Big Bend National Park is one of those places that seems made for night sky photography.

Located in the remote reaches of West Texas, the park protects a vast stretch of the Chihuahuan Desert along the Rio Grande. Its distance from major cities means exceptionally dark skies, expansive horizons and very little artificial light competing with the stars.

I’ve photographed the night sky in a lot of places, but Big Bend continues to stand apart.

When darkness settles over the desert, the landscape changes completely. The heat fades, familiar formations become silhouettes and the sky begins revealing details that simply aren’t visible in most places. On a clear, moonless night, the Milky Way is unmistakable to the naked eye.

Of course, dark skies alone don’t make a compelling photograph.

The real challenge is finding a foreground, anticipating where the Milky Way will appear, working with the available light and combining all of those elements into a photograph that captures what it actually felt like to stand there.

Here’s how I approach it.

Start With The Landscape, Not The Stars

One of the easiest mistakes to make with astrophotography is becoming so focused on the sky that the landscape becomes an afterthought.

I approach an astro-landscape photograph much like I would any other landscape image. I look for a strong foreground, interesting shapes, visual balance and something that gives the viewer a sense of place.

Big Bend provides plenty to work with.

Prickly pear, agave and other desert plants can make excellent foreground subjects. The Chisos Mountains create dramatic silhouettes and the open desert gives you enormous skies without many of the obstructions you encounter elsewhere.

Whenever possible, I scout potential compositions during daylight.

Walking around in complete darkness trying to find a cactus that happens to line up perfectly with the Milky Way is possible. I’ve done it. But finding that composition several hours earlier is considerably easier.

Daylight scouting also gives you time to notice distractions, determine where you’ll place the tripod and think about how the scene will change once the sky becomes dark.

Then I use an app such as PhotoPills to determine where and when the Milky Way will move into position.

That combination of planning and scouting removes a lot of guesswork once darkness arrives.

Single Shot. Backlit by Moonlight. Sony A7R IV + 16-35mm GM. 30 sec @ f/2.8, 16mm, ISO 6400 📍Rio Grande Valley

Planning Around The Moon

The moon can completely change an astro-landscape photograph.

If the goal is to capture maximum detail in the Milky Way, I generally want little or no moonlight. That might mean photographing around the new moon or waiting until after moonset.

But moonlight isn’t necessarily bad.

A small amount of moonlight can beautifully illuminate a desert foreground and create a much more natural-looking landscape than artificial lighting. One of the photographs from my original Big Bend trip was made as a single exposure with the landscape illuminated by moonlight.

The key is understanding what the moon will be doing before heading into the field.

I use PhotoPills to check:

• Moon phase

• Moonrise and moonset

• Milky Way position

• Galactic core visibility

• The relationship between the Milky Way and my planned composition

Weather is the other variable, of course, and Big Bend can still make its own plans regardless of what an app says.

Planning doesn’t guarantee a photograph. It simply puts you in the best position to make one when everything comes together.

Choosing Your Camera Settings

There isn’t one perfect set of settings for photographing the Milky Way.

My starting point with a modern full-frame camera is generally somewhere around:

• Aperture: f/1.8–f/2.8

• Shutter: 15–30 seconds

• ISO: 1600–3200

• Focal length: 14–24mm

Those are starting points, not rules.

Your ideal shutter speed depends on focal length, sensor resolution and how much star movement you’re willing to accept. On today’s high-resolution cameras, stars can begin showing movement sooner than you might expect when examining the image closely.

Rather than automatically using the longest exposure possible, I prefer to keep the stars reasonably tight and compensate with aperture, ISO or multiple exposures when necessary.

High ISO isn’t something to fear either.

Modern cameras and noise-reduction tools are remarkably capable. I’d rather capture a properly exposed file at a higher ISO than significantly underexpose the image and attempt to recover everything later.

Four Shot Vertical Panorama. Manually Stitched and Cropped in Photoshop. Sony A7R IV + 16-35mm GM. 30 sec @ f/2.8, 16mm, ISO 6400 📍Chisos Mountains

Focusing On The Stars

Autofocus usually isn’t going to help much once you’re pointing your camera into a dark sky.

I switch the lens to manual focus, find a bright star and magnify it on the camera’s LCD or electronic viewfinder.

Then I slowly adjust focus until the star becomes the smallest, sharpest point possible.

Don’t simply turn the lens to infinity and assume it’s correct. The infinity markings on lenses aren’t precise enough for critical astrophotography focus.

Once focus is established, I leave it alone unless I change lenses or something moves the focus ring.

And I check it periodically.

There are few things more frustrating than spending an hour photographing the Milky Way only to discover later that the stars were slightly out of focus.

Building The Photograph With The Foreground

This is where astro-landscape photography becomes particularly interesting.

The stars may be at infinity, but your foreground probably isn’t.

If I’m working with a cactus only a few feet from the camera, I can’t necessarily keep both the foreground and stars critically sharp in a single exposure at f/2.8 or wider.

That’s when I’ll photograph the scene in parts.

I’ll first focus on the foreground and make an exposure specifically for it. Then I’ll refocus on the stars and capture the sky.

Later, those exposures can be blended in Photoshop.

This isn’t about creating something that wasn’t there. It’s a way of overcoming the physical limitations of depth of field and capturing the scene closer to the way I experienced it.

Single Shot. Light Painted Foreground. Sony A7R IV + 16-35mm GM. 30 sec @ f/2.8, 24mm, ISO 6400 📍Rio Grande Village Campground

Adding Light To The Foreground

Sometimes moonlight provides everything you need.

Other times the foreground disappears almost completely into darkness.

That’s when subtle light painting can help.

For some of my original Big Bend photographs, I used a small Lume Cube positioned away from the camera. A headlamp can also work surprisingly well.

The important word here is subtle.

It’s incredibly easy to over-light a foreground beneath a dark sky. If a cactus looks like someone parked a truck in front of it with the headlights on, the lighting is probably overpowering the scene.

I usually start with the lowest amount of light possible.

I’ll make an exposure, check the balance between the foreground and sky and adjust from there. Moving the light farther from the subject, changing its angle or bouncing the light can make an enormous difference.

Often, less light produces the more convincing photograph.

Single Shot. Sony A7R IV + 16-35mm GM. 60 sec @ f/2.8, 16mm, ISO 12800📍Chisos Mountains

Going Beyond A Single Exposure

Not every night sky photograph needs complicated techniques.

Some of my favorite images are still single exposures.

But once you start pushing image quality further, there are several techniques that open up new possibilities.

Focus Stacking

I’ll sometimes photograph the foreground and sky at different focus distances and blend them later.

Image Stacking

Multiple sky exposures can be aligned and stacked to reduce noise while preserving stars as points of light.

Panoramas

A panorama allows you to capture a much larger section of the sky while maintaining substantial resolution.

For one of my Big Bend images, I photographed four vertical frames and manually stitched them together in Photoshop.

Star Tracking

A star tracker allows the camera to follow the movement of the night sky during a longer exposure.

That can produce significantly cleaner sky files with more detail and less noise, although the foreground must usually be photographed separately because the tracker causes the landscape itself to move within the frame.

None of these techniques is automatically better than a single exposure.

They’re simply different tools available depending on the photograph I’m trying to make.

My Essential Astrophotography Gear

You don’t need an enormous amount of specialized equipment to photograph the Milky Way.

A few things do make the process considerably easier.

Camera And Wide-Angle Lens

A modern mirrorless or DSLR camera paired with a fast wide-angle lens is ideal.

I currently work with a Sony A7R V and lenses including the Sony 14mm f/1.8 GM, 16–35mm f/2.8 GM and 20mm f/1.8.

You don’t need those exact lenses. Something in roughly the 14–24mm range with an aperture of f/2.8 or faster gives you an excellent starting point.

Sturdy Tripod

Long exposures make a tripod essential.

Stability matters more to me than shaving every possible ounce from the tripod, particularly when working in wind or uneven desert terrain.

Headlamp

This is both photography gear and safety equipment.

I prefer a headlamp with a red-light mode, which makes it easier to preserve night vision while adjusting equipment or moving around the shooting location.

Remote Release Or Intervalometer

A remote shutter release is convenient, particularly when capturing multiple exposures.

But it isn’t essential. Most modern cameras include a two-second timer and many have interval shooting built in.

Small Light Source

If I plan to illuminate foreground elements, I’ll carry a small adjustable LED light or use a headlamp.

Again, you don’t need much light.

Post-Processing The Final Image

Capturing the files in the field is only part of the process.

