When people ask me how I ended up specializing in aurora photography, the answer is a bit unexpected because I didn’t start with photography at all. I grew up in France and, since I was a kid, I was always creating things, usually drawing cartoons without ever needing a model in front of me. I could simply imagine a scene and put it on paper. Later, when I started traveling, I always carried a small camera with me.
I loved photography, but I didn’t truly understand why certain images appealed to me more than others. I would take a shot, thinking, “I really like this,” but I couldn’t explain why. It wasn’t until I opened the files on my computer that I would realize there was a line leading perfectly into the corner, or some symmetry I hadn’t consciously seen, or a geometry inside the frame that made everything work. Even now, that still happens; I often take an image because I feel something is there, but I don’t fully understand it until I study the photograph afterwards.
In 2011, when I was 22, I left home and started traveling with my backpack, which eventually led me to work as a guide in Finnish Lapland in 2016. That was where I saw my first Northern Lights. Like everyone else, I was blown away by the sight, but that awe quickly turned into a specific kind of technical frustration. At the time, I was using a bridge camera, and I became incredibly annoyed because I couldn’t control the settings the way I imagined. I wanted to manipulate ISO, shutter speed, and aperture with precision, but the camera kept imposing restrictions. Eventually, I got annoyed enough that I bought my first Sony A7 and started photographing the aurora properly.
At first, I was simply fascinated by the lights themselves, but after about a month, I realized something that completely changed the direction of my photography. I understood that the Northern Lights alone were not enough. Of course, they are epic—they still are—but I realized I didn’t want to create photographs of the Northern Lights. Instead, I wanted to create photographs that framed them, where the landscape, the composition, and the story mattered just as much as what was happening in the sky. That realization eventually brought me to Tromsø, where I discovered a huge industry built around aurora tourism. One company gave me a chance, and over time, I evolved from a guide to a photography teacher, and eventually, I was training the new guides entering the company.
At the same time, I spent thousands of hours outside, entering competitions not because I wanted to win, but because I wanted an honest answer to a question: Was I actually good? When your parents or your best friends tell you your photographs are great, that is one thing, but I wanted to know whether the images could stand up on their own. What surprised me was that my broad landscape photographs were doing as well as, and sometimes better than, my aurora images. That was a huge moment for me because I realized people weren’t responding only to the Northern Lights; they were responding to the way the photographs were built. That’s when I became obsessed with composition, and that is where the real journey started.
The Unique Aurora Shot of the Year
A few years later, I started the project that became one of the most important parts of my career: the ‘Unique Aurora Shot of the Year.’ It began very simply in 2021, with a friend and I having a crazy idea involving a glacier. We didn’t know if it would work, or if we would even come home with an image, but there wasn’t any pressure because we were doing it for ourselves. The image you see here was our very first attempt; although it features a starry sky rather than the aurora we envisioned, it represents the heart of our mission.
We even attempted to reproduce the scene with a film crew in 2024. What excited me wasn’t the final photograph, but the experience itself, and I think that’s still what drives the project today. We are currently working with a film production team on a documentary with the goal of finally capturing the image originally planned in 2021. Every year that we don’t succeed in capturing that exact shot actually adds more story to the project, as we continue to support it with unique aurora images until, at some point, we have the one we set out to create. The goal is not simply to photograph the aurora; it is to create a photograph that tells a story. I would much rather spend weeks trying to create one image that means something than come home with thousands of photographs that all look similar.
Building Better Aurora Photographs Through Composition
People often ask how I manage to create photographs where the shape of the aurora perfectly mirrors the landscape beneath it, assuming it must be a stroke of pure luck. The honest answer is that it’s a delicate balance of both. While you can never truly control the aurora, you can absolutely prepare for it. Over eight winters in northern Norway, I’ve spent countless hours studying not just the lights, but the geography of the places where I photograph them, building a mental map of locations that thrive under different conditions. I’ve learned to ask the right questions: Where will the lights appear if they are weak? Where will they sit if they are powerful? Which mountain range works best when looking north, and which one comes alive when looking south?
How to Build a Compelling Aurora Composition:
My composition process is deliberate and follows a specific rhythm:
- I always start with the backdrop, looking for strong geometry, a singular peak, or a balanced pair of summits that naturally become a focal point.
- Once that is established, I begin to study the ground with a near-obsessive intensity. I’m looking for the tangible details—a twisted branch, an ice crack, or a delicate pillow of snow—that can act as a natural lead-in for the eye, pulling the viewer from the bottom of the frame into the scene.
- From there, I need a midground to link it all together, ensuring the eye flows seamlessly from foreground to background.
