Traffic lights in the night sky

Starlink satellites leave diagonal lines as they pass through a telescope’s field of view.

UNITL relatively recently in human history the night sky remained one of the last unspoilt vestiges of our natural world. From the time of Galileo to the present day, astronomical observations from Earth’s surface have led to exceptional progress in the scientific understanding of the world around us.

Now, just as we enter the third decade of the 21st Century and a dynamic new phase in space exploration and exploitation begins, some of the current capability of astronomical instrumentation from the ground is potentially being endangered by the rapid development of micro-satellite fleets in low Earth orbits (LEO).

In the interests of preserving the ability to make meaningful visual and radio ground-based observations, the International Astronomical Union (IAU) is sounding a clarion call for greater protection and international safeguards.

The IAU claims that if the deployment of mega constellations remains unchecked the view of the night sky will be increasingly impeded by artificial satellites, not only visible to the naked eye but also crossing and scarring professional and amateur time-lapse observations alike with parallel streaks at all latitudes.

SpaceX has already embarked on its ambitious Starlink project to populate the sky with some 42,000 satellites which, together with planned constellations such as those from OneWeb, Amazon and others, means there could one day be more than 50,000 small satellites encircling the Earth at different low altitudes.

These small, mass-produced satellites orbit very close to Earth with the intent to provide speedy internet connections via low-latency signals. But that proximity also makes them more visible and brighter in the night sky. Astronomers argue that such constellations will severely diminish our view of the universe, create more space debris and deprive humanity of an unblemished view of the night sky. If these networks come to fruition, they suggest that every square degree of the sky will eventually have a satellite crawling across it throughout the whole observing night.

As space becomes ever more commercialised the speed of such development is quickly overtaking the existing, globally agreed rules governing space activities. Mega constellations are just one area where new rules of governance are urgently needed. Others include the exploitation of resources on the Moon and elsewhere, preserving peace and resolving disputes, and rules for everyday living in space.

Recognising the urgent need for coordinated action, next year the space nation Asgardia is organising a second congress in its ‘Paving the Road to Living in Space’ series. It will focus on discussing key aspects of space law needed to ensure the success of future space exploits.

Of course, ROOM fully supports the growth and advancement of space technologies and the ensuing benefits they bring to everyday life, business and commerce across the globe.

But it would be ironic indeed if, by exploiting LEO without due responsibility, we neglect to consider the resultant damage to scientific research and a previously unblemished part of our natural environment that deployment of such new technologies could unwittingly deliver.

The urgent question is, do we continue to rush headlong into deploying massive new orbital networks without checks and balances, and with scant regard for the heavens above - or can the global space community approach this kind of thing in a more mature and responsible manner that is fair to everyone?

Editorial (originally published under the title 'Mega-constellations raise awkward questions for space community') 
by Clive Simpson in the Spring 2020 edition of ROOM Space Journal

Light changes everything

 

I’VE always been fascinated by light. Or perhaps, to put it more accurately, by the lack of dark compared to the perpetual electronic daylight most of us now live in and accept as the norm.

It may have been an early interest in astronomy and growing up under big Fenland skies that first prompted this lifelong interest. The stunning wonder of the heavens in a gloriously dark and primitive sky that, in those days, was hardly touched even by artificial satellites.

A decade or so ago I started taking a more professional interest in new types of lighting and its potential impacts on life in general and human health in particular, attending some international lighting conferences and writing about the subject more widely through my work as a freelance journalist.

I had a feeling deep inside that something about our modern forms of light and our more recent headlong dash to LED technology wasn’t quite right - and yet I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

Of course, I was as keen as anyone to promote better dark skies by removing as much of the unnecessary light pollution as possible that now pervades our life after darkness falls. I was also a keen supporter of the fledgling environmental movement so, like most of us, I quickly bought into the industry-led narrative about LED lighting, its energy-saving properties and how good it would be for our planet.

Was there a downside? On the face of it there didn’t appear to be one and it seemed we were all left with little choice but to purchase vastly more expensive LED technology light bulbs. Okay, so the cost was a bit steep compared to the incandescent bulbs we were all replacing but if we were saving Earth in the process surely that was a price worth paying?

But all along the light sensitive ‘eyes’ in my gut were posting warning signs about the slow but inexorable creep of modern-day LED lighting.

In the past few years they might have darkened the heavens in a few locations though that might be more the result of councils up and down the country switching off lighting to save money.

What we might have saved in energy consumption on an individual light has likely more than been replaced by the massive increase in the quantity of lighting installations of all kinds. In reality, LEDs have led to a pandemic of uncontrolled and excessive lighting inside our homes, on public buildings, on transport and on the roads.

