The Perseids and Cape Cod

Every August in the northern hemisphere, a brilliant display of meteor showers lights up the night skies.  The Perseid meteor shower is the celebrity of the month, appearing as "shooting stars" from the Perseus constellation in the northeast.  Actually what we see is the debris of a comet that last passed nearby in 1992, and the Earth orbits through that debris to clash with the comet dust. August 2015 featured one of the best views in years as the waning crescent moon reflected almost no light that otherwise would have ruined the Perseids' visibility.

I scheduled the Perseids in my calendar months in advance and as the peak days approached, the weather looked promising for the best night from August 12th into the 13th.  Though I originally planned to go to some farmland just west of Myles Standish State Forest for the view, I made a spontaneous decision to travel to Cape Cod where one can find the lowest amounts of light pollution in southeastern Massachusetts.  Though I wished I had rented the Canon 6D that I've used during my Milky Way adventures, I had to make do with my Canon Rebel T3 this time around.  I attached a Canon 24mm f/2.8 lens and brought with me a tripod and an intervalometer.

I initially drove to Race Point Beach at Cape Cod National Seashore near Provincetown, the furthest point north on the cape.  It was about 1 a.m., and as I set up my equipment, a park ranger shined a bright flashlight in my direction and informed me the park closed at midnight and I'd have to leave.  I admittedly saw the signs entering the park saying it closed at midnight, but I'm an occasional rule-breaker if it's going to result in better photographs.  They actually enforce their policies on the cape!  That saddens me though -- so few people get near-pristine views of the dark sky, and our national parks provide some of the best of those views.  There may be a good reason to close the park at night (perhaps it's to give natural wildlife a break from humanity), or it may be a funding shortfall.  If it's the former logic, I respectfully bow to that decision -- if it's the latter reason, then the public deserves better!

However, I moved on and found a town beach a few miles south called Ballston Beach in Truro. Thankfully, most street lights were shut off so the skies were still pretty dark.  Within a few minutes my eyes adjusted, and I could make out the vague outline of the Milky Way -- a positive sign that it'd be dark enough to see almost all of the meteor showers in the night sky.  Before I could even set up my gear, a bright meteor flashed directly in front of me.  A gasp may have escaped from my mouth at that moment.  I hurried up, and I turned on LiveView on my Canon to manually focus on a boat's light far in the distance on the ocean.  I set my intervalometer to take 14-second shots every three seconds (I chose 14 seconds as that was near the threshold where star trails would begin to form in the photograph).  Set at 1600 ISO (the best I could do with my Rebel without showing too much noise in the images) and a Tungsten white balance, I let the camera do the work while I sat down in a folding chair and appreciated the views all around me.

A brilliant meteor shoots across the sky in this frame

A close-up reveals a spectrum of color in the meteor's trail

One particular moment burned strongly into my memory, when a meteor appeared ahead and seemed so bright that the entire sky flashed, and the trail from the meteor remained for several seconds -- that felt like an eternity of awe!  Beyond that moment, I repeatedly shifted from feeling anticipation to experiencing amazement.  I could see one or two meteors every minute, and sometimes a flurry of them would strike in one area of the skies in a short time.  I only wished that someone could have been there with me!

216 shots stacked: Star trails, meteor showers, boats, and planes

About 220 shots later, I stopped the intervalometer and took a few shots toward the west where a couple of beach homes stood with absolutely no lights on.  The meteors seemed to appear even more frequently in that direction.  I continued to experiment with various shots, but around 3:45 a.m., I decided I was done for the night.  I drove back to the motel I had booked for a cheap $74 and took a gander at the images until the pre-dawn light appeared.

Facing west toward the beach homes

At about 5:15 a.m., I headed out to Nauset Light Beach in Eastham, just a quick drive about two miles away, so that I could witness the sun rise.  The beach didn't open until 6 a.m. (again, it's part of the national seashore so it's closed at night), but a dozen people were already there.  We weren't going to be stopped from hitting the beach to get the best of the sunrise -- the dreamers revolt!  Actually, there weren't any park rangers in sight, so I suppose it doesn't quite count as a rebellion.

Before the sunrise, in pastel

After the sunrise, in the golden hour

I hadn't realized that seals frequently swim in the shallow waters in that area.  They looked like they were enjoying themselves out there.  Thousands of small pebbles and rocks smoothed out over time dotted the shore.  Ocean waves rolled, then pounded the beach, foamed up, and retreated back.  A long line of clouds hovered just about the horizon; they looked like an oncoming ocean wave in the sky.  The dawn featured the softest pastel colors.  A couple of solidly placed rocks caught the brunt of the waves, and as the sun rose behind them, the light did some intriguing things as waves' droplets reached high up in the sky.  It was a wonderful end to the night, start of the day, and conclusion to this adventure.

Ocean waves crash upon two rocks; droplets scatter high above

A nostalgic perspective of a beautiful morning