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Ancient Drama – The Emotional Power of Stargazing

In my companion article to this piece, I wrote that one of the top reasons that stargazing is the ultimate outdoor pursuit is because of the real world drama played out in the nightly motions of the stars and other celestial objects. A recent night of stargazing which I recently enjoyed in the remote and therefore star-happy location of Big Bend National Park serves as an illustrative example. I reserved a backcountry campsite sight unseen; as I set up my tent and went out for a day hike, I didn’t think much about the mountainous ridge to the east, especially not as a backdrop for my evening entertainment of stargazing. Indeed, as I made my post-hike dinner, I was preoccupied with the action in the west and the (apparent) motion of only one star — the long and thrilling opening act represented by the sunset. The World’s Best Opening Act A description of the subtle but inexorable changes in the sky along with the appearance of the most vivid colors on the earthbound objects of the desert landscape during the progression of the sunset merit their own article, but it’s not my intention for this to be another ode to the majestic sunset. From the perspective of the stargazer, the hour and a half or so between the final disappearance of the sun and the onset of full darkness is maddeningly slow. It’s easy to get impatient as seems like it will never get fully dark. But patience is rewarded as the evening’s first stars (and planets) appear. If we can think of the evening’s celestial events as a stage drama, the transition from twilight to night is like the slowest imaginable raising of a curtain. But instead of taking the stage from the wings with dramatic entrances, the players participating in the first act are already there, slowly coming into view one by one as the stage lights brighten just enough to reveal their silhouettes, until they finally appear in full view and the proper action can begin. Act I – Setting the Stage As I geared up for the evening and turned my gaze upward, I felt a brief twinge of regret at having left my planisphere at home, forcing myself to rely on my somewhat rusty knowledge of the stars’ positions. But in a way, this made it more fun. Eventually I’d be able to identify the major constellations, but I wouldn’t quite know what they were until most of their stars were in sight. As the constellations began to take shape, Perseus and the Pleiades were prominently showing several degrees above the ridge line, and the wedge of Taurus with its brightest red star Aldebaran was distinctly visible along with its neighboring constellation Auriga, its main star Capella shining brightly as well. It was clear that this was destined to be a winter star extravaganza. Looking to the west trailing the setting sun, the three stars of the summer triangle were visible although it was clear that Altair would soon disappear below the horizon while Deneb, the smear of the Milky Way running through it, and the rest of the constellation Cygnus would be sticking around for a little longer. A different polygon, the Winter Hexagon would be my focus tonight; it’s shear massiveness makes it an easy viewing target. Imposing in its bulk, it takes up one third of the sky when fully visible. With two of its six stars already on the stage, the Hexagon was well on its way reaching this stage of completion although it would take a few hours for the other four corners to show themselves. Luckily, time was something I had plenty of; after a long day of backpacking and hiking including an ascent of the park’s highest peak, I was more than happy to lie supine in my sleeping bag and remain mostly motionless while the counterclockwise pinwheel rotation of everything around the North Star played out above me. When a Ridge is a Stage Several features of the ridge turned out to play critical roles in shaping the evening’s drama, none more than a deeply vertical V-shaped notch. At evening’s beginning, a bright star occupied the space within the notch, but as an isolated star, I didn’t think much of it. It was only after several minutes when another bright star rose closely behind it through the middle of the V that I realized that what I was seeing was Orion’s belt, oriented perpendicular to the ridge. Soon, Betelgeuse and Rigel came into sight, flanking the belt with perfect symmetry like the tips of a gyroscope’s central axis. With Rigel’s appearance, half of the Hexagon was in sight. Next to make its way through the notch was the prominent star cluster I’ve always thought of as the hilt of Orion’s belt, but which is more commonly known as Orion’s sword. Along with the Collinder 69 cluster (Orion’s head) and the Pleiades, it was one of three prominent star clusters easily visible in a small patch of sky, a nice treat because if stars are great, having a whole cluster of them is even greater. Finally, the third star of the belt made its way up through the notch, and I watched intently from its first appearance until it completely cleared the ridge, amazed as always by the speed at which celestial objects appear to move past a fixed reference point on the horizon. Familiar Friends A few stars were visible to the left of the hunter, but lacking my handy reference, I couldn’t place what they were. With the main stars of Orion in sight, I turned my attention to other features. Normally, Taurus’s neighbor in the zodiac, Aries, doesn’t offer much of interest with its slant of three stars appearing more or less like a celestial hockey stick; but tonight Jupiter was shining brightly beside it, making me regret I’d left my binoculars behind. Undoubtedly at least two of Jupiter’s brightest moons, among my favorite

