Jeanne has long been a fan of Nasa's Astronomy Picture of the Day. (link at the end of the post) I like it too. If you were to take a look at the shot of the moon, presented on March 1, 2018 you'd be amazed. It is stunning. Nasa provides the best pictures of our universe that it's currently possible to take.
Why then, should I take my own pictures of the moon and especially, why should I show them to all of you, when they fall so short of what is available out there? I've thought about that.
After one of the first nights when I was out taking pictures, I commented that it was hard to hold my camera still and focused on the moon at 96 power. Jeanne suggested that what I needed was a tripod. I could see the wheels turning behind her eyes. She would probably present me with one before long. No, I said. I didn't want a tripod. My camera's limitations would still prevent me from getting really good pictures. If I wanted better, I'd have to move up to a really good camera, and then I'd need one of those tracking motors that allow your camera to follow the moon. Then I'd need to get out off our deck at just above sea level and up as high as I could get. There's a place in the Waitakeres that is about 1,600 feet higher than we are. And so on, and so on. No, I could throw a ton of money and effort at the project, and still not be able to match what Nasa can do.
It's similar to the problem my friend Larry and I ran into many years ago when we joined the Escanaba Canoe Club. When we arrived at the river for our first meeting and outing, we marveled at the equipment we saw other members take off their trucks. These were high end racing canoes. We learned that the club took part in lots of races during the summer months. There were several levels of competition, each supposedly meant for people of higher and higher ability. Unfortunately, in order to have any hope of being competitive in these higher levels, very sleek, very light, and very expensive canoes were needed.
We had no intention of trying to 'keep up with the Joneses,' as the saying goes. Larry had an aluminum 17 foot canoe that he had painted with camo colors and used for duck hunting. It was better than my wide-bodied 14 footer. It would have to do. We decided to enter all the novice class races we could that year and do our best.
We won 1st place in most of the races we competed in that summer. It was a great deal of fun. Our racing careers culminated in an eight mile race down the Escanaba. About a mile into the race, there is a series of rapids that stretch diagonally across the river. There is only one spot where a canoe can hope to shoot through without overturning. We had practiced shooting through it a number of times before the race. On the day of the race, we were neck and neck with another team and both tried to fit through the 'slot' at the same time. A split second later Larry and I found ourselves tumbling underwater, being carried by the current into the shallows at the bend in the river just downstream from the rapids, and out of the race. We came limping out, dragging the canoe. One of my knees was bleeding, much to the delight of a little boy who was watching the race with his mom. But we were in high spirits.
That was our last race. Neither of us felt any inclination to buy an elite racing canoe. We had been happy doing our best with what we had. And we did very well for a couple of middle aged guys in a duck boat.
So that's why I offer the pictures that I do. Most of them were taken on nights that offered less than perfect conditions. New Zealand is 'the land of the long white cloud' after all. I took many of these through holes between the clouds. Definition suffered with all that moisture in the way. Even when I had a night of clear skies, the craters in the resultant shots are not as well defined as I would like them to be. I could I suppose, make this a year-long project and for each phase of the moon, wait for a completely clear night. But no, I've been at this now for a couple of months and that's long enough.
Still, I'm rather pleased with these. I'm happy that I was able to get the shots I did with my inexpensive Canon. I've never really noticed the moon but before this, but then, I've never been able to see it quite so intimately.
I stayed up late to take some of these, but most of them I think, were taken after I looked out our bedroom window during the night and discovered that I could actually see the moon. I'd grab the camera and dash (well, sort of) downstairs and out on to the deck. Then, I'd start shooting as the wind flapped my pajamas around me. I'd usually take about 40 pictures and find that I had the whole moon showing in about 6 of them. The other shots would be of parts of the moon. (Good thing I was much steadier when shooting deer) From the few 'good ones,' I'd then choose the one with the sharpest definiton and add it to the post.
Why then, should I take my own pictures of the moon and especially, why should I show them to all of you, when they fall so short of what is available out there? I've thought about that.
After one of the first nights when I was out taking pictures, I commented that it was hard to hold my camera still and focused on the moon at 96 power. Jeanne suggested that what I needed was a tripod. I could see the wheels turning behind her eyes. She would probably present me with one before long. No, I said. I didn't want a tripod. My camera's limitations would still prevent me from getting really good pictures. If I wanted better, I'd have to move up to a really good camera, and then I'd need one of those tracking motors that allow your camera to follow the moon. Then I'd need to get out off our deck at just above sea level and up as high as I could get. There's a place in the Waitakeres that is about 1,600 feet higher than we are. And so on, and so on. No, I could throw a ton of money and effort at the project, and still not be able to match what Nasa can do.
