A time to recharge

Lately, these nights just seem to pass me by. I’ve been consciously trying to soak up every last moment, every sweet forest smell, every ‘hoo-hoo’ from a distant owl, every moment of quiet conversation and laughter, and every last kilometre on the soft, quiet drives home.

Autumn has been so beautiful, and the nights have been my favourite. I feel in such awe every night and that’s really needed, from all the chaos of my days where I feel I don’t have a spare moment. It has taken me 3 nights just to get through the first episode of Survivor 49. My yoga mat has been abandoned more than makes me feel good. But the peace of the nights like this one are just everything. For a few hours, the stress of baking, emails, cleaning, and every other part of daily life, falls away.

I am exhausted beyond comprehension, but I’m so thankful for all of this. My mind and body yearn for slowness , but my heart is full.

Time to breathe

This was such a beautifully gentle night, which is one way to describe a quieter Yellowknife night. There was no rushing tonight, only all the time in the world to play with photography, star gaze, and relax into the night.

The aurora played with us a little bit early, and then slow built into a final show late where despite quiet conditions, she danced subtly above us before retreating north over the lake.

For all the highs of active nights, for the kind of chaotic beauty and pure excitement, I enjoy these almost more. They’re a perfect time to reflect and breathe, and just enjoy in a slower way.

Fall, finally

By the end of the night, our tripods were dripping with condensation. Lenses were foggy and clothing was unmistakably damp to the touch. Still, the temperature was comfortable enough for just a wool sweater and no mittens. Spending nights photographing the aurora bare handed is one of life’s true luxuries.

We aren’t yet free from forest fire smoke, but the cooler nights do feel good. These light clear sky chases and breathtaking hour after breathtaking hour of auroral activity all just feel heavenly.

A few degrees of separation

I’m a good week behind spectacular nights to blog right now, and as I looked back on this night to choose photos to blog, the thought of really missing the mountains of the Yukon fell heavy on me. I do miss it so much, and knowing entire mountainsides are yellow, orange and red with snowy peaks this time of the year doesn’t make it any easier.

The strongest call back to Yellowknife after those 3 years in the Yukon was needing to feel genuinely fulfilled in this again. So many nights in the Yukon, I would study the weather and chase down clear skies through the extensive highway infrastructure outside Whitehorse, but to be left with very, very quiet auroral displays, or sometimes no auroral activity at all. It repeatedly broke my heart, for myself and my guests. I struggled morally, so badly, with those kinds of nights. I hated feeling so close yet so far, with nothing more I could do. And it wasn’t just a few quieter than usual nights per year, it was far more often and it was killing me. It was the few degrees of separation in magnetic latitude between Whitehorse and Yellowknife relative to the aurora oval, and this I knew for sure.

“There is nothing better than escaping a terrible forecast.”

I wanted again to be in a place where I knew that if we could find clear skies, that we’d usually have the aurora waiting for us, or that we’d have a genuinely sound chance of still a beautiful auroral display, and that place really is Yellowknife. I knew it in my heart, but it was difficult to admit because I was building a life in Whitehorse and one I really, really loved. The decision of whether or not to come back to Yellowknife was clear, but difficult to come to terms with. For one of the first times in my life, I was making a purely cold hearted decision, emotions completely aside.

While this night a week ago wasn’t a drive of great distance, it did require a little shuffling around and ducking out of cloud. The hours that followed our final move were some of the most breathtaking I can remember.

Reclaiming a lost love

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“I wanted to come back and see the nature that gave me peace and love in my heart when I needed it most.”

Some of my deepest, most cherished memories of Yellowknife were in this area between Cameron Falls and the Cameron River Ramparts a few kilometres further up the highway. They were through the fall of 2021 and into the winter.

Still locked down with the borders closed, I was moving through the deepest emotions and dark days, literally and figuratively. I was learning to love the nature here again by separating it from the people who were making the decisions that had tore my life apart.

And now that I’ve been back for a few months and the sun is getting lower, the air a little cooler, and the fall colours reaching their most beautiful, I wanted to come back and see the nature that gave me peace and love in my heart when I needed it most. And I wanted to feel it from a place of love and true appreciation, and I brought with me from the Yukon my love love love of berry picking so I made sure to scoop up lingonberries and blueberries on the way.

It was every bit as beautiful and special as I remembered. It felt completely serene. I could have stayed all day just as I did during those crisp fall days 4 years ago.

I miss every mountainscape and all the alpine of the Yukon so much that it hurts, but there is a calm and serenity that runs through the nature here that’s perfect to nature bathe in as well, and I’m so, so thankful for it.

I’m still not sure if this really answers my dad’s question a couple of months ago of how does it feel to be back in Yellowknife because it’s just so much bigger than that, but it is good to be back.