BZZZT.
My alarm wakes me up from my hotel bed at 4:00am. I’m crazy, I think to myself as I groggily layer up for the 5-degree weather outside. Today I’m going to watch the sunrise over Moraine Lake in beautiful Banff, Alberta. It’s down a long, snaking mountain road with no signal, and in order to stand a chance of getting a parking spot ahead of all the other tourists, I need to be on the road by 4:30am.
I groan when I step outside. It’s a cloudy, drizzly morning, and I’m not confident I’ll even see a sunrise. The weather forecast said sun, what happened? Oh well. I get in my car and get on the road anyway. Mountain weather is temperamental, and you never know when it might change.
The drive to the lake is dark and dreary, but uneventful, which I don’t mind. There are very few cars on the road with me at this hour – a good sign that I’ll get a parking spot. I take the left turn on to the mountain road that starts the 12km leg of switchbacks leading to the lake.
When I arrive at the parking lot, I’m relieved to see that I’ve got my choice of parking spaces; I beat the rush. I park my car, unpack my camera and tripod, and turn my phone’s flashlight on – the one thing I didn’t bring with me was a headlight. It would have been useful, since I’d be walking through a short stretch of forested trail without a single light in sight. Oh well… my phone’s light will have to do. It shines nothing more than a dim white light on the marked trail a few feet in front of me; a full moon would have done more for my visibility. Still, it’s enough to press on.
I emerge from the forest trail and begin the short climb up the famous rock pile that has given birth to so many breathtaking photos of this lake before my arrival. It’s slow going; like the forest, there are no streetlights to illuminate the path forward. I have only my phone’s light to show me the way. The steps are dark, steep and wet; a dangerous combination. It’s drizzling lightly still, which means that everything is slick in the damp cold. The path is only about 200 metres, but the going is slow; a slip here can spell disaster for the rest of the trip.
At last, I arrive to the top of the rock pile, where I’m pleasantly surprised to see that I’m the first one there. I have my pick of spots to set up my camera and compose the perfect Moraine Lake photo. I select a choice corner of the viewing platform that will be unobstructed by the throngs of rule-breakers that will inevitably climb past the barrier and trample the wildlife before me in hopes of getting a stronger photo.
And then I wait.
It’s still 90 minutes before sunrise, and the wait is painful… but I’ve got my family with me, and the rain has stopped; that’s enough for me. I’m happy to patiently wait for the darkness to be chased away by the coming dawn.
Slowly, other tourists and photographers begin to file in behind me. The viewing platform begins to fill, and I’m joined by a friendly couple from New Mexico who are also hoping to experience the legendary Moraine Lake sunrise.
It’s still cloudy though, and we’re trying not to get our hopes up. Slowly, the darkness begins to recede to a deep blue, and I can begin to assess the weather more accurately. There are small patches of clear sky perforating the clouds, which gives me hope that we’ll have a sunrise after all. I take in the surrounding landscape as I wait to take my first photos.
The Valley of the Ten Peaks.
That’s what this areas is known as, and I can see why. Moraine Lake is guarded by a series of ten mountain summits, standing like silent sentinels over the glassy lake. Even in the dim light, the view is enough to take my breath away. Standing in this basin, I feel as though I’ve stepped through a portal and away from the normal passage of time.
As I admire the azure waters of the lake, which gets its colour from mountain minerals that reflect only a mesmerizing blue light to our eyes, I think about the quiet, confident beauty of this place before it was discovered by humans over a century ago. I’m no longer standing with others on a viewing platform. It feels like I’m staring at the lake with tunnel vision, admiring it for what it was before the first tourist ever set foot on these rocks upon which I stand.
I snap back to reality for a moment. The clouds that plagued the sky up to this point are retreating rapidly, making way for a pale blue light to permeate through. Things are looking up. Only minutes until the sun kisses the tops of the sentinel mountain peaks. I brace myself for the event.
And then, it happens.
From behind a large hill to my right, the sun greets the mountains good morning, shining a beautiful golden light on their summits. The mountains respond by turning a bright vermilion, and I’m nearly overcome by the sight. Then, as if someone lit a series of lights underwater within it, Moraine Lake comes to life as if the mountains stirred her awake… and she is absolutely brilliant. Her azure waters are so vivid that it’s hard for me to comprehend that what I’m seeing is in real life, and not through some post-production photo editing magic.
I am completely, spectacularly, irretrievably awe-struck by the overall sight. It’s a term I don’t use very often, but in this instance not only is it the only appropriate word; it’s an understatement. I nearly forget to snap photos as I take in a spectacle so beautiful it’s hard to believe I’m even there to witness it.
The mountains continue their vermilion display for a few minutes longer… and then it suddenly ends. The sun has come up too high in the sky, and while still incredibly beautiful, the spell that captivated me until now has dissipated. I snap out of my stupor and return to the present moment, suddenly acutely aware of just how many people have packed onto this viewing platform (and in front of it, as I predicted) along with me and my family.
I snap a few more photos with the others before packing up and making the trip down the rock pile trail; a significantly easier experience, now that the sun is up and the rain has stopped. We walk the short, relaxing trail down the shoreline of Moraine Lake to appreciate her from every angle before leaving, and are rewarded with a beautiful view from the other side of the Lake. There are no other tourists here; everyone came for the sunrise, and they’re on to whatever is next on their itinerary.
No problem.
The trail ends beside a spectacular stream flowing downhill from one of the mountains and into the lake. Standing on the wooden viewing platform, I can almost feel the heartbeat of the world emanating from beneath me. There’s an energy in this place that I can’t accurately describe; it’s as if the lake itself is trying to speak to me, to tell me its countless stories in a language I can’t possibly hope to understand. It’s a spiritual experience.
All I can do is respond by performing two karate katas. I choose Sanchin and Tensho, the hard and soft energy katas that form the lifeblood of my art. Almost as if in response, the lake seems to quiet down. The water still rushes beside me, but it no longer feels like Moraine Lake is speaking to me; rather, it feels like it’s listening.
It’s a feeling that you have to experience for yourself to understand; walking back to the parking lot, I immediately knew that none of this would make any sense to anyone who hasn’t stood in that spot.
Arriving back at our car, we pack our things and drive off. As we make our way back down the mountain road, I’m overcome with emotion. My mind can’t handle the beauty of what I just experienced, and I break down. It’s a reaction I suspect I’m not alone in, and I embrace it fully while making sure I don’t drive my wife and I off the road.
Turning off Moraine Lake road, the magic fades, and I’m back to being a normal tourist again. Except I’m not; I feel different somehow. I feel as though, standing in the Valley of the Ten Peaks, Moraine Lake shared a secret with me that I’ll keep until the day I die. Like the clouds parting to make way for blue skies, my tears of joy subside and give way to a smile that’s almost as bright as the risen morning sun I’m driving toward.
