Aruba in the Umbra

February 26, 1998

 

     "Fate and coincidence figure largely in our lives."

     I believe it was FBI Special Agent Dale Cooper who quipped those words during his ramblings through Twin Peaks. The circumstances surrounding the total solar eclipse of February 26, 1998 appear to echo Agent Cooper's sentiments. The first total solar eclipse I witnessed occurred on February 26, 1979. Now, 19 years later to the day, it is happening again.

     Initially, circumstances preclude me from considering an attendance at this eclipse. Then at the last minute (three days prior to the eclipse!), everything falls into place. I contact several airlines only to find that all flights to locations along the eclipse path are booked. This is no surprise. Totality of this eclipse will last upwards of four minutes and the path of the lunar shadow is going to cut a swath across the Panama isthmus, Columbia and into the Caribbean right in the middle of winter. This tropical location is a pleasant attraction to those of us living in the chilly northern latitudes. Flights to locations near the center line of the eclipse were booked nearly a year ago. Undaunted, I search and search a number of options until I find a flight with Air Aruba. At this late date, the flight will cost $611 with $55 of taxes added for good measure. $666. Hmmm... According to the itinerary, Flight 720 leaves Newark International Airport (just 40 minutes from home!) and will land in Oranjestad, Aruba at 1:05 p.m. Atlantic Standard Time (AST), one hour before totality. The return flight to Newark is scheduled to depart Aruba at 4:00 p.m. AST, just three hours later.

     This has all the ingredients of the perfect anti-Aruba getaway. No beaches. No casinos. No tropical fish. No sun (for a couple of minutes, anyway). No vacation. This is simply going to be a hit-and-run experience.

     Air Aruba allows two carry-on items which must weigh less than 60 pounds. I pack my camera case with my Canon A-1, Sony TR-101 Hi-8 video camera, my Macintosh PowerBook and Connectix Color QuickCam and pack a small duffel with two tripods and some assorted snacks. My ticket, passport, and birth certificate are in my pocket.

     I am now ready for the chase.

February 26, 1998

3:30 a.m. EST

     The alarm goes off and I rocket out of bed, nearly whacking myself on the dresser. I stumble downstairs and into the kitchen where I swiftly prepare the coffee, hoping that I'll retain enough consciousness to get that first cup into my flagging system. I've only have a couple hours of sleep after a week of little snoozing so the coffee is an absolute requirement today.

     Although she's got to teach a class in a few hours, my wife stumbles into the kitchen at this early hour to have her coffee and prepare to escort me to Newark International Airport (I'll drive there, she'll drive back, when she's more awake). After a couple cups of java, I toss the bags into the car and we head north on the New Jersey Turnpike.

5:30 a.m. EST

     I arrive at Newark International Airport's Terminal B at 5:30 a.m. and there's already a line forming with about 10 people waiting for service. When the airline said that I should be there a couple of hours before the flight, I believed them. Airlines are known to overbook flights and I wasn't going to miss this eclipse because there wasn't any room left on the plane. I give my wife a parting kiss and remind her that we have a date to watch NBC's "ER" tonight at nine o'clock.
I enter the terminal and take my place in line directly behind a fellow who has a suitcase, camera bag, and a tripod. Another 20 people are soon lined up behind me. I'm glad I got here early, however, there appears to be no one behind the ticket counter so we stand and wait. After several minutes, the man in front of me goes outside to have a cigarette. This looks like a good idea. I head outside also.

     I strike up a conversation with the other fellow. It turns out that he missed his original flight the day before and has to take this morning's flight instead. He is bummed out, however, because he thinks that by taking this flight, he is going to miss the eclipse. I quickly explain to him that the time difference between Eastern Standard Time and Atlantic Standard Time means that we'll arrive an hour before totality, not at the moment of full eclipse. This makes his day! After a couple more minutes of animated yacking, we get around to introducing ourselves.

     "My name is George," he says.
     "My name is George, "I say.

     (pause)

     "You're kiddin' me, right?" He seems dubious.
     "No. That's who I am," I respond.
     "This is weird," we say simultaneously.

     We return to the queue and, after a few minutes, the line moves.

