astrophotography

Desert nights in Big Bend

D. Craig Young · July 31, 2025 · 1 Comment

It is the heat that gets your attention – and pay attention because one needs to travel wisely in the late spring in Big Bend National Park, but it is the promise of evening birds and late-night dark skies that holds it. I had dropped into Lajitas, Texas, to attend a photo workshop focused on astrophotography in and around the desert, borderland park. Night photography avoids the intense heat of the day, of course, but we also explored various locations to experience the moods of this variegated landscape.

The Big Bend topography is refreshingly disorienting to me. Unlike the regular, linear pattern of the Basin and Range, the mountains of Big Bend seem circular; we travel around and into them, not over and through. Alluvial fans and consolidated pediments extend from the rugged uplands, these are familiar. The Rio Grande gasps for refreshment, barely any flow this time of year – the canyon marking the national boundary more than the river. The Chihuahuan Desert, its incessant volcanic rocks colonized with a wild diversity of arid-adapted plants and animals, is somehow sharper and coarser than our western deserts. Although the landscape is wide open, I feel like I cannot see as far. Between convoluted ridges, gunsight canyons reveal a surprise of distant ranges and mesas, verifying that the desert knows no borders.

While I am not attracted to group excursions typically, I have great friends at Muench Workshops, and their participants are like-minded and lovely to spend time with. I always learn new bits of technique, and with astrophotography, there can be unique skills to apply in the field and in image processing. I forget most of them almost immediately, but that is not for their lack of unselfish sharing and engagement. It takes practice, and more practice, but it remains so much fun.

While I gave full attention to our daily astro tutorials – we would hide away in a cool conference room during the hottest part of the day, I engaged my wanderlust during late afternoon excursions in search of birds and sunset light. I was then ready to settle in with the group to practice dark-sky compositions from blue hour to well after midnight.

Our little group moved between the mountains and canyons, dropping to the river occasionally; anything to feel the evening releasing the heat of the day. Although Wayne and Matt had locations planned, we often detoured when the light caught our attention. They picked some amazing scenes, but our focus was technique so we could have been almost anywhere in the jumble of desert spires and ridges. We practiced variations on focus-stacking, time-blending, and multiple exposures to battle the digital noise of long exposures, high-ISO settings, and heat-affected sensors. We also practiced various low-level lighting techniques to bring warmth and detail to our scenes. The field craft is a bit fiddlier than I am drawn to typically, and the files take quite a bit of patience (and computing power) to process, but the results are, or can be, amazing.

I mastered nothing on this trip, but I was reminded that improvement continues with practice. I may use few of the skills and tricks that well-practiced astrophotographers bring to their scenes, but there are landscapes and landforms in the Great Basin that I want to capture under a night sky, so I will continue to practice (special thanks to Wayne Suggs and Matt Payne). There is nothing like being under a dark sky in a desert or mountain landscape. It heals concessions we make living in cities of artificial light and constant motion, and it wakes up senses we hide from ourselves most of the time. The photos are then reminders that we should go back to the dark, occasionally, to heal and wake up.

Plus, there are birds to enjoy in the blue hour as we wait for the stars to shine.

Coordinated color. Blue Grosbeak, Los Chisos Basin, Big Bend National Park, TX, USA

Vermillion Flycatcher. Big Bend National Park, TX, USA

Mexican Jay. Big Bend National Park, TX, USA

Greater Roadrunner. Big Bend National Park, TX, USA

Morning drift. Common Nighthawk, Big Bend National Park, TX, USA

Keep going.

In memory of my nephew, Robby Young, who we lost so suddenly and too soon, while I was in Big Bend (June 2024). I did not see him enough, and I cannot see him again. But I will always have a reminder of him when under a dark sky, where the stars feel close enough to touch, even as they continue their journeys, far, far away.

Annularity 2023 – A solar eclipse somewhere in Nevada, USA

D. Craig Young · October 18, 2023 · 6 Comments

**Solar ring**. Annularity 2023 in the outcrops of Tyrone Gap, Diamond Valley, NV, USA

The forecast for Winnemucca, Nevada, where our plan was to scour the dunes north of the Humboldt River for foreground leading to annularity, was accurate if not precise — mostly cloudy to mostly sunny. What could go wrong?

