A Beaver Marsh boardwalk sunrise

Sunrises. Those vague occasions that everyone wants to see, but never actually has the ability (or desire) to wake up early enough for. The quiet moments that we think of when we’re stressed out or when we need hope for the next day. The bucket list items we never cross off and are, for some reason, okay with.

Far too often, sunrises are a beautiful performance seen by too few people.

As a morning person, I often have the privilege of doing my morning chores under a slowly brightening sky and watching the darkness change to pale blue to pink to red to sun.

Sometimes, though, you just get those urges to go somewhere new and watch the sun rise in a different location, sending out its beautiful beams across a distinct landscape. The marsh, I thought, late into a shift at work. I want the Beaver Marsh boardwalk view in Cuyahoga Valley National Park.

We can only appreciate the miracle of a sunrise if we have waited in the darkness.

Sapna Reddy

I drug Sami up the next morning at 4 a.m., and quietly shuffled through the house to grab our daypack. We’d packed ice coffees and cold-soaked oatmeal the night before.

The Ira trailhead of the Towpath is the quickest way to the Beaver Marsh boardwalk. In the dark, I made a wrong turn, but we still arrived just as the faint touches of dawn lit up the horizon. Only a few other people were in the parking lot: a group of runners out for the morning.

We turned left on the trail towards the marshes, quietly drinking in the morning’s calmness and the singing birds. Once on the boardwalk, it was quiet. Not a single other person was there. If you’ve been on this trail before, you know that’s a rarity!

Sami and I set up on the benches, popped open our oatmeal and coffees, and waited.

This morning’s sunrise was not brilliant or bold, but it was quiet and warming, a touch of light against a darkened sky and dazzling green pool of lilies.

The quietness of the day also allowed us to see a variety of animals. There was a wood duck and her babies, fish that rose and dove from the surface of the water, red-winged blackbirds perching on cattails, a turtle swimming just under the water.

We sat there with only one or two people walking past us.

Around 6:30 a.m., the trail started coming to life. Bikes began buzzing down the wooden boardwalk. Joggers and runners passed photographers. The slow morning sped up. About that time, Sami and I quietly picked up our food, repacked our daypack, and slipped back towards the trailhead.

Sunrises are the quiet whispers of a new day, of new hope. If you need a little hope, the unassuming Beaver Marsh is waiting.