My current workflow generally begins in Adobe Lightroom Classic, where I’ll make initial adjustments to exposure, color, lens corrections and noise.

If the photograph involves separate foreground and sky exposures, focus stacking, panoramas or more complex blending, I’ll move those files into Photoshop.

This is where the pieces come together.

My goal isn’t to make the night sky look like daylight or push every bit of color available from the file. I want to retain the feeling of being outside beneath a genuinely dark sky while revealing detail the camera captured that our eyes may not immediately perceive.

That balance is subjective.

It’s also one of my favorite parts of the process.

What I’ve Learned From Photographing Big Bend At Night

I’ve returned to Big Bend since making the photographs that originally inspired this article, and each visit reinforces the same thing:

The best astrophotography usually begins long before you press the shutter.

Knowing the landscape matters. Scouting matters. Understanding the moon and the movement of the Milky Way matters. And patience matters.

It’s easy to become obsessed with camera settings, specialized equipment and increasingly complicated techniques. Those things can certainly improve image quality, but they can’t replace being in the right place when the landscape and sky come together.

Big Bend gives photographers an extraordinary canvas.

The Chisos Mountains, Rio Grande, desert plants, enormous horizons and exceptionally dark skies provide almost endless possibilities. The challenge is deciding what you want to say about the place rather than simply pointing the camera upward.

That’s what keeps bringing me back.

Photograph Big Bend With Me

If you’d rather experience all of this in the field, I’ll be returning to Big Bend National Park this November for a small-group Landscape & Astrophotography Workshop.

We’ll spend three days photographing the park from golden hour through the night sky, working through the entire process I’ve described here: scouting compositions, understanding the light, photographing the Milky Way and creating stronger landscape images in one of the darkest places in North America.

We’ll also spend time on post-processing so you can take what we’ve captured in the field and turn it into a finished photograph.

The workshop is timed around the new moon and limited to just five photographers, allowing plenty of individual instruction in the field.

• November 8–10, 2026

• Big Bend National Park, Texas

• Landscape + Astrophotography

• Small Group Experience

Learn more and secure your spot here:

https://alanstenbackphotography.us/big-bend-national-park-photography-workshop-texas/

Some trips are planned months in advance. Others come together because an unexpected opportunity appears and you know immediately that you have to say yes.

Just as Gina and I were finishing the plans and webpage for our Big Bend Landscape & Astro Photography Workshop in November, we were invited to create new marketing photography for Space Cowboys in Terlingua.

We had a mostly “free” week. It would be a long drive from Colorado for a short stay, especially in the August heat, but we knew we could make it work.

So, without much hesitation, we said yes.

The trip would give me a chance to photograph a truly unique property beneath the dark skies of Far West Texas. From there, Gina and I could head into Big Bend National Park for a quick two-day, one-night scouting trip, an opportunity to spend more time in locations we were considering for November and create a few new photographs of our own.

It was a lot to fit into a handful of days, but we had this.

First Stop: Space Cowboys

Our first stop in the Big Bend area was Space Cowboys in Terlingua.

Space Cowboys is part desert basecamp, part glamping retreat and part intergalactic playground. Its hard-shell dome pods sit along a volcanic desert hill with sweeping views of the Big Bend landscape and the enormous sky above it.

The property is playful and unexpected, with reclining airline seats, galaxy-inspired lighting, alien trails and plenty of space to sit outside and watch the stars. The pods also offer the comforts you appreciate after a long day in the desert, including powerful air conditioning, which is no small thing in Terlingua in August.

I worked with Slava and Dante to photograph the property and its individual domes, beginning in the daylight and continuing through golden hour and into the night.

During the day, the landscape is rugged, bright and seemingly endless. As evening arrives, everything changes. The heat begins to ease. The desert takes on softer colors. Then darkness settles over the property and “Space Cowboys” really comes alive.

With very little artificial light competing with the sky, the Milky Way is clearly visible overhead. The domes, desert terrain and space-inspired details gave me endless possibilities for creating photographs that felt both grounded in the Chihuahuan Desert and just a little otherworldly.

It was a fun shoot, a memorable stay and an easy place to understand once you have experienced a Terlingua night beneath the stars.

Scouting Big Bend in the August Heat

From Terlingua, Gina and I headed into Big Bend National Park for a fast two-day, one-night scouting trip.

I had already spent a great deal of time researching potential locations for the November workshop. Planning apps, maps and photographs can tell you a lot, but they cannot show you everything. There is no substitute for standing in a location, watching how the light moves across it, checking sightlines and understanding the practical realities of bringing a small group there.

This visit gave us a chance to look more closely at travel times, access and possible shooting locations. It also gave me time to explore without the pressure of leading a group, to slow down, watch and make a few new photographs.

It was hot. Very, very hot.

Temperatures around Terlingua and in the lower elevations climbed to roughly 105 to 110 degrees. Even in the Chisos Mountains, temperatures reached well into the 90s.

In that kind of heat, you do not rush. You carry more water than you think you will need, plan carefully and learn to work with the desert instead of trying to overpower it.

Yet the beauty never lets up.

The sun remains out in all its glory until close to 8 p.m., when it finally begins to caress instead of whip you. Then the entire landscape changes. The Chihuahuan Desert takes on layers of gold, rust, rose and violet. Mountains that appeared harsh and distant an hour earlier begin to glow.

Desert light is always a spectacle in Big Bend.

Shortly after, the stars come out to play.

The astrophotography party here is like no other. With so little artificial light competing with the sky, the Milky Way becomes part of the landscape rather than something separate from it. The darkness has depth. The silence feels bigger.

I have photographed the night sky many times, but Big Bend has a way of making me stop and look up all over again.

A Challenging Night in the Chisos

Our night camping in the Chisos Mountains was not the easiest night we have had.

The Chisos are beautiful and have so much to offer, and I will not dwell on the particulars of this visit. Let’s just say that this time, the mountains were not especially kind to us.

That is sometimes part of working outdoors. Not every trip unfolds smoothly, and not every location welcomes you in quite the same way. You adapt. You pay attention. You take what the landscape gives you.

Still, beauty called. Majestic night skies waited. I was there for all of it, camera ready.

Despite the heat and the challenges, it felt like another magical visit to the Chihuahuan Desert. Except for what we witnessed near Santa Elena Canyon.

The Day Everything Began to Change

On August 6, Gina and I drove to the Santa Elena Canyon viewpoint.

Santa Elena is one of the defining landscapes of Big Bend. The limestone walls rise dramatically above the Rio Grande, with the river carving its course between the United States and Mexico. Standing before it, the canyon feels immense, quiet and timeless.

That same day, contractors began clearing land near Santa Elena Canyon for a new patrol road connected to a larger border infrastructure project. Current plans also include detection technology and sections of vehicle barriers along the Rio Grande. What has often been described as a partial wall.

We had arrived on the day the first ground was being broken for a project that, to us, felt both unthinkable and entirely uncalled for.

The black-and-white photograph accompanying this story does not show the machinery. It shows Santa Elena Canyon and the wide expanse of desert and river corridor in front of it. The very land now being cleared.

Federal activity was already heavy that day, and we did not stay long. The midday light was harsh, so I chose to process the image in black and white. At the time, I thought I was simply photographing one of Big Bend’s most iconic landscapes. I did not yet understand that the image would become a record of that land at the moment everything began to change. I did not yet understand how much weight it would carry.

In the days that followed, the construction became national news. Although we had been there at its very beginning, it remains heart-wrenchingly difficult to comprehend what is being done to that land.

Big Bend is one of the most remote and ecologically significant landscapes in this country. The Rio Grande, the desert, the canyons, the plants and the wildlife do not exist as separate pieces. They form one interconnected place, one that has remained wild, serene and remarkably untouched for generations.

Cutting roads through that landscape and clearing native vegetation along the river will leave consequences for nature and wildlife for many years to come. Damage like this cannot simply be undone when the machinery leaves.

I am deeply saddened by it. I am angry. And yes, I am disgusted that this destruction is being carried out inside a national park whose land is supposed to be protected.

The photograph of Santa Elena Canyon does not document the machinery. Instead, it holds the stillness and beauty of that landscape on the day the destruction began.

Visitors planning a trip should check the National Park Service alerts and conditions page for current construction-related closures and access updates.

Why We Will Keep Returning

This trip gave me new photographs, a deeper understanding of the park and a clearer vision for our November workshop. It also reminded me that access to places like Big Bend should never be taken for granted.

Gina and I will always cherish that we were able to witness and photograph the raw, untouched beauty of this landscape. We will continue sharing it through the images and stories we bring home.

