Vysočina. Sunrise in Mohelno

The alarm goes off at 3.50, and I’m instantly wide awake and out of bed. I stand between the bed and the window, pondering. I’ve planned a sunrise trip to Mohelenská hadcová step (Mohelno Serpentine Steppe), but for a few eternal seconds I’m not sure I know what I’m doing. I’m especially worried that the drive will take longer than I expect, and I’ll be late for sunrise. But I have no time to ponder, I should just go and, if I end up being late, at least I will have learnt something about how to plan sunrise trips.

The Mohelno Steppe is a nature reserve located just south of Mohelno with nature trails snaking up and down the valley, along the Jihlava river. I’ve been there twice, so I’m familiar with the area. In fact, I’ve chosen this place because I think the flat area near the car park, overlooking the valley, makes for a great sunrise viewing spot – I’ve never been there at sunrise, but I hope I’m right. 

I drive out of the garage around 4.50. It’s still pitch black outside, the full moon already low on the horizon. Today is the last day of winter time, and that makes this trip somehow even more special. Sunrise time is 5.46. The drive is smooth, the road silent and deserted. I drive across the Vysočina border: Mohelno is not far. The sky is still dark, but something’s happening: there’s a distant glow, the black now turning to an intense shade of blue. I realise I’m not far, so I pull over by an open field and manage a few moon shots. 

The moon is close to setting now, not long till sunrise.

Once in Mohelno, I drive up the road to the steppe car park. Getting out of the car is a bit of a shock: it’s freezing cold. I know I have to hurry, but I’m not wearing enough layers and I can’t feel my hands. But just when I’ve grabbed my backpack from the car trunk, I glimpse a tiny orange dot peeking over the hill: the sun. I run, boots still unlaced, to the closest decent viewing spot, and I start shooting. It’s like the sun has waited for as long as possible for me to get there – till at one point it couldn’t hold back any longer, and just had to rise.

But I made it. I’m here today, I’m seeing it happen. 

Sunrise is solemn, majestic, radiant. And to think that this happens every day: every morning the sun rises quietly, in silence, even when there’s no one looking, taking photos, marvelling at it. Isn’t it beautiful? And just like that the sun is up, sunrise is over, and the day has begun. I walk to the wooden terrace overlooking the valley, where oblique rays cast a faint, pale light over the trees lining the slope. A painterly view.

This piece was first published in the book ‘Vysočina 101’, a photo book project on the Czech region Vysočina I worked on between 2020 and 2023. Read more about it here.