An Evening in Arches with the Aurora Borealis

When you’re a photographer who lives in Moab, you’ve got an endless variety of incredible landscapes to photograph. Wildflowers in the spring, monsoon storms in summer, gorgeous multi-hued leaves in the fall and pristine snow on red rocks in winter. There are canyons and waterfalls, arches and balancing rocks and twisted juniper trees, mountains and lakes, wildlife and wild sunsets. What you don’t have though, is the aurora. Colorful waves of light dancing across the northern sky before a curtain of twinkling stars. And then, on an autumn day in October, an aurora alert flashes across your iPhone screen. For three hours, from 9 to midnight, there’s a KP rating of 8 and a predicted 100% aurora viewing opportunity. It’s already dark, so you step into the backyard and point your iPhone camera to the north. There, on the screen, is a brilliant red aurora hovering over the roof of your neighbor’s house.

That’s exactly what happened to me last week. At almost 54 years old, and having been a nature photographer for 25 years, I was about to photograph my first aurora. The next few minutes were chaotic as I quickly threw on hiking boots, gathered my gear, grabbed a drink and some snacks, and tossed everything into the backseat of my Land Cruiser. Adrenalin flowing, Melissa and I excitedly sped toward Arches National Park. In the distance, a steady stream of headlights were visible climbing up the entrance road that ascends a series of switchbacks leading from the valley floor into the heart of the park. Clearly, I wasn’t the only one who had received an aurora alert.

We made our first stop at Courthouse Towers, where several prominent landscape features erupt skyward in great pillars of red sandstone. I’ve shot this location dozens of times, in every season, and at all times of the day. I know it intimately and quite frankly, I’m embarrassed to say that I’ve grown somewhat tired of it. Until this night, that is. Nothing could have prepared me for the moment after the first click of my shutter. There on the LCD screen appeared an image of a hulking monolith known as The Organ, and above it was a vibrant ruby red, star filled sky. For what felt like minutes, I just stared at the screen. There they were, the freaking northern lights above the Moab desert! I was an aurora photographer!

Then, I zoomed in and quickly realized, I was an aurora photographer who was so overcome with excitement, I’d forgotten to focus my lens. That’s when reality bitch slapped me in the face. I knew absolutely nothing about photographing auroras. I’d gotten a few helpful tips from my friend Jason Hatfield, an insanely talented photographer with extensive experience shooting the night sky, including too many auroras to count. I took a moment to collect myself before my second attempt. Have you ever tried to manually focus on a distant object in near complete darkness? It ain’t easy. At least in my experience, it’s a matter of trial and error. Set the focus, shoot, check for sharpness, make a minor adjustment, repeat. Eventually, I got my focus dialed in and then went to work finding an optimal exposure. Jack up the ISO, set the exposure, keep the aperture at f/2.8. Nope, way too dark. Increase exposure, try again. And again. And again. Until finally, burned onto the memory card was a sharp(ish), mostly properly exposed image.

We stayed at Courthouse Towers for quite some time. I made a few dozen images, experimenting with different compositions, each one unique in that no two northern light photos are ever the same. When the colors began to fade, we moved on. Our next stop was Balanced Rock, where a significant crowd had gathered to enjoy this rare spectacle. The process repeated itself, and again we stayed until the aurora vanished. We moved on to the Windows area, but didn’t stay long as the colors were muted and occupied only a small area of the sky.

Reluctantly, we decided to call it a night. As we made our way out of the park, Melissa noticed a faint glow in the rear view mirror. We stopped again at Courthouse Towers to quickly check for the aurora using our iPhone cameras, one of the tips Jason had shared with me. Digital camera sensors are far more sensitive to light than our eyes, and auroras that may not be visible to the naked eye, can be easily recorded via camera and viewed on-screen. Much to our delight, the sky was again brimming with color! We stayed until the aurora disappeared completely. This time, I experimented with a lower ISO (400) and longer exposures (20 - 25 seconds), knowing that it would result in cleaner (i.e. less noise) image files. I was also pleased to discover that with a faint aurora, using a longer exposure seemed to result in brighter colors that covered more of the sky.

We pulled into our driveway at midnight. I had a Zoom meeting in just a few hours and though I was eager to download and view my images, I did the responsible thing and went to bed. That night, I dreamt of auroras. In my dreams, I could see them in the sky with my own eyes and they swirled around in a kaleidoscope of psychedelic colors. Following my meeting, I popped the SD card into my computer and began to cull through over 200 images from my incredible night with the northern lights, ultimately narrowing it down to about ten photographs, a few of which are displayed in this post. I guess now I need to order new business cards, so I can add “Aurora Photographer” to my title. ;-) This was an evening I won’t soon forget and if I’m lucky, somewhere down the road, I’ll have another opportunity to experience the northern lights.

