HTT 2025 – Part 1: Now or Never!

My phone flashes frantically: The sun will set shortly after seven — and I’m still surrounded by charging cables, thermos flasks, and the inevitable checklist.

The destination: Herzberger Teleskoptreffen in Jeßnigk, deep in southern Brandenburg, legendary for its dark skies and its relaxed community of stargazers, tinkerers, and astrophotography nerds. This year, I was determined to attend — especially because my eldest son’s long-standing dream was a road trip with camping.

But as so often happens, we set off late. The plan was to leave Chemnitz at 3pm to get there stress-free before sunset. In reality, it was 5pm before we finally rolled out, glancing at the horizon and the clock with every kilometer. Every minute counted, daylight was quickly fading — and I desperately wanted to avoid driving onto the field with my headlights beaming when it was already dark. After all, there’s nothing worse than dazzling astrophotographers with bright lights.

Traffic was merciful. Brandenburg greeted us with wide-open spaces and golden late summer sun. Shortly before 7pm, that familiar sense of anticipation bubbled up: My son quivered with excitement in the passenger seat. I searched for the first hint of the observatory, somewhere behind pollarded willows and rising mist. The meadow beside the observatory was calling: Everywhere, tripods sparkled, you could catch a whiff of campfire smoke, and telescopes of every kind pointed towards the sky.

My friend Ronald was already waving. He’d saved us a spot, and before we fully stepped out of the van, childhood excitement, adult haste, and that famous “finally arrived” feeling mingled together. After a quick lap around the field — past impressive gear and the focused looks of other astronomy fans — we unloaded: My Askar 103APO and mount, sleeping bags, and everything an astronomer’s (and his son’s) heart needs on the road.

Then the ritual begins: untangling cables, aligning the mount, collimating, double-checking everything. Meanwhile, a blanket of wispy clouds slides past. It’s almost a shame — but as we eat dinner, sitting in the grass, the sky opens up. Suddenly, a wonderfully dark sky stretches above. All struggles forgotten.
The band of the Milky Way was so clear, luminous, and intense — brighter than in most childhood memories — stretching all the way down to the horizon. Even the iPhone snapped surprisingly impressive shots.

My target for tonight was the Lion Nebula Sh2-132 — an old acquaintance that defeated me on a past attempt. Tonight, though, everything clicked: the mount purred along reliably, the guiding values were a dream, and now and then a neighbor’s headlamp flickered as new arrivals whispered greetings through the darkness.

After midnight we crawled — happy, tired, our heads full of celestial thoughts — into our van. It was our first night sleeping in there, surrounded by telescope boxes and the comforting hum of the cooler. Through the windows, the last stars sparkled, one last sliver of the Milky Way — a scene you’d want to frame.

If only there weren’t a final midnight visitor: Four mosquitoes had snuck into the car — turning an almost perfect astrophotography night into a small, buzzing challenge.

That’s how these stargazing nights are: vast, unexpected, unforgettable — and sometimes, with mosquitoes.