Sky-Watcher EQM-35 Pro DEC Motor Fault: Grinding, Binding and a Lesson in Mount Diagnostics

Sky-Watcher EQM-35 Pro DEC Motor Fault: Grinding, Binding and a Lesson in Mount Diagnostics

First of all, a huge shout-out to Adam at Rother Valley Optics (RVO). 

And then to Dave Woods at Dark Frames Ltd. 

Late on Friday evening I emailed both about my latest tale of astrophotography woe. This time the culprit was my Sky-Watcher EQM-35 Pro mount, whose DEC motor had suddenly decided that smooth tracking was overrated and had instead adopted a worrying repertoire of jamming, binding and grinding noises.

You can read about it in a previous post here: https://undersouthwestskies.blogspot.com/2026/10/skywatcher-eqm-35-pro-mount-grinding.html

As anyone involved in astrophotography knows, strange mechanical noises coming from your mount tend to produce the same emotional response as hearing an unfamiliar knocking sound from your car engine. You immediately fear the worst while simultaneously convincing yourself it's probably nothing.

Usually, it isn't nothing!

 

First Checks - Is the DEC Axis Mechanically Healthy?

Early Saturday morning I began investigating.

With the DEC clutch disengaged, I manually rotated the DEC axis through its full range of motion. To my relief it rotated freely and smoothly.

That was an encouraging sign.

If the internal casting, main shaft, brass bushings or synthetic bearings had suffered a catastrophic failure, I would have expected roughness, sticking, excessive resistance or obvious binding.

Instead, everything felt healthy.

That allowed me to narrow the search area considerably. The problem seemed more likely to be isolated to one of three areas:

• The DEC motor itself
• The transfer gear assembly
• The electronic control system

In troubleshooting terms, this was my first small victory. The list of possible culprits had become shorter.

The Internet Rabbit Hole

A little internet research revealed something interesting.

Stepper motors can produce a truly horrible grinding noise when they electronically stall. Rather than rotating normally, they effectively lose synchronisation and shake violently.

One possible cause is inadequate power supply.

However, I was running from a fully charged Celestron Lithium Pro PowerTank, so power starvation seemed unlikely.

Other possibilities sounded rather less appealing.

A broken cable.

A cracked solder joint.

A bent connector pin.

Any of these faults can cause a motor to lose one of its electrical phases. The result is a motor that appears to have completely forgotten its purpose in life, vibrating angrily backwards and forwards while producing noises that suggest expensive things are happening.

Gulp.

Taking the Motor Apart... Slightly

At this point I decided it was time for a little controlled exploration.

I removed the plastic DEC motor cover and detached the brass gear mounting assembly, leaving access to the motor and its vertical output shaft.

Now, this was venturing into territory normally occupied by braver people than me.

Or perhaps more reckless people.

Possibly both.

My assumption was that the gear should not spin completely freely. Instead, I expected a firm, uniform, clicky resistance as I rotated it by hand, caused by the motor's internal magnets passing through their positions.

Sure enough, that's exactly what I found.

The motor gear felt consistent and healthy.

The mating gear mounted to the metal casing also rotated freely. The grub screws were secure, there was no wobble, no excessive play and no signs of misalignment.

So far, so good.

Then came the important test.

With the gear assembly removed, I powered up the motor.

The vertical shaft spun smoothly.

Quietly.

Continuously.

No grinding.

No catching.

No stalling.

No unpleasant mechanical drama.

At that moment things started looking considerably more positive. The motor itself appeared to be working perfectly.

Then a friend got in touch and suggested it was the motherboard - a common reason why skywatcher mounts will sometimes behave this way, apparently - was news to me - hadn't even considered that option. 

 

Adam's Diagnosis

Later on Saturday morning Adam replied to my email and asked me to send a video showing the mount's behaviour.

After reviewing the footage, his assessment was impressively quick and reassuringly logical.

The likely causes were:

• A fault in the DEC cable
• A fault on the mount control board - which my friend had already suggested
• A failure involving the bearings or magnets around the worm-drive motor assembly

His recommendation was simple.

Before ordering parts or dismantling anything further, determine whether the problem was electronic or mechanical.

A classic process-of-elimination exercise.

