Moon over Yates Mill Pond Park

Sometime pre-2012, in the middle of the new millennium’s first decade, while I was still living in Indianapolis (and working full time), I was out for a very early morning run through Garfield Park, which was very close to where my house was. 

And on the tail end of the run, as I was climbing the hill on Pagoda Drive, I noticed off to my right that the moon was perched perfectly over the campus of Emmerich Manual High School, which sat on the park’s western border. The visual excited me, and for 30 seconds, I gave thought to sprinting home, grabbing my DSLR camera (I did not have a cell phone at that time), and running back to capture pictures. I even quickly came up with an alliterative headline on the blog post bearing the resulting photos: Moon over Manual.  

I was deterred, however, by the thought of possibly missing the moment in the time it would take me to run home and run back. But I also worried that doing so would make me late for work. 

So instead of throwing caution to the wind, I sighed and told myself I would get it the next time it happened. 

As you might guess, there was no next time. 

I later did some Internet research to try and learn how often the moon could land in the exact same visual position like I had seen that morning. And the response was demoralizing. Today, I don’t remember exactly what the answer was, but it basically foretold that years of waiting would be involved. 

On Aug. 31, when I arrived at Yates Mill Pond Park for my regular walk, I had my iPhone with me ... and an angel nudging me in the form of the man you see in the lower right corner of the photo leading off this post. 

I wasn’t looking up at the sky as I made my way down the main boardwalk over the pond, taking pictures of reflections on the perfectly still pond. But the man saw I was a picture-taker and directed my attention to the placement of the moon right over the short overhang on the boardwalk. I looked up, and there it was. I took three pictures integrating the moon into the landscape (the two others are the first two photos below). Below those are the reflection shots.

Twelve days later, on Sept. 11, I was again in the park for my walk and nearing an end when I came across the striking colors on a tree growing from the pond (first photo below). I took the other pictures closer to the tree. I wasn’t as impressed with those, but ... for the sake of wrapping up the story, I present them here, too.

Check out my traveling photographer blog, Travelin’ Shutterbug

Braving the cold for a rare celestial treat

For most of the past decade or so, I've not gotten excited about photographing the moon -- or anything in the sky, for that matter -- even though we've had several eclipses, "red moons" and such during that period. About 13 years ago, I tried photographing the moon using a Canon 70-300mm variable f/stop lens, and the results were less than impressive.

But alas ... when Monday's rare Full (or Super) Blood Wolf Moon arrived, I felt compelled to give it another try ... even though I long ago passed down my Canon 70-300mm to one of my sons, and I haven't added a lens with a longer reach. And even though the temperatures in Raleigh were a bone-chilling 20ish. Or so it seemed.

The lenses with the longest focal distances in my gear today are a Tamron 28-300mm f/3.5-6.3 Di VC PZD (far superior to the Canon 70-300, I might add) and a Canon 70-200mm f/2.8L IS. The Canon 70-200 converts to a 98-280mm f/4 when I attach my 1.4 extender, so it gives me almost the same distance as my Tamron at the far end. (Note: I gave photographing the wolf moon no advance thought that would have given me time to rent a lens with longer reach. My bad.)

But even in the immediacy of my decision to tackle the shoot, I was aware of this dilemma: The Canon lens and extender would gain me two wider apertures at the longest distance once refractive light on the moon disappeared entirely. It would just be significantly heavier to lift and hold steady without using a tripod (the moon was directly overhead, making the use of a tripod physically awkward and cumbersome, something I didn't want to deal with in the frigid cold).

Both long-range lenses have several stops' worth of camera-steadying (stabilization) protection, so I decided to rely on the built-in steadying help to justify hand-holding my shots even at the point when I knew I'd need to boost ISO, open the aperture and reduce shutter speed as the eclipse increasingly removed refracative light from the moon's surface.

It was about 11:10 p.m. Sunday -- when the eclipse was already more than a quarter of the way started -- when I impulsively decided to photograph the event. I'd seen the full moon earlier in the evening while running an errand, and I wish I'd taken a shot of it then so I'd have a start point, or "base," image, but ... I didn't. Oops. My bad again.

