Paul Templing

If you’d asked me ahead of the trip to Iceland what my best case scenario might be, I’d have probably told you that it would have to be catching the aurora over Vestrahorn, one of Iceland’s most famous and almost obscenely photographic mountains. Did I think it would actually happen? With our stormy and unsettled forecast, almost certainly not. But after chasing the “Green Lady” all week and seeing little more than brief glimmers through gaps in the clouds, we found ourselves looking at a forecast that predicted just that scenario.

We had already visited Stokksnes at both sunset the previous day and sunrise that morning and were faced with 40-50mph winds on both occasions. The black sand was being blown with such relentless force that it was hard to keep your eyes open, let alone take a photo. That experience only made our arrival this calm and clear night feel all the more serene as we walked among the dunes, looking for a composition.

So then we set up and waited. Hours passed without any significant activity, but we knew from experience that things could change in an instant. We had spread out among the dunes so there wasn’t much conversation, and I had set my camera to take a time-lapse, partly because I didn’t want to miss anything, but also because it allowed me to sit back and just watch.

Around two hours in, I thought I could see something brighter than normal against the night sky, just out to sea. I didn’t get too excited, when you’re sat around staring at the night sky for that long, waiting for something to happen, it doesn’t take much to play tricks on your brain. I looked at the camera screen for confirmation, and there it was, a swirl of green, the best I’d seen all week. I broke the silence and called out to the group, who had just seen the same thing. Suddenly the atmosphere on the quiet beach turned to jubilation, cries and shouts came from the darkness all around me, our efforts had finally been rewarded.