My Diary

October 30, 2009
    Canopus has risen high, as it always does around this time of year. Winter is just around the corner.
    As we cleared weeds around the observatory this October, we have a much better view from the observatory now. Canopus is easily visible in the southeastern sky from the observatory's entrance and can be enjoyed for quite a while until it sets.
    As I have written before, it was in the early morning of October 22, 1965, that I had first seen Canopus. I saw it when I walked up to Bandanomori in Suzaki city chasing after Comet Ikeya-Seki, which was approaching the sun at that time. "Astronomy adventurer" Mr. Koichi Ike of Tosa city showed me Canopus, which was as high in the sky and as blue as Sirius. Looking at it for the first time, I immediately thought it was Sirius of Canis Major. What is going on here? Why is it so high in the sky and why so bright? The horizon was way below Canopus with a parade of stars and constellations in-between. In Ryunosuke Akutagawa's novel "Toshishun", the main character of the novel Toshishun, led by an immortal sage, flies on a bamboo broomstick to a high mountain called Gabisan and witnesses rare stars from its rocky summit. Canopus made me recall this scene in the story. Toshishun says, "This mountain must be very high. The stars of the Big Dipper looked as large as rice bowls and were shining brightly." I cannot forget the amazing sight of Canopus even now, 40 years later.
    At Bandanomori in Suzaki city, a mysterious world of stars awaits you. I hope I can see Canopus someday again from that mountain I traveled to following the comet.
    Canopus seen from Geisei is as good, if not better. Bandanomori has become a star too. I remember fondly about the marker we had erected there, which reads: "The site of confirmation of Comet Ikeya-Seki."


September 19, 2009
    Every year, when mid-September comes around, I strongly sense the　arrival of the time when Kreutz group comets appear. The comet, which had shaken the world of comet observers, arrived from the sky east of Canis Major. This morning, I was not particularly conscious of this comet, but the eyepiece field of my 15cm binoculars was fixed in the pre-dawn southeastern sky. The discovery of this comet took place on the morning of September 19, 1965, right at the point where the two lines crossed over: a line running through Alpha and Beta CMa and extended east; the other through Alpha and Beta Gem extended also eastward. This means that, in any year on September 19, Kreutz group comets always appear at this point. It was amazing that French astronomer Dr. Roger Rigollet determined this comet to be a Kreutz only by looking at the telegram reporting the discovery position of this comet and even predicted and proved correct the perihelion date of October 21. Furthermore, the Smithsonian released their early prediction to mass media that this comet would become the greatest comet of the 20th century.
    While searching the sky, I was keenly aware that the sky over Kochi in 1965 had been far better than the sky over Geisei today. The day of the discovery was immediately after the passing of a typhoon, and in spite of a waning moon, the sky was extraordinarily transparent. The comet's magnitude was 8, but it was close to the limit of the 88mm refractor. I was wondering while searching if the 15cm binoculars could have discovered the same comet.
    The search lasted for one hour from 3.30 am to 4.30 am. The pre-dawn sky wasn't perfect with Moon and Venus shining side by side and the zodiacal light glowing. I thought that it would be difficult to discover even a 9th-magnitude comet.
　The 88mm telescope used for this discovery provided excellent focusing, while the 15cm binoculars showed an equally sharp and pleasingly bright field. I searched with the Navigator (digital setting circles). This device is not perfect with somewhat fast battery consumption and a wire from a small square battery holder tending to break off (broken solder). Without a spare battery holder, you would certainly panic. In spite of this, I find this device most useful to determine the position of a target in a twilight sky with few stars visible. Many decades ago, Mr. Minoru Honda at Kurashiki Observatory continued to search eagerly until the sky turned pale in a quite bright morning twilight. His extraordinary effort and experience made up for the Achilles heel of the alt-azimuth mount in the days without a Navigator. Accomplished skills and experience are very valuable and acquired only by those dedicated observers.


September 12, 2009
    I left the pathway leading to the national treasure Asakura Shrine. I walked across JR's railroad crossing, then came to a road along a little stream. I often used this old road in my childhood. By walking for about one kilometer along this stream at the foot of Akaoniyama mountain, I should be able to reach my father's family home at Nakanotani. In old days it was a quiet village where waterwheels were turning and numerous fireflies were flying around in summer. But today, the gigantic bridge girders of an expressway imposingly stretched over the road ahead of me as if it were straddling the little village in a valley. I managed to get a general direction of my father's family home by asking an elderly local woman under the girders of the bridge. The village has completely changed its appearance with many modern buildings and facilities having been built over a period of more than half a century. My relative's house was partially rebuilt leaving no trace of the house I was familiar with, but the two-story house where I had lived during the war was still standing untouched.


