Desperately Seeking Solar Storms

I have long wanted to see the dancing displays of the Aurora Borealis, so was excited to read about the big solar storm that ejected wicked-hot plasma across the sky last weekend. Reports stated that the storm would make the Northern Lights visible down here in Seattle. Unfortunately, I completely spaced out this space event on Friday, but the photos people posted and reports that Saturday night’s lights would be equally as astounding, prompted us to seek out a spot to see them, which is how we ended up a few miles north of our house at a park, way, way past my normal 9 p.m. bedtime.

Judging from the abundance of cars on the surrounding streets, we were not alone in having the same brilliant idea of trying to avoid the brilliance of city lights. The park was filled a constant flow of cars going in and out and with people sitting on benches and grass (which turned out to be a tad bit problematic because the sprinklers turned on). We found a spot next to a flight of stairs, plunked down into search position (a former, highly-trained search-and-rescue friend taught us how he perfected laying down on his back to scan and scout a scene), and gawked up. We did this for about two hours, not always in true search position but definitely diligent enough that we should see the entire sky above us lit up in technicolors. Here’s what we saw.

Our peak viewing experience during the solar storm. This is not a technical error; the image is supposed to be completely black, though there were some stars, too.

Unlike the previous night, our sky did not burst forth in an aeolian conflagration of accelerated electrons. But I see no use in complaining. Being out late at night, we saw a lovely quarter crescent moon and several satellites anti-inking the sky. We were chorused by northern chorus frogs and learned that trains run in the night along Puget Sound. We saw a coyote. We realized how many people wanted to see the beauty and majesty of nature. I am always pleased and surprised (as I was on Saturday night) when so many people gather for an event such as the solar storm; it makes me hope that more people than I realize are interested in the natural world around them and that with a little prompting and knowledge more of them will seek out such experiences. We certainly saw this during the Pandemic with the large crowds of people going to parks and other green spaces. I just hope they will keep the natural world in mind as we head toward the election.

Staying up so very, very late to watch the night sky reminded me of one of my favorite, and more influential, events of my youth. In the summer of 1988, I spent an entire night watching the sky (completely clear and black) in a class devoted to astronomy. It was the first time I had ever seen the Milky Way live up to its name or watched as we (that is me and our planet) spun and turned the stars around the celestial pole, Polaris. I still remember learning constellations such as Aquila, Cygnus, and Lyra, whose brightest stars (Altair, Deneb, and Vega) make the summer triangle; Scorpius and its red anti-war star, Antares; and Boötes with its main star Arcturus, found by using the handle of the Big Dipper to arc to Arcturus (which you can continue following to speed to Spica.)

But the most amazing sight, and still one of my favorite in the world (though technically it’s not of this world), was seeing the rings of Saturn through a high powered telescope. Of course, I had long seen pictures of them but to see these necklaces of ice and rock live and in person (so to speak) was stunning. Beautiful and ethereal, they seemed unreal and were far more wonderful than I could have imagined.

I never stay up all night anymore (not that I ever did, being an early-to-bed kind of fellow) but when camping and nature calls, I always look up, in hopes of seeing a milky Milky Way, a shooting star, more stars than I see in Seattle, or a satellite. I even do so in the city, or wherever I am. In fact, since that class, I have continued to regularly look up to the night sky and to seek out the handful of constellations I know, particularly the Big Dipper, which, despite its celestial location, helps keep me grounded, in part by showing me the latitude and in part by simply allowing me to recognize a feature of the night sky and to find my place here on Earth relative to the great dome of the cosmos.

So no complaints from me about missing the Northern Lights recently. It was simply great fun to be up and to focus on the night sky.