The World We Knew Is Gone - Arizona.
November 1st, 2018 I hit the road again for another chapter of The World We Knew is Gone. Drove straight through Texas, dealt with a flat tire outside of El Paso that set me back an entire day, then arrived at the first stop for photos, Chiricahua National Monument in southeast Arizona.
I arrived at Chiricahua National Monument around midday and explored several trails, capturing some photos in my spacesuit, but nothing looked appropriately alien besides Massai Point, the main overlook at the highest point in the park. I had to climb down several rocks to fin a good spot away from prying eyes, then got in my spacesuit for photos all throughout sunset.
The mountains were a great background, because the towering boulders reminded me of Pandora. After I had photographed the last of the sunlight, I took off the spacesuit and climbed back up to my car and got ready to leave. But just before I started my car, and looked out through the windshield, I realized I could clearly see the Milky Way.
I was so far out from civilization and light pollution that Chiricahua National Monument was a perfect dark sky area, and the moon hadn’t yet started to rise, meaning that you could see the galactic dust of the Milky Way’s spiral arm perfectly clear with the naked eye. I had tried and failed once before to get a shot in the suit with such a clear night sky, but endless clouds prevented me from getting a good shot. So this time I grabbed my flash equipment, a very tall light stand, and once again put on my suit for some night sky slow shutters.
With wind prevented me from being still enough to create a properly still pose, and the flash didn’t quite create the right look I was hoping for with the lighting. (Not to mention the tiny amount of light pollution from the nearest town). So even though I was excited to get this photo with the Milky Way lining up just right in the background, it didn’t fit in with what I was going for in the rest of the series.
The next day I drove to Petrified Forest National Park in eastern Arizona, off I-40. I drove all throughout the park, and looked at the small managed trails and quickly learned the only place I was allowed to explore on my own was Blue Mesa Trail in the center of the park. After a 15 minute hike from my car, I could climb on each colorful hill and hoodoo, far enough away to hide the roads and capture the strange landscape.
Wearing a spacesuit in the desert certainly isn’t an easy task. For one thing, it takes quite a bit of effort just to get it to where I was going and get into the thing. I carried the spacesuit in a large blue duffel bag that weighed around 20 pounds, including several bottles of water and a flashlight. Before putting on the suit, I’d have to check for tears to patch, and make sure all the little knots hadn’t come loose / retie them into a good tight fit. Luckily the boots I chose to wear are my normal hiking boots, so that was the easiest part to deal with. After that I’d have to slip into the suit, which was put on like a jumpsuit with a big zipper down the front (and small zippers on the wrists and ankles for a tighter fit). I was usually wearing a t-shirt and shorts underneath to deal with the sweat and keep a good breeze. Then I’d put on the helmet, which is attached to the neckpiece. I could just barely fit my head through each time, sometimes having to cut more rubber off the neckpiece just to fit. Then the tricky part of neatly tucking the neckpiece into the suit, trying to get rid of as much slack as possible that could create a lumpy neck. Lastly I’d have to put on my gloves, which were really meant for cold weather and therefore were not easy to put on with sweaty hands, and were so thick that it was difficult to grip small objects or press buttons on my camera. Not an altogether pleasant experience wearing it under normal circumstances.
Carrying my camera equipment out to the desert wasn’t a small task either. Since I wanted to document the series as much as possible, I was carrying several cameras & lenses in my backpack. My digital camera for the majority of the photos, my film camera to recreate digital photos I really liked, an Instax camera to have physical mementos from the experience, often my drone to film dramatic desert landscape shots, and a GoPro to film timelapses an behind the scenes shots. Also I carried 4 lenses; my Canon 16-35mm f/2.8 for a wide zoom, my Canon 24-70mm f/2.8 for a standard zoom, my Canon 70-200mm f/2.8 for a long zoom, and my Canon 85mm f/1.2 for a portrait lens. Along with the tripod, batteries, memory cards, filters and other accessories, the camera backpack ended up being about 50 pounds.
So when combined with the 20 pound duffel bag of spacesuit, I was carrying about half my bodyweight several miles into the desert for every shoot, all in temperatures upwards of 90 degrees each day.
Here’s how I would take each photo… First I’d scout the spot, looking for a beautiful alien landscape devoid of any signs of civilization, and check the lighting or use a sun tracker app on my phone to see when the sun would be at its best angle. Then I would set up my camera & tripod, framing and composing the photo like a landscape. Next I would take a lightweight light stand that was roughly the same height as me, and set it up in the spot I wanted to stand, then go back to my camera to set the focus on the stand and fix any last minute adjustments to the framing / composition. Then I’d set up my intervalometer camera remote to delay for roughly 15 seconds until I could get into position with my gloves on and my visor down, and it would take a photo every 1-3 seconds. Since I wanted candid seeming shots, but with very specific poses, I’d walk back and forth, near the same spot I had set my focus (trying to stay within the focal plain). And finally I’d go back and check the photos to see if I had accidentally captured the perfect pose. If so, I’d try to copy it with my film camera.
