Moonrise Project
Moonrise Project
This photo is flawed. It’s blurry and obviously cropped from a much larger photo. Yet, this is the best photo I’ve ever taken of the moon!
Why am I so happy? After several failed attempts – admittedly spontaneous without really thinking through the science of the shot – I finally achieved some decent amateur results as pictured. Though blurry, you can discern the big grey basins and white impact craters, that you can sometimes see with the naked eye.
By the end of 2010, I hope to photograph the moon during each of its phases. Despite having access to billions of Terabytes of information via the Internet, what I discovered through undisciplined trial and error are the following factors for success:
- Tripod to steady the camera
- Telephoto lens to fill as much of the frame as possible; the moon is relatively a small object in the sky
- Small aperture to maintain contrast; the moon is surprisingly bright
- Short shutter speed; blurring from the moon’s movement revealed for longer exposure
- Low ISO of 100 or lower; again, moon is surprisingly bright
- Timetable and Calendar of the Moon’s rising, setting and phase – to avoid venturing out in the night only to find out the moon rose at 9am or that it’s a new moon
Moon Resources
Hudson: Dusk ’til Dawn
Midtown Manhattan a Sunset
Thanks to Karin and MJ who separately inspired me to shoot New York City, and venture out and prove I can do more than just nature photography.
Hudson Sensibilities
Looking down onto 5th Avenue from the Empire State Building observatory
Ending 2009 with a photoshoot atop the Empire State Building and the New Jersey Hudson River harborside.
Point Reyes & Muir Woods
Sunbeams slice through the morning mist.
Click here for more photos below.
It was drizzling and pitch black outside, as I hugged the winding roads in a cheaply-made SUV. It was 9:14 pm when I glanced at the dashboard clock. I was about to enter the cellular “dead zone” with only 15 minutes to arrive before it would be too late to check into the youth hostel located in the middle of Point Reyes National Seashore. The nice girl who answered at the hostel front desk promised to wait a few minutes extra. I told her that I understood if she left, but she assured me she’s leave me a note should “something crazy happen”. I focused back on the road where my high beams sliced through the darkness. My imagination started to run wild:
Bigfoot waits in the forest for me to reach a sharp curve before jumping out of the trees thus scaring the bejeezus out of me. I drive off the road and into the ravine where the SUV toppled onto its side. Bigfoot rips the driver side door off its hinges. I wake from grass and twigs tearing into my back as something large drags me across the forest floor. I lose consciousness again from the trauma.
Not that wouldn’t happen. A pull into the hostel driveway and run into the hostel. Though a “youth”hostel, more seasoned adult travelers lay on the couches reading books and drinking coffee. The hostel living room looks more like a woodsy cabin repurposed as a themed cafe. The cast-iron furnace dies, and I she greets me with a smile. I made it in time.
“Do you have a sleeping bag?” She asked me the same question twice before on the phone. Something tells me a sleeping bag is important.
“No. Is that a problem?”
“No, not at all.” She shows me the closet where they keep the blankets.
4:47 am – It’s freezing. The mattress is a vinyl-lined pad, like the crash pads climbers use for bouldering. Despite the fleece blanket that I’ve wrapped myself in like a burrito, I still feel the chill. A pink glow outside hints of the sun rising, and I can see the other 3 guys in the 14-bunk room cocooned snugly in their sleeping bags. Next time bring a sleeping bag.
8:47 am – I approach a bridge where a pair of ravens (or maybe just crows with black beaks?) perch and preen on the rails of a pedestrian bridge. The trail leads to Limantour Beach on the south-western shores of Point Reyes National Seashore.
10:09 am – The gas icon on the SUV’s control panel glows amber. I’m down to my last gallon of gas, but a 3G network is in range. I find out it’s just another 5 miles to the nearest gas station.
12:12 pm – My friend Alex who lives in San Francisco and I hike in Muir Woods. Shaded from the sun, it’s brisk and somewhat moist. We lose our way on unsigned trails a few times, but encounter a variety of wild-life: a bobcat stalking it’s prey, turkey vultures circling some lost hikers (us), and red-tailed hawks screeching.
