Icy wind hissed in the pines, making the skin of my cheekbones ache with a depth of cold I hadn’t felt since Alaska. I knew that feeling. Below zero windchill. I pulled my scarf higher, just below my eyes. It was going to be a glorious morning, I could tell.

Predawn, before the good light begins is a favorite time on every expedition. This morning, the first pale light revealed good cloud shapes above and an open eastern horizon. Good portents. Leaning on the rail, I spent some time absorbing the shape of valley from this overlook.

The sun would rise directly behind Navaho Mountain, eighty miles away. This meant that the band of open sky between the mountain’s horizon and the clouds above was a mere sliver. Conditions like this narrow the window of time for the peak of light dramatically.

As the sky began to burn orange behind the mountain, I did a set of practice panoramics, verifying technical perfection and the aesthetics for the piece I had visualized. Seconds would count. I would get no second chance under these conditions. Once the camera was set, I cracked open a thermos of hot tea.

When it started, the blush of light shining over the dome of Navaho Mountain was a filtered warmth of pale orange, changing the hoodoo spires below from magenta to orange where it brushed them. Immediately, I started my panoramic run. By the last frame, exactly 28 seconds later, cloud had covered the sun, and the peak of light was done. Knowing that I had created one of the finest pieces of the expedition, I celebrated with a cup of hot tea, toasting the valley.