Reflections on the Ninth Week of Fall – Chasing the Supermoon

    News that this week's supermoon would be the closest, brightest, and largest since 1948, the year I was born, wowed me. Could I get a decent photo? Astronomers said the moon would look full a day before and after the perigee (Monday, November 14 at 8:52 a.m.) and meteorologists forecast clear skies. With a forty-eight hour window, I had a chance.

For Cochranton, PA	Moon Set	Twilight Starts	Sunrise	Moon Rise	Sunset	Twilight Ends
Sunday Nov. 13				4:52 p.m.	5:01 p.m.	5:30 p.m.
Monday Nov. 14	6:53 a.m.	6:39 a.m.	7:09 a.m.	5:37 p.m.	5:00 p.m.	5:30 p.m.
Tuesday Nov. 15	8:00 a.m.	6:40 a.m.	7:10 a.m.

    After twilight Sunday evening, I stepped onto the deck and looked east. White lights twinkled through the trees on the hillside. I asked Spence to come look. “Is that the moon, or did Porter's decorate a Christmas tree at their hunting lodge?”

    “It's the moon. Trees moving slightly make the light flicker.”

    “Will you walk in the dark with me when the moon rises higher?

    “Sure,” he said then went inside, lay on the sofa, and fell asleep.

    An hour later with jacket and camera, I tiptoed outside. Since bears hadn't gone into hibernation and the east side of the road for a half mile in either direction was hill and trees, I limited my solo walk to the road in front of our log house.

    The moon glowed behind the tops of the highest trees.

    I aimed my zoom lens and pressed the shutter button. No click. The camera flashed “subject too dark.” I pointed the camera at lit windows then swung back to the moon. Stepping this way and that, I framed the moon with different branch arrangements before tiptoeing inside to download the photos.

    I hadn't expected a terrific photo with the moon so high above the horizon, nor had I expected the miserable mess I got. On the computer screen a bright white dot hung behind fuzzy dark lines in a sea of black. When I sighed and dumped the pictures in the computer trash, Spence woke with a yawn and a question. “Are you ready for your walk?”

    I vetoed a second walk and rejected an attempt the hour before sunrise Monday morning. Monday evening, with twilight end and moon rise only seven minutes apart, would be better. I also wanted to be nearer the horizon. “What about driving to Presque Isle?” I studied an Internet map of the park. “Perry Monument and North Pier have eastern views.”

    Spence frowned. “The park closes at sunset. Let's try County Line Road.”

    At 5:00 Monday evening, we drove in tandem to Matt's auto shop on County Line Road. Spence handed the truck keys to Matt for service Tuesday, and the two talked about a broken tail gate and leaking fluid.

    Trying to be patient but having something more important in mind, I leaned out the Subaru window and interrupted their auto part discussion. “Where does the moon rise here?”

    Matt, always polite and respectful, paused only a moment before pointing southeast. “Over there behind the house.”

    “She wants photos of the supermoon,” Spence said. “But the house and trees are in the way.”

    If only the moon rose in the west. The setting sun splashed pinks and golds across the sky at the end of Matt's parking lot. “Let's try Franklin Pike,” I said, pulled my head back inside, and waited for Spence to get in the passenger seat.

    I zipped downhill into Cochranton, slowed to cross the bridge and drive through town, then zipped up the hill to the Bryers Farm Market parking lot. Stepping out of the car with my camera, I surveyed the sky. The pink sunset spattered over the western horizon, but trees, cornstalks and a house on a hillside blocked the view to the east. I walked to the corner. The view didn't improve.

    Spence caught up to me. “Try driving east on Franklin Pike.”

    Back in the car, I drove up a rise then descended into a darkening valley. Too far. I turned around in a farm driveway, headed back up hill, and turned onto a lane which angled up and around. At the crest of the hill, the eastern horizon opened into a panorama Donald Trump would label “yuge.” With twenty minutes till moon rise, I parked on the berm, turned off the engine, and, grabbing my camera, jumped out of the car.

