Shooting The Moon

My favourite poem as a child in primary school was Silver, by Walter de la Mare. It’s a poem about the moon: “Slowly, silently, now the moon walks the night in her silver shoon.” According to Brenda Tharp in her excellent book extraordinary Everyday Photography, the best time to shoot the rising moon is the night before a full moon and not on the day of the full moon itself. The reason is that on the day before there is a period of about twenty minutes when the balance of light is such that it is possible to capture detail both in the moon and in the landscape.  

I discovered the truth of this by happy accident one week three years ago when I went to my favourite north coast location - Ballintoy - to photograph sunset.   

It was a gorgeous evening. When I thought photography was over for the day, I packed up, and was driving back up the twisty road from the harbour when my peripheral vision caught sight of something that brought me screeching (almost) to a halt.

It was an amazing reddish orange moon.  I quickly unpacked, set up my tripod and grabbed a few shots before the moon rose too far and the twilight disappeared.

When I showed the shots back home a question immediately arose: is that really the colour of the moon?  How could I prove that I hadn't been messing around with Photoshop to produce impossible colours?  Science came to the rescue.  

When we look at the moon we are seeing it through the earth's atmosphere.  When it is low over the horizon the angle of view means we are seeing its light go through the most atmosphere which in turn means that while the light at the blue end of the spectrum is scattered the light at the red end is not.

So the closer the moon is to the horizon the redder it seems to us.  

As it rises in the sky there is less atmosphere for the light to travel through so red turns to yellow and then towards white.  A similar thing happens to the sun.

Capturing the moon like this generally requires a combination of good planning and good weather.  Planning is possible thanks to a variety of apps that will indicate the times of moonrise and moonset and what kind of moon it will be.  

In addition, an app like The Photographer's Ephemeris will indicate the angle of the moon (and the sun) at whatever point we choose.  

This helps avoid turning up at a location hoping to photograph moonrise only to discover that it is hidden behind a headland or group of hills.  It also helps in trying to select a location where there is an interesting foreground to add interest.  

I was again fortunate to be at a point on the coast where I was able to include some landmarks although had I been prepared I would have tried to choose an even more interesting location, such as an old ruin.

Another advantage of shooting the moon close to the horizon is that it will appear larger.  This is simply an optical illusion known as 'moon illusion' and the reason for it is still debated.

Getting the right settings in camera for this kind of shot was also a challenge.  

As often it is a trade-off between trying to keep the ISO reasonable to avoid noise, having an aperture that allows for acceptable sharpness for the foreground while maintaining the moon in focus and a shutter speed that minimises blur.  

For the above shot, I chose 50 at f16 which meant a shutter speed of 3 seconds.  If I was doing it again I would try for a faster shutter speed by raising the ISO a couple of stops and increasing the aperture to f11.  

The problem is the moon moves!  Every two minutes it changes position by its own diameter, so basically, any shutter speed slower than one second will show blur.  

As the moon rises the dynamic range increases and an exposure long enough to retain detail in the landscape results in the moon becoming a white disc, as in the photo below.  I don't mind that much as the point of the photo was to photograph by moonlight rather than photograph the moon.

According to Brenda Tharp in her excellent book extraordinary Everyday Photography, the best time to shoot the rising moon is the night before a full moon and not on the day of the full moon itself. The reason is that on the day before there is a period of about twenty minutes when the balance of light is such that it is possible to capture detail both in the moon and in the landscape.  

I discovered the truth of this by happy accident one week three years ago when I went to my favourite north coast location - Ballintoy - to photograph sunset.   

It was a gorgeous evening. When I thought photography was over for the day, I packed up, and was driving back up the twisty road from the harbour when my peripheral vision caught sight of something that brought me screeching (almost) to a halt.

It was an amazing reddish orange moon.  I quickly unpacked, set up my tripod and grabbed a few shots before the moon rose too far and the twilight disappeared.

When I showed the shots back home a question immediately arose: is that really the colour of the moon?  How could I prove that I hadn't been messing around with Photoshop to produce impossible colours?  Science came to the rescue.  

When we look at the moon we are seeing it through the earth's atmosphere.  When it is low over the horizon the angle of view means we are seeing its light go through the most atmosphere which in turn means that while the light at the blue end of the spectrum is scattered the light at the red end is not.

So the closer the moon is to the horizon the redder it seems to us.  

