For My Birthday, the Northern Lights Were Only Half of What the Yukon Gave Me

By this time in my life in Canada, I had been in Vancouver for about a year, just long enough to become fully aware of how tough a place this city is to make friends. Of course I knew some people, but not enough to actually celebrate my birthday together.

Because I was planning to return to Central Canada, and I’d also made a list of places I wanted to visit before leaving the West Coast, returning to Whitehorse felt like the right way to celebrate my birthday. Skip the candles; on my big day, I wanted to see the Northern Lights, and nothing would be getting in the way.

Will the Auroras be there? End of March isn’t really the best season to chase them. That was a bet I was willing to make for myself, and if I missed them, I would still have Whitehorse and the Yukon as a consolation prize.

On the day of the flight, the Aurora app tracking the northern lights activity alerted me that the chances of seeing them in Whitehorse that same night were very high. I smiled. That’s my luck, I thought.

I flew with Air North, an airline I had never heard of before, specializing in flights to the Yukon and Northwest Territories. Their warmth and sense of community really surprised me. I hadn’t been on a plane where the cabin crew was so casual with the passengers in a long time. They made me feel like I was coming home.

The views from the windows started to change, showing snow-capped mountain peaks and deep valleys, with wide rivers running through. It reminded me of 2018, when I first landed in Canada, trying to peek out the windows to see the land that would become home, seeing tundra with no end.

I got emotional on landing, walking through the halls where everything started for me, especially now, coming in with lots of good stories about how my life turned out. Four years ago, I came in full of questions and uncertainties; now I have answers, plans, and confidence. I smiled again; how lucky am I.

I didn’t realize how emotional I would be to step into the hostel where I’d stayed on my first visit to Whitehorse. The host, Sarah, actually remembered me even after all this time. How is that even possible? Me, who thought I was invisible, unremarkable, insignificant? She told me I was in luck as the forecast predicted a good viewing, not usual this late in the season. I nodded and smiled; I knew.

At 11 pm that evening, well past my bedtime, I stood at the meeting point where I was supposed to be picked up for the Aurora Tour. It felt eerie. The streets were so quiet and empty, barely lit up by some streetlights and neon, but I could feel the mystical soul of the Klondike around me, or was it just sneaky coyotes observing me from the darkness? The van arrived and flipped the mood; we picked up more tourists, stayed quiet as we drove down dark roads with no idea what lay ahead, and finally reached the observation spot.

I pulled out my phone, which showed 00:00. It was March 28th, my actual birthday.

I looked up, and there they were: green, sparkling, cloud-like strings gently dancing in the sky. My brain couldn’t comprehend what I was seeing. Were there city lights? My eyes eventually adjusted to the darkness, and they grew clearer across the infinite sky, the kind the Yukon landscape knows how to offer.

I stood there in the silence of the night for long minutes until the freezing temperatures woke me up from my daydream. A shiver ran through my body, reminding me I wasn’t dreaming; I was in the Yukon again, seeing the northern lights, right on time for my birthday. To be this lucky must be studied; it’s indecent.

The night was long. We took pictures, had hot cocoa and some snacks by a campfire under a tipi. It was 4 am when I got back to the hostel, way past my bedtime and uncomfortably too close to my usual wake-up time.

The next morning, somehow feeling jet-lagged, I wondered: Did it really happen? Was it a dream? What a strange feeling. I was there, I know I saw them, but it felt like this night was not mine. I wasn’t in a state to think about it more. The day was young, and it was actually mine.

At the car rental office, the agent noticed my Toronto-prefixed phone number. That made him nostalgic. He shared his past life and his drastic move to the Yukon, something he wouldn’t trade for anything in the world now. Despite still being a city girl, I have to admit I do find the Yukon call loud and compelling, maybe in another life.

In this life, though, I was to enjoy the Great White North for the day only and drive the iconic Alaska Highway. Even for a few short kilometres, it made me feel proud being a little girl doing Big Canada stuff. I spent the rest of the day at the Yukon Wildlife Preserve. I was alone and free to be exactly myself. I psst psst psst at a lynx, which actually looked back at me, and walked past moose that followed me, thinking I was going to refill their buckets, and I greeted every horned animal in sight. I felt a bit cocky; this bet really paid off, after all.

Back at the hostel, Sarah told me about a dinner party for one of the young guests who had stayed over the winter and was now leaving. Sarah’s hostel was a detached house with multiple rooms turned into dorms. It was homey and very welcoming. She cared about these youngsters who stayed for weeks like extended family. During dinner, I heard their stories. They came from all parts of the world and shared unexpected reasons for being in the Yukon. Farming, mining, studying, visiting, or wandering, searching for answers from Life in the territory “larger than life” itself.

To my greatest surprise, as dessert came, Sarah came out with a cake with lit candles, and everyone started singing happy birthday to me. I couldn’t comprehend, once again, how lucky I was to be celebrated by people who didn’t even know my name, but were caring enough to do the extra thing that matters for someone courageous enough to come up North to maybe see the Northern Lights on her birthday. I sang along, applauded, and thanked everyone profusely, but deep inside, I was overwhelmed. The Yukon really is larger than life!

Chatting with the taxi driver on my way back to the airport, we discussed our origins, and he told me about his hometown in southern Ontario. He was convinced I wouldn’t know about it; I’m well-travelled, but Ontario is a big province. Who knows. Leamington? Yes! I had been there the summer of 2020. Shocked, he turned around with wide eyes, trying to understand how this small girl sitting in the backseat of his taxi could, like him, relate to both the Yukon and Leamington, Ontario. I smiled once more; this country is home to me, and every corner has a special meaning to me, too. The drive was too short to tell him about that summer. However, that’s a story I can tell here, just for another time.