He suggested the following test:

"Unplug the DEC cable from the motor mount box and plug the RA cable into the DEC motor instead. Then use the hand controller to command an RA slew."

Simple. Elegant. Effective.

The Decisive Test

There were only two possible outcomes.

Result A

The DEC motor spins perfectly when commanded through the RA output.

If that happened, the motor and gears were physically healthy and the fault would lie elsewhere.

Result B

The same grinding and sticking occurs.

That would indicate a genuine mechanical fault involving the motor, gear train or related hardware.

 

By this stage I was already leaning heavily towards Result A.

And that's exactly what happened. The DEC motor ran perfectly.

No binding.

No grinding.

No hesitation.

No drama.

I then repeated the test using the second cable.

Exactly the same result. Result A again.

 

Process of Elimination

At this point the evidence was becoming rather difficult to ignore.

The motor appeared healthy.

The gears appeared healthy.

Both cables appeared healthy.

That left one increasingly suspicious candidate standing alone under a bright interrogation lamp.

The motherboard.

Which, incidentally, was exactly where Adam's and my friend's experience had pointed from the start.

Sometimes experience simply gets you to the destination much faster than trial and error.

 

The Solution

A replacement controller board has now been ordered from Rother Valley Optics.

With a little luck, swapping out the board will bring the EQM-35 Pro back to life and return it to its proper role of tracking galaxies and nebulae rather than impersonating an angle grinder.

Fingers crossed.

Going forward

At this point, having seen how smoothly my friend's EQM-35-Pro mount operates  - it had been rebuilt by Dave at Dark Frames Ltd, I attempted to convince the boss that a rebuild was a good idea and having spent an hour bending her ear about all the advantages of doing it, over a coffee - I was thrilled to get the seal of approval. 

 

A Final Word About Customer Service

Throughout this entire process Adam at Rother Valley Optics has been exceptional.

Multiple emails on Saturday.

Fast responses.

Clear instructions.

Follow-up emails first thing Monday morning.

This is exactly the kind of customer service that keeps people returning to specialist astronomy retailers.

When things go wrong, it is easy to discover who simply sells equipment and who genuinely supports their customers.

Rother Valley Optics have certainly done the latter and my deep thanks and appreciation go to him.

I missed a phone call Monday evening from Dave Woods at Dark Frames Ltd - I'll explain why in a minute. But again, excellent customer service. Tuesday morning, a detailed email in my inbox - outlining what would be done to my mount, how much it would cost, what differences it would make to performance  - excellent stuff. 

Under normal circumstances I would have immediately contacted him and actually taken the mount up to him in the Portsmouth area. I mean I have seen the difference his work makes to a mount - astounding transformation. 

But alas, things have conspired against this. 

Welcome to the word of subsidence, unexpected collapsed patio areas, falling walls and lots of unbudgeted for expenses suddenly on the horizon.  

It isn't a big hole by cornish sink hole comparisons but the walls are cracked, the patio is a goner - the drain shaft seems intact fortunately. Builders are now on site - concrete is on order and so the process of rebuilding starts. The emergency contingency fund is now down several thousands of pounds. New wall, new drainage pipes and channels, new concrete pad across whole patio area. New fencing. New patio! Ouch!

Sometimes you have years like this one - 2026 has been the year of a new dishwasher, new fridge, new microwave, new car windscreen, new side panel repair to motorhome, two collapsed trees in garden, a new mount control unit and now the patio and wall rebuild. And there is still November and December to go - aargh!

And so, much to my disappointment, the rebuild of my EQM-35-Pro is on a temporary hold. I'm not quite sure how long temporary is at the moment - but probably not this winter season. However, the boss has given it the go ahead - so Dave, it will happen but not immediately - unfortunately! 

For thirty years we had decking over the entire area and so never spotted that the patio had started to collapse. When we lifted the decking, an area of it had collapsed about five inches - but it seemed stable. Clearly not - recent heavy rains had been washing down underneath it - and well, the rest, as they say, was inevitable. Five inch thick concrete crazy paving patio suspended over a rather large void. And two hitherto undiscovered manhole covers and drains - previous house owners had covered them over with crazy paving! Thank God we hadn't jumped in that area - I'm surprised it took my weight when I walked across it - so are the builders - cheeky muppets! 

