A perfect Sugar Creek sunrise

I have always wanted to write a good column about morning, specifically those enchanting moments before the sun has climbed much above the horizon.  I want to write something that will make the poets sing and the romantics cry.  I want to write something deep.

I also want to be named the 2004 Mr. Universe but it seems unlikely that either wish will come true.

Actually, we are going to talk about daybreak, even if my literary craftsmanship ranges more toward the production of crude spears than sonnets.

The reason for all this unblushing naturalism is yesterday’s fishing trip.  Our wade up a nearby creek turned out to contain all the elements every perfect summer fishing morning should hold.

My friend Rich and I decided to leave home early in order to beat the August midday heat.  Our plan was to harass a few fish and be off the water before the sunlight turned vicious and capable of causing sunburn to the back of your throat.

I hadn’t been wading for nearly 2 months since the rains of June and July made local creeks more suitable for whitewater rafting than fishing.  However, I held out hope that we might actually catch a few fish because of those rains have kept the supply of groundwater recharged, thus keeping the creeks much higher than normal for this time of year.

The optimism about water levels was confirmed as my van pulled off the road onto a hissing pile of river sand leftover from last month’s flood.  In the gray predawn light, a heavy shroud of fog hung over the creek, limiting visibility and muffling sounds so that even the steady babble of water versus rock was an indistinct audio blur.

We rigged our ultralight spinning gear and talked quietly, unconsciously not trying to disturb the peaceful silence even though we were standing next to a gravel road that would undoubtedly become very busy as the rest of the world began to stir and return to gainful employment.

Rich made it into the water first, wordlessly casting into the shallows across the creek that bordered the waist-deep flat next to the road.  Unlike Rich, I chose to wade wet, donning an old pair of hiking boots and neoprene socks to match my worn Purdue T-shirt and bathing suit.  In late summer, the water is so warm that it is far more comfortable to just wade wet rather than suffer the coming heat while baking in a pair of waders.

Except for this year.  As I slid into the water, the silence was broken by a long “O-O-O-ooooOOO” as I realized the water was not only deeper than normal, but far colder.  In fact, when the water reached a certainly portion of my body, I inadvertently blurted out several words that would offend an outlaw biker.

Once things had numbed up considerably, I was more comfortable and we began slowly moving upstream.

The fog was now gray shreds that clung like angel hair to the thick beds of water willow when it wasn’t recharging at the surface of the warmer water.  The eastern sky had turned from indigo to cobalt and was briefly the impeccable color of woodland violets.

A few seconds later, the sun arose as the first glowing fingers of light oozed like spilled orange paint through the sycamore trees lining the channel, heralding the best ten minutes of any day.

As the sun slowly rose like a swelling Beethoven chorus, more colors and light started flying around and over the creek in a silent battle of the entire visible spectrum.  The sky tried to remain cool blue, except for the surrendered region immediately around the sun.  The fog was undecided as various factions chose to absorb different colors ranging from gold to gray to azure.  The water reflected the entire scene while remaining a highway of quicksilver dotted with white foam from the small rapids.

I stood motionless as the morning quickly climbed onto the top-ten life list of wildland sunrises.  Rich floated perfectly inside a halo of light as he continued to cast, reminding me of the camera inside my backpack.

I briefly toyed with the idea of not using the camera because it is rare to capture such perfect moments on film but I had to make an attempt.  The effort actually turned out OK though still somewhat disappointing.  Perhaps it is good that exceptional outdoor moments cannot be effectively imprisoned for later review.

The minutes passed quickly until the sun had risen several degrees over the horizon and assumed its usual no-nonsense persona.  In a few short moments, the state of bliss was gone and a typical day stood in its place.

Just then, a nice smallmouth bass struck my bait so maybe it wasn’t such a typical day.

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