It's similar to the problem my friend Larry and I ran into many years ago when we joined the Escanaba Canoe Club. When we arrived at the river for our first meeting and outing, we marveled at the equipment we saw other members take off their trucks. These were high end racing canoes. We learned that the club took part in lots of races during the summer months. There were several levels of competition, each supposedly meant for people of higher and higher ability. Unfortunately, in order to have any hope of being competitive in these higher levels, very sleek, very light, and very expensive canoes were needed.
We had no intention of trying to 'keep up with the Joneses,' as the saying goes. Larry had an aluminum 17 foot canoe that he had painted with camo colors and used for duck hunting. It was better than my wide-bodied 14 footer. It would have to do. We decided to enter all the novice class races we could that year and do our best.
We won 1st place in most of the races we competed in that summer. It was a great deal of fun. Our racing careers culminated in an eight mile race down the Escanaba. About a mile into the race, there is a series of rapids that stretch diagonally across the river. There is only one spot where a canoe can hope to shoot through without overturning. We had practiced shooting through it a number of times before the race. On the day of the race, we were neck and neck with another team and both tried to fit through the 'slot' at the same time. A split second later Larry and I found ourselves tumbling underwater, being carried by the current into the shallows at the bend in the river just downstream from the rapids, and out of the race. We came limping out, dragging the canoe. One of my knees was bleeding, much to the delight of a little boy who was watching the race with his mom. But we were in high spirits.
That was our last race. Neither of us felt any inclination to buy an elite racing canoe. We had been happy doing our best with what we had. And we did very well for a couple of middle aged guys in a duck boat.
So that's why I offer the pictures that I do. Most of them were taken on nights that offered less than perfect conditions. New Zealand is 'the land of the long white cloud' after all. I took many of these through holes between the clouds. Definition suffered with all that moisture in the way. Even when I had a night of clear skies, the craters in the resultant shots are not as well defined as I would like them to be. I could I suppose, make this a year-long project and for each phase of the moon, wait for a completely clear night. But no, I've been at this now for a couple of months and that's long enough.
Still, I'm rather pleased with these. I'm happy that I was able to get the shots I did with my inexpensive Canon. I've never really noticed the moon but before this, but then, I've never been able to see it quite so intimately.
I stayed up late to take some of these, but most of them I think, were taken after I looked out our bedroom window during the night and discovered that I could actually see the moon. I'd grab the camera and dash (well, sort of) downstairs and out on to the deck. Then, I'd start shooting as the wind flapped my pajamas around me. I'd usually take about 40 pictures and find that I had the whole moon showing in about 6 of them. The other shots would be of parts of the moon. (Good thing I was much steadier when shooting deer) From the few 'good ones,' I'd then choose the one with the sharpest definiton and add it to the post.
Taken about 1:50 a.m. 3/6/18
Taken at 6:30 a.m. 3/6/18
Just in case you're interested: https://apod.nasa.gov/apod/archivepix.html
Waning or waxing?
I think your pictures of the moon are incredible. However, the picture of Jeanne's masterpiece tops the moon pictures if that is even possible. You know how I love pie. I do not remember seeing a more perfect pie. I bet it tasted as good as it looks. McKenzie
ReplyDeleteThe fruit of the Butia capitata has a taste when fresh that is lost when it's made into a syrup. Too much boiling.
ReplyDeleteThat's why I decided this season to make only juice from the fruit I pick. I was very careful to not pour too much heat into the Butia juice I made recently and that I gave to Jeanne for the pie. She was also careful to use no more heat than necessary to produce the filling of the pie. Our care was rewarded. I could still taste the fresh. That was the best part of the pie.
I love your moon photos - they span nearly a complete lunar cycle and are so much better than those from NASA or other astronomers because they are uniquely yours - from your very yard - from your very adequate camera in spite of what you say about it!
ReplyDeleteAND not only that you can tell they are yours from your place in the universe because the features are upside down (except for the last smiley face).
O - and I can't forget to mention how absolutely delicious that butia fruitia meringue pie looks! reminds me of Dean Martin's timeless song "That's Amore" that I take the liberty to (mis)quote: "When the moon hits your eye like a big butia pie, that's amore,
When the world seems to shine like
you've had too much butia wine, that's amore..."
Love it, "Like a big Butia pie..." Good one, Dianne. And you'll get to try some next year.
ReplyDeleteThese are professional photos in my humble opinion and I am delighted you shared them! Dianne, you are too funny! And the pie? Why it's both of course! Half empty and half full, can't have one without the other!!
ReplyDeleteSo very true Kathie. Thanks for the comment.
ReplyDelete