John, since the early days of your Sandy thread, my wife has been an avid fan. She now follows the SW Conservation Center on Facebook and will always forward any Sandy posts on!
I love it. Thanks for mentioning that.
We're on our way back from the forest north of Sun Valley/Ketchum, Idaho, and the eclipse. Sitting in the forest up there, pitch black except for the Milky Way and uncountable stars, a mile or more from anyone at nearly 7,000', I was reminded of how the animals live in the forest. Late at night I was sitting outside and listening to distant calls from unknown animals. Sometimes faint and sometimes closer. Echoing in the night. Was it a bird? A lion? Don't know. What was that rustling sound over there? A blush of cold air moves by. The pines hiss in the slight breeze. Very dark and unforgiving up there. Way out of my element. Sitting outside, taking it all in, with a bit of unease and catching a glimpse of how insignificant I am.
Our dog Gogo is very alert in the night. She perks up and growls. Then listens and does it again. Minutes before, she was content and covered in a blanket, not a care. Now she's on duty and aware of something I can't perceive.
As I come into the trailer for the night and bring Gogo in, I wonder, should I lock the door?
The morning brings the eclipse. Camera and welding helmets ready. Watch the clock. What percentage is it now? Make some notes. Etc.
About 20 minutes before total, the light is dimmer, but not softer. More gray instead of yellow. Less light, but not like evening with a yellowing of the color. Then it begins to get a bit cooler.
Then the change accelerates. Every minute brings reduced light and cooler temps again. The insects disappear. A look through the welding helmet reveals about 7/8 coverage.
Then only a sliver remains and it's time to get ready for the main event.
Then the pace quickens even more and it gets dark! Not totally dark, and we were close to the center of totality, but about like a full moon night. Middle of the day and it's as dark as a full moon night. And it all comes on so fast at near total. A sunset proceeds at a linear pace. Not this.
I look west. Miles and miles away I can see an orange glow. As I look west, it's the same affect as last light after sunset, but before total darkness. Dark where I am and a faint glow from the west, miles away.
The sun now is just a ring. Prominences flame outward and appear beyond the moon's diameter. A black disk with an uneven ring of white. I fumble with my camera. I look around and burn in a memory of this night, err, this event.
Then the diamond ring appears. As it does, the special darkness is about to end. My "extra" night is a short lived one. Then, there is more light, again, it's not a yellow light from a sunset or a sunrise, it's a dim light. A dim gray that quickly begins to brighten. Some giant in the sky has his hand on a dimmer and he's slowly rotating it to "bring up the light" in this particular theater.
Soon, it's brighter still and the advancing sun reaches about 1/4 uncovered. By then the light looks nearly normal and the temperature begins to warm up. Soon after, the insects resume their work and the power of the sun becomes more apparent.
The power of the sun is way beyond my comprehension. I've worked with it for years as a heat source and still marvel at it's power. My arm rests in the sun as I drive and feels too warm. I grab my hat before heading out to protect myself. And sitting in my chair I feel the temperature drop as the moon shades the earth. At 93,000,000 miles away, the sliver of light that lands on me is an incredibly small percentage of the energy projecting in all directions from that source, but it's enough to burn me and warm me and allow me to see, even at that distance!
So, we got some nice pictures and had a fun trip to see this phenomenon. We truly experienced it. It's the second one I've been in. The first was way out at sea, somewhere in the Pacific in 1970 or '71. Not quite total, but memorable.
We went about 300 of the 600 miles back today. Went through a rain storm south of Wells Nevada on the way to Ely. Lightening bolts striking the ground and curtains of rain. Tonight the air is fresh and we're in Ely for the night. Very quiet. Just got back from a walk marveling at the expansive desert. After dinner and a cookie, Gogo burrowed under her blanket and disappeared.
I began to hear sprinkling rain and went outside to check it out. Yes, the rain caught up with us and is making things even more interesting. I love summer rain and we get a lot of it in Nevada. Bring it on! As I stood there in the darkness, after rolling up the windows, a brilliant white flash! Love it! Then seconds later the rumbling thunder talked about it. Guess I'll spend some more time out tonight, enjoying the power of the high desert in summer. It never gets old.
Oh yeah, you can see some pix of the sun and the camp on Facebook. My page is John Roemer.