A Stellar Evening – Fleeting Streaks of Light

We gathered beneath our dark skies to watch the Perseids, hoping to catch a glimpse of those fleeting streaks of light. The peak of the meteor shower wouldn’t come until much later, around 2am, so we packed up at 11.30pm, but we were lucky enough to see several meteors. And every single one brought a cheer from the group, followed almost immediately by cries of disappointment from those who happened to be looking the other way!

Alongside the night sky, we caught fleeting glimpses of two or three nightjars and detected several species of bat, pipistrelle, soprano pipistrelle, noctule and possibly even a barbastelle.

We must also thank our young volunteer and astronomer Ethan who shared some incredible photographs from his telescope, revealing pictures he took of the moon in July in astonishing detail and showing us just how littered our night skies have become with satellites.

For a while, it felt like we were witnessing the Common at its most magical, a group of people standing together beneath an enormous dark sky, sharing wildlife, astronomy and wonder, away from the light and noise pollution of the town below.

We had learned that the devastating fire on Rudry Common the night before had engulfed the viper mats we had laid earlier this summer to monitor adders. We can only imagine the loss of the snakes and countless other wild creatures caught in that fire. The thought of the tiny lives we have spent so much time discovering and protecting being lost is heartbreaking.

I may be the Chair of our woodland group but I also live on the edge of Rudry Common and play a part in keeping it safe in support of the Rudry Commoners Association. The night before the meteor watch, our family found ourselves far too close to the unfolding fire. Watching the glow spread across the Common, feeling the heat in the air, the ash falling around us and the uncertainty of what might be lost, was deeply unsettling. There is a particular kind of helplessness that comes with seeing a landscape you love under threat, especially when it is alive with so much unseen wildlife.

In the midst of that fear, the response from the fire service was extraordinary.

They promised to keep our community safe and they did everything in their power to hold that promise. Their presence was constant, professional, and reassuring in the most difficult of circumstances. The next day, the work continued without pause from various forces using appliances, and specialist equipment, including a water bowser from Rhymney, Cardiff Central, Penarth and Merthyr Tydfil in attendance, along with aerial support and crews from Cheshire Fire and Rescue Service.

Along with the crews on the ground the helicopter circled the area from early morning until around 6pm, repeatedly scooping water from a makeshift pool and dropping it across the smouldering ground. The sound was relentless, a low, heavy, almost cinematic in its intensity and at times it felt like something from a war film. You couldn’t help but think of the pilot, carrying out such a monotonous yet essential task for hours on end, holding the line against persistent flame.

In the heat of the day, we tried in a small way to acknowledge that effort, offering ice lollies and cold drinks to the crews when we could. It felt like such a modest gesture compared to what they were doing, almost insignificant but it was simply our way of saying thank you without getting in their way.

Later, as the ash still crunched warm beneath our feet, we ventured out into the dark again. The fire service crews never far away, keeping watch throughout the night over the fires still reappearing amongst the embers. The landscape felt changed, more exposed, more fragile, reminding us how quickly it can be altered by weather, chance, and careless human behaviour.

It made us more attuned than ever to that fragility of life here, the wildlife we share this space with, and how easily it can be lost. It is the devastating reality of how fragile life can be when wildlife co-exists alongside us.

They have no choice about the risks we create. They simply live here, they shelter here, feed here, raise their young here and move through this landscape largely unseen by us. And yet a single careless human act can destroy in hours what nature has taken years, decades or centuries to create. That knowledge makes the wonder of the night feel even more precious.

Because we stood there beneath those stars not simply as spectators, but as people who care deeply about this place and everything that calls it home, we held both truths at once, the wonder of what remains, and the grief of what has been taken.

And yet, even in that sense of loss, there was still a deep connection to the place. And every time a meteor flashed across the sky, we cheered.

Scroll to Top