🌌 The Gathering – Astrophotography in Fuerteventura
There are workshops… and then there are adventures. This one, in the wild heart of Fuerteventura, felt like both — equal parts planning and chaos, structure and spontaneity, theory and trial-by-fire.
We came together — five passionate participants and myself — chasing stars across volcanic plains, wind-swept beaches, and abandoned ruins lit only by starlight. Sara, Mya, Wendy, Mirander, and Anton weren’t just clients; they became a team, a crew, a little family of night wanderers. And what we experienced together over those nights can’t fully be put into words — but I’ll try.
The days were hot, windy, and filled with preparation. Charging gear. Packing bags. Checking forecasts. We studied maps like treasure hunters, scouting locations far from light pollution, close enough to reach before nightfall, and wild enough to feel like another world. Then, as the sun dipped below the horizon, the real journey began.
We’d pile into 4x4s, bouncing down dusty tracks that barely counted as roads. Headlights lit up herds of goats, crumbling fences, and stretches of moon-like terrain. It was always a bit of a gamble — not just with the weather or conditions, but with the locations themselves. Sometimes we’d arrive and the wind would howl so hard we could barely stand. Other times, it was as if the island had been waiting for us, sky wide open and still.
One of the most memorable locations — and one we had carefully planned for — was a cave tucked into the rocklands. Getting there involved some careful timing and rough terrain, but it was worth every bump in the road. Once inside, we took turns setting up, each person composing their own version of the Milky Way framed by the cave’s entrance. The natural arch, the cool echo of stone, the warmth of the shared focus — it was one of those rare moments where preparation met magic. Everyone’s image was different, but the feeling in the cave was the same: awe, concentration, connection.
Of course, no trip like this goes off without a hitch.
Sara’s camera was on its last legs before we even started. Every evening became a little ritual of coaxing it to turn on, crossing fingers, adjusting settings quickly before it blinked out again. She handled it like a pro — calm, determined, and quietly hilarious about the whole thing. We all ended up rooting for that camera like it was another member of the group.
Anton had his own battles — specifically, with his smart scope. In theory, it should’ve made life easier. In practice, it refused to stay connected. Every night turned into a troubleshooting session, cables unplugged and replugged, apps refreshed, skies realigned. He never lost his sense of humor though — if anything, he became our in-house philosopher between failed connections.
Wendy was the foundation of the group. Steady, patient, always the first to jump out of the vehicle and the last to give up on a location. She braved the cold winds, long nights, and very little sleep without ever once asking, “Are we done yet?” Her commitment set the tone for everyone.
Mya had a completely different approach. She would disappear — not in a worrying way, just in a Mya way. One minute she was there, the next she was gone, and then she’d reappear with completely unique angles or foregrounds no one else had noticed. Her creativity was subtle but constant. She didn’t need attention; her photos spoke loud enough.
Mirander, calm and observant, captured some of the cleanest compositions of the trip. But there’s one thing we all agreed on — she should’ve let Sara borrow her camera when the dying battery saga reached its peak. It became an ongoing joke: “You sure about that, Mirander?” She always just smiled and kept shooting.
Even finding dinner became part of the story. After hours under the stars, with frozen hands and sleepy eyes, we’d try to track down food somewhere — anywhere — that was still open. Small towns, winding streets, half-lit signs, menus in Spanish we translated on the fly. We shared plates, swapped gear tips, and laughed about how the hardest part of the night sometimes wasn’t getting the shot — it was getting fed.
We spent every night beneath some of the clearest skies Europe has to offer, watching the Milky Way rise like a slow tide, capturing long exposures that felt like tiny acts of time travel. But the real value of this workshop wasn’t the gear, or the settings, or even the final photos. It was the effort, the shared moments, the cold wind and caffeine and missed focus — the kind of real, raw experience that teaches you more than any tutorial ever could.
This wasn’t just a workshop.
It was The Gathering.
And I already can’t wait to do it again.
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