Since carrying around such heavy equipment for miles through the desert heat could get so exhausting (and really painful for my back & shoulders), I would try to push myself very hard for a day or two, then take a day of rest. And I would purposefully seek out things to see along the way that had some relation to outer space, NASA, and manned space exploration, which turns out there’s no shortage of in the southwest.
While in eastern Arizona, I stopped by Meteor Crater, thought of as best preserved meteorite crater on Earth. It’s about 3,900 ft in diameter and 560 ft deep. The Apollo astronauts went there for training prior to the Apollo 11 mission, to learn about collecting geographic samples and how to navigate the terrain since it was likely they were planning to land inside a similar crater on the Moon.
On November 5th, 2018, I arrived in Sedona, Arizona. The exact time & place that my ex-fiance and I were supposed to get married. I knew that day was going to suck no matter what, so I decided to make it all the way suck. I was going to lean into everything I was feeling and channel it into something productive. Up until that point, I hadn’t written down a single thought, either for the short film I was planning to write that day, or plans for my future. I left the spacesuit and camera gear behind, filled my backpack with camping gear, and hiked out to Devil’s Bridge, the exact spot we were planning to elope to, and planned to stay there all day, thinking through my thoughts and writing the entire script all at once.
I climbed up higher than Devil’s Bridge, so I could have some privacy and be far enough away from the tourists to not get distracted and stay in my thoughts, but still close enough to keep an eye on Devil’s Bridge all day. The spot I sat at all day is pictured to the right.
I put on my headphones, listened to the playlist I had made for The World We Knew Is Gone, and started writing. I had to keep alternating between a journal dedicated to the script for the short film I was writing, and another journal that I got on Valentine’s Day 2017 when I recreated my first date with Erin. For our first date, after dinner I took her to Hobby Lobby and asked her to pick a container we would each decorate, and throughout out relationship we would write down things we liked about each other to keep in the container. Whenever we were doubting staying together, we would just look back at our notes and remember what we liked about each other. She got a wooden book that she painted to say “The Adventures of Erin & Wesley”. I painted her name onto a glass bottle, because I knew that I would never need to look at my notes unless it was a most dire emergency. When I recreated that date after we had gotten engaged, I got us tiny moleskin journals where we would write all the reasons we wanted to get married, and on our wedding day, we would swap journals. I brought that journal with me, and wrote in it “Why Did / Do I Want To Get Married? And What Am I Looking For?”
When I’d hit a roadblock in that journal, I’d switch to the one for the short film, and vice versa. Quite frequently I’d have to take breaks to sit with my thoughts and cry and stare at the scenery. The first couple of drafts of the short film didn’t feel right. They were coming off bitter and petty, but that’s not how I felt at all, and definitely not how I wanted to feel. I understand her reasons for leaving, but it doesn’t make the result hurt any less. This wasn’t about that. This was about taking that pain, that loss, the hopelessness, looking at what I had done to cause it / let it happen. What did I want to do about it? What did I want to change? What did I want be? What did I want to do?
That’s when I had an epiphany for how I wanted to tell the story and what I wanted the message to be. It wouldn’t be about finding a new world, but it would be about building a better world, a world inside me I could take wherever I go. I wrote the entire script in one go, and it has stayed almost entirely unchanged since that moment.
At sunset, when most of the tourists had gone, I climbed down from my perch, and walked around Devil’s Bridge, standing at the exact spot I would have stood during our wedding, at the exact second our ceremony would have been. I looked at my feet, I looked at where she would have stood, where our friends would have sat, at what the view would have looked like, how the light shined. I took a deep breath, and left it behind.
One of the stops I had been most looking forward to on my trip was to a lava tube called Lava River Cave, located southeast of the Grand Canyon in northern Arizona's Coconino National Forest. While listening to the podcast The Habitat, I had learned that sometimes astronauts would train in lava tubes, because the environment was similar to what they could expect on extraterrestrial bodies. I had never really explored a cave before, so I was excited to see for myself.