Only the Ivy had been holding up the wall - the bottom part had twisted and fractured in several places. The builders touched the wall - and it became very obvious it was unsafe and was going to have to come down as well. Ho hum! 

 

What I Learned from the mount situation

Oddly enough, I have come away from this 'failing mount' experience with something valuable.

Confidence.

A few days ago, the idea of taking even part of my mount apart would have filled me with dread.

Now I've inspected the motor, removed components, carried out fault-finding tests and learned a fair bit about how stepper motors and mount electronics actually work.

That's probably a dangerous development.

If I'm not careful, I'll start convincing myself that a full strip-down, bearing inspection and regrease is a perfectly sensible weekend activity. On the other hand - sending it to Dave Woods seems a far more sensible option frankly and so that remains the plan. 

Let's not get carried away with an over appreciation of my 'assumed' engineering skills! 

One astronomical crisis at a time.

Meanwhile, I'm back off onto the 'tea and biscuits' shift'. Its very cold outside, there is a brisk chilly northerly wind and our builders are being heroes. 

And my deep thanks to Adam at Rother Valley Optics, a couple of members of the Plymouth Astronomy Society and Dave Woods of Dark Frames Ltd. 

Skywatcher EQM-35-PRO mount grinding and jamming

 Distraught. Gutted. Nasty sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. 

My EQM-35-PRO mount has gone haywire. Last night whilst imaging M31 down at Wembury Beach, the decination bit of the mount suddenly started grinding and binding before coming to  a complete halt. 

Today, I have just done a simple strip down to try and work out whats happening. These two videos show the issues. 

Ho hum. Lets hope there is someone out there who can help. 

This post outlines when I got the mount. https://undersouthwestskies.blogspot.com/2025/04/the-eqm-35-pro.html

And this post - shows the solution to the above problem, thanks to Adam at Rother Valley Optics: https://undersouthwestskies.blogspot.com/2026/11/sky-watcher-eqm-35-pro-dec-motor-fault.html

Brian Cox: Emergence. A Night of Snowflakes, Galaxies and Cosmic Humility - a review

 Brian Cox: Emergence. A Night of Snowflakes, Galaxies and Cosmic Humility

I’d been waiting almost a year for this talk.

And it didn't disappoint.

As the 2,500-strong audience filtered in from the arena bars, foyers and cloakrooms, there was a palpable buzz in the air. This wasn't just another evening lecture. It felt more like the opening night of a major theatre production, albeit one about quantum mechanics, galaxies and the nature of reality itself.

Below are my thoughts on the evening, along with a summary of some of the ideas that stayed with me long after the lights came up.

A Quick Show Overview

Emergence is a two-hour live science and cosmology show (plus interval) exploring how extraordinary complexity emerges from remarkably simple beginnings. A heady mixture of cosmology, physics, biology, philosophy and a dash of history, all wrapped in stunning visuals projected across an enormous ultra-wide screen. Real-time imagery from the ISS sat alongside breathtaking NASA footage and the latest telescope images. Add a powerful musical score and the whole thing felt part science lecture, part cinematic experience.

At times it was genuinely awe-inspiring.

 

From Snowflakes to the Structure of the Universe

The central theme of the evening was deceptively simple:

How do beautiful, complex structures emerge from a universe governed by relatively simple laws?

Professor Cox launched straight into this question with a stunning visual sequence. We zoomed into a snowy Prague street in 1610, crossing a bridge during a winter storm. It was an opening that immediately pulled the audience into the story.

The entire show was framed around a question posed by Johannes Kepler more than 400 years ago.

Why do snowflakes almost always exhibit six-fold symmetry?

Why six corners? Why not five or seven? Why order instead of chaos?

What initially sounds like a curious observation about winter weather becomes something much bigger. It's really a question about why the universe contains patterns at all.

Cox discussed Kepler's 1611 essay The Six-Cornered Snowflake, explaining how snowflake geometry isn't an accident. The answer lies deep within the structure of water itself. Apparently, the angle between hydrogen atoms in a water molecule is around 105 degrees. That microscopic arrangement ultimately dictates the familiar hexagonal pattern of snowflakes.

