It was cold. Not surprising, given that it was well after sunset, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky.

And 13 degrees.

The powerlines just off the highway were crackling and sizzling the way they do on bitter cold nights with wind whipping through them. The sizzle is so loud you expect to see sparks arcing along the wires, but no, there is nothing that direction except black.

Black skies, the thin crescent of the moon, and the last, faint glow of dusk.

And one shooting star, streaking slowly from the north towards the mountains in the west.

But that's not what I'm looking for.

The drumbeats and cries of Native Sounds - Native Voices churns out the open door into the quiet night. Sounds that probably haven't been heard in the open air in this particular spot for a hundred years or more.

And I still can't find it.

Comet Machholz.

'Course, all I know is that it's visible to the naked eye, and somewhere near the Pleiades.

Not much to go on.

My fingers are stiff with cold when I notice a glow to the northwest. Light from a vehicle, headed my way on this highway, but still far below the rim.

Time to go.

Forty-some miles down the road, I try again, using a proper reststop this time. In all those miles I met only three vehicles. The one behind me never showed, until I parked again. Thermometer says we're up to 20 degrees now, but the wind is whipping harder, too. I step out the door and do my best to stay in the lee of the warm cab.

First stars I spot are good ol' Orion. And no one is more surprised than I when I try a picture, and actually see the three stars of his belt captured in the camera's screen.

Between him and me are the Pleiades, incredibly bright against the glow of the Milky Way, undimmed by even a single light out here in the middle of nowhere. I locate the "W" of Cassiopeia, and then start searching the sky between the two with the binoculars.

And there's a fuzzy spot. Almost straight up.

Comet Machholz.

I'll be danged. I can't see any tail on the fuzz at all, not like this shot by a professional, taken a week ago. But that has got to be it.

Another slow shooting star passes over the ancient rocks north of me.

Knowing I'm wasting my time, I try a half-dozen pictures. Most leaning back on the edge of the seat, aiming almost straight up. All hand-held, like the moon and Orion shots. Then a quick drive across the parking area to highlight the latrine with my headlights, a brief pit stop, and I'm on the road again. My knees aching from the cold.

A new sensation for me. It's fifteen miles down the road, well past Frank's house, before I notice it no longer hurts to press on the gas.

A good end to a cold day.

I've checked the NASA Finder Chart... pretty sure the fuzzy spot I spotted was the real thing. And, if I'm remembering right, and my digital image isn't too filled with clutter, that little fuzzball at the end of the red arrow is Comet Machholz.

A little brighter, and a lot bigger, than Halley's Comet, around 20 years ago.

But that night was just as cold.