Have you ever seen the movie Frequency? A sci-fi thriller, shot 24 years ago, featuring Dennis Quaid and Jim Caviezel as a father and son in which, due to an ‘atmospheric anomaly’, the detective son has the opportunity to reach back through time to change the tragedy that befell his firefighter father thirty years previously. The atmospheric anomaly was the Aurora Borealis.

Now while the billions of watts generated by the solar wind in a display of the aurora can indeed interfere with power lines and satellite communications, the idea that they can also enable interaction across time is scientifically ridiculous. But it is a great movie and remains one of our favourites. While I knew about the Northern Lights, seeing them in the movie created a desire to witness them for myself.

At the time I had no idea that they could be seen from Northern Ireland. I’ve learned since, both in 2014 and in even more spectacular fashion in May of this year. (See my blogpost ‘A night under the dancing lights)'.

Back in May many commented that this was a once in a lifetime experience. While that was true since all experiences of the Aurora (or of anything else for that matter) are unique, on October 10th it happened again.

My decision to head out in May was last minute. This time I was prepared. Which was particularly important as I really wanted one of my photography companions, who had never seen the Aurora, to experience it for himself.

As I drove to pick him up I stopped for a few moments at the beach at Castlerock, set my tripod on the sand and took a couple of test shots. Green was everywhere! But so were clouds. It was starting to rain as I made my shots.

Undaunted we set out, deciding to go to Mussenden Temple, the iconic landmark dating back to the late 18th Century and the eccentric Earl Bishop Frederick Hervey (he was Earl of Bristol and Bishop of Derry). The ‘Temple’ was originally built as his library, modelled on the Temple of Vesta in Italy and is one of the most photographed buildings in Ireland. Its precarious position, perched on a cliff edge overlooking the North Atlantic adds to the drama.

The ruins of the Bishop’s home, Downhill House, still stand and we made our first stop there.

It was still raining but the green was really strong in the sky and we could see that the clouds were clearing in the north west. So we decided to head down to the Temple.

Apart from the weather, I knew that the biggest challenge we were likely to face in making our photographs was the presence of other photographers. The road had been well lined with cars when we parked up and it seemed that there were torches, headlamps and mobile screens wherever we looked.

Of course every person there had the same right as we had to enjoy the spectacle. And not everyone understands the different needs of the photographers who want to photograph the spectacle and those who want to take selfies. However, to stand in the view simply texting… Ah well. We are grateful for the opportunity to cultivate patience (as well as for generative fill in Lightroom!). As they say, if you can’t beat them, join them. So we politely manoeuvred our way to get what we could. And it was great!

Just after 10pm we could see with the naked eye that additional colours were filling the sky above the Temple. I don’t do video. That’s a whole separate skill set that I haven’t yet acquired. A pity, as it is only via video that the waves of colourful movement above our heads could be represented. You will just need to imagine it. The sky was in constant motion, with the result that of a thousand photos of the event none would be the same.

Of all the photos I made that evening I think this is my favourite. I like the drama in the sky - it was most intense in this part. I like the light in the window, the silhouette of the railings at the steps and the distant lights on the shore of Inishowen - the sense of a greater reality above and beyond the confines of our homes, the importance of getting out of the house and looking up.

Tiredness was now taking its toll. I knew that if we stayed out it was likely that there would be another eruption of the ‘lights’. And so it proved. But my friend and I had had our moment. I asked him how he felt as we ambled back up the path towards the ruined house. “Rather overwhelmed” he said quietly. We walked on in awestruck silence.

We stopped for a few moments once again at the house. The display had faded but was still quietly beautiful and we made our final shot.

I went home deeply grateful. That the skies had cleared. That the Aurora had danced so spectacularly. That my friend had witnessed it. And that I had looked further up, and further in.

That was more than enough.