Pre-Season Photographic Pain: My Battle with the Northern Hemisphere's Night Sky

Once again, it was that time of year when sleep, that most cherished of human pastimes, became a quaint and distant memory. It seems that the universe, in its infinite wisdom and rather limited sense of fair play, has decreed that for us northern-hemisphere dwellers, the magnificent Milky Way is visible for a brief, four-hour window each night. Just as you’re getting comfortable, our local star, the Sun, barges in and spoils the whole affair with its rather inconsiderate brightness.

But wait, there's more! You also have to wait for the moon, that celestial busybody, to scoot below the horizon, further whittling down the already slim pickings. It's little wonder then that the bags under my eyes have reached a size and weight that would likely attract a surcharge from even the most lenient of budget airlines.

Given this rather stingy schedule, it was no great shock to discover that I was utterly out of practice. Just getting the blooming subject into some semblance of focus felt less like a skill and more like a minor miracle. The camera, a relatively new acquisition with a menu system that appeared to have been designed by a saboteur with a particular dislike for photographers, only added to the festive mood. I was fully prepared for the whole evening to end in a fit of rage, with a camera unceremoniously hurled into the darkness.

Fortunately, my target for the night was "The Pimple," an object blessedly easy to find, albeit, located in a spot where the local ponies were known to view camera equipment as a late-night snack. A quick stroll from the car, followed by some enthusiastic waving of a torch, (I'm sure the local wildlife was thoroughly confused) and I was done. The whole exercise felt less like a magnificent triumph and more like a hard-fought pre-season victory. It wasn't my finest work, to be sure, but at least I felt a little more prepared for the next cosmic challenge.