The Totality Experience: S&T’s Eclipse Stories

The total solar eclipse on Monday, April 8th, drew crowds throughout North America. Even observers in regions far from the path of totality experienced a partial eclipse.

Several Sky & Telescope editors and contributing editors watched the eclipse — below, read their reports from across the U.S. and Mexico. Share your experience in the comments!

In Aquilla, Texas

The forecasts looked bleak for us here at the Texas Star Party event in Aquilla, Texas. We spent the weekend anxiously comparing weather models. One forecast said we’d be skunked, another gave us 50% cloud cover . . . Even Monday morning, the forecasts weren’t converging. Some attendees packed up and skedaddled for spots with better prospects, depending on their favorite weather website.

But by midmorning, the clouds over the Latham Springs Camp and Retreat Center had become patchy. Conditions held steady as totality approached. About a half hour before second contact, barn swallows abandoned their normal leisurely flights and perched, huddled and tense, under the auditorium’s eaves. Colors dimmed, dogs barked, and shadows faded.

Then, with celestial drama, totality began! Jupiter and Venus flanked the brilliant corona — it was so bright near the lunar limb that I momentarily questioned whether totality had actually begun. A magnificent solar prominence appeared like a red curl near the 5 o’clock position. It was so large that it was easily visible with the naked eye.

— Camille M. Carlisle, S&T Science Editor

---

Totality in Dardanelle, Arkansas

Despite early predictions that Arkansas would be disappointed, we had fabulous conditions leading up to and through totality. At about 1:20 p.m., we began to see crescent Suns projected through pinhole projectors. Some thin clouds surrounded the Sun during totality, though they didn’t detract from a spectacular view of multiple coronal streamers, particularly a long one from the northwest limb (top left of image). Not 15 seconds into totality, Jane Walker drew everyone’s attention to a vivid, pink prominence on the south limb. Baily’s Beads were seen at both second and third contacts. It was overall a very active corona.

— Sean Walker, S&T Associate Editor

---

Aboard the ms Zaandam in the Pacific Ocean west of Mazatlán, Mexico

I shuddered and choked back tears when the Moon quenched the last bead of sunlight to reveal the beautiful and strange sight of totality overhead. Silky spikes of eerie silvery-yellow corona crowned the black disk of the Moon. People were shouting and screaming for joy, which for me only magnified the eclipse’s tremendous emotional impact.

No one who saw totality will forget the brilliant, hot-pink prominence along the southwestern lunar limb. I’ve observed the Sun in hydrogen-alpha light many times, but this single, massive tongue of flame appeared far brighter and more vivid than any filtered prominence. Jupiter and Venus were obvious in the watercolor-blue sky. Shadow bands rippled across the ship’s deck for many seconds both before and after totality. Incredibly, totality seemed to last a long time — something I’ve never experienced before. Maybe that was because I looked more and photographed less.

I absolutely loved it. And when totality had passed, I wanted to hug everyone, and proceeded to do so! I can’t tell you how good that felt.

A short while later, a huge cheer rose from our group. I walked over to see that the ship’s captain had come up to visit. People were wild with gratitude for his foresight and skill in changing course so we’d be guaranteed clear skies.

— Bob King, S&T Contributing Editor

---

In Mazatlán, Mexico

High, thin clouds did nothing to mar our view from Mazatlán, Mexico. Partial phases were clearly visible and created crescent shapes beneath palm trees and the eclipse art my daughter and I made, using a pushpin to punch tiny holes along pencil-drawn lines. We waited breathlessly as the golden crescent in our eclipse glasses thinned — not least because I wasn’t sure whether we would see the corona through the clouds. I needn’t have worried! The corona was surprisingly bright, several streamers framing the Sun. At the 5 o’clock position, a brilliant pink filament appeared to leap off the edge of the Moon. Minutes became seconds and the diamond ring reappeared. I just glimpsed the beads of liquid light melting together into a thin sliver before retreating behind eclipse glasses. Cheers resounded across neighborhoods, a ship’s captain laid on their horn, and a Mexican band started up in celebration. Daylight had returned. 

— Monica Young, S&T News Editor

---

Totality After All in Fredericksburg, Texas

For days leading up to the eclipse, our 220-strong Texas tour feared that a massive storm system would completely wipe out our viewing chances. Rain was all but certain. But with each day came a slightly better forecast, and by the time we arrived at our private viewing site in Fredericksburg, the optimism was palpable as low clouds dissipated and revealed big swaths of blue sky. But after nice early views of the partial phases, thicker clouds returned. The situation looked bad. Then, almost miraculously, a thinning overhead let us witness the first diamond ring, followed by veiled but still-dramatic views throughout totality. All too soon, towering prominences on the western limb heralded the second diamond ring. And, with that, the cloudy curtain closed in and ended the show, leaving nothing but impenetrable gray overhead. I still don’t know what caused the clouds to part, but deep down we all knew that Mother Nature had done us a great favor.

