After my visit to northern Norway in early September of this year, I flew to Iceland to co-lead a nine day travel workshop with Daniel Bergmann, an acclaimed Icelandic photographer and environmental advocate.  The program sold out several months earlier.  Ten guests joined us for the journey. 

The other-worldly character of this volcanic island and Daniel's unique experience guiding groups and producing imagery were primary draws. 

I was fortunate to support the leadership and share in the exploration.

Returning to Iceland held much appeal.  I welcomed the chance to re-connect with this world of glaciers, rock, moss, ash, waterfalls, rivers, black sand, and dramatic light.

Our trip began in Iceland's capital, Reykjavik, and rolled through Iceland's highlands before heading to the southeast, central, and west coast. 

I worked as a tour guide, driver, photography partner, and fellow traveler.  The images and short stories in this note provide a glimpse of our experience.  Much to savor.

From the start of our trip, each evening, we held hope for a minor miracle in the night sky - the chance to witness the northern lights (the aurora borealis). 

This beautiful phenomena is named after the Roman goddess of dawn, Aurora, and the Greek north wind, Boreas.  Experiencing this natural display requires a combination of clear sky and a high level of activity in the "magnetosphere."  I am told this occurs only in the far north and far south of our planet with strong solar winds and a specific type of magnetic field from earth.  In simple terms, the sky lights up with color.  Smile. 

From all accounts, the northern lights often appear suddenly and may disappear quickly.  In certain years, these stunning light displays are seen above Iceland during nights in the month of September.  In other years, the northern lights are not visible until deeper in the winter months.  So, our odds of catching a glimpse of the aurora borealis were uncertain.  We needed luck and some serendipity.

Experiencing the northern lights had been on my bucket list for many years.  Friends from Alaska, Iceland, and Norway had shared stories of mesmerizing moments watching these lights dance in the sky.  I had read articles.  Pictures from magazines and web sites lingered.     

For the first five or six nights during our trip, we checked weather reports, northern light projections, and set alarms to wake up and survey the sky well into the night.  Nothing.  Nothing.  Nothing but stars, clouds, and wind. 

Then, one night, at about 9 PM during our stay in a small guesthouse near Vik, I heard a scream.  Mary, a guest on our trip had noted a strange green band in the northern horizon.  At first, she thought it was a cloud.  Then, she realized it was the start of the northern lights.  Our entire group ran outside.  Within minutes, the sky exploded.

NORTHERN LIGHTS BEHIND AN AIRFIELD'S WINDSOCK

As midnight drew near, the group returned to the hotel.  Yet, I longed for more and more and more of this immersion.  I led a new charge.  Four of us went out in a jeep to further explore the night.  We drove to an iconic church (the image in the beginning of this newsletter) and stood for hours in the freezing cold breeze as the sky shared it's gifts of color and motion. 

Next, we drove to a nearby beach, hiked down to the soft sand, and watched flowing color drizzle up and over the basalt rock and paint the sea and waves with vibrant color (image below).