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10 Constellations that Never Caught On

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In 1908, Harvard published the Revised Harvard Photometry Catalog, and in doing so, established a list of 88 constellations that would later be made official to the world’s astronomers. One result: obscure patches of dim stars designated the Microscope, the Swordfish, and the Compass (as in, the thing you draw a circle with) now had the same status as legendary groups like Orion and Cassiopeia. And if some of those sound odd, here are 10 more that didn’t quite make the cut.  

1. Globus Aerostaticus, the Balloon


The Balloon was created in 1798 by French astronomer Jérôme Lalande to celebrate this modern advent in transportation.  While a scientific breakthrough at the time, the balloon’s fame as a constellation lasted about as long as Falcon Heene’s.  

Try to find it!  The Balloon once sailed in the space between Capricorn and the Southern Fish.

2. Machina Electrica, the Electrical Generator


Having apparently run out of Greek mythological figures, a surprising number of constellations—even the ones that endure today—are named after then-novel gadgetry. So a drab patch of sky became an electrical generator. However, it never quite sparked the imaginations of astronomers, and the Electrical Generator was scrapped…a decision that might seem regrettable when the next major weather event hits.

Try to find it! Machina Electrica was situated between the Furnace and the Sculptor’s Studio.  So, apparently, that section of the sky was basically a ratty loft.

3. Cancer Minor, the Lesser Crab

Several constellations have minor counterparts. Whether you see Bears or Dippers in the northern sky, we can all agree that there’s a big one and a small one. There’s a Major and Minor Dog too (the Minor Dog being so minor, it’s comprised of two stars). There’s even an astrological spin-off—Leo Minor—and this might explain why Cancer Minor was even conceived. Nonetheless, the Little Crab never caught on. Which is probably for the best, lest someone had been tempted to create Virgo Minor.

Try to find it! It’s a small, arrow-shaped group to the left of Cancer, aiming right at it.

4. Musca Borealis, the Northern Fly

As navigators began sailing south and charting the skies below the equator, there apparently proved to be more uncharted sky than ideas on how to designate it. Thus, the birth of the “southern” constellation, with fish, crowns and triangles all having southern twins. But it appears the night sky didn’t need two flies, and subsequent rebranding efforts including Apis (the Bee) and the Williamsburg-worthy Vespa (the Wasp) couldn’t keep this forlorn little bug from flying off into obscurity.

As for its cousin down south, Musca (nee Australis) buzzes around the pole to this day.

Try to find it! The Northern Fly was originally seen hovering near the rump of Aries, the Ram. Fitting.

5. Polophylax, the Guardian of the Pole

Pity the South Pole. Unlike the north, with the world-famous North Star to designate it, the skies around the South Pole are basically an uninspiring collection of dim stars. In 1592, a Dutch astronomer named Petrus Plancius attempted to give some romance to the south with the introduction of Polophylax, the blue-robed guardian of the celestial South Pole. This proved to be a dud, so much so that the constellation was replaced by a Toucan and a Crane…by Plancius himself.

Try to find it! Follow your nose. Sorry, Toucan joke.

6. Limax, the Slug

At least some of Plancius’s creations endured. In terms of goofy ideas for constellations—and a .000 batting average—no one can match the output of renegade botanist and all-around rapscallion John Hill. When, in 1754, Hill published his star guide Urania (a book whose proper title rivals Fiona Apple album names for wordiness), he littered the sky with not just Limax (the “naked snail”), but an Earthworm, a Rhinoceros Beetle, an Anteater, a Toad and pretty much every other icky critter he could think of, creeping out little sisters everywhere. None endured.

Try to find it! Limax once slithered beneath the left foot of the noble Orion.

7. Gladii Electorales Saxonici, the Crossed Swords of Saxony

This one was the creation of German astronomer and shoemaker Gottfried Kirch, as were a few long-forgotten orbs and scepters he’d dreamt up to honor some German royalty, in a failed bout of celestial butt-kissing. Still: Why some metal band hasn’t run with this name yet is beyond this author.

Try to find it! Pretty much right between Virgo and Libra...good news for you late September babies looking for a fun new sign.

8. Psalterium Georgii, the Lute of King George III

Sucking up to noblemen and women with doomed constellations is a depressingly enduring tradition (see also Frederici’s Regalia, Herchel’s Telescope, Pontianowski’s Bull, the Bust of Christopher Columbus). Thankfully, it’s now much easier to just pay $75 to name a star after someone. Plus, it’s no less official than Psalterium Georgii ended up being.

Try to find it! Today, George’s Harp can be found floating in the northernmost part of the River Eridanus, along with a couple of beer cans and a discarded tire.

9.  Sciurus Volans, the Flying Squirrel

“Hey, Rocky! Watch me pull a forgotten constellation out of my hat!” As the sky already had a different Volans at the time (in honor of the noble Flying Fish), this one had nothing up its sleeve.

