How to Photograph the Solar Eclipse: A Personal Journey Through Celestial Photography
I still remember the goosebumps from my first solar eclipse. Standing in a field in Oregon back in 2017, camera in hand, I realized I was completely unprepared for what I was about to witness. The partial phases were fascinating enough, but when totality hit—when the moon completely blocked the sun—I nearly forgot to press the shutter. That's the thing about eclipse photography: it's equal parts technical preparation and emotional management.
Solar eclipse photography sits at this peculiar intersection of astronomy, photography, and pure human awe. You're essentially trying to capture one of nature's most dramatic performances while the universe reminds you just how small you really are. After photographing several eclipses across different continents, I've learned that success comes from understanding both your equipment and the celestial mechanics at play.
The Dance of Shadows and Light
Before diving into camera settings and solar filters, let's talk about what you're actually photographing. A solar eclipse occurs when the moon passes between Earth and the sun, casting a shadow on our planet. Simple enough, right? But the reality is far more nuanced. The moon's shadow has two parts: the umbra (complete shadow) and the penumbra (partial shadow). If you're in the path of totality—that narrow band where the umbra touches Earth—you'll witness the full spectacle. Everyone else gets a partial eclipse, which is still remarkable but lacks that otherworldly quality of totality.
The progression of an eclipse follows distinct phases, each offering unique photographic opportunities. First contact marks the beginning, when the moon's edge first touches the sun's disk. For the next hour or so, you'll watch the moon slowly take bigger bites out of the sun. This partial phase is where most of your photography will happen, and honestly, it's where you'll learn the most about your setup.
Equipment: The Non-Negotiables and the Nice-to-Haves
Let me be blunt: photographing a solar eclipse without proper solar filters is like trying to look at the sun through a magnifying glass—except the magnifying glass is your expensive camera sensor. You need a solar filter, period. Not sunglasses, not welding glass (unless it's shade 14), but a proper solar filter designed for photography.
I learned this lesson the expensive way. During my second eclipse attempt, I thought I could get away with stacking neutral density filters. The resulting images were garbage, and I'm lucky I didn't fry my camera's sensor. White-light solar filters are the standard—they block 99.999% of the sun's light and show the sun as a white or orange disk. Some photographers prefer hydrogen-alpha filters for their ability to show solar prominences, but these are significantly more expensive and really only worth it if you're serious about solar photography beyond eclipses.
Your choice of lens depends on what story you want to tell. A 200-400mm lens gives you a decent-sized sun in the frame with room for creative composition. Anything longer than 600mm and you'll struggle to keep the sun in frame as Earth rotates—yes, that's a thing you have to account for. Wide-angle lenses have their place too, especially for capturing the eclipse in context with the landscape or the human experience of the event.
Here's something most guides won't tell you: bring two cameras if possible. Set one up for the close-up solar shots and use the other for the environment. Some of my favorite eclipse images aren't of the sun at all—they're of people's faces during totality, the strange twilight colors on the horizon, or the way shadows go absolutely bonkers during the partial phases.
The Technical Ballet
Camera settings for eclipse photography aren't particularly complex, but they do require adjustment throughout the event. During the partial phases, with your solar filter attached, start with ISO 100, f/8, and adjust your shutter speed until the sun looks properly exposed—usually somewhere between 1/500 and 1/2000 second, depending on your filter's density.
Manual focus is essential. Autofocus systems get confused by the filtered sun, and the last thing you want is your camera hunting for focus during critical moments. I focus on the sun's edge during the partial phase, then tape my focus ring in place. It's a low-tech solution that's saved me countless times.
The real complexity comes during totality. This is where eclipse photography becomes a frantic dance of filter removal and exposure adjustment. About 10 seconds before second contact (the beginning of totality), you need to remove your solar filter. The corona—the sun's outer atmosphere visible during totality—is about as bright as the full moon, so you can photograph it without filters. But here's the kicker: the corona's brightness varies dramatically from its inner to outer regions. A single exposure can't capture it all.
The Totality Scramble
This is where things get intense. During totality, which might last anywhere from a few seconds to about seven minutes, you need to shoot a range of exposures to capture the corona's full extent. I typically shoot from 1/2000 second (for the inner corona and any prominences) all the way to 2 seconds (for the outer corona). That's about 12 stops of range, and you need to work fast.
