Looking Back
As a child, I became enthralled with all things related to space. In the age of the Space Shuttle, and Voyagers I and II, there was nothing that didn’t capture my imagination.
Annular Eclispe. Image courtesy of NASA.
In the Spring of 1984, an annular eclipse of the sun made its way across the DC area where I lived at the time. I don’t recall many of the details (I was 8 years old), but I remember it getting much darker than it should have been for the middle of the day. I’m sure it was at this point I began thinking about what it must be like to experience a total eclipse.
Just over a year later, my father, a career Army officer, was given new station orders and my family was moved from DC to Hawaii. There, I saw for the first time, dark skies like never before. My fascination with space deepened during those years. Though I didn’t understand what I was looking at, I began memorizing constellations and major stars. At some point, my parents gave me a book, simply titled “Astronomy.” It was a small reference guide, like you might find in a museum gift shop. It had everything in it, from the planets of the solar system, to star formation, star maps, and eclipses.
www.eclipsewise.com
Recalling the 1984 eclipse, this section of the book stood out to me, perhaps more than any other. Etched into my memory from this book was a map of the world showing paths of total solar eclipses for the next 50+ years. Excited, I studied it to find the next eclipse that might be near to me. Lo and behold, there was one that would chart a cross-country path, from one corner of the country to the other! But to my dismay and childish impatience, this wouldn’t happen until 2017. Would I really have to wait 30+ years to see a total eclipse? How unfathomable for a 10-year-old to imagine his future self as a middle aged man? Clearly, math and science could accurately predict the time and place of numerous eclipses far into the future. But how could a 10-year-old predict the path his life would take over the next 30 years?
But as many do, that 10-year-old boy grew and experienced the major milestones of life - graduations, first job, marriage, kids, divorce, job loss, relocation. Joy and laughter. Pain and tears. And every now and then, he checked the map. He checked the date. He wondered about his future and how he was determined to witness this celestial event. Missing it would be tragic.
In 2008, fortune would have it that an opportunity for a promotion and relocation from Arizona to Portland, Oregon presented itself. With 9 years and counting until the eclipse, this opportunity would put me within driving distance of the eclipse’s path. But 9 years was still a long time, and anything could happen to detour this journey.
As 2017 approached, I realized something that began to cause some anxiety. This eclipse was going to be a huge event. News stories a year out from the eclipse were already reporting sold out hotels. Areas of Central Oregon were predicting tens of thousands (if not hundreds of thousands) of people to gather for multi-day festivals. They predicted traffic congestion beyond anything ever seen. I began to realize that I had assumed it would be a breeze to just drive to a spot in the path and view the eclipse. Clearly, I had been mistaken. And as the months went on and the day got closer, the anxiety only ramped up. I didn’t have a location picked out. What if the weather was bad? What if I miss it because I’m stuck in traffic? Will it really be worth it? It’ll be 99% total at home...maybe that’ll be good enough…
I vacillated for months, and the indecisiveness kept me up at night. I’d look at maps day after day trying to find a spot I could drive to, pull off the road, and watch the eclipse. But what if I couldn’t find a safe place to park? What if someone was already there?
Path of totality through Oregon with marker at Sublimity. (Map by F. Espenak, eclispewise.com)
Coming to my senses, I put anxiety aside and came up with a plan. I owed this to myself. I had waited 30 years, and if I missed it, I’d probably regret it for the rest of my life. By some dumb luck, I was able to find a place that had room and tickets available. Sublimity is a small town east of Salem, Oregon. They opened their rodeo grounds for camping the night prior to the eclipse. I wasn’t going to camp, but at least I’d have a place to park the car, and a pretty open space to watch the eclipse. I purchased my ticket and a weight was immediately lifted from my shoulders.
I spent the next several weeks leading up to the eclipse obsessing over the weather, practicing the motions of photographing the event, and deciding on what time I should leave and the possible routes there and back in case of heavy traffic.
The Day Of
There was no sleep the night before. The weather appeared to be perfect. I was going to see a total eclipse! I set my alarm for 3am, on the off chance I did fall asleep. The drive to Sublimity in regular traffic is about an hour, and I had no idea what to expect on the roads. The eclipse itself wasn’t until after 11am. I didn’t want to be driving in morning commuting traffic, so I played it safe. I was out the door with my camera, tripod, and a cooler filled with food and water, by 3:30am. The freeways were as you might expect them to be at that hour...empty. I was in Sublimity by 4:30am.
