![]() It’s a gentle, low-impact drive during which the steering wheel hardly moves at all. The arc of ‘clouds’ is actually billions of stars that you’d never see in Blighty but which are visible to the naked eye in Utah’s thin, clean air. Then it dawns on me that I’m being a weather-fixated twit. Initially I’m distracted by what seems to be a band of light cloud cover directly overhead that, curiously, doesn’t move or change shape. Naturally, we spend a lot of time with hands in pockets, looking up. Andrew needs a barely believable four salt-kicking hours to execute his signature ‘star trail’ night shot. Between us, we’ve spotted five streaking meteorites of various hues, and a diamond-shaped alien invasion fleet advancing on our position from the low horizon in the east that turned out to be a slowly ascending constellation difficult to identify without having Patrick Moore on speed-dial.īut then it’s easy to lose perspective and talk nonsense in the pitch black, 4300 feet above sea level, zippers tucked under chins, summoning the will to sip from the almost-too-cold-to-hold cans of Rolling Rock we’ve brought along for our night shift in the closest approximation of nowhere I’ve ever been. Out here, in the middle of the Bonneville Salt Flats in Utah, on a cold and spectacularly starry October night, it would be foolish not to. ![]() But photographer Andrew Yeadon and I have been speculating. As far as we know, nothing evil’s lurking in the dark.
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