Hidden Valley
34.0122° N, 116.1686° W
A boulder-ringed bowl that blocks what little light pollution reaches the park from the west. The classic first stop, and the one most visitors remember.

Nearly 800,000 acres of protected desert, certified as an International Dark Sky Park in 2017, two hours from Los Angeles and a world away from its glow.
Joshua Tree National Park sits at the seam where the Mojave and Colorado deserts meet. The air is dry, the elevation is high, and the nearest serious light domes — Palm Springs to the south, the Los Angeles basin far to the west — are blocked or blunted by the mountains.
Most of the park measures Bortle 3 to 4 on the sky darkness scale, and the southern reaches around Cottonwood push into genuinely pristine territory. In practical terms: on a moonless night the Milky Way is bright enough to cast a faint shadow, and you can see roughly fifteen times more stars than from a suburban back garden.
Around three million people visit Joshua Tree every year, and a growing share of them arrive specifically for what happens after sunset. Rangers run night sky programmes, the annual Night Sky Festival sells out, and on any clear weekend the pullouts along Park Boulevard fill with tripods.
That is the sky The Joshua Tree Crater Company works under. Our whole catalogue was assembled by people who spend their nights out here with charts and cold hands.

Bortle 3 · Park Boulevard
The galactic core clears the horizon from late spring through early autumn.
All are inside Joshua Tree National Park and reachable on paved or well-graded roads. Check park hours and entrance conditions before you set out.

34.0122° N, 116.1686° W
A boulder-ringed bowl that blocks what little light pollution reaches the park from the west. The classic first stop, and the one most visitors remember.
34.0028° N, 116.1614° W
Flat, open, and easy to reach after dark, with a large car park and a horizon low enough to catch the Milky Way core rising in summer.
33.9264° N, 116.1867° W
Five thousand feet up, looking down the Coachella Valley. The valley glow sits below you, which makes the sky overhead feel enormous.
33.9942° N, 116.0631° W
Deeper into the park and correspondingly darker. Popular with astrophotographers who want granite in the foreground.
33.7378° N, 115.8136° W
The far southern entrance, and the darkest measured sky in the park. Worth the drive on a moonless night in winter.
33.9861° N, 116.1364° W
Central, high, and exposed. Good for tracking the Moon low in the sky when the terminator is at its most dramatic.
Full dark adaptation takes about half an hour, and a single glance at a phone screen undoes most of it. Use a red light or none at all.
For the Milky Way you want a new moon. For crater hunting you want the opposite: a first or last quarter, when shadows are longest along the terminator.
A steady pair of 10x50s braced on a car roof will show you more of the Moon than a wobbly department-store telescope ever will.
A 95°F afternoon can fall to 45°F by 2am. Bring far more layers than feels reasonable when you set off.
From roughly May to September the galactic core rises in the southeast after dark: a mottled band of dust lanes and star clouds, obvious to the naked eye, spectacular through binoculars.
At first and last quarter the terminator cuts the disc in half and every crater along it stands up in shadow. This is when your dedicated crater looks its best.
Jupiter’s moons, Saturn’s rings, the Pleiades, the Orion Nebula in winter, and on a good August night, Perseid meteors two or three a minute.
A photograph fades into a camera roll. A named crater sits in the sky above the park for the rest of your life, and hangs on your wall in the meantime.
Choose your crater