Rainier by Moonlight

Rainier by Moonlight
Mount Ranier National Park, 19 August 1999
Nikomat with 20mm lens at f/5.6
30 minute exposure on E200 push-processed +2 stops

I am told it is unusual to see the top of Mount Rainier.  The generally overcast skies of the region and the immensity of the mountain usually guarantee that clouds will somewhere get in the way of the view.  On this day however, the sky had been clear.  It stayed clear while the sun set, and as the glow of twilight was replaced by the feeble illumination of a young moon, I worked my way up the mountain’s shoulder to this site, aptly named Reflection Lake.

My daytime explorations had found this lake, but the surface had been broken everywhere by wind ripples.  Now the air stilled and the water became stable enough even for a time exposure of the mountain’s reflection.  I wanted to include some startrail features in this picture, but it is an awkward choice:  if the shutter is open too long, the moon would wash out the sky and the trails would be lost.  Too short, and the stars do not make sufficiently long marks.  This was my guess, 30 minutes, a balance between starlight and skylight.

This picture also answers the question, “what color is the sky at night?”  Maybe nocturnal creatures can see in color at night, but we don’t.  The moon lights up the world, including the sky, with reflected sunlight.  The same physics applies, just at lower levels of illumination, and so the sky is blue!

A few cirrus clouds stream past in the distance, but they’re not enough to keep the brightest stars from showing.  Four of them above and to the left of the mountain peak are the bowl of the Big Dipper, each bluish except for the brightest star in the constellation, Dubhe, a distinct orange color.

The moon set shortly after exposing this picture.  Its low angle is apparent from the long shadows on the distant snowfields.  My time in Rainier Park would end the next day, but this was a remarkable evening to finish my visit.

The Best Dinner of My Life

It is a concept that was introduced to me by my colleague Phil, who while recalling a dinner that we both participated in, described it as the best he had ever had.  This struck me as one of those hyperbolic statements one sometimes makes in the competitive company of peers, but after contemplating his superlatives for a moment, realized it was true, and then adopted that same experience as my own best meal of a lifetime.

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Copenhagen Solstice Celebration

After checking in to our extremely compact room in Copenhagen (“you’ll find a towel, blanket and pillow for the second person in a drawer under the bed”), we decided to find a local establishment for dinner.  The modern phone is an amazing tool for this as it allows you to locate restaurants within walking range, and even get a sense of their menu and pricing and how others have reviewed them.  

We identified a candidate and walked the few blocks through the new winter night to find it.  The European style bistro seemed just right for the occasion, so we entered and immediately found ourselves inside the coat check room.  We weren’t sure we wanted to surrender our coats; it might be cold or drafty in there, but there was no option.  All coats were checked; we were told that there simply wasn’t enough room inside.  

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2.4 Dinner and a Moonset

Beautifully crafted telescopes also included superb engineering, such as this secondary mirror suspended by nearly invisible wires.

The next day’s weather was a repeat of the previous: partly cloudy, occasionally overcast, threat of rain, but then open periods of bright sun.  Alongside the coffee vendors, protective canopies were set up for astronomy-related businesses and causes. Artists, photographers, telescope and accessory retailers, social and political organizations: all had the equivalent of a wilderness storefront along “vendor row”.

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2.3 Rainy Days, Espresso Nights

There’s always something. I managed to get the tracking and focus properly set for this shot of the Trifid Nebula, but sometime during the exposure an airplane cruised by with its running lights on.  Note the three pairs of white and red “stars” along the track from the plane’s flashing beacons.

Most attendees had given up and gone to bed with the cloud cover at midnight. A few of us accidentally enjoyed its clearing after 2:00. We took in views of galaxies, nebulas and star clusters until the near-dawn when Saturn, and then Jupiter and Venus appeared. This was the intoxicating finale of the evening, and with the brightening sky, I staggered to my tent sometime after 4:00.

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2.2 Flat Tires, Cloudy Skies

Some of the “big guns” at the Table Mountain Star Party. Large aperture Dobsonians abounded in the telescope field. The height to the eyepiece occasionally requires a ladder, one of them is seen here, strewn like many others on the ground. Also visible in this picture are a platoon of observing tents (upper right); multi-room tents with sections that open to the sky. The threat from the clouds kept the telescopes covered and the tents closed for much of the time.

I started lugging stuff out of my car and was struggling with my oversized tent when I met my neighbor to the east, Barry, a friendly bearded fellow who reminded me of a mild-mannered graduate student.  In reality he was a programmer, but his interests fell strongly in the areas of ham radio and astronomy. He was modest about his beginner status in astronomy, but he had attended prior years of TMSP and enjoyed them immensely, hence his return this year.

Barry felt responsible for letting me know that the rear tire on my car was flat.  I was surprised at this news, since I had just arrived and had not experienced any sort of tire problems on my way up the mountain, but there it was.  It wasn’t just low on air– it was dead flat!  Had I been driving on a rubber-covered rim all the way up that road?  I suppose it’s possible, but let’s instead think that it must have happened as I maneuvered into the field. A sharp rock maybe?

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Table Mountain Star Party

2.1 The Approach

I had embarked on this “Nightscape Odyssey” to search out dark sky locations in the western U.S. and to hone my astrophoto skills. Although the Table Mountain Star Party (TMSP) in Washington’s Cascade Mountains was a long way from Minnesota, I had selected it as a fitting launch point for my ambitious summer plan.

The “star party” is an interesting concept, especially to those who are not close to amateur astronomy circles. For them it creates an amusing image of revelers eating and drinking outside, occasionally looking up at the sky, pointing to various stars and having a good laugh over them.

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1.5 When Art Speaks, Listen

Sage Creek Campground in Badlands National  Park, a well-kept secret in South Dakota. The  terrain looks pleasant enough in this photo, but a  few miles away are the examples of extreme erosion  that aptly give the area its name.  Here in front of the tent, you see my green  minivan, equipped with the giant salt and pepper  shakers that I loaded with astrophoto equipment and  camping gear for my six-week odyssey.

It wasn’t long before the clear nights of photographic activity and subsequent days of driving took their toll.  I camped in the remote Sage Creek area of Badlands National Park, where the campground was an oasis in the middle of those badlands, an oasis with no water and no open fires allowed.  

The sky was dark and clear, but I was exhausted.  I made a feeble attempt to ready my equipment for what promised to be a beautiful evening but decided to nap instead.  As I “rested my eyes”, I could hear a neighboring camper who, with more energy and an eager audience, had set up a telescope and was conducting a tour of the night sky.  Someday I will return to this unusual and remote site; maybe then that night sky guide will be me…

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1.4 When Sabbaticals Collide

I returned to the campground as the sky lost its deep darkness to the dawn. I was tired now and falling asleep was an easy matter. Staying asleep was not. Campgrounds come to life at an early hour and become noisy collections of waking families preparing for a new day. The commotion subsided when most campers had driven off to their destinations. The midmorning sun, radiating through a cloudless sky, heated up my tent. Even after moving the tent into the shade I found it difficult to sleep. By 10:00 I gave up and decided that I might as well start traversing some more of the miles toward my appointment in Washington.

Heading west on blue highway 14, I share the road with rural traffic and the occasional bicyclist. I enjoy seeing the bicyclists; they ignite the memory of an earlier epoch in my life when I would bicycle for weeks through beautiful countryside, carrying everything, and camping along the way. Bicycling is just the right speed to experience the land.  A car travels too fast, there is not enough time to truly let in the details of the terrain.  Walking is too slow, the details become stale before you reach the next vista. But a bicycle brings you close, living and breathing the environment you travel through, giving you options to linger or to move on.

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