The Rewards of Seeing the Sunrise

Four o'clock. Really!
Yeah.
Does it have to be that early?
I think so. We have to drive up there, and I want to be on the trail for a while, maybe even at the top, before sunrise.

Just a day ago we had arrived in the western corner of Montana after a 24 hour journey, and we were still catching up on sleep. Now I was trying to convince both of us we needed to shortchange ourselves on sleep again so we could see a sunrise from the top of a mountain. It was a hard sell.

How about we get up at four. Then we can leave by 4:30 or so.
Okay. I guess that sounds okay.

I had to convince myself all over again when the alarm went off at 4 a.m. "Really, is it worth it?" Somehow we rolled out of bed and assembled, dressed for an expedition, in the kitchen. We each ate a bowl of oatmeal, a bowl that took forever to eat. It was the kind of meal you had to eat but hated to eat, being drugged with sleep and stuffed with anticipation.

We rolled out close to 4:30 and wound our way through the sleeping town, past the last scattered houses, through the tight evergreen canopy and up the mountain. We reached the trailhead just after 5 a.m., strapped on backpacks, embarked.

It was light enough to see without lights, the cool grey before dawn. I could see bits of sky seeping color, and I was anxious to watch the transformation of day. But all we could see was pine trees. I led the way up the trail, scrambling as quick as I could, breathless.

We reached the first scree field to offer us a view, and it was stunning. Hills piled up into the horizon, mingling in haze, darkness, and a pinkish-purple glow. It was beautiful, mysterious, and fleeting. It was a view that beckoned us to linger, to absorb. It was complete as it was, and yet we knew more stunning sights lay ahead.

We soon summited a ridge that afforded us our first easterly view, and we ran into snow—lots of it.  The view was breathtaking. I was hoping for something magical and wonderful, but the beauty of the sunrise over the mountains still stunned me.

The mountainside came alive with a wash of golden light, spilling over rocks, trees and snowfields. Sleeping trees became glowing beacons of life. The sun was just peaking up in the distance—a distance spanned by rolling hills and endless piles of convoluted peaks. They stood like shark teeth swallowing up the end of the world. The hills and mountains were caught in the colorful battle between darkness and the dawn of day, and there could be no better time to see them. Oranges, yellows, and pinks flooded the landscape.

Half an hour later we reached the top, climbing the rest of the way over a large snowfield. A multitude of views and varied colors greeted us there. Was it worth it? How far indeed was that question from our minds. There was no other place I could imagine being. Grace steamed over the mountaintop as we stood in the sun. We deserved no spectacle of glory, no magical universe. And yet, here it was, so careless with its beauty, caring little for us, and still—in some mysterious way—crafted especially for us.

This is my Father's doing. He works this way.