Valley of Dreams, Part 2:  A Night under the Alien Throne

“Mushroom Row,” at the edge of the sandstone theater that hosts the Alien Throne.

Having performed my reconnaissance by visiting the Alien Throne during the day, I was now ready to consider taking its portrait at night.  I had in mind a view that included the Milky Way.  And I wondered if I could create a timelapse of our galaxy moving across the sky behind it.  It would require planning, equipment, and a bit of luck.  A target 1-1/2 hours away from our hotel in Farmington, a further 1-1/2 mile trek across the desert, and an all-night vigil tending cameras, made this one of my most ambitious photo projects.

I had a backpack into which I put my gear:  essentials like navigation tools, raingear and first aid, fleece, hat and gloves for overnight temperatures, a sleeping bag for further warmth (and option for sleeping), some snacks, plenty of water, and then the real payload:  20 pounds of camera equipment, which brought the total close to 40.  For a single overnight trip, it felt as if I was going out for a week.

My planning [using the PlanitPro app] informed me that sunset would be at 8:20.  I wanted to be at the site well before so I could set up and arrange my compositions, and also to capture the scenery in the “beauty light” that precedes sunset.

I got to the trailhead later than expected because I’m not immune from wrong turns, even when I “know” where I’m going.  And the desert hike also took longer (was it the heavy pack?).  The terrain tricked me into some dead ends.  But I arrived at the Alien Throne just before sunset.  It was spectacular!

And I was alone.  I had feared that I would encounter other photographers with the same idea, but it looked like I would not have to negotiate camera positions, something I had never needed to do.  So I went ahead and placed my tripods, aimed my lenses, set the exposure and interval timers, and started the shutters clicking.  It takes a bit of time and concentration, but this is the pleasure of the hobby for me.  Every outing is a new experiment;  I add the details of each to my notebook, which then helps me on the next one.

With the cameras now clicking away on their schedules, I could step back and breathe a little easier.  I found a niche among the rock formations to set my pack and recline against it.  Twilight was advancing, and as I was recording my notes, I noticed lights splashing against the rock formations.  Someone was hiking here in the dark, a headlamp lighting the way!  

Rather than have them stumble across me in the dark, I called out, “hello?”

A voice replied, and a lone hiker arrived in the sandstone theater around the Alien Throne that hosted my cameras and my nesting place.  

As I mentioned, I prefer to be alone during my nighttime star gazing excursions.  If I see headlights approaching, I worry about what that vehicle brings.  Often, it is a patrol car whose occupants either want to see your permit, or they want to look at Jupiter through your telescope.  Though I am more fearful of wild carnivores than humans, I understand why women might prefer to encounter a bear than a man.

In this case, it was a student, recently graduated from UCLA, exploring the country before returning to his home in China.  He had acquired a camera and discovered the cool startrail effects that could be obtained at night in unique settings like the one we were now both immersed in.  It was a shared interest.

We exchanged introductions while he found a location for his tripod and camera.  We had similar equipment, even identical travel tripods.  Because my cameras were already in place and running, he found a location for his that did not interfere.  It was an act of respect for the compositional claims that I had already staked, but also, I think, a reflection of his Asian culture of honoring and deferring to elders.  I was pleased, perhaps even flattered, at the respect.  There are few perks to being a septuagenarian; this was one of them.

My plans involved keeping my cameras in place and running all night.  I needed to make some tracking adjustments and periodically replace batteries.  His plans were to gather an hour or so of exposure in one place, and then move to a new location with a new subject and new backdrop.  It all worked out with little or no interference.  Between camera moves, we chatted and exchanged information from across our generations, homes, and cultures. 

As the desert cooled down, we took refuge.  I climbed into my sleeping bag, and he found enough surface area to pitch a small tent.  I faced the open sky and watched the young moon set, the stars drift past, and the Milky Way rise from the east.  “Sleeping under the stars” is a romantic notion, and a rare opportunity in modernity’s protected life.  It is not easy to do in my midwestern home, where the sky is often cloudy and the air is filled with insects, but here in the desert, it is a wondrous experience.

