A week ago I got the opportunity to spend a long weekend in South Africa’s Cederberg Wilderness Area. While there, we enjoyed two cloudless nights, during which the stars were exceptionally bright. In fact, in this remote part of the world the stars are always exceptionally bright compared to the cities we may be used to.
Here is one of my favourite shots, stitched from 16 individual photographs to cover the Milky Way from horizon to horizon:
The bright yellow glow on the horizon, to the right, is the town of Ceres. Even though it is a small city of 33,000 people, and hidden behind a mountain, its light was enough to affect this photograph. You really, really, need to be far away from the cities to get any good astrophotography done. This is, sadly, becoming more and more difficult as humans fill up the Earth’s surface.
This photograph proves that one can get great results, even when working with gear that isn’t the very best that money can buy. In a previous post I talked about how certain DX lenses can be used in FX mode: this photo is proof of how this can work in practice. The lens I used was the Tokina 11-16mm f/2.8, set to 15mm where it (barely) covers the full FX frame. To be sure I would have been better off with the Nikkor 14-24mm f/2.8; a lens I desire. As it is I do not own this lens, and got al result that I am still very happy with.
Pointing the lens straight up towards the sky and setting it to its absolute widest setting (11mm), one clearly sees that it does not cover the whole FX sensor. Futhermore, one sees that even in the areas that are illuminated the image quality and light falloff suffer as one approaches the edge.
When one reaches 15mm the situation improves markedly, and even gave very good results from an overall photographic standpoint.
Pixel peeping in the upper-right corner of the photograph above, we see that the lens’ performance suffered and created some funky cross-shaped artifacts.
One also sees the high amount of noise that the sensor inevitably captures at ISO6400. This will probably not be useful for large printing. However, looking at the complete result on typical viewing sizes, the result was breathtaking. This isn’t the Hollywood silver screen, or a Pixar animation studio. This is the real night air, close and simultaneously infinitely far and real. With our naked eyes we see light years to the core of our own giant spiral galaxy. Despite its vastness, this galaxy represents just a tiny tiny fraction of the sheer vastness of the known universe. It gives a clear reality of us being part of the cosmos – right here where we are; without having to go into space.
When you photograph heavenly bodies, you need all the light you can get. This is why I used F/2.8 lenses, shot wide open at F/2.8. You may ask why one would not then use a lens with even faster aperture. Indeed, I took out my 50mm f/1.4, and took the following shot:
The longer focal length enabled more detail of the Milky Way’s central region to be visible. The downside of the longer focal length is losing the horizon that gave some context of what we see in relation to us, the viewers. The larger aperture enables a lower ISO value and/or shorter exposure time, but also magnifies the motion of the stars. Because the Earth rotates, the stars seem to move from East to West across the sky. This movement may look slow to the naked eye, but with a high resolution camera one can see this motion as blurring in an exposure as short as 10 seconds. If you double your focal length (e.g. from 25mm to 50mm) you need to halve your exposure time for the same amount of motion blur, negating much of the advantage of the larger aperture.
Even though I shot the 50mm at f/1.8 where it performs better than at f/1.4, you still see that the stars in the image corners are distorted due to the lens’ astigmatism. Luckily, when you create a panoramic image like at the top of this post, the corners matter less than you may think.
Let’s get back to how I created that big-picture panoramic image at the top of this post. For this I first took a series of 16 photographs, each in itself a 15mm wide angle photo:
The next step was to use the excellent, and free, panorama stitching software called Hugin to stitch the images together. Although Adobe Photoshop and Lightroom 6 contain panorama stitching functionality, it is not capable of handling such a complex panorama spanning a very very large field of view spread out over multiple rows.
After determining the relative orientations of the images, Hugin allows you to select the intended projection, and then warps each image to match the chosen projection and its final position in the panorama:
These sixteen warped images overlap significantly, allowing the final image to only include the more central parts of the images where the lens distortion is manageable. Hugin is very clever software, and can also correct for differences in image exposure between the input images. The end result is the image at the top of this page.