It’s easy to look at a finished image and assume it came together quickly, but in reality, the work is defined by the nights of frustration. I’ve spent countless evenings with the perfect backdrop and beautiful lights, only to realize the foreground wasn’t there, or the composition wasn’t quite right. That is the rhythm of photography in these places: it is a cycle of scouting, waiting, and returning until the landscape and the sky finally speak the same language.
Why I Never Use a Timer for Aurora Panoramas
When the aurora is dancing, time is not on your side. If I’m shooting a panorama, I never use a timer; even a two-second delay is long enough for the aurora to shift its shape, making the images impossible to stitch later. I shoot back-to-back, moving the tripod head and clicking as fast as I can, usually repeating the sequence six or seven times just to guarantee a perfectly sharp, seamless match. As soon as I finish a sequence, I hold my hand over the lens to capture a ‘black frame.’ It sounds like a small detail, but when I’m at my computer hours later, that black frame allows me to instantly identify exactly where one panorama set ends and the next begins.
The Human Element in Aurora Photography
Another recurring element in my work is the presence of people—a tent, a skier, or a solitary silhouette standing on a ridge—placed somewhere in the vastness of the landscape. Part of this is simply about scale; without a human subject, it can be nearly impossible to communicate how enormous these environments really are. However, it goes deeper than that. I’ve grown to love environmental photography because it creates a beautiful tension. The landscape becomes more powerful because of the human presence, and the person becomes more significant because of the sheer scale of their surroundings.
I remember one specific attempt to capture a tent beneath a mountain peak that looked like a giant tooth jutting out of the landscape. We made an initial attempt, but it didn’t work; the person was too far away, and all you could see was the faint glow of a headlamp. We had to go back. Eventually, everything aligned—the tent, the silhouette, the peak, the aurora, and even the faint glow of the city lights far below in Tromsø. The tent became an anchor point, balancing the composition and giving the viewer a way to step into the frame. The aurora was incredible, of course, but the photograph ultimately became a story about the scale of the experience, not just the light in the sky.
Planning a Northern Lights Photography Trip
Sometimes people visit me and open my website, pointing to locations and saying, “I want to go here, here, and here.” I have to remind them that the images they see on my site were literally taken over nine years. It’s not like I can just bring you there and it happens—it might, if we’re lucky, but it takes time and returned visits to capture those shots. The public sees the final frame, but the real work is in the years of invisible effort that led up to that single click.
Weather Comes First
If someone is planning their first trip to see the Northern Lights, my advice almost never starts with camera settings. Success begins long before you arrive. You need enough nights to buffer against disappointment, you need extreme flexibility, and, above all, you need realistic expectations. Nature, indifferent to our schedules, does not care that you have booked a single week off work to chase the lights. When I plan a shoot, weather is my absolute priority. I cross-reference multiple forecast windows, using tools like Windy and Yr.no to understand how weather systems are moving across the region. Only when I’m confident about where the clear skies will be do I start looking at the aurora forecast. The plan is never just to “go where the aurora is”; it is always about weaving together weather, orientation, landscape, and activity.
Choosing the Right Location
For those looking for a strategic base, I always point to Tromsø. It sits perfectly under the Aurora oval, but its real power is the inland access. I’ve come to love areas like Nordkjosbotn—by moving inland, you escape the coastal weather patterns and find microclimates that hold clear skies even when the coast is clouded over. Flexibility is everything; being able to drive an hour or two inland to chase a clear pocket of sky is how you turn a ‘maybe’ night into a ‘guaranteed’ shot.
Alternatively, I also love the deep forests of Finnish Lapland. I actually started my journey as a guide there back in 2016. It’s a completely different atmosphere from the coastal mountains of Norway; because you are removed from the ocean, it’s much flatter, significantly colder, and often offers drier, clearer skies. It feels quiet, remote, and otherworldly.
Why a New Moon Isn't Always Best
Interestingly, people are often surprised when I tell them a new moon isn’t always the ideal condition. Many photographers assume that a pitch-black sky is the ultimate goal, but if the aurora becomes very powerful, you need incredibly short exposures to preserve its intricate structure and detail. In those moments, a completely dark sky leaves you with a beautiful aurora and an entirely black, featureless foreground. A little moonlight can actually be a massive help. The same logic applies to wind. I almost always prefer calm conditions; wind strips the snow from the trees and removes that magical, fairy-tale feeling that defines a winter landscape. Two days of strong wind can completely rewrite the character of a forest, and those small, environmental details have a bigger impact on the final photograph than most people realize.
