The Great Total Solar Eclipse of 2017

was a bust. Well, 95 percent of a bust.

Being an astronomy buff (and a subscriber to both Astronomy and Sky and Telescope), I’d been aware of the impending eclipse for about eighteen months or so. So much so that we incorporated the eclipse into our annual trek down to visit the wife’s parents in Hilton Head, South Carolina. I recall seeing a partial eclipse in 1993 or 1994 during my lunch break at work, and was overwhelmed by the dramatic decrease in ambient sunlight and temperature. So I was looking forward to the Great Total Solar Eclipse of 2017, where our vacation destination would be just shy southward of true totality.

We arrived at our “Villa” late Saturday night. Sunday night we did the church thing with Nana, had lunch at her club, and swam in the community pool for a few hours. Then, at dinner with them (my father-in-law is an amateur gourmet chef, and cooked us ribs with homemade barbecue sauce, absolutely delicious chased with some foamy ice cold beer), Patch and I went to work on our home made eclipse viewer.

You see, people all over prepared for this eclipse as if it was the Second Coming. Nary a pair of eclipse glasses to be found. The wife, an expert deal snagger if ever there was one (see prior post on the “Villa”), had her feelers out, but whether she’d snag glasses or not would not be determined until the morning of the eclipse.

So, me and Patch saved an empty cereal box, scored some tape, tin foil, scissors and a pin from Nana’s all-purpose junk drawer, and went to work building our home made eclipse viewer Surprisingly, I, who can barely hang a picture, was able to construct one. Rather, I barked commands to Patch, who faithfully built it.

Meanwhile, my father-in-law chuckled under his breath. “Clouds,” he murmured, a wry smile upon his ancient lips. “Clouds …”

And lo how he was right. Yesterday morning the wife rose early to walk the perimeter of the bay and, mid-walk, stop to stake out a position on line to a business that was anticipating a last-minute shipment of eclipse glasses. My suggestion that she camp out the night before with a sleeping bag went unheeded, but she was third on line. Ninety minutes later, ready to distribute the fifty-cent glasses retailing for ten bucks a piece, the business made an announcement that only two to a customer would be sold. The Mrs. was ticked off, but I thought we could share the two glasses among the four of us. After all, I had the Vanilla Almond Clusters eclipse box, too.

After a quick bite for lunch we drove a bit down the island to the beach. This involved parking in the Marriott, walking into the Marriot, and staking out a position on the Marriott-owned part of the surf. “Act like you own it,” the wife advised us all, and we did, and were able to get in and into position without a single querying look from any Marriott staffer. We camped out on a bridge dividing the sand from the hotel, hundreds of beachcombers before us and hundreds of bar denizens behind.

This was our view of the sun:

Here are my two nerds with their eclipse glasses:

Here are two more nerds with their home made eclipse viewer:

It turns out my father-in-law was correct. The sky was heavily overcast. The girls quickly grew bored. Exhibit A and B:

As did a lot of others on the beach. One dude loudly (and probably drunkenly) announced that the eclipse was postponed a week. But suddenly, people gasped in awe and pointed skyward. The thick, heavy cloud cover did not break, but thinned sufficiently to allow us a glimpse of a crescent sun!

Here are the two best pics of the day:

All in all, a fun day regardless of the less-than-stellar results. The Hopper family showed up prepared, Mother Nature was just lacking. But for the next eclipse, we’ll all be ready …