For awe hunters, the everyday is often the extraordinary and the smallest wonders can be transformative. Their secrets can be yours, too — you just need to open your eyes.

The problem with hunting awe — like really hunting it, much like stalking prey — is that you often find yourself up against unpredictable weather, harsh elements of cold and heat, your own exhaustion and frequent disappointment.

After all, there are no real guarantees in nature; you can’t pay someone to make a rainbow appear — even though they are more frequent in some parts of the world — let alone a double rainbow, which is a miracle. You can’t command a turtle to appear in the open ocean, an eagle to soar past, a moonflower cactus to bloom or bioluminescence to sparkle.

But much of the fun is in just trying, and luck favours those who turn up and devote time to their quests. Which is how I found myself standing on Goat’s Beach on the South Arm Peninsula near Hobart at midnight, straining to see the Aurora Australis — the Southern Lights — against a star-strewn sky. With me was my friend, expert of all things glowing and marine scientist Lisa Gershwin and her companion, a fluffy white dog of Madagascan heritage called Tui.

As we stepped onto the sand, we both shouted with excitement when we saw the waves curling neon blue: bioluminescence! Or little plankton milling about in an algae bloom, which glow when stirred by motion. People often made ridiculous noises, artless and happy, when struck by awe and I am the same, squawking and crying: “Oh my God!”

I had gone to Tasmania with my producer Lou to film an episode of Compass called Awe Hunters, determined to find other people who also made the pursuit of awe part of their daily lives. We met with giant tree climbers in the Huon Valley, star gazers in a Blue Mountains national park, group-choir singers in Brisbane and my ocean swimming friends back in Sydney.

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Gerwshin runs the “Glow Show” in Hobart where, armed with a UV light, she shows people how to find out which everyday objects like spinach juice and detergent glow. Her open, unabashed joy is charming and infectious, and she has a knack of looking at things differently, showing us that the everyday is often the extraordinary.

She is also a hoot: as we ripped around Hobart in her red convertible Tabasco — so named “because it’s red, hot and a little bit saucy” — my stomach hurt from laughing.

Goosebumps, tingling, intoxication

But that night on the beach, waiting for hours on the shore bitten by winter winds, we slowly began to freeze. I was cursing myself for wearing cowboy boots with thin socks on the bottom. Lisa was hobbling about in some pain, suffering from an unfortunate incident involving trying to cut her big toenail with garden shears (something she now recommends against), and yanking it off instead.

We had already been to a couple of places, and seen nothing. But we huddled, stared into the sky and employed the dog as a hot water bottle. Lisa even convinced me to do a slightly awkward “aurora dance” (the awkward was me, not her) which basically involved a lot of jazz hands (again me, not her).

Then, it appeared. A peach smudge of light, ringed with gold. With the help of a time lapse, we saw it in its full, spectacular contrast and whooped with delight. With blue-lit waves underneath — a double dazzler — what are the chances?

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AWE. I could drink it all day but I’d probably keel over drunk with excitement.

I love the way you feel when you’re awe-struck. Goosebumps, tingling, giddy, laughing, sometimes crying, you feel intoxicated but instead of the sodden hangover, you return to life lifted up, expanded, content.

The magic of awe

Awe is something not easy to define, but usually involves stopping in your tracks, being amazed by something and, often, feeling small against the full scale of the universe.

In recent years, mounting scientific evidence has shown what we have instinctively known for millennia — that experiencing awe makes us happier, healthier, kinder and more connected to each other.

And experiencing it together, in an experience social scientists call collective effervescence — in an event like the brilliant Pub Choir, a Matildas game, or mass rally — can be wildly restoring. Like someone had “poured liquid gold” into your soul, said one devotee of pub choir.

I like to think of Dacher Keltner, professor of psychology at the University of California, as the godfather of awe. He’s been studying it for decades and has recently published a book called Awe: The New Science of Everyday Wonder and How It Can Transform Your Life.

He says a key to awe is sheer perspective: “When you feel awe around vast trees or under the ocean like you’ve experienced or looking at a night sky or … listening to a choir, whatever it may be, you kind of feel … small and insignificant and humble.”

Keltner says he’s done lots of studies showing that “when you go out by big trees, when you see big views, when you listen to inspiring music, when you watch nature videos, it tends to kind of quiet down the ego”.

“It makes yourself seem small, your concerns seem small, your stresses seem less significant,” he says. “Today a lot of young people and a lot of people in general are focusing too much on the self. And awe takes us out of that focus, gets us to open our eyes to the world outside us.”

Finding solace in wonder

The Huon Valley’s Grove of Giants — so named by tree climber Steve Pearce and his crew — is home to some of the world’s largest trees. When Pearce began climbing them he was blown away by their magnificence and felt an urge to protect them — which he realised he might be able to do by sharing them with others.

He began taking huge composite portraits of trees like blue gum Lathamus Keep which, at 80 metres, is the biggest in the grove. He also started bringing members of the public into the forest.