BEYOND THE MOUNTAIN: SEARCHING FOR THE AURORA AUSTRALIS

CITY LIFE NEWS

Bernard Franz - May 28th 2012, 11:45

Several thousand kilometres to the south, in Yellowknife, on the shores of the Great
Slave Lake, I walked through a modern city, dotted with high-rise hotels, all eerily
devoid of people and cars. Only in deep winter, it was explained to me, would the
city really come to life, as thousands of Japanese couples disembarked from charter
aircraft that had brought them from Japan for the sole purpose to observe an aurora,
and to have sex. “Really?” I asked, flabbergasted. And really was the answer given
to me. There is widespread rumour in Yellowknife that a child conceived under the
aurora will live to be guarded by a lucky star.

Reading up on the aurora, I learnt that in the south too, there exists such a
phenomenon, and that it produced legends amongst some of the indigenous
inhabitants. The Maori of New Zealand, who saw red auroras, explained their origin
as Tahu-nui-a-Rangi (Great Glowing of the Sky). They believed that some of their
ancestors had journeyed so far south by canoe that they became trapped in ice.
Their descendants in that inhospitable zone sometimes light huge bonfires in hope
of being rescued. Some aboriginal people in northern Australia viewed the aurora
as the feast fires of the Oola-pikka folk – ghostly beings who sometimes spoke to
the people through these auroral flames. Only the elders dared look at the lights and
interpret their messages. Those in the south explained auroras as the campfires of
spirits, flickering over Kangaroo Island off the south coast of Australia. Among the
Kurnai people of southeast Australia the aurora needed no interpretation: it was an
unequivocal and terrifying warning from the Mungan Ngour, the "Great Man" and a
sign of his wrath. The Kurnai would run about trying to fend it off, shouting at it to go
away.

Named aurora australis by James Cook who saw them time and again on his voyages
with both the Endeavour in 1770 and the Resolution in 1772, and especially on his
journey around the southern tip of South America, it was only after research done
in the International Geophysical Year of 1957/58 that a map of the aurora australis
was produced. Accordingly, the auroral zone generally encircles Antarctica, with few

occurrences on the adjoining landmasses. Thus, overhead auroras can be found to a
percentage chance of three in Tasmania, one in Sydney or Auckland, half a percent
chance above Cape Town, and only a tenth of a percent chance above the city of
Buenos Aires.

A 0.5% chance means it’s extremely unlikely to see an aurora in Cape Town on a
given night. Add to this lack of cloud cover and light pollution above an observation
point and you get a very very remote chance of seeing one in Cape Town. However,
as the 12-year solar cycle of eruptions, which trigger the auroras, reaches its climax
this winter, the odds of a possible observation are increased. To confirm their
existence in the past, I came across some photos on the website of the South African
Astronomical Observatory, which were taken in Sutherland at a time when a deep red
aurora filled the night sky. (www.saao.ac.za/public-info/pictures/aurora-australis).
To add to the excitement, a handful of institutions in fact make aurora predictions
for the Southern Hemisphere, especially the Space Weather Prediction Centre
(SWPC), based in Boulder, Colorado (www.swpc.noaa.gov/pmap/pmapS.htm) and
the Geophysical Institute in Fairbanks, Alaska (www.gi.alaska.edu/AuroraForecast/
SouthPolar/2012/05/08). And Sutherland, four hours away from Cape Town,
boasting the clearest skies in the country, the seat of mighty telescopes, and home to
astronomers and passionate star-gazing locals, might seem to be as good a destination
as it gets to strike it lucky with the aurora.

I must confess that it wasn’t the above facts that convinced my partner to agree to
a road trip to Sutherland, but rather the change of scenery, a soak in the hot springs
in Goudini on the way back, and perhaps a romantic dinner spot somewhere along
the way. Besides, she suggested, how about instead of looking for the aurora, we try
and meet someone, who has seen one? Wouldn’t that be helpful? A bit like having a
nature guide identify an animal species that is difficult to track.