Erno and I chose to head deeper into the Great Basin, settling on Diamond Valley and Tyrone Gap, north of Eureka, Nevada. We followed “America’s Loneliest Road,” which it is not, over pinyon ranges and sagebrush valleys until turning north to find Tyrone Gap, a split in low, steeply tilted limestone hills. Here, the two-lane highway leaves Diamond Valley to climb toward Roberts Mountain and Pine Valley. The gap and highway would be aligned with the rising sun and might provide some foreground interest.

I did not want the relatively simple photo of the ‘ring-of-fire’ in a featureless sky — those can be cool but are all too common. At the same time, we did not have the time to plan a compelling intersection of, say, a hiker or howling coyote (as if) against the celestial event. Unfortunate. So, we would settle for some rocks in silhouette to frame whatever gifts we were given in the morning. Our brief evening scout showed potential in the hills south of the gap; we settled on that for morning and then settled into our camp for evening.

Our camp was a small gravel pit — an easy go-to whenever I traverse Nevada highways. In the growing dark, we cooked up some dinner and marveled at the revealing canopy of stars. A side benefit of solar eclipses is that they occur during the new moon, and the dark skies of central Nevada are so very nice. A coyote and a friend or two took up a chorus to sing us into the night. Splendid.

We awoke to waves of high clouds. Their spacing suggested we might get the views and images we wanted, but we generally refrained from discussing “what if?” It would work.

After fueling with a sunrise coffee, we drove the short distance to the break in the fence where we could hike into the hills above Tyrone Gap. We had settled on 100-500mm lenses knowing we would climb into the hills to get the ridgeline as a compressed foreground at the high angle of the sun at mid-morning, the general time of the eclipse (annularity at 9:20am). We had a variety of filters but soon settled on 10-stop ND. These seemed to work with the touch of clouds that scudded occasionally into our sightlines. I actually liked the clouds as they added atmosphere and seemed to not diminish our experience.

**Arches**. The sun and moon together in a small arch of Tyrone Gap, Annularity 2023, Diamond Valley, NV, USA

Although we waited on the shaded side of the ridge, once in a while wondering if we had missed the whole event, I could run to the low hill to our west to anticipate where the sun would breach the rocks. I had some protective solar glasses and soon noticed the sun at ‘first contact’ breaking the solar disc into an upturned crescent. To my great surprise, when I returned to my camera to see the partial eclipse appear, it revealed a small arch as its first rays broke above the ridge line. I shifted only a short distance to capture the interaction between the dual arches, one of fire and one of rock. Unplanned other than giving myself the opportunity to be here.

**Second contact**. The ring is broken, Annularity 2023, Diamond Valley, NV, USA

We were awed by three or four minutes of annularity. I had thought it would be darker, but it was more like a moment of golden hour or the passing of a thicker cloud band — I still need to experience totality (April 2024!).

**Departing**. The moon breaks the ring, Annularity 2023, Diamond Valley, NV, USA

My Departing image may be my favorite of the set. The clouds remind me of a deep-sky nebulae where stars are born or where the ghosts of stars reside — the dark and glowing dust at either end of a star’s seemingly infinite life. And here is our star, momentarily intruded upon but endlessly providing. It is a beautiful jewel, and we should take time to notice its movements; it is not infinite, but it clearly does not and will not care.

Keep going.

Please respect the natural and cultural resources of our public lands.

