Milky Way astrophotography across Cornwall & Devon: Botallack, Rame Head, Mullion Cove, Priest Cove & Wembury. Dark skies, National Trust care, and coastal wonder.

 This Milky Way season took me from cliff‑top chapels to engine houses clinging to the edge of time. Dark skies, wild coastlines, and a camera full of stories.

Milky Way astrophotography across Cornwall & Devon: Botallack, Rame Head, Mullion Cove, Priest Cove & Wembury. Dark skies, National Trust care, and coastal wonder.

 Introduction

As winter’s grip loosens along the South West peninsula, a quiet magic unfolds long after the day‑trippers have packed away their blankets. In the stillness of an early spring or mid‑summer midnight, the familiar coastal paths of Devon and Cornwall transform. That daytime symphony of crashing waves and crying gulls softens into a rhythmic, lapping rumble of gentle surf, and as the clouds part, a second, ancient landscape reveals itself overhead.

Whether we stand on the wind-scoured clifftops at Botallack or beneath the solitary gaze of Rame Head’s medieval chapel, the darkness feels absolute. Yet, it is far from empty. Slowly, our eyes adjust to reveal a canopy of diamond dust. By April, the brilliant galactic core of the Milky Way begins its annual return to UK skies, rising like a celestial bridge over the Atlantic.

For astrophotographers and stargazers alike, these protected coastal margins are precious sanctuaries. In an increasingly urbanised world, the National Trust’s commitment to curbing light pollution does more than safeguard our view of the cosmos; it preserves vital nocturnal rhythms for nesting seabirds, hunting bats, and fragile marine ecosystems.

Capturing these moments requires patience, a red‑lens headtorch, and a willingness to brave the pre‑dawn chill. But as we watch a distant constellation frame a historic engine house or mirror perfectly in a Wembury rock pool, time dissolves. We are left with a profound sense of connection to a universe our ancestors knew intimately - a timeless heritage written in starlight.

I have spent much of this Milky Way season visiting National Trust‑managed coastal areas across south Devon and far west Cornwall and you can read about my ‘summer marathon’ ambitions here: https://undersouthwestskies.blogspot.com/2026/09/an-epic-milky-way-summer-16-nights-2000.html

Over the next few weeks, I’ll evaluate each image I captured - what needed improving, why, and how further editing brought those improvements to life. I’ll place each “first effort” beside its refined counterpart, so we can see what progress I’ve made. I’ve started this writing already and you can find the first preliminary efforts here:

Astrophotography, I’m told, is harder than daytime landscape photography. As I don’t do the latter, I’ll take this under advisement. One of my ‘summer marathon’ aims was to capture just one - yes, one - well‑composed Milky Way landscape with a clear, well‑focused foreground. I thought deeply about linking foreground, mid‑ground and sky seamlessly. And yet, under the extraordinary beauty of the Milky Way core, I often forgot that principle entirely. My mastery of using ‘leading lines’ will have to wait until next year instead!

This was the equipment I used during the spring/summer and the post editing software I used to produce these images.

Equipment: 

• Astromodded Canon 800D
• Samyang 14mm lens
• Benbo Mach 3 CF tripod
• MSM Nomad star tracker
• x 2 power banks
• x1 dummy battery for DSLR
• Small LED light on tripod
• Small Vano camp light – dimming

Editing:

• Stacking in Affinity Photo (Vs 1) or Sequator
• significant editing in SIRIL v1.4.4
• final tonal and global edits in Affinity Photo v1

 

So, for now, here are my first efforts and my musings about the areas I visited.

Why were they great places for astrophotography?

And, how did visiting these National Trust sites improve my mental health and well-being? 

As always, constructive advice tips and thoughts are welcome - drop them in a comment box below. 

MILKY WAY ASTROPHOTOGRAPHY AT BOTALLACK 

"Just after the sun has fully set"

Wheal Owles old tin mine engine house at Botallack in far west Cornwall

Tracked, stacked composite shot with some light painting of foreground

In the shadow of Wheal Owles, it’s impossible not to feel the weight of its story. In 1893 the mine flooded catastrophically, taking twenty lives and leaving a scar that still hums quietly through the landscape. As I lift my little LED light box and paint the engine house with a warm, respectful glow, I’m struck by how its silhouette feels more eloquent at night than in daylight — a monument to men who worked in conditions most of us can barely imagine.

Perhaps that’s why Wheal Owles has become such an iconic astrophotography subject. Under the Milky Way it stands like a lone sentinel, a square tower rising into infinity, its edges catching starlight as if the universe itself is acknowledging its past. It’s one of those rare buildings that speaks more clearly when the stars are out, when the silence deepens and the sky becomes a kind of cathedral.

Perched dramatically on the edge of the Tin Coast, Botallack is a landscape that carries its history in its bones. The engine houses - Crowns, Wheal Owles, Wheal Edward - all stand as monumental testaments to Cornwall’s industrial heritage, and as a Welshman I can’t help but admire the tenacity and sheer grit they represent.

