Astronomy in November 2025

This month offers a bit of everything: a once-in-a-lifetime interstellar visitor passing through, a brilliant supermoon lighting up the sky, two bright comets fading out after their October glory, planets dancing in interesting ways, and even a couple of meteor showers (plus the promise of the auroras glimmering for those far north). It’s a skywatcher’s guide to an exciting November 2025, and I’m here for it – telescope, camera, and a warm cup of coffee/Swiss Miss in hand (don't knock that until you've tried it - life changer). Let’s dive into what the cosmos has in store for us this month.

Image credit NASA: Hubble Space Telescope image of the interstellar comet 3I/ATLAS

A Visitor from the Stars: The Interstellar Comet 3I/ATLAS

Topping the list of November’s happenings is interstellar comet 3I/ATLAS – only the third object we’ve ever seen that hails from another star system (and no, I do not think it's a spaceship!). Imagine sitting under the stars with Mark Twain at your side; even he might be left speechless by this one! Discovered only in July of this year by the ATLAS survey telescope in Chile, 3I/ATLAS is a true cosmic wanderer. It’s racing through the Solar System at about 58 kilometers (36 miles) per second, on a hyperbolic path that’s not bound to our Sun at all. In plain terms: it’s just passing through our neighborhood once and then bidding farewell forever. What’s wild is the comet came in almost perfectly aligned with the flat plane of our Solar System (the ecliptic). That neat alignment means as it zooms through the inner Solar System, it’s crossing the paths of the major planets – it already passed near Mars, and will swing by Venus on November 3, Earth in mid-December, and Jupiter a few months after. Don’t worry, “passing by” still means tens of millions of kilometers away at closest approach, but astronomically speaking it’s close enough for us to study and marvel at.

3I/ATLAS made its closest approach to the Sun (perihelion) at the end of October. Around that time it was almost impossible for us on Earth to see (lost in the Sun’s glare), but spacecraft had a field day observing it. That brush with the Sun’s heat “woke up” the comet – causing its ices to vaporize and forming a brighter coma (the fuzzy glow around its nucleus) and a growing tail. As November progresses and the comet climbs into darker morning skies for Earth observers, we’ll get a better and better view each week. Astronomers are particularly excited because this comet is teaching us new lessons about chemistry in space. Early observations from the Hubble Space Telescope suggest the comet’s nucleus is a few kilometers wide (perhaps around 1–5 km across) – larger than the previous two interstellar visitors we’ve seen. Even far out (nearly 4 AU from the Sun, way past Mars’s orbit) it was already active, hinting that something unusual was going on with its composition.

And indeed, something unusual is going on. NASA’s Swift Observatory detected hydroxyl gas around 3I/ATLAS when it was still about 3 AU from the Sun – that’s a telltale sign that water ice was sublimating (turning directly from solid to gas) off the comet. But wait, water ice typically stays frozen solid at that distance from the Sun, so how was water getting released so early? The best explanation scientists have is pretty clever: the comet likely has dust grains coated with ice that get blown off its surface, carrying water with them. As those grains drift away and get warmed by sunlight, they release water vapor. In effect, 3I/ATLAS was losing water when it “shouldn’t”, roughly 40 kilograms of water per second in late summer. It’s like the comet had a leaky cooler – ice tucked under layers of dust that started venting water well before the main ice chunks would normally melt.

Then came observations by the James Webb Space Telescope (JWST) in August, which really blew astronomers’ minds. JWST found that 3I/ATLAS’s coma is rich in carbon dioxide. In fact, it measured a carbon dioxide to water ratio of roughly 7.6:1. For comparison, most comets from our Solar System are dominated by water ice with much less CO₂. This interstellar visitor, on the other hand, seems to be built mostly of frozen carbon dioxide (think dry ice) with comparatively little water. That suggests it was born in an extremely cold region of its original star system – perhaps near the carbon dioxide frost line (way out where CO₂ could freeze solid) around another star. We’re basically getting a chemistry lesson from another solar system, and it’s telling us that not all comets are built like the ones here at home.