6:30 a.m. EST

     Armed with our boarding passes and seat assignments, George and I head off to the cafeteria to grab a bite before the flight. George tells me that he's a postal carrier with the United States Postal Service and installs swimming pools as well as being an amateur astronomer. He lives on Staten Island with his wife and two horses, dogs, cats, iguana, birds, fish, and other animals. This will be his first total solar eclipse. He still can't believe that he's going to arrive in Aruba an hour before the eclipse. This opens a couple of options for us. I tell him of my plans to simply set up at the airport. He suggests that we try to find a nice observing location on the island. He explains to me that his wife organizes travel arrangements for business people and that she's applied her craft to his Aruba trip, including securing a rental car for him. We estimate that it will take us about 30 minutes to clear customs and finish the paperwork for the car rental. This leaves very little time to drive to a location (especially since neither of us has ever been to Aruba before) and set up the cameras. In the end, we decide to play it by ear.

7:00 a.m. EST

     We pass our film, by hand, to the airport security personnel and watch our bags getting zapped by the x-ray machines. A few minutes later, we are on the Air Aruba MD-83 that will soon transport us to the Caribbean. George and I have both secured window seats (just in case of a delay) about three rows apart. There are at least two dozen empty seats on the flight...

7:45 a.m. EST

     After lining up behind 13 jets on the runway, we finally take off. The arc of our ascent carries us past New York and from the window I see the early morning sun reflecting off the Hudson River and the silhouetted Manhattan skyline. A few minutes later, we're over the Jersey shore and I see some unusual markings on the landscape. "Aliens," I mutter. Just then, the captain's voice interrupts from the speaker over my head. His manner is not casual, in fact, he sounds a little uncomfortable in front of the microphone. This could be because English is not his primary language or he's simply not a great public speaker. I am, however, amused when the following hits my ears:

     "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome aboard Air Aruba Flight 720 from Newark Internacional Aeroport to Aruba. As you can see, if you notice, from the right windows on the airplane, we are now flying over a location where it is important in history. If you can see out of the right windows of the plane, the spot of the Hindenberg...the Hindenberg...the location of where the Hindenberg crashed..." CLICK!

     I think I am the only person on the jet to laugh out loud.

9:45 a.m. EST

     The flight remains uneventful until we're flying over the Bahamian chain of islands. I've never flown over the islands and am struck by the thin strands of white sand that rim them. From this great height, you can see the sand flowing away from the islands, becoming a deeper and deeper shade of turquoise as it descends into the Atlantic. Quite a beautiful sight.

11:50 a.m. EST/10:50 a.m. AST

     I set my wristwatch back one hour and do the same on my Mac and video camera. I also brought along my Newton MessagePad to take notes and I turn it on to change the time as well. When I do so, I am greeted by the image of the moon crossing the sun. I have forgotten about this particular "Easter Egg" in the Newton operating system. Some software engineer, with way too much time on their hands, planted this little Easter Egg which launches when you first start up your Newton on a day when a solar eclipse occurs. Very amusing.

     Outside my window, I can see Port-au-Prince, Haiti, below. When I peer through the windows on the left side of the aircraft, I can see the Dominican Republic. We're getting close now.

12:30 p.m. AST

     Air Aruba, realizing that this eclipse is a once-in-a-lifetime event for most of its passengers, distributes "eclipse glasses" to all of us. These are cardboard glasses mounted with pieces of neutral-density film that allow you to look directly at the sun without scorching your retinas. They are about as cheesy as the red and blue 3-D glasses that local convenience stores distribute when there's a 3-D special on TV. However, they work. And safely.

     As we begin our descent to Aruba, I see that the sky below has a large number of scattered clouds. This is disappointing. From all indications, the weather should have been much clearer. As though my thoughts were overheard, the clouds suddenly seem to trail away. We are now flying over a beautiful blue, cloudless Caribbean Sea. I feel better. In the far distance, I see clouds, but they are miles and miles away.

12:55 p.m. AST

     Miles and miles later in our descent, we are ENGULFED in clouds. Not just a scattered bunch of loose clouds, but totally immersed in wall-to-wall cumulus sun-blockers! Unbelievable! When we appear through the bottom of the clouds, I can see Aruba in the distance. It is completely, and I do mean COMPLETELY, covered with the shadows of these clouds. I see George shaking his head back and forth. He looks back toward me. No words are needed. This bites. Period. We are going to be in the Moonshadow, however obscured the sun may be. This is some consolation, at least.

