Recently, I embarked on a multi-night capture of NGC 147 and NGC 185 with my Vaonis Vespera 1 telescope. This project spanned several weeks and amounted to 24 hours of total acquisition time, with 8,760 subs (individual photos) captured over 17 nights from November to December 2024, each 10 seconds long. After reading a recent Facebook post by Vaonis about sharing multi-night capture stories, I realized this is the perfect opportunity to follow up. Could I bring out the faint details of these lesser-known deep-sky objects by dedicating an extended period to data collection? The answer is yes—but not without some important lessons learned along the way.
The Science Behind Multi-Night Captures
Vaonis’ blog dives into the importance of Signal-to-Noise Ratio (SNR) in astrophotography. It’s a simple yet profound concept. The more you stack images, the more noise gets averaged out. This process leaves a cleaner, sharper signal behind. However, the increase in SNR isn’t linear; doubling your acquisition time only yields a 40% boost in SNR. That diminishing return means you’ll have to weigh the additional effort against the potential improvement in your final image.
In my case, I dedicated 24 hours to NGC 147 and NGC 185 to see if their faint signals could emerge from the cosmic background. While I achieved noticeable improvement, the article’s conclusion rang true: I’d need to double my exposure time to 50 hours to see further enhancement. At some point, you must ask yourself: Is it worth it?
The Subjective Decision of “Good Enough”
Astrophotography often involves walking the fine line between objective improvement and subjective satisfaction. Sure, I could have pushed for 50 hours to bring out more details, but I realized I had already reached a point of diminishing returns. The final decision becomes a personal one: Is the image good enough for me? Or do I need to invest even more time to achieve incremental gains?
The Reality of Audience Perception
This brings me to an intriguing paradox: audience perception. When I show my portfolio to others, I often start with images like these because I’m proud of the effort and technical hurdles I overcame. But more often than not, the response is tepid. Then I show them an image of the Orion Nebula—captured in just 45 minutes straight out of the scope—and they’re instantly blown away.
It makes me wonder Why I spend so much time and effort capturing faint galaxies and nebulae when my audience doesn’t seem as impressed. Some might even ask, “Why waste your time on these two fuzzy blobs when there are so many easier and more spectacular targets?”
The Fun Lies in the Challenge
The answer is simple: The fun lies in the challenge. For me, astrophotography isn’t just about producing visually stunning images—it’s about pushing myself and my equipment to the limit. It’s about taking the road less traveled, exploring the universe’s faint and often overlooked corners. These personal challenges keep the hobby exciting and rewarding, even if others don’t share my enthusiasm for the results.
What Lies Beneath
One of the most exciting parts of astrophotography is uncovering what lies beneath the surface of your raw data. When I look at the initial image of NGC 147 and NGC 185 in the Vespera app, it doesn’t appear particularly impressive. However, by saving the raw file format, I can reveal a wealth of hidden data within a small part of the visual spectrum. This is where the art of post-processing—think of photo development, except you’re the technician and your computer is the lab—can make all the difference.
I’ve included a slider feature below, allowing you to drag between the final processed image and the unprocessed stack directly from the Vespera. This comparison highlights how much detail can emerge with careful processing. If you take a moment to review the raw files after each night’s session and have the skills to bring out the best in your data, you might find that you’ve captured more than you initially thought. At some point, you’ll reach an exposure time where you’re happy with the results after a round or two of post-processing, even if the initial image seems underwhelming.
The Wonder of M87
One example that always surprises me is M87. At first glance, it’s just a fuzzy white ball in the image. Most people aren’t impressed. But then I explain: that fuzzy ball is a supergiant galaxy containing trillions of stars. I ask them to think about how many solar systems might exist in just that one picture. Then, I point out that galaxies come in different shapes and sizes, and M87 is spherical, unlike the familiar spiral galaxies like the Milky Way. This naturally leads to a discussion about the role of gravity and dynamics in shaping galaxies.
Finally, I ask them to ponder the supermassive black hole at the center of M87—a gravitational monster that anchors this vast collection of stars and gas. What might cause a galaxy to be spherical instead of spiral? When they begin to grasp the scale and complexity of what they’re seeing, I see the same light of wonder in their eyes as when they’re mesmerized by flowing nebulae like the California Nebula. For me, sparking that knowledge and wonder is just as fulfilling as creating images of beautiful nebulae.
Who Are You Trying to Please?
Ultimately, astrophotography has made me reflect on who I’m trying to please with my images. For example, I recently showed my 8-year-old daughter an image I had taken of NGC 147 and NGC 185. While I had spent months examining the nuances of its exposure and color palette, she wasn’t concerned with any of that. Instead, she loved it because she thought it looked like a pair of eyes in a starfield—something I hadn’t even considered despite all my time obsessing over the image. Her fresh perspective taught me an important lesson: the little critics I most want to impress are my children, and they often find wonder in things I’ve overlooked while being less impressed with the details I obsess over.
This realization extends beyond astrophotography and into everyday parenting. For example, while I might be proud of a carefully planned family trip, my kids might remember it for an unplanned moment, like playing in the rain or spotting a funny-shaped cloud. Or when I’ve spent hours cooking a special meal, they’re just as delighted with a spontaneous picnic in the backyard. Recognizing and embracing their unique perspectives has taught me to shift my focus. The joy of seeing my children light up with curiosity and excitement is a reward that far outweighs any technical perfection I aim for in my work.
Whether it’s through astrophotography or parenting, inspiring my children with a sense of wonder has become my greatest goal. Their feedback, their awe, and their unique ways of seeing the world remind me that true fulfillment comes from sharing those moments with them. Sometimes, the greatest joys come not from meeting our own expectations, but from stepping into theirs.
Final Thoughts
My multi-night capture of NGC 147 and NGC 185 taught me many things: the importance of acquisition time, the balance between effort and reward, and the value of pursuing personal satisfaction over external validation. While the results may not elicit gasps from every viewer, the journey was worth every moment spent under the stars. If you’re considering a similar project, remember that the true reward lies in the process, not just the final image.
As Vaonis’ blog aptly notes, the “Multi-Night Observation” feature makes these extended captures more convenient than ever. But even with these tools, the decision of how far to go ultimately rests with you. So aim high, challenge yourself, and most importantly, have fun with the universe at your fingertips.
Clear Skys Ahead!
-Sky Dad
