Mesmerizing/Interesting Phenomena & Experiences Without An Eclipse

[MrPoling]

I've had a few experiences with low clouds, thankfully none while paddling.

One very dark, foggy night I was camping in the Graveyard Fields in Pisgah National Forest. A breeze was blowing. Suddenly the fog blew off the mountain top. The sky lit up with stars and the Milky Way. For a few seconds I marvelled at the sky. Just as I oriented myself the fog blew over again, leaving the mountaintop pitch black.

it's hard to explain, the suddenness of it. One moment enclosed in a dark little spot, the next moment the universe laid out, then plunged again into darkness. It felt profound and humbling.

 

[PaddlingPitt]

Our winter cabin was at 67° 32' north, which, for me, created a very interesting perspective regarding movements of the sun.
Many of the truisms of southern latitudes have no applicability here.
For example, I have always ‘known’ that the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. All Southerners know this ‘fact.’ Here at Colville Lake, however, in early February, the sun did not rise in the east. Nor did it set in the west. Rather the sun rose above the southern horizon at 10:00 a.m., and settled again a few hours later below that same southern horizon.


By the beginning of June, the sun now rose nearly due north, at 1:30 a.m.



In mid-summer, on our canoeing expeditions above the arctic circle, for several weeks centred around June 21, Kathleen and I have experienced the joy of a sun that never set below any horizon. The sun simply circled above our heads in a wide ellipse, flying high in the south at mid-day – dipping low to the north at midnight. Actually, this statement is somewhat inaccurate. In reality, the northern summer has no mid-day and no midnight. Day is perpetual, without middle – without night. That's what we love most about the far north.

 

[memaquay]

I have to get up there sometime soon, sounds absolutely delicious.

 

[snapper]

Just a quick apology to @PaddlingPitt as I screwed up and mentioned my experience via a lunar eclipse and he specifically asked for a non-eclipse event. I guess there are times when my brain and eyes just don't engage at the same time. Sorry about that...

That's all for now. Take care and until next time...be well.

snapper

 

[PaddlingPitt]

wildlife sightings get to me.

Me too. Below is what I wrote about another experience at our winter sojourn north of the arctic circle, while snowshoeing along the frozen river leading away from our cabin. It still resonates, even 25 years later.

From up the Ross River, a lone Raven approached, flying strongly with deep beats of its powerful wings. The bird circled once, and then called out as it dove toward me: “Cronk. Cronk.” Its resonant, guttural greeting echoed across the silent, narrow valley of the Ross River.
I wished that I could communicate with the Raven, to hear first-hand of its brash, bold wanderings. The Raven, ever resourceful, remains in the North when unbearable winter drives the mighty, majestic Bald Eagle southward.The Raven, ever confident, soars above the lifeless forest when brutal cold forces the Willow Ptarmigan to huddle head first in deep drifts of snow. The Raven, ever audacious, clothes itself in deepest black to contrast flamboyantly with its white, winter world of snow and ice. If reincarnation exists then I would like to return in my next life as a Raven – to venture dauntlessly and fearlessly throughout my frozen, Northern Kingdom.

 

[ppine]

In SE Alaska, Eagles and Ravens are the two main clans.
I had a pet crow once that came with an old log house I bought 45 years ago. He roosted under the front porch. He sat on the window sill when I took a shower with no screen in the window. He followed the kids to school. He came in the house only once. Corvines are special birds. I call to ravens all the time in the woods.

 

[PaddlingPitt]

Corvines are special birds. I call to ravens all the time in the woods.

I strongly believe that I communicated with the Ravens. I practiced making their common calls. They eventually routinely replied, often swooping to a nearby tree. We would talk back and forth. I had no idea what I was saying, but the Raven seemed entertained.

 

[memaquay]

 

[Rippy]

A memory that sticks in my mind is from an early October solo trip in the BWCA. I got up in the middle of the night to relieve my bladder, and while up I walked down to the lake. The lake was still like glass and all the stars were perfectly reflected in it. Looking out across the lake it was spellbinding. I've checked several times since on trips, but never have seen it quite like that again.

 

[PaddlingPitt]

A memory that sticks in my mind is from an early October solo trip in the BWCA. I got up in the middle of the night to relieve my bladder, and while up I walked down to the lake. The lake was still like glass and all the stars were perfectly reflected in it. Looking out across the lake it was spellbinding. I've checked several times since on trips, but never have seen it quite like that again.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen stars reflected in a lake. I’m envious.

 

[Glenn MacGrady]

It took a while to find the pic but I saw this rainbow on the last day of 2013. It is the one and only upside down rainbow I’ve ever seen, you can see the corner of a roof in the lower corner. The pic doesn’t do it justice but it almost looked like a planet we might have been orbiting around.
Jim

View attachment 140340

I never heard of an upside-down rainbow, so I looked it up. It's actually a circumzenithal arc (CZA), which is caused by ice crystals in the upper atmosphere, akin to the halos sometimes seen around the sun or moon. A pretty rare sighting, in any event!

| EarthSky

earthsky.org

Sort of paddling related, I drove up Mount St. Helens in Washington State after a trip in the San Juan islands. Even two decades after the eruption, the entire landscape was covered in a deep blanket of monochromatic gray ash, which merged with the foggy gray of the clouds I was in. No vegetation except dead trees, some upright, most blown over. Post-Apocalyptic eeriness.