3:45 pm – Eating stuffed eggs with a variety of fillings: duck, tuna, truffles, salami.
7:27 pm – Ready to pass out on the couch.
Loveland Pass
Loveland Pass
A short detour to Loveland Pass, during a ski-weekend in the Arapahoe Basin/Keystone Resorts.
Parting Shot | Back Home
Parting Shot
If you haven’t already guessed, I’m already back home… in fact, resting in a condo in the Colorado Rockies near Keystone. Here are some black & white images of my last day in Patagonia from the streets and from the plane.
Last day in Ushuaia
Ushuaia
Images from Ushuaia on my last day in Argentina, and a long journey back home.
Tierra del Fuego: National Park
Tierra del Fuego National Park
A leisurely hike in Tierra del Fuego National Park, accompanied by Carole from Bern, Switzerland.
Beagle Channel
Cormorants in the Beagle Channel
Too tired to write today. Partook in one of those mass-tourism cruise and bus rides, but it was worth it for the limited time I have in Ushuaia and the surrounding area. Getting tired and hiking tomorrow, so I’ll keep this list short and dry:
- Spying on Cormorants
- Trying not to smell sea lions
- Paparazzi-style on Magellan Penguins (locals call them Jack-ass penguins)
- Visiting Estancia Harberton
- Spotting a beaver dam (beavers are not native to South America)
- Spoiling lazy house cats
- Making friends with Otto, the Siberian husky
- Walking along the Ushuaia waterfront
Lo-Fi: Tierra del Fuego
Beagle Channel
I heart Tierra del Fuego. I couldn’t break out the big gun (the Nikon D90) to take photos of the archipelago upon our descent, so I had to do my best with the iPhone built-in camera. Enjoy.
I would have gladly traded my 3 nights in Bariloche, for an extra 3 nights in Ushuaia – even if it would have snowed or rained. Ushuaia carries a more genuine character than the more worldly Bariloche. I’m almost sad to be leaving Patagonia in just 3 days… <sniff>.
Sunny Bariloche
Sunny Bariloche
“Te gusta mucho Bariloche?” taxi driver asked. (Did you enjoy Bariloche?)
“Si! Me gusta mucho,” I lied and smiled. “Es muy linda… (when it’s not raining),” I added in English.
“De China? Japon?” he asked where I was from. I’m not sure why it does, but I am always offended when every “foreigner” asks me whether I am Chinese or Japanese. I have nothing against the people. Then I was reminded by a Chinese tourist on my flight to El Calafate.
“Please, all passengers must be seated during our ascent,” the flight attended politely made a general statement but was clearly directly her comment to the turista who stood up two minutes into the flight. The plane was already rising at an angle, when he took off his seat belt, and raced for the overhead compartment for his camera. Damn… he’s justifying the stereotype, I thought.
She repeated the directions in Spanish. The other tourists tried to grab his attention, but he came to this country speaking neither Spanish nor English. I looked outside at the beautiful mountains that were getting progressively smaller. I started to wish I could claim blissful ignorance and start shooting away.
Damn you, Bariloche. Only when I finally realize my escape plan out of this hell hole, she reveals her beautiful mountains.
Near-bored-to-death Experience
Raindrops
I found myself taking photos of the rain drops frozen to the window pane. “Am I really this bored?” I’d ask myself. Simyon caught me in the act, and started to laugh. There is absolutely nothing to do in Bariloche when it rains.
(Warning: The remainder of this story is somewhat vulgar.)
This hostel has a remarkable ratio of pretty girls, though perhaps committed or too young to realistically pursue. I sit at a table by the window in the canteen eagerly awaiting dinner. It’s already 8:30 pm, but they eat dinner rather late in Argentina. A young Irish man takes a seat at the opposite end of the same bench, we nod in mutual acknowledgement, and he resumes reading a worn paperback book. At the other end of the dining room, I see a young attractive Polish girl approach the table. She scans the table and deliberates whether to sit nearer me or the other guy, but she’s already marked her target. On the prowl, she smiles at the guy and sits directly across from him. I can’t help feeling like an anxious 3rd grader in gym class being the last one to be picked for a team. I come in last.
