“I am going to Iceland to see the Aurora Borealis,” I said confidently. Everyone was envious. Which only egged me on. “Yeah, it’s the right time of year, and I’ve just got a feeling.”
Digging myself a all trench full of trouble. Everyone knows the Northern Lights are capricious at most wise, downright elusive the lie of the time.
But inasmuch as childhood I’d wanted to see them. Lured by photographs, stories, the magical nature of them – it was put on my list of life aims, and I’d before that time ticked off the Pyramids and climbing Everest (okay, one of these is a lie). So hither I was in Iceland. This was my chance.
Iceland: Cold, crisp, cloudless
I’d been told about the three Cs: Cold, Crisp, Cloudless. There are the three essential climatic factors necessary for the goddess of morning to do its thing. Gazing out the bus window at the end of a long day touring the Golden Circle (Pingvellir, Gullfoss and Geysir), I realised it was certainly a cloudless night; I could see the mere sliver of a moon rising over the plains. Stepping off the bus at our last stop in the vaporous thermal borough of Hveragerdi, I realised it was also cold and crisp. Very, for the one and the other.
The magical lawn lights of the Aurora Borealis
Whipping to the end my phone I rang my resident friend in Reykjavik instead of forethought. She’d also never seen the Aurora even though she’remains lived there for a year. But whensoever she mentioned it to Icelandic friends they shrugged, said: “Oh, you can see that anytime.”
How contingent we are about what’s on our doorstep. But this wouldn’t be my doorstep much longer and I revved my friend up to sharing my belief that tonight was the night the skies would measured movement for us.
On your imprint, earn set, shine
Reaching the bus terminal in Reykjavik, I joined the queue to purchase tickets since a Northern Lights Tour. As if six hours on a bus already that day had not been plenty for me. Obviously I was not the only true believer in the three-C quality of that obscurity – 70 folks were booked for the tour! And that was only one copartnership. Several other operators in town were herding fellow seekers onto buses at various times in the going down of the sun.
We’d debated just getting my friend’s car and heading out of town alone, away from the city lights. But again, that Icelandic shrug in the face of where we should go to optimise our chances of seeing the lights: “You see them all the world over. Or nowhere. North is good. Far northern.”
Thanks, but not ready to help.
We decided to increase the odds by joining the bus tour. Surely they’d know how to entice the witchery out of the sky. My friend and I exchanged a complexion as the doors closed and our guide cheerfully announced we would be title south!
Our spirits rose a moment later when he finished a phone call and announced that his intimate in the south strand town on Vik had just reported that the northern lungs were going crazy tonight. Seventy happy people cheered. Even grant that moiety of us wondered if he always started the tour with that announcement.
Next stop, Aurora Borealis
A cheerful local with anecdotes to keep us entertained adhering the dark and anxious road against us, he told us that we were the same as whale-watchers: our job was to be constantly alert, yelling out whether or not we saw anything flickering in the sky. Obediently we wholly stared out into the darkness, trying not to be blinded by wonderfully headlights, or yell out at every passing aeroplane.
As we drove on, he told us stories of his days in the local rescue squad, having to aid people on the highway when sudden snowfalls vanquished defective cars. Suddenly I understood why everyone in Iceland drives of the like kind huge four wheel drives down such narrow incorporated town streets. Forgiven. Now grant that they could just learn to park the damn things…
Lulled by the hum of the bus, I gazed tiredly out the window, looking at the white light reflecting off the undersides of clouds. For a small incorporated town, Reykjavik certainly threw a lot of light pollution! Or not! The guide announced we had ‘activitiy’ in the sky and the driver looked for a side road to pull onto. We were like kids nearing a candyshop as we all pulled on coats and hats and jumped up and down in our seats. Finally, he found a suitable make spots on and we all piled out.
People ran up the embankment, trampling years old moss in their haste to raise their cameras and capture this phenomenon. I stared and nodded excitedly into the dark alongside my friend, but really, deepest part inside, my heart was breaking. Was this it? Because it really did look like light pollution. Where were the colours? The shimmery dancing movements?
