Revved up like a deuce, another roller in the night

I sat on a hill in Halifax one night last fall idly texting my family back at our cabin in Wisconsin.

“I’m perched on a hill by a citadel hoping to see the Northern Lights,” I wrote with mild FOMO because I really hate when any members of my family gather without me. Also, as luck would have it, the Northern Lights did not show up in Halifax that night.

They did, however, appear elsewhere.

A few hours after I sent my text to the fam, I received a stunning picture from my daughter in-law Danni.

“The Northern Lights are active at the cabin!” she wrote. “I wouldn’t have believed it unless you mentioned earlier that you were looking for them…very magical moment.”

“Sounds wonderful,” I responded through somewhat clenched teeth. “P.S. If you see humpback whales in Shawano Lake on Friday and I don’t see any on the Bay of Fundy, I might be peeved. Ha ha.”

Since then, I have been on a quest to see the Northern Lights. I have researched KP index ranges and I almost even understand them just a little bit. I practiced settings on my phone and camera. I follow appropriate and extremely helpful Facebook pages.

I try very hard to stay awake when I am supposed to.

Last week, the Space Weather Prediction Center indicated that things looked pretty good for our area but no one, not even the very helpful Facebook page I follow, could narrow down when the Auroras might appear in Northeast Wisconsin.

Thursday night I tooled around with one eye on my people and another on the sky. I kept checking my phone for indications that it might be go time. I nosed around the outskirts of town to scout our a good viewing area.

Then, I went to sleep. At 3:30 a.m. I checked my phone and saw that things were heating up. Of course, I completed my Wordle, and then considered heading out.

About a half hour later, someone posted a picture from Cecil and I knew I needed to go.

My husband expressed some concern that I was scrambling around in the dark, dressed in my jammies and looking a little wild-eyed. “Be careful.” he croaked.

I saw a little green dancing in the sky as I jogged out to my car, then made a rookie mistake by heading south toward the river. I was hoping for a reflection shot over the Fox River, but a train thrwarted my plans almost immediately. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, snapped a picture of the flashing red lights, perhaps the only lights in the sky I was destined to see that night, and cursed my poor choice,

Racing the sunrise, I drove down to the river, parked in a remote lot and got ready to head to the darkest spot I knew. A red pickup truck with a single male driver pulled up next to me. He may have been an Aurora chaser too, or just a guy who needed a little alone time at the river. But, he unnerved me, so I left that lot and drove north past the city.

The sun was just thinking about peaking out, when I pulled off on a very dark country road, jumped out of my truck, pointed my phone north and caught my breath.

With its last gasp of color for the evening, the lights sent a faded pink and purple wave my way. I didn’t have time to haul out my tripod or my actual camera. I just wedged my phone on the truck’s giant rear view mirror, and snapped a few photos.

“Are you safe?” Vince texted me,

I told him I was and that I would be heading home soon.

Then I watched Lady A’s last colors fade away.

I’m still on the hunt for a real Northern Lights experience, the kind where she dances overhead and her colors fill the sky.

But, I’m also grateful for that crazy and very early morning last Friday, when I finally got a taste of the magic.