Editor's Note: All photos taken by the author unless otherwise specified.
I have dreamed of one day observing wonders of the night sky that never rise over Michigan since acquiring a passion for astronomy as a teenager in the 1950s. With eight decades on this planet coming soon, that dream recently became a "bucket list" priority. Finally, in 2019, it can be crossed off.
I returned from this once in a lifetime (maybe) adventure blurry eyed but brimming with excitement. Busy catching up with life since then, I have finally had time to sit down and reflect upon the wonderful new perspective of the surrounding universe I experienced March 30 through April 4 in the company of three great friends from a high plateau in northern Chile.
Arguably one of the darkest places on earth, the air over the Atacama Desert is so free of moisture that there is less than one inch of rain per year. There is but one little town in the region we selected to visit, a rollicking place called San Pedro de Atacama, to spill any significant light pollution. I am told that there are places so isolated you cannot see a hand in front of your face at night.
The Atacama Desert is becoming “the” place for astronomy, both for serious amateur and professional astronomers seeking high altitude and dark skies, and as still another attraction for tourists who for years have been flocking to this area for its natural wonders. At eight to ten thousand feet of elevation (depending on location), this broad plateau adjoins the much higher and far more rugged Andes Mountains, where numerous volcanic peaks reach skyward to form the spine of the amazingly long and narrow country of Chile.
Volcanic peaks of Andes from near the lodge in San Pedro, our home for six days
Portion of ALMA radio telescope array silhouetted against southern Milky Way (credit: NASA)
The European Southern Observatory’s "Very Large Telescope" lies about 100 miles from San Pedro. Closer still is the most technologically advanced of all astronomical complexes, an array of 66 large radio telescopes called ALMA. We could see its servicing center buildings from San Pedro, but the massive dish array itself is much higher in the mountains and not perceptible. Visits are highly restricted, and those who service the reception dishes have to take supplementary oxygen to avoid high altitude sickness.
Our group of four had been planning this adventure for close to two years, timed of course for a period when the moon, with its troublesome glow, would be near new phase. Two of my fellow travelers are longtime amateur astronomer friends who grew up in West Michigan and then went on to careers in the Minneapolis area.
Mark Boyd joined GRAAA as a 15-year-old around 1970, assisted with building and operating Veen Observatory, and was on staff at the Chaffee Planetarium while in college at Grand Valley. He recently retired from a long and successful career with General Mills. Andy Fraser is a Muskegon native who also went to Grand Valley in the late 60s and taught classes at Chaffee before heading off to graduate school at the University of Michigan. Also now retired, he spent most of his career with 3M. Completing the quartet was Mark Peterson, a retired electronics engineer and optics specialist who is a co-member with Mark and Andy of the Minnesota Astronomical Society.
Three friends who accompanied the author. From the left : Mark Peterson, Andy Fraser, Mark Boyd
Street scene in Santiago, Chile
The adventure began March 27 in the Dallas-Fort Worth Airport as we boarded a grueling overnight "red eye" flight of almost 10 hours that landed at dawn in Santiago. I never really slept, and purposely stayed conscious as the onboard graphics screen revealed that the plane was passing over the equator. I was entering the Southern Hemisphere for the first time in my life.
Blurry eyed, we emerged from Customs to take a wild taxi ride into a bustling modern city where most of Chile’s inhabitants reside. We planned to get a good night’s rest and then spend a day checking out the sites in Santiago, and this proved to be a wise move.
The next day, we boarded a double decked tour bus, where we could get off at designated points of interest throughout the city, and then re-board one of the constantly circulating buses as desired. Onboard we had access to earphones connected to an ongoing narrative (select Spanish or English) describing sites as we passed. The wonderful Chilean people could not have been more friendly and helpful. True, there was a significant language barrier that could be both frustrating and amusing (we won’t even get into the complicated dollars to pesos currency conversion), but the Chilean folks seemed used to our communication/computation deficiencies and coped well.
A priority stop took us on an impressive cable car ride to the summit of San Cristobal Hill, a prominent peak in the heart of the city. From this perch, we had a spectacular view of the surrounding (and sprawling) metropolis, with the towering Andes Mountains to the east. Surmounting San Cristobal is a large statue of the Virgin Mary visible from throughout the city.
San Cristobal Hill from a distance
Santiago and Andes Mountains from cable car to San Cristobal
We were on a quest to find a now-mostly-unused but restored observatory established on San Cristobal in 1903, when Santiago was in its infancy and decades from becoming a sprawling light polluted metropolis. Andy Fraser had come to learn – for reasons that will become clear -- that what was originally the Mills Observatory had been the first major research facility in the southern hemisphere outside of South Africa. It was a southern station for California’s Lick Observatory, and its 40 inch reflecting telescope was for a time one of the largest in the world.
