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Wednesday, June 7^th, happened to be Tenant Appreciation Day at the office complex where I work. It’s an annual cookout complete with grilled chicken, pulled pork, potato salad, baked beans...oh, man, good stuff! Of course, to an amateur astronomer such an occasion also means something else: a primo opportunity to show off our sun to lots of people!

The weather in Arlington, Virginia, cooperated nicely and I set my scope up just as hungry engineers and accountants started to filter outdoors. I didn’t bother hooking up the motor drive to my 8" SCT because I wasn’t precisely sure where north was; instead, I resolved myself to simply check and re-center the sun’s image in the eyepiece every couple of minutes. That decision turned out to be crucial...

At first the viewing went much as public viewings usually do. Lost of good questions, a few silly ones, and most everyone suitably impressed with the wonderful sunspot groups (really a great bunch of tiny spots covering a large area adjacent to a monster spot with a nice penumbra!) One man asked if I could see a space shuttle with my telescope, and I told him I probably could if someone would just hold it still long enough. Anyway, as I’ve stated, it was necessary to check the sun’s position in the eyepiece every couple of minutes, and it was during one of those checks – and while I was in the middle of a conversation with a few of my co-workers – that it happened.

You know how meteors always catch you off-guard? I mean, your eyes catch the movement or flash with peripheral vision just when you least expect it. The message flows like half-frozen molasses to your brain and, with a similar quickness you tell your eyes, "Look at that meteor! Now! Idiot! Look! Look!" Depending on the meteor, it’s either gone before you really get a good look at it, or you actually see something quite beautiful. Well, that’s sort of what happened to me in that brief moment at the eyepiece, only I saw no meteor.

There have been many occasions while observing at night that I’ve seen a satellite zoom through my eyepiece’s field of view. I was quite amazed the first one or two times that it happened, but I eventually realized that it must not be all that rare of an occurrence. But on this day at lunch, during a brief glimpse while tweaking the scope’s position, while several spots were already decorating old Sol with freckles, I spied the fleeting silhouette of a man-made satellite dive right across the disc of the sun! Oh, it was beautiful!

As with meteor sightings, I was caught both off-guard and unprepared. But the old neurons fired away inside my head anyway, and in an instant that geometrically gorgeous, black and silent spectacle shooting across our sun was imprinted into my memory. An image I hope I never forget. Mostly rectangular, but with thin linear extensions here and there; and all so very black against the orange background. Of course, like meteors, it was gone in an instant. I stood up straight; dazed.

"Here, you can look now. You should be able to see a few distinct groups of black spots." My mouth formed the words simply out of habit. I was stunned. My mind was doing loops.

"Here’s the focuser."

Then from some internal reservoir of rationality and reason I realized what I had to do. Immediately. Check my watch! My Timex Ironman looked back at me: 12:48pm Wednesday, June 7, 2000. Good. I resumed breathing. Now I might even be able to get a confirmation on this sighting!

Although I felt like I was about to explode, I said absolutely nothing to the people around me about what I’d seen. What could I say?

"Oh, wow, I just saw a satellite pass in front of the sun! I’d love to show you all, but it’s long gone and I’ll probably never see that again as long as I live. Sorry. But it was really cool! You can still see the pretty sunspots, though."

Nope. I shut the hell up. My little secret. I was lucky. I was thankful. In the hour and a half that I was outside during Tenant Appreciation Day at Sequoia Plaza, I spent maybe 3 or 4 minutes actually looking at our closest star myself. But they were the right 3 or 4 minutes!

I’d love to show you all, but it’s long gone and I’ll probably never see that again as long as I live. Sorry. But it was really cool! You can still see the pretty sunspots, though.