    Spence stayed in the passenger seat and played blocks on his cell phone.

    The pink sunset vanished, clouds gathered in the east, and burning wood scented the air. I held my camera to my chest and periodically checked my phone for the time. Headlights passed below on Route 322. By 5:40, three minutes past moon rise, the moon hadn't appeared. The tip of my nose and my bottom chilled beyond comfort. I got in the car to get warm. “Do you think the clouds are covering the moon, or that it's still below the horizon?”

    Spence stared at his phone screen. “I don't know.”

    We sat and waited.

    At 6:00 a lone star shone overhead. The moon hadn't appeared. Disappointed, I started the car and headed home. Driving up a grade half a mile from our observation spot, a red-orange moon winked into and out of sight on my left. I turned north, instead of south on Route 173, and chased the moon.

    Up, down, around in the country-night dark. Up, down, around. Watching for deer and navigating a less familiar road, I pursued the flickering moon and hunted for a place to park.

    At a construction company lot, I pulled off and got out of the car. The supermoon complete with shadows glowed bigger than last night but still hid behind trees. I clicked several pictures then got back in the car. “We need a clearer view,” I said.

    Spence chuckled. “That car stopped to watch you.”

    Great. Would the driver call 911 to report a crazy person taking photos in the dark?

    I continued north to McDaniel's Corners Bible Church and turned east on a side road. No luck. Trees lined the horizon, and the road angled down. Another U-turn in inky dark, and I headed back to Route 173 to park in the church lot. Too late I discovered the lot driveway came off the side of the church not the front. Should I head south till I found a place to U-turn on Route 173, or should I back up a car length?

    I backed up.

    “This is making me nervous,” I mumbled.

    “It's not the only scary moment of the drive,” Spence said.

    Determined, I accelerated uphill.

    “If you drive slower, we could find a pull off easier,” Spence said clutching the handle above the passenger seat.

    “I need to get higher before the clouds get thicker.”

    Spence called out several driveways, but I didn't want to stop at a farm only to have folks question my night photography. Instead I parked on the wide berm at the Lippert and Vincent intersection. The straightaway panoramic view worked–except gathering gray clouds encircled the orange supermoon. They'd add texture. I took pictures till the clouds enveloped all the light. Maybe one would work.

   Back at home, the first set of photos looked like a white ball with irregular black lines. Where were the supermoon shadows? The second set looked like an orange smear in swirls of variegated gray.

   Drat.

   “Perhaps you could adjust the exposure next time,” Spence said. “You got a good moon shot last spring, How did you do that?”

   “The sky was still light.” I pulled up the April moon photo on my computer and turned the screen toward Spence.

    He nodded.

    “I'll wait till twilight tomorrow morning and try again.”

     At 7:00 a.m., I grabbed my camera and dashed for the door.

    “Let me drive this time. You can moon watch better if I'm driving.”

    “Sure,” I said. He just didn't want another thrilling ride like Monday night.

    While he moseyed to Matt's auto shop,I gazed at the moon flicker in and out of the clutter on the western horizon. Spence stopped the Subaru in front of Matt's.

    I jumped out, hustled to the end of the parking lot, and pointed the camera at the supermoon poised above a wispy pink cloud and between two trees. Perfect shot–I hoped.

    When I'd covered all the angles for that location, Spence said, “Look behind you. The morning sky's impressive.”

    I turned and gasped. Wisps of white clouds and fans of dark charcoal clouds mixed with the rays of golden sunlight flung across a royal blue sky. I pointed the camera east.

    An hour later, after Spence had driven at a sedate rate over a maze of dirt roads south of Cochranton and I'd stepped out of the car to take pictures, I downloaded sixty-five more photos to my computer. The first was a keeper, a decent photo of the closest supermoon in sixty-eight years. Photos of the dramatic morning sunrise were even better.