On the morning of December 7, 2020, I woke up at 5 AM with high anticipation. Sunrise would be at 7:24 AM. Twilight would be in the 30 to 40 minutes before that. And I needed to arrive during twilight. I had to get ready, prepare my camera gear, make some hot tea for the journey, and then drive for over an hour to reach my destination.
It was time to get moving.
I checked the weather forecast. It had not changed since last night. In Cleveland County at 7 AM the skies would be partly cloudy. That meant, if I was lucky, the rising sun would be skirmishing with the clouds to light up what an early riser can see from the top of Bald Rock Mountain.
My last several trips were on clear sky-days. It’s still beautiful out there on clear days, but I had been there when the sky had clouds before, and on every cloudy-day trip everything looked different, and sometimes quite amazing. The only drawback was that the rolling hills and valleys would be too much in shadow to show any detail. The attraction would be the battle between clouds and sun. Everything else would be soft, with a painterly look about it. Once the sun was high enough in the sky to fully illuminate the scene, all the drama of that early rising sun would be gone, and so would I.
The drive went by quickly. The sky was dark, but I could see clouds up there. This was going to be interesting. As I reached the turnoff to head up the mountain, the twilight had just begun. I was a little behind schedule, 15 or 20 minutes away from my destination. But I wouldn’t miss much.
A few minutes later I was out of my car, over the little footbridge, up on the top of that mountain; and then, with just enough light to see where to step, I carefully worked my way down to my favorite spot. As usual, I had my hiking hat, my heavy coat, and my small thermos of hot tea with honey. The first photo I took was just of the sky. Even though sunrise was still almost ½ hour away, the sun was brightly reflecting into one spot, as though it had already risen. I took another couple of quick photographs and then sat down on the rock to drink some of that delicious hot tea, steam rising from the thermos as I lifted it to my mouth.
When I arrived, there were no other cars in the little parking area. A few minutes after I settled in, I began to hear voices on top of the mountain. Two young females were up there waiting for sunrise, just like I was. Their presence inspired another story to be told later.
I kept watching the sky, seeing it change as the clouds moved around. Probably 15 or 20 minutes passed before I began taking photos in earnest. It was obvious that I was right in anticipating lowlight on the rolling hills and valleys. My photos would show little detail there. But that was okay. The sky was luscious and colorful, and different from any morning sky I remembered at Ball Rock.
I could not recall if I had cleaned my lens that morning, as I usually do. I took a look at it. Good thing I did. Several splotches contaminated the face of the lens. My first few shots would probably not be any good. That’s okay. I cleaned the lens thoroughly and took more photos, 56 in all, over the next 20 or 30 minutes. I was sure the rest of them would be fine.
It was 7:24 AM, time for the sun to rise. It should start peeking out over those mountains in the distance at any moment. But a thick bank of clouds rested directly on the horizon. The sun could not break through. I started feeling a little anxious. The whole point of being there at sunrise on a cloudy day is to see the sun working its magic through those clouds. Maybe that wasn’t going to happen. How disappointing that would be. I put down my camera and slowly sipped some more tea, sitting there on that rock, camera beside me, watching the sky at the horizon, hoping for some of nature’s magic.
Around 7:44 AM, I saw what I’d been waiting for. The sun was already over the horizon, and it began to peek through the clouds. The low cloud bank had kept the sun from breaking through. Now the sun was high enough to find an open spot. And what a contrast I could see from where I sat, camera in hand: a solid bank of gray-blue clouds at the horizon, a long slit in the clouds with the sun breaking through, more clouds above, and then clear sky above that, clear and bright from the rising sun.
Where there was once a low-lying solid cloud bank in that gray-blue color, the sky had changed dramatically. The cloud bank was still there, but, as the sun shined through, it changed the color of the cloud bank to a beautiful pinkish lavender. The clouds over Paris Mountain appeared to be on fire. This was not the sunrise I had anticipated; in many ways, it was much more.
I stood up, looking out, drinking it all in, taking the occasional photo, feeling almost overwhelmed by the beauty unfolding in front of me. This is why I get up early in the morning. This is why I bought a camera. This is why I love my hobby. Fourteen of the fifty-six photographs I took that morning survived the culling, all destined to be shared online. A few were just okay; a few were pretty good; and a few of them really excite me, taking me back to those special moments on the side of that mountain, when I look at them.
If there is such a thing as bliss, then standing on a rock-faced mountainside, looking out on the horizon as the rising sun peeks through those clouds … that must indeed be it.