And there’s more: as the comet continued inward, astronomers using the Very Large Telescope (VLT) in Chile noticed something peculiar about the metals in 3I/ATLAS’s coma. In observations through August and September, they detected strong nickel emission – meaning gaseous nickel atoms were present – but strangely no iron at first. That’s odd because comets (and cosmic dust in general) usually contain nickel and iron together in similar amounts. It was a real head-scratcher: where was all the iron? Well, a few weeks later, when 3I/ATLAS moved closer to the Sun (around 2.6 AU away), iron finally started showing up in the spectra. Even more interesting, once iron appeared, the nickel-to-iron ratio dropped back down toward more “normal” levels. This sequence gave scientists a big clue. It appears these metals weren’t being released as pure metal atoms initially; they were hidden in complex molecules that were evaporating off the comet at different stages. The prime suspects are exotic carbon-monoxide compounds like nickel tetracarbonyl and iron pentacarbonyl – molecules where a nickel or iron atom is bonded with carbon and oxygen. Nickel tetracarbonyl vaporizes at a lower temperature, so it could start leaking out when the comet was still farther from the Sun (hence nickel showed up early). Iron pentacarbonyl needs more heat to break apart, only releasing iron atoms when the comet got closer in. In plainer language, 3I/ATLAS was playing a chemical shell game: hiding its iron until the Sun turned up the heat a bit more. Once the iron-bearing molecules cracked, iron gas joined the mix. This little chemistry drama is more than just a fun fact – it confirms a long-standing theory about how metals can escape from comet surfaces. Even comets in our own Solar System were suspected to release metals in exactly this way, and here we have an interstellar example proving the point. I have to admit, the science geek in me (channeling a bit of Einstein’s curiosity here) is absolutely thrilled by this discovery.

Given how special 3I/ATLAS is, astronomers have mobilized a whole fleet of instruments to observe it. Back on October 3, when it flew about 30 million kilometers from Mars, ESA’s ExoMars Trace Gas Orbiter managed to photograph the comet’s faint coma as a moving dot near the Red Planet. Throughout early November (specifically November 2–25, right after the comet’s close pass by the Sun), ESA’s JUICE spacecraft – which is en route to Jupiter – has been turning its instruments toward 3I/ATLAS. JUICE is sampling the comet’s gas and dust output from afar during this active phase. Meanwhile, NASA’s Europa Clipper spacecraft (also cruising toward Jupiter) had a chance to actually cross through part of the comet’s tail around the turn of the month (late October into the first week of November). Clipper’s plasma sensors and magnetometers might have picked up charged particles from 3I/ATLAS’s tail or disturbances in the magnetic field – if so, that would be the first direct sampling of interstellar comet material. We’re all waiting on pins and needles to hear what it found, because it could tell us how a comet from another star interacts with our Sun’s solar wind in real time. It’s like getting an interstellar weather report!

Now, let’s talk about seeing this comet for yourself. I won’t sugarcoat it: 3I/ATLAS is not going to be a naked-eye spectacle. At its predicted brightest, perhaps later in November or December, it might reach around magnitude 10 or 11 – which means you’ll need a decent-sized backyard telescope (say 6 to 8 inches or larger) under dark skies to spot the faint smudge. But don’t let that discourage you; the challenge makes it more rewarding. Throughout November, 3I/ATLAS is visible in the pre-dawn morning sky, gradually improving its position each week. Around mid-month, start looking toward the east-southeast about an hour and a half before sunrise. The comet will be lurking not far from the star Spica in the constellation Virgo, low on the horizon. As the weeks go by, it drifts northward into Leo and climbs a bit higher before dawn. By month’s end, early risers might catch it higher up in a darker sky. Using a planetarium app (like Stellarium or SkySafari) and plugging in “3I/ATLAS” is a great way to find its exact position for your location and date.

When I hunt for a faint comet like this, sometimes I try a little trick: if my eyes can’t quite see it through the telescope at first, I’ll use my camera. A long exposure on a DSLR or even a smartphone camera (with a night mode or a manual exposure app) pointed at the suspected area can reveal the comet’s faint glow and tail. A 10-30 second exposure on a tripod might show a fuzzy spot that you can then center in your telescope’s view. Once you know you’re pointed right at it, it becomes easier to perceive the comet visually. For astrophotographers, tracking mounts and stacking multiple short exposures (say 20-30 seconds each) will help bring out more detail in 3I/ATLAS’s nascent tail without trailing the stars. Just be mindful that comets are moving targets – 3I/ATLAS is zipping through, so its position shifts night to night. But that’s part of the fun; it feels almost like a treasure hunt each time. And if you do snag a photo, you’ll have the ultimate souvenir: a picture of an interstellar interloper that wandered all the way from another star to grace our skies. Personally, I can’t wait to tell my friends “Yep, that fuzzy blob is from another solar system!” How often do we get to say that?

