Summitblog

Chasing Light: Auroras in New Hamphsire’s White Mountains

The Northern Lights Aurora Borealis begins over Mount Chocorua during a clear night under stary skies in New Hampshire's White Mountains.

Experiencing and photographing the aurora borealis in New Hampshire’s White Mountains is on my bucket list. Also, I’d like to learn to play the piano. And jump off of a cliff in a flying squirrel suit, among other things.

Perhaps I should elaborate on each of those items a bit, though. For instance, I’d like to learn to be able to play the piano well enough so that others can stand listening to me. Jumping off of a cliff in a squirrel suit would be fun to talk about afterward, so the qualifier is to not only jump – but to jump and live. And the Northern Lights, well, my dream is to experience them here in my home state of New Hampshire against the foreground of the White Mountains.

As of this past weekend, I can finally say that I’ve had the pleasure of experiencing the Northern Lights, and I can cross it off my list! Sort of.

I’ve attempted a time or two before to catch a glimpse of the aurora here in New Hampshire’s White Mountains. Typically, the aurora don’t show very well at this latitude unless the geomagnetic storm is particularly strong, making the lights a rare experience. This past weekend, a large coronal mass ejection (CME) was hurled from the sun straight toward the United States, which is the key ingredient needed for an auroral show. As exciting as this was, other things had to fall into place. Let’s take it from the beginning…

Auroras – What are they?

The Northern Lights (aurora borealis) are the result of collisions between charged particles from the sun (carried by the solar wind) and those of the Earth’s atmosphere (magnetosphere). Typically, the visibility of the aurora are directly correlated to viewer’s distance from the North Pole (or in the case of the aurora austrailis, the South Pole). However, a strong geomagnetic storm can expand the auroral zone significantly to lower latitudes. Finally, more geomagnetic storms take place during the so called solar maxima (a cycle of strong solar flare activity that occurs once every 11-12 years).

From the NOAA website, a readout of the Auoral activity in the days following a massive CME.

NOAA's POES Map of March 17, 2013

In addition, the lights are best viewed when there are no clouds in the sky, a minimal or new moon, and in areas void of heavy light poloution. Best viewing hours are roughly between 10 p.m. and 2 a.m..

How do we predict them?

Much like other highly sought-after atmospheric phenomena, predictions of aurora visibility are not always entirely reliable. However, many tools are in place to detect the arrival of the lights. Such tools include the NOAA’s POE satellite. Also, the NOAA has a great Facebook page dedicated to space weather prediction. Much to the dismay of landscape photographers, those detection systems were not put in place so that people like me have all sorts of lead time in shooting the lights. The reasons, besides research and general scientific intrigue are mostly to do with the potential for satellite and power grid disruption that occasionally result from solar activity.

How do you photograph them?

Fewer nightmares have left me as shaken as the one I occasionally experience where I’m surrounded by auroras and I fail to execute the shot. There are some basic pieces of equipment that one needs in addition to some basic photography skills.

Equipment:

-SLR Camera with a fast, wide lens (f/2.8 is a minimum best, and as wide as say 20 mm)
-Sturdy tripod
-Timer or cable release

Photography tips:

-Open up your aperture – I recommend 2.8 or wider, but not narrower than 4.0
-Turn up the ISO – Count on 800-1600, but try to keep it low to reduce noise
-Turn on the long exposure noise elimination if your camera has that feature – check in the custom settings
-Pick the right white balance – cooler than daylight seems to work well
-Dim your LCD – keep your eyes adjusted to the dark of night
-Shoot in RAW – better dynamic range, plus the ability to make adjustments later
-Set the lens to manual focus – this eliminates focus finding, which won’t work anyway
-focus the lens – infinity won’t do – dial it in using the live view and picking a distant point on the horizon whenever possible
-Use the bulb setting – shoot beyond the camera’s typical 30 second capabilities. 40-60 seconds is a good place to start.
-Don’t forget about composition!

Once all of this is in place, it becomes purely about the luck of the auroral glow!

My Experience

My experience with the auroras was not exactly as I’d imagined it. Having arrived at my spot at 9:30, I’d been in the single digit temps for over 5 hours before seeing anything. When the show started, I could barely see what appeared to be green and dark purple pulses of light along the edge of Chocorua’s silhouette. I exposed a few shots, maybe a couple dozen all together, and by 4:00 am I decided to call it a night (morning) as nothing more seemed to be materializing. I wrote it off as just another hyped up CME that didn’t live up. On my way home, I even checked my rear view mirror to make sure I wasn’t driving away from anything extraordinary.

