By Rich Lynch: As traffic tie-ups go, this one wasn’t even close to the worst I’d ever been caught in. But it was one of the more worrisome ones. Nicki and I had been heading north on Interstate 87, enjoying the scenery as we passed through Adirondack Park, when my iPhone’s GPS map abruptly changed the color of I-87 from blue to red. Uh-oh.

Sure enough, as we were topping a rise we could see that traffic was backed up far into the distance. And we’d just passed an exit so there was no immediate escape. As I braked to a halt, I noticed a sign in the median which, in a Captain Obvious sort of way, reminded everybody on the road about the celestial event that was going to happen later in the day: a total eclipse of the sun.
While we were slowly creeping forward I did the math: five hours before totality and about 100 miles yet to drive. If the traffic flow didn’t greatly improve, we weren’t going to make it in time. I imagine the same thought occurred to many other travelers who were also jammed-up on I-87, but at least one of them found some entertainment value in the situation. The SUV in front of us was packed with people and even a couple of small dogs. During one of the frequent times when we were all at dead stop, a youngish-looking guy opened the rear passenger door and hopped out, cell phone in hand. After snapping a few photos of the long lines of vehicles ahead and behind, he suddenly realized that traffic had momentarily eased and the SUV was slowly driving away. It became almost like a Keystone Kops chase scene – the guy started trotting alongside the SUV waving for it to stop, but instead it picked up a bit of speed causing him to increase his pace to a run, with his waving becoming a bit more frantic. It stayed that way for about a hundred yards and then everything became dead stop again. The rear door swung open and he scrambled back inside.
It turned out (according to the GPS) that the jam-up had been caused by a traffic accident up ahead, though by the time we got there no sign of it was visible. Not long after that everybody was able to resume Interstate speed. Right about then Nicki’s Aunt Becky, who we’d be staying with, talked to her on the phone and warned us off from exiting the Interstate at Plattsburgh. The city had been overrun by eclipse tourists with many more still on the way. Instead, she recommended a different route to where she lived, bypassing the city entirely. And it was a huge contrast to being amongst the hordes of people on the Interstate – the last 20 miles took us along country roads where at times there were no other vehicles in sight. We drove by empty fields and through forests of birch and pine. As we traveled to the centerline.
* * *
A solar eclipse is really not all that rare an occurrence. There are at least two every year, but few of them are total. And those that are usually don’t pass over places that are easy to get to. But even when they do, well…life often tends to intervene. The first solar eclipse that I remember seeing was back in the summer of 1963. The centerline, where the duration of totality is longest, passed between Montréal and Québec City and then right through the middle of Maine. At the time I was just barely a teenager and was living with my parents in a small village in northern New York State, really not all that far from the path of totality. But we didn’t have a lot of money so there was never any consideration for going to see it. Instead, I remember that I contented myself with observing what was a partial eclipse through a pinhole camera. And since the eclipse was about 90% total from where I lived, a heady experience it was.

Fast forward to the 21st century. Seven years ago, the so-called Great American Eclipse traversed the United States from Oregon to South Carolina. The previous time a total eclipse had taken that kind of path was way back in 1918, so there had been considerable excitement in the media during the days leading up to the event with national television coverage on the day of the eclipse. I’d given some thought about driving down to Tennessee to experience totality, but I’d been discouraged by the unavailability of hotel rooms, and in the end, it had seemed just too much to overcome for the two minutes that the sun would be totally blotted out by the moon. Instead, I enjoyed the partial phase that was visible here in Maryland, all the while looking forward to the Even Greater American Eclipse. The one that happened in April.
I’d long ago decided there was no way I was going to miss out on that one too, and Nicki was equally enthused. I’d read that totality on the centerline was going to be longer in duration than for the 2017 eclipse, but even more intriguing was the path it would take – the centerline would pass directly over that same village where I’d been enthralled by the 1963 eclipse. And farther along its path, over the even smaller village near Plattsburgh where some of Nicki’s relatives lived. It was tempting to close the circle by going back to my hometown, but it looked like the Great Lakes-induced weather there was going to be a lot sketchier than in the Plattsburgh area. And not only that, I knew there wouldn’t be any hotel rooms available anywhere nearby. That wouldn’t be a problem near Plattsburgh, where we had a standing invitation to stay with Aunt Becky. It was an easy decision. So on the morning of Eclipse Day, there we were trundling north on I-87 toward Plattsburgh, all the while listening to music by Iris DeMent, Raúl Malo, The Who, and John Prine. As we traveled to the centerline.
* * *