Before I got ready for photos, I wanted to scout the cave first, armed with only a flashlight. The cave was much deeper than I had expected, almost a mile long, going quite a ways underground. The terrain was rocky and uneven, the ceiling sometimes was only a couple feet off the ground, and quickly it became so dark you couldn’t tell if your eyes were open or not, and so quiet all your could hear was your own breath and heartbeat. I reached a large chamber with a ceiling over 20 feet high, before the cave split in two. I thought that would be the perfect place for the photo I was after.
My biggest concern at the time was oxygen. That deep into the cave, the air felt stale and not especially easy to breathe. And I knew breathing in the helmet was already a problem. Since the helmet was made to be airtight, when the visor was down the only fresh air available in the mask was the limited amount that came through the unplugged oxygen hose. The problem was though that the mask filled so quickly with carbon dioxide and so slowly with fresh air that once the visor was closed, you really only had about a minute of good air to breathe. Turns out that was the least of my concerns.
After I got back to the surface, I grabbed my suit, grabbed my equipment, and went back underground for photos. Once I reached the largest chamber, I set up my tripod & camera, set up some flashes around the cave, put on my helmet, and got started. I quickly realized I couldn’t be holding the flashlight I was using to see, since it hadn’t been in any other photos, meaning that I was going to have to work in complete and utter darkness. The only way I could see anything is from the flashes going off every couple seconds, which wasn’t long enough to tell what you were looking at, but certainly long enough to freak me out. Also, as soon as my visor came down, it immediately fogged up with the humidity of my breath. So now I couldn’t see anything even when the flashes were going off. And because I was wearing the helmet, I especially couldn’t hear anything. Someone could have been standing right next to me, and I would have no way of knowing.
It wasn’t long before I started hallucinating and getting paranoid. I knew I went into the cave alone, and hadn’t seen anyone down there, but I couldn’t be certain I was alone. I kept seeing movement in my peripheral vision when the flashes would go off, I felt like I was hearing footsteps around me. I was originally going after a photo of me looking towards the camera, but just before the camera took a photo, I thought someone was sneaking up behind me, and turned to look, resulting in this photo…
After that I hit the quick release on my visor and rushed to my camera to check what it captured (and to grab my flashlight and make sure there wasn’t really something else in the cave with me). To the left is a photo my camera captured of the fear in my eyes. Since I was happy with the main photo I got, I decided to bail as quick as I could. I snatched up all my equipment and hustled out of that cave with a quickness.
Since the largest chamber was almost at the very back of the cave, I had to run almost a mile through rocky terrain to get out of there, and by the time I had resurfaced, the sun had already set, and I could hear coyotes (or wolves?) howling in the very near distance. I struggled to find the path back to my car, and ran towards the nearest reflection of headlights I could see. As I found my car and hit the button to unlock the doors, I heard a deep, low growl right behind me, and without even looking I threw everything I had into my car and leapt into the driver’s seat.
It’s entirely possible I wasn’t in any real danger, but damn it felt like it!
One problem I faced several times on my trips was the limitations of the vehicle I was traveling in. When I reached Vermilion Cliffs National Monument, I was really looking forward to getting some photos in White Pocket, but once I reached the access road, I discovered that it was only accessible by a high-clearance 4x4 vehicle. Sometimes I would push my little hybrid car as far as I could down dirt roads, but this was something else entirely. You needed the most legit Jeep available to even get started driving straight over rocks that barely constituted a trail. So often I’d have to make due with the various rocks & cliffs that I found along the way such as these.
One of the stops I made along the way was to finally see Horseshoe Bend in person. I slept in the parking lot (despite the signs telling my not to), so that I could catch it at first light, and even filmed a timelapse to possibly use in the short film.
That day I took a tour of nearby Antelope Canyon. I had hoped to possibly get some spacesuit photos in there, but after seeing how it operated, there was no way that was possible. The canyon is absolutely packed with tourists, all being led in groups of 20-40 at a time, all back-to-back. The only way anyone gets a photo alone is because of strategic angles where the tour guides hold up traffic just long enough for each person to get their photo.
That night I decided to play by the rules and not sleep in the Horseshoe Bend parking lot again, so instead I parked in the dark corner of a Walmart parking lot with the other cars & RVs where people were sleeping in their vehicles. Since I drive a small hybrid, I tend to just sleep curled up in the driver’s seat all laid back since it allows for the most room. And since it gets cold in the desert at night, I would sleep in my sleeping bag. Sometimes I’d have to turn my car on for a bit to blast the heat and warm up, so I’d sleep with the key in the ignition with the car turned off.
Just as I was starting to get to sleep, I could hear a man pacing outside of one of the RVs. Couldn’t understand what he was saying, but I could tell he was angry, and likely talking to himself. After several minutes of this, I poke my head up over the steering wheel and see him walking straight to my car door, and all I hear him say is “I’ll fucking slit your throat!”
