Desperately Seeking the Unforseen

When I pull into the boat ramp parking lot, it’s just after midnight. It should be deserted. Nobody goes night boating. But my headlights illuminate a red sedan parked hood to the woods. I can’t tell if it’s occupied. The windows are dark. My brain tries to make it make sense. You can’t pull a boat with a sedan. Teenage lovers? A person taking a night hike? Murderer?

I park a couple of spots away and debate my next step. I have driven three hours north into an area that a light pollution map promised would be dark. I’m here to catch a glimpse of the northern lights. The map did not lie. It is dark. But I am now 89% sure my spontaneous trip north will end in dismemberment. 



1. Do I exit the vehicle?

2. Do I leave and drive home?

Choose your own adventure!

I don’t exactly remember how I got interested aurora chasing as a hobby. But I do know that I joined a Facebook community called Upper Midwest Aurora Chasers. And then I joined another. And then another. And I downloaded an app. I think I was looking for . . . something different. I’m a woman in my forties with small kids. My life revolves around routines. I think I hoped to be the kind of person who takes spontaneous night drives.

And so one night, when all the signs looked promising, I did it. I threw a flashlight, my camera, a sleeping bag, and a foam mattress into the van, and I left.

“I’m not sure I’ll make it back tonight,” I told my husband. The words felt exhilarating. Who knows where I’ll be in the morning!

Of course, I hadn’t considered that I might not make it back because I would be dead. But I certainly didn’t drive all this way to sit in the car. So I exit the vehicle, flashlight on. Heart a thrumming.

I make it about ten steps before I hear his voice. “Can I help you?” he asks.

“I’m here for the northern lights,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant. Murderers are like dogs. They can sense fear.

But this man — Terry is his name — isn’t a murderer. He’s a nice man from Wisconsin Dells who is also out aurora hunting. Bad news: I have missed the aurora. Good news: Terry is friendly. He helps me set up my camera. He shows me pictures of the aurora he took earlier that night. He tells me about his recent vacation in Arizona. We are two middle-aged people doing middle-aged things in the middle of the night on a deserted boat ramp.

I don’t make it home that night. I sleep at a truck stop in the back of my van. In the morning, I go in and get a shitty coffee for the road. I am beaming, surprisingly chipper for having missed the thing I came for.

But then I realize it was never about the aurora. I was after something unexpected.