Dry Lake, Moonrise

Terri and I were on our way to a rock climbing area in central Utah, traveling on what the locals said was the loneliest highway in the world. It was close to true – after passing through a tiny town, we drove straight west for many hours, passing only a couple of cars going the other way. The road was straight and flat, and as the sun sank below distant mountains, we could see headlights five minutes before we passed a vehicle.

Near to the climbing area, we stopped to camp beside a giant dry salt lake. We made a meal fit for a king – steak and red wine – and ate it in the warm evening breeze with a terrific feeling of space and freedom.

Soon after the sun set, the moon began to rise from behind the mountains, big and yellow and eerie in the dusty air. The visual spectacle was too much to resist; I set up my camera beside me on the ground and made a series of exposures as I ate, the moon gradually climbing higher behind the clouds. I like this one the best – looking at it now, I can just about smell the sandy wind mixed with my warm red wine.