On a cold day in January, I stop to eat in Boulder at one of the few open restaurants I have seen in days. Since I neglected to bring my own food, I have been surviving on semi-edible snacks from the shelves of run-down gas stations. A real meal has rarely sounded better.

After scarfing down two platefuls of food, I return to my car and peruse my map. I see a dirt road called Burr Trail that cuts through some of the most remote terrain in the Colorado Plateau. I had planned to drive straight home after spending a week in Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument. As is often the case, though, I cannot resist taking a detour.

Burr Trail passes several white slickrock domes before descending into a canyon that seems to possess a million different shades of red. I stop to photograph the abstract patterns that have been carved into the canyon walls by the forces of erosion.

I am so fascinated by the scene that I linger a bit too long. The same canyon walls that have drawn my interest also block my view of the surrounding landscape. This could prevent me from capturing a dramatic photo at sunset.

I jump back in my car and continue driving along Burr Trail as it winds towards the lonely town of Ticaboo. The canyon walls gradually begin to widen, and the snow-covered Henry Mountains come into view in the distance. I quickly pull off the road but discover that I am too late. The sun has already set.

I sit for a few minutes, watching the clouds float above the mountain peaks during the earliest part of twilight, called civil twilight. As I prepare to leave, I see a brilliant pink glow emerging above the mountains called the Belt of Venus. Below this glow is Earth’s shadow, a deep blue band of sky formed by our planet casting a shadow on its own atmosphere.

I quickly retrieve my camera and begin feverishly snapping photos. I realize that this scene is better than anything I would have captured at sunset.

From this point forward, I will rarely put my camera away once the sun has set. I have become irrevocably hooked by the magic of twilight.

Nine years and two months later, I again find myself driving down a desolate road in Utah. This road branches into a bewildering maze of trails, all leading to their own small section of nowhere. I do my best to stay on the main road before veering right onto a small, two-track lane. I park a few miles up this road and set off on foot for my destination – a secluded natural arch with a small cave hidden just behind it.

I walk until a large canyon composed of red-and-white banded sandstone appears in front of me. This canyon is mostly hidden until you are at its edge, staring at a 500-foot drop down to a dry streambed.

After seeing nothing but a stark, flat landscape for several hours, the canyon appears as a mirage, a mere figment of my imagination. The sandstone walls undulate like heat waves rising from the desert floor, reinforcing this illusion. An illusion of an illusion? I guess that is called reality.

I can just make out the arch standing atop the whimsical canyon walls. Unfortunately, it sits directly on the other side of the canyon. I have ventured a bit too far west and will need to backtrack. By the time I finally reach the arch, the sun has set. However, I am confident that the best photo opportunities will once again come during twilight.

At dusk, Earth’s shadow and the Belt of Venus appear in the eastern part of the sky. Tonight, I will be shooting towards the west so neither phenomenon will be visible. I will have to wait until nautical twilight and photograph the stars as they reemerge in the heavens.

Photographing during nautical twilight is considerably more challenging than photographing during civil twilight. There is still enough light at the start of civil twilight that you could probably capture good images with a camera phone.

When nautical twilight arrives about 30 minutes later, the landscape will appear mostly dark to the human eye. However, the camera can still pick up light that is refracted onto the land by the atmosphere. You may need to combine multiple exposures of the land with an exposure of the sky to capture adequate detail in an image. At the very least, you will need a sturdy tripod and a camera with manual settings.

I spend around 30 minutes shooting images of the arch from inside the cave. By the end of nautical twilight, it has become too dark to capture detail in the cave. The color has also faded from the horizon, so I pack up my camera, lenses and tripod.

Rather than hiking back right away, I decide to linger at this spot. My most memorable moments come when I can put down the camera and marvel at the landscape, not solely with sight but with all of my senses. Only then can I truly appreciate a place and find that sense of wonder that was ever-present in childhood but that is buried too far within me today.

Another four years and four months later, and I find myself driving along a paved road in Arches National Park. After undergoing a second spinal fusion, I am forced to stay on the beaten path more often these days.

On this evening, I have come to photograph Comet NEOWISE above Double Arch. This comet was discovered just four months earlier and has been putting on a dazzling display in the night sky. I will have to wait until the last stage of twilight, called astronomical twilight, to shoot the comet since it has been rapidly fading in brightness the past few nights.

It appears almost completely dark during astronomical twilight, but a tiny amount of light is still refracted onto the land. It is dark enough that you can photograph some of the fainter objects in the night sky, including the Milky Way.

As I am shooting the comet, another photographer begins shining a flashlight from underneath Double Arch. I usually try to avoid capturing any artificial light in my images but know this isn’t always possible in a place as popular as Arches National Park. Tonight, the photographer happens to be standing in just the right spot. The light adds a warm glow to the interior of the arch without affecting the rest of the scene. I find that it actually helps my image.

Although I have captured a satisfactory photograph, this seems largely irrelevant. It is now July 2020, and the world is grappling with the deadly new COVID-19 virus. Simply being back in nature and seeing this comet is all the blessing I need in these dark times.

This brilliant comet has appeared so unexpectedly that it seems to signal hope in the middle of so much despair. At the very least, it has confirmed something that I first learned over a decade ago. If you take the time to look, you can discover beauty in the darkness.

Stages of Twilight

Stage 1: Civil Twilight

Civil twilight lasts from the moment the sun slips below the horizon until the sun’s center is six degrees below the horizon. At this time, it is still light enough to see but dark enough for the brightest planets to become visible.

 

Stage 2: Nautical Twilight

Nautical twilight begins when civil twilight ends and lasts until the center of the sun is 12 degrees below the horizon. The stars begin to appear, which meant early sailors could begin using them for navigation.

 

Stage 3: Astronomical Twilight

Astronomical twilight begins when nautical twilight ends and lasts until the center of the sun is 18 degrees below the horizon. It appears almost completely dark, and distant things like the Milky Way become visible, but there is still a tiny amount of sunlight refracted onto the land.

 

The same three stages of twilight occur before sunrise but in the opposite order.