Driving home after dark the other evening, I was momentarily blinded by the dazzling headlights of an oncoming car. At first I thought the driver had mistakenly left his lights ‘on beam’ but then I realised this excessive brightness was a new normal for night-time driving. These were just the ultra-bright LED headlights now installed as de facto standard on every new car.

I fear I am not alone in finding overly bright vehicle headlights an increasing driving and road safety problem - and not always just at night, sometimes in the daytime too.

It seems our lighting designers - whether for street “function”, inside the home or on motor vehicles - have run with the excitement of LED technology merely because it was new and the latest thing.

In the process little thought has gone into its intense luminosity, blue-white colour balance or the fact that LED light is acutely directional, more akin to a laser than a conventional light source with excessive glare, a huge increase in light intensity at the centre and a very sharp cut-off.

The UK is not alone. Populations around the world have readily embraced these new forms of light, often unwittingly and without due process to its effect on our bodies and the environment. If I have learnt one thing whilst studying this issue over recent years it is that light is not just light.

Certainly the more intense blue-white light of lower cost high lumen LEDs is potentially damaging for us whether in the home or outdoors - and, treated without due caution, may actually turn out to be a lot worse than our now rejected traditional forms of incandescent lighting.

In her recently published book (Incandescent, September 2019), journalist Anna Levin throws her own spotlight on the transforming colour and tone of our everyday environments. “Light is changing, dramatically. Our world is getting brighter - but is brighter always better?” she asks.

The thrust of Levin’s book is that natural light (and dark) is fundamental to almost every aspect of life on Earth, interacting with humans and animals in profound yet subtle ways. “We mess with the eternal rhythm of dawn-day-dusk-night at our peril,” says Levin. “But mess with it we have, and we still don't truly understand the consequences.”

She claims that technology and legislation have crushed our previously warm, incandescent lighting in favour of harsher, often glaring alternatives.

And there is the irony. Since regulations were passed introducing legislation banning incandescent lamps, domestic energy consumption has actually risen and so, according to the UK Department for the Environment, there has been no overall saving.

In recent years there can be no question that our night-time world has been rapidly infiltrated by a voracious predator - an un-natural form of light that is both seen and unseen at the same time.

Incandescent is a well-researched and written book, with accessible analysis and explanations supported by technical details about LED lighting’s potential impact on human health and the wider environment. It throws an intriguing new light on an unanticipated problem that is only now becoming recognised.

Some useful links:
Anna Levin - Incandescent
LightAware - charity & support
Soft Lights - lighting with thought 
Clive Simpson - Writer & Editor

NASA's sand dune solution

ANTHROPOGENIC climate change and its associated rise in sea levels could prove a significant threat to some of the world’s iconic coastal space launch sites, including Florida’s Kennedy Space Center (KSC).

NASA is building a massive artificial dune along a stretch of the coast in a bid to protect the nation’s only launch site for human missions - but many experts say that ultimately it isn’t going to be enough.

Even conservative estimates suggest the low-lying Florida peninsula can expect to experience at least 5 to 8 inches of sea level rise by the 2050s, a figure which could double or treble if global warming is not contained at current levels.

Launch Complex 39A, the historic Apollo 11 and Space Shuttle launch pad that SpaceX now leases for its Falcon Heavy rocket, is one of the most vulnerable, as the base of the pad sits only a few feet above sea level and is just a quarter mile from the coastline.

The founding fathers of the US space programme chose a barrier island to launch rockets into space for safety reasons, preferring out of control rockets to explode over the ocean rather than land. But the very quality that makes this location a safe spot for launches threatens to be its downfall.
       
This year, the pad 39A complex is estimated to face a 14 percent annual risk of flooding, a figure which is likely to rise unless additional measures are taken to protect it, according an analysis released in late 2019 by Climate Central, an international organisation researching and reporting the science and impacts of climate change.
                               
Predictions are equally uncertain for launch complex 39B, the future home of NASA’s SLS rocket which will be used to launch the first people to the Moon by 2024. The current annual flood risk, estimated at six percent, is likely to double within two decades.

It is unclear how much damage sea floods could cause to the actual launch pads but, at the minimum, rising water could isolate the complexes as inaccessible islands, also threatening support roadways and other infrastructure.

At the same time, natural barriers along the coastline are also eroding. Based on historical records and aerial photos, the beach in front of the Cape Canaveral area has thinned and moved inland by as much as 200 feet. Losses have been most severe along the stretch near pads 39A and 39B.