#naturefirst #keepgoing

Iceland Day 6: To South Coast

D. Craig Young · December 2, 2018 · 3 Comments

We could not make Kirkjafell. The skies cleared but the Snaefellsnes Peninsula, probing proudly westward into the North Sea, could not escape the wind. Snow drifts remained and the gales kept high-profile vehicles from the mountain passes. We were on the peninsula’s southern edge and had hoped to cross over to Grundarfjörður on its north coast for some locations near the iconic wizard-hat peak of Kirkjafell. The group gathered after breakfast, still in the dark of the late morning, and agreed to the decision to drive for the South Coast region, back beyond Reykjavik. I could, however, sense some disappointment in missing the photographic icon. The workshop had only the most basic itinerary, a prerequisite when adapting to conditions of brief wintertime daylight and of chasing cloudless night skies when aurora is likely. So, given the storm pattern, even as it cleared, we had to move on. We wanted the iconic shots, of course. There may be a hundred-thousand photos of Kirkjafell (or any other iconic location), but almost every photographer wants their own. Our photography friends know the shots, and on-line image searches inundate our small screens, but put an original iconic keeper—if you are lucky enough to capture one—on your wall and no one knows there are thousands of the same scene (many probably better, too); for a moment the icon is yours. For now, we drive through almost perfect golden-hour light—the golden hour that lasts all day here. At first it was a bit frustrating, as back-lit storm clouds danced in the volcanic mountains. But we were committed to the goal of the South Coast, the good weather and aurora forecasts pulling us onward.

Iceland 2018 Collection

Volcanoes, glaciers, waterfalls, ponies—the beauty of the coastal ring-road unfolded before us. In the slowly setting sun, we crossed the vast braided river Markarfljót where the islands of Vestmannaeyjar loomed far offshore. This kindled the memories of a previous winter visit to the islands in 2005. An hour later, the sun and golden light barely changing, Thor finally turned us onto a set of gravelly switchbacks leading to the Dyrhólaey lighthouse. Relieved to have the drive behind us, the group eagerly dispersed along the volcanic rimrock with precarious drops to the sea, arches and seastacks among the waves below. It was a pleasure to walk along the paths and watch the sunset, but I think the long day’s drive had taken its toll. I composed a few images, but I wasn’t really feeling it. The day’s—that is, night’s—highlight came later.

We checked in at the Dyrhólaey guesthouse, met for dinner and brews, and prepped for a late night of aurora photography. We were headed to the Solheimasandur plane wreck on the black sand of glacial outwash, where the Hólsá River meets the sea. After an emergency landing in 1973, the U.S. Navy Douglas Dakota (Super DC-3) was stripped and abandoned. It’s a few kilometers from the roadside parking, sitting in a barren landscape at the end of a sandy path. It takes a while to walk to the plane and tourists often get lost in the dark or in bleak storms when guiding landmarks are absent. That is, unless you have a key to the gate—a key that Thor picked up from the landowner during a quick stop on our earlier drive. We turned into the two-track road, headlights absorbed by the dark sand and darker skies. It was a perfectly calm, clear evening, but I could see how navigating the black beach at night would be adventurous. Recent snow glistened in low spots and remnant drifts. An icy mist coated the banks of the Hólsá River. We forded the river, breaking through ice and crawling to the other side. Suddenly, out of the blackness, a stark fuselage seemingly jumped into our path. Thor swerved the headlights—I enjoyed his dramatic little maneuver—turning around to unobtrusively park the van. We were alone with the plane. In the moments before your eyes adjust, you walk in pitch black knowing a creepy hulk of an aircraft sits within arm’s reach. Although everyone limited their headlamp use to keep our night-vision, the occasional, random beam would highlight the scavenged, slumbering beast. This would be fun.

**Preflight checklist**. Learning the possibilities with aurora building; winter milky way, and evaporating clouds.

We gathered to talk about compositions and settings, Nick’s voice in the dark among the shadows of students. The plane at night only really worked as a foreground element, we weren’t here to simply document the dark historical wreck. I practiced setting the ISO super high and taking test exposures. Modern cameras soak up the dimmest light and though ultra-high-ISO images are noisy and granular, you get an idea of how the foreground elements work as a composition. Once that’s done, a low-ISO long exposure, say three or four minutes, lets the ambient light, maybe even some aurora, reveal the foreground with good clarity, but the sky isn’t very good, usually. Keeping your position and increasing ISO a bit allows one to capture a starry backdrop or aurora with a relatively quick exposure. A short duration limits star trails (unless that’s what you want) and keeps the dancing aurora from being a glutenous green blob (unless that’s what you want [um, no]). It takes some experimenting and practice, along with knowing your camera controls blindfolded. With a bit of exposure blending in photoshop, your memory and emotion of experiencing the night are revealed. A relatively typical astro-landscape photography workflow; typical but not easy. I struggle with the imaging and processing but, again, it’s just so much fun. And, damn, do I know the buttons on my camera now.

