The Story of a Comet Hunter's Life

    Halley's Comet passed its perihelion in February 1986 and continued its southward journey in March showing a magnificent appearance. In early April it continued to move south slowly and was grazing the southern edge of Scorpius. It was very difficult to observe from Japan and fewer observations were reported. However, at Geisei Observatory situated in the southern part of Japan made observations almost everyday. On April 1, the tail of the comet disappeared and showed only the disk-like coma. This does not mean that the comet had lost its tail. As it was close to the opposition, the tail trailed in the opposite direction seen from the earth and appeared missing. Soon after, I had a chance to travel to the south and confirmed it.
    I learned of "Welcome Halley Club" around 1985. The club was active in the Osaka arear and had many women members who had jobs in the city. I had a request for a talk from the president of the club Ms. S. Not only the president but many of the members had little or no knowledge of astronomy. If someone with very good knowledge of astronomy becomes the president of a club, their activities tend to be conventional and similar to those of other clubs. Ms. S had no particular interest in the stars, but because the "Halley's Comet boom" hit the country, she decided to start a club inviting like-minded people to become members.
    Ms. S came up with unique and refreshing ideas. For example, she put a robot at the reception desk for a seminar. She also invited speakers working in fields not related to the topics of lectures. In the autumn of 1985 when Halley's Comet was moving closer to the earth, the whole club came to Geisei Observatory to practice how to observe the comet before sending an observing team in the spring of the following year to New Caledonia, "the island closest to heaven".
    Ms. S came up with new ideas one after another, ideas unthinkable to us astronomers, and actually carried them out, thus giving us a favourable impression. She was a 33-year-old single and working for Hankyu Department Store. She always wore pants and wore the hairdo of the latest fashion. She was a person of action, lively and full of energy, but also a calm and thoughtful person. When I was walking along a road full of blooming flowers, Ms. S was coming down a little hill and spoke to me with her sparkling eyes. "Seki-sensei, are you taking a walk? Weather is good and we will be able to see Halley's Comet well tonight." Behind her lied a deep-blue expanse of the southern Pacific Ocean, which made her look all the more attractive.
    I had arrived at the island of Bali one week earlier. I crossed the equator for the first time in my life thanks to Mr.S. Whenever I talk about Halley's Comet, I remember Ms. S. Now that Halley's Comet has gone, Ms. S, I heard, is working as a secretary for Mr. Takashi Tachibana, a well-known professional critic. As she is talented, I am sure she is doing a fine job.
    We were told that April in New Caledonia is unfortunately a rainy season. As weather changed very quickly, we were able to see starry skies at least once a day, even if it was generally cloudy. At that time Halley's Comet was in the Milky Way near the Southern Cross and its tail was short and had an unusual fan-shape. It was easily visible through binoculars, but not so to the naked-eye. We observed on the beach near our hotel as well as at the back of the hotel. It became fainter than in February and March when it was immediately after the perihelion passage and its tail became much shorter. In spite of this, many of the members of Welcome Helley Club were content having had a once-in-a-lifetime chance to see Halley's Comet.
    One of the purposes for our travel all the way to New Caledonia was sight-seeing. We chartered a boat at Noumea and landed on uninhabited Amedee Island 40 kilometers away. It was a tiny island with a circumference of less than one kilometer, but we were surprised at the height of a towering white-walled lighthouse standing in the middle of the island. It is said to have been built by Napoleon III and it became the tallest building in the Southern Hemisphere then. When we approached the barge at the island, this huge lighthouse looming tall right in front of us caught our eyes ahead of anything else.
    Hally's Comet is shining overhead. Has it ever shone above this lighthouse before? Wondering if the sailors on a voyage in the South Pacific looked up at the comet, I landed on the island. On the beach near the barge a huge anchor was placed, by which there was a concrete memorial plaque for the first explorer who had landed on this island. There was an inscription: 1726.8.30. The trade winds passed through a sea of trees and a towering white-walled lighthouse looked impressive in the morning sun. I pictured Halley's Comet hanging over the lighthouse at night.


    On the island the locals wearing colorful costumes came on a boat to play unusual instruments for us.
A huge man with a tattoo of a ship anchor on his arm sang for us looking at us in a friendly manner. During a break of the show I walked out onto the beach alone. It was a quiet, beautiful beach along a sea of trees and I saw a lot of white corals. While walking along the water's edge, I found a red seashell knocked around by waves. I picked it up. It may be a shell called "sakuragai" in Japan. I don't know why, but I remembered Kamiharu.
    Kamiharu is a girl living in Shinjuku of Tokyo, who wrote me when I discovered my first comet many decades ago. For many years she continued to send me letters. One day she went to a beach in Tokyo and found a seashell. She threw it to the sea. She wrote: "If you find this red seashell while walking along Katsurahama beach, please pick it up and hold it tight to your chest." It was her feeling of an adoration for me as a young girl and the heart-warming red flame of first love. Where is Kamiharu Aoyama now and what will she be thinking about? On an isolated southern island thousands of miles away, I could not help but feel that her soul of a long past was still shining on this foreign beach.
    This was the last day of our one-week stay on New Caledonia. We went to an aquarium in Noumea and saw rare fishes and shells of the South Pacific. On my way back I was walking along a beachside street leisurely and ran into a young man carrying a telescope tripod on the shoulder. As it was not particularly strange to see Japanese people in a foreign country, I was just about to pass him. Then he turned around and said, "Aren't you Mr. Seki?" "Yes, I am", I replied. "It is indeed a rare chance to see you at place like this. I am Tonomura from Shiga prefecture. I wrote you when I was a junior high school student and adored you." I didn't remember anything about Tonomura-san, but according to him, he wrote me a letter wanting to get the predicted positions of Comet Seki-Lines, because the comet was supposed to be visible to the naked-eye in the evening sky when it was discovered in 1962. I became a little anxious wondering if I responded to his request. "Did I reply to you?", I asked. Smiling, he said, "Yes, I certainly got your reply. I was immensely moved. The letter and the chart with the comet's paths you sent me are displayed in my room even now."
    I was relieved in my heart. As I experienced as a budding observer, a letter from a more experienced and knowledgeable observer would really impress you. Inspired by the letter, Tonomura-san must have worked hard to achieve his goal in astronomy and reached a level of expertise to be confident enough to come alone to this island in the South Pacific. It is a quirk of fate that our first encounter took place on this isolated island. We sat on a bench alongside the street where we could see the sea and talked about the stars, discoveries, and life. The ocean in the Southern Hemisphere right before our eyes spread infinitely as if it were symbolizing our dreams.
    Ten years have passed since then. I received a letter from Tonomura-san. Fond memories of our meeting prompted him to visit New Caledonia again. He returned to the beach at Noumea. He didn't find me there, of course, but he saw that memorable white bench quietly rested there looking toward the sea as if wanting to talk to him again. The sea of the Southern Hemisphere was perfectly clear and blue that day, too.