The blog
A needed retreat
It’s the dead of winter, and for weeks our nights lingered in the -20s, -30s, and -40s. It was the frozen lake, steaming river, dry snow crunch under my mukluks kind of winter that just makes my heart feel so free.
The aurora rose over mountain ranges and danced around the sky until all hours of the morning. Clouds moved in and passed quickly. Getting back home to bed at 5am was becoming a regular occurrence and I would wake before sunrise at 11am with heavy eyes but a full heart. It’s the best feeling kind of life and a needed retreat back into my life of old.
More recently, the temperatures have warmed and brought more cloudy skies but the chase into the countryside, during the days and the nights, for beautiful light continues on.
Light obsessions
December 2007 was my second time in Norway, 9 months after my first.
On the Lofoten Islands, the sun would rise and set again without making it fully over the horizon. Sunrise and sunset were one event. For a little over an hour around noon, the sun would travel just 16° peeking only slightly over the horizon.
It felt so slow, but of course it was the blink of an eye in the context of a day.
"This life of darkness was a true love and an unusual beauty."
I would spend long evenings alone in a fisherman’s rorbuer. The interior walls were natural wood, which meant the lighting inside was particularly warm and cosy. The village smelled of dried fish, hanging by the thousands on racks throughout the village. The sound of the ocean was constant.
Nights split between a mix of low overcast cloud hanging over the mountains or the northern lights arcing over the islands.
I spent these nights peering out the window at the glow of the lights or outside in the company of the aurora until my toes became numb. The brightness outside on those cloudy nights and fresh snow was unmistakable. The mystery in the darkness of a clear night after dinner was thrilling.
This life of darkness was a true love and an unusual beauty.
That’s when I became obsessed.
"Exactly 15 years later, I am more obsessed with the darkness of winter than I have ever been."
There exists I think a nostalgia in me for the real quiet of a time in remote places before easy, mass travel.
I had a journal to pass time inside, not a smart phone or a computer. I didn’t stream movies on cloudy nights. I would sit at a cracked open window against the radiator and drink tea.
Winter has always given me this comfort. The darkness and the cold is a slower pace to life that I’ve always preferred.
The mountains of Whitehorse are just like Lofoten. The arcs of the northern lights over, and hiding behind, sharp peaks fulfill some of this nostalgia in a way so perfect that there aren’t any words for it.
While the Yukon’s adoption of year round UTC -0700 puts sunrise at this time of the year after 11am, there is nearly 6 hours of sunlight during these shortest days. But the long lingering twilight of such a northern latitude is comfortingly similar to those little fishing villages just below the arctic circle in Scandinavia.
And chasing that golden sunlight and deep twilight blue in a snow covered landscape is just good for my soul. It’s reminiscent of my earliest days of being so certain of a love. It is needed.
One more step
One more second of watching water flow beneath clear ice. One more minute of waves breaking against a frozen shore. One more step out further down the fjord, just to see how the view changes around the next small curve or what beautiful frozen pool is maybe still ahead. I just didn’t want this time to end, I didn’t want to go.
The small waves don’t do justice to the brutal wind whistling down the beach. The kind of wind that makes you tuck your face into the collar of your jacket with your hood up. The kind that makes you walk onward with your head down to try to protect your face in place of there being any other reprieve.
"It was extraordinarily painful and beautiful at the same time. It’s what I love so much about winter and what I can never can let go of."
Sips of hot coffee
These moments seemed to bring a more full sensory awareness. Sipping coffee left time to just admire the light, the reflections, and all the textures of the ice. The sound of the wind at one angle was deafening against my hood, but at another I could hear it’s gentleness and power in the trees. All of this just seemed to prolong a kind of perfection. It felt like time could have just stopped, but of course the orange sunlight climbed up the mountains and the blue gradients became more intense.
I still never wanted to just turn back for the car. It was too beautiful. Every magical moment of water crashing up over the ice at the shore, or new clouds passing rapidly by catching final rays of the sun, or that harsh sensation of the sharp wind on my skin. It was extraordinarily painful and beautiful at the same time. It’s what I love so much about winter and what I can never can let go of.
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.
