Private Aurora Night

The evening itself

You are collected from your lodge a little after eight, in a vehicle that holds your party and nobody else's. Where the evening goes is decided that afternoon, from the cloud forecast rather than the aurora forecast — the lights are very often there, and the sky over them very often is not.

There is no fixed hour to be back by, and that is most of the difference between an evening and a tour. A coach returns at eleven whatever the sky is doing; this one waits, or moves, or gives up early and tries again tomorrow.

The guide drives with two things on the seat beside him: the cloud map, and the knowledge of which side of which lake tends to clear first. Ninety kilometres is a normal night's driving if the gap in the cloud is ninety kilometres away. Some evenings you go four minutes up the road and stop.

Cameras, tripods and warm outer clothing come with him, so nobody is learning a camera menu at minus twenty and there is no expedition parka to buy. The files are yours before you leave the valley.

Why Abisko, and not Kiruna

Abisko sits in the rain shadow of the Norwegian border peaks, and almost everything else on this page follows from that one fact.

Weather coming off the Norwegian Sea has to climb those mountains to reach the valley, and it drops most of its moisture doing it. What arrives here is dry air, and a patch of sky that stays open on nights when the coast and the country east of here are closed in.

Be clear about what that buys you, because most pages are not. The aurora is no more frequent over Abisko than anywhere else at this latitude — the particles do not know where the mountains are. What you are buying is a better chance of seeing the display that happens anyway.

It is also why we would not send you to Kiruna for this. Kiruna has the airport, the town and the ice hotel, and it sits outside the rain shadow — measurably cloudier. Driving out here each evening on the chance of a clear sky spends the advantage you came for.

What it asks of you

Mid-winter nights sit around minus ten to minus fifteen, and drop past minus twenty when the sky is clear — which is, inconveniently, exactly the night you want to be outside.

Standing still is the activity, and standing still is what the cold charges you for. Outer clothing, boots and a headlamp are provided; bring base layers, a hat that covers your ears, and gloves you can work a dial in. Children are welcome from about five.

One night is a coin toss anywhere on earth, this valley included. Three is what turns a hope into a near-certainty, which is why our winter journeys are built around that number — and why nobody here will promise you an aurora. Anyone who does is selling something they do not control.