I had played through nearly every Super Nintendo game I owned over the winter and developed an unhealthy aversion to natural light in the process. I needed a cure, and if I had learned anything from saving the Mushroom Kingdom many times over, it was that even the loftiest missions were compelling enough to do things I otherwise would not.
A “sunrise hunt” was the perfect kind of low-budget, makeshift mission. We would wake up at the crack of dawn, boil some coffee, and hike up a big hill to see the sunrise from the east edge of the Duck Mountains.
The place I had in mind was a road east of Glad Lake my dad took me down when I was a kid. I remember biking past what I assumed was endless boreal in all directions, when we turned a corner and a great expanse of rolling hills trailing off into distant lowlands revealed itself. It was the first time I understood why anyone chose the word “mountain” to refer to the Duck Mountains, and it seemed like the perfect place to see the sunrise.
It was not difficult to sell the idea to the group. Being photographers, Sean and Mitch were the first to join with the idea of shooting a time-lapse video. Four more joined, including Nate, Gill, Matt and David. Kyle also joined, volunteering to haul gear with his trike in what he clearly considered a teamster-like capacity.
It was the earliest camping trip we had been on and there was still much snow on the ground when we arrived in mid-April. But the weather was on our side, a comfortable 20ºC with clear skies. After locking the cars and gearing up, we started our hike down the closed back road to find a suitable base camp. Kyle turned out to be less than useful with his trike and mandatory union breaks.
There was a dry river channel not far from a dilapidated bridge where we decided to set up camp. The openness of this spot gave us extra sunlight to work with, but left us vulnerable to the wind. I realized this only after a flash storm picked up without warning. I had gone on a short hike into the hills to get a photo of the camp when it hit, flipped my tent, wet my gear and reminded me again there were no guaranteed comforts.
The valley sat grey under overcast skies from then on.
There was no hope in shooting the sunrise and no point in waking up at the crack of dawn, which would be roughly 4am if we wanted enough time to hike and set up the shot, so we decided the camping trip would be just a camping trip. There were no objections to this other than the twang in my gut telling me “Game Over.”
We spent the evening cooking and drinking around the fire on the dry riverbed, which Kyle had warned us was a bad choice due to exploding rocks. This seemed like a ridiculous concept, until they did in fact explode, and scattered hot ash and coals all over our clothes and gear.
The rest of the night was unimpeded, other than me stepping on David’s frying pan he left to dry on the rocks, which bent both him and the pan out of shape, and Nate’s food hang with his trusty “Spanish bowline,” which seemed to move in slow motion as his pans and dry bags fell into the river, and Kyle’s early retirement to his sleeping bag, where he snored pretty much constantly except to utter the word “money” every now and then.
By midnight, only a few of us were still up by the campfire, and Sean and I were trying out long exposure shots in the dark with our headlamps.
“Andy—turn off your light and look up.”
The forest blackened and above us was a clear sky full of stars—Extra Life.
The sunrise hunt was back on. I slept for one frigid hour before waking up at 4 am and strapping on my hiking boots. Sean, Mitch and surprisingly Kyle—who I did not think worked outside union hours—joined the hike to the peak of the escarpment. We reached the top around 5:30 and Sean quickly set up his tripod and camera. Mitch boiled a pot of water for much-needed coffee while the rest of us sat back and waited.
It was windier than we hoped, the sun did not rise at the angle we had assumed, and there was a shelf of clouds on the horizon that diffused most of the light. But we had the footage we came for.
After struggling to stay warm at the peak for nearly three hours, we dismantled our setup and returned to base.
Mitch, who was in a particular rush to get back to the vehicles, said his goodbyes to the camp. “Sorry I’ve got to take off early. I’m not sure I have enough time to shower. I have a job interview in three hours…”
“Kyle, can you help me out with the trike?”
Kyle paused for a moment—“money.”