Looking for the Angel's Tear

The Angel's Tear, a natural wetland landscape, hides in an uninhabited area in Daqianjiaping, Shennongjia National Park. This Central Chinese National Park sits at an altitude of nearly 3,000 meters. By chance, I came across it in a photo series of the national parks in China. I was entranced by such a great natural miracle, and promised myself that I would take a picture of this dream place and present it to my readers one day.

Going to the very remote area is not something to be undertaken lightly. Considering the perilous geography, uneven topography, and rapidly changing weather, no visitors but park rangers are typically allowed to enter. Zheng Chenglin, the chief engineer of the park administration, urged us to prepare emergency supplies with all possible perilous situations taken into consideration. Du Hua, the general office director of the park administration, contacted relevant departments and the protection station in advance. At 8:30 a.m. on October 12, 2022, Mei Tao, Du Hua and I took our drone and other photographic equipment and started our journey into the mysterious place. The pickup zigzagged for about 40 kilometers, turned onto a shabby road, and was blocked by a row of iron pillars. Knowing that it was our vehicle, the gatekeeper opened the barricade and admitted us.

Now, the difficult part of the journey began. Off the beaten path, it was hard to call the road before us a road. With scattered weeds and rocks all around, the rough, bumpy ride was hardly endurable. Eventually, we met Wei Zhengang, the guide we called Lao Wei, who then said, "It's not very far away from us. Three hours' climbing will do." 

I was shocked. For people like me and my team, who spend most of their lives in the city, the challenge was unimaginable. 

"Come on. We’re already here now. There’s no way to quit. No matter how difficult, it will be an experience to cherish," said Mei Tao, our photographer who was determined to shoot masterpieces during this trip.

Thus, guided by Lao Wei, we stumbled through our way to Xiaoqianjiaping. It would take us another hour to walk from there to Daqianjiaping. It was such a trackless wilderness that even the rangers have to identify directions by making marks. The drone couldn’t reach the spot from our location, so there was no way out but to continue the journey with our trembling legs. Climbing through a large, chest-deep, arrow bamboo forest, we finally stood on a ridge in Daqianjiaping. We shivered in the cold wind that penetrated our clothes and chilled our sweat-soaked bodies. Lao Wei, who had been living in the mountains all his life, was as agile as a golden snub-nosed monkey. Although he was our guide, he often left us far behind. For a while, we kept yelling for him to slow down, but still couldn't reach him.

Before our departure, a ranger had sent us a photo of the spot. So we soon recognized our destination. It was in a cherry-apple (Malus hupehensis) forest covering hundreds of acres surrounded by mountains and forests. The leaves of the cherry-apple trees had fallen off, but the red fruits were still hanging on the branches, bright against the pure blue sky. Little streams flowed in the deep grass, forming clear pools that shined brilliantly in the sun. The color of their bottoms varied with the depth of the water—their surfaces reflecting the changing color of the landscape. Silently they conveyed the purity and serenity of this "no man's land.”