Chasing Auroras in North Carolina

One man’s quest to see the northern lights after he missed his chance to see them in May and had been battling a severe case of FOMO ever since

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As we drove out to the piney woods of central North Carolina, the car’s high-beams cutting through the dark expanse ahead of us, I wondered whether my interest in the northern lights had reached the point of unhealthy obsession. What kind of lunatic drags their wife on a road trip at ten o’clock on a Thursday looking for a patch of dark sky? Even in the best-case scenario, the forecasts said, we might catch a dim red glow on the horizon. Not exactly worth driving three hours for.

My wife sat quietly as we listened to an episode of This American Life. She’s well-versed in keeping us entertained on these excursions — this is our third attempt to see the northern lights this year — so she knows to queue up podcasts ahead of time. The miles on the GPS slowly ticked down as we neared the scenic overlook I’d spent hours scouring Google Maps to find — one with a northern exposure and low light pollution. But as we approached the overlook, I saw the orange traffic cones, their reflective white tape shimmering in the car’s headlights. As we reached the turnoff, a large “Road Closed” sign blocked our path.

Aurora Borealis? At This Time of Year? At This Time of Day? In This Part of the Country?

I first became interested in seeing the northern lights several years ago when I lived in Boston. I read an article about a photographer who had captured the northern lights over a lake in Vermont. I had always thought the northern lights were something you could only see in Alaska, or Iceland, or one of those Coca-Cola commercials with the polar bears. But northern lights within driving distance? Without having to spend thousands of dollars freezing my ass off in Alaska? I was intrigued. I’m all about low-effort, high-reward commitments. And not freezing my ass off.

Despite my initial interest, I never gave the idea enough thought to act on it. And when I moved to North Carolina, I figured seeing the northern lights within driving distance would be next to impossible. Because North Carolina is far enough south that to see the northern lights requires an extreme geomagnetic storm — the kind of storm that only happens once every twenty years.

Then, on May 10, 2024, there was an extreme geomagnetic storm — the kind of storm that only happens once every twenty years.

I opened Facebook the morning of May 11th and my entire feed was flooded with pictures of the night sky ablaze in red, green, and purple light. A post from the Charlotte Observer read “Aurora Borealis Dazzles As Far South As Florida After Solar Storm of Century; Entire City of Charlotte Basks In Majestic Celestial Display; All But Local Idiot, Carlos Greaves, That Is, Who Somehow Missed It Entirely.”

That was the actual headline, word for word, I swear.

The next night, with a fire ignited in me by the most severe case of FOMO known to humanity, I embarked on what would become a months-long quixotic quest to see the northern lights. Aurora Borealis suddenly became my white whale. And come hell or high water, I was gonna see dem space lights.    

In Search of Darker Skies

The modern city is in a constant war against the night. We light up offices with drop ceiling fluorescent tube lights so we can toil long after sunset in front of bright computer screens. We blast city parks with floodlights because darkness is where the crime happens. And we drive cars down illuminated roads past empty shopping center parking lots flooded with lights that serve no purpose other than to confuse the shit out of moths. And the locations that offer even a bit of darkness are fenced or gated off, lest teenagers gather there to stab each other to death. Or worse, have sex. To find a dark place anywhere near a large American city requires intense planning.

I discovered this the night of May 11th as I dragged my wife around the outskirts of Charlotte hoping to catch the tail-end of the geomagnetic storm. But every large park we could think of that might offer decent night sky views was gated off. In cities, darkness is guarded like a secret.

Trial and Error

Other aurora chasing excursions over the following months yielded different challenges. We visited northern Maine in July on a weekend that happened to line up with a moderate geomagnetic storm, but rain and wildfire smoke obscured the sky the entire trip.

A few months later, a trip to New York that also aligned with an expected geomagnetic storm was a bust when the storm arrived two days late — and a day after I’d already gone back home. 

I was getting so desperate to see the northern lights that, any time there was even a bit of solar weather activity, I would google last-minute flight deals to Minnesota and Montana. Luckily, my wife talked me down from a few very expensive ledges.

How to See Dem Space Lights

While each of those failed attempts to see the northern lights was disappointing, I also gained new insight. I learned how to find viewing spots with north-facing vistas and dark skies that were accessible at night. I found cloud forecasts to determine which spots to avoid on a given night. And I learned how to read solar weather data to understand the likelihood of seeing auroras at a given latitude on a given night. After each attempt, I found I had a bit more confidence that I’d be able to see auroras the next time.

