It was either going to be boom or bust this morning, the darkened sky thick with clouds, a few jagged slashes northeast where the sun would eventually rise. I had decided to go early and get out a long ways away; but by the time I got around to getting packed and coffeed, it was already a little late.
What's worse, the movement of those thick clouds wasn't promising. Rather than get 45 minutes out, I turned off the blacktop and went back to a favorite spot of mine, betting that the sun wasn't going to poke itself through all those clouds--remnants of a storm somewhere.
Still, it was beautiful--a big passionate sky, full of drama.
The little road I usually take was wet and muddy, but I started down until I came to a gully I figured I'd never get out of without four-wheel drive. So I backed all the way out--half mile maybe--and went back down the hill to a bridge.
There are a couple of great old stump cottonwoods along the creek at the bottom of the section, but they stand halfway across the field, a full half-mile of mid-thigh grass, heavy with last week's constant rain.
I went in. Inside of 50 yards, I could feel the water squish between my toes.
But I got there. I slogged through the long grass, all the while telling myself that the first rule of Saturday morning landscape photography is "be there." So when the sun finally peeked out--not for more than three minutes--I was well-positioned, even though it wasn't the show I was hoping for. Got some interesting shots anyway. Didn't go home empty-handed.
Check for yourself.
The morning sky was about an inch and a half from being a real stunner. I did what I could.
What I've noticed about myself through the last five years is that the joy of hunting isn't as great anymore. If I get skunked, I'm disappointed. Never used to be that way. For a couple of years, just being out there was the great thrill.
Got to get that back somehow. How? Don't know. I need a great awakening.