Her name is impossible for an American or Irishman to pronounce, so he asks her if he could just call her “J”. He recounts his adventures, and she laughs after every thirteen syllables.
“… but it was snowing by the time we got there… ,” he describes.
“Teehee. Hee hee hee,” she interrupts with overtly flirtatious giggles.
Was that really funny? Our long-awaited dinner finally arrives. The staff sets her dish before the caballeros – “ladies first” after all. Tonight’s dinner was a frighteningly large, dull-colored sausage nestled in a bowl of mashed potatoes… still-steaming in all of its glory.
Saluting them with my fork, I smile and greet them: “Buen provecho!” (Equivalent to “Bon appetit” in Spanish.) But on the inside, I burst out laughing. Had I no manners, I would ooze mashed potatoes from out my nostrils. I sink my fork and knife into the kielbasa and quickly shred it to bite-sized nuggets.
Quien no viaja…
“El mundo es como un libro abierto, quien no viaja sólo ha leído la primera pagina.” – Anonymous
(The world is an open book. One who hasn’t traveled, has only read the first page.)
Snowstorm
Snowing in Bariloche
My legs burned trudging uphill. The climb was steep, and visibility clouded by thick snow that fell sideways. I looked down at my black soft-shell jacket now patched with white. Snow flakes melted and stuck to my chest and arms like dust bunnies to velcro. A car honked, a stray Lahsa-apso lapped water from an overflowing storm drain, and natives peered through cafe windows watching comfortably from inside as the snow punished the pedestrians outside. Yes, I’m in Patagonia. But no, I’m not hiking in the wilderness. I’m in Bariloche and it’s snowing like hell.
I left Puerto Natales just 36 hours ago, traveling hundreds of kilometers by bus and by plane to escape the rain. As the plane descended upon Bariloche, the captain beared news greeted by a dismayed silence from the entire cabin of turistas: “We’ll be landing in Bariloche in 5 minutes. It’s 2′C and it’s snowing.” The two young ladies from Buenos Aires next to me were not shy about leaning over me to look out the window and judge for themselves. “Esta nevando?”
Simyan and I had checked the national park information center this morning about trekking. Simyan only received alarmingly depressing news.
“No, the trail is closed due to snow and high winds.”
“How’s the weather tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow? Low clouds, rain, wind. Ehhh… Sunday… rain. Monday…. rain. Next four days…. rain.”
“Is there anywhere in Patagonia where it’s not raining?
The ranger looked at his monitor. “No, it’s just not the season for trekking. It might say rain today, but it could change. I don’t know.”
When there’s nothing else to do, you eat. I spent the rest of the day sleeping, fat from all the meals I’ve had while in Bariloche.
It’s still snowing outside as I type this. A girl from Brazil is watching the movie Sex and the City on the lounge TV. And an Irish lad is on a booking a flight out of here. I can only wish the ski resort is open tomorrow so that this trip up north isn’t a total waste.
Transit Day
View enroute to Calafate
I felt like a rodeo cowboy on a bucking bull, as I gripped the handle bar with my left hand and aimed (or tried aiming) for the toilet with the right. My shoulders alternated banging between the narrow walls, and my feet shuffled to stay upright. The toilet closet was located at the back of the bus, and nature called while the back of the bus jostled on the rocky dirt road of Rt. 40 – along the stretch of highway that ran between the Chilean and Argentinian border. It was like shooting an arrow while riding a mechanical bull… but I kept my pants dry.
After hiking in Torres del Paine for almost 5 days, Puerto Natales and the immediate area started to seem like a dead end. The weather reports promised rain in most areas, and boats and buses to adjacent points of interest – Ushuaia, Puerto Montt, etc. – required a few days of waiting in Puerto Natales before their departure. Staying an extra day to visit a cave with a replica of a prehistoric giant ground sloth was tempting, but there were other sights to be seen and hiked elsewhere in Patagonia.