    In my junior high school days, I was indifferent to astronomy; instead I loved radios. At our home in Kamimachi, I took a crystal radio set into the air raid shelter in the courtyard to gather information to be prepared for daily air raids. When we were evacuated to the countryside, I built a shortwave radio which could pick up broadcast from overseas and listened secretly to broadcasts directed toward Japan. The government strictly banned listening to short wave radio broadcasts from overseas. But, unlike many deceptive announcements broadcast by the Imperial Headquarters, we were able to know the real war situation. It was banned because the government was concerned that, if many Japanese realized Japan was losing the war, their morale for fighting would be lost. In and around the city, we felt the piercing eyes of special political police and military police. If you were found to be violating this restriction, you would be imprisoned without mercy. My curiosity for knowing the truth about the war situation made me take a difficult and dangerous daring step toward building a shortwave radio.
    There was a long-established radio store called Saizensha near our home in Kamimachi. I frequently visited the store to buy parts to build radios. To receive shortwave broadcast, there was a secret in winding a tuning coil to syntonize to shortwave frequencies. After several unsuccessful attempts, I finally heard overseas broadcast mixed with beeping signals. I jumped up and down with excitement.
    "Hello, Japanese people. Today, we will bring you nostalgic tango music and also let you know the current war situation." The broadcast like this came frequently from the U.S.A. and enemy countries in the south. I heard in secret the fatal news of Japan's acceptance of the Potsdam Declaration in the upstairs of our evacuation home. I picked up the news of Japan's defeat ahead of anybody else, but at the same time I also heard the tragic news that one of my cousins of the family we had lived with was killed in action in the south. The news shocked me. I was saddened immensely.
    While I was looking up at the upstairs of our old evacuation home, I found a single red spider lily flowering at my feet on the side of a lane. There used to be a fountain here with crystal clear water running. A wooden bucket to store water was placed nearby together with a ladle. The sight of these brought back the memories of the days when I used to play having a drink of water from the bucket with the cousin killed in the war. I instinctively prayed to that single flower joining my hands together.


September 3, 2009
    We didn't feel like returning to our home in war-devastated Kamimachi even after August 15, the day the war ended. Instead, we decided to remain at my father's hometown for a while. A long spell of good weather continued into September and magnificent starry skies spread overhead every night. After the war ended, I went to school walking for about 10 kilometers. Public transportation was completely paralyzed, as trains and buses had been destroyed in air raids.
    It was at midnight of the day before the end of the war that I heard a roaring sound of B-29s. My father, looking at the sky in the yard, shouted loudly, "Damn! They dropped it here!" He said something had flashed in the air. then, I began to hear a typical zipping sound of bombs. I ducked but didn't know what to do. Then, I heard in the direction of the mountain a loud reverberating "clank". I thought it was funny; it wasn't like a bomb. The following morning, I went out to check it out and found white sheets of paper scattered all over on the side of the mountain north of our house. When I tried to pick one up, my father shouted, "Look out! It will blow up!" They weren't bombs; they were just leaflets.
    It began with: "To Japanese people. We have not come today to drop bombs. We would like to make an announcement on the terms of surrender that your government has requested..." and continued endlessly in difficult Japanese that the Japanese government had accepted the Potsdam Declaration resulting in Japan's unconditional surrender. They dropped the leaflets aiming at the center of Kochi City, but overshot it and they landed in our little village northwest of the city. We didn't believe what was written thinking it was an enemy propaganda, but it turned out to be real as we heard the radio broadcast declaring the end of the war the following day. The first full moon night in September was beautiful and crystal clear. I kept walking completely lost in thought. I was 15 years old. I walked on with anxieties and hopes for a new era crisscrossing in my mind .

    I could not forget the period of time I had spent in my hometown before and after the end of the war. I had fond memories of those years and could not resist the urge to visit there again. I followed the route my father often took to commute on his bicycle during the war. Asakura Shrine was near JR Asakura station and my father used to enter the shrine's compound and rode his bike northward. The shrine was still there. My father called this shrine "kinomaru-sama". In old days an enshrined rock was placed on a well-built table in front of the shrine. I hope it could be a meteorite, but could not find anything like that. I was amazed at giant sugi (Japan cedar) along the pathway to the shrine. It would probably be at least 1000 years old. When I walked along the fairly long pathway lined with magnificent cedars, the shrine came into view. On the wall of the shrine was a large fine painting depicting a Chinese landscape. When I was a little child, I walked along this pathway with my father many times to go to his hometown. "Can I find our home there?" Holding some apprehension, I stopped to pray at the shrine and began to walk relying on my childhood memory.


August 31, 2009
    Every year near the end of summer, memories of the year when the war ended always return. The summer of 1945, the year of the end of the war, experienced an extraordinarily long spell of fine weather. Strangely, I have no recollection of rainy days that year.
　I was evacuated to Yoneda in Asakura, my father's hometown, on July 4, the day of the massive air raids of Kochi City. I didn't go to school there; instead, I was engaged in military duties under the Kanto Army. In spite of the military duties, I played with my friends whenever I found time, typical of fun loving junior high school student. For several kilometers along the road between my evacuation home and the place of duties, there were beautiful green paddy fields and crystal clear river, and numerous dragonflies flew over the fields. When I look back, it was almost like a paradise in a dream.
    At times, I skipped the duties and spent time with friends swimming and fishing in a river. Even in tense war-time years, children had a privilege of having their own fun-filled world. It was while I was playing with friends that I heard the news of dropping of the atomic bomb over Hiroshima. Even grave situations taken seriously by adults looked less serious to children. However, the Kochi Shinbun newspaper reported the frightening power of the new type of bomb with the large headline: "Flash! Look out. Take shelter behind an object."

