A year later, in April 2000, the west coast got its own preserve. This time, the project was helmed by Paul Greenhalgh, a federal officer, amateur astronomer and president of the Fraser Valley Astronomers Society. Inspired by the Torrance Barrens story, Paul pushed to establish a similar preserve at McDonald Park in Abbotsford, BC, less than 100 km outside Vancouver.
Paul can trace his love of the stars back to a specific evening: It was November 17, 1966, and he was nine years old. That night was the annual Leonid meteor shower.“ At that time,” Paul says,“ Canada was at the bow of the ship.” The earth’ s position gave Canucks front-row seats to one of the most spectacular showers in recent history; records show up to 170,000 shimmering pieces of debris streaking through our atmosphere every hour.
Although the Leonid occurs every year around November 18, a result of Earth’ s passing through the tail of the Tempel-Tuttle comet, the 1966 shower is remembered as particularly beautiful. About every 30 years, the comet glides near the sun, loading even more debris into its tail— 1966 was one such year.“ It was like somebody was up there with a grinding wheel,” Paul remembers.“ Letting it rip, every colour in the rainbow.” He watched from Richmond, a suburb of Vancouver, the night sky at the time still perfectly visible over the city.
Ever since that night, Paul has visited the stars as often as possible. But as the years progressed, he says,“ astronomers have to go farther and farther and farther afield to study the night sky.” When he encountered the story of Peter Goering and the Torrance Barrens, he knew what he had to do next.
McDonald Park is very different from Torrance Barrens, but brings its own advantages to stargazing. The park hugs a curve in the Fraser River where the current slows to a crawl, a lush area with willows draped into the water. Just across the river, a commanding ridge of the Sumas Mountains rises into frame. Although it blocks the horizon, this ridge also intercepts much of the light from nearby towns. The area is designated a Provincial Agricultural Land Reserve and Flood Plain, so overdevelopment is no concern.
Upon arriving at the location, a series of signs welcomes stargazers and directs them to a circular concrete pad in a clearing at the edge of the park, lined with benches and with plenty of space to set up telescopes. Set within this viewing area, there are dedications to two avid astronomers who have passed on; now, they have an eternally perfect view to watch the stars crest the ridge of the mountain.
Although stars are unfathomably distant, they’ ve been intimately connected with humankind since we first turned our gaze skyward. In 2003, psychologist William Kelly coined the concept of noctcaelador— a combination of the Latin words nocturnus, for night, caelum, for sky, and adorare, adore. This was his attempt to distill the emotional bond between humans and the night sky.
The word can now be considered the battle cry for people like Peter Goering and Paul Greenhalgh. Our fascination with the stars embodies our finest qualities: exploration and curiosity, wonder and creativity. When we lose a star, we forfeit much more than just a beautiful view— we give up our sense of place in this vast universe, the greatest parts of ourselves.
PHOTO AT RIGHT: JOHN ENTWISTLE
Few people embody noctcaelador as much as Eddie Jara of Stouffville, Ontario. Sparked as a young boy by his father and Carl Sagan’ s famous Cosmos series, Eddie has nurtured a lifelong love affair with the stars. Lying in the backseat on stargazing trips to the Ontario countryside as a boy, he remembers asking his dad where the universe ended. As time went on and his responsibilities grew, Eddie stargazed less and less. But in recent years he’ s dusted off his telescope and craned his eyes upward once more. This August, on the one- year anniversary of his father’ s passing, Eddie promised his mother that he’ d“ drive us both out to a dark sky, marvel and remember how we were as a family.”
PHOTO COURTESY OF EDDIE JARA