SLO LIFE Magazine Apr/May 2018
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INTO THE<br />
UNKNOWN<br />
PHOTOGRAPHY BY BRADY CABE<br />
As a young father, Brady Cabe knows a thing or two about sleepless<br />
nights. But, it is an all-nighter in August that he looks forward to<br />
year-round. After tucking his kids into bed, and kissing his wife<br />
goodnight, he hops into the car and heads north, then east, until the<br />
only thing heard is the whisper of the owl’s flight overhead.<br />
The Perseids meteor shower is a big-time event. The Super Bowl for<br />
stargazers. And there is no better place to take in the show locally<br />
than from some oak-studded field a few paces off of Shell Creek<br />
Road, an offshoot of Highway 58, nowhere in particular outside of<br />
Santa Margarita. Almost completely without urban light pollution,<br />
the skies are deep dark, bringing the cosmos within reach.<br />
Photographic inspiration hit Cabe in the most unusual way: surfing.<br />
More specifically, it crept up on him during the days when the swells<br />
failed to appear. As he would sit on his board, waiting for a set to<br />
roll in, not far from his Grover Beach home, he started to notice<br />
something during those early mornings. The light. Each day it was<br />
a little bit different, but always trying to tell a story. He started to<br />
tune in, listen with his eyes. It was not long before he became more<br />
interested in the flat days with dramatic light than he was when south<br />
swells were pounding the beach break. “It finally occurred to me,” is<br />
how he remembers it, “that I ought to try to take a few pictures with<br />
my phone.” And, so it began.<br />
One thing led to another, which is how Cabe found himself all alone,<br />
at 3 o’clock in the morning in one of the most uninhabited corners of<br />
San Luis Obispo County. As he tromped around the uneven terrain,<br />
he searched for a foreground subject—something immovable, and<br />
timeless, something that deserved to share the stage with the heavens<br />
above. In the distance, he saw the silhouette and knew he found it.<br />
Carefully, he mounted his Canon 6D to the tripod below the elderly<br />
oak, and began capturing the light. Every 30 seconds curious creatures<br />
of the night could hear the sound of the shutter with its clunky click.<br />
The composition you see here, called a star trail, is actually an<br />
amalgamation of approximately 60 photos taken over the course of a<br />
half-hour or so. Initially, Cabe was disappointed with the result. He<br />
had hoped to shoot a meteor, which would have been represented<br />
in the print as a thin, white streak across the canvas, but they were<br />
not cooperating. By training his focus on the North Star, the one<br />
stationary point in the sky, the kaleidoscope effect is created by the<br />
Earth’s rotation. It’s not really the stars that move—it’s us. And Cabe<br />
was there that night as an intergalactic translator of sorts, attempting<br />
to discern the story of their ancient light, while the little blue-green<br />
marble he found himself standing on continued to hurtle through<br />
space, into the unknown. <strong>SLO</strong> <strong>LIFE</strong><br />
32 | <strong>SLO</strong> <strong>LIFE</strong> MAGAZINE | APR/MAY <strong>2018</strong>