Any visit to Northern California’s coast, day or night, is sure to provide unpredictable weather. One can check forecasts all day long, but they change on a dime. They may say the winds are calm, humidity is low and skies are clear, and on arrival, it’s socked in with fog and the wind is howling. The joke is that you take shorts and a parka. Each trip is a gamble. But sometimes gambling pays off.

Mountain Goat left for a 3-night camping trip on a Tuesday, which left me alone at home. I hoped to take advantage of the time with a waning moon to make a couple of trips to the coast for some Milky Way shots. The Milky Way’s core is only visible for a few months each summer, with the hours of visibility (of it being above the horizon) longest in the middle of summer and shorter hours bookending that window like a bell curve. Moonlight can interfere with being able to see it, so really, being able to capture it with a camera is a gift we only get for a few short windows each year.

Tuesday evening, I drove to the coast, enjoying the post-sunset darkening sky, with dark blue fading into deep orange. On my way out, I stopped at a place along River Road where I knew I could capture the river, hopefully with the Milky Way. I parked my car in a wide pullout, donned my headlamp, popped my lens onto my camera, mounted my camera onto my tripod, and walked across the street. My tripod straddling the guard rail, and my headlamp intermittently turned on when cars came, I captured a few shots of the river and the Milky Way, along with a house that sounded like people were enjoying some socializing. I could hear bats, owls, ducks and other wildlife stirring along the river, enjoying a twilight meal or putting out a call for a mate.

After capturing a few photos, I continued on down the road. I arrived at the coast around 9PM and pulled over near the mouth of the Russian River. I stood my camera on the tripod and aimed toward the sand bar of Goat Rock State Beach that separates the last stretch of the river from the Pacific. I noticed that the waves at the river mouth seemed bright, but assumed it was light from houses in Jenner, the town to my left, which is built on the hillside overlooking the river mouth. As I looked more, and my eyes adjusted, I began to see the faint blue glow, and snapped a pic to confirm what I was seeing. I was flabbergasted to see a strong strip of bioluminescence right at the river mouth where the river and the sea meet. I hopped between a few different pullouts (there are several in this short stretch of Highway 1) to find the angle I liked best. I experimented with my lenses to see which one would capture this the way I wanted and settled on my Sigma DG/DN Art 20mm f/1.4 (my favorite lens by far). I played with angles, shooting it horizontally and vertically, and getting a few panoramas (with hopes that one will come out).

11 panel panorama of Jenner Beach, mouth of the Russian River and Goat Rock State Beach with bioluminescence

During one vertical shot, a huge meteor crossed the sky right next to the Milky Way, and my jaw dropped. I immediately checked my camera to ensure it had been capturing during that time, and once that exposure was completed, I checked my screen to see if it was visible. I squealed when I could see it.

A meteor next to the Milky Way over bioluminescence at the mouth of the Russian River

When conditions are like this, I just want to keep shooting photos, even though I will never process most of them. I tell myself I’ll make time lapses of them, and sometimes I do, but I need to find a better way to do them than the way I am doing them now. In the meantime, these photos greedily fill my hard drives.

Anyway.

After about 90 minutes of taking in this awe-inspiring view, I packed up and drove south toward Goat Rock State Beach. The gate to the beach itself closes at sunset, but there is an upper parking lot with several picnic tables that’s accessible, passing a few homes with glorious ocean views along the way.

Goat Rock itself is a very large rock in the ocean, and along with its adjacent Arch Rock, is famous for its appearance in the film The Goonies. It features a large parking lot at its base, separating two beaches to its north and south- Goat Rock State Beach and Blind Beach, respectively.

When I got to the upper lot, I saw another vehicle and someone with a red light on, so I suspected it was another photographer. I parked far from him, and grabbed my stuff. I walked out not too far away and told him I had a hot tip for him if he wanted it. He was floored when I told him I’d seen bioluminescence and called to his friend, who was taking photos in another spot about 50 feet away. I showed them some of the shots I’d captured, and after we all chatted for a few minutes and exchanged contact information, I marked on Google Maps the exact pullout I’d chosen and they packed up and headed over, leaving me with Goat Rock all to myself.

I snapped a test shot facing south and was surprised to see a faint blue glow in one spot in the water. I watched the water for several minutes, and saw brighter areas, unsure if I was really seeing what I thought I was seeing. I grabbed a few more panoramas, moving my camera up and down and side to side. What I missed while I was shooting and checking these photos was the faint red haze on the northern horizon.

