ORCHARD — The first weekend Jackson Lake State Park received its certification from the International Dark-Sky Association, ranger Amy Brandenburg saw more than the Milky Way on her night patrols.
Campers gathered like the moths and midges that used to swarm around the buildings at night before the park went dark. The grounds were full of them, which was strange, given that it was late September, a time that brought a discouraging chill to the summer fun that burnished Jackson Lake’s reputation as a place for boating and partying with your bros.
These campers were much different, too: They all seemed to have telescopes, and they whispered to each other, as though they were studying together in a library. They weren’t there for a beer bash. They were there to look at the stars.
Almost overnight, Jackson Lake had a new reason for visitors.
That’s why the park, which closes at dusk in the winter, opened up on a Sunday night earlier this month to give residents a chance to watch the Geminid meteors. The temperature dipped into the single digits, with a thick blanket of snow smothering campsites, and yet, stargazers whooped and hollered louder than Morgan County’s yelping coyotes every time a burning light tore across the sky.
Dark-sky designations bring the promise of tourist dollars to rural Colorado
Liz Law-Evans, 59, of Broomfield, would have never considered camping at Jackson in the winter — “I’m allergic to being cold,” she said — but she found the state park’s tweet about seeing the meteors hard to resist and proposed a trip with her husband, John Evans, 62, and their daughter, Lily, 19.
“We were just getting cabin fever with the whole COVID thing,” Law-Evans said. “It was really fun to hear all the cheers. We saw many big ones.”
Jackson Lake is riding the tail of a newfound fascination with the night sky, as nine Colorado places — three communities and six parks — are now officially listed by the International Dark-Sky Association, and there are others who covet the designation for the tourism some think it will bring at otherwise slow times of the year.
The certification process isn’t too expensive — Jackson Lake spent more than $20,000 in grant money, but could have done it for thousands less — but it can take a year or two.
Nevertheless, that hasn’t discouraged places from applying: Just four years ago, there were 54 certified around the world in the organization’s 35-plus years of existence. Now there are 164, said Adam Dalton, who is the program manager and the only one in the small and overwhelmed organization who looks over the applications. There are hundreds more applications in the works, he said.
Dalton said there are environmental reasons for this: Light pollution is a common phrase now, and more people acknowledge the damage it does to humans and wildlife.
Dark-sky designations bring the promise of tourist dollars to rural Colorado
But it’s also the fun, simple fact that as more people become aware of places where people can see the Milky Way, many for the first time, they spread the word and get their communities involved. Many dark sky places, in fact, occur as the result of volunteers. Phillip Virden, an amateur astronomer and resident of Lake City for close to 50 years, just got a dark-sky park approved for his tiny town nestled near a half-dozen fourteeners in the San Juan range.
“It’s a snowball effect, and during COVID it’s been incredible to see,” Dalton said. “We’ve seen an outdoors movement in the last decade, but especially during COVID, people want safe, remote areas to have that kind of experience.”
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