The National Trust manage the area not as a museum piece to be polished, but as a living, weather‑beaten story needing careful, thoughtful stewardship. Their work is a quiet choreography: stabilising fragile structures, managing erosion along cliff paths, improving access for all with trails for all terrain disability buggies and protecting the wider mining landscape that stitches Botallack to Levant and Geevor. They keep shafts, tunnels and ruins accessible without sanding away their raw authenticity and provide education through fascinating guided walks and talks about the area.

Beyond the industrial archaeology, Botallack reveals a quieter, wilder richness. Fulmars glide on stiff wings, kestrels hover in the updrafts, and choughs sweep through with their unmistakable calls. Wildflowers cling to mineral‑rich soils — thrift, kidney vetch, sea campion — splashing colour across the slopes. Even abandoned shafts have become sanctuaries for bats and hardy plants thriving in mineral‑tinged darkness. Nature has reclaimed industry here with quiet determination. It’s a crucial asset for nocturnal birds of prey and the unique coastal heathland ecology, and the Trust work closely with residents and businesses to promote shielded, warm‑toned lighting that protects this rare darkness - the famous West Penwith International Dark Sky Park.

Later on in the night when the orange glow had faded

Another tracked, stacked composite

As I strolled toward Wheal Owles on my first astrophotography visit there, I realised Botallack is one of those rare landscapes that already knows how to pose. Strong silhouettes, layered textures, and narrative baked into every stone. Wheal Owles offered that perfect blend of shape and story: its square tower rising against the Milky Way like a lighthouse for the past. The cliffs drop away so sharply that the horizon feels impossibly wide. On my calm night the Atlantic became a dark mirror, catching fragments of starlight and the faint dying embers of a long‑set sun. On wilder nights, I suspect the waves become ghostly veils swirling around the rocks.

Stillness settled over the cliffs - broken only by the rumble of swell, the sharp bark of prowling foxes, and the crunch of other photographers arriving along gravel trackways. Once my rig is running, I feel the weight of time - generations who lived, worked and dreamed on this cliff before me. The sky echoes that history, reminding me that everything is temporary, connected, and eventually finds its place.

Botallack is a place I’ll return to time and time again - not just for the pictures, but for the perspective, and to honour those tenacious, brave Cornish miners and their families.

MILKY WAY ASTROPHOTOGRAPHY AT RAME HEAD

"A place to pause and rest"

St. Michael's Chapel at Rame Head, south-east Cornwall under a milky way core

Tracked, stacked composite

"Cosmic river of stars"

Same location as previous image

Tracked, stacked composite 

Rame Head is one of those places that feels like it’s been quietly holding the coastline together for a thousand years - a medieval giant with weather‑beaten shoulders and a chapel perched on top like a lone watchman who simply refuses to clock off. St Michael’s Chapel stands there as it always has, a stone sentinel guiding sailors across Plymouth Sound, shrugging off storms, salt, and the centuries with the stubborn dignity of another ancient mariner who’s seen it all.

It has changed little from when I fished off its rocky platforms as a student decades ago.

Around the headland, the maritime cliffside grasslands hum with life: skylarks spiralling upward like musical fireworks, rare butterflies and moths flicker through the scrub, all of them relying on the headland’s wonderfully dark nocturnal horizon to keep their ancient rhythms intact. It’s wild yet welcoming, dramatic yet delicate, a place where history, wildlife and big skies all shake hands.  

As with some of the other places I’ve been privileged to visit this summer, The National Trust work hard to keep it this way, stabilising the chapel’s crumbling masonry and rallying volunteers to protect paths and habitats before footfall and coastal weathering nibble away at its edges.

As previous image with some internal light illumination 

For me, it’s a forty‑five‑minute micro‑adventure from home - a ferry crossing on the Tamar, a drive along one of the most stunning cliff‑top roads in the area. No wonder it’s one of my favourite Milky Way haunts.

One evening I met three lads walking the South West Coast Path, bivvying for the night in the chapel’s shelter. Exhausted, blistered, starving - yet brimming with that wonderful mix of gusto and stubborn zeal only long‑distance walkers possess. They cheerfully offered to help with light painting, then attempted Milky Way shots on their smartphones before collapsing into their sleeping bags. A trio of weary adventurers suddenly transformed into eager astrophotographers, chasing cosmic wonder with cracked screens and aching feet - one of those encounters that reminds you why Rame Head matters: history, hardship, humour and human kindness meeting under a sky big enough to hold them.

Reflecting on my two trips here, I realise Rame Head gave me the greatest sense of perspective this season - the right location, the right weather, the right alignment of the cosmic river above the chapel. Immense silence. Vastness. Feeling small but connected to my world, my galaxy, my cosmos. Deeply humbling.

MILKY WAY ASTROPHOTOGRAPHY AT MULLION COVE 

"Fisherman's cottage under the milky way"

Shot at Mullion Cove quayside on The Lizard peninsula, Cornwall

Tracked, stacked, light painted composite

Whenever I come back to Mullion Cove, my mind drifts to the early 1980s - that gloriously chaotic teacher‑training field trip where six geology students decided midnight was perfect for “caterpillar races” in our sleeping bags. We wriggled down the lane like deranged larvae, fuelled by youthful enthusiasm and a heroic amount of alcohol. It was funnier than it sounds - one of those moments impossible to retell because the comedy lived in the sheer ridiculousness of being there.

