In the shadowy fringes of Australia’s cities, powerful owls roost in the urban canopy and hunt for prey over streets, parks and backyards. With piercing yellow eyes and a wingspan stretching more than 140cm, the powerful owl (Ninox strenua) is Australia’s largest owl and a commanding mascot of the night, its recognisable woo-hoo call audible from afar.
Once confined to old-growth forests, where they hunted by the fleeting light of the full moon, powerful owls are now increasingly at home in the city environment. They’ve learned to exploit artificial light, hovering near streetlamps, garden spotlights and illuminated sports fields where prey such as possums and flying foxes find themselves exposed.
For those prey animals, darkness was once a trusted ally. But in a world of perpetual twilight, the balance has shifted. And while powerful owls may appear to be adapting and even thriving in urban areas, this newfound reliance on artificial light raises concerns about the long-term health of both predator and prey populations – and the broader consequences of disrupting the natural patterns that have shaped our world for millennia.
Light patterns
For 3.8 billion years, life on earth evolved under a dependable cadence of light and dark, governed by the rising and setting of the sun, the phases of the moon and the cycle of the seasons. These patterns varied across latitudes, from the equal split of day and night at the equator to the dramatic light extremes of the polar regions. Yet life adapted seamlessly, and ecosystems flourished. The key element was consistency.
Darkness, like daylight, was predictable.
That all changed just 200 years ago with the invention of electric light. What began as a scientific breakthrough soon reshaped the human experience of night-time.
Often hailed as a modern miracle, the transition from early arc lamps to Edison’s incandescent bulbs – and now to high-intensity LEDs and smart lighting systems – marks one of the most dramatic technological shifts in human history.
Electric light brought convenience, productivity and perceived safety after sunset. It also reshaped architectural design by freeing buildings from daylight constraints, allowing skyscrapers to shoot up and reshape our cities.
But over time, artificial light has become excessive and inescapable. In just two centuries, we’ve lit up our planet so extensively that the dark side of earth now radiates from space. What might seem like a triumph of civilisation – cities illuminated in satellite images – has also become a glaring symbol of ‘light pollution’.
The widespread adoption of energy-efficient LEDs has made bright lighting more affordable, but it has also made it easier to flood the environment with light, often without considering the biological or ecological costs. Increasingly popular large-scale lighting events and installations such as Vivid Sydney and Field of Light – where light is celebrated as spectacle – draw large crowds but equally reflect a growing cultural disconnect from natural darkness.
But natural darkness is a vital environmental component. Life on earth evolved in harmony with the cycle of day and night, leading to three broad behavioural patterns among its creatures: diurnal species are active during the day, nocturnal species thrive at night, and crepuscular species are most active at dawn and dusk.
Humans are naturally diurnal. Our circadian rhythms, hormone production and sleep cycles are all aligned with the rising and setting of the sun. But artificial light, especially the blue-rich glow of modern LEDs, disrupts this delicate rhythm. While LEDs are celebrated for their energy efficiency and long life, they often emit high levels of blue light, particularly those used in streetlights and household fixtures.
This blue light closely mimics the midday sun. And while our eyes may not notice the difference, our bodies sure do. Exposure in the evening confuses our internal clocks, suppresses melatonin and disrupts the hormonal signals that prepare us for sleep. Even brief exposure can delay sleep and reduce its quality. Over time, chronic circadian disruption has been linked to sleep disorders, mood changes, metabolic issues and increased risk of chronic illness such as diabetes, Parkinson’s disease and cancers.
Though LED technology is evolving – with warmer, amber-toned options now available – many homes, streets and public spaces are still bathed in harsh, daytime-like light well into the night. This lighting triggers our bodies to wake up when really they’re crying out for darkness.
Nocturnal habits
Most Australian mammals are active at night, having evolved to avoid the harsh daytime heat. Creatures such as the sugar glider, bilby and greater glider depend on the cover of darkness for foraging, navigation and protection. Crepuscular animals such as kangaroos and wallabies are most active in the dim light of dawn and dusk, while many bird and reptile species are strictly diurnal, relying on daylight to regulate temperature and behaviour. Disruptions to natural light cycles – think streetlights, sports fields and poorly designed urban lighting – can interfere with these patterns, affecting feeding, breeding, migration and survival.
