how not to go star-camping
I went out to Stub Stewart State Park on Saturday night for a Messier object marathon, something I’d never attempted before. That was the idea, anyway, until I realized there’s just no way for me to view/capture all 110 Messier objects in a single night with my little Dwarf 3. Even with a timed schedule, the D3 simply doesn’t have the storage capacity. So I figured I’d just capture what I could and enjoy the clear skies anyway.
I’d also been wanting to give star-camping a real try, and wanted to take advantage of the Bortle 4 skies at the park in general.
It was very cold — in the low 40s when I arrived, and dropping fast. I deployed the Tigger onesie pajamas when the temp hit 37 F. I was very cozy, until my feet started cramping rather badly and couldn’t tolerate shoes. Also, my equipment wasn’t keen to function properly in prolonged exposure to colder temperatures. The telescope was mostly fine, but my iPad Mini (to control the D3) drained its battery without warning (I had backup power), and my red-light lantern decided it wanted to hibernate, but I got it working.
There were maybe ten astronomy setups in total in the park, including mine. By 11 p.m., 60% had packed up and gone home. I hadn’t meant to choose a spot so far away from everyone else, but I arrived early and wanted to be near the bathrooms; I had a truly difficult and slightly frightening experience trying to navigate in the dark even with a red-light flashlight at Camp Hancock last September, and I am challenged by GI issues. At Stub Stewart, getting around in the dark turned out not to be a problem; maybe that extra bit of ambient light made the difference.
I made a mental note for next time, when I’ll park farther from the facilities and shelters, by the field where I can set up my gear in closer proximity to my car. As it was, I had to carry everything in through the picnic area, and I might have inadvertently chosen a spot that was in something of a “lovers’ lane”? I’m really not sure what was going on, but people kept showing up at “my” end of the hilltop and behaving oddly.
One couple kept moving from one picnic table to the next, over the course of about forty minutes, deploying various blankets to keep warm. They were very talkative, too, but speaking a language I don’t understand. They might have been there for some stargazing, but they made extensive use of white-light phone flashlights — so unlikely to have been amateur astronomers.
Another pair arrived and parked close to my vehicle, but never left the car other than to use the bathrooms. As far as I know, they stayed there all night. Maybe they had picked the state park hilltop for car camping. A third pair arrived later and parked on the other side of my car. They ventured out toward the picnic tables after 11 p.m. (also using white-light flashlights), then retreated to their car about 20 minutes later and left.
So, back to 11 p.m. It was 35F and had a “real feel” of 31F, and it had gotten windy. I was being stubborn by sitting out in the cold. I have a problem with inertia sometimes, especially when I’ve expended significant mental and physical energy to make something specific happen. It was a big deal that I’d prepped for this stargazing overnight, in anticipation of a brilliant night sky. But I couldn’t deny the conditions. My printed stellar itinerary kept getting carried away by the wind, with me running after the pages across the dark grass. My feet were blocks of ice. I counted three other red lights at the far side of the hilltop — signs that other astronomers were still observing, though it occurred to me later that they might have been ensconced in warm cars while their electronic gear did the chilly work.
Bundled in my fleece onesie, winter coat, gloves, Green Bay Packers hat, and a thermal blanket, I gave myself credit for having made it that far and for that long. I’d seen some lovely things. I’d reveled at the majesty of dark(er) skies. And I’d planned and executed a stargazing trip away from home — a big deal when chronic illness and chronic pain encourage a mindset of learned helplessness and reclusiveness. So I gathered up everything and made several trips to repack the car, where I couldn’t get warm. With a battery-run heated throw inside my sleeping bag, I wasn’t going to freeze. But my feet were unyieldingly glacial, and my face and head were progressing in the same direction, even buried inside the winter-rated sleeping bag.
When I get cold enough (and it doesn’t take much), I can’t sleep. And the temperature both outside and inside the car kept dropping. But I could peer out the windows at the constellations drifting slowly across the sky.
Around 1 a.m., I still hadn’t slept. Again, I was being stubborn. I’d been determined to stick it out. I wanted my star-camping adventure to be a success. But I’d learned from the experience and knew what I’d do differently next time, which was important information. And I captured my best-yet-by-me image of M1, the Crab Nebula. I arrived home around 2 a.m. to find both the cat and the dog asleep in the living room (instead of the bedroom with M). Apparently, they’d been waiting for me to return.
Sunday passed in a bleary haze. It was warm enough for M to do his woodworking outside in shorts and a tee-shirt, while I dressed in fleece, huddled over space heaters, and drank large quantities of hot tea in a quest to warm up. Here on Monday, I’m still exhausted, and still wearing thicker clothing. (It also seems some garlic snuck in on Saturday, which has likely contributed to my continued fatigue and brain fog. It’s an IBS reaction I don’t fully understand, but which has been reported by others.)
But I have no regrets about this first star-camping attempt. I’m proud of myself for doing this new (and hard and intimidating) thing on my own. It’s vital to keep reaching for joy, even when — or especially when — we have to contend with discomfort to experience something new. There will be a next time for star-camping, later (warmer) in the year, though I’ll have to keep an eye on fuel prices. I’ll try making my way through the Messier catalog of deep-sky objects in chunks, instead of as a single-night marathon, and I hope I’ll continue to learn with every new attempt.
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Images
1. The Crab Nebula Seen in New Light by NASA’s Webb (NIRCam and MIRI), by NASA’s James Webb Space Telescope
2. The Crab Nebula, as imaged from Stub Stewart State Park in Oregon on 21 March 2026 by Jennifer Willis.