— J. Kelly Beatty, S&T Senior Editor

---

My wife Halina and I were on a Sky & Telescope/Insight Cruises tour that viewed the eclipse from Swallows Eve in Fredericksburg, Texas.  We were bracing ourselves for disappointment, since thick clouds had covered the sky all day and things looked bleak. Spirits rose a bit during lunch as the clouds had thinned and a few patches of blue could be seen.  As the eclipse progressed from first contact, the clouds returned, and we were all holding our breath and preparing for the worst.  It looked hopeless, but, somehow, totality found an opening. We enjoyed the full 4 minutes of totality and considered ourselves luckier than we had dared to hope.

— Ted Forte, S&T Contributing editor

---

Clouded Out in Canandaigua, New York

After a beautiful sunny Sunday and clear forecasts for the following day here at our campsite in Canandaigua, New York, we woke to gray clouds and a dismal outlook. The Sun started peeking out here and there as we approached the start of the eclipse, so with one eye on the forecasts, we decided to break out the telescopes just in case the sky opened up. At first contact, we managed to snatch a few glimpses of the Moon beginning to move across the face of the Sun, but it quickly dove behind cloud cover again shortly after. We anxiously watched the forecasts for the next hour as the clouds were still moving quite quickly, but unfortunately, the Sun did not reappear. As we approached totality, the sky slowly darkened, and the drop in temperature sent us diving for our coats. Full darkness settled in shortly after, but we never saw the Moon cover the Sun. However, we did get to see the swath of darkness approaching us from the west and then heading east. My cousin said it was like “fast-forwarding through the day-night cycle in a video game.” The solar-powered lights turned on, and the birds, who had been cheery and talkative up until that point, had gone silent. A frightened pair of doves were frantically flopping through the air above our RV, startled by the sudden midday darkness. They weren’t sure where to find their nest, and they remained perched in a nearby tree well after totality had ended, likely afraid to leave. Shortly after third contact, light bathed the campground again, and it began to rain. So, disappointed, we hurried our equipment back inside.

— Sabrina Garvin, S&T Editorial Assistant

---

Perfect Totality in Island Falls, Maine

I parked myself on a golf course in northeastern Maine by the Slice Restaurant, whose owners offered free parking and a warm welcome. Not a cloud in the sky, which is absurd for Maine at this time of year, and especially this winter/early spring, when it’s been cloudy or rainy for weeks on end. "I don’t want to jinx it, but it’s looking pretty good,” Matt Lapinski, who works in marketing in Austin, Texas, told me smilingly before first contact. Matt was part of two separate groups I spoke with who, seeing iffy weather prospects back home, had dashed up from Texas at the eleventh hour.

A crisp breeze, snow still about, but near 60°F by totality so quite pleasant. Perhaps 100 people all around, some with impressive cameras or scopes. We enjoyed 3 minutes 18 seconds of totality, which naturally felt like a minute. It all went so fast it was hard to keep up, but I savored the sudden twilight at second contact and a blazing diamond ring at third contact. The corona was magnificent, of course. Most spectacular of all were the prominences, including a necklace along the lower limb like pink Baily’s Beads, plus a huge prominence nearby like an upside-down V. V for Victory, you might say, having waited so long and traveled so far for this jaw-dropping celestial wonder.

— Peter Tyson, S&T Editor in Chief

---

Livestreaming from Junction, Texas

The off-site campus of Texas Tech University at Junction was a hive of activity on the morning of April 8th. The skies were clearing nicely, and anticipation buzzed in the air. Exploratorium had an impressive setup on the viewing field — they had an intricate show planned that they were broadcasting far and wide. Every hour on the hour University of Montana researchers launched balloons carrying sensors into the upper atmosphere.

Eclipse Ambassadors chaperoned by the Astronomical Society of the Pacific had their hands full, enlightening hundreds of students on the mechanics of eclipses, while TTU’s own wildlife biologists were busy setting up detectors in the surrounding environment. For my part, I’d been invited to Junction by TTU professor Tom Maccarone to comment on the livestream event they had set up for those not able to travel to the path of totality. We were having a blast, discussing the eclipse, answering questions in the chat, while TTU graduate student John Morales translated into Spanish. As the initial partial phases progressed, TTU’s mariachi band struck up joyous tunes. The atmosphere was festive.

