High and dry. There is hardly anything here. No water, no trees, just a small two-track (dirt road where people have driven enough times to form a road, but the ground has never been graded), and a distant horizon. The terrain appears endlessly flat, but after some time walking, I cannot see my car anymore. No towns, people, highways, or aircraft. A strange silence seems to be suspended in the still air. I sit down in the sagebrush and the wind calms. Looking closer I see various small wildflowers growing in clumps, thoughtfully placed near roots and sage. I lay down. It doesn’t feel dirty here. The dusty soil is cool, almost soothing. Eyes close, it is not long before a whir of wings pass not far overhead. Quickly followed by another and a hushed chirp. Something imperceptible has shifted. There is another soft chirp. Another whir, over to the left. Then a trill. Gradually building, a mesmerizing chorus of Brewer’s sparrows and a steady drumbeat of a common poorwill in the distance weave the song of this quiet sage land.

These sounds were recorded on the ancestral land of the Northern Paiute people.

Exceptionally low-noise microphones in various arrays capture the delicate sounds of the environment. If you would like to know more please get in touch.

Recorded in the Basque Hills, Oregon, USA by Nick McMahan