Enlightened by Darkness

Pilgrimage of Light and I have a very unique relationship. My life long passion for science, especially astronomy, is at the core of it. My crafts in photography, even my proficiency in Photoshop, have been honed for an entire career to sustain this extremely difficult project. The puzzle piece of large scale projection was solved because of my knowledge in optics and my hobby in taking things apart and putting them back. Even my failed attempt to become a novelist helped, by enabling me to put its intricate concept in words.

What I didn’t prepare myself for, and to which now I feel very deeply hooked, is hiking. And not just hiking, but hiking in total darkness.

The Initial Shock

One of my very first Pilgrimages of Light was to Big Bend National Park, where I seek sites with K-pg boundary, the geologic layer that marks the meteor strike that killed most of the dinosaurs. Here’s where I hiked as seen on Google Map.

The Plan (Google Earth)

From this view, you would, and I certainly did, assume the hike would not be too hard. I estimated a 15 minute hike without much altitude change. I was cautious, so when I happily arrived at the real world version of this Google view, I parked the car and conducted practice hike to it. To find my target wasn’t too hard.

A formation with K-Pg boundary at Big Bend. My little shadow can be seen on the left.

What excitement! I’ve wanted to see a K-Pg all of life, knowing this is a cool geologic feature that confirmed the great extinction of dinosaurs.

On the way back to the car though. I realized that what looked like a flat land on Google Earth wasn’t so flat. My stature at nearly 6 feet can be easily obscured by the ups and downs of this ancient riverbed. 80% of the time, the car would be out of my line of sight. The little humps around me, which I nickname baozis, formed a maze by Mother Nature. In case you don’t know what baozis are, here’s a steamer of yummy baozis.

Baozis. (Wiki Common)

They do resemble geologic formations don’t they? The Chinese in me says yes.

After a few U turns, I did find my car, just in time to sit out a brief storm brought by this fluff.

Cute fluffy clouds at the horizon now is a storm overhead an hour later

Head light ready and gears on the back, I headed back out in the end of dusk when stars were emerging. I would be right on the spot when the light was gone, ready to set up.

Or so I thought. As I tried and failed to retrace my practice hike, I became disoriented among the many baozis around me. All these baozis looked the same, even more the same in the dark. I backtracked and retried, and I simply couldn’t find the spot where I found earlier. I got on a baozi and looked around and realize the baozi I wanted to project on was right there, at a distance. And I simply couldn’t get to it. Not wanting to come for nothing, I settle my shot from the top of an inferior baozi, while I remembered 桃花源記, or An Account of Peach Blossom Tributary by Tao Yuanming, 422 CE.

晉太元中，武陵人，捕魚為業，緣溪行，忘路之遠近。忽逢桃花林，夾岸數百步，中無雜樹，芳草鮮美，落英繽紛，漁人甚異之；復前行，欲窮其林。林盡水源，便得一山，彷彿若有光，便舍船，從口入。

初極狹，纔通人；復行數十步，豁然開朗。土地平曠，屋舍儼然。有良田，美池，桑，竹之屬。阡陌交通，雞犬相聞。其中往來種作，男女衣著，悉如外人；黃發垂髫，並怡然自樂。

During the Jin Dynasty, in the Tai Yuan cycle (376-397), there was a man of the Hunan province who was a fisherman by trade. He was traveling along a stream when he began to lose his way. Suddenly, he came upon a forest of peach blossoms on both sides of the river, several hundred paces away. There were no other trees among them. The fragrant grass was fresh and beautiful, the fallen blossoms scattered about in their myriad ways. The fisherman thought that it was all very strange. But still, he travelled further, hoping to exhaust these woods. Where they ended, he found the spring from which sprang the tributary. Here he came upon a mountain through which a light seemed to shine. He abandoned his boat and walked into the mouth of the mountain. 

