October opened on the 3rd with a night run up to Point Breeze at the northern end of Indian Lake. While high haze kept the sky from being razor-sharp, framing the autumn Milky Way looking straight down the length of the water made the trip worthwhile. The lakeside trees were turning, and seeing the galactic core hang quietly over the dark shoreline gave a steady, familiar baseline to kick off the month.
Everything shifted on October 12th with the long-awaited arrival of Comet C/2023 A3 (Tsuchinshan–ATLAS). Catching my first glimpse over Mayfield Lake during the deep blue hour was unforgettable—a brilliant needle of light cutting through twilight orange just above the tree silhouettes. The tail streamed back like an arrow, bright and unmistakable. That single view set off an obsessive chase, knowing this icy visitor was already hurtling away from the sun, fleeing Earth, and growing dimmer by the night.
A few evenings later at Broadalbin Beach on Great Sacandaga Lake, the scene took on a completely surreal character. An almost-full moon flooded the sky, sand, and water with cool, daylight-like illumination, washing the shoreline in crisp contrast while the comet hung sharp in the blue expanse above. That uncanny juxtaposition—bright daylight-style landscape beneath an evening comet—was apparently too unconventional for the Nigra Center art show jury to wrap their heads around, but standing on that wind-swept beach watching cosmic mechanics play out in real time was pure magic.
By October 22nd, tracking the comet led me northwest to Lewey Lake and Lake Pleasant in Speculator. The nucleus was distinctly fainter now, requiring longer integrations to pull from the background glow. Yet framing the fading traveler alongside the vertical sweep of the Milky Way mirroring across the calm water felt like the ultimate reward—a quiet, poetic capstone that I assumed would be my final session with the comet.
The beauty of competition, however, has a funny way of rewriting plans. I had spent days eyeing the open granite ledges of Watch Hill, knowing the valley below lined up with the comet and the galactic core. I hesitated because of how faint the comet had become, but once I saw another photographer share a capture from that exact vantage point, the debate was over: I had to go get it. I hiked up in time to catch the sun throwing brilliant starbursts over the High Peaks before twilight settled in. The evening on the exposed rock was bitterly cold, and in the rush against falling temperatures, I failed to take a separate, clean long exposure for the shadowed valley below. Pushing the underexposed foreground in post brought out some noise, but sitting on that freezing summit ledge watching the Milky Way drop straight down into the valley alongside a dying comet is an experience—and a frame—I’m giving myself plenty of grace on. I love the photo I came away with.