1:00 p.m. AST

     We land on the shadow-covered island of Aruba and taxi to the terminal. I grab my bags and head down the ramp to the tarmac. It's warm here (duh!) but a lot more humid than I expected. Aruba is a very dry island, a desert island, with continual strong trade winds blowing dry air over its surface. But, the humidity is certainly bearable and the walk to the terminal doesn't produce a bead of sweat.

     "...and how long will you be staying in Aruba?" asks the Customs inspector.
     "Two hours and fifty minutes," I reply.
     He looks up from his paperwork and considers me.
     "I have to be back in New Jersey by nine o'clock tonight," I tell him, "to watch television with my wife." I'm really enjoying the absurdity of the statement.
     "THREE hours?"

     He is still laughing when I rendezvous with George in the terminal lobby.

1:09 p.m. AST

     It is now exactly one hour before totality.

     The sky remains clouded.

     Directly across the street from the Queen Beatrix International Airport are single-story, pastel-colored shops. Most of these are car rental agencies. We hoof it to the Toyota rental office and find that it's closed! George suggests that the former occupants might be taking their siesta. I suggest that they may simply be out watching the eclipse. We both agree that this won't do. I spy a man through the store's back door. He's leaning on a car, smoking, and listening to Aruban radio. The language coming from the radio sounds a bit like Spanish to me, yet, there are too many unrecognizable words in the DJ's banter for it to be Spanish. I realize that he must be speaking the local language, Papiamento which includes elements of Dutch, Spanish, English, French, Portuguese, a number of different African languages, and the language of the Arawak Indians.

     George bangs on the door and, after a minute or so, the man enters the store and opens the door. We explain that George has a rental waiting and the man lets us in and whips out the paperwork. We are only there for about 10 minutes. 10 L-O-N-G minutes. During this process, the proprietor tells George and I that the clouds we now see have been covering the island all day and that it rained on the southern portion of Aruba this morning, the first rainfall on the island in nearly six months. Cheery news.

     A hasty inspection of the car ensues. After getting some equally hasty directions from the rental agent, George and I head out of the airport along Highway 1A, driving south toward Seroe Colorado.

1:28 p.m. AST

     We are cautiously driving at great speed through the neighborhoods south of the airport. We pass a YMCA facility, a couple of churches, lots of cacti, some small eateries, and a lot of homes, some well-kept, others under construction.

     The clouds have broken up a little, but they're still pretty thick. In the distance, toward the direction from which the wind is blowing, I can see a large patch of blue sky. I mutter, again, the Astronomer's Prayer for clear skies and good viewing. My hope is, as the temperature drops with the receding sunlight, that the cloud-generating process will be compromised and these white puffers will dissipate. I've heard of this happening during past eclipses and can only hope that something like this will take place in the next several minutes.

     "How much time do we have? About 45 minutes to totality?"
     "Something like that," I reply as I check my watch.

1:35 p.m. AST

     I'm videotaping this mad drive through Aruba gathering images of this island nation to bring home. As I'm doing so, I'm struck by a hair-brained idea. I grab my Air Aruba eclipse glasses and hold them over the lens of the video camera. Then, sticking my head out of the car, speeding along at 85 k.p.h., I manually adjust the zoom and focus and try to capture the image of the sun as it peeks between the clouds. The effect is cheesy but it works!

     "Why don't you use my solar filter?"
     "Because this is True Cheese," I reply.

     George is laughing. He's probably wondering just who he's gotten himself involved with here.

1:40 p.m. AST

     The blue patch of sky that I saw earlier has now replaced the cloudy sky! What incredible luck! Thanks to the trade winds (and supplications from astronomers all over the island, no doubt) combined the subtle drop in the temperature, the clouds have been blown away. A little haze remains but not much. Looming to our right is an enormous oil refinery, belching white steam and smoke into the blue sky. We decide to get past these plumes and set up on the first available hill.

1:45 p.m. AST

     As we round a corner, we notice a dozen or so people setting up cameras in a large dirt field.
     George looks out the window. "People setting up over there?" He points to a hilltop gathering about half a mile away.
     "Yeah, there's people set up on that hill over there," I respond.      "There are people settin' up over here. Anywhere along here looks fine," I say, indicating the dirt lot we're driving past.
     "Think we can do it over here? Waddya think?"
     "I'm ready for it."
     "OK. Let's do it," George says and turns the car toward the side of the road.