The night passed pleasantly by, in 90 minute segments, per my alarms to get up and attend the cameras.  In this remote location far from city lights, the sky transitioned from one of the darkest possible, to the natural progression of twilight leading toward sunrise.  The Milky Way faded into the brightening sky.  My startrail and timelapse work was now complete, but I wanted to see the hoodoos in the morning sunlight.  I was not disappointed.

As I started packing up my gear for the trek back, my fellow photographer brought out another of his gadgets: a drone, which he sent overhead to capture stunning views of the terrain in which we were immersed.  I think this is technically not permitted in a BLM wilderness area, but I couldn’t deny how cool it was, and no one else seemed to be around to complain.

I finally said goodbye to my overnight companion.  We exchanged email addresses, and I hope to share photos with him.  I then hoisted my pack and headed back.  The water weight had diminished, and I admired the morning light on the unique desert features.  I was exhausted, making the night’s experience all the more valuable.

Here are some photos from that beautiful night. The first set was taken during daylight, the next from my nighttime exposures. Finally, I offer the timelapse video composited from the frames I acquired. I hope you enjoy them.



A link to the timelapse sequence. Enlarge to full screen for the full visual experience.

Franconia Aurora

The moon sets behind an outdoor sculpture while auroras light the sky at Franconia Sculpture Park.

Even if light pollution were not an issue, we’d rarely see the northern lights because our latitude in Minneapolis is outside the normal auroral oval.  But last week, Earth experienced a strong geomagnetic storm and we were suddenly in the middle of it!  Here was a chance to see aurora without traveling to Alaska or Manitoba! And it was the perfect opportunity to photograph them with my wide-angle lenses, one of which I call my “Milky Way/aurora lens”, a 2-1/2-pound monster for just this purpose! But we needed to get away from the city lights.

There is a sculpture park, Franconia, that Poldi and I have enjoyed and contributed to for many years, and it was less than an hour from home. We arrived before sunset and sought permission to take photos, even after the normal park closing time. As I was scouting for locations and setting up tripods, a trickle of other visitors arrived with the same purpose: to see the predicted northern lights. As twilight faded, the aurora tourists expanded to dozens of vehicles, all of which had headlights that swept across the sculpture park grounds, interfering with my carefully selected compositions.

I have learned not to react to unexpected lighting situations. Oftentimes, they make for interesting photographic results. One of my favorite examples is when I was shooting reflections on a calm alpine lake and a group of partiers arrived and went skinnydipping, breaking up the smooth lake surface. Rather than close the shutter and move on, I kept it open for the duration of my planned exposure. It created a wonderful blend of reflected and scattered light!

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A Night on the Playa, Part 2

A sailing stone, the path behind it showing the route it took to get here.

There was a second wide spot in the road at the south end of the playa; we parked and continued our explorations.  This time we found stones sitting on the surface of the lakebed.  There were not many, and we had to hike a mile or so to find them.  Some sat happily contemplating their position in the uniform semi-infinite plane of mud cracks.  Others showed a faint trail of disturbed, and now solidified mud, leading to their current position.  These were the famous sailing stones! 

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Timelapse and Lens Testing

A view to the southwest includes the Milky Way, a target for one of my tests, behind incoming clouds lit by city-glow.  The observatory has visitors whose cars illuminate its shell.,

A mostly clear night, and a new lens to try out!  A lens I was hoping to use to capture wide-angle views of the Milky Way, and of northern lights, should I ever be in a position to do so.

I headed to Baylor Park, which is the home of Eagle Lake Observatory, operated by my astronomy club.  I wasn’t there to use its facilities (though others were).  I just wanted a clear view of the sky outside the city, somewhere I could practice techniques for making timelapse sequences, preferably alone, where I could make mistakes without an audience.

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A Night with the Sunflowers

Sunflowers in the light of the full moon.

I have long been fascinated by sunflowers.  On my travels across the prairies of the Dakotas I loved to encounter sunflower fields with their collective bright yellow heads all aimed in the same direction.  

It is generally known that sunflowers track the sun across the sky, from east to west.  I wondered what happens after sunset, when the flowers would all be facing west.  With no phototropism to guide it, how would they get ready for the eastern sunrise?  Would they be caught off-guard in the morning and suddenly swing their heads back at the risk of floral whiplash?  Or is there a gradual re-setting of the neck-stalk fibers back to an easterly gaze?

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