On the morning that we leave Cape Town, clouds are melting down the sides of the
mountains like ice-cream, and the rain is challenging the wipers to keep up a frenetic
cha-cha-cha. The Great Karoo continues to feel unexplored and under-populated.
Even the official tourist brochure we pick up at the One Stop in Worcester battles
to paint an enticing picture, as it lures those who rush along the N1 to explore “an
exposed windy region, hot in summer and cold in winter”.

Undeterred from such warnings, we etch further into a landscape that doesn’t hesitate
to show its true, unwieldy character.

Apart from the efforts of wine cultivators in the Hex River Valley to turn indigenous
bushland into rectangular sheets of dark purple, yellow of Bordeaux, red foliage of
late autumn-coloured vines, arranged like bright coloured towels, the shrubs outside
this artificial zone resemble more the seeds of Dijon mustard unintentionally left to
dry and thrown about by the relentless wind. As we approach Touwsrivier, the earth,
more and more exposed by the lack of shrubbery which prefers to retreat into kloofs
and valleys intersected by dry rivers, seems as if it was used in some gigantic bakery.
Dough, pushed into rolletjies by a giant breadmaker’s tools, were simply left to erode,
as if something more important had suddenly caught the attention. Today, these
hills are one of the top attractions – geological fault lines in all their grand, gorgeous
beauty.

We stop and then walk down into a dry river towards a cemetery, where British war
heroes, born in Madeira, worshipped by soldiers in the Sudan, and then killed like
flies by the Boer in this veld, came to rest, today guarded by granite lions. We drive
into the kloof of Verlaatenheid, see decorations of purple spring flowers, before we
scale the plateau towards Sutherland, coldest town in the country, and home to a
close-knit tribe of astronomers gazing further back in time than is possible anywhere
else in Africa.

As we arrive, we need a drink. Contrary to our expectations, Sutherland is not cold,
but hot, and the small town is not deserted but oddly animated. From behind the
Dutch Reformed Church, with its four baroque balconies that one would rather
expect to see fit for serenading in Seville, dub step and techno reign. Guys in all
their leathers have set up tents around the monstrous construction of a power drink
retailer. Closer to main road, and stilting off their bikes, another species exhibits their
bottoms in really tight lycras. A man wearing ear muffs and a boiler suit is sitting in a
gyroplane that is being escorted by police along the road. As we discover, Sutherland
is the mecca this weekend for both the MTB and adventure racers. What a curious
coincidence, we think, but we haven’t even ordered our first Savannah, as the news
hits home that no bed is available in the town of Sutherland that night. The lycra-and-
leather tribes have jostled for space and occupied every square inch of sleeping space.
Instinctively we whip out our cellphones to check the time. It is barely 1pm.

We suddenly realise that time is of the essence. We need to rush off to our tour
at SALT, our best chance to meet people who have seen the aurora surely being
found amongst the astronomers at one of the Southern Hemisphere’s most famous
observatories. They are the ones whose job it is to look at the night sky, right? About
20 minutes later we reach SALT, an assembly of astronomical observatories like a
city composed of metallic mosques or futuristic beehives. Our guide, Willem Prins,
explains to us that the hilltop’s telescopes are owned by South Africa and a handful of
other countries to enjoy the clear skies and low seismic activity that make Sutherland
an astronomer’s paradise.

After the tour, during which we see the telescope turning, born aloft on air pads, but
not a single astronomer, we ask Willem what is uppermost on our mind: has he ever
seen an aurora? “Of course,” he affirms. Back in 2009 it was, “around midnight, and
it looked almost like a rainbow; lines moving in a strait line, there”, he points into a
place that seems to us very randomly Karoo. “Just above that horizon.”

