Between Starlight and Sunrise
The alarm goes off at 2AM on a cool SoCal morning in late spring. I sip my coffee as I start to wake up and prepare for the morning ahead. My CamelBak is full of water, snacks, and extra batteries for my headlamp as I make my way to the car and begin the drive out to Julian. The moon was a waxing crescent as I made my way through the dark, winding backcountry roads. I arrived at the campground parking lot around 4AM. I'd never seen the Milky Way before, so I took a moment after parking to look up. I was in good fortune, because there she was - the Milky Way, right in front of me. I smiled as I took in the beauty before starting my climb. With my headlamp on and spare batteries in my pocket, I began.
Milky Way night sky with silhouetted trees in Julian, CA. Photo by ©Elizabeth Chaney | Edge of Clarity Photo
It was pitch black and silent on the trail. Chasing sunlight in solitude may not be for everyone, but in this moment, it was exactly what I needed. Dirt and rock crunched beneath my feet as I climbed, desert chaparral surrounding me on every side. Even though I was alone, I felt safe being surrounded by the trees and rock. Step by step, crunch by crunch, I progressed as the stars and trees protected and guided me. About halfway through the switchbacks, the sun started to make its presence known, a warm orange glow beginning to wake the sleepy town below.
I'd reached the start of the granite scramble to the summit. I was almost there. My steady pace had brought me to this moment. Carefully, I climbed the final ascent as the orange hues deepened and the sun began to crest over a distant mountain. I'd made it to the summit.
It was breathtaking...and, at the same time, terrifying.
I'd just learned two things about myself: that I'm stronger than I realize, and that I don't do well with narrow summits with sheer drop-offs! It's okay to laugh with me—I had never been on a summit like that before. I don't regret the experience. I took a few moments to soak in the view, calm my nerves, and then began my climb back down. In full daylight, I was finally able to see exactly how beautiful the trail truly was. I could see the granite formations that looked alive, tree canopies welcoming me back from my journey. If anything, mile three took the longest because I kept stopping to explore everything it offered. I found rock formations that changed the longer I looked, a sleeping stone giant at the turn of a switchback, and winding paths that invited even more exploration.
Granite stone profile at the end of a switchback trail at Cush-Pii in Julian, CA | Photo by ©Elizabeth Chaney | Edge of Clarity
The photographs I made naturally found homes within my Nature's Architecture, The Gray Area, and upcoming Suspended in Time collections. These are the moments I'm drawn to...the moments where we stop to pause, to explore, to be present, and to play.
Cush-pii (formerly known as Stonewall Peak) taught me that when we slow down, we're more open to the messages Mother Nature gives us. We can complete a trail, but how often do we truly slow down enough to experience it? I hope the next time you step onto a trail, you give yourself permission to slow down. Notice what asks for your attention. Stay a little longer than you planned. Then come back and tell me what changed - whether it was the landscape, or simply the way you experienced it.
May you always find something worth noticing.
—Elizabeth | Edge of Clarity Photo
