Dawn on the Otago Peninsula


Daily Photo – Dawn on the Otago Peninsula

Dawn on the Otago Peninsula has a habit of rewarding poor decisions. Decisions like setting an alarm at an hour normally reserved for bakers, fishermen, and people who have clearly wronged themselves in a previous life. I was back on the hills again, chasing first light, convinced that this time would be different, even though experience suggested otherwise.

The hills rolled out in front of me, looking entirely unimpressed by my effort. They have seen far more determined early risers than me. Māori travellers crossed these ridges long before roads or coffee existed, and later European settlers arrived with grand plans, questionable footwear, and a firm belief that fences would solve everything. The hills endured it all and carried on regardless.

Below, the harbour caught the sunrise and held it gently, as if aware that this light was not to be rushed. A lone cabbage tree stood nearby, doing its usual job of looking vaguely historical and deeply unbothered. These trees have been guiding people across this landscape for generations, and now one was quietly supervising my tripod setup.

As the sky slipped into shades of gold and fire, the tiredness faded, replaced by that familiar, foolish sense of triumph. Dawn does that. It convinces you that getting up this early was entirely sensible, at least until the alarm goes off again tomorrow.

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