"Come see the Moon!", he would call out to pedestrians in downtown
San Francisco on the corner of Jackson & Broderick. "We are looking at
the Moon".
Quote:
Originally Posted by John Dobson
"The importance of a telescope is not on how big it is, it's not on how well made it is - it's how many people, less fortunate than you, got to look through it."
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The stated goals of an urban night sky location is to be a place close
to a metro area that acts as a model of dark sky protection so that
communities, elected officials and business leaders come to
identify the conditions of natural darkness as a valuable asset.
They also provide a place for the public to be able to come to enjoy the
night sky.
In many ways, the concerns of residents in this instance is the very
thing that such settings are attempting to put at rest.
There is the demographic of astronomy enthusiasts that includes people
who own telescopes, belong to clubs, read forums such as IceInSpace
and who go to star parties.
But there is a demographic several orders of magnitude larger than that
who are curious about the natural world and of the night sky but who
don't own a telescope, are unlikely ever to own telescope or to join a club
or read an astronomy forum.
I have yet to meet someone who, when the subject arises, is not
fascinated by the stars and the universe. I've sat next to people on planes
who strike up a conversation and will then say, "I love this stuff" or "I love
watching programs on the universe on the Discovery Channel" or "I once
got to go on a organised camping trip ... " or "I once went on a cruise ..."
"... and the view of the stars and the Milky Way was unbelievable."
And now and then, someone would say, "My uncle is an amateur
astronomer".
Sydney is a city of some 5 million inhabitants and in recent years
increasing urban density has seen a dramatic rise in the number of
apartment buildings, greater demand on open public space and increased
levels of light pollution.
In the City of Sydney, approximately 50% of Australians were born
overseas and in Greater Sydney, about 40%. Some of these people
who now have made Sydney their home have come from places where
the opportunity to glimpse the heavens was even more difficult.
Shortly before the pandemic a friend asked if I could help by bringing
a telescope to a public outreach event at the 20 sq km Glenworth
Valley Horse Riding property just off the northern M1 freeway out
of Sydney. The event was a nightscape photography workshop.
Before I arrived, I anticipated perhaps a couple of dozen people.
Over 400 turned up.
The typical demographic were a young couple, living in urban Sydney,
typically in an apartment. Owned a DLSR and a tripod. And they all
thrilled at being outside at night in a place where they could see some stars
and have the opportunity to try their hand at capturing some of that
beauty with their camera. This was an environment in which they felt safe,
where they could enjoy themselves, where they could laugh with friends,
where they could engage in a physical activity and they could learn
a skill in the process. What is aptly referred to as the pursuit of happiness.
Likewise I experienced similar enthusiasm at public outreach
events at the Western Sydney Parklands before the pandemic.
Young families, young children, picnic blankets, look up at the stars,
thrill at a glimpse of the Moon or planet through a scope.
Talks on aboriginal astronomy. Shown the Milky Way. Shown the emu.
At the public outreach events held at Parramatta Park some years
earlier, the number of visitors were in the thousands. Long queues
formed to get a glimpse through the large Dobsonians we had brought
to the event.
Again, families picniced under the stars, children did cartwheels on the
grass and if you didn't hear a "Wow!" when someone looked through
the eyepiece, you knew the target had drifted out of the field of view.
You would ask them if they wouldn't mind stepping aside, re-center the
target, re-invite them back to the eyepiece and right on cue there it
would be, "Wow!" and they step aside with a smile, still staring into
space whilst they attempted to keep that once-in-a-lifetime image
imprinted in their heads.
After a glimpse of Saturn, an elderly woman had tears in her eyes.
"You know", she said, "Since I was a little girl, I've always wanted to
see that. Oh thank you, thank you."
A young boy said to me after looking, "Mister, that is not real. You have
a picture stuck in the front". I lowered the scope so he could see his
own reflection in the primary and like a magician, assured him there was
no trick. I re-centered Saturn and he took another look. "Wow!", he said.
He had a beaming smile. I thought and hoped that perhaps one day,
many years from now, he would still remember.
After the crowds disperse and young families take their children back home
to bed, there is usually a small gathering of those who want to know
more. They impress you with their own knowledge and you do your
best to answer their questions to try and fill in the gaps.
After all, "Science" is just the Latin word for "knowledge" and its
democratisation is key. Apart from scratching their own itch to "know" it
helps empower them to educate their own children, their nieces, their
nephews, their grandchildren. It helps inform and shape their opinions
on the environment and on outdoor lighting.
A couple of 17 year old, year 11 public school girls from Sydney's
west stand by. One is inquiring about a career in the sciences.
Her goal is to do as well as possible in the HSC with the hope to get
to Sydney University. She asks a lot of questions including about the
telescope. One day, she says, she now plans to save up and buy one.
Her friend hopes to do well enough to do veterinary science.
Born here, both of their parents were born overseas.
They confess that tonight was their opportunity to bring out a little
of their inner geek. You wish them well. And you hope you may have
made a small difference.
This is the power of an urban night sky park.