This one was for Steve.
Not a person, but a narrow whitish ribbon of light that can sometimes be viewed way to the north of the main aurora in this part of the world.
Fairbanks, under a blanket of cloud, hosted the third Steve Conference — a gathering where plasma physicists, rocket scientists and aurora photographers shared coffee, data and wonder.
My friend Stephen Voss and I represented the southern hemisphere contingent — proof that even at the far end of the world, curiosity burns bright.
We met beneath the towering Geophysical Institute, a slab of concrete intellect overlooking the University of Alaska.
One day we visited Poker Flat Rocket Range, where scientists fire rockets into auroras — chasing the ephemeral with the improbable.
For three days, my brain tingled with data and delight.
Papers were presented, plots unfurled, arguments made and settled with laughter.
New satellite observations of Steve were unveiled, theories tested, and plans laid for the next observing season.
Outside, an auroral storm raged — unseen beneath a stubborn quilt of cloud.
We’d flown halfway around the world to study light and saw only grey. There’s a metaphor in that somewhere.
Was it worth it? Of course.
Science isn’t always about results; it’s about connection.
In a world fraying at the edges, there’s something profoundly hopeful in watching Americans, Canadians, Europeans and a couple of New Zealanders sit around a table puzzling over a purple arc few have ever seen.
Steve might be obscure, but that’s part of the magic.
It reminds us that wonder still exists in small, strange corners of the cosmos — and that even when clouds hide the aurora, friendship and shared curiosity can light the room.
