Victor Rogus is an amateur astronomer, and this is the first in his series of exclusive Space.com posts about amateur astronomy. He contributed this article to Space.com's Expert Voices: Op-Ed & Insights.

April 8th is my father's birthday, but in 1986, I was not with him or the rest of the family back in Des Plaines, Illinois, celebrating with him, and enjoying a slice of his favorite cheesecake. That year, my wife and I were nearly 1,400 miles away, standing on a beach of crushed coral. We used a public pay phone to wish him many happy returns. With sincerity he wished us the best of luck on our adventure. We were far from home getting ready to photograph the historic Comet Halley from one of the best locations in the United States: the Florida Keys. At latitude of 23 degrees north, we would enjoy a distinct advantage over other astrophotographers.

We had made the journey knowing that every degree of latitude we moved south, the historic interloper known as "Halley" moved one degree higher in the sky. Comet Halley would be among the stars of the constellation Centaurus. Centaurs, a constellation so far south we never see it from our home in Illinois, and certainly not from our dark-sky sight in Algoma, Wisc. [Photos of Halley's Comet, an Icy Icon]

We were excited with the promise of new stars to see in the dark skies over the Straits of Florida. As mile blurred into mile and hour blurred into hour it seemed nothing could detour us from our grand undertaking.

After a brief tour of Key West we decided to find a comfortable campground where we would set up our equipment and try to get some rest. Retreating a few miles north, we settled on Lazy Lakes Camp on Sugarloaf Key. After checking in, we slowly drove to our campsite. We passed a huge 12-inch Newtonian telescope on a massive mount staring at the azure sky, its owner nowhere in sight. In the campsite across from ours, our next-door neighbor tinkered with his 8-inch Schmidtt-Cassegrain. It would seem we were in the right place!

With our camp made, tent erected, van organized and telescope set up, we settled in for dinner. Our next move would be to Polar-align our telescope's homemade mount, locate the great comet and perhaps begin photography.

As darkness fell we waited in hushed anticipation for the most famous snowball in history to appear. Then, a moment after the great orange globe of the sun slipped below the western horizon, a loud BUZZ-CLICK was heard and we were bathed in a sickening yellow light from an unnoticed street lamp directly across from our campsite.

Photography was out of the question for tonight. Bugs danced and played around and around the street lamp, each a micro-comet unto itself, in orbit around its quartz-halogen sun. We had driven nearly 1,400 miles to see and photograph history's most famous comet. The same one that William the Conqueror was said to have seen and took as a sign to invade England in 1066 AD. We would not be stopped by a light bulb.

What were we to do?

I had a slingshot and was good with it. Maybe no one would notice the sound of the glass breaking. We talked about using the van as a makeshift light stop but the light was too high above us and too close. Before us lay a salt marsh, behind us a small bay, so moving did not seem a very appealing prospect. Besides, we were all set up and ready to Polar-align, and it was getting dark fast. We decided to do the right thing and speak to the caretaker of this facility and offer him a bribe.

Go here to see the original:

Capturing Halley's Comet: An Astronomy Tale