Evren
New member
Someone says, "On a scale of 1-10, annular eclipses are a 9, partials a 5, and total eclipses, like, a million". Well, normalize those numbers and you get a 10 for total eclipses, 0.000005 for partials, and 0.000009 for annulars. Sounds about right, at least for the last two.
I wanted to see Brian Head, I wanted to head down south on a whim, I wanted to not miss something that happens rarely enough. So I went to see the eclipse. The day started well enough: during brunch at Sundance, I talk the waitress into giving me their last -- she said -- discount card for all Sundance restaurants. Many visitors coming over the summer and this'll save me a ton. I also got an oil change yesterday and had my tires pumped up to 125% of recommended. As I get on I-15, I am getting crazy good mileage. The drive is pleasant enough. It's been a while since I came this way. As I pull up to the ticket booth, there's a decent line. In front of me are people from LA, Las Vegas, Ogden. First snafu: they're rationing eclipse glasses -- "No eye protection for you!" One pair per group, they say. Well, I should be set, then: party of one. The LA people are eclipse dorks. They are spouting eclipse trivia, and tales from their previous expeditions to Africa, Turkey, France, Caribbean..."and then a cloud appeared out of nowhere!" I pretend to be interested, in case I can't get a pair of glasses -- these people have some extras. They keep the glasses from each trip, apparently.
We get on the lift, get off the lift. Expansive view. I find a somewhat isolated spot and share it with a couple. They're from Austin but recently moved to Cedar City because they love Utah. We exchange tips on trails, dirt roads, favorite red rock vistas. Very mellow, interesting people. Then it starts. That much I know by looking at the time. Nothing of note is really happening. Though, if you put the glasses on and blind yourself to everything else, you see a nondescript light disk with a dark disk in front of it. Fascinating. We keep chatting. It's a nice location to spend an early evening. The tension builds as the clock nears 7:30. I take some pictures of the surrounding area. Just getting reacquainted with the big camera after lazily using iphone for everything. Though, I resolve to put it down in time and just enjoy the eclipse. Which I do. Sort of. The small dark disk moves completely in front of the big light disk. People cheer. One guy has his back turned to the sun and is talking on speakerphone to his wife, "We are seeing the eclipse! It's happening right now!" I don't really see him looking at the eclipse, though he'll probably go home and tell what a grand event it all was. One kid proposes to his girlfriend with a bouquet. It's probably from Smith's. Earlier, the guy I am talking to joked about it being for him and the kid said, "No, I brought it for your wife." He said this very innocently, thinking it a compliment and a witty retort. His girlfriend will spend the rest of the eclipse on the phone to her parents.
There is an unusual light. It's noticeable but not particularly interesting. It had also happened in the 0.000004 less interesting 1994 partial eclipse. In a last attempt to get something out of this eclipse, I glance quickly at the sun with just sunglasses. To hear people talk about it, I should have turned to salt there and then (or, six hours later). I don't. Because the sun is very low, and the moon is in front of it. But you won't hear anyone say that in our infantilizing culture. Someone went as far as to write that you shouldn't look even right at sunset because...? Why? Is everyone who's ever looked at a sunset now blind?
Soon, it is over. We pack up and say our goodbyes. The line to get down the lift is very long and not moving. They are loading every 5th chair, with frequent, long pauses. I notice the eclipse dorks. They have all sorts of equipment out. I look at the pictures they've taken. Very similar to but not as good as the ones you get by typing "annular eclipse" into google. This could be from their previous trip, for all I know. But they are high-fiving because they think they got some obscure phenomenon, having to do with when the two disks touch. Looks to me like camera-shake.
The line is still not moving. Me and some other people decide to walk down. Turns out we will beat not only everyone in the line but also some of the people who were already on the lift. That's how slow it's moving. I wonder how cold it gets at 11,000 feet after 10 pm.
On the way back, I-15 is more crowded than I've seen it on holiday weekends. Some crazy drivers, probably ecstatic from what they've just experienced. South of Nephi, the traffic comes to a standstill. It's taillights to the horizon. Luckily, there's an emergency turn 20 yards ahead and an exit 1 mile back. When I rejoin the highway some miles ahead it's eerily empty. Must've been a big accident (when I check the traffic around 1am at home, that stretch was still flashing red).
All in all a memorable day but the eclipse didn't have much to do with it.
