When the Night Calls – and the Camera Answers
There are people who sleep at night. Like Sandra, for instance. And then there’s me, armed with a camera, a flashlight, and an unwavering belief that the darkness has something spectacular to offer. No, I’m not talking about UFOs or runaway donkeys lost in Fuerteventura’s wilderness. I mean the stars, the moonlight, and all the shy little details that only appear when the sun clocks out.
My nightly tours are as well-planned as a cat deciding not to sit on your lap – in other words, they follow no fixed pattern. Sometimes, I’m drawn to the coast, where the moonlit sea shimmers like liquid silver. Other times, I find myself in the middle of a barranco, only to realize I’ve forgotten my flashlight. Then it’s all about blind trust – and an almost unshakable hope for cactus-free zones.
The night has something magical, especially in Fuerteventura. No streetlights, no honking cars, no impatient tourists trying to capture the perfect shot of the island with their selfie sticks. Just the calm, the whisper of the wind, and the gentle click of my camera. Or maybe the sound of goats nibbling on my backpack. Alright, sometimes there’s also the inevitable “splash” when I trip over a stone or step into a puddle in my enthusiasm. But who’s counting?
And then there are the uninvited visitors. Some nights, I’m standing in the middle of nowhere, the camera perfectly aligned, and suddenly I hear a noise. A rustling, a snort, or – my favorite – a threatening “baa.” That’s when I know: somewhere in the darkness, a goat has decided to sabotage my nightly outing. And since I’m no hero in horror movies, I’m often tempted to politely ask it to not ruin the lighting. After all, I’m working here.
If the goats aren’t enough, there are always the Barbary squirrels. These little, determined beggars appear practically anywhere I settle, with only one thing in mind: food. With eyes as big as the moon on a clear night, they look at me as if they believe I’m the last survivor of a snack war. Before I know it, I’m in a negotiation duel with a squirrel that mistakes my camera for a fleeting food source. But let’s be honest, who can stay mad at a cute, hungry animal?
The scenes I seek are as varied as my moods: starry skies that look like an overly ambitious glitter project; rocks that appear like ancient titans under the moonlight; shadows moving like shy dancers across the landscape. And those tiny light oases in the volcanic terrain – Fuerteventura’s answer to nightlife, minus the expensive cocktails and disco balls. Some would call it an adventure. I call it “business as usual.”
Of course, there are challenges. The biggest one? Timing. While the starry skies are patient, Fuerteventura’s weather is not. Perfect moon over a mega scenario? Overcast skies. The Milky Way over an impressive rocky massif? Wind at 45 km/h. And as if that weren’t enough, there’s my ever-grumbling stomach. The rushed departure, the poor planning – and, of course, the most crucial part: bocadillo and chocolate. Both forgotten. Even the squirrels look at me with disdain before storming off in frustration. But hey, who said photography wasn’t also a lesson in patience? At least there are 365 nights a year.
At the end of every night, I stand there – camera in hand, memory card full, shoes mostly dry (but morale exhausted). And I know: this won’t be the last tour. The night still has so much to offer, and I’m ready to capture it – one photo at a time.
So, dear readers and hobby explorers: drop by now and then, because the best images are born while the rest of the world sleeps. And who knows? You might soon find a shot of a real UFO, a very confused donkey, or a passionately hungry Barbary squirrel here.