I’d like to end with a video created by Ian Norman and Diana Southern where they reflect on the process of capturing the Milky Way and night sky through astrophotography. Beautifully montaged, it was recently featured on National Geographic. I hope this leaves you inspired, and willing to try your own hand at this type of photography. These heavens are out there, accessible to us all. Every cloudless night.
Tyr (pronounced like the English word “tier”; Old NorseTýr, Old English Tiw, Old High German *Ziu, Gothic Tyz, Proto-Germanic *Tiwaz, “god”) is a Norse war god, but also the god who, more than any other, presides over matters of law and justice. His role in the surviving Viking Age myths is relatively slight, and his status in the later part of the Viking Age may have been correspondingly minor. But this wasn’t always the case. Other kinds of evidence show us that Tyr was once one of the most important gods to the Norse and other Germanic peoples.
War, Law, and Justice
Tyr’s role as one of the principal war gods of the Norse, along with Odin and Thor, is well-attested in sources from the Viking Age and earlier. For example, in the Sigrdrífumál, one of the poems in the Poetic Edda, the valkyrie Sigrdrifa instructs the human hero Sigurd to invoke Tyr for victory in battle. Another Eddic poem, the Lokasenna, corroborates this picture by having Loki insult Tyr by saying that he could only stir people to strife, and could never reconcile them.
Some centuries earlier, the Romans identified Tyr with Mars, their own principal war god. This connection survives in the modern English “Tuesday,” from Old English “Day of Tiw (Tyr)” (Tiwesdæg), which was in turn based on the Latin Dies Martis, “Day of Mars.” (The Romans’ identification of Tyr with Mars also reinforces the point that he was quite a significant god; otherwise they surely wouldn’t have identified him with one of their own major gods.)
But Tyr is far from only a war god. In fact, his primary role seems to be that of an upholder of law and justice. Those Roman inscriptions to him as “Mars,” for example, sometimes invoke him as Mars Thincsus – that is, Mars of the Þing, the ancient Germanic legal assembly.
But the most compelling evidence for Tyr’s role as divine jurist – and a heroic one at that – comes from the tale of The Binding of Fenrir, the only surviving myth to feature Tyr prominently. The dreadful wolf Fenrir was only a pup, but he was growing quickly. The gods feared for their lives, so they endeavored to tie up Fenrir in fetters from which he couldn’t escape. When Fenrir laid eyes on the chain that would eventually bind him, he was suspicious, and declared that he would only allow the gods to put it around him if one of them would stick an arm in his mouth as a pledge of good faith. Only Tyr was willing to do so. When the wolf found himself unable to break free, he bit off Tyr’s arm.
In the words of the esteemed scholar of comparative religion Georges Dumézil, Tyr, “with his sacrifice… not only procures the salvation of the gods but also regularizes it: he renders legal that which, without him, would have been pure fraud.” In the same way that Odin showed himself to be the foremost god of wisdom by sacrificing one of his eyes in its pursuit, so Tyr showed himself to be the foremost god of law by sacrificing one of his arms to uphold it. The disfigurements of both gods are parallel, and demonstrate something essential about their characters.
But why would the foremost god of law and justice also be one of the principal war gods? Isn’t there a tension here between two realms of life that are either unrelated or even antithetical to each other?
For the ancient Germanic peoples, war and law were profoundly related to each other – even indissolubly intertwined. In the words of philologist Jan de Vries,
It should be noted that, from the Germanic point of view, there is no contradiction between the concepts ‘god of War’ and ‘god of Law.’ War is in fact not only the bloody mingling of combat, but no less a decision obtained between the two combatants and secured by precise rules of law. That is why the day and place of battle are frequently fixed in advance… So is explained, also, how combat between two armies can be replaced by a legal duel, in which the gods grant victory to the party whose right they recognize. Words like Schwertding [“the meeting of swords,” a kenning for battle], or Old Norse vápndómr [“judgment of arms”] are not poetic figures, but correspond exactly to ancient practice.
