Umbraphile

In 2017, I traveled to Oregon to see the total eclipse; in 2024, I traveled to Arkansas. I have a dedicated solar projection telescope. I have a pair of binoculars that are so dark they can only be used to look at the sun. The word for an eclipse chaser is "umbraphile", and I think I qualify.

A lot of people have written about what makes a total eclipse so special, and they all fail. Even though I know I will fail too, I need to tell you my experience.

I've seen a lot of partial eclipses--you probably have, too. It's pretty cool. But a partial eclipse looks exactly like what it is: it looks like something is in front of the sun.

A total eclipse seems like that, right up until the last few seconds, right around 99% coverage. I am never ready for how quickly the world goes dark. Then the moon covers all of the sun. And there is a liminal moment between what you know and what you don't. I'm not convinced that moment is simply my eyes adjusting to darkness--I think my brain is adjusting. The perception of "something in front of the sun" is no more.

The sun is gone.

There is a new thing in the sky.

It is a thing you've never seen before. It is ornate and beautiful. It will be there for a few minutes, and then it will be gone. If you try very hard and are very lucky, you might be able to experience that thing for an hour total in your life.

Everybody says this, but there is nothing like it.

Seeing a total eclipse isn't easy. It involves planning, travel, and good luck. It may cost a lot of money, it may be at an inconvenient time of the year, and the eclipse might be hidden by bad weather. A total eclipse is a special thing, and I hope you get to see it someday. I hope to see it again too.