Instrumentation astro-ph.IM

Every night, an invisible sentinel hangs over the Andes. The GOES-12 satellite, and later its successor GOES-13, watches Earth from an altitude of 36,000 kilometers, recording how the mountains breathe clouds. For five straight years, it tracked where the sky stayed clear and where it got wrapped in cotton.

Every clear night, a telescope in the Chilean desert records light from distant stars, and in those recordings, like old ship logs, traces of weather remain. The thin dark bands in the spectrum are imprints of water vapor that hung over the observatory at the moment of observation.

High above Earth, a satellite flies, and inside it is an instrument the size of a small wardrobe. It catches particles that have been racing through the galaxy for billions of years and finally slam into the detector. Such particles are called cosmic rays, and they bring news of distant stellar explosions.

The Galaxy is a forest where birds don't start singing right away. First, trees must grow — stars, around which planets eventually appear. The Drake equation counts how many birds might be singing in this forest right now, but it implicitly assumes that their number doesn't change: as many as there are, that's how many there have always been.

Deep in the Siberian taiga, there are a hundred light traps: each about the size of a small table, but together they cover a square kilometer. At night, these traps gaze at the sky, catching faint flashes of light born when cosmic particles slam into the atmosphere. The setup is called TAIGA-HiSCORE, and it usually works as a giant "eye" for such particles.

The RATAN-600 radio telescope is a ring of hundreds of aluminum panels on a mountainside in Karachay-Cherkessia. In the spring of 2018, its mirror caught radio waves from sixteen red dwarfs — small, dim, but very long-lived stars.

Every second, dozens of particles from space fly through each of us. Most are light protons, but there are also heavier atomic nuclei: carbon, oxygen, iron. They are born in stellar explosions and travel to Earth for millions of years. Their energy can be staggering: a single particle can carry as much as a tennis ball on a serve.

The Atacama Desert in northern Chile is the driest non-polar place on Earth. The sky is almost always clear, and the air is so devoid of moisture that even distant galaxies are visible without interference.

A firefly blinks for one ten-billionth of a second somewhere above the Siberian taiga. Seeing such a thing is impossible, but the TAIGA-HiSCORE array, spread across a valley in the Tunkinsky district of Buryatia, tried to catch exactly such flashes — not from insects, but from the depths of space.

Every few hours, narrow beams of radio waves leave the Mojave Desert, near Madrid, and near Canberra, heading into the sky. This is NASA's Deep Space Network: three antenna complexes that keep in touch with spacecraft across the solar system.

In October 2017, the Pan-STARRS telescope in Hawaii spotted an object moving too fast to belong to the solar system. It was 1I/ʻOumuamua, the first interstellar visitor ever recorded by astronomers. Since then, two more have joined it: comet 2I/Borisov and object 3I/ATLAS.

In 2022, the Subaru telescope photographed a point of light 100 astronomical units from the star AB Aurigae. The point was named planet AB Aur b, but debates did not subside: what exactly is glowing, the planet itself or dust around it?

The Moon is not just a satellite; it is a potential gravitational bell. When massive bodies collide, spacetime shudders, and that shudder, gravitational waves, makes everything in their path vibrate.

For 36 days, tropical cyclone Freddy raged over the Indian Ocean, the longest-lived cyclone on record. Meteorologists tracked it from satellites, aircraft, and ground stations. But one detail eluded all instruments: the precise air density deep within the vortex. And that density determines where the cyclone will turn tomorrow.

The ASKAP telescope collects data on millions of radio sources in a single night. Automated algorithms confidently identify compact points but struggle with extended structures featuring jets, bridges, and bubbles.

Stretched for millions of kilometers, the tail of Comet 3I/ATLAS consists of rarefied gas and microscopic dust grains. In late October 2025, two Earth probes, Europa Clipper and Hera, will plunge into it. Neither was designed to encounter a comet: Clipper is headed for a moon of Jupiter, Hera for an asteroid.

The camera lens is no bigger than a quarter. You'd find it in a smartphone, but here it was mounted on the Hayabusa2 probe for asteroid landings.

Back in the 18th century, William Herschel was searching for life on Mars. Today, astronomers are targeting not planets but artifacts — for example, alien probes lurking in the Solar System. The problem is that spotting a tiny object next to the blinding Sun is nearly impossible.

In the vast darkness of interstellar space, the rogue planet WISE 0855 flickers with a barely perceptible heat glow, like a cooling ember. Its temperature is only a few dozen degrees above freezing — if life existed there, it would see a sunless sky, in an eternal icy haze.