And then, a quarter hour before totality, calamity struck. Thick, menacing clouds rolled in and parked themselves in front of the Sun for about 20 minutes. You can all do the math — yup, we were clouded out. I did catch a glimpse of totality, but it was fleeting. However, the whoops emitted by young, first-time eclipse-viewers as darkness rushed in and their astonishment at the experience will be a precious memory I’ll hold on to forever.

Note: After the event, as reports started trickling in from the surrounding area, it transpires that our viewing field had created its own microclimate of clouds — people had witnessed totality a mere two miles away!

— Diana Hannikainen, S&T Observing Editor

---

In Evening Shade, Arkansas

Since my hometown of Evening Shade, Arkansas, was just 2 miles from the centerline, I couldn’t help but organize a watch party at the Gymnasium. It was also a family affair with my younger brother being a NASA-partnered Eclipse Ambassador and the rest of my family pitching in on the big day. It turned out to be a wonderful success with only light cirrus clouds near the horizon during totality — which was great, since easily half our crowd was from out-of-state (not to mention a few international guests)! Plus, I got to meet a friend for the first time who drove all the way from California. After having seen totality during the 2017 eclipse, my family was delighted to be able to share the same experience with so many others.

— Scott Harrington, S&T Contributing Editor

---

In Lake Waco, Texas

I accompanied a group of 35 Dutch tourists to Waywood Park at Lake Waco. They were in for a meteorological roller coaster of expectations, fears , and hopes. In the end, about the first half of totality was observed under perfect conditions, while the second half was unfortunately blocked by a thick cloud. Given the earlier weather predictions for the area, everyone was excited to witness the corona (and a couple of beautiful prominences) for at least as long as during the 2017 eclipse in Idaho. Thanks to the clouds, this was probably the most exciting (and stressful!) eclipse of the 16 totals I have experienced so far. As participant Gitta Noordermeer told me well after third contact, “I am still not recovered from the emotions!”

— Govert Schilling, S&T Contributing Editor

---

In Québec, Canada

This was only the second total solar eclipse of the 17 I’ve seen that I was able to drive to (the first being in 2017), allowing me to take a carload of telescope and camera gear. But what a drive! I started out heading south for Texas from Alberta, but on the second day diverted back north to Canada to head east, ending up in southern Québec. The week-long cross-Canada chase to clear skies worked. I had a fabulous view over Lac Brome in the Eastern Townships south of Montreal. 

— Alan Dyer, S&T Contributing Editor

---

In Lyndonville, Vermont

Northern New England was supposed to have the worst weather prospects. Hah! The day dawned clear blue from horizon to horizon over the Northeast Kingdom region of Vermont. We set up early on a sports field at Vermont State College. Hour by hour, people poured in. Buses unloaded swarms of area high school students. One couple had flown from cloudy Texas, long touted as having the best clear-sky prospects.

Shouts went up across the field as the first dent in the Sun’s limb slowly became apparent through eclipse glasses. I demonstrated solar projection from a 6-inch Newtonian reflector to people who’d had no idea such a thing was possible. But the best views were through filtered telescopes. There the big, elongated sunspot on projected images resolved into a tight pair of two spots with a thin line of light between. As the Moon’s black limb crept up to it, yes, the spot indeed showed itself to be less than fully dark by comparison.

The sunlight dimmed slowly at first, then faster as the landscape grew eerily silvery in the narrow crescent-shine. Shadows became weirdly sharp in one direction. Venus and Jupiter appeared through the deepening blue. The corona emerged some seconds before totality, then the last overpowering dazzle of the diamond-ring Sun rapidly faded right down and out! The crowd whooped and cheered.

By this time thin clouds had started to mar the perfect blue. Was this why the corona showed less streaky detail than I expected? Or was the corona really less of a tangly hairdo this time because we’re nearing solar maximum? No one complained!

And those prominences, blazing brilliant pink-red in hydrogen-alpha emission! The next time you see an innocent little “e” at the end of a star’s spectral type, signifying emission lines, remember that this is the incredibly spectacular color it mostly means. The highlight of this eclipse for me will always be that great pyramid of brilliant pink loops on one limb, foreshortened and full of detail.    

To avoid the traffic jams afterward we spent an hour bumping over little dirt roads to arrive at a barn party put on by old friends, where we celebrated and reminisced deep into the night. Stepping outside, the Coma Berenices star cluster was a mass of speckles on black as seen with averted vision, and the head of Hydra was plain as could be. The night is still dark over the Northeast Kingdom.

And, of course, there was no Moon.

— Alan MacRobert / S&T Senior Editor

---