Sixty miles one way. Three-hour round trip, at the least, counting walking around.
I'm heading home from spending Thanksgiving by myself at Chaco Canyon, New Mexico, and I've pulled off the side of the road, at a crossroads in Eager, Arizona. South is home but to the east, an hour away is the Very Large Array, a group of 27 radio telescopes made famous in the Jodie Foster movie "Contact." I've always wanted to see the VLA, since I was a kid, and when will I be this close to it again? Probably not for a long time. But I'm already wiped from Chaco, and I want to sleep in my own bed tonight. Ah, the hell with it. I pull back on the two lane, and head east toward the VLA.
Chaco was weird.
Recent scientific and archeological data shows that there was cannibalism at Chaco Canyon, the huge old abandoned Anasazi city. Speculation is that Aztecs from Mexico came up into present day New Mexico, a thousand years ago, and imprisoned hundreds if not thousands of Anasazi and forced them to build the city of Chaco. It is thought that they performed 'political cannibalism' which means you just eat enough people to scare people into doing what you what them to do. I shot some of the old stone walls, a door way here and there, but I have no desire to print up my images. The 18 hours I was there, it felt like I was at the Native American version of Auschwitz. Plus the dirt road in and out sucks. You drive hours on washboards to reach a seventh level of Hell. Glad I'm gone.
The road to the Very Large Array passes quickly. A high chaparral country of Juniper trees, tall grasses, Live Oaks and little towns with funny names like Pie Town. I drop out off the rolling hills into a vast flat valley. This must be the place.
The VLA consists of three lengths of railroad tracks, each 13 miles long, shaped like a "Y," each track angled 120 degrees from the other. On each track are nine huge radio telescopes on wheels, each 82 feet in diameter and weighing 230 tons. They 'focus' the telescopes by using a small electric locomotive engine to move each antenna to a specific location on the tracks. All 27 scopes close-in to the center, and the Array acts like a long telephoto lens. All spread out to the full diameter of 22 miles and the VLA is like a huge wide-angle lens. Wonder what I'll find today.
It wasn't long until I found out. I'd been driving on the Plains of San Agustin for about 15 minutes when I see a railroad crossing. I slow the truck as I cross the track, looking all around for the scopes. Where are they? Then just a few miles away, I see them. They aren't spread out this day.
From this distance, they look like a bunch of white baby chicks, huddling together; 230-ton white chicks. Wow.
The little museum with its large color transparencies of distant galaxies was fun. I particularly like the button that tell us to push it 'if you have an question of a staff member.' Men and women are working hard up stairs in this large, two-story glass-covered building. At one point, a woman tourist pushed the button and like being beamed down from the Enterprise, a scientist appeared to answer her question. What door did he come out of?
Now, I'm just walking the grounds, looking at a spare dish, the tracks, the electric train that moves the scopes, the majesty of these beautiful pure white radio telescopes. I'm on the verge of tears I'm so happy.
I've been a geek for astronomy ever since I was a kid. I can still remember on a cold October night in the late 1960s, looking into my small refractor telescope with my father and seeing the rings of Saturn for the first time. I seriously considered studying astronomy in college, but in high school I discovered that I would have to be very good at math. I like geometry, but algebra and calculus left me cold. I did take astronomy as one of my science classes at Chapel Hill, but my major was drama at the time, later changing my major to sculpture and studio art. And I've always loved cheesy science fiction. "Star Trek" (both the original and "The Next Generation"), the "Alien" films (the first movie was the only film ever that I went out afterwards and had a double scotch), the first three "Star Wars" (the last three suck if you ask me). Even bad sci-fi I get some pleasure out of. Maybe it's the utopian messages or just the women in tight spandex.
When I was in Junior High, I saw a photograph in my small astronomy book of a circle of stars around the north star. They explained how L7 was done. Long time exposure of many hours. North Star in the center of the frame. Moonless night. Since I was 13, I always wanted to someday make a shot like that. One moonless night at a primitive campground at a tiny National Monument in Northern Arizona, I had the chance.
It was late. I was tired from the day's hike, but I noticed the lack of moon and the lack of jet plane traffic, and my teenage dream came back to me. North Star in the center. Juniper tree off to the right. Wide open aperture. Open the shutter. I then went to bed in my tent and said a silent prayer: "Please, God, have me wake up before dawn." Four and a half hours later, I woke up and remember the camera outside. Buck naked, I climb out of my small tent, gingerly walked to my camera on its tripod, closed the shutter, put the lens cap back on the Rollei and went back to bed. A week later, in the darkroom I saw that my dream had come true. A righteous photograph, as the kids would say.
Also, in past years, I've enjoyed as much, if not more than Sci-Fi, the relationship of God and Science, both in my life and in the research and writing of quantum physicists and spiritual teachers. Their new ideas fascinate me. The idea that there may be many levels of existence in the universe besides this meat and potatoes one. The idea that time travel may be possible through wormholes in our galaxy is an interesting thought. That God is a consciousness that may not be conscious of his own loving and light filled self. That Science doesn't disprove God but rather enforces the belief. Learning that the more we know, the more we don't and the more mysterious and wondrous the universe becomes. Look into a scientist's eyes and you will often see the same light as in a mystic's.
So walking around the grounds of the Very Large Array is akin to walking around the Vatican City to some. It is holy ground. That's why I'm crying.
I take a few shots with my Pentax using the 28 mm lens. It's almost not wide enough of a lens, to get these giants in the frame. Smiling and misty eyed, I walk around in the cool bright November day. Nearby is an attractive apparently single mom with her daughter. The daughter looks about 10 to 12, and is just as bright eyed as me. Actually, Mom looks like she having the time of her life, too. They are quietly walking from place to place, just as I am. Just the three of us walking beneath these behemoths.
I've just finished taking a couple of shots when suddenly and loudly, I hear a 'clunk' followed by a loud and low whining sound. The mom and daughter are on an observation platform and they hear it too. Then, the three of us notice what is happening. They're moving. All 27 of them. The disks on the telescopes are focusing on something new in the sky. They were facing upward, about 11 o'clock high. Now, all of them, are moving down, pointing in unison, to something closer to the horizon. The whining of the motors is loud and beautiful like a song. They are moving ever so slower. My mouth just drops open in wonder. I look over at Mom and Daughter, and their jaws have dropped too. After perhaps 30 seconds, the whining stops with again a clunk, and now all 27 radio telescopes are pointing toward a section of sky just above the horizon.
I look over at Mom. The Mother looks over at me.
"That was so cool." I say quietly.
"Wasn't it?" she says.
Mom and Daughter have huge grins on their faces. So do I.