Some photographers use automated bracketing sequences, but I've found manual control gives better results. You develop a rhythm: click, adjust shutter speed, click, adjust, click. It becomes almost meditative, if meditation involved racing against astronomical timing while your heart pounds in your chest.
Don't forget to actually look at the eclipse with your own eyes during totality. I know photographers who've shot multiple eclipses but barely remember seeing them because they were glued to their viewfinders. Set aside at least 30 seconds to just experience it. Trust me on this one.
The Unexpected Challenges
Weather is the obvious enemy of eclipse photography, but there are subtler challenges. Temperature drops during totality can cause lens fogging, especially in humid climates. I carry lens cloths and silica gel packets, but sometimes you just have to work with what nature gives you.
Crowds present another challenge. Popular viewing spots can become absolute madhouses. I've had people bump my tripod, walk in front of my camera during totality, and even had someone's drone buzz overhead during the crucial moments. Scout your location early, arrive even earlier, and be prepared to defend your space politely but firmly.
Then there's the emotional factor. No amount of preparation readies you for the visceral impact of totality. The temperature drops, the light becomes surreal, animals behave strangely, and people around you might scream, cry, or fall silent. Your hands might shake—mine certainly did during my first totality. Build this into your planning. Practice your camera controls until they're automatic, because your higher brain functions might temporarily go offline.
Beyond the Technical
Here's what I wish someone had told me before my first eclipse: the photographs are secondary. I know that sounds strange in an article about eclipse photography, but hear me out. The images you capture are souvenirs of an experience that transcends photography. They're reminders of a moment when you stood in the moon's shadow and saw the hidden architecture of our solar system.
That said, there are ways to create more meaningful eclipse photographs. Consider the story you want to tell. A perfectly exposed shot of the corona is beautiful, but an image that includes human silhouettes, landscape elements, or creative foregrounds tells a richer story. Some of my favorite eclipse shots were taken with smartphones—not because they're technically superior, but because they capture the moment's context.
Experiment with multiple exposures and composites. A single frame can't show the eclipse's full drama, but combining exposures can create images that better match what your eyes saw. Just be honest about your processing—the eclipse photography community values authenticity.
The Path Forward
After your first eclipse, you'll understand why people chase these events around the globe. Each eclipse is unique—different corona patterns, different durations, different landscapes. The next major accessible total solar eclipse crosses Mexico, the United States, and Canada on April 8, 2024. After that, you might find yourself planning trips to Spain, Iceland, or Australia.
Start practicing now. Photograph the full moon to understand your equipment's capabilities. Shoot the sun (with proper filters!) to practice focusing and exposure. Join online communities where experienced eclipse photographers share their knowledge. The learning curve is steep but rewarding.
Remember, perfect technical execution means nothing if you miss the experience itself. I've seen photographers nail every shot but leave feeling empty because they never looked up from their cameras. Balance is everything. Set up your shots, execute your plan, but always reserve time to be present in the moment.
The universe doesn't often pull back the curtain to show us its inner workings. When it does, through events like total solar eclipses, we owe it our full attention—not just through a viewfinder, but with our whole being. The photographs we take are just echoes of that experience, beautiful reminders of the day we stood in the shadow of the moon and saw the impossible.
Authoritative Sources:
Espenak, Fred, and Jay Anderson. Eclipse Bulletin: Total Solar Eclipse of 2017 August 21. NASA Technical Publication, 2015.
Littmann, Mark, et al. Totality: The Great American Eclipses of 2017 and 2024. Oxford University Press, 2017.
Mobberley, Martin. Total Solar Eclipses and How to Observe Them. Springer, 2007.
NASA Eclipse Web Site. "Solar Eclipse Photography." NASA Goddard Space Flight Center. eclipse.gsfc.nasa.gov.
Pasachoff, Jay M. The Complete Guide to the 2017 Total Solar Eclipse. Springer, 2017.
Reynolds, Michael D., and Richard A. Sweetsir. Observe Eclipses. Astronomical League, 1995.