I started with a basic tee.

Then layered it with a thin sweater, my jean jacket, windbreaker, and a wool scarf. I silently coveted Pete’s warm hat, but wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of saying so aloud, given my refusal to pack one at his insistence.

Yes, we were still in Maui.

I stood with my back to the eastern horizon as the ferocious wind whipped. People all around us were huddled together shivering, some in shorts and flip flops, others with beach towels acting as a shield against the heavy mist we were shrouded in.

Apparently we were the only ones who brought enough layers to stand a mild Canadian winter, and we were still chilled. Even though the chances were slim that the weather would be this bad (15%, we had read), we knew ourselves well enough to come prepared. Because as we arrived at the summit of Haleakala (one of the top things to do in Maui) before 5am to catch the sunrise at 10,000 ft, we knew we came burdened with a curse.

We saw mere streaks of a sunrise before the fog descended. And our experience became reminiscent of that in Tikal and Angkor Wat, where we rose at ungodly hours to capture the first rays, only to be severely disappointed. (Thank goodness for our early morning in the Sahara, to save our sunrise record from being at exactly zero percent.)

Our layers allowed us to linger longer than most, others retreated to their cars mere seconds after the sunrise moment had passed. We abandoned the quest ourselves ten minutes later, packed up and began our descent to the parking lot, but quickly turned back as the sky lightened ever-so-slightly.

Could it be that our perseverance would pay off? That we would still catch some of the brilliant early morning colors, all to ourselves after everyone had left?