I immediately turned my car on and tried to drive off, but my seat was still leaned back and my feet were still stuck in my sleeping bag, so it wasn’t exactly a graceful escape. Ever since then, I decided it wasn’t safe to sleep in my car near people, and counter-intuitively always sought out the darkest most secluded spots to sleep, like the Horseshoe Bend parking lot, behind the sign saying “No Overnight Parking”.
In Grand Staircase Escalante National Monument I ran into another problem of not being able to get to where I was hoping to photograph. One of the locations I was most eagerly hoping to photograph was The Wave in Coyote Buttes. It is such a gorgeous and other-worldly rock formation, but because it is so delicate, they only allow 20 people a day to visit it, 10 who apply for a permit online, and 10 lucky people who win an in-person lottery that day. Unfortunately I couldn’t get a permit, and couldn’t get to the location of the lottery in time that day. So instead I hit up the Waweep Hoodoos and Toadstool Hoodoos.
This was one of the first times that I was in the spacesuit around other people, since it wasn’t that long of a trail, was enclosed by a canyon, and was one of the few trails in the area that didn’t require a 4x4 to reach, it had more folks on it than I was used to. Certainly got some strange looks, especially when I wasn’t near my camera. But surprisingly the closer someone got, the less they were phased by seeing a spaceman wandering in the desert.
One location I was both looking forward to visiting, but unsure about including in the series was Monument Valley. On one hand, it’s one of the most visually pleasing deserts that America has to offer, but on the other hand, it’s so unforgettably iconic from all the countless westerns it has appeared in that it looks so familiar that no one really thinks ‘alien landscape’ when they see it. Either way, I took my time driving throughout the park, keeping an eye out for places I could pull over and get my own photos in the spacesuit away from onlookers. One of the best spots I found was in the far back corner of the park. As I was finishing up, a school bus full of kids pulled up and snapped photos of me in my spacesuit.
Before I left, I decided I did want to try and get some photos in the spacesuit with the most iconic buttes in the background, because why not? I parked as close as I could, and carried my gear down a sandy path, and got in the suit for some photos.
The light wasn’t right at all, since I primarily avoided shooting at midday, both because of the heat and the harshness of the sunlight, but it was still fun to get a photo with such an iconic background. It reminded me of Scott Listfield’s paintings, which were a big inspiration at the start of the project.
One of the last locations on my list was Shiprock, on the Navajo Reservation in the far northwestern corner of New Mexico. I was cutting it close already trying to arrive just before sunset. When I drove over a hill near the state line I could see Shiprock looming in the distance. It is an unreal sight. It juts out thousands of feet in the air amongst a mostly flat backdrop. It stands out like a sore thumb, looking like a castle from The Dark Crystal. It’s easy to understand why it’s such a sacred landmark.
One of the problems with it being a sacred landmark though, is that it’s really difficult to get near. At first Google Maps tried to send me down a long dirt road that dead ended on someone’s property. The next three routes it tried to lead me down ended the same way. Finally when I got enough signal I was able to Google directions to it written by landscape photographers on travel forums. I had to go the long way around, and fast.
I rushed around the landmark, took a long dirt road as far as I could manage, driving past a small parking lot of photographers (who I hope I didn’t ruin their shots), past a photoshoot of a native girl in a ceremonial outfit, and as close to the rock formation as my little car would allow me to go. I got into my spacesuit just after the last light had hit the area I was standing on. Luckily the jagged cliff to my side ended before Shiprock, leaving the rocks themselves to still be light by the last glimmer of sunlight, allowing me to capture a photo more perfect than I had hoped for.
I stayed there for a couple hours, watching the sun set on Shiprock, watching the stars slowly begin to appear, one by one. I got my last slow shutter, just of Shiprock, as the dying embers of the sun disappeared and the orange ring around the horizon vanished.
Then I started my long drive home, since a cold front was due soon. I drove through Santa Fe, stopping at Kasha-Katuwe Tent Rocks National Monument in central New Mexico, hoping to get one last photo in the spacesuit, this time in a white rock slot canyon. But unfortunately all the best trails in the park led through there, and if I were to try and get photos in the canyon, I’d be blocking the path of everyone in the park. Instead I decided to just enjoy one last hike.
On the drive back through Texas, it started to flurry just after I passed Amarillo. I pulled over to take a nap in my car at a rest stop, and when I woke up, my car was covered in snow. That was all I was going to be able to get for the year, and I’d have to wait until the weather started to warm up before I could go back out in my spacesuit for the series.
