People always imagine surveyors working in the mountains or along beautiful stretches of coastline,

standing nobly against the horizon with a tripod and scope.

The truth is, most of the time we're standing alone in a field that doesn't deserve anyone's attention.

Empty, sun bleached, littered with scrap metal or half-dead hedgerows choking in plastic bags,

places waiting to become something else.

That morning was no different.

A wide, flat stretch of land on the outskirts of a dead-end town. The kind

of sight where the councillor had already approved development before anyone bothered

sending me to check for subservice problems. You'd think if they were serious about health and safety,

they'd prioritise this step earlier. But half my work comes down to ticking boxes

after decisions have been made. I parked my truck on the edge of the field, grabbed my gear

and hiked out into the waist-high grass with my boots soaking up yesterday's rain.

Usual checklist.

Boundary confirmation, soil composition, utilities, elevation consistency.

My kit was standard.

A total station for accuracy, a handheld GNS receiver, and the ground penetrating radar to check beneath the surface.

Expensive tools treated better than my own health.

I logged everything methodically.

That's how I worked.

I follow process, keep my paperwork tight, never cut corners, even when I know it won't matter to anyone but me.

The first couple of hours passed like they always did.

Slow, methodical, solitary.

...