One important thing to remember (and here I’ll echo something the astronomy communicator Sarah Matthews humorously pointed out in her video): comets are like cats – they have tails and they do whatever they want. In other words, predicting a comet’s brightness or behavior is a fool’s errand. It might fizzle out and fade, or it might flare up unexpectedly bright. Who knows, 3I/ATLAS could surprise us with an outburst and become easier to see – or it could crumble apart (not likely, but comets have been known to disintegrate) and vanish. The bottom line: enjoy it for what it is, and don’t be too upset if it doesn’t perform on cue. As Mark Twain might remind me, sometimes it’s the unpredictability that makes life (and the night sky) interesting.

Comets Swan and Lemmon: Autumn’s Fading Glories

While 3I/ATLAS is stealing the spotlight as the rare visitor, November also features two more home-grown comets that have been entertaining us recently: Comet R2 (SWAN) and Comet Lemmon. These two comets lit up October in their own ways, and they’re still around (just a bit dimmer now) as we enter November’s nights.

First up, Comet R2 SWAN. This icy traveler made a brief splash last month, especially for observers in the Northern Hemisphere. Around mid to late October, R2 SWAN reached about magnitude 6, just below naked-eye visibility, and for a short while some folks under very dark skies could glimpse it without optical aid. Through binoculars or a small telescope, it showed off a lovely tail in late September and early October. By the end of October, that tail had started to fade, and now Comet SWAN is a much more modest sight – essentially a small, dim greenish fuzzball in the sky. Its green color (visible in photos and larger telescopes) comes from glowing diatomic carbon gas in its coma, which fluoresces green in sunlight. Even if the tail has dwindled, that soft emerald dot is still a pretty thing to catch. Through November, SWAN lingers in the early evening sky after sunset. Look toward the west-northwest as darkness falls – the comet is low on the horizon at first, but each evening it will appear a bit higher for those at mid-northern latitudes, since it’s moving northward. In fact, on November 3, Comet SWAN crosses the celestial equator heading into the northern sky, meaning folks in the Southern Hemisphere will lose sight of it while we in the north get our last views. Around the middle of November, SWAN drifts not far from Saturn in the sky. If you’re scanning around Saturn with binoculars early in the month, you might also stumble on this dim comet nearby. Don’t expect too much – by now it’s likely around 8th or 9th magnitude and getting dimmer as it heads away from both Sun and Earth. But I have a soft spot for comets like these; they’re like the little encore after the headline act, and finding that faint cotton-ball glow amid the stars can be oddly satisfying.

Next, there’s Comet A6 Lemmon (often written as Comet Lemmon, named after Arizona’s Mount Lemmon Observatory which discovered it). Comet Lemmon turned into the surprise star of October. Early in 2025, not many anticipated it becoming bright, but it outdid expectations and surged to about magnitude 4 or 5 at its peak. That made it briefly visible to the naked eye if you were under truly dark, clear skies – and certainly an easy target with binoculars. In photos, Comet Lemmon was a beauty: it sported two distinct tails. One tail was a curved, diffuse tail made of dust (pushed gently outward by the Sun’s radiation pressure, causing it to bend along the comet’s path). The other was a straight, narrow ion tail – a tail of electrically charged gas that glows and points directly away from the Sun, often with a bluish or greenish tint from ions like carbon monoxide or diatomic carbon. Seeing a comet with dual tails like that is a treat; it really drives home that comets are dynamic, shedding different materials in different ways.

As we move into November, Comet Lemmon is still hanging around, but it’s on the decline. It spends the first days of November visible low in the western sky after sunset for those in the Northern Hemisphere. You’ll want to look shortly after dusk – say, 60 to 90 minutes after sunset – because Lemmon is sinking closer to the horizon each night. By November 10 or so, it barely rises more than ~15 degrees above the horizon for mid-northern latitudes (a bit higher if you’re in the southern U.S. or Mediterranean, and lower if you’re in Canada or Northern Europe). Essentially, it’s fading into the twilight. Comet Lemmon reached its closest point to the Sun on November 8 (about 0.53 AU from the Sun, which is inside the orbit of Venus), and after that it’s likely to dim pretty rapidly as it swings back outwards and the geometry of viewing it from Earth gets tougher. If you want to snag a view or photo of Lemmon, do it in the first week or two of November. Find a location with a clear view toward the west (no obstructing trees or buildings), and start scanning as soon as the sky gets fully dark. It should appear as a small fuzzy star in binoculars. You likely won’t see those nice tails visually unless you have a larger telescope and excellent conditions, but a long-exposure photo might still pick up a hint of them. It’s always a bit sad to say goodbye to a comet that gave us a good show. I spent a few evenings in October photographing Comet Lemmon, and its departure feels like the end of a great concert’s final song. But the memories (and pictures) are there, and who knows – maybe in a few years another unexpected comet will come along to steal our hearts again.

