Rolls-Royce Dawn drive: chasing the northern lights

Our journey has been shaped by Dr Nathan Case, senior research associate of Space and Planetary Physics at Lancaster University and part of the team behind AuroraWatch UK. “These charged particles get funnelled into our atmosphere via the magnetic poles, where they collide with oxygen and nitrogen, giving off energy in the form of light, which is what we see as the aurora,” explains Dr Case. But so fickle is our quarry that we find ourselves sitting in my Edinburgh kitchen on a Tuesday morning in November, bereft of a plan as the Rolls-Royce waits outside. Case recommended we use the three-day aurora forecast provided by the US’s National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA), which produces a predicted global geomagnetic activity index called ‘Kp’. If you’re looking at 1s and 2s, it’s going to be much harder.” NOAA anticipates a Kp of 3 between 3am and 6am tomorrow morning, with a ‘view line’ (north of which the aurora may be visible) promisingly slicing across Scotland’s central belt. The Met Office’s cloud forecast predicts patches of clear sky all across the country, so we set off for as far north as we can go in a day: Orkney. Adaptive cruise control helps manage the familiar plod up the A9, but there’s ominously thick cloud skimming the snow-sieved southern Highlands. At Gills Bay we board Pentland Ferries’ new catamaran, the £14 million MV Alfred, in service barely a week and able to whisk 98 cars across to Orkney in an hour. Our host, Ann-Marie Clouston, immediately guesses why we’re here and admits to being a keen aurora-hunter, whetting our appetite with some kaleidoscopic time-lapse footage she recently took. As if the Dawn doesn’t already isolate the senses, the featureless black we cleave through en route renders our sleepy brains numb. It’s 3deg C, the foamy sea is roaring, there’s an arresting bouquet of seaweed on the stiff breeze and – disappointingly – little spots of rain settle on the rear deck’s black leather. From the UK, the naked eye might see only a translucent, whitish haze, but a long- exposure photograph can collate the light to reveal a colourful, glowing aurora. He perseveres through rain showers, the electric roof doing its 20-second origami act several times over, but by 6.40am we’ve had no luck so call it quits and head east to capture thesunrise. We have one more night at our disposal, and though the Kp forecast is a lowly 2, some clear sky is predicted over the Cairngorm Mountain ski area, where amateur photographer Kath Pigdon captured a lovely green auroral bar a fortnight ago. It’s hammering down with rain so I relieve the front nearside wing of its umbrella, which is, of course, black and red to match our car’s bespoke palette. Soon a dazzling clifftop rainbow and subsequent expanses of blue sky raise our hopes, but then we plunge into a pea soup at Inverness. On the final hairpins leading to the skier’s car park, the Dawn’s active anti-roll bars can’t prevent some hefty wallowing, but once the body settles either to port or starboard, a reassuring cornering poise emerges. It’s a delightfullystill evening,with only the tinkle of an unseen stream breaking the silence, and I drop the roof for the full IMAX experience from the reclined and toasty driver’s seat. The smooth, empty B-road to the ski area gently meanders through thick forest, and the Rolls is flowing so fluently that it feels surreal, as if in a simulator – even more so when a yellow, stag-shaped icon alerts us to a hidden, doe-eyed form somewhere in theroadside trees. It’s that horizontal, driving snow native to these parts that I can still feel stinging my cheeks as a reluctant teen learning to ski. I’m glad of another interior indulgence: a flex of my forefinger and his door closes electrically, sealing me inside the plushest bothy in the Highlands. I recall Case’s advice about sitting on the right-hand side of westbound transatlantic flights for the best chance of seeing an aurora, and idly check the Plane Finder app. Right enough, seven miles directly up, the fortunate occupants of a Bombardier Global 6000 business jet hurtling from Hanover to Newark are in for a treat. His black-on-black portrait of the Rolls-Royce against the night sky is peppered with a million white pinpricks that could easily be mistaken for stars, but his sodden clothes and frozen face confirm it as snow. One minute isolated in luxury and tranquillity – an observation car from which to drink in the passing vista as if it were a movie – and the next, open and immersive. I’ve also appreciated the ‘need to know’ ethos that permeates the car, starting with that power reserve gauge, which sits in place of a tacho. It’s the same with the air-sprung chassis, the steering, brakes, engine and transmission: save for low-speed ride-height adjustments and a momentum-curbing enginebraking setting, there are no modes to play with, and you can’t even choose your own gear.

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