Photo Stories - Milky Way Over Sullivan Lake

Well, another week has gone by and I’m back sitting in my recliner about to put some words together. I haven’t really planned out any blog posts or “content” (man, I hate that word) updates ahead of time, I just kind of let it roll. So today, it rolled into thoughts about a photo I made very recently, one of the most recent outside of some Lilies that I just did a week or two back. Milky Way Over Sullivan Lake, a photo that only happened because of the old “why not” mentality. If you’re unfamiliar with the image, spend a minute over in my Color Artworks Gallery and check it out.

So anyway, this past summer (August 2025) I had the idea to take my son Liam camping. Just me and him, tent camping out at one of my favorite places on earth. Up in the northeastern corner of Washington State, about 8 miles south of the Canadian border, nestled on the banks of the North Pend Oreille River is a little town called Metaline Falls. Metaline is a quiet little town, the kind of place where you feel at home even if you just got there. There’s something intimately familiar about it, like a place we’ve all been to in a daydream, at least that’s how it feels to me. A few miles east of Metaline sits Sullivan Lake. It’s not a big lake, you won’t see any but the smallest boats, but it’s serenely beautiful, like something out of Middle Earth. It’s a place that feels rooted in true reality, there’s no cell phone service and when you get there, the stillness in the air can almost take your breath away. So yeah obviously I love the place. I sometimes tell people that if I ever just up and vanish the first place they should come looking is up at Sullivan, because even if my body isn’t there, my spirit surely will be. Seriously, go there, stand on the north shore and look south and tell me you don’t feel the gentle soul of the forest and lake wrapping around you like a warm hug from a friend.

My son and I decided to bring my nephew Tyler along as well, and we booked the campsite on the week right between both of their birthdays, Liam’s 12th and Tyler’s 40th. We looked forward to it for months and had a whole section of the garage set aside for all of our stuff, we bought new sleeping bags, all sorts of food and when the day finally came, Liam and I packed the van quickly and efficiently and made ready to go get Tyler. Now, it’s at this point in the story that the “why not” occurs, because I wasn’t planning to take my camera or any of my gear. Last minute I decided to pack some of it, thinking I could make some cool portraits of the three of us up on one of the hikes or something. Well, the portraits never happened, but I ended up with something better.

We got there an hour early, but the gal running the campsite said we could go ahead and setup so we did and we got camp made and up in that hour so we had the rest of the day to do whatever we wanted. Camping at Sullivan is interesting because the lake draws you near even when you can’t see it from camp. You just feel its presence, and you always end up down on the shore. There are two campsites up at the north end, and between them is a little airstrip where single engines and small private planes can land and the pilots can camp. Now, sure, the sound of the occasional plane landing or taking off tends to shatter the stillness, but there’s something cool about this little airstrip up there at the end of the world. Anyway, that first day, we set up camp and went right down to the water. Liam got into his swim clothes and Tyler and I walked down with him to watch him swim. He jumped in with the courage of youth and spent a couple hours in the water and I’ll tell ya, I never get tired of seeing my children engage with nature. I could watch them swim or play in the sand for hours. When they’re away from screens and gaming and roblox and memes and the noise of technology I can really see them connecting with life in a meaningful way. Over and over he would jump off the dock, swim back to the ladder, climb up and do it all again. In those moments, his fun became my fun, and I could remember what it was like to be his age.

When it was time to eat, we walked back to our campsite and I fired up the propane stove. We’d brought along some marinated ribeye - a special treat from my wife - to make Korean Bulgogi bowls for the first night. The smell that arose when the beef hit the hot iron skillet may have been sent from heaven, and judging by the amount of other campers who wandered near to find out what we were having, it probably was. We ate like kings, and when we finished up, Liam and Tyler gathered firewood and I cleaned the skillet and put everything away. Again we decided to head down to the lake, this time bringing our chairs and a few drinks. Tyler and I brought down our acoustic guitars as well figuring why not live the cliche for an evening. We put down at the edge of the dock, with the lake at our backs and sat there and jammed and laughed and told stories for probably an hour until the sun started to fade into the west. Heading back to camp, I couldn’t help but notice how clear it was, and I thought to myself “I bet we’ll get a helluva star show tonight”. Tyler got the fire going and man, I have never felt such heat coming from such a small fire, it was a masterclass in campfire building. Liam broke out the marshmallows and chocolate and made himself as many s’mores as his heart desired - one of the things I promised him on the trip was that, within reason, I wasn’t going to be saying no to whatever he wanted to do. We danced and sang and danced around the fire like the wild men of the past, in touch with that somewhat primal feeling which descends upon the camper who shuns motor homes and modernity.