    More than 60 years have passed since and I decided to visit my father's hometown. It has undergone enormous changes. An expressway runs through the base of the mountain where "specters" were said to haunt. There are a huge substation and a supermarket in the neighborhood of our relative's home. There was nothing to remind me of the old days. There was no trace of my father's birthplace. The river at the foot of the mountain where numerous fireflies were flying in summer and the squeaking waterwheel... they were all gone. I found, however, a never-changing stone statue of deity beside the bank of Kagamigawa River. I would often visit there with my father. The statue seems to be quietly watching changing times over many years.


    Kagamigawa River flowing gracefully as it did in those days gave me the only solace. It was beside this stone statue where my father pointed out Orion's Belt Stars for me on our way home from the shrine's autumn festival. The beauty (more aptly awesomeness) of Orion shining over Akaoniyama mountain was deeply etched in my memory. It was in my second or third year at elementary school and soon after becoming interested in natural science intrigued by Mr. Kei Okamoto's teaching, our homeroom teacher.
    In those days I was not particularly interested in astronomy, typical of a boy my age. I read without much attention the news about naked-eye comets in the Shokokumin Shinbun (a paper for young readers) such as Comet Cunningham and Comet Okabayashi-Honda, and never thought of throwing myself into the world of astronomy later.


August 15, 2009
August 15 is the day to mark the end of the war.

    I saw beautiful blue flowers of Asagao (morning glory) in the garden today. As if exhausted, they wither and turn red by evening after beaten by harsh summer sun during the day, but next morning they always bloom vigorously. They are hardy flowers.

A girl living in a big city wrote to me:
"It is touching to see morning glory opening only in fresh morning air. Watching the purplish flower petals, I remembered the color of the ocean seen from my hometown."

    Purplish flowers certainly bring back various memories. It reminds me of the color of the sky over Tosa, where I was sent and spent time by the student mobilization in 1945, the year the war ended. "Blue skies and deep-blue waters" was the symbol of Tosa as well as the catch phrase for its tourism promotion.
    In June 1945, Venus was spotted in broad daylight over the heads of a large number of students who were engaged in military duties at Inabu, located at the eastern edge of Kochi City. It caused quite a commotion as they thought it could be an enemy plane. Venus was found immediately east of the sun because the sky was so clear and deep blue. Needless to say, they didn't know it was Venus.
    After the massive air-raids of Kochi on July 4, we were evacuated to Yoneda. We didn't go to school; instead, we were engaged in military duties assisting the Kanto army at Arakurayama nearby. We crossed Kochi City on an army truck to work at Mt. Hishimayama at the eastern edge of the city. The city seen from the truck was completely burned down and looked desolate like a desert. From the bleak, scorched earth, only the national treasure Kochi Castle and Joto Secondary School buildings were seen intact and glowing with dignity under the summer sun. I learned the news of the end of the war up on Hishimayama. Someone overheard the radio broadcast to tell the end of the war from a house down the hill and told us the news in a loud voice. Strangely, it was the place where Keizan Kawatani, an Edo period astronomer, observed a solar eclipse. In 1761, he argued with the Shogunate's astronomers when he found this solar eclipse was missing from their almanac. On September 1 the same year, he proved his calculation of the solar eclipse was correct.
    That day, when we learned the end of the war, we walked back to Asakura, after finishing the day's work, through the scorched land in a dazed state. We were stunned by the defeat of the country called a "divine land". The sky over the ruins was filled with grayish air. In fact, we didn't even see a ray of hope ahead of us. In the midst of the dark times, my encounter with astronomy was steadily approaching. It was indeed a fateful encounter.


July 26, 2009
    This is the flower that last bloomed in 2007, 2 years ago. It flowered again this year in the same pot. In the evening only buds were seen (upper photo), but 5 hours later, the buds opened and were all in bloom (lower photo). They exhibited its beauty in the darkness only for 3 hours at the depth of night. This flower is called "gekka bijin" (lit. a beauty under the moon). It is Queen of the Night or Dutchman's pipe cactus. Two years ago, a near-full moon was shining brightly over the flowers; it was literally "gekka bijin". This year it was flowering under a crescent moon through thin clouds. However, it was a dark night and there was no moon shadow.

A single star in the dark sky
Gekka bijin are in bloom
But no moon will appear tonight

    By whom do these beautiful white flowers want to be seen?
Many years ago, one lady used to come to my guitar lessons on a motorized wheelchair from the northern end of Kochi City. She would park her wheelchair in a corner of the flowering garden to relax. She passed away some years ago. I thought that perhaps her soul bloomed into these flowers. I was thinking of Girolamo Frescobaldi's "Aria con variazioni" , which she loved.


