Me and my land rover or my land rover and I? Probably the latter if I could be bothered to reach for one of my several style guides. They just happen to be about two feet beyond my outstretched hand and I'm feeling too lazy to make the effort.
Libya, 1990, probably about 150 miles (230 km) south east of Ghadames, or about 60 miles and four or five years away from this totally different shot (this land rover is a 110 and is white).
gravel, as far as the eye can see. I recall a semantic discussion on the difference between not knowing where you are and being lost. They're not the same. It was a discussion we were having with the Shell company man who wanted to ban driving between the survey lines, rather he wanted us just to drive along the survey lines.
Besides the additional driving distance and time this would entail (and time was certainly money), it really belied his lack of confidence in himself and his natural navigating competencies.
We drew our own maps out here as we went, starting with a blank sheet of paper and slowly filling in features as the lines were surveyed. Towards the end of the job we had very detailed maps. At the start of the job they were comparable to those that Columbus had – large expanses of blankness with ‘Here be dragons!' written everywhere.
I remember missing a cairn one day. By the time I knew I'd gone too far I was closer to a sister crew than my intended destination. I drove on to their camp, made up some story about needing to borrow something, had a nice lunch then headed back. I didn't know where I was, but I knew I wasn't lost!
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