In 2017, photo friends invited us to camp with them in Wyoming to view that year’s total solar eclipse. We accepted the invitation, mostly expecting some fun social time and an interesting life experience. By the time the eclipse ended, Ron and I both felt like it was a truly transcendent moment—one of the most special occurrences a person can experience in nature—and we decided we would put extra effort into seeing eclipses in the future.
As nature photographers, we contemplate the light that comes from the sun more than most humans. Sunlight interacting with the landscape throughout the day creates our photographic opportunities yet the sun itself is rarely included in our compositions and most often feels like a distant abstraction. During a total solar eclipse, the moon slides in front of the sun and the two come into perfect alignment for a few short minutes. As the moon blocks out much of the sun’s light, we can observe some of the sun’s qualities in a way that is not typically possible, and as a result, experience a much deeper sense of understanding, connection, and appreciation.
With the first glance through a telephoto lens as a total eclipse starts, the moon covers only a tiny sliver of the sun. Very slowly, the visible portion of the sun gets smaller and smaller, eventually looking like a thin but still very bright crescent moon hanging in the sky. This crescent is a sign that totality is approaching. What was a slow, relaxing process suddenly takes on a notable intensity with the feeling of anticipation welling up in the body—a quickening heartbeat, a subtle nervousness taking over, and the sense that what is to come will be over far too quickly. Witnessing the totality phase of a total solar eclipse is awe-inspiring because of this convergence of both visual and physical experiences: the dim, silvery blue light that shimmers as totality nears, the abrupt chill in the air as the sun becomes obscured, birds and animals reacting as midday quickly transitions to night, the enveloping twilight that eventually and briefly surrounds you in all directions, and the exhilaration of witnessing the spectacle.
During a total solar eclipse, the sun's outer atmosphere becomes visible. Seeing this corona is among the most magical and surreal part of experiencing a total eclipse.
Garvin, Oklahoma: Price Right Tree Farm
All of this is the reason we ended up sitting in the freshly mowed grass on the side of a two-lane highway adjacent to the Price Right Tree Farm near the Texas-Oklahoma border on April 8, 2024, accompanied by our friends Dave and Ellie, photo friends Josh and Jeanie, plus Jeanie’s husband Ramon—all staring up at the sun during the middle of the day and hoping for the clouds to stay at bay for just a few more minutes.
An hour earlier, thick, featureless gray clouds filled the sky at our planned viewing location (Jeanie and Ramon generously shared information about Virgil Point Campground in Oklahoma when it seemed like every other option we considered was booked or ridiculously expensive). Our on-call weather expert friend Mike advised us that a clearing was still possible at the campground but that moving might be a better choice. With the eclipse already underway, moving seemed riskier than staying put since the cloud cover seemed to expand across the region. As we obsessively viewed the weather satellite for the area, a small hole in the clouds started to develop around Idabel, Oklahoma—and Idabel was just close enough to reach before totality started. Josh was the first to head out and the rest of us followed as the clearing continued to develop on the satellite images. That hole in the clouds persisted just long enough to view totality, with some clouds coming in and out of the scene as the eclipse evolved.
Iridescent clouds drift in front of the sun during the 2024 total solar eclipse.
With totality quickly underway and still feeling amped up from the preceding hour, I reminded myself to pause the photography for a moment so I could more fully take in the experience without the camera as an intermediary. We were surrounded by spring trees. Some of them were old and more permanent features of the landscape. Others were lined up in rows as part of the tree farm operation but they were all beautiful with their fresh spring leaves. The oak directly in front of us had an especially distinctive shape and looked lovely in the silvery light, so it continually caught my attention. High above this tree, the small, dim sun with its glowing corona hung overhead. It is this moment—the broader view that I did not photograph—that sticks in my mind as the most visually compelling and emotionally moving of the full experience.
After this pause, I went back to working on photography. I normally photograph in a slow, deliberate way so it felt almost futile to try to create any photos in the span of four short minutes. Still, I tried. With my 500mm telephoto lens, the sun’s glowing corona and red solar prominences came into view as totality continued. For this eclipse, my photographic plan was simple: photograph the corona and don’t screw up the focus like I did in 2017. I continued switch between photography and appreciating the experience, making some exposure mistakes and other flawed technical decisions along the way. By the time totality was over, it felt like I compromised on both the photography and the experience but did better compared to 2017. And, in looking back at the photos, I am glad I photographed as the images offer an opportunity to appreciate the small details that I did not notice in the moment—all the sunspots, the looping patterns in the corona, the intricate shapes of the solar prominences.
At the end of totality, I continued to sit in the grass, quietly gazing upon the sun with a sense of both relief and sadness that it was over. I eventually re-engaged with our friends, which again affirmed that a big part of what makes an eclipse special is viewing it with others and sharing one of the true wonders of our universe. It is wild that the moon and sun align so perfectly in this way and being able to see it happen—twice—makes me feel exceptionally fortunate.
Purple phlox, cinquefoil, and nettle plants. Wichita Botanica, Kansas.
The Rest of the Trip
From our spot near the tree farm, totality lasted for a little more than four minutes. When we decided to drive all the way to Oklahoma for these four minutes, it seemed wise to create a full trip instead of just driving to and from over a few short days. If we did not see the eclipse due to weather, adding other things to enjoy along the way would help all the time and expense feel more worthwhile. We plotted a big loop, starting in southwestern Colorado, stopping in Kansas to visit two world-class wildlife refuges, traveling through Wichita to spend some time at their botanic garden, passing through Oklahoma City for another garden, camping in Oklahoma around the eclipse, and then wrapping up with a few days of indulging in New Mexican food in Santa Fe on the way home.