July 23, 2009
    Geisei Observatory was open to the public on the day of the July 23 solar eclipse. About 50 people gathered around the observatory up on the hill including reporters as well as school children just out for summer holiday accompanied by their parents. They watched this rare astronomical phenomenon with keen interest. Five staff members of the observatory observed the eclipse in their individual ways.
    At 10.55 just before the maximum eclipse the crescent sun appeared in a gap of clouds for a brief moment and drew cheers from the participants watching it at several places. Thin clouds reduced the glare of the sun and the crescent sun was observed clearly with the naked eye. The sound heard was not just the cheers from the humans watching the eclipse, but uguisu, Japanese bush warblers, began chirping busily in the woods nearby, perhaps sensing the changes in the surroundings. Toward the end of the eclipse, the weather gradually improved.
    The photographs below show the partial eclipse taken with a 200mm telephoto lens and people watching it.


July 22, 2009
    The public lecture presentation was held at Kochi City Cul-Port for the first time
in 10 years. It was part of the natural science course series and the theme was the mechanism of the universe and astronomical bodies. The overwhelming majority of the audience was middle-aged and elderly men with a fewer women present. I hardly noticed students in the audience. Many years ago, any event related to astronomy and other sciences was attended mainly by students. Is it a sign of what is called "declining interest in science among younger generations"? Although we had a large audience, I felt something was missing.
    The other speakers talked about the universe at an advanced level, but I was impressed by the audience's serious attitude trying to understand it. When the audience is seriously interested, the speakers will feel comfortable and can develop their talk in a pleasing and desirable way. I always think the good attitude of the audience brings out the best of the speakers.
    I talked for about 90 minutes without a question-and-answer session, because I know there wouldn't be many worthwhile questions which interest the majority of the audience. The speakers hope to have questions which can be answered only by the speakers themselves; not the questions whose answers can be found in books or from knowledgeable people.
    Many years ago, there was an NHK program where a famous guitarist performed and a small number of selected members of the audience asked him questions. I was disappointed by very ordinary and self-benefiting questions such as "Could you tell me how to play this particular part of the music?" Many viewers would be hoping for good questions which could make the performer define the essence of his development as a superb performer.
    I had a chance to talk with Prof. Okubo at the backstage, who is the president of Kochi Women's University and chaired this public lecture presentation. Prof. Okubo specializes in astronomy, writes papers, and attends conferences overseas. He says he is often asked by astronomers from foreign countries where he is from. He flattered me saying that he would answer "I am from the country of Comet Ikeya-Seki" because this would be much easier for them to understand than "I'm from Kochi prefecture".
    Below is a photograph of the keen audience seen from the stage


July 14, 2009
    The rainy season appears just about to end but still refuses to go. I am not able to do any observing and my mind tends to wander around.
    The Persian silk tree flowers in the garden are drooping beaten by rain. These flowers seem to be patient and enduring, continuing to flower in spite of the beatings by rain and trying to exhibit their beauty. They are graceful flowers in the rain.
    On the wartime radio we heard a song called "Ameni saku hana" (flowers blooming in the rain) sung by Taneko Seki. Taneko Seki was at the peak of her popularity at the time. She was one of the people I endeared most, but all I could do these days was to listen to her beautiful voice, as there was no television then. I could not figure out what sort of person she was nor had a chance to see her face. Today, I guess very few people will know the song "Minami no kuni no furusato" (my hometown in the south) frequently sung at the height of the war.
    In autumn the compound of Kurashiki Observatory became full of colorful cosmos flowers. According to a book written by Mr. Minoru Honda, Mr. Shigeki Okabayashi, who worked for the observatory, discovered a comet in Leo in the eastern sky at 4:30 at the predawn of October 1 in 1940, while conducting a search surrounded by cosmos flowers. It was the discovery of Comet Okabayashi-Honda.
    Incidentally, at the predawn of October 6, 1956, I put a single cosmos flower in the chest pocket of my overcoat and walked up onto the rooftop observing platform. This was the morning I discovered Comet Crommelin in the constellation of Leo.
When autumn arrives and cosmos flowers bloom all over, I remember the time of my discovery and think "the observing season has come again..." Cosmos is my favorite flower.


