Viator Viator Travel Blog

“I am going to Iceland to see the Aurora Borealis,” I said confidently. Everyone was envious. Which only egged me on. “Yeah, it’s the right time of year, and I’ve just got a feeling.”

Digging myself a whole trench full of trouble. Everyone knows the Northern Lights are capricious at best, downright elusive the rest of the time.

But since childhood I’d wanted to see them. Lured by photographs, stories, the magical nature of them – it was on my list of life aims, and I’d already ticked off the Pyramids and climbing Everest (okay, one of these is a lie). So here I was in Iceland. This was my chance.

Iceland: Cold, crisp, cloudless

I’d been told about the three Cs: Cold, Crisp, Cloudless. There are the three essential climatic factors necessary for the aurora to do its thing. Gazing out the bus window at the end of a long day touring the Golden Circle (Pingvellir, Gullfoss and Geysir), I realised it was certainly a cloudless night; I could see the mere sliver of a moon rising over the plains. Stepping off the bus at our last stop in the steamy thermal town of Hveragerdi, I realised it was also cold and crisp. Very, for both.

The magical green lights of the Aurora Borealis

Whipping out my phone I rang my resident friend in Reykjavik for advice. She’d also never seen the Aurora even though she’d lived there for a year. But whenever she mentioned it to Icelandic friends they shrugged, said: “Oh, you can see that anytime.”

How casual we are about what’s on our doorstep. But this wouldn’t be my doorstep much longer and I revved my friend up to sharing my belief that tonight was the night the skies would dance for us.

On your mark, get set, shine

Reaching the bus terminal in Reykjavik, I joined the queue to buy tickets for a Northern Lights Tour. As if six hours on a bus already that day had not been enough for me. Obviously I was not the only true believer in the three-C quality of that night – 70 people were booked for the tour! And that was only one company. Several other operators in town were herding fellow seekers onto buses at various times in the evening.

We’d debated just getting my friend’s car and heading out of town alone, away from the city lights. But again, that Icelandic shrug in the face of where we should go to optimise our chances of seeing the lights: “You see them everywhere. Or nowhere. North is good. Far north.”

Thanks, but not helpful.

We decided to increase the odds by joining the bus tour. Surely they’d know how to entice the magic out of the sky. My friend and I exchanged a look as the doors closed and our guide cheerfully announced we would be heading south!

Our spirits rose a moment later when he finished a phone call and announced that his friend in the south coast town on Vik had just reported that the northern lights were going crazy tonight. Seventy happy people cheered. Even if half of us wondered if he always started the tour with that announcement.

Next stop, Aurora Borealis

A cheerful local with anecdotes to keep us entertained on the dark and anxious road ahead, he told us that we were the same as whale-watchers: our job was to be constantly alert, yelling out if we saw anything flickering in the sky. Obediently we all stared out into the darkness, trying not to be blinded by passing headlights, or yell out at every passing aeroplane.

As we drove on, he told us stories of his days in the local rescue squad, having to assist people on the highway when sudden snowfalls vanquished inadequate cars. Suddenly I understood why everyone in Iceland drives such huge four wheel drives down such narrow city streets. Forgiven. Now if they could just learn to park the damn things…

Lulled by the hum of the bus, I gazed tiredly out the window, looking at the white light reflecting off the undersides of clouds. For a small city, Reykjavik certainly threw a lot of light pollution! Or not! The guide announced we had ‘activitiy’ in the sky and the driver looked for a side road to pull onto. We were like kids nearing a candyshop as we all pulled on coats and hats and jumped up and down in our seats. Finally, he found a suitable spot and we all piled out.

People ran up the embankment, trampling years old moss in their haste to raise their cameras and capture this phenomenon. I stared and nodded excitedly into the dark alongside my friend, but really, deep inside, my heart was breaking. Was this it? Because it really did look like light pollution. Where were the colours? The shimmery dancing movements?

As my spirits dropped, and camera flashes piercing the dark messed with my pupils, I stepped around the moss and climbed back onto the bus. Somewhere in my bag I had emergency Sirius brand chocolate, Iceland’s finest; right now I needed it.

George Clooney? Whatever

Finally everyone was herded back on board and we continued our journey south. I sucked on the chocolate and tried to make appropriately enthusiastic noises about what we’d seen. Perhaps this was what meeting George Clooney in person would be like. I made a mental note to scrap that off my list.

Another half an hour and more ‘activity’ was spotted. We rugged up, pulled over and piled out. My spirits lifted a little: there was a definite tinge of green. And was that pink over there? Sure, it still looked a little like thin cloud. The Milky Way with a bit of food dye splashed on. But it was pretty. And, if not for all those damn camera flashes going off, it would be a pretty nice moment. Kind of like a first kiss with a guy you used to think was a prince. Hmm, mental note to take kissing Clooney off my list.

By the time the ‘activity’ faded away, we were all so cold we were happy to get back on the bus. We headed into a small town – who knows its name but there were boats, fish factories, and corrugated iron houses: I challenge you to tell that apart from the next Icelandic town in the dark! Here we had a quick chocolate buying frenzy and toilet break. The girls behind the counter looked none too happy to see 20 women line up for the bathroom – apparently there was a barn dance in town that night and they were keen to be strutting their stuff.

Finally one brave soul broke ranks and headed into the deserted Men’s. A few others followed, one woman exiting as if she’d just experienced the most exciting taboo shattering of her life. A memorable tour for her definitely.

Our guide announced that he was not sure we would see much more that evening so we were going to head back to town. We’d been on the hunt for over two hours already and everyone was cold and tired so there were no complaints. Although I have to say I remained a bit saddened by the lack of spectacle. Was this really the Northern Lights?

Then my friend, the semi-local, confessed she’s been chatting to the guide, practising her Icelandic, while the rest of us craned our necks at the sky. He’d told her that there is a scale of 0 to 5 for the Aurora with 0 being the lowest strength; unfortunately tonight was a 0. But I was actually heartened by the news: it did get better than this! I just knew it had to! Yippee.

And better it got.

The aurora of my dreams

As we were nearing Reykjavik, there was a shout and the bus stopped. Obediently we bundled into coats and hats and scarves and gloves, and left our warm, comfy seats. And wow! The sky was on fire! This was the Aurora as I had hoped. And it was still probably only a 2.

Huge swathes of colour swirled in the sky, greeny, pinky. Always shifting and changing. Then a band of light would suddenly dance across the sky, shimmering and flickering, moving swiftly past before disappearing. We distinctly saw a face form in one corner and gasped. As quickly it was gone but I nearly became a Believer on the spot. Perhaps it was five minutes, perhaps half an hour, then the magic was over. My neck was sore and I didn’t care.

I’d seen the Aurora and I was a very happy woman.

Heading back to the city, I discovered the reason others had persisted with their camera flashes when I’d got nothing. (Yes, I admit, I started the night trying to photograph it too, before I realised it was futile and I just enjoyed the moment instead.) The secret is long shutter speed, and apparently shining a light beam into the camera lens. Don’t ask me for whys and hows; I’m just telling you what I heard.

But with or without camera, go to Iceland. Go Aurora hunting. There’s no guarantee you’ll see it, this being one of nature’s most fragile tricks. But if you do… Wowza!

-Philippa Burne

Planning a trip? Browse Viator’s Iceland tours & things to do in Iceland, including the Golden Circle Tour and an Aurora Borealis night tour from Reykjavik.