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The Approach |
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I had embarked on an "Nightscape Odyssey" to search out dark sky locations in the western U.S. and to hone my astrophoto skills. And although the Table Mountain Star Party (TMSP) in Washington's Cascade Mountains is a long way from Minnesota, I had selected it as a fitting launch point for my ambitious summer plan. A "star party" is an interesting concept, especially for those who are not close to amateur astronomy circles. It creates for them an amusing image of revelers eating and drinking outside, occasionally looking up at the sky, pointing to various stars and having a good laugh over them. Maybe some star parties are like this. They certainly come in different sizes and settings, but I had never attended a large regional star party before. The largest gathering of telescopes and their avid owners I had attended was probably around 20. I understood the basics of the event: arrive, setup telescopes before twilight ends, find your way around with dim red flashlights, and share your enthusiasm for viewing the night sky with the anonymous others who wander past in the dark, hoping to get a look at an interesting celestial object. Oh, and have some cookies sometime during the night. |
A star party is where you share your enthusiasm for the night sky with the anonymous others who wander past in the dark... |
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The Table Mountain Star Party had the same core principles, but it was on an enormously grander scale. The setting deserves it. Most people think of the state of Washington as a lush rainforest region in the Pacific Northwest. In reality, only the western edge of the state deserves that description; most of the state is an arid, sparsely populated desert. Arid, but irrigated. And fertile. The famous fruit orchards of Washington are here, and the towns are oriented to the business of agriculture. Ellensburg is such a town, and is nearly at the geographic center of the state. It's the closest civilization to TMSP, but does not generate significant light pollution. I had delayed my departure from Minneapolis to make a last important social event, and then on my way through South Dakota, the skies were clear and I was compelled to start my nighttime photography sessions. This was actually due to an important lesson I had learned early on: if the sky is clear now, take the picture. Who knows what conditions will exist by the time I get to Washington? It's the sure thing over a yet-to-be-decided situation. There were forest fires there-- the smoke could be bad, or the access road could be closed, or clouds could cover the state, or a dozen other things. So this is why I spent a night in a cow pasture in South Dakota, and then desperately tried to make up the miles later. |
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I got to Ellensburg by late afternoon on the first day of the event. I was pleased. Table Mountain was some uncertain distance from the town (I had a not-to-scale map), but I was sure I could figure it out before dark. I took the prescribed forest road and headed up. The prescribed road was one serious road. In different weather I might use the adjective treacherous. It was a mountain road like I had not been on before: a single lane, hairpin turns, no guardrails, no recommended speed signs (or rather, just, no signs), and steep! These forest roads are no-nonsense pathways to the top. Somehow the single lane works. When traffic meets, there are enough wide spots to eke past, maybe someone has to back up a little, but it seems to work. Or at least mostly work. I noticed occasional skid marks, punctuated at one location by shards of glass. At the twenty-mile mark I encountered a team of cyclists. I was startled to have the brightly colored lycra-clad athletes suddenly appear as I rounded a blind curve. The road was too steep to walk, but here they were, cycling as if training for the Tour d' France. Maybe they were. If so, they'd selected the right road. As extreme as it seemed to me, it was actually luxurious by forest road standards: it was paved! Eventually however, the asphalt ran out. A few more miles of gravel reached a last curve whose expansive view was of a sea of vehicles: cars, trucks, vans, RVs and tents covered the hilltop. It was the first indicator that this was no small-scale star party. |
The road was too steep to walk, but here they were, cycling as if training for the Tour de France. |
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Although I had arrived on the first official day (Thursday, July 19), it seemed that everyone else had arrived the day before. I registered at the entrance and was ushered by a group of highly organized parking directors. I was offered the choice of parking in the mosh pit of campers (the field had been marked off into rows and columns of parking territory and a few cells remained), or to find my way to the overflow area. After a quick survey, I opted for the overflow, a fraction of a mile further. It was out of the thick of the action, but still had a great view, and some room to pitch my tent and spread out a bit. But even the overflow area was rather full. I eased my minivan off the road into a vacancy. It was vacant for a reason, the sudden ditch and the large rocks had discouraged prior vehicles, but I was becoming desperate. The minivan lurched into position. I wondered whether and how I would get it out again, but felt I could put that problem off for a few days. I was here! I wanted to setup camp, and setup my equipment before dark. After all, that was my whole purpose for being there!
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