At first it was extremely narrow, just wide enough for a person to slip through. Then he walked a short distance when, all of a sudden, it opened up to a vast expanse. The land was flat and vast with houses and buildings neatly arranged. One could see things like fertile fields, beautiful ponds, trees of mulberry and bamboo. The footpaths between the fields met at intersections. One could hear the cries of the dogs and the chicken. As for the men and women who went by and those who were at work in the fields, their clothing was very foreign. There were both elders and children who were all content. 

見漁人，乃大驚，問所從來，具答之。便要還家，設酒，殺雞，作食。

村中聞有此人，咸來問訊。自云：「先世避秦時亂，率妻子邑人，來此絕境，不復出焉；遂與外人間隔。」問：「今是何世？」乃不知有漢，無論魏、晉。此人一一為具言所聞，皆嘆惋。

餘人各復延至其家，皆出酒食。停數日辭去。此中人語云：「不足為外人道也！」

Upon seeing the fisherman, one of the villagers was greatly surprised and he asked him from where he had come. The fisherman in turn completely answered his questions. Then, he invited him to return to their home to arrange for wine, kill the chicken, and cook food. 

In the village, they had heard that there was this person who had come from the outside and they all came to inquire. They said of themselves, “Our ancestors, to avoid the chaos of the Qin period, led their wives, children and fellow villagers and came to this isolated place never to leave again; before long they were separated from the people outside.” They asked, “What age are we currently in?” At that moment it became clear that they did not know that there had been a Han dynasty, let alone a Wei or a Jin. The fisherman considered each of the words he heard and let out a sad sigh. 

Those who remained at this time again invited him to their home and they all brought out wine and food. He stayed several days before he decided to go. Among themselves, the villagers said, “It cannot be as the foreigner says!”

既出，得其船，便扶向路，處處志之。及郡下，詣太守，說如此。太守即遣人隨其往，尋向所誌，遂迷不復得路。

After leaving, he found his boat and followed the stream back the way he had come, marking various locations. Upon reaching the provincial capital, he went to see the senior official and told him all he had seen. The official promptly dispatched people to follow the fisherman’s path and seek what he had previously marked. However bewilderingly, they did not again find that way.

南陽劉子驥，高尚士也，聞之，欣然規往，未果，尋病終。後遂無問津者。

Liu Ziji of Nanyang was a distinguished scholar and he heard of this. Joyfully, he planned to go. His plans, however, did not materialize as he soon died of a sickness. After that, there was no one who inquired about the way to the village.

There were no peach blossom in Big Bend, but the notion of a paradise found, then lost, haunted me at this moment. My ordeal wasn’t over though. As I finished the less than satisfactory shoot, I packed and started to find my way back. Only to realize that I didn’t know which way to go.

Actually, writing this 2 years later, I can’t quite recall how I found my way. I do remember I broke a sweat in the cool breeze and I made dozens of U turns. Finally, the high beam of my headlight hit the reflectors on my Prius and the standing hairs on my spine finally laid down. Well, I’m not hairy, but that’s how I felt.

Waking up the next morning at AirBnb. I decided to go and try again tonight, I didn’t want my site remain an illusion like the village in Peach Blossom Tributary. I would go back and find the site, make the shot happen. I would be better prepared. Nothing’s going to stop me.

Under the hot afternoon sun, I practiced the hike again. Not just one more time, but twice. I remembered the shapes of baozis at important turns, and I gave them nicknames which I can’t recall now. I reached the site in broad daylight, then I found my way out to the car. I hike to the site again, and I found my car again.

I wouldn’t hike in when it turned dark. I would be there by dusk, set up in the day light and get ready to shoot when it turned dark.

Good enough? I wasn’t sure. Maybe I can make it more secure though marking. Hey! How about keeping my gold Prius’ blinker on? That would make C3pO visible in the dark. Would that drain the battery? No, according to Google: a hybrid car’s starter runs on the big hybrid battery while the blinker runs on the 12V.

The plan worked and I got my shots.

NGC 4038, 65 million light years away, on K-Pg boundary, 65 million years old. Big Bend National Park.