Even without nostalgia, Mullion Cove feels carved out for stories. A historic harbour tucked beneath steep cliffs, wildlife clinging to ledges, Mullion Island unbending offshore, and the Atlantic forever shifting from turquoise calm to full‑throated fury. The Victorian cottages huddle around the tidal harbour like old friends sharing gossip, while those breakwaters stretch out like protective arms. Fish cellars, net lofts, serpentine stone — all remnants of the ‘sardine trade’ - unmistakably “proper Cornwall.” I’ve sat on the harbour walls many times trying to sketch, write poetry, or reflect deeply; the results always somewhat ‘mixed’, but the intentions being noble.

The harbour dates back to the late 19th century, built to support the fishing economy. Today it feels almost cut off from the modern world, especially at night when cliffs wrap around it like a natural shield. Light pollution barely reaches the cove — though the odd holiday cottage insists on installing motion‑sensor lights that flare up at every passing cat or inebriated wanderer, briefly turning the place into a budget sci‑fi set.

Here, The National Trust work once again with the local community – this time, navigating climate realities. After decades of storms battering the quayside, the policy has shifted toward “managed retreat”: allowing the coastline to breathe and reshape itself.

For astrophotography, Mullion Cove is one of those rare locations where everything quietly conspires in your favour. Darkness, composition, foregrounds - all ready and waiting. The Milky Way rises with clarity, its spine stretching across the sky like a celestial tide. Harbour walls guide the eye outward, cliffs frame the heavens, Mullion Island sits offshore like a granite punctuation mark. Foregrounds abound: textured stone, weathered boats, reflective water – best viewed by walking down the cliffsides from the car park by The Mullion Cove Hotel (which is where we saw this July’s partial eclipse from).

On those magical calm nights the Atlantic becomes a sheet of black glass, catching starlight and harbour glow. Depending on the season, the Milky Way lines up over the harbour, boats, or the cove itself. The sky and land collaborate rather than compete. Anchored yachts drift gently, their mast lights shimmering like tiny lanterns on a darkened stage.  Boats are hauled up the slipway, out for repair.

Now there is a real enchantment after everyone has gone home. The harbour becomes a pocket of stillness - water trickling down the slipway, gurgling through stone. Awe expands. Bioluminescence glows in the gentle swash, waves sync with my breathing, cold air sharpens my senses. The sky feels enormous yet comforting - a reminder that worries are small and already shifting away like the tide.

It seems to me that Mullion Cove is a location that rewards patience and experimentation. It gives me a rare emotional cocktail: photographic potential mixed with inner peace. A place where I can capture something beautiful and feel something meaningful. And like all good places, it leaves a soft pull in the chest - the certainty I’ll return next year, and the year after, to let the night sky do its quiet, steady work.

"In a calm anchorage at Mullion Cove"

Tracked, stacked composite

MILKY WAY ASTROPHOTOGRAPHY AT PRIEST COVE, CAPE CORNWALL 

"Hauled out safely for the night"

Priest Cove, Cape Cornwall 

Tracked, stacked composite

Priest Cove is another place that feels both humble and heroic - a small, rugged fishing cove tucked beneath Cape Cornwall, carrying centuries of human endeavour in its granite rocks. The slipway, cobbled apron, boats hauled up against the Atlantic’s moods… all speak of a community that has always worked with the sea rather than against it. The Great Brisons sitting offshore like brooding granite guardians. It’s iconic not because it tries to be, but because it simply is - shaped by tides, toil and time.

As I stood here, I thought I could almost hear the echo of old pilchard boats creaking at their moorings, or imagine the lantern glow of fishermen preparing for a night launch. Priest Cove has that rare quality of feeling lived‑in without feeling worn‑out.

And then, just after blue hour, as if to consolidate a point, I watched a small fishing boat navigate in at low tide. Hauled up by an old pick‑up, I spent ten pleasant minutes chatting with the three fishermen - grandfather, grandson, and brother‑in‑law. We discussed the catch, shifting ecology, the Octopus invasion and its implications for crabbing. Then the pick‑up roared away up the steep track, leaving me alone to reset my tracker for the Milky Way.

Cape Cornwall is not a manicured area. The National Trust manage it and the wider headland by keeping it safe, accessible and true to itself - restoring coastal paths, protecting fragile cliffside habitats, preserving cultural heritage and ensuring that the peninsula remains one of Cornwall’s most pristine dark‑sky locations.

On my daytime recce I spotted fulmars, a red‑beaked chough, swooping buzzards, surfing seals and cormorants drying their wings. Sea thrift clung on despite the heatwave, scurvy grass and withering heather dotted the slopes. Cape Cornwall and Priest Cove remind us that wildlife doesn’t always need wilderness - just a place left to be itself.