Who knew?

The striking idea was that the same laws shaping tiny ice crystals also underpin structures across the cosmos. Nature seems to rhyme with itself. Patterns repeat across vastly different scales, from snowflakes drifting through Earth's atmosphere to spiral galaxies rotating hundreds of millions of light years away.

 

A Journey Inwards

Backed by superb visual effects, Cox then steered us into the world of reductionism.

Imagine dismantling a clock to understand how it works.

Only instead of gears and springs, we were stripping a snowflake apart.

First molecules. Then atoms. Then electrons and quarks. Smaller and smaller still, descending into the strange quantum realm where everyday intuition quietly packs its bags and leaves the building.

This section covered some of the fundamentals of quantum mechanics and Planck's work. I won't pretend I followed every twist and turn, but I certainly learned a thing or two.

There were moments when the concepts became challenging, but that's hardly surprising when you're discussing the deepest levels of reality.

 

Enter Emergence

This led to the evening's central concept: emergence.

The basic idea is that understanding individual components doesn't necessarily tell you how a complex system will behave.

You can understand every molecule in a hurricane and still fail to predict the hurricane.

You can study a single neuron and still not explain consciousness.

Likewise, looking at one particle in isolation doesn't necessarily explain the astonishing structures that appear when trillions upon trillions of particles start interacting.

Complexity emerges.

Like countless notes forming a symphony or individual pixels creating a masterpiece, simple building blocks interacting under simple rules can create staggering complexity.

And that was only the first half.

 

Zooming Back Out Again

After the interval, the direction of travel reversed.

Instead of descending into the microscopic world, we accelerated outwards from it, across the cosmos.

And what a journey it was.

From quantum fluctuations and the birth of structure in the early universe, we scaled up through galaxies, galaxy clusters and the vast cosmic web itself. Along the way came black holes, cosmic evolution and the changing expansion rate of the universe across more than 13 billion years of history.

The scale shifts were extraordinary.

One moment you were contemplating subatomic particles. The next you were looking at structures so vast they make entire galaxies seem insignificant.

The evening eventually arrived at one of cosmology's biggest open questions: the possibility of multiple universes.

Not a bad place to end up after starting with a snowflake.

 

The Most Important Message

Perhaps the most powerful idea of the entire evening wasn't scientific at all.

It was Cox's repeated emphasis on three simple words:

"I don't know."

Kepler couldn't fully explain the symmetry of snowflakes.

Modern scientists still don't have all the answers either.

And that's exactly the point.

According to Cox, this willingness to say "I don't know" sits at the very heart of science. Progress depends upon uncertainty. Discovery begins where certainty ends.

Dogma shuts doors.

Curiosity opens them.

As someone who spends many nights under dark skies photographing objects we are still only beginning to understand, that message resonated deeply.

Uncertainty is a primary driver of progress and ‘assuming absolute certainty’ stalls human evolution. We all need to embrace what we don’t know – a radical necessary strength if we are to evolve further.

Splendid stuff

Yes, The Fermi Paradox Made an Appearance

Naturally, the question of alien civilisations surfaced.

Why, in a galaxy containing hundreds of billions of stars, have we found no convincing evidence of other spacefaring civilisations?

Cox touched on several possible explanations.

Perhaps there are "great filters" that most intelligent species fail to overcome. Resource depletion, climate change, technological risks and even artificial intelligence all entered the discussion.

But there was another intriguing possibility.

Complex life on Earth required roughly 3.5 billion years of relative stability. Perhaps that level of long-term cosmic calm is simply rare. Maybe most planets experience catastrophic interruptions long before intelligent life has a chance to emerge.

If so, we may be far rarer than we imagine.

 

The Pale Blue Dot

The evening concluded with reflections on Carl Sagan's famous Pale Blue Dot.

This was perhaps the most emotional section of the show.

We are, as Sagan famously said, made of star stuff.

The carbon in our bodies was forged inside stars. Every atom in us has a cosmic history stretching back billions of years.

And yet this tiny world remains the only home we have ever known.

Given the absence of evidence for other advanced civilisations, human consciousness may be an extraordinarily rare phenomenon. The universe has spent 13.8 billion years arranging atoms into a form capable of looking back and asking questions about itself.