And we will be back.

We will continue bringing people and light to this untamed, beautiful place. Thoughtfully, with a small footprint and with deep respect for the land. In November, I look forward to helping a small group of photographers experience the changing desert light, the vast landscapes and a night sky unlike almost anywhere else.

Because photographs can do more than show what a place looks like.

They can preserve how it once felt. They can bear witness to what is changing. And sometimes, they can remind us why a place is worth protecting.

Learn more about the Big Bend Landscape & Astro Photography Workshop here.

Clear skies,

Alan Stenback

One thing I’ve noticed while leading night photography workshops is that the first photograph of the evening is rarely delayed by the weather.

Or the hike.

Or even the darkness.

More often than not, it’s delayed by uncertainty.

As the first stars begin to appear, I often see photographers standing beside their tripods, headlamps glowing, scrolling through camera menus or double-checking settings. They’re wondering if everything is configured correctly before they press the shutter for the first time.

I’ve been there too.

That’s when I realized the biggest obstacle isn’t usually technical ability.

It’s friction.

There has never been a better time to photograph the night sky.

Today’s cameras produce remarkably clean images at high ISO. Editing software is more powerful than ever. Planning apps can tell us exactly where the Milky Way will appear, when the moon will rise, and even whether clouds will move in before midnight.

Ironically, astrophotography has never been more accessible.

Yet for many photographers, it has never felt more complicated.

Spend just a few minutes online and you’ll quickly find yourself buried beneath an endless stream of advice. One photographer recommends a star tracker. Another says you should shoot panoramas.

Then comes focus stacking, foreground blending, AI noise reduction, AI sharpening, plugins, workflows, and an ever-growing list of gear upgrades.

None of this advice is wrong.

Many of these techniques have their place, and I use several of them myself when they genuinely improve an image.

The problem is that somewhere along the way, many photographers begin to believe they’re required.

Photography slowly transforms from an experience into a checklist. Instead of asking, “What do I want to create?” we start asking, “What technique should I use?”

That’s friction.

Friction Doesn’t Always Look Like Difficulty

When most people think about obstacles, they imagine something obvious.

A long hike.

Bad weather.

Expensive equipment.

In reality, the biggest obstacles are often much smaller. They’re the tiny decisions that quietly pile up until they become excuses.

It’s wondering whether your camera is configured correctly before you leave home. It’s scrolling through menus with a headlamp while everyone else is already photographing. It’s watching one more YouTube video because you’re still not convinced you understand the “right” way.

One hesitation becomes another.

Before long…

You stay home.

I’ve spent evenings thinking about photography instead of making photographs.

Planning.

Researching.

Comparing techniques.

Wondering whether there was a better way.

Over time, I realized something.

The best nights rarely came from knowing more.

They came from thinking less.

Friction Evolves

When we’re starting out, the friction is usually technical.

Camera menus.

Manual focus.

Exposure settings.

The fear of getting it wrong.

As we gain experience, something interesting happens.

The friction doesn’t disappear.

It simply changes.

Now we’re wondering whether we should track.

Blend.

Stack.

Shoot a panorama.

Or combine all four into a single image.

Again, these techniques aren’t the problem.

Believing they’re always necessary is.

Some of my favorite photographs I’ve ever made are simple single exposures. Not because I don’t know how to use more advanced techniques, but because they simply weren’t needed.

Sometimes a tracked image is exactly the right solution. Sometimes exposure blending creates a photograph that couldn’t otherwise exist. Sometimes stacking produces cleaner results.

The point isn’t to avoid these tools.

It’s knowing when they actually serve the photograph.

The best technique isn’t the most complicated one.

It’s the one that helps you create the image you envisioned.

Confidence Lives in Simplicity

One of the biggest lessons photography has taught me is that confidence rarely comes from knowing more.

It comes from needing to think less.

Knowing exactly where your focus magnification is.

Having a few camera settings you trust.

Following a workflow you’ve practiced enough that it becomes second nature.

When your camera fades into the background, something changes.

You stop thinking about buttons.

You start noticing the landscape.

The changing light.

The stars.

The silence.

That’s where photographs begin.

Photography has always been more than settings. It’s about being present. And presence becomes much easier when your camera no longer demands all of your attention.

Why I Teach the Way I Do

That realization has shaped every workshop and retreat I lead.

My goal isn’t to overwhelm people with every camera feature or every processing technique available. It’s to remove friction before it has a chance to get in the way.

We simplify camera setup before darkness falls. We answer questions in the field instead of sending people home with another list of things to research. We build confidence through repetition, helping the camera become a familiar tool instead of another obstacle.

Because the less time we spend fighting our equipment…

The more time we spend experiencing the places we came to photograph.

A Different Definition of Progress

Photography will continue to evolve.

New cameras will arrive.

New software will appear.

New techniques will become popular.

There’s nothing wrong with embracing those tools when they genuinely help you tell the story you want to tell.

But I don’t believe progress is measured by how many techniques you’ve mastered.

Sometimes progress looks much quieter.

It’s knowing which techniques you can leave behind.

It’s trusting your instincts.

It’s heading into the field with a simple plan instead of an overloaded checklist.

Photography was never meant to be about memorizing menus or chasing every new workflow.

It was meant to slow us down.

To notice the world a little differently.

To stand beneath a sky full of stars…

…and simply look up.

Sometimes the best thing you can do for your photography isn’t learn something new.

It’s remove the things that have been keeping you from making photographs in the first place.

That philosophy sits at the heart of every workshop and retreat I lead.

This summer, I have one remaining spot available for my 3-Night Astrophotography Retreat near Fairplay, Colorado.

And later this September, just one spot remains for our Bisti Badlands Astrophotography Workshop in New Mexico.

If this philosophy resonates with you…

I’d love to have you join me beneath the stars.

Photography wasn’t meant to be another checklist.

It was meant to be an experience.

A reason to go outside.

A reason to slow down.

A reason to look up.

I hope I’ll see you out there.

With a camera in your hands.

A simple plan.

And a little less friction.

Field Note

Every photograph accompanying this article was created as a single exposure.

No tracking. No panorama stitching. No focus stacking. No exposure blending.

Just a camera, a tripod, and a simple workflow beneath the stars.

Clear skies,

Alan Stenback

Milky Way season is in full swing, at least here in the Northern Hemisphere. With the moon waning and approaching new, now is an excellent time to get out and photograph the night sky.

In recent weeks, I’ve written quite a bit about tranquility, the stillness that draws many of us outdoors long after sunset. But eventually, every photographer standing beneath a dark sky asks the same question:

“Okay… now how do I photograph this?”

The good news is that Milky Way photography is far less complicated than most people think. Once you understand a few core settings, you can spend less time worrying about your camera and more time enjoying the experience.

If you’re just getting started, here’s a reliable baseline for Milky Way photography:

• Lens: 14mm–20mm (wide angle)

• Aperture: f/1.8–f/2.8

• Shutter: 15–30 seconds (depending on focal length and aperture)

• ISO: 1600–3200

• Focus: Manual, set precisely on a bright star using focus peaking

These aren’t rigid rules, but they’re a strong starting point.

From there, refine based on:

• Sky brightness

• Foreground detail

• Desired mood

Remember: camera settings support the experience. They don’t replace it.

Going Beyond the Basics

Once you’ve mastered single-exposure night images, there are more advanced techniques that open creative doors while still preserving calm tonal balance.

1. Star Tracking

Using a star tracker allows:

• Longer exposures (1–3 minutes+)

• Lower ISO

• Cleaner files

• More subtle tonal transitions

The trade-off?

You’ll need a separate foreground exposure and careful blending.

This method rewards patience and precision.

2. Image Stacking

Instead of one 15-second exposure, you might capture:

• 10–20 identical sky frames

• Blend them in post to reduce noise

Stacking allows:

• Lower ISO noise

• Greater dynamic range

• Smoother gradients in the Milky Way

It’s a powerful technique, but only if your composition is strong to begin with. Good light and thoughtful composition will always matter more than perfect noise reduction.

3. Blending for Mood

Advanced night photographers often blend:

• A sky exposure

• A low-level foreground exposure

• Possibly a twilight blue-hour base

The key is restraint.

Over-processing destroys tranquility faster than poor exposure ever could.

Subtle transitions are what make night images feel peaceful rather than artificial.

Night sky photography can be as simple or as technical as you choose to make it.

But at every level, from beginner to advanced, the underlying discipline remains the same:

Simplify.

Slow down.

Respect the light.

