One of the technical challenges to overcome when photographing in regions above 4500 metres is the sheer abundance of light. With the atmosphere overhead significantly thinner than at sea level the sun shines with a brilliance that glares from every surface. Additionally, with snow capped peaks encircling us and glaciers running alongside our route there is bright white light reflecting from every direction. Underfoot the ground is a light grey gravel which lights up the landscape from below like a huge photographer's reflector and there are no trees anywhere on the barren landscape to soak up the light with their dark foliage.

Anyone who has tried to take photographs in such sharp specular light knows there is a risk that in exposing for the well lit surface of a face or a stone wall our cameras render shadows as deep blacks bereft of detail. Faces tend to have black holes where eyes should be and landscapes are a colourless mix of bright white features interspersed with great rifts of featureless black in the shadows.

Perhaps in suffering for my art, or perhaps just for the fun of it, I brought along equipment to help me take a few shots in conditions completely opposite to these - late at night, in a near absence of light.

The sun disappears quite early in the Khumbu, maybe 4.30 or 5.00pm, due to the artificially high "horizon" created by the massive mountains. The sky stays illuminated until almost 8.30 by which time it begins to fill with the stars which are the subject of my nocturnal photos. I had plans to take long exposure shots of star trails sweeping across the sky above gently illuminated mountain ranges so I packed a good tripod, plenty of batteries (in Sherridan's bag....) and a few other gadgets to make night time photos possible. Unfortunately, almost every perfect clear daytime sky was followed by creeping fogs that cloaked the valleys just as the stars were beginning to shine their brightest so in 2 weeks in the mountains I only had 2 clear night time skys to photograph.

When sitting inside a guesthouse dining room warmed by the stove and comforted by friendly conversation with other trekkers the decision to venture outside into temperatures 10 degrees or more below zero is not exactly an easy one. Once the light disappears from the sky the air temperature plummets so heading outside for 2 or 3 hours to take photographs requires a fair amount of motivation. Fortunately all it took was to recall how far and up how many hills I'd lugged all my photography gear because the thought of carrying all that weight in vain was all the inspiration I needed to don my thermals and head out into the night.

Once I'd located the best vantage point for a photo I would set up the tripod, compose my picture, and set my timing equipment to start taking startrail exposures. To capture enough of the Earth's rotation requires several hours of exposure time so this left me with having to either leave the camera gear doing its thing while I retreated to my sleeping bag or waiting outside to make sure the gear was safe. I was prepared to duck inside for a moment or two but no way was I going to leave thousands of dollars worth of electronics unattended in a country where the average worker earns about $50 a month. The Nepalis showed us a few times back in Kathmandu how honest they can be but it only takes one opportunistic thief....

So, while the camera clicked away and the timing equipment quietly beeped I would sit or stand or wander while I waited for the time to pass and as I did this I began to appreciate the sharp contrast between the Himalaya by day and the Himalaya by night. First, the outer reaches of a mountain village are almost totally silent after nightfall. Unlike the daytime din and clamour, by night the cattle and horses are all turned out for sleep and the porters and herders are back inside by that stove I mentioned, making conversation and drinking lemon tea. Outside at midnight in the highest village in the Khumbu I discover I'm the only person foolish enough to be out here. The only noises I hear are my boots on the gravel and the soft footsteps of a lone yak passing through on his way to who knows where.

With silence all around I'm left with only the inconceivably bright stars in the sky to excite my senses. There are one or two lodge windows lit from within but before long the whole village has turned in for bed - the trekkers in their rooms, their porters and guides stretched out on the dining room seats - and the lights of the village are all but extinguished. As a result, I have nothing to rest my eyes upon except the deep darkness around me or the brilliant Milky Way above. The contrast with the brightness of daytime is striking and instead of my eyes stopping down to shut out the abundant white light of the day I'm now having to navigate my way around the rocks and crevasses by starlight as there is not even a moon to substitute for the sun.

It is at this time I find myself feeling quite removed from the Khumbu. Instead of feeling deeply immersed in it's sights and sounds I now feel somewhat disengaged and have the notion that I could be anywhere in the world under the same sky. It's an unusual sensation as I allow myself to imagine I'm back home staring up at the skies, the view would be no different. I see the stars of Orion overhead and recall looking up at them from the Giza Plateau in Egypt 15 years earlier and how I had a similar sensation then of feeling disconnected from the immediate surroundings thanks to the knowledge I could look up at the same constellation from my home back in Launceston and thinking I hadn't really traveled anywhere despite all the miles I'd put behind me.

A couple of hours after starting I switched off the camera and began to pack it away. The towel I wrapped around the lens and camera body had frozen solid and I needed to scrape the ice from the telescopic tripod legs before they could be collapsed. The 6 high capacity batteries fitted to the bottom of the camera can provide power for thousands of images but now they're almost entirely flattened by the cold. With everything packed away I shuffle off to the tea house, negotiating my way in the dark around boulders and expedition tents and as I pass through the dining hall I have to be careful not to wake the porters sleeping on the bench seats that stretch around the room.

Even more quietly I slip into my sleeping bag back in our room. She's pretty tired and will get back to sleep quickly but I really don't want to wake Sherridan given the huge day's walk we would undertake the next day. As quietly as I can I lay on my mattress and scan through the photos I've just taken and hope I've captured something to make the effort of carrying all that gear worthwhile.