The Lights Within

The temperature wavered between minus one degree and plus four degrees as we hiked up the dark trail through leaning, wind-shaped black spruce. Occasionally, we’d approach a tripod with a human attached to a camera’s shutter release cable. We traded quiet hellos along the way. The exchanges sometimes calmed Sandi’s gentle grumbles. A cautious golden retriever, she’s wary of dark shadowy figures. To that end, I was thankful we hadn't encountered a moose.

Sandi was wearing her Ruffwear deep-winter clothing along with dog booties. It was probably unnecessary because she and Beau are usually content playing in the front yard at all temperatures for hours while refusing to come inside the studio during the daytime. Since we wouldn’t be moving around much, it was good to give her the extra layer.

It was Sandi’s first after-midnight hike up a mountainside. The northern lights would not dance with us this early morning as we gazed from a spot above Blueberry Hill. An evening without northern lights is sort of like a fishing adventure without success that is then called a camping trip. It's a good time either way.

From our vantage point high above, we watched a constant parade of cars coming up and down the road to the parking lot about one mile below. The vast majority of skywatchers were gathering at the overlook which is a five minute walk from the parking lot. Half of the 100+ cars in the parking lot were idling, lights off, heated seats toasty warm.

Looking toward Little O’Malley Mountain, we spotted a couple of LED flashlights flickering on top. I admire overachievers. Meanwhile, laughter and happy chatter in the distance gave reassurance that I wasn't alone in thinking this was a good idea.

Sandi sat on her blanket throughout our two hours. She was incredibly patient as her dad aimed the camera toward the sky and snapped timed exposures. My Canon 1DX Mark III tethers wirelessly to my iPhone. It allows me to change exposures, focus and other settings without touching the camera. The setup worked well as long as my hands were not too cold. The iPhone’s touch screen needs warm fingers. Those were in short supply.

Aurora or not, I get lost in time watching the sky, Big Dipper, North Star and many constellations that I should be able to name. It’s magical.

Soon, it was almost 1 a.m. A gentle breeze started up. That was the push I needed to wrap things up. I can handle the cold if it’s a still evening. Add the slightest whip of wind and, as they say on Shark Tank “… for those reasons, I’m out.”

Sandi and I trudged back down the mountainside while trying to watch my step. She was ready to be back home in our bed. “Don’t pull, girl.” “Easy, Sandi.” “Wait.” Those were the words she had to listen to as I searched for my footing down each snow bank. To her credit, she showed some empathy that I was the one carrying a large gear bag, tripod and camera strung over my neck. My biggest concern was to avoid sliding down the mountain with Sandi's leash attached firmly to my wrist while also possibly damaging my gear. I've slid through scree once before and that's more than enough for anyone.

We made it back to the car and parking lot that was still jam-packed. Surprisingly, I avoided face plants along the way down.

Nothing glorious inside the camera. But, the best image of the evening is the one I treasure the most, The Big Dipper. It's etched into my soul. This evening's trek gave it a new polish that will last until the next time which is never too soon.