We find ourselves in the midst of an extremely topical Northern Lights season once again, with comparisons potentially being made to The Great Solar Storm of 1859.
‘The Aurora Borealis, seen from the pier, Boulogne’, an etching I found on eBay a while back made around the time of The Great Solar Storm of 1859…
If that were to happen again, it would surely look pretty but it would also wreak havoc in a world that now relies so heavily on an electronic infrastructure.
As I was reminded last night, chasing the Aurora Borealis can be hard work — sometimes like chasing shadows rather than fantastical laser light shows.
The lure of glorious rewards keeps me motivated but, as hope fizzled out once again in the small hours, I’m glad I appreciated my beginner’s luck chasing the Aurora in 2012.
Here’s are the words I wrote at the time on another site o’ mine…
Holy Aurora! The Northern Lights Venture South
[23rd January 2012]
Last night, I received a phone call from my Aurora-chasing friend, Reed Ingram Weir.
Apparently, the facts and figures were all pointing to a stellar show by The Northern Lights.
If I was to finally witness this natural phenomenon, now would be the time to jump in the car and make the sixty five mile journey north on the A1.
It would have been all too easy to settle in for the night on a Sunday evening but I was soon experiencing an intense urge to make the trip.
Aware that digital cameras can pick up early signs of the Aurora much more easily than the human eye, I quickly nipped to the top of the house to photograph the Northern sky.
The giveaway green haze hovering above the Newcastle horizon convinced me that it was time to go and meet Reed on the Holy Island causeway:
A faint green haze above the city, the moment I knew I had to drive North…
I grabbed a friend who I knew would also cherish the experience, though neither of us could ever have been prepared for the scene that greeted us.
Nearing the turn-off for Holy Island, the sky had become alive with huge columns of light, folding and weaving like waves of fabric.
Words can barely describe the emotion that overcame me — it was all I could do to keep the car on the road with such a spectacle taking place in the cold air above us.
Vast slabs of vertical green light gave the Northumberland night sky an epic cathedral-like appearance and all for a fleeting fifteen minutes or so…
As we arrived on the dark causeway, I must confess to feeling a little jittery.
The light show was beginning to fade already but it still looked sensational as it receded. I managed to capture these images while the performance played out:
Gentle scenes from the Holy Island causeway as we arrived…
Vertical shafts of light began to appear once more…
…the sky then appeared to fold and crease like fabric above the glow of Berwick upon Tweed.
In all honesty, the intensity of green captured by my camera surprised me. However, it seemed to match up with the photographs of others.
When watching this beautiful show, I didn’t see green, I saw a bluey-silvery-grey. I thought that reciprocity failure might have come into play, so I tried some very short exposures.
Yes, the images were very under-exposed but the green colour still prevailed. Even the ‘quick and dirty’ capture made at ISO 3200 (the image at the top of this post) immediately showed the Aurora-green piercing through the urban haze.
It seems that more intense displays further north, in and around locations such as Tromsø, literally drench the surroundings in a glorious green light.
Thankfully, at times, we were able to see the green for ourselves during pinpricks of higher intensity.
Indeed, as we were arriving, I’ve already mentioned the great slabs of green light standing tall like huge, futuristic, architectural pillars in the sky.
So, this sparked a further spine-tingling question in my mind: When the intensity levels of the Aurora are reduced further South, why is that we observe a bluey-silvery-grey colour, yet we point a digital camera at the Aurora and the intense green prevails?
Is the camera able to render information that we cannot perceive at these lower intensities? I’m sure there will be answers to this but I simply enjoyed pondering them while standing in that icy cold theatre.
I expect Professor Brian Cox would know the answer. If you know, feel free to enlighten us by leaving a comment in the box at the end of this post!
And so, the curtain gradually fell on the performance. The graceful, pulsing light faded away yet still lingered, maintaining a hold on us and making it very difficult to set off home.
The performance draws to a close with one last needle of brilliant light.
And let’s not forget the beautiful sky to the South, so dense that Orion (often obvious at this time of year) is almost lost among its neighbours:
The stunning Northumberland night sky with Orion in the centre.
Some say that viewing the Aurora Borealis is life-changing.
Would I agree? Yes, without a doubt.
I haven’t been able to shake the experiences of last night from my mind, not that I’ve wanted to.
Furthermore, it’s taken me most of the day in grabbed moments here and there to attempt to put those experiences into words.
I’m still not sure that I’ve succeeded.
As I put my boys to bed this evening, I peered North from the window once more. Nothing.
The Aurora Borealis was gone for the moment but I shall never look at the sky in the same way again, day or night.
I love this video clip below, the Aurora Borealis and Australis as seen from the International Space Station.
It seems appropriate to sign off from this post by leaving you with this beautiful footage…