July 11, 2009
    The comparator is an instrument to measure the position and dimension of a photographed comet or minor planet. It was also called an "XY coordinate measuring instrument". It is not in much demand today, however, because CCD observation and PCs have replaced them.
    At the former Tokyo Astronomical Observatory, a large Mann Comparator worth several tens of millions of yen was sitting idle. I heard from a third party that it was now a white elephant and nowhere else to be placed. In my December 28th diary entry last year, I wrote about Shimadzu Corporation's photographic plate measuring instrument. It was priced at 500,000 yen around 1970, way beyond what you could afford. Around that time I began photographic observation and wanted to do precise positional measurements, moving away from rough sketch-based measurement. I tried every possible avenue to get hold of the instrument, but in the end I just had to give up.
    In those days, observatories continuously engaged in precise positional measurement of comets were limited to fewer than 10 professional observatories in the world. My feeling was that, under these circumstances, amateurs would be able to make great contributions in this field. However, the astronomical community was conservative and there was a persistent attitude among professional as well as amateur astronomers that amateurs should not attempt precision measurement. I wonder why they could not have foreseen the present state of positional measurement revolutionized by amateur contributions. The lack of foresight may be the right word to explain it.
    In spite of all these, my dream came true in 1967. Starting with measurement of bright minor planets, I began the precisen positional measurement of Comet Ikeya-Seki 2 discovered in the same year. As expected, it caused considerable reactions in Japan as well as overseas. As mentioned in an earlier diary entry, Dr. Marsden of the Smithsonian quizzed Tokyo Astronomical Observatory about what I was doing. Unlike negative responses in Japan, he welcomed my involvement in positional measurement.
    The home-made comparator I used was "a devise of ingenuity" worth no more than 1500 yen. It was apparently so incredulous to others that an amateur astronomer came to inspect it all the way from Tokyo. The optical part of the instrument was a 25mm Kellner eyepiece on hand with an Olympus precision micrometer (0.1mm graduated scale etched on a glass plate) placed on its focal plane. It is a kind of scaled loupe. With this simple instrument I made numerous positional measurements of comets and the results were reported in the postcard size IAUCs issued by the Smithsonian. Around the same time the SAO Catalog was published by the Smithsonian for observation of artificial satellites, which turned out to benefit amateur astronomers.
    A few days ago, Comet Swift-Gehrels (64P/Swift-Gehrels), which has an orbital period of about 9 years, was recovered earlier than expected by Mr. Kenichi Kadota of Saitama prefecture. It was observed at Geisei during the previous apparition of 1991. Looking at the original photographic plate now, I can recall the difficulty of measurement owing to the paucity of comparison stars. When photographed by a reflector in particular, accurate measurement is difficult because of inadequate comparison stars in its narrower field and off-axis coma aberration. However, with the introduction of the GSC catalog, the problem was solved. I passionately believe that the argument against amateurs' involvement in positional measurement has been well countered by what amateurs have achieved.


July 5, 2009
    The birthplace of Ryoma Sakamoto is located near the streetcar stop at Kamimachi. His home had been well preserved in the prewar era, but was burned down during the air raids on July 4, 1945. As a school friend of mine lived one house away to the west from Ryoma's home, one day we walked into the house together to check it out. It was unoccupied and deserted.
    On November 11, 1835 Ryoma was born there. I can picture that the sky that night was spectacular with the famous Halley's comet stretching across the sky. Although many tourists visit his birthplace today, what's left there is a lone monument with a plaque which reads "the birthplace of Ryoma Sakamoto" written by the former Kochi prefectural governor.


July 3, 2009
    I went to Kochi Literary Museum near Kochi Castle to give a public lecture today. I looked at the towering Kochi Castle for the first time since I had named a minor planet after this castle. Bathed in the morning sun, the castle appeared especially memorable and meaningful to me.
    On October 12, 1961, I discovered my first comet and came to a telegraph office at the foot of the castle. Having sent a discovery telegram to Tokyo at 6 am, I breathed a sign of relief, then saw the awe-inspiring, magnificent view of Kochi Castle shining in the morning sun in the northern sky. Looking at the castle with the joy of accomplishing my life-long aspiration, I found its white walls appearing graceful and almost divine. I remembered the deep emotion I felt that day and named a minor planet Otakasakajyo, the old name of Kochi Castle.
    Over 100 "mature age" people gathered in the Museum's hall. "Silver Universities" (an equivalent of University of the Third Age) and "senior citizens classes" are common these days. Interestingly, women are keener than men in these organizations and, among those who gathered in the hall, 90% of them were women. I began my talk with the topic of the total eclipse on July 22 and continued with various stories about the stars. Generally, after talks like this, there are always some people coming up to you to introduce themselves, whom you would not even dream of meeting, and lively conversation about good old days and stories of unusual events ensue. As I anticipated, one elderly lady close to 70 walked straight up to me and said, "Do you remember me? My name is Nakamura. I used to be a narrator for planetarium shows 60 years ago."
    Yes, I do remember her. She was one of the several women who had narrated for planetarium shows. We volunteers built a home-made planetarium machine and conducted the shows coinciding with the time of the second Nangoku Expo. Her beautiful voice echoing in the dome still lingers in my ears. Suddenly, all the memories began spinning furiously in my head, memories of the times when we built the planetarium experiencing great difficulties, happiness, and disappointment. The episodes about those days have been written in "My 50 years with comets" in a few installments at my website under the title "The planetarium and a submarine". It is filled with bizarre stories.
This Nakamura -san had a male cousin Norio Kubouchi, who was in the same year as me at junior high school. I was worried about him, having lost track of him soon after we graduated. I was stunned when I learned later he had died from illness. He had lived close to our home and in my second year of high school we played and studied together. He was one of the few friends of mine with whom I had shared the experience of the massive air raids over Kochi City on July 4, 1945, and the Great Nankai Earthquake in December the following year.
His father was a Christian minister and a part of his home was a small church. I remember that, when I was observing on the early morning of one Christmas Day, I heard a choir singing the hymns and felt intense spiritual sensation, while a star cluster of thousands of light-years away was shining in the eyepiece.


