For the likes of me - people who are burdened with a certain morning grumpiness - rolling out of bed before dawn is not without its irritations.
I wanted to photograph the sunrise at the Bourgoyen-Ossemeersen nature reserve in Ghent. So in the dead of the night, I tumbled out of bed with a groan. I made my way to my little kitchen, where I took ample time to boost the caffeine levels in my bloodstream. The dog peeked in curiously, but soon scampered back to its cozy nest.
I entered my ice-cold car. The engine stuttered and faltered as it came to life. I sympathized with it. I lived only a few kilometers from my destination, yet I managed to miss an exit. That pedantic Google Maps lady punished me with a detour spanning several extra kilometers. Cursing loudly, I pressed the accelerator.
Much later than I would have preferred, I parked the car. It was still pitch dark, but the first light was already creeping over the horizon. Time was running short. I grabbed my equipment and stumbled sleep-drunk into the reserve. A few hundred meters in, I tripped over an unexpectedly large rock. My tripod and I were catapulted forward at high speed. A painful fall was narrowly avoided, thanks to my right foot which I firmly planted in a deep puddle. Any pride I might have felt from this athletic feat was drowned in a soft whimper as ice-cold water seeped into my shoe.
When I looked up, I found myself face-to-face with a towering man. A massive pair of green binoculars hung around his neck. He was also dressed entirely in green. Clearly a nature enthusiast. I wondered if he could see anything in the dark with those binoculars. Or did his kind wear them merely as a status symbol?
"Good morning," I said. "It seems I'm not the only early birder here." Not that I'm much of an ornithology nerd myself, but the pun was too good to pass up. In the ensuing awkward silence, the man stared at me bewildered, then carefully made a wide detour around me before disappearing into the darkness.
I continued on. My right foot made a squelching sound with every step, which seemed quite fitting in this area of damp grasslands.
I took a moment to photograph a few trees. Their silhouettes contrasted beautifully against the cool blue hues of the early morning. Then, I positioned myself in front of a large water puddle and waited for the spectacle of dawn. And perhaps, in the long term, for the definitive breakthrough of the electric car. Bourgoyen-Ossemeersen lies right next to the R4 ring road: the chirping of waterbirds mixed with the thunderous decibels of freight traffic. Ah, Flemish nature reserves.
The clouds made a sudden feint, seeming too almost close for good. Then the sky burst into flames. I got to work, completely absorbed in that visual focus that makes photographers forget everything around them (except the view through the viewfinder).
Afterwards, as I limped back to the car (on the ice block that was once my right foot), I was overtaken by another photographer. He wore his tripod on his head, legs spread wide like an odd hat. Strange fellows, these picture takers.
Geert Huysman