 

[Boatman53]

I was living in Moscow, Idaho when Mt St Helen’s blow, Sunday May 18th I’ll never forget it. My now ex and I were coming home from town after getting a paper and a couple cups of coffee. As we pulled into the door yard the horses in the side pasture were oddly all huddled together. Thought that was odd, but blue skies prevailed so didn’t suspect a weather issue. Soon found out on the radio that the mountain had blown its top. We were 300+ miles away and wondered if we would see any ash. Well let me tell you at 2pm there was so much ash in the air we could not see the sun. It was dark as if we were in a cave. There was no light at all. Needless to say we did not leave the house. We ended up with about 2” of fine ash all over everything. Unlike snow it didn’t melt but it did blow around, off the trees, onto the trees, everywhere. Forget the pandemic you did not go outside anywhere without wearing an N95 mask. I can understand how Pompeii buried people everywhere when they were overwhelmed.
Jim

 

[Boatman53]

Thanks Glenn for that earthsky link. Rare indeed. And people on the street didn’t seem to care much even after I pointed it out.
Jim

 

[Glenn MacGrady]

And people on the street didn’t seem to care much even after I pointed it out.

Fools. I knew right away it couldn't be a rainbow because there would be no place at the ends for leprechauns to put the pots of gold.

 

[Tsuga8]

Once I paddled through what I can only assume was some sort of weird magnetic field. Maybe from the soviets? Maybe aliens? I don't know.

All I know is that for about 30 minutes my compass said I was heading south when I knew I was actually heading north and nothing on the map made sense. Then all of a sudden, as I emerged into an opening, the map, compass, and my brain all agreed and the world made sense again.

Crazy stuff, man.

Alan

I've heard iron ore deposits can do this.

 

[yknpdlr]

A memory that sticks in my mind is from an early October solo trip in the BWCA. I got up in the middle of the night to relieve my bladder, and while up I walked down to the lake. The lake was still like glass and all the stars were perfectly reflected in it. Looking out across the lake it was spellbinding. I've checked several times since on trips, but never have seen it quite like that again.

My canoe race partners and I for many years have enjoyed paddling the "Cannonball-90", completing the entire Adirondack 90-mile race route all within a single 24 hour period. We like to begin in Old Forge at the stroke of midnight so that we finish about 18-19 hours later while the sun is still up at Saranac Lake village. On those calm wind clear sky moonless nights I am always amazed that there are as many stars on the glassy water surface around us as there are visible in the sky. Navigating is easy through the first few chain of lakes heading northeast before morning dusk, I just tell my stern paddler to steer to keep the star Deneb right above my head as I paddle in the bow. There is enough ambient starlight to safely pass by a couple of well known narrow shallow obstacles with care.

 

[yknpdlr]

I've heard iron ore deposits can do this.

There are certainly areas of the Adirondacks where this is true. When you encounter such a magnetic anomaly, it usually does not last for very far. That is when you switch to natural backup clues to navigate, sun, stars, watch cloud movement, terrain association with your map, etc. It is a commonly known natural effect, no need for any conspiracy theory.

There is a place on a certain Adirondack road I take where I swear the world turns upside down. After heading northeast for miles, approaching a village, a gentle gradual curve completes an imperceptible southwestward direction reversal where the sun now appears completely opposite of where my brain thinks it should be. Always confusing without understanding the map. If I carefully watch the map and my compass during the curve, that explains it.
I have heard a few times of when an old-timer woodsman claims there are magnetic deposits where neither I nor others (forest rangers) have ever experienced them. I believe it is a case of the slowly curving terrain and brain colluding to cause the "temporary confusion" in the old guy.

 

[PaddlingPitt]

I have three more mesmerizing/interesting experiences from our winter sojourn that I would like to share. Like those seeking the total eclipse, Kathleen and I had gone to a lot of effort to put ourselves in the position to see spring emerge from winter. We drove away from Vancouver on January first, and reached Inuvik nine days later, experiencing blizzards, lonely highways, and a frozen vehicle along the way. Over 3,600 km (2,250 miles) to reach the end of the road, from where, on January 31, we flew to our isolated cabin on Colville Lake, to enjoy, what I still claim, was the best 141 days of my life. Below is what I wrote on May 23.

We saw our first flower today – a Prairie Crocus blooming on the south-facing knoll below the flagpole. A beautifully bold blue statement of confidence that spring has indeed returned. ‘Pussy willows’ have also popped out on the willow trees, and small mammals are brimming with the energy of spring. Two muskrats mated ‘on the fly’ while swimming across The Narrows. Throughout the day we saw voles scurry across the ice, plunge into the water, and swim rapidly away from mink and gulls in hot pursuit. The land bustles with activity, yet the ice on Colville Lake persists.

 

[Alan Gage]

I've heard iron ore deposits can do this.

That's good info to have. I'll add it to my list of excuses.

Alan

 

[PaddlingPitt]

We enjoyed walking on the lake ice during our winter sojourn. But we were ready to paddle down the Anderson River to the Arctic Coast. On May 18

late in the evening, about 11:00 pm, the ice on Colville Lake itself finally began to stir. From far across the lake there came a groaning, as thick plates of ice shifted and pushed against each other. We stood outside for nearly an hour, listening to the ice sigh as it struggled to rise from its winter slumber. Periodically, sharp cracks, like rifle shots, shattered the softer moaning. The shots sounded like they were coming from near the western shore, and suggested that the plates of ice were beginning to pull apart along pressure ridges. Perhaps open leads along the shore will soon develop. When the lake ice begins to move, when the lake ice calls out to you, then surely paddling season must be near.

Kathleen and I were truly mesmerized.