The water of Steinaker Reservoir is eating the shoreline, giving rise to skeletal husks of Cottonwood trees and scrub oak. A blue and green dragonfly buzzes back and forth at the base of the cliff, hunting for its dinner. Artificial waves break on the shore, birthed by the roar of trailer-towed watercraft that cost more than my parents paid for their house. A field recorder is running at my feet to capture the sound of the waves. However, I forgot to bring a windscreen, so I’ll post it here if the audio is usable. (Note: it wasn’t)
The sun hovers above the horizon, casting that golden glow photographers love so much. I am undecided if I will stick around after dark to set up the telescope. The sky is remarkably clear compared to a few hours ago, and my parking spot is sheltered from the road. The air here smells so clean. An illusion since a haze of pollution hangs over the countryside, and Vernal is only a mile away, with countless oil wells dotting the landscape just out of sight. Come winter, I will miss sitting out here in a t-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops. There will be more stargazing hours in the day, but they will be cold.
Something is enchanting about looking at the stars and planets with your own eyes. Anyone outside a third-world country has seen pictures of the outer planets, but witnessing the rings of Saturn and the clouds of Jupiter, accompanied by their sparkling moons, should be enough to spark wonder in even the most jaded of souls.