     We pull over and park the Toyota. I grab my gear and step out. Reggae music is playing from a car where a young man and woman are sitting on the roof. Children are running everywhere. People are milling around the folks setting up their cameras. There is lots of laughter and gaiety in the air.

     Welcome to the Eclipse Party!

     I hurriedly set up my Canon on its tripod after snapping a few pictures of the crowd. Next, the video camera goes on its tripod. Lastly, I install the QuickCam to the PowerBook and launch the digital video application. Then I stand back and take it all in.

     We are already immersed in Eclipse Light. Unlike the twilight of a normal sunset, this twilight doesn't bathe us in golden light. The uncanny and silvery quality of the air is unmistakable. Shadows remain crisp and well-defined, however, the surface of everything in sight looks flat and muted, as though some celestial contrast knob has been turned to a lower setting. Yet, everything stands in sharp relief. Everything just looks...dim.

     George has his telescope and camera set up and is busy showing someone the partially eclipsed sun.

2:04:00 p.m. AST

     I start rolling the videotape and check the adjustments on my Canon camera. I'm ready. We're about five minutes away from totality and it's getting dark and getting even more uncanny. We're in the "trough," the dimness of the light now very palpable. We can see it getting incrementally darker. You can feel it getting darker. I turn to George who is set up about 10 feet to my left.
     "Wow," I remark.
     "Really dim."
     "Yeah, Eclipse Light. Nothin' like this, ya know, this silver color it gets."
     "Yup."
     I feel a chill suddenly. "It's startin' to get really cool."
     "Cool, yeah." George looks around and I can see a familiar look in his eyes. He's pumped up and he's excited. The light's visual cues are showing him that he's about to partake of something much larger than he anticipated. The moon continues to inch across the face of the sun.

2:08:00 p.m. AST

     Now the effect of darkness in the sky is evident. I can see Jupiter just below the sun and Mercury just above and to its left. Venus is visible nearer the horizon. Not long from now, the stars will be coming out.

2:08:43 p.m. AST

     "Oh," George exclaims, "We're getting a ring!"

     The aptly named Diamond Ring Effect appears. The outline of the Moon is just becoming visible against the sun. As the seconds slip by, a distinct white halo begins to form around the moon with the last sliver of sunlight beaming intensely. The brightness of the halo, nearly a minute before totality, tells me that we're going to see a fairly bright corona. This is going to be an incredible solar eclipse.

2:09:28 p.m. AST

     "Here comes the umbra! There it is," I exclaim to George as I look to the west. A wall of darkness is racing toward us at more than 1,600 miles per hour. That shadow will be here in about 20 seconds. The light fades quickly.

     "Oh, man. Look at that! Look at THIS!" I find myself, once more, overwhelmed by the disappearance of the Sun. Despite whatever scientific objectivity I've brought to this event, I feel the gravity of what's unfolding in the sky above me. The ENORMITY of the approaching shadow is a visceral sensation. This is terror at its most beautiful and sublime. It's absolute universal power and total human insignificance joined at the hip. This is the cosmic dance.

2:09:36 p.m. AST

     "There it goes! There it goes!" George says as he looks through his viewfinder. He removes his eyes from the lens and looks at the sun.

2:09:48 p.m. AST

     TOTALITY!!!

     Cheers and loud whoops rise from the people standing in the dirt field. Car horns blare. Applause is heard everywhere. Above us, a black hole in the sky blazes, it's dark shape surrounded by an enormous feathery apparition: the corona. The outer atmosphere of the sun.

     There has been precious little time to rehearse exposures and bracketing for this eclipse and I have to rely on prior experience and gut-level instinct to get the images right. I'm burning off video frames and film in my camera and so is George. As he's clicking away, I hear him muttering, "Oh, my God. My God." He is obviously blown away by what he's seeing.

     "You gotta see this corona," he says.
     "Oh, this corona is amazing!"
     "And this prominence...a HUGE prominence comin' right off the top! Look at this prominence!!"
     "Look at the corona on that thing!"
"Ya know, I'm gettin' goosebumps."

