Like many people, I have for a long time harboured a dream to see the northern lights “properly”.  For me, this dream was kindled by a kindly man called Ron Livesey, who coordinated aurora observations for the British Astronomical Association.  In my early teens, after my parents moved to the north east of England, I would exchange letters with him about how to see the northern lights and noctilucent clouds; at the time I had no joy with the former, but I had some success with the latter, even when they weren’t such a well observed phenomenon.

In late 2021, I decided I needed to do something about the repeated “I’d love to see them properly one day” response I’d give when people asked if I’d ever seen the lights.  Having got into landscape astrophotography only a year before, it seemed logical that I’d plan a trip to capture images of the aurora as well as see them with the naked eye.  Research of locations had me examine Alaska (too far), Iceland (too high a risk of cloud) and the far north of Norway (possibly just right).  I settled on Senja island, off the north west coast of Norway, within the Arctic Circle and fairly accessible from the UK.  

A week before my trip, the whole affair was thrown into some jeopardy when my best mate and travel partner fell ill. We decided to leave it to the last minute to see how he was, and on the day before our flights, he called to properly pull out as his whole family had now succumbed as well.  I started to readjust to the idea of going solo, but it was likely some of the more extreme mountain-top shooting locations were now off-limits - I’m a competent hiker, but it wouldn’t be fair on my family to head into unfamiliar wilderness alone at night!

But then in a flash of inspiration my wife Esther suggested she might be able to come instead.  I looked blankly at her, failing completely to comprehend why she’d want to tag along on an essentially nocturnal “holiday”, with only a peripheral interest in the night sky, no suitable clothing and only very basic accommodation booked. And besides, with two school-age kids I just didn’t see logistically how it would work. An hour later, she’d convinced her parents to drive over from the other side of the country that same day and look after the kids for the week (for which I’ll be forever grateful), we’d navigated the needlessly complex process of switching passenger names, and we were looking forward to a completely unexpected trip together. 

Earlier on the same evening that I shot The Beauty of Her Dance, we scouted out a fast-running stream in which were a few nice cascades and pools as it neared the fjord.  It was only a short walk from the roadside and we hoped to carve out some pleasing compositions, even at the risk of slipping on the treacherous rocks and getting a soaking.  It was a little more challenging than I'd expected because getting out over the water wasn't as easy as it looked during the day, and the shot upstream seemed to coincide with a complete absence of aurora in that direction.  

Esther, wisely sitting watching me from the top of the bank, well out of harm's way, started to notice the aurora was really picking up in the opposite direction.  This, I thought, was no good to me because the  road crossed the stream not far down the hill, and I assumed the bridge would ruin the foreground.  But when I took some test shots, the bridge was barely noticeable and the aurora was streaming nicely in the same direction as a tree that overhung the stream, as well as lighting up the landscape.