It was cold outside. I mean, really cold. Way too cold to be sleeping outside to be honest. My hands fumbled around on the left side of the tent looking for my glasses. It was probably somewhere around three o’clock in the morning, and the only reason I can think of that I had woken up, was that nature was calling. It was one of those calls that you had to weigh up in your mind if it was worth the discomfort for the rest of the night, just so that you didn’t have to get out of your sub-zero rated sleeping bag.
Apparently the pain wasn’t worth it. I unzipped the tent just enough to crawl out, and not let any of the precious heat into the still, cold night if possible. As I popped my head up and arched my back crawling out, I froze. Not literally of course, although if I had stayed there any longer that might have been true as well, but froze when I looked up. Above me in the night sky was the most brilliant display of stars I had ever seen in my life. There was no moon, and it seemed as if every inch of the entire sky was on fire with an absolute blaze of white light. Stars covered more of the night sky than I knew was possible, and I had to stop and catch my breath.
sunset before the brilliant stars came out
I had always heard that the stars in the desert at night were an amazing sight, but nothing could have prepared me for what I saw that night. Not even the teen temperatures and biting wind, or the sight of John also answering nature’s call to my left, made me take my eyes off the sight. Imagine if you will that someone took a black velvet tablecloth and draped it over the largest table you could imagine. Then, they took an entire bag of diamonds and tossed them all over that tablecloth, shining and glittering against the dark background in deep, brilliant contrast. That sight in itself would not have been half as amazing as the sky looked that night - it was dazzling in every sense of the word.
We were on the rim of a rather large canyon. The upper beginnings of the Grand Canyon, in fact. Our first day of biking towards the North Rim led us through a “thunder snow” storm - something I didn’t even know existed. Half way across an open field the rain let loose in an absolute torrent. By the time we had found our way back into the cover of the forest, the raindrops had turned into thick, wet snowflakes - slapping us in the face as we speed as fast as we could towards our campsite.
somewhere deep in the wilderness
I wish I could say I had some pictures of that night sky, but it wasn’t the trip for that, or the time to be honest. And even if it had, no electronic device could have ever captured the awe of seeing those stars that night. On another trip though, John and I drove out late at night on a cool, (actually freezing cold), fall evening to a remote tip of Nantucket Island, that can only be reached by 4WD vehicles, and with permission at that time of day. We spent another frozen hour or so photographing together, and thankfully for John’s guidance and advice, I was able to capture a bit of the stars, far out at sea, miles and miles from the light pollution that so often blocks our view of the majestic night sky.
If you’ve never been out west, or found a dark night sky to see the stars far from light pollution, move it up a few spots on your bucket list. Words cannot describe the majesty of billions of tiny specks of light, each representing an enormous burning ball of gas, light years away, shimmering in silence against the black backdrop of silent space. It’s well worth it.
Until next time,
BEN