The blog
Drama in the alpine
The wind was gusting 50kmh just in the city, but my berry anxiety was more intense than my desire to stay cosy — of which there are few things I love more.
I did have a sinking feeling, though, that I was a week or two too late, but this was a day off and I just couldn’t not know for sure.
Lining the path up were bushes of both lingonberries and blueberries, but ripe berries definitely were scarce. The ridge wasn’t all that much better, but the 14+ kilometres of trail did allow for a litre or two of berries still to come home with me, and for several more handfuls to be eaten along the way.
Knowing this was more of a berry trip mission than a photography trip, I had temptations of leaving my photography things at home (what it must be like to not travel as a photographer), but those temptations were short lived.
What if there were caribou along the ridge, or moose, never mind just the autumn colours. So of course my photography bag came with me, and the colours everywhere were naturally maybe the most beautiful I had ever seen.
“This kind of power in nature is something I do love just as much as being cosy at home with a coffee.”
Distant mountain peaks were capped with fresh snow and the weather was overly dramatic. The winds hurt at times and made walking not easy. I was brushed with the mist of a heavy rain storm that narrowly missed my path. The mist felt amazing, but I kept a close eye for any sort of shelter if the storm moved closer over. And for the way home back down, the sun was mostly out in true Icelandic Yukon weather kind of fashion.
This kind of power in nature is something I do love just as much as being cosy at home with a coffee.
The favourite everything
I just can’t get over the beauty and the nostalgia of my early days in Norway, as I say often, maybe too often, and how my life here feels so close to those days. Choosing a highway out of town under cloudy skies was always the way we begun our evenings — sometimes passing through tunnels, other times over bridges. Our drives were long, always filled with eager anticipation, and full of interest and intrigue.
Even as I get used to and settle into my life here, the drives always feel special and spectacular, even by moonless night. We see more wildlife at the sides of the highway than other vehicles, and occasionally slow to a stop to take some moments to love on them. And this humbling feeling of silhouetted mountainscapes cutting into fields of stars has yet to become tiresome.
After more than 100km on this particular night of passing in and out of heavy rain and still under low cloud with just a few small breaks allowing a view to the stars, there was a little light and different sky texture still further on the horizon. Weather maps were clear on our direction of travel, but there remained a question of timing of course.
From a highway pull-out where I thought we may begin to see the sky break, I took a careful look through my binoculars further to the north horizon which did reveal stars and the end of this endless cloudy front. The cloud was low, so our clear break wasn’t likely to be hopelessly out of reach and as we arrived and continued further into our clear skies, the aurora covered the entire sky. Reds, purples and greens faintly everywhere.
It was one of my favourite nights in all my years of this, and it was everything I adore about chasing the aurora.
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.
