Alexandersmap

    Tag: sunrise

    • Agamenticus Sunrise

      “It is a serious thing
      just to be alive
      on this fresh morning
      in this broken world.”
      – Mary Oliver, Invitation

      I woke up twenty minutes before the 4:30 wake-up call and contemplated skipping the planned sunrise hike. But I wouldn’t skip an early morning business flight, so why skip on this? With no good answer I got up and dressed in the dark.

      Driving an hour, it stuck me how many people were already up. Cars lined up at a traffic light heading to some job or other, while I drove the opposite way. I had work to do today as well. But first this. Arriving at the access road, I read the sign informing me the gate wouldn’t be open until 7 AM. I was the only car in the lot next to the gate to start this sunrise trek. Others would follow soon enough.

      I geared up and started hiking the half mile up the road. Hard to even call it a hike… a brisk walk up the hill? Semantics don’t matter, the destination did. It was already brightening enough that I could slip my headlamp into my coat pocket. This walk would be just enough to warm my core for the cold breeze at the summit.

      Mount Agamenticus is an old mountain, worn down by time. It’s more of a hill now at 692 feet, but does have a prominence of 522 feet. But 220 million years ago it was part of a 20,000 foot tall volcano. They say it was once part of Africa. Now you look out and see the Atlantic Ocean and a long way to the continents that were once joined. A lot can happen in 220 million years; continents shift, mountains erode, people come and go. That’s what? Eight billion sunrises? For the sun and for this mountain it was one more in a long string of greeting each other.

      This morning it was my turn in a long succession of people standing atop this old volcano gazing out at the sun rising to begin another day. Billions of sunrises and this morning I got to share the reunion between the mountain, the ocean and the sun. And it was indeed a serious thing just to be alive to see it.

    • Community Sunrise

      Most of my sunrises are solo affairs. Occasionally I’ll recruit others to join in, but even then it’s generally a small crowd. So sitting atop Cadillac Mountain in Acadia National Park with hundreds of people is highly unusual for me. But that’s where I found myself.

      The alarm went off at 3 AM, we wrapped ourselves up for the expected wind chill and drove to the summit. That’s right: we drove. Getting up early was earning it on this day. And initially we didn’t have a lot of company save the stars that opened up above us. But gradually the beams of flashlight increased, like the scene in E.T. without the John Williams soundtrack. Instead the chatter of groups and the barks of a few dogs increased from initially jolting to eventually accumulated background noise. And I settled in for the crush of people to follow. And they came.

      The skies brightened until only Venus held out, and the bay below turned from a black canvas to a swirling medley of fog. This sunrise would begin in the swirl, and eventually rise above. In the meantime they still came, hundreds more, but our small corner of pink granite next to a boulder remained relatively sequestered.

      A collective gasp rose through the crowd as the sun broke the surface, seeming to hang there for effect before beginning the slow rise. That swirling mist was highlight in the glow, and the show just kept getting better and better. And when it was over hundreds got in their cars and the slow crawl of cars glowing in brake lights inched down towards more elbow room.

      If you get up for a sunrise on Cadillac Mountain remember to bundle up, bring something to sit on (sleeping pad, pillow, folded blanket) and bring a red light headlamp as a courtesy to those watching the stars. When you walk up from the parking lot you have plenty of options for sitting down. I recommend descending further down for the better views it affords and for a bit more room to breath. But its crowded for a reason: the view is spectacular.

    • Discovering The Photographer’s Ephemeris

      Every now and then I discover something that makes my heart flutter a bit in excitement. There is a flutter happening now that goes beyond the first cup of coffee. For I’ve discovered an app called The Photographer’s Ephemeris. And I wonder where has my mind been all these years that I’d completely miss out on something so incredibly useful for those of us who chase the light.

      Followers of this blog know of my relationship with the early morning light – that magical time between nautical start and sunrise known as civil start. On the flip side of the day, this magical time is known as civil end (sounds a lot like 2020). For years I’ve known the wonder in this time, but I didn’t put a name on it. The combined more-than-a-passing recreational interests in astronomy and photography led me to learn more about the three phases of light in the dawn and at twilight. The Photographer’s Ephemeris handily charts out these phases on a timeline at the bottom of the app. But where it becomes really exciting is with the lines indicating where the sunrise will be and where it is now. It also offers a line showing where the moon will rise. And of course you get the same effect on the western side of the satellite image showing where the sunset will be, where it is now and where the moon will set.

      The word ephemeris is derived from ephemeral and the Greek ephēmero, or something that last for a short time. Each phase of the dawn or twilight is brief and fleeting, just as life itself is. An ephemeris is a method of tracking and predicting this ephemeral information that pivots above us. Making sense of the information falls on us. An ephemeris is usually associated with astrology and the position of the planets at the moment you were born. Or with astronomy and knowing the position of the stars now. Its handy information if you want to know where Mars and the moon are in relation to each other (dancing together last night), or if you believe in such things, why you don’t get along with your coworker.

