Sky Tour Astronomy Podcast for February 2026

This month’s episode is sponsored by Celestron, manufacturer of high-quality telescopes and an industry leader in developing exciting optical products with revolutionary technologies.
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I’m Kelly Beatty of Sky & Telescope magazine, and tonight we’re going on a tour of the stars and planets that you’ll see overhead during February. First we’ll keep tabs on the Moon; say good-bye to Saturn; trace out the Winter Milky Way; and explore some lesser-known constellations near Orion. So grab your curiosity, put on a warm coat, and come along on this month’s Sky Tour.
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As each month begins, I like to imagine what the Moon will look like over the next few weeks and where it’ll be in the sky. Now, the Moon goes completely around Earth, from new Moon to new Moon, in 29½ days. So each day orbital motion moves it about 12° eastward with respect to the stars. That’s a bit more than the size of your clenched fist held at arm’s length. And since the Moon appears about ½° across, it moves eastward among the stars by its own diameter every hour. Literally, you can watch the Moon orbiting Earth during the course of an evening. Now, don’t confuse this eastward motion with the Moon’s much faster westward shift during the night due to Earth’s rotation.
Usually I make a mental note of the month’s first major lunar phase, and this month it’s easy because full Moon is on February 1st. It’s called the Snow Moon in Native American lore, for obvious reasons. Last quarter follows on February 9th. You won’t see this phase in the evening sky, because it doesn’t rise until around midnight. Instead, whenever I hear “last quarter,” I think to myself “Hmm, better get up before dawn to see it — or wait to watch it high overhead in the morning daytime sky.” 
New Moon follows on the 17th, and in the days thereafter you can look for a thin crescent in evening’s twilight. Right now the Moon’s orbit hits the western horizon at a steep angle, so you’ll be surprised how quickly that waxing crescent climbs upward and becomes apparent. (More on that in a moment!) First quarter follows on the 24th, and a couple of days after that, on the 26th, its plump gibbous disk will be to the upper-right of Jupiter. 
Of course, you really don’t need the Moon’s help to find Jupiter. The King of Planets is dazzlingly bright and high in the south at nightfall. Another big planet, Saturn, is also in view, but it’s on the far side of the Sun from us right now and much less dramatic. Early in February, look for Saturn low in the southwest as twilight deepens, on its own and therefore pretty easy to spot. But as the weeks go by, Saturn sinks lower and lower and becomes more challenging to see.
Fortunately, in that same part of the sky you’ll have a chance to spot both Venus and Mercury. In fact, this month Mercury makes its best evening showing for the whole year. If I had to pick, I’d say go out soon after sunset on either February 18th or 19th. Find a spot with a completely clear view toward west. Venus is very close to the horizon, and Mercury is above it by a few degrees. Saturn is higher still and slightly to their left. But what makes these two nights special is the arrival of the Moon. On the 18th, it’ll show up as an extremely thin crescent very close to Mercury. How thin is thin? This crescent will be about 1½ days past new. That means you’ll see just 2% of its disk lit by the  Sun. And how close is close? The Moon actually occults, or covers, Mercury from very southern places in North America, like Miami, the Caribbean, and Mexico City. The next night, on the 19th, the lunar crescent will be a bit fatter and easier to spot to Saturn’s upper right. It’s quite the celestial traffic jam.
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February is often the coldest month of the year for northerners, but the Sun is telling a different story. The December solstice came and went several weeks ago, and you can already notice that the days are getting longer, with earlier sunrises and later sunsets. The celestial geometry is changing too, as the Sun is starting to slide farther north in the sky. In fact, during February the Sun races northward among the stars by about 1° every 3 days. Heck, in no time at all, we’ll be on the threshold of spring. But the stars of winter are still firmly in control of the nighttime firmament. Let’s track a few of them down. 
Note where the Sun sets and, once twilight starts to envelop you, wheel around to the left until you’re looking in nearly the opposite direction. The night sky’s most dazzling star is Sirius, down near the southeastern horizon. Also known as the Dog Star, Sirius appears so bright partly because it is bright, outshining the Sun by 25 times, and partly because it’s relatively close by, only 8½ light-years away. 
Above Sirius is the distinctive pattern of Orion, the Hunter, the quintessential constellation of winter — or of summer, I suppose, if you live in Australia. Orion is unmistakable, even if you suffer from lots of light pollution, with three stars in a tight diagonal row marking his belt, surrounded by a tall boxy quartet of bright stars to frame his torso. 
To the belt’s upper left is the red supergiant star Betelgeuse, which marks Orion’s left shoulder. Now, you’d never guess it, because it’s more than 400 light-years away, but Betelgeuse is one of the biggest stars known. If you swapped it for our Sun, its surface would be somewhere between Mars and Jupiter. And Earth? Digested into starstuff.
To the upper right of Betelgeuse, by about two fists, is another red-giant star. That’s Aldebaran, the angry eye of the bull Taurus. Look closely. Both of these beacons have a reddish tinge that sets them apart, subtly, from the stars around them. 