That’s exactly what we’ll be practicing this summer beneath some of the darkest skies in the American Southwest, whether you’re learning your first Milky Way settings or refining advanced techniques like tracking, stacking and blending.

A few spots remain this summer for our Colorado & New Mexico night sky workshops and our immersive Colorado retreats.

Learn more here: https://alanstenbackphotography.us/workshops

Clear skies,

Alan Stenback

When people think of night sky photography, they often imagine something dramatic.

The Milky Way arching overhead.
A glowing horizon.
Bright stars piercing a dark sky.

And while the results can be visually powerful, the process itself is surprisingly quiet.

Night photography is less about chasing action and more about learning to work with stillness.

If you want to photograph tranquility, the night sky is one of the best teachers.

Here are three ways it sharpens that skill.

Simplify the Frame Relentlessly

At night, complexity falls apart quickly.

Too many foreground elements? They disappear into shadow.
Cluttered compositions? They become muddy.

Strong astro images often rely on:

• A clean horizon line

• A single dominant foreground element

• Clear separation between land and sky

During daylight, you can hide compositional noise.
At night, it shows up instantly.

Try this:

Before setting up your tripod, step back and ask:
What is the single strongest shape in this scene?

Then build around that.

Tranquility lives in clarity.

Slow the Process Down

Astrophotography forces you to work slower.

You:

• Check focus carefully (manual focus on a star)

• Dial in exposure (often around 15-30 seconds)

• Monitor ISO noise

• Wait between frames

There’s no rapid-fire shooting.

That slower rhythm changes how you see.

Instead of reacting, you begin anticipating:

• Where the Milky Way will rise

• How the foreground aligns

• When the wind settles

This deliberate pace carries directly into sunrise and twilight landscape work.

When you slow down enough, subtle light becomes visible.

And subtle light is where tranquility lives.

Master Light, Even in the Dark

Night photography is really about understanding light at its lowest levels.

You’re balancing:

• Ambient starlight

• Airglow

• Faint horizon glow

• Optional low-level foreground illumination

Small adjustments make dramatic differences.

Increase ISO too much? Noise destroys calm tones.
Over-light the foreground? The mood vanishes.
Expose too short? The sky feels empty.

To photograph tranquility at night, you must respect light.

You don’t overpower it.
You work with what’s available.

That discipline translates beautifully into:

• Soft coastal dawn light

• Alpine twilight

• Overcast mountain mornings

The quieter the light, the more intentional you must be.

There’s something uniquely peaceful about working under a dark sky.

No distractions.
No midday crowds.
Just the sound of wind and the steady rhythm of the shutter.

It’s quiet adventure.

And it teaches patience in a way few other photography disciplines do.

This summer, I’m hosting a series of night sky workshops working hands-on with composition, exposure strategy and foreground balance.

If you’ve been wanting to refine your technical skills while experiencing that stillness firsthand, learn about everything we have planned here:

https://alanstenbackphotography.us/workshops/

The night has a way of sharpening your vision if you’re willing to slow down enough to see it.

Clear skies,

Alan Stenback

Most photographers chase drama.

Explosive skies.
Lightning strikes.
Breaking waves.
Peak autumn color.

There’s nothing wrong with drama. It draws attention.

But there’s a quieter skill that rarely gets talked about, and it may be more difficult to master:

Capturing tranquility.

Calm scenes are harder than chaotic ones.

When there’s less happening in the frame, every decision matters more.

A busy image can hide mistakes.
A tranquil image exposes them.

What Makes Tranquility So Challenging?

Simplicity requires restraint.

It’s easy to add elements.
It’s harder to subtract.

Strong tranquil landscapes often rely on:

• Clean horizons

• Thoughtful negative space

• Minimal foreground distractions

• Soft, directional light

Nothing is fighting for attention.
Which means your composition must be intentional.

Light matters even more.

Harsh midday light rarely communicates calm.

Tranquility tends to live in:

• Early dawn

• Late twilight

• Dark skies

• Overcast diffusion

• The quiet minutes before the sun crests the horizon

You’re not chasing spectacle.
You’re studying subtle shifts.

You have to slow down.

Calm images don’t come from rushing.

They come from standing still long enough to notice:

• The wind easing

• The clouds thinning

• The milky way slowly creeping through

• The tide gently pulling back

The quieter the scene, the more patience it demands.

This is where night photography enters the conversation and why I’m so passionate about it.

Astrophotography might be one of the most tranquility-driven disciplines in landscape work.

Under a dark sky, everything slows.

There’s no rushing a 30-second exposure.
No forcing the Milky Way to move faster, or slower.
No controlling the stars.

You wait.
You adjust.
You simplify.

The sky becomes negative space.
The land becomes silhouette.
The noise disappears.

In many ways, photographing the night sky teaches the same discipline required for most tranquil scenes.

Restraint.
Patience.
Intentional framing.

If this kind of work speaks to you, the quieter side of photography, where patience matters more than speed, you’re not alone.

If you’re ready to go deeper, our 3-night immersive astrophotography retreat has a few spots remaining. July 16–19. This is where everything starts to click. More time in the field, more personalized guidance, and a true shift in how you see, shoot, and create.

​If you’ve been thinking about joining us under Colorado’s dark skies, now’s the time. Explore the retreat and claim your spot today:

https://alanstenbackphotography.us/colorado-night-sky-photography-retreat/

Clear skies,

Alan Stenback

Photography is often solitary.

You wake before sunrise alone.
You stand in the cold alone.
You wait for the light alone.

There’s something deeply valuable about that independence.

But there’s also a quiet truth most photographers discover at some point:

Solitary growth has limits.

You can refine technique on your own.
You can study composition.
You can learn settings and gear.

But without intentional experience, without stepping into a focused environment built for growth, it’s easy to plateau.

You start photographing in patterns.
You rely on familiar compositions.
You shoot what you already know works.

And your vision stops expanding.

The Difference Between Shooting and Immersing

An intentional photography workshop or retreat isn’t just about location.

It’s not simply:

• A beautiful coastline

• A dark sky

• A dramatic landscape

It’s about structure.

Time carved out to focus.
Guidance in the field.
Space to slow down.

Conversations that sharpen how you see.

When you remove daily distractions and step into an immersive environment, something shifts.

You’re no longer squeezing photography into the margins of your schedule.

You’re giving it your full attention.

And attention changes everything.

What Immersion Actually Does for Your Work

In a multi-day experience, whether it’s along the coast or under a dark sky , growth compounds.

You:

• Review images from the previous night

• Refine composition the next evening

• Adjust exposure strategies

• Test new approaches

• Get real-time feedback

• Observe how others see the same scene differently

That feedback loop accelerates learning in a way isolated practice rarely can.

One small compositional correction can change how you frame every image moving forward.

One conversation about light balance can elevate your entire workflow.

Three consecutive nights under the Milky Way?

That can fundamentally shift your technical confidence.

Why Night Sky Work Amplifies This

Astrophotography is a perfect example.

On a single night out alone, you might:

• Capture a few frames

• Adjust ISO

• Hope focus is sharp

• Go home unsure what worked

But in an immersive setting — especially over multiple nights — the process deepens.

You refine:

• Focus precision

• Exposure consistency

• Foreground integration

• Composition under low light

• Noise management strategies

You experiment intentionally.

And because you’re working alongside other serious photographers, you begin noticing nuances you might never have seen on your own.

Immersion builds awareness.

And awareness builds mastery.

The Role of Environment

Changing terrain also forces growth.

From alpine forests to sea cliffs.
From coastal dawns to high-altitude dark skies.

New environments disrupt habits.

You can’t rely on your usual compositions.
You can’t fall back on routine.

You have to look more carefully.
Wait more patiently.
Compose more deliberately.

That’s where creative expansion happens.

It’s Not About Escape

People sometimes think of photography retreats as a getaway.

But the most powerful experiences aren’t about escaping life.

They’re about entering your craft more fully.

About stepping into:

• Intentional practice

• Guided refinement

• Shared perspective

• Focused repetition

• Real creative momentum

When you give your photography uninterrupted time and disciplined attention, the results show.

Not just in your portfolio, but in how confidently you approach every future shoot.

This Season, We’re Heading Deeper Into The Night

I’ll be hosting single-night workshops under Colorado’s dark skies, a multi-night retreat for those ready to go deeper technically and creatively, and select nights out in the surreal landscapes of New Mexico.

You can explore all upcoming experiences here:

https://alanstenbackphotography.us/workshops

Because sometimes growth doesn’t come from shooting more.

It comes from immersing more.

Clear skies,

Alan Stenback

Some plans you push through. Others you know when to let go.

