I Didn't Know the Northern Lights Were Coming

In May of 2024 I'd just finished building out the back of my 2013 Tacoma — a drawer system underneath, tent up top, everything I needed to sleep out of it. Then I found out I had a long weekend, took an extra day off on top of it, and packed the truck the same day. None of it was planned. I threw my stuff in the back and left Vancouver.

I got into Seaside around six or seven that evening and parked on a side street I'd car camped on the year before. I'd just picked up a Mamiya RB67 and I was itching to run film through it, so I took both cameras and my VHS recorder and went walking — through the back streets where all the rentals are, out to the Promenade, shooting until the light went.

I've been going to Seaside a long time. It's a small town full of shops selling odds and ends, and there's almost always something happening — fireworks, volleyball, races. Walking the Prom out toward the water is still one of my favorite things to do.

Once it got dark I put the camera away. This was before I'd really figured out what I wanted my photos to look like, before I knew I'd end up chasing sunset and blue hour and single light sources. So I did the other thing Seaside is good for and went bar hopping. Started at the Beach Club, watched people feed the gambling machines a while, then walked down to Dundee's.

Whenever I'm somewhere on my own I like asking whoever's working what's good. They live there. They know. I asked the bartender whether I should get the pizza or the fish, and he looked at me like I'd asked something stupid. The pizza, obviously — best on the coast. We got to talking and he told me he started at Dundee's when he was sixteen, back making dough, and worked his way up. He'd been there more than twenty years at that point and said it was the best job he's ever had. He was right about the pizza.

After that I hit a couple more bars — the Bridge Tender, a little country place with pool tables and a woman behind the bar who's clearly been there forever, and one more after that. I spent the rest of the night by myself, which was fine, and by the time I started back toward the truck I was a few drinks in.

It was around eleven thirty and I decided I wanted to go look at the water. I grabbed my camera, walked out to where the sand meets the tall grass, and laid down. And there it was. I'd picked that weekend completely at random and it turned out to be the night the aurora lit up the whole sky — barely a cloud, color and stars right through it.

I didn't have a tripod and I wasn't in any state to hold a camera still, so most of what I shot isn't sharp. A few of them I'm still really happy with. I stayed out there a long time just watching it, and eventually fell asleep in the sand. Woke up around one thirty covered in it, took a second to work out where I was, and walked back to the truck.

I was up early the next morning and sore — I wasn't used to sleeping in the truck yet. Went to Seaside Coffee Roasters like I do every morning I wake up there, took the coffee down to the end of Broadway where the Lewis and Clark trail ends, and sat looking at the water for a while before heading south.

I'd planned on sleeping in Cannon Beach, which I found out pretty quickly isn't allowed — there's an ordinance and they patrol for it at night. So I made a day of it instead. Clam chowder at Tom's, which is still one of my favorite things to eat anywhere, then I walked the streets and went into the Jeffrey Hull gallery like I always do.

I used to not understand why people got emotional looking at art. I'd watch it happen and it didn't make sense to me. Then I walked in there for the first time and saw one of his pieces — crashing waves, watercolor — and it stopped me. What he does with rock and water is unreal, and he works on enormous canvases. That's part of why I print my own work big. Something worth looking at should be big enough to look at. One day I'd like to own one of his.

From there I went down to Hug Point, which I first visited when I was around sixteen. It was cloudy, but it's where I really got to put the Mamiya to work. Another photographer came up and asked me about the camera, then asked if he could take a picture of me shooting. He was from out of state. Small thing, but it was good to run into somebody who cared about the same stuff.

Since I couldn't sleep there, I walked way out past town, dragged a log up into the tall grass, found a gap big enough for a fire and lit one. Cracked a couple ciders and watched the sun go down. I shot footage there for my own video and for my band's music video, My Butterfly Flew Away. Then I packed up, drove back to Seaside, and slept in the same spot as the night before. The next morning I stopped in Astoria for food, walked around a little, and drove home.