I almost did not go. It is a long drive that I cannot make very often. This area was still many days from peak fall colors. The weather forecast was for clear skies, exactly what you do not want as a landscape photographer.
But it had been so long since my last trip to Bald Rock Heritage Preserve, and though I was feeling a little apprehensive about driving that long trip in the dark, wondering whether or not I could remember the way, I decided I needed to go, if only for scouting and a little photography practice.
I set the alarm for 4:30 AM. The last time I woke up that early was because my bladder was screaming at me. I sprang out of bed. Just kidding. I slowly crawled out of bed and sat there on the edge a few moments, thinking about the trip and trying to get motivated. I went about my morning, showering, brushing my teeth, drinking some English breakfast tea with a little honey, applying sunscreen, doing the thing I will not name that you want to do before you end up on a mountaintop with no restroom insight.
Sunrise was 6:55 AM. The drive was about an hour, so that meant I needed to leave at around 5:45 AM to be there in time to watch the sun come up. I guess I was moving a little slow. At 5:40 AM I was not yet dressed. Hurrying as fast as I could, I slipped on my shirt, sat down on the edge of the bed, put on my socks and my hiking boots, and stood up.
It was then when I realized I had forgotten to put on my pants.
Several choice profane words came to mind, but I did not use them. There wasn’t time.
I quickly sat back down on the bed, untied my boots and pulled them off, was about to pull off one of my socks when I realized that probably wasn’t necessary. I won’t talk you through the next few steps. Needless to say, I did finally get it right.
I opened my camera bag, pulled out my Nikon D610, turned it on and checked the battery strength. I recall a morning at Lake Conestee Nature Preserve a few years ago, when I stood on the old West Bay lookout platform attempting to take a photo … and nothing happened. The battery for my camera was in the charger back in my room. On that day, there was ample time to make use of some of those choice profane words. Fortunately, no other human beings were close by. Although, I do recall a surprised Canada goose giving me a dirty look.
I asked Amazon Alexa what the temperature was in Central, South Carolina. Then I remembered I was going to Cleveland, South Carolina. In Cleveland it was going to be around 40°. I grabbed a heavy vest. Apparently, while the vest was hanging in the closet for over a year, the armholes moved closer together toward the back. As I struggled to get that [expletive deleted] thing on, one arm in and one arm out, circling backwards, trying to reach the other armhole, a few of those choice profane words found another opportunity to express themselves.
I finally managed to get fully dressed, grabbed my camera, and raced out to the garage for my car. And to accurately understand what the word “raced” means in this context, you must remember that I am 72 years old and have not “raced” anywhere in years.
My car cranked right up. I had opened the garage door as soon as I stepped out into the garage. Thank goodness for that. Don’t tell my sister or my brother-in-law, who own this place, but there might be a small dent in that door from an early morning trip, where opening the garage door was done a little out of sequence.
I backed out, closed the garage door, and was on my way. And no, I’m not gonna describe each and everything that happened on the way there, even though I really, really, really want to.
I must mention one thing though: when the sky is clear, daylight begins long before the sun crests the horizon. I was probably half an hour away from my destination when the morning sky started lighting up. That made me think the 6:55 AM sunrise time might not be accurate, and I was gonna miss the very thing I was going there to see.
The last 10 or 15 minutes of my trip was up the mountain on winding roads. There was no safe way to hurry, although knowing that did not stop my tires from occasionally squealing a bit around those curves. I had two thoughts running through my head: safely making it to my destination, and will I be the only person there, which is always my preference. Many years ago, when I was struggling with a lot of PTSD issues, on more than one occasion I would approach the parking area for Bald Rock Heritage Preserve, only to find other cars already parked there. Seeing those empty cars in that darkened parking area caused some sort of anxious reaction in my mind, and I turned around and went back home. I think that may be the first time I’ve ever talked about cancelling a trip to Bald Rock at the moment I arrived there.
