The Landscape Photographers Diary - The Grace of Sunrise

The Grace Of Sunrise

So let’s start off with relaxing your body so you can fully focus on the story. Think about the environment you are in, turn the lights down low and find a comfortable place to relax. Take a long slow deep breath in and slowly, breath out. Now let’s embark on our journey.

You awaken in your tent to the sweet melody of bird chatter. The stormy night before has melted away into the past, dissolving into the dawn horizon as the sun begins to rise. The night felt like a watery dream, cascading down into the valley. You unzip your tent with eager anticipation, ready to behold the grand view you have been longing for. A view you had earned through the trials of backpacking high into the French Alps amid torrential weather. To reach this haven, you had hiked deep into the mountains under the cloak of night. You couldn't see what lay ahead; the shadows of the mountains enveloped you, their outlines barely discernible in the pouring rain and overhanging sky. Their jagged edges traced the skyline like a silhouette painting, with the true beauty of the mountains remaining an elusive siren. But today is a new day. You slowly un-peel the mouth of your shelter to reveal the landscape before you. The heart of the valley unfurls before your eyes, layer upon layer of rolling hillside and craggy mountains. The velvet green grassland shimmers like silk in the dawn's light.

Cascading waterfalls meandered down the mountain top through the lush, mossy hillside. The sun has yet to grace the sky, which holds a terracotta blue blending with hues of cotton candy. Your friend stirs in the tent beside you, and together you set about making coffee to savor the promise of a new day breaking. The stove whistles and warms, sending you into a reverie as you gaze deep into the layered valley below. You dive into the depths of your backpack, which cradles your cherished camera. Wrapped up like a long-lost gift in a dry bag, you unravel its contents with the eager anticipation of a child on Christmas morning. Relief washes over you—it survived the storm. With tripod in hand, you carefully approach the edge of the verge, seeking the perfect angle to capture the valley below. Balancing the legs and leveling the camera, you find your ideal spot. The stove’s melodic whistle calls out again. Whistle Whistle. Peering through the viewfinder, you observe your scene. Like a cherished childhood craft project, the mountains stuck to the horizon, gradually morphing into vibrant, living forms as the light evolved. Your photograph is now poised for capture, and the aroma of brewing coffee, rich with bittersweet caramel and nut notes, fills the your nose.

The dawn's pink hue now graces the horizon like a tender flame. As the sun timidly peeps from behind you, its ascent remains unseen, but its golden rays tenderly kiss everything in sight. Slowly, it bathes everything it touches in a warm glow. Like an old, familiar wildfire, it spreads across the rocky facade. The sky, a canvas of burning red, heralds the sun's gradual climb. Far-off mountains bask in a nostalgic pink-golden light, the rock face igniting under those age-old beams of rising gold. You see your chance, the light is perfect and the mountains greet you with a knowing smile through the viewfinder. You press your cable release and ‘CLICK’. You capture your very first photograph. A sunrise dream, the stories of yesterday's storm now just a distant memory. There is a serene stillness in the valley, as if the world is still wrapped in a peaceful slumber, leaving just you and this cherished moment with the landscape. The sun begins to rise, its warmth a comforting and familiar embrace.

You sit and reminisce as the sun gradually ascends into the sky, ushering in a symphony of colours that shift from pink to yellow, then to blue. The day had begun, just like many cherished mornings of the past. The sun peeks over the mountain, its warmth hugging you’re face like an old friend. You watch the land, the grassland now a silvery play, dancing in the warm breeze. You pan your camera across and zoom in your lens to a large waterfall gushing down the side of the mountain. The grass surrounding it sways softly, a smooth green carpet velour. You centre the waterfall in your frame and capture another photograph, ‘CLICK’. The shutter snaps and you capture another photograph. You feel like you have achieved something for yourself, you have instilled the morning in a photograph. 

You savour the last sip of your coffee, pack away your camping gear with practiced hands, folding memories into your backpack. Setting off for the second day, you can't help but smile. The sun, now a brilliant beacon, breathes life into everything around you. Rosebay Willow Herb, Pincushion Saxifrage. A spectrum of wildflowers dances in the gentle breeze, a vibrant reminder of the world waking up around you.

You decide to continue your journey to the refuge you missed the night before. This quaint hut, only reachable by helicopter or on foot, holds a nostalgic allure. After 45 minutes of strolling under the hot sun, you arrive. It wasn’t far at all. A small, cottage-like house nestled in the mountains, just like the picture postcard view you had dreamt of. At its base lay a large, serene lake, with cattle roaming nearby, their bells jingling with each step. As you draw nearer, their melodic chimes grow louder, echoing like an old, comforting lullaby, instantly relaxing you. The refuge is a charming chalet with a cozy kitchen, snug accommodations, and an inviting outdoor seating area. Fresh herbs bloom in wooden boxes, filling the air with the nostalgic scent of rosemary and thyme. You imagine the rustic, home-cooked meals prepared here. Various types of lettuce bask in the sunlight, their curly leaves inviting you to taste. The owner glides past, and you exchange a few words. They share that all the food here is either grown or made on-site, with only a few supplies imported in via horse or sky. As you sit, you unwrap carefully folded sandwiches that have weathered the storm remarkably well. You gaze across the outdoor seating area and your attention is drawn to a group gathered around a large table, preparing a grand lunch for the refuge’s guests. Various breads are laid out, and the group, each with an instrument, practices their craft in a harmonious, quiet symphony. You look up at the majestic mountains overlooking the refuge, the melody of a violin intertwining with the distant jingle of cattle bells. The hot sun beams above, and you smile, this is true peace. Time at the refuge slips away, and before you know it, it's time to set off again into the mountains, making your way home.

The journey back from any adventure always seems to pass in a blink. You depart from the lakeside, stepping across the large, time-worn stones. The lake glistens with a turquoise hue, its clear, inviting waters tempting you for a swim. But don't be fooled, its cold waters here. You press on, leaving the embrace of the mountainous valley and descending into the familiar woodland. The trees, like old friends, part occasionally to offer glimpses of the cascading waterfalls from the mountains that now cradle you. As you arrive back in town, a sense of rejuvenation and vibrant life courses through you, a reminder of the timeless beauty of these cherished landscapes.