I made an expedition to northern Arizona in November of
1998. It was partly to find out what is involved in transporting photo and
telescope guiding equipment to other parts of the world. Although cumbersome (I
shipped a 90 lb crate ahead to be available when I arrived), it worked.
On the first night I found a remote site in the high desert.
The map showed what looked like paved roads to a fishing lake. Evidently the
map notations are different in Arizona; at least there were ruts where earlier
vehicles had found their way.
The lake was remarkably calm and I marvelled at the darkness
of the sky as I watched Orion rise in the east. I could hear wildlife including
coyotes, owls, and yes, ducks. But they were far away and the water remained
like a mirror. The sky glow here is not from aurora, but instead from distant
Flagstaff, a city with an ordinance to use sodium vapor street lighting. The
color is strongly yellow, but easily filtered and removed by the astronomical
observatories that are hosted by the town. My film however captures all of it.
Although Orion is spread out into an unrecognizable form, he
can be identified by the bright orange star, Betelgeuse on the left, and bright
blue star Rigel on the right. The triad of belt stars makes a catscratch-like
trail, and you may notice a distinctly red star that is even more obviously red
in its reflection. This is the famous Orion nebula, a glowing region of gas and
dust where new stars are being born.
There is a progression of techniques in taking pictures of
the night sky. The simplest is to place your camera on a tripod and open the
shutter for a while. The stars form streaks on the film as the Earth rotates
under them, creating a startrail image. As I considered what I would need to
take more advanced astrophotos, I found that there is plenty to learn and much
opportunity for pleasing compositions even with this simple method.
I pondered how to capture that feeling I once shared with a
friend seeing the stars from zenith to horizon, then continuing beneath us as
we looked out over their reflections in an alpine lake. This became the
inspiration for my quest of the ultimate startrail picture: a full semicircle
of startrails reflected in the calm waters of a lake. I have not achieved this
goal, but the pictures in this series are some of the rewards along the way.
Kinnikinnik is the closest I came to making my target image!
The conditions were perfect: a clear dark sky, no aurora, a calm lake with no
creatures disturbing it, but my timing is off. This is my first and only time
at this site and I arrived late after a day of traveling. I was unprepared to
last the night, and after a few one and two hour trial exposures, I succumbed
to the cold and returned to my distant hotel room to recharge. I never made it
Although not successful that year, I am looking forward to
more adventures in future years. In a way, I hope I never quite find full
success in this project!