As it rises in the sky there is less atmosphere for the light to travel through so red turns to yellow and then towards white.  A similar thing happens to the sun.

Capturing the moon like this generally requires a combination of good planning and good weather.  Planning is possible thanks to a variety of apps that will indicate the times of moonrise and moonset and what kind of moon it will be.  

In addition, an app like The Photographer's Ephemeris will indicate the angle of the moon (and the sun) at whatever point we choose.  

This helps avoid turning up at a location hoping to photograph moonrise only to discover that it is hidden behind a headland or group of hills.  It also helps in trying to select a location where there is an interesting foreground to add interest.  

I was again fortunate to be at a point on the coast where I was able to include some landmarks although had I been prepared I would have tried to choose an even more interesting location, such as an old ruin.

Another advantage of shooting the moon close to the horizon is that it will appear larger.  This is simply an optical illusion known as 'moon illusion' and the reason for it is still debated.

Getting the right settings in camera for this kind of shot was also a challenge.  

As often it is a trade-off between trying to keep the ISO reasonable to avoid noise, having an aperture that allows for acceptable sharpness for the foreground while maintaining the moon in focus and a shutter speed that minimises blur.  

For the above shot, I chose 50 at f16 which meant a shutter speed of 3 seconds.  If I was doing it again I would try for a faster shutter speed by raising the ISO a couple of stops and increasing the aperture to f11.  

The problem is the moon moves!  Every two minutes it changes position by its own diameter, so basically, any shutter speed slower than one second will show blur.  

As the moon rises the dynamic range increases and an exposure long enough to retain detail in the landscape results in the moon becoming a white disc, as in the photo below.  I don't mind that much as the point of the photo was to photograph by moonlight rather than photograph the moon.

Capturing the moon like this generally requires a combination of good planning and good weather.  Planning is possible thanks to a variety of apps that will indicate the times of moonrise and moonset and what kind of moon it will be.  

In addition, an app like The Photographer's Ephemeris will indicate the angle of the moon (and the sun) at whatever point we choose.  

This helps avoid turning up at a location hoping to photograph moonrise only to discover that it is hidden behind a headland or group of hills.  It also helps in trying to select a location where there is an interesting foreground to add interest.  

I was again fortunate to be at a point on the coast where I was able to include some landmarks although had I been prepared I would have tried to choose an even more interesting location, such as an old ruin.

Another advantage of shooting the moon close to the horizon is that it will appear larger.  This is simply an optical illusion known as 'moon illusion' and the reason for it is still debated.

Getting the right settings in camera for this kind of shot was also a challenge.  

As often it is a trade-off between trying to keep the ISO reasonable to avoid noise, having an aperture that allows for acceptable sharpness for the foreground while maintaining the moon in focus and a shutter speed that minimises blur.  

For the above shot, I chose 50 at f16 which meant a shutter speed of 3 seconds.  If I was doing it again I would try for a faster shutter speed by raising the ISO a couple of stops and increasing the aperture to f11.  

The problem is the moon moves!  Every two minutes it changes position by its own diameter, so basically, any shutter speed slower than one second will show blur.  

As the moon rises the dynamic range increases and an exposure long enough to retain detail in the landscape results in the moon becoming a white disc, as in the photo below.  I don't mind that much as the point of the photo was to photograph by moonlight rather than photograph the moon.

Sometimes if there is cloud around it is possible to retain a little detail in the moon as in the shot below, taken in an apple orchard in Co Armagh, with the Mourne mountains on the horizon.

Where the focus is particularly on the moon itself, then objects will only appear in silhouette.

I took the photo below on the hill called the Collin, just outside Ballyclareusing the wind turbines as silhouettes. Here the yellow is still very apparent.  It was a hand held shot so I needed to use a high shutter speed.

Still thinking about the colour of the moon, when seen in close up on a very sharp and clear winter's night it looks rather grey.  Apparently, the grey colour comes from the makeup of the moon's surface: mostly calcium, iron, silicon, oxygen, magnesium and aluminium.

To shoot the moon in close-up like this I used a 70-200 zoom plus a 1.7 teleconverter.  I also cropped in post-processing.  

Where the focus is particularly on the moon itself, then objects will only appear in silhouette.

I took the photo below on the hill called the Collin, just outside Ballyclareusing the wind turbines as silhouettes. Here the yellow is still very apparent.  It was a hand held shot so I needed to use a high shutter speed.

