Yesterday, I found myself scouring the map for a new area to explore. The weather forecast was distinctly unpromising; a short break in the cloud cover was promised at around 1:00 am but there would be a stiff breeze from the south-east. I had been festering for most of the day and I needed to get out.
The coastal road to the small fishing town of Nyvoll looked interesting. It was a cul-de-sac but that didn’t matter, at least it should be quiet and away from the main E6 with its thundering trucks. Satisfied that I had a plan, I grabbed my gear and set off north at around 8:00 pm. After some twenty miles, I turned west on to the 883 and followed the narrow road along the fjords through several small hamlets.
There was very little traffic so I drove slowly, stopping occasionally to get out and stare at the cloudy sky for any signs of auroral activity. The narrow road wound its way along the coast, with the sea on one side and steep hills and granite cliffs on the other. I noticed that many of the houses were still adorned with colourful Christmas lights; whose occupants seemed in no hurry to dismantle their festive illuminations.
About a mile south of Nyvoll I reached a long tunnel. It was two miles in length and fitted with an automatic roller shutter door at each end. I paused, waiting for the traffic lights to change and watched huge door slowly open to reveal the dimly lit interior of the unlined tunnel. Once through the tunnel I could see the lights of Nyvoll in the distance. I trundled on, passing a small pier of the ferry terminus and all too suddenly, the end of the road. I got out of my car for a few minutes and looked around at the small harbour with the dark sea and the feint blue lights of a small salmon farm.
Curiosity satisfied, I craved the warmth of my car once again and headed back the way I had come. Just short of the tunnel, I stopped once again and saw a dim green glow behind the clouds. I grabbed my tripod and camera and set up on the edge of the shore. The wind was quite strong and I had to place my hands on the legs of my tripod in order to subdue the vibrations.
After about twenty minutes of standing in one spot (I was hesitant to leave my equipment exposed to the wind) there was a break in the clouds and I managed to make four, eight-second exposures of the sky and harbour scene before returning to the comforting warmth of the car.
The return trip was pretty uneventful except for a beautiful red fox that ambled across the road in front of me. I stopped, but by the time I had grabbed my camera from the floor of the passenger seat, it had disappeared into the cold night. Pity, as this was the third fox I had seen in as many days. I smiled, wished it well and drove slowly back to Alta.