“He that observeth the wind shall not sow; and he that regardeth the clouds shall not reap.” —Ecclesiastes 11:4

We drove on and on in the pitch blackness. It was evident by the curves in the road and the popping in our ears that we were gaining elevation quickly. The highway wound endlessly up and up the mountainsides of the Smokies.

Finally, after what felt like a long ascent into nothingness, we reached the overlook we had been waiting for. But at this hour, even the eastern horizon wasn’t visible.

My alarm had gone off at 3:50 a.m.—the kind of time that makes you question your sanity—but now, an hour before sunrise, we stood at one of the best photography locations in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park: Luftee Overlook.

As we set up our tripods, you could just begin to see a faint tinge of blue in the sky. A light mist rolled in from the west, soft and quiet.

It was time to start photographing.

Soon, a second vehicle pulled up. The rest of the small workshop group had arrived. A tiny bright spot appeared on the eastern horizon. We gathered at the overlook, hopeful we still might see some color in the sky before the day’s forecasted thunderstorms began.

But it didn’t take long to accept reality: there would be no stunning sunrise today.

Dense cloud cover stretched across the sky in every direction. Even the little bright spot we had been watching disappeared behind the thickening clouds.

Still—it wasn’t raining yet.

We photographed what we could, then moved on to another overlook just a few minutes down the road.

Newfound Gap usually offers sweeping views in multiple directions, but today we only managed a few quick shots before it started sprinkling. By the time we got back into our cars, the wind had picked up and the rain was falling harder.

Not knowing how long the rain would last, we decided to stick with the day’s original plan and head toward Clingman’s Dome—now officially known as Kuwohi—the highest point in Tennessee.

The rain didn’t let up as we wound our way up to our destination. Still, I kept my eyes open for anything that might be worth photographing. Sometimes the best images come when you least expect them.

Soon, we reached a section of road that looked promising. It offered an overlook—though at the moment, the view was nothing but a blank wall of mist. Still, something about this spot felt worth exploring. I pulled off to see how we might manage in the rain.

And that’s when I got an idea. Why not photograph from under the open back hatch of my minivan?!

It worked perfectly. The four of us huddled there, dry-ish and comfortable, cameras pointed out over the misty landscape around us.

Then, the most memorable moment of the day unfolded.

I had been photographing a dead tree up to the mountainside beside us when something in the weather shifted. The light brightened ever so slightly. The rain softened to a sprinkle. And the wall of mist began to break apart, revealing an intricate, layered world of ridges, trees, and drifting fog.

Rainy Day in the Smokies
Kuwohi Road, Great Smoky Mountains National Park, North Carolina
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Suddenly, we had a scene worth exploring!

We spent some time time here, photographing the constantly shifting mist as it rose up from the valleys. Every few seconds brought a new composition—new texture, new interplay between trees and fog. We even experimented with time‑lapse settings on our cameras, which was something new for me.

Eventually, the break in the rain gave us hope that the main overlook ahead might offer something too, so we continued up the road to see what else the Lord would give us that day.

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As much as we would have loved a clear, sunny day for the EXPLORE Springtime in the Smokies photography workshop, we never would have captured these incredible images if we had “observed the weather” and stayed home.

Think about it. When was the last time you got up super early for a sunrise when the forecast predicted an extremely high chance of rain?

It’s happened to me plenty of times, even just in the past month. I find excuses easily: I’m too tired. It’s going to rain. I went to bed late. I’d rather sleep in. You’ve probably been there too.

But Ecclesiastes reminds us: He that observes the clouds won’t sow—and therefore won’t reap.

The photographer who makes decisions based on comfort won’t get out in the field—and therefore won’t come home with any photos.

I’m glad we went out despite the rain. And we were rewarded with scenes we never expected.

Thankfully, it didn’t rain all day during the workshop. So I’ll look forward to sharing more about what happened the rest of the day in a future blog post! We still encountered rain, but we kept putting in the effort—and we certainly reaped more reward.