The road to Tromsø is a long one, especially since I chose to take the more scenic route up the Norwegian coast instead of back into Sweden and then north. When either route is over 20 hours, a couple extra hours seems inconsequential. The part that is of consequence is how narrow and twisting the roads are, and how the road conditions vary from clear, to slushy, to covered in ice. I don't know where jurisdiction for maintaining the roads lay---in the towns, the states, or the country itself---but regardless of who is responsible they do a surprising job of sanding and plowing and keeping the drifts from enveloping the roads. I can't imagine the veritable army that the Scandinavian countries employ in keeping the major roads open for as long as possible. That said, I'm just an American from the part of the country that shuts down with a reasonable threat of snow and this is a part of the world where they don't feel like winter has really started yet. To quote one hotel reception receptionist, "You've caught us at a bad time. It's the dark days, but no snow." He's saying this as snow is falling and plows are going by.
Despite the short days, it's absolutely beautiful country while you can see it. The roads hug the jagged fjords as they jiggle back and forth like they were drawn by a nervous cartographer. Vast planes of snow, narrow bays and rivers of ice, sharp explosions of black rock tempered by white snow---it's a photographers dream. Except the roads have little to no places to pull off and allow me to be a gawking tourist. There are pull-offs and parking spots to allow backed up traffic to pass if you're going slow or need a break, but they're few, far between, and in the least opportune places for gawking. Most of the time there is no shoulder on the road, making parking and walking back to a viewpoint rather dangerous. The memories will have to serve for the most part, and after all that's what vacations are really about anyway.
This far north the sun rises late and stays low in the sky and sets early. It gets mostly dark quick, but then takes hours to get full dark. But once it does, it's an all encompassing darkness if it's cloudy. You can see bits of civilization far into the distance as it casts a soft glow in the low clouds above, but in between it's dark---fucking dark. But when the clouds part and you get a glimpse of the naked night sky it's breathtaking. Stars shine with an intensity that acts as a dull night light and clusters of stars I've never seen are bright and clear. The moon rises early and gets higher in the sky than the sun, but not my much. In contrast to the darkness it's a blazing light that casts a soft light, creating soft shadows even when it's not quite in its first quarter. It's a good thing that is its own kind of beauty, because most of the day is spent at night, as dumb as that sounds. At one point the sun didn't break over the horizon until just after 11 and it was back down before 1. Not counting the long tail of dawn and dusk light, the entirety of the day was less than 2 hours.
My first night heading north was in a small town called Grong, where it was a windy but balmy 40ish degrees. When I woke up it was below freezing, setting the stage for a colder, more winters day of driving. As I got further north the roads were more frequently icy than not, which I honestly preferred to the mixed and patchy roads because I didn't have to wonder what I was driving on at any given moment. Not to sound bored, but it was just hours and hours of absolutely beautiful, rugged countryside. About 3 hours into the drive I passed a massive sign that spanned the road declaring I had entered Nord Norge, or Northern Norway. It was presented as if I had just entered some grand kingdom or a winter-themed amusement park. Maybe in a month or two when the real snow sets in and the skiing lodges open it is exactly like an amusement park. About an hour after entering Nord Norge I crossed the Arctic Circle.
This was significant for two reasons. One, I've just always wanted to be able to say I've been north of the circle. And two, even though Tromsø was the goal I considered anything above the circle prime aurora viewing area. As a result, the moment darkness engulfed the land and I saw a clear blanket of stars above, I started looking for signs of activity in the sky. Hours went by, but finally around 10pm, about an hour south of Bognes I saw something. It started as a pale, sickly gray glow that looked at first like a long stands of odd clouds catching some unseen light. A little more time went by and the glow became more green than gray, and the strands become a little more cohesive and wild. Splitting into a series of greenish veins and then merging or separating even more the next time I looked up. I was craning my head as I drove, trying not to crash, and smiling like a kid.
By the time I reached Bognes the strands were vibrant, but not quite neon, the moved visibly in the few seconds I had to look up. There hadn't been a good place to stop for a solid hour until I reached the ferry at Bognes. I arrived just as the 2nd to last ferry for the night was loading and immediately pulled in. The moment we pulled away from he bright lights of the ferry terminal I was on deck, completely alone. Above me ribbons of color were swirling, warping, wavering---some lazily, some frantically. There were a lot of lights on the deck, but I noticed a set of staff stairs up to another deck and hopped over the gate. It turned out it led to another deck, that after hopping another gate was totally publicly accessible, rendering my little rebellion pointless. Again I was alone, but it was away from all the lights and above me the aurora were dancing. The brightest ribbons were a rich, but slightly ethereal green. Others were ghostly and weak. Directly above me was a tangled knot of green ribbons with tinges of yellow at the edges that were swirling around violently. Occasionally a ribbon would break and bright pinks and and hints of blues would leak from them.
I stood out on the deck for about half an hour watching giddily as the winds rose and the temperatures dropped. It reached a point where the wind was blowing so hard I could barely stand and the few bits of my face exposed to the elements were sore and I could barely keep my eyes open. Eventually I had to admit defeat. I had stuff better suited for the elements in my car, but they locked access to the vehicle deck until just before we reach shore again. When I drove off the ferry in Lødingen it was almost midnight, I was tired, and there was a small hotel less than a kilometer from the terminal. My viewing had ended sooner than I had wanted, but already I was beyond happy and I slept the kind of sleep only fools and children do.
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