Brits are known for forever pontificating - complaining even - about the weather, and it is not until you leave our unpredictable climate that you realise what a gift it is. The delight of England’s changeability is that familiar scenes are seen anew. We’d left Cambridge early and summiting the chalk highlands at Wandlebury, there was a suggestion of dawn ahead – a subtle yellowing between streaks of black cloud and naked trees before a navy sky. We charged on down through the last of Cambridgeshire and into Essex. The ex-marshes at Dartford have never looked as lovely as that Sunday morning in late December. Normally, the way in which the industrialised hinterland of Tilbury Docks and Bluewater has been concreted into sterile submission is obvious. Even slight chalky undulations and hillocks are quarried to nasty open wounds.
Now though the sun was rising on a patchwork of fields painted in muted purples and grey-greens. Soft undulating mists highlighted hedgerows I’d never noticed before, disguising buildings that usually were blots on the horizon. Suddenly I could appreciate small patches of nature that shelter the Dartford warbler and other small cute wildlife.
Passages in Conrad's Heart of Darkness (first published way back in 1902) catch the mysterious changeable atmosphere: "the mist on the Essex marshes was like a gauzy and radiant fabric, hung from the wooded rises... and draping the low shores in diaphanous folds."
and then at the end of the book... [The Thames] "was barred by a black bank of clouds, and the tranquil waterway leading to the uttermost ends of the earth flowed sombre under an overcast sky - seemed to lead into the heart of an immense darkness."

We drove on, over the Thames which didn’t lead into the heart of darkness but to twinkling tiny lights, ships and signs of thriving commerce and industry. We were heading further south to Gatwick on our long-anticipated trip to beyond the Arctic Circle.
It might seem odd to set off to the Land of the Midnight Sun in December, but that’s what we had decided to do. It was around the time of the winter solstice and we were in the mood for something marvellous. Snow delayed us, but even the hold-ups were instructive. Getting aircraft jets clogged with solid water might not be a great idea, but it was news to me that the wings and tail needed spraying with de-icer.  That’s not what I expected to see as the snow fell in Oslo. Nor did I realise that the greatest part of the journey would not be between London and Oslo but within Norway itself. Oslo is a long way south of the Arctic.
We touched down in Tromsø after dark in the evening, and woke in the dark next morning, wondering whether there would be any change in the natural light. Indeed I wondered whether it had been wise to stay even three nights in this polar winter. Maybe that was why breakfast caviar was traffic-light colourful.



We wrapped up and ventured out. I’m not sure what I expected of the little fishing community, but I didn’t think it would be so beautifully lit or that it would be such a buzzing town. At around 10am there was a change from blackest night to a rather beautiful twilight. We saw otters in the fishy-smelling harbour and watched wonderful long-tailed diving ducks zipping around, ‘flying’ deep underwater like penguins. The twilight lasted about three hours. Then it was back to fairy lights and just a suggestion of a brightness reflecting off snowy hills in the distance, above the Arctic Cathedral (below, on the left).



We’d plumped for Norway in December because there were said to be good chances of seeing the Northern Lights. On our first evening we signed up for Northern Lights Chasing and were taken in a large coach to a secluded beach to await a show that was expected to begin somewhere on the western horizon at 8pm. Sea-water in the sand was frozen which gave the beach a rock-hard feel. Standing around in the chill breeze coming off the fjord, we strained our eyes and wondered if we were imagining a glow in the north-west when one of our two Italian guides shouted, 'I think it is starting! I shall check with my camera!'
The display was amazing but to the unaided eye there was surprisingly little colour. Long-exposure photography is needed to show the Northern Lights in their full eerie-green glory. They are ever changing in shape, position and colour. At one point a swirl of lights, looking like some gigantic diaphanous drape shifted as if caught in a celestial breeze.



After an hour or so, the Italians then took us to a hillside for a different view. They directed the Norwegian driver to turn off the metalled road and head off across country. We were stuck after about 20 metres. It was as if they’d never seen snow before. The driver produced from his tool kit a tiny shovel of the kind you might use to remove ash from a domestic fireplace. The Italians laughed and served hot chocolate. Most of us walked to the top of the hill where we experienced a very different and also spectacular light show. Here we ‘saw’ plenty of reds and yellows as well as greens. We had time to chat. The Italians told us that they’d spent that day whale watching. Generally winter isn't a good time for going to sea in Norway but humpbacks had been sighted. We also had plenty of time to experiment with our camera as it took until nearly 3am for the snow plough to pull us out so we could get home. The Northern Lights Chase had been as action packed as that title implied.
Tromsø is a small place so it was easy to track down a whale-watching boat – Polar Girl – next morning. It was of course dark when we set out. The captain in his big roll-necked jumper promised whales but I was pessimistic about seeing anything. Then the rosy half-light arrived and we started spotting dark objects in the water.



And blows, like puffs of steam. Closer and closer. Lots of them.
Despite the fact that Norway continues to kill whales (we'd seen whale steak on sale in Bergen the previous summer), they seemed to want to come and play. They spy-hopped. They tail-slapped. One even came along-side and lay for a while – log-like but waving a pectoral fin – as if she was having a good look at us. They breached, powering out of the sea as far as their tails to crash down into the water with a mighty splash. They came up in threes, vast mouths open to scoop up fish. There would be movement in the water as hundreds of panicking fish fired themselves into the air, followed by three gaping hungry mouths. I was astonished at the way the striped throat opened up concertina-style to accommodate large quantities of sea water – and fish.




























































A small Australian marine biologist was almost orgasmic with excitement. He'd never seen so many humpbacks together before and we were close enough to be able to see right into their enormous two-nostrilled blow-holes. Then when orcas turned up to hassle a humpbacked calf, he couldn't believe his luck. The whales stayed with us until the captain turned the Polar Girl around, when they seemed to want to lead us home. The Australian was still ebullient when it was time to disembark and he hugged a bemused captain.
We had just three full days in Tromsø but had the enormously good fortune to be treated to two of nature's big shows. Norway’s a destination where you haemorrhage money but the locals are friendly, helpful, tolerant, great linguists and have the most charming sing-song way of speaking English. I reckon we'll be back there again....