June 28
    One fine day during the rainy season, I visited the places associated with Ryoma. The first place was Ryoma Memorial Museum at Kamimachi in the city, which is only about 100 meters from our home. Believe it or not, I hadn't entered this museum until then, in spite of its proximity from home, probably because it is so close to our home that I thought I could visit it anytime. In the museum there are displays to depict Ryoma's childhood and achievements, all of which are easy to understand. The museum is a Japanese-style building and it is said that interested persons who loved and respected Ryoma donated roof tiles with their names written on them. Ryoma's birthplace is within a stone's throw from this museum, only 2 minutes on foot. I am going to visit it before long.


June 25
    One sunny day during the rainy season, I visited a memorable place related to Comet Ikeya-Seki. The mountain in the distance in the photograph is Konomori seen from Yokouchi in Kochi City.
    I observed the comet immediately after it had passed perihelion on October 22, 1965, first at Bandanomori and on the following day at this Konomori. The public was invited to observe the comet with the help of the mass media and a large number of residents participated in "mass observation" of the comet.
    Seventeen hours after perihelion we succeeded in observing the comet at Bandanomori in Susaki City. Twenty-four hours later, we managed to see the unaffected appearance of the comet at konomori, too. "Look, it's there!", the cheers of the jubilant observers echoed all over the place.
    Mr. Koichi Ike, a mysterious "astronomy adventurer", was always at the head of the crowd leading the fellow observers. He continued to keep watch on the comet, more intensely than anybody else, when the comet was approaching the sun extremely closely. He even built a mysterious contraption "Ike projection box" and observed the comet near the sun in this unusual method. Although he was not blessed with any comet discovery, he made contributions to comet observation as a "silent force behind the scenes". Where is our beloved friend Koichi Ike now?


June 23
    Rain has continued for two days followed by partly cloudy skies. The sky was magnificently clear this morning.
    I strolled along a walking track on the shore of Kagamigawa River. Minor Planet 4256 is named after this river. The rocky area in the lower left of the photograph was fondly called "Akaishi" (red rocks) when I was a child. Ryoma Sakamoto is said to have enjoyed swimming around there. When I was going to Daishi Elementary School(Minor Planet 21014 Daishi), there was no swimming pool at the school and we had to come to this river to swim during physical education classes. We did races in calm waters between turbulent areas. Unlike today, there were no dams built upstream in those days and the river was deep with plenty of water running. I remember the water was pure and cold, good enough for drinking. When I was a junior high school student, B-29's carried out large scale air raids over Kochi City. This was the river we fled to leaving the burning home behind. I named a minor planet after this river hoping this beautiful water is preserved forever.
    The river looked especially beautiful today with lush green leaves reflected on the water.


June 10
    At Sannomaru (the third compound of the castle) of Otakasakajyo (Kochi Castle) there is a bell which has been long in sleep. After the cannon used to announce "noon" was retired, this bell had been used in its place and loved by the citizens as a time tone to announce 6 o'clock of the morning and evening for many years. Kochi was a small city of population 180,000 in those days and the sound of the bell reached through the tranquil air to every corner of the streets giving the residents the feeling of relief as well as hope for tomorrow. The sound of the morning bell was a spirited encouragement for people going to work and the evening bell a soothing sound on their way home after a day's work.
    I think it was in December, 1950. I was observing on the rooftop of an abandoned factory near my home. I was immersed in the sense of satisfaction having completed search of a beautiful and clear predawn sky bathed in moonlight, though without any discovery. It was the most satisfying and pleasant time for comet hunters even without a discovery. With slowly brightening light of dawn, the sky took on a pale pink hue, then the bell at the castle began to ring announcing 6 o'clock as if bidding farewell to the stars disappearing one after another. The graceful sound of the bell was carried throughout the city and spread to every corner of my serene mind giving me great peace. The bell of Kochi Castle, which rang in a brief moment between the awakening from the depth of night and the beginning of bursting morning activity is still ringing in my ears.
    I touched the bell gently. It held a history of more than 60 years. The coldness of the darkened surface of the bell brought to mind a memory of freezing cold nights when I was desperately struggling for comet discovery around 1950. The biggest problem was a battle against the cold. Fruitless ten years had passed. And, in October 1961, after 11 years of struggle, the first comet I discovered shone above the Tenshukaku (the central tower of the castle). The sound of the bell I had always heard after nightly observing was no longer there. I wish I had heard that familiar sound of the bell in the excitement and emotion of this discovery.
    When I came to Ninomaru (the second compound of the castle), I came across an elderly man. He looked up at a tree branch high above his head and murmured: "There is no sight of Konohazuku (a Japanese scops owl). " I remember that decades ago the drum-like sounds of owls were frequently heard as the night deepened. The sounds were heard at my home 2 kilometers away just like the morning and evening bell. Nowadays, the extremely high noise level of the city overwhelms faint sounds and we have long lost the fascination of listening intently to feeble calls of owls.