As you look around this part of the sky, you’ll notice a bunch of bright stars. Skygazers often trace out an enormous six-sided pattern, called the Winter Hexagon, that connects them. To find it, imagine that Betelgeuse is in the Hexagon’s middle. To its lower right, on the other side of Orion’s Belt, is the blue supergiant star Rigel, marking the Hunter’s leg. The long-ago Iranian astronomer al-Sufi called this star Rye al Jauzah, “the Herdsman of Jauzah.” And what was he herding? Camels, it seems, represented by two stars in the Belt, Betelgeuse, and Bellatrix, which marks Orion’s other shoulder. Today we know that Rigel is actually a system of at least four stars, 860 light-years away, that appear as a single blue-white point of light to the eye. 
From Rigel, slide your gaze to the lower left by three fists until you reach Sirius. Continue clockwise around the hexagon, heading upper-left by three fists to reach the star Procyon. Now glide to the upper left until you reach Pollux and, above it, somewhat dimmer Castor, both to Jupiter’s left. These are the Twins of Gemini. Continue to the upper right of the twins, almost overhead, to find Capella. From there it’s a three-fist hop down to Aldebaran, and another three-fist hop brings you back to Rigel. There you have it, the Winter Hexagon: Rigel, Sirius, Procyon, Pollux, Capella, and Aldebaran — with Betelgeuse anchoring its middle. Even if you suffer from awful light pollution, these stellar sparklers will be hard to miss.
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All these bright winter stars are no accident. They’re located near the central plane of our Milky Way galaxy. Now, maybe you think of the Milky Way as that subtle gauzy band that arcs across the sky in July or August. And you’d be right. At that time of year we’re looking toward the center of our galaxy, in the constellation Sagittarius. 
However, our little solar system is located about halfway from the galaxy’s center to its outer edge, and at this time of year we’re looking outward along the plane. It turns out that the region of our spiral galaxy closest to us in that direction, called the Local or Orion Arm, is chock full of bright nearby stars.
For most of us, this “winter Milky Way” isn’t all that obvious. But if you traveled south of the equator to, say, Australia or South America, at this time of year you’d see Orion riding high in the sky, leading a parade of bright stars down a softly glowing stellar river that starts with Capella in the north, then extends past Orion and Sirius southward all the way to Crux, the Southern Cross, and to Alpha and Beta Centauri. I’ve seen all this firsthand and, I’ve gotta say, it easily rivals summertime’s Milky Way just because there are so many bright stars adorning the galactic plane. I hope all of you get that chance someday.
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In mythology Orion is a famous Hunter, and maybe for that reason the ancients surrounded him with several types of prey. Sure, Aldebaran and the stars of Taurus, the Bull, are to Orion’s upper right, but I’m talking about other critters that are lurking right around Orion and even directly under his feet. For example, shift your gaze to the right of Orion, the region of sky just below Taurus. Even if you don’t have a lot of light pollution, you’ll see that there’s not . . . much . . . there. 
But every bit of the entire sky belongs to one constellation or another, and the wide expanse just to Orion’s west is a huge but very dim constellation named Eridanus [ih-RI-duh-nus], representing ancient mythical river. It begins at the foot of Orion, near Rigel, and meanders sideways and downward for quite a distance. Its brightest star, Achernar, is well below the horizon for us northerners. But Achernar is a prominent nighttime beacon for those in the Southern Hemisphere.
Now look to Orion’s left, and again you’ll notice lots of rather starless real estate between the great Hunter and brilliant Sirius. Ah, but there are plenty of stars here. even though they’re faint, and they form a sizable constellation named Monoceros [muh-NAH-ser-us], the Unicorn. Its head and horn are just to the left of Betelgeuse, and the body stretches eastward between the bright stars Procyon and Sirius, with the hind end about the width of two clenched fists to the upper left of Sirius.
And if Orion is such a great Hunter, how can he miss a celestial hare, the constellation Lepus [LEH-pus], right under his feet? I like spotting Lepus because it does look like its namesake. Its head is on the right, marked by a small trapezoid of four stars, with pointy ears extending upward to just beneath Rigel. And to their left is an arc of stars along its back and hindquarters. 
Now, for extra credit — and I’m especially talking to those of you who live farther south — there’s yet one more bit of prey hidden beneath Lepus, about two fists lower down. That would be Columba, the Dove. It made its first appearance on star maps in the late 16th century as Columba Noachi, Noah’s Dove, which the biblical boat builder released after the Great Flood. It later returned with an olive branch in its beak, signifying that dry land was nearby.
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That’s about it for this month. If you want more tips for viewing the night sky, including a free, interactive star chart for any time or date, check out our website, SkyandTelescope.org.
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Sky Tour is a production of Sky & Telescope, a division of the American Astronomical Society, and is produced by me, Kelly Beatty. 
Next month I’ll introduce you to twin brothers who’ve really made a name for themselves in the sky. Until then, I wish you clear skies.