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. 

After the insane substorm in The Many Colours of Heaven had died down, we drove to another location we’d scouted earlier in the day, atop the high pass on the way to the little fishing-village-on-an-island of Husøy. This overlooked one of the fjords and had a stunning mountain backdrop.

Compared to the earlier madness, the auroral patterns for the rest of the night were much more subtle, with beautiful colours on camera and some elegant dancing pillars, but none of the look-at-me shoutiness of earlier on the night. Yet it remained mesmerising; it was, in fact, exactly all I’d dared to expect coming here in the first place.

The various compositions I’d planned over the mountains generally didn’t work out, as the auroral arcs never lined up in the way I’d hoped. But I loved the way these fluttering pillars seemed to mimic the horizon line and the lovely defined colours in this picture.