NASA biologist Don Dankert, technical lead for KSC’s environmental planning office, is charged with protecting the agency’s valuable launch assets. “Climate change is obviously important to the agency,” he says. “Looking into the future and how we address this with our infrastructure in our inland areas is a top priority.”

After studying various engineering solutions, Dankert and his team settled on constructing hefty inland sand dunes as a barrier between Florida’s launch pads and the encroaching ocean.

AS a result, NASA is currently using 350,000 cubic yards of sand to build a 3.2 mile long dune 17 feet high and 90 feet wide. The sand is being trucked from an inland source and is matched to the sand that is on local beaches for grain texture and size consistency. Once complete the dune will be covered with native vegetation to help maintain its integrity. 

But as global temperatures continue to climb and with forecasters warning of more frequent and stronger hurricanes, not everyone is convinced. Joseph Donoghue, an ocean sciences professor at the University of Central Florida, is assessing the effects of major storms on coastal environments at the National Center of Integrated Coastal Research.

“Sure, dunes are a good short-term solution. But the dunes are only good for as long as no major hurricanes come through,” he says. “Long-term, dunes aren’t going to do the job.”

NASA reckons the $35 million it is spending on the shoreline restoration project, which is expected to be completed by the end of the year, is money well spent. But according to Leesa Souto, Executive Director of the Marine Resources Council and Assistant Professor of Ocean Engineering at Florida Institute of Technology, sand dunes and sea walls only protect against storm surges and do not address flooding from rising groundwater.

“It's not just flooding from the ocean that we are concerned about; a rising sea level also increases pressure inland, causing the groundwater to rise,” she explains. “The launch pads are particularly vulnerable because they are out on a peninsula in the middle of the ocean between the estuary and the ocean.”

"Ground water is sea level so when sea level rises, ground water rises. So when the elevation of the land and the elevation of groundwater are the same, you have a lake," she added.

“So unless they’re going to build the launch pads on the top of the 17 foot dune they are going to be under water.”

The Jeff Bezos-led Blue Origin commercial spaceflight company, which is pumping a billion dollars into the Space Coast area as a launch base for its New Shepard rocket, is taking no chances. The company leases Launch Complex 36 and is currently building it both out and upwards. “The base of our rocket will be 50 feet above the ground, which is 20 feet above the 100 year flood plain,” says Scott Henderson, Blue Origin's vice president of test and flight operations.

Space Launch Complexes 40 and 41, which could be the site of the first commercial rocket launch of American astronauts to the International Space Station (ISS), are also at significant risk from future flooding, according to Climate Central's analysis.

United Launch Alliance (ULA), which leases space complexes 41 and 37 from the US Air Force, is not currently addressing climate change related impacts. “It becomes a real challenge of ‘what are you going to try to mitigate?’ and ‘what are you going to accept as an acceptable risk?’ So we’ve tried to balance that,” says Mark Dornseif, senior manager of engineering and infrastructure at ULA.

For an industry that routinely talks about its costs in millions, the billion dollar question remains: how viable will Kennedy Space Center be in the future? Florida’s Space Coast economy, which earns around $3 billion a year from ‘space’, is certainly banking on its success as long as possible.

But Blue Origin's Henderson envisions a time when there will be thousands of spaceports across the world and that, ultimately, Cape Canaveral may prove to have been just a starting point for human space exploration. “Today we’re constrained to coastal areas but in the long haul you need to be flexible and reliable enough to fly from lots of places," he says.
 
This is an extended version of an article first published 
by Clive Simpson on the ROOM Space Journal website.

Suffolk sojourn

Photo: Clive Simpson

THE side of Sussie’s Beach Hut Café on Southwold seafront didn’t have the best of views. The cool North Sea stretched to the left and, opposite the walkway to old concrete steps from the beach to the cliff road, began a series of colourful beach huts for which this part of Suffolk is quite famous.

Climb a few metres to the top of these steps, and Gun Hill has a much more open vista. As the name suggests the cliff walk is  still resplendent with an array of cannons aimed menacingly out over the North Sea. Today they stand on ceremony only, overlooking the colourful beach huts and traditional beach cafe.

In the late September sunshine the side bench at the café was wonderfully secluded from the stiff onshore breeze. There was a blue plastic, rectangular table to my left as I sat down to re-hydrate with a bottle of water. Underneath the table, almost to big for it, was a scruffy mass of grey hair, half standing half crouching and looking rather awkward. It had a pointy nose and sorrowful dark eyes. It was Ben, an Irish Wolfhound, I discovered as the lady sipping tea on the seat beside tried to cajole him into lying down.

