Becoming an umbraphile
Recounting unforgettable moments under the moon's shadow, total solar eclipses from Lincoln City, Oregon to Cleveland, Ohio have made me an eclipse chaser.
There are very rare moments in life that make you feel awestruck. To date, I can count on one hand how many times I have felt awed; total solar eclipses are among two of them.
One
Seven years ago, five of my friends and I packed ourselves into my small 2008 Scion xD. On a whim, we drove 12 hours through the night to watch the total solar eclipse in Oregon that took place in August 2017. Each of us had the weekend off, two of us already had plans to visit Portland, and we all thought this was the opportunity of a lifetime. Yes, there were six of us in my car. And no, we didn’t know where exactly we were driving.
My friend Esmeralda and I took shifts driving my car through the mountains while everyone else slept. As daylight broke, we stopped for a McDonald’s breakfast sandwich, stationed ourselves in the parking lot, and napped for a few hours. A couple of hours before totality, we found a random patch of green—Kirtsis Park—on Google Maps and drove to our destination.
Along our route, we saw people on the street selling eclipse glasses for an inflated price; we shared the cost of one. The drive, which years later has become such a hazy memory, took, what I suspect, a lot longer than usual. While we underestimated how crowded the roads were, somehow we managed to find our seats to the biggest show in the world.
Nestled between the Pacific Ocean and Devil’s Lake, seated upon the warm, smooth concrete, we witnessed totality at a stake park in Lincoln City, Oregon for one minute and twenty-nine seconds. It was a moment we shared with a handful of skateboarders at the park and a few families who barely made in time to witness totality. Daylight shifted. Our environment looked like a confusing mix of dark and light. The colors of the world dulled. And for whatever reason, I couldn’t stop looking at my hands. We applauded. We ooh-ed and ahh-ed. We sat befuddled by what our eyes were seeing. We couldn’t believe any of this was real. And then it was all over.
Twelve hours later, we were back in the Bay Area getting ready for our Monday morning shifts.
Since 2017, I’ve held this moment neatly tucked away in my back pocket. I’d made note of the next two total solar eclipses visible in the contingent US states and had vowed to myself that I’d go watch the next one that was to run through “texas to maine.”
Two
Earlier this month, I traveled to Cleveland, Ohio to witness my second total solar eclipse.
While Cleveland wasn’t exactly my first choice (I originally wanted to go to Dallas, Texas to view the eclipse but flights and accommodation grew too expensive), I’m thankful the universe brought me to the Midwest.
After a delightful couple of days in Cleveland—and a spontaneous field trip to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania—full of food, art, and nature, we scoped out a park/beach area located on the coast of Lake Erie. With snacks, water, entertainment secured, and toilets in sight, Earvin and I hunkered down on a park table at 10:30 am ready to spend our day waiting for totality at 3:13 pm. So far, this was so much more planned than my first eclipse. For a city known to be blanketed in clouds and rain in early spring, we were blessed with Cleveland’s first 75° day.
Slowly, the space around us began to fill with eclipse spectators. Families with their children snagged the last tables available. High schoolers and college students laid out picnic blankets. Enthusiasts set up their cameras and telescopes. It was incredible to know we were all there for the same thing.
Around 2 pm, the moon started its trajectory over the sun. Crescent shadows transitioned into oblong footballs. It was still light out, but the closer we got to totality, the more hazy and obscured everything around us got. The progress to totality may have been slow, but the anticipation bubbled in me like a pot of boiling water. I found that my heart was racing. While I watched the last sliver of sun(light) vanish and in its place, an illuminated black orb covered the sky, my emotions got the best of me.
All the adrenaline coursing through my body turned into tears of overwhelm as our environment got dark. Applause swept through the park as kids yelped in amazement and adults stood mouth agape. It was sunset all around us. The horizon across the lake transitioned into a burnt orange color reminiscent of fall foliage. Downtown Cleveland shone brightly in the distance.
It was the fastest 3 minutes and 50 seconds of my life.
It’s weird how something so awesome (and I mean in its truest definition, not in its watered-down colloquial interpretation) can happen and suddenly it is back to business as usual. It felt so wrong for people to immediately leave the park after experiencing one of nature’s ultimate wonders. But just like that, it was over and life moved on.
Earvin and I stuck around to process what we had together experienced. As folks packed up, I overheard a couple of people—Kelsey and Clara—recounting the eclipse while also looking up when the next ones were going to happen. It reminded me of the rush I felt after my first eclipse in Oregon. Across the lawn, I had asked if they were now addicted to eclipses, and with eager smiles, they nodded in excitement. Together, we chatted about our experiences, exchanged photos we took of the sun and moon, and hoped we’d see each other at the next one.
It is still very difficult to put into words what it’s like to experience a total solar eclipse. It is seemingly indescribable; I hope everyone gets the chance to exist under the moon’s shadow at least once in their lives.
This eclipse far surpassed my first solar in 2017. Perhaps I’ll catch the one going through Spain in 2026 or Australia in 2028. I suppose I can call myself an eclipse chaser now.
Until next time,
Marj ✨
I'll see you in Spain fellow Eclipse Chaser :^)