Last Monday, the shadow of the moon was scheduled to roll through central Texas. This total solar eclipse would be my second, and was something I had been anticipating since 2017 shortly after the Great American Eclipse. For this event, I wouldn’t have to travel as my house sat within the path of totality. However, one would experience less than one minute of totality there.
After given it some thought, and considering the people that would be with me, I decided to go to the neighborhood west of Wimberley where I spend a lot of time. There, we could expect three minutes of totality. Not quite the 4-1/2 that one could witness at the centerline, but better than the 2-1/2 we experienced in 2017.
Ten days out, the forecast was not good. It vacillated some over the days, but never got great. I have to confess that I was less than optimistic.
As one might have heard, the media totally hyped up the expected traffic delays. Our plan was to shove off around 6:30 am. Normally, it would only take an hour to get out there. We got off to a late start, but were still on the road before 8:00. We hit no traffic on the way. In fact, it was the lightest traffic I had ever experienced along that route. So far so good.
Throughout the morning, we were hopeful as the sun was visible intermittently when the clouds thinned. We would even catch a glimpse of blue sky here and there. The group of us in total was nearly a dozen, though we were not together the full time.
By 12:30, we were set up in the very pasture I had envisioned as the best spot for viewing. We were 7 humans, 2 horses, and 3 dogs.
The clouds never cleared…in fact, they got heavier as the partial phase progressed. I kept thinking to myself: we only needed about 15 minutes of clarity to catch the best of it, but I grew less and less hopeful that we would see that.
This experience was quite different than the one in 2017 because, for us, totality was completely obscured by the clouds. I did, however, choose to focus on other sights, sounds, and feelings, which were also special. Had it been clear, perhaps the experience would have been the same as last time—exhilarating, but not new.
Getting back to the partial phase, as I mentioned, we had intermittent visibility. Sometimes the clouds totally blocked the sun. Sometimes they thinned just enough to catch the solar disc with bare eyes. And sometimes the clouds got thin enough to take a good look through the eclipse glasses. We all watched as the moon slowly moved across the sun.
People get very wigged out about eclipses being concern for their eyes. This is all fine and good. I, however, wasn’t so worried, so now and again, when it wasn’t too bright, I spied.
In fact, this was a big part of what was new for me. It was quite intriguing to be able to see the partial eclipse with unprotected eyes. The peak visual for me was when I was able to see the last sliver of sun before totality started. The clouds were definitely thickening, but in that last minute or two before totality, they thinned just enough for me to catch a glimpse of it with my bare eyes. It looked like the thinnest sliver of blue-silver light. That memory is etched in my brain and I so appreciate it.
Right about then, my heart started to race. I had been checking my watch frequently, so I knew totality was imminent. In that last minute, the clouds closed in and the sky became totally gray in all directions. I knew we wouldn’t catch any more glimpses.
I then turned my attention to the ground and the horizon and the trees and the sounds. By then, I was up on my feet soaking it all up.
When the shadow arrived, it was an entirely different moment than last time. This time, it seems to fall out of the sky all around me, softly and slowly. Even when I had assumed we were within totality, the darkness descended and grew some more.
Earlier, one in the group reminded the rest of us to pay attention to the birds songs. Since we were in a pasture, birds were chirping all around us up until that moment. In full darkness, they went completely quiet…then the bug sounds quickly filled that silence.
They say the wind usually picks up during totality, but I don’t remember noticing that. Instead, I am remembering it as very still and quiet. I looked around and marveled at this nighttime in the middle of the day. I felt excited even if not elated. The hairs on my arms stood on end. I looked up now and again, still hoping to catch perhaps just a glimpse, but then returned my attention to my surroundings.
Twenty minutes earlier, it was a balmy 80 degrees. Even before totality, it grew chilly.
Right after totality, a wave of emotion came over me. Had I been alone or completely unselfconscious, I could have fallen to the ground and sobbed. A couple of tears escaped, but then it all passed.
This was not the eclipse experience I had hoped for, but it was completely satisfying nevertheless. Perhaps this was the one I was meant to have.
The US will not get a total solar eclipse for 20 years, and that one will only just touch the northern most states of Montana and the Dakotas. But who knows. Spain will be a part of the next two in 2026 and 2027. Perhaps by then I’ll be ready for a European vacation.
If you got to witness the magical display, I hope it was invigorating.
P.S. I wrote the above yesterday morning, but then went off to work. During the day, I got to talk to tourists from all over who were able to see totality. I was so happy for them especially because some traveled thousands of miles to come see it.
In an earlier edit, I said I didn’t really feel disappointed because the experience I had was new and special, but after hearing what others experienced, I did feel a bit envious. I will accept that as inspiration for the future and the creation of a new journey to the centerline.
A Fool's Inclination 