Essential Gear for Aurora Borealis Photography
You don’t need a massive, complex kit to photograph the Northern Lights. The most successful photographers focus on a simple, reliable setup. The heart of your kit should be a camera that offers full manual control over ISO, shutter speed, and aperture. When I made the switch to a full-frame mirrorless system—specifically the Sony A7—it finally gave me the level of precision I needed to get away from the limitations of my old gear. As for glass, a fast, wide-angle lens is your most important tool. You want an aperture of f/2.8 or faster, which allows the lens to gather enough light to capture the structure of the aurora without needing an impossibly high ISO.
Why Your Tripod Matters More Than Your Camera
I spend half my time on workshops watching photographers lose their shot because they are fighting with their equipment while the lights are exploding overhead. I tell them to practice at home: open the tripod, close it, mount the camera, and do it again until it becomes muscle memory.
My Simplest Piece of Camera Gear
My most trusted protection for the lens is surprisingly simple: a massive, oversized woolen mitten. When I’m out in the dark waiting for the sky to ignite, I keep my camera set up on the tripod but cover the entire lens and body with the mitten. It acts as a shield, preventing frost from settling on the glass. When the lights appear, I pull it off, pop the battery in, and I’m ready to shoot.
Keeping Batteries Alive in Arctic Temperatures
To ensure batteries last as long as possible in the cold, I keep them in a small, insulated pouch on my belt, tucked inside my layers against my body. It’s a small habit, but it ensures they survive the long wait without draining.
Preventing Condensation
When it comes to calling it a night, the protection cannot stop. Transitioning from the cold field back into a warm ship or car is the most dangerous time for your gear. I have a strict rule: I never expose the camera to sudden heat. Instead, I always keep my camera in my backpack while I am still outside. The bag acts as an insulated ‘fridge,’ allowing the temperature of the equipment to rise slowly and steadily. If you walk straight into a warm room with a cold lens, you’ll get instant condensation, which forces you to wipe the lens—often scratching it or leaving streaks that ruin your next session.
Camera Settings for Northern Lights Photography
While having the right equipment is important, the real work happens when you begin dialing in your settings for northern lights photography. It is a process that demands constant focus, as the unpredictable dance of the aurora requires you to balance technical discipline with the ability to react instantly to the scene unfolding before you.
Aperture First. Shutter Speed Second. ISO Last.
My exposure strategy is a consistent rhythm, and I always work my way through the triangle of exposure in the same order: aperture first, shutter speed second, and ISO last. Honestly, maybe this isn’t the ‘standard’ way, and maybe it isn’t a ‘must-do’ for everyone, but it’s my vision. I don’t care what others say; it works for me, and I love it. I start with aperture because I need to know how much light I can get straight away. At night, that’s straightforward: I open as wide as possible, usually to f/2.0. Next, I look at the shutter speed. What do I have in front of me? Is the aurora moving quickly? Am I on a tripod? Do I need a long exposure to capture clouds or the stillness of the landscape? Once those variables are set, ISO becomes my final balancing tool.
Why I Never Trust My Focus
Beyond those settings, the biggest mistake I see is a lack of focus. I’ve learned this the hard way myself—there is nothing more heartbreaking than returning home with a perfect composition and a dreamlike aurora, only to find the image is slightly soft. I never trust my initial focus. I check my images constantly, zoom into the stars on my display, and re-adjust. If I have to choose between a little noise and a loss of sharpness, I will choose sharpness every single time. Noise can be cleaned up in post-production, but focus is permanent.
Using Artificial Light Without It Looking Artificial
If I find my foreground is too dark, I sometimes use a light, but I do it with a specific goal: I’m not trying to make the shot look ‘finished’ on location. I’m simply ‘painting’ the scene to gather enough data in my RAW file so I have something to work with when I get to Photoshop. I never point a headlamp directly at the subject, as that creates a harsh, artificial look that ruins the natural atmosphere. Instead, I step back and light the scene sideways to mimic soft, ambient moonlight. To keep it subtle, I block most of the beam with my hand—always wearing a black glove. Using a black glove prevents the red skin-tone hue you’d get from bare skin. My only goal here is to get just enough information onto the sensor to make post-processing easier, ensuring the final image feels natural rather than looking like a tourist snapshot that’s been ‘fixed’ with a flashlight.
Editing Aurora Landscapes: Staying True to the Moment
People often ask if the magic of an image is created in the field or in front of the screen, and the answer is that it is a dialogue between the two. For me, editing is never about “fixing” a shot; if the composition isn’t there, or the focus is off, no amount of software can save the image. I treat post-production as a way to refine the story I’ve already captured.