This night, I found my leading lines, sense of drama and magnificent darkness down in the cove. The slipway sat perfectly in line with the milky way, a natural anchor for the compositions - a granite runway to a cosmic stairway. Boats, rocks, tide pools - all ready to catch starlight in subtle ways. The Atlantic, unusually calm, became that smoky dark teal/grey glass reflecting sky colours in broken fragments. Next year, I will aim to image the whole headland from further north along the coast.

Anyway, back to the now down in the cove - where else can you sit on a rough bench with your back against a fisherman’s storehouse, surrounded by old netting? The rustle of wind through grass, the hiss of my jet boil stove, the rhythmic clicking of my shutter, the twinkling lights of Sennen, the sudden flash of offshore lighthouses. Big sky. Big seascape. Deep calm.

Priest Cove, I found, is where astrophotography becomes more than a technical exercise; it becomes a quiet communion. Perspective, calm, and a reminder that my worries are small compared to the sweep of the cosmos. Standing at the edge of Cornwall, the edge of the ocean, and the edge of the night - all at once – it is breathtaking.

 

MILKY WAY ASTROPHOTOGRAPHY AT WEMBURY BEACH 

All this group of images are shot at Wembury Beach in south Devon

All are tracked, stacked composites 

"After the crowds have gone home"

Tracked, stacked composite image of Wembury Beach and the Old Mill House.

The green glow? Emergency exit lighting signs in the cafe! 

Wembury Beach is stitched into our family history - sun‑soaked days of rock pooling, paddling and castle‑building when the children were small, memories that cling like sea salt to the skin. It’s one of those rare coastal places that manages to be two beloved destinations in a single day: a bright communal playground by day and now, later in life for me, a quietly magical stage set for stargazing.

From the cliff above, St Werburgh’s Church keeps watch like a benevolent old lighthouse keeper. The whole beach, irrespective of time of day, feels warm, open and embracing - a natural amphitheatre where time slips away without asking permission.

But when the sun drops, Wembury reveals its second personality. The crowds melt, the tide hushes its voice, and the bay becomes a darkened bowl facing the stars. The Great Mewstone shifts from familiar landmark to brooding silhouette; the sky feels vast, as if someone has quietly lifted the lid off the world. Wembury beach becomes a place where the universe seems willing to whisper to anyone patient enough to stand still and listen. Well, it feels that way to me.

I come here as much for the nocturnal wildlife as the cosmic theatre. After the last paddle boarder leaves, badgers begin their nightly commute, tawny owls drift overhead, foxes slip through shadows, mice and voles rustle in the grass, and bats flicker above the car park. Stand still long enough and a hedgehog will trot past; a glow worm will flash neon green. Wembury doesn’t go quiet at night - it simply hands the stage to a different cast.

"Wembury Mill Cafe - closed for the night"

"A cosmic stairway to heaven"

Astrophotography wise - I remember why I return so often - yes, the car park is convenient as is the drive short - but it’s more than that. The Mewstone becomes the perfect foreground anchor for Milky Way landscapes. The bay offers an uninterrupted horizon for meteor showers and long exposures, and the National Trust’s “let nature be nature” approach keeps intrusive lighting at bay. Turn east early in the season and the Mill House becomes another perfect anchor.

The steady hush of the Channel, punctuated by the occasional deep‑throated thrum of a boat engine offshore, turns the place into a coastal observatory where a night under the stars feels intimate and enormous. Casual stargazers stay longer than planned; astrophotographers mutter “just one more shot” until well past midnight – and, no surprise now, it’s also where I most often meet fellow stargazers for a night of astronomy.

Ok, go on then, I’ll admit it. Yes - it’s also where I can do “lazy” deep‑space astrophotography from the back of my car. Picnic table out, jet boil hissing, snacks everywhere. Lethargic astrophotography, perhaps, but wonderfully intimate on cold winter nights.

"On a calm summertime night - the stars come out to play"

MILKY WAY ASTROPHOTOGRAPHY AT WEMBURY POINT 

"The perfect place to muse on one's place in the cosmos"

Wembury Point in south Devon 

All images - tracked stacked composites with some light painting

Another favourite “quick escape” destination - Wembury Point, a National Trust headland sitting in a rare Bortle 3 pocket. Out in the bay broods the Great Mewstone: part island, part myth, part 18th‑century hideout for outcasts and opportunistic smugglers. Another south-west coastal granite sentinel – this one guarding Wembury Bay and the eastern approaches to Plymouth Sound. The whole headland feels raw and wind‑combed, a place where The National Trust wisely lets nature do the landscaping - cliff collapses, secret coves, ravine‑like inlets, ancient till‑topped cliffs shrugging off centuries of storms. Even the old remnants of a 1950’s holiday camp!

At night, the place transforms. Wembury Point becomes another natural observatory - a quiet balcony suspended over the Channel. The Mewstone turns into a carved silhouette, and the sky opens up like it’s sharing a secret. Long exposures feel less like photography and more like eavesdropping: the sea murmuring below, stars sketching slow arcs above, slow throbbing vessels drifting across the water like sleepy fireflies.

