Chasing the Supermoon

From Lilly Hill, I watched the horizon breathe light — a red moon rising through smoke and silence.

There’s a certain pull to a moonrise — that slow, silent ascent that feels less like watching the sky and more like witnessing time itself unfold. When I saw the forecast for a supermoon over the Tomaree Headlands, I knew exactly where I wanted to be: Lilly Hill. It’s not the tallest peak, but it offers a clear line to the east, a perfect window to the horizon where the moon would lift itself from the sea.

By late afternoon, the air was thick with the faint tang of smoke. Somewhere beyond the bay, burn-offs had left a hazy veil hanging over the coast. The sky itself was restless — scattered clouds drifting westward, catching the warm tones of the setting sun. It was one of those evenings when the world feels suspended between two kinds of light.

I set up on the lookout, the bush below whispering in long, slow breaths. Nelson Bay township was beginning to settle in for the night- the lights had not yet turned on. The moon was due to rise just minutes before sunset — a rare overlap when the day and night share the same sky. As the sun sank behind me, the western clouds turned molten, washed in pinks and copper-reds that deepened by the minute. The smoke haze turned the horizon into a soft watercolor blur.

The sleepy town of Nelson Bay settles in for the night as the supermoon rises in the background through Tomaree Headlands.

Then, almost imperceptibly at first, the moon appeared. A dull orange disc, rising through the haze like an ember lifting from a dying fire. It swelled as it climbed — vast, luminous, impossibly still — threading itself through the folds of Tomaree’s dark silhouette.

For a while, everything was quiet. The birds had settled. The wind had eased- but thankfully kept the mossies at bay, those things are relentless up here. The light had equal weight on both sides of the sky — sun fading west, moon blooming east. The smoke gave it a strange beauty, muting the glare and painting the moon in tones of rose and rust.

Yacaaba with the moon rising to the south of it.

Standing there on Lilly Hill, watching the balance shift from day to night, I thought about how often we chase light — sunrises, sunsets, moonrises — as if they’re fleeting things to be captured. But moments like this remind me: they’re not trophies. They’re invitations. To pause. To notice. To remember that even through haze and imperfection, beauty finds its way through.

Author’s Note

The supermoon that night didn’t blaze gold or silver — it rose quiet and red, veiled by smoke and dusk. But maybe that’s the point. Sometimes the beauty isn’t in clarity, but in the soft blur that makes you linger a little longer before the light fades.