High in the Australian Alps, the Bogong moth’s (Agrotis infusa) ancient migration is being thrown off course – not by predators or weather, but by the glow of artificial city lights. Drawn away from their alpine breeding grounds, fewer moths are making the journey, leading to population declines and threatening animals such as the endangered mountain pygmy-possum (Burramys parvus) that depend on them for food.
In Western Australia, Tammar wallabies (Notamacropus eugenii) near a naval base are also feeling the effects of night-time lighting. Researchers found that wallabies living under the glow of artificial light were giving birth a month later than those in naturally dark bushland nearby – an unsettling shift in their breeding cycle.
Even the fat-tailed dunnart (Sminthopsis crassicaudata), a tiny marsupial insectivore, has shown signs of disruption, says Dr Alicia Dimovski, a postdoctoral research associate in the Wildlife Conservation and Reproductive Endocrinology Lab at La Trobe University. “Studies reveal that both white and so-called ‘wildlife-friendly’ amber LED lights altered the dunnarts’ activity levels, metabolism and body condition, and triggered breeding at unusual times,” Alicia says.
Flora is impacted too. Plants exposed to artificial light can experience disrupted natural cycles, leading to delayed leaf fall in deciduous trees, early budburst in spring, and asynchronous flowering, interfering with pollination.
Taken as a whole, these effects highlight a systemic issue: artificial light at night can profoundly alter ecological dynamics for plants and animals alike.
Understanding these impacts, countries and organisations worldwide have taken proactive steps to reduce light pollution and protect wildlife. DarkSky International has been instrumental in promoting and certifying ‘Dark Sky Places’ around the globe. In our region, that goes as far back as 2012 with the designation of New Zealand’s Aoraki Mackenzie International Dark Sky Reserve, the first of its kind in the Southern Hemisphere.
France, for another example, has introduced a decree to protect wildlife by limiting artificial lighting in rural and conservation areas, ensuring migratory routes remain intact. These ‘dark-sky corridors’ – continuous stretches of naturally dark or low-light landscapes – align with existing green and blue infrastructure, providing safe passage for animals and reducing the disorientation caused by artificial light. They’re essential for preserving biodiversity.
As a nation renowned for its extraordinary biodiversity and backed by world-class scientific expertise, Australia is uniquely positioned to lead in light-pollution management. But while the federal government’s National Light Pollution Guidelines for Wildlife offer a strong foundation, Australia currently lacks a dedicated authority to regulate or enforce lighting standards. Despite the common misconception, environmental protection authorities don’t monitor these impacts.
Absent of a central body to implement and enforce them, even the most well-intentioned designs can fall short. For example, wildlife crossings intended to reconnect fragmented habitats may be rendered ineffective if illuminated by floodlights that disorient nocturnal species. Without coordinated monitoring and regulation, light pollution continues to erode ecological integrity, diminish the effectiveness of conservation infrastructure and undermine national efforts to protect native wildlife.
Australia has some of the darkest, clearest and most accessible night skies on the planet. Our open landscapes and low population density provide ideal conditions for stargazing and ecological preservation. But we’re also one of the slowest nations to recognise the value of this asset. In the UK – where true darkness is scarce – people flock to designated dark-sky events in the thousands, sometimes for nothing more than a faint glimpse of the Milky Way. In contrast, many Australians live within reach of pristine starfields and rarely, if ever, look up. It begs the question: do we only value what we’re about to lose?
Finding an answer
Fortunately, a quiet revolution is underway. Australian communities, councils and conservationists are embracing dark-sky principles – installing shielded lighting, adopting curfews and seeking international recognition for their efforts.
Warrumbungle National Park in western New South Wales became Australia’s first International Dark Sky Park in 2016, inspiring similar movements in urban and remote areas alike. Success stories include Palm Beach Headland – Australia’s first designated Urban Night Sky Place – on Sydney’s Northern Beaches; the community-driven initiative in Carrickalinga, South Australia; the expansive River Murray International Dark Sky Reserve in SA; and the remote sanctuaries of Arkaroola and Winton in SA and Queensland respectively.
Together, they prove darkness can be reclaimed even in the modern world. These areas, officially recognised by DarkSky International, are results of collaboration between science, community and conservation groups.
However, Nalayini Brito-Davies, president of DarkSky’s board of directors, says we’re a long way from realising the full potential of Dark Sky Places.
