My alarm clock sounded at 5:00 AM, signalling that it was time to rise from a night of fitful sleep, get dressed, grab camera gear and head out the door for sunrise. But first, I stumble to the back door, open it and peer skyward. Clouds! Even in the early morning blackness I could see puffy clouds, twinkling stars peeking out from between the seams. Like most nature photographers, I get excited about clouds that add much needed interest to otherwise boring blue desert skies.
On the drive up to Marlboro Point I watch the thermometer drop from 51 in Moab to 36 degrees, two thousand feet higher on the mesa between Dead Horse Point State Park and Canyonlands National Park. Tall grass on the side of the road whips around, battered by wind that has continued to blow since yesterday morning. Though 36 degrees isn’t particularly cold, it is much less tolerable in the wind.
Having just washed my truck over the weekend, I am disappointed to find that the dirt road on which I’ve just turned is muddy from the previous night’s rain. I had naively hoped that the downpour that swept through town had somehow spared the four mile road out to the point. Within a few feet I heard the splattering of mud flinging off my tires and onto the silver paint I’d so lovingly scrubbed two days ago. Oh well, at least the sky and those glorious clouds were starting to light up. The sunrise would be worth it.
I crawl along, navigating off-camber sections, washouts, ruts, large ledges and boulders and, of course, mud holes fifty feet long, before finally arriving at my destination. It has been years since I visited, and I’m proud of myself for remembering how to get here - in the dark - without the assistance of maps or GPS.
It’s a five minute walk to the edge of the canyon, just now beginning to appear out of darkness. I explore the canyon rim until I find a composition in which the “V” formed by rocks on the rim is mirrored in the apex of one of the sandstone towers below. It doesn’t take long to set up my tripod, mount the camera to the ballhead and begin dialing in the framing of this future masterpiece. Peering through the viewfinder it suddenly dawns on me that the puffy clouds I was so excited about earlier were…gone. Just a couple sad, thin little wispy clouds remained. Skunked again! I considered storming off in outrage, returning to the warmth and comfort of my truck where I would brood until it was time to meet friends for a mountain bike ride. But what good would that do? I chose to stand my ground and make the most of what I was given which, in the grand scheme of things, was pretty friggin’ amazing - even without dramatic clouds.
As the sun crested above the La Sal Mountains, warm light spilled into the canyon, painting the sandstone walls and towers in ludicrous shades of red, orange and yellow. I pressed the shutter, took a deep breath and allowed myself to be fully present, feeling the chill wind on my cheeks and enjoying a perfectly quiet moment in one of the most beautiful landscapes on earth.