That's quite a responsibility.

The message was simple: if intelligent life is rare, then preserving it matters. We all carry the shared responsibility, nae duty, to care for this fragile and very rare planet.

Human consciousness - an exceedingly rare cosmic anomaly.

 

Science, Truth and a Few Uncomfortable Moments

Somewhere amid the snowflakes, galaxies and multiverses, Cox also addressed more modern issues - scientific misinformation and denialism; the challenge of identifying reliable knowledge in an increasingly noisy world.

His argument was that science progresses precisely because it has developed methods for removing human bias and testing ideas against observation and mathematics.

As somebody who failed O-Level Maths five times before finally scraping a pass, I have to admit there were moments during this section when I was feeling distinctly twitchy – can a mathematically challenged person step up to his human scientific responsibilities in a meaningful way?

 

So, What Did I Take Away?

More than anything, I came away loving the "I don't know" principle. The willingness to embrace uncertainty isn't weakness. It's strength. It's the engine of curiosity and the fuel of progress.

Too often we celebrate certainty when perhaps we should celebrate thoughtful doubt instead.

I also found the Pale Blue Dot argument especially powerful given today's political climate. Looking at humanity from a cosmic perspective makes our divisions seem surprisingly small, almost petty.

We're all passengers on the same tiny spacecraft, hurtling through an unimaginably vast universe together.

That is a perspective worth keeping.

And I suspect it will make this winter's astrophotography sessions a little more reflective than usual.

Oh, and one fact stood out for me – Cox and others believe that we are the only planet in our entire galaxy that has ‘goldilocks’ conditions to sustain life of this complexity.

Think about it – 100 to 400 billion stars in the milky way. NASA Kepler telescope data suggests each of these has at least one planet orbiting it – and billions of these exist within a ‘habitable’ zone i.e. the region around a star where liquid water could potentially pool on a rocky surface.

Mind blowing!

Go a little further – NASA estimate 2 trillion galaxies in our observable universe - multiply 2 trillion galaxies by an average of roughly 100 billion stars per galaxy, the observable universe contains an estimated 10²² to 10²⁴ stars (more than all the grains of sand on Earth). And remember, the "observable universe" is only the bubble of space from which light has had enough time to reach us since the Big Bang (about 93 billion light-years across). The total universe outside our horizon is likely much larger or potentially infinite. Mind blown! Official!

 

Final Thoughts

Technically, the production was superb.

The giant HD LED screen, real-time data visualisations, deep-space imagery and carefully crafted soundtrack elevated the experience far beyond a conventional lecture. At times it felt more like an immersive documentary than a science talk.

Intellectually, it was challenging too. Some of the concepts required serious concentration, and occasionally I found myself struggling to process one idea before the next arrived. There was definitely some heavy lifting involved.

The lighter moments helped. A few references to Cox's D:Ream days brought welcome laughs and prevented things becoming too dense.

My only real disappointment?

No Q&A session. For a show built around curiosity, it felt like a missed opportunity.

But honestly, that's a very minor criticism.

This was an evening packed with wonder, perspective and genuinely thought-provoking ideas.

I absolutely loved it.

 

Complete Milky Way Editing Workflow (2026): Siril + Affinity Photo Step‑by‑Step Guide for UK beginning/intermediate Astrophotographers”

 A Complete Milky Way Composite Workflow (Siril + Affinity Photo)

If you’ve ever stood on a headland in South Devon, Dorset, or Cornwall watching the Milky Way rise over the sea while your camera quietly clicks away, you’ll know the magic of the moment. But you’ll also know the reality: coastal haze, light pollution gradients, noisy foregrounds, and the eternal battle between “what the sensor saw” and “what your eyes saw”.

Today's post is my complete, end‑to‑end SUMMARY milky way editing workflow for producing a clean, natural Milky Way composite using Siril for sky processing and Affinity Photo for blending and finishing. It’s the workflow I used this summer - refined, tested, and now written up so you can follow it step‑by‑step. 

