Magnificent Desolation_ The Long Journey Home From the Moon - Buzz Aldrin [20]
One of the most striking photos he took has come to be known as the “visor shot.” It is probably the one photo from our adventure seen more than any other. Indeed, it may be the most familiar photo from any lunar landing, and perhaps one of the most famous photos in history. It is a simple picture of me standing on the rough lunar surface with my left hand at my waist, with the curve of the horizon easing into the blackness of space behind me. But if you look more carefully at the reflection in the gold visor on my helmet, you can see the Eagle with its landing pad, my shadow with the sun’s halo effect, several of the experiments we had set up, and even Neil taking the picture. It is a truly astounding shot, and was the result of an entirely serendipitous moment on Neil’s part.
Later, pundits and others would wonder why most of the photographs on the moon were of me. It wasn’t because I was the more photogenic of the two helmet-clad guys on the moon. Some even conjectured that it must have been a purposeful attempt on my part to shun Neil in the photos. That, of course, was ridiculous. We had our assigned tasks, and since Neil had the camera most of the time we were on the surface, it simply made sense that he would photograph our activities and the panoramas of the lunar landscape. And since I was the only other person there …
Ironically, the photography on the moon was one of those things that we had not laid out exactly prior to our launch. NASA’s Public Affairs people didn’t say, “Hey, you’ve got to take a lot of pictures of this or that.” Everyone was interested in the science. So we did the science and the rest of it was sort of gee-whiz. We had not really planned a lot of the gee-whiz stuff that, in retrospect, proved quite important. But those pictures became the storyboard of our adventure that the public got to see and are now in history books.
The time went by all too rapidly while we were outside the LM, and before we knew it, Houston was giving us our three-minute EVA termination alert. We had to prepare to head back inside. When it came my turn to depart the surface, oddly enough, explorer that I am, I sensed no desire to lengthen our stay. On this groundbreaking first mission, we had planned to limit our EVA, and stick close to the lunar module, rather than explore the low hills on the horizon. Those hills would yield to future exploration, but our mission had been accomplished. With Houston in constant radio contact with us to keep us on our strict time schedule, we didn’t worry about the potential hazards of venturing off too far and possibly encountering problems on the lunar surface. We were extremely conscious that we were setting precedents with everything we did, so we were extraordinarily careful to avoid any mishaps. We didn’t want to trip and fall on our faces in front of the whole world.
According to plan, I was the first to climb up the ladder and reenter the Eagle. I was already on the ladder when Neil called out to me, “Hey, Buzz. Did you forget something?”
I realized that in our excitement, I had indeed forgotten something—something extremely important to Neil and to me. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the small pouch that I had carried with me in my spacesuit while on the moon. It contained a patch from the Apollo 1 mission, the mission in