Still thinking about the colour of the moon, when seen in close up on a very sharp and clear winter's night it looks rather grey.  Apparently, the grey colour comes from the makeup of the moon's surface: mostly calcium, iron, silicon, oxygen, magnesium and aluminium.

To shoot the moon in close-up like this I used a 70-200 zoom plus a 1.7 teleconverter.  I also cropped in post-processing.  

A 300mm lens would have been even better.  

The basic setting for this shot was ISO  200, at f8 or f11 with a shutter speed of 250.  You can increase aperture to allow for faster shutter speed if hand-holding the camera wouldproduce blur, otherwise, use a tripod.  

A couple of other tips I have picked up from others and have found useful.  

Try to get out into the countryside so that there is less light pollution.  

The higher above sea level you are the better - unless you want to shoot the moon low to the horizon over the sea.  And make sure you can see your way home or back to the car.  

You may start out in beautiful evening sunshine but find yourself plunged into darkness.  Carry a torch and wrap up warm.  

A flask of warm tea or coffee is also very helpful, as is a fully charged mobile phone. 

In Praise Of Eccentricity

It would seem that we need our eccentrics.

“One of the most popular sites on the North Coast is a monument to eccentricity.”

Mussenden Temple. It was built by the famous Earl-Bishop, Frederick Hervey, 4th Earl of Bristol and Bishop of Derry - an agnostic (handy for a Bishop!) art lover, cultured, licentious, hard-working, philanthropic and according to Donald Akenson, "the most worldly, most eccentric, most talked-about priest in the Church of Ireland".

The Earl-Bishop put the Giant's Causeway on the map scientifically (he was a vulcanologist) and as a tourist destination, becoming a fellow of the Royal Society because of his work there.

He built roads, invested in agriculture and worked in the cause of religious freedom. He also found a clever way of making church land his own and there built a summer residence on it, sadly now in ruins, adding to it year on year, filling it with art treasures from all over Europe.

And he built Mussenden.

According to Stephen Rice in his book The Earl Bishop, through his many stays in Rome Frederick Augustus fell in love with the temple of Vesta, virgin goddess of the hearth.

He wanted to buy the temple and bring it back to Ireland but the pope refused his offer. So he had his own architect sketch the temple and then built his own version on the edge of the cliff at Downhill, which he used as his personal library.

To the magnificent view from its windows he added his own considerable decoration - once again sadly lost.

He eventually abandoned Ireland, perhaps worn down by the task he had set himself of seeking to ensure religious tolerance and liberty and lived out his final ten years in Italy.

“He left us one of the finest sights in the country.”

On a clear day the view across the coast from the steeply inclined Bishop's Road is breathtaking as the opening image reveals.

Mussenden can also be viewed from the strand beneath and is an imposing sight in the setting sun.

From the National Trust car park it is a short walk to the ruins of the great house...

...and to the prize: the temple itself.

On the evening in question I had literally to race, camera swinging, sweat pouring, to catch the sun before it settled behind Donegal. (I also had to negotiate a group of slightly intoxicated young people offering to pose.)

“I suspect there is a little of the eccentric in us all.”

The Dark Hedges

A short stretch of a narrow, winding country road in County Antrim has become one of the most visited and photographed locations in the entire country.

“The Dark Hedges: the place like its name exudes mystery and romance.”

It began its life as an avenue of beech trees planted by the Stuart family to form an artistic and impressive approach to their Georgian mansion, Gracehill House.

Three hundred years on and the magnificent trees, depleted a little by age, seem to have leaned in towards each other, entwining branches in intricate patterns, creating a wonderful natural tunnel. 

Joining the farmers who regularly use the route is a steady succession of tourists and photographers.

Motorbikes show well here. And cars. And wedding parties.

It is unarguably an impressive backdrop to a photograph.

But it is a place in itself.

It has a character of its own, changing with the seasons, the weather and the light.

So I prefer it in solitude, taking time to listen, away from the tripods and clicks of eager photographers (like me!).

To find it by itself alone either takes fortunate timing or a very early summer start.

In the photo above, I was able to sit in the middle of the road waiting for the sun to rise and light up the trees in its fiery glow, without fear of being disturbed.

It was midsummer and just after 4am!

Arguably its mood is better captured in black and white. Perhaps that has something to do with the legend of the Grey Lady that is attached to the place.

She is supposed to appear at dusk among the trees to glide the length of the avenue before disappearing at the final beech.

Who is she?