Try to find it! If you can find the obscure Camelopardalis (the Giraffe) in the north sky, just look to its tail. And, yes, the night sky is probably the only place where it’s difficult to spot a giraffe.

10. Officina Typographica, the Printing Office

Nope, not just a press, an entire office. And if your desk is any indication, you’d need half the stars in the Milky Way to accurately represent the clutter. Inspiring no one, the printing office was downsized out of existence, its former space now occupied by a unicorn.

Like the electrical generator (and a whole garage-full of others) this dim, shapeless tribute to modern technology was the brainchild of German astronomer Johann Bode...but if his creations strike you as failures, don’t feel too bad for him.  He had a little more luck coming up with names for planets, specifically Uranus.

Try to find it!  It was just to the east of Sirius, the brightest star in the sky.  Tough act to follow.

Weather Watch
Will the Solar Eclipse Have an Impact on the Weather?

The United States will have a front-row seat to one of the most spectacular solar eclipses to sweep across the country in our lifetimes. Millions of lucky observers from coast to coast will have the chance to watch the Moon scoot in front of the Sun on the afternoon of August 21, 2017, briefly plunging cities like Salem, Oregon, Hopkinsville, Kentucky, and Columbia, South Carolina, into night-like darkness during the day. Read our field guide to the solar eclipse for tips on how to make the most of this spectacular event.

While a solar eclipse can be amazing to behold, the phenomenon has little impact on Earth. It may, however, have a small but noticeable effect on weather in the areas that experience a total eclipse.

The entire country will be able to see the Moon cover the Sun in some form, but the best viewing areas will be along a northwest-to-southeast path across the middle of the country. According to NASA, a location needs at least 90 percent coverage to notice any darkening at all, and even 99 percent coverage of the Sun only provides the same level of darkness you'd see at twilight. Areas totally covered by the Moon's relatively narrow shadow will experience conditions akin to dusk, prompting street lights to turn on and even tricking birds and bugs into thinking that the day is drawing to an end. Studies have shown that the total eclipse could also have an effect on temperatures and even winds.

Researchers who studied an eclipse across Europe in 1999 found that the event lowered air temperatures by as much as 5°F across the path of totality. This brief dip in air temperatures also affected local wind speed and direction—not by much, but it was enough for both people and instruments to take notice of the so-called "eclipse wind." The effect on the atmosphere in Europe wasn't a fluke. A weather station in Zambia recorded a temperature drop of nearly 15°F during a solar eclipse in June 2001, and there are reports through history of observers noticing a distinct cooling effect in the midst of a lunar shadow.

The duration of the eclipse and the amount of moisture in the air will determine how much the Moon's shadow will lower temperatures. Moist air has a higher heat capacity than drier air, so when it's muggy outside it takes longer for the air to warm up and cool down. This is why daily temperatures fluctuate less in Miami, Florida, than they do in Phoenix, Arizona. Communities that lie among the drier, cooler Rocky Mountains are more likely to witness a noteworthy dip in temperatures compared to states like Tennessee or South Carolina, which are typically locked in the humid doldrums of summer at the end of August.

If you're lucky enough to witness this spectacular astronomical phenomenon, make sure you bring your eclipse glasses—and a thermometer.

7 Eye-Opening Facts About Venus

For all the efforts to find another inhabitable planet orbiting a distant star, it might surprise you to learn that a very real Earth 2.0 exists in this solar system—just one planet over. Not Mars (which actually isn't much like Earth at all), but rather, our other neighbor: Venus. Mental Floss spoke to geophysicist Bob Grimm, a program director at the Southwest Research Institute and chair of NASA's Venus Exploration Analysis Group. Here are a few things we learned about Earth's twin sister.


Venus has a radius of 3760 miles. Earth's is 3963. Its mass and gravity are 82 percent and 91 percent of Earth's, respectively—pretty similar as planets go. Venus is composed of a mostly basalt crust, silicate mantle, and iron core. Earth is the same. The two planets likely share common origins somewhere around 4.5 billion years ago.

In fact, by all accounts, we should be able to land our flying saucers on Venus, saddle up a dinosaur, and start building tract housing. It's perfect for colonization, but for a few minor differences. Its year is shorter, at 224.7 days. (And its days are much longer, at 243 Earth days per Venus day.) The Sun would rise in the west and set in the east because of the planet's retrograde orbit (which, by the way, is the most circular of any planet in the solar system). And then there's another small problem …


Venus is hotter than Mercury, despite being 30 million miles farther from the Sun. How hot? Hot enough, on average, to melt a block of lead the way a block of ice would melt on Earth. Venus suffers from a runaway greenhouse effect. Sunlight penetrates the dense clouds surrounding Venus, heating the landscape. The ground in turn blasts out heat, which rises and tries to escape the atmosphere. But carbon dioxide, which makes up 96 percent of its atmosphere, traps the heat, keeping things nice and toasty, around 900°F. And those clouds aren't the white, fluffy variety. They're made of droplets of sulfuric acid, which makes its lightning storms especially harrowing.


