Karin would have jokingly told you, even a couple days into our recent vacation to Maui, that my camera memory card was probably, at least and if not more than, half full of pictures of the sun setting. Or rising. Rising, too.
The transition of day into night, or the reverse, as rhythmic and magical as it was, seemed to have so much more than a symbolic importance on those islands. Maybe it was just bored tourists looking for something to do at half past six each night, or maybe it was because the sun put on more than a casual showing each day, but the hundreds of people gathered, wherever and whenever the sun crossed a horizon was magnitudes more populous than any sunset I’ve ever watched closer to home.
Almost each day we fell into the cycle of eating dinner, washing up, then meandering down to the nearby beach to watch the orb drop into the ocean.
On the morning of March 2, we woke at quarter to four in the morning, packed a breakfast, drove for more than two hours up nearly ten thousand feet of elevation to the top of the Haleakala volcano, and with about three hundred other people stood on the lip of the volcanic crater, huddled against the cold, and watched the sun creep over the clouds below us.
I took a lot of photos on that trip, and yes, a lot of them were sunsets… just as a lot of them were snorkeling photos or beach photos or panoramas of the surf crashing against the black stone coasts.
And these are some of my favorites…