Tales of the beautiful everyday from the North
Unexpected relief
Everything was a mess. Or, everything was still a mess. Satellite images were a mess of chaotic lines and shapes in all shades of very-much-not-clear-sky. But on the way out of town, we drove straight into unexpected clear sky. Like clear sky, clear sky. It felt too good to be true, but it was an easy decision to abandon a further chase out for what was maybe clear sky. So we turned off to a nearby lake and while driving slowly down to the ice road, I watched nervously out the front windshield scared this wasn’t going to last.
And while our clear sky didn’t last all night, we were luckier than I could have hoped for. The aurora met us earlier than usual and danced beautifully until it was eaten up by heavier cloud that did remain for the rest of the night.
A soul sucking beginning of February
We right now sit on the cusp of returning to a more familiar Yellowknife February. Nights of -40 appear to be right around the corner, again, but for the last couple of weeks, it has felt more like November.
Nighttime lows have only barely reached the -20s, and then there’s the cloud. So much cloud. Tens of centimetres of new snow. It feels like it never stops.
My night drives have often been long, and not always fruitful. We have sometimes dramatically adjusted our schedule, exploited ice roads for a few extra kilometres of hope, and been painfully patient. The nights of everything coming together have been exhilarating, but the others have been, cumulatively, more than a little exhaustingly heartbreaking.
When you ask what do I do in the summer, and I tell you with a smile and a laugh, “just not think about the weather” — it is entirely serious, and the reprieve from stretches like this are very much needed.
A familiar story
It was a little bit of a familiar story returning to my daily life. Chaos in the kitchen and returning home hours later to what looked a bomb having gone off.
A very late booking request on a night with clear sky closing up too quickly sent my evening into the kind of chaos that I usually reserve for some alone time with the aurora when a spur of the moment decision leads me out the door in a panic.
Candying almonds isn’t a very hands off kind of dessert to prepare. Every single time I think it will be quicker than it is. I’ve always been a slow learner, so maybe next time I’ll finally remember how painstakingly hands on it is for at least 20 minutes. But it was too late to turn back now; the sugar, cinnamon, water, and vanilla were already bubbling and I was very short on time. I repeatedly tested my luck running away from the stove to get one other thing in order so I could eventually get out the door on time.
With 7 minutes before I had to be backing out of my driveway, I could finally pull the candied almonds off the stove - dump them onto parchment to cool for all of about 90 seconds before transferring a bunch into a glass container and running out my door to get this night underway.
Waiting on cloud
Tied hands
Night after night, the situation was very much the same, but different. I spent my days checking in on satellite images, anticipating the timing of clear skies pushing out clouds from the north, of clear skies beaten eaten up by clouds moving in from the west. It was all a mess, but somewhat orderly.
These nights weren’t about just chasing clear breaks. These nights were about waiting on much bigger weather systems to move through, for better when clear sky was pushing out overcast cloud, and for worse when incoming cloud chased us to the end of the highway. But on all three nights, we couldn’t have asked for better timing. When we had positioned ourselves as close to the end of a cloud bank as the roads would allow us, the aurora was later than usual and allowed us to enjoy it from totally clear sky. And when we had hoped for an earlier night to beat to the cloud, the aurora was there then too.
These nights are very much the meditative kinds of nights, that feel a little bit magical reflecting on everything coming together in perfect time.
The best hours
As I sit here today to write this post, the temperature outside is just -13°. It’s a welcome break for my car and for my home, my fingers and face too. Usually these warm swings in the middle of winter are accompanied by a lot of cloud, and in this case about 10cm of fresh snow, but that’s all a problem for later.
So many of our nights recently have been into the -30s with mostly clear skies. They’ve taken us out into some of my favourite areas of the countryside through familiar ice roads. The hours on these lakes have felt calming and meditative. They are my favourite times of my days - a little bit removed from the business part of all this having to be a business.
