We Wait and Wonder

The night before, the Ohio State University Radio Observatory—better known as Big Ear—had been methodically scanning the sky, observing at a declination of -26 degrees. The observation continued into the morning of Monday, August 15, 1977, finally concluding at 10:40 AM.

With that session complete, it was time to change the declination. Each declination was typically observed two or three times before switching to the next one, and now -26 degrees had been sufficiently covered. The team of astronomers adjusted the main reflector, repositioning it to -27 degrees declination for its first observation at that setting.

At precisely 2:20 PM local time, Big Ear resumed its slow, steady sky survey, collecting radio data line by line, minute by minute, as the Earth’s rotation carried the telescope’s beam across the sky.

The printout logs, produced by the IBM 1130 computer, recorded a continuous stream of numbers representing signal intensities at 1420 MHz—the telltale frequency of neutral hydrogen. The first page of the printout listed the declination and the day of observation, serving as a reference point for the long sequence of data that followed.

It was a warm summer day in Ohio, with temperatures reaching around 84°F (29°C) in the afternoon. The Sun set at 8:30 PM, casting long shadows over the observatory. By nightfall, the sky was exceptionally dark—August 15 coincided with a new moon, leaving no lunar glow to wash out the stars.

For hours, the telescope scanned in silence, with nothing out of the ordinary appearing on the readout. But then, at 11:15 PM, on the 33rd page of data, something remarkable happened. A sudden, intense signal appeared—one that far exceeded the background noise.

Yet, in that moment, nobody was there to see it. The computer continued printing the data unattended, just as it always did. There were no blinking lights, no alarms, no real-time indicators to announce the presence of something extraordinary. The signal passed unnoticed into the night, buried among the endless columns of numbers.

The telescope continued collecting data throughout the night and into the following morning. By 10:00 AM on Tuesday, August 16, the observing session came to an end with page 73. The printout—a thick stack of continuous-feed paper—was set aside for later review.

With the morning session completed, the team began preparing the telescope for its next scheduled run that afternoon. The primary reflector remained positioned at -27 degrees declination as the system was checked and reset for another cycle of sky scanning.

It was only days later, when astronomers examined the printout, that they discovered it. The numbers 6EQUJ5 stood out, marking an unmistakable peak in intensity. It was a structured, unmistakable signal—one that would later capture the imagination of astronomers and the public alike.