Josey, who as a lifelong resident of the Far North knows the aurora borealis the way we know thunderstorms, looked up and said, "Northern lights at night means dirty weather in the morning."

She was right. Clouds rolled in and kept the plane away for another three days. But standing there that night, awed and humbled by this unbelievable place, I didn't care about Josey's warning. I didn't care if the plane didn't come for another week.