Its February 2015 I am alone on the side of the caldera, it’s 2.30 in the morning there’s no moon, the altitude is 2325 meters. I am near to Pico de la Cruz. The wind is howling and its becoming very cold. On the inner side of the caldera’s lip its somewhat sheltered from the weather though I can hear it several meters above my head whipping and tearing at the scrub and rock. down below I can see villages through the clouds, a distant orange glow from the sodium lights. The clouds are licking their way up the massive sheer walls of rock, and behind me on the other side of the mountain they are swirling and gathering in huge weather fronts across the Atlantic ocean occasionally slipping over the top of the Roque de los Muchachos. I have set out a few tiny lights so I don’t fall off the edge. I have three cameras one on a dolly and two on tripods all aimed at the night sky, there’s nothing to do but wait as the cameras click away gathering the unseen.
I decide to climb out over the rim back to the road which runs along the edge of the volcano, as I ascend to the lip the wind is now strong enough to lean into. I scramble over the rocks my head torch illuminating particles of moisture as I walk back to the car. Once inside with the door closed I feel a sense of displacement and unease somehow the wind becomes nosier within the confines of the car whistling and buffeting. I close my eyes for a few minutes, when I open them my head torch reveals the cars windows are all white, out of the car I find its ice, I check back on my cameras the temperature has dropped and the lenses are heavily condensed.
Sounds made from found objects.