      Ultimately, information offers a measure of predictability and understanding in our lives. I had a general understanding of where the sun might rise or set, and likewise a general idea of where the moon might be on a given night. But there’s something powerful about having the information readily available on a phone app. A thrill of expectation, but also a measure of control about where you might position yourself for that epic sunset or moonrise picture. It also saves me from looking out the window on those mornings by the bay when simply looking at the time of nautical start the night before would give me all the information I needed beforehand.

      I’m sure professional photographers have known about this app for years, but its new to me and perhaps to you too. I see The Photographer’s Ephemeris quickly rising to the top of my most-used apps. For it answers many of the celestial questions I geek out about in one handy place. And isn’t that the point of an app anyway?

    • Playing Parts

      “All the world’s a stage,
      And all the men and women merely players;
      They have their exits and their entrances;
      And one man in his time plays many parts”
      – William Shakespeare, from As You Like It

      If New Year’s Day is the day of hope and dreams and resolutions for the future, then January 2nd is the day when the rubber hits the road.  It’s the day after that first day at the gym, that first day of not eating carbs or that first day of writing in earnest.  On the journey of becoming more, it’s when you feel the pull of gravity from the pile of distractions.  And sure enough here I am on the day after the New Day, working through my morning routine, slightly modified for location, with a look at the clock and the tasks ahead.  The sky is dark and the glow from the laptop shines a spotlight on the actor, still unsure of his lines but chipping away at it nonetheless.

      This morning I am still on Cape Cod, with the sky brightening and the jetty calling.  The writing incomplete, the day job tapping me on the shoulder saying “get going” but that jetty calling, so I bundled up and went out anyway, task list be damned.  It was one of those mornings where the cold breeze cuts deep through your layers, mocking your attempts to control Mother Nature.  I walked all the way out and watched the clouds turn from gray to blue to pink.  The pink is viral, starting in the east and spreading across the sky, deepening to a rose as it moves, and then almost as quickly it begins to fade as the light grows.  Such are the sunrises.  You have to embrace the moment at hand before it all fades away to the waking world.

      There’s always something to distract you here.  But I’m grateful that this visit has shaken me loose from the cobwebs of routine.  Really, that’s why I come here.  Today is a back-to-work day, and I confess I’ve already checked the numbers, scanned the email and taken note of people to call.  The day job waits impatiently for the actor to return to the stage to read his lines.  As with all of us, I’m one man in his time playing many parts, and it’s time to turn into that other character for the next act.  Now what was that first line again?

    • Love the One You’re With

      I woke up extra early today, hearing the call. Looking out the window I see a faint orange tint to an otherwise black sky. Not time yet, but close. I lay back down, but it’s no use. The call prevails. I scroll social media to distract the restless spirit. A quick scan confirms my worst fears of missing out. Aurora Borealis seen in Maine and New Hampshire last night. I switch to the Aurora app and look at the blob of green and orange stretching across the entire northern hemisphere, dipping down enough towards New England that a perch on Mount Washington or Katadin would surely offer a glimpse. Despair. I’ve missed it once again. I close the app and open Facebook to distract me. An old college friend posted pictures in Iceland… bet she saw it, I think to myself. Enough! I get up, get dressed and walk out to the crickets. No Aurora here but something equally spectacular I’m blessed to witness. The last day of August calls, and there’s plenty to see right here.

    • One Token Ripple

      This morning I stood out on the jetty well before sunrise looking for the pre-event light show. Not much aside from the building gray-to-white-to-orange glow. Limited cloud action and such. As I stood there waiting for the moment I heard the unmistakable momentum of the swells begin building on the rocks and retreated back to higher ground before my shoes soaked through. The wake of some unknown boater from some time before reached the place where I stood. Their ripple intersected with mine and I was the wetter for it.

      Turning around to scan the horizon for my mysterious boater friend, I saw the glint of first orange light up the windows of some house in Marion. They owned the earlier sunrise while I waited for the sun to clear the hills of Pocasset. Turning back to the east I waited out the climb until finally the dark hills caught fire and I became part of the new day too.

      Walking back to the beach I saw footprints and tire tracks below the high tide mark and realized I wasn’t the first one on the beach this morning. Like Robinson Crusoe I recognized I wasn’t alone. Less a shock to me. As the active fishing community here starts their day during my deep sleep stage. I rise early, they rise in the middle of the night.

      I read yesterday that there have been an estimated 107 billion people. I’ve felt the ripple of a small percentage of them, but have been touched by untold others. People I’ve never met, like the boater who’s wake got my feet wet this morning, or the Army Core of Engineers who built the jetty I stood on when it washed over. Or the carpenter who installed those windows betraying the coming sun in Marion. Authors read, and those who influenced them in turn. A chain of 107 billion links; of those who came before and those amongst us still.

      Two cups of coffee later in conversation with a friend who’s ripple has been more profound, we heard the slapping water and boiling sound of a bluefish run right into the beach. Walking down to the water line we watched the swirling ballet of bluefish and fry dance right to the sand and back out again. I saw the reflection of four fry on the sand that had leaped out of the water to escape the frenzy. Scooping them up I flicked them back into the bay one at a time. Perhaps they’ll survive to adulthood and feed some family a year from now. Or avoid that fate and spawn another generation. Impossible to know, but whatever happens to them, it’s one token ripple sent to the future.