Some say she is the ghost of a maid from a neighbouring house who died in mysterious circumstances a long time ago.

Others that she is a lost spirit from an abandoned graveyard. I've never seen her myself, at least not at dusk.

But just after dawn in early winter there was mist in the air
and a grey wispy shape glided momentarily across the road which once again was deserted apart from me.

As it turned out, it was smoke from a fire in the neighbouring field. At least that's the scientific explanation.

But look carefully, down the road to the left and decide for yourself.

I don't believe in ghosts. But I can imagine a white horse and a magnificently bearded Gandalf appearing from the East.

Did You Doctor That?

“Just say yes.”

That's the advice of French fine art landscape photographer Alain Briot in answer to the question that sooner or later just about every photographer has to face.

I've been asked it at least a dozen times over the past year, both in person and on-line (Facebook). It comes in different forms. "Did you doctor that?" "Do you manipulate the colours?" "Is this Photoshopped?" "Is this real?"

The easiest and bestanswer, Briot suggests, is "yes".

“To answer with lengthy explanation sounds defensive, as if I’m trying to cover up a crime. ”

It also can either get technical or arty or both, which normally are major turn-offs. Far better simply to say yes and wait for the next question, if there is one.

So yes.

Now what? Well, perhaps I could tell a few stories and through them smuggle in an explanation or two?

For as the Gryphon in Alice in Wonderland advises, "The adventures first, explanations take such a dreadful time!"

First Adventure

The first adventure took me to the Giant's Causeway just before midnight a few weeks ago. It was a beautiful moonlit night, the kind of night that is something of a rarity in this part of the world.

A night to see familiar landmarks under a (literally) different light. When the moon is up it is impossible to see the Milky Way. But so much else comes into view, especially in the landscape.

The Causeway was predictably deserted. The receding tide was still making a splash on the rocks and the low clouds reflected the moonlight on the horizon. I made my way carefully over the slippery surface until I reached a favourite viewpoint.

This is what I captured.

But is this what I saw? Not exactly. At that time of night, there was almost no colour (visible to my human eyes) either in the stones or in the sky.

It also was darker than this.

But the camera can see more, depending on how it is set up. (Sorry, here's the technical bit.)

With a 15 second exposure at 1600 ISO, at an aperture of F4 and with the help of moonlight, the camera sees a great deal more while at the same time altering what it sees - smoothing the water, for example.

So I had choices to make in what I told the camera to do.

Then I had more choices. The resulting photo was a little too bright, looking more like midday than midnight.

Should I leave it exactly as I had set it? Or should I "doctor" the photo - darken it and remove the colour (I couldn't do anything about the wispy water) so that it more closely resembled what I saw?

But why? I loved the colour.

In the end, I went for a compromise. I darkened the sky and at the same time increased the contrast to bring out the stars a little more.

“It was a matter of personal choice, of what I wanted to convey through the photograph.”

Second Adventure

My second adventure took place on the evening recently when the "Northern Lights" were visible in parts of Northern Ireland... even rarer than clear nights!

I headed for the coast at around midnight and was startled by the amount of traffic.

Clearly, word had got around. So I chose a spot where I thought few others would venture. I was right. I was on my own.

I was quickly wondering what all the fuss was about. I was aware of a strange brightness on the northern horizon, but that was all.

I nearly didn't bother putting up my tripod and taking a shot. Then common sense kicked in. What had I got to lose?

After all, I was there. So I set an exposure of 20 seconds and pressed the button, more in hope than faith.

“I nearly fell over when I saw the result on the back of my camera.”

The camera could capture what I couldn't see. And as the night wore on the effect became more and more pronounced with the flaring pink adding to the characteristic green.

But it wasn't what I actually saw. It was what the camera made possible.

Even then I had more choices to make. How bright to make the sky, for example. A longer exposure and I could bring out, even more, detail in the island but probably lose some detail in the sky. And the sky was really the subject.

So, in the end, I lightened the middle ground a little and darkened the sky to bring out both the colour and the stars and I cropped the photograph to remove a distracting lighthouse at the extreme right.

Choices. How 'real' is this photo?

Third Adventure

My third adventure was to Bonamargy Friary in Ballycastle, a very atmospheric place especially on days of dramatic weather.

I chose a day of violent showers, heavy dark clouds and sudden bursts of blue sky and sunshine.

Here is one photo straight from the camera.

