Switching Off and Looking Up: How Wales Is Leading The Light Pollution Revolution

In a world that never switches off, Wales is learning to look up.

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It’s easy to lose sight of our place in the universe. The glow of digital billboards, floodlights, and phone screens drowns out the stars. Night no longer means darkness. But in Wales, a quiet revolution is taking place—one that reconnects us with the rhythms of nature, the wonder of the cosmos, and the responsibility we share to protect both.

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This small country now boasts the highest percentage of land protected by Dark Sky status anywhere in the world. From national parks to remote islands and quiet rural villages, Wales has become a beacon for a movement that values restoration over excess, stillness over stimulation, and awe over artificiality.

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As Wales becomes etched in the XTERRA legacy as the first European host of the Trail Run World Championship, there’s perhaps no better place to ask: What does it mean to run wild—and live lightly—under skies worth preserving?

Between 2011 and 2022, global sky brightness increased by 9.6% per year. Artificial Light at Night—known as ALAN—is the excessive or misdirected use of artificial lighting that disrupts natural darkness. It now affects nearly every ecosystem on the planet, throwing off the circadian rhythms of both humans and wildlife. For many, the night sky has become a forgotten inheritance—washed out, inaccessible, lost to the haze of urban sprawl.

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In Wales, however, communities are reclaiming the night. The movement here began more than a decade ago, when the Brecon Beacons National Park (now Bannau Brycheiniog) sought Dark Sky Reserve status. Inspired by the efforts of DarkSky International in the U.S., local volunteers, astronomers, and conservationists rallied around a simple question: If we protect the land, why not the sky above it too?

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Achieving Dark Sky status is no small task. Carol Williams, Tourism Officer for Bannau Brycheiniog National Park, notes that while the designation has boosted sustainable tourism, the deeper value lies elsewhere. “It’s not just about tourism,” she says. “It’s about reaching out to our communities to ensure that future generations appreciate the night sky—and learn how to protect it.” Areas must monitor and prove the quality of their night sky using scientific instruments, commit to light pollution mitigation plans, and engage local communities in preserving the nocturnal environment. Brecon Beacons became the fifth Dark Sky Reserve in the world in 2013. It marked a turning point—not just for the park, but for how Wales began to view its night skies as a national treasure worth defending.

“It’s about reaching out to our communities to ensure that future generations appreciate the night sky—and learn how to protect it.”

Today, that spark has spread across the country—from the mountainous Elan Valley and the wilds of Ynys Enlli (Bardsey Island), to the softly lit streets of Presteigne. Together, these places form a constellation of resistance—against overdevelopment, light pollution, and the growing disconnect between people and the planet.

At the heart of this movement are people like Gareth Davies, a member of DarkSky International’s Dark Sky Places Committee. Born in South Wales, Gareth has helped review applications from aspiring Dark Sky locations around the world. But his motivation is deeply personal.

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“It’s only at night that we see our place in the universe,” he says. “When you see the magnificence of the Milky Way—in this mad world we live in—it’s good for our heads.”

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In Elan Valley, Dark Sky Officer Sam Price echoes the sentiment. She and her team regularly lead pop-up astronomy sessions in public viewing areas. On a clear night in March, she offered a view so dazzling it seemed to bend time.

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"I’m just blown away by it," she said. "It lifts your spirit. It helps your mental health. It inspires you to do great things."

That sense of restoration is something Lois Roberts and Mari Huws understand well. As wardens on Bardsey Island—Europe’s only certified Dark Sky Sanctuary—they’ve seen firsthand the power of unplugging. The sanctuary designation followed a two-year sky quality monitoring program and a lighting management plan to ensure long-term protection. In 2014, to protect the island’s Manx shearwater colony, the lighthouse bulb was changed from a glass prism on a mercury base to a red LED system powered entirely by solar. The red light is less disorienting for nocturnal birds and minimizes light pollution. There’s no electricity grid, no cell signal on the beach, no streetlamps to wash out the stars. Visitors book months in advance for a chance to go without—and come away changed.

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Mari, who led the sanctuary application, recalls returning to a well-lit town and feeling intruded upon. “It would feel intrusive to have lights that you can’t switch off outside your bedroom window,” she said. “There’s freedom in learning to do without.”

In the town of Presteigne, that freedom comes through design. Working with lighting experts, residents installed heritage-style streetlamps fitted with warm 2200K LEDs that dim at night—reducing both emissions and skyglow. These amber-toned bulbs fall below the blue-light-heavy threshold that disrupts melatonin levels in humans and affects wildlife navigation. The redesign was part of a broader lighting plan developed in collaboration with Dark Source, following an environmental report from Powys County Council showing that street lighting contributed significantly to the town’s carbon footprint. Community concerns about safety were addressed through outreach and gradual implementation, showing that 'dark sky' doesn't mean darkness—it means smarter, softer light.

