If Hallstatt had a sense of humor, I was the punchline. First, the Tow-Mater routine because 'locals only', then a sky flatter than a gluten-free crêpe and an Olympic gate hurdle because time runs differently for my kids.
I drove six hours to Hallstatt, late as usual, and landed in the only "campground" still open — which turned out to be a glorified parking lot, too far to walk from.
Still, I set my alarm for 3:30 a.m., convinced there had to be a way. Drove into town. GPS insisted I go into a small area under the bridge, blocked by a gate. No dice. Locals only. Picture me tow-matering my way out while the pre-dawn golden light faded. No parking. No shot. I gave up.
The next day I found a closer (and nicer) campground — because every other lot had height bars my van couldn't squeeze under. Another 3:30 alarm. Another stumble through the dark. A twenty-minute walk to the famous spot.
By the time the sun finally reached the church spire, the sky was flatter than a runny crêpe. The village lights had already clicked off. Nothing.
By late afternoon, I was out of ideas and heat-stunned enough to try the salt mine tour. As always, my kids were late. We hustled to the gate with fifteen minutes to spare, only to find it locked. I managed to scan through with one son; the other's ticket wouldn't work, so he ducked the gate and dashed onto the tram. We made it up, but not without a scene.
At the top, there was still an uphill hike that normally takes twenty minutes. They ran. I hobbled, dragging my bum leg like a beaver hauls logs. Out of breath. Sweating. Wondering why I do this to myself.
Somewhere in the depths of that mine, lungs still burning, I realized the shot I craved wasn't a morning shot at all. It had to be after sunset, when the lights finally came on.
So back at camp, dinner made and dishes washed, we trekked out again. I stood on the walkway, swapping stories with a Stanford student from China, loaning him my tripod, and photographing his family while the village tested my patience one last time.
The lights didn't flicker on until the sky was nearly black. But when they did — that was the frame.
Back at the van at midnight, home the next day. I admit, I needed a nap halfway back because the road was dancing to a tune my ears couldn't quite hear.
That's the shot I kept. Not because it was easy, but because it made me earn it.
— Sherry (tow-matering my way to the good ones)