Gan and Simyan concluded the same decision as I did to leave Puerto Natales by bus back to El Calafate on the Argentinian side of Patagonia. My flight for Bariloche leaves in about 3 hours, where I hope to escape wet weather. Now, just sitting in another locutorio (internet/Skype shop) passing the time. Ironically, it´s mild and sunny with happy, puffy clouds in the sky. Rather than hiking, we spent half the day sitting in a bus. It´s a transit day.
Mirador: Torres del Paine
Las Torres
Everyone has a favorite word in their non-native language. Jack´s was ¨hardcore¨. Jack was a solo world-traveler from Amsterdam, who has been traveling since August 2009. He recounted stories of his travels in southeast Asia and South America, while I took note for my own future aspirations. We shared itineraries.
¨So why did you choose to visit Patagonia?¨
¨Well, it was number 2 of my top 3 places to visit before I turn 30… or die. (Whichever may come first.) I try to pick remote places with lots of outdoor activities… and as few Americans as possible. I´ve already done New Zealand and now Patagonia. Now that´s left is Mongolia.¨
¨I´m glad you said Mongolia. It´s also on my list,¨ Jack smiled. He probably had a penchant for even more ¨hardcore¨places than I did.
My favorite phrase in Spanish was ¨No Importa¨. It means: ¨No matter. No problem.¨
The hut doesn´t have blankets: No importa.
We can´t refund your bus ticket: No importa.
The river water may give you diarrhea: No importa.
This hike may kill you: No importa. The narrow trail staddled a very steep slope, then meandered through a forest, before heading almost directly upwards to the ¨mirador¨ – the viewpoint of Las Torres, iconic granite towers in Torres del Paine national park. I was back in the park one more time to finish the segment of the W-route that I cut short due to rain just a few days ago. Now it was shining brightly with blue skies. My calves, however, also screamed: ¨No importa!¨ They didn´t care about the scenery, but only the lactic acid that instilled burning sensations in my legs. Despite 3 days of straight hiking, I was surprisingly fatigued.
We reached the summit in no more than three hours total rewarded with an amazing view, to which one of the other visitors at the mirador remarked: ¨Maybe only once or twice a month do you get this kind of weather up here.¨
On the way back down, I ran into Gan and Simyan – I good and awesome pair of hikers that I met on my first day in Torres del Paine while riding the catamaran across Lake Pehoe. It was good to see familiar faces again, and we met again the following morning on our return to Puerto Natales.
Thanks to Jack, Gan and Simyan for all the funny stories. I´ll write more when I arrive in Bariloche. Surprise!
Flat Stanley
Flat Stanley in his travel pod, in front of Las Torres in Chile´s Torres del Paine National Park
Today, I took Flat Stanley with me in his ¨travel pod¨on a day hike to Mirador de Las Torres (viewpoint of the towers). Pictured here is Flat Stanley in front of Las Torres.
Mirador Las Torres in Torres del Paine National Park
Flat Stanley says hi to Mrs Bogomolny´s class 5-506 of Brooklyn´s Public School 177!
What are the ¨Torres¨? According to Moon Handbooks: ¨Some 10 million years ago, a magma intrusion failed to reach the earth’s surface, cooling underground into resistant granite; in the interim, water, ice, and snow have eroded softer surrounding terrain to liberate these spires into one of South America’s most dramatic landscapes.¨
o the Mrs Bogomolny´s class 5-506 of Brooklyn´s PS 177
R&R in Puerto Natales
Last Hope Sound
My W-route trek in Torres del Paine National Park cut short by rain. I take a rest day in Puerto Natales instead.
Many thanks to Senora Blanca and staff of Hostal Natales for taking care of me (even when I was sometimes the only guest) and watching over my luggage while I was away. Hostal Natales was a great place to stay.