After turning back from the Valley of Dreams and Alien Throne area in Bisti, we pointed ourselves toward Albuquerque and made one last detour into the Jemez Mountains.

A different landscape. A different pace.

A Detour Worth Taking

Bisti had been vast, quiet and disorienting in the best way. The kind of place that stretches your sense of scale and time.

The Jemez Mountains felt immediately different.

This is the same region that holds places like Valles Caldera and Bandelier, landscapes I’ve explored before, but this time it felt quieter. More intimate. Less about scale and more about light.

Closer. Warmer. More grounded.

Even the name feels like a shift. Around New Mexico, you’ll hear it pronounced more like “Hay-mess.” It still sounds slightly unexpected every time.

Camping in the Jemez Mountains

We landed at Vista Linda Campground. An easy, straightforward stop tucked into the mountains.

Nothing complicated. Just a solid place to reset.

Surrounded by red rock canyon walls, the whole area felt more contained compared to Bisti. Less about wandering. More about observing.

Photographing Morning Light in Red Rock Canyons

The next morning wasn’t about chasing a grand scene.

It was about watching light arrive.

As the sun crested the canyon walls, it moved slowly, revealing shape, texture and color in layers. What stood out wasn’t the scale of the landscape, but how the light interacted with it.

Edges lit up. Shadows pulled back. Small compositions started to form.

Instead of wide vistas, the scene leaned toward something more abstract. More selective.

Light against shadow. Warm tones against cooler rock. Lines, patterns and transitions.

It felt less like documenting a place and more like interpreting it.

Field Notes for Jemez Mountains Photography

Watch for sun stars

As the sun crests the canyon walls, stop down your aperture to create defined sun stars.

Bracket your exposures

Dynamic range can be strong here. Shooting HDR helps retain both highlight and shadow detail.

Think smaller

This isn’t always a big vista location. Look for tighter compositions, textures and light patterns.

Let the light do the work

Don’t rush the scene. Some of the best moments happen a few minutes after first light hits.

A Different Kind of Landscape

Bisti asks you to navigate, plan and commit.

The Jemez asks you to slow down.

To watch. To wait. To notice smaller shifts.

It wasn’t the plan.

But it was the right ending.

If you’re exploring this region, I’ve also shared field notes from photographing Valles Caldera and Bandelier. Two very different but equally compelling landscapes within the Jemez.

Until next time,

Alan Stenback

Some places feel dramatic the moment you arrive. The Bisti Badlands feel something else entirely. It feels vast. Remote. Quiet in a way that makes you lower your voice without realizing it.

Getting to Bisti/De-Na-Zin Wilderness and Where to Stay

We approached from the west side, south of Farmington, which is the easiest access point for getting into the wilderness. The plan was simple: camp in the truck at the trailhead, wake up well before dawn and make the short hike out to nearby formations in time for Milky Way photography in Bisti Badlands.

Camping right at or near the trailhead is a common and practical option here, especially for photographers planning early morning or overnight night sky shoots.

Nearby, Bloomfield offers a slightly quieter, more laid-back feel compared to Farmington, though it comes with a bit more drive time to the west-side access. Farmington, on the other hand, is the more convenient hub. Larger, with more amenities and the most straightforward jumping-off point into Bisti.

What It Feels Like to Photograph Bisti Badlands at Night

In practice, even “simple” in Bisti comes with a certain edge. There are no marked trails, very little cell service and once you leave the trailhead, the landscape starts to rearrange your sense of direction almost immediately. Routes here are informal and unmarked, and it’s easy to become disoriented. They’re not kidding.

From the truck, the hike to the nearest formations was only about fifteen minutes. In the dark, it felt much longer.

There’s something about walking into a pitch-black badlands landscape before dawn that stretches time. The silence feels bigger. The ground feels less certain. Every formation half-appears, then disappears again. And yet that’s also part of what makes Bisti Badlands so unforgettable for photographers. It doesn’t reveal itself all at once. You walk into it slowly.

Why Bisti/De-Na-Zin Wilderness Is One of the Best Places for Milky Way Photography

Once I reached the formations, the landscape started to open up in that strange, beautiful Bisti way. Shapes emerged. Shadows separated. Compositions seemed to appear in every direction. Hoodoos, ridges, textures, curves, negative space. It felt endless.

This is one of the best locations in New Mexico for creative desert photography and night sky compositions. You can work a single cluster of formations for far longer than planned, then turn around and realize there are ten more frames waiting behind you.

Even some of the more well-known formations, like the Egg Hatchery, King of Wings and City of Hoodoos, don’t feel overly defined or “destination-like” in the moment. They’re part of a broader landscape that invites exploration rather than checklist photography.

Best Time for Milky Way Photography in Bisti/De-Na-Zin Wilderness

For night photographers, the timing felt especially good in that pre-dawn stretch between about 4:00 and 6:00 a.m. The sky still held the Milky Way, but the landscape had just enough shape and tonal separation to begin giving something back. I didn’t need much added illumination on the foregrounds. The desert was already doing more of the work than I expected.

That window worked particularly well because this was early March, very early in the Milky Way season, and the moon had already set. With truly dark skies and the galactic core rising just before dawn, that 4:00 to 6:00 a.m. stretch became the ideal overlap of sky and landscape for astrophotography. This timing is typical for early-season Milky Way photography in New Mexico, when the galactic core rises just before sunrise and requires precise planning around moon phases.

And then, just as I got into a real flow, sunrise started closing the window.

Exploring Beyond the West Side: Valley of Dreams and Alien Throne

The next day, we considered pushing farther to the east side toward Valley of Dreams and the Alien Throne. We got close, then made the call to back off. By that point it was clear we were underprepared for the hike in the midday heat and sun.

Bisti is not especially forgiving of poor timing. Distance, exposure, heat and route-finding matter here just as much as lenses and camera settings.

That’s part of the reason Bisti Badlands stands out as a serious location for landscape and night sky photographers. It isn’t just scenic. It asks more of you.

It asks you to arrive prepared. To know your route before you step away from the trailhead. To scout in daylight or twilight if you plan to shoot at night. To respect how easily the terrain can scramble orientation. To carry water, downloaded maps and realistic expectations.

It also rewards all of that.

Field Notes for Bisti Badlands Photography

Navigation

Don’t count on cell service. Download maps in advance and know your intended route, turnaround times and landmarks before you head out.

Trailheads and access

The west-side Bisti Trailhead is the easier jumping-off point for first visits. From Farmington, the route is south on NM-371 for about 36 miles, then east on County Road 7297 for about 2 miles, then left for 1 mile to the main parking area.

There are no marked trails

This matters more than it sounds like it should. Even nearby formations can feel farther away in darkness or low light.

Scout before you shoot at night

If possible, scout your compositions during the day or at twilight. This is especially important for Milky Way photography in Bisti, where navigation in the dark can be disorienting.

Expect endless compositions

This is not a one-shot location. Bisti Badlands photography rewards patience. Work your subjects slowly and explore variations.

Foreground exposure

I found that I didn’t need much additional foreground light. The subtle ambient desert tones were often enough for natural-looking night sky images.

For sharper blended results

For astrophotography, capture one frame for the sky and another for the foreground, then blend in Photoshop for edge-to-edge sharpness.

Why Bisti/De-Na-Zin Wilderness Stays With You as a Photographer

Bisti is the kind of place that makes you want more time immediately. Another dawn, another night, another chance to wander a little farther and see what appears next. It’s surreal without trying too hard. Beautiful without being obvious.

And for photographers willing to show up prepared, patient, and a little humble, it offers far more than a few famous formations. It offers that rare feeling that you’ve stepped briefly into a landscape that doesn’t operate by ordinary rules.

If this kind of landscape speaks to you, I’ll be returning to Bisti Badlands this September to host a small-group night sky photography workshop.

We’ll focus on Milky Way photography in Bisti. Navigating to key formations, working compositions in the field and dialing in your settings so you can confidently capture the night sky in one of New Mexico’s most unique landscapes.

Spots will be limited. Full details will be announced soon. If you’d like to join us, learn more and secure your spot for this Bisti Badlands night sky photography workshop here:

https://alanstenbackphotography.us/new-mexico-night-sky-photography-workshops/

Most of my work begins in the mountains.

High altitude.
Thin air.
Night skies among mountain peaks.
Still mornings in the pines.
Long shadows stretching across alpine lakes.

In Colorado, I know how the light behaves. I know how storms build over a ridge. I know how to wait for first light to slip across a distant peak.

There’s a rhythm to it.

And rhythm builds confidence.

