Perhaps one of the most recognizable, sought out and loved places in Colorado, the Maroon Bells tower over the surrounding values, high in the Rockies, just west of Aspen.
I drove in when everyone else was on their was out. An analogy of my career and life.
When I arrived to the trailhead, I’d planned to scout out a good site for the Milky Way. Instead I hiked the steep trail to Dream Lake, and took a look around, taking a few shots, but more so, looking at future sites - ones that fit a different time of day much better. And I realized why it’s called Dream Lake. Not only due to its beauty and surroundings, but also because the trail in is steep enough that you dream of finally getting there. After a brief stay, I hiked back down, in the dark, catching up quickly with one of the last groups on the trail, until I arrived back at Bear Lake, and continued along the shore to the northwest side. A quick 2.5 miles.
The next task was finding a good location and setting up. Much easier accomplished in the daylight hours.
Then I waited in the dark on a greater-than-life sized rock at the shoreline for the main part of our galaxy to show itself.
Clouds moved in and out for some time, and I realized that it was going to be tough to catch the Milky Way with its core set between Longs Peak and Mt. Meeker as I had hoped for.
It’s amazingly quiet there, and easy to feel like you’re the only person in the world. Occasionally, I’d see headlamps and catch a bit of the faint voices of the late arrivals, picking their way down the steep trail.
The only other sounds were the occasional unknown animal in the dense forest surrounding the lake, and the constant, distant sound of flowing water from the many cascading creeks and waterfalls in the area. And another fleeting, ethereal sound - one I hadn’t heard for quite some time. It was like a brief whisper in my head, until my memory finally recalled the sound of bats winging inches by and over me, searching in the cool night over the lake for their dinner.
My plans for an unobstructed alignment of the heavens and earth weren’t realized.
But like many aspects of life, we don’t always get what we hope for, rather, we get something just as good or better.
Not much remains of Stumptown, a once thriving, bustling mining town just east of Leadville, Colorado, at 11,100 feet, in the Mosquito Range of the Rocky Mountains in central Colorado.
First known as “South Evans,” it was later named Stumptown. The settlement began in 1879 with the discovery of lead carbonate ores in the Little Ellen Mine, and it was largely abandoned in the late 1930’s.
Primarily a residential town with a few saloons, houses were small and none had indoor plumbing. Water for cooking and bathing came from the town pump.
Margaret “Molly” Brown, the ‘Unsinkable Molly Brown’ of Titanic fame arrived in the early 1880s and lived in Stumptown for a year, as a young bride, before relocating to Leadville.
Today, this is one of few structures standing. The current area residents include beavers, who’ve dammed the stream and created their own town.
The Milky Way shines brightly at this altitude and the lack of light pollution makes the view even better.
A night drive to the eastern Colorado plains and the one time town of Claud. The only building remaining is the former post office.
Finding true dark skies can be a challenge, but this location is very rural and fits the bill.
It’s my second visit to this place, and although it was initially only me, the cows, some antelope, deer and bats, I was soon joined by a new friend, a fellow stargazer.
We talked and laughed and shared an amazing sky and some welcome hot coffee.
In addition to the always awe-inspiring Milky Way, we were also serenaded by more than a few coyotes, and had the pleasure of seeing a very bright extraterrestrial visitor streak through the sky in our direct view.
Another beautiful spring night.
It was a Tuesday evening, I got off of work at 8 and drove north and west to Rocky Mountain National Park to meet a friend at Sprague Lake, for another calm peaceful evening under the stars, hoping to catch the galaxy over our heads.
Astrophotography is an acquired love, with a necessity of going to places at night when everyone else has left and gone home or back to their travel accommodations for the night. The time and planning that goes into it can be worth it if the conditions are right, but many times you get there only to realize that what you’d hoped for didn’t pan out.
Either way, the huge bonus is that you’re usually all alone, and able to enjoy the peace and solitude of being in a beautiful place, and having it all to yourself.
So after two hours of driving alone in the dark to get there, we weren’t disappointed with the views.
At 10,660 feet, in a basin just west of the Continental Divide in north Colorado's Rocky Mountain National Park, lies beautiful Lake Irene. The lake is a perfect setting to view the awe-inspiring Milky Way.
The vast array of the Milky Way gives a breath-taking show over the dunes and mountains of south central Colorado’s San Luis Valley, bordered on the east by the Sangre de Christo mountains and a beautiful uncommon phenomenon - Great Sand Dunes National Park and Reserve, which is a designated International Dark Sky Park. On this night, the Perseid meteor shower was also active, with one of its visitors visible in this frame.
At nearly 150,000 acres (30 sq. miles and 1.2 cubic miles of sand!), the park and reserve includes the tallest dunes in North America (750 feet) as well as alpine lakes and tundra, mountain peaks over 13,000 feet, and mixed conifer forest, wetlands and grassland.
They were created from sediments from the Sangre de Cristo Range, and the San Juan mountains to the west, which filled the valley floor, along with water from melting glaciers and rain. A large body of water named Lake Alamosa formed, and when it receded suddenly and the water drained, this left large amount of sediment in a sand sheet.
Over tens of thousands of years, sand that was left behind blew along with the predominant southwest winds toward a natural pocket at the base of the Sangre de Cristo Range. The wind blows from the valley floor towards three mountain passes, but during the storms the winds blow back toward the valley. These opposing wind directions cause the sand to collect in this pocket of the valley, and the dunes to grow vertically.
Last Thursday night, I drove east of Denver on the plains to shoot the Milky Way over the old post office of Maud, Colorado.
Not much is left of the small town, and this is the lone surviving structure.
Once the central point of the town, it’s now occupied by bats.
Soon after I arrived and started setting up, several other photographers showed up to do the same. Although I enjoy the solitude of landscape and astrophotography, it was a pleasure to meet and hang out with some new friends.
Although I’m a little rusty with my techniques, I liked the way this turned out.
The Flat Irons, a nearly 200 million year old series of five lifted and tilted conglomerate sandstone slabs, forming the east slope of Green Mountain.
They tower over the southwest edge of Boulder, Colorado, on the Rocky Mountain Front Range, and are an iconic, ubiquitous symbol of Boulder.
Many hours were spent at this location in Chautauqua Meadow (complete with late night and early morning animal visitors) to acquire a clear view of the Milky Way. The area is well-known and popular with hikers and climbers. Unfortunately, the city lights of Denver just 30 miles to the southeast contribute significant light pollution, a difficult adversary to shooting nightscapes.