We were recently on a long-waited for cruise up the western coast of Norway. The goal was to enjoy the spectacular Northern Lights. The trip, hopefully, would give us night after night of colorful viewings.

            Our first port in Norway was Narvik, a hillside town surrounded by snow-covered mountains. The skies were clear, the weather freezing.

            We’d signed up for a nighttime outing to a Sami village where we’d learn about the people and their culture. We didn’t know that a shaman would be the leader. He spoke quite a bit about the prejudices they’d endured. He sang the songs of the Sami and that thanks to a recent law, all Sami children now learn their language at school.

            It was quite warm in the luvva (some would call it a yurt), so when I had to use the port-a-potty, I zipped up my coat, put on my ski cap and gloves. When I was finished and stepped outside, many of my fellow travelers were gathered around the luvva, staring at the sky.

            They said we were looking at the Northern Lights, but all we saw was a grey streak over the luvva that we thought was either smoke or the Milky Way. There was also a shimmering spot of grey off to one side.

            I tried taking pictures with my “big” camera, but because it was so dark, I couldn’t see anything in the view finder. I pointed the camera up and took a couple of shots.

            Almost everyone was using cell phones, so I got mine out. For some reason, there was a grid and wavering line that blocked whatever was up in the sky. I tied to see through the grid, but couldn’t. I was in tears.

            On the bus ride home, the women in front of us were looking at their photos. Their cameras “saw” the Lights! They both had amazing photos filled with color.

            That streak of gray was actually a colorful display that seemed to be hovering over the luvva.

            The women helped me get rid of the grid, but I feared that all hope was lost.

            Around midnight, back on the ship, our phone rang alerting us to the Lights. I stepped out on your balcony and caught a tiny streak of gray, which later on turned out to be a vibrant green.

            The was the last call we received.

            Our ship headed north, the skies were once again clear. We figured there’d be more sightings, but our phone never rang. The next morning we overheard passengers talking about how spectacular the Lights had been.

            When we returned to our cabin, I tried calling Guest Services to find out why we hadn’t received the call. Our phone had no service!

            The phone did get fixed, but from then on we sailed under a thick layer of clouds.

            Because I thought my camera couldn’t “see’ anything, because of the grid on my cell phone, I’d lost my chance to capture the Northern Lights.

            What I learned was to take pictures anyway. To keep shooting in case something wonderful pops up before the lens.

            While I was frustrated with what I “saw” as the failure of my camera, turned out to be a valuable learning experience.