To get to the Mirador (“viewpoint”) is a fairly long and stiff walk from the house or the casita up the hill, so it’s not something I do every morning, or even every day, while we’re at Dos Rios.
Every time I do go, the walk ends up being rewarding.
Especially when I go in the hour right after sunrise.
As the trail nears the mirador, it runs along an old cowpath on a steep slope. Through a hole in the vegetation, a first glimpse appears…beyond that ridge is the Pacific Ocean. You can’t see it, but it’s there, and the ocean’s influence on the quality of light here can be strong. Especially so during late afternoon and evening when the sun’s last rays reflect from the surface of the sea back into the sky above us.
The mirador area is partly cleared. There’s a small tin-roofed shed with an old plastic table and some wooden benches. It’s a good place to sit and watch the world. On still nights, the valley often fills with groundfog. Come morning, the fog flows downhill, out the valley toward the Pacific, a river of mist over the rivers it temporarily obscures.
The air up here on the hill feels still. It’s still in the valley below, too. The birds have woken. Below on the hillside, a flock of chachalacas chatters and yaks while searching for breakfast. High above, flocks of noisy parrots zoom along on their daily commute from nighttime roosts to treetop breakfast nooks. The poró trees near the casita are a frequent stop. Down there, flowers will be on the morning’s menu.
From up here I see the river of fog move steadily along.
Sometimes breezes comb the top of the fog.
The fog moves surprisingly quickly.
Compare these next two photos…
They were taken less than a minute apart.
I know that humans are having breakfast back at the house.
Still I sit, and listen and look and linger, watching the fog depart.
Then the fog is gone.
I enjoy one last minute of a sunwashed scenery.
And then head home, down the trail…
It’s going to be a very good day.