Landscape photographers are well-acquainted with early starts to the day; rolling out of bed at crazy hours goes with the territory.

If you're a morning person like me, it's probably a little less jarring. Still, those mid-summer nights are mighty short, especially when you're working in far-northern latitudes.

Morning people get tired when running on fumes, too.

That's just one of the reasons I really enjoy autumn shoots. Of course, there's the foliage: what's not to like about that? But it's also cooler and - importantly - the days are getting shorter. Working in Grand Teton National Park recently, not leaving the campground until 6am almost felt like loafing.

The park was exceptionally busy the last weekend of September. I've never seen it that packed during foliage season. It was nearly impossible to avoid crowds, even in places that are normally less frequented and at times when they're not usually out and about in such numbers. Miserable. At one point I contemplated cutting the shoot short and heading back to Idaho.

Fortunately, I stuck around - though I did retreat to the shoreline of Jackson Lake, book in hand, on more than one occasion.

I try to avoid areas that are photographer traps, but knew I was going to have to bite the bullet one morning since there was some work I wanted to get done at Oxbow Bend, a wildly popular area. If you bring muck boots and get creative, though, (relative) solitude can be found even there, because most people stick to the parking area like glue.

Still, I wasn't going to leave anything to chance and planned an extra-early arrival. Two hours prior to sunrise seemed about right.

While GTNP isn't officially designated a dark sky park, on moonless nights you'll encounter inky blackness. Look up to the heavens and you'll be amazed by how many stars you'll see - while at ground level, very little is visible. If you're by yourself, this might be a little disconcerting, depending on where you are. Wildlife can be active overnight, especially in autumn.

When I pulled up at the Bend there was almost nobody there. Maybe two hours was a little aggressive, but better safe than sorry. I don't sleep well when camping anyway, so it's not like I'd awakened extra early. With time to kill, I'd rather do it on location than twiddling my thumbs at the campground.

I made my way down to the river, mounted the camera on the tripod, and then sat down along the shore to wait. I couldn't see the mountains or the trees on the opposite shore or the water. I couldn't see anything but stars and some clouds overhead. Clouds! A promising start.

The music of bugling elk kept me company: a signature autumnal sound in the Tetons. Other than that, it was completely quiet and utterly still. I sat there alone in the darkness, appreciating the opportunity to experience one of my favorite places in this way.

Finally, the blackness developed some nuance. I began to make out shapes and recognize objects. The outlines of Mount Moran; faint light in the sky to the east; some lodgepole pines. Looking up at my camera's silhouette against the starry sky, I thought about my long-standing relationship with daybreak.

Experiencing the beginning of the day is a gift; getting up at 0-dark-30 is part of the equation. I may roll out of bed feeling tired, but that quickly disappears. Suddenly it's game day and I'm ready for action.

Something magical might happen, and I might capture it with my camera.

Darkness. My friend.