Furthermore, the law could be used to gain victory over an opponent just like war could, which made the legal assembly a metaphorical battle.
The Norse/Germanic war gods can be distinguished by – among other things – the fact that each are connected to a particular aspect of war. Thor, for example, is involved in the brute physical combat; Odin in the magical and psychological forces at work; and Tyr in the legal decisions and principles of justice surrounding war.
Tyr’s Proto-Indo-European Predecessor
Before the Germanic peoples had become a distinct branch of the Indo-European family tree, they worshiped the god *Dyeus, who would later evolve into Tyr as the Germanic religion became more and more distinct from the general Proto-Indo-European religion. (See the article on the Indo-Europeans if you don’t know what the terms “Indo-European” and “Proto-Indo-European” mean.)
Both the name *Dyeus and the basic Proto-Indo-European word for “god,” *deiwós, are variations of the root *dyeu-, “the daytime sky.”*Dyeus was the quintessential “Sky Father” and likely one of the chief deities of the Proto-Indo-European pantheon. After all, his name was effectively identical with the word for godhood itself. Other gods derived from him include the Greek Zeus and the Roman Jupiter (from *Dyeus Phater, “Sky Father”). Fascinatingly, the modern English words “day” and “deity” both come from this same root.
The use of closely-related words to denote both the name of *Dyeus and “god” more generally not only survived into the Viking Age, but was taken a step further. As noted above, Tyr’s name is identical with the Old Norse word for “god,” and the use of the common noun týr can be found in contexts that have nothing to do with Tyr with a capital “T.” For example, one of Odin’s bynames is Hangatýr, “God of the Hanged.”
As with Tyr, one of *Dyeus‘s roles was that of a guarantor of justice, one before whom oaths were sworn.
While there’s little to nothing in the Germanic sources that specifically links Tyr to the daytime sky, a tantalizing clue that such a connection may once have existed comes from the shape and name of the rune used to write the letter “T.” The runes’ shapes and names were thought to symbolize particular cosmic forces. The T-rune’s name was “Tyr” (or, in earlier times, *Tiwaz, Tyr’s older name). The rune has the shape of an arrow, which is probably connected to Tyr’s role as a war god. But the arrow is pointing upward, as if toward the sky. Could this indicate a now-forgotten role for Tyr as a sky god, in the same manner as *Dyeus?
In any case, it’s clear that Tyr’s humble place in recorded Viking Age mythology hardly reflects the high esteem in which he was once held. Indeed, at one point, he, or at least his predecessor, was as indispensable as daylight in the minds and hearts of his worshipers.
Looking for more great information on Norse mythology and religion? While this site provides the ultimate online introduction to the topic, my book The Viking Spirit provides the ultimate introduction to Norse mythology and religion period. I’ve also written a popular list of The 10 Best Norse Mythology Books, which you’ll probably find helpful in your pursuit.
 de Vries, Jan. 2000. Altnordisches Etymologisches Wörterbuch. p. 603.
 Orel, Vladimir. 2003. A Handbook of Germanic Etymology. p. 408.
 The Poetic Edda. Sigrdrífumál, stanza 6.
 The Poetic Edda. Lokasenna, stanza 38.
 Turville-Petre, E.O.G. 1964. Myth and Religion of the North: The Religion of Ancient Scandinavia. p. 181.
 Dumézil, Georges. 1988. Mitra-Varuna: An Essay on Two Indo-European Representations of Sovereignty. Translated by Derek Coltman. p. 125-126.
 Ibid. p. 142.
 As quoted in:
Dumézil, Georges. 1973. Gods of the Ancient Northmen. Edited by Einar Haugen. p. 44.
 Ibid. p. 44-45.
 Mallory, J.P., and D.Q. Adams. The Oxford Introduction to Proto-Indo-European and the Proto-Indo-European World. p. 408.
 Ibid. p. 409.
 Snorri Sturluson. The Prose Edda. Skáldskaparmál 9.
 West, M.L. 2009. Indo-European Poetry and Myth. p. 172.