Fortified with the knowledge that we are hot on the aurora trail, we pay a visit to the
nearby visitor’s centre. A bizarre logic has forced the curators to juxtapose panels
depicting ancient Karoo life, which became extinct a few hundred million years ago,
the disappearance of a ferocious Karoo dinosaur, with colour photographs of the
universe, captions of which declare that this is what that part of the world looked like
13 billion light years ago.

Somewhat fazed by all these numbers, we have now completely given up on worrying
about a place to stay. How could anyone exposed to a history of 13 billion light
years, bother about where to rest for a night? We drive back to town, past rocks
that were placed here a whimsical 600 million years ago past spiky tusk grass that

dots the land like a troop of hedgehogs. Back to the hotel bar it is, where we ask for
the aurora. “Has anyone here ever seen an aurora?” we raise our voices. Immediate
silence spreads, save only for Kobus Wiese’s voice which, undeterred, continues to
analyse a Cheetah try. Once the sudden surprise has worn off, our friends point to
a couple sitting at the long end of the bar. “Ask them, if anyone here knows, then
they do. They are the guys who shoot balloons up with attached cameras to see the
curvature of the earth. That’s what they do in their free time, for fun.”

Without looking up much, they shake their heads. Nope. Nor had they ever heard any
of the astronomers mention a sighting. “But then, astronomers are actually the worst
for this. They can’t even tell you where the Southern Cross is. Astronomers hardly
ever look up and say ‘wow’. They’ve always got their heads buried in instruments.”

“So, aren’t you guys astronomers, too?” I ask, slightly bewildered. The two start to
laugh out loud, in between gulps of Jamieson, while trying to explain that they are
part of the 17-strong technical team employed by SALT, and that many of them have
been living here forever. Apparently a condition that implies profound character
transformations: “Everyone here ends up being a bit Scottish, you know, the wild
Highland variety. Or even more like a Viking. After six beers, when the guys let their
hair down, you can almost see their horns.”

Outside we see the last sun rays set. It’s dark now, and it’s starting to get really cold
fast. Across from the Sutherland Hotel is the Cluster d’Hote. Inside, under chandeliers
illuminating colourful crystals in the sugar pots on our table, an old gentleman serves
tomato and bean soup, followed by traditional Karoo lamb shank that dissolves off the
bone, as it is touched by the fork. For an instant the place feels taken right out of some
old-fashioned movie. The Shining comes to mind. Or Dinner for One. But then the
house wine is so dismal, it allows no chance to sell one’s soul, or to trip over a tiger’s
head.

Next it’s off to Jurg, real estate agent, guesthouse owner and amateur astronomer,
who has made his passion into a very lively business. As 40 of us gather for his
nightly two-hour stargazing session on the outskirts of town, paying R60 each,
Jurg rushes back and forth between one telescope and the next. It’s a cloudy night,
visibility isn’t perfect, but good enough to see the craters of the chalky white moon,
magnified 60 times, and tiny Saturn, with the most miniscule ring around it. As we
watch Jurg explain the stars through a microphone, while rushing from one telescope
to the next to adjust its reach, and demist the sensitive equipment with a hair drier.

Eventually, half frozen, we clamber back into the car. And as the heater defrosts
us, slowly, solemnly almost, we drive back, down the mountain, through the kloof
of Verlaatenheid, past staring Karoo rabbits towards the intersection with the N1.
Which also happens to be the one with a tiny road forking off into Matjiesfontein. It’s
11.30pm. The receptionist of the Lord Milner nods, yes, he does have a room left.

The next morning, I wonder why with all the scientific evidence, only Willem Prins
had seen an aurora. I understand that they are not a common sight in South Africa, but
so are stick insects, chameleons and aardvarks. They are difficult to spot, yes, but they
are around. It’s time to talk to an expert. The one whose telephone number I kept, just
in case.

