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.

Off and running

If ever there was a call for beginning tour early, this night was it.

The probable any-moment-now arrival of a CME and bad weather inbound meant we got on the run early to get ourselves out of town and as far away from incoming cloud as we could.

The anticipated solar storm did reach us, but in a complicated mess of conditions didn’t spark quite the auroras that were being forecasted. But in the mess of all of that, gorgeous colours, very subtle to the naked eye, filled the entire sky through the course of the night.

As we were packing up to begin our drive back, there had become an obvious hint of forest fire smoke in the air, and by the time we arrived back to town that smoke was dense and almost eye watering.

The warm autumn temperatures have been so enjoyable on tour, but a part of me can’t wait for the cold winter nights of fresh, crisp, and clean air.

The aurora chase high

I usually will surrender to about the next 36 hours of weather, of cloud forecast maps. The night immediately ahead, and then the next night or sometimes 2, but never really more than that. Anything further out probably isn’t worth the energy, especially this time of the year. I like knowing what’s immediately around the corner, it’s good to keep an eye on that, and notice trends, but anything more than a couple days away is just not worth worrying over.

For this night, it was probable we’d see the clouds clear overnight, but not until late. So I picked up my guests about an hour later than usual and we headed straight out to meet the cloud cover beginning to break. Within an hour, there was more clear sky than cloud and the soon after the aurora was spectacular overhead. It felt like it danced forever and this natural high just wouldn’t leave me. It was everything I love so much about this lifestyle.

This is my 11th year chasing the aurora every night, of doing this as my career, and I know not every night will be so fortunate. I know there will be nights without such clarity and such opportunity. There will be nights we are socked in under cloud in every direction. For now though, the nights like these are just the best. They are exactly why I fell so in love with the aurora chase, and why after 18 years since my first chase, I remain so in love with it.

An easy could-have-been all nighter

It was coming up to 3:30 when I finally had to begin folding up tripods, again, for the last time. It was a live transition from ‘obsessively photograph everything’ to a more humbled amazement at what a night we’ve had. Warms winds - genuinely warm winds - no mosquitos, and time and time over - breathtaking aurora that danced over us. This was the best of autumn nights.

And it could have easily enough been an all-nighter through to sunrise, which wasn’t all that far away by the end, but I did need to sleep and do this all over again tomorrow still.