Anyway, at 11:10, I reached for my Canon 6D. The Tamron lens (now my walk-around lens) was already on the camera, so I went with it to see what I would get.

I set the shooting mode to manual and picked 1/125, f/13 and ISO 250 for my settings. (Strangely, my previous lunar photography experience -- long ago as it was -- rushed to me pretty accurately as I pondered where to start). My first shot was on pretty much on target, which doesn't happen very often. It's the image you see above. Well, on target as much as a partial moon shot goes. I was getting none of the eclipsed red stuff just yet. Still, I liked what I was seeing so I continued with these settings for a while.

When I looked at the LCD monitor to see the image, I knew I'd have to crop it some to give it any decent size, and that's what you see above. It's been cropped significantly. But the impressive factor was that I saw no fringe "waves" around the circumference, which I'd seen in those images shot in the long-ago attempts using inferior glass. If the Tamron would have had more reach, it would have scored very high marks in my opinion.

I kept the same settings for the next phase (first below), which I took about 10 minutes after the one above, and for the next phase (second below), which was another 10 minutes. I tweaked the lighting slightly on the second one in post-processing because I was losing detail as the surface light thinned to near nothing.

At 11:55 p.m., I was almost bereft of surface refractive light. Knowing I needed more exposure, I switched lenses. On went the Canon 70-200 with the 1.4 extender (giving me 280mm). After a couple of tests at various settings, I settled on pushing the aperture to the maximum f/4, reducing the shutter to 1/80 and boosting the ISO to 8000. On my Canon 6D, I consider ISO 6400 my threshold for acceptable noise, so I knew I'd have noise to contend with when I put the last images through post-processing. But I also knew I'd start seeing full surface and some red.

My first shot with the Canon lens at 11:55 is the first image below. As you can see, because I was now getting exposure on the full surface of the moon at the "faster" settings, I was also now seeing the red that I wasn't getting on the images taken above. On the far left, there's just a hint of the last refractive light before total eclipse.

I didn't return for what would my final shots -- i.e., at full eclipse -- until 12:22 a.m., and that's when I grabbed the shot you see leading off the post. By this time, with no refractive surface light to see anywhere, I struggled to find focus on the sphere even when using manual mode. So it isn't as naturally sharp as I wanted. I usually wouldn't lead off a post with an image I consider of less than optimum basic quality (such as sharpness), but I think given the circumstances here, I don't have to be too apologetic.

Because of the 8000 ISO, I put both the picture above and leading off the post in Noiseware software during post-processing to see if that might help diminish some of the distraction. It helped the 11:55 p.m. shot above a little, but not much at all on the 12:22 a.m. shot leading off the post.

After taking the 12:22 shot, I called it a night. And a shoot.

As always, click on any image to bring up a larger and sharper (in most cases!) version.

The moon ... through the lens of an iPhone

I know my iPhone's camera has its limitations, but I continue to marvel at its ability to capture quality images under challenging circumstances. My experience is that your luck is hit and miss, although my luck so far has been more hit than miss. And this is significant, given that the photographer has no control over the camera's aperture and shutter speed settings. It's a virtual point-and-shoot, but one equipped with face-recognition capability, which I'm beginning to think carries over to distinctly bright things the camera sees in a composition.

Such as the photograph of the moon in this post, which I took Wednesday night, shortly before midnight, as I was out on a stroll for fresh air and exercise. I've tried to take images with the iPhone in very low light without luck, but on reflection, it occurs to me that none of those images had at least one distinct, bright focal point in the composition.

I've also had some impressive luck with it. Regular visitors here might remember the shots of the Eli Lilly complex after dark a couple months ago, or the photos of a blues trio in the low-lighted confines of the Slippery Noodle Inn from five months ago or so, when I took several pictures of the two blues bands performing there that evening.

Luck was with me Wednesday night for the moon photo. Skies were densely cloudy, but I had noticed on a couple occasions during my half-hour walk I'd gaze upward to explore something bright I'd suddenly noticed out of the corner of my eye. Every 5 minutes or so, the moon was darting through extremely small pockets of clear sky before sliding behind the clouds.