Lluvia: Escaping the Rain
I layed in the top bunk staring at the ceiling. The hut roof was slanted allowing not only winter snow to slide down but for 2 three-tier bunk beds and another two-tier bunk to fill the room. It was 11:30 pm and the wind roared outside. It shook the entire hut with its fifty or so occupants. The two Coloradan girls and I were betting who would die first if the wind ripped the roof off from its frame. Given my position closest to the ceiling, I bet I would be the first to go.
There was a 2 foot x 3 foot plexi-glass panel in the ceiling that let in some sunshine into the room during the day. I stared through it, and realized the stars were out again. The rain had stopped, but the wind raged on.
The forecast for the third day of the trek was grim – rain for another two days. Although I was confident I could finish the W route accordingly to my original five-day plan, it was unlikely I would even see the famed Las Torres.
(next morning)
¨Why is my entire torso soaked?¨ It was raining and no more than 45 F. I wore a cheap plastic navy blue poncho with a hood over my soft-shell jacket. It fit like a poofy dress and covered everything but my forearms. There was no obvious reason for my jacket to be the least bit wet. I was wishing I had not lost my high-tech rain jacket during the hike to Mount Fitzroy.
I looked down. There was a giant tear near the collar of the poncho. Water collected on the hood and was dripping down my chest. I still had two more hours and 5km more to hike, and it appeared useless to continue wearing the poncho. I wanted to look like the blue, wet, ugly mess I already was and kept the poncho on anyways. At least it would give passing hikers some amusement on this cloudy day. I was a banner proclaiming: ¨Yes, it really is raining and miserable! Viva Patagonia!¨
My boots were surprisingly dry, I thought. Then I stepped into a bog. Water plus gravity equates to hiking trails turning into temporal streams. Where the trail reaches a low point, especially surrounded by bare dirt and grass, the water pools and creates a short-lived mini-swamp. My socks for the first time in three days was wet. This only fueled my legs to press on faster than before.
I waited at another refugio for the shuttle to transfer to the bus back into Puerto Natales. My wet bare feet balanced on the cold bathroom floor, but I was thankful to be changing into drier clothes. I was edging towards hypothermia as the warmth from hiking started to subside.
I´ll return in sunnier days. I got an updated forecast for the entire peninsula – Patagonia including Tierra del Fuego. Snow. Rain. Sleet. Clouds. Now I just have to figure out how to kill 10 days in Patagonia.
Valle de Frances
A flash of yellow – someone´s tent was flying above the low-growing Patagonian beech forest, as we watched from the comfort of the wood-stove-warmed mountain hut. A few seconds later, flashes of green and red followed. The tent´s brightly-attired owners weaved through the trees to chase down their 8b lb 4 oz abode. ¨Ultralight gear¨ is great on the back, but flies like a kite in the Patagonian wind if you don´t stake it down properly.
¨That´s unfortunate,¨ commented the Dutch couple next to me as they warmed their hands around a mug of hot tea. They were of course concerned, but couldn´t find the words in English to express it… better. We were waiting for the refugio staff to serve dinner.
The hut was especially full tonight, and some late arrivals were forced to camp outside the refugio tonight for lack of beds. The refugio was full of french, dutch, scotts, kiwis… and Americans. Americans, especially a group of six American college girls, can get somewhat rowdy. I haven´t seen another American in five days . But two of the girls were from Colorado; we intended to facebook eachother. The Americans that I have met were usually from the active-lifestyle states – Colorado, Alaska, Washington, Montana. Not another soul from New Jersey.
While I was heading east to Las Torres, this group was heading west to the Grey Glacier. Inexperienced hikers seemed alarmed that I was hiking alone.
¨Are there other hikers heading in your direction?¨ asked one of the couples, who was here for their honeymoon.
¨Yes, I know there´s an Israeli and German heading in my direction. And I´ll usually see another hiker pass every hour or so,¨ I answered.
