As a landscape photographer, I am accustomed to waking up in the dark to try to catch the first light.  As a “non morning person” though, waking up before sunrise never gets easier. 

It is the same thought process though, every time: the alarm that cuts through my few hours of sleep (3-6 depending on the time of the year), the bartering dialogue I have with myself to convince myself to get out of bed, and lastly, the physical act of getting out of bed itself. (During the winters, it is especially difficult to wrestle free from the warmth of the covers)

But once I’m up, I’m FINE.

Then comes the exciting part: the anticipation and that rush that you get as you get in your car, driving in the dark towards your destination: and even though you can’t see the final destination (heck, you can’t see anything at all) you still feel excitement from because you are already visualizing the landscape that awaits you.  

If you catch sunrise with other photographers, you often go silence, (it is too early to talk), but even in that silence,  the feeling of collective excitement and hopeful anticipation is shared: that is one unifying moment that I find so amazing: that this sentiment is shared between fellow photographers, whether it be someone you’ve known for years, or someone you’ve only know for hours.

The sunrise drive to Trillium was no exception, with the added fog furthering impeding visibility of the morning drive, and the fairly silent trip up, it was still easily one of the most intimate and memorable moments of my trip. 

As with most landscape photography though, you never know what you will get, and what Mother Nature will award you: Mt. Hood never did come out: it stayed asleep nestled behind the heavy clouds. However, the entire experience of getting to this point was special, and uniquely mine, and that is what makes for my great photo.