I got roughly one hour of sleep by the time I crawled into bed after 5:00, and when I awoke I went to my PC to take a look at what other might have seen. I have to say, I was a bit heartbroken when I saw what had transpired in the one hour that I’d been lying in bed. Quite possibly the best aurora seen in NH in a decade had played out at the unlikely hour of 5:00 am, and continued until just before the sun came up. I decided to pull up my images to see if any of the pulses I thought I saw were actually exposed. In fact, what I’d captured was the leading edge of the auroral storm. Had I been able to better detect that color in the dimmed LCD, I might have opted to stay. The truth is, I didn’t get to see exactly what I’d expected, and I still have the item on my bucket list. I didn’t exactly bask in the glow of the glorious aurora; instead, I kept thinking that the pulses I was seeing was my eyes playing general tricks of fatigue on me. Even though the experienec was lacking, I’m pleased (more than pleased in fact) that I got to photograph the first lights of the aurora over Mount Chocorua – but I’m not going to check it off the bucket list entirely; because the experience is arguably more important to the photograph than the photograph is to the experience.

The Northern Lights Aurora Borealis begins over Mount Chocorua during a clear night under stary skies in New Hampshire's White Mountains.

First Lights: Chocorua Aurora Begins!

Thanks for stopping by and reading about my take on New Hampshire landscape photography. Hoping to see you again soon.

The Magic of Avalon

Winter Sunset on Mount Washington seen from Avalon is a beautiful and magical scene that few photographers will get to experience. This shot was taken following a tremendous snow and ice storm, and the light perfectly illuminated each crystal on the mountain, just a few miles away.

 

“Nobody of any real culture, for instance, ever talks nowadays about the beauty of sunset. Sunsets are quite old fashioned. To admire them is a distinct sign of provincialism of temperament. Upon the other hand they go on.” – Oscar Wilde

With all due respect, Mr. Wilde, I disagree.

I, for one, long for the experience of sunsets; particularly winter sunsets in the mountains of New Hampshire. To torture the cliché, no two dusks are ever quite alike. In a photograph, sunsets come to be described by their color and vibrance, and their overall compositional and scenic quality. But in the moment-to-moment experience of the sunset itself (the part often forgotten by both the photographer and the viewer), a rather musical event takes place as the scene evolves. When an ambitious photographer can find a perfect spot, on a perfect evening, and get the location all to themself (not common in today’s hyper-availability of cameras), well the show is taken to another level. And since I shoot where I do, when I do, I get to enjoy these concertos more often than others.

When I speak of the music of a scene, it’s about the whole scene. It’s about hiking through New Hampshire’s White Mountains in search of a summit that speaks. It’s about spending time on top, tasting the falling light, feeling the cold air on my face, and then listening deeply to the soundtrack itself (which is usually nothing more than a hissing wind save the occasional chirp of a grey jay). It’s about the time spent walking away, under the cover of a starlit, black-canvas sky and having enough peace and quiet to occasionally contemplate those celestial bodies above. It’s about the inspirational nature of the scene and the experience. Sure, the thrill of the ‘catch’ is great when you can capture a winning photograph; but the essence of my satisfaction still comes from the experience of the journey, the symphony of the scene, and the return trip – not just the souvenirs.

Occassionally, one of these souvenirs speak to others and then the story of the image can emerge; and be told on a greater scale. With this in mind, I’m proud to say that I was recently invited to feature my photograph of Mount Washington called, “The Magic of Avalon”, on the cover of Windswept – the Mount Washington Observatory’s quarterly journal. This photo came from just such an experience as I’ve described above.

March 2011

It was a cold but brilliant day following a rather nasty ice and snow storm in New Hampshire. I traveled into Crawford Notch to hike to the summit of Mount Avalon – one of my favorite peaks due to the amazing view. I spent the afternoon “tailgating” on the mountain; exploring the summit, studying the map and picking out a few dozen peaks, and occasionally making idle chit chat with the Grey Jays. When it was time for the sunset and the show, I’d already scoped out my shot and had my equipment set to go. The sunset lasted for what seemed to be such a short amount of time, but in reality the whole event played out over several hours with the crescendo happening when the last bits of light finished touching the peak of Mount Washington and the sky gave up its azure hue in favor of pink and purple. Out of many shots, the one that adorned the cover of Windswept was my favorite, and to this day it is a shot that I have a deep emotional connection to.

Mount Washington Winter Sunset as viewed from Mount Avalon. Pink sky, icy pine trees, and a mysterious cloud lingering out of the gulf created a tranquil image.

