For Whom The Bells Toll

September 29th, 2007 at 12:35am Keith Hemstreet 8

This week my children were sick, both with nasty colds. When a small child’s head and lungs are congested, it’s hard from them to be happy. They aren’t yet capable of blowing their nose in a tissue, or hocking a loogy. Instead they must rely on gravity to draw the mucus from their heads, a method that ensures prolonged misery.

The only way to speed up the process is for one parent to hold the child down, while the other sticks a plastic suction devise up their nose. If you want your child to hate you, this will do the trick.

The most difficult thing to cope with when you have a sick child isn’t the sick child. It’s the disruption in sleep. A chorus of snotty cries would typically begin around 11 PM, with repeat performances at midnight, 1, 2, 3, and 4 AM. Finally, around 4:30 or 5, they would fall into a comfortable sleep. Just before my alarm was set to wake me for work.

This week I averaged between 2-3 hours of sleep a night. I’m not sure how many of you understand the ramifications of prolonged sleep depravation. For those who don’t, I will explain.

After a couple days you enter a giddy, drunk-like state. Things that aren’t typically funny become hilarious. For example, a man dropping a newly purchased bagel with cream cheese on the ground would be laugh-out-loud funny (if you happen to have an appreciation for other’s misfortune, as I do). If the man reacts by saying “shit” when his bagel hits the pavement, you may come away with a hernia. This is the enjoyable side of sleep depravation.

But much as a manic’s highs are followed by debilitating lows, the light side of sleep depravation quickly fades to black. After a few days, you’re a mess. You can’t remember what you did two minutes ago. Your speech becomes slurred. Your equilibrium goes haywire. You trip over your own feet. You walk into walls. You bump your head when you bend down to tie your shoe.

By mid-week, my brain was tweaked. Early one morning, after rocking my youngest daughter back to sleep, I laid awake, analyzing my life in a million and one ways. The sleep deprived mind works to dredge horrors and fears from the depths of your subconscious, illuminating them in a cataclysmic light.

This is not healthy, I thought. I will drive myself crazy. I have to get out of here.

I rolled over and whispered to my wife. “I’m going to watch the sunrise at Maroon Bells,” I said.

“What?”

“I can’t sleep. I’m going.”

“Watch out for bears.”

Rejuvenated by the thought of a quiet morning alone in nature, I threw on a jacket, packed up my video camera and was on my way. It was 5:32 AM.

The streets were empty. The sky was dark and cloudless and spotted with stars. A full moon sat just over Shadow Mountain. I was alone. No cell phone. No radio. Just a quiet detachment.

What a wonderful time, the early morning. The stillness is liberating. There is a wonderful simplicity to it, a peace. Maybe it’s just that the assholes of the world are still sleeping. Either way, the hour just before sunrise is my favorite hour of the day. Once the sun is up, things tend to go downhill quickly.

The sky began to warm with a neon blue light as I approached the parking area at Maroon Lake. Turns out I wasn’t the only one who thought it would be nice to view Maroon Bells at sunrise. Much to my disappointment, the parking lot was nearly full.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” I said to myself. “What are all these goddamn people doing here?”

At least 100 people lined the shore, almost all with expensive cameras perched on tripods. I placed my video camera between two photographers at the lake’s edge, framed my shot and rolled tape. I thought it would be cool to get a time-lapse shot of Maroon Bells awakening to the morning light. Not sure when or if I will ever use it, but at least I have the footage.

Once my camera was doing its thing, I sat on a rock and looked across the lake. A cold breeze blew over the water, gently rippling the mountain’s reflection. It was quite a sight, but truthfully, nothing I hadn’t seen during previous visits. The only difference was the time of day.

I wondered what it was that inspired all of these photographers to drag themselves out of bed at five in the morning to sit in the freezing cold. The so-called “golden hour” wasn’t all that golden. In fact, the light seemed dull and flat.

Then it happened. An orange light fell softly atop Pyramid Peak, the first reaches of the morning sun. This brilliant light moved down the horizontal crags of rock, creating a sight so spectacular it would make a believer of the most ardent atheist. I watched in awe as the light sank lower and lower on the mountain. If it hadn’t been for the 100 other photographers clicking away, I may have been swept into a state of nirvana.

And besides, it was getting late. The sun was now up, and I had to get going or I’d be late to work. It’s too bad that heaven and hell are such close neighbors.

Entry Filed under: Environment, Aspen, Colorado, Outdoors