I deliberately exposed for the highlights, casting the friary itself into almost total darkness. I did this because I knew that the camera would actually capture much more detail than this - detail that could be recovered in post-processing.

But as it is I find it utterly uninteresting. It also was not what I actually saw and experienced.

However, with a few tweaks on my computer, this was the result.

I prefer this one. It captures at least some of the drama and atmosphere I both experienced and imagined being there. Is it Bonamargy Friary? Absolutely. Is it real?

Yes and no. Will everyone like it? Certainly not.

One of the things I could do differently with this photo is to remove all the colour like I did with the following, my favourite shot of the Dark Hedges.

Is it real? Few of us see the world only in black and white. And since I don't shoot film it is obvious that this effect was produced on a computer.

Yet here's an interesting thing: no one has ever reacted to any of my black and white photographs with the question, "Did you doctor that?"

Of course, if they did, my answer would be - "Yes".

A Photographer's Paradise?

I expect that many of us have a place we love to go to find new inspiration, a few moments respite from the clamour of the normal, to reflect, to remember, to be renewed, even to pray.

In recent years for me that place has become Ballintoy Harbour and the surrounding coastline. In the four years since we moved to the country I've been there more times than I can count.

I was brought up in a home where the National Geographic Magazine regularly provided a glimpse of the world beyond.

I devoured its pages.

“No, that’s not quite true: I devoured its photographs.”

Yosemite. Yellowstone. Monument Valley. I have a vivid memory of being awestruck when my older brother returned home with slides from his visit to the Grand Canyon. (For those who don't know, 'slides' were basically tiny transparencies produced from film which you then projected onto a screen.)

One day perhaps I'll get to see one of these places. Or perhaps not. I'm sure it would be amazing despite the crowds. Yet that's the thing. I could only see them as a tourist. I might capture them photographically in the best of light.

But they would always only be an exotic place I visited once. And there is benefit to that. Who wouldn't want to see such places in person?

But they aren't home.

They aren't close to being home. They aren't even close. Ballintoy is. Twenty-five minutes of meandering roads, negotiating tractors and watching the seasons change in the fields before the anticipation of that first sight of the sea, and then the white church and the harbour itself.

(Ballintoy Parish Church, which you pass on the way down to the harbour, photographed on a prior visit. Complete with Aurora!)

It isn't that there are no crowds. Tourist numbers are increasing year on year. But I can stay after they have gone. I can go in fair weather and foul. If I rise early I can often enjoy it for hours before seeing another soul. I can get to know it.

And that's one of the great benefits of staying local, of keeping going back, of developing a personal relationship with a place. A place for all seasons and all seasons of the soul.

For a few months, I hadn't been, concerned perhaps that familiarity might breed contempt. But this week took me back and I'm glad it did for it was one of those moody, changeable, beautiful April evenings.

There is so much to savour here, from grand vistas to tiny details. So many viewpoints from which to shoot high or low, west to north-east.

There are old buildings, weathered posts, boats (not in winter) and the rusty remnants of a busy harbour of bygone years. So much to enjoy without a camera or with.

There are rocks and rock pools, inlets and coves, stony beaches and sandy beaches, headlands and islands and on good days glimpses of distant Scotland.

I've photographed gannets diving for fish, noisy gulls, screaming oyster catches and mysterious ravens. Eider ducks bob on the water and occasionally porpoises put on a spectacular display in the cold waters of the North Atlantic.

A short walk from the harbour brings you to a little cove where there is marram grass, a tiny sandy beach, giant limestone stacks and great views of Sheep Island, with Rathlin Island beyond.

“Days of strong seas are particularly exciting here, especially when the tide is high.”

It can also be very conducive to black and white photography, to bring out the drama of the scene on such days.

And like in so many places on these islands the light can change so quickly. On this particular day a passing storm caught the low sun and the mood changed in an instant.

And then there is sunset. This day was particularly windy so there was no chance to use a tripod. It was all I could do to stand relatively still to catch the sudden display.

I wasn't the only one. Look carefully and you will see a person with their phone held in front of them, no doubt thrilled like me to be there for the moment. And then the rain came!

It seemed like photography was over for the day. But I wondered down to the stony beach, with a photographer friend who had joined me, to witness the last light of the day.

All these photographs and more came from one evening at Ballintoy Harbour (apart from the aurora).

Of course, it isn't always like this. Sometimes it is even better! It isn't paradise. But as we say around here: "It'll do"!