Confessions of a solar eclipse curmudgeon

I will admit that I bought into the hype.

As a self-described “space junkie,” I really thought it would be the experience of a lifetime. The first significant historical event that I have vivid memories of from my childhood was the Apollo moon landing when I was 8 years old. I was with my parents, our noses literally inches away from the TV, hanging on every grainy image shown and word that was spoken.

A week later, I went to the grocery store with my mother and begged her to buy me the special Life Magazine that had all of the pictures from the mission, interviews with the astronauts and their families, and everything you could ever want to read or see about space exploration.

The first real watch I bought as a businessman was an Omega Speedmaster, the same watch worn on the surface of the moon and NASA flight certified for all space missions. In short, I’m the guy that should go gaga over the solar eclipse! I watched all the news stories leading up to the big event.

I had a box of tissues at my side as it had been reported that half the people cried when they saw the last one, and I even cry sometimes watching a movie about something that isn’t even real. Yes, I’m that guy! I’m not proud of it, but I own it. People whose opinions I respect that saw the last total eclipse talked about it being life changing. I felt as if my life had led me up to this specific moment in time. It was destiny! I’d even buckled on the famed Omega watch that morning for good luck, Life Magazine at my side.

Donna and I had the chase loungers in the “full recline” mode so we wouldn’t have to fool around with lifting our heads up. Had there been a seat belt, I’d have strapped in. I was committed!

The conditions were near perfect at 70-something degrees with excellent visibility. It was sunny with a few scattered light clouds. I made a ham and cheese sandwich just for the show. Over the course of the next few minutes, we watched the moon move over the sun, eagerly waiting for that few seconds of totality as the skies darkened and the temperature dropped. Finally, it was just a tiny crescent of light, then a circle followed by another tiny crescent of light on the opposite side.

I’d like to tell you we held hands with tears streaming down our faces. I’d like to tell you I could feel my heart pounding in my chest like a jack hammer, like the sensation I experience when a giant buck steps out in front of me with a bow in my hands. I’d like to tell you I got as excited as I do when a trout leaps out of the water and charges into the current in an effort to get away when I have a fly rod in my hands. I’d like to tell you that I had an emotional reaction that rivaled seeing the birth of my daughters, but none of that happened. What did happen was I looked at Donna and asked, “Is that it?” Indeed, it was.

One of the things that makes life interesting is that we are all different. Later that day as well as the following day, I spoke with people who had a strong emotional reaction and those who had little reaction. My office manager got a call from her best friend minutes after the event who breathlessly described how wonderful it was. In hearing Lisa’s non-plussed reaction her friend exclaimed, “Gee, I’m sure glad you weren’t here to ruin it for me!”

Folks, I get it. Many years ago during a lunar eclipse, I went out to a big field near Carpenter’s Bluff armed with a tripod and a pair of Steiner binoculars with lenses as big as coffee cans. My plan was to get as far away from the light of a city as I could, and it worked to perfection. When the moon crept up over the horizon, it was so bright it almost hurt your eyes.

As the shadow of the earth began to appear on the surface of the moon, I thought to myself, this can’t get any better! On cue, it did just that when a passenger jet liner passed right in front of the moon while I was watching. I wondered what it must have looked like to those on the flight who had the ultimate seat for the big show. It was not lost on me that somehow, I had ended up in the perfect spot at the exact moment that it happened. Twenty feet one way or another, or perhaps even if I’d blinked, the moment might have passed and never happened. Divine intervention? Who can say. Despite only lasting a second or two, it absolutely took my breath away and remains to this day one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen. The image remains seared in my brain.

While in college at the University of Wyoming, I went camping with a friend in the snowy range outside of Centennial, Wyoming, at 9,000 feet. The air was crystal clear, and we could see billions of brightly lit stars. The trees that surrounded us were straight as an arrow and seemed to stretch into the heavens. It was so beautiful that it almost didn’t feel real—an image no camera could ever hope to capture. It felt like and was a mystical experience. I can close my eyes all these years later and see it like it was yesterday.

We are all wired differently, and apparently my wires short out when it comes to solar eclipses. Fun? Yes. Transformative? No, not for me. But I can understand and appreciate how it might be for some of you. In the meantime, don’t worry too much about what I think.

My favorite music is Jazz which doesn’t make for many friends in this neck of the woods. Just ask my office staff who has to listen to it every day. Speaking of transformative, did I ever tell you about when that great quartet achieved perfect synergy at the Newport Jazz Festival? Never mind. Now, where did I put those eclipse glasses? I’m thinkin’ they can do double duty at the next 3-D movie.