Chasing the Buck Moon at Saratoga Beach – A Night to Remember

July 10, 2025 – Vancouver Island, BC

This evening felt like something out of a dream. The kind that stays with you long after the sun dips below the horizon. As I sit in my car, warming up under the glow of the dashboard lights, I find myself reflecting on an unexpectedly magical night by the ocean.

Earlier today, I packed up my camera gear and made the short five-minute drive from my home down to the familiar stretch of shoreline known as Saratoga Beach. Though it’s so close to home, there’s something about the beach at twilight that always makes it feel like I’m stepping into another world. A world where time slows down, where nature takes centre stage, and where the sky writes its own poetry.

When I arrived, the beach was already alive with energy. Dozens of families and friends dotted the sand, some gathered around glowing campfires, others setting up tents or relaxing with warm drinks in hand. The scent of driftwood smoke and ocean salt filled the air as laughter floated across the breeze. It was the kind of evening where strangers felt like neighbors.

As I scanned the shoreline and took in the scene, my eyes were drawn to the distant ocean horizon where two cruise ships slowly glided across the water, moving in opposite directions. They were framed perfectly by the fading light of day, their silhouettes majestic and serene. Just offshore, two paddleboarders made their way back to land, their paddles slicing through the glassy water as they wrapped up their sunset adventure. It was peaceful, almost cinematic.

But tonight wasn’t just any night. It was the night of the Buck Moon—a celestial event I had been eagerly anticipating. I had read that tonight’s full moon would be one of the most visually stunning of the year, appearing larger and more vividly colored than usual. The Buck Moon gets its name from Native American traditions, particularly among the Algonquin people, who observed that male deer—or bucks—begin to grow their new antlers around this time of year. It’s a symbol of growth, strength, and the cycles of nature.

In fact, across different cultures, the July full moon has many names. Some call it the Thunder Moon, due to the seasonal storms that often rumble through. Others call it the Berry Moon or the Salmon Moon, reflecting harvests and natural rhythms tied to the land and sea. There’s something deeply comforting about these names—they remind us how much humans once relied on the sky for time, for stories, for connection.

According to astronomers, the Buck Moon in 2025 would reach its peak illumination at 4:37 p.m. Eastern Time. That meant it wouldn’t be visible until after sunset here on Vancouver Island, where I live in beautiful Western Canada. I had read online that it would likely become visible from my location around 9:35 p.m., so I made sure to be at the beach well before then, camera in hand and hopes high.

At first, there was no sign of it. The sky remained a deepening blue, scattered with a few soft clouds glowing faintly in the fading light. Cruise ships continued their quiet journey across the water, and I began to wonder if the moon would ever show. But then, almost without warning, it began to rise.

And it was magnificent.

A glowing sliver of orange crept over the horizon, shimmering against the ocean’s surface like fire on water. Within minutes, the full disk had lifted into view, massive and radiant, bathing the entire coastline in its golden hue. I couldn’t take my eyes off it. It was a true Buck Moon—bold, bright, and tinged with a rich, amber-orange that looked like it had been painted by hand.

The few clouds hanging above the ocean caught the moonlight and lit up with silver linings, while the rest of the sky remained a stunning, clear indigo. There were more clouds drifting in toward Campbell River, but above Saratoga, it was pure moon magic.

I snapped photo after photo, adjusting settings, changing angles, trying to do justice to the moment. My camera worked hard right alongside me, until eventually the battery gave out—completely drained from the beauty it had captured. I didn’t mind. I knew I had more than enough shots to remember the night by.

Now, as I sit in the warmth of my car, still wearing my work shirt and my crop top with my photography logo stitched proudly on the front, I feel a calm pride settle over me. It was a bit chilly tonight, but I didn’t even notice until now. The joy of being out in nature, doing what I love, always makes me forget the cold.

What a perfect night for photos. I managed to capture so much more than just the moon: cruise ships reflecting the last of the sunset, a helicopter darting through the sky, a series of strange lights from planes passing high above—each one a story in motion.

And that moon—my camera may have died, but the image is etched into my memory forever. Watching it rise, fast and full, glowing and grand, reminded me why I do this. Why I chase light. Why I step into the wild with a lens in hand.

So until the next adventure, I’m signing off. Wherever you are reading this from, I hope you find a moment of wonder tonight too. Whether it’s in the sky, the sea, or a simple walk down the beach—keep looking for it.

Good night, dear readers. I’ll see you again in the next story under the stars.