A Shenandoah Stakeout: Aurora Edition

I admit, I got swept up in the excitement. On Wednesday, November 12, the news broke that the northern lights might grace Virginia. Growing up in the middle of a major city, I’d long accepted that the aurora was something other people saw, people who lived in places with more farms than streetlamps. And if I ever were to catch a glimpse of them, I would have to take a trek up further north.

The only other time I’d come close was back in college. Standing in the middle of campus at 2 a.m. while people claimed the faint green smudge in their photos was the aurora. I took my photos, but nothing quite turned out as I'd hoped. My eyes remained unconvinced. But this time? This time felt promising. And like everyone else, I wanted badly to see a real Technicolor display across the sky.

So, at 10:30 p.m., a group of friends and I went straight toward Shenandoah National Park, where hope breathes easier and the stars have room to stretch (and where the GroupMe experts had suggested). Conveniently, this was during the days when Charlottesville had decided winter had come in full force. Still, the anticipation made the chill feel almost festive. The drive up looked minimally promising with no colors in sight besides the black of the night sky. Still, we moved onwards and upwards.

At the overlook, we saw many gatherings of familiar faces; the whole law school seemed to have made the pilgrimage. Bundled in blankets and gazing upward, we clamored with the quiet anticipation of people waiting for something extraordinary, like the minutes before the curtain falls at a concert. The sky, for its part, offered a shimmering spread of stars: bright, crisp, and genuinely beautiful. No aurora (yet), but this was the kind of night sky that reminds you why people bother making wishes on it in the first place. I tried my hand at capturing a photo, of course, and produced what looked suspiciously like a black rectangle with a few crumbs sprinkled on it. But even that couldn’t dampen the mood. Optimism is a stubborn creature.

Still, no green. No pink. Not even a suspiciously colorful cloud. Just stars shining: gorgeous, scattered, smug. The kind of stars that seemed to whisper, “We’re enough, aren’t we?” Eventually, practicality and frigidity outpaced optimism, and we decided to head back down the mountain. Those braver and warmer than we stayed and promised to report back if things shifted.

On the drive home, my phone lit up with photos from people who had stayed longer (or simply had better equipment). Some captured real bands of color, soft greens and faint pinks peeking over the horizon. It was hard not to feel a little envy, but it mostly made me think, I guess the aurora had shown up somewhere in Virginia after all.

Maybe next time I’ll catch it in full display. Maybe instead of my phone I’ll even bring a camera that doesn’t turn the cosmos into pixelated lint. But for now, I guess shooting for the aurora landed me amongst the stars (or whatever that old saying is).

Verdict: Aurora elusive; stars dazzling; adventure somewhat worth it.