Cheyenne Bottoms Wildlife Area and Quivira National Wildlife Refuge in Kansas were both worthy stops, especially since we saw about thirty endangered whooping cranes at sunrise at Cheyenne Bottoms. With only an estimated 440 of these cranes left in the wild, we were incredibly lucky to observe them from a distance for a few hours. While we had many opportunities for bird photography at both locations, I would have liked a few days to photograph the Quivira landscape. Both locations are rare inland salt marsh ecosystems that provide essential habitat for both resident and migrating birds. Cheyenne Bottoms is an actively managed place, with manmade trenches to control water flow and hunting blinds everywhere. In contrast, Quivira looks more natural, with a mix of salt marsh and sand prairie ecosystems sprawling over 23,000 acres. We visited right as the trees were starting to leaf out, providing a compelling visual contrast between the fresh greens of spring and the expanses of graceful dried grasses blowing in the wind.
Intensely colored lichen covers the northern side of a tree. Quivira National Wildlife Refuge, Kansas.
Both of these places are threatened by commercial interests, including the constant demand for water for agriculture and energy development, most recently in the form of a proposed solar farm. Like much of the American west, this area has been experiencing a persistent drought, making the fight over water even more politically divisive. Quivira, for example, has water rights in place that entitles it to more water than it actually receives, yet politicians across the political spectrum continue to elevate the needs of other interests above conservation. As rare and vital habitat, it seems incredibly short-sighted to not proactively protect these ecosystems, even if doing so requires some compromises and concessions from others in the region.
Moving on, we headed to see the Tall Grass Prairie National Preserve. In planning this stop, we did not realize that April is burning season, with prescribed fire used to renew the intact prairie and grazing lands across the region. With thick smoke in the air and no tall grass to be seen, we moved on to Wichita, Kansas. When planning any trip, one of my first research steps is looking for botanic gardens. Wichita Botanica seemed to be the most promising for this segment of the trip, and it proved to be impressive, especially considering its relatively small footprint. We visited at the perfect time for the spring bloom, especially for all of the flowering trees and tulip beds spread across the garden. In addition to the garden, we found very good food options across Wichita, including a particularly fantastic Mediterranean meal.
Early leaves on a lily plant. Wichita Botanica, Kansas.
It'll Be Prettier Soon
The title of this post comes from photographing at Wichita Botanica on a warm, sunny afternoon. As I walked along the main path through the garden, I noticed two lilies emerging from the mulch. Each of the plants was only a few inches tall, with the fresh leaves curling away from the center stem in one instance and radiating more stoutly as repeating triangles in the other. Each individual leaf had subtle color variations and textured lines running along its length. Such details are often more obvious when plants are fresh in the spring, with their soft and translucent leaves taking on more interesting visual qualities compared to their more robust summer forms. Of all the plants I photographed over two days of visiting this garden, these lily leaves were my favorite.
As I crouched down with my tripod and macro lens to shade and photograph these small subjects, a woman briefly stopped to observe what I was doing. With disdain, she said, “It’ll be prettier soon.” I told her that it was perfectly pretty right now and the conversation abruptly ended.
Aside from the obviously impressive eclipse, this interaction provides a neat box to use in summing up the trip. So many nature photographers, even those who generally appreciate photographing smaller scenes and intimate landscapes, view the Midwest as an unappealing location for photography—a view that consistently came through as we shared our plans with others. Although we were in Oklahoma because of the eclipse, the forests captured nearly all of my attention. In Kansas, Oklahoma, and Texas, we passed through many spots where I could happily spend a few weeks in the spring and fall and never run out of ideas for photography.
A blooming dogwood tree welcoming visitors to the Virgil Point Campground in Oklahoma.
In the two days leading up to the eclipse, I spent most of my time photographing trees and wildflowers. At this simple campground in Oklahoma, the oak trees and dogwoods were nearly as lovely as those found in places like Yosemite National Park or Great Smoky Mountains National Park. In comparison to these showier places, the broader landscape is less visually compelling but photographic opportunities still abound. In fact, I regularly experienced some distress for having to move on well before I was ready to do so because I saw so many opportunities around me.
I am continually disappointed that so many people can only appreciate beauty if it is shouting loudly and obvious. Like the fresh lily leaves, many of the places we visited are full of beauty and photographic opportunity. It just takes a shift in perspective to appreciate. As I have written before, I think life is much more enjoyable and interesting when you live it as the person who appreciates flowerless lily plants and Oklahoma campground dogwoods nearly as much as a stunning total eclipse.
A note about the photos: You can view all the photos from our eclipse trip here. I usually aim for far more visual cohesiveness in my photo portfolios and know this set of subjects feels a bit disjointed. I also know that my eclipse photos are just like everyone else’s eclipse photos. In this instance, the experience of photographing the eclipse helped me appreciate it to a greater degree and understand what I was seeing more deeply. Not every photo has to be a creative achievement to hold meaning and value. And not every photo portfolio needs to be a perfectly curated collection…
Sarah Marino is a full-time photographer, nature enthusiast, and writer based in southwestern Colorado. In addition to photographing grand landscapes, Sarah is best known for her photographs of smaller subjects including intimate landscapes, abstract renditions of natural subjects, and creative portraits of plants and trees. Sarah is the author or co-author of a diverse range of educational resources for nature photographers on subjects including composition and visual design, photographing nature’s small scenes, black and white photography, Death Valley National Park, and Yellowstone National Park. Sarah, a co-founder of the Nature First Alliance for Responsible Nature Photography, also seeks to promote the responsible stewardship of natural and wild places through her photography and teaching.