PS If you want to be impressed by the skies, go up to Snowbasin the night when they have the local amateur astronomers bring their telescopes to the top of Needles gondola. Or, just look up on a moonless night in Southern Utah.
I wanted to see Brian Head, I wanted to head down south on a whim, I wanted to not miss something that happens rarely enough. So I went to see the eclipse. The day started well enough: during brunch at Sundance, I talk the waitress into giving me their last -- she said -- discount card for all Sundance restaurants. Many visitors coming over the summer and this'll save me a ton. I also got an oil change yesterday and had my tires pumped up to 125% of recommended. As I get on I-15, I am getting crazy good mileage. The drive is pleasant enough. It's been a while since I came this way. As I pull up to the ticket booth, there's a decent line. In front of me are people from LA, Las Vegas, Ogden. First snafu: they're rationing eclipse glasses -- "No eye protection for you!" One pair per group, they say. Well, I should be set, then: party of one. The LA people are eclipse dorks. They are spouting eclipse trivia, and tales from their previous expeditions to Africa, Turkey, France, Caribbean..."and then a cloud appeared out of nowhere!" I pretend to be interested, in case I can't get a pair of glasses -- these people have some extras. They keep the glasses from each trip, apparently.
We get on the lift, get off the lift. Expansive view. I find a somewhat isolated spot and share it with a couple. They're from Austin but recently moved to Cedar City because they love Utah. We exchange tips on trails, dirt roads, favorite red rock vistas. Very mellow, interesting people. Then it starts. That much I know by looking at the time. Nothing of note is really happening. Though, if you put the glasses on and blind yourself to everything else, you see a nondescript light disk with a dark disk in front of it. Fascinating. We keep chatting. It's a nice location to spend an early evening. The tension builds as the clock nears 7:30. I take some pictures of the surrounding area. Just getting reacquainted with the big camera after lazily using iphone for everything. Though, I resolve to put it down in time and just enjoy the eclipse. Which I do. Sort of. The small dark disk moves completely in front of the big light disk. People cheer. One guy has his back turned to the sun and is talking on speakerphone to his wife, "We are seeing the eclipse! It's happening right now!" I don't really see him looking at the eclipse, though he'll probably go home and tell what a grand event it all was. One kid proposes to his girlfriend with a bouquet. It's probably from Smith's. Earlier, the guy I am talking to joked about it being for him and the kid said, "No, I brought it for your wife." He said this very innocently, thinking it a compliment and a witty retort. His girlfriend will spend the rest of the eclipse on the phone to her parents.
There is an unusual light. It's noticeable but not particularly interesting. It had also happened in the 0.000004 less interesting 1994 partial eclipse. In a last attempt to get something out of this eclipse, I glance quickly at the sun with just sunglasses. To hear people talk about it, I should have turned to salt there and then (or, six hours later). I don't. Because the sun is very low, and the moon is in front of it. But you won't hear anyone say that in our infantilizing culture. Someone went as far as to write that you shouldn't look even right at sunset because...? Why? Is everyone who's ever looked at a sunset now blind?
Soon, it is over. We pack up and say our goodbyes. The line to get down the lift is very long and not moving. They are loading every 5th chair, with frequent, long pauses. I notice the eclipse dorks. They have all sorts of equipment out. I look at the pictures they've taken. Very similar to but not as good as the ones you get by typing "annular eclipse" into google. This could be from their previous trip, for all I know. But they are high-fiving because they think they got some obscure phenomenon, having to do with when the two disks touch. Looks to me like camera-shake.
The line is still not moving. Me and some other people decide to walk down. Turns out we will beat not only everyone in the line but also some of the people who were already on the lift. That's how slow it's moving. I wonder how cold it gets at 11,000 feet after 10 pm.
On the way back, I-15 is more crowded than I've seen it on holiday weekends. Some crazy drivers, probably ecstatic from what they've just experienced. South of Nephi, the traffic comes to a standstill. It's taillights to the horizon. Luckily, there's an emergency turn 20 yards ahead and an exit 1 mile back. When I rejoin the highway some miles ahead it's eerily empty. Must've been a big accident (when I check the traffic around 1am at home, that stretch was still flashing red).
All in all a memorable day but the eclipse didn't have much to do with it.
PS If you want to be impressed by the skies, go up to Snowbasin the night when they have the local amateur astronomers bring their telescopes to the top of Needles gondola. Or, just look up on a moonless night in Southern Utah.
/ I smell roadtrip!