Between 3I/ATLAS, SWAN, and Lemmon, we’ve had a very comet-filled autumn. It’s not often we can talk about three different comets in the sky at once! If you managed to see even one or two of them, give yourself a pat on the back. And if not, don’t worry – there will be more comets (and perhaps more interstellar surprises) in the future. That’s the wonderful thing about astronomy: the sky always has another gift waiting around the corner.

Planets on the Move (and a Dazzling Pairing)

Comets aren’t the only game in town this month. The planets have their own moves and conjunctions that are worth stepping outside for. November 2025 brings some shifting gears for the bright planets, along with a couple of lovely meet-ups with the Moon and with each other.

Let’s start with the biggest of them all, Jupiter. If you’ve been noticing Jupiter hanging bright in the east in the evenings recently, you’re seeing it near its peak for the year – it reached opposition (its closest approach to Earth) in late October. Now Jupiter has entered a period of retrograde motion. Retrograde means that, from our perspective on Earth, Jupiter appears to stop its usual eastward drift against the background stars and move westward (backwards) for a while. Of course, Jupiter isn’t actually reversing course in space; this is an optical effect that happens whenever Earth, on its inner faster orbit, sweeps past an outer planet. We’re essentially lapping Jupiter, and as we pull ahead, Jupiter seems to move backward much like how a slower car on the highway looks like it’s drifting backward as you pass it. What this means for skywatchers is that Jupiter will linger in the same general area of the sky for the next couple of months, rising in the east in the early evening and shining brilliantly all night long. It’s hard to miss – that steady, bright beacon outshining any star in its vicinity. On November 9th, we get a special treat: the Moon meets Jupiter in the night sky. On that evening, a waning gibbous Moon will rise and appear quite close to Jupiter. They’ll be like two companions moving together – an eye-catching sight for anyone looking up. By around 10 p.m. local time on Nov 9, you’ll see Jupiter just a few degrees away from the Moon in the eastern sky. As the night goes on, they’ll travel across the sky together. If you have clear weather, it’s a great opportunity to point out to friends or family: “see that bright star by the Moon? That’s no star, that’s Jupiter!” And if you point a telescope at Jupiter, you can catch its cloud bands and four big moons; then slide over to our Moon to gaze at lunar craters in the same session. Nights like that really give a sense of the clockwork of the heavens.

Moving along, Saturn is also visible this month, though it’s a bit past its prime time. Saturn was at opposition back in the late summer, so by November it’s now a fixture of the early evening sky, found in the southwest after sunset. It’s still a lovely sight in a telescope – those rings never disappoint – but it sets earlier each night. Saturn had been in retrograde too for a while, but it recently resumed direct (eastward) motion again. One thing to mark on your calendar: at the very end of November, the Moon will pair up with Saturn for a pretty conjunction. On November 28 (give or take a day depending on your time zone), look toward the low southwest in early evening and you might catch the slender crescent Moon cozying up near Saturn as the twilight fades. The Moon is a great guidepost to find Saturn if you’re not sure where it is – just spot the crescent and that slightly golden "star" nearby will be Saturn. As a bonus, Neptune is in the vicinity too, though much harder to see. In fact, on November 1–2 this month, the Moon, Saturn, and Neptune all formed a little grouping. Neptune is only visible with a telescope (a tiny bluish dot), but it was hanging out roughly in the same patch of sky. If you missed it, no worries – Neptune is still around in Aquarius, but you’ll need a telescope and star charts to identify that one. It’s kind of cool knowing it was there, right next to a naked-eye planet and our Moon, even if you couldn’t see it directly.

