arlington, colorado: where the wind talks to your lens and the sky forgets to be blue

i've been chasing storms across the high plains for weeks, and arlington, colorado, just threw me a curveball i didn't see coming. i rolled into town (well, "town" is a strong word-more like a wide spot in the road with a grain elevator and a bar that doubles as a post office) with my truck loaded down with camera gear, hoping to catch that famous colorado light. you know the kind: big sky, dramatic clouds, golden hour that lasts an hour. but what i got instead was a dry, almost desert-like afternoon that felt like stepping into an oven set on "dusty." my weather app said 23.85°C, humidity 22%, feels like 22.87. that's the kind of heat that doesn't sweat-it just sits on your skin like a fine layer of plaster. i've shot in humidity before, but this was different. my lens cloth was practically useless; every time i wiped the front element, it came back with a new smudge of dust. i could almost hear the air cracking. i set up near the old windmill on the edge of town, the one with the broken blades that still creaks in the wind. i got my tripod planted, my canon on the mount, and i waited. the light was supposed to turn golden around 6:30. by 6:45, the sun just hung there, bleached and indifferent. i was about to pack it in when a local in a beat-up pickup pulled over. he rolled down his window and said, 'you're wasting your time, son. the sky ain't gonna cooperate today. but if you want a real shot, head over to the old cemetery at sunset. that's where the real light lives.' i asked his name, and he just grinned, said, 'call me joe.' then he drove off in a cloud of dust that took five minutes to settle. i pulled out my gps to note the spot. it spouted these numbers: 3862144 and 1032495336. i'm no cartographer, but after some mental arithmetic i figured they translate to 38.62144, -103.2495336-basically the middle of nowhere, but my phone said i was about 15 miles east of arlington proper. i'd been using the town as a base, but i was actually camped out on a farmer's field that smelled of dry earth and distant rain that never came. i felt like a trespasser, but the land was so vast, it didn't matter. to give you an idea of where i was, here's a map:

i stopped by the only diner in arlington, a joint called 'ma's kitchen' that serves green chili so hot it makes you see god (or at least that's what the regulars claim). you can check out the Yelp reviews if you're curious. the waitress, a woman named dolly with hands that looked like they'd kneaded a thousand biscuits, gave me a look that said she'd seen every traveler who ever passed through. i'd actually read on the Colorado Plains Photography Forum that the grain elevator at dawn is a classic shot, and dolly confirmed it. she shrugged and said, 'if you want pretty, go to the mountains. if you want real, go to the grain elevator at dawn.' i took her advice and went at dawn the next morning. the elevator stood silhouetted against a sky that was on fire. i got the shot.

the weather kept doing its thing: dry heat, sudden gusts of wind that felt like sandblasting, and then occasional thunderstorms that would roll in from the west and vanish before they dropped a single drop. i checked my stats again: temp 23.85, humidity 22%-still. i started to think the air was actually sucking moisture from my body. i drank water like it was going out of style, but my skin felt like parchment. if you're planning a trip, TripAdvisor's page on arlington lists a few attractions, mostly involving wheat.

someone told me that the windmill at midnight turns on its own, like it's powered by the ghosts of long-gone wheat farmers.

one night, i did go to the cemetery after sundown. it was eerie, those headstones leaning like they'd had too much to drink. the light was indeed something else-soft, purple, almost liquid. i shot a roll that i'm still developing. it might be my best work from this trip, or it might be completely ruined by a light leak. such is photography.

i heard that the local 4-h club once held a bake sale where someone's chili was so potent it cleared out the entire gymnasium in under ten minutes.

if you get bored, lamar and la junta are just a short drive away. i made the trek to lamar one afternoon, mostly because i needed a proper grocery store. lamar's got a surprisingly good art gallery (who knew?) and a coffee shop that roasts its own beans. i spent a rainy afternoon (finally, rain!) there, editing photos and sipping an americano that tasted like it had been brewed by angels. the barista told me about a hidden lake about twenty minutes north, 'if you like reflections.' i went, and it was magic.

a trucker i met at the only gas station warned me that the stretch of highway between here and the next town is a tornado magnet after 3pm. i believed him after i saw a funnel cloud dance on the horizon one evening.

i'm leaving tomorrow, heading north towards the wyoming border, chasing that next storm. but i'll take a piece of this place with me-like that dust in my camera sensor that i can't quite shake out. maybe that's the point: you go somewhere, you collect a little bit of it, and it stays with you, like a bad habit or a love letter written in dust. now, where to next? i always check Weather Underground before heading out. the forecast says clear skies and 25°c. i'll believe it when i see it.

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