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It's funny that I should spend a whole post discussing just 117 seconds of my life, when I've been writing a post per day up 'til this point on this trip, but I think it deserves it.
Where we were staying, on the south side of Cairns, the eclipse looked like this:
But there was, ah, a slight issue. Weather.
We knew there was a chance that we would be clouded out, which would have been gutting. Some of the more seasoned (and we suppose bigger-budget) eclipse chasers had chartered aircraft, boats, you name it. Apparently there were even forty hot-air balloons planning to be in the air at that time.
So the story of these nearly-two minutes begins a couple of days previously, as we pumped the ever obliging holiday park staff for information.
There were some 60,000 people expected to descend on the Cairns area on top of the regular population of 150k or so. Many of these were going to be on the Cairns esplanade itself or the beaches nearby, and the authorities expected there to be such a congestion problem that many streets and beaches were closed to traffic and parking extremely limited. The rumour mill said that hardier folks were going to set up camp on the beaches about 10pm the night before in order to try and bag a good spot. (Side note: Camping didn't appeal. Daytime temperatures were around 31C, night-time maybe 21C, with killer velcro humidity at all times and the occasional heavy shower.)
But what about us? The holiday park was on the south side of Cairns, with the Grey Peaks between us and the dawn. I knew the eclipse was going to be 14° above the horizon, or about eight fingers width with my arms outstretched. The ridge line was maybe half of that angle, which I confirmed the morning before. So we would see the eclipse there, provided we weren't clouded out, and there would be no advantage to be gained by joining the throng on the esplanade and beaches unless it somehow afforded us a lesser chance of cloud cover, we particularly wanted to see the early parts of the partial eclipse, or we somehow felt like experiencing a huge crowd (which we didn't).
The Australian Bureau of Meteorology stated publicly that, from their wealth of climatic data, the chance of cloud cover at the time of totality was about 1 in 2. Not the world's best odds. I read some online articles and learned that some chasers were planning to go to Mareeba, others to Townsville - both places pretty much guaranteeing a clear sky.
We discussed our options over dinner. They were stark.
We agonised. Townsville was quickly eliminated, requiring three times as much driving as option 2, but for an immeasurably less good result. That left Mareeba. We hadn't studied the map, didn't know anything about the place; where could we park? where would have a good vantage? It was 7pm local time, 10pm by our body clocks, and we were already TIRED from the day's excursion. So if we were going to make that run, we would have to either drive now, tired, on a dodgy gorge-side road - presumably spending the night in the car - or try to get a few hours kip, get moving at maybe 2am but risking both kinetic fiery death and getting caught up in traffic and missing it all.
The scenarios did not appeal. We concluded that we would stay put, get a reasonable night's sleep, and see what we could see from the holiday park.
So. alea iacta est. We set three alarms for 05:30.
I woke a little before 5am and looked out the window. Stars! Not a huge number, I grant you, but it was not overcast. Could this be, hope of all hope, a sign that we might get the celestial display we wanted?
Tea and breakfast were quickly put together. Catching first contact was out of the question because of the Grey Peaks in the way, not that we cared, so we strolled down to the end of the park, with its mostly open view to the east, for about 6am. There was already a small crowd gathering, with various cameras, telescopes, solar filters and so on; we were graced by a couple of brief showers, as if Mother Nature wanted to remind us that She was in control.
21 minutes to go. We all held our breath. This is how it looked through the solar filter:
Three minutes to go, and the clouds kept on moving. There were enough of them, and the sun starting to dim, that I realised I could take a quick one without the filter:
As totality drew near, I experienced what's termed the primal fear. I really shivered. Some sort of species memory, I suppose, something to do with being afraid of the dark?
And there we were. The crowd started to cheer as the umbra raced across us at several hundred metres per second. The lights went out. Here are several photos taken in quick succession with different exposure times; note the prominences, better visible on the shorter shots. (Fred Espenak's exposure guide was pretty accurate.)
Incredible. Unbelievable. Breathtaking (for the third time on this holiday). Raw. Primal. Majestic. Sheer. Celestial.
And then, as suddenly as it started, the umbra raced away from us at several hundred metres per second and we all fumbled to put our eclipse glasses back on and the filters onto the cameras. It was over. Sadly I didn't manage to capture the diamond ring, nor Bailey's beads, but there was less cloud in the way later, so I did get some better shots of the partial phase.
And that, ladies and gents, was that. One of Nature's most spectacular displays, ticked off the bucket list.
Eyes are now turning to the next few interesting eclipses. (Predictions by Fred Espenak, NASA's GSFC.)
Where we were staying, on the south side of Cairns, the eclipse looked like this:
| What | Local Time (UTC+10) | Sun Elevation |
|---|---|---|
| Dawn | 05:35 | 0° |
| First Contact (start of partial eclipse) | 05:44:48 | 1.5° |
| Second Contact (start of totality) | 06:38:38 | 13.8° |
| Maximum eclipse (magnitude 1.011) | 06:39:36 | 14.0° |
| Third Contact (end of totality) | 06:40:35 | 14.2° |
| Fourth Contact (end of partial) | 07:40:23 | 28.1° |
But there was, ah, a slight issue. Weather.
