Northern Lights by Watson Lake

By Jacob

The Robert Campbell Highway proved to be the detour we were looking for. Off the tourist train , we cycled, enuncumbered by the hoards of tourists blazing through the dusty roads. There were maybe 6-10 cars throughout the entire day, and were generally more than considerate, giving us plenty of room and displaying a conscious awareness of the dust they kick up.

We feasted in Faro on stewing meat, potatos and eggs while we stocked up on fresh supplies to keep our quality of life high enough to prevent the scurvy. After an unventful visit to the town, we found ourselves in Ross River repeating the same agenda the following day. Sitting at a gas station drinking coffee, I watched a bunch of motorcylists on the AlCan 5000 race/rally repairing a flat tire. They seemed to be enjoying themselves thoroughly and all had really sweet bikes.

I met a fireman who was planning a ride in a few weeks and was curious about our trip. I invited us to the firestation for some coffee, which we happily obliged, something I seem incapable of refusing. He was an awesome character to run into. About thirty years old, and a cancer survivor who had gone to the ‘bush’ to seek some solitude. He was eager to talk, and had enlightening thoughts about his post-cancer world-views which largely included living life to its fullest.

He spoke of a shortcut back to the highway, which we listened with up-turned ears. “It is steep, but should save you about 10 kilometers” he shared.

There was no hill too steep to warrant going an extra 10 kilometers and we relished the thought as we left the town. On a pair of fresh legs this hill quickly unveiled itself as a monster, and I felt thankful to have gears to accomodate such a ridiculous path. It wasn’t the longest hill, but at 2.5 grueling miles an hour, it was long enough. Sean lacked the fortune of the appropriate gears and got to enjoy the hill to an extent I did not reach.

The following downhill was everything I hoped it would be. Bone jarring to the extent that my vision was shaken up enough to blur the path in front of me until we spilled onto the Campbell, 9km ahead of where we began.

The route seemed too good to be true. Nice gravel roads charting their way through some of God’s finest works. We were so overwhelmed by the constant view of mountain peaks soaring over luscious river valleys and blue lakes they almost became redundant. In an effort to liven things up, and as a result of sleeping in so late, we started riding at night.

The twilight lasts an incredibly long time up here, giving us plenty of time to stretch the day. Coupled with such a smooth path, we were able to ride long into the evening, generally, without even needing to get out our headlamps. It was quite exhilarating flying through the darkness at speeds above 30 mph. Every once in awhile we’d hit a patch of thick gravel or a large pothole and nervously turn on our headlamp for awhile. But, for the most part, there was nothing in the way.

One night, as the darkness swept over us and we realized that we could hardly even see each other unless we were within 15 feet or so of each other. As I glided down one particular hill, squinting all the while, as if that would light up the way I saw something strange about the road in front of me. At the last second I quickly swerved out of the way of a white vehicle parked in the middle of the road without its lights on. Thoroughly confused we all seemed to have experienced the same thing, coming inches from colliding with the mysterious vehicle who now must have been thoroughly freaked out from hearing our voices out in the middle of nowhere.

They turned on their lights as we continued on our way. We couldn’t help but laugh thinking about what a bizarre situation that must have been for them imagining the possibilities of their explanations.

Sean was leading the pack at one point in the night and we heard a loud bang, a sort of crashing metallic noise. It appeared in our dim view that he had hit a construction sign that was on the side of the road. Seemingly unscathed, he continued on his way, uneager to talk about it. I contained my laughter, in case he was actually hurt (which he wasn’t), but it was not easy.

His experience lent a bit of worry which inclined me to put my headlamp on. After a length of smooth road I felt safe enough to turn it off again. I kept thinking that a car was behind me as I saw the reflection of lights off Sean’s helmet. I precariously turned my head in the darkness, hoping to hold a steady line in the dark. Repeatedly, I managed to see absolutely nothing, but the blackness that we just slipped through.

It wasn’t until we decided to hit camp when it made sense, when Goat exclaimed, “There are the Northern Lights.” We were lead to believe that this only happened in Spring and early summer and had resigned ourselves to disappointment, followed by promises that we’ll have to come back up here and see the famous astral projections.

After we looked up, in disbelief at the phosphorent lightshow we were incapable of accomplishing anything else, but dropping our jaws in stunned awe. Brilliant flourescent green illuminations danced around the sky penetrating the darkness with precise beauty. It was everything we had dreamed it would be. We stood there, raptured by its beauty until is subsided.

We took to biking at night so we would be more awake to enjoy the midnight aurora in all it’s radiance. The following night we were mesmorized by a display the covered the entire sky with this mysterious rainbow of the night that blushed with streams and sparkles of green and purple columns of light dashing across the sky.

This has been quite the highlight of our trip recently. Unfortunately, I’m out of internet time for now. More updates to come!!