With the marine layer returning for good on the coast and a new moon, I had only one thing on my mind: Milky Way in the Eastern Sierra. The spot I had in mind was 6 hours away, and I would have to stay the night to get the stars. You can imagine my parent’s minds when they heard this. I was a bit intimidated too, but I trusted my intuition and threw the foldable mattress in my SUV and said I’d figure out where to sleep when I get there.

It’s always exciting driving on a new road, this time Highway 108. I was constantly stopping and observing, not knowing what’s around the next curve. I discovered new areas for dispersed camping and hiking. You could hear the car engine trying to take in as much air as it could, at Sonora Pass, about 9600 ft in elevation.

I arrived at Convict Lake late afternoon. The first thing I noticed was that the water was incredibly clear; I knew I had to go for a swim. There were some good size brown trouts happily cruising along the bottom despite the shoreline being crowded with fishing line and tackle. It was a good 83F in the air, but the water felt amazing, snorkeling in turquoise alpine water and experiencing a vision not many have seen.

I ate the same type of sandwich as last week for lunch and dinner again. It’s all about the shot.

There was amazing stillness again at Mono Lake. The sand Tufas were other worldly to photograph in the evening light. I set up the foldable chair and the star tracker, and waited for darkness to prevail. Apart from the huge flying insects that have reverb motorcycle engine sound when buzzing by, there wasn’t anything out here to be afraid of. I was able to catch a glimpse of some sort of comet or meteor way to the east. I had to cut my milky way session early as I wanted to return to Convict Lake for sunrise.  I got to the rest area at 1:30am, couldn’t find my car keys for a moment and panicked. Luckily it just slipped between the blankets. I finally fell asleep at 1:45am and woke up to my alarm at 4:30am. I opened the car door from the inside, and because the car was locked, the car alarm went off. I frantically went to my pockets to try and unlock the car remotely, it was the longest 5 seconds of my life.

After spending the day in the water at Lake Tahoe with some of my old time buddies from Santa Cruz, I convinced them to caravan over to Mono Lake for the night. It was my first time driving on the 395; it’s always exhilarating to be on a new road, not knowing what’s around the next hill. Passing by Topaz Lake and seeing the Alpenglow on the distant mountain range was spectacular.

Around 10:00pm and driving a short mile on a washboard dirt road, we found a secluded pull out to spend the night. It was incredible stillness and the darkest sky I have seen yet. The arc of the Milky Way was prominent, and so quiet I could hear the motor of the star tracker. I could hear the water on Mono Lake, even being a good distance away, and some birds chirping at midnight. While my friends fell fast asleep, I sat outside until 3:30am waiting for the moon rise. At one point I thought amber headlights were coming in our direction, but it turned out to be the moon rising. It illuminated the landscape. When I finally got my foreground shots, which looked much better than artificially light painted, I closed the trunk of my van and wrapped myself in two blankets. I was at the point of uncontrolled shivering as the temperature dropped to a chilly 37F. It took an hour to warm up, my breath frozen and my face was numb the entire night.

I woke up to the harsh sun at 6am, traversed through the sage brush to the shoreline, photographing the Tufas. I returned to a hearty breakfast prepared by my friends: pancakes, eggs, and bacon. We made continental breakfast in the middle of the desert. I felt reinvigorated, not a hint of sleepiness, and full of excitement. I was waiting all week to be here.

700 miles
6 batteries used
3.5 hours of sleep
2 wet wetsuits

Thanks for the weekend.

Wide awake at midnight, I wondered what is out there? What will I see?  I saw stars out my window, the first time in several months. I was restless just imagining the photos. Staring at a computer for 14 hours a day, I started to lose my grasp of reality. I almost forgot stars could be seen by just simply looking outside my window. In the past weeks, whenever I take a short break outside, there is a dazed sensation of mediocrity. It’s almost as if being outside was an unfamiliar feeling for me now because I’m so used to having the exuberant world fed to me via two-dimensional screens with speakers. 

This year I decided to focus on photographing the Milky Way so I ordered a star tracker, something I’ve been wanting to get but feared of the potentially complicated setup. I asked myself as I do with every potential challenge, how hard can it be? It turned out, not difficult at all. I spent two hours in my backyard doing a test run right when the first stars were visible. At first I couldn’t tell if I was looking at the north star. I even looked south, east, and west, and realized, it was futile to be looking in those directions. The Little Dipper was too dim, but the Big Dipper was obvious even with the city lights. I finally thought I was certain of which star was the north star, got in the car at 12:30am and drove south along the coast. With no sight of fog or clouds, a rare occurrence, I knew a starry sky was waiting. There were only a few cars on the road the entire way and back, an eerie but serene feeling. When I got to the location, I could see other photographers light painting, and some with large telescopes; the excitement started.

It’s always a bit frightening being alone in the middle of the night somewhere out and about. Once I setup the tripod, aligned the tracker with Polaris, my remote release beeping, a sense of tranquility transpired. The stress I had all day about losing sleep, about venturing out, parking the car, had vanquished in that moment. I just stared up at the plethora of stars and nodded to myself in agreement with my decision. I simply wanted to see the stars to regain my connection with nature. I met another photographer and we chatted about the Milky Way alignment and the glaring amber boat lights in the distance. It’s always great to meet other people who enjoy the same pleasures.

Whenever I stare up at the cosmos, I realize I’m just a tiny speck living on a tiny speck in the universe, and no matter how big I think my ego is, I am insignificant. This rumination keeps me humble, makes me think about what it means to live, and to understand there is always something greater than myself.    

The stars are calling. 

Normally by the time the weekend comes, I’m exhausted from work and just looking forward to being able to sleep in. There’s no time for rest in the winter though, with mostly cloudy skies and ENE wind on the forecast, the day started early for me. Right at the crack of dawn, I stared out my window and saw a familiar faint pink glow on the horizon. I call this the pre-burn, where the sunrise colors would appear, fade, and suddenly become intense. About 12 minutes before sunrise, I paced back and forth in my room debating whether I should run out with the camera or just launch the drone from my back porch. I decided to fly so I could get a good angle in case there were only partial colors. As I got to the outside bar, I noticed groomed peaks and said “god damn, it’s good”. The entire sky lit up, the sea turned pink and purple. The color only lasted for less than a minute and a half before it started to fade. Not too long after, the sky and water was completely drab.

The day had just begun. As the tide dropped throughout the morning, clean, lined up A frames were making it’s way from the depths. A good size crowd developed at Moraga, where it was less walled out. I headed up to the top of the hill as bigger sets hitting double overhead+ appeared. I almost exhausted my memory card within an hour. I was worried about the overcast lighting, but at times the sun almost pierced through the thick layer of clouds, giving my photos a gloomy tone. Today was one for the books.

Dropping tide, barely a breeze, sand bars and barrels, not a bad Friday evening.