When the Sky Came Alive: Witnessing the October Aurora Storm

Like so many aurora chasers, I had a strong feeling that a major aurora storm was on the way. Just like in May 2024, I spent the entire day glued to the data, growing more impatient as the hours passed. When photos of a pink sky started appearing from Europe, I knew I had at least nine more hours to wait for nightfall on Vancouver Island. The day dragged by slowly after that.
By sunset, I was already set up at my favorite beach, eager to catch the show. A few of us had gathered, not wanting to miss a second. Using the astrophotography setting on my Google Pixel 7 Pro, I spotted the aurora borealis just after 7 p.m. PST. Within minutes, pink hues were visible to the naked eye.
But oddly, less than 30 minutes later, the aurora seemed to vanish. It’s common for auroras to come and go, but the data showed strong activity, and photos from other spots on the Island captured a rainbow of colors. Later, I realized the horizon was hidden by marine fog that lasted over 90 minutes.
Patience paid off. By 9 p.m., the fog cleared, revealing a vibrant rainbow of colors dancing across the sky. Turning our gaze above, we noticed the aurora dancing overhead. At this latitude it's a rare sight, and it’s hard to put into words how incredible it felt. Lying on our backs, staring straight up at the sky, reminded me of when I used to watch shooting stars back in northern Ontario. Only this time the pulsing waves of the aurora looked like angels in the heavens with flashes of green lightning. My friends and I shouted with whoops of joy and delight, punctuated by long silences, as we stared in awe of the night sky.
By 11 p.m., another lull hit, and my friends headed home. I stayed behind, making new friends and watching as a bright green streak framed the horizon and the aurora continued dancing above it. A few minutes before midnight, my phone battery finally gave out, so I headed home to recharge—myself and my phone.
I had set my alarm for 3 a.m., but after only an hour of sleep, I woke up and decided to head back out. Thankfully, it had warmed up a bit, which meant my phone battery would last longer. I returned to the beach, this time in Nanaimo, stopping at Wheatcroft Park before heading to Piper’s Lagoon. The high tide created perfect reflections of the aurora in the lagoon—some of my favorite shots from the night.
I spent almost an hour there before driving to the end of the road by the parking lot. A group of friends were leaving, saying they hadn’t seen the aurora. I invited them to stick around, and just in time, the sky erupted. It was unlike anything I’d ever seen, and likely won’t see again—a mind-blowing, otherworldly experience. Lying on my fold-up mattress, I soaked in the energy of the aurora swirling above.
As the night wore on, I searched for more foreground options to frame the aurora, but my energy was fading. Thankfully, a couple of new friends arrived, and their enthusiasm kept me going for another hour. By 4:30 a.m., with clouds rolling in, I captured my final shots of the night and headed home.
We’re now at solar maximum, meaning there will be more chances to see the aurora at this latitude over the next year. But I always try to catch it when I can—there’s no guarantee the next storm won’t be clouded over or washed out by a full moon. And every aurora is unique! As Aerosmith famously said:
"Don't wanna close my eyes
I don't wanna fall asleep
'Cause I'd miss you, baby
And I don't wanna miss a thing."
To dive into the technical details of this severe geomagnetic storm, check out the post by SolarHam.
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