The most common type of planet in our Galaxy — rocky worlds around other stars, or exoplanets, shrouded in the simplest gas hydrogen. Their innards remained a mystery until scientists recreated the conditions of the interior in the lab.

The James Webb Space Telescope gathered thousands of spectra from distant galaxies — colorful fingerprints of their light. To avoid drowning in this diversity, astronomers tasked a program with sorting through the finds.

A bus schedule drifts: if you don't check it, you'll miss your ride. Planets around other stars have the same problem – their crossings of the star's disk gradually shift. The ExoClock project pooled 30,000 observations from Earth and space to refine the schedule for 620 distant worlds. For 45% of the planets, transits were found to be off by hours.

The Comet Interceptor mission launches without a target. The spacecraft freezes at a point of space equilibrium, like a fighter jet on combat standby: engine warmed up, but takeoff only on alert.

Picture a star waltzing with an invisible partner: its rhythmic wobble, caused by the gravitational pull of a companion, is picked up by instruments, yet the partner itself eludes detection. Usually, such wobbles are the result of a Doppler shift, a change in the frequency of light due to the star's motion, that betrays the presence of a planet.

Astronomers read the history of galaxies by their portraits. Previously, they used either lengthy analysis of light by colors or quick filtered snapshots, losing the details of shape.

The galaxy is like a city at night: most windows shine steadily, but sometimes a skyscraper lights up all its lights and then goes dark. Just like that, according to a new hypothesis about planets around alien stars (exoplanet), we might first notice another civilization — by a short but blinding flash that could mark its demise.

Mass curves spacetime like a heavy stone pressing into an asphalt road. Light passing by skirts around this dent, its path lengthens, and it arrives late. Astronomers have observed this Shapiro effect many times near the Sun and planets. A new plan proposes to recreate this delay on a lab bench.

Spinning a sling, we whirl a stone. Its speed builds, and if released at the lowest point, it flies farthest. In space, the gravity of the Sun acts as the strap: the probe dives as close to the star as possible, and at the moment of maximum speed, a brief engine thrust, like a yank of the hand, gives it a huge boost.

Imagine a membrane stretched like the skin of a drum. It picks up two signals at once: gravitational waves — the trembling of space itself — and elusive particles of dark matter. The membrane is placed between mirrors, and light presses on it like a finger on a string, keeping it under constant tension.

The farther apart the antennas, the finer the details they pick up. By merging signals, astronomers effectively turn multiple dishes into a single telescope as big as the distance between them. Add a lunar antenna to the Earth-based array, and you get a virtual eye 384 000 km wide.

Two giant black holes spiral together and collide — a ripple of spacetime spreads across the Universe. Detectors of gravitational waves catch this ripple. But the signal may hide more than just mass and distance: if the laws of physics differ ever so slightly in different directions, the wave will be distorted.

Light from distant galaxies passes through telescope lenses like through a stack of window panes. Each pane is coated with a thin film to reduce glare. But this film acts as a polarizing filter: one component of the light wave passes a bit more freely, the other a bit worse. As a result, the wave rotates slightly, and the telescope sees a different picture than what is in the sky.

Two black holes circle each other, and their dance isn't always a smooth waltz. If the holes spin on their own axes, their orbit can start to tumble, like a top that's been pushed and wobbles on its side while still spinning.

The light of a star is stretched into a rainbow band. Dark lines — scars from absorbed elements, bright peaks — traces of hot gas. That’s a spectrum, the astronomer’s key piece of evidence. Cecilia Payne-Gaposchkin was the first to read that almost all stars are made of hydrogen.

Road noise is a great informant. Rare cars sound as individual signals; dense traffic merges into a steady hum. Just the same, mergers of black holes produce either single bursts or a continuous background of gravitational waves.

To spot life on other planets, you don't necessarily need to search for oxygen in the air. Living beings paint the surfaces of their worlds: Earth's plants in green, bacteria in purple. The future HWO space telescope will capture these "paints of life" on exoplanets.

Gravitational waves are ripples in space itself, caused by events like colliding black holes. To hear these ripples, we build giant L-shaped facilities: a laser beam travels down two arms, bounces off mirrors, and returns. If space has been slightly squeezed or stretched, the light arrives with a difference, and we see a signal.

Dark matter is the invisible glue that keeps galaxies from falling apart. Back in the 1930s, Fritz Zwicky suspected its existence, and in the 1970s Vera Rubin proved that without it, stars would fly apart.

A neural network originally trained to distinguish real gravitational waves from noise in a gravitational wave detector recognizes bearing wear from vibrations without retraining.

Detectors of gravitational waves usually compare the signal with ready-made templates, as if searching for a familiar melody in the noise. This allows them to track only known scenarios, such as black hole mergers.