The Warrumbungles ~

Dark Sky Light

As I lay virtually horizontal on my recliner, eyes closed in the darkness, alone in an empty, remote car park, in what used to be the guts of a volcano, I could hear only the pulse of blood in my ears, such was the eerie quality of the silence. No animal sounds, somewhat surprisingly. No distant aircraft, cars or civilisation. I opened my eyes again and looked up at the three dimensional black void, gravid with a band of sparkling light. The silent, roaring elements of our home, the Milky Way.

I’d planned this evening, my birthday, as part of an astronomy and hiking trip in The Warrumbungles, an official Dark Sky park some 500km northwest of Sydney. I’d bought my first telescope weeks before - a 10 inch Dobsonian reflector, which was the largest I could afford and just about fit into the boot of my 2006 Toyota Yaris. Four nights of stargazing, beginning on my birthday with a bottle of ten year old Laphroaig single malt, and Big Nyx, as my only company. An intentional solo trip on which I felt would give me time and space to think and hopefully renew the awe of existence, or at least realign something in me that had drifted over the past year. Then, seven days before the mission, my partner and I decided to call it a day after three years. And while it had been on the cards, I still arrived feeling somewhat raw.

The excitement had started proper about an hour after setting up my tent at the Pincham campsite about 500m away. As I was making my way back through the bushy trail to the car park, head torch on and already set to red light, I caught glimpses of the stars, like rather expensive diamonds set in a black velvet gown worthy of some goddess. At the car, looking up I gasped and grinned. Happy Birthday. As impatient as a young boy, I chose a tin of salmon and some mixed beans and sweetcorn for dinner, with red wine, to avoid faffing around heating things up, despite the increasingly cool air. No more than half an hour later the remnants of dinner had been replaced by various astronomy gubbins on the small table. On one side of the table stood my telescope, Big Nyx, other-worldly under the glow of red light. On the other side, I positioned myself on the recliner, so that I could simply lie back, switch off my head light, a couple of fingers of whisky in hand, close my eyes and initially just listen to the cosmos.

After twenty minutes I couldn’t wait any longer and got up from the comfort of the recliner and busied myself with finding Jupiter. The movement was welcome as the cold had been creeping up on me. There she was, a creamy disc with two faint bands and her four moons in a perfect plane. Not long after I swung Big Nyx around and up to look at what I had really come here for. Scanning the Milky Way, my view was simply full of stars, too many really, more overwhelming than awe. I wasn’t sure why, but my first effort in these perfect conditions was mildly anti-climactic. Something was off, but I could not put my finger on it. I poured myself another whisky. I was still having a good time.

Not long after I saw a red glow in the blackness, coming from the direction of the campsite. I had briefly seen a guy there earlier, while setting up my tent. At least he was decent and knowledgeable enough to use red light. Perhaps a fellow astronomer? As the red LED angled closer towards me, it became apparent they were a couple, finally materialising as they emerged from the night. The woman had a pair of binoculars and we were soon acquainted and marvelling in our shared purpose of stargazing, both of them seeming particularly taken aback by the presence of Big Nyx. I offered them some whisky and invited them to join my one man birthday party, which they appeared to accept with a mixture of trepidation and bemusement.

Her knowledge of constellations was impressive and I told them I felt a bit silly with my huge telescope and absolute beginner status, while they had their handy binoculars but seemed to know what they were doing. Nonetheless, we took it in turns with both forms of equipment and got excited about the sheer scale and brightness of stars. At one point she found in her binoculars what I told her proudly was a globular cluster – at least I knew the name of the type of object! It resolved beautifully into a three dimensional ball of stars. Yet when we used Big Nyx, even with her least powerful eyepiece, the magnification was still too much, so that we were peering into that ball and it had lost its dimensional form.

Getting colder, my new friends grabbed some sort of portable sofa from their SUV. I noticed too that they were partaking of something from a vaping device. They were ten months into a year long road trip. He told me of a past accident that had warranted getting prescription cannabis to relieve the pain. I figured that was a fitting accoutrement to their rather delightful lifestyle. He showed me his electronic gadget and several pieces of paraphernalia new to me. I told him I was old school and it had been a while and I’d still need to be able to pack up all my gear and make it back to the campsite through the bush. He explained the operation of the device and demonstrated it for me. Then it was my turn.

Back on the recliner! It is enough to simply gaze at the universe with the naked eye, especially when the firmament is as spectacular as what I could see that evening. Just lying there, mildly stoned, taking it all in, with company, was more than enough. I recovered somewhat and remarkably we continued for a while longer in the now freezing cold air towards midnight. There was a moment however, when I observed them as a happy couple, stoned and playful under the stars, which made me feel my new single status more keenly, exacerbated no doubt by the whisky and cannabis. I briefly wondered what it might have been like if she were there with me, before remembering her saying she was not particularly interested in astronomy.

We bade each other good night as they had things to sort at their car. I managed to pack up better than could be expected and staggered off into the night in search of the campsite, head torch necessarily on white light lest I came a cropper in my altered state. I was wearing a merino thermal underwear layer, track pants, rain pants, fleece, hoody and big overcoat. Simply peeling off the outer two layers afforded me the ability to clamber into bed without the need to think, which by that stage of the evening was a welcome luxury.

A lazy, much needed lie in was followed by a late breakfast and resumption of friendly chatter with the couple at the campsite. At one stage there was a surprise delivery to my tent vestibule – a pre-rolled joint. He said they would be taking off shortly to hike up onto the ridge for a night or two camping. I thanked him and pocketed the treat for the evening astronomy session.