A true highlight for planet-watchers in November 2025 is Uranus at opposition. Uranus is one of those planets that many people have never seen with their own eyes, and this month is the best time to give it a try. When a planet reaches opposition, it’s opposite the Sun in our sky, meaning it rises at sunset, sets at sunrise, and is at its brightest for the year. Around early November, Uranus hits that sweet spot. It shines around magnitude 5.7, technically bright enough to be glimpsed with the naked eye if you have really dark skies and know exactly where to look (and have sharp eyesight). For most of us, binoculars will easily pick it up as a dim star-like point. It sits in the constellation Aries right now, not far from the border of Cetus. Through a telescope, even a modest one, Uranus transforms from a star-like speck into a tiny turquoise-blue disk. It won’t have details like Jupiter or Saturn, but that distinctive blue-green color is unmistakable – you know you’re looking at an icy world way out there (Uranus is about 2.8 billion kilometers from us at the moment!). I always find it humbling and cool to see it: here’s a planet four times the Earth’s size, tipped on its side, with rings and moons of its own, quietly circling the Sun in the background of the stars. If you haven’t seen Uranus before, give it a shot this month. Some star chart apps or online guides can help pinpoint it among the stars of Aries. And hey, now you can tell those jokes like “I finally saw Uranus” with a legitimate astronomical context!

Finally, we have a lovely morning planet duo to cap off the month. On the mornings of November 24 and 25, keep an eye on the eastern horizon about 30 to 60 minutes before sunrise. The two brightest planets closer to the Sun, Venus and Mercury, will appear extremely close together in the dawn twilight. Venus, which has been shining as the “Morning Star” for a little while now, is brilliant and hard to miss. Mercury is much fainter and usually lost in the Sun’s glow, but late November it climbs high enough in the pre-dawn to be visible. On those two mornings, Venus and Mercury will be only about a thumb’s width apart in the sky – that’s roughly a degree or so of separation, which is very close for two planets. They’ll look like a tight pair of celestial diamonds just above the horizon. You will need a clear view to the east, since they don’t rise very high before daybreak. If you have hills, mountains, or tall buildings blocking your eastern view, you might miss it. Ideally, find a spot like a lake shore or a hilltop where you can see the very low horizon. The effort is worth it: these kinds of conjunctions are visually striking and also a nice reminder that the planets move in their own little subdance apart from the stars. Mercury especially is a treat because many people have never seen Mercury (being elusive and often drowned in sunlight). Seeing it right next to blazing Venus helps point it out. I like to imagine the inner planets having a little rendezvous, waving at us as if to say “Good morning, don’t forget we’re here too!” If you manage to snap a photo, you might capture Venus’s intense glow with dim Mercury nearby – a cool contrast. Just remember to do it before sunrise; once the Sun comes up, it’s game over for viewing Mercury and Venus (and never look at or photograph near the Sun once it’s above the horizon, for safety reasons). But in those quiet predawn moments, with the chilly air and maybe a bird or two chirping, you’ll have front-row seats to a neat planetary pairing.

Meteor Showers: Taurid Fireballs and the Leonid Legacy

November also brings some classic shooting star action, courtesy of a couple of annual meteor showers. This month we have the Taurids and the Leonids on the calendar. While neither is expected to break any records this year, they each have their own special character and history, and they’re well worth looking up for – especially if you happen to be outside on a clear night.

First up, the Taurid meteor showers. The Taurids are actually two streams of debris, known as the Southern Tauridsand Northern Taurids, and they originate from Comet Encke (one of the shortest-period comets we know, which sheds material along its orbit). These are long-lasting, diffuse showers that last for weeks through late October and November, but each has a peak night or two. The Southern Taurids peak around November 4–5, and the Northern Taurids peak about a week later, around November 11–12. In terms of meteor counts, the Taurids are usually modest – maybe only ~5 meteors per hour under dark skies at the peak. But what they lack in quantity, they often make up for in quality: the Taurids are renowned for producing very bright meteors known as fireballs. Taurid meteors tend to be slower-moving and can appear as big, brilliant streaks that sometimes even fragment or leave glowing trails. It’s thought that the Taurid stream has a lot of larger pebble-sized or even rock-sized bits in it, which burn up spectacularly in Earth’s atmosphere.

