Disclaimer: some of the links below are affiliate links, which means I may receive a small commission if you shop from those links. This commission helps support this website and Wandering Switchback on the whole. I greatly appreciate your support!

This morning I decided to go to the town of Mendocino with hopes of photographing the sunrise. The skies have been different levels of cloudy lately, and some make for more interesting sunrises and sunsets than others, so I figured I might try my luck. My brain woke up 20 minutes before my alarm went off, so I played on my phone for a few minutes before I got up and put on some warm clothing. I made my coffee, cut up an apple and grabbed a small bag of shelled pistachios to get me through the morning. While I remotely warmed up the truck, I quickly did the few dishes in the sink, gathered my camera bag along with my coat, hat, and boots, and climbed into the truck, setting my playlist on my phone to let Mary Chapin Carpenter welcome the day with me.

I slowly drove down our country road to the highway and set forth to Mendocino, the sky still dark from the night, and the roads quiet this early on a Sunday. Point Cabrillo lighthouse repeatedly flashed the cloudy sky as I made my way along Highway 1.

I turned down the beat-up road into Mendocino with old buildings framing the way- a restored church on my left, and western/Victorian buildings on the right facing the ocean with covered porches for tourists to walk along. A few had lights on outside and even fewer inside, highlighting the original windows. One lone delivery truck was the only other sign of life this early.

I slowly headed for the trailhead to the totem pole that’s on the coast, mostly unfamiliar with what this coastline has to offer. Having looked at maps and the angle at which the sun would rise, I figured I could at least get some ocean in my shots; perhaps town, the trees, and other interesting elements as well. While I had my headlamp with me, it was too dark and cloudy to capture anything of interest when I arrived. I parked on the street in front of a house on the corner and waited in the truck, quietly listening to music, sipping my coffee, eating my apple and pistachios, and hoping I didn’t make anyone nervous about this unfamiliar person sitting in a truck.

Finally, a small amount of light was visible under the clouds on the horizon to the south, so I gathered up my bag, my tripod and my coffee and set out on the trail in the twilight. The coastal wind blew hard against me as I crossed the street and my feet hit the dirt, muddied from the preceding several days of rain. Below me, waves crashed and sea gulls cried as I slowly studied the scene, looking for the best shot. I passed a long set of stairs climbing down to the water’s edge, offering a passageway to a beach covered in large logs washed ashore. I reached a fence going around a hole in the cliffside, with the sea having carved out arches and caves in the land, and as I reached the waterline, I saw a blowhole Mountain Goat had mentioned during her tour. As I watched the waves hit the shore, the water would pour into the cave, then blow out over the top of an arch created by the sea, water arcing and pulsing with the waves.

Blowhole on the Mendocino coast with the town of Mendocino and highway 1 visible in the background

I set up my tripod and selected my wide lens, and aimed my camera to the east. I captured some images while the lights of the buildings in town were still lit, and before the traffic of the day began on the coastal highway.

Clouds often make sunrises and sunsets more interesting, but of course, sometimes they can block them out entirely. I set out this morning recognizing this could go in any direction, but willing to take my chances to get out in nature. The clouds were thick, with occasional thin areas above me, but I could see that it was questionable if there would be much of a sunrise. In any case, I figured I’d enjoy the waves, the birds, and the quiet time to myself.

I turned my gaze and then my camera to the south, where I could better watch the waves rolling in, and tiny openings in the clouds allowed some pink sky to peek through in the same place I’d first seen light earlier in the morning.

First glimpses of the sun’s light looking south along the coast

I decided to set up my phone to record the waves with the sound of the ocean, hoping to block the sound of the wind, which thankfully, seemed to work in the nook in which I set up.

While that recorded, a woman walking her dog came down the trail and greeted me. We talked about how big the surf has been the past several days and how calm the seas were this morning in comparison. She wished me well and continued on her walk along the cliff’s edge.

I went back to my camera and saw some pink on the horizon to the east over the bridge that spans the mouth of Big River. The fog in the trees made for an interesting view, so I changed to my 70-200mm zoom lens and zoomed in to capture the constantly changing display.

Fog in the Redwoods along Big River, with Highway 1 in the foreground

Oranges and pinks began to pop up along the horizon, including where I anticipated the sun to rise, and I switched to my wide lens.

I began to get excited about a possibly impressive sunrise, hoping to see the sun pop up over the hillside.

The light turned the fog into glowing pinks and oranges, and I quickly went back to my zoom lens to capture it. It left as quickly as it came, but thankfully, I snapped a couple of shots before that.

Please tell Mountain Goat this is why I need another camera…

Anyway.

While I had on my zoom, I caught a couple of shots of the blowhole as well.

Then I changed back to my wide lens and waited for the sun to rise higher and finally show itself.

Waiting

Then I felt a brush on my leg, and looked down to see the honey-colored eyes of a young puppy looking up at me. Her human apologized, as she had knocked over my coffee cup, which I assured him was long since empty and no big deal. I reached down to pet the four-legged intruder, whose name, I would learn, was Fern. Her human, Chris, and I chatted for several minutes while I watched the horizon for the sun, discussing what we were both doing in the area, mindfulness, and living on the east coast (he was from Maine, I was stationed in Rhode Island).

As the sun rose, it hid behind the thick cover of clouds, never making itself visible, and never lighting up the clouds again the way it had before.

Chris and I exchanged a handshake and a hug, and I waved goodbye to Fern as they made their way back up toward the trailhead. Looking at the clock to confirm the sun was as risen as would be exciting to photograph, and seeing a few thin pops of blue sky above me, I decided it was time to pack up and head home.

Once back in the truck, I messaged Mountain Goat to let her know I was headed back and I slowly cruised through Mendocino Headlands State Park to admire the coast on my way back to Highway 1.

As I was driving, I noticed a strange cloud pattern in the sky between the trees and dipped my head to try to see it better. It looked similar to a rainbow, but white. I wasn’t sure I was really seeing what I was seeing, but I quickly started looking for places to turn out to photograph it. The parking lot for Jughandle State Park was just ahead, and I turned sharply into the lot, jarring the truck to a halt. I jumped out, put my wide lens on my camera, and headed to the beach as fast as my knee would allow, hoping to get there before whatever I’d seen was gone.

It turns out there are at least 12 kinds of rainbows in existence, one of which is called a white rainbow, ghost rainbow or fogbow. They form in very specific conditions. There needs to be thin fog and abundant sunlight hitting at just the right angle, with the sun behind the viewer. Sometimes, a reddish hue can be seen on the outside edge, and a bluish hue on the inside edge. Fog droplets are much smaller than rain droplets so the color is often invisible, making the rainbow appear white.

I furiously made my way down the stairs to the beach, elated to see that this incredible phenomenon was still happening. I raised my camera to capture it, assuming it would be gone quickly, so I’d only have a short time to get shots. I kept snapping pictures as I approached the waterline, hoping to get some better pictures before it faded, and very grateful I had my camera with me.

I had about 3.5 minutes between my first photo and my last of it before it faded into oblivion, according to my meta data.

I said some words of gratitude toward the sea before I turned and headed back to the car. I sent a photo to Mountain Goat and let her know I’d made a pit stop and would be a few minutes later than expected. When I got home, we both agreed that this was something neither of us had seen before.

Had I not gone to photograph the sunrise that wasn’t, had I chosen another place to do so, had I not talked with Chris for a few minutes, and had I not had my camera with me, I would have been out of luck capturing this incredible moment.

I really like to look for those Higher Power moments, and I feel like I had a beautiful one today.

Rarer than a rainbow

I hate mushrooms, but they make pretty photographs