
The Deep Field
An hour on the 24-inch Cassegrain, hunting galaxies, nebulae and the light of things that no longer exist. Bring a question.

An observatory at the edge of the Mojave · Est. 1962
The desert is dark enough to see forever. We have two telescopes, one very good chef, and an unreasonable number of stars.
Every night begins with a short talk, ends with a cup of something warm, and lives somewhere in between in the dark.

An hour on the 24-inch Cassegrain, hunting galaxies, nebulae and the light of things that no longer exist. Bring a question.

Jupiter, Saturn, and whatever else is willing to show up. Small groups, a big telescope, and no rush to leave.

Watch the last light leave the ridge, then the first stars arrive. A glass of wine, a short walk, no telescope required.
What you'll see tonight if the clouds behave. The map faces south from the observing deck at 21:00 — Orion, just above the ridge, and Gemini rising behind him.
One ticket, the whole evening. Arrive before the light goes; leave when your eyes have adjusted so much that the car feels too bright.
A warm drink, a map of the sky, and a slow walk up to the ridge.
The last light on the ridge. Nothing to do but watch it leave.
A set menu by the fire. Mostly things that can be eaten with one hand and no hurry.
The talk, the red lights, the climb up the stairs. The sky does the rest.
One more object. One more cup. Come back down when you're ready.
Numbers are kept small so everyone gets time at the eyepiece. If a night is cloudy, we move you or refund you.
We are 90 minutes from Palm Springs, past the last streetlight, at the end of a road that becomes gravel. The sky begins where the road ends.