Panorama spanning Blind Beach and Goat Rock State Beach, with a faint aurora to the far right

Earlier in the day, I’d seen an article forecasting the Northern Lights in Washington and other states far north of us, and hadn’t given it much thought since those states are so far away. Thus it hadn’t even occurred to me to check the sky with my camera every so often. After the surprise of the Lights during the peak of the Perseid Meteor Shower, I should know better.

I kept my camera facing south as the core of the Milky Way slowly sank into the sea and the scattered bioluminescence grew brighter as the night went on.

Several areas of bioluminescence at Blind Beach with Arch Rock and the Milky Way. The faint yellow glow of Santa Rosa is to the the east.

As my camera captured shots over Blind Beach, I walked to another spot on the overlook and checked out Goat Rock State Beach a bit. As I gazed into the water, I saw what looked like the now-familiar intermittent glow of bioluminescence beating against Goat Rock itself and a smaller large rock along the shoreline. Then a big bright blue wave hit the smaller rock and confirmed my suspicions. I immediately grabbed my camera and moved it to capture this new angle, with the Milky Way now dropping over Goat Rock.

I captured shots like this for awhile, taking in the view. I glanced further north, and thought I spotted another area of bioluminescence up the beach a ways. I walked to another spot on the viewpoint and tried to see if there was a good angle to capture it from there. Eventually, the Milky Way’s core had mostly sunken below the horizon, and I moved my camera to the new spot. As I took a test shot, I could barely see on my screen a spot of red on the north side of the sky. I was both excited and kicking myself for not seeing it sooner. I angled my camera to capture the bright blue wave on the rock and the aurora and prayed for a shot of the two before either faded for the night, frequently “chimping” (checking my shots) after bright waves came. I was SO excited at the prospect of capturing the northern lights and bioluminescence in the same shot and was thrilled to see that a few of the shots turned out well.

Bioluminescence along Goat Rock State Beach with a faint aurora borealis

As the haze of the aurora faded, I knew the moon would be rising soon, so I decided to pack up and head home. I couldn’t wait to get back out to try to capture more of the bioluminescence, and I knew I’d head out again the next night. And I was right.

After catching up on some sleep, I spent most of Wednesday editing and posting a few of the photos I’d captured overnight, giddy with all the gifts nature had provided me. I decided to go earlier this night, with hopes of capturing the sunset and more bioluminescence. I looked at the forecasts for several places along the coast and decided I’d head north, where the humidity was predicted to be lower, after stopping again at the river mouth en route. I packed up my food, including a Mountain House meal this time, since I knew I’d be “dinner hungry” soon enough, and my backpacking stove.

As I approached the coast, I could see the wall of fog above the soaring Redwoods, and my heart sank a bit. But I told myself that the bioluminescence is generally best when it’s cloudy, and it would be a good challenge for me to grow my skills.

I stopped back at the river mouth to see if the bioluminescence was there, since it had been so brilliant and constant the night before.

Bioluminescence at the mouth of the Russian River

Luckily, the bioluminescence was popping. The glow of Jenner’s lights were magnified by the hazy fog that blanketed the coast, making for challenging conditions for photographing. Additionally, being on the road, the headlights of anyone driving could be seen for miles, reflecting off the fog and onto the natural features of the rugged coastline, adding to the challenge.

After snapping a few shots at different pull outs, I jumped in the car and headed north to Salt Point State Park. I turned left into the entrance and slowly made my way to the end of the road to the main parking lot, illuminated by the exterior light of the closed bathrooms. Salt Point was significantly windier than Jenner had been, further adding to the difficulty of trying to capture long exposure shots.

I walked to the edge of the parking lot with my camera, snapped a couple of test shots, and sure enough, there were large spots of bioluminescence. (In looking at the first photo in post-processing, I had no idea there were SO MANY spots of it!)

Bioluminescence at Gerstle Cove, Salt Point State Park

I trekked out to the rocks north of Gerstle Cove, where you can often see seals laying in the sun on the rocks off the coast during the day. I felt like I could occasionally hear the sound of one between the sound of the waves crashing, but maybe it was my imagination.

I stopped to take some shots in a few different spots along the rocks, with patches of bioluminescence visible in the distance. The rocks lit up from the light from the bathroom, creating a more visible foreground than might have otherwise been available.

Some of the unique rock formations at Salt Point State Park, with bioluminescence in the distance

Rocks of Salt Point State Park with bioluminescence

Finally I made my way back to my vehicle and boiled some water to rehydrate my Mountain House meal. I mixed it up and then retraced my steps south on Highway 1, stopping in a pull out to eat, then continuing on. After I slowly drove through Jenner, I stopped on the south edge of town at a spot I’d seen on my way up to snap a quick photo of the town, eager to capture the shot while there were no other vehicles on the road.