A mythical night at Minotaur Lake /  by Daniel McKay

In the myth of Theseus and the Minotaur, a hero named Theseus volunteers to enter a creepy Labyrinth to kill the Minotaur, a half-man, half-bull monster kept by King Minos, who demanded regular human sacrifices from Athens. With the help of Minos’ daughter, Ariadne, Theseus sneaks in, defeats the Minotaur, and escapes the maze.

Despite being only vaguely aware of the myth, and previously unaware of the sister lakes Minotaur and Theseus, I jumped on the opportunity to hunt for the aurora again. Both lakes’ photogenic views point north and seemed like great spots to set up a nighttime photo. Better yet, the hike in was just under 2 miles, meaning I didn’t have to spend hours hiking back to the car by headlamp.

While the hike is short, though, it is steep (“a real ass-kicker” was the term I actually used). I’ve hiked two volcanoes this summer, so I figured it would be a piece of cake. It hurt. Oh well.

Despite hustling out to potentially catch sunset at the lake, I did only get to Minotaur with the last light of the day casting Rock Mountain and Howard Mountain to the south. I scouted out potential compositions while I waited for nightfall.

About 10 minutes later, the aurora finally showed up.

At first it appeared as white streaks above the northeastern horizon, stabbing out toward the stars. Eventually the color set in, pink coming from the north with a green band above.

For the first time (it was my third time catching the lights) I understood what people meant when they said the lights “danced,” as the green bands above rippled gently. I tried my hand at a timelapse, hoping to capture the motion.

Back at Minotaur, I tried to set up a more conventional landscape image, with a foreground element and a background (Labyrinth), and the lights above. Here you can see the pinks in sky directly to the north.


All images shot on a Sony A7iv with the 16-35 f2.8 GM I lens.

Under the northern lights /  by Daniel McKay

The first time I saw the Aurora Borealis, I was out driving around for some astrophotography shortly after getting my first camera in 2017. I remember pointing the camera east into Glacier National Park, and remarking – as I waited for a 30-second exposure – the strange amount of light pollution coming from the north. The north, in that case, was just more of Glacier, and those skies are as dark as can be. When I finally checked the exposure, I saw the green and purple glows taking over the left side of my screen. I was ecstatic, and spent the rest of the night frantically driving around to different spots I'd tried before for astrophotography.

The high of that night was unreal, and not many people had been out for a cold night of photography either – I felt pretty special to have captured it, even if I was a pretty big novice when it came to using a camera.

On Friday, of course, capturing the northern lights wasn't a unique event. Not for me, or anyone else in Washington State, or even in southern states (people online have shared their photos from the southern states of the US!).

Upon hearing of the huge predictions for solar activity on Friday, I deliberated over where to go – north or south. Given how far south the storm would range, I opted to go to Mt. Rainier. Despite living in the Seattle area for over two years, I hadn't spent much time in the park since getting my butt kicked while climbing via the Emmons Glacier route in 2018. I'd visited with my dad one other time, but hadn't done much in the way of exploring. This seemed like a good enough excuse.

Unfortunately, traffic slowed my excitement – it took me four hours to get to the park, and only two to return the next day – but soon enough I'd made it to Paradise in time to appreciate the last light of sunset.

I opted to start shooting at Reflection Lakes, just a mile or so from Paradise, knowing full well there wouldn't be much in the way of reflections. Snow still piled high on either side the road, only small patches of water lay open in the lakes.

My favorite shots of the night are along the Nisqually River, which flows from the Nisqually Glacier on the mountain's south side. Perched awkwardly along boulders in the midst of the river, I tried to balance photography with simple appreciation. It's thinking about exposures – the right shutter speed for the sky, focus stacked and properly exposed images for the foreground, tripod placement, etc – while also trying to remove the activity of photography occasionally. Trying to ignore the camera, and the need to capture what I'm seeing, in favor of just *actually seeing*.

I hope I did my best in that regard. I'll always have photographs from nights like this. But in time they become images from a different time, almost like they were captured by someone else but they happen to have my name and handprint on them. They live on my hard drives, but they become more abstract.

But I will always have the personal feeling from these exciting nights, the fast shuffle back to my car, the muttered "holy shit" comments to myself, the cheeky grin as I sit in the snow and take a break from my camera.

Under the stars in GNP /  by Daniel McKay

My fiancée loves sleep. She’ll give anything up to sleep.

I, however, am the exact opposite.

At midnight on Saturday I capped off a long day of relaxing at a Tiki bar and eating sushi by chugging some coffee and heading out to Glacier National Park. The sky was clear as could be and the moon was just a small sliver in the sky, sitting out of the way.

I started these night trips to the park last year after discovering astrophotography. Sometimes my dog, Jackson, sits in the backseat while I shoot just outside of the car. Sometimes he stays home. I don’t blame him.

I stopped at a number of spots in the park, following the winding Going-to-the-Sun Road up to Logan Pass, where several peaks guard the windy mountain pass. If you’ve never seen the Milky Way in a totally dark area, far from any city light pollution, you have to. It’s an incredible feeling the first time your eyes adjust and the white glow of the galaxy pops out from the black of night. It’s even more fun to take pictures of it.

