An alternative seasonal tale

Each winter, as the low sun casts its pale light across the sodden landscape, a remarkable phenomenon occurs on the side of our house. The gate latch and picket fencing cast a shadow that transforms into Gatezilla—an 8-bit silhouette reminiscent of the legendary Godzilla.

Like its namesake, Gatezilla is a creature of nature’s rhythms. Its appearance is dictated by the Earth’s tilt, the orbit around the Sun, and the geometry of my garden gate. It is a fleeting spectacle, just a few minutes long—an alignment so special I liken it to an eclipse.

The wonder of this annual event inspired me to attempt to predict the exact times when Gatezilla will stride across the wall each winter’s day. I measured the exact orientation of the fence (216° from North) and the latch geometry: 1 meter high and 1.35 meters from the wall. Combining these figures with the latitude and longitude I was tempted to use the 8-bit technology of my 1984 Oric Atmos—still desperate for a purpose—to calculate Gatezilla’s full seasonal window from just a single day’s observations. But I just asked Grok.

It turns out that the shadowy creature first stirs for All Hallows’ Eve in late October (13:26–13:41 GMT), peaks through November (between 13:15–13:30), shifts earlier in December (early: 13:10–13:25), and finally succumbs to the inexorable march of the season around the Winter solstice. A secret in the sunlight decoded.

Opportunities to capture a photo of Gatezilla were running out. As the sun reaches its solstice low, the defining rays are scattered and obscured by twigs and holly leaves of taller trees. A situation that reminded me of James Reason’s Swiss Cheese Model of systems failure as I crouched camera ready in hand. The clouds on the breeze and ever-shifting holes between the twigs illustrated how momentary alignments create pathways to failure, or in my case success.

Now that the solstice has ended the spectacle I can spend the Winter thinking of next steps for 2026. A makeshift henge, perhaps? Constructed from an old garden trampoline frame to celebrate Gatezilla’s arrival next October by carefully aligning its uprights with the sun’s paths. Or an app, a local alert system, #GatezillaRises, notifying enthusiasts when conditions are optimal: low winter sun, clear skies, and the right hour of the day. Much like chasing the Northern Lights, I feel sure that witnessing Gatezilla will become a seasonal ritual, a celebration of geometry, astronomy, and the magic of nature.

Above all, Gatezilla reminds us to seek magic in the mundane, proof that even in the quiet geometry of winter shadows, nature finds ways to surprise.