It has been trialled during my 'summer marathon' of milky way shooting across various national trust coastal landscapes in Devon and Cornwall - you can read about that here: https://undersouthwestskies.blogspot.com/2026/09/milky-way-astrophotography-across.html

"Hauled up and safely tucked away for the night"

Boats at Priest Cove, Cape Cornwall 

As always, I add a proviso - this is my approach - I think everything is in the correct scientific order, and every tool or script includes a short explanation of what it does - but, I'm bound to be wrong somewhere - so please, if you spot an error - drop me a comment so I can correct things.

If you want to see my previous blogs about taking milky way landscape images - start here - https://undersouthwestskies.blogspot.com/2025/08/a-beginners-guide-to-post-editing-your.html  and https://undersouthwestskies.blogspot.com/2025/03/an-equipment-check-list-for-milky-way.html   and https://undersouthwestskies.blogspot.com/2025/02/beginners-guide-to-taking-your-first.html

But back to today's post - let’s dive in. 

Firstly, my Milky way editing workflow is based on using affinity photo version 1 and SIRIL version 1.4.4

Secondly - I never take single image milky way landscape photos. Mine are always a composite blend comprising a separate sky image and a separate foreground image. 

My normal 'in-the-field' work flow is: blue hour foreground shoot and a later total dark sky forground shot. Between, I take a mix of tracked shots and non tracked shots - ready for later stacking. 

Hence my normal milky way images can sort of be described as  TRACKED - STACKED - COMPOSITES

You can find details about my new Nomad tracker, by the way, here: 

https://undersouthwestskies.blogspot.com/2026/08/the-move-shoot-move-nomad-star-tracker.html  and https://undersouthwestskies.blogspot.com/2026/09/msm-nomad-star-tracker-review-update.html

Part 1 - PREP AND STACKING MILKY WAY IMAGES in Affinity Photo or Sequator

1. File Preparation

Get your sky and foreground files organised. Clean inputs = clean outputs.

2. Sky Stacking (Sequator or Affinity Photo)

• Sequator: Aligns stars, freezes the ground, reduces noise.

• Affinity Photo: New Stack → Auto‑align ON.

Stacking gives you a smoother, cleaner sky before Siril gets involved.

PART 2 — SIRIL LINEAR PRE‑PROCESSING OF MILKY WAY IMAGES

(This is where the scientific order really matters.)

3. Background Extraction (Polynomial)

Removes light pollution gradients and vignetting.

4. Gradient Refinement (Veralux Alchemy — gradient mode)

Smooths uneven sky brightness.

5. Gradient Smoothing (Nox — gradient mode)

Final gradient cleanup.

6. Colour Calibration (Photometric or RGB Background)

Sets scientifically accurate colour balance while the image is still linear and untouched.

This step must happen before star separation, stretching, sculpting, or noise reduction.

"Wheal Owles just after the sun has set"

This is one of the images I have just evaluated and you can read my thinking and proposed re-editing actions here: https://undersouthwestskies.blogspot.com/2026/09/evaluating-my-wheal-owles-under-milky.html

PART 3 —  SIRIL MILKY WAY IMAGE STAR SEPARATION

7. Starless Creation (SyQon Starless / Star Composer)

Creates a clean starless layer for sculpting the Milky Way band.

8. Stars Extraction (Star Composer / SyQon residual)

Isolates stars for later recomposition.

PART 4 — SIRIL MILKY WAY IMAGE STARLESS SKY PROCESSING 

9. Hypermetric Stretch (Starless)

Stretches faint Milky Way detail while protecting highlights.

10. Curves (Starless)

Fine‑tunes contrast in linear space.

11. Sculpting (Starless)

This is where the Milky Way comes alive:

• Veralux Alchemy — global dust lane shaping

• Vectra — local contrast sharpening

• Revela — colour separation and richness

• SyQon Prism — tone shaping and highlight/midtone balance

• SyQon Parallax — depth enhancement and band/background separation

12. Noise Reduction (Starless)

• Silentium — detail‑preserving denoise

• Nox (light) — smooth remaining noise

What the eye sees vs what my camera sees

A classic example of my struggle using an astromodded camera for milky way landscapes - exacerbated by my personal preference for a warmer rather than cooler tone to a milky way sky

it certainly attracts criticism - ho hum! 

