I’d been climbing for hours, keeping a brisk pace because I wanted to get to the Peak before dusk. I would photograph the sunset, and then later that night, the Milky Way. I’d packed light, mostly camera equipment and the bare basics I’d need to be comfortable on the Peak for the night.
The Peak looked over a deep, arid canyon. Every few years there’d be a flash flood and water would rush through in a torrent, but after a few hours or a day at most, the canyon would be calm once more.
For the last hour the Peak had been in full view. The trail was steep and I was sweating despite the desert’s evening chill. The pack that had felt so light when I started out felt heavier now, and every few hundred steps I’d shift it from one shoulder to the other.
I looked west and saw that the sun was dropping, dropping fast. I’d hit traffic on the way out and it had slowed me down. “Gotta pick up the pace,” I said to myself and I did, or tried to, but I was starting to get a bit winded.
“It’s ok if you miss the sunset,” I told myself, “you’ll have all night to get the Milky Way.” I had a new elliptical mount to try out, and out in the desert, far from the city and its lights, I was sure to get a great image, something I could show off at the astrophotography club.
I gave up on reaching the Peak before sunset, and walking at an easier pace I watched as the stars came out, and I felt an echo of the awe I’d felt the first time I’d seen the night sky away from the city.
Scorpius rose above me, and Antares was a red beacon, guiding me up the path during the last hundred yards. The sun was down and the canyon below was in shadow, while the Peak caught the last remaining light of the day.
When I reached the top of the Peak I saw that I would not have the location to myself. There was a man there already, standing near the edge.
“Another photographer,” I thought at first, but he had nothing with him. There was no camera, no tent, no sleeping bag, not so much as a knapsack. The man paid no attention to me as I walked up.
“Hey buddy, you ok?” I said, because the man wasn’t looking ok. He was staring out into the void, only a few steps away from the edge of the Peak, and the thousand foot fall that lay beneath.
I’m not scared of heights, no more than most people, but the idea of standing so close to such a big drop would make me a bit queasy. I think it would make anyone queasy.
But not this man. He looked like he didn’t care about anything at all, like he wouldn’t be bothered if the ground underneath him gave way. He gestured to me, and I walked up to him.
“Can I help you?” I asked, “do you need anything?”
“I just wanted company,” he said, just before he grabbed me, and gravity took us both.