‘It is possible to believe that you and your guide are the only people on the planet’

From the wilds of Patagonia to Canada’s prairies and the haunting Norfolk coast, the world’s empty places served as your muse

ROLLING IN THE ISLES

Our plane landed on the beach in Benbecula, in the Outer Hebrides. My summer job on leaving school was looking after two square miles of peatland and machair as the RSPB warden. Birds were plentiful, crofters less so. Inland was some of the wildest terrain in Scotland, with populations of eagles and deer. The coast was special, too. It was a 3,000-mile fetch to the eastern seaboard of America, the only interruption being a speck of land called St Kilda, 45 miles west of North Uist. It has the highest cliffs in Britain, rising 750ft sheer out of the sea. Back on Uist, the sun was sinking and the empty shell beach stretched into the distance. Halcyon days.

Geoff Simmons, Herefordshire

FOLLOW THE HERD

“We call it the Big Sky,” the driver said, as the Greyhound bus arrived in Nanton, Alberta. I was off the leash and exploring Canada before starting my university studies in economics. The vast prairie stretched to the east while, beyond the foothills, the snowcapped peaks of the Rockies loomed.

My pick-up from the A7 ranch was waiting, and I was greeted by the foreman, who drove me 17 miles to my lodgings. I earned my keep mending fences across 13,000 acres of flowerstudded grassland with only cattle, coyotes and gophers for company. The sky was clear and blue, and my brain was now ready to digest the content of George Brown’s National Plan.

Bill Webb, London

BURNING BRIGHT

Leaving the chaos of Kolkata behind, we boarded our 12-cabin river boat for a voyage far from the madding crowd. Casting off, we cruised quietly down the Brahmaputra at a leisurely 4mph. On land, there was nothing but sand and distant trees. People were few, an exception being the crew of a boat taking produce to the nearest market.

We went on early-morning safaris to spot rhinos, giant otters and river dolphins. One lunchtime there was a cry of “Tiger, tiger” and we rushed to the port side. She was magnificent. We tracked her for eight long minutes, then suddenly she leapt up the dune – demonstrating her power. Silently, we returned to our food and our thoughts. Maggie Bloor, West Sussex