A Last Minute Sunset Adventure at Corona Arch

One of the benefits of living in a place like Moab is that you can look out the window, assess conditions, and make a last minute decision to rally for a sunset. Such was the case recently on an unusually warm winter weekend. All day the sky alternated between partly to mostly cloudy, and at three hours before sunset a streak of blue sky spread on the western horizon below a blanket of light clouds. If it held, the sun would drop below the clouds just minutes before sunset and the sandstone would explode with vibrant shades of red, orange and yellow. Having spent the day in the house doing chores and running errands, I felt the need to escape beyond the walls. I invited Melissa and Jackson to join me for a sunset mission at Corona Arch and I was thrilled when they agreed.

We grabbed packs, threw on hiking boots, filled water bladders and were on the road within 45 minutes, arriving at the trailhead an hour and a half before sunset. I was surprised to see several cars bearing out of state plates in the parking lot. Moab locals usually get our town and trails back from the tourists in winter. This being one of the more popular hikes, we’d have to share it with a few others. As we ascended the first steep stretch of trail I looked over my shoulder and noted that the band of blue sky was quickly disappearing. My confidence in a dramatic sunset was beginning to wane.

It’s a quick hike to the arch and along the way a small, contorted juniper tree improbably sprouts from a crack in the sandstone. I’ve passed it at least a dozen times and never once considered photographing it. Today, however, it intrigued me. Melissa and Jackson continued toward the arch as I circled the tree, experimenting with various compositions. From one perspective, the sandstone appeared to form a vortex, perhaps responsible for the forces that twisted the juniper into its tortured shape. After creating a few images of the tree under the soft, diffused light I beat feet toward the arch, only to be stopped once again by yet another lovely intimate landscape.

Bowtie Arch, a pothole style arch with a small seep below supporting a surprisingly diverse hanging garden, greets hikers rounding the corner toward Corona Arch. This creates a weeping wall with patterns resembling abstract art. A small single leaf ash desperately clinging to autumn, leaves still ablaze, caught my eye. Maneuvering to a position that placed the ash in front of the weeping wall, I went to work fine tuning a composition. Colorful leaves backed by the almost monochromatic, textural sandstone provided a visual treat for my camera.

I regularly use the Peak Finder app as a photography tool, not only to learn the names of nearby mountains but more frequently to find the precise location of sunrise and sunset. I glimpsed at the western horizon and saw a hole in the clouds beginning to form. Referencing the app, I confirmed that the sun would set directly through that break in the clouds! I raced toward Corona Arch and begin scouting for compositions to the sounds of a drone flying overhead. Two men were seated directly under the arch, using the drone for selfies. Luckily, they moved out of the way but the drone continued to, well…drone, for the next 45 minutes with only a brief respite when the device required a battery change. So much for a peaceful experience in nature.

Having visited this spot at least a dozen times, I knew of a perfectly placed juniper tree that could be composed such that it filled the inside of the arch. Not knowing how long the sunset light would last, I set up my tripod and dialed in this composition. I then wandered around experimenting with other compositions through my camera’s viewfinder. On the left, a basic image of the arch rising from a sea of slickrock. To the right, a scraggly buckwheat plant that would make a wonderful foreground.

Colorful sunset clouds fill the sky behind the massive span of Corona Arch near Moab, Utah.

Returning to the original composition, I mounted my camera to the tripod, crossed my fingers and waited for the golden light I hoped would materialize. I didn’t have to wait long. Soon, a faint but noticeable glow emerged, quickly moving from pastel to neon as the entire area exploded with warm light! Working hastily, I made a few images, confirming each exposure before moving on to the other compositions. The light would ebb as the sun passed through cloud layers, then blow up again, which made for an exciting evening of photography.

Seeing what appeared to be a shadow of Corona Arch on a huge slickrock ramp behind it, I moved closer to the arch and couldn’t believe my luck. There it was, a perfect shadow! I had just enough time for two more photographs before the sun dove below the horizon. Hungry and chilled, I was tempted to pack it in but the thought of leaving the arch too early, and missing out on a colorful sky, overrode my hunger pangs. Cloud by cloud, the western sky transitioned from purplish blue, to light blue, to various shades of sherbet. As quickly as it arrived, the color faded and darkness began to fall.

We hiked out in the fading light without stopping to dig out our headlamps. The low light and lack of contrast demanded careful attention to each footstep, but we soon arrived back at the trailhead. In almost seventeen years, with more than a dozen visits to Corona Arch, this was the most spectacular light show I’ve witnessed here. Some days, it pays to look out the window and forego all responsibilities for a quick sunset hike!

Check out my guide to photographing Corona Arch, available for only $5.00 and downloadable as a PDF that can be viewed on almost any device.