The skies down here are the best I've encountered
In the small Tasmanian midlands town of Ross, a community of four hundred is reaching upward by learning to dim its lights. Pursuing accreditation from Dark Sky International, residents and local officials are working to formalize what astronomers and artists have long known — that darkness, properly protected, is a rare and precious inheritance. The effort asks a town to change not just its infrastructure but its relationship with the night, and in doing so, to offer a model for how human settlements might coexist more gently with the cosmos above them.
- Ross sits on the edge of something rare — night skies so clear that supernovae hunters and aurora painters have quietly built lives around them, yet that darkness remains unprotected and unrecognised.
- Accreditation from Dark Sky International demands proof: measured darkness, near-unanimous community consent, and the physical transformation of every one of the town's 54 street lamps.
- A proposed pilot with energy distributor TasNetworks would install smart lights that dim at night and extinguish before dawn — a first for Tasmania, and a test of whether ambition can survive the gap between council resolutions and actual infrastructure.
- Funding remains the fragile hinge on which the whole effort turns, with Tasmania's broader dark sky movement watching Ross as a potential proof of concept that could unlock accreditation across the state.
- For the retirees, artists, and astronomers who chose Ross precisely because the stars were still there, the outcome is not merely civic — it is personal.
Marcus Rodrigues was seventeen when a comet crossed the Sydney sky and marked him for life. Decades of city work followed, the stars overhead slowly erased by glow and haze, until retirement gave him permission to chase what he'd lost. He chose Ross — a town of four hundred in Tasmania's midlands — because its darkness is the kind that only exists far enough from Launceston and Hobart that urban light loses its reach.
Now Ross is pursuing something formal. Accreditation from Dark Sky International would make it the first designated dark sky community in Tasmania and only the third in Australia. Nigel Davies, who chairs the local district committee, has been steering the effort with clear eyes about what it requires: measured darkness, demonstrated community support — 99 percent of residents and every local business have signed on — and a complete transformation of how the town lights itself. All 54 street lamps must be retrofitted with downward-shielding fixtures and warmer bulbs that scatter less light into the atmosphere. The Northern Midlands Council agreed to a lighting management plan in March. Davies has also proposed a pilot with TasNetworks to install smart lights that dim through the night and switch off before dawn — a first for the state, and one that would cut power and maintenance costs alongside the sky benefits.
The town's stargazing community has become the project's quiet engine. Artist Scott Bennett arrived fifteen years ago intending to paint one picture and never left, drawn into an obsession with the Aurora, the Magellanic Clouds, and the Southern Cross as seen from this far-southern latitude. Rodrigues, who installed a permanent backyard telescope eleven years ago and spends his nights hunting supernovas, was surprised to find he wasn't alone — the astronomical community has grown steadily, and most of its members now back the accreditation push.
Tasmania has tried before. Landon Bannister of Tasmania Dark Sky spent years advocating for the state's southwestern wilderness, where the darkness easily qualifies, but funding has stalled that effort. He sees Ross as a potential breakthrough — a small, practical demonstration that a community can reclaim its night sky and open the door for others to follow. Whether the funding materialises and the infrastructure changes arrive in time remains the open question, and for those who moved to Ross because the stars were still visible, it is not an abstract one.
Marcus Rodrigues was seventeen when Comet Kohoutek streaked across the Sydney sky in 1973, and that moment never left him. For decades he worked in the city, watching the glow and haze erase the stars overhead, until retirement finally gave him permission to chase what he'd been missing. He chose Ross, a town of four hundred people tucked into Tasmania's midlands, because the night sky there is uncommonly clear—the kind of darkness you can only find far enough from Launceston and Hobart that the city lights lose their grip. "I've carried a portable telescope around Australia for years," Rodrigues said, "and the skies down here are the best I've encountered."
