Behind the Pictures: What I Could Make Out & Finally

It rained all night on the roof of the van.

I was six weeks into a road trip, living out of a campervan, and somehow this was the first real rain I'd had the whole time. The last morning of all mornings. I lay there listening to it come down, knowing that in about thirty-six hours I'd be back in Texas in 100-degree heat.

So I got up and hiked Kuwohi for sunrise anyway. Soaking wet, cold, and honestly kind of glad about it, because I knew it was the last time I'd feel cold for a long while.

The summit was shrouded in solid mist. No mountains. No sunrise. None of the blue ridgelines fading off into the distance... the whole reason people climb up there.

This was the only thing I could make out.

A single line of trees giving way to grey. That was everything the mountain was willing to show me that morning.

It was enough.

A year later, I got to go back.

October 2024, same trail, except this time I brought my whole extended family up with me. We were completely unprepared. Windy, freezing.

A few turned around before the top, and the ones who made it didn't last long.

My sister stayed with me.

Layer after layer of mountain fading into sunset. Orange into pink into purple into the dark. The exact thing the mist had kept from me the first time.

The two of us watched until the last light dropped behind the last ridge.

Then we ran for the car.

Same view. Two trips. One gave me almost nothing, and one gave me everything.

Some places give you everything the first time. This one made me earn it.

I kept both.

More soon,
Christina

Both What I Could Make Out and Finally are available as fine art prints.