Stargazing

Stargazing at Bucklands Guest Farm is best described by a piece written by one of our friends. It reads as follows: "The night was coming alive as the sun slipped beneath the horizon, painting the sky with fading streaks of pink and orange. The earthy scent of the Karoo was thick in the air, and the land around Bucklands Guest Farm lay still, its contours softened by the fading light. Here, the vastness of the Karoo seems to stretch on forever, and the sky—so clear and untainted by artificial light—becomes a canvas of stars.

As darkness fell completely, the farm's landscape was swallowed by the night, but the heavens above began to dazzle in return. The Milky Way arced across the sky like a silvery river, its stars twinkling with a purity that feels almost sacred. I stood high above the  farmhouse, far from the glow of urban lights, and looked up in awe. The Southern Hemisphere's stars painted a picture that was both familiar and foreign—constellations that were entirely my own, yet existed in a corner of the world I’d never fully experienced until now.

The Southern Cross, unmistakable in its brilliant, diamond-like glow, immediately caught my attention. Its four stars formed a cross that seemed to shine with an intensity that almost felt as if it was pointing directly to something greater. I took a moment to pause, to trace the shape with my eyes, and reminded myself of how ancient and universal these stars are. They have guided countless travelers for centuries, not just here in South Africa, but across the Southern Hemisphere, and they felt like an old friend I was just meeting for the first time.

Nearby, Alpha Centauri, the closest star system to our own, twinkled with a steady, almost friendly light. It’s a beacon of cosmic wonder, and knowing that it’s a mere 4.37 light years away made it feel just a bit more personal. I couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to travel there, to leave Earth behind and drift among the stars.

As I marveled at the sky, the moon began its slow rise from the eastern horizon, casting a soft glow over the sparse Karoo vegetation. The mountains to the north of the farm, which had once looked like dark shadows against the fading light, now took on new shapes, illuminated by the moon’s gentle radiance. The occasional ripple of wind through the dry grass was the only sound—otherwise, it was as if time itself had stopped, as though I were alone in a vast, celestial sea.

Suddenly, a shooting star blazed across the sky, streaking in a flash of green and white, before vanishing into the distant blackness. It felt like a personal gift, a fleeting moment of magic. My thoughts drifted to ancient traditions: how the Khoisan, the indigenous people of this land, might have gazed at the same sky and woven their own stories around these celestial events. In that moment, I felt connected to something far greater than myself.

The night deepened, and constellations began to reveal themselves. There was the bright, fiery heart of the Scorpion—Antares, glowing a deep reddish hue—and the sprawling tail of the constellation wrapping around the sky. Further east, the "False Cross," often mistaken for the Southern Cross by those unfamiliar with the night sky, lay quietly to one side. Above it all, the Great Magellanic Cloud hung like a cloud of stardust, a galaxy of its own that drifted in the cold void, millions of light-years away.

I turned my gaze to the zenith, where the constellation of Orion—perhaps the most universally recognized group of stars—was high in the sky. His three-star belt glimmered brightly, and I followed the line of stars down to the "Sword of Orion," where the famous Orion Nebula lay in all its vastness. It felt like looking into a cosmic cradle, where new stars were being born.

After some time, I sat on the smooth and still hot rock beneath me, content to simply watch. The silence of the Karoo at night is profound—there’s something about the vastness of the land and the sky that quiets the mind, letting you just be for a while. Far off in the distance, the occasional cry of a jackal echoed through the night air, but for the most part, the farm felt suspended in time. There was no rush, no hurry—just the slow, rhythmic dance of the heavens, and my small place within it.

As the night deepened and the cool, crisp air of the Karoo settled around me, I felt an overwhelming sense of peace. Stargazing at Bucklands Guest Farm, surrounded by the infinite stretch of the southern sky, was more than just a visual experience; it was a journey of the soul—a chance to feel both incredibly small and, paradoxically, deeply connected to everything that surrounds us.

In that moment, under the watchful gaze of the Southern Cross, I knew that this night, like so many before it, would stay with me. A memory carved in starlight."