East Coast Sunrise Behind West Coast Haze
17 September 2020
"They say the thing to do is come up here for the sunrise."
I was walking back to the car after figuring out that the best place for the Cadillac Mountain sunset was not the summit. The woman asked me where the best place to see it was. I'd said I didn't know and that I'd be driving back down the mountain to find the right spot.
"It's, like, this aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa moment," she sang.
"Yeah, but I ain't getting up at 4:00 a.m. for any aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa moment," I sang back.
Only it's not the middle of summer right now. It's the middle of September. Sunrise is at 6:15. I'd have to get up at, say, 5:00. That's doable, almost.
So here I am, having gotten out of bed as quietly as possible, because there's no way Jack is going to do this fool thing with me, driving to the top of Cadillac Mountain.
I enter the park at the West Street extension and get on Park Loop Road. At first I'm the only one here. Then, at the Route 233 Entrance, I find myself part of a parade. As we wind our way up the summit road, I see some cars parked along the eastern edges.
At the final turn, the light fog becomes so dense I can't see over the edge of the road. The parking lot at the summit is full. I turn around and pull into the Blue Hill Bay overlook lot. It's mostly empty, but the fog here is just as thick. There's no point in staying at the top of the mountain.
I drive down below the fog line and join a row of cars along an eastern curve which I recognize as the section of road that gives me the willies on the descent.
I find a place in the scrub, my back against a granite boulder, and wait for the vertigo to subside.
There are about a dozen cars lined up now. Some people are staying in them. Others stake out spots along the edge on either side of me.
To my left, several people are introducing themselves. Two are from New Jersey. To be friendly, I join in and we figure out if we know where each of us lives. On my right are four people and a dog, all from New Hampshire.
The fog is thick as it rolls off the mountain. I focus the camera on Frenchman Bay.
The sky looks brownish-gray in the forest fire haze. The camera intensifies the gloomy hue.
A low, straight cloud hags over the bay. I'm trying to get a good picture of it and I just can't.
What is that down there? Is it Jax? It might be Jax. Who else would be autoclaving mouse food at this hour?
Tide's out over at the sand bar.
The fog is still thick on the mountainside. The New Hampshire group is having a grand old time. We talk a little about cameras.
The sky is getting brighter. Sunrise is right now. We can't see the sun.
The people who stayed in their cars are driving away. Some of the folks out here are packing it in too. I'm staying. The people next to me are as well. We're here. We might as well stick around and see what happens.
"There's the sun!" one of the Jersey women exclaims. We can barely see it behind the haze. It's 6:27 a.m.
The short exposures make the air look like smog. It's not that bad!
This shot is spooky. I'm keeping it.
Burnt Porcupine Island:
I take my last picture at 6:47 a.m. and head back down the mountain.
[to be continued in the next blog post]
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