North to Sutherland: a journey to the stars

If you started walking at 53 degrees east of north for about 280km and turned left, you would find yourself in the middle of the Karoo. If you’re lucky you may see a springbok. Perhaps two. 

Had you instead turned right, you would still find yourself in the middle of the Karoo – and standing facing the largest optical telescope in the Southern Hemisphere. 

Unfortunately we cannot all be Forest Gump; so far too early on Wednesday morning we gathered, groggy yet excited, in the parking lot. Following a brief pep talk containing all the usual – ie no sweeties from strangers – we set off in our two buses, Sutherland-bound. 

The drive was quite long –  that 280km was something a little closer to 350km when you consider that roads don’t tend to run directly to your destination – and yet, punctuated by rest stops and fascinating insights into the ever-changing geology – the would-be monotony was entirely avoided. A few of said geology stops later we found ourselves in the charming Matjiesfontein – our lunch stop. Home to what is quite possibly the shortest bus tour in the world , and with a grand total of two(!) streets, Matjiesfontein was shockingly accommodating. Touring the historic town in about 10 minutes, we settled down for a lovely lunch courtesy of all three of the town’s restaurants. 

Waking a short while later from our food induced comas, we were outside of our ‘camp’ for the next two nights, Rogge Kloof. While I say camp, I really don’t mean camp. Sutherland is a distinctly different sort of school trip to what you may be thinking of. If Sutherland exists to look out to the heavens, Rogge Kloof is a mirror. Alright that may be a slightly heavy-handed metaphor but you get the point – it’s a lovely place. The first thing we noticed was the sheer scale of it all, and endless expanse of veld dotted by more springbok than you could shake a stick at. The second thing we noticed happened about 40 minutes down the road – I did mention quite how big it was? -, a sudden dip in the terrain, a bewildered dassie, and tucked into a little valley was Rogge Kloof. 

Scattered around a central building–notably featuring our dining hall–were six  standalone, en suite, kitchenette-bearing guesthouses; a greenhouse; an event venue overlooking a duck-filled pond; and a swimming pool enveloped in the shade of the trees. 

Quickly unpacking, spurred on by the promise of food we meandered back down to be greeted by the sight of freshly baked pizzas. They did not last long. It was here we met our very well-informed and very Afrikaans ‘tour guides’ for lack of a better term, Anè and Karina. Well I like astro-navigators but apparently that’s ‘unprofessional’ and ‘you need to be careful with your register, Quinn’. No fun. Whatever you would like to call them they informed us that shortly after dinner would be our nighttime lecture, just in time too. I had  almost forgotten what the point of this was.

Hence, shortly after dinner, we gathered at the lecture theatre as the sun slipped beneath the horizon. Over the next hour or so we watched an animated Mr H explain the need-to-knows of astrology – from telescope optics to how the spin of the Earth is accounted for (right ascension) to a map of the stars. Explained, of course, in the dark, so as not to ruin our nightvision. Armed with this new knowledge – and the Dunning-Kruger effect – we settled in for a night of amateur astrology.  

We did a lot on that first night: getting hands-on experience with the schools own telescopes to look at just about every celestial object under and beyond the sun, watching, awe-struck, as Anè and Karina operated their computerised telescopes, peering into the darkest spots in the sky and finding them to be rich with colour and substance. Safe to say it was a long night. An incredibly rewarding night to be sure, but the astrologist’s circadian rhythm is not for the weak. We plodded off to bed, minds full of stars.

Day two

There was an excited hum around the breakfast tables on day two – today was the big day. Today was the real meat and potatoes of the trip, our tour of the plateau. I lied a little earlier, the view from Rogge Kloof wasn’t quite an empty expanse. Peeking out through the mountains in the distance was a little plateau, dotted with small, white structures and one, much bigger, white structure. Affectionately referred to as just ‘the plateau’, it plays host to SAAO’s entire array of  optical telescopes.  Breakfast, unsurprisingly, proved no match for 18 excited teenagers and soon we were back in the busses, Sutherland-bound once again. 

Rogge Kloof being a private game reserve of sorts, our drive out turned into something of an impromptu game drive. We saw the obligatory springbok and confused dassies, as well as a smattering of birds I am told were very interesting. After stopping briefly en route in the town of Sutherland itself for snacks and petrol, we had arrived at the South African Astronomical Observatory. 

More specifically its visitors centre, where we met Jeremy, our actual tour guide for the day. Spending some time exploring the exhibits and displays ourselves – a brief souvenir purchasing spree included – we gathered again for a guided tour this time. Brain’s full of information, we had our lunch and set off up the plateau. 

The first thing we noticed was quite how much bigger these ‘little white structures’ were up close. The second thing we  noticed was the wind. We formed a second-rate Mexican wave of hands springing to hats as we stepped out into it. Persevering, we followed Jeremy out towards the edge of the plateau where he showed us, nestled in the windswept veld Salpeterkop, the most recently active volcano in Southern Africa – a bit of a silly place to build a telescope next to if you ask me – and fascinatingly the tectonic fault line, in the form of a rocky extrusion, leading into it. 

