Disclaimer: some of the links below are affiliate links, which means I may receive a small commission if you shop from those links. This commission helps support this website and Wandering Switchback on the whole. I greatly appreciate your support!

Events of July 22, 2025

While working on some other projects, I received multiple alerts on my Space Weather Live app about the KP index, which can suggest that the Northern Lights, aka Aurora Borealis, may be visible. I was already tired from a busy day, but the Aurora on a clear night close to a full moon isn’t common. I let Mountain Goat know I’d be going out to see it.

The KP Index was projected to be 5, which is good, not excellent, but it is only suggestive, not indicative, and even when the various measurements show only moderate or even poor conditions, the aurora may be visible, and vice versa. No matter the forecasts, nothing is ever promised, and it can be a futile effort going to a remote location only to find dark skies with no lights.

As a bonus, the Perseids meteor shower is ramping up with a peak coming up August 12-13, so I hoped I might be able to capture one or two.

I gathered my gear, which now includes two identical camera bodies, two identical tripods, and two lenses, my 20mm and 35mm, both Sigma DG DN Art f/1.4 lenses. I also packed a chair, water and snacks, as well as a blanket and other gear to stay warm. The temps were forecasted into the 50s, which, when you’re sitting around in the dark, can get cold.

I considered going to a town nearby called Gilead, ME, where I was able to see them last-minute once before, but I’d hoped to capture them in a new location this time. I took a quick look at a topo map and decided to try a boat launch on the south end of Umbagog Lake in New Hampshire. I double-checked a light pollution map to confirm that nothing north of the lake would pollute the sky, kissed Mountain Goat goodbye and set out on the dark highway. I turned onto highway 26, passing through Grafton Notch State Park and waving hello to a moose on the side of the road as I approached the state line.

Just inside New Hampshire, I saw signs for Umbagog Lake State Park, and the boat launch was almost immediately on my right. I pulled into the gravel lot, the lone vehicle there, and got out to scope out the place. A small boat ramp disappeared into the lake, with a short floating dock attached to a concrete platform next to it. To the right was a small harbor with a boat house and a parking lot, all complete with lights I hoped wouldn’t impact my photos. A thin layer of fog hugged the lake’s surface as the dropping temp caused the warm water to evaporate and linger in the still air. I walked on one side of the boat launch, and then the other, passing lily pads and a few broken reeds in the water.

It’s important to know with the Northern Lights and any other night photography that the camera will pick up on significantly more light than the human eye can, so even when the lights may not look like much, or even like nothing at all, the camera can tell a different story. This is why even cell phone pics you may have seen on social media are so much more impressive than what you may have seen on your own. There have been times when my camera picks up the lights that my phone has not. Looking back, I think there have been many occasions where I wish I’d checked with my camera, because historically, I have checked the sky with my phone and abandoned a location when my phone didn’t show anything. So now, I take the time to set up my tripod and camera to check.

But back to this night.

I took a shot to confirm that the lights were going, then set out to find a place for my first camera. I debated setting up the camera at the end of the dock, but after going out there, although the water and wind were calm, I realized that being a floating dock, any movement would disrupt and blur the images, so I quickly decided against that. I walked to the shore away from the harbor lights and set up my camera, taking a few test shots before settling on an angle including a small island, and I started my interval timer, or intervalometer.

The Aurora tends to wax and wane, with substorms kicking the lights up before they fade again, and while there are scientific readings that can indicate when these will happen, there isn’t always an association. This is one of the reasons I like setting up the intervalometer on my camera to capture these as they come and go, since they may not even be visible to the naked eye.

Once that was set, I went back to the truck to get my chair and bag of goodies to keep myself comfortable for the show. I carried my second camera on the tripod and set it up at chair height to take pictures occasionally to see what was happening. As I settled in, I was welcomed by the sound of a bullfrog near the creek to my left and the yipping and howling of an active pack of coyotes across the lake.

One substorm was fading as I got set up, so I waited for the next one to arrive, playing on my phone and going into Northern Lights groups on Facebook to see what people were posting. These groups get a frenzy of activity when the lights are active.

After a bit of this, I looked up at the sky to see the bright glow on the horizon and white pillars, vertical lines of light that are a staple of the Aurora. I nearly gasped as I watched them dance through the sky. I took a shot on the camera at my side to verify what I was seeing.

First substorm visible to the naked eye, 20mm lens

I watched for several minutes before this substorm began to fade. As it did, I confirmed again with my camera, then decided to take some other shots with the camera while I was there.

I went back to the dock and set up my camera on the concrete platform, looking along the floating dock to the horizon, and after experimenting with a few shots there, decided I liked that view better than the one where my camera was, so I relocated my main camera there for the remainder of the evening.

Test shot with my 35mm lens between substorms that prompted moving my gear

Substorm from the dock, 20mm lens, fog picking up off the lake

As I sat back in my chair with my second camera next to me, my blanket over my lap and my gaze across the lake, I was overcome with gratitude that this was my life at this moment. Sitting at this lakeshore in New Hampshire in the middle of the night, watching the Northern Lights with my two cameras, living in Maine in my fifth wheel with my wife who would welcome me back when I got home (I’ve had a marriage where this would not have been the case), and traveling full time together.

A few more substorms came and went, with the increasing fog on the lake appearing to be ablaze with the harbor lights. None were as intense as the one that had been visible to the naked eye, but the green glow of light on the horizon slowly grew over the course of the evening before eventually fading away into oblivion.

As the lights faded, I decided to grab my secondary camera and take some shots of the water, as the fog kept increasing as the temperature dropped, making the lake look neater and neater as time went on.

When I was done, I took another photo of the horizon to verify that the lights were gone, which they were, and checked my apps to see if the conditions were holding or improving, which they weren’t, so I decided to pack up for the night. When I got home, I quietly unloaded my cameras into my office and crawled into bed, impatient to see my photos on my camera but too tired at 4AM to sift through them. I fell asleep excited to go through them.

Just a Little Light Show in New Hampshire

Surviving Hiking and Camping In Bear Country