The Northern Lights

The notion of seeing the Northern Lights first struck me a few years ago. Each year, I teach a unit that involves students making a bucket list. For whatever reason (I blame it on Pinterest), fourteen-year-old girls are obsessed with the idea of the Northern Lights. After filtering through the always interesting dreams and aspirations of America's youth (i.e.winning the lottery; swimming in a pool of pudding; marrying Justin Bieber, etc.), there are always a few of my students' ideas that strike me as noteworthy. Seeing the Northern Lights eventually transferred from the pages of student work to the part of my brain where I store all of my crazy travel aspirations. And naturally, when I get bored, I sit around and research how I can pull off the crazy travel aspirations of my dreams. Hence, Cody and I found ourselves in Iceland looking for those magical lights of bucket lists everywhere. 

Despite our lack of preparation (Cody was wearing tennis shoes; I didn't have my camera), we boarded the bus with around fifty other excited tourists. We drove about an hour outside of Reykjavik to a farm to start the viewing portion of the night. There are farms all throughout Iceland that specialize in Northern Lights viewing; this one in particular had a barn with a restaurant inside that served waffles and hot chocolate. When we first stepped off the bus, Cody and I immediately recognized that finding the Northern Lights involves a lot of standing in the snow staring at a black sky. I suppose I knew that there would be a lot of standing around in the Icelandic night, but the anticipation of catching a glimpse of the lights had sort of cancelled out any hesitation I ever felt about the cold and snowy waiting period. We spent probably an hour standing around at the farm. Intermittently, we would go inside the barn to warm up and drink hot chocolate. We spent a couple of hours meandering in and out, staring at a dark sky. No lights.

Toward the end of the night, one of the guides came into the barn and informed us that the sky was clear and the signs that hint toward lights activity were present. We all shuffled outdoors, the prepared people set up their tripods and cameras, and we stared at a sky that contained the slightest discoloration on the northern horizon. Before long, it was time to board the buses and head back. We had seen no lights. We were bummed, but the warnings against betting on a lights sighting kept the disappointment at bay. Cody and I had spent a night gazing at the clearest Icelandic sky we had ever seen. We had eaten waffles and drank hot chocolate. We had giggled and laughed and had a good time even without any lights. We were told we could come back another night to try again; we accepted that this night was a bust.

After sitting on the bus for thirty minutes or so waiting on a misplaced tourist, we finally headed toward Reykjavik. We were on the bus for only a few minutes before we pulled to the side of the road. Our guide told us that the lights were beginning. We all filed off the bus onto the shoulder of the road to stand in snow nearly to our knees. We stood for a few minutes and stared toward the northern horizon. The activity that our guide mentioned was starting to become apparent. We stared. And stared. We shielded ourselves from the wind. We cursed the occasional passerby for using headlights of all things to drive while we were trying to see the Northern Lights. We moaned and groaned each time someone took a picture using a flash - a camera function that was strictly advised against by our guide.

And then finally with toes that were nearly frozen (especially Cody's) we saw them. They were green and finicky. They came and went. They were not like the pictures on Pinterest, but they were there and so were we. We "ewwed" and "ahhhed." We were excited, but then we got back on the bus. Our guide informed us that this was not the greatest display but told us that we might see them again before the night was over. So we continued on...

Back on the bus, emotions were high. Cody and I managed to get in a verbal altercation with a fellow bus rider about switching seats. I won't go into the details about the argument. Just know that we do not regret sitting on the right side of the bus, no matter whose seat we stole.

Before the evening was over, we continued to see the Northern Lights. We saw them out of the window of the bus; we pulled over to the side of the road again and again. One time in particular we saw lights that looked a lot like Pinterest. It was cool. Very cool. It was cool and unlike what I expected. 

Part of the unexpected part of Northern Lights hunting involves the difficulty in capturing the lights. I mentioned earlier that I did not have my camera; however, even if I did, I would not have gotten a picture. We soon learned that photographing the lights requires really nice camera equipment and a tripod. The guide spent fifteen minutes on the way to the farm explaining all of the appropriate settings to use. It was at this point that I just accepted that this was not a night for pictures. 

I recently sorted through all of the pictures and footage from our trip. I happened upon a picture of a picture that Cody had filmed with his GoPro. He had managed to look over the shoulder of one of the ultra-prepared, camera-toting folks on our tour to capture a fuzzy image of someone else's image from our night. When I watched this video and saw the fleeting image of a camera with the lights, it was like I had found Big Foot. I was excited to say the least.

The lights were green mainly. They looked like they were creeping above the horizon. This is a guy's screen on his camera. 

I could waste a lot of words trying to communicate the deeper meaning of seeing the Northern Lights for me. I could spend a lot of time professing about my weird connection between this experience and having a baby (see: this blog). I may tackle this subject someday, but for now I am okay with my years of dreaming about the Northern Lights being wrapped up in a fuzzy image and my memory.