Reflections on Stargazing

By John Reed

My son Taylor, my daughter Chelsea and I took advantage of the good weather during Christmas break to do some camping. I have always enjoyed Blanchard Springs Park in north central Arkansas. My family and I have toured the nearby caverns several times and have always marveled at the ancient formations and vast, dim spaces. The Dripstone trail is the most popular tour and is a must see if you happen to be in the area. There is another trail called the Discovery Trail, which I have never toured that is only open in the summer. Aside from the caverns the park has other features that make it one of my favorites in all of Arkansas. First there is the huge spring that empties into a small lake built by the Civilian Conservation Corps back in the depression. "Mirror Lake" is filled by ice-cold water from the spring, making it a great place to fish for trout. There is a very nice dock from which to absorb the morning sun and maybe wet a hook. Second there is the campground further down the valley along Sylamore Creek. The campsites are situated along the stream so that the sound of the running water can be heard while snuggled securely in a sleeping bag. The park is nestled in a deep valley which keeps the cold winter wind away and is somewhat cooled by the water in the summer months. Third are the dark un-polluted skies that provide excellent stargazing when making nocturnal sojourns.

We rolled up about 2:00 and found that we had the park to ourselves. It was a weekday, so the park was empty, most campers waiting for the weekend. By 4:00 our camp was pretty well pitched so we took a break to explore the spring. This huge gusher of cold clear liquid comes straight from the caverns and flows constantly all year long. Moss-covered limestone rocks that served as precarious stepping-stones surrounded the mouth of the spring. Winter had provided a fresh brown cover of oak leaves that contrasted nicely with the round polished pebbles residing in the bed of the cold, limpid stream.

We returned to camp and the short winter's day was drawing to an end. Shadows were lengthening and the temperature was dropping fast. We warmed our hands by a blazing fire. The kids watched hot dogs sizzle and drip on the end of a switch cut in the nearby woods. Then came marshmallows that were more pyrotechnic than toasted. As the shadows gathered it became really cold. The bits of sky visible between the trees were turning a deep vermilion. The pine trees were losing their green color and becoming flat silhouettes that framed the winter twilight with a ragged outline. Thankfully the wind, which had been tossing the upper branches, was also fading. I got the kids snug in their sleeping bags, piling on lots of layers. I then walked outside, tripod over one shoulder in order that I might take some shots of the dazzling winter sky. It was only about 7:00, but it was already completely dark.

The valley was surrounded by irregular hills that provided an irregular frame for the dazzling night sky. These hummocks hid the true horizon, making the sky seem a little more closed in than normal. Overhead Orion blazed forth in the black rural sky. The Sylamore National Forest has few lights, so there is very little light pollution. However what broke the spell was the discovery that a sodium light had been installed on the bathhouse that beamed through the trees with an ugly orange radiance. The light was completely unshielded so I lost my night vision with one quick glance.

I proceeded across the small concrete bridge and on to the group camp and swimming areas. Castor and Pollux were twin beacons marking my way. The wan winter Milky Way was a diffuse brightening above Orion's head. Taurus' "V" defined the bull's head, his eye the orange-red star Aldebaran. The stars were like a thousand flying sparks from a thousand campfires that filled the sky from tree covered mountaintop through the dark, black zenith to the hard rock bluffs hidden in shadow on the opposite horizon. These burning embers gave off little heat. I was standing in a somewhat open area and a chilly zephyr tugged at my coat tails and tried to flip off my hat.

A second disappointment stunned me. The group camp area had an even brighter sodium light that washed the entire field in a yellow obnoxious light. I had always hoped to bring my 18" dobsonian to that field to do some dark sky observing. No longer. I'm not sure why the forest service felt that such a bright light was necessary. Fortunately the bridge to the swimming area was still dark, the sound of the creek the only indication that the Sylamore was running underneath. Some small animal was making odd crunching sounds from a creek bank below. As I walked across the bridge I noticed that the winter stars were so bright that they were easily seen reflected in the flowing water. It was like viewing a "down under" universe. I saw Orion and Gemini as a mirror reversed image. Castor and Pollux wiggled and shimmered while I watched, Orion's belt danced between the rocks and weeds. Like the hilly horizon I mentioned before the stream banks defined this upside down sky in an irregular fashion. It was then that I wondered if these reflections could be photographed. Film is cheap, I thought. I set up my camera and tripod and started my exposure, camera pointing down off the side of the bridge!

As I walked back to my camper to check on the sleeping kids I wondered why man feels the need to bring day into the a most natural night. Stargazing is such a delicate thing, easily disrupted. In spite of this fact we should not be deterred from taking part in such a pastime. In one sense it is one of the most grand and mysterious things one can do. I tried not to let the new lights detract from my enjoyment of these facts. Instead, I kept thinking of those hard, bright winter beacons dancing in the cold waters of Sylamore Creek.