But something interesting happens when you change landscapes.

When forests turn to cliffs.
When still lakes become moving water.
When thin mountain air becomes salt wind coming off the ocean.

Your eye wakes up again.

You can’t rely on habit.
You can’t rely on muscle memory.
You respond differently.

And that’s where the growth I crave lives. That’s where my skills level truly expands.

When we head to Puerto Rico’s west coast this spring, we’re stepping into a completely different environment.

Sea cliffs instead of tree lines.
Lighthouses instead of ridgelines.
Tide and wind instead of alpine stillness.

The light moves differently near the ocean. It reflects, bounces, softens.
The horizon opens.
The compositions shift.

It’s not better. It’s not worse.

It’s expansive.

Changing terrain sharpens your instincts. It forces you to slow down. To observe more closely. To compose more intentionally.

And for photographers who’ve mostly worked in one type of environment, that shift can be transformational.

This Coastal Photography Workshop & Retreat in Puerto Rico isn’t just about traveling somewhere beautiful.

It’s about placing yourself in a new creative environment - with time, guidance and space to refine how you see.

We’ll work sunrise and sunset along cliffs and beaches.
We’ll slow down.
We’ll analyze light.
We’ll adjust composition in real time.
We’ll talk through decisions in the field.

And yes, we’ll come home with powerful images.

But more importantly, you’ll come home with expanded vision.

We have just a few spots remaining for May 25 – June 1st, 2026.

Registration closes soon.

If the idea of shifting landscapes and sharpening your eye in the process resonates with you, now is the time to take a closer look.

Explore the details here:

👉 https://alanstenbackphotography.us/puerto-rico-photography-workshop-retreat/

If you have questions, I’m always happy to connect directly.

From forests to beaches… sometimes the best thing you can do for your photography is change the terrain beneath your feet.

Until Next Time,

Alan Stenback

Each winter, when harsher winter conditions settle into the Rockies, or our tolerance for them quietly dwindles, we start looking south. Twice in the past few years, that pull has brought us to Florida.

I spent a large part of my adult life in South Florida before relocating to Colorado. I thought I knew the state well. The Keys, Everglades, Treasure Coast, Orlando, Tampa Bay. I was wrong.

Recent travels brought us through Gainesville, a part of the state I had largely overlooked. Home to an extraordinary network of crystal-clear freshwater springs that feel worlds away from the Florida most people imagine.

Florida’s spring ecosystem is ancient and fragile. Fed by the Floridan Aquifer, one of the largest freshwater aquifers in the world, these springs are replenished by rainfall that slowly filters through layers of sand and porous limestone over hundreds to thousands of years. The process produces remarkably clear, constant-temperature water, creating stable conditions that support the rich web of life found in and around Florida’s springs.

One place, recommended by friends, has quickly became a favorite: Ginnie Springs. Set along the Santa Fe River, the springs sit at the intersection of multiple ecosystems. Crystal blue water spills into tannin-stained river channels, bordered by swampy lowlands, cypress knees and dense canopy.

Camping here is immersive. Nights are quiet except for wind through the trees and the distant movement of water. Mornings arrive slowly, often wrapped in fog drifting just above the river’s surface.

Paddle-boarding the Santa Fe is a lesson in contrast. Clear springs give way to dark, tea-colored water; open stretches narrow into shaded corridors. The river moves gently, inviting patience rather than urgency.

Foggy mornings on the river have become a favorite experience of mine. They bring with them plentiful opportunities to photograph wildlife woven naturally into the landscape: great egrets, blue and tricolored herons, white ibis and the occasional wood stork moving silently through the mist.

The trees here, bald cypress, tupelo and live oak, form layered canopies that soften light and frame movement. It’s a place that rewards stillness. If you wait long enough, something always happens.

Field Notes

• I don’t carry a dedicated wildlife lens. The “big lenses,” as I call them, are heavy, expensive and built for a different kind of focus

• Instead, I rely on a travel-friendly Sony 70–300mm and a shorter but sharper Tamron 35–150mm

• Paired with the Sony A7R V, that setup handles high ISO surprisingly well, especially for what I think of as “wildlife in the landscape” rather than tight portraiture

• High megapixels allow for generous cropping and modern noise reduction, whether native in Adobe Lightroom or via plugins, makes it possible to produce strong results even with modest glass

• Flying a drone above the canopy offers an entirely different perspective, revealing the layered structure of the forest, winding river corridors and fog patterns that are impossible to see from the water, while reinforcing just how intact and expansive this ecosystem still is

• As with most wildlife photography, patience remains the most important tool. Eventually, an egret hovering low over the river or a wood stork emerging from the mist rewards the wait

Seeing and photographing the aurora from home in Colorado still feels a little surreal.

Twice recently, strong geomagnetic storms pushed the northern lights far enough south to become visible from high elevation here in the Rockies. Subtle at first to the naked eye, almost easy to dismiss. But once the camera started collecting light, the colors and structure told a different story.

Today I break down what caused these events, how I prepared, where to look, how I shot them and how I processed the images so you’re better prepared the next time the sky decides to surprise us.

What Causes the Aurora

Auroras are the result of geomagnetic storms, triggered when charged particles from the sun - often from solar flares or coronal mass ejections - collide with Earth’s magnetic field.

When these storms are strong enough, the auroral oval expands southward. Occasionally, far enough south that places like Colorado fall within reach. You don’t need to be in Alaska or Iceland. You need strong solar activity, dark skies and timing.

How to Read the Aurora Forecast

Forecasting is everything. For both of these recent events, the signals were there well before darkness fell.

Here’s what I watch closely:

• KP Index – Generally KP 7+ for Colorado

• Bz Index – Sustained negative values are a good sign

• Solar wind speed and density – Higher values often correlate with stronger activity

• Timing windows – Activity often peaks late evening through early morning

I usually start watching forecasts two to three days out, then monitor conditions closely the afternoon and evening of a potential shoot.

Aurora Forecast Links I Use

• NOAA Space Weather Prediction Center

  https://www.swpc.noaa.gov

  (KP forecasts, geomagnetic storm alerts, real-time solar wind)

• 3-Day Geomagnetic Forecast

  https://www.swpc.noaa.gov/products/3-day-geomagnetic-forecast

• Real-Time Solar Wind Data

  https://www.swpc.noaa.gov/products/real-time-solar-wind

• SpaceWeatherLive

  https://www.spaceweatherlive.com

  (Easy visual tracking of KP, Bz, speed and density. Great in the field)

• University of Alaska Fairbanks Aurora Forecast

  https://www.gi.alaska.edu/monitors/aurora-forecast

  (Helpful for seeing how far south the auroral oval is expanding)

Where to Look in the Sky

From Colorado:

• Start by looking north

• Watch for faint vertical bands, subtle green or magenta tinting, or a soft glow near the horizon

• As activity increases, the aurora can climb higher and spread across the sky

High elevation, low light pollution and a clear northern horizon make a noticeable difference.

How I Shot the Aurora

This was my first real outing with a new wide-field setup and it delivered immediately.

My Setup

• Camera: Sony A7R V

• Lens: Sony 14mm f/1.8 GM

• Tripod with remote trigger

• No star tracking

Camera Settings

• Shutter: 15 seconds

• Aperture: f/1.8

• ISO: 1600

Additional notes on settings:

• Manual focus, set carefully on a bright star and double-checked throughout the night

• Manual white balance (around 3800–4200K) to keep aurora color consistent

• Long exposure noise reduction turned off (dark frames captured separately)

• Histogram checked frequently to avoid clipping highlights as aurora brightness changed

The Sony 14mm f/1.8 GM produced outstanding results. Sharp stars, strong contrast and clean corners. For wide-field aurora work, this lens proved itself right away.

Light Frames & Dark Frames

To improve image quality and reduce noise, I captured:

• Light frames – The actual aurora exposures

• Dark frames – Same settings, lens cap on

Dark frames help remove hot pixels and sensor noise during stacking, especially when working with faint aurora and shadow detail.

I typically shoot dark frames immediately after the session, while the camera temperature is still similar to the light frames.

Post-Processing Workflow

Initial Lightroom Pass

• Import all files into Lightroom

• Make basic exposure and white balance adjustments only

• Avoid heavy noise reduction, sharpening, or contrast at this stage

Export for Stacking

• Export images TIFF

• Keep light frames and dark frames clearly organized

Stack in Starry Landscape Stacker (SLS)

At a high level:

• Load light frames

• Add dark frames

• Let SLS align and stack

• Export the stacked image

Stacking significantly reduces noise while preserving faint aurora detail that can be lost with aggressive noise reduction alone.