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Town Councillor Colin Kirkby remembers early skepticism. “There was apprehension that dark skies meant darkness—you wouldn’t be able to see where you’re going,” he says. Residents feared reduced lighting would compromise safety. The working group had to clarify: it wasn’t about switching off the lights, but switching to the right kind. Slowly, the community embraced the vision. Today, Presteigne’s soft glow has become a source of local pride.

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For amateur astronomer and council member Leigh Harling-Bown, it’s a matter of habitat.

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"Darkness is a habitat, in the same way a rainforest is a habitat,” he says. “Destroy the darkness, and you destroy everything that depends on it."

The dark sky effort isn’t just about stargazing. It’s about rebalancing the relationship between light and life.

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Freshly hatched sea turtles mistake beachfront bars for moonlight. Migratory birds are thrown off course by urban glare. Insects drawn to LEDs perish in such numbers that researchers now warn of an 'insect apocalypse.' The cycle of light and dark isn’t cosmetic—it’s coded into our biology, our ecosystems, our history.

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The term “skyglow” describes the halo of artificial brightness that obscures the stars—often visible even dozens of kilometers from urban centers. In places like Wales, that glow is deliberately kept at bay through careful planning, retrofitting, and public engagement.

"Darkness is a habitat, in the same way a rainforest is a habitat. Destroy the darkness, and you destroy everything that depends on it."

And yet, the reward for protecting it is profound. In Wales, conservationists have watched nocturnal birds return, children stare up in wonder, and communities rally to preserve the intangible. Nick Busby, a volunteer with the Usk Astronomical Society, calls light pollution “the plastics in the oceans of tomorrow.” During a visit to a local secondary school, students sat wide-eyed beneath the dome, immersed in a virtual galaxy while learning how artificial light affects nocturnal ecosystems. “People are waking up to the fact that there’s an entire nighttime world,” he says. “That’s when the wildlife comes out.” Park rangers lead kids in "switch off and look up" nights. Whole families step outside, phones down, eyes lifted.

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As Education Officer Hayley Sharp puts it: “Just encouraging them to realise there’s another world out there—and that their lifestyles have an impact on it—that’s the key.”

At present, 20% of Wales by geography is protected as dark sky territory. But the ambition doesn’t stop there. Welsh Government funding is now supporting coordinated dark sky initiatives across all eight of Wales’ designated landscapes. With continued innovation, education, and lighting reform, Wales could become the world’s first true dark sky nation. As Leigh Harling-Bown puts it: “It’s the nearest nation that can do that worldwide… I mean, pardon the pun, we’re light years ahead of England.” Matt Gadfield, part of the Elan Valley Dark Sky Team, believes that Wales’ leadership comes from a deeper cultural instinct: “Wales managed to hang on to its natural beauty long enough for people to realise it mattered. In other places, that chance was lost generations ago.”

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Looking ahead, Presteigne is working with Radnorshire Wildlife Trust to create a 'dark sky corridor' connecting the town to Elan Valley. The goal: to stitch together protected areas into a seamless band of preserved nightscapes. This kind of long-term vision—supported by both local communities and national stakeholders—could serve as a model for other regions around the world.

For many involved, the dream isn’t just about certification—it’s about identity. Sam Price calls it “one of the coolest jobs in the world,” not just for the stars, but for what they represent: balance, beauty, and a blueprint for doing things better. “The dark skies speak for themselves,” she says. “The landscape speaks for itself. We just help people discover it.”

“The landscape speaks for itself. We just help people discover it.”

This shared mission unites communities who see darkness not as something to be feared, but something to be protected. It imagines a world where lighting is used wisely, nature is respected, and we regain what was nearly lost. “It’s quite a common thing in the preservation of all sorts of things, that when there's only one left, people think, 'Hang on, we should have saved more of them. We must save this one,'” Sam reflects. “But in Wales, we didn’t wait. We protected the skies while we still had them.” Or as Gareth Davies puts it, Wales held on to their night skies to inspire its preservation for the next generation "the vast majority of Europe can’t see it. And when you see it, it’s absolutely unbelievable. And I don’t want to lose it. I want my children, my grandchildren, and their children to be able to enjoy this."

That’s the legacy Wales is building, one where the value of darkness is not only seen, but felt. Because what the Dark Sky Movement protects isn't just the night. It’s tempo. It’s balance. By surrendering to the mighty night sky we reconnect with the thrills and cycles of the natural world. So wherever you go next—pause. Power down. Step outside. And look up.