Aunt Becky had celebrated her 90th birthday the week before we arrived, and even though she’s experiencing some difficulty in mobility she’s still the same vibrant lady I’d met more than a half century earlier when Nicki had brought me on my first visit to see her. But in all the years since then we’d never gone there in April, and as we neared her house we noted one of the occasional ‘features’ of early Spring in the North Country: a foot-and-a-half of snow. That had happened just a few days earlier. Thankfully, the weather system which had brought it had completely cleared out and a melt-off was in progress. What we had on the day of the eclipse was mostly clear skies but with a slightly worrisome high, thin layer of cloud, even though the sun didn’t seem to be having any trouble burning through it.

Back in 2017 I had attempted to photograph that eclipse with what had turned out to be inferior equipment and the results had been, well, pretty woeful. So in the time since then I had greatly improved my ability to do solar photography by acquiring a 800mm telephoto lens and neutral density solar filter for my Nikon camera. I set it all up on a cleared section of Aunt Becky’s back porch about an hour before the moon’s first contact with the edge of the sun and after some trial-and-error to figure out the correct exposure settings, I was able to come up with what I thought were reasonably decent photos – much better, actually, than what I’d expected. Hey, there were even some sunspots visible!
And then, finally, it was time. When I checked at about quarter-after-two, I could see that the sun’s disk had a nibble taken out of its lower right quadrant. Not long after that, Nicki and Aunt Becky joined me out on the back porch and using their solar eclipse glasses they watched as, little by little, the moon began eating the sun. I noticed that the people who lived in the neighboring house, a couple hundred yards up the road, were doing the same. We all watched the two orbs steadily merge and combine. As we sat there on the centerline.
* * *
It took maybe an hour-and-a-half between first contact and full totality, but it didn’t really seem that long. All the while the daylight became paler and paler as the sun’s disk was progressively devoured by the moon.
I’d read somewhere that the eclipse could temporarily cause the outdoor temperature to drop by as much as 10°F, but since I was wearing a winter jacket I didn’t really notice. In fact, there weren’t any dramatic changes of any kind until about five seconds before totality. It was then that the shadow of the moon swept across us and everything went to deep, deep twilight (*finger snap*) just like that. And the sun became a black hole.
Well, not an actual black hole, of course. But it sure looked like the one depicted in the movie Interstellar. The only difference was that there was no bright bar across the middle of the disk. [Click for larger images.]








It looked surreal. The sun’s corona created a glowing circular outline that was punctuated by several solar prominences. We’d been informed, in the days leading up to the eclipse, that there would be stars and planets that would become visible when the eclipse went total. And maybe even a sun-grazing comet. But alas, those wispy clouds had taken their toll – it was only very bright Jupiter which made an appearance. Even the corona was somewhat muted from what it might have looked like if the skies had been crystal clear. But no matter. What we did see was pretty extraordinary. And yeah, it had exceeded my expectations. By a lot.
Later, as the second dusk of the day settled in, Aunt Becky prepared a really good spaghetti dinner that left us all in a pleasant golden glow that figuratively matched the western horizon. After dinner there were many pleasant memories shared from over the years, and it left us feeling very fine. Such was life at the centerline.
* * *
Total solar eclipses are mystical events. They really are. The sheer surreality was not like anything I’d ever experienced. I can well understand why they’ve been viewed with trepidation as being omens and harbingers. Indigenous peoples in various parts of the world have even considered solar eclipses as symbolizing death and rebirth, events where the shroud between the physical world and afterworld disappears and the spirits of the departed can communicate or even temporarily return to the land of the living. It’s an apt analogy.
I doubt that I’ll ever see another total eclipse. The next one in the contiguous United States won’t happen until I’m in my mid-nineties, if I make it that far. And for those which occur elsewhere in the world… Well, it was difficult enough to get to one that was relatively close by. I think I’ll save any remaining international trips for other kinds of activities.
But on the other hand… You just never know what the future might hold. In the summer of 2045 the path of totality will stretch from northern California all the way down to central Florida. And if I’m still able, I’ll find my way to one of the places where the sun will disappear for a few minutes. In person or in spirit, if you’ll join me there we’ll watch it all while enjoying some good cheese and fine wine. And we’ll marvel about the workings of the universe from our front‑row seats on the centerline.