Aurora Borealis - Fox Fire of The Arctic
There is a word in Norwegian – Fjellro – which means calm and tranquility experienced in the mountains, away from the noise and busyness of everyday life. This word perfectly describes how I felt that cold winter afternoon when the train stopped at Abisko Turiststation at the heart of the Abisko National Park. I stepped out onto a tiny platform with a small wooden hut serving as the train station.
Everything around had a deep calm with only the wind cruising past in -25°C temperature. Earlier in the day on the train, the scenery zipped past and changed from the Taiga to the Tundra. Stark trees with black limbs stretched towards the sky. The landscape was an undulating view of snow-covered fields and a frozen lake running throughout parallel to the tracks. It was mesmerizing.
Claudio, who was going to be my guide for the next one week, met me at the station and we walked towards the only hotel that services the area. It is a small town with a population of 180. It is said that there are more reindeers here than people. I checked into a very quaint and cozy hotel room. After showering away the night train journey, packing myself up in layers, and having a hot meal at the hotel’s buffet, I stepped out to explore the area.
The hotel grounds were covered in thick snow. Though it’s just past 3 p.m., daylight has already started to fade, turning the sky a soft purple. I walk around the compound and come across a small bridge. There is a beaten track going under the bridge and I follow it. At the end, the track opens up into a thin strip of snowy land, and across it sits the silent, frozen Lake Torneträsk. At a length of 70 kilometres, it is the sixth-largest lake in Sweden. I walk across the river bank, as I had earlier been cautioned by Claudio to avoid venturing into the lake alone, due to ice sheets being fragile at some places.
After dinner we are ready to head out for our first night of Aurora chasing. We were a group of seven people. As we get into the vehicle waiting for us at the parking lot, Claudio asks us to hush up and points straight ahead. We look at the snowy path ahead where it seems like a log of snow is moving and realise, we are looking at an Arctic fox. We collectively gasp in delight. Once out on the road, a heavy veil of snowstorm engulfs us. The only visibility is the small patch of road against the narrow beams of the car’s headlights. It is a complete whiteout and we realise that today might not be a lucky day after all.
In the yellow beams of the headlight, all I could see was the falling snow swirling around us. The snow drifted in a mesmerizing sheet like a thin gossamer and at times gave an illusion of watery waves hitting the shores. It was incredibly beautiful to just notice these patterns in the thick of the Polar night. We decided to drive towards the Norway border. After about an hour of trying to find clear skies, we decided to head back to the hotel. The snowstorm had become heavier and there was no way we could have spotted the Northern Lights.
On the second evening, the skies are still covered in clouds even though the snowstorm is over. We are slightly disappointed that this might also be a night of no-show. After dinner that evening, we are again on the road to chase the aurora. I realised why it is called aurora chasing as we drove around looking up at the skies, literally chasing the auroras.
Claudio with his hands on the steering wheel kept looking up through the windshield. After about 1 hour of driving on the snow-covered roads, he suddenly stops the car and yells, “we have to get out right now!” All of us scrambled out, looked up and there it was, a faint burst of green light which hardly lasted for a few seconds. This was the very first time I saw the Northern Lights and it was absolutely stunning. The lights dissipated as soon as it had appeared and was for such a short while that I did not even have enough time to pull out my camera. All I could capture was a hazy image from my phone.
We walked across the road and climbed down to a frozen field. The moonlight made the snow on the ground seem like a carpet of cold crystals, silent and glistening. Across us stood a tall mountain and we waited at the location for some time to see if there would be another light show coming our way. Alas, it was not to be.
On the third night, fingers crossed, we headed out again. This time a little later after dinner. We decide to just camp out on the frozen Lake Torneträsk. The magnetometer showed that there was a good chance of the auroras lighting up the sky, which was covered up in a dense layer of clouds. The moon shone on the western horizon like the sun and lit up our surroundings. We spread our reindeer skin mats on the ice and set up our cameras. While waiting for lights to show up, we lay on the mats and silently looked up at the skies.
From the corner of my eyes, I caught something twinkling. The snow in front of me which was sparkling like diamonds, had turned a light shade of green. We all sat up as we looked towards the western horizon. It started as a small, faint green light and in the blink of an eye suddenly the whole sky turned green behind the clouds. The lights were not visible due to the cloud cover, but from the changing hues of the thick clouds, we knew that the aurora was behind those. The clouds then started to tinge with pinks and reds around the edges. The show was definitely on, albeit, with a thick veil which made it impossible to have a good and full view of the aurora.
