Mt. Rønvik and faint northern lights in Bodø, Norway

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Today was Day 130 of the Europe excursion, and the last day in Norway. The last day in Europe — the final full day of this trip that has taken us through nineteen countries, from Northern Europe to Southern Europe and back up again.

And to celebrate, the travel gods in Bodø, Norway, way up here above the Arctic Circle, finally gave us the Northern Lights we have been chasing all week.

The day began unemotionally, the finale of an excursion such as this being too much to confront as it happens. I checked my BG — 225. Sigh.

Masayo and I had our final breakfast in the hotel restaurant — an endless buffet of fruits, breads, meats, vegetables, beverages… what am I going to do without this?

Today was a grey, cloudy February day in Bodø. Would the clouds part and allow a view of the Northern Lights, if there was even enough magnetic activity at the North Pole to effect them? I hoped so.

Mt. Rønvik

On the edge of Bodø is a large hill called Mount Rønvik (how’s that for a perfectly Norwegian name). It’s about 5 km one way, and I asked the hotel if they had a bicycle to rent.

They did, but the tire was flat, and the hotel lady had to call her boss to ask where the pump was — it seems nobody ever asks about the bikes in winter. My embarrassment for causing them trouble with this crazy plan was tempered by my pride in bucking the trends. It’s MY trip.

The tire was inflated, Masayo (who didn’t want to bike in the cold) and I said goodbye and I pedaled off through the cold, snow-dusted streets of Bodø.

The road got steep and was only cleared of snow and ice halfway up Mount Rønvik; I gave up the bike, chained it to a guardrail, and walked the rest of the way. My BG, in this land of snow-covered sea mountains, freezing icy fjords, and blue-grey air, was 154. After that giant breakfast I was very pleased by this, as it meant even the diabetes gods wanted me up here!

At the top of Mount Rønvik is a big “tourist hut”. I don’t know what it is, because it was closed today (for the season, apparently) but from beside it you get a deeply captivating view of the craggy rocks and frigid green-black sea surrounding Bodø.

I gazed upon this scene in wonder — it was genuinely difficult to believe I was actually here. It seems so far off the main trail, this small fishing village in far northern Norway in February… but here I was. Looking at some of the most spectacular scenery on Earth. The grey skies and my cheap digital camera didn’t quite capture the feeling of the bone-numbing cold air and the quiet, unsympathetic harshness of the natural beauty beside and below me, but I just stood and silently observed it for a few minutes.

Back down in Bodø, Masayo and I had our usual lunch of waffles, jam, and Norwegian brown cheese in the hotel. We didn’t eat a single meal outside of our hotel in our entire four days in this town, and we weren’t sorry about it. The Clarion Collection Hotel Grand consistently gave us some of the most memorable meals of the entire trip. In a distant outpost like this, even the waffle snacks felt like manna from Odin, a bulwark against the soulless arctic wind and freezing snow-draped rocky coastline just meters from the hotel.

Bodø Airport

After lunch we walked to the airport about 1 km away. Our flight leaves tomorrow morning, early, and we wanted to scope it out first to make sure things go smoothly tomorrow.

It’s the first time I can remember flying out of an airport so small that I could just walk to it from the hotel. Bodø is built on a long thin strip of land, and the airport occupies the southern part of it.

The walk was through a residential area with perfect Scandinavian houses — boxy, colorful, looking utilitarian but very cozy inside.

The airport itself is cute, and easy to find. Tomorrow morning should be a breeze! Inside, in front of the revolving doors with confused people doing a double-take at me, I checked my BG and Masayo took a photo and video: I was 175. Not terrible, considering the balance of exercise and waffles.

 

The Northern Lights… basically

And then darkness fell over the town. After our hotel dinner buffet — bacalao, fresh cod and potatoes in a tomato sauce — we devised a plan to give the Aurora one last chance.

It had only been clear enough once to even try to see the Northern Lights during our week in Norway, and that was back in Trondheim where we only saw the faintest glimpse of something possibly green.

Tonight was our last chance.

To see the Northern Lights, three things must happen:

1. You move far from city lights so that you can adjust to the darkness.
2. There is enough magnetic activity in the atmosphere to produce the phenomenon.
3. The sky is clear, because the Aurora happens above the cloud level.

It’s Sunday, and there’s no bus that goes near Mount Rønvik (the best place near Bodø to try), and we didn’t feel like walking 10 km round trip in the biting February night air. So we walked to the end of a long pier in town that the woman in the tourist office had recommended as a Plan B. Still some city light pollution, but not too much.

As I intently monitored websites that give current magnetic activity in the form of a kp number, it seemed that tonight there was a possibility to see the Lights in Bodø. The number got up to 1.67 — fairly weak, but worth trying.

Fortunately, the skies were indeed clear, and as our eyes adjusted to the darkness we saw countless stars. The very same mysterious points of light on a vast black canvas that have enraptured civilizations for millennia, and must have been especially mystical to the hardy people that made their pre-industrial homes in this far-flung corner of Scandinavia.

That long white cloud — wait!

But there was no Aurora forthcoming, though we scanned the skies doggedly, looking for the merest hint of something green or yellow. All we could see was a long, faint, whitish cloud.

“I wish that cloud would just turn into the Northern Lights!” I joked to Masayo as we shivered on the wooden bench, our cups of hot tea drained with the few leftover drops on the lid now icy.

But as soon as I said that, we both stopped: the white cloud seemed to be shifting, and… wait, is that a greenish hue I detect?

It was! This was the Aurora!

We were transfixed; this was not the amazing, bright display of photographs and travel brochures. This was a ghostly tease, and we strained our eyes to make the most of it.

It got a little stronger, and I set the ISO on my cheap camera high, and used the timer to avoid shaking it when I pressed the button, to get the best photos I could. It was clearly the Northern Lights by now, but they would remain wispy and vague.

But even these shifting, mercurial little hints of the Lights were awesome — on a vast scale, and dancing lethargically above us. They would seem to disappear altogether, and then come winking back at us.

(At one point a couple walking their dog strode up and then departed. Locals must see dozens of good displays per year, when the kp number is higher and the Lights drop down further south.)

After midnight we were frozen — I wasn’t even wearing enough layers. And so we decided to head back.

It took us a while though; walking along the pier, we glanced back over our shoulders constantly, and if we thought the Northern Lights were roaring back, we’d dash back towards the end of the pier. Then repeat the process, until we got close enough to town that our eyes lost the darkness.

Our fingers and feet may have been numb and cold, but our spirits were soaring. How exciting! How invigorating! To be on the frozen edge of the world, looking at unknowable dispatches from an eternal distance splashed across the sky!

Back in the room, my BG was 154. Before bed, I’ll take it. It had been an unforgettable day, and after considerable expense and (enjoyable) hassle getting way up here at the last minute from southern Croatia, we had been given our Aurora experience.

Denouement

In a few hours we’ll walk through the pre-dawn darkness to Bodø Airport, fly to Oslo, then onto the United States.

And our last night in Europe was one of the best.

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