At First Light
June 1, 2019
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Wild Lands Advocate article by: Lorne Fitch
No photograph could have captured it, although in my memory the nuances of light, dark, shadow, texture and color remain. A painter might have done a tolerable job. That assumes the palate was expressive enough to include the cerebral sense of warmth with sunrise, coupled with the visceral, bone chilling cold of an air temperature well below freezing. It would have been a curious juxtaposition if the oils had remained viscous or the watercolors unfrozen.
A video could have done some justice to the creeping potential of dawn and the explosion of light as the sun crested the ridge to the east. It might have encapsulated a segment, a vignette of motion and the sense of time. That is if the hands would have been steady enough, or the fingers sufficiently thawed and flexible to focus the camera. A big if, I think.
A photographic image or a painting can recall, like an imperfect sketch, what one saw. This gives rise to memory and a spark to our brain’s hard drive to resurrect all of the senses of the scene. We then try to recreate not just what was seen, but the richer, multidimensional tapestry of what we felt and experienced.
It’s best to be aware of our limitations with words and pictures. Despite our skills and the artifacts of our art we cannot hope to match, to recreate the throb of life, the panorama that unfolds before us and the intangible, un-capturable qualities of the phases, faces, and moods of the landscape.
I took no pictures, nor did I sketch the scene that cold, clear fall day at dawn. Sometimes it is a distraction to attempt to record a scene in deference to watching and participating in it. Not only do we lack the technology to capture the essence of a scene we can’t often define or divine its meaning. There it is, and it is beautiful. That’s enough. Better perhaps to be part of it all than to parse it into bits for analysis.
Only my memory contains all the indelible features, images and sense of that morning. In the senescence of autumn the grass held variegated shades from gold through tan to brown. Each blade of grass was rimmed with frost, thick hoar frost layered to provide individual definition. Each frost crystal was an individual prism funneling, focusing, and refracting light. Rays of sunlight bent, and split into a kaleidoscope of colour with the jewelling of each frost particle as the sun washed over the field of grass. No wind betrayed this decoration.
No human ingenuity could have matched, paralleled, or eclipsed this scene. This reality offered real special effects, organic and natural. It’s a time when you catch yourself forgetting to breathe. Scenes like it quicken the heart, like glimpsing the face of a lovely woman in a crowd. The encounter occurs in seconds, maybe less, but the heart is filled with wonder, delight, and joy.
You want these rare moments of sublime delight to endure, but they don’t and that may be their virtue. For, if they lasted too long the risk increases they will become common, mundane, and not powerful enough to provoke a memory. A snap shot is what we get; if we are receptive and attentive that is reward enough.
On the eastern horizon clouds had lifted slightly, providing a window through which sunlight poured, bathing the scene. Light at dawn and dusk has a special quality; warmer, diffuse, oblique and expressive. Maybe it’s related to the anticipation of a day after a period of darkness, or a day ending, soon to be plunged into gloom again that gives this brief period an intrinsic, but hard to describe feeling. Ephemeral and fleeting perhaps it was, but tangible to the eye.
Four whitetail does emerge or, more to the senses, materialize, apparate from a patch of aspen. Their backs are blanketed in frost, reminding me of the comfort of earlier wood heat and a down sleeping bag. As they cautiously advance their legs scatter jewels of ice and the sunlight bounces off puffs of frost dust. Deer eyes are brown, liquid, and reflect the catch light of the recently risen sun. Brown on white is the palate. The image is reminiscent of a ship on a wintry voyage – ice encrusted on top, rusty brown beneath, and white waves below the Plimsoll line.
All creation was embodied at that moment in those four deer. They could be an apt metaphor for the true grandeur of life, especially on such a morning. For it is on occasions such as this that there is a palpable sense of being part of it all and because of the connection, responsible.
They come closer, unsuspecting but alert. Evolution with predators gives them a constant aura of vigilance. Be still I think and ignore your toes that scream to move and allow some hot blood to circulate to them. Consciousness seeps into my mind at about the same rate of blood flow to my toes. It is about the wonder, promise and reward of being present at first light.
Lorne Fitch is a Professional Biologist, a retired Fish and Wildlife Biologist and an Adjunct Professor with the University of Calgary.
