The view to the south at Owachomo Natural Bridge does not include the south celestial pole, but it clearly shows the stars revolving around it. At higher elevations, the stars transition across the celestial equator, and then arc the other way, following the rules for the northern hemisphere.
Natural Bridge Owachomo (South)
15 Nov 2007
EOS 20Da, EF-S 10-22mm at 10mm
18x5min, f/6.7, ISO 800
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Natural Bridges National Monument is in Utah and is the first International Dark Sky Park. It is so remote, and the air so dry, that one can see stars all the way to the horizon! And nowhere on that horizon is any hint of city light dome. The park itself is powered by a solar array; the residents are misers in conserving their battery power.
The bridges are not to be confused with “arches” (found in a national park elsewhere in the state), as they are formed by different geologic processes. There are three popular bridges here, accessible by short hikes. This one suited my purposes best, lying on an east-west axis and in a valley allowing a view at the celestial pole. Across a dry riverbed, I found the position to capture this low angle composition.
I set up my cameras (I was also shooting film) and started the exposure sequence. The moon was in the process of setting and it illuminated the texture of the rocks, and also helped me find my way back to the trail head where I had a telescope and mount. I enjoyed some deep sky observing, but then needed to get back to tend my cameras. The 15-minute hike was now in complete darkness. A flashlight was needed to avoid wandering off into the desert at a missed trail marker, and the last of it was the climb under the bridge and down into the riverbed. The route I took is apparent.
Natural Bridge Owachomo (North)
15 Nov 2007
EOS 20Da, EF-S 10-22mm at 10mm
18x5min, f/6.7, ISO 800
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Pikes Peak dominates the city of Colorado Springs and can be seen for hundreds of miles around. I did not attempt to climb or drive it, but found a view from across the valley above Woodland Park. There is considerable light cast on the sky from these growing urban centers and the fresh snow dusting Pikes Peak reflects it. The clear mountain air shows the southern stars of the Milky Way traversing the space above.
This is a combined exposure (from film) of 3-1/2 hours. Even though this is a remote forest road, in that time there is certain to be traffic, and headlights can be seen traveling the road in the meadow below the great mountain.
Pikes Peak, Colorado
1 Nov 2007
Pentax 6×7, 55mm at f/5.6
120 min + 90 min on Provia 400
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Sentinel point in Yosemite National Park. One of my first digital startrail images comprises four exposures of 15 minutes each. Image composited and noise reduced in Photoshop.
Sentinel Point, Yosemite
27 April 2006
Canon EOS 20Da, EF-S 10-22m at 10mm
4 x 15 min at f/4, ISO800
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A 90-minute exposure captures a variety of lights. The stars mark their clockwork passage across the sky of course, but civilization also leaves its mark. Airplane beacons flash as they pass through, distant towns show on the horizon, and local traffic finds its way along the private road below. Private, but not unseen, and when the headlights aim in my direction, with the lens wide open, the film captures their flare.
Monument Valley, Navaho Nation
4 November 2005
Pentax 6×7, 55mm f/3.5, 90 minutes
Kodak E200 +1 stop push
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The stars follow their gradual southern arcs parallel to the terrain during this 90 minute exposure. The water is unusually high this season, catching and reflecting starlight during its freefall down to the valley floor, the long exposure creating a flowing river of mist not possible to capture during the bright daylight hours.
Yosemite National Park, CA
April 2004
Pentax 67 w 55mm lens at f/4
90 minute exposure on Provia 400
If you are interested in my occasional contributions to Thor’s Life-Notes, I invite you to follow along.
Mike eventually left me to the finicky procedure of finding the focus. It took another thirty minutes by the time I was satisfied. I had several targets I wanted to shoot this night, and the first one was M80 and M81, a pair of galaxies that could fit in a single view, faint swirls of light framed by the foreground stars of the Big Dipper. I attached the camera back, connected the cable release, started my timer, held my breath, and tripped the shutter. It was midnight, and I was catching my first photons!
I now had a moment to break from my equipment-demanded trance. From my position at the top of the boat ramp, I had a great view of the lake, its island silhouetted in the surround of the mirrored sky. At the shore I could make out my fixed camera tripods, a small indicator light showing the nearby battery packs powering the dew heaters that kept the lens clear from condensation. All of my film was now open to the sky, each exposed frame collecting the faint trickle of photons gathered by lenses and mirrors.
There was nothing for me to do! I gazed across the lake in a state of unexpected idleness. I wondered what my cameras at the lake were recording. I had intended to leave them open all night, but now that the lake surface was so calm, should I start over? I started to mentally compose other shots. I could reposition the cameras. Should I? Or should I do something else, like change the lens aperture? Or should I just re-shoot the scene with the exact same settings, trying to build insurance that one of the frames will turn out?
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Not an ideal night for star pictures! The moon is full, clouds and haze fill the sky, and nearby lights conspire to wash out the darkness. Even so, the pattern of the Big Dipper constellation behind the palm trees is enchanting.
In most star trail pictures a fixed camera records a static landscape and the only motion is from the clocklike rotation of the stars. In this case the palm trees are turned into flowers waving in the wind, even as the star trails keep their sharp focus. The rising full moon and the lights of this Hawaiian island color the clouds, furthering the dreamlike quality in this picture.
1.1 The Windfall
A windfall is a sudden, usually unexpected, influx of wealth. Winning-the-lottery windfalls are rare. Smaller, but still welcome, are an employee bonus, an inheritance, or a lucky run at the casino. People react in different ways to the experience of unexpected wealth or “found money”. It tells something about a person: the easy-come, easy-go gambler versus the frugal saver who salts it away for an indefinite future.
I have experienced a windfall not of money, but of time. A new company benefit designed to attract and keep employees in a climate of dot-com employment frenzy was announced. It seemed like an inexpensive benefit to advertise: employees of five years or more could take a one-time additional 3-week period, a sabbatical, of “disconnect time-off”. Combined with conventional vacation time, one could be absent for six weeks! But it would never happen. What high-tech California company had employees that stayed long enough to collect such a benefit?
But I wasn’t a California employee. I had held on for over twelve years in stoic Scandinavian style at a small Minnesota company, a company whose flicker of success first caught the attention of, and then was acquired by a Silicon Valley company desperate for people to help it grow, and eager to retain them. It was an unexpected gift, and I now had the dilemma of how to spend it.
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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.