"The perfect place to pause awhile and work out one's place in the cosmos"

A tracked, stacked composite image - looking out over The Great Mewstone and Wembury Bay

This is the only image I have ever posted to Facebook which gained over 1800 likes within 24 hours

And then the human encounters which make some astrophotography visits so memorable - two of my best, both on the same night. First came the NT ranger, trudging up the hill after blue hour. “Three days of firefighting,” he sighed. “The brigade have only just finished damping it down.” We talked drought, fire damage, and the loss of grazing livestock. We admired the rising Milky Way together before he vanished into the darkness.

Hours later, at 00:30, came the second encounter - and my wife nearly got her life insurance payout. “Excuse me sir - do you know anything about a fire picking up again?” Two firefighters materialised behind me like ghosts, startling me so badly I nearly launched myself off the cliff. Several locals had phoned in reports of “flickering orange flames” on the headland. They searched, found nothing, and returned an hour later. I switched on my red headtorch so they could see my tripod… and they burst out laughing. The mysterious flames? My blinking red torch. A whole night of insomniac phone calls — courtesy of yours truly. Oops.

As I look back over this season’s wanderings - the cliff‑top chapels, the engine houses clinging to the edge of time, the quiet coves and familiar beaches - I realise that astrophotography has given me far more than images. It has given me perspective, patience, and a deeper appreciation for the wild, fragile beauty of our coastline. Each National Trust site I visited offered something different: a story, a silhouette, a moment of stillness, a reminder that darkness is not emptiness but a habitat, a heritage, and a home for both wildlife and wonder.

These places have shaped my summer, steadied my mind, and stitched new memories into old landscapes. They’ve reminded me that the Milky Way doesn’t just rise over Cornwall and Devon - it rises over all of us too, nudging us gently into feeling small yet significant, connected, and quietly grateful. And as I continue refining these images, comparing first attempts with improved edits, I know the real progress isn’t just technical. It’s emotional. It’s learning to stand still long enough to let the night speak.

From caterpillar races in sleeping bags to midnight chats with fishermen and firefighters… my Milky Way season had everything. And the photos weren’t bad either.

So, here’s to the next milky way season - new skies, new stories, new mistakes, new improvements. And here’s to the National Trust, whose stewardship keeps these places dark, wild, and welcoming for all of us who wander out after midnight with a camera, a flask, and a head full of hope.

Found myself a bargain photographic rucksack

 A bargain

I got myself a bargain up at Tavistock Pannier Market. 

I normally carry all my milky way gear in my Osprey Talon 33 rucksack - which has seen sterling service over the years. 

There is nothing wrong with this rucksack at all - it just isn't designed for carrying photographic equipment as it is what I call a 'top-loader' i.e.; a large bag design - all one compartment loaded from the top. So, its a pain to have to constantly rummage around in it to find something! 

So, I've been on the look out for a camera rucksack which would carry all my gear and most importantly be easy zip access - to compartments!  

Only - I don't have a budget for one. In the space of a month recently we had to replace the fridge, the dishwasher, the microwave, the car windscreen and now the collapsed patio around the side of the house! 2026 is proving to be very 'expensive'.

All I needed was one 'compartmentalised' rucksack that can carry the gear and is comfortable to wear for around a two mile length 'walk-in' at most. 

£12.  A bargain.

It holds everything. Its pretty comfortable to wear. Nothing fancy. Not designed for long walk in's to isolated spots (I use my son's old Lowe Alpine two compartment rucksack for that - it carries photography gear in top section and clothing and stove gear in bottom one). 

I replaced some of the elastic on the outer mesh pocket and two of the side straps for holding a tripod. 

It will do. 

I mean in my wildest dreams I buy a Lowe Pro specialist camera rucksack. Maybe I will have to wait a few more years until I've grown up to be a 'proper' milky way photographer - then I might be able to justify the expense. 

Steve 

#Plymouthastroboy

A personal safety guide for astronomers and astrophotographers

 Let’s Talk about Safety

We chase the stars … but the dark can bite back. Here’s the safety guide every night‑shoot astrophotographer and/or astronomer needs.

The night Maggie nearly collected my life insurance! 

We astrophotographers are a curious breed. We wander around in the dark, often in remote places with narrow cliffside paths and trip hazards galore - sleep‑deprived, laser‑focused on tiny screens, chasing photons across the cosmos.

But how much attention do we give to our own safety? Is it part of our astrophotography workflow, or just an afterthought as dawn breaks on the eastern horizon?

Real‑World Encounters That Remind You Why Safety Matters

If you’ve ever been alone in a car park at midnight when a convoy of youths turns up for donut driving, you’ll know the feeling. I’ve had that happen on Dartmoor - unsettling doesn’t begin to cover it.

In Slovenia, while doing deep‑space astrophotography outside the motorhome, I came face‑to‑face with a wild wolf - inquisitive, intimidating, and only 30 yards away. The campsite warden at Plitvic Lakes wasn’t joking when he said, “Pack up by 2:30 a.m.” A bear that wandered through later was huge.

At Durdle Door, I slipped and fell down a slope - Maggie almost collected the life insurance. 

In Arizona, a rattlesnake encounter raised my pulse faster than any meteor shower. In Utah canyon country, a farm alley cat brushed against my legs at 3 a.m. - in mountain lion territory. Terrifying doesn’t quite capture the emotion.