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8 Reasons Why Stargazing is the Ultimate Outdoor Pursuit

Blog / Geoff

When we hear the phrase “outdoor activity,” images of someone lugging a backpack deep into a remote forest or furiously paddling through a series of churning rapids likely fill our minds. Activities like these appeal to us for being exhilarating and challenging ways to get us in touch with our natural surroundings while improving our health through exercise. Perhaps ironically, we can become deeply acquainted with much more distant surroundings without even taking a step by partaking in an outdoor activity which can’t be paralleled for its ability to spark the imagination and engage the mind. One which won’t leave you with calf cramps or sore shoulders. Read on to see the reasons why the simple act of looking up into the night sky can be as enjoyable as any of the more active outdoor pursuits and why you should consider adding stargazing to your list of outdoor hobbies in 2024. 1: Low Cost An avid rock climber I know told me about a misadventure which ended with his gear bag falling over a cliff. The punchline of the story was that he lost $5,000 worth of gear when that bag careened into the abyss at whose bottom it likely remains to this day. While there are many ways to react to this story, my takeaway is that rock climbing is an activity which simply isn’t accessible to a sizeable part of the population. Other gear-heavy outdoor activities can be exclusive because of these prohibitive entry costs. Not so with stargazing. The only equipment required to get started is a planisphere (the fancy name for those twirly star wheels with all of the constellations on them) and a piece of red cellophane to put over a flashlight. Cost: less than $10. A more advanced version of stargazing requires a headlamp with a red light setting and a basic pair of 8x binoculars. The total cost is still around $100. While this may still be a lot for some people, it’s still manageable and something one could save up for without causing a major financial burden. 2: Few Physical Barriers I’m a big proponent of exercise, and nothing brings me more joy than trudging up and down a steep mountain or walking in a natural place with every available second of daylight. But any number of challenges prevent many people from participating in physically demanding activities. While there are physical conditions which may prevent people from looking at the night sky, stargazing is still something that’s available to most of us and a pastime we can easily share with others, especially those who might like the idea of the outdoors but are less enthusiastic about experiencing weather extremes, swarms of biting insects, and nights spent in places without a bathroom in sight. 3: Real World Drama Drama, you say? What can be dramatic about a bunch of blobs of gas that haven’t moved (or barely moved) in hundreds of millions of years? With a bit of knowledge about the night sky, some imagination, and a great viewing spot, the nightly motion of the stars can make for a captivating drama rivaling anything shown on a screen. The excitement generated by one of these shows can be so intense that a proper description merits its own post – check out the companion to this article for an example of how this type of drama can play out. The short version is that like a stage show, familiar players reveal themselves and make their entrances and exits; unexpected cameos from meteorites, satellites, or even the International Space Station can spice things up and keep you engaged through a series of dramatic reveals, slow burns, and emotional reunions. Factor in some uncommon events like eclipses, planetary conjunctions, rare glimpses of distant objects, and comet appearances, and the excitement heightens. 4: A Slower Pastime Dramatic as it may be, the nightly rotation of the stars lacks the deliberately accelerated pace of some other forms of modern entertainment. But that’s OK. While technologies which make things faster can make our lives more convenient, our cultural obsession with speed imparts a tinge of the frantic to all of our activities and somehow our speed-boosting technologies fail to alleviate the sense of being rushed and struggling to keep up. As these technologies play an increasingly more prominent role in our lives, we risk losing the ability to slow down and have our attention held by more leisurely but equally rewarding pursuits. A night of stargazing can serve as a counterbalance to the ever-increasing pace of life and give us a chance to see that slower can in fact be better. 5: Learn About the World Around You (and Beyond) Have you ever wondered why the moon is out during the day sometimes? Or what’s the deal with the seasons anyway? What do north and south actually mean? Is a shooting star really a star? And what the heck really is a solstice or an equinox? These are the types of questions whose answers will start to fall into place as you begin your journey as a stargazer. Ultimately, obtaining those answers means learning about our position in the universe. You’ll learn about how the Earth, sun, and moon interact with each other, not to mention many other objects in the solar system. You’ll learn why there aren’t two eclipses every month and why the constellations of the zodiac are significant in astronomy, along with so much more about our physical universe and the objects within it like asteroids, galaxies, and nebulae. 6: Gateway to Knowledge The distinctions between the various branches of science are largely artificial. As a biology teacher, I’m familiar with the perhaps counterintuitive idea that the first lessons in biology are actually overviews of chemistry. At its core, science is a unified whole which describes the actions and interactions of matter in the universe. Once you start to get into stargazing and develop an interest in space, you’ll find yourself picking up knowledge about