The Hunt For Red (Lights in the Night Sky in) October

By the time Thursday night’s geomagnetic storm hit, I was a grizzled veteran in the art of aurora chasing. I had two day’s notice of the storm’s arrival thanks to the space weather account I follow. I had a dark sky spot picked out that I knew from using Google Street View was not gated. And I understood the solar weather data well enough to know that, though the storm wouldn’t be as strong as the one in May, there was still a chance we might see something. I piled blankets, folding chairs, flashlights, water, and snacks into the car, and we drove off towards the overlook.

Of course, despite all that preparation, I did not anticipate the construction blocking the spot I’d picked out. Luckily, my previous aurora chasing attempts had taught me another thing: always have a backup location. In my case, I had four. What can I say? When I’m obsessed with something, I’m thorough about it. 

The closest backup location was a half hour drive, and thankfully, my wife agreed that, if we’d gone this far, we may as well keep going. Probably because if this trip turns out to be a bust, she knows she'll have a bulletproof excuse not to keep putting up with this madness, I thought to myself. That, or she loves me so much that she’s willing to go on these ridiculous adventures because she knows it’s something I care about. Most likely the first one. Either way, I had the approval I needed to keep going.

After driving down a series of narrow dirt roads, we reached our backup location — a trailhead down to a secluded lake. We got out of the car and stared up at the stars. As our eyes adjusted, we began to see, in the northern sky, a faint but unmistakable red glow. We followed the trail to the lake shore, and I set up my tripod to take a photo of the horizon.    

Space is Cool, Y’all

I’ve written before about my fascination with space and astronomical phenomena. And just like I have a hard time putting into words how cosmically miraculous a solar eclipse is, I also struggle to describe just how mind-blowing Aurora Borealis is. Charged particles blasted from the sun at over a million miles per hour slamming into the Earth’s ionosphere with such intensity that the entire sky lights up? THAT’S SO COOL! How could you not take every single opportunity possible to witness something like that with your own eyes?

As we sat by that lake, I was struck by how many people could’ve been seeing what I was seeing, but had no interest. Or had the interest but didn’t have the time. Or had the time, but didn’t have the energy to wander around the woods miles outside the city. It suddenly felt oppressive that the modern world demanded that we live in places so bathed in light that to be able to experience the beauty of the night sky required driving several hours.

Double-Edged Sword

Over the past year, I’ve felt increasingly addicted to my phone. Ever since I started making more of a concerted effort to be active on social media — whether it’s posting regularly on Notes, or making videos for TikTok and Instagram — I’ve found myself getting sucked in by each platform’s algorithms and spending hours a day scrolling. Though I tell myself that all that scrolling is necessary for the type of work I do, I know the habit has devolved past the point of being productive. There are times I’ve thought about switching to a brick phone, but then how would I get a ride to the airport? Call a taxi dispatcher? Like a neanderthal?

And yet, when we were out in the woods by the lake watching the aurora, being able to take long exposure photos on our iPhones made the experience vastly more rewarding. The iPhone’s night mode enabled us to see the vivid aurora colors that our eyes were only faintly able to make out. And that’s to say nothing of the other features that made our trip easier like GPS directions though poorly-marked dirt roads, and internet access to have the latest solar weather data at my fingertips.

I’d been feeling trapped by modern technology — by the constantly-illuminated city I lived in and the glowing phone screen I spent hours a day staring into. But Thursday night offered a different approach to technology. While my interactions with technology are often passive, dictated by algorithms I can’t control and a built environment I didn’t design, that night I was using technology actively to achieve a specific aim that yielded a deeply gratifying experience.

I’m going to try to do more of that from now on. I’m going to try to take a more active role in how I interact with technology — the media I consume, the platforms I spend time on, and the tools I use. I know that will be easier said than done, but Thursday night was a promising start.

So if you find yourself stuck in a rut, or feel like a cog in a machine, remember that the supercomputer in your pocket can enslave you, or it can liberate you. And that sometimes, breaking free from the monotony of the modern world can be as simple as finding a dark sky on a cold clear night, and looking up.

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Comments

1. This piece was a little longer and a little less funny than most of my work, so I’m really curious what y’all think of it. I’m still experimenting with personal essays so any and all feedback is welcome!

2. Anyone else see Thursday’s light show? I’d love to see what it looked like in other places!

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