Andy became relentless in trying to contact someone – anyone - who could get us in for a peek. Following his 3M career, he decided to pursue a master’s degree in astronomy and selected as a thesis a thorough look into the career of prominent early-20th-century astronomer Heber Curtis. Andy was aware that Curtis was a pioneering researcher at Lick Observatory who made regular trips to observe from its southern station. Curtis also had significant connections to the University of Michigan, serving for a time as chair of its astronomy department. He is best noted as the astronomer who took on the even more prominent Harlow Shapley in what has been termed "The Great Debate" about the extent and nature of the Milky Way Galaxy. As he was digging around, Andy was surprised to learn that Curtis was born in his (and my) hometown of Muskegon.
Andy has since become a Curtis specialist, being the author of several papers about the noted astronomer. Luckily for all of us, his persistence during the Santiago visit paid off, and we got through the gate. It was a highlight of our day in the city. The vintage 40-inch reflector keeps pace with the earth’s rotation through a windup gravity drive, and an original spectrograph is attached. The preserved office in the nearby astronomers’ residence is like a walk back into the early 20th century. While long decommissioned, philanthropist Manuel Foster bought the facility in 1929 and donated it to Santiago’s Catholic University, which has since seen to its restoration and renaming in honor of Manuel Foster.
At the entrance gate to Manuel Foster Observatory
The author, Andy Fraser, and Mark Peterson with the restored 40-inch reflecting telescope
That evening (March 29), we emerged from a restaurant in deepening autumn twilight to a dramatic preview of what a 5,000 mile change in latitude will do to the appearance of the sky. From minus 33.5 degree Santiago, the brightest star of night, Sirius, blazed nearly straight overhead. Back home in early spring, Sirius is near its maximum elevation of just over 30 degrees when darkness falls. The second brightest star, Canopus, was prominent in the south at about 55 degrees. Canopus never rises at the latitude of Michigan.
A second night of welcome rest in Santiago was followed on Saturday, March 30 by a two-hour plane ride 670 miles north -- slightly more than 10 degrees in latitude -- to the mining city of Calama and its surprisingly modern airport. Attaining a four wheel drive rental SUV was a good move, because from here on, for the most part, we would be in wilderness.
The approximately 70-mile drive from Calama to San Pedro was across desolate terrain with little to no vegetation and increasing altitude as we progressed. The distant Andes Mountains were in constant view, and one picturesque mountain pass reminded me of South Dakota’s Badlands. The pavement abruptly ended as we approached San Pedro de Atacama, a settlement dating back centuries. It grew over time around an oasis on the surrounding plateau.
On the road to San Pedro with Andes Mountains in distance
Main Street, San Pedro de Atacama
My initial impression, not verbalized to my traveling buddies, was less than favorable. Is THIS where we will be spending the next six days? While facilities were rustic, the place was uniquely charming, and for the most part delightful. In fact, as Mark Boyd noted, San Pedro’s quaint nature, with dirt streets, tumbled down adobe facades, and dogs hanging out everywhere, is the very reason the village and its surrounding natural wonders together constitute one of Chile’s most popular tourist centers.
In the well-kept interiors of the restaurants and endless array of gift shops, we found positive examples of Chile’s relaxed and friendly culture. The venues were as clean as could be expected in such an extremely arid and breezy environment, where air conditioning is not often needed or found. Most meals were bountiful, tasty, and reasonably priced. We felt safe, and had few health issues, as long as we drank only bottled water, or beer!
It is time to concentrate on why we had come so far: our much-anticipated dark sky observing experiences. We quickly learned that it is not ALWAYS clear over the Atacama Desert, especially at the time of year we selected to go there. Early April marks the beginning of autumn, and even though San Pedro, at minus 23 degrees, is essentially on the Tropic of Capricorn, it experiences significant seasonal change due to the high elevation of 8,000 feet and atmospheric uplift brought about by the nearby mountains.
We ended up fighting clouds off and on during the whole observing run, with the last of the five scheduled nights completely clouded out and another one nearly so. We learned from the locals, and from our congenial host at the astronomy facility where we had booked a telescope, that things can get unsettled in early autumn.
Looking east, as sunset approaches on a typical autumn day
Alain Maury with one of the largest telescopes at his Space Obs complex
"We had hardly a cloud during the whole month of September," noted Alain Maury, who operates a multiple telescope facility called Space Obs. “But it sure was cold,” he added. Remember, September is when this part of the southern hemisphere is transitioning from winter to spring. During our autumn visit, temperatures reached into the low 40s during predawn hours, though we tolerated this by packing in compactable thermal jackets, gloves and hats. We had anticipated possible respiratory challenges due to the elevation, but for the most part experienced nothing significant.
Prior to our first scheduled observing night (March 30-31) we drove the few miles from San Pedro to Space Obs in late afternoon to get the lay of the land and meet the affable Maury. We also ran into friendly visiting observers who had come south from as far away as Montreal, Pennsylvania, and even Italy. Our reserved telescope turned out to be a fine instrument, a 22-inch short focal length Dobsonian reflector on an alt-azimuth mount, located right out in the open due to lack of dew and low threat of rain in the arid environment. With only a short ladder required to reach the eyepiece, it was ideal for our strictly visual observing agenda. No time for elaborate imagining on this trip. Alain provided us with an excellent set of eyepieces, lawn chairs, and chart table. We were good to go -- except for the clouds.
Alain Maury and observers from around the world