Tales of the beautiful everyday from the North
A night for the world to enjoy
On Friday morning, I noticed aurora conditions were the strongest I’ve ever seen. Despite forecasts of very intense geomagnetic storming, the data surprised me. I passed the day refreshing data and weather updates, waiting for the daylight hours to pass, of which there are many now.
Then, about halfway through the first period of game 2 of the Canucks & Oilers, the internet was dying a slow, painful death - which is really just another Friday for those trapped in Northwestel’s monopoly of the north. And then all phone service was gone too, and none of it was coming back. So what better circumstance to push us out the door into the countryside for a long night ahead than that?
I was curious though. Was it just me, or something more widespread. I wondered if it had to do with this geomagnetic storm knocking out some communication lines. So on the drive out of town, I tuned into local radio - something I had not done for… years, maybe.
“This is an emergency message from the Government of Yukon”
My dad worked in radio when I was young and I loved it. I still love it. He has that perfect, lost art radio voice, which of course most definitely did not find it’s way down to me. My earliest memories of radio were my dad and the voices of Canuck play-by-play announcers - Jim Robson, Jim Hughson and John Shorthouse, all among the best in the business.
Radio represents a more simple time. It’s nostalgic for me, and I love that.
When we finally programmed the tuner in my car to any local radio we could find, it’s when we heard between songs a message from the government that forest fires in the south had destroyed communication infrastructure which was causing all phone and internet to be down. It was a nice to know thing, and nothing you’re going to do anything about. So we continued on with our drive, slowly passing elk and dodging running bunnies.
Dressed for winter
It still makes us laugh walking out the door in insulated snow pants, down jackets, and balaclavas, while throwing our parkas in the back of the car these nights. But that’s our life in the middle of May and I wouldn’t choose anything else. The wind blows relentlessly, and it’s still that cold, cold winter wind walking across frozen sandy beaches down a small fjord finding our perfect little spot.
All of our night out there was magical, as we knew it would be. The weather, the aurora and the quiet of the environment was everything perfect, and we knew everyone far south around the world from Washington to Germany would be enjoying this one too - and they did.
Cat and mouse
Usually I would say, ‘We can have the best aurora conditions in the world, but without clear skies, that doesn’t really matter.’
Chasing the aurora sometimes often begins days in advance from the cosiest corner of a beige IKEA Söderhamn sofa. A light knitted throw, pillows, tea and too many tabs open on my laptop studying trends and forecasts kind of sounds idyllic, but it’s equally agonizing.
There is a real equilibrium here though. The broader circumstance of things being completely out of any of our control provides a strange calm and peace, but it’s my emotional attachment to the experience that makes these decisions sometimes so painstaking.
Tonight, the aurora conditions looked pretty bad and they were trending worse. The skies were clear, and if the aurora conditions would just break away even a little bit, it could be perfect. However I was beginning to lean more heavily, although still hesitantly, that we trust in a more perfect alignment of all conditions tomorrow. It left me uneasy, as these decisions always do, but I am used to that now.
So as it came time for a decision, I suggested we wait a night - despite the perfect weather.
This next day, the clear skies stayed, and the aurora conditions changed trends in perfect time. Sometimes a little game of cat and mouse works out in the most magical way.
The April of old
The warmth of the days - 15° and sunny - drops away quickly during our late evening walks. I continue on pretending to myself that I’m going to be fine without gloves and a toque - all lies. Doris knows it and offers to cut our route back home short. One day I’ll learn.
When we got back home and warmed up more tea, we decided on going right back out the door almost as soon as we settled in. The weather was too beautiful, the aurora conditions too good, and the bright nights of summer too close.
The end of April and beginning of May is always the hard crash after a long winter. I look forward so much to the long, bright nights of summer, the magic hours of kayaking on lakes, drives to see wildlife and chase sunsets, but I’m not ready yet. I do relish these magical April nights of old - breathtaking auroral activity and magical twilight skies, and soon enough I’ll be ready for the bright nights of summer too.
A truce with the moon
A very faint first hours of tonight didn’t have me worried in the way it usually would. Not even the full moon gave me cause for concern or any real annoyance. If we would get what I was hopeful we would get, the moon would add beauty and not take any away.
So from the beginning, the longer we went without much happening above us, the more optimistic I became for some time later, and later, and later. The timing of the aurora set us up for a later peak, probably, despite very, very good conditions. It’s all always an educated guess at best, but I was fairly sure. Our 10pm sunsets and 5am sunrises now give shorter nights, but I was still sure tonight was a question of when, and not if.
That when finally came on the sunrise side of the middle of the night, of course, but it was beyond the magic I was hopeful of.
Weeks of strong contrasts
The warmth of the spring sun cannot be mistaken now, but still the cold wind cannot be either. A time of contrasts continue on - long, long days with the most magnificent sunshine and car washing temperatures while brief dark and cool nights fill with the aurora still.
Swan Haven, my favourite Yukon discovery last spring, is home once again to some 1,000+ tundra and trumpeter swans. Their numbers are on the decline now as they move on for the further north. The shore ice is decreasing every day out there, and everywhere else.
Some kilometres further south, moose nibble buds off branches and play in open fields buried under 40cm of snow. On mountain sides everywhere, the south facing slopes are void of any snow or signs of winter while the north facing sides still look like they are stuck in February.
Down in Carcross, it was the final few days of quiet before the cruise ships begin their returns to Skagway at the end of April.
And back at home, I have my first light sunburn of the year and increasing numbers of freckles on my face from morning coffee in the sun on my balcony. The gravel trucks seem to make endless passes on the streets nearby to sweep up the last of winter, and that makes 10pm sunset roller blades through the paths around the neighbourhood just so perfect.
