A few years ago I spent a few weeks in a remote area of the Andes climbing a mountain. On the way down I got trapped by a rising stream which covered the trail. (Mountain streams tend to rise in the afternoon and evening as the melt hits, fall in the early morning as cold air stops the melting.) I was behind my fellows, and spent the night in a real bivy, no tent, minimal equipment.

In that area there are no cities for miles, no villages for miles, no smog, smoke, or planes flying by.

The moon came up, bright enough to read by, and then went down. For the first time in my life I could understand why it's called the Milky Way. There was a bright white band across the sky, directly overhead, distinct, unmistakeable, with no doubt. And black sides.

Impressive. Much more than the pallid sort of stripe I can see from outside my house.

I could understand a bit what it might have been like for Native Americans, or others a ways away from fires.

Arf