And the two guys on a motorbike at Wembury Beach car park? Midnight, purposeful stride, adrenaline pumping - they only wanted a charging cable for a flat smartphone. Idiots scared living daylights out of me. 

You get the picture. The night sky is beautiful, but the shooting location isn’t always benign.

 

My Safety Philosophy

I come from an outdoor education background — fieldwork, Duke of Edinburgh expeditions, high‑mountain leadership, international travel. So, my safety mantra is simple:

Plan like a mountaineer, move like a cautious, nervous hiker and think like an emergency services worker/volunteer.

I assume I’ll be tired, cold, distracted, and at risk - and I build safeguards around those assumptions. I know things will go wrong eventually, so I make sure I’m findable, reachable, and able to help myself for a few hours if needed. If rescue is required, I want to make it quick and efficient - not a major search‑and‑hope scenario.

This needs some unpacking doesn’t it.  It isn’t a comprehensive list and I’m not trying to teach ‘granny to suck eggs’ either. I’m just saying ‘make risk assessment and safety planning part of your normal astrophotography planning workflow’. Give it the attention it needs!

 

Pre‑Trip Planning and Location Research

• Scout in daylight. Note paths, drops, loose ground, tide lines, gates, livestock, and parking. Walk your route with your rucksack gear in mind.
• If you can’t visit, use maps. Satellite view and Street View reveal cliffs, rivers, quarries, and awkward access points.
• Check access and ownership. Respect private land, fences, and locked gates — sneaking in is unsafe and bad for the community.
• Log key info. GPS coordinates, nearest road or village, hospital distance, mobile coverage (and where it drops).

Think of it as your mission briefing before venturing into the dark.

 

Weather, Environment, and Night‑Specific Risks

Weather and Temperature

Don’t just check for “clear skies.” Look at cloud cover, wind, temperature, humidity, and dew risk. High humidity and wind can turn a safe night into a miserable one. In winter or coastal spots, hypothermia is a real risk - dress for being still, not walking. Layer up: thermal base, hat, gloves, warm socks, and maybe hand warmers or heated socks. Standing still under the stars is colder than you think.

Terrain and Darkness

Human night vision is poor - cliffs and holes vanish into shadow. Move slowly, test the ground, and avoid edges. Use a headtorch with red mode to protect night vision, but keep a bright white option for emergencies. Carry a backup torch and spare batteries - losing your only light source is catastrophic.

Wildlife and Livestock

Stay aware. Rural sites host deer, foxes, badgers, cattle, horses - and sometimes bigger wildlife. When touring dark‑sky sites in the southwest USA, park rangers constantly reminded us: listen for movement. Don’t corner animals; give them space. Keep food sealed - strong smells attract unwanted visitors – in the UK I have had foxes, badgers and hedgehogs. It has been bears, wolves and snakes elsewhere!

 

Personal Safety and Communication: “Being Findable”

Before you go, tell someone:

• Where you’re going (GPS or map link)
• When you expect to be back
• What car you’re in and where it’s parked

Set a rule: “If I haven’t texted by X time, start checking.” That simple plan can save hours in an emergency.

Keep your phone charged and carry a power bank. In remote areas, use a satellite communicator (I pair my Garmin inReach with my phone for easier texting). Know your signal map - there are black holes along the South Devon coast and Dartmoor.

 

Vehicle, Travel, and Fatigue Management

Driving at Awkward Hours

Between 2 a.m. and 4 a.m. your body hits its lowest alertness. Rest before driving home or sleep in the vehicle if you’re exhausted - better a nap than a crash.

Vehicle Readiness

Treat your car like a mini base camp:

• Blanket or sleeping bag
• Water and snacks
• Basic tools and tyre kit
• Ice scraper or de‑icer in winter

Parking Safely

Don’t block roads or gates. Avoid soft verges that can collapse or bog down your vehicle - especially in winter.

 

Gear Safety and Practical Strategies

Essential Safety Kit

Keep it simple but effective:

• Headtorch + spare
• Spare batteries
• First aid kit
• Emergency blanket or bivvy bag
• Power bank
• Whistle
• Paper map or offline map
• Compass (and know how to use it)
• Snap light stick
• Garmin inReach or similar

Working Safely in the Dark

• Mark tripod legs with reflective tape.
• Route cables so you won’t trip over them
• Avoid cliff edges - vegetation hides danger. (Ask me how I know!)
• Keep spare batteries warm in an inner pocket.
• Don’t drain your car battery with gear; use a dedicated power box.

 

Solo vs Buddy System

I’m a soloist by nature - always have been. But here’s the contradiction: shooting with someone is safer.

Buddy System

Two sets of eyes and ears, shared navigation, and help if you fall or get ill. Three people? Even better - one stays with the injured person while another goes for help. And let’s be honest: two or three astrophotographers are less likely to attract unwanted attention.

If You Must Shoot Solo

Double down on:

• Location research
• Communication backup (carry your satellite messenger on your person)
• Check‑in plan with someone at home

Be conservative with terrain - skip risky cliff‑edge compositions. Choose spots within sight or calling distance of housing. Some Dartmoor locations are remote and attract strange visitors at night - unsettling doesn’t begin to describe it.