The next day, we were all praying for a clear night. This being our last day here, we were hoping to see the lights before we departed. The heavens didn't disappoint us! The magnetometer showed a promising night ahead and the skies were clear. Claudio had decided to not go wild chasing the Aurora and had made a base for us in a frozen field. As we walked towards the location where we would camp for the night, the thick layer of snow beneath our feet shone like diamonds, glittering and sparkling in the moonlight. We reached the opening after crossing a small wooded area, where a small tepee stood.
Claudio lit a fire inside the tepee which glowed a mesmerizing orange. We set up our tripods and camera outside and went inside to warm ourselves a little. He broke out cans of lingonberry juices to make hot tea. In the -35°C temperatures of the night, the sips of hot, sweet tea and the fire burning in the middle of the tepee filled us with warmth. We stationed our cameras and waited. Suddenly from the northern skies, a streak of deep green light flashed across the sky.
I stood there mesmerized and in awe at the wonder that was unfolding right before my eyes. As the skies started to light up, I realised that without even realising tears had started streaming down my face – it was a deeply beautiful moment. This was just the beginning of the show that went on for close to seven hours. There is a Sami legend of a fox that whips up the snow with its tail creating the mesmerizing Northern Lights. Known to the locals as Fox-fire, these lights were nothing short of spellbinding.
There's an almost magical quality to watching the Northern Lights. The combination of colours, its movement, and the stark contrast against the dark Arctic skies creates an awe-inspiring and otherworldly experience. That night the air wasparticularly crisp and cold and at times I could feel the bite of the Arctic chill on my skin. The lights put on a colourful palette which included greens, pinks, purples, and blues. The lights danced in the shape of arcs, curtains, rays, and diffused clouds that lit up the sky.
The lights seemed to dance across the heavens, moving and shifting, sometimes slowly and sometimes with an urgency. At once there was a swirl, then a ripple, then a burst, almost like a celestial ballet. The way the lights move is fluid and unpredictable which created an ever-changing and captivating spectacle. The auroras stretched across the entire sky, creating a panoramic view that engulfed me in their beauty. From faint and wispy to a bright blaze that made the snow glitter and twinkle, the lights cast an ethereal glow all over the landscape.
What I found as the most striking aspect of the auroras is the silence. It starts with a hissing sound but then there is profound stillness, broken only by the occasional soft rustle of the wind. The quiet enhanced the surreal and made it meditative.
As I looked straight up, there was the coronal centre of the aurora, pulsating with beautiful colours of green, teal, blues, purple, pink, and bursting out in all directions across the skies. It created waterfalls of light, sprang up with pillars of light from the horizon in oranges and reds, and rippled through the skies, filled with millions of stars. The lights were bright enough to light up the entire landscape, so much so that it was post-midnight but we didn't even need any additional lights to navigate because the aurora was literally lighting the way. Owing to the altitude that we were in, the lights seemed so close and it felt like if I stretched my hands, I could touch it.
We stayed there basking in the beauty that surrounded us. It is a phenomenon that needs to be witnessed. No matter how many words I use, I still fall short of describing what I witnessed that night. When I was standing there looking at the northern lights, I could only think of The Starry Nights painting by Van Gogh, and how in his painting, the stars seemed to swirl around and merge and ripple. I couldn't help but wonder if Van Gogh had seen these very lights. Because that is how it felt. It felt deeply evocative, deeply poignant – it was a life-transforming experience for me. We stayed there for many hours, and when we decided to return to the hotel, the lights were still pulsating in the skies above.
It was getting close to dawn, and by the time we reached back to the hotel, it was 4 a.m. I got out of the layers of clothes and slid the window curtains before laying down on my bed. I could still see the aurora outside the window. I don't know for how long I kept gazing at it from my bed before I dozed off to sleep. There was a true feeling of bliss and gratitude.
Whenever I speak of this night, I say the same thing—everyone should witness the Northern Lights at least once in their lifetime. For me, they were divine incarnate, a gift of the universe meant to be seen and felt. That night, I saw the face of God. And after that, nothing has ever been the same.