June 9
    Yodo Yamauchi, the last governor of Tosa, is thought to have had some interest in the heavens. An astronomical telescope built by Germany's Schneider Optics's was found in the storeroom of the Yamauchi family. Also found were many armillary spheres, which are considered to have been built by Keizan Kawatani, an Edo period astronomer. In the courtyard of Honmaru (the central compound of the castle) an Edo period sundial is installed. This is more like a device to tell the noon than a sundial. They determined the timing of noon by watching the shadow of a wire stretched along the meridian fall on the north-south groove etched on the stone.
    At noon determined this way, they blasted a cannon once at Sannomaru (the third compound), which reverberated throughout the city and was endeared by the residents as the "boom" of noon. This practice continued until around 1940, but this field cannon was procured by the army at the outbreak of the battles in the Pacific in 1941. Since then, the delightful sound of a bell has replaced the cannon and is heard at 6 am and 6 pm everyday to please the ears of the residents. 　


June 8
Minor planet Otakasakajyo is born.

    The photograph below is that of Otakasakajyo Castle, the present day Kochi Castle. It was called Otakasakajyo when it was built about 400 years ago.
    Recently, the minor planet 1993 BL2 discovered at Geisei Observatory has been named (26127) Otakasakajyo.
    The first governor of the castle was Kazutoyo Yamauchi and the castle has been loved by the citizens of Tosa (Kochi) to the present day. Many tourists come to see the castle and Dr. B.G. Marsden of the Central Bureau for Astronomical Telegrams visited there in 1987. The birthplace of the famous Tosa warrior Ryoma Sakamoto is located in the castle town of Kochi not far from the castle itself.


May 9
    The Japan Spaceguard Association Kansai Branch held the 33rd lecture presentation today. It was held at Sannomiya of Kobe City and I was invited as a speaker.
Among the present at the meeting were Dr. Hasegawa, president of OAA (Oriental Astronomical Association), and Dr. Yabushita, famous for his "Yabushita Theory" of cometary motion. I had the impression that there were more scholars of astronomy in the audience than members of the public . The topic of my lecturer was "the excitement of a new discovery" and I spoke as long as three hours in the presence of the enthusiastic audience.
    Comet Ikeya-Seki of 1965 was the main topic of my lecture, but I talked about not only the discovery itself, but also the personality of Mr.Ikeya, co-discoverer of the comet, revealing various episodes about him not widely known. For the first time, the music "Ikeya-Seki" on DVD was played during the lecture. It was composed by Cuban musician Jose Caleyo to mark Comet Ikeya-Seki's close encounter with the sun in October, 1965. The music was recorded last autumn at a concert held by the members of a band Mr. Caleyo had belonged to, but had not been played in public until that moment. Although this music was played to entertain the audience, the discovery of this comet is extremely important to me. Forty-three years have passed since the music was composed and finally it was performed in public for the first time today.
    The audience listened eagerly to my talk about the discoveries of minor planets, which had become the main work of Geisei's 60cm reflector. I recounted my experiences related to the naming of these minor planets, which brought tears to the eyes of the participants. It is wonderful that there is romance about the naming of minor planets. As usual, I did not fail to give a gift to the community where the meeting was held. I have decided to name one of the minor planets after "Rokkosan", Kobe's most famous mountain. This minor planet was, of course, discovered at Gesei.
    There were some "fans" of me who stayed on to the end of the function. Mr. Katsuhiko Mameda, a local person, was one of them. I have been in touch with him by correspondence for 40 years. He brought several books along for me to autograph. Among them were the first edition of "Seeking Unknown Stars" published in 1966 and "The Comet" by Mr. Shigeru Kanda, which he found easily at a nearby secondhand bookstore. There were photographs mysteriously inserted between pages. They were the photos of Comet Peltier and another great comet both shot by Mr. Shinichi Shimizu. What is this great comet, I wondered. There was also a business card found in the book. It could be the previous owner's card.
    When I was to leave, Mr. and Mrs. Michikazu Onishi, who devoted their time to making the meeting successful, gave me "Comets and Meteors" written by Shigeru Kanda. I have a fond memory about this book. In my 20s I spent countless days tackling orbital calculations using this book as a textbook. I forgot myself in orbital calculations of a large number of minor planets spending most of the day staring at formulae and logarithmic tables. Orbital calculations and comet search were all that mattered in my 20s. I shared this experience with the audience during the lecture.
    It was clear the following day, too. From the window of the express bus going from Sannomiya to Itami Airport, I saw Mt. Rokko towering in the north. In the past there must have been memorable sights of great comets hanging over the mountain ridges of Rokko. I left Kobe pondering, "soon this renowned mountain will travel in starry skies." During the flight to Kochi, I saw thunderclouds rising high in a clear sky, a hint of the arrival of summer. This towering clouds will be the symbol of hopes for the future.