Of course, the souvenir is a nice physical reminder of a fleeting moment in time. Not to mention that the appearance on the cover of a journal with a nice readership is also quite nice. But I keep going back to the experience itself – those intangibles and indescribeables. There is no way to bottle that up or print that out, and it’s something that you hope you and your delicate neurons will always hold on to.

This image can be found for sale or for rights managed licensing use on my website. Feel free to contact me with any questions!

Windswept Cover Shot featuring "The Magic of Avalon"

The Magic of Avalon on the Cover of Windswept!

Short Line, Air Line, and Chemin Des Dames

Warning Sign

What could be better than a hike in the Presidentials? Well, how about a hike in the Presidentials during near-peak foliage, with a squall of snow, on a killer trail with an uber-cool name, and the company of a large bull moose? I’d say that’s how to turn a great hike into an epic one!

Ever since seeing the Chemin Des Dames trail on my favorite Brad Washburn map, I’ve felt this anxious urge to go explore it. I discovered that the trail’s name is French for, Way of the Women, which got me even more curious. Most of the trails in the White Mountains of New Hampshire have had their name for quite some time, so I wondered if there was some historic significance to the name or if it was perhaps some kind of chauvinistic attempt at humor. I’ve still not found the answer quite yet, but will update if and when I do.

To reach the trail, hikers have two choices; ascend the Chemin Des Dames trail via King Ravine (Short Line or Subway/King Ravine Trail) or descend it via the Air Line trail. Since the contours on the map showed the trail would be quite steep, I opted to reach the trail via Short Line and ascend.

The Short Line trail is actually a rather remarkable trail. Some of the trail follows the Cold Brook which provides a nice melody to walk along to. A short spur out toward Cliffway offers a nice spot to take in the brook as it passes under Sanders Bridge. Back on Short Line, there are large, boulder-strewn sections that are completely covered in a deep emerald moss, and the entire approach offers a great mix of hardwoods and evergreens.

Cold Brook and Sanders Bridge

Cold Brook and Sanders Bridge

In the final approach to King Ravine, and after passing by Mossy Falls, the trail turned into a boulder field and presented some fun and interesting walking and climbing. At the junction of the Subway, King Ravine Trail, and the Chemin Des Dames trail, the foliage within the ravine was on full display and nothing short of spectacular. My route ahead looked to be a mess of talus and boulders; my kind of hiking. A small weather disturbance could be seen materializing over the headwall to the south.

The Chemin Des Dames trail itself was a somewhat steep climb up over boulders and over loose rocks. It’s a classic Presidential Range sort of hike. The trail is only .4 miles long, and at about .3 miles up, hikers must negotiate through a keyhole passage. I carry a big pack with lots of gear, and there was no way I was going to fit through. I ditched my poles and my pack, passed them up through the keyhole, and secured them against some rocks so they wouldn’t slide away. Then, I bouldered up and over the passage way which I would not recommend. This was the best option for me given that I was solo and without the aid of a fellow hiker to help pass packs.

A supreme lookout point exists just beyond the passage where King Ravine could be observed in all its glory. I took out my camera to begin capturing the magic of this place, and was promptly hit upon the nose with a small pellet of frozen precipitation. Then, a few more. The disturbance that was materialized had come to fruition, and I found myself near the top of Chemin Des Dames in a full-on fall snow storm. Classic New Hampshire!

King Ravine

Strong Foliage: Mid Day in King Ravine

I worked around the snow for a while to shoot just a few photos to mark the occasion. After all, the epic trail with the epic name was now in the books. I proceeded to the junction with Air Line along the Durand Ridge, and began the descent. Just beyond the timberline, the snow changed back over to a light rain and faded away even further with every step back to the north. Just before the Air Line passes the junction with Short Line, a large bull moose walked by grazing on this and that. Unfortunately, he was to far into the willywacks to get any footage of, but his rack was rather impressive. He was my only company for the entire day.

Of the 8 or so miles I hiked today, 6.7 were Red Lines, except for the final .9 which I’d hiked earlier in the morning on my way up, and the .2 mile back-track from Sanders Bridge. This repetition is a common occurrence for Red Liners.

Due to time constraints I had to pass by the following trails, which means that I’ll need to hike back up eventually to traverse them:

King Ravine, Upper Bruin, Scar, Cliffway, Randolph Path, and Sylvan Way (I think that’s it…).

I’m looking forward to returning to this area many more times to explore the rest of the trails. I’ve also developed some great landscape photography ideas after seeing the layout of the area. A lifetime wouldn’t be enough to properly capture all the magic here in New Hampshire.

Next week, weather permitting, I plan to be out enjoying peak foliage within and around the notches. Make sure to get out and enjoy it because foliage is about 5-7 days ahead of schedule this year, and all signs are pointing to an absolutely spectacular show!