"'Does Earth-size mean Earth-like?' is a basic problem of planetology," says Grimm. "Understanding how Earth and Venus diverged is essential to understanding comparative planetology, and potentially exoplanets—these worlds orbiting distant stars that are being discovered telescopically."

Knowing more about Venus would help scientists better distinguish potentially habitable worlds out there, and better understand how a good world can go bad, from a sustaining-life perspective. "Geology and meteorology are intimately related to the evolution of the Earth and the evolution of life on Earth," Grimm notes. "Even though we may not be looking for life on Venus, it's important to understanding Earth's place in the solar system and in the universe."


You might have run across old illustrations of Venus with conditions similar to the Carboniferous Period on Earth. Astronomers have known for just under a hundred years that Venus's atmosphere is devoid of oxygen, without which you can't have water. But even a modest backyard telescope can see the clouds enveloping our neighbor, and as Carl Sagan explained, from there you're only a couple of erroneous jumps from assuming a brontosaurus. (Thick clouds mean more water than land. More water than land means swamps. Dinosaurs lived in swamps. Dinosaurs live on Venus. QED.) Said Sagan: "Observation: There was absolutely nothing to see on Venus. Conclusion: It must be covered with life."

But seeing is believing, and the Mariner and Venera series of probes disabused us of the romantic notion of a swampy neighbor to the left. Still, we should probably send robots there to check. Just to be sure.


Venus was the first planet we visited, with Mariner 2 achieving the first successful planetary encounter in 1962. Four years later, Venera 3 on Venus became the first spacecraft to touch the surface of another planet. (Communications were lost long before impact, but unless a dinosaur ate it, the spacecraft probably touched the ground.) Our first graceful landing on another planet? Venera 7 on Venus. Our efforts to reach its surface go back much further than that, though. The transit of Venus in 1761 practically invented the notion of an international science community. But we abandoned the surface of Venus in 1984, and NASA hasn't launched an orbiter to Venus since Magellan in 1989. 

Since then, the Venus-science community has been trying to get another mission to the launch pad. Presently, U.S. planetary scientists have submitted proposals to NASA for a sub-$1 billion New Frontiers–class mission. They are also working with their colleagues in Russia to launch a joint mission called Venera-D. "We need better radar views of the surface," says Grimm, "and that has to happen at some point to understand the geology. We need deep probes into the atmosphere to understand it better, and we need a new generation of landers."


"There is evidence in the deuterium-to-hydrogen ratio that Venus once had water, maybe hundreds of meters deep, more like a global sea than an ocean," says Grimm. A theoretical paper published last year posed a climate model for Venus suggesting that water could have existed on its surface as recently as 1 billion years ago. Clouds could form in a certain way, shielding the surface from the Sun and allowing stable water at the surface. Furthermore, near-infrared observations support the argument for a watery Venusian past. ESA's Venus Express orbiter in 2012 found evidence of granite-like rocks on some parts of the planet. Granite requires a multiple melting process in the presence of water. A mission to Venus could confirm this.

Meanwhile, one of the most significant revelations from Magellan is that there are only around 1000 craters on the surface with no differences in density, and it is hard to find craters that are obviously in a state of being wiped out by lava, or being faulted. Venus does not have plate tectonics, one of the central mechanisms that organizes all geology on the Earth. So what happened to the surface of Venus? Where is the evidence of the Late Heavy Bombardment seen on other terrestrial planets and moons? One hypothesis is that all of Venus was resurfaced at once. There may have been a global catastrophe on Venus, perhaps as recently 750 million years ago, that quickly "reset" its surface. Other models suggest a subtler resurfacing at work in which craters might be erased over billions of years.

"So this whole idea of the surface age of Venus is a pivotal question for how planets evolve geologically," says Grimm. "But what was Venus like before that? Was there a single catastrophe, or have there been many? Was there just one catastrophe and Venus was watery before that, or has Venus operated in a steady state going back to the first billion years? There is more consensus that in the first several hundred million years to billion years, there could have been water." Further landings on Venus could help us solve the mystery of when Venus's surface was formed, if there was ever water there, and why, if it existed, it went away.


If Matt Damon were to get stranded on Venus in a sequel to The Martian, he would need to be resourceful indeed to survive the heat and the corrosive air. But what he would find wouldn't be wholly alien. The winds at the surface of Venus are very gentle, around a meter or so per second. The vistas would consist of hills and ridges, with dark lava rocks of various types, mostly basalt. The atmospheric pressure is 90 times greater than Earth at sea level, so walking there would feel a lot like swimming here.

"I don't think [Venus] would look wavy and hot-hazy, because the atmosphere is pretty stable and uniform right at the surface," says Grimm. "It would be harder to walk through the dense atmosphere, but not as hard as walking through water. We know from landings that it's kind of yellow because of the sulfur in the atmosphere. So with the abundance of lavas in many places on Venus, it sort of looks like a yellowish Hawaii."


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