First Light at Maroubra

I drove down to the headland before dawn with the heater on and the windows fogging. Maroubra before sunrise is more sound than image — wind across the carpark, a single magpie somewhere in the pines, the hood of my dry bag scratching against my coat as I jogged down the steps.

I shot almost nothing for the first hour. Just sat on the wet sand with a coffee that had already gone tepid and watched the line-up. The first frame I made was tight on a single rock pool, the light still cold blue. The second was wide, almost too wide, with the horizon slightly tilted because I couldn't be bothered to level the tripod.

I keep coming back to a single idea: most of my best frames happen in the gap between deciding to leave and actually leaving. Five more minutes, every time.