I tried a few different techniques, experimenting with a couple different lenses, blending and panoramic patterns and star trails. I’m working with a pretty slow f4 wide zoom to start, so working at high ISOs at that aperture is a challenge.

Shooting the Milky Way from Going-to-the-Sun Road.

For this shot I had to blend a four-minute foreground exposure with a 20-second exposure for the sky, both shot at 16mm and ISO 8000. For screens the result works, but I was lusting after a 2.8 or faster lens while I was out shooting. I blended the two with a simple mask in Photoshop and added some contrast to make the Milky Way pop.

Milky Way over Reynolds Mountain.

After that shot I headed just past Logan Pass to make a second attempt at a shot I took last year but wasn’t happy with. For this one I did use an old Minolta 24 f2.8 Rokkor lens, letting me let a little more light in. The foreground exposure was six minutes.

There’s something so serene about having the park seemingly to yourself at night. Occasionally another car passes in the dark, but for the most part you see no one, aside from the pine marten, fox and moose that passed by my car as I drove around. When I shoot star trails, I set up my camera and sip coffee while I read in my car. How nice is that?

The final destination was for a sunrise shot in Many Glacier, on the east side of the park. Dawn lit the world around 4:30 a.m., and I arrived at the Many Glacier lodge parking lot around 5 a.m., just as some red light began to illuminate the peaks around Swiftcurrent Lake. I rushed down a short walking path and got everything set up in time for this shot:

Sunrise at Many Glacier, Glacier National Park.

I had to bracket exposures because of the dramatic dynamic range in the scene. Expose for the sky and the shadows were pitch black, and expose for them and you lose all highlight detail. I’m really happy with the resulting image. I shot film at the scene as well, so it will be fun to compare those images when I get that developed.

As I drove home I searched for wildlife off the road but didn’t bother taking my camera out once.

When you’ve just shot light like that, what’s the point?

Getting out of the gear grind /  by Daniel McKay

Ah, gear.

The part of photography we like to pretend we’re above but secretly obsess over. At least that’s been my experience.

I’ve never had a hobby so gear-centered before. Growing up as a guitarist, I lusted over new guitars and amps and even worried if the strings I used were giving me the best result, but I never felt the need to have the absolute best. I don’t now, either.

But with photography, it’s been different. When I got my little Sony A6000 in July of 2017, my very first camera, I was horrified at the money spent for the little thing. It was the biggest purchase made in years, other than my rent each month, and I very nearly decided against buying it because of the cost. But I did, and I fell in love with taking pictures.

Then I bought the kit zoom, a telephoto that would give me more range for when I’m hiking in the mountains. Now I’d spent more, so I told myself I wouldn’t spend any more money until I got some work shooting portraits and my profits from that matched my expenses. That, of course, never happened.

I started reading gear-obsessed forums, watching YouTube lens reviews and pixel peeping the smallest details. The little A6000, which had been taking excellent pictures and was limited only by my lack of skill, suddenly seemed inadequate. APS-C sensor? Kit lens glass? No good anymore.

A friend let me try out the Canon 6D and kit 24-105 he was selling, and I balked at the idea of spending what he asked on a camera. I said no, but filled that gear lust with a new lens that was still half the price of the camera and lens he offered me. But shooting with the 6D started the full frame itch.

Black Friday deals rolled around and suddenly I’d sold everything and jumped on the Sony A7ii and kit lens. Then the kit lens was gone, inadequate for my piss-poor photographs, and new Sony Zeiss glass took over. Then I needed a telezoom. Then that telezoom was inadequate, and I sold it for another. The process repeated itself, rinse and repeat.

A drone looks cool, I should get that. A drone is dumb, I need to sell this. Vintage glass seems like the answer, only to be followed with a return request on ebay.

My experience might be unique to me, but I doubt that.

On forums I’ll see people considering getting into debt for the newest camera or lens. People jumping to the new Nikon or Canon mirrorless systems simply because they’re now an option. Fantastic gear that suddenly becomes inadequate once another piece of slightly more-fantastic gear is released.

It’s easy to lust after these things.

But now I think of the money wasted on chasing that purchase high with new camera gear. That money could’ve funded a lot of different things, including trips and workshops that would’ve improved my photography far more than a new piece of glass. It could have gone toward debt, either student loan or credit card, both of which existed before GAS began but neither of which GAS helped.

I now feel like my skills are catching up with the gear I have, and my head has cooled off of the gear lust – for now. It still flares up, there was a crazy good deal on a Zeiss lens last week that tempted me, but I keep reminding myself of absurdity of the whole thing. The camera and lenses I have now are wonderful by any measure, though some troll online would certainly disagree, and I’ve never actually taken an image that was clearly limited by the gear I use.

Even yesterday I tuned into a Sony launch event, in which a new A6400 camera was launched. I saw all the firmware upgrades the A7xxx cameras would get that mine wouldn’t be receiving. I wondered if an APS-C setup is better. Should I upgrade right now to take advantage of these features I didn’t know I wanted until yesterday?

This year will be one void of gear purchases (OK, maybe a polarizing filter will find its way in my bag). Instead 2019 will be the year of gratitude for my camera gear. I’m happy to admit my past mistakes with photography, and certainly not looking down on anyone else who loves to shop gear and switch systems, especially when they have the means to, which I don’t.

I’m going to bet on myself that I can take great images with what I’ve got this year.