Some time in 1970, the crew I was on got tabbed to do several runs across the Pacific Ocean conducting fighter drags or hauling cargo, or both. We were headed back to our home base of Ramey AFB, Puerto Rico, which was about half a world away from Anderson AFB, Guam. It was late afternoon when we were getting ready to depart Guam for Honolulu. It would be night celestial navigation because hardly anyone had any capability beyond celestial back then, at least SAC didn't, unless you flew very special aircraft. The KC-135 was very useful, but not at all special.
I flipped open the Air Almanac to the page I would be using and noted that the Moon would be in eclipse somewhere along the route. Okay. I usually didn't use the Moon for positioning anyway. The stars were easier and required few calculations and, therefore, fewer chances to screw up. So off we went toward Wake Island, our first enroute check point in the waning afternoon sun. Since we were flying away from the setting sun, we flew into the night time shadow of the Earth about half again as fast as we would have just sitting on the lanai on Guam and sipping a beer. By level off we were deep into twilight and half way to Wake it was fully dark.
My plan was to simply fly a heading out to Wake and then do some serious celestial between Wake and Honolulu. The eastern sky was well dark by then; I got a call of interphone from the copilot: "Hey, nav, what's this light out on the eastern horizon?" I looked out the windscreen and told him that was the Moon about to rise. OK.
Just a few minutes later, the copilot called on interphone again: "Nav, are you sure that's the Moon out there?" Without looking up I assured the copilot that it was the Moon. Another minute or so passed. The copilot called again: "Nav are you sure that is the Moon out there?" I got out of my seat and went up between the pilot's seats to see what had the copilot so agitated. The whole eastern horizon was a deep rusty red color and the upper arc of the Moon was emerging from below the horizon. The rising Moon gave the appearance of spanning about one-third of the horizon. I knew it was an optical illusion, but it looked as if we were about to collide with the rising Moon.
Astronomers call the phenomenon we were watching a "blood Moon." The red color is caused by Rayleigh scattering of sunlight through the Earth's atmosphere, the same effect that causes sunsets to appear red. In any case, this particular eclipse must have been what is now called a Super Moon meaning that it was closer to Earth than usual when the eclipse occurred. Add that to the optical illusion that makes a body near the horizon appear larger than it actually is, and you have the sight we had that evening as we closed in on Wake Island.
Even though I knew that I was looking at a lunar eclipse, the sight was unnatural to the point that it made me a bit uneasy. I reassured the copilot that it was just an lunar eclipse and went back to my station, but I took another look at the sight out there on the eastern horizon just because it was so spectacular.
I looked out at the Moon about half an hour later, and it looked just like any normal Moon on a relatively clear night. And, you know, the pilot never said a word throughout that whole exchange.
I flipped open the Air Almanac to the page I would be using and noted that the Moon would be in eclipse somewhere along the route. Okay. I usually didn't use the Moon for positioning anyway. The stars were easier and required few calculations and, therefore, fewer chances to screw up. So off we went toward Wake Island, our first enroute check point in the waning afternoon sun. Since we were flying away from the setting sun, we flew into the night time shadow of the Earth about half again as fast as we would have just sitting on the lanai on Guam and sipping a beer. By level off we were deep into twilight and half way to Wake it was fully dark.
My plan was to simply fly a heading out to Wake and then do some serious celestial between Wake and Honolulu. The eastern sky was well dark by then; I got a call of interphone from the copilot: "Hey, nav, what's this light out on the eastern horizon?" I looked out the windscreen and told him that was the Moon about to rise. OK.
Astronomers call the phenomenon we were watching a "blood Moon." The red color is caused by Rayleigh scattering of sunlight through the Earth's atmosphere, the same effect that causes sunsets to appear red. In any case, this particular eclipse must have been what is now called a Super Moon meaning that it was closer to Earth than usual when the eclipse occurred. Add that to the optical illusion that makes a body near the horizon appear larger than it actually is, and you have the sight we had that evening as we closed in on Wake Island.
Even though I knew that I was looking at a lunar eclipse, the sight was unnatural to the point that it made me a bit uneasy. I reassured the copilot that it was just an lunar eclipse and went back to my station, but I took another look at the sight out there on the eastern horizon just because it was so spectacular.
I looked out at the Moon about half an hour later, and it looked just like any normal Moon on a relatively clear night. And, you know, the pilot never said a word throughout that whole exchange.
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