Night of the Dancing Flames, again.

I meant to put these photos up a while ago, but as is with everything that passes through my head these days, my intentions were forgotten and went unfulfilled. But no matter, better late than never, I suppose.

The return of Night to Antarctica also means the start of the Auroral season. I have to confess I wasn't as enthusiastic or gung-ho this season about aurora-spotting as I have been in previous seasons, perhaps I am being picky and fussy now, but if the sky wasn't aflamed in green, I wasn't getting out of bed.


One Saturday night when I got duped by the promises of a great Aurora, which didn't happen. It was doing this all night - diffuse and stringy. Not bad, but not good enough.

The worst thing about aurora-watching, is of course, having to get up in the middle of the night. By some twisted rule of Physics, auroras usually occur, and are at their peak intensities, between the hours of 2-4 in the morning. Around these ungodly hours, air temperature drops to -10 degrees Celcius on average, if you're unlucky, and wind speeds would be hovering anywhere between 10-20 knots. If you aren't already getting the picture, aurora-watching involves getting COLD.


The Big Momma. After this whopper of an Aurora, we have not seen any since. Cloudy skies are a major cause of an auroral-no-show.

Anyway, one day, a massive aurora DID occur, and it was intense enough for me to actually drag myself out of bed, put on 10 layers of clothing + gloves and head outside to take some photos and to soak in the awesomeness that is a great Auroral display. I can't explain what it feels like to be standing under an Aurora while it is flaring and twisting, shimmering and dancing, turning this way and that, and looking so close to Earth that if you could just stand on tippy-toes and reach out with your fingers, you just might touch it. Just. Might.


A direct vertical shot of an Aurora. This is how it would look if you tilt your head back and stare heavenwards.

If anything is magical, it is seeing an Aurora bursting into different shades of green above your head. At that point in time, you forget all about the bold, the wind, your numb fingers, your frozen nose.


Another vertical shot of twisty green magic lights.

How can it be anything but magic?


The tail-end of the Aurora, converging over the horizon of Prydz Bay, Davis. Note the slight pinks in amongst the greens.