Perhaps it worked too well. In the middle of the shoot, I turned around and noticed a car parked next to mine. Yes, the car was in my line of sight from the baozi I stood on. The driver pressed the horn. I gathered that he or she was concerned about this driver, not in the car and leaving the blinker on. I pointed my headlight towards the cars, and I signaled, no, I didn’t know how to signal! I just turned the light on and off, in some gibberish. The driver honked again and left. Whew, was I glad that no search and rescue team came in a helicopter!

The solution I came up at Big Bend became a routine I stick to at every shoot. I survey and scout during the day, then I hike in before dusk, do the shoot, then I hike out in the dark. The last bit started as a necessary evil, as I did not wish to get lost or meet a large wild life in the dark. Then, something changed in me.

Darkness Revisited

We as a species are obsessed with light. Photographers love light. We conquered night through innovations: fire, electricity, LED. But have we really conquered nights? What we’ve done is not conquering, but attempting to transform nights to days. We can never achieve that. Or maybe we can when fusion energy is fully harnessed. But boy, I hope we are not so stupid that we would turn nights to days. Our meager lighting power is enough to pollute the night sky that 90% of the world population are deprived of the sight of the Milky Way.

Humans mustn’t be nocturnal by nature. We feel at home in light. We even become biased. Photographers pay more attention to the right side of the histogram. Star Wars put evil Sith Lords in the dark. And I was afraid of dark.

When I was 7, I lost my Grandma. I was traumatized by the Taiwanese funeral procedure which, to put it mildly, was not child friendly. I was so scared I became nyctophobic. I kept the light on while I slept, well into my college days. My worst nightmare was when those fluorescent tubes turned old and wouldn’t turn on for seconds, or minutes, after I flipped the switch. This caused sleep disorder and depression, or so I diagnosed myself in hind sight; my problem was never acknowledged as if it was a taboo.

But don’t worry about me. I outgrew my nyctophobia. I didn’t know how, but I was not afraid of dark anymore in my 20s.

Decades later, I faced the fear once again. I didn’t feel so vulnerable because this time I have had a lot rational thoughts in mind: the navigation, the transportation, the art. I had to brave the dark, or I wouldn’t get the shots.

As the count of my pilgrimages grew, my experience to work and hike in the dark grew. I learned that there were different kind of darkness. A moon overhead virtually turns nights into mini days. Cameras agree on this: when photographing under full moon, it’s hard to tell if the scenery is under broad daylight or a gentle clare de lune. Moon light is not so gentle for my project, though, as it can easily overwhelm my projecting power. Starry nights were the most pleasant when Mother Nature kept my mind at ease through a light show which also oriented my directions. Overcast nights remained the most disconcerting when the whole sky glow in an eerie glow, lack of any feature, and turned all terrain flat—not in the sense of topography, but in the sense of photography as lack of contrast reduces sense of depth. I hiked in Death Valley under such condition and got lost briefly. Luckily, I was very cautious and purposely looked around as I hiked, so I could backtrack easily. At one point, I turned off the headlight and let my pupils expand. In a few seconds, the shape of terrain emerged, and I recognized features that guided me back on track. To see far, one needs to give up the near.

I wouldn’t say as much as that I’ve conquered the fear. Perhaps I was just taking care of business and ignored it. I did, in a few occasions, stop working and just let it sink in. Often times, this is when I became aware of my full bladder and carried out some minor irrigational duties. Other than that, I felt calm and sensed no anxiety. Last winter in Bisti Badland, I experienced the most difficult terrain to navigate. Thanks to AllTrail and I wish I had a third arm to carry the cellphone, I literally made every step of the way under the GPS navigation. It was months after Elliot Erwitt’s death and I prepared special slides in my archive. After a night’s work, I decide to pay my tribute to him by projecting his most iconic images.

Tribute to Elliott Erwitt at Bisti Badlands

When I saw the chihuahua projected on the exotic formations, I laughed out loud. Then I realized that was the first time I made a loud noise when working alone in the dark. I felt(not heard, it was clearly all in my head) the echo of my laughter, announcing my overcoming of my life time’s fear for darkness.