Lights

6. Northern Lights! (Mar '04)

Frances and I are sitting in the sitting room, doing our various nightly, home-around-the-fireplace-with-no-fire-in-it-because-we-can't-be-bothered-trying-to-set-fire-to-mud activities, when the phone rings. It's Ali, and she says, "Andrea, northern lights." I squeak an excited "thanks," and we two intrepid explorers are off. After we layer on scarves, hats, fleeces, down coats, and gloves; and equip ourselves with camera, tripod, pocket torch and chocolate chip cookies (it doesn't hurt to be prepared), we pile into my car, and set off. South. Not that our navigational skills aren't excellent (they're not!) but because we were looking for a light-free vantage-point from which to view the Aurora Borealis.

We were aiming for the Pentland Road (don't know why it's called that; it refers to a one-track-with-passing-places road running across the moor between the west coast and Stornoway. It cuts across the middle, whereas the proper, two-lane road circles down and around and goes through several villages on the way over). As we hurtled down the main road, though, I realized that we could visit the Callanish stone circle, which is up on a hill, and has a good view to the north. So we swerved westward, and were at the stones within minutes.

The Callanish stone circle is a complex of roughly 50 standing stones: 14 huge ones set out in a circle, with one 15ft tall stone in the center, plus a long avenue of stones running east/west and another, shorter line running north/south. Unlike Stonehenge, this circle is actually impressive to behold (only standing stones, though, no crosspieces on top). Perhaps because it's still secluded enough not to be over-touristed. We were the only people who were there!

Frances set up her camera and tripod in the parking lot, and I wandered into the center of the circle, looking up at the star-filled sky, the dark shapes rising like neolithic skyscrapers around me, and the faint, bluish glow to the north that gradually shifted and undulated, a bit like the mist on the inside of your windshield that crawls away when you turn the defroster on; almost imperceptibly, but if you watch it you imagine you can see it dissolving (but you shouldn't, you should watch the road, otherwise you're liable to hit a sheep). Every now and then the faint tinge would get a sharp edge, like if you were to rub a pastel crayon over the edge of a piece of paper onto another piece of paper, and then take away the top piece. It was quiet. And cold.

I caught another light out of the corner of my eye, what I took to be a bright orange, annoying man-made light, and as I turned to look at it I realized that it was the moon, just past full, just above the horizon, as orange as a traffic light, and picturesquely framed between two stones, amidst strips of clouds, and reflected in the loch. Amazing.

The only drawback was that we could see the lights of Callanish village down below, especially the lights along the road, which looked like a feeble imitation of the row of standing stones (and which was dwarfed by the arc of blue light above it, but still drew attention away from the vastness of the sky). So after twenty minutes or so of appreciating the splendor, we were off again, to find more primative, unpolluted surroundings.

We found the turning point to the Pentland Road, and set off into the darkness. There were a few houses at the mouth of the road, but soon we were out of sight of the rest of the world; no one was stirring, not even a sheep. We buzzed on down the road for a while, looking for a promising passing place to pull the car over and get out, but there was a big hill to the north, then the road dipped down into a gully, and then finally, we came out into the clear, and I swung out into the passing place (it wasn't necessary, really, we could have stopped in the middle of the road because nobody else was there), shut the car off, and got out. The scenic designer had been there before us, because there was another loch beneath the moon, with only the slightest of ripples on its surface, so the now-lemon-yellow moon was two bright holes in a black-on-gray landscape. And yet -- even though there wasn't a single man-made light to be seen -- the moon, the stars, and the now-fading northern lights provided enough light to read "Passing Place" and to see the frost on the top of my car.

The Borealis was disappearing, and so was the feeling in the tips of our noses, so we bustled back into the car, did a neat six-point turn in the passing place, and headed back from whence we came. Frances mumbled something incoherent to me, and when I turned to look at her she had stuck the pocket torch into her mouth, turned it on and was illuminating not only her cheeks, but the sides of her nose, and the sinuses under her eyes. I of course had to stop the car and try it as well. I felt like a pumpkin on Halloween. We washed the metallic taste of the torch out of our mouths with chocolate chip cookies and headed on home.

Love,
Andrea

Andrea Blumberg