 

Environmental and Community Etiquette

Safety includes respect:

• Avoid unsafe buildings and ruins - hidden holes, rotten floors, loose masonry.
• Minimise light pollution - shield torches, use red light, and don’t blind fellow astrophotographers. A sudden white flash can temporarily blind someone near a cliff - politeness and safety go hand in hand.

 

Mental Safety and Mindset

Stay situationally aware. Don’t get so locked into your camera that you miss sounds, movement, or weather changes. Every 10–15 minutes, do a 360° scan - sky, horizon, ground, animals, people, weather. And know when to abort. If wind picks up, fog rolls in, or you feel uneasy, leave. The stars will wait; your safety won’t.

 

Simple Safety Checklist Before Every Night Shoot

Keep this note on your phone:

• Location: visited in daylight or researched; access legal and safe.
• Weather: forecast checked (cloud, wind, temp, humidity, dew, moon).
• Clothing: layers, hat, gloves, warm socks, waterproof outer.
• Safety kit: headtorch + spare, first aid, emergency blanket, whistle, power bank.
• Communication: phone charged, coverage known, someone informed; satellite device if remote.
• Vehicle: fuel, warm gear, water, snacks, safe parking.
• Plan: start time, end time, route, “if I’m not back by…” rule.
• Mindset: ready to leave if conditions or gut feeling say “no.”

 

Final Thought

Astrophotography is about chasing light - but don’t let darkness chase you back. Make safety part of your workflow, not an afterthought. Because the best images are taken by photographers who live to shoot another night. That is the way they gain experience and expertise!

As always, keep looking up - have fun and stay safe out there 

Steve

aka #plymouthastroboy

MSM Nomad Star Tracker Review Update: Real‑World Tips, Accessories, Setup Workflow & Summer Performance

 The MSM Nomad: brilliant tracking, tiny body, big personality — and yes, I did lose one of the laser caps in the grass. Here’s what a full summer taught me.

 

MSM Nomad Star Tracker – A Summer Under the Stars

When I first reviewed the Move Shoot Move Nomad star tracker, I’d only owned it for a couple of weeks. It was new, shiny, exciting, exotic.

You can read about my first impressions here: https://undersouthwestskies.blogspot.com/2026/08/the-move-shoot-move-nomad-star-tracker.html

Now, after a full summer of Milky Way chasing across South Devon, Cornwall and Dorset, I’ve gathered enough extra observations to reach some valid conclusions about it.

My set up for the Nomad tracker 

“My first observations – the need for extra accessories doesn’t half mount up the costs of the overall package.”

“And some of those recommended additional accessories can complicate set up”

This update is the additional bit of the original story review: the frustrations, the surprises, the joys, the workflow, the gear.

The Accessory Avalanche

Or: “how can a simple tracker become a Russian nesting doll of extras?”

The Nomad itself is compact, clever, and capable. But the accessories? They multiply like gremlins after midnight. And if you’re not careful during set up routines - they can also scatter across your shoot site.

“Some of the small bits such as the various screw on caps to the laser pen - are so easy to drop – and lose! Go on ask me how I know – no don’t bother!”

The Optical Polar Scope

If you want to shoot with longer lenses - say the Samyang 135mm - you’ll need the polar scope, and probably the counterweight kit, and then the phosphorescent cap for the polarscope  (that glows somewhat radioactively - placed over the front of the polar scope, it lights up the field allowing the reticle to be seen in silhouette.) You also need a bracket to attach the polarscope to the Nomad. I

Basically, it is a complete additional accessories kit. Another add‑on to the basic price of the Nomad.

(As an aside - I have a polarscope from another small tracker which might work; and access to a 3D printer – and I can find 3D free plans for printing off the bracket; all I would need is the polar illuminator cap thingy – I will let you know how it goes!)

The Smartphone Holder

A clever idea: use your phone for polar alignment when Polaris is hiding or if you are in the southern hemisphere. There are some really good YouTube videos which extol the value of using the smartphone holder. It is an extra cost though. My son-in-law 3D printed one for me and it fits perfectly but my Pixel 6A seems to think Polaris is some way off where the laser ends up being.  

The Laser Pen (and its disappearing caps)

The Nomad laser is brilliant… until you drop one of its caps. Then it becomes a treasure hunt in the dark. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!

Compactness: A Blessing and a Curse

Small body, big personality

The Nomad’s tiny size is wonderful - until your ball head knob starts jousting with the tracker body.

I found that various ball head and ‘Z’ plate knobs and levers can get in the way of the nomad body and/or the laser pen sighting line.

It’s annoying!

The Alyn Wallace Z‑Plate

A game‑changer… mostly. It helps aim the camera toward the pole or zenith more easily, but one of its knobs (the small rotation one) loves to collide with the Nomad top.

And yes - the Z‑plate blocks the laser beam. So, I have to rotate everything out of the way to do a polar alignment – accessories which actually interfere with each other – mildly irritating! Finally, I have had to 3D print some extended levers to ensure that the plate screws on the hinges are tightly locked down.

