The sun set when we still had three wing barrels to run. One close by, the other two on the 90+ mile loop home.

Twenty miles later, the heelers watched the last glows of the day as I stepped a few meters off the road and scored another benchmark.

By flashlight.

And then we left the rolling hills of sage and rabbitbrush, and dropped down into the darkened canyon of juniper and pine. The quarter-moon reflecting off the river below, as we twisted down the switchbacks in the narrow paved road.

On the next-to-the-last curve, I was surprised to spot a light in front of us, down on the right. A vehicle, one of those pop-up vans, parked in a pullout above the canyon. The light escaping in a broad band of the elevated net wall. Caught a glimpse of bare human flesh moving quickly out of view.

Enough to be titillating, but not enough to tell if it even belonged to the right sex to be titillated by (for those of us who don't swing both ways).

The voyeur in me wanted to slow down, to get a better look as we swung past, but I didn't. I've been the one camping alone on a lonely road, and wondering why another vehicle slowed. Not enough to cause panic, but enough reason to create unease that lasts the night.

We sped on by, and over the rise to the last curve in the canyon. The last on this side of the river, at least.

We were here last week, too, when setting out the barrels. Just a little earlier in the evening. But there was another vehicle parked in the parking lot, and we hadn't stayed parked on the bridge for long.

This night we were alone.

The heelers know this stop now, and no longer pester to get out when I park in the middle of the bridge, and shut the lights off. I stepped out and walked the few paces to the eastern side in the dark, rested a hand on the cold steel, and said hello to someone I didn't know, to someone who wasn't there.

The river is noisier now, now that they maintain a minimum flow through the dam above and the current is steady through the canyon. A murmur of high-pitched splashes as the water fights through the rocks. I drop a few pebbles off the edge into the black, and the light plops seem to come sooner than before.

It feels peaceful.

For the first time in many years, I sit on the concrete roadway and rest my back against the low curb. The breeze is chilly, and a down vest is not enough to allow me to stay here long.

And I notice the moon again, too feeble to light up this hidden world.

I return to the truck for the camera, and for a while I am distracted, thinking of angles and exposures.

Until it's time to go.