The Harmony Borax Works Incident

Yes, I agree that the title is a mouthful, but bear with me. The Harmony Borax Works is a long-abandoned borax ore processing plant established in the late 1800's here in Furnace Creek, California. In addition to being listed on the National Register of Historic Places, the location is popular with star gazers. People from all walks of life—families with children—business folks from LA—professional and amateur astronomers—everyday stargazers, all arriving to see what they can spot in the dark night sky.

I pulled into the parking area at 6:30pm and decided to set myself up for what I hoped would be my first evening of deep-sky capture. I spent almost two nights getting the telescope assembled from the pieces I meticulously packed into my pelican case.

It was a 106-degree windy evening making Convection Oven a suitable alternate name for Furnace Creek. It did not take long to feel disappointed, as I uncovered issues with both the EAF (Electronic Automated Focusing) system and the AZ-GTI mount (a celestial tracking device to keep things in place while the earth rotates on its axis) and this quickly led me to 1:40am.

I was in my seventh-hour of struggle with the equipment and it made me begin to question the journey. It is disappointing when we don't succeed in our efforts, however, failure is crucial to a vibrant learning process. What I did need, probably in hour four and not in hour seven, was a distraction from the problem I was managing. I've figured out that focusing too long on an issue only makes the issue appear larger and more daunting than it actually is. It takes skill and discipline to know when to take a timeout. Oh sure, we can identify that moment when other people need a time-out, but what about for ourselves. Our brains are powerful but require that time out… even while we sleep, neuro connections are forged on our behalf to eliminate the obstacles. I disassembled the telescope and loaded it back into the RV and took out the DSLR camera I had purchased before the trip, in case I ran into telescope troubles. I do not advocate prolonged focus on a tough problem, however, I do advocate planning for them! I decided to capture the Milky Way rising in the South Eastern sky as an alternate creative task.

Taking nighttime images with a DSLR camera is new to me, and i owe a special thanks to Geoff and Stan for the crash course that provided me the necessary basics to create something. Pretty quickly the clock was reading 3:30am and I decided to take my new skill up the hill to the borax mine. I quickly put the camera bag together and headed up to see if I could shoot the Milky Way, using the mule cart as an interesting foreground composition. When I got up there, I paused to get my footing and that is when the incident happened. It was simple, a single bright light where it didn't seem to belong. Seeming to float in air just off my left shoulder and about 25 feet away. I could hear my thoughts saying, “That makes no sense” and I removed my glasses and then put them back on all the time, trying to explain the aberration. The light persisted and was casting a shadow onto the dry riverbed below. I was frozen with fear, unable to reach for my camera, and not sure what to do next. I calmed myself by saying there must be a logical explanation for the light and besides, it doesn't seem to be a threat to me. I mustered up some courage and continued my efforts to capture the Milky Way with foreground composition. When I looked back over in the direction of the light, it was no longer there. Dawn was breaking and I packed up and headed back to the RV.

In her book Daring Greatly, Brené Brown describes vulnerability as an act of courage. I believed I had been vulnerable and courageous when I saw that light and I was about to get the chance to be vulnerable and courageous again.

I was busy setting up my telescope and hoping my repairs worked when I noticed a car pull into the parking area. It was a young couple and they talked with anticipation as they headed up to the mine. The incident was now far behind me and I was excited to spend time focusing on my telescope and resuming the imaging at the Harmony Borax Works when suddenly I caught a glimpse of light out of the corner of my eye. Not just a single light, but a string of lights running from horizon to horizon and in perfect straight-line formation. The scene rang reminiscent of Close Encounters of the Third Kind and I could hear the young couple rushing down from the mine.

"What is that?", the woman shouted.

"I don't know—I’m an amateur astronomer and I have no idea."

I think it was the man who said Aliens first, but either way, we were all thinking it and that's when I blurted out about the light I had seen a fortnight ago.

"I was up at the Borax mine two nights ago and witnessed a bright light!" I exclaimed.

Of course, with what we were witnessing, the couple received this new information with increased anxiety and looks of horror. It was in the moments after I spoke that I realized what the string of lights must be: the SpaceX satellites I read about recently. I felt vulnerable but needed to tell the couple that I heard from folks in my astronomy class that this is, in fact, Starlink and not Aliens. I waited for them to ridicule me, but that's not what happened, instead, they said they believed I saw something and that they wish they could have experienced it too.

I still don't know what the light was, but I do know I felt a link between vulnerability and courage twice in as many days. The couple left after a socially distant visit and I decided to venture down to Badwater Basin to further exercise vulnerability and courage.