It didn't occur to me to try and photograph the sphere until I was on the home stretch of my walk. I was on the sidewalk along Pagoda Drive in Garfield Park, near the foot of the hill that begins at the Burrello Family Center. I glanced up at the sky and noticed the moon nearing an open pocket, and coming up on me to the right near the road was the large, expansive-branched maple tree that I've photographed on several occasions.

I pulled out the camera phone, composed and focus at a point where the pocket was framed between a couple of branches and held my breath to hopefully minimize any camera shake. When the moon slipped into the pocket, I released the shutter.

I uploaded the shot to my Facebook timeline just to have something to post for the day. The version on my camera photo look OK, but I had no idea -- until pulling up the Facebook post version on the computer screen after I got home -- that the image did as well capturing the detail that it did. I was stunned; it did not look nearly that good on the phone.

The version in this post has been edited and enhanced further in Photoshop Elements 10. I lowered the highlights, which improved the moon's finite shape and enriched the blue in the sky a bit. I also ran the image through Noiseware software then sharpened it slightly in Photoshop.

As always, to view a larger version of images in these posts, click on the image.

Serendipity, popcorn salt, 'The Tree'... and other to-die-for silhouettes

Last night, photography serendipity fell into my path a second time in recent weeks, and I owe it to popcorn salt. Well, sort of. Here's the story:

There are a lot of people who make a practice to have a camera with them at all times, because fleeting photo situations can present themselves at any time. You have a shot to record those moments in pictures if you have a camera with you, but they're gone forever if you don't. I had a camera with me (Canon PowerShot G12) the evening of Jan. 30, when I returned from attending a concert at the newly opened Palladium in Carmel, Ind. As I neared home, I noticed some amazing contrail patterns in the sky, and I grabbed shots that I probably would have missed for lack of time to run home and get a camera.

That was on my mind as I started a walk to a grocery store last night. That I had a chance to do a walk at all was very unusual for a Tuesday evening: I usually am at work during the week, but this week, I happened to be off. I took the walk primarily to stretch my legs and enjoy fresh air, but I figured I might as well use the opportunity to stop at a store and buy some popcorn salt I've been wanting to get for some time. I'd gotten about 20 yards out the door of my house when I remembered that I hadn't packed my camera. I'd bought the G12 three months ago, and this situation was one of the reasons why -- to have a quality compact to grab quickly and pack comfortably for possible spur-of-the-moment shots. So, I walked back to the house and got the G12, and went on my walk.

It was on the return trip that I decided to stop, first, at the relatively new Bean Creek bridge in Garfield Park in Indianapolis, and work with some shots of reflections in the water and of the linear patterns on the bridge fencing and baseboard.

Finished with that, I resumed the walk home along the main pedestrian path that lies on the east side of the MacAllister Center for Performing Arts. As I passed the amphitheater, I looked to the right, the west, and that's when I first saw the silhouette and sky color spectacles you see represented in the images in this post. The first captures of the western horizon I grabbed by positioning the G12 at the top of the amphitheater's iron-wrought perimeter fencing. Then I squatted as low as I could get, slipping the G12 through a fence opening and angling the built-in lens upward. With most cameras, this position would have made it impossible to accurately compose and frame because there would be no way to view the scene with the camera inside the fencing -- unless a photographer elected to do it blindly. But the G12 has an articulated LCD panel -- one that can bend and tilt at any horizontal angle -- so tilt it I did. With the camera almost at ground level and pointed upward, I could easily compose the shots I wanted. For much of the shooting from this vantage point, I struggled to avoid including the amphitheater stage in the frames. Then I had a change of thinking on that. I decided to integrate a portion of the stage overhang into a frame, and I've included that one in this post.

When I finished there, I scurried around the amphitheater's south perimeter fencing to get on the west side of the amphitheater, where I grabbed my next series of shots. From here, I no longer had the structure or the fencing to work around. I even lay on the ground, trying for dramatic upward angles. The G12's built-in wide-angle lens was an added tool for that this evening.