I approached the parking area, and sure enough, two cars were already there. I pulled into the furthest point I could and parked. Another car pulled in almost immediately. I sat there while a family of excited folks piled out and headed toward Bald Rock, over the little footbridge and then up the path. I still wished that I was the only one there, but I felt no anxiety. I climbed out of my car, opened the trunk, slung my camera strap over my shoulder, put on my wide-brimmed hiking hat, and headed for that footbridge.
The rock surface was fairly well lit. There were probably half a dozen folks standing around, all for the same reason. I felt certain that the sun had already come up in an uneventful way. The sky was perfectly clear, not one cloud to be seen. The colorful sunrise I had experienced in the past wasn’t going to happen.
I walked up the rock surface to a point where I could be away from everyone else and still see the sun. To my pleasure and surprise, it had not yet appeared. A tiny pink light was off to the left, indicating where it was going to crest the horizon. As I had anticipated, there was very little fall color on the trees. This was not going to be a particularly good photography experience, but I was there and had every intention of enjoying the moment.
I exchanged greetings with a few of my fellow mountaintop dwellers. Everyone was quite friendly. A young lady had her dog with her. It saw me and came running over to me. It was a French bulldog, like Bella, my brother-in-law’s constant companion. She apologized profusely but I was not annoyed at all. I enjoyed it. She retrieved her dog and went back over to her group.
I began watching that pink spot on the horizon, surrounded by the palest grey blue. It was growing brighter, spreading across the horizon, with a strip of warm orange above. I readied my camera, trying different focal lengths to see what was going to get the best result when the sun made its appearance. I pulled my camera down from my eyes for a moment and looked around.
Just before the sun crested the horizon, as the sky began to brighten, with colors changing and blending and moving from moment to moment, to the right I could see Paris Mountain in the distance, a warm glow overhead. Everyone else had their eyes and cameras on the spot where the sun was about to make its appearance. I saw something special happening around that distant mountain, focused my camera and took a photo. And another. I glanced at the back of my camera to see if I got a good shot; it looked like I did.
I heard some commotion off to my left. Folks were getting excited.
And then it happened.
A much larger portion of the sky turned pink and orange, with a yellow center, signaling the sun’s pending appearance. And over the next few moments those colors gave way to a new white-hot center. I clicked off several shots. One of them is today’s photo. After a few moments, the best part was over. I let my camera hang at my side. And then I noticed I could barely see. I had stared at that sun so much it had temporarily blinded me. And then I noticed another thing, everybody else was leaving. They had taken their photos and their videos and that was it for them. Pretty soon I was the only person standing on that mountaintop.
Yay for me.
I found a place to sit down, an old familiar tabletop formation near the center of the mountain’s highest point. I knew I wanted to take a few more photographs, but for the next few moments, I tried not to think about anything. It was chilly on that mountain. But I did not mind the cold, my vest providing ample warmth.
The air was perfectly clean. The sky was a perfectly pale blue, except for right at the horizon, a milky white. I could see for miles, miles of rolling green hills, bathed in the soft light of a warm morning sun under a crystal sky. Once all the cars had pulled away, there was not a sound in the air, other than the soft wind that caressed my face, as it blew past my ears.
It was just me on that mountaintop, sitting there all alone, looking out on that beautiful vista, feeling grateful that I had ignored my earlier negative thoughts and got up early, eventually managed to get on my pants, and made it to this special place at the top of Bald Rock Mountain.
And for the next few minutes that mountaintop was all mine. There are few experiences out in nature more inspiring than looking out on miles and miles and miles of rolling green hills, as the morning sun bathes them and you in its precious warmth. I knew at some point I would have to move on, several other things on my morning agenda. But all that could wait.
Something I sorely needed was happening … and I wasn’t going to give it up so quickly. No matter the difficulties of the past, to be present in such a moment suggests some hope for a better future, a future out there beyond the point where a misty horizon meets a white sky, where possibilities abound, where the hard work of good people reach full fruition … in a world forever blessed by liberty, prosperity, and peace.