     I notice that George is madly taking pictures and focusing on the work of the eclipse but not stepping back and just watching. Often, when people go to photograph an eclipse for the first time, they get so wrapped up in getting the pictures right that the couple of minutes of totality pass before they know it and they never get to really "see" the eclipse. I walk over to him and extend my hand. He steps back and then a woman from the crowd asks if she can look through his eyepiece, he shows her where to look and then he looks at me.

     "Welcome to the Club, George," I say.

     We shake hands and he's grinning from ear to ear. His first total solar eclipse is a success, an experience he'll carry forever.

     "It's not too often that you get to see Mercury, either," I continue, "That's pretty sharp. Pretty sharp."
     "Where's Mercury?"
     "To the right, er, left." I point.
     "Wow."
     "That's Mercury up there. Jupiter below the sun. Venus over there."

     Venus is like a searchlight in the west, brilliant and dazzling. You can see its reflection in the waters of the Caribbean. Several bright stars are now visible. Behind us, on a hill, a dozen or so goats have lined up and are heading toward their barn, thinking that night has fallen. A couple of dogs are whimpering in the cars and vans behind us. The adults are talking and pointing while the children are simply staring at the eclipsed sun, some holding on to their parent's legs. The kids appear to be awe-struck and somewhat fearful of what's happening. Skyrockets and fireworks briefly appear but they pale when compared to the cosmic display of the sun and moon in the afternoon sky.

     "What time ya got?" George asks.
     "2:13. Another 20 seconds," I say and head for my video camera.

2:13:20 p.m. AST

"Bailey's Beads!" exclaims George. Bailey's Beads are an eclipse phenomenon that occur when the light of the sun shines through valleys and between peaks on the lunar limb creating brilliant "beads" of light. It's an indication that the umbral shadow is about to leave.

     With a flash of light, the sun peers from out of the Moonshadow. Instantly, the light becomes magnitudes brighter all around. Once again, the crowd cheers and applauds. The small kids begin to clap, too. The sun has come back to their island.

     I quickly remove my video camera from its tripod and point it eastward to capture the receding shadow as it heads for Curaçao and the Atlantic Ocean.

2:25 p.m. AST

     The sun is slowly being revealed again. The woman who looked through our gear earlier walks up to George and hands him a beer. She then hands me one. I look at the label and see a polar bear. I'm immediately reminded of the bottle of Russkaya vodka that was presented to me by my hosts after the eclipse in Siberia last year. It, too, had a polar bear on the label. The brand name of this Venezuelan beer is Polar. The bottle feels cool. The beer is a welcome treat. We both thank her. "To celebrate the eclipse," she says. She tells us that she moved to Aruba from Jamaica nine years ago. I ask her, jokingly, if she moved here to be closer to the eclipse and she laughs. "Oh, no," she grins. "It is very peaceful here in Aruba. It is very quiet and the people are also very nice." If she is an indication of the tenor of the population, I have to agree with her. Very nice, indeed.

     George and I talk for a bit, finish off our beers, and then pack up our gear. While we're doing this, I notice the line of cars clogging the road. I tell George that this looks like the New Jersey Turnpike, not a desert island in the Caribbean. He laughs as we pile into the car.

2:40 p.m. AST

     I've got to check in with the airline by three o'clock, so George puts the Toyota in high gear and we zip back along the roads of Aruba with no time to stop and decompress from this experience. While we're driving, George tells me that members of a Connecticut astronomy club he used to belong to are here on Aruba. In fact, they're staying at the hotel next to his. After he drops me off at the airport, he plans to head over there and compare experiences. After that, it's a trip to the casino and some nighttime astrophotography. I'm a little envious. Sounds like fun.

     George asks me if I know of any good photo labs that develop astronomical images. I tell him about a great lab near my home. I explain that they've developed other astrophotographic slides for me in the past so he says that he'll send me his film after he returns to Staten Island on Sunday. Right now, he wants to hold on to the film. I understand. The images we captured on film are priceless and cannot be duplicated. They are rare treasures from the Caribbean.

3:02 p.m. AST

     We arrive at Queen Beatrix International Airport and pull over to the curb at the departure doors. George grabs my bags and hands them to me. We have shared a unique and grand experience together and saying good-bye is rough. George's been fun to hang out with and although we could probably have even more fun getting into trouble here in Aruba together, I have a plane to catch. We part company, with promises to see each other back in the States.

