A couple of weeks ago there was buzz about good opportunities to see the Northern Lights in my neck of the woods. Back in the summer I had been spurred to add photographing the night sky to my repertoire while hearing Alyn Wallace, author of Photographing the Night Sky, chat on a podcast I occasionally listen to at work, The Irish Photography Podcast.
The great thing about Alyn Wallce and his book is that he both goes into meticulous detail about the intricacies of the mechanics involved in getting the shots along with the science behind the celestial phenomena that make a good night sky photo, but he also keeps it simple. The chapter on Aurora is 31 pages long, within it is a how-to side-bar of perhaps 400 words.
One thing he doesn’t tell you is that you need a good north facing location with a clear line of view to the horizon and little light pollution. But I was able to figure this out on my own. It also helps to have a nice location with something recognizable in the frame.
This would have been the shot. North is just to left of the boathouse. The expanse of Middle Bay Cove with a low tree line on the horizon would have provided ample sky, the cove itself, if the tide cooperated, a nice mirror, and the iconic boathouse a landmark that many recognize.
I bailed because I realized once in there that getting back in and out after dark was going to be a challenge. This boathouse is on the shore of Middle Bay Cove in Harpswell. It is part of conservation land managed by the Harpswell Heritage Land Trust, Skolfield Shores Preserve. It is directly behind the old Merriconeag Farm property on 123 not far from the town line with Brunswick.
The absence of light pollution would friendly to the exposures but probably kill me, or ruin my gear, on the way in and out. Like most land trust trails, the path is cleared well enough for daylight attentive walking but roots, mud, thicket, rocks, deadfall and other changing natural obstructions inhabit the rolling quarter mile stroll through a forested preserve. In additinon, the fine old farm house has a decent parking lot indicating that a fair number of people reside in it now. Down back of the parking lot a maintained gravel road winds through the woods to a couple of abutting households. Lurching past neighboring households with an armload of gear and a green head lamp after midnight did not seem brilliant.
Stashing the tripod, or even setting it up where I expected to shoot, was a possibility but with the tide coming I thought better of it because I know:
Darkness settles on roofs and walls,
But the sea, the sea in the darkness calls;
The little waves, with their soft, white hands,
Efface the footprints in the sands,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
The location is great because you can see over the water to the north, west, and south. Many of the publicly accessible bits of coastline around here face more or less south as they are at the end peninsular ridges left by the retreating glaciers so tend to run north to south into Casco Bay. But my impulse to get out and get the shot was triggered by something I had seen on the socials an hour or two earlier. I could visualize the final photo, what I didn’t visualize was the planning needed.
One of the great things about photography is you can get an “A” for conceptual thinking a “D” for execution and still come out with an opportunity to shoot something else pleasing and preserve the gentleman’s “B.” I never regret a trip to Skolfield Shores.
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Sidebars:
The Irish Photography Podcast. It’s a great podcast, unfortunately it seems to be in hiatus now, but you can still listen to the archived episodes. One of the things that first attracted me to the Irish Photogprahy Podcast was the hosts’ accents. Superficial I know, but like most folks I uncovered the annoying habit of podcasters, particularly when paired, or worse when working as a threesome, to go all Dudebro in their efforts to be hilarious. They all seem to be auditioning for a role on sports radio. The Irish accents masked this for me for the first twenty or thirty episodes before I clued in the fact that these were just Irish Dudebros. I feel like twenty episodes is pretty much the half-life of most podcasts in any event.
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You listen to podcasts at work? Yes, for about four months of the year, but this is another story.
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The Tide Rises, the Tide Falls
The tide rises, the tide falls,
The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;
Along the sea-sands damp and brown
The traveller hastens toward the town,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
Darkness settles on roofs and walls,
But the sea, the sea in the darkness calls;
The little waves, with their soft, white hands,
Efface the footprints in the sands,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls
Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls;
The day returns, but nevermore
Returns the traveller to the shore,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
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Harpswell Heritage Land Trust, Skolfield Shores Preserve
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Alyn Wallace, Photographing the Night Sky.