When I witnessed my second total solar eclipse last Monday at the Sullivan Fairgrounds, I learned one thing above all others: They’re not all the same.
While total eclipses certainly do share many traits, they also (based on my experience) have individual attributes. The biggest difference I noticed between this year’s version and the February 1979 total eclipse I watched near Goldendale, Wash., was that light was clearly visible 360 degrees around us on – and slightly above – the horizon.
I’m no scientist, but I believe that was due to the sun being far higher in the sky this time. The 2017 eclipse took place after 1 p.m. on a summer day, while the 1979 version happened at about 8:30 a.m. in the middle of winter.
On this go-round, stars and bigger planets were indeed visible, but not nearly to the extent they were back then. Again, the blacker sky surely made a difference in 1979.
Anyway, one of the traits total solar eclipses do share (in my opinion) is that they’re all incredible and absolutely awe-inspiring.
Our day last Monday began with setting up a day camp on the nicely groomed grassy acreage of the Sullivan Fairgrounds. As more people arrived and our group grew, the anticipation also grew.
Then, as the celestial show began not long before noon, people called out, saying, “look, piece of the sun is gone!”
By 1 p.m., not much of the sun was visible through the special glasses everyone wore. Exclamations rang out of “it looks like a toenail!” or “it looks like a crescent sun!”
Our 26-year-old daughter made a statement that was quite profound.
“I feel more American than I think I ever have before,” she said. “It’s like we’re all sharing this incredible experience.”
She’s not one to be patriotic, but she could feel the magnitude of the moment.
She and several others in the gathering were also experiencing several other feelings. Things like excitement, nervousness and even light-headedness were bandied about.
As the minutes went by, the sun continued to shrink, but even as a narrow, crescent shape was all that remained, it still shined a fairly significant amount of light within the eclipse path.
“How is that possible?” a young man in the group asked.
“That just shows you the massive the power of that star God placed near us,” I said. “And it’s only a medium-sized star; imagine if it was a lot bigger.”
As the neighborhood star’s light waned even more, we all began to notice how eerily weird the shadows were becoming. Looking down at one’s own shadow produced a strange feeling of being out of place; the shape of each person’s body was irregular and sort of spindly.
The young man had fun with the situation by waving his arms and moving his legs. Everyone was like, “that’s weird!” and my wife, Wendy, compared it to those tall, skinny objects with faces and arms that blow up and down outside retail stores during some sort of promotion.
Gertie, the Permapup, tries on her safety glasses while watching the solar eclipse during its early stages Aug. 21 in Sullivan, Mo.
Also as the light dimmed, the temperature dropped big-time – probably close to 20 degrees.
“I wish it was like this more often,” the young man said.
“Yeah, maybe we need a smaller star!” I joked.
As the sun’s crescent changed into little more than a blip of orange, you could hear some of the hundreds of people in the area saying, “here it comes!” in reference to the diamond ring effect.
Then, at about 1:30 p.m., there it was – the incredibly bright explosion of light at the edge of the totality ring. Then in an instant, the eclipse reached its fullness and the moon entirely blocked the sun for our vantage point. A strange, almost whispy, ring of fire and light was clearly visible, and everyone in the area cheered, clapped and removed their safety glasses to view the phenomenon with the naked eye.
As the 2 ½ minutes of totality progressed, shouts of “wow!” and “amazing!” and “unbelievable!” rose above the general chatter of the crowd.
Then, the explosion of light known as the diamond ring broke out again, and the whole process worked in reverse as the sun was rebuilt in the sky.
As things normalized again, a friend from Wisconsin said the past few hours were so great he was considering becoming “an eclipse chaser.”
On the way home, traffic was slow on I-44 and we saw license plates from Arizona, Arkansas Kansas, New Mexico, Oklahoma and Texas. Our daughter became reflective about the rare experience.
“Saying it’s like a science fiction movie is about the only way I can think of trying to help someone understand,” she said. “It’s just not normal and there’s nothing to compare it to that really does it justice.”
As a friend said Monday evening, that’s “two and counting” with regard to me and viewing total solar eclipses. Lord willing, I’ll head for the Bootheel on April 8, 2024, and take in No. 3.
Houston resident Wendy Davison, right, and Licking residents Steve and Marsha Hufford, front left, stand with friends and relatives from Illinois, Wisconsin and Ontario, Canada, while watching the total solar eclipse Monday, Aug. 21, at the Sullivan Fairgrounds in Sullivan, Mo.
Doug Davison is a writer, photographer and newsroom assistant for the Houston Herald. Email: ddavison@houstonherald.com.