     Before I enter the terminal building, I look back to George's car and it's not there. But what is there surprises me.

     I see a white limousine where George's rental car was seconds earlier. This is getting eerie. I half expect Rod Serling to appear, cigarette in hand, explaining that this whole day has only happened in the Twilight Zone.

     I turn back to the building and enter when suddenly, the humidity is stifling. Inside the terminal, which is open to the outside air, a long queue to the US Customs pre-inspection station snakes its way along the tiled floor. Perhaps just standing still and holding 50 pounds of gear is what's making me realize just how hot it is here in Aruba. Beads of salty liquid begin to appear on my forehead. Finally, the line moves into a hallway populated with whirring electric fans. Ahhh...

     "...and how long was your stay in Aruba?"

     More laughter.

4:05 p.m. AST

     I walk across the tarmac and onto the waiting jet. This is the same MD-83 that brought me to the island three hours ago. They tightened the bolts, loaded new food, and fueled it. Now it's ready to return to Newark, New Jersey.
I recognize about a dozen faces from this morning's flight. Apparently, I wasn't the only person to make this mad dash to the south. I find my seat (this time, it's an aisle seat) and settle in.

     The couple in the seats next to mine tell me that they were caught unawares by today's eclipse. They had been in Aruba for over two weeks, vacationing, and had no clue that the eclipse was going to occur.

     "It just started getting dark all of a sudden," the woman tells me.
     "That's a heck of a way to end a vacation," I observe.
     She responds with a simple "yes" and her eyes are glazing over. She looks like someone just knocked her on the head with a huge sack of flour. She looks stunned, remembering totality.

     Shortly, the jet begins to taxi along the runway and we're once again flying over Aruba.

6:30 p.m. AST/5:30 p.m. EST

     I change time zones on my wristwatch but leave my other devices untouched. I'll change them once I'm back home in New Jersey. Outside the aircraft, the southeastern coast of Cuba is visible. I'm almost halfway back to the Garden State.

7:35 p.m. EST

     We land at Newark International Airport and taxi to the terminal, after a brief wait for an available space to open. I take my two pieces of luggage in hand and head for the US Customs area. I'm the first to arrive and am motioned to two waiting agents.

     "...and how long did you stay in Aruba?"

     I wait for the expected laughter, however, this time I am greeted with a healthy dose of bureaucratic skepticism. This fellow wants to know every detail of my trip, where I went, why I was only there for three hours, and then he proceeds to inspect every square centimeter of my bags, including opening cameras, film canisters, and videotape cartridges. In all the years that I've traveled, I've never been so thoroughly investigated. Perhaps he's showing the other fellow, a trainee, just how thoroughly one should inspect baggage. Perhaps it's because I just returned from an area noted for its drug trafficking. Whatever his motivation, he certainly earned his salary that evening.

     After leaving the Customs area, I see Janet waiting for me in the terminal. We exchange stories of our day's activities as we barrel down the Turnpike.

8:15 p.m. EST

     I rewind the videotape, plug the camera into the TV, and watch the footage that I shot this morning and afternoon. For Janet, this will be mercifully short. Unlike the six hours of footage I brought back from last year's eclipse in Chita, Siberia, I have but 40 minutes of images this time.

     The images on the screen seem surreal to me. I feel totally displaced in time. Was I really just there? Did I really meet George? Whoa! Was I really standing in the Moonshadow for three minutes and 26 seconds? From the familiarity of my living room, it does seem somehow unreal.

9:00 p.m. EST

     Janet is flopped into a chair and I'm lounging on the Victorian day bed. We're watching ER. This is a particularly gripping episode with lots of action and suspense. Collapsed buildings, puking, heroism, toxic contamination, Mickey Rooney. Good direction and acting.

10:15 p.m. EST

     Janet goes off to bed and I go to the computer and check e-mail. While online, I run into my mother, a co-worker, an old friend in Washington state, and someone whom I haven't spoken with in over ten years. Somehow, in the midst of all of this electronic messaging, I do manage to send a letter to George's wife, Donna. I attach a picture of him that I shot digitally a mere 10 hours ago.

11:45 p.m. EST

     Whew! What a day! I climb into bed and, as I recount the events of this afternoon, a dark shadow covers my conscious mind and my wakefulness is eclipsed.