I hope you saw it. The Great American Eclipse of 2017—the first time in 99 years an eclipse has been visible across the continental United States. Nature’s most exciting spectacle was practically near my own backyard—hitting Main Streets across the country from Oregon to South Carolina. With a path of totality evoking a sash on a beauty queen, I felt drawn like a magnet. Only a three-day drive away—not in some far off exotic place like Africa or even Nova Scotia —how could I not go? I planned a trip months ago.
The original idea was to make a solo three-day drive to Portland, stay with my nephew and then drive 45 minutes south into the path of totality Monday morning. Two days before leaving, my son visiting from college decided to join. Great—lighten my driving load, companionship and together we listened to parodies of the song “Total Eclipse of the Heart.”
The drive to Oregon was fraught with anxiety over news reports that getting there could mean driving through the mother of all traffic jams. Starting the drive north Friday morning I was bombarded by friends’ texts warning of soul crushing traffic ahead. The rare times I tapped the brakes, I mistakenly thought I had finally hit the pilgrimage up to the Beaver State. I saw changeable message signs warning of delays southbound on Monday and Tuesday post-eclipse. Any time I felt anxious I had to remind myself of the magnitude of the event and a NASA scientists’ words that a partial eclipse rated a four on a scale of one to 10, but a solar eclipse rated a million. But the dreaded traffic? It never happened! Believe it or not—and I can’t explain it either—I never hit a speck of traffic. Not once.
Then the hitch: Mid trip, my nephew texted that he would not be able to join us. His work in the medical field needed him on standby in case of emergency due to the crowds descending on Oregon. He suggested we watch the eclipse in Portland with 97 percent coverage. No way. The difference between a total and partial eclipse is literally and figuratively the difference between night and day.
With two days before the big event, panic set in as I scrambled to find another viewing spot. Unbelievably good fortune smiled upon me when my nephew’s friend agreed to host us in her home free of charge—in Salem, no less—smack dab in the middle of the path of totality! We could have seen it from her front lawn, but instead drove two blocks away to nearby farmland and panoramic vistas.
Arriving at 9 a.m., we parked alone at the edge of a field with no other spectators. On schedule, at 9:05, the first sight of the moon appeared as a black speck pushing into the sun at the upper right-hand corner. Slight eyestrain made it uncomfortable to look up more than every minute or so.
Ever so slowly, the moon was taking a bite out of the sun. Birds previously silent started singing loudly. By 9:45, the sky was less bright, the temperature dropped, the birds quieted. At 10:13 it would be just four minutes until totality and the sky was growing eerily dark. With the sun’s crescent barely a sliver on the left side, I suddenly saw a flash of the diamond ring effect and then sudden darkness signaling totality. I whipped off my eclipse glasses. Kaboom. It was like a firework went off in space, yet stayed overhead, revealing a giant extra-terrestrial eye staring right at me. A complete huge black circle surrounded by a white ring and gossamer moving swirls—like rings around a foreign planet. I stood awestruck by this unbelievable sight I was unprepared for. Still pictures of a corona don’t do it justice.
The sun, some 239,000 miles away was blocked by a moon 400 times smaller and 400 times closer to earth simply due to random, dumb luck of orbital patterns.
As soon as the sun reappeared, one minute 54 seconds later, I quickly put my glasses back on and noticed it was daylight again. People have asked if I could see stars in the sky, but I was so transfixed on the strangeness of the corona I simply didn’t look at anything else.
Without a doubt, eclipse chasing was well worth it this time due to luck and a little planning. I hope to see another one day and wish the same for anyone else.
In 1878, Thomas Edison was persuaded by other scientists to leave his lab in New Jersey to witness a total solar eclipse in Wyoming. Afterward, it’s said he was inspired to work on inventing the light bulb—one of mankind’s greatest inventions. Now, what will we Americans who watched the 2017 eclipse be inspired to do?