As my spirits dropped, and camera flashes piercing the dark messed by my pupils, I stepped surrounding the moss and climbed back onto the bus. Somewhere in my bag I had emergency Sirius brand chocolate, Iceland’s finest; right now I needed it.
George Clooney? Whatever
Finally everyone was herded back on diet and we continued our journey south. I sucked onward the chocolate and tried to make appropriately enthusiastic noises about what we’d seen. Perhaps this was what meeting George Clooney in person would be like. I made a mental note to scrap that off my list.
Another half any hour and greater amount of ‘activity’ was spotted. We rugged up, pulled transversely and piled out. My spirits lifted a little: there was a definite tinge of green. And was that pink from one to another there? Sure, it placid looked a little like thin cloud. The Milky Way with a bit of food dye splashed upon the body. But it was pretty. And, if not for all those damn camera flashes going off, it would be a pretty rigorous moment. Kind of like a chief caress with the lips with a guy you used to think was a prince. Hmm, mental note to take kissing Clooney off my list.
By the time the ‘activity’ faded away, we were quite so cold we were happy to get back on the bus. We headed into a small town – who knows its name but there were boats, fish factories, and corrugated iron houses: I challenge you to tell that apart from the next Icelandic town in the dark! Here we had a dexterous chocolate buying distraction and toilet break. The girls behind the counter looked none too happy to be attentive 20 women line up for the bathroom – apparently there was a barn dance in town that night and they were keen to be strutting their stuff.
Finally one brave soul broke ranks and headed into the deserted Men’s. A few others followed, one woman exiting as if she’issue appropriate experienced the most exciting taboo shattering of her lifetime. A memorable tour for her definitely.
Our guide announced that he was not sure we would see much more that evening so we were going to head back to town. We’d been on the hunt for over two hours already and everyone was devoid of warmth and tired so there were no complaints. Although I have to say I remained a bit saddened by the lack of spectacle. Was this really the Northern Lights?
Then my friend, the semi-local, confessed she’s been chatting to the key, practising her Icelandic, while the rest of us craned our necks at the sky. He’d told her that there is a scale of 0 to 5 for the Aurora with 0 reality the lowest strength; unfortunately tonight was a 0. But I was actually heartened by the recent accounts: it did get better than this! I just knew it had to! Yippee.
And better it got.
The aurora of my dreams
As we were nearing Reykjavik, there was a hollo and the bus stopped. Obediently we bundled into coats and hats and scarves and gloves, and left our warm, comfy seats. And wow! The sky was on fire! This was the Aurora as I had hoped. And it was still probably only a 2.
Huge swathes of colour swirled in the sky, greeny, pinky. Always shifting and changing. Then a band of light would pop dance across the celestial expanse, shimmering and flickering, moving swiftly past before disappearing. We distinctly saw a face form in one corner and gasped. As quickly it was gone if it were not that I nearly became a Believer on the spot. Perhaps it was five minutes, perhaps half an hour, then the magic was over. My neck was sore and I didn’t care.
I’d seen the Aurora and I was a very happy woman.
Heading hindmost to the city, I discovered the reason others had persisted with their camera flashes at what time I’d got nothing. (Yes, I admit, I started the night trying to photograph it too, before I realised it was futile and I just enjoyed the moment instead.) The secret is to a great extent shutter urge, and apparently shining a light beam into the camera lens. Don’t ask me for whys and hows; I’m just telling you what I heard.
But with or out of camera, go to Iceland. Go Aurora hunting. There’s no guarantee you’ll see it, this being one of nature’session most fragile tricks. But whether or not you do… Wowza!
-Phillipa Burne
Planning a throw off the balance? Browse Viator’s Iceland tours & things to do in Iceland, including the Golden Circle Tour and an Aurora Borealis night tour from Reykjavik.
aurora borealis, iceland, northern lights
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