Expectant. When you wake up at a ridiculous time to arrive at a destination before sunrise, you'd better really want to see said destination. My sister and I were partway through our summer family vacation in Moab, Utah and we woke ourselves up and dressed while listening to the rest of our family sleeping in the camper. We quietly shuffled out of the pop-up and settled into my car, anticipating a spectacular sunrise as we traveled 45 minutes from our campground in Moab to the Island in the Sky District of Canyonlands National Park. Our hope (and an item on my photography bucket list) was to watch the sun rise underneath Mesa Arch, located along the uppermost rim of Canyonlands. We gave ourselves plenty of time to arrive, reaching the arch's parking lot with more than thirty minutes to spare.
We followed several other tourists up the sand and gravel path, chatting and not paying attention to where we were going. We realized, too late, that we had let ourselves be led by other people, and that we should have been paying attention to our path. Before we knew it, we had wandered off the marked trail, and had no idea which way Mesa Arch lay, and also no clue how close we were to the thousand foot cliff with no barrier to stop us if we took a wrong step. As we looked around, we saw about ten others looking frantically at their useless maps of the park, unsure where to go. Lisha and I decided then and there that we'd lead them to the correct path, to avoid damaging any of the fragile desert sand and crust. Carefully walking only on exposed slickrock, we located the carins marking the path to Mesa Arch, and got our group going in the right direction. It's amazing to think that, just in a few moments where we stopped paying attention, we were stumbling around in the dark with no idea which way the trail lay. It was a little bit sobering, and the trail itself is less than a half of a mile long. I can't imagine getting lost in the dark on a longer trail.
We got ourselves straight eventually, and joined a small crowd already at the base of the arch waiting expectantly for the morning skypainting. Lisha and I found some empty rock and claimed our photography territory, eager for a good spot from which to capture the arch and the rising sun. This photograph is something that I've been dying to get since I first heard of the magical time of day where the rising sun lights up the flat underside of Mesa Arch, turning it from purple shadows to fiery gold with the breaking of the day. I promised myself that the next time I was in the area, I would get up early, make the long drive up the plateau, and capture that picture. Well, I'd missed my chance the morning before due to a serious windstorm, and so found myself waiting in the pre-dawn light with my sister and a growing crowd of strangers, all of whom had their cameras directed toward the eastern horizon.
As dawn approached, we told ourselves that the arch was starting to glow a little, waking up after the long night and ready to reveal it's colors to us. And then the clouds that I had been eyeing nervously drifted over from the distant mountains. I thought for sure that we were going to be treated to a fantastic sunrise, complete with not just fiery stone and morning sun, but pink and gold clouds as well! The clouds moved at exactly the wrong time, and just as the sun broke over the horizon, for the magical couple of minutes that would be the only chance to light up the arch until the next sunrise, they enveloped the sun in shadows and our highly anticipated morning photoshoot was doused.
Alisha and I hung around a little longer than we needed to, not quite ready to give up the hope that we'd get a shot of the surrounding canyons bathed in the fresh light, but eventually we had to admit defeat. The path was much easier to follow once the sun was up, and we made quick work of the short trail back to my car. We headed down the plateau, wondering when we'd get the opportunity to come back and take another stab at dawn with Mesa Arch. I think I'll be going back soon.
What I'm listening to: To The Pirate's Cave! By Hans Zimmer
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