Living at 66°, in a north-facing fjord with tall mountains to the south, has some weird quirks. For instance, while we never get Arctic winter, we get full daylight for weeks during the summer. Strangely (or logically?), in winter the mountains block out the sun such that even in January (#1413812) the sun raises a pesky 3° above the horizon, yet still remain easily blocked out by said mountains.
Between late November and late January, there's a fix for that. Hike up the side of the mountain!
With only a few days left til the sun returns (on Wednesday, I believe!) you don't need to go that far. Still, upward it is, through hard, snowy, ice-y terrain.
Someone asked me in the comments if I'm outside more in the summer, and I think the opposite is the case. Gotta treasure the daylight when we have it, the few wonderful winter days there are. In summer, we have all the time in the world. (There's some econ concept going on here, marginality + satiability etc).
Today I woke up, looked outside... and my heart sank. For a very stupid, selfish, lazy reason: While dark, you can see whether the sky is clear or not. Having quickly realized that it was a must-hike day, I told my lazy, broken, tired body that there were no excuses. (Right, @realBitcoinDog??) What is the point of living here if you're not up the mountain in these conditions?!
So, even though I hiked the other day, walked dogs for 10k yesterday + a late-night aurora trip, went to the gym both Friday and Saturday -- with sore muscles all around -- I still goddamn got myself upward. At least to the sun, I promised myself. To. The. Sun.
Having a rest at the right moment, I managed to catch the exact moment (where I was at, anyway) when the top of that fussy little yellow ball inched itself over the mountain. HOW QUAINT YOU ARE!