First Milky Way Photo of the Year, 2025

Every year since about 2011, I’ve taken my “first Milky Way photo of the year,” a practice that has become so routine that I don’t think about it much or even mention it. This year, while freezing my extremities off in central Oregon in February, I decided that I should start paying closer attention to these “firsts.” For one thing, each “first Milky Way” is hard-earned. And I needed an excuse to make a new blog post.

The Milky Way core peeks out from behind Sheep Rock, John Day National Monument, Oregon.

So here goes: I took this panorama in the Sheep Rock unit of the John Day National Monument in February. The night was clear and cold, like most winter nights in central Oregon, with just enough occasional gusting wind so as to screw up a few of my exposures from that night (I’m assuming from some kind of minor movement, like my intervalometer swinging in the wind while dangling from my tripod). Thankfully, I had taken a number of “safety shots,” and was able to cobble together a full panorama.

The final panorama is 14 total photos, each exposure 75 seconds, for a total of about 17 minutes of capture for this panorama. Just imagine how much time is wasted when one of the frames from the panorama is unusable and I have to re-start. (I think I had about three unusable panoramas out of this session.) The field of view is about a full 180 degrees, directly north to directly south.

The night sky itself was kind of odd. You can see a pretty clear delineation in the sky where the green-yellow airglow collided with what I think was low-level pink-purple aurora, although the only thing visible to the naked eye was what I thought was light pollution coming from the north. Turns out that may not have been the case and what I was seeing was low-level aurora borealis instead. The result is pretty much pure clown vomit.

The prominence is Sheep Rock, which features a pretty complex but colorful geology. You can see some of the greenish sections of rock, which are the result of chemical weathering of a mineral called celadonite.

Thanks for looking!

STEVE in Oregon – A (long) look back at…

On June 1, 2013, after a few weeks of sporadic aurora activity, I had decided to drive up to Mt Hood’s Trillium Lake to take some photos of the sunset, twilight, and night sky. Over the previous year I had noticed a steady uptick in the number of photographers that would set up along the shores at the lake, but this particular day/night was still in the halcyon pre-Instagram days, where the odds were, if other photographers were there, I would likely know them, and there was plenty of lake shore to spread out and work together.

Shockingly, I did not own a smart phone at the time. I know, I know…the times were different. About an hour after sunset, my wife, who was at home and had an Internet connection, called me to tell me that the KP had jumped up. I immediately looked to the north, and, could just make out faint glimmers of aurora activity in the blue twilight sky.

I settled in and started snapping photos. As the sky got darker the show became more and more clear: Red-pink vertical columns danced above Yellow-green blurs of aurora low on the horizon.

And then something strange happened.

To the northwest of Trillium Lake is an unnamed hill that’s about 500 to 1,000 feet higher than the lake itself. Slowly, over a couple of minutes, a bright band of glow worm-like light grew out of the hill and began to arc across the sky over the lake, so high that it was nearly touching the sky’s zenith. I angled my 14mm lens upward, trying to capture the full display, but it was impossible. I struggled to point my camera straight up; my ballhead and a knob or two on my tripod simply weren’t allowing me to do it. I could’ve reconfigured my center column to get the angle I wanted, but in the dark with limited time I decided to just shoot what I could.

What I didn’t know at the time was that I’d just met STEVE (strong thermal emission velocity enhancement), years before STEVE was even STEVE.

And in just 5 minutes, the phenomenon was gone. The strong arc expanded, wavered a bit like it was flapping in the wind, and then it broke up, leaving the aurora display much lower on the horizon to continue on strong.

Strong thermal emission velocity enhancement (STEVE) appears over Trillium Lake and Mt Hood, Oregon.
Strong thermal emission velocity enhancement (STEVE) appears over Trillium Lake and Mt Hood, Oregon, June 1, 2013. To my knowledge this is the only photo I know of that features STEVE in Oregon.

The above panorama was assembled from 4 or 5 photos to give a greater field of view of the scene. I thought the result was better than any of the frames individually, as I was able to show the lake, a tiny sliver of actual foreground in the lower left corner, a nearby tree (on the left), and then a good amount of sky. (Just to illustrate, Polaris can be found about 4/5ths up in the center of the photograph, and Polaris is about 45 degrees above the horizon. I’m guessing my final result was 60 or more degrees of sky, along with foreground just a few feet in front of me.

I put together a quick gif that shows some of STEVE’s movement over a minute or two.
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