“They currently cover just 0.3 per cent of Australia’s landmass, but [represent] a unique and vast opportunity,” Nalayini says. “Dark Sky Places offer a rare intersection of benefits across tourism, health and environmental stewardship. They draw astrotourists in search of authentic night-time experiences, strengthening local economies sustainably.”
Increasing tourist numbers reflect an emerging trend known as ‘last-chance tourism’ – a growing desire to see threatened natural wonders before they disappear. From glaciers to coral reefs, travellers are drawn to experiences that feel fleeting. Pristine night skies are joining this list.
As light pollution spreads globally, truly dark places are becoming rare, even in rural areas. For many travellers, seeing the Milky Way for the first time – or perhaps the last – is now a bucket-list moment. Australia is uniquely positioned to offer these experiences, with breathtaking dark skies that still outshine much of the world. But the clock is ticking. Without protection, these skies too may fade.
As such, Dark Sky Places aren’t just tourism drawcards but also powerful educational and cultural platforms. They demonstrate good lighting practices and invite people to engage in a truly dark night – something nearly two-thirds of the global population can no longer experience.
Appreciating dark
Children are known to be afraid of the dark, but in today’s world, most of us – children and adults alike – have never truly been in it. Streetlights glow through bedroom curtains. Nightlights hum in hallways. Cities never really sleep. For many people, darkness feels frightening simply because it’s unfamiliar. We grow up surrounded by the idea that light equals safety, and anything beyond its glow must be dangerous.
But for First Nations Australians, darkness has long held a different meaning. It’s far more than the absence of light; it’s a living archive of knowledge, memory and law. For generations, cultural stories helped children respect the night. Tales of creatures such as the bunyip, said to lurk in waterways, weren’t just spooky legends but gentle warnings to keep kids close and encourage caution. The stars and lunar cycles are inseparable from land and sea, guiding everything from ceremony to daily life. The night sky holds creation stories, seasonal cues, navigational tools and ceremonial meaning passed down for tens of thousands of years. The Emu in the Sky – a constellation shaped not by the stars themselves but by the dark spaces of the Milky Way – is just one example of this deep cultural connection.
“Sky stories have long guided how we live on and care for Country,” says Peter Swanton, a Gamilaraay/Yuwaalaraay man, astrophysics graduate and PhD candidate at the Australian National University. “Songlines, for example, are celestial navigation systems that mirror the landscape, enabling journeys across vast distances by mapping the land onto the stars. Other stories reflect the behaviours of animals, signalling the availability of food, water and seasonal resources. Most importantly, sky stories are vital repositories of knowledge – oral archives that preserve and transmit information across generations.
“Light pollution increasingly obscures the night sky, access to these stories and the cultural knowledge embedded within them. Losing sight of the stars means potentially severing a connection to thousands of years of ancestral wisdom.”
Finding a balance
Much of the progress in raising awareness in Australia about light pollution has been driven by the Australasian Dark Sky Alliance (ADSA), a non-profit organisation dedicated to preserving night skies across Australia and New Zealand.
According to ADSA, light pollution is “one of the fastest-growing environmental threats on the planet”. The University of Exeter backs up this statement, reporting global light pollution has increased by at least 49 per cent over 25 years, but adds that the true increase may be up to 270 per cent globally.
In March 2025, ADSA held the Valuing Darkness Symposium in partnership with the federal Department of Climate Change, Energy, the Environment and Water. The event brought together experts from lighting, ecology, Indigenous knowledge systems, planning and astronomy, leading to the establishment of the Dark Sky Roundtable, an ongoing collaboration pushing for reforms in policy and infrastructure. Industry is following suit. Architects, urban designers and lighting suppliers are now uniting around environmentally responsible design.
It’s a sign that preserving dark skies is no longer a fringe concern but rather a national opportunity. It intersects with climate policy, biodiversity conservation, tourism, public health, energy efficiency and cultural heritage. Recognising darkness as an environmental asset requires a shift in thinking: to view light as a pollutant when overused, and darkness as a natural part of our environment.
In a world increasingly illuminated, the quiet depths of night provide a vital space where nature’s rhythms can continue undisturbed. Preserving these moments of true night isn’t about rejecting progress; it’s about finding balance, respecting the natural cycles that sustain life, and ensuring future generations can still experience the stars above – and the calm that only darkness can bring.
