You may already be familiar with the scientific, hemispheric phenomenon known as the northern lights (aurora borealis). If you are not, I describe it as a night-time-sky-thing that is like a shimmery, slowly moving cloud of green or blue. It’s like a night rainbow made of darkness and radiant, translucent clouds of radioactive fallout. I believe a more scientific(-ish) explanation could be that the magnetic field surrounding our Earth, polarized between the northern Arctic and Antarctica, acts as an atmospheric shield protecting the planet from… stuff (“particles”?). Sometimes, some of that stuff hits the magnetic field/shield (like a mosquito in an electric bug zapper) and creates a sort of low-key, mellowed-out, slow-motion melty lava-lamp-in-the-night-sky effect. That’s the northern lights.
I prefer to think of the aurora borealis as space magic. It comes from space and looks like a glowing ghost swaying in the sky. I’m mixing a lot of metaphors (or similies?), trying to describe it, which is consistent with the challenges of describing things that are magic, so let’s just call it magic. I traveled to Yellowknife, Canada, to see for myself this space magic.
To increase the odds of seeing space magic, ancient texts (the internet) had recommended that I venture far north because the aurora borealis is stronger near the extreme latitudes of the north. Yellowknife, Canada, was as far north as I thought I could get into the interior of Canada over a weekend without getting weird about it (and risking a single-engine plane crash disaster survival scenario we’ve all seen in movies). Further investigation taught me that YellowKnife is a popular place people go to see the space magic, and there are lots of people willing to take your money to facilitate you in seeing the space magic. My brother asked me, “Why don’t you just go outside and look up instead of paying someone to show you the northern lights?” Not a bad point he made, but 1) the space magic would be more brilliant outside the reaches of town lights 2) I had three nights before flying back to civilization and wanted to maximize the chances of seeing the aurora borealis as much as possible (it wasn’t a sure thing to see) 3) I didn’t want to rent a car and drive it on icy roads late at night (risking the aforementioned disaster survival scenario) 4) space magic guides facilitated transportation out of the city and provided hot chocolate. Sold.
When I arrived in Yellowknife, I noticed on a world map at the airport that Iceland is actually further north than Yellowknife. This annoyed me somewhat because I thought Yellowknife was the furthest north I had ever been before. But I have already been to Iceland! And I didn’t see aurora borealis when I was there! Well, honestly, I wasn’t looking for it. While a little annoyed with my discovery that seemed to lower the intrigue of my current adventure, I also did pat myself on the back. I think it’s cool to have “accidentally” already been places, or to have forgotten and then remembered I had visited a place, or, e.g., to know obscure trivia questions that are asked during trivia events at local bars (etc.), based on my traveling experiences. To have “accidentally” been further north than my “furthest north” Yellowknife destination was kind of cool. I suppose I will need to go further north than Iceland next time I go north.
With as much anticipation as I had for seeing aurora borealis, Yellowknife was the real adventure. Just being in that small town felt like I was on the edge of civilization with an expanse of infinite wilderness all around. It was really cold — kill you fast cold. Walking to the grocery store 4 blocks away necessitated arctic expedition preparedness and two pairs of socks. Just knocking around town in Yellowknife was an adventure. Totally my type of place.
As for the aurora borealis, it was the MacGuffin that enticed me to take a northern adventure through Edmonton (and after, Calgary) to Yellowknife at the edge of northern civilization. (By the way, I have another MacGuffin, in Tibet, for the storied, magic caterpillar fungus). Looking up and seeing green and blue space magic at night felt like I had accomplished the quest I had set out to achieve. I always have that hope when I travel to a new place to experience and learn something new, and I did! The process of articulating each of those experiences, like the aurora borealis, through the travel journal I keep, or my writing about it here on my blog, reviewing the photos I take while I was there, gives permanence to those ephemeral, impermanent journeys that seem to be over faster than we expect. These journies make life an adventure that I live to experience, but then the journies end. That ghostlike, fleeting space magic, just as soon as it was seen, would shortly after disaparating into darkness.
