5:15am wake-up call; the birds aren’t even up yet.  We quietly roll out of our sleeping bags, shaking sleep from our eyes.  Nothing is conserved in the desert: energy, water, the light, so we fill every minute with miles towards the East to greet the new day.

There is always a crowd for sunrises/sets and try as we might, we’re never early enough to be one of the first to arrive.  But this isn’t ever a bad thing.  We are a crowd of believers: in the sun, in the moon, in nature and all its glorious beauty.  We sit, we wait, we are awed.  Everyone claps.

Everything else in between 6am and 5:30pm is just filler.  We busy ourselves with hikes, hiding under canopies, and escaping the sun in any other possible way.  When it’s finally time to welcome the moon and the night, we find ourselves heading to the most Western parts of the park.  The colours of golden and blue hour at sunset are temperamental and impatient; blink and you’ll miss most of it.  But we make sure our eyes are wide open, and by the end of it, they are dried from the arid landscape and caked in sand with the gradients of orange/purple/blue/pink etched into the back of our eyelids.

Using Format