A Total Eclipse of the Sun, part Two
This is a story, not a report on observations.
On April 8, a total eclipse of the Sun tracked across Mexico, the United States, and Canada. Most of the United Staes enjoyed clear weather, and most of Canada did too.
We were in Texas. We did not have clear weather.
Admittedly, we knew we might be in for bad luck a week out. But when my friends David and Pam Rossetter came by Friday morning at 5:45 a.m., we knew we would be in for quite an adventure. We arrived at the home in which we planned to stay early Friday evening. Dena McClung, former president of the Denver Astronomical Society, was an important part of our group. It appeared that the house had been vacant for months or years. Although we decided to grin, bear it, and make do, by the next afternoon Scott Roberts, our host, had put us up in a wonderful hotel.
The afternoon before the eclipse, a new report predicted clearing during the eclipse. We were heartened, but that prediction was wrong.
Eclipse day dawned cloudy with drizzle. We arrived at the Explore Scientific site near Leakey, Texas. We did see the Sun for a few seconds now and then. The eclipse began right on time—to the second, even though it may first have been predicted by astrologers in ancient Greece. I remembered how happy Dad was when the 1963 eclipse began the same way. We did get several brief views of the incoming partial. But as the Moon advanced inexorably, the clouds thickened. And as totality neared, it became pretty obvious we would miss the total phase.
About ten minutes before the total phase began, someone in our group asked me to share a poem at the start of totality. The one I had in mind was Ross’s speech after Macbeth murders King Duncan:
By th’ clock ’tis day,
And yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp.
Is ’t night’s predominance, or the day’s shame
That darkness does the face of Earth entomb
When living light should kiss it?
Short and sweet, and so Shakespeare. But two minutes before the onset of the total eclipse, I thought of Wendee’s favorite poem, The closing lines of “The Song of Honour” by Ralph Hodgson. I suddenly missed Wendee more than I can write. During the 2017 eclipse my wife opined that she hoped still to be alive to see this one. I understood that this eclipse I would have to appreciate for both of us. The idea of her not being here, at this moment, hit me like a clap of thunder.
The sky was darkening fast. The temperature was falling like a stone. It grew much colder. And still the sky grew darker. It was past noon and it was night. We were silent.
It was the moment of total eclipse.
I stood and faced the group. I said:
I stood and stared; the sky was lit,
The sky was stars all over it,
I stood, I knew not why,
Without a wish, without a will,
I stood upon that silent hill
And stared into the sky until
My eyes were blind with stars, and still
I stared into the sky.
The group listened with rapt attention. When I was done, there were smiles and some applause. We would not see a total eclipse but we had a poem. Then there was silence.
Twenty seconds passed.
And then, the Sun appeared in total eclipse. Just like that.
I could not believe it. For about half a minute; for 30, maybe 45 seconds, we swathe Sun’s corona, the centerpiece of a total eclipse of the Sun. I did not notice the big prominence at the bottom of the Sun but I did not care. The Sun’s corona, circular because this was near the maximum of the sunspot cycle, smiled at us. (At other parts of the cycle the corona would be more oval.) It was the most dramatic thing I have ever seen.
After that unforgettable, precious, sight, clouds came in again. We did get to glimpse the corona on and off a few times after that. I noticed the sky starting to brighten as the end of totality approached. Suddenly it was over.
Only it wasn’t.
For one delicious moment the Sun’s photosphere appeared. The Sun was shining through valleys at the edge, or the limb, of the Moon. It was a magnificent, stunning view of Baily’s beads. First described by Francis Baily after he observed them during the eclipse of May 15, 1836, the effect bears his name. However, the first person to describe this effect was actually Edmond Halley (of comet fame), who recorded them 121 years earlier during the total eclipse of May 3, 1715. What we saw was splendid. And then we got to see a large portion of the ending partial phase. Clouds again obscured the very end of the eclipse.
I sat in my chair, alone. I thought of Wendee. I missed her so much. I could not stop crying. Scott Roberts sat with me and put his hand on my shoulder. Even as I write these words, I am not quite over it.
This eclipse, by far the most dramatic I ever saw, was my twelfth total eclipse, and the 101st eclipse I have seen since October 2, 1959.
