both saw it! They were both a little shocked that they could actually see a comet!]. Here we go.


I love the view out my backyard. Particularly tonight.

It got lower and lower (and in the traffic pattern of LAX)



I love the palm trees on the horizon. Yup. I live in LA.

Finally it set.

I'll try again all this week from Hawaii, where I will be for the 20th anniversary of the opening of the Keck Observatory. It will seem a little more like science, though. There is something magical about looking from your backyard and seeing a visitor from far far far far beyond the Kuiper belt. And a spectacular moon.

The last shot I got, before I had to take Lilah in, read her a bed time story, and pack for Hawaii, looks like this:


There's a lot of murk between us and the moon, and us and the comet. But, really, it's just another night here in LA, as the sky darkens, the stars come out, and the world bustles underneath.

Sea salt (part 3)

[You should probably start with Part 1]

The first thing that you notice when you look at a spectrum of Europa -- from the Earth, from a spacecraft, it doesn’t really matter – is the ice. Ice is everywhere. The spectrum of ice is a very distinctive looking thing, with a quickly recognizable pattern of regions where the sunlight reflects strongly from the surface and regions where there is less reflectance (and remember the regions here means spectral regions, which means, essentially, we stare at one small spot on the surface, put the light through a prism to spread it all out, and see which colors of the rainbow are present and which are absent. In our case our rainbow is in infrared light that your eye can’t see, but the idea is still the same).

Sea Salt (part 2)

[don’t miss part 1] 

One of the biggest problems with trying to figure out what is on the surface of Europa was that the spectrograph on the Galileo spacecraft didn’t have a very fine view of the reflected light coming off the surface. The analogy I used in Part 1 was that Galileo was looking at fingerprints where you could only discern the rough pattern and not the individual ridges. You couldn’t use those fingerprints to know for sure who had smudged your crystal, though you might be able to rule out some people and you might become more suspicious of others.

There are two main reasons that the views from Galileo were not as fine as we would like. First Galileo was old when it arrived at Jupiter. Serious work began on the spacecraft in 1977, and with typical delays and atypical space shuttle accidents, it was finally launched, via a space shuttle, in 1989. Even the trip to Jupiter took longer than initially planned -- the shuttle accident spawned new rules which required the use of a less powerful rocket to launch Galileo from the orbiting shuttle -- so Galileo could not go directly to Jupiter but instead had to get gravity sligshots off of Venus and Earth before finally heading towards Jupiter and arriving in 1995, nearly twenty years after construction began. It was old on the first day it took data at Jupiter. (It was intentionally crashed into Jupiter in 2002 to prevent, among other things, an accidental crash into Europa, which would clearly disturb the whales).  Not surprisingly, the old technology was not as good as current technology in seeing precise spectral fingerprints.

Sea Salt (part 1)

Ever wonder what it would taste like if you could lick the icy surface of Jupiter’s Europa? The answer may be that it would taste a lot like that last mouthful of water that you accidentally drank when you were swimming at the beach on your last vacation. Just don’t take too long of a taste. At nearly 300 degrees (F) below zero your tongue will stick fast.

The composition of the surface of Europa has been hotly debated since the Galileo mission attempted to make detailed measurements more than a decade ago. Galileo’s tool for measuring the composition was spectroscopy – looking at the sunlight that reflects off of the surface of Europa and seeing which molecules leave characteristic fingerprints in that reflected sunlight. It’s a powerful technique, one that led to the initial discovery of water ice on the Galilean satellite, the discovery of frozen methane on distant bodies like Eris and Pluto and Makemake, and is even used on the Earth to map out mineral deposits for potential exploitation.

There is a Season 5

Some years back, when I first started writing this blog, I went strong for a year, and then felt a need for a rest. I was writing a book, doing science, raising an infant, all things that took time. So I declared that that was the end of Season 1. After a hiatus I was back. As I remember it, Season 2 was written mostly on weekend afternoons during the times that Lilah napped. But naps don’t last forever, and Season 2 ended when those naps did. As my book was just coming out I took a sabbatical from academic work  -- thus the start of Season 3 -- and wrote more, travelled around more, gave more talks, and became generally exhausted. I was thrilled when my sabbatical was over and I could return to science. There was a brief foray into Season 4 more than a year ago, but my heart wasn’t in it. And Lilah definitely no longer napped.
But, out of no where, there is a Season 5.
What’s changed?

And the answer is....

Almost a year ago, Eris – the, uh, most massive known dwarf planet -- passed directly in front of an otherwise anonymous star, momentarily causing the star to disappear, as seen from the earth. By carefully measuring the length of time that the star disappeared, astronomers made a very precise measurement of the size of Eris. I care about the size of Eris for many different reasons, but the most trivial yet emotional for me is the fact that, 5 years ago, I measured the size of Eris myself. We used a much more difficult and less accurate technique than watching a star disappear and timing it. We looked at Eris with the Hubble Space Telescope and carefully compared the tiny disk that we saw with a picture of a star (which should show no disk at all) and we claimed that we could tell that Eris had a diameter of about 1.3 pixels on the HST camera. Only 1.3 pixels! It’s hard to imagine that you could tell the difference between something 1.3 pixels across and 1.2 pixels. In fact, it had never been done before. Even we were not convinced at first that our technique was as accurate as it appeared to be. So we spent months on a careful analysis to make sure we had done nothing wrong. In the end our measurement technique passed every test we could dream up for it, and we became convinced that it was correct. We wrote the paper to announce it to the world. The diameter of Eris, we claimed, was 2400 km with an uncertainty of 100 km in either direction (I’ll be writing this as 2400±100 km).

This post might not be wrong

I have a new scientific paper coming out in the Astrophysical Journal that I am quite proud of having written. Even better, there is a chance that it might not even be wrong.


Back in something like seventh grade, I learned how science works. Scientists formulate a hypothesis and then they do experiments, and if enough experiments support the hypothesis, eventually the hypothesis becomes a theory. Right? Only, in my twenty-something years of actually doing science, things have rarely worked that way. Usually the process is more like this: do observations; discover something; develop explanation; repeat. This new paper, though, is a real live old fashioned hypothesis. It even has the word in the title: A hypothesis for the color diversity of the Kuiper belt.

The death of the 10th planet

A remembrance of 5 years ago, today, excerpted from How I Killed Pluto and Why It Had It Coming

As an astronomer, I have long had a professional aversion to waking up before dawn, preferring instead to see sunrises not as an early morning treat, but as the signal that the end of a long night of work has come, and it is finally time for overdue sleep. But in the pre-dawn of August 25th, 2005, I awoke early and was up sneaking out the door, trying not to wake my wife Diane or our one-year-old daughter Lilah. I wasn’t quite quiet enough. As I was closing the front door behind me, Diane called out, “Good luck sweetie!”


I made the short drive downhill through the dark empty streets of Pasadena to the Caltech campus, where I found myself at 4:30 AM, freshly showered, partially awake, and uncharacteristically nicely dressed, unlocking my office building to let in news crews that had been waiting outside. All of the local news affiliates were there, as well as representatives of most of the national networks. Outside, a Japanese-speaking crew was pointing their TV camera up at the sky, their flood lamps disappearing into space. A glance at their TV monitors showed nothing but flood lamps disappearing into space.