**Approaching symphony**. A concert never forgotten at Solheimasandur wreckage.

Iceland 2018 Collection

So much for the technical stuff, how was the aurora? Set against the backdrop of stars and glow of some low clouds, our eyes now adjusted, it was pretty easy to draft compositions. We waited for the light, and I had little expectation that the seminal experience at the black church could be surpassed. I was so very wrong. Take away the blistering wind and cold of Snaefellsnes and add a coronal (“full overhead”), multi-colored display and you get an experience few of us will ever forget. It was—cliché alert—magical. Awesome by its original undiluted definition. Music in the sky, in-concert for an hour at least. I could not begin to capture it. From the laughter and ecstatic hoots around me, I knew that the others felt the same. Images are beautiful, and we got some keepers, but after a while I simply laid back and let the symphony sink in. I can still hear it.

Keep going.

Rowan’s Night

D. Craig Young · August 19, 2017 · 1 Comment

Up early to process a few photos and then a good morning of shop creativity working on shelving in the studio. It feels good, and splintery, to work in the sawdust again – it has been a long while. I used up my wood supply, but I am satisfied with the first corner-piece of built-in shelves; time to get stuff off the floor.

Nice storms in the afternoon, so we planned an evening excursion to Big Meadow, a short, up-hill hike from the trailhead where the Tahoe Rim Trail intersects Highway 89. I have run the trail through the meadow often. Tonight, we are hoping for some astrophotography in the meadow, and we pack our gear and a few snacks. There will be a chill in the air after the rain, so we pull some dormant down jackets from the closet. We left a bit late, after enjoying a rainstorm at StoneHeart, our first little adventure in the new Crosstrek. It is a relatively short walk in on a nice section of trail, a really easy access. The trail was moist from the afternoon rain and humidity hung in the air. We hiked to the meadow and wandered a bit looking for compositions that would bring some leading lines or foreground interest into the Milky Way. Some small drainages create boggy ground in places but it is pretty easy to walk around the meadow. I wanted a few boulders for foreground interest but the west side of the meadow lacked a view of the sky due to fingers of forest extending along any bouldery ground. We retreated to a small bridge where the TRT crosses Big Meadow Creek. Here the trail curves nicely to where I knew the Milky Way would soon appear. Small trout jumping at a flourish of mosquitos in the little runs and riffles of Big Meadow Creek. Very fun watching the little fingerlings doing dolphin-like leaps. Bats in-coming. These guys should eat good. A very nice spot, but a little cloud-cover remains, and I am rather skeptical we’ll have much luck with the sky tonight.

Rowan’s Night Collection

As I’m framing some views of the trail leading toward “Red Mountain” where the Milky Way will rise, Des and I notice, at the same time, that the sunset is in full bloom above the western forest line. Easy enough to re-compose to capture the fiery sky beyond the trees, speeding up the shutter speed and dropping the ISO to capture the contrast and avoid noise in the glowing and shadowed sky. This one might be nice. I bracketed 1-stop either way and then captured some longer exposures for a foreground blend. Not sure if I have the chops to develop this as I hope, but we’ll see.

**Big Meadow sundown**. Carson Range, CA, USA

It is not long before I turn back to the southern sky above Red Mountain. Clouds are starting to thin and some glow coming. This post-storm sky might work out after all. Then Des gets the text that Kristen and Robert are on their way to the Monroe Hospital, their baby has chosen this night, with the Milky Way rising through rain-swept clouds, to come into the world. A good night for such a thing.

The unfolding news brings a new emotion to our time in Big Meadow. It is, of course, a beautifully disconcerting and brand new thing for us to think of ourselves as grandparents, and now we will associate a night at Big Meadow with Kristen, Robert, and, now, Rowan. Rowan’s Night at Big Meadow.