PART 5 — SIRIL MILKY WAY IMAGE STARS LAYER REFINEMENT

13. Stars Layer Adjustments

Mild curves, mild colour balance, optional tiny Vectra. Just enough to make the stars look natural — never sculpt stars.

PART 6 — SIRIL MILKY WAY IMAGE RECOMPOSITION & EXPORT

14. Star Recomposition (Star Composer / Pixel Math)

Merges stars and starless layers cleanly.

15. Export Sky Layers (16‑bit TIFF)

Save Sky Final / Starless / Stars.

PART 7 — AFFINITY PHOTO MILKY WAY EDITING COMPOSITE WORKFLOW

16. Foreground Preparation

Exposure, noise reduction, colour balance.

17. Composite Assembly

Place the sky layer below the foreground layer. Mask the foreground to reveal the sky underneath.

18. Horizon Masking

Layer mask → soft brush → feather. Blend the horizon naturally.

19. Radial & Linear Sky Masking

• Radial mask: targets the Milky Way band

• Linear gradient mask: controls background sky brightness

• Invert mask: refine background sky only

These masks give you selective control over the sky without touching the landscape.

20. Global Colour Matching

White Balance → Selective Colour → Curves → HSL. Unifies sky and foreground so the composite feels natural.

21. Final Milky Way Enhancement

Clarity → Contrast → Dodge/Burn → Unsharp Mask. Adds the final punch and definition.

22. Foreground Noise Reduction

Denoise → Frequency Separation.

23. Final Global Grade

Curves → Colour Balance → Vibrance.

24. Export Final Image

16‑bit TIFF master + JPEG web.

I rarely take milky way landscape selfies - so quite a bit of new learning and experimentation went into this image. Mastering the right timing of my headtorch illumination - required several attempts!

DEEP DIVE: Why the Sculpting Order Matters (Section 11)

For readers who love the technical detail, here’s why the sculpting tools appear in the exact order they do:

1. Veralux Alchemy → FIRST

Sets the global structure of the Milky Way band: macro‑contrast, dust lane shaping, and initial definition. You must establish the big‑shape structure before applying finer contrast or colour tools.

2. Vectra → SECOND

Enhances local contrast and micro‑structure. Vectra works best after Alchemy has already defined the major dust lanes.

3. Revela → THIRD

Refines colour separation and tonal richness. Colour refinement must come after structural contrast work; otherwise colour becomes distorted.

4. SyQon Prism → FOURTH

Tone‑shaping tool that balances highlights and midtones. Tone shaping must happen after structure and colour are already established.

5. SyQon Parallax → LAST

Adds depth perception and separation between the Milky Way band and background sky. Depth tools must be applied last, once structure, colour, and tone are finalised.

This order is the backbone of a natural‑looking Milky Way.

Final Thoughts

This workflow is the result of many late nights on Dartmoor, many coastal sessions in Dorset, and many cups of tea while staring at Siril progress bars. It’s designed to be practical, repeatable, and friendly to real‑world conditions — haze, gradients, noise, and all.

If you follow it step‑by‑step, you SHOULD get a clean, natural Milky Way composites that still feel like the night you experienced.

However, as you can see from my 'evaluate the image' posts - it hasn't quite worked out the way I thought it would in my head or from following this work flow. But, over the winter, it is something I will endeavour to put right - expect some updates to this post work flow then! 

If you have any thoughts about the work flow or the way I edit my photos - then drop me a comment in the box below so that other blog subscribers and readers can see it and learn from it - and thank you for taking the time to help me learn further - appreciated. 

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

Steve 

aka #plymouthastroboy

If you are beginning your astrophotography journey and want some tips on night time safety - check this post here: https://undersouthwestskies.blogspot.com/2026/09/a-personal-safety-guide-for-astronomers.html

if you want to read my previous posts on taking milky way landscape images - read this post and the following six after it: https://undersouthwestskies.blogspot.com/2025/02/beginners-guide-to-taking-your-first.html

St Werburgh’s Church, a Grade I listed medieval parish church, sits above Wembury Beach in South Devon, underneath the milky way core

"A cosmic stairway to Heaven" 

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

 If you want to see how I went about editing trhese images - here is my current milky way workflow: https://undersouthwestskies.blogspot.com/2026/10/complete-milky-way-editing-workflow.html

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.