When you are alone, in the darkness, it is not the sights, but the sounds that bind you to the landscape, and imprint it on your memory.
I had hiked across the desert landscape in the middle of the night to photograph some rock formations. And as I was searching for a spot to set up my tripod, I heard something I had never heard before, but unquestioningly knew what it must be. My head swung around, trying to capture the sound in the beam of light from my headlamp, and there it was: a rattlesnake, letting me know I was too close for his comfort, and mine. I backed away, yielding the trail to him, and he passed into the darkness.
I spent some time there alone in the night. The wind whispered here and there across the lonely desert plain, and I could have sworn there were faint voices out there riding on the wind, although I knew I was completely and utterly alone. I tensed, but there was no sound of movement, no approaching lights, nothing and no one. Of course there was no one. It was the middle of the night. The nearest road was an hour away. But still … the voices had seemed so real.
At times, the wind bore other sounds. There were plaintive cries from some far-off creature, calling to its own kind, perhaps something feathered, but what, I knew not.
Clouds streak overhead in the darkness
Night led to dawn, and by then I had hiked out and moved on to another location, trying to capture what I could on my last night of the trip. It was a productive, but exhausting night.
From time to time, I return to that night, and though I now have the safety of several years’ distance, it is when I recall the voice of the wind, that I truly feel the aloneness, and the darkness, that enveloped me that night.