This year, the bad news is that the Southern Taurid peak falls right when the Moon is just past full (and not just any full Moon, but the brightest supermoon of the year – more on that soon). A bright Moon can wash out faint meteors. So during the first week of November, only the very brightest Taurid fireballs will stand out. If one of those big meteors shows up, though, trust me, you’ll notice it even with moonlight – they can be that bright. In early November, I’d suggest not focusing too hard on one specific night for Taurids, but rather keep an eye out any clear night when you’re outside. Sometimes people catch an early Taurid fireball in late October or an after-peak one a week into November. The Northern Taurids in mid-November have the advantage of darker skies (the Moon will be a thin crescent or new around Nov 11–12). They might produce a few nice meteors as well. The Taurid radiant (the part of the sky they seem to come from) is in Taurus, near the Pleiades cluster and not far from the fiery star Aldebaran. But a tip: you don’thave to face Taurus to see Taurids – meteors can appear all over the sky, and their streaks will trace back to that region. The best strategy is to find a comfortable spot with a wide open view of the sky, lie back, and watch casually for a while. Given the low rates, it’s the kind of shower where you might just catch one or two in an hour, but those could be real jaw-droppers. There’s almost a game among some skywatchers where we affectionately call Taurids the “Halloween fireballs” (though they extend into November) because every so often you’ll hear reports of a bright green meteor lighting up the sky and spooking some folks who weren’t expecting it. With any luck, one of those might blaze by during your night out.

Mid-month brings the more famous Leonid meteor shower, which peaks around the night of November 16–17. The Leonids are one of the storied meteor showers in history. They originate from Comet 55P/Tempel-Tuttle, and roughly every 33 years that comet’s fresh debris causes an intense meteor storm. In fact, the Leonids delivered some of the most dramatic meteor displays ever recorded – notably in 1833 and 1966 – when tens of thousands of meteors per hour rained down, making it look like the sky was falling. People in 1833 were reportedly terrified, thinking the world was ending as they saw countless shooting stars. (If Mark Twain were around then – he was born a couple of years after – I’m sure he’d have had some wry commentary on it!) Those storms are rare; we’re not in a storm year now, so don’t expect anything like that. However, the Leonids can still put on a decent show in a normal year, with perhaps 10 to 15 meteors per hour at the peak under ideal conditions. And this year, conditions are promising because the Moon will be only a thin crescent (about 9% illuminated) and it rises late, so the sky will be nice and dark during the prime meteor-watching hours.

The Leonid meteors tend to be fast – very fast – because Earth is hitting the Leonid stream almost head-on. These meteors zip into our atmosphere at around 71 km/s. They often leave persistent trains, which are trails that glow for a few seconds after the meteor is gone, twisting in the upper atmosphere winds. The radiant for the Leonids is in the constellation Leo (hence the name), seeming to emanate from the Sickle of Leo (near the star Algieba, in Leo’s mane). In mid-November, Leo rises in the east after midnight, so the best time to watch the Leonids is usually the early morning hours (say from midnight to dawn) of Nov 17. But you can also start looking in late evening on the 16th. Just like with the Taurids, it’s good to get comfortable – maybe bundle up, lie on a blanket or in a reclining chair – and let your eyes adjust to the dark. Give it a good while (at least an hour) to catch a nice sampling. Even at 10 meteors per hour, you could see one every few minutes on average, sometimes in bursts. There might also be a few fireballs among the Leonids, and because the Moon is out of the way, even fainter meteors will be visible this time. One cool thing about meteor showers is the sense of connection to cosmic cycles; in this case, you’re essentially witnessing Earth plowing through the dusty trail of a comet. Every Leonid meteor is a tiny fragment of Tempel-Tuttle burning up overhead. That thought alone gives me chills (the good kind). And if you do happen to see a meteor, make a wish or just enjoy the fleeting beauty of it – a little gift from the universe.

The Brightest Supermoon of the Year

Remember that bright Moon I mentioned? November 2025 treats us to the Full Beaver Moon on the night of November 5, and this one is extra special – it’s a supermoon, and not just any supermoon, but the closest and brightest full Moon of 2025. “Supermoon” has become a popular term for when a full moon coincides with the Moon being at perigee (the closest point in its slightly elliptical orbit around Earth). Some years have several supermoons; what makes this one stand out is that it’s the nearest of all the full moons this year, meaning it will appear slightly larger and brighter than usual. Now, I’ll be honest: the difference is not dramatic to the naked eye – maybe 7-8% bigger in diameter compared to an average full moon, and about 15% brighter. If you saw a regular full moon and this supermoon side by side you’d notice it, but on its own, the Moon on November 5 will just strike you as very bright and beautiful, as full moons always are. The traditional name “Beaver Moon” comes from old folklore (trappers setting beaver traps in November, or beavers being active preparing for winter – take your pick of the tale).