Walking back through the wind we entered a gloriously wind-proof  building, which just so happened to house the second largest telescope in South Africa. Walking into the dome, as if a field of sunflowers, our heads snapped upwards, eyes staring, awe-struck at the sheer amount of telescope. This behemoth of steel has a mirror of radius 1,9m, hence its name as the ‘1,9m telescope’ –  a creative bunch, scientists. Whilst the name leaves something to be desired, the telescope sure does not. As Jeremy would go on to explain, it had originally been constructed in 1938 in Britain and brought to South Africa in the 70s. There was something so magnetic about it, to think that this telescope, built before WWII, had been operating for shy of 90 years was incredible. It had undergone modernisation over the years of course – most notably the instruments – but nevertheless, what a construction. 

Begrudgingly leaving it behind, we carried on with our tour. Our first stop was an unexpected one, by seemingly everyone, as Jeremy introduced us to the lead technician  on the plateau who took us to what I can only call a bunker. This bunker had up until recently been home for two seismometers, monitoring any seismic activity in the region – I’m looking at you, Salpeterkop. Next up on the itinerary was a tour of Las Cumbres Observatory’s (LCO) completely autonomous 1,0m telescope that makes up part of a global network of telescopes for use by students from around the world. Cramming into the little structure, we got to see the shutter glide back, revealing the mirror. I was somewhat preoccupied with trying very hard NOT to accidentally step backwards and touch the big and red emergency stop button. 

Walking to our next stop I realised just how many telescopes were on this plateau, each doing its own bit of important research. Research that would be entirely impossible without the facility we were currently standing in, the resurfacing lab. Telescope mirrors spend an awful lot of time very exposed to the elements – they don’t tend to work as well inside – and resultantly need frequent maintenance. Maintenance is far too dull a word for what is an awesome process. First the old coating needs to be removed, with the help of good old water and bad young chemicals, once they have a clean slate to work with, the mirrors are sealed into a serious looking device that pulls a vacuum over them. Aluminium is then heated to approximately very hot and ‘blown’ across the now reflective mirror. I want one. 

Having loomed from the distance the entire afternoon, we were finally heading to SALT. If the 1,9m felt big, SALT was a different order of magnitude. Interestingly, walking into SALT the first thing you notice is the smell of coffee, a neat reminder that behind all of this immense technology, are regular humans. Sure, super intelligent humans but humans nonetheless. 

Stepping through the door labelled ‘staff only, no entry’ we walked into a room that had seemingly delegated an entire wall, floor to ceiling, to monitors. Sat at the base of this was a rare sight indeed, an astronomer, during the day! The astronomer turned out to be a very nice man who explained to us what he was researching. Heading now further into the building we were greeted by another very kind man who introduced himself as the mechanical engineer for SALT. 

That building contains some frankly  absurd pieces of technology, from a spectroscope being fed by bundles of fibre-optic cables thicker than a can of coke to their very own resurfacing lab. You see, the main mirror at SALT is 11 metres in radius, you simply cannot resurface a mirror that large. Instead, the mirror is made up of 91 hexagonal segments which can each be individually removed, cleaned and resurfaced.  It is no shock then, that their resurfacing lab is very busy, with two segments being resurfaced every single week. 

Donning our bright yellow hardhats – we really looked like sunflowers this time – we stepped past the point where tourists are permitted via some light chocolate bribery, and into the dome. I do not have adjectives for SALT. I have pictures and even those fail to convey it. That telescope is so obscenely large it almost stops registering as a telescope. Just as I thought I had come to terms with the enormity of it, a button is pressed and the entire 78 tonne assembly rises up in a hovercraft fashion and starts rotating. 

SALT is simply incredible, the engineering required to pull it off defies rationality. 

Bidding our goodbyes to Jeremy, as we were already 20 minutes into their operating time, we set off back towards Rogge Kloof, a day well spent.

The drive back was uneventful and contemplative, with most of us too tired to do much more than contemplate. Dinner was likewise relaxed, a braai this time, with most heading off to bed not long after. 

There were, however, a couple of us with energy enough for another night under the stars, astrology-ing and astrophotography-ing well into the night. 

Day three

Day three started very differently depending on your participation in previous night’s activities. Mine started slowly, with much muttering. Regardless, breakfast was lovely and somewhat bittersweet: our last meal of the trip. Meeting in the event hall, Anè and Karina – who apparently double as archaeologists – delivered an informative lecture on the fossils that have been found at Rogge Kloof. Which, surprisingly, is quite an extensive collection for no excavations having taken place. My favourite was the Diictodon, look him up.

 Piling into the buses one last time we set off at 53 degrees West of South for about 280km. 

A massive thank you to the two very dedicated and enthusiastic teachers who not only made this possible, but made it every last bit as good as it was, you know who you are. And of course, thank you to you, whoever made it this far into my two thousand word rambling on a school trip. 

– Quinn

Credit to Mr H, Kristen and Quinn for the photographs.