Take care, and happy trails!

White Ledge Loop

White Ledge Near Summit

I’ve often passed by the brown sign for the White Ledge Campground on Route 16 in Albany and thought to myself, “Self, you should hike that loop someday”. Well, today was the day.

The forecasted rain moved out completely to the east by 10:30 this morning. The full loop is 4.6 miles including the short spur out to Rt. 16 (which is now decommissioned, but I thought I’d explore it anyway as long as it wasn’t posted) and the trail head isn’t that far from my house, so this seemed to be a decent Red Line to go after today.

The first .6 miles were simple steps. Turning right to head down the unnamed and decommissioned spur, it was clear to me that this hadn’t been a well-traveled trail for quite some time. I was originally just going to check it out, but opted to go the whole .5 miles back out to Rt. 16 just out of curiosity. As a side note, it’s very important to stay in touch with which trails are open, closed, and decommissioned; the best way to do that is to check the USFS White Mountain site and to buy Steve Smith’s AMC White Mountain Guide (currently in its 29th edition). The decomissioned section follows a stone wall that abuts private property for a bit, and it terminates right across from the Pine Knoll Campground Road on Rt. 16.

I hiked back up the .5 miles to the junction, and from there it was another 2.1 miles to the top of White Ledge. Once along the wide crown of the peak, I was afforded views back toward Cranmore and the Moats, and as far north as Pickering and Stanton.

Pickering and Stanton

Pickering and Stanton to the North

On the summit, I noted that the sun still felt warm, but a cool breeze that’s pushing in from the North is really starting to chill things out a bit. Fall is definitely in the air even though things are still about two weeks from peaking out in this area of the state.

It also looks like there have been some efforts to clean up the summit a bit; long ago, someone spray painted the words “VIEW” with an arrow on two spots of the granite underfoot on the peak. The paint has been scrubbed a bit, and over-painted with a more rock-like color. It will take time for it all to wear off, but it’s nice to see the effort has begun. Some revegitation has also commenced up top, and will hopefully continue thanks to the miniscule rock walls that have been put up to direct travelers.

On the southwest side of the peak just before dropping back into the trees, there was a decent view of Mount Chocorua, which is worthy to note.

Along the rest of the trail heading back toward the campground, it was evident that this 1.4 mile stretch is the more well-maintained and oft-traveled of the two halves of the loop. The trail even follows a small river that feeds nearby Lana Lake for a spell down near the junction.

This hike represented approximately .003% of the 1440.4 miles needed to complete the New Hampshire Red Lines. The route I chose included 5.4 miles of total hiking, although only 4.6 count toward the Red Lines. This hike brought me to mile number 417 and closes off a nice little section.

I’m hoping to get out much more in the coming weeks to enjoy some fall landscape photography here in New Hampshire. Until then, as I always say…happy trails!

Osceolas from Thornton Gap

Osceola from Osceola East Peak

Mount Osceola and Osceola East Peak are each well-traveled mountains given their distinction as 48 Four Thousand Footers here in New Hampshire. However, like most mountains on the list of 48, some of its trails get a little more use than others.

Back in 2005 when I hiked these two as part of my peak-bagging journey, I used the more popular approach from the Greeley Ponds Trail located on the Kancamagus Highway. I hit East Osceola and then Mount Osceola, turned back, and hiked out the same way. It was a wet and foggy day, and I didn’t really get a chance to see much of a view from either peak.

Today, I made my way into Thornton Gap with a good friend of mine who is just starting his journey to bag the 48. I convinced him to do the peaks from the Thornton Gap side so that I could cover the 3.2 miles of red line that lies between Osceola and Thornton Gap.

I must say that the trail was rather amazing. Then again, aren’t they all in their own little way? But truly, this one had a nice mixture of settings including an enchanted-looking mossy area at the beginning, rocky but moderate paths, and a great final approach to the top of Osceola proper.

We hiked over to East Peak exactly one mile away, making conversation and enjoying a pleasant September day. The views from East Osceola are sparse as the summit is mostly wooded. Marked by a cairn and nothing more, we only paused briefly before heading back to Osceola.

By the time we got back to the first peak, the summit was pretty crowded. Thornton Gap is traversed by Tripoli Road, a pretty popular camping road here in the Granite State. Most of the crowds had woken up by then and made their way to the summit to enjoy the view.

I think if I were to hike the Osceolas again, I’d prefer this approach.

These 3.2 miles of Red Lines represents about .0022% of the total mileage needed to complete the Red Lines. The total distance hiked on this trek was 8.4 miles.