Alaska’s Aurora Borealis - A Hackberry Farm Nature Photography Workshop field report
There’s an excited energy that’s palpable amongst the group as we stand in the cold outside the van and stare to the north. Outside, autumn’s grip on the landscape is firm. The colors are past their peak, and the bustle of the native Alaskans hints at them preparing for an extended cold spell.
Before we found this spot, we roamed the area looking for an open patch of sky. While technology provides some insight into local weather conditions, it’s not infallible. In fact, in the spot we stand, all the weather apps say that we’re under cloudy conditions. However, looking at the millions of stars above us, the weather prognosticators have it wrong.
The clouds hang at the margins of the black dome above, filled with stars. Nearly overhead, the North Star anchors a celestial pivot point above the pole. It’s unusual for me to see the Big Dipper so high overhead. Where I live in Texas, the constellation hangs much lower on the horizon.
Then, as if on cue, a big band of light erupts from the eastern sky. To the uninitiated, it looks like a big spotlight lighting up the sky. I point it out to the others. For some, this is the first aurora they’ve ever seen. It’s a special moment.
The aurora soon moves across the sky in a celestial band that stretches from horizon to horizon. Cameras record the phenomenon. For a moment, everyone forgets about the cold of the night on this nature photography workshop.
“That’s phenomenal,” I hear someone say. It is phenomenal, and each aurora is unique. So the adage that says, “if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all” isn’t true at all in aurora country. The ones we see on this first night are among the weaker variety. The results we see above us come from the interaction of solar winds and Earth’s magnetic field, which protects us from the radiation the Sun spews.
Most days, the solar winds are like a breeze blowing across the globe. When sunspots erupt, stronger solar winds hurl through space, and when these excited particles reach our planet, the aurora becomes more active.
By the third day of the trip, the first vestiges of increased solar activity began to show. The space weather prediction centers reported that the term measuring auroral intensity (KP) was rising. The conditions looked to be ideal.
During the day, we’d partake in local activities. Museum visits, hot-spring swimming, and other activities rounded out our visit to the Fairbanks area. A snowfall or two brightened up the landscape and reminded us of how close the frigid cold of winter looms.
After the snow passes, the skies clear. So clear, we make a run south to Denali National Park to be one of the 30% of tourists who ever see the mountain. Across the landscape, the behemoth looms in the distance. Every time I see the mountain, I am struck by its sheer size.
Soon we are back on the road. The low-angle light that’s constant this time of year shines golden on the scrub. It’s a sunset that seems to last all day.
Soon we’re in a lakeside cabin, a fire’s roaring inside, and everyone preps their gear for the night ahead. No clouds and an auroral forecast indicating an active night means we’ll be busy soon.
Around 10 p.m., I leave the cabin and walk outside for a peek. To the east, a pale green band hangs over the trees.
“It won’t be long,” I report to the group.
Then the sky erupted.
For two hours, the lights danced and shimmered across the Alaskan sky in a display impossible to describe in words alone. You can photograph the aurora, but to experience it firsthand, well, that’s necessary.
In the time we spend in Alaska, we see the aurora in her many forms five out of the six nights we look. Each night, in a different location and under different skies. Each night is unique and beautiful. Each night, special.
ADDITIONAL IMAGES
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