the last frontier

I've often wondered about the bravest thing I've ever done. But the answer eludes me. The thing about bravery, the way I see it, is that it's associated with courage. I have been told that some of the things I've done were courageous, and borderline stupid. Hence, brave. However, when I did do the things in question, I didn't feel I was being courageous, but rather I really felt like performing the act. So courage was out of the window, and stupidity in.

It all changed a few days back. This is the story of when I felt I undertook an act that was beyond the threshold that I call comfortable. 

We were in Alaska, in the city of Anchorage. It was ten at night, into our ninth day in the State. Needless to mention, we were tired, and every ounce of energy being burned was being supplied from the reserves of Theplas we were carrying with us. The weather outside was beautiful. Well, over here, we use such superlatives to describe it every time it does not rain. It was not raining that night. My friend, and fellow travel vagabond suggested that we try our luck to see the Northern Lights, the Aurora Borealis, or well the green & pink skies the internet is flooded with every now and then. 

To have a fair shot at viewing these lights, this time of the year, and in this part of Alaska, we needed to drive over 150km. This did not guaranty anything, just increased the likelihood. There are a number of constraints when it comes to witnessing these lights. Unfortunately for my friend, he also had to deal with the bigger bottleneck, me. Well, for starters I was not excited at the very least to see the lights. Let me explain. 

Not that I don't want to ever witness them, but there was no expectation, let alone plan, to see them during this trip. We had seen some magnificent sites, and landscapes over the last few days, and I didn't want to knock and do more things just for the sake of them. I always imagined renting a cabin and spending a few nights in Northern Europe when I eventually made a plan to see the pink and green hue.

Secondly, I'm not a night person, and the prospect of driving five hours, to-and-fro, on the tenth night of our expedition was, well, not a comforting thought. But the thing about traveling in a group is that every now and then, each one must compromise. To see them in their full glory, has been a lifelong dream of my friend, and the very least I could do, was accompany him, on that cold, beautiful night. So off we went, when the clock read 1130.

Two hours, and a couple of ice-cream stops later, we were 15 minutes away from our destination. We were made to stop at a road-side construction site. There was some small talk, as is the thing in America, and we asked the person there if he had any recommendation for places where the lights are the brightest. To our surprise, he said he had just seen them twenty minutes ago. That pumped some blood into our hearts, and there was hope. Perhaps this drive into the night was not going to be a moot one.

We got past the construction, and finally reached the spot the internet had suggested. A narrow road, trees on both sides, and a lake hidden beyond those dark green shadows. One Thirty Ante meridiem and pin drop silence. There was no one around, but the wind, the sound brought by the swaying of the tress, and us. I was scared. I switched on the flashlight of my phone to confirm the car was locked from inside. I did this a couple of times. 

I didn't have it in me to let my friend step out of the car, let alone do it myself. Fortunately, our car had a moon-roof that gave us a window into the sky above, where we could see the stars, although with a slight tint in the glass. We had been sitting there for a while, when my friend wanted to step out and view the sky without any filter. He was not scared. The way I saw it, he had courage, and well, he was stupid. 

After a while of his standing outside, and of me hoping against hope that we did not have a rendezvous with any other living organism, he suggested that I step out as well. The sky was clearer from outside, or so he suggested. It took some deep breaths, and a mental struggle, but I decided to oblige. I asked him to come on my side of the car, and help me out. I didn’t have it in me to walk out onto an empty road alone. 

He was right, it was better outside, there was no filter to the sky, as I experienced the light that stars brought with them. This was the moment. The moment where I displayed courage, and hence bravery. It lasted a whole of two minutes though. I stepped in, right before it becoming borderline stupid.

He sat back inside as well, about fifteen minutes later. We were debating if we should drive northwards to increase the likelihood of seeing the Aurora, or head back home. This time perhaps it was his turn to compromise, as I indirectly (well quite directly) suggested that we shouldn’t drive further. 

We were sitting in silence looking out through the moon-roof, out into the horizon. The more I looked, the more light my eyes captured, and the more in love I fell. The stars shone, as they’re meant to do, and I thanked my friend for dragging me out here, into the dark, against my will. 

I didn’t want to drive out just yet. I wanted to see the twinkling just that little bit more. I’m glad I didn’t drive out, for just then there was a white mass that made it’s way overhead. There was a sparkle of a little green, and a little pink, as that mass moved around in a pattern that I would call dancing!

These were the northern lights, the Aurora Borealis, the green and pink skies that I ever so often saw on the internet. My friend stepped out of the car. I stepped out of the car. Not with his help, not with a moment of fear in my heart. I really wanted to see that mass weave it’s magic through the sky. 

This was no longer me being brave, but rather borderline stupid.

doesn't appear as green, to the naked eye,
as the photo suggests