One of many
trip reports under the
SilGro home page for Alan Silverstein and Cathie
Grow.
Email me at
ajs@frii.com.
Last update: May 25, 2024
(Previous trip report: 1978_0715_GraysTorreys.htm)
Here's the story of my first time flying in a little (general aviation) airplane, with three others, from Fort Collins, Colorado to Lewiston, Montana for breakfast at the airfield, and oh yeah, to see my first total solar eclipse!
(Written at 1105, 1:35 after totality, flying back under sunny skies to Fort Collins:) Arrived just before the start of the eclipse... Some immediate surprises. Not very crowded... No tourist traps at all... A casual set up on a clear piece of asphalt amidst 3' of crusty snow and ice. By the time the 40X viewer was set up -- 0830 -- well into the eclipse. People really got off on the 2" image and took photos of it! Shot a roll of film up till about 0910 (totality - 17) as it gradually progressed. Tired from lack of sleep... Beautiful day, clear weather except high cirrus (after all the worry and concern!). Beautiful full circle rainbow around the sun up in the thin clouds. Grew dimmer as clouds came thicker -- we worried. Rainbow heightened as sun grew thinner. Dark inside the circle. Balloon up far to ENE, left of sun. Grew darker. High planes in formation. More people gathered -- planes still landing. Circus atmosphere prevails.
Dismantled scope, got a fresh roll in camera. Dizzy with excitement. Shot many with filter on camera -- best way! Darker still. No ripples on snow -- never did see them. "Here we go." Still bright. Check watch -- on time. Still too bright... Glare in eyes -- spots. Darker to west. "Here we go," again... Finally, suddenly, click the beads appear and click it's dark! Cold! Incredible ring of fire in the sky -- yet not as impressive as dreamed. But the horizon -- fantastic reds and orange hues in all directions. All runway lights on. Crazy cheering. Planes still landing. Venus out -- clouds spread light to eerie, imperfect hellish night. Glowing cirrus. Brighter to east... All too soon, too soon! Culmination of weeks of dreams in scant seconds. Everyone babbling... Shooting crazily till out of film -- then staring till it reappears. All the preparation in the world unequal to the moment, over all too soon -- the beads come back, then flash and only aftermath...
(1120, 15 minutes later, still on the way back, more thoughts on the event:) It's been a boggling several days, with orgasmic culmination. How pitiful, we, to make so much of what we could have in space. How glorious, we, to be able to so easily pop off to see such an impressive phenomenon. It grew so dark above, around. It staggered. It touched a primal nerve with what would have been fear but instead was magnificence. The very sun, perfectly and exactly blotted out by a black circle never recognized as the moon... Even now the terrible, awesome cone of dark still sweeps out space.
Not like night, nor any other event one could ever witness in the normal course of life.
We noisily fly back towards home over white fields, and strewn black trees.
To have seen it from on high. Lost was the imagined feeling of oneness with space and time... It happened "to us", where we stood, on a flat plain surrounded by distant mountains. How odd to drop in from the sky, be at home, and flee again. All the grandeur is etched in my mind. It was too much to take in at once and yet it was so really simple.
Warmth felt of the sun's rays on its return, a tangible effect. There's more special to what I witnessed than its rarity. Were it a common occurrence it would be nonetheless spectacular, awe-inspiring and total.
That's it... Total. A very different thing indeed.
(Followup originally posted to newsgroup:
Dec 16, 1985 /* hpfcla:net.astro / ajs / 10:51 ama)> One of my most vivid memories of the February 26, 1979 total eclipse of > the sun was watching the <B>shadow of the moon</B> racing toward me over > land.
Yes, I had the good fortune to see the same eclipse (from Lewiston, Montana) and experienced the same thing. Lots of reading, etc, had prepared me for what the sun would look like. Of course actually seeing it in crystal white, with red flecks, surrounding an utterly black circle, was still wondrous. What was even more amazing, and totally unexpected, was the complete environment of the eclipse, of which the sun up in the sky was but a small part.
10-15 minutes before totality the western sky looked like it might just before an hellacious thunderstorm. Then during totality there was a fantastic "ring of fire", the color of sunset, around the entire horizon. Very high, thin cirrus clouds glowed white with a trace of light, against a black sky, due to the low sun angle (only about 30 degrees).
The shadow washed over us like an enormous, slow breaker, crushing us against the sand (or in this case, snow). If you've ever snorkeled under a big wave and looked up as it went by, you know the feeling. I'd go way out of my way to see another total solar eclipse someday. [And in 1991 I did, or at least tried.]
Until then, if you want to see the shadow of the Earth, I recommend Maricopa Point on the South Rim of the Grand Canyon, on a clear evening at sunset, looking east-northeast across the canyon...
