The occultation-chords generator
A stellar occultation reduced. Each horizontal segment is one observer's *chord*: the star vanished, the star came back, and the interval multiplied by the shadow's 21.4 km/s across the ground is the length drawn. The longest, at an offset of -28 km, is 252.3 kilometres. The dashed ellipse is the limb fitted to the chords by least squares in the half-length squared, and its equivalent-area diameter is *233.9 km against the silhouette's true 232.9* — the residual is the shape the fitted ellipse cannot hold, not an error in any timing. The two open marks are observers inside the predicted path who saw *nothing*, and they are measurements: they bound the limb inside their own offsets, which is what fixes the extent when the positive chords all fall on one side. At 0.12 s per contact the length precision is 2.6 km, 1.10 per cent of the body — a size measured with a clock rather than with an angle, on an object no telescope resolves.
7 essays call
occultation-chords. The drawing above is what it returns with no arguments at all; every
call below passes it something, because a placement that passes nothing draws whichever member
of the family the generator happens to default to rather than the one its essay argues about.
Where it is called
Every figure listed here is the same construction drawn at different numbers, so a correction to one is a correction to all of them.
A shape measured by the edge of a shadow
When a small body passes in front of a star the observable is two times. Multiply the interval by the body's speed across the sky and it becomes a chord across a silhouette no telescope can resolve — and enough chords give a profile to a kilometre or two, for an object a few hundred across.
The edge of a shadow is a wave
An asteroid's shadow has an edge because the asteroid is large. The Moon's does not — at visible wavelengths and lunar distance the edge of a shadow is ten metres wide, so a lunar occultation is a diffraction pattern sweeping past at half a kilometre a second, and how blurred its fringes are is the star's own diameter.
A star that blinked before it should have
In March 1977 three teams watching a star pass behind Uranus recorded it dimming five times before the planet arrived — and then, symmetrically, five times again on the way out. The symmetry is the whole argument — nothing but a set of rings concentric with the planet produces a mirror image about closest approach.
A solar radius measured past a mountain range
The most accurate way to measure the Sun's diameter is to time an eclipse. What is timed is the moment sunlight vanishes behind the Moon's edge — and the Moon's edge is a horizon with mountains on it, so the measurement is a difference between the Sun's limb and a lunar landscape that has to be supplied from somewhere else.
The brightest instant of an occultation is its middle
A spherical atmosphere is a lens with a focal length of astronomical units, and an observer standing at the exact centre of the shadow is standing at its focus. The star does not disappear there — it brightens, by more than it would have been unocculted, and the ray that arrives has come from far deeper than anything else in the event.
A population counted by shadows that never repeat
A body a kilometre across at forty astronomical units is a hundred million times too faint to image and casts a shadow just as dark as a large one. Monitoring enough stars fast enough catches those shadows — each one a single unrepeatable event of a fraction of a second, and the measurement is not any event but the rate.
Each event pays for the prediction of the next
An occultation is predicted from two positions and lands where the arithmetic says. Recording it then measures the occulting body's position to a few milliarcseconds — better than a year of imaging — so the observation that the prediction made possible improves the ephemeris the next prediction comes from.