Nearby M31 (the Andromeda Galaxy) is something else again. Its a huge galaxy and angled to us so its glow is concentrated; it appears a faint oval almost three degrees across. On a dark night you can’t miss it. Perhaps that is what you saw.

As the dark, clear places become harder to find, and as the people become increasingly concentrated into towns, the beauty of the night sky is seen less and less by the children of the world. That is so sad.

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When I got my first real telescope, a 4″ Edmunds Astroscan, I took it out in the snow to a deserted Pennsylvania golf course. I was observing the spectacular open cluster M35 when I noticed a faint little bundle of stars embedded near one edge, just barely resolvable, as another, much more distant OC. I found it later in my star charts, NGC 2158. I felt like I had discovered it, like I was the first person to ever have seen it. I had seen M35 many times before in binoculars, but this little intruder (actually a background object, much further away) was really a thrill.

(Stock photo: The gentleman in the photo is not me.)

We know the stars are visible in space, even in bright sunlight. As long as your eyes are dark adapted, and you are standing in shadow, they should be overwhelming. The daytime sky in space is deep black, not robin-egg blue, and away from the direct glare of the sun or sunlight reflected off the earth or spacecraft the stars should be spectacular. We know Hubble and satellite sensors can see them, why can’t human travelers?

I can sympathize with Bill Shatner, what we are doing to the earth is an abomination. Whenever I watch one of those wonderful nature TV shows that document our living earth, I am reminded again how a thousand years from now human beings will watch those old films and curse us for our greed and short sightedness and our criminal stupidity. We are like cockroaches in a museum, chewing and defecating on irreplaceable masterpieces.

Camera lenses on satellites or the lunar surface are stopped way down to avoid over-exposure, so the fainter stars can’t be seen at all. But they are there. If I were to go into space, I would face away from the sun, or the bright earth, and look through the cleanest port or helmet visor available to me to the shadow side of the spacecraft. I would pause for a moment and let my eyes dark-adapt, and then I would look out at the stars.

I’ve seen the stars out at sea, far from the city lights. When its not overcast, or moonlit, or the sky is otherwise not clear, it really doesn’t matter. But even on the best nights, the ship is all lit up, to provide safety for those on deck, and navigation lights pierce the darkness for visibility and security. But during combat drills, when the ship goes dark to simulate wartime stealth, and the stars come out, there is nothing else like it. And on those rare nights when the sea is glassy and smooth, and there is no phosphorescence in the water, the stars and the Milky Way reflect on the sea, The starlight is bright enough you can walk about on deck without running into things, and you can’t tell where the horizon is, and where the sky begins.