One thing I love to do for any full moon, especially a supermoon, is to catch it right at moonrise. On Nov 5, around the time the sun is setting in the west, look to the eastern horizon. The full moon will be rising around sunset (the exact timing depends on your location, but generally within a short time of sunset). When the Moon is low on the horizon, it tends to look huge – partly an optical illusion because our brain compares it to foreground objects, and partly because the atmosphere can magnify it a tad. It often has a golden or orange hue as it comes up, thanks to the thicker atmosphere path absorbing some light. That’s the most “dramatic” time to view the supermoon – it can truly be breathtaking watching this golden disc ascended behind trees or buildings. As it climbs higher it turns its usual pale white and illuminates the landscape in an almost daytime-like glow. If you’re an early riser, the moonset on the morning of Nov 6 in the west can be equally gorgeous.

For photographers, a supermoon is a chance to play with compositions. Because it’s a touch larger, you might frame it with distant landmarks to emphasize that size (though again, the difference is subtle – even a regular full moon can look giant in photos if you use a telephoto lens). Just be mindful that the full moon’s brightness will wash out faint details in the sky – so while the Moon is up, it’ll outshine fainter stars and even interfere with meteor spotting, as we discussed with the Taurids. I sometimes treat the full moon night as an opportunity to do some moonlit landscape photographyor even just admire the moon itself with a small telescope (looking at the moon when it’s full is a bit blinding through a scope, but you can use a filter or just enjoy the view of the lunar mares and bright highlands).

Interestingly, because this supermoon is the brightest of the year, it might have a tiny effect on the Earth too – slightly higher tides, for instance, because the Moon’s gravity is a smidge stronger at perigee. But for most of us, the main effect is just aesthetic: a really bright night. If you go outside on Nov 5 and the sky is clear, you might notice you can even see your shadow by moonlight. And if you’re like me, maybe you’ll howl at the Moon for good measure (strictly for scientific purposes, of course!). This full moon essentially marks the last big bright Moon of the year, since December’s full moon won’t be as close. So, enjoy it – it’s nature’s big spotlight, and it’s free for everyone to see.

Other Night Sky Delights (Auroras, Milky Way and More)

Beyond the scheduled “events,” November’s sky has its more subtle delights, the kind that are ongoing and worth noticing whenever you’re out under the stars. One of those – for those in the right latitudes – is the potential for vivid auroras. As we head into late 2025, the Sun is near the peak of its 11-year activity cycle (the solar maximum). That means more sunspots, solar flares, and coronal mass ejections – which in turn means a higher chance of aurora borealis (and australis, in the Southern Hemisphere) gracing the night sky. In fact, aurora watchers call autumn and winter the “northern lights season,” especially at higher latitudes, because the nights are long and dark, and geomagnetic activity tends to produce some great shows. Keep in mind, you usually need to be relatively far north (or south for the southern lights) to see the aurora, but strong solar storms can push them to lower latitudes occasionally. Just recently in early November, a strong solar flare got scientists buzzing about possible auroras. So if you live in, say, Canada, the northern U.S., northern Europe, or similar latitudes, it’s worth staying alert for aurora alerts on the news or via apps. Even here in Missouri (where I am), we’ve had a few surprise aurora sightings when a big geomagnetic storm hits – faint pillars or ripples of red and green low on the horizon. There’s nothing quite like the experience of seeing the sky come alive with curtains of light. It’s unpredictable – much like our friend the comet – but the possibility adds a little excitement to every clear night. I have an alert set on my phone for when the planetary K-index (a measure of geomagnetic activity) spikes high enough; if it does, I’ll be grabbing my camera and driving to a dark spot with a clear northern view, hoping to capture some of that ethereal auroral glow. Fingers crossed!

