I am a goal-setter; triumph by gumption in school, in sports, professionally, and recreationally. A light childhood affinity for stargazing crossed with my constant hunger to elevate my photography, and as a result, my goal this summer was to capture the Milky Way.
Hours were spent reading blogs, viewing YouTube clips, and comparing apps for how and where to shoot it. This just fueled the fire. I kept checking the weather for clear skies, and querying the amount of light pollution in the area. Let me tell you, everything that I looked up did not have Kentucky as being an ideal place to view it. It got to the point where my girlfriend became concerned with my goal, my newfound obsession. If I had hair, it would be harried and disheveled like a mad scientist. My vernacular became sprinkled with terms like Sagittarius, Cygnus, hemispheres, galaxy. The horns were blaring loudly-- nerd alert, nerd alert!
Pressing on, I calculated the best time to shoot the Milky Way in the Northern Hemisphere is during the New Moon phase and the end of Summer. With the New Moon this week, I knew that this would be the last possible time to attempt to shoot the Milky Way until next year, as the Sun will moving closer into the Sagittarius constellation by December. There are numerous criteria that must be met to successfully capture the galaxy. The most important one of all is clear skies. You can't watch the ballet if the curtains are closed.
Last night was going to be the now-or-never photo shoot. We decided to leave Louisville for the weekend, following the last of the Indian Summer to the southcentral part of the Commonwealth. As I kept checking the weather, every thing pointed to defeat. The forecast called for a cloudy night, and the sky was foreboding during golden hour as we were driving down I-65 to Franklin. The presence of the clouds taunted me-- fluffy and pink with the sunset, as if they were cotton candy spun just for me not to have. As I parked my car at our destination-- the driveway of my mom's house, I looked up, and I knew it was on; clear skies and a million stars just beckoning me.
It was midnight, central time zone. As we drove nearly five miles outside of Franklin to rid ourselves of the light pollution from Bowling Green and Nashville, the stars began dancing more around us. My girlfriend suggested Kummer Road, better known as Spraypaint Road here in Simpson County. It's an iconic pathway-- a spot for solidarity during the day, and questionable hangout at night. I took her here four years ago when I was proudly showing her around the first time she visited my hometown. It was only right. We bolted out of the car. Below is what we saw. I now need another goal, and to cheekily close out this entry-- Sky's the limit.
