The blog
Beauty sighs
Sunrise today, on the 1st of December, is 10:42. The weeks ago of this trip into Kluane National Park was a much earlier morning. I left Whitehorse at the faintest hint of blue hour with temperatures deep into the -20s. The smell of warm coffee filled the inside of the car with the windows frozen shut, and ice crystals lining the top of the inside of the windshield.
Elk weren’t shy at the sides of the highway. Coyotes ran alongside the highway at times too. Any passing traffic was almost non-existent which prolonged the time just watching these beautiful animals from the car.
"There’s something about this cold, snowy, icy winter that just makes me so crazy. It’s like a connection deep down with my soul."
Closer and closer to Kluane, temperatures dropped to the lowest of -33°. Around every corner, a new mountain or new angle of the same mountains appeared more and more magical. Blue hour, then sunrise and golden hour all gave such magic that it felt like nothing had ever been so beautiful. I kept having these deep in the body, heavy sighs. Beauty sighs. It was just some kind of physical way, some kind of release, to deal with so much beauty and love. It was complete and total overwhelmingness.
On every trip into Kluane before, I always had this dream of being up with the mountain sheep, but they were always, always so high up on the mountain. But today finally, I could join them and watch them from what felt like so close.
Maybe they are not the most special wild animal, but observing any wild animal in their natural space is something which has to be so incredible.
After some time sitting out on the edge of the ice watching golden hour fade back into blue hour, and somewhere between numb fingers and the most sniffly nose ever, the ice starts to sing. At first just a few high pitched pings, and I snapped my body backward in the direction of the sound almost in disbelief. I couldn’t believe the perfection. Of course by now you know how much I love the singing ice, after my well documented obsession last winter. I just could not imagine any more perfect way to end such a day.
The magic valley revival
Thousands of kilometres away now, but the little magic valley in Yellowknife meant a lot to me. For years, it was a retreat in both daylight and under the stars. It was a quiet, cosy valley I could just hide away in. It reminded me of Norway, as much as Yellowknife could, and I think that was an important recharge for me.
"I think that was an important recharge for me."
On the last morning of showings for my then-home, and subsequently the day I sold it, I spent some hours there in this magical winter light. It’s still one of my best memories.
And then, more than half a year later, I stumble into my very own magic valley here. It was all the comfort, security, and nostalgia of Yellowknife, but Norway too, just even more special.
On this afternoon, I couldn’t stop watching in amazement of the shadows playing on the mountain sides. Chasing the light and the water up the valley just yielded more and more absolutely surreal beauty. Every moment needed another photograph. And how the light moved up to the peaks of the mountain ridges until it was all finally gone was just so beautiful. It was slow but still so fast.
Just so
Checking in on the auroral conditions a little later that night after dinner revealed far too perfect of an opportunity, despite being so exhausted, to stay home.
There was really just one choice of course, and it was to back track south once again to the magic valley. It was in so many ways just what I had been dreaming of for years. And now it gets to be my every day. That is magic.
The heart of the aurora chase
The optimistic realist
I always want to see the aurora, I just love seeing her. Every night. I want to see those most amazing displays. I love the colours, I love the movement and the scale of the aurora. It’s never the same, and it is never assured - not at any intensity, not for any duration. You cannot rely on the weather to be perfect, or the forecasting to be perfect. Maybe the clear sky on the map has passed or changed already from the information we can see.
In any moment, there can be endless decisions to make. That uncertainty forces you to slow down and to be in the present moment.
"For me, chasing the aurora is not about waiting on any one perfect night. It's about everything else around it as well. It's driving for hours, spending time in nature, and just being in that raw environment. It's just different from anything else."
So on a night where I’ve planned to leave very late to try to align as best as possible into challenging aurora conditions and challenging weather conditions, I feel an almost heightened sensitivity to everything else that is around the aurora chase as well.
Feeling the gusts of winds on the car across open sections of highway, scanning the sides of the highways for elk and all others, and keeping an eye for any stars demands that kind of heightened sensitivity. It is a stress, but it’s also a beautiful, unique awareness in a life that is a far cry from ordinary.
Leaving town, low cloud persisted for more than 150 kilometres with intermittent rain storms hitting us all along the way to an area I thought we might have a chance.
Every so often we’d stop, stretch our legs, breathe the sweet forest air at highway pull-outs and look up for any stars. There were still only raindrops and almost painful gusts of wind.
Then after many kilometres more, a few stars broke through small holes in the clouds until the sky became more stars than clouds. At first, the aurora was gentle, barely visible with the naked eye. Hours passed, and in the end it was the exact experience I love the most with the aurora. It was like the really good old, old days from Norway. Mountains, volatile weather, a successful chase, and the most beautiful aurora and happy feeling deep inside that almost couldn’t be contained.
Transitions
Waiting for the snow
Yesterday was the first day since I moved in that I didn’t see the mountains from my sofa, and today is the most beautiful they have ever looked.
Our first snow arrived in a true winter storm, and I was in love with every moment of that. It was like being wrapped up in every creature comfort again... Blustery winds, heavy snowfall, silence around the neighbourhood and such cosy winter clothing. The longer nights, late sunrises, and the intensity of blue hour when there is only snow everywhere have returned again after what felt like an eternity. My soul couldn’t be happier.
Everyone’s favourite few weeks
For the weeks and weeks before, I couldn’t spend enough time outside. The colours and crisp air but still warm sun pulled me out. Familiarity with the countryside felt less like a chore and more like a consequence. Entire mountainsides were covered in reds, oranges and yellows, and I constantly thought I had never been in a place more beautiful. I wondered passing other vehicles along the highways, “Do they know how beautiful this is? Are they seeing this too?”. I wanted to pull over every 100m and breathe heavy breaths at the beauty.
Hitting the ground crawling
Exhausted and almost home
My first night in Whitehorse at a lodge outside the city, the day before I would close on my apartment, was a great opportunity to see the aurora. One thing I did know about the aurora in Whitehorse, from simple math and physics (there’s no such thing), is that the peak time would typically be very, very late. And I was far too exhausted trying to tie together everything needed to close on my apartment the next day to keep myself up so late. But early enough for me to see it, with the sky barely dark enough, the aurora arced faintly over the mountains anyway.
And that felt really, really, good.
Home
The next night in a very empty apartment that was now mine, I looked over construction debris and a gorgeous new neighbourhood, to again the aurora dancing over the mountains. After all, a good part of choosing the exact apartment I did was my expectation of the aurora here.
I felt like the luckiest person in the world, but without any knowledge of how common this perfect weather and auroral activity was. But for the moment, it was all I needed.
For nights more since, I’ve watched the aurora dance from my bed.
"It was frustrating almost to tears."
Daytime drives out along the highways were exhausting. Exploring every side road, every driveway, poking around any exit off the highway in search of quiet locations with good views felt never ending and far from rewarding. A map littered with dots and notes to mark my discoveries is a much better idea on paper than it is practical.
Truly the only way this situation was going to get any better, or comfortable at all, was through forced experience. Something that was even more uncomfortable than just the raw uncomfortableness of such a big change in the first place.
Then on a night with extraordinary auroral activity, I decided I would try a new highway I hadn’t yet been out to, not even in the daytime. I hadn’t even looked closely at the highway on a map or Google Earth to get a sense of side roads of highway pullouts. This was, unsurprisingly, not the happiest night of my life.
I drove through the best minutes of the aurora, over and over again, totally unaware of where I was and what was around me. It was one of the most frustrating few hours of my life, before I left the aurora in the middle of her show to turn around and just come straight home. It was frustrating almost to tears.