The dog’s owner had a thin face too, though her nose was less pointy. She had shortish, straight hair and was probably in her late 60's. “Lovely to see you - have you missed a few afternoons?” she inquired of a blond-haired friend of equal vintage who came to sit down beside me. I almost felt part of the conversation.

“It was a lovely morning but I’ve decided I’m going to stop swimming,” she answered in a kind of high-pitched, whiny way. “Are you going to go through?” I realised that these hardy coastal ladies were talking about their daily, or weekly, sea swim. “It’s beginning to get chilly, and I have to be careful with my chest,” she added. I got the mental picture as the conversation rose and dove through swimming, sea temperatures and cold showers.

By now Ben was sprawled across the cold floor. It didn’t seem to bother him and I guess he had heard the conversation all before. His black nose poked out from under the table. “Bye Ben,” I muttered, as I set off to climb the steps to the road above, leading to the dunes and a brisk walk to catch the last ferry across the river before the close of day.

I had long wanted to visit Southwold and a weekend break at the village of Eye about 20 miles inland had provide the ideal opportunity.

In place name lore, Eye derives from the old English word for an island and, in Saxon times, such a place was generally surrounded by water. Though that is certainly not the case today, the neighbourhood retains its marshy nature in places. The ‘island’ in this part of Suffolk was originally formed by the low-lying water meadows of the River Dove.

Whilst on place names it struck me that originality does not always triumph over practicality. There are many “Eye’s” scattered across the country, including one close to my own hailing ground of Peterborough. And of course, there’s a beautiful River Dove cutting a different course in the Derbyshire Dales, my county of birth.

The small coastal village of Walberswick is probably more unusual when it comes to both naming and pronunciation. It’s adjacent to Southwold but neatly separated from it by the River Blyth which had flowed into its tidal estuary at this point.

The walk between the two settlements is an easy and popular stroll. The only decision is whether to take the Baily bridge across the river a short stretch to the north of the town, or pay to be rowed across the flowing Blythe in the tiny foot ferry, or large rowing boat depending on your perspective.

It’s a short crossing and the boatsman or woman skilfully guide the boat against the outgoing or incoming tide. From the ferry landing jetty there is a sheltered path in the lee of the dunes, or you can walk in the brazen North Sea air across the dipping dunes themselves.

Southwold is often depicted as the sort of seaside town that everyone thought had vanished into the past. But this small resort, and a few precious others like it, do still exist - and despite the trappings of modernity are relatively unspoilt. 

With its signature lighthouse, pier over the sea and rows of colourful beach huts, the town retains much of its original charm and character, though no doubt some of the die-hard locals like our swimming ladies would beg to differ. It does, however, still evoke that unfathomable touch of nostalgia for a time gone by, but it has also become increasingly trendy in recent years.

Where else, for example, would you find a Bentley, pristine open top sports cars and the latest, fashionable four-by-fours parked in a row along the cliff top sea road during a sunny September afternoon stroll towards the pier?

Camomile Cottage B&B.

About 40 minutes drive from Southwold, the 16th century timber framed Suffolk farmhouse that is now Camomile Cottage B&B nestles off a private lane lined with towering oak trees.

The French doors of the breakfast room embrace the east-facing decking, a perfect spot to enjoy the first rays of sunshine on late summer days such as this. Giant popular trees rise to the left, noisy in the morning breeze, and a beech hedge runs the length to the end of the garden, defining borders and a wide lawn path. At the far end a wooden seat looks back towards the house.

Later, in the afternoon, when the sun has shifted to the south west, shafts of sunlight cut through the side windows and skylights, and reflect interesting patterns onto the tiled floor from the antique wall mirrors. A gentle breeze spills through the open patio doors. It is a room of delightful light and relaxation.

It is easy to fall in love with a home like this where character and history is etched into every nook and cranny, and piece of decoration.

The quirky Camomile Cottage was once a 16th century timber framed Suffolk farmhouse. The traditional, grade II listed building has been tastefully restored and extended over recent years.

It offers luxury B&B accommodation in two bedrooms - one with an intriguingly slopey floor - along with an open fireplace in the cosy guest lounge, exposed original timbers and a romantic period-style finish, all reflecting the warm character of host Aly Kahane and her friendly mut, Fozzie.

Aly Kahane.

Aly, who has been running the B&B for almost 18 years, was the perfect hostess and made us feel very at home. A homemade welcome cake, delicious cooked breakfasts and easy relaxation. In this beautiful and charming setting, away from the busyness of everyday life, there was ample time to linger, to ponder and refresh.

September 2019 - Camomile Cottage B&B