The beauty of the Central Coast never ceases to enthrall me. Interestingly enough, I don't consider myself a beach person, even though I grew up in Redondo Beach, part of the South Bay area of Los Angeles. But the Pacific Ocean has always been a part of my psyche. I fear I would miss it if I were to move too far inland. This is one of the reasons why: The vast expanse of sky that rivals anything in the Mid-West. Seeing the Sun dip below the horizon of the wine-dark sea, bathing the water and air and cloud alike in crimson hues, is truly breathtaking. Long after it has sunk from view, the afterglow deepens the intesity of colors until the evening mutes them in shades of purple and midnight blue. Add to that the thinnest sliver of Moon and the image is complete. The Greeks saw the bow of Artemis, the huntress and goddess of the Moon, in this phase. It's easy to see why.
By shifting my position on the trail during the same morning as the previous post, I was able to position the Moon on the other side of the formation on the left. It also made for a very pleasing shot. I enjoy taking images with our nearest neighbor in the frame. There is something wondrous about that glowing, shifting, ever-changing sphere. It's hard to believe we landed astronauts there almost 40 years ago this July. I remember that event well. More on that on the actual anniversary.
Sedona, Arizona, is another one of those magical places of red rock formations. Like Garden of the Gods, there are houses and structures nearby so certain angles are impossible to shoot without some sign of the human presence. But there are enough areas to maintain an illusion of nature's purity.
Also, as in Garden of the Gods, the moon was in a fortuitous quarter when we were there. One morning I went hiking up a trail by the road that looked promising. I got high enough to get a nice view of the formations to the West of me. With some careful maneuvering I managed to position the Moon in the vee.
