This week, the northern lights reached further south than many of us ever expect to see them. From mainland Devon, there were reports of colours on the horizon. Social feeds filled with pinks and greens. But on Lundy, the experience felt different. More immediate. More connected.
There are no streetlights here, no neighboring towns glowing in the distance. Just land and sea, and the sense of facing north into open darkness. When the aurora appeared, unlike the mainland, it wasn’t framed by buildings or rooftops, but by the island itself.
The most extraordinary part was that on January 19th, the lights were easily visible to the naked eye. You didn’t need a phone screen or a long exposure to prove they were there. The colour was simply there — a soft wash in the sky of red and green.
That night, we had our own version of social media. A staff member went door to door. They knocked to spread the word. Coats were pulled on over pyjamas, phones grabbed and we gathered outside in the camping field. There was a shared sense of disbelief. We stood still together with our heads tipped back watching the light show.
We were lucky in that the light show unfolded behind the Old Light. It’s a view that easily suggests itself as a Lundy calendar image. I share my photographs here, they aren’t perfect but they hold the memory of that moment. There were bundled bodies, breath in the air, and exclamations breaking the silence.
Later, we moved location. We headed towards the High Street to join different staff members. We wanted to see how the lights appeared from there. The aurora shifted with us, changing shape and intensity, reminding us that weather — like landscape — is never fixed. It’s experienced through movement, through where you stand, and who you stand with.
Writing this, I’m reminded of an earlier post on Weatherscape, and how weather on Lundy is never just a backdrop. It shapes attention, behaviour, conversation. The northern lights did more than just show above the island this time. They put on a performance.
