Totality awesome!

It’s hard not to cheer, chant, or perhaps even choke back a few tears upon witnessing Ol’ Man Sol temporarily disappear behind the passing moon while we here on Earth are temporarily plunged into daytime darkness. It really is that moving for many observers.

The eclipse phenomenon is simply(!) a matter of geometry, typically created two to five times a year somewhere around the world when the Moon crosses directly between the Sun and Earth in an alignment technically known as “syzygy.” 

Since the Sun is approximately 400 times wider than the Moon, but also about 400 times farther away from Earth, both appear to be about the same size in our skies. Therefore, when a new Moon passes directly between Earth and the Sun, it almost completely blocks the sunlight, casting a shadow on Earth called “totality.”

That’s the science in a hastily created nutshell, but a total eclipse means so much more to so many people of varied nationalities, races, creeds, and histories worldwide. 

Obviously, not yet understanding the science, ancient cultures frequently feared partial and especially total solar eclipses, considering them omens of doom or bestowing upon them evil or punitive qualities that had to be countered or appeased through earthly rituals. Others viewed an eclipse as a time to make amends for past wrongs or as a sign of upcoming human or crop-based fertility.

Ever since heading to the shores of Lake Hartwell in August 2017 to witness that year’s total eclipse, I kind of knew I had to experience it again. 

Still, I didn’t fully commit to attending this past Monday’s total eclipse until just a few weeks ago after giving considerable thought to the time, effort, and funds the trip would consume. 

Only when I realized the next total eclipse won’t touch these United States until August 2045 (including a tiny sliver of Southwest Georgia), did I reach a decision.

Twenty-one years is a long time to wait for – or regret – a missed opportunity and with no guarantee I’d even still be around that long from now, never mind assuming I’d still be fit to travel, the decision was reached; I was going to go see the 2024 eclipse.

The first step was to decide where. 

Since this would be a driving trip, travel time and distance were primary factors. Reaching the approximate center of the 115-mile-wide path of totality, the width of the Moon’s shadow, was a must since it provides the longest total eclipse experience. In this year’s case, totality would last a little over four minutes at most destinations, or nearly twice as long as the 2017 event, again all due to matters of physics and geometry.

Initially, being from the South I considered heading for Little Rock, Ark., but upon more careful measurement of maps, at a little over 500 miles from Eatonton, Carbondale, Ill. was a clear, better choice. Coincidentally and unknowingly, I also had settled on the precise location where the 2017 and 2024 eclipse paths crisscrossed on their arcs across the country, giving the site at least some anecdotal significance.

With a distinct plan now in motion, I then bought my special, dark, eclipse-viewing glasses online, along with a similar filter for my camera lens, and just for good measure, an eclipse-themed t-shirt to wear for the occasion.

For a long time, it looked like it was going to be a solo run for me from Eatonton to Crab Orchard Lake, a wildlife preserve just east of Carbondale that I pinpointed as my official destination. However, just a day ahead of Sunday’s departure our 20-year-old son, Robert, recanted and decided to join the journey. 

And though she couldn’t make it, my wife, Sue, contributed a Sunday-night hotel stay to the cause, meaning Robert and I were able to be rested and refreshed Monday morning for the big day.

Arriving about 10 a.m. for the 12:43 p.m. start of the eclipse, we quickly found a picturesque lakeside spot near one of the park’s boat launch facilities. Fortunately, our chosen site enjoyed great weather throughout the day, allowing for complete, unobstructed views of such a unique occurrence.

Totality began precisely at 1:59 p.m., officially signaled by the collective 'oohs and aahs' of about 500 of our closest eclipse-watching friends, as well as a rousing round of applause at the appearance and quick disappearance of the “diamond ring,” a dramatic and unique celestial lighting effect created upon the start and again at the very end of totality.

During totality, it’s legitimately dark. Not deep in the woods at midnight dark, but most definitely a headlights-required kind of dark. 

Upon reaching totality, the ambient temperature drops a good 15 degrees or more and a naturally induced hush falls over the crowd, too, the kind you might find during a serious moment during a wedding or funeral, where even a cough or scraped chair leg can seem jarring.

Regardless of religion or belief, there’s something spiritual about experiencing totality. To me, it serves as a direct connection with the cosmos at work, with something greater than oneself, but also an experience that anyone could experience. A total solar eclipse provides sensory proof of the heavens working in concert and at least the suggestion that not all is random.

So, if you can, make plans, even if it is 21 years away.