¨So if you break a leg, you just have to wait an hour to get help?¨
¨Yep.¨ I didn´t think long about the comment. It was a calculated risk, and I did bring duct tape 
Torres del Paine is quite crowded, and I wasn´t veering off the trails except to commune with nature no more than twenty feet away from the trail. (Read: ¨commune with nature¨ = ¨potty break¨)
My thoughts ran back to the yellow tent in flight. Just hours ago I was hiking on an exposed ridge in Valle de Frances in my own battle against the wind.
(6 hours earlier)
¨F*$K!!!¨ My head peeked above treeline as I approached the exposed ridge in the center of the valley. A sudden and unexpected gust kicked grains of sand into my eye. I turned around to blink the offending particles from my eye, but another gust ¨kicked¨the back of my knee. I fell ass-first onto the granite.
They don´t kid about the Patagonian wind. I was trying to reach the end of this 12km hike, but nature wasn´t playing nicely. I learned to listen for what sounded like a train in the distance rolling down the mountain side. As the sound got louder, I ducked behind and below the low-growing beech trees that also were clinging for their lives rooted firmly into the fissures in the granite. I imagined a mass of air colliding with the massif on its windward side. The pressure building as the air accumulates and crawls up the windward face. As the air reaches the tipping point, the mass barrels down the leeward side of the mountain unleashing a force that can known a hiker down.
The guidebook exclaimed that the hike into the Valle de Frances was not-to-miss. However, having hiked in Colorado and having just hiked on the Argentinian side I admit I was a little underwhelmed. Then it started snowing.
I looked to the west at the Gran Paine massif. Against the dark rock capped by hanging glaciers, I could see that the snow blew sideways. I continued on. Along the way, I drank water directly from several moss-lined streams and waterfalls that carved troughs in granite. I haven´t been in wildernes this clean since New Zealand.
I was going to finish this hike expecting to see nothing. An assortment of precipitation – snow, sleet, rain, fog – had clouded much of the panorama that was promised. At times the faint silhouettes of the mountains and Los Cuernos would reveal themselves through the veil of snow. Then for no more than five minutes, a gap in the clouds lended a glimpse of the mountains that encircled the valley.
The Southern Cross
The stars appear different in the southern hemisphere. In place of the familiar Orion and Big Dipper constellations, is the souther cross...here shining over Lago ("Lake") Nordenskjöld.
I fastened my camera to the tripod set atop the foundation of a new refugio (mountain hut) that they were building as an extension to the Refugio Los Cuernos where I was spending the night. I pointed the lens up with the focal length at infinity. Click. The shutter would be open for the next few minutes, capturing the billions of stars that filled the night sky here in the southern hemisphere. It was weird to look up and find no big dipper, Orion or polaris. The only collection of stars that I could distinguish was the Southern Cross.
From time to time, I would flash my head lamp into the trees surrounding me, either to spot any lurking pumas or scare them off. It´s rare for pumas to attack or eat people in the park, as they´re aware of the dangers of humans. Nevertheless, I was on the lookout. Behind me was the vague outline of ¨Los Cuernos¨ – the granite monoliths that resembled horns and towered over the refugio.
Torres del Paine: Los Cuernos
"Los Cuernos" near Lago Pehoe in Torres del Paine National Park
Today is the first day of the W-route multi-day hike in Chile´s Torres del Paine National Park. The route can take up to 5 days and abbreviates the normally 8-day Paine Circuit that circles the mountains of Torres del Paine. The route can be done in either east-bound or west-bound directions: Night 1 at Las Torres, Night 2 at Los Cuernos, Night 3 at Lago Pehoe, Night 4 at Lago Grey and finishing back at Lago Pehoe to catch the cataraman across the lake and then to connect to a bus back into Puerto Natales – the nearest town.
Given the grim forecast in later days, I prioritized my hike to focus on Los Cuernos, which lies in the middle section of the route. When sunnier days return, I would come back to finish the Grey Glacier segment in the west, from where I can already see clouds start to roll in from the Pacific.
I hike the 12 km to Refugio Los Cuernos from the dock at the western end of Lago Pehoe, with a late start at 1pm. I´ll be sleeping and eating at the refugios – also known as mountain huts, where there are beds and warm meals available.