When I finished there, I thought I was done. I resumed the return-walk home. As I approached Pagoda Drive to cross, still buzzed by the neat silhouettes I'd already gotten, I looked west to check for vehicular traffic, and that's when I noticed "the tree" at the far southwest corner of the park, the one you see at the top of this post. My heart raced. I allowed an oncoming car and RV to pass safely before crossing the pavement and scooting closer to "The Tree."

When I finished there, I thought I was done for the night (wait, I just said that, right?). What more could there possibly be? Well, how often do you get a chance to grab a shot of a full moon over your own house? Yup. I did. Unfortunately, the moon was drifting through a lot of cloud thickets, so I had to wait a bit. But I did finally get it.

Oh yes, and there's still more. Tuesday night marked the first time I turned to Lightroom (version 3) to handle my primary post-processing work. Normally, I've used Photoshop (Elements 7). I was never comfortable using Photoshop's burn and dodge tool, and therefore never dabbled with it. Tonight, however, thanks to a Lightroom walk-through demo last week by photo club member Dave Wensits, I felt equipped enough to give Lightroom a try. I managed to recall most of what Dave showed me of the primary editing tricks, including the dodge and burn brush. Thanks to that, I was able to do justice to the detail you see in the cloudscapes in this post.

One thing I did not remember, however, was how to apply editing tweaks on one image in Lightroom to all the "like" images in the batch. Editing RAW or DNG files in Photoshop, it's easy to do -- you simply highlight the images you want to include with "like" editing tweaks before you do them, and poof ... it's done. Doesn't work the same in Lightroom, although I'm sure there's a way to do it. Consequently, I had to edit each image individually last night.

Back to the images ... The monochrome conversions of some of these color images are quite striking. I'll post those either tomorrow or Thursday. I'll also post the Bean Creek shots in a future post.

To see a complete gallery of images from this shoot, follow this link.

Above and below: The G12 offers a built-in high-dynamic range (HDR) feature that grabs three pictures of the same scene, each with different exposure values, then in a matter of 5 seconds after the third and final image is captured, melds highlight detail in the images to form one, detail-optimized JPEG (you can't use the feature in RAW format). Not having a tripod with me (camera stability is a key element when a shooter employs multi-shot HDR photography), I rested the camera on top of the fencing (though I still had to hold onto it) -- then held my breath to grab these shots using the HDR feature. The benefits? Notice the smooth, beautiful sky blues and the golden brushes in the cloud detail closest to the horizon.

 

Above: The first of several shots where the camera is nearly touching the ground. For this one, I decided to include the front overhang of the MacAllister Center for the Performing Arts (right). You can almost make out the amphitheater seats in the foreground.

Above and below: The camera again is nearly touching the ground here. The two compositions vary to include more trees (above) ... and more sky detail (below).

Above: A somewhat normal shot from this position, in that you see the full extension of the trees. In the foreground, you can make out the seats in the amphitheater.

Above and below: Shooting while prone on the ground. The portrait (vertical) shot above adds a deliberate tilt for creative effective. Not sure it works, but ... I wanted to give it a try. 

Above: A portrait orientation of "The Tree" shot with the sun immediately behind the tree.

Above: A portrait orientation of "The Tree" shot, with the sun positioned slightly left.

Above: Composing "The Tree" shot with the sun positioned to the right.

Rare total lunar eclipse visible to North America next week

If any visitors here are interested in lunar photography, a rare lunar eclipse -- weather permitting -- will be visible to North America in the early morning hours Tuesday, Dec. 21. A lunar eclipse is when the Earth stands directly between the sun and moon, blocking the sun's rays from striking the moon. How rare are these? If you miss this one, North America won't see another until tax day, April 15, in 2014.

The quick of it: The partial eclipse (first penumbra) will begin about 1:33 a.m., the full eclipse (umbra) will begin 2:41 a.m., the middle of the full eclipse will be about 3:17 a.m., total eclipse ends about 3:53 a.m. and the last remnant of the final penumbra (partial) ends at 5:01 a.m. Again, these are Eastern Standard times.

We had a full moon last week ...

It had been three years since I attempted to take pictures of the moon. Last time I did so -- in August 2007 -- I was using a Canon 30D and the longest-reaching telephoto I had in my gear was the Canon 75-300mm f/4-5.6 lens, not among Canon's best in quality.

