Vincent's birthday gift on January 12, 2005 (part of Winterfest Online 2005)
Dear Vincent,
I've been thinking about a birthday gift for you. It must be something that I love too, otherwise I feel it would have no value. Here is something that you will hopefully like.
It is not a material thing, only a memory I treasure, and something that cannot be reproduced at will.
Among the rare and beautiful things I have been privileged to see... is one astronomical phenomenon that casts a spell on the viewer and causes a strong emotion. Something stronger than just the view of the full moon or a clear starlit sky. I do love the moon - and I think you do as well - but after a while it becomes like an old friend, and although you continue to drink in its beauty, it ceases to stun you in quite the same way. Have you seen eclipses of the moon ? They happen once in a while. They are nice but they are nothing - nothing! - compared to a total eclipse of the sun.
By the way, I am glad to know that you have been able to enjoy the sunlight a little more in recent years. But this is off topic...
An eclipse of the sun has little to do with the usual aspect and effects of sunlight. People have relatively little probability of seeing a total eclipse in their lifetime, while remaining in the place where they live.
And the path of an eclipse often crosses a lot of UNinhabited land or ocean. One cannot just buy a plane ticket to the next eclipse as if it were an ordinary vacation spot. I have been lucky enough to see that wonderful sight twice - the first time because I met the right person at the right moment, the second time because it traversed my own country only a hundred miles from my place. After the first time - which was in Baja California, Mexico - my friends and I used to say "we've been eclipsed!" as if it were some kind of initiation rite.
Dear Vincent, after you've read this, I'd like you to consider that you've been eclipsed, too. :-) I have a friend at SETI whom you would like... and
who would like you too... but I'm slightly off topic again.
Anyway: in July 1991, that friend and several other scientists set up a trip to Baja California (starting from the Bay area in California); half scientists, half mere tourists chosen among their friends. 90 people in two old coaches (not without charm, those vehicles). There was a nice friendly atmosphere during the trip. On the bus you could hear people discussing math and biology and arts and music... or learning sign language from the cook and his wife. We would change seats at each stop so that we could get to know someone new. After a nice trip, one night in the desert, a second one on a lovely beach on the sea of Cortez (where plankton glows in the dark!), we reached La Paz ("another" La Paz) where we were lodged at the university.
All the sighting and scientific experiments were to take place the next morning on the university grounds. A few people escaped to a beach in order to get closer to nature during the eclipse (they listened to the birds and animals, shed their clothes and had a swim!). My brand-new camera and I stayed with the scientists because we had a small task to perform: to try and photograph fast moving shadow bands on the ground.
The partial phase of the eclipse is long and unspectacular at first because you don't notice much change in the intensity of sunlight (it started around 10 am and the light was bright); there is a funny experiment to try, though. The shadows of tree leaves, or of a straw hat, or any other object with small holes, will appear as little crescents instead of dots - they have the exact shape of the sun as it is being "eaten away". Apart from that, you have to look through special dark glasses to see the shape of the sun. There is a pleasant expectation and excitement growing, but it is not an especially beautiful view.
Just before totality, in the last few minutes, the light gets really bizarre though - as if the sun had been replaced with a weaker lightbulb. Colors start to fade, the temperature drops, some wind is felt, animals are restless for a moment and then go to sleep ...
That 1991 eclipse was to be the longest of the century (or one of the longest). 6'57'' of totality if I recall correctly.
We in our small group were to take photographs only during the first few and last few seconds of totality. So we had plenty of time to enjoy the phenomenon in between. I missed the first "Bailey's bead" at the beginning of totality. That is the moment when the Sun almost entirely disappears behind the moon, but the irregularities of the Moon's surface (relief) let a tiny bit of the sun shine brightly: it looks like a diamond ring. After the "diamond" has faded, you can safely remove your dark glasses and the magic begins. The sky is darkened - very dark near the black sun - a deep blue farther away, as if it were dusk; you can see a rim of golden light all around the horizon, as if the sun were setting in all directions without being there. This is extraordinary enough. And then you look up to "the" spot where it is happening... and you see this delicate, exquisite sight... a perfct, sharp black disk surrounded with a delicate white light, like a thin curtain, with a shape that cannot be guessed in advance. The Sun's corona changes shape... on that day it seemed to have two angel wings, I don't have a better term for it. There were nuances - yes, rays, curved rays - in that soft white light. And one or two dark red flares that could be guessed with the naked eye. The dark sun looked slightly smaller than the full moon would - not to mention the bright sun which you can never watch directly but that seems to occupy a lot of space. And this miracle was accompanied with several planets, perfectly lined up on either side of the dark sun.
We watched and exclaimed and jumped for joy (at least I think I did) and hugged each other. At least the eclipse virgins did, but the others were just as enthusiastic. Did you know there are eclipse chasers, who never get enough of it ? The emotion and hugs were the unexpected part. You think you know the astronomical facts, you think you know the pictures by heart, and yet when it happens it has an impact on you. The event is over all too soon of course but the happiness remains.
The second time I was lucky enough to witness this event, it was in my own country [in the summer of 1999] and much less out of the ordinary except for totality itself. I went to the countryside with my then-boyfriend and waited for the clouds to clear away. We had luck. I tried to make the most of the short two minutes of totality (I even took some mediocre pictures); this included watching the expressions on my usually stoic boyfriend's face! I wouldn't have believed it - he was close to tears. How do you explain an emotion? I can't. To me it was almost like feeling loved. Loved by your star and satellite? Most irrational, isn't it? Still, it is a gift of beauty whether or not there is a giver in the first place.
I hope you enjoyed reading this and I haven't been too clumsy. Just a thought - you might ask Devin if he has seen that kind of thing in all his travels.
Happy birthday again, and a hug if I may.
