Northern Michigan is blessed with a natural resource that the people of Detroit, Chicago and New York City don't have and probably will never enjoy. In fact, most densely populated areas of the world are lacking in this resource all together. That beautiful, free, eternal resource is starlight.
In my youth, we often vacationed in the north woods. When the sun went down and the twilight no longer glowed in the western sky, it got dark, very dark. I can remember thinking it was a little scary the first time I realized, on a moonless, cloudy night, that I couldn't see my hand in front of my face. We enjoyed many a campfire that brought a cheery glow to our surroundings and created spooky shadows dancing on the trees that surrounded us. I kept a flashlight close by my sleeping bag just in case one of those monsters of the night roamed into our campsite after we turned in.
On clear nights however, we were treated to a show like none other. It didn't matter if we were camping in northern Wisconsin or Ontario, near the Boundary Waters of northern Minnesota or in the Porcupine Mountains of the U.P. The sky was dotted with billions of brilliant stars. Some portions of the sky were so thick with stars that they created our galaxy commonly known as the Milky Way. On bright nights we would spread out a blanket on the grass and lie on our backs watching the light show above. We would keep score on how many "falling stars" we spotted as the meteors streaked across the sky and then suddenly disappeared from view. With the use of a sky chart, we located the Big and Little Dipper and a few other constellations.
In February, our friends hosted a Super Bowl party. They live in a cozy cottage off the beaten path on the Manistee River. Upon leaving for home, we drove several miles through the forest before arriving at the paved road. There were no lights to be seen anywhere. The sky was clear and full of stars and it brought back memories of my childhood days.
Once on the blacktop and heading west, my wife commented on a glow in the western sky. She knew it wasn't the Northern Lights or the Milky Way. Regretfully, I had to inform her that it was the glow of the yard lights at Pugsley Correctional Facility.
During the summer, I like to spend time on our lake fishing for the elusive walleye that always seem to outwit me. Frequently, I am out until nightfall still trying to bring home that big one.
In the western sky, I can see the night glow of Kingsley. To the northwest I can see the lights of Traverse City. To the northeast I can detect the lights of Kalkaska. Even the little village of Fife Lake, with its new streetlights, contributes to the light pollution of the sky. Our local light pollution is minimal compared with the more highly populated areas of the county. But when talking to longtime residents of our village, I have confirmed that 50 years ago the glow from many of the surrounding towns was not detectable and the sky was brilliant with stars.
Recently, I stumbled upon an article on the Internet about a town called Tekapo, New Zealand, that is on a mission to protect its night sky. It is estimated that half of the world is already light polluted and the figure is growing. This forward-thinking community of 830 people is already reaping the economic benefits of its efforts through an increase in local tourism. They refer to their enthusiastic visitors as "astro tourists," who travel to the remote South Island of New Zealand from all over the world.
Northern Michigan depends on tourism as one of its primary industries. Think of the marketing possibilities enabling us to draw more visitors if we could only darken our night sky:
"Come to northern Michigan, the land of 10 billion stars." Local wineries could offer nighttime wine tasting parties while gathered under the stars. There could be stargazing dinner cruises on East and West Bay. Sleeping Bear Dunes could sponsor ranger-led star identification hikes. Interlochen could offer jazz by starlight.
If you haven't witnessed the incredible beauty of a starry night lately, take a drive out into the country on a clear moonless night, stop your vehicle in a safe spot and turn out your lights. It truly is a sight to behold.
Ed Hungness and his wife owned their cottage on Fife Lake for six years before moving there after his retirement in 2005. His writing draws from life experiences and a love for the outdoors and northern Michigan. He can be reached at edhungness@yahoo.com or care of the Record-Eagle.
Print this story
E-mail this story
