I record nature sounds for a living.

I don't make them from merging royalty-free soundscapes found online.

I mean literally.

I haul gear out into the wilderness, set up field recorders and capture eight hours of wind through trees or frogs in a swamp,

or whatever someone wants in their earbuds at 2 a.m. to sleep

to. A few weeks ago, I hiked out to a stretch of forest in the Pacific Northwest. It was far from

any road or town to avoid sound pollution from passers by. There wasn't even a foot trail, just trees, ridge lines, and a stillness that messes with

your sense of time.

I'd scouted the spot online.

There was minimal wildlife and no nearby power lines to cause interference, perfect for

what I needed.

I set up the rig just before sundown, a shotgun mic on a carbon tripod,

paired with an unintended recorder tucked into a pelican case, all wired for battery life and max sensitivity.

I set it to run overnight and hiked back out with my overnight pack.

The next morning, I picked up the gear, packed everything up,

and drove back to the cabin I'd rented for the week.

Standard routine.

When I dumped the files onto my laptop,

it sounded clean, real clean.

You could hear a soft wind tugging through the pines,

some distant wood creeks, a lone owl.

It sounded like something I'd barely have to touch in post. No clipping, no signs of animals or interference.

...