A large part of the fun, and frustration, of astro photography is that you can rarely see what you’re making images of. If you’re shooting pictures of birds, or buildings, you see them in the viewfinder, do all the composition things, exposures, focusing, etc. With astro photography, what you’re taking pictures of might not even be there! It could be the light is just reaching us here on Earth and the subject, the nebula or galaxy, might be long gone. If you’re imaging the moon or one of the planets, you can be relatively sure it’s still there when you make the image. Another aspect of astro photography is that even while you’re making the shot, anything and everything might fly through the picture. Take the Great Orion Nebula, M42, for example. It’s 1,344 light years out there. To keep that in perspective, light travels at a rate of 186,000 miles per second, or, 5.88 trillion miles per year. Well, you do the math. Let’s say it’s a looooonnnnggg way off. So, the odds of something getting between you and the subject are great–about the same as trying to get an unobstructed image of your kid at Disney World. Airplanes and satellites (Elon Musk’s Starlink satellites are a real threat to astro photography, but that’s a subject for another discussion.) are just some of the human-made challenges.

The natural interference, clouds, birds, even humidity, can ruin a picture. Or, enhance it, as is the case with the image I made a couple nights ago of the Great Orion Nebula, M42. Clear nights here in northeast Ohio are rare. I think we’ve had four so far this year. So, while I was set up here on the edge of the Cuyahoga Valley National Park, able assistant neighbor Les standing by for moral support, I fired away. In astro photography we shoot many images and use software to “stack” the many images into a single picture. I was about 35 or 40 images into the shoot, Les and I were watching the pictures being made on the camera’s screen, when zap! we saw a streak go through the middle of the picture. We looked toward the nebula but saw no airplane or satellite. One of those moments that make you say, “huh”.

The next morning, during post processing of the work from the night before, I came across two images of interest. I combined the shots into a single image and this was the result. We were photo bombed by a wonderful meteor. I’m not sure if it was bright enough to qualify as a bolide, however, it was spectacular. Did it ruin the image? Only if you’re a purest. And if you’re a purest, you best get out of the astro photography hobby. The reason for the gap in the streak is because the camera hesitates for one second between shots. As I said, this is two images, perfectly registered to yield a single picture.

Amazing what you come across when doing a bit of cleanup, the intention of which is to toss out things you haven’t needed, or thought of, for a long time. This is even more so when it comes to cleaning photo files. Below is just one example.

A couple years ago I wrote about the great photo opportunity presented by the lighthouse on the Annisquam River in Annisquam, Massachusetts. At that time, I noted that to get the best shot would require a combination of low tide, clear weather, and night sky. Odds of those three things happening at the same time were about the same as, well, I was going to make a reference to Cleveland sports teams, but I’ll resist the urge.

So whoda thunk it would actually happen last fall while we were visiting our favorite spot on the east coast of America—Annisquam on Cape Ann. I’ll spare you the drama of having to scramble over boulders the size of automobiles in the dark carrying my weight in photo gear, barking coyotes and a bit of trespassing, to say nothing of pilot error like realizing tripod legs sink in wet sand and forgetting that people run their dogs on the beach after dark, to show you the image. A star trail, with a few photo bombs by airplanes. I’ve got a few other ideas for that spot that, hopefully, I’ll remember to show the pictures of in the future. Stay tuned.

Lighthouse on Annisquam River, Cape Ann, Massachusetts

Winter along Lake Erie is always interesting and a fun time for birders. The hard-core types are out there in sub-zero temperatures trying to identify various species of gulls, or, earnestly searching for Snowy Owls. This winter, however, has been victim to climate change. It’s mid-February and we have less than four percent of the lake in ice. We should have about half the lake covered. Consequently, gulls which normally flock to the south coast of the lake are somewhere else.

All is not lost, however. For the past couple months we’ve been able to enjoy the actions of four Harlequin Ducks. These birds come here, thinking it’s like the Florida Keys. Their presence borders on rare for this area, certainly, uncommon. This quartet has been near Rocky River Park where, apparently, the eats are good. While Susan and I watched, they seemed to be feeding on Zebra Muscles. Occasionally a duck would spit out a snail and the opportunistic gulls would be after it like a chicken on a June bug—so to speak. This group is in winter, or non-breading, plumage, a spectacular mix of white spots, along with shades of brown and black.

Harlequin Ducks on Lake Erie

Diving for Zebra Muscles

An opportunistic Ring-billed Gull, waits

It’s most often the small things in life that get birders excited. A small increase in temperatures, say from 28 degrees in the morning to 50 degrees by noon. Or, the rare visit by one of the nation’s smaller owls, say, the Northern Saw-whet owl. Such was the serendipitous intersection of these two phenomena, recently, at the Cleveland Lakefront Nature Preserve.

The weather is—the weather. The owl, however, is something else, again. The owl is on the move between its breeding grounds on the other side of the pond we refer to as Lake Erie, and warmer winter habitat farther to our south; probably heading back north since climate change has all of us confused. It’s a small bird, average height is seven inches, give or take, and weighs only a few ounces. They prefer conifer trees and are often found at eye level.

Such was the case with the bird we encountered. Occasionally, he opened an eye to check the paparazzi, but mostly he wanted to sleep.

Our planet had a brief visitor the past couple months who promises to be back in about 50,000 years. if you missed this green guy, stay tuned. I figured I might not make it for another multi-thousand centuries so I better try for a selfie. Well, the selfie part didn’t work, however, in spite of the crappy weather here in northeast Ohio, I did manage a portrait of the comet more affectionally know as C/2022 E3 (ZTF). It zipped past the sun in January and started headed for really outer space when I caught up with it on February 14. It’s traveling at around 156,000 miles per hour so you have to look quick. It’s green because of sunlight interacting with carbon and cyanogen in the comet’s head.

C/2022 E3 (ZTF)

For the past 20 years Susan and I have been visiting a friend in Annisquam, Massachusetts. There’s a well kept lighthouse there, guiding ships along the Annisquam River to the nearby fishing town of Gloucester. I’ve taken countless photos of the spot because it just begs, challenges, one to get the perfect photo. On our most recent visit it was as if the lightbulb over my head went off and I realized shooting the structure at night was what I needed, not another daytime picture. So, on a nice clear night, Susan and I worked our way around the rocky shoreline in the dark for me to get the proper angle. Of all the variables you have to consider in photography, working with the movement of tides is not one that usually comes to mind. I found the best possible spot where I could stay dry and fired away, vowing next time I’ll check the local tide charts to get the exact angle. Stay tuned.