Ross is now pursuing something formal: accreditation from Dark Sky International, a designation that would make it the first such place in Tasmania and only the third in all of Australia. The process is neither quick nor simple. Nigel Davies, who chairs the local district committee, is shepherding the effort, and he's been clear about what it demands. The town must prove its darkness through measurement. It must demonstrate overwhelming community support—Davies notes they've achieved 99 percent backing from residents and signed letters from every business. And it must transform how the town illuminates itself.
There are fifty-four street lamps in Ross. Every one must be retrofitted with shields that direct light downward only, wasting nothing skyward. The bulbs themselves must shift to warmer, yellower tones—softer light that won't scatter into the atmosphere. In March, the Northern Midlands Council formally agreed to these conditions and passed a lighting management plan. But agreement and execution are different things. Davies has proposed a pilot scheme with TasNetworks, the energy distributor that owns the lights: replace all of Ross's non-compliant fixtures with smart lights that dim from ten at night to midnight, then switch off entirely until dawn. It would be the first such installation in Tasmania. The payoff extends beyond the sky. The new lights would cut power consumption and maintenance costs substantially, and Davies believes the accreditation itself will draw visitors seeking to reconnect with the Milky Way and the wonder of a truly dark night.
The town's growing community of stargazers has become the project's backbone. Scott Bennett arrived fifteen years ago as an artist in residence, intending to stay briefly and paint a single picture. He never left. He became obsessed with capturing the Aurora, the Southern Cross, the Pointer Stars, the Magellanic Clouds—celestial features that appear near-perfect from this latitude. "It's a magic part of the sky," Bennett said, "very visible to us being so far south." Rodrigues, who set up a permanent telescope in his backyard eleven years ago and spends his time hunting supernovas and new discoveries, was surprised to find he wasn't alone. The astronomical community has grown steadily, and most of its members now support the accreditation push.
Tasmania has tried this before. Landon Bannister, president of Tasmania Dark Sky, spent years advocating for the state's southwestern wilderness to receive accreditation. The darkness there easily meets the standards, but funding has stalled the effort. Bannister sees Ross as a potential breakthrough—a proof of concept that could unlock accreditation for countless other Tasmanian communities. If the town succeeds in retrofitting its lights, securing the necessary agreements, and meeting Dark Sky International's exacting standards, it will have demonstrated that even a small place can reclaim its night sky. The question now is whether the funding materializes and whether the next five years bring the infrastructure changes that Davies has outlined. For Rodrigues and Bennett and the others who moved to Ross precisely because the stars were still visible, the answer matters deeply.
Notable Quotes
I've carried a portable telescope around Australia for years, and the skies down here are the best I've encountered.— Marcus Rodrigues, astronomer
Getting Ross accredited will only increase overnight visitation because people will want to stay and see the night sky.— Nigel Davies, Local District Committee chair
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why does a town of four hundred people care about this? What's the actual draw?
Because the night sky is becoming rare. Most people live under light pollution now. When you can see the Milky Way clearly, when you can photograph supernovas from your backyard, that's not ordinary anymore. It becomes a reason to be somewhere.
But the accreditation—that's just a label, right? Does it change anything materially?
It changes everything. The label means you have to upgrade your lights. It means you're committing to keep the darkness. And it means tourists will come specifically to see what you've preserved. That's economic, not just symbolic.
Fifty-four street lamps. That sounds manageable.
It is, but only if you have the money and the political will. Davies had to get the council on board, then TasNetworks, then figure out funding for replacements. That's years of negotiation for a town of four hundred people.
What happens if they succeed?
Ross becomes a model. Other towns see it's possible. Tasmania could become known for dark sky tourism instead of just wilderness. And people like Rodrigues and Bennett—they get to keep doing what drew them there in the first place.
Is there a risk they lose something by formalizing it?
Maybe. Once it's accredited, it's managed, monitored, regulated. But the alternative is slow creep—more lights, more development, the darkness gradually erased. At least accreditation is intentional protection.