How an Eclipse Retreat in New Brunswick Renewed My Love for the Cosmos
Once upon a time, I was a space nerd. As a kid, I loved staying up late in summer, sprawled on a backyard blanket to trace the Big Dipper. In my teens, my dad’s love for space had me glued to shuttle launches on TV. When I had my own brood, I became the mom who led a school space club attended by my own daughters and other interested students.
But, at some point, I lost my spark and became a stargazing slouch.
Then came a sign: an email from Explore Magazine offering the chance to cover a partial solar eclipse in my home province of New Brunswick. Could this help end my tenure as cosmic couch potato?
Excited, I drove to St. Andrews, a charming town on the Bay of Fundy, renowned for having the highest tides in the world. At the historic Algonquin Resort, I joined delegates arriving for the weekend’s Sky Experience II Sunrise Eclipse Retreat. That afternoon, organizer Stéphane Picard of Cliff Valley Astronomy and other presenters fired us up with viewing tips for the next day’s celestial event as well as astrophotography advice. We bundled up that evening for a ‘star party’ in a nearby parking lot, with telescope-toting pros and amateurs sharing their passion for the night sky.
I barely slept, scared to miss my morning alarm. I made it to the designated meeting point with ample time, giddy with excitement and weighed down in multiple layers. I joined other early risers in the dark on the banks of Passamaquoddy Bay.
Things initially looked good. Retreat participants had their cameras and telescopes in place, the gear pointed across the bay towards the jut of land featuring the village of L’Etete. It was low tide, which would make for nice photos when the sunlight reflected off shallow tidal pools and exposed sand. And, despite widespread cloud cover in the region, the horizon where the sunrise was to appear looked relatively clear.
Alas, we were cheated. Just as the rising sun began to bathe distant trees in a warm glow, a cloudbank slid into place, obscuring the very spot the sun would emerge. We waited, praying the clouds would lift. No luck. There would no visible partial eclipse for us; my hopes for a galactic reawakening were dashed.
“We were really close,” Picard offered as I packed up my gear, solemnly realizing that while science can help us predict astronomical events, it can’t control the weather.
I dragged my disappointment to more retreat lectures. I couldn’t stay bummed for long as renowned astrophotographer Alan Dyer took participants on a visual journey through space, his stunning images of nebulae, galaxies and eclipses leaving me spellbound and eager to practice.
“Start simple and learn the basics,” Dyer urged, giving me hope I wouldn’t have to take out a second mortgage to get into astrophotography. He suggested buying an astronomy guidebook and downloading a free app that offers detailed star maps.
With each new retreat presentation, I felt my cosmic curiosity begin to return.
Jenna Hind, Executive Director of the Royal Astronomical Society of Canada discussed the importance of protecting dark skies from artificial light. She explained their key role in stargazing and astronomical research, as well as natural ecosystems, human health and cultural heritage.
“People need places to be together,” Hind said. “Dark sky preserves provide those places… We need to have people providing these spots, protecting these spots.” I was ready to march into the wilderness to save the dark skies.
When local indigenous leaders spoke—sharing powerful teachings on the cultural and spiritual significance of the night sky—I knew I was fully hooked on the heavens again. Their words reminded me that astronomy isn’t just about looking outward, it’s about looking back, honouring the knowledge passed down through generations.
That evening, I reflected on my initial disappointment in missing the partial eclipse. Browsing photos from the morning, I realized I had witnessed celestial magic: a sunrise so vivid it felt like the sky itself was celebrating. Streaks of gold and crimson melted into the horizon. Flocks of birds circled overhead as if dancing with delight. Astronomy enthusiasts, ranging from seasoned stargazers to newbies like me, huddled happily together in wide-eyed amazement.
I knew there had been a shift—not just in my understanding of the cosmos, but in my desire to experience it more fully. I can’t wait to spend more nights under the open sky, rediscovering the wonder that’s been there all along.
This article was sponsored by Cliff Valley Astronomy
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Cathy, it was a pleasure to meet you in St. Andrew’s. Your article was exquisite. Yes, clouds hid our view of the partial eclipse but being under the stars and sharing observing stories over dinner and afterwards were just as special. So much was learned and shared in those two short days. I’m truly glad you found your spark and love for the skies and our universe once more!