The blog
Acceptance
Driving out of my neighbourhood just before noon today for a quick gas run, 3 cars were abandoned on the side of the road off in our first snow. The roads were snowy, slushy, and ice pellets rained down, but it didn’t seem particularly bad. It made me wonder just what went on outside in the 4 whole hours I slept last night between getting home on dry roads after 4am, and waking up to centimetres of snow and ice sheets.
This is the chaos of the weather in the Yukon. I couldn’t love it more, but it’s challenging. And yes, the stop sign was dancing today, of course.
Not every night lately has been so perfect, and not every chase has met sustained clear sky, but I’m beginning to find calm in this routine of endless chaos through some cloudy weeks.
An old friend in Yellowknife taught me a lot about aurora chasing, but I don’t think he knows it, and I know he would never take credit for it.
He had endless trust in all of this - in himself, in knowledge and information, and in nature itself. And in the end, he always had acceptance in the aurora and the weather we faced there, and there was a calm around him you could feel as a result. It was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever been able to admire, to study, learn, and imitate. And in some full circle type of way, the end of an extremely chaotic month and a half has brought me so peacefully back into all of that love.
A seasonal love that challenges winter
I never expected to feel a love come close to the one I have for winter. The -40°, longer twilight hours than daylight hours, quiet and frozen everything love, but once again, fall in the Yukon takes a healthy run at it.
This day in Kluane kept getting pushed back for hopes of ‘better’ weather later and later in the week. I’m not sure what I was really expecting to find in the ‘perfect’ weather forecast — maybe more assurance of clear sky — but whatever that perfection in my mind was may as well have just been exactly this.
“Sometimes I think if you wait for a perfection, you may never really find it.”
Every mountain peak was not always visible, but as a result, early, or maybe the first, snow had dusted mountain peaks. Low clouds sat in valleys and floated beautifully in front of mountains. Sand storms blew up in the valley and moved gracefully along to disappear. I couldn’t tell you how many times I remarked through the day how happy I was to have the weather we did.
Entire landscapes and mountain sides were painted with every shade of yellow and burnt orange. It was all a beauty that was far too much. Even with guests, I couldn’t help myself from pulling off the side of the road more than what’s probably reasonable. I hadn’t even left Kluane yet and I was already planning a return on my own.
And while I’m sure come December, I will, without question, be so in love with winter that it won’t even feel close to the overall love I have for the fall, this was just once again probably the most beautiful day I’ve ever lived. And I know, I know I feel it and I say it or write it out loud pretty much every time I’m out in nature here.
The good for the soul kinds of nights
It’s been far too long since my last post, but these days I feel like I can barely keep my eyes open. Late, late nights and far too much to do has led to far too little sleep. But somewhere in there is still this overwhelming love of the aurora and clear sky chases through mountainous silhouettes.
The first half of September brought quiet nights of delicate structures, graceful dances, and rainbow colours filling the skies for the better part of a week.
We snuck out of cloud often, on the run almost once per evening, as is assured here. Soft arcs of aurora on the horizon persisted through our nights, rising and falling, and rising again until ghostly structures pulsed over half the sky above us.
These were the nights of cold, humid air, endless conversation and inspiring photography with a returning friend. They are the kinds of nights that fly by, that I could live forever, and that end too soon.
Neighbourhood love
The outskirts of summer
Northern springs begin with me freezing in the morning sunshine on my patio with a cup of coffee that cools too quickly. 3°, sunshine, and no wind are the perfect early April mornings. But any wind, or passing clouds and I cower back under a throw.
The temperatures are slow to work their way above 0°, but the northern sun is strong. My seedlings were happy scattered around on windowsills, chasing the sun from the east windows over to the west. It was weeks around these windowsills, and then half days outside before nights back inside, and eventually they were set free outside to mature where still they grow.
Day length continued to grow and the temperatures too. As often as I was out driving through the night chasing midnight twilight skies, I would walk my beautiful neighbourhood and every forest trail I could find.
The snow eventually gave way to the flora of the forest floor, and the ice gave back the teal water views. Lupines sprung up all through the forest, and every day I thought the forests could never look more beautiful than the day before. Summer was a long way away but the forests were already magical beyond anything I had known before. They were my favourite place to be and I could not get enough.
More than just a starvation of my senses through winter, this was pure magic. It was all life returning. It was a world reawakening.
Sunset by sunset, summer has been coming to an end. Tonight felt like the last true summer night. The forecast ahead finally cools down from the consistently high 20s. The nights will reach closer to freezing and I will dance on the grave of every last mosquito. But tonight the wind was gusty and still warm, blowing the fragrant scent of white sweet clover, something I will long for and struggle to imagine in another half year.
The berries in the forest are now just beginning and will keep me busy into November. These early lingonberries bring me happiness beyond your wildest imagination. Soon my freezer will be full with them, but for now my palms are, walk after walk, night after night.
With longer nights, the treats of winter return. The evenings around the neighbourhood quiet down earlier and dramatic skies keep me on my toes, literally, running from one side of my apartment to the other.
Some late, late moments before bed, and before I wrap up the patio furniture for the winter, are spent out on the patio in still comfortable temperatures and in the best company of all.
The days of dim lighting and cosy darker nights are returning and I’m ready. But I’ll miss this a lot, and all the slow, friendly interactions with neighbours everywhere. I love this place more than a love I have ever known.
Joyfully into the darkness
The first week or two of tours after the summer always have a surreal feeling. They are the first drives where again the highways are dark and headlights become automatic. It feels strange and looks unfamiliar. The love of these dark nights, clear sky chases, and mystery around the aurora all come rushing back at once and it is an overwhelming love.
For long periods these first few nights, distant loons, a few passing clouds and the autumn Milky Way were our best company. Faint arcs of aurora appeared, disappeared, and reappeared low on the horizon to the discerning eye. But for now, we reacquainted ourselves with some other heavenly wonders, like the Andromeda Galaxy among others.
Long, late nights into twilight before sunrise appeared assured from the beginning.
Finally, as twilight emerged in the northeast, out of nowhere, curtains of purple and green lit up the sky. After hours of a steady, gentle arc across the north, it was chaos - the absolute best kind.
“What do you call that? Piano keys?”
For more than an hour, the aurora danced over half of the sky, piano keys and all. The relief, joy, excitement and wonder in myself must have for sure been palpable. There couldn’t have been a better way to end my first few nights of the season.
It’s just so good to have her back.