April 27, 1991, more than twelve years later, some added thoughts and memories:
I revisited the above prose, written on the back page of a US Naval Observatory circular (#157) and on the back of a plot showing how the eclipse would appear from home -- Fort Collins, Colorado. I found it brought back a surprising rush of memories. I decided to type it in with only typesetting enhancements and correction of three errors -- made due to anticlimactic tiredness, I'm sure. It's not how I would have written it today, but I will append my later thoughts rather than modify the original.
Just 75 days from now I hope to view my second total solar eclipse, in Hawaii. With any luck, from the summit of Mauna Kea, the highest point in the Pacific. [2023: No such luck! It was a disappointing experience because they locked down the mountain, and then we were clouded out desperately trying to find clear skies on eclipse morning.]
My writings from 1979 reminded me that a total eclipse is such a rare, special, and memorable event that it does merit extraordinary cost and effort. It can be the highlight memory of a year, or five, in one's life.
I have some newspaper clippings from that time. It appears we planned our trip at least as early as February 10, and told the Coloradoan about it. There were four of us, all from Hewlett-Packard. Our pilot was Curt Brown; in the right seat, Don Stavely. Chris Fugitt was interviewed by the paper that same afternoon.
Nearing Lewiston I followed our progress on the map in the USNO circular. I remember my excitement as we crossed into the band of totality. "Even if we don't make the airport, just so we set down softly, I'm finally going to see a total eclipse!"
"...flying back under sunny skies..." The weather predictions for the event were terrible. The sunrise from the airplane, over Wyoming, was memorable and colorful because of all the clouds. We knew we were taking a chance, but because we flew up that morning, we took less of a risk than all those who drove a day and a half to be there. We picked Lewiston because it was almost due north and right on the center line.
"Arrived just before the start of the eclipse..." I was sweating bullets over the close timing of our flight. I wanted to observe the eclipse start to finish, with peace and detachment. But we landed after first contact. Chris and I excused ourselves to get set up, while Curt and Don, less excited, messed with parking and fueling the plane.
"Not very crowded... No tourist traps at all..." I expected it to be a zoo. Instead it was a cold, bland, peaceful morning at a small city airport. Just a few more people milling about than on a typical Monday morning. That was one of the weirdest aspects of the event. It was so normal and then so bizarre and then so quickly so normal again.
"...40X viewer..." I built an attachment for my terrestrial scope that allowed it to cast an image on a backplane. [2023: Still in use for partial solar eclipse in Fort Collins!]
"...full circle rainbow around the sun..." The unusual small rainbow formed by high ice crystals was an extra, unexpected treat.
"...clouds came thicker..." I realize now that the clouds formed precisely because of the palpable, rapid temperature drop. Fortunately they did not interfere with seeing the exotic jewel in the sky.
"Grew darker." At first it had the feeling of a terrible tall thunderstorm without tangible form approaching from the west. Then it became an enormous, slow breaking wave. Like floating on the bottom in the surf as a towering swell washed over. A visceral reaction, holding one's breath until it was past, to go to the surface for air.
"High planes in formation." Of course! They would be chasing the shadow. I've heard of this, but forgot to expect it. We are really here, in this special place and time...
"Dismantled scope..." We were very tight on weight. We had to leave behind a second tripod. Chris commandeered mine for his telephoto lens, to take magazine quality pictures of the sun. Too bad, it would have been nice to see the crescent fade on the projected image.
"No ripples on snow..." Perhaps my eyes were too speckled from glancing at the sun to pick out any shadow bands. Or maybe at only 21 deg solar altitude, with cirrus, there simply weren't any.
""Here we go."" That was me. Apparently I expected totality at 0924, but the Circular clearly says it was 092736.5 -- 093017.2 MST . I think in my haste I read the wrong line from the table. I was confused, waiting for that magic instant that seemed never to arrive.
"...click it's dark!" Years later I recall the shocking, astonishing suddenness of totality. It really seemed quite bright up till that instant. I kept glancing furtively at the sun, then in a flash I could stare at it directly. I never dreamed... can it really be that perfect? The corona, it moves, it lives! Those tiny red spots on the edge of the absolute black, those are solar flares! The world around us was nearly dark as night. Yet we were surrounded by sunset, and high cirrus clouds glowed ghostly against the stars.
Cold! Yes, shivering!
"Crazy cheering." The normally taciturn Curt yelled with excitement. I was aware of voices all around me, some distant, as if we could hear them all the way over in town. Maybe we could.
"Planes still landing." To this day I wonder why.
"...to make so much of what we could have in space." To be trapped here on the planet, chasing the shadow... Sigh.
"How odd to drop in from the sky..." It was the first time I'd ever flown in a small airplane. I was very nervous about that!
Even before the eclipse was over, we went for breakfast in the airport cafeteria, then flew back in just under four hours. It was weird to be home before sunset. To this day it is my only visit to Montana, and I didn't even drive there.
[2023: Now of course I've been back to Montana at least six more times, including Yellowstone NP, and fabulous camping and kayak-rockhounding on the Yellowstone River!]
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