April 25
    While looking at a star chart on the computer screen for telescope control, I noticed that 22P/Kopff was glowing in Aquarius in the dawn sky. A memory about this comet goes as far back as 40 years.
    "Comet Seki-Ike", of course, doesn't exist, but in the 1960s you couldn't rule out the possibility of its discovery. Mr. Koichi Ike in Tosa city (15km west of Kochi city) was a rival comet hunter and we were furiously competitive for discovery.
    In those days I was using the 9cm refracting comet seeker, while Mr. Ike was equipped with a little larger 12.5cm refractor. He would lock himself in his unique floor-revolging observatory and search mainly the predawn eastern sky. The sky conditions were excellent and observing instruments were perfect. "The next comet is mine for sure", he grinned with his inherent large eyes shining with eagerness.
    This incident occurred on the early morning of April 25, 1964. I was searching a perfectly clear starry sky with my mind firmly set on the job. Around half past three I spotted a 9th-magnitude fuzzy comet-like object in Aquarius. Nothing was marked at that position on a star chart and there was no prediction of a bright comet appearing there. A half hour later, someone banged the front door. Stunned, I went to open the door to find a whey-faced man standing there. I instantly recognized him. It was Mr. Ike. "Seki-san, I've found it!" said he in a highly excited voice.
    Believing he found what I had found earlier, I asked him in and compared the notes. Undoubtedly, we spotted the same object. In the absence of any bright comet predicted at that position, we named this object "Comet Seki-Ike" according to Mr. Ike's suggestion. We sent a telegraph to Tokyo Astronomical Observatory at 6 am. The following day, Mr. Ikeya of Hamamatsu sent a telegraph on the discovery of the same object to the observatory, too.
    A reply from Tokyo Observatory revealed that it was the outburst of the famous periodic comet 22P/Kopff. I knew that this comet was listed in the BAA Handbook predicted to be at 14th magnitude, but the sudden brightening by 5 magnitudes fooled up completely. A similar thing happened in 1955. Comet Mrkos discovered that year was supposed to be a new comet, but as a result of research turned out to be long-lost Comet Perrine. As a result, it was renamed Comet Perrine-Mrkos.
    I wonder where Mr. Ike is now and what he is doing. He long loved comets and searched for them for nearly 50 years. In spite of his numerous heroic episodes of comet search, he was rewarded so little. I gave his name to a minor planet discovered at Geisei. The naming of Minor Planet Ike (21022) is to symbolize our friendship.
    When Comet Ikeya-Seki "kissed" the sun on October 21, 1965, he observed the comet with his unique invention. He built a darkroom to observe the comet during the daytime. It has become an ever-lasting fond memory for me. Mr. Ike, full of adventurous spirit and curiosity, was constantly on the move chasing after comets. His unrecognized achievements will never fade away as long as his star shines in the sky.


April 5
    There is an interesting attraction in Kochi city called "Street Number 33 on the Earth" located at Yayoi-cho, a town downstream Enokuchigawa River running through the middle of Kochi city.
    This is where longitude 133 degrees east and latitude 33 degrees north cross each other. The exact position of the longitude and latitude lines crossing is located in the stream of the narrow river only 30 meters wide. Thirty years ago, a monument was erected there, but relatively recently a new duralumin globe has been attached to the top of the monument.
    Around 1965 when I discovered Comet Ikeya-Seki, there was a newspaper reporter living in that area. On every important occasion he came over to cover the news. Interestingly, on his business card he wrote "in the vicinity of Street Number 33 on the Earth" for his address. He did so because the area he lived was a jumble of houses and narrow streets and it was very difficult to locate his home. "Street Number 33 on the Earth" must have been a lot easier to find.
    When I visited him, I ended up at a house one block south of his place by mistake. Believe it or not, I found two good-looking equatorial astronomical telescopes in the front yard. Needless to say, I didn't know anything about the residents of the house, but realized that there are people who observe the night sky without being known to others. I myself was one of them and a complete novice when I found Comet Crommelin, my first discovery. Learning about my discovery, the then deputy chief of the news department of local Kochi Shinbun newspaper located our place only after searching all over the place throughout the night. He barely managed to meet the deadline to place the discovery news in the morning paper.
    Reminiscing about those days, I took a shot of the monument with a spy camera called Gami-16. How did its Esamitar f/1.9 25mm lens work? All the details in the distance are brought out beautifully.

    My favorite Gami-16 works perfectly well and does not require any repair by "Mr. Galileo Galilei", president of Officine Galileo of Milan.