My editing process is quite minimal and focused: I prioritize cleaning up noise to maintain clarity, ensuring the balance between the light in the sky and the details in the foreground feels natural. I look at the files not to reinvent the scene, but to bring out the emotion of the moment I experienced in the field. When I’m at my computer, I’m essentially trying to replicate the feeling of that night—the cold, the silence, and the awe of seeing the sky come alive. If an edit feels forced or the colors look artificial, I know I’ve pushed too far. The goal is always to keep the authenticity of the environment, ensuring the viewer sees what I saw, not just a processed version of it.
The Aurora Is the Final Ingredient
In recent years, I’ve found myself photographing places that are worlds apart from the Arctic—dunes in Namibia, the Great Wall of China, the wild landscapes of Svalbard. While the conditions could not be more different, my approach remains exactly the same. I am always thinking about composition first, about the flow of the image, and about how to place small subjects into a vast, powerful landscape. Whether I am shooting in the desert or on a glacier, I am trying to build photographs where every element supports the next and every frame tells a story.
The Northern Lights remain one of the most spectacular things I have ever witnessed. But after eight winters spent chasing them, I still believe the most important lesson they taught me is that the aurora is not the main character. It is the “wow effect,” and while that effect is vital for grabbing attention, it shouldn’t be the end of the conversation. A great Northern Lights photograph should still be a great photograph, even if the lights weren’t there at all. The aurora is simply the final ingredient, the icing on the cake of a story you’ve already built.
Northern Lights Photography Workshops
Join Virgil as he leads our 01/27 Frozen Forests of Lapland workshop where you’ll capture the otherworldly beauty of the deep winter forest, our 01/27 Northern Norway workshop where you’ll navigate the coastal fjords and inland valleys to track the Aurora, or our 02/27 Norway Lofoten workshop where you’ll capture icy fjords, snow-covered beaches, and colorful fishing villages under the northern lights.
FAQ's about Northern Lights photography
Auroras are natural light displays caused by charged particles from the sun colliding with gases in Earth’s atmosphere. They are channeled toward the Earth’s polar regions—the “aurora oval”—by our magnetic field. The colors produced depend on the altitude and the type of gas involved: oxygen at lower altitudes creates green, while nitrogen and oxygen at higher altitudes can result in rarer purples and reds.
To capture the aurora, you generally need to be within the “aurora oval,” a ring of activity typically spanning 65° to 72° north latitude. Prime locations include Arctic regions like Northern Norway (Tromsø, the Lofoten Islands, and the Senja Peninsula), Finnish Lapland, Iceland, Alaska, the Yukon (Canada), and Svalbard. While latitude is critical, success often depends on microclimates; inland areas—like Nordkjosbotn in Norway or the deep forests of Finnish Lapland—are often best for escaping coastal weather and finding clear skies.
The Northern Lights photography season typically runs from September through April, when the Arctic experiences long hours of darkness.
While strong solar activity increases your chances of seeing an impressive display, a high aurora forecast alone doesn’t guarantee success. Use trusted forecasting tools such as the NOAA Space Weather Prediction Center and SpaceWeatherLive to monitor solar activity and Kp-index forecasts. For real-time notifications, Aurora Alerts apps can let you know when activity increases. Always combine aurora forecasts with local weather forecasts. Even the strongest display won’t be visible beneath cloud cover, so tools such as Yr.no are invaluable for checking cloud conditions and identifying areas with clear skies.
The solar cycle is currently at its “Solar Maximum,” a peak in activity occurring approximately every 11 years that significantly increases the frequency and intensity of auroral displays (Source: NOAA Space Weather Prediction Center). During this phase, the Sun experiences heightened magnetic activity, releasing a higher volume of charged particles into space. For photographers, this is a major advantage: it translates to more frequent, vibrant, and widespread displays, offering a higher probability of brilliant aurora activity that can often be seen with greater intensity and at lower latitudes than at other times during the cycle.
Most mistakes arise from treating the lights as the only element that matters, rather than building a cohesive photograph.
- Missing Focus: Never trust your initial focus. Magnify on the stars periodically throughout the night to ensure sharpness hasn’t drifted. Remember: you can clean up noise in post-production, but you cannot fix a soft image.
- Overexposing: The aurora has a wide dynamic range. Avoid blowing out the bright lights, as this destroys the intricate structural details that make the display beautiful.
- Too-Long Shutter Speeds: When the aurora is active and fast-moving, a shutter speed that is too long will turn delicate, crisp ribbons into shapeless, blurry blobs.
- Ignoring the Foreground: A common pitfall is producing a beautiful sky above a pitch-black, featureless landscape. Remember that the foreground provides the story, scale, and balance to your composition.
- Poor Preparation: Cold is the ultimate “shot killer.” If you are not dressed in warm layers, you will be forced to quit early. Similarly, keep your batteries insulated against your body to ensure they survive the wait in Arctic temperatures.
