Achi news desk-
New York
CNN
–
Like millions of other Americans, I plan to see the total eclipse on Monday afternoon.
Unlike most, I’m willing to take some pretty extreme measures to increase my chances of getting a clear sky to do so.
You see, I’ve been hoping to see an eclipse for the past 52 years, starting with an 1,800-mile round trip as an 11-year-old. But that eclipse was clouded at the last minute.
My most recent eclipse hunt was a trip to the Midwest that involved more than 500 miles of driving that ended with me and family members hiding under a canopy in the rain. I saw the land around me turn dark as night both times. But little else.
So this year, when I made plans for where I would view the eclipse, I decided to build my plans around two words – mobility and flexibility. When someone recently asked where I was going to see the eclipse, I responded “Somewhere along the 1,400 mile path of totality.”
That range of options extends from Pocahontas, Arkansas, in the northern part of that state, to Hartland, New Brunswick, in Canada, just over the border from Maine.
But a few days away from the big event, I’m still not sure what my plans will entail or if they will be enough.
The willingness to spend so many hours in the car, tuning in to podcasts, looking at the sky and crossing my fingers, is probably the result of a severe disappointment 52 years ago, and the repeated disappointment seven years in back.
Unlike this “Great American Eclipse,” the July 1972 eclipse was primarily a Canadian event, touching the United States only in northern Alaska.
My efforts paid off after a 900 mile trip to northern Quebec with members of the Robert E. Bell Middle School astronomy club. Leading the trip was Mr. Moore, the club’s teacher advisor and I now realize he must be some kind of saint to volunteer to make such a trip with a Volkswagen camper van full of 6th, 7th and 8th grade geeks.
I remember a lot about that trip.
I remember learning to play poker at one of the campsites where we stopped.
I remember the McGovern bumper sticker on Mr Moore’s van.
I remember the beautiful lake we found hiking from a campsite the night before the eclipse, picturesque enough that me and another club member decided to pitch our tent there rather than stay with the larger group .
And I remember the sand flies that entered the tent and almost ate us alive during the night, leaving my back covered with scores of red welts.
But most of what I remember are the clouds that came between us and the sun just before the eclipse started and stayed there until it ended. And I remember my tears that followed.
The disappointment of 2017 was nothing in comparison. It was a really fun trip with a dozen family members. The rest of the group didn’t even seem disappointed that they only got the landscape around us turning dark rather than seeing the eclipse itself.
But the 11-year-old version of me was once again terribly disappointed, and while I avoided tears that time, I didn’t hide my frustration as well as I should have.
So that’s why I’ve been planning a more mobile and extreme effort this time around, which was enough to scare my wife, Liz, off the idea of joining me and my 21-year-old daughter, former high school astronomy club president . himself.
When Liz asked me why I was willing to spend days in a car driving long distances for the chance to see a few minutes of an eclipse under a clear sky, I responded, “Is there anything you’ve been trying to do for more. than 50 years you have not been able to do it?”
That question seemed to satisfy her. And even if her answer to the question was no, that didn’t change her willingness to join us.
When I explained my plans to my boss, he responded, “You’re committed.” And I replied, “Liz certainly thinks I should be.”
Our plans only required me to book one flight for my daughter and I, to and from St. Louis, on refundable Delta Air Lines flights on Saturday and Monday.
Being in St. Louis we would be in a position to drive anywhere along the 400-mile stretch of the path of totality on Monday morning, from northern Arkansas to Bloomington, Indiana, and still make it back to the St. Louis airport for our journey home. evening. Getting home quickly is key so my daughter can be back in her college classes the next day.
Any vantage point north and east of that part of the trail that I could achieve by driving from my home in New Jersey. Indianapolis would be a stretch – about an 11 hour drive. But in practice. My daughter is game for coming along for the long car ride to most of those locations.
And the drive would get shorter the further east our viewing plans moved, until we were only about four and a half hours by car to Oswego, New York, on the shores of Lake Ontario, near Rochester.
And if the vantage point moves east of it, I was still able to see the eclipse with a slightly longer drive. Will be just nine and a half hours by car to the Hartland, New Brunswick, home of the longest covered bridge in the world, according to Google.
I thought I could have a large number of options to choose from and almost certainly find clear skies.
But the early cloud and weather forecasts do not look promising. Most of my 1,400 mile stretch of the route has a good chance of rain, let alone clouds. And the forecast is even worse in usually sunny locations further south and west in places like Texas.
Looking ahead to the eclipse forecast weeks or months ago, the assumption may have been that Texas and further south would have great viewing weather. But that’s not the way it worked out, CNN meteorologist Taylor Ward told me Thursday afternoon.
“That’s the difference between climate and weather,” he said. “Maybe on average Texas is better but right now it doesn’t look that way.”
In the meantime, locations in northern New England that are relatively close to my home in New Jersey (compared to the rest of the route) may be the best bet, although much of that area is hit by an April blizzard on Thursday.
“I think northern New England seems to be the safest of all at the moment. It’s been a dull day today, but that will change as we head into the weekend,” Ward told me. He warned me that things could change between now and Monday, though.
So right now I’m mainly looking at locations in western or upstate New York, northernmost Vermont and New Hampshire or Maine as my best shot at clear skies, even if it’s possible my daughter and I standing in the slushy remains of the snow.
Still, I’m hopeful. And I only need to do a few places in a hotel – one in St. Louis, one in Portland, Maine. Friends and family stretching from Indianapolis to New Hampshire would be able to accommodate me elsewhere on the route.
But if all the planning and checking forecasts and making plans isn’t enough this time, I’m already looking forward.
There is an eclipse in western Alaska and the Bering Strait in 2033. My guess is that there will be cruises then which negates the need for long car drives. And one will be in Montana on August 23, 2044, my 84th birthday as it happens, assuming I’m still mobile enough then.
But here’s hoping I can finally fulfill my half-century quest to see an eclipse and not myself or my daughter has to wait that long.
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