Iceland is an amazing place. I ticked off 5 items on ✓ Project Bucket List while we were here, I proposed to Kymberley, and I had some of the most beautiful, awe inspiring experiences of my life. I’ve climbed a glacier, explored a lava tunnel, went whale watching, explored an abandoned city, and visited a spa. Originally, back when we first booked the trip, the only item I was aiming to tick off the list was this one.
Throughout 2024, the UK had a couple of Northern Lights sightings, and while I did technically see them (a magenta splodge of colour in the sky through my phone’s camera), I still didn’t count this as experiencing it. I needed to see them dance, and Iceland was the big chance at seeing that.
The first night we saw the northern lights, we were in Hveragerði, a town just west of Selfoss. I’d downloaded an Aurora tracking app, that allowed me to look at the Kp-Index (a measure of the Earth’s geomagnetic activity). A score of 5 or more meant that the lights were lightly to be visible, particularly in dark areas with low light pollution.
Of course, seeing the Northern Lights does rely on a clear sky, and the first half our trip in Iceland was marked with snowstorms, and cloudy skies.
We definitely saw the lights, they were up there, but they were misty, and difficult to see. They had a faint green glow, but, to our eyes, were mostly a pale white. We stepped into a clearing in the middle of the woods and looked up, and saw them dancing. Kymberley teared up at the sight of them, and while I found them immensely beautiful, I have to admit – they weren’t lifechanging.
The second time we saw them, we were up in the western peninsula, in a small town near the incredibly famous Kirkjufell. That night, we woke up at 3am to find the lights trailing above us, again, dancing faintly in the sky. It was such a treat to look up and see them even clearer, though, I must admit yet again, I wasn’t blown to my core. They were beautiful, and greener this time, and on occasion they’d flutter across the sky.
I decided that, I’d definitely seen the lights. They’d affected Kymberley much more than myself, and that I’d tick them off the list, even if they were coated in clouds, and slightly duller than I’d imagined. I thought about how I’d write it in a way that made it interesting to read. Maybe I’d spin it as “you don’t have to appreciate the big things when there’s 1000 little things to enjoy” or, “don’t big something up so much that you can’t enjoy it, take everything at face value” or even “I saw the northern lights and I hope they do a better job in the sequel“.
That all changed on the last day of our trip.
We’d spent the day at the Sky Lagoon, and I’d spent the afternoon talking about how comfortable my shoes felt after the Skjól Ritual. That night, we travelled from Reykjavík to a little town just near Keflavík, ready to drop the campervan off first thing in the morning and jump onto our flight. We packed everything we could, ready for an early start, and finished off the last of our food, gorging ourselves on 4 massive hotdogs each.
I checked my little app and saw that this very night there were pretty high chances of the lights. In fact, while it was still daylight, I got a notification saying that there could be lights right now. The Kp-Index was above 5, the highest I’d seen it.
As night fell, and the sky remained completely clear, we watched a beautiful sunset, then looked up as Gemini and Orion slowly came into view. The night was cold, but dry…
Then, it happened.
Suddenly, I don’t even remember how fast it happened, the night sky started to bend above us. A thick white blotch that covered the entire sky turned green in an instant. Kymberley and I grabbed a camping chair each and ran to the darkest point we could find, the bottom end of the empty campsite.
Actually, this is an odd one, I actually don’t remember how it happened. The night sky was faint, and then all of a sudden, snaking lights above us, screaming delicious shades of green that overlap like ink drops in water. Occasionally, the ribbons of light would flitter and shake, and I cannot possibly describe in words how absolutely unreal it is to see. Something breaks in your mind as you cannot comprehend something of that scale moving that fast.
In all it’s majesty, the Icelandic sky was making me feel like I was witnessing something entirely impossible. The light cast on the floor beneath a very faint green glow, in the darkest spot, while the last little bit of light pollution bled across the ground to us casting a gentle dark grey orange.
I didn’t cry. Kymberley did. I can understand why she did, seeing the lights made me understand why stories of Gods in the sky and fantastical beings made of light and wonder stayed with the human race for our entire history. How could anybody look upwards in a night like this and not question, Who? How?
I jumped around, like a child, taking photo after photo, video after video. I have a library full of us taking poses with magnificent views behind and ahead of us. For the photographers out there, these photos all have exposures of around 1 second.
We went inside to get a hot water bottle, and while there, the campsite owner mentioned that the lights were out tonight. We laughed and showed her the photos we’d already taken, then ran back outside, bidding her goodnight.
During this time, the lights had grown more and more impressive. It was like nothing I could ever possible describe.
Around us, an Argentinian family posed for photos in front of a tripod, and a girl travelling by herself took photos on her phone. We were all stood apart from each other, but occasionally we’d hear a gasp or a whoop as someone got excitable. Someone would start running in one direction, or jump up or climb a small hill surrounding the campsite.
I’m going to try and describe the feeling. Growing up as a kid, I lived in England before we moved to Spain. I remember one day in school, it started to snow, and the teachers called off the classes. We had a snowball fight with Mr Chown, and then, they sent us all home. There was an excitement in the air. My friend Jacob had to stay with us, because he couldn’t get a lift. Businesses closed early, and everybody seemed to be in the same boat, we all wanted to enjoy the snow.
I think we all probably have a memory that feels this way, like the world is different today than how it usually is. Maybe it’s not a snow day, maybe it’s a concert, or a religious experience, or something else entirely. For most of you, I really do hope that this memory is a positive one.
There were 7 of us there, in 3 groups, but it felt like we were all on the exact same page, even if we never spoke to eachother.
We sat in the camp chairs, hands intertwined, watching something neither of us could’ve possibly imagined a year ago.
A year ago.
Do you understand how much has changed in a year?
I’ve just completed 28 items on ✓ Project Bucket List. I can remember, clearly, November 2023, eating an entire tub of Ben & Jerry’s Ice-cream, not as a celebration, not even as a response to anything, I was just sad. I use the word “rut” a lot, to describe the way I was, before the list… But I don’t think that covers the half of it.
Everything is so different now.
In the past year I’ve travelled around the world, felt music, driven and ridden, and experienced, and found, and donated, and eaten, and made, and learnt, and loved. Hell, I’ve got engaged. Can you believe that?
Can you fucking believe that?
I’m looking at the photos of the sky from that night and I’m in awe. Sure, the photos themselves are nice, but I’m in awe at how full life is now. I don’t think it fully clicked until just this second.
I am so happy, and excited about life and the future and how things are now.
Look, I want to share this with you. A few friends have already embarked on their bucket lists. I want you to start one too. If you’re feeling slow, or sad, or disenfranchised, or stale, or unfulfilled or anxious, please, join me.
Let’s all figure out what we want to experience, and let’s all make it happen.
Life is good now. Thank you.
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