Between Darkness and Dawn
I climbed through webs and wind to find the sky on fire — a fleeting promise kept by morning light.
After clocking off from the factory at midnight, the world felt heavy with silence. Most would turn homeward, collapse into sleep, and let the night swallow the hours before dawn. But not me. The forecast whispered of a “colourbomb” sunrise, and the thought of that fleeting fire above the sea was enough to keep me awake.
By 3:30am my alarm was calling me back to life. Soon after, I was on the climb, the beam of my headlamp cutting through a shroud of darkness. Quarry Hill rose ahead, its outline sharp against the fading stars. Each step forward tangled me deeper into the night — through a maze of silver webs strung across the path, through the hush of the bush still holding its breath.
The rocks shifted beneath my boots, the climb uneven and uncertain. But fatigue fell away with each gust of cool air, each glimpse of the horizon widening above me. When I reached the top, the wind was waiting — strong, restless, tugging at my jacket, howling across the ridge like it wanted to carry me away.
Below, the sea murmured- waves crashing against the rocks of Wreck beach. And beyond it, the Point Stephens Lighthouse pulsed its rhythm into the dark — a slow, steady heartbeat against the sleeping world.
Then, at last, the first breath of dawn. A faint shimmer brushed the horizon, and the clouds — a dance of alto-cumulus and cirrus — caught fire. Gold spilled into pink, pink into orange, orange into the deep blue of retreating night. The familiar sound of the whip birds made the moment just perfect.
Box Beach just below with the Spit and Fingal Island in the distance. I timed the shot to pick up the lighthouse flashing.
For a brief moment, everything stilled. The wind eased, the ocean hushed, even the birds seemed to pause — as if the whole world was holding its breath to watch the light arrive.
My vantage point on the top of Quarry Hill. It was quite windy on the north face, but if you moved towards the southern side, it was a bit more protected from the north-westerly wind.
And standing there, after climbing through the quiet hours, I understood: the climb, the darkness, the waiting — they were all part of it. You don’t find colour like that without first walking through the black.
Looking down towards Wreck Beach. To the left is Shoal Bay, stretching out to Nelson Head. The mountains to the North are Stephens Peak, Tomaree and Yacaaba.
Author’s Note
Sometimes the best light is the one you have to fight to see. The kind that asks for sleepless hours, for cold winds and uncertain steps. But when it comes — spilling over the hills, setting the sea alight — you remember why you came. It’s not just about the sunrise; it’s about the climb through darkness that makes it burn so bright.