I take out the phone and punch in the number of the Observatory in Observatory
and ask to be connected to Stephen Potter. Stephen is the astronomer who took the
photographs of the aurora on the SAAO website. Turns out he is English, and had
seen auroras back home in the UK, which probably helped him identify one when it
occurred in front of his eyes. He explains, “Auroras are seldom seen in the Southern
Hemisphere, not only because the continents are further away from the magnetic pole,
but also because there are a lot less people watching the sky at night, which in any
case is not what humans frequently do. The other reason is that many people might
not even recognise the aurora. City lights make it really difficult to see anything, and
even in the countryside one might think that the light at the horizon is from the glow
of a town’s electricity, when in fact it’s an aurora.”

He tells me that during that night in Sutherland, when he took the pictures, he was
busy with the telescope when suddenly he started getting very high background
readings. “At first I thought that this interference was because someone left their
car lights on. As I walked out of the observatory, I saw that it wasn’t the car lights
which polluted my data, but a magnificent red aurora. It might have been about 2am
and, unable to concentrate on the telescopic research, I stood in awe, as the aurora
continued for the whole rest of the night. After all, you probably only get one chance
in a lifetime to see an aurora australis.”

Bernd Bierbaum is a travel writer and lives in Cape Town. 021 gives away three
copies of his recent travel book on Ethiopia. Email info@021magazine.co.za

More information and links on aurora australis:

www.swpc.noaa.gov/pmap/pmapS.html for up-to-date maps of the aurora australis
http://aurorawatch.lancs.ac.uk/detectors with tips on how to build your own aurora
detector
http://spaceweather.com includes aurora alerts, which can also be sent to your phone
www.saao.ac.za/public-info/pictures/aurora-australis with the images taken of auroras
in Sutherland and Pearly Beach
Encyclopedia of the Antarctic, http://cw.routledge.com/ref/antarctic/aurora.html with
a lot of background information, as cited above.

It had been long recognised that the southern and northern lights had some similarity
and that the magnetic field of the Earth exerted some influence over them. There was
some evidence that auroral displays occurred simultaneously in both hemispheres.
A study in 1865 revealed that of 34 displays seen in the Southern Hemisphere, there
were 23 coincident with auroras reported in North America. Photographs taken in
1968 from coordinated aircraft flying over Alaska and south of New Zealand showed
auroras that were near identical and, in fact, mirror-images of each other. More
detailed studies with spacecraft imagers have since established that the two auroras
are conjugate (occurring on both ends of the same magnetic field line). Comparisons

of such joint images show some small differences in detail (intensities and form),
explained as due to irregularities in the geomagnetic field. So, the southern and
northern lights can be considered integral parts of a global phenomenon.

Great auroras expanding to low latitudes and lasting up to two days occur very
occasionally, and have been marvelled at through the ages. They are marked by their
near global extent, their long duration and by their brightness and vivid colour. As
they expand to lower latitudes they usually exhibit a deep red colour. Global power
inputs via particle precipitation have been estimated as high as 1000 gigawatts during
the peak of such auroras. They tend to occur around or following the peak of the
11-year cycle of solar sunspot activity, but can occur any time. In 2012 the aurora
activity peaks again.

And in case the aurora australis whetted your appetite for unusual physical
phenomena, here is another one:

This leaves a lot to the imagination …

In winter, the earth rotates slower than in summer. This is because of trees. Really.
During summer in the Northern Hemisphere billions of deciduous trees suck up
immense amounts of water from the ground into their branches. This results in
abundant foliage just a few metres away from the ground which shifts, very slightly,
the balance of the mass of the earth. This phenomenon is called the conservation of
angular momentum. What sounds like complicated stuff can also be witnessed on a
very small scale at Grand West’s ice stadium: figure skaters spin faster if they pull
their arms into their body, and slow down when they extend them. Conservation
of angular momentum affects the rotational speed of the planet. Scientists at the
Technical University in Munich, who use a 10-tonne laser for their experiments, have
discovered that days in the (Southern Hemisphere’s) winter are up to 1/1000 of a
second longer than in summer.