First though, the big hike. The plan was to do a day hike up onto the Grand Tops to take in the views of the Breadknife and surrounds at sunset before descending off the ridge in twilight for a return in the dark. My research had told me that it was a well defined path the whole way up, meaning a head torch would easily suffice to see me back safely. I set off after lunch and after an hour of steady but manageable ascent the gradient took a nasty turn for the worse and soon my lungs and thighs were shouting at me. However, it was another kind of physical challenge that had me most concerned. Somehow, I had not managed a decent bowel movement in the morning, leaving myself cruelly exposed to the prospect of an emergency bush evacuation. I could hear my gut speaking to me.

I knew there was a hut with a drop toilet towards the top of the ridge and I could not have found it any sooner. Relieved and enlightened, I strove onwards and upwards climbing uncountable stairs until reaching the summit where I found myself alone in the already softening light. It was worth the effort. I took off my shirt and placed it over a bush to allow it to dry in the crisp breeze. I hopped around revelling in my solitude and the magnificent views in all directions. As the sun crept down towards the horizon, shadows of the rocky remnants of the great volcano grew more dramatic, casting the landscape into a knobbly textured, undulating carpet in shades of green. A wedge-tailed eagle wheeled majestically atop the awesome Bread Knife – a rock structure so striking it defies natural order. Eventually and reluctantly, I deemed enough mountain-top time was enough and began to head down in the warm glowing light, which, when I looked back, was still ablaze the peaks from whence I had come.

That night, I felt the astronomy again didn’t really click. Was it the reefer gift from the couple? The whisky? The big hike? I was alone and therefore better able to concentrate on finding objects, yet something was still off. I felt more lonely this time, and eventually spent more time simply gazing at the universe from the recliner with my naked eyes and naked soul. The reefer had in fact caught up with me, like an imperceptible tsunami that when finally identified, is too late. As it crashed upon me, it rendered the cosmos an abstract three dimensional field of diamonds of ineffable wonder. And wonder I did for a time, about it all. Everything. But no answers came. No cliché epiphany. So what? Let it be, I told myself.

Soon, the thought of having to pack up and make it back to the campsite pierced the tranquil bubble and I suddenly felt the cold.

The following day I transplanted to Blackman’s Campsite, a larger affair with a few occupants nearby. It was out of necessity due to my booking only one night initially at Pincham, where I was ultimately lucky to get two. Still, there were hot showers here and only a five minute drive back to Pincham carpark, my astronomy station.

And it was perfectly empty that night when I drove back there. And this time, something did click. It turned out that I could in fact literally put my finger on what was off, although they were on, not off. Bizarrely, I had not removed my spectacles while viewing up until that night, thinking my blurred vision when staring naked-eyed would apply through the eyepiece too. I had been stupidly wrong! Without my glasses, the stars popped in a properly weird and wonderful way. I scanned the Milky Way, the multitude of stars, sharper now, in rapture of the cosmic sublime, a strange, mixed feeling of awe and mild dread.

I located Alpha Centauri A and revealed its close sister star Alpha Centauri B. I moved towards the Crux in search of the much-coveted Jewel Box Cluster. No luck, but I still had one more night.

I must have slept well because the alarm woke me at 4.30am for the planned sunrise hike up to the Belougery Split Rock summit. I hesitated for a few minutes, struggling to find the will to emerge from my warm cocoon into the freezing dark morning. I drifted off but luckily woke again around 5am and decided to follow through with the hike. No time for coffee or breakfast and after a brief drive I was on the track, heart pounding on the cold, dark ascent. Stunning scenery slowly unravelled with the first light of dawn and on I pressed until I came to the rock scramble. It was light enough by then to make it easy going initially, until I came across a steep section near the summit. Not without some degree of angst, I managed to get myself up the gradient wall. I turned back and wondered how on earth I was going to get back down that, other than scraping myself across the rock face and holding on to small bushes for dear life. Upwards I went, warm now, as the sun had come up. Again, the summit was magnificent, the landscape a similar texture to the sunset summit hike, which I could now see from where I stood. Alone again, but not lonely. If anything, it felt more like an earned peace, and I indulged myself in the tranquility for breakfast, with the company of a solitary and charming young crow.

Heading down following the arrows, it became apparent and a welcome relief that I had missed one before the steep climb. I sailed down the mountain and revelled in the lower meadows and feeling of freedom and accomplishment.

That night was the final night of stargazing and the Warrumbungles. Off to Pincham carpark I went after dinner. I was hoping for another great night, like the previous night. I noticed my movements were more fluid, more dexterous. I operated without the red LED mostly now, the light from the Milky Way sufficing. I’d re-aligned the finder on Big Nyx during the daytime, which now made finding objects easier. Jupiter warmed my spirit further. The black regions of the aboriginal revered Emu revealed deep objects, no doubt exotic in epic magnification, but unbeknownst to me. I made one last effort to find the Jewel Box Cluster, tracking patiently from the pointer to the Southern Cross to the area where the naked eye shows nothing. And there she was, a stunning group of colourful stars arranged in a kind of box. You could think of no better name for it. Finally, I simply scanned the river of stars again, giving me that wonderful dread. How could it be, this universe, I kept trying to fathom.

I finished my birthday whisky while gazing up from the recliner, thinking it was enough, just taking it all in, alone in peace. What more could I want, but to be able to behold the universe, from which I was made, from the roaring elements in the stars.