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blizzard warnings - 13:52 , 03 October 2013

heelerless - 21:32 , 18 August 2013

Red Coat Inn in Fort McLeod - 11:38 , 23 June 2013

rushing into the waters - 09:53 , 21 June 2013

choosing a spot - 17:43 , 27 April 2013

01 June 2003 - 19:11

lake sunrise - 25 may 2003

I woke early, as was my intent. Watch said it was 05:03. Rolled to my left, slipping my feet out from under the covers to peek out the open window.

The dawn was just beginning. There was still time.

I dressed quickly, quietly. Not bothering to shave. The wife let out a loud, contented sigh from the bed as I slipped out the door at 05:15. Protected only by the down vest, heavy with the digital camera in the right pocket.

A turn left down the hall, past just one other door, and then a turn right. Down the Grand Staircase into the lobby.

I'm in Lake!

And all alone. The lobby is empty, as is the solarium. No one is stirring in the restaurant beyond the etched glass windows, nor the gift shop. Even the front desk is unattended, although I hear someone shuffling around in the offices beyond. I cross the lobby, towards the lake, and push the door open.

First thing I notice, like headlights in my eye, is the bright crescent moon hanging to the southeast, high above the trees and the empty flagpole. Second thing I notice is the loud cackling calls of sandhill cranes from the bay to the east. I cross the drive and head down to the overlook above the lake.

Haven't gone far before I realize the wooden deck and benches is not where I'm going to want to be this morning. The glow of the morning sun is farther north than I thought, beyond the rounded point to the east. I step out onto the deck just the same, and look at the still water. Though most is no longer frozen into ice, as it was last weekend, the water is still frozen in time. Unrippled, calmly reflecting the moon and distant mountains on its surface.

I turn east and walk at a brisk pace, afraid I'll miss the sunrise. I'm using the narrow strip of land and grass between the paved road and the steep, dropping bank that falls to the lake's shore. This strip was once lined with pines, as are all the hills around, but the beach slope is loose, erosive volcanic soil, and the winds and waves are continually wearing it away. Several trees have disappeared into the lake below since we first came here, and at least two more have been uprooted this past year, their skeletons laying on the greyish white slopes.

Soon the lake'll be after the road itself.

The moon's reflection follows me along the shore as I walk.

Robins are chirping at me as I walk past the Hamilton Store, now relabeled as a "Yellowstone General Store", and the empty ranger station. Just beyond, the road swings left, away from the lake. Smack dab in the middle of the trail that follows the lake shore is a small red and white sign.

"Area Closed Due to Bear Activity"

We ain't talking black bears, folks. The sign is new.

Okaaaay. Guess we won't go any farther east. I turn off the trail and head to a large, grey log laying on the crest of the slope above the lake, sitting on a flat part of the trunk near the uprooted roots. And I wait.

The sandhills are fairly quiet now, replaced by the loud babble of Canada geese. A white pelican flies by slowly to my right, and I can clearly see the squarish knob on the beak that they grow during the breeding season. But all I get in the camera is a whitish blur.

When I move out close to the edge to get a better shot of the morning glow, I see them. A young couple and their dog, down on the beach between me and the rising sun. Watching the sunrise. She's wrapped in a large blanket against the cold, which I suspect is a lot cooler down there by the water's edge.

I move back to my tree trunk, to both give them their privacy at this special moment, and to keep them out of my photographs. As we wait and watch, the murmur of ducks is added to the honking of the geese. The couple below hasn't moved, so I assume we are witnessing the usual morning start-up routine as small flocks of ducks, mostly mergansers, and geese come out of the bay and head past the couple and their dog for open water in the lake. Most swim out slowly, but one small squadron comes out in flight, their wingtips just barely missing the placid lake surface.

Another young couple has come down the road from the hotel, and sees the bear sign. They also turn right, and find themselves between me and the trees on my left. The young woman quietly says "Good morning," to which I just as quietly reply.

Mornin'.

They each take a few photos, and then stand quietly to wait. The eastern sky has turned orange, as has the open water, broken by darker streaks of ice left from the winter. You can see the sun is going to rise between a distant double peak, and a closer slope, lined with the narrow skeletons of trees burned in the '88 fires.

At 05:52 the sun pops up, lighting the entire eastern sky and water with orange.

All of a sudden, there is too much to see. The sun burns itself across the huge lake, while the mountain peaks to the southeast are all touched by the morning light.

Those to the southwest turn pink with the alpine glow.

Within minutes the couple up on the bench with me quietly leave, walking north along the road. Only as they walk away do I notice they are both female. Soon the couple on the beach is headed back too, following the cobblestone shoreline. The young woman sees me above them, and offers a fairly loud "Hello."

Mornin', I reply, just as quietly as before.

I stay and wait alone, watching the sunlight grow on the mountain peaks around the lake. And the mergansers coming in close to shore to feed.

Within ten minutes of sunrise, the gentle calls of the geese, ducks and robins are interrupted by the distant rumble of a motorboat engine. A white powerboat pulling out from the marina miles to the west. While not loud at this distance, it dominates the morning sounds for several minutes.

At 06:03, a pickup comes down the road.

The other watchers left too soon. When the boat noise is gone, I hear a loon call from the east. And by now, the sun's rays are just touching the steam plumes of the geysers and hot springs along the southeast shore of the lake.

The two young women return, following the road back to the hotel. At 06:17 the first jogger of the morning comes by.

Time to go.

I walk back along the shoreline, stopping at the empty overlook. The mergansers and goldeneyes are out there feeding and squabbling amongst themselves. The lone pelican scoots placidly amongst them

A woman has come out of the hotel, walking backward down the sloped drive as she strives to get just the right camera angle for a shot of the hotel front. She has stopped at the bottom of the drive, only then looking at the woods and lake around her, as I pass.

"Good morning," she says with an exhale. She's a brunette, probably early forties, athletic. (Yeah, I'm attracted.) The camera around her neck is large and expensive, probably a digital.

Mornin', I reply, as I walk past.

"It's so quiet," she says, almost to no one at all.

I stop. The robins are still singing all along the drive, the ducks are babbling away on the lake, as are the geese to the east, and some sort of siskin or kinglet is singing out loudly from the trees just to the west.

No, it's not, I answer.

She hadn't expected a reply. But stops to listen.

"You're right," she answers, hearing the morning sounds, "but so quiet compared to Denver."

She instantly has my sympathy, but I don't tell her that.

Enjoy the morning, I tell her, and walk back up to the hotel. Now wakening with people in the lobby and solarium. The restaurant will be opening in just a few minutes.

Time to wake the wife.

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