Jackson, a PhD student in my lab, used to sit in my row. We hadn’t really spoken much. That changed when we both ended up TAing the same class. On the first day, we introduced ourselves and shared a bit about what we do outside of research. I mentioned photography. Jackson mentioned that he flies planes. That was news to both of us.
After class, we talked a bit more. He casually offered to take me up so I could shoot from the air. I said yes immediately. No hesitation. In hindsight, maybe a little too quickly.
The next question was obvious. What do we shoot?
After a bit of back and forth, we landed on Longs Peak at sunrise. It felt ambitious. But if you’re already in the air, you might as well go all in.
We tried that same week. Woke up at a ridiculous hour. Drove out to the airport. Got shut down by dense low fog. Not something you mess with in a small prop plane. We rescheduled for the next week. Same story. A cold front rolled in. We were completely socked in.
At that point, it started to feel like one of those ideas that sounds great, but never quite happens.
A couple of weeks later, we finally got a stretch of clear days. We made a plan again. This time, everything looked perfect. Clear skies to the east. No major systems. Nothing obviously wrong. The only problem, at least in my head, was that the sky looked too clean. No clouds. Just a pale blue sunrise. Not exactly what I had imagined.
I didn’t say anything. We took off.
As we headed toward Longs, that thought disappeared almost instantly. The moment the mountain came into view, everything changed. The clouds were exactly where they needed to be. Not above us, but layered behind the mountain. Catching the first light in a way that felt almost unreal. Better than anything I could have planned.
We had taken off about ninety minutes before sunrise, so we had time to figure things out. We did a few laps around the mountain. Testing angles. Adjusting altitude. Figuring out where I should be shooting from. Each pass got a little better. We started to understand how everything lined up. We also realized something important. It took about nine minutes to complete a full loop and line up again.
That meant we didn’t have many chances.
As the sun started to crest over the horizon, we were mid-loop. Not in position. That’s when I felt it. That slight panic. I asked Jackson to turn us around. Fast. No hesitation. He banked hard. Suddenly we were lined up again, heading straight toward Longs.
At that point, everything else faded out.
I focused on staying steady. Controlling my breathing. Keeping the frame locked. The plane was moving. The light was changing fast. There wasn’t much room for error. I fired a series of shots as we passed by.
I checked the playback. Sharp. In focus. Composition exactly where I wanted it.
That was it. That was The Shot.
I told Jackson we were good, and we started heading back toward Boulder. Neither of us said much for a bit. It was one of those mornings where everything just works. The light, the clouds, the timing, even the air was calm.
It had taken a few failed attempts and a lot of waiting, but it all came together in that last pass.
It’s a morning I don’t think either of us will forget anytime soon.