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The Future of Field Techs: Race, Class, and Inclusion

Blog / Geoff

While I spent many years as a seasonal wildlife biology technician, my more recent experience has been as an academic. While I feel that the life of a field tech better represents who I am, it’s hard to totally take the academic out of me. The following reads as much like a research paper as it does like a blog post; this is because I feel it’s important to provide adeqaute context for the story I’m telling here which relates to the stories not being told – those of minority field techs. In this post, I bring in scholarly research to help explain the myriad reasons why minority representation is so lacking among biology field technicians. Note: this post references interviews I conducted while visiting several field biology crews in the US. As the continuing concerns of habitat loss and decreased funding for scientific research loom largest among the threats to the practice of biology, questions related to the future of field biology technicians arise. Will there continue to be a need for a nomadic seasonal workforce in biology? If so, what will the next generation of field techs look like? Will it be similar to the current one? Despite the threats mentioned before and rapid developments in technologies which may automate some tasks traditionally carried out by field techs, the demand for these workers doesn’t seem to be slowing down quite yet. For example, 91 positions were posted on the Texas A&M job board on April 25, 2023 by entities including federal and state wildlife agencies, divisions of the military, public universities, non-profit organizations, environmental consultants, and commercial laboratories. But what about the supply side of the equation? Which is to say, will (primarily young) people continue to want to take low-paying seasonal jobs and live an unglamorous and unstable life, one which limits their ability to participate in social media and binge watch streaming content? One could argue that those who would rather watch an entire season of a show in a single day or weekend (such as the hundreds of thousands who watched the entirety of Stranger Things’ 4th season on Netflix in this manner) or would rather scroll through Instagram or TikTok for hours at a time may represent a segment of society that wouldn’t produce field techs. But what about those who would want to and be physically capable of doing so but would be prevented from doing so by forces beyond their control? Barriers of Race and Class Race and economic status serve as barriers preventing individuals from replenishing the ranks of field techs who lose interest in the lifestyle or can no longer handle the physical or mental challenges. While issues of class and race are impossible to separate cleanly, I’ll focus on class more broadly first before looking at the thornier issue of race. An obvious economic barrier is created by the “entry costs” to becoming a field tech which can be prohibitive; this includes at least a full complement of outdoor clothing and gear and most likely a reliable form of transportation as well. Jenny McKee of Audubon Magazine cited a 2015 study (Fournier and Bond) which found that about a third of jobs posted on two major job boards were unpaid or offered less than $300 per month stipends. Jensen (2021) conducted a review of a sample of postings on Texas A&M and other field biology job boards and determined that the hourly pay among paid positions in the sample was $10.48, below minimum wage in half of US states. While having minimal expenses and thrifty living allow some field techs to have positive cash flow while working field jobs, assistance from others in their lives (such as being on a parent’s health insurance plan or using their car) is a big part of making this possible. Without an economic safety net, life as a field tech would be difficult to manage, and this doesn’t account for potentially large expenses such as car repairs or medical bills for those without high quality health insurance. The term “declining middle class” has become a catchphrase of sorts, but statistics support the contention that the cost of living is rising in relation to income for a large segment of American society. The Pew Research Center reported that 50% of American households in 2021 are classified as middle class, down from 61% fifty years earlier; however, the standard definition of middle class includes household incomes as low as $47,189. Meanwhile, the percentage of American households below middle class increased from 25% to 29% and the aggregate income earned by the middle class was reduced from 62% to 42% in this same time span. Reduced savings and increased credit card debt accompany these growing financial hardships. While the benefits of connection to nature are well-documented (Hartig et al 2014, Lee et al 2022), participating in the potentially expensive pursuit of wildlife watching let alone following a career path as a seasonal field tech can easily be regarded as frivolous and simply unfeasible given these economic realities. Indeed, the change in neighborhood composition which mirrors the overall economic status of its inhabitants is likely to reduce the connection to nature for this shrinking middle and growing lower class. Using Nashville as a case study reflective of national trends, the New York Times reported that the percentage of families living in middle class neighborhoods has shrunk. A study by the Brookings Institution mirrors these findings, reporting that the percentage of middle-income neighborhoods in metropolitan areas declined from 58% to 41% from 1970-2000. Low-income neighborhoods are less likely to have green spaces which would serve as locations where children can develop a connection to nature and wildlife, an important predictor of becoming a biologist. All of this suggests that the available pool of future field technicians is shrinking simply as a result of prevailing economic trends. While socioeconomic status has a major effect on who’s likely to become a field tech, my observations led me to

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