Head Out: Northern lights a reminder of the magical times in our lives

[ With Melissa DeVaughn ]

Published: November 5th, 2008 09:42 PM
Last Modified: November 5th, 2008 11:12 PM

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It was the middle of the night, and the pilot awoke me with one of his announcements: "Folks, look out to the right of the plane and you will see the northern lights. They're pretty bright tonight."

He said it in monotone, as if noting the presence of a typical glacier or the average mountaintop tip poking through the clouds, so I didn't expect much. But when I peered out the window upon which I had just been sleeping, I sat bolt upright and was awake in a second.

They were the most gorgeous northern lights I have seen in 10 years. I was riveted. I could not take my eyes off them.

Bands of neon green pulsed with an intensity that made me feel as if I could reach out and touch them. I realized that, here above the clouds somewhere between Seattle and Anchorage, I was physically closer to these northern lights than those I have seen while planted on terra firma. I wished I could take advantage of that fact.

Memories of northern lights viewing forays flashed through my mind -- of the time Andy and I drove out to the beach along the mouth of the Kenai River and watched a multicolored show of lights so bright that even the 20-below temperature could not drive us back into the truck. I recalled seeing the rare red aurora, soon after Sept. 11, 2001, and getting a call from my sister who cried, thinking it was another attack.

I remembered camping under the stars, packed in a mound of straw next to my sled dogs, watching the night skies dance over the White Mountains National Recreation Area.

Sitting in the cramped quarters of the plane, mesmerized by the lights and unable to pull myself back into my slumber, these memories flooded my brain, bringing a strange combination of sadness and contentment.

I felt the pull of the lights like a piece of metal being drawn to a magnet. The northern lights, for me, have always been associated with magical times in my life, when I've felt free and happy and able to enjoy the moment. Other than that rare red aurora, which seemed to be a beacon of grief, the yellows and greens and whites of the typical Alaska northern lights fascinate me. They are a natural wonder of which the physics continue to elude me.

I don't really want to understand their scientific reality, either. Instead, I find that each northern lights viewing is a rare treat, a little glimpse of other-ness that reminds me that I really am an insignificant shred of being in this big place. My problems, worries and frets are nothing in the grand scheme of things, and in an inexplicable way, I find comfort in that. It helps settle my mind and keep me in the moment.

A few days later, back at home, my friend Liz said, "Hey, did you see the great northern lights on Tuesday?" Usually when the lights are particularly active, she and the rest of our gang of friends will get together to look at them, to hike to wide-open spaces that give us plenty of viewing opportunity. But this time, we were limited, she, to a bedroom window and I to a plane over the ocean.

But I grinned ear to ear and smiled like a child who just won the raffle ticket at the fair. "Yes," I said, locking the vision of those glowing green lights in mind, "Yes. I did. And they were incredible."

Got a Fresh Air tip or inside info on the local recreation scene? Send an e-mail to play@adn.com.

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