Final Edits in Lightroom

This is where the image comes together:

• Contrast and tone curve

• Fine color balance

• Final noise cleanup

• Sharpening for output

Field Notes (From the Cold, Dark, Real World)

The aurora often starts subtle.

Both nights began with faint glow and texture to the north. Easy to second-guess. The camera confirmed what my eyes hesitated to believe. If something feels off in the sky, shoot it.

Keep shooting through quiet moments.

Auroral activity pulses. Some of the best frames came between stronger bursts, not during the obvious peaks.

Wide, fast glass beats tracking.

For aurora, I prioritize wide field of view, fast aperture and clean stars at 10–15 seconds. Tracking isn’t necessary here and can complicate things when the aurora itself is moving.

Watch the horizon.

Low-level aurora often sits near the horizon before rising. Subtle glow and reflection can be early signs of something building.

Dark frames are worth the extra time.

It’s tempting to pack up when activity fades. Taking dark frames while everything is still set up pays off later.

Dress warmer than you think.

Standing still behind a tripod gets cold fast. Gloves you can shoot in, extra layers and patience matter more than you expect.

Final Thoughts

Aurora photography is part preparation, part patience and part luck. But when everything aligns, it’s unforgettable.

If you live farther south than most aurora maps suggest, don’t write it off. Watch the forecasts, trust subtle signals and be ready to head out when conditions spike.

Sometimes the sky whispers before it speaks. And the camera often hears it first. Aurora can be far stronger on camera than to the eye, especially early in an event. Subtle glow or texture is often enough reason to head out.

Happy New Year!

I always enjoy this moment. The pause between years, when things feel just quiet enough to reflect. Looking back on the year’s work isn’t about counting images or measuring output. It’s about noticing what endured.

Across landscapes, coastlines and night skies - anything that slowly fell into place - I find myself asking the same question each year: what truly held up?

The great Ansel Adams once said, “Twelve significant photographs in any one year is a good crop”

The longer I do this, the more I agree.

Creating a portfolio that genuinely represents your best work takes diligence and honesty with yourself. It’s less about volume and more about discernment. Learning to let go of good images so the great ones can stand on their own.

That mindset runs counter to the modern push to share everything, often in an endless loop of comparison and performance. But meaningful work isn’t built that way. It’s built quietly, over time.

This year’s collection reflects careful planning and long drives. Early mornings, late nights, cold hands, sand in my face, a surprise aurora display - and the simple act of showing up.

These are the images that stayed with me. The ones that earned their place.

View the full Best of 2025 gallery here:

https://portfolio.alanstenbackphotography.us/best-of-2025

Thanks for being being part of the journey. Here’s to a new year ahead!

Cheers,

Alan Stenback

Landscapes and wildlife really do go hand in hand. And while I don’t typically consider myself a wildlife photographer in the truest sense, seeing animals grazing or hunting across the landscape always gets the blood flowing and the reflexes in overdrive, trying to capture the moment unfolding in front of me before it vanishes.

When I’m not spending time in the mountains or desert, you’ll usually find me ocean-side, whether that’s the Gulf Coast of Texas, the Cayes of Belize or the rugged edges of the Puerto Rico coast.

Most people don’t think “coastline” when they think of Texas

They picture long highways, ranchland, BBQ joints and maybe a tumbleweed or two. But the Texas Gulf Coast is its own little world. Wide open beaches, barrier islands stretching for miles and some of the best birding in the country thanks to the Central Flyway.

A recent excursion to South Texas landed us on Mustang Island, just outside of Corpus Christi. The island itself is a long, narrow barrier island stretching all the way down toward South Padre where Texas meets Mexico.

Camping here is an experience of its own

At Mustang Island State Park, you can camp directly on the sand, no platforms, no separation from the elements, just you, your tent, the surf and the steady breeze rolling off the Gulf. There’s something special about falling asleep to crashing waves and waking up with the horizon glowing through your tent wall.

As you know, sunrise is my favorite time to shoot landscapes. The soft light before the sun breaks the horizon is unmatched anywhere. And on the shore, once the morning color show fades, the next thing to roll in is the wildlife. Shorebirds emerge and start feeding along the waterline, darting in and out with every wave.

Gulf Coast regulars made their appearance

Laughing Gulls, always noisy and always entertaining, Great Blue Herons, Snowy Egrets, Willets, Sanderlings racing the foam, and the occasional pelican gliding low across the water. For anyone who loves birds, the Texas coast is an absolute treasure.

Not having dedicated wildlife gear, I rely on my Tamron 35–150 and the lightweight, travel-ready Sony 70–300. After grabbing a few tighter wildlife portraits, I usually shift into more landscape-oriented compositions, letting the birds exist in their natural environment, framed by dunes, sky and surf.

This morning I watched two Great Blue Herons move up and down the coastline. One held onto his morning catch while another curious heron drifted in to investigate. Both were surprisingly friendly and seemed entirely unconcerned with my presence. Eventually, just before one lifted off into the Gulf, I caught him in front of a completely clean, uncluttered backdrop. No condos, no hotels, no crowds. Just solitude, serenity and a calm, thoughtful stare toward the sea.

The next morning brought a full dose of coastal reality

The wind picked up. And by picked up I mean relentless gusts hurling sand at everything. It blew under the rainfly, into the tent, into our sleeping bags… everywhere! By sunrise we were chased out of the tent, into the truck and eventually off the beach entirely.

A classic Mustang Island farewell.

Still totally worth it.

Field Notes

• Wide apertures help isolate your subject when the background is chaotic

• Even at 300mm, generous cropping is often needed for wildlife—high-resolution sensors make this easy

• Lightroom masking tools are essential: isolate the subject, soften harsh shadows and color-balance the scene without over-editing

• Weather-proof or weather-resistant gear is a must, salt air and blowing sand are unforgiving

• If camping on-sand, secure your tent, use sand stakes and expect some sand in everything you own

Photos from the Trip

View Mustang Island Gallery

Until next time,

Alan Stenback

Traveling east from the Valles Caldera and past the historic town of Los Alamos lies Bandelier National Monument, a sacred landscape shaped by fire, wind and human hands. Steeped in centuries of history, Bandelier holds stories as old as those found in nearby Chaco Canyon and Mesa Verde in Colorado.

Camping Among the Echoes

The monument offers a peaceful campground nestled beneath juniper and ponderosa pine, welcoming both tent campers, like myself, and smaller RVs. Evenings settle slowly here. The scent of woodsmoke lingers as night brings silence.

The Making of Frijoles Canyon

A millennium ago, massive eruptions from the nearby Valles Caldera blanketed this region with nearly a thousand feet of tuff, a soft, porous rock formed when volcanic ash compacted and fused into stone. Its surface, though delicate to the touch, has endured for ages.

Over time, Frijoles Creek carved a winding gorge through that volcanic layer, revealing water, fertile soil and shelter from the high-desert winds - perfect conditions for early settlement. Here the Ancestral Puebloans built homes within the cliffs and cultivated corn, beans and squash along the canyon floor.

Homes in the Stone

The people who lived here shaped more than shelter, they built community. Hand-carved cliff dwellings offered cool refuge in summer and warmth through winter. Circular kivas, sunken into the earth, became centers of ceremony, storytelling and governance.

Walking among the ruins today, ladders rise toward alcoves blackened by ancient hearth smoke. Inside, the air is still and cool.

Along the Main Loop Trail

From the monument’s visitor center, the Main Loop Trail winds through Frijoles Canyon, passing both natural and human-made marvels. Each step reveals another layer of connection between geology and culture, erosion and endurance.

Touching the tuff, you can feel time itself - soft yet unyielding, shaped by both nature and need.

The Ancestral Puebloans eventually moved on for reasons unknown. Their descendants live today in pueblos such as Cochiti, San Ildefonso, Santa Clara and San Felipe. These communities remain stewards of their ancestral lands, guiding how Bandelier’s sites are protected and studied - a living partnership between past and present.

The Rainbow Morning

On my final morning, after a night of rain, I climbed to an overlook. As the clouds parted, a rainbow arced across the canyon, its colors vivid against the muted cliffs. For a moment, it seemed to rise from the heart of Bandelier itself - a quiet gift from the land and all who came before.