With an upgraded body and lens, I took another crack at the full moon this past week and captured the shot above. Even with the upgraded lens, the final frame required a radical crop -- to 908 x 703 from the original 5148 x 3456.

After finessing the shadows and midtones in post-processing, I did like what I got, although sometime I'd really like to try and do some astrological photography with some gear made for that discipline.

Every picture tells a story: Don't let the moment get away

Many photographers preach the importance of grabbing a potentially great photograph -- a beautiful landscape, a rare juxtaposition of subjects, whatever it may be -- when the situation presents itself. Sometimes, however, we're indisposed, or don't have quick access to gear, so we pass, rationalizing that "there'll always be another time." Only to realize, shortly after it's too late, that there really won't be another chance.

I've had experiences on both sides of the situation. One of the ones that got away still eats at me. I suppose there is a chance I could get it again, but it'll be a blue moon (or two or three) before the situation presents itself again.

It was just before dawn on a weekday about two years ago, and I was outside jogging, nearing the end of my route. As I climbed a slight hill, I noticed the moon hovering near a building that made for a beautiful photographic juxtaposition (I'm avoiding saying much more because I still cling to the hope of getting it!). It wasn't one of those cliched type shots, either. I even came up with a title for it as I maintained my steady running paces. When I got home, I could have lugged my camera and tripod back to the right spot to capture the frame; it was only about five blocks away. But, I had to get to work, I didn't want to be late, and I figured that the moon will come that way again some time. That was before I understood lunar orbital patterns, which don't repeat precisely very often.

I've been looking for the moon to align just the right way again ever since, but it hasn't happened; or, if it has, I wasn't in the vicinity to notice it. I suppose lunar orbits eventually will repeat at some point, but I'm not sure I'll ever know the wheres and whens, or get that second chance.

One opportunity I didn't let get away occurred on the morning of Saturday, Jan. 8, 2005. I opened the front door of my house to get the morning paper from the porch and noticed that one of those picture-perfect snowfalls had moved through overnight. The temperature was warm enough to enable flakes to stick to tree limbs, but cold enough not to melt them. The skies were a solid gray; dense, uni-color cloud cover through and through. I hadn't seen such an alignment of gray sky, beautiful snow and perfect temperature in a long time.

I moved quickly. Got dressed, grabbed my camera and gear, and once out the door, I snapped a few shots of the neighborhood. One of a snow-shoveling man across the street (right), his burgundy sweatpants and short-sleeve shirt and the brick on his house the only color in an image dominated by luscious snowscape, made for a nice wintry juxtaposition. Then I headed to the nearby park, where I had a field day finding beautiful, elegant, artsy images.

Most of the snow on the park's ground, including that on the walks, was still pristine, untrodden. When I reached the landscaped seating area where, in warmer months, parents often rested while children frolicked on the nearby playground equipment, I was taken by how the elements had transformed the area into a surreal, and maybe a bit haunting, work of art: the benches, tree branches and path serving as painter subjects, and the solid gray sky a muslin-like backdrop.

For the longest time after that, a long-range shot of that scene (left), taken from a path entry point, was one of my two favorites from that day's shoot. The other favorite (below) was of a row of tall, stately evergreens perfectly highlighted with white stuff -- not too much, not too little. Then a month ago, I started exploring some artsy features in my editing software, gimmicks that could transform the look of a simple photograph into a virtual painting of various styles and textures.

I tested a few "looks" on an image I hadn't considered a "favorite" previously: It depicted a snow-covered bench in the aforementioned playground seating area, flanked by flakes-covered bush branches and sidewalks. One of those "looks," which used a textured applique that made the snow pop out of the virtual canvas, I loved immediately.

That photograph is now my favorite from the shoot, and I used it for a while at the top of Photo Potpourri's s homepage. I've since swapped it out with the photo you see there now.

And, oh, I've not seen a snowfall exactly like that ever since.

To see a gallery of photos from the Jan. 8, 2005, photo shoot and other winter scenes, check out the "Winterscapes" folder at my site at SmugMug.