At some point during the joyful fire dancing we started to see stars appear above us and my earlier hunch was proven correct. There is very little light pollution up there, and it’s breathtaking on a clear night. The gal who ran the site came by and reminded us that there’d be no moon while we were up there and it was that little piece of knowledge that made me think “Wait a minute, the lake faces southwest-ish, there’s no moon and we’re in summer… I bet we’ll get to see the milky way.” I told the boys we were heading down to the lake, we had to sit on the dock and see the stars. I packed my camera and tripod and down we went. I’d only photographed the stars and galaxy one other time, but I remembered the basic gist of what was required, make the exposure time 20 seconds or under to minimize star shift, keep the histogram to the left of middle but to the right of total black, open up the aperture as wide as you could to let as much light in as possible and try and get focus on the stars. You used to not be able to autofocus on stars very easily but with the advent of mirrorless cameras, it has become much easier and less about guesswork or focus scale reading. Anyway, that first night I ended up treating as a test, I knew I’d have another go the following night. We met some of the other campers down on the dock, and while I did my experiments, the boys played guitar and sang and laughed with our new friends. My hunch about the Milky Way was spot on, and even though the photos weren’t “bangers” they told me what I needed to do the following night.

The second day was full of good times and new memories. Liam and I spent a lot of that day together while Tyler slept. We found a spot to skip rocks and we set records and managed skips that will live on in legend to the end of our days. I’ll always remember the laughter and the joy, just me and my son out there at the edge of civilization, connecting in a way that we’d never been able to before. I learned a lot about the quality of man I was raising, and I tried to let him see as much about his dad as I could. No question went unanswered and our bond became deeper for it. I look at the photos and videos from that day and while they bring a smile to my face before anything, there’s a bit of that wistful sadness that comes from revisiting the fondest memories. When evening fell I told him let’s go get our chairs and my camera and head down to the lake before sunset. I knew what I wanted to do, and it would require some patience and thought.

Instead of heading for the dock which was much more crowded that night, we went left, to the beach. My plan was to make a two-image composite of the lake and stars. In the images from the night before, although the sky was bright and beautiful, the foreground and lake were so dark that no detail could be found in them. I sought to resolve that by making one exposure of the hills and mountains while it was still light, to capture the trees and hillsides, and a second exposure hours later, when the skies were ablaze and then I would composite them later in photoshop. My equipment setup was of course my Canon EOS R5 camera paired with my Canon RF 15-35mm f/2.8 L lens which I mostly used for real estate photo work. Because of the lenses maximum aperture of 2.8, I was able to keep my ISO lower and my shutter speed manageable resulting in cleaner, less noisy images.

That night, August 22, 2023, will live forever in my memory. The photo is incredible, sure, but it was the time I spent with Liam that I treasure most. Tyler went to bed early that night, so it was just me and my boy, sitting on the shores of the most beautiful lake, laughing, telling stories, listening to music and waiting for the stars. Because I needed two photos that were compositionally identical, the camera and tripod couldn’t be moved at all. I got my first image before sundown, as planned, and then just waited for the stars to come out. Although the conditions seemed the same as the first night, Liam and I could swear that more stars came out that second night. The colors, the variety, the sheer magnitude of the heavens above us prompted philosophical discussions about life, our purpose and our place in the universe and the grand scheme. I marveled at the wisdom of my 12 year old son, able to articulate thoughts and feelings I’d only ever been able to scrape the surface of. When the stars aligned, so to speak, and the Milky Way could be seen clearly rising from the distant hills, I made my second exposure. For those who interested in such things my settings for the Milky Way image were as follows - Focal Length 17mm - ISO 1250 - f/2.8 aperture - 20 second shutter speed.

It wasn't until the next evening that I finally got back home to process the image, and I’d spent much of the drive home thinking about it and worrying that I missed it. Knowing I couldn’t go back and try again, it was a nerve wracking train of thought but I kept the trust in my technique. Compositing the image was relatively simply, I did initial edits for both the foreground and sky images, opened them as layers in photoshop and used the brush tool to “paint” in the foreground hills and trees from the pre-sunset image. The final image was exactly what I had visualized when planning it out.

Now, you might notice that Milky Way Over Sullivan Lake is not for sale as a print, and to tell you the truth it likely never will be. The reason is simple. While I’m sure there would be those who would love to own and display it - a large acrylic print would be breathtaking to say the least - the fact is that I made it for me alone, and it exists as a reminder of an experience shared with my son. You see, friends, there are some things in this world and in life that you simply cannot put a price on. To try and monetize such a thing would fly in the very face of what I stand for as a human being and as an artist. We live in a world where every hobby tends to become a side hustle, where everything is measured by how much you made from it, or what you gained in material goods. And I just don’t work that way, folks, and I refuse to compromise on that.

So that’s about all I have to say about that one. I hope you’ll go check out the photo and maybe you’ll think to one of those moments in your own life where the feeling was so good and so real that you couldn’t put a price on it if you tried.

-Cory