As daylight began to erase the dark of night, I collected my camera gear, and made my way onto the rodeo grounds to claim my spot for the day. The sun broke over the horizon of hillside farms to the sounds of songbirds, and cows in nearby fields. It was a clear, cool morning. The lead-in to a perfect summer day.
I was set up at the end of a picnic table, giving me a little room to spread out. I put up my tripod and camera, and relaxed in the camping chair until the eclipse began. An older couple from Damascus set up at the other end of the table. We chatted now and then. They were very kind.
The Moon began its journey across the Sun just after 9:50am. Camera ready, I documented the progress every five minutes. With each click of the shutter, the excitement swelled. With each passing minute, the crowd filled in the stands and became more attentive. By 10:30, the Moon had covered about half of the Sun. The change in the daylight was noticeable. It was more dim, and the light seemed to have a greenish tint. I could feel the anticipation building in my gut. I couldn’t look away. This was actually happening!
As the clock passed 10:45am and the daylight faded further, the air became cool and damp. The birds that woke with us just hours before, quieted their songs and hid away in nearby pines and oaks.
10:55am - darker still. The Sun but a crescent of its once blazing disc. Stillness. Voices subdued, muffled in my ears like the din after a snowstorm. Focused. Excited. Ready.
At 11:02am, the last vestiges of sunlight shone through the mountain valleys on the rim of the Moon, shimmering like a ring of diamonds.
The Sun’s final rays prior to totality.
Then... sudden and immersive darkness. The sun was gone. Replaced by a disc of inky blackness surrounded by its wispy white halo. Like an eye in the sky, the eclipse gazed at me from above and stared into my very being. Awe, wonder, and complete happiness. For two and a half minutes I stood in the shadow of the Moon. I took pictures and I marveled at what the universe had given me.
Totality exposes the solar corona.
Solar activity is revealed along the shimmering rim of the eclipse.
Solar corona - a longer exposure for a brighter effect.
Then... bursting through the opposite side of the Moon, the Sun’s rays shattered the darkness just as suddenly as they had been extinguished. And with that, it was over.
The Sun reappears through mountain valleys, creating this “diamond ring” effect.
The crowd dispersed fairly quickly, but over the next hour I continued to shoot photos of the Moon sliding off the Sun’s disc. And when it was finally through, I packed my belongings, ate a soggy PB&J sandwich, and began my trek home - a 5-hour stop-and-go ordeal through farms and small towns. Though it took four hours longer than it normally would, I was riding a high of happiness.
Five Years Later…
The sky at night has been my refuge for most of my life. The stars, the planets, the Moon - they are my escape. I never fail to stare off into the night sky when the opportunity arises. To experience the depth of the night sky, to really take it in, is to tap into a sense of childish awe and wonder. When the sun is up, its light blazes through our fragile atmosphere and casts a comforting haze of blue from horizon to horizon. That veil of the sky blinds us to what lies beyond. At night, the curtain is lifted and the splendor of the universe is revealed to us. And during a total eclipse, a hole is punched in the sky, and we get a chance to peer at the universe through a column of shadow gifted to us by our Moon. It is bizarre to behold and understandable why the ancients developed stories and mythologies of the supernatural to explain the phenomenon.
Reflecting on the eclipse experience, now five years in the rearview mirror, I have found the impact was perhaps more profound than I had imagined it would be. I had expected I’d shed tears. I did not. I had expected I might cheer. That did not happen either. After the light of the Sun seemingly vanished, I stared deep into the void of the silhouetted Moon, I swallowed hard and only mouthed a barely audible “Wow.” The magnificence of those few minutes are difficult to put into words. Breathtaking, unreal, indescribable… all worthy words, but they are empty and cliche. It is undoubtedly one of those events one has to experience firsthand to fully grasp its impact. What I saw that day changed something in me - this experience was both personal and deep.
The progression of the Moon across the Sun up to totality.
For 30 years I had waited - looking at that map, tracing the path with my finger. I had counted down the years. And when fate conspired to bring me close, I turned to the kid in me, and made his dream a reality. Millions of people across the country watched the event unfold, but in the minutes that the Moon obscured the sun, the darkness obscured everything around me. For those two minutes, it was just me and my camera, alone in the darkness, embraced by the shadow of the Moon, and plunged into the surreal beauty of a dream.
After five years, the memory of the eclipse is as clear as that August morning. I reflect on the experience now and again, and every time it fills me with the same awe and excitement. I scroll through the pictures. I look at the maps. I sit in waiting, yearning to feel that shadow brush across my face once more. Wondering what the next one will reveal to me.