Many winters ago, as a young zoology student, I was fortunate to spend time in Newport, Co Mayo. At the time I was living in Dublin, and each time I stepped off the train in Mayo I felt an almost physical relief: the air was cooler, fresher and infinitely cleaner than the capital’s, as if it had been distilled into something entirely new.
But the true sensory relief came after nightfall when the inky blackness of the Mayo night fell. On one cloudless night, I stood alone on the shores of Lough Feeagh in Burrishoole, just north of Newport, and looked upwards at the spectacle on show: the Milky Way. It was a performance that opened up a portal into another world, one utterly unfamiliar to someone raised, as I was, beneath Dublin’s dome of perpetual brightness. For me, the natural darkness revealed a sensory and emotional landscape that was completely new and it’s no exaggeration to say it was overwhelming in its impact.
In our increasingly lit-up world – where light pollution is growing by 10 per cent per year, 83 per cent of the world’s population now lives under light-polluted skies, and sky brightness doubles every eight years – it’s heartening to see a growing movement to protect the night. Nearly all of nature, humans included, suffers under this artificial glow. It’s a sensory pollutant that disorients wildlife, disrupting migration, feeding, reproduction, and the rhythms of life that evolved under the natural cycle of day and night.
Fake light isn’t good for life. At the back of our eyes are cells containing a light-sensing pigment that is particularly responsive to the short, blue wavelengths of daylight. When they sense blue light, they send signals to our brain’s master clock, in effect saying, “It’s daytime! Wake up!” And suppressing the hormone melatonin that nudges us to sleep. But our towns, villages and cities – on shops, houses, apartments, schools and churches – are now awash with artificial light, often through the night, tricking our brains into thinking it’s daytime long after the sun has set. The consequences are real and measurable: disrupted sleep, an increased risk of cancer, obesity, heart disease, depression and anxiety.
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The remarkable effort to reclaim the night has been led by Georgia MacMillan, a Newport resident and founder of the Mayo Dark Skies Group, who established Ireland’s first International Dark Sky Park in 2016 in northwest Mayo. Spanning 150 square kilometres of Atlantic blanket bog, mountains and forests, Ballycroy and Nephin offer something unique: a stage where millions of stars are visible to the naked eye.
Yet as rural towns and villages expand – and with them the inevitable glow of artificial light – the dark is never guaranteed, even in remote Mayo. And so, MacMillan has been collaborating with residents of Newport, the town nearest the Dark Sky Park, to curb light pollution. Together, the community has achieved results that are both visually striking and ecologically responsible.
During my time in Newport, I often visited St Patrick’s Church to see its Harry Clarke Last Judgement stained-glass windows. The church, perched prominently above the town, had been illuminated at night, but in December 2017 powerful floodlights were installed, shooting a beam of white light skyward. MacMillan recalls wearing sunglasses after dark to cope with the glare from the floodlights, while some older parishioners said they were temporarily blinded by the light.
Working with the local priest and community, MacMillan secured funding for lighting designers to develop an alternative approach. Rather than projecting white light upwards, the plan used softer, warmer colours to minimise pollution and protect the dark. By April 2022, Wexford-based Kerem Asforuglu – an internationally acclaimed, award-winning lighting designer and strong advocate for darkness, energy efficiency, and more thoughtful urban illumination – was on board.
The transformation of the church is remarkable. The glaring floodlights are gone, replaced by subtle illumination that envelops the church, creating the effect of light descending from heaven. Asforuglu used a projector to cast the image of the Harry Clarke window on to the ground. All lighting now points downward and is switched off at 1am – still late, but a far cry from the previous all-night glow. Not only does the church look more beautiful than ever, but carbon emissions have been cut by two tonnes and light pollution slashed by half. The project has earned international acclaim.
Artificial lights exert a profound pressure on the life around us, even affecting species in the rivers, including insects and Atlantic salmon. Yet unlike water or air pollution, light pollution is surprisingly straightforward to fix. All it takes is to go for a walk at night, notice what is switched on, and turn it off – or at least, turn it down. It’s one of the simplest, most immediate actions we can take to help biodiversity.
More selfishly, it’s also about us. Embracing the dark is a gift. Constant light through the night is polluting and robs us of the marvel of darkness – and of the contrast that makes daylight so vivid. And while walking on dark streets can initially feel daunting – particularly so for women, as I well know – the evidence does not support the notion that artificial light makes us safer. It doesn’t.
And so, as we start a new year, consider switching off or dimming your lights – or asking your local council, school or sports club to do the same – to allow yourself, and the life around you, to fully embrace the night. It’s healthier for us all, and will open up a whole new sensory world.