We knew there was a chance that we would be clouded out, which would have been gutting. Some of the more seasoned (and we suppose bigger-budget) eclipse chasers had chartered aircraft, boats, you name it. Apparently there were even forty hot-air balloons planning to be in the air at that time.
So the story of these nearly-two minutes begins a couple of days previously, as we pumped the ever obliging holiday park staff for information.
There were some 60,000 people expected to descend on the Cairns area on top of the regular population of 150k or so. Many of these were going to be on the Cairns esplanade itself or the beaches nearby, and the authorities expected there to be such a congestion problem that many streets and beaches were closed to traffic and parking extremely limited. The rumour mill said that hardier folks were going to set up camp on the beaches about 10pm the night before in order to try and bag a good spot. (Side note: Camping didn't appeal. Daytime temperatures were around 31C, night-time maybe 21C, with killer velcro humidity at all times and the occasional heavy shower.)
But what about us? The holiday park was on the south side of Cairns, with the Grey Peaks between us and the dawn. I knew the eclipse was going to be 14° above the horizon, or about eight fingers width with my arms outstretched. The ridge line was maybe half of that angle, which I confirmed the morning before. So we would see the eclipse there, provided we weren't clouded out, and there would be no advantage to be gained by joining the throng on the esplanade and beaches unless it somehow afforded us a lesser chance of cloud cover, we particularly wanted to see the early parts of the partial eclipse, or we somehow felt like experiencing a huge crowd (which we didn't).
The Australian Bureau of Meteorology stated publicly that, from their wealth of climatic data, the chance of cloud cover at the time of totality was about 1 in 2. Not the world's best odds. I read some online articles and learned that some chasers were planning to go to Mareeba, others to Townsville - both places pretty much guaranteeing a clear sky.
We discussed our options over dinner. They were stark.
- Stay put. 50% chance of cloud cover.
- Drive to Mareeba. It would be an hour's drive inland in good conditions, probably much worse with the traffic tonight.
- Drive to Townsville. This was some 350km south - on the coast, but the weather patterns were sufficiently different as to pretty much guarantee a clear sky. There was one other big problem with this plan: it would not be total, merely a 96% eclipse. Very much a "consolation prize".
We agonised. Townsville was quickly eliminated, requiring three times as much driving as option 2, but for an immeasurably less good result. That left Mareeba. We hadn't studied the map, didn't know anything about the place; where could we park? where would have a good vantage? It was 7pm local time, 10pm by our body clocks, and we were already TIRED from the day's excursion. So if we were going to make that run, we would have to either drive now, tired, on a dodgy gorge-side road - presumably spending the night in the car - or try to get a few hours kip, get moving at maybe 2am but risking both kinetic fiery death and getting caught up in traffic and missing it all.
The scenarios did not appeal. We concluded that we would stay put, get a reasonable night's sleep, and see what we could see from the holiday park.
So. alea iacta est. We set three alarms for 05:30.
I woke a little before 5am and looked out the window. Stars! Not a huge number, I grant you, but it was not overcast. Could this be, hope of all hope, a sign that we might get the celestial display we wanted?Tea and breakfast were quickly put together. Catching first contact was out of the question because of the Grey Peaks in the way, not that we cared, so we strolled down to the end of the park, with its mostly open view to the east, for about 6am. There was already a small crowd gathering, with various cameras, telescopes, solar filters and so on; we were graced by a couple of brief showers, as if Mother Nature wanted to remind us that She was in control.
21 minutes to go. We all held our breath. This is how it looked through the solar filter:
Three minutes to go, and the clouds kept on moving. There were enough of them, and the sun starting to dim, that I realised I could take a quick one without the filter:
As totality drew near, I experienced what's termed the primal fear. I really shivered. Some sort of species memory, I suppose, something to do with being afraid of the dark?
And there we were. The crowd started to cheer as the umbra raced across us at several hundred metres per second. The lights went out. Here are several photos taken in quick succession with different exposure times; note the prominences, better visible on the shorter shots. (Fred Espenak's exposure guide was pretty accurate.)
Incredible. Unbelievable. Breathtaking (for the third time on this holiday). Raw. Primal. Majestic. Sheer. Celestial.
And then, as suddenly as it started, the umbra raced away from us at several hundred metres per second and we all fumbled to put our eclipse glasses back on and the filters onto the cameras. It was over. Sadly I didn't manage to capture the diamond ring, nor Bailey's beads, but there was less cloud in the way later, so I did get some better shots of the partial phase.
And that, ladies and gents, was that. One of Nature's most spectacular displays, ticked off the bucket list.
Eyes are now turning to the next few interesting eclipses. (Predictions by Fred Espenak, NASA's GSFC.)
- Folk in Blighty will be interested in 2015 Mar 20, which will be 87% in London, over 92% in all of Scotland, and total in the Faeroes.
- 2017 Aug 21 gives a path of totality across the continental US from Oregon to the Carolinas, and 2024 Apr 08 again from Mexico up to New Brunswick
- 2026 Aug 12 is Europe's turn again, with totality from Greenland and Iceland down to Spain
- 2028 Jul 22 returns to this side of the world, which will be total across Australia and NZ, including Sydney, Queenstown and Dunedin.
in awe