It is a race against time. I am surrounded by a thick dense fog. It is so eerily thick  that I can hardly make out the familiar park trail that lays just feet in front of me. Thanks to social media, it has been made known that tonight’s sunset in the east was one to remember. Some are even saying they have never seen nightfall quite as mesmerizing as it was tonight. I live along the west coast so I am hoping to catch a peek at the sky before the sun falls beneath the horizon. As an aspiring photographer, I know I must catch the shot. But here I stand, in Northern California, surrounded by fog, with little to no chance of catching a glimpse. I check the time on my phone: 6pm. That leaves only an hour and five minutes until sun down on the west coast. It is now or never. The park is known for its large peaks. I have hiked them before, but reaching the top in such a short amount of time would be nearly impossible. Feeling defeated, I start back toward my car. As I reach the parking lot, and my feet come off of the dirt trail, a sudden rush comes over me. “I have to get that shot,” I think to myself. Sprinting, I frantically try to remember which trail leads to the highest peak. I go with my gut and continue on the trail to the right. Huffing and puffing, I run up the steep inclines, nearly falling over loose dirt and stones. I feel out of shape. Perspiration begins to pool on my forehead. This feels impossible. The fog only seems to be getting thicker. I near the point of giving up and turning around. I know that I have to keep trying. As I push on, I see a sudden break in the density of the fog. “Almost there,” I tell myself. I climb up the narrow wooden staircase that leads to the peak. When I reach the last step, the fog resides. I am met by an amazing sight. The most vibrant combination of reds, oranges, yellows and pinks. It is breathtaking. I reach for my camera, filled with excitement, ready to get my shot.; only to realize I had left the camera in my car.