Field Notes

• A few canyon overlooks can be found along the road winding down toward the visitor center. These offer some of the best views into the canyon itself

• Trails connecting the campground with the canyon are available for those feeling more adventurous

• The ladders are larger than they first appear - not ideal for anyone with a fear of heights and a good reminder that my balance is not what it used to be

• Photographing in midday light offers a chance to explore the abstract textures of the tuff and the cliff dwellings carved into it

• The nearby town of Los Alamos offers a glimpse into another layer of New Mexico’s history, a sharp contrast to the natural and sacred landscapes that surround it

Until Next Time,

Alan Stenback

The high country has been graced with clear skies once again. The kind of night that draws you out even when the thermometer says don’t bother. The air is crisp, the stars sharp and the silence deep enough to hear your own heartbeat.

While the Milky Way has slipped below the horizon for now, this season opens the door to a quieter kind of sky - the realm of deep-sky targets that reward patience and precision.

Last night I bundled up and set up the Star Adventurer 2i, my compact equatorial tracker that turns any tripod into a portable observatory. Once the tripod was leveled, I went through the ritual of polar alignment. Sighting Polaris through the polar scope and using the altitude and azimuth knobs to dial in alignment as closely as possible. It’s the most critical step for accurate tracking. The better the alignment, the longer you can expose without trails.

With alignment locked, I connected the snap cable from the tracker to my Sony A7R V. This little cable lets the tracker control the shutter directly. No need to touch the camera or risk vibrations in the cold. I set the tracker’s interval timer to trigger 5-minute exposures at f/2.8, ISO 100, 150mm, then stepped back into the silence and watched the stars slowly drift across the sky.

Two easy but beautiful targets filled the frame: Pleiades and Andromeda.

Pleiades

Roughly 440 light years away in Taurus, this open cluster of hot blue stars shines through faint dust clouds, creating soft reflection nebulosity. Even a single tracked exposure can reveal the cluster’s icy blue tones when focus and exposure are dialed in just right.

Andromeda

Our nearest major galaxy, about 2.5 million light years away, dominates the field even at short telephoto focal lengths. Even at 150mm, generous cropping may be required to isolate the galaxy, but with the 61-megapixel sensor in the A7R V, there’s plenty of resolution to work with. Even in a single tracked 5-minute exposure, its bright core stands out cleanly against the dark high-country sky. Light that began its journey long before humans ever looked up.

Field Notes

Polar Alignment: Even a few arcminutes off can introduce drift. Use the built-in polar scope illumination sparingly; too much light makes Polaris harder to see. Fine-tune with the azimuth and altitude knobs after locking the tripod.

Snap Cable: A simple but powerful tool when shooting with the Sony + Star Adventurer combo. It eliminates the need for an external intervalometer and keeps your hands off the camera. Critical for vibration-free exposures in cold air.

Balance & Mounting: Slightly east-heavy balance helps keep the gear train engaged, improving tracking consistency on the Star Adventurer.

Exposure Time: For single tracked frames, start with 2–5 minutes at ISO 100–400 and adjust based on your sky brightness.

Tip: Always recheck alignment after each exposure. Even a subtle tripod shift can throw off tracking during longer sessions.

Next Up

Nights like this remind me that astrophotography isn’t only about grand galactic vistas. It’s about the ritual - alignment, focus, patience - and the quiet connection between earth, light and time.

Stay tuned as I explore the deep night sky in more detail as the season progresses. Longer focal lengths, fainter targets and new ways to chase the quiet beauty between the stars.

Clear Skies,

Alan Stenback

Welcome to the new readers who’ve subscribed recently, I’m glad to have you here! Each post is a look behind the lens: part story, part field note, part quiet moment in nature. This one comes from a place that completely stopped me in my tracks, a high mountain valley that was once a volcano. Valles Caldera.

The first thing that hits you about the Valles Caldera is the scale, a vast, circular valley ringed by forested domes and shifting clouds, so wide it feels like standing in the palm of the Earth.

Herds of elk move slowly across the meadow, looking like tiny specks in the distance. It’s hard to imagine that this peaceful expanse was once molten fire, a massive volcanic eruption tore open this land 1.25 million years ago. Today, what’s left is serenity: a basin carved by time, perfectly manicured by nature’s hand.

Access beyond the historic cabin district requires a backcountry pass. After stopping at the entrance and speaking with a ranger, we decided to venture in. I was determined to find a good fishing spot with moving water and maybe a few trout, but the streams were quiet. Not much in the way of fish activity, just the gentle ripple of wind across the water and the sound of grass brushing against me.

Valles Caldera feels strangely familiar. The landscape echoes the surroundings outside my home in South Park, Colorado, the same high-altitude light, the same open horizons where sky and land blur together.

By late afternoon, clouds rolled in and the light turned golden over the basin. I watched as the valley shifted through shades of green, amber, and gold, the elk returning to graze in the distance.

The Caldera is simply one of the most beautiful valleys I’ve ever seen, a reminder that even the Earth’s most violent past can give way to quiet perfection.

Until next time,

Alan Stenback

I usually resist the end of summer. In the mountains it’s particularly short, and this year the weather was—let’s just say—less than stellar. But the aspens have a way of softening that transition, putting their changing colors proudly on display and ushering in fall.

It’s the perfect time to get out and explore, searching for that golden stand of trees. Unlike many other times of year, photographing mid-day can actually be rewarding. When you’re tucked beneath a canopy of crimsons, oranges, and yellows, even harsh light transforms into something spectacular.

One of my favorite ways to play with this season is using Intentional Camera Movement (ICM). It’s a subtle technique that produces painterly, abstract results - and it’s surprisingly addictive.

Here’s how to try it:

• Set ISO to 100 (or as low as your camera allows)

• Stop down your aperture until you get a shutter speed around 1/25 sec or slower

• Release the shutter while sweeping the camera along the length of the tree trunks

• Try both portrait and landscape orientation, and experiment with different speeds until you find a look you love

The beauty of ICM is that there’s no “perfect” result - it’s about playing, experimenting, and letting the rhythm of the forest guide you.

Peak color in Colorado is about a week away, and it’s fleeting - so move quickly. Get outside, explore, and see what creative possibilities you can uncover in the fall colors.

And if you give ICM a try, I’d love to see what you come up with - feel free to reply here or drop a comment on Substack and share your shots.

-Alan Stenback

Nestled in northern New Mexico between Abiquiu (AH-bee-KEE-oo) and Chama, along the Rio Chama, sits Abiquiu Lake. This was my first time camping at an Army Corps of Engineers site, and I have to say - it was a fantastic experience. Quiet, scenic and perfectly suited for landscape photography.

The area is deeply tied to Georgia O’Keeffe, who made her home and studio here in the 1930s at Ghost Ranch. Today, the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum and Ghost Ranch Foundation manage those sites, and you can still visit on guided tours. The mesas, cliffs and shifting desert light that inspired her work remain as alive and vibrant as ever.

I captured these images just after an early moonset - a lucky break, since I expected most nights to be moonlit and less than ideal for night photography. Using a mix of lighting, focus stacking, and image blending, I worked to bring out the high-desert landscape under the stars. Airglow, that faint natural light from the upper atmosphere, was visible that night, adding a subtle, ethereal glow to the sky.

If skies like these have you inspired and you’re in Colorado, there’s one more chance this season to capture them with me. This weekend I’m leading my final night sky workshop of the year here in the Rockies.

We’ll focus on creative compositions that showcase the high-country landscape under the stars, with guidance and hands-on support to refine your techniques. A few spots remain - reach out if you’d like details.

Clear Skies,

Alan Stenback

I recently joined a group of photographers in downtown Denver for something new, something fresh, something way outside my comfort zone - light painting!

Hosted by Jamie Rogers (Captain Colorado Photography) and Mike's Camera, it was awesome finally meeting familiar faces in person and as well as sharing the experience with new ones

I’ve never done much light painting before - unless you count shining my headlamp at trees under a starry sky - so I had no idea what I was in for. Wands, diamonds, strobes, models and sparks… oh my!

We gathered at Commons Park at dusk and our hosts walked us through the basics. Right away, I realized this was not what I expected. Many of the shapes and structures you see in the images are as equal parts painting technique as behind-the-camera skill. From orbs and flowers to kisses, umbrellas and portals, the models and artists created surreal scenes for us to photograph

The highlight of the night was definitely the steel wool twirl. Sparks flying, umbrellas and portals of fire streaking across the frame. It was absolutely wild

Hanging out in a city park after dark certainly made for an interesting night, dodging bikes in the dark and running from rogue sprinklers kept us on our toes the whole time

After wrapping up, I wandered over to Union Station hoping to grab a few iconic night shots. But after walking around and not quite finding the composition I was after, I decided to call it a night. Nothing I was going to shoot there could top what we made in the park anyway!