One of my first real successes chasing the crescent moon came on a wobbly night. First, the wakeup time, around 2:30am. Place was an hour away, completely dark, middle of winter again, and potentially a decent walk.
I begged and pleaded a friend to come with me, because there’s something uniquely unhinged about creeping out of the house at such a ridiculous time. At an hour normally reserved for flights to tropical islands… except this wasn’t a vacation. It was a winter coastline, pitch black, freezing, and unbelievably quiet. Oh and possibly a bitter wind threatening to completely ruin the chances.
The thing about the crescent moon is it’s delicate and unpredictable and completely uninterested in whether or not you’ve done your homework. It's easily blurred when you try to extend your shutter speed. The grainy ISO and noise is probably my biggest pet peeve. I try to keep the iso as low as possible despite the AI advancements here. I set up into my spot and waited for the moment for the moon to rise.
Then it did. Oops. A little off. I scrambled along the shore, adjusting and re-adjusting, hoping for some kind of magic shift. I was determined to get a good one and not trip in the dark.
The moon curved up like a golden ribbon against the horizon, and Whaleback Light caught its glow just right. Every color in the sky softened and deepened at the same time. It was one of those moments where your breath catches under all those layers of winter gear and you remember exactly why you dragged yourself out there in the first place. I knew I could bring the darkness up a bit more in Lightroom on the computer. I loved it on the side of the lighthouse as well as on top of it too!
To this day, it’s still one of my most-liked photo sessions. But the best part—my favorite part—is hearing the stories of people who say it nudged them to go try their own shots. That they packed a bag, set an alarm, stepped out into their own dark morning somewhere far from here.
I’ll never reach every corner of this planet with my camera. None of us will. But the moon belongs to everyone, no matter where we stand. She shows up in different colors, angles, and moods for each of us. And sharing the versions I get to see and create… that’s one of the biggest joys of what I do. One little crescent can make someone pick up a camera and wander out into their own night sky, and I think that's pretty cool.
One of my first real successes chasing the crescent moon came on a wobbly night. First, the wakeup time, around 2:30am. Place was an hour away, completely dark, middle of winter again, and potentially a decent walk.
I begged and pleaded a friend to come with me, because there’s something uniquely unhinged about creeping out of the house at such a ridiculous time. At an hour normally reserved for flights to tropical islands… except this wasn’t a vacation. It was a winter coastline, pitch black, freezing, and unbelievably quiet. Oh and possibly a bitter wind threatening to completely ruin the chances.
The thing about the crescent moon is it’s delicate and unpredictable and completely uninterested in whether or not you’ve done your homework. It's easily blurred when you try to extend your shutter speed. The grainy ISO and noise is probably my biggest pet peeve. I try to keep the iso as low as possible despite the AI advancements here. I set up into my spot and waited for the moment for the moon to rise.
Then it did. Oops. A little off. I scrambled along the shore, adjusting and re-adjusting, hoping for some kind of magic shift. I was determined to get a good one and not trip in the dark.
The moon curved up like a golden ribbon against the horizon, and Whaleback Light caught its glow just right. Every color in the sky softened and deepened at the same time. It was one of those moments where your breath catches under all those layers of winter gear and you remember exactly why you dragged yourself out there in the first place. I knew I could bring the darkness up a bit more in Lightroom on the computer. I loved it on the side of the lighthouse as well as on top of it too!
To this day, it’s still one of my most-liked photo sessions. But the best part—my favorite part—is hearing the stories of people who say it nudged them to go try their own shots. That they packed a bag, set an alarm, stepped out into their own dark morning somewhere far from here.
I’ll never reach every corner of this planet with my camera. None of us will. But the moon belongs to everyone, no matter where we stand. She shows up in different colors, angles, and moods for each of us. And sharing the versions I get to see and create… that’s one of the biggest joys of what I do. One little crescent can make someone pick up a camera and wander out into their own night sky, and I think that's pretty cool.
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