Storm Chasing Diary: Lucky Strike

Gary Hart Photography: Down the Middle, Lightning and Double Rainbow Near Amistad, New Mexico

Down the Middle, Lightning and Double Rainbow Near Amistad, New Mexico
Sony a7R V
Sony 24-105 f/4 G
ISO 50
f/18
1/8 second

How does one capture an image of a brilliant lightning bolt splitting the inverted prisms of a double rainbow? (No, not with AI or a composite—that’s cheating.) If you said luck, you’d be right—well, at least half right. But, right or not, there’s no surer way to elicit a defensive response from a nature photographer than to blurt some version of, “You were so lucky!”

Nevertheless, the inherent unpredictability of the natural world makes nature photographers’ relationship with luck pretty tight. We need luck.

On the other hand, a big part of the enigma we call “luck” is in fact not random (and therefore not truly luck). Whether it’s a colorful sunrise, vivid rainbow, or explosive lightning bolt, every photographer longs for “lucky” events that make a scene more special—but to turn those events into great photography, we still have to get ourselves out there at just the right time and place, equip ourselves with the right tools, and creatively apply our craft and vision.

My good friend and frequent workshop partner, pro photographer Don Smith, has labeled me the, “luckiest person in the world.” And I’m afraid I must plead guilty as charged—not to just being lucky in both my personal and photography lives, but lucky also with simple things, such as parking spots that always seem to appear just as I pull into a crowded lot, and potential traffic tickets that somehow dissolve into benign warnings.

The parking space thing I can’t really explain, but I imagine my traffic ticket good fortune is shaped at least partially by simple politeness and silent respect—I just do what the officer says, and never argue, make excuses, or attempt to charm. (And lest you think I make a habit of getting pulled over, it hasn’t happened in at least 10 years, I swear.) Regarding my photography luck, I will acknowledge that there’s quite possibly some mysterious parking space magic to my good fortune, but I also pride myself on doing everything possible to be present and prepared when the photography “luck” happens.

But I also need experiences like a double-rainbow lightning bolt to remind me that denying the role of luck in photography is to suppress the joy that accompanies Nature’s surprises. If I were to pretend that capturing an image like a lightning bolt splitting a double rainbow makes me special, I would surely damage (and dishonor) the sense of awe that draws me to nature photography in the first place.

Gary Hart Photography: Lightning and Double Rainbow, Amistad, New Mexico

Double Rainbow and Lightning, Amistad, New Mexico :: Here’s a vertical crop of the same frame. This was my original plan for this image, but I decided I like the sunlit rain in the horizontal version, I decided to feature it instead.

This image? Yes, I was definitely anticipating a rainbow, because we were surrounded by, and at times in the midst of, light to moderate rain, while the sun played peek-a-boo with broken clouds in the west. So when shafts of sunlight started pouring through those openings, I instantly turned my attention in the direction a rainbow would form. And the lightning was no big surprise either, because it had been all around us all afternoon, firing up in one direction for a while, eventually diminishing and starting up in another direction. Sometimes these lightning displays would overlap, forcing us to choose which one to target—do I go for the activity producing the most lightning, or roll the dice for the best composition?

My decision that evening wasn’t difficult. The lightning was much more active in the northwest, but there wasn’t really a lot happening composition-wise over there. So when the rainbow popped up behind me, I turned my camera (with Lightning Trigger already fully engaged) in that direction, and crossed my fingers. At the very least, I’d have a rainbow—and if I was lucky, maybe even pair it with a lightning bolt.

Because the sparse lightning in the general direction of the rainbow hadn’t really settled in to one specific area, I composed fairly wide, grateful for a 61 megapixel sensor that would enable me to crop tighter in processing once I had a frame with a lightning bolt somewhere. Fairly confident I’d already bagged a couple of strikes, I congratulated myself for my decision to target the rainbow as I watched the color start fading from the top down. Still, I told myself, the bottom part as intense as ever, maybe more…

And then this happened. The bolt was so unexpected, short-lived, and perfectly placed, that I almost didn’t trust what I’d just seen. So I broke my own cardinal rule of lightning photography: I turned off my Lightning Trigger to check the most recent frame. (Speaking of luck, every photographer knows that the surest way to make a much anticipated event happen is to put away, turn off, or in any other way disable, essential equipment in the middle of a shoot.) But I couldn’t help myself, and was rewarded by confirmation that I had indeed captured a lightning bolt splitting a double rainbow. In fact, what I saw on my LCD was even better than I could have dared to hope: a brilliant, serpentine streak that couldn’t have been more perfectly placed had I hand-drawn it (or, gulp, resorted to AI).

So where does this capture fall on the luck/skill continuum? I don’t know—maybe somewhere in the middle? I’ll take credit for being there (well, at least for scheduling a Midwest storm chasing trip—we were at this specific location because I also had the good sense to trust an expert), for having the right gear, for connecting my Lightning Trigger, and for the decision to point my camera in the direction of the rainbow. But none of that changes the fact that, when this bolt struck, I felt like I’d won the lottery. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.