Now, even if you’re not chasing auroras, November nights offer a shifting panorama of constellations and the Milky Way that’s worth appreciating. For observers in the Northern Hemisphere, the famous summer Milky Way (with its bright core that we enjoyed in July and August) has now mostly set by the end of evening. By November, the Milky Way’s core has disappeared below the horizon after dusk, taking with it the dense star clouds of Sagittarius and Scorpius. In their place, what you’ll see after nightfall is the grand expanse of the autumn sky, which is a bit “emptier” of bright stars except for a few like formalhaut and the Great Square of Pegasus overhead. However, if you have dark skies, you can still trace the Milky Way as a faint band running across the sky. In fact, one prominent feature is the Great Rift – a series of dark dust lanes that bisect the Milky Way’s band. In November evenings, you might notice the Milky Way stretching from the southwest to the northeast. Along the west/southwest horizon after dusk, that dark rift can be seen splitting the pale band of the Milky Way. It’s essentially the silhouette of interstellar dust in our galaxy’s spiral arm blocking the more distant star glow. I sometimes find it mesmerizing to just sweep my binoculars along that area – you go from dense star fields to sudden voids where the dust obscures them.

As the night gets later and we move towards midnight, the eastern sky becomes the new center of attention. Constellations like Perseus, Auriga, and Taurus rise higher and dominate the view. These areas of the sky are rich with interesting targets. Perseus hosts the famous Double Cluster – two tight clusters of stars that sparkle like diamonds through binoculars. Auriga has the bright star Capella and several beautiful star clusters (like M36, M37, M38) if you have a telescope. Taurus brings the Pleiades (Seven Sisters) – always a delight to the naked eye and stunning through binoculars – and the orange giant star Aldebaran as the eye of the Bull, set among the Hyades star cluster. These constellations also herald the coming of winter’s brilliance. Sure enough, by late evening or early morning, the mighty Orion begins to peek above the horizon, followed by Gemini with its twins Castor and Pollux, and Canis Major with Sirius, the brightest star. November is like the opening act for the grand winter celestial show. Orion’s appearance is a personal favorite moment of mine every year – I often step outside after midnight in mid-November, see Orion’s Belt and the Orion Nebula just clearing the trees, and it’s like greeting an old friend. It tells me that winter (and its crystal-clear frosty nights) is just around the corner.

Now, let’s not forget our friends in the Southern Hemisphere. November for you is late spring, which means your nights are getting shorter, but you still have plenty of interesting sights. Much like the north, the southern sky’s view of the Milky Way core is slipping away earlier in the evening. But you get to enjoy some parts of the Milky Way that northerners don’t. In the early evening, the Milky Way will be arching across the south with constellations like Vela, Carina, and Centaurus in view (depending on your latitude). Down there near the Vela–Carina region lies the huge but faint Gum Nebula – not something you’ll see with your eyes, but it’s a vast remnant of old supernovae that glows faintly across a wide area. Keen astrophotographers with special filters sometimes capture its reddish tendrils. Also, November is a good time in the southern hemisphere to observe the Magellanic Clouds – the two irregular dwarf galaxies that accompany our Milky Way. The Large Magellanic Cloud (LMC) and Small Magellanic Cloud (SMC)stand out on moonless nights as fuzzy patches, almost like detached pieces of the Milky Way, high in the southern sky. The LMC, in particular, is riding high later at night around this time of year, containing treasures like the Tarantula Nebula if you point a telescope at it. And just as Orion is rising for the north, the south gets Orion too (upside down relative to northern view) and the glorious stars of Carina (with the super-bright star Canopus). All in all, November nights are generous to both hemispheres in their own ways.

Get out there!

You don’t need a telescope to feel the wonder of the cosmos - but if you have one, November gives you every reason to use it. Astronomy in November 2025 is an invitation to simply look up, whether through a lens or with your own eyes. The sky is alive this month: interstellar comets blazing by, planets performing their celestial two-step, meteor showers streaking through Orion, a glowing supermoon, and the slow, graceful drift of familiar constellations.

Astronomy has always been a mix of patience and opportunity. You won’t catch everything in one night - or even one month - but each glimpse rewards you. Maybe you’ll set up your telescope to find 3I/ATLAS on a clear morning, or maybe you’ll just step outside during the Leonids and see a few bright meteors before bed. Even noticing how bright the Moon is one evening connects you to something vast and ancient.

November’s sky offers a cosmic buffet - a reminder that, as Carl Sagan said, we are made of star stuff. Whether you’re photographing comets, spotting meteors, or just standing in the cold for a quiet minute under the stars, Astronomy in November 2025 is waiting for you - telescope optional, wonder guaranteed.

Sarah Mathews guides us on how to See 3I/ATLAS, Comet A6 Lemmon, R2 SWAN Update, Leonid Meteor Shower, Uranus Opposition