Like many of the stars we see in the night sky, our own Sun is a variable star. Its activity waxes and wanes, peaking every 11 years in a phenomenon known as the Solar Cycle.
As it approaches this peak we see more dark sunspots appear on its face, and some of those sunspots can grow to huge sizes, becoming larger than our own planet.
Recently an ink blotch trail of sunspots ten times the size of Earth appeared on the Sun, so big it was even visible to the naked eye through solar eclipse glasses and was a stunning sight through telescopes fitted with solar filters.
As it developed, this sunspot group began firing off powerful solar flares, again and again, like a WWII battleship firing a broadside.
And when a sequence of these flares was directed towards Earth, astronomers who study space weather became very excited at the prospect of enhanced auroral activity in the night sky once the solar material reached Earth.
They predicted that, if everything went well, the evening of Friday 10 May 2024 might see an impressive display of the Northern Lights, perhaps even one of the largest for years.
Even though there was no guarantee of seeing anything, aurora-watchers crossed their fingers and made plans to go aurora-hunting after sunset that evening.
Catching the 10 May aurora display
Up here in Kendal, Cumbria, my partner Stella and I did too.
We go out aurora-hunting a lot, but most of our trips end up being wild goose chases – or wild aurora chases – because either the famously bad Cumbrian weather hides the display or the display begins too early, or too late, for it to be visible in our sky.
But Friday night looked very promising, so after a long, long day of watching weather apps and monitoring aurora/space weather sites, and with all the weather apps agreeing that the sky would be clear all night, we headed out of town to one of our favourite sky-watching sites, a small car park above a reservoir with a clear view to the north and no passing traffic.
We got there just after 7.30, and settled down with our books to wait to see what, if anything, happened...
By 10pm social media was sagging under the weight of breathless and giddy reports of the aurora being seen from countries to the east of us, where it was already dark and, excitingly, from the south of the UK too.
Far south. Like... Italy. Madness!
But it meant that when darkness finally fell over Cumbria we had a VERY good chance of seeing something.
The magic begins
Just before 10pm reports began to appear on social media that aurora-watchers in the far south of England were seeing tantalising hints of red in their darkening twilight sky.
Some posted photos showed faint rays. But the Cumbrian sky refused to darken!
Finally, at just after a quarter past ten, my camera began to pick up a faint, pale green patch above the trees at the end of the car park.
I could see nothing by eye, but it was there on the camera screen, and on my phone camera too.
But I wasn’t sure if it was aurora or just an evil Cumbrian cloud come to spoil the party.
But by 10:35 the patch had turned into a high green arc, stretching from the NE to the SW, crossing the sky, easily visible to the naked eye
When I took photos of the arc I could see faint green rays coming from the top of it. It appeared the predictions had been right.
And after that it was just... nuts. It was the best display of the Northern Lights I've ever seen, no doubt about it.
In fact it was more like half a dozen different displays, one after another, fighting for our attention.
Sometimes the aurora was a bright, narrow band, like a banner, stretching overhead.
Then it was a collection of pale pink beams, stabbing up from the horizon like WWII searchlights looking for bombers flying overhead.
Then it was a wide picket fence of milky green rays, swaying like a drying sheet being rippled by the breeze on a summer's day...then everything met overhead in an orange-pink crown, the rare 'corona'.
Bathed in the pastel light of the aurora, Stella and I went down to the reservoir a few times, to change our viewpoint and to try for photos of the aurora reflected in the water.
They turned out much better than I'd dare hope.
The water was still, and as the aurora faded and brightened above it in silence, it was so peaceful, it was hard to believe it was all real.
Around 12:30 the aurora seemed to dim a lot, and I thought the show was over, but, puzzlingly, reports from other areas suggested otherwise.
Then I spotted the reason on one of my photos - a bank of high, cobwebby cloud had rolled over us, covering the aurora like a lace curtain.
It was still going on, above the cobwebs, but our view was shot, for a while at least.
But I kept taking photos, and some of them, I think, are actually quite nice.
By 01:45 there were reports suggesting that the aurora was starting to brighten again, but our sky was claggy, and we decided to call it a night.
On the way home to Kendal I looked out the car window, and the aurora was definitely brighter behind the clouds, but we were both more than happy with what we'd seen.
As I fell asleep reports of the aurora were still coming in from across the country from those blessed with clear skies.
The next morning it was obvious that the storm had persisted long after daybreak in the UK, delighting sky-watchers across the US too as their sky darkened.
Looking back on that night it all seems like a bit of a dream.
I've seen big displays of the aurora before - including the Big One in 2003 which turned the whole sky pinky-red, when all I could do was stand beneath the scarlet corona, staring up at it, laughing.
But Friday night's display was definitely the best I have seen because it had so many different structures and features, and so much movement too.
And the colours! Obviously the colours are more vivid on my photos, but we could see pale greens and pinks with just our eyes, frequently.
At one point a ribbon of candyfloss pink aurora stretched across the whole of the sky, cutting it in half.
It was genuinely magical. And my camera picked up colours I've never imaged before - satsuma orange, pastel blue, electric rose pink...
The legacy of the 10 May aurora
Friday night was a very rare spectacular treat, which made up for those many wild goose chases Stella and I have gone on when the 'stats' have looked promising.
It also exorcised a ghost for me. I've missed some big displays because of the Cumbrian weather, but I missed the famously huge display in March 1989 because I was doing something with school friends that night.
I even saw the start of it through a car window, but simply wasn't aware anything big was going on; there was no Facebook or Twitter in those days, no pages or groups or email alerts to give you a heads up about something happening 'up there'.
When I heard about the auroral storm the following day I was absolutely gutted, and it's haunted me ever since, laughing at me, mocking me on every anniversary or mention of the display.
But on Friday night that ghost...went away. It's gone.
Yes, I missed the big one in 1989, but I saw the Big One in 2024, the one people will be talking about for many years.
So, Ghost of 1989, away with you. Go rattle your coronal chains elsewhere. You and I are through. You've no power over me now.
Will we see any more big storms in the months ahead? Perhaps.
As I write this that huge sunspot group is still firing off solar flares, and even when its plasma cannons have fallen silent and it has shrunk back to nothing others will take its place as solar maximum approaches, so the chances are good we'll see more lovely displays.
But will they be as good as Friday night's? I doubt it.
But you never know…