Experience of a place or emotion in a place changes a photograph significantly. I have a captured several nice images where I stepped to the side of the road or stood at an overlook, no real connection or emotion that lingers or re-surfaces at each view, and there is little incentive to revisit the image ever. On the other hand, I have taken bad pictures on a mountain climb, jungle expedition, or family gathering that I just love seeing. The memories return instantly. Thankfully, I have piles of bad pictures with good memories.

**A patient wait**. Desna on the Big Meadow Creek bridge, Carson Range, CA, USA.

I work on exposures until the clouds return, Des waiting patiently on the bridge, cuddled tightly against the chill. I like a few of the starry exposures, even though the bluelight of the evening is prominent and the Milky Way is barely present. Still, the clouds give the stars a nice glow and the constellations of Sagittarius and Scorpio look fantastic. And a child is being born many miles away, but at arm’s-reach when compared to the beautiful light pouring from the sky of Rowan’s Night.

**Rowan’s Night**. A portfolio keeper on many levels., Big Meadow, Carson Range, CA, USA

**Our promise**. Big Meadow, Carson Range, CA, USA

Rowan’s Night Collection

This one checked both boxes, I think. This night, redolent with emotion and experience, checked the boxes of beauty and memory. The images capture the night’s magic and, as the family grows, bring us back to the simplicity and beauty of that night.

Keep going.

Night Landscape Photography, Dry Lake Valley, NV

D. Craig Young · May 20, 2017 · Leave a Comment

A long reconnaissance beyond Tonopah, NV, traversing south of the Reveille Range and into the playa of southern Railroad Valley. I located good access to the playa of Sand Springs Valley near Rachel and then moved on to Alamo, NV, to check in at a small motel. It’s a small strip motel, family-owned, old and a little sad, but really pretty nice. Right on the noisy highway but room is set back and perfectly quiet. Vern, the owner/manager, said I might be able to park my trailer if we are working nearby, he has one hook-up that sometimes works.

It’s close to the new moon so I headed out to Dry Lake Valley late in the evening. I left the hotel about 9:45PM, fueled up, and pointed the truck down the dark highway. I’m in the area mapping and investigating desert loess (fine-grained dust) deposits and had scouted out a cool spot for astrophotography earlier. I liked the spot because of the prominent outcrops that extend toward the valley floor. These would provide the foreground subjects as I experimented with low-level lighting to illuminate the outcrops, alcoves, and even some ancient rock art panels.

The drive was longer than I remembered, and I overshot my turn with a big-rig bearing down on me. After a quick turn-around, I was there. A perfect, calm evening, finally a warm one. Bats circled around me as I set up some lights. From the rocks above me, in an alcove beyond the rock art, a haunting songbird called in a steady repeat—once every twenty seconds. It’s probably a whippoorwill or something similar.

Dry Lake Valley Night Collection

The small tripod-mounted lights adjust to emit a very low amount of light. While composing the image the light is almost impossible to see, but in a long exposure to capture the night sky, the light works nicely to create foreground interest. I have to take several practice shots to make sure the levels and direction of lighting works. It’s more controlled than light painting and works over relatively long distance. I learned about it on the PhotogAdventures Podcast and thought I’d give it a try. I’m not an expert at this (it’s my first time), but it has definite potential.

**Ancient sky**. Experimenting with lighting and capturing the starry backdrop above Dry Lake Valley rock art panels. 6.8 sec, f/5.6, ISO 6400; Canon 6D, Sigma Art 20mm.

**Point of Rocks**. The Milky Way above the boulder outcrops was fun, but I have to seek out some foreground interest to work with these lights (and why did I shoot these at 5.6?!). 19 sec, f/5.6, ISO 6400; Canon 6D, Sigma Art 20mm.

My images don’t really pop, but I like the rock art against the starry sky. A long perfect night in the darkness of Dry Lake Valley. Tomorrow will be a long day.

Dry Lake Valley Night Collection

Keep going.