MSM recommend you get one. But, I wonder whether or not it is really necessary? Is there a stability issue with it? I do wonder about that. Using longer lenses? Then yes, in conjunction with counterweight kit, I can see it being helpful. With just short lenses? Um – jury out!

The Swiss‑Arc Plate Problem

The supplied plate is tiny more “Swiss‑arc canapé” than “Swiss‑arc plate”. It didn’t raise the Nomad tracker up sufficiently on my wedge. A larger plate solves many issues, especially stray knobs hitting the Nomad’s top. It raises my Nomad clear of the wedge for a start and that helps lift the ‘Z’- plate higher as well.

“The one supplied is too small and too shallow.” Just an opinion – I can easily accept it may be a case of operator error.

The Power Switch Surprise

Handle your rucksack roughly and the Nomad may switch itself on. The upside? You discover it can run happily from a USB power bank.

Milky Way Landscapes: A Beginner’s Puzzle

I tried foreground + sky from the same tripod position - and the universe said “nope”.

Post editing the two together seemed so complicated and always ended in failure – with strange artifacts at the edgers of the sky photo. I couldn’t quite work out how to do the foreground shot and then then tracked shots immediately after.

Move a few metres from foreground location to shoot the sky component? Suddenly everything works. Why? No idea. But it’s not the Nomad’s fault - just one of those astrophotography mysteries, like why clouds appear the moment I step outside. Again, I suspect it is operator error here.

Marketing: A Slightly Controversial Opinion?

After a season, I’m a bit disillusioned with MSM’s marketing?  The website makes the Nomad look like a simple, low‑cost beginner tracker… until it then begins to subtly hint that you need a wedge, a Z‑plate, maybe a phone holder, maybe a polar scope, maybe a counterweight kit… and then it always seems to be discounted prices – which really aren’t …….. I come away feeling it is a slight con job! You buy the basic tracker and then discover the extras begin to build up. It isn’t quite the low-cost tracker you thought it was, or that was being hyped to you on the website and social media. 

SkyWatcher sells a complete kit. MSM sells a menu – which can be difficult to navigate for a beginner.

 

My set up - note the larger swiss-arc plate attached to base of Nomad so it better fits William Optics wedge; note too the wedge moujnted to a simple revolving swiss-arc clamp - making polar alignment so much quicker. The cable is a dummy battery one running to a powerbank that rests in the 'stone-bag' between the tripod legs. 

And now the Positives? Oh, There Are Many

This is where the Nomad shines

Ease of Setup

Once you’ve practised, it’s fast. Really fast. I can set up – shoot – dissemble – move location and repeat – several times in one night.

Tracking Accuracy

Pinpoint stars. No grinding. No backlash. Up to 4‑minute exposures? Easy. Just ensure that the Camera, Ball head, Z-plate – all sit at the centre of gravity above the Nomad.

Battery Life

Several nights per charge. Laser battery lasts ages. Awesome.

Simplicity

It tracks. That’s it. No modes, no half‑speeds, no faff. No extra switches. Bliss.

Portability

It’s tiny. It’s light. It’s a grab‑and‑go Milky Way machine.

 

Final Verdict

“Still brilliant - just buy it with eyes wide open”

The Nomad has transformed my Milky Way landscape photography. I recommend it wholeheartedly - but with a healthy awareness of the ‘accessory’ ecosystem.

Make sure you have a bigger rucksack than you think – for all those accessories!

 

I tried my set up on my smaller, lighter wedge from my star adventurer but went back to my Williams Optics wedge which felt far more stable and secure. 

My Full Setup Workflow

Tripod & Mounting first:

• Benro Mach 3 carbon fibre tripod
• Circular rotating Swiss‑arc clamp on top
• William Optics equatorial wedge on the rotating clamp
• Nomad with upgraded Swiss‑arc plate on the wedge

Mounting the wedge on the rotating base means less knob twiddling when polar aligning.

On the Nomad – secondly:

• Alyn Wallace Z‑plate
• Ball head on that; along with 3D printed longer handles
• Laser pen attached

 

Setting up Workflow

Set up the tripod ensuring it is level and that you have feet appropriate to the ground conditions. I weigh mine down with my camera bag for added stability.

Attach the wedge to the rotational base and roughly align with Polaris.

Attach the Nomad – I leave it set up with the Z-plate and ball head left in place – but I always check that all locking nuts and levers are tight.

Add the camera to the ball head and then rotate the camera and Z- plate to one side to do the laser polar alignment… Polaris is not the true centre of rotation… but a laser pen sighted onto it is good enough for lenses up to around 80mm.

Return the Camera assembly to its home position and then orientate the camera towards the target.

Other tips – I use a WiFi intervalometer and dummy battery for my Canon, linked to a power bank.

Eric has a great pictorial blog post about how he sets up his Nomad - you can read it here: https://www.ericwilkesphotography.com/taking-photos/setting-up-the-msm-nomad-for-an-astro-shoot

As always, stay safe out there, have fun and keep looking up

Steve

aka #Plymouthastroboy 

Useful YouTube Setup Guides