I’d studied the weather forecasts for two weeks trying to decide on Oregon, Casper WY or Idaho Falls…and best promises seemed for Idaho.
But hotels were pricing up to a thousand a night in the area.
No way. I priced a Motel 6 in Butte, MT, and yep, about 50 a night. So we went to Butte, ordered pizza; but as related elsewhere, there was something funny about the room—and this motel was packed. Shu in particular was upset. The bedframe was broken and crackled alarmingly when either of us moved. So we tossed the mattress in the floor and were much more comfortable, except Sei found a way under the bedframe. So we’re up at 5 am trying to find Sei, finally get the cats into the car, and Shu burrows under the driver’s side seat, so I have to haul him out, and have to do it with the door shut, lest he bolt off into the dark (he’s black) and get lost in a strange city. THis is where I got bit, and we were so stubborn I didn’t let him go, he didn’t let me go, and we fussed at each other over the extraction of his teeth from my arm and him from the seat bottom.
With that ironed out, we were underway — forest fires had begun to haze the area, and we were a bit worried. But on we went, toward Rexburg, about 20 miles north of Idaho Falls, which would have the longest totality. We looked for a spot to park, and most places were charging 20.00 just to park there, even out in the country, but after getting our tee-shirts (we had to) we went looking for a place to park, and found a mostly ignored dirt road which led to some sort of governmental land, where 2 other cars were parked in a nook in the sagebrush…
They were congenial folk. We set up to wait—sagebrush is very pungent, let me tell you. And we wouldn’t be able to see the leaf-effect of the eclipse in this brush, but we had our spot.
We settled to wait, and had our eclipse glasses—and the smoke had not followed us. The sky was perfectly clear, and our little hill was a great spot.
The eclipse advanced from the northeast corner of the disc, and we could watch it intermittently with the glasses, just checking on it—because it’s still very strong light; and the dark advanced across the solar disc until halfway before we could really see any profound effect in the light.
But after that night began to fall, in the diminishing of the light—sort of like the sunlight on Mars, at the last. And yet there was still warmth, from the faintest, faintest sliver of sun left. It went out, and the diamond ring effect burst out, giving us that momentary flash, then the ring of the corona distinct and white.
Looking around, there was sunset 360 degrees round about, a wind began to blow, in the cooling of the air, and the crickets began to sing. It was only a couple of minutes, but one could be intensely aware that two giant forces were doing a kind of minuet—regardless of us or any force on earth.
Then the diamond ring flash from the opposite side announced that the sun was coming back, and we immediately felt the warmth, just from a tiny sliver.
We broke out Champagne for the occasion, and shared it with the other two families present, celebrated the retreat of the great Dragon that devours the Sun, and went our ways.
The cats slept through it all.
We entered what was surely a nationwide traffic jam, moving at a steady 11 mph all the way to Idaho Falls—we stopped for lunch, in the theory it might break up—ha!
It kept on. There was no avoiding it. We proceeded for the next hundred miles at 11 mph, all the way to the south, near the Utah border, with no greater speed. There was at least one fenderbender—hotels we called (getting the numbers from the GPS) were still jacking prices, and the cheapest was 200 a night. We kept driving. So did most everybody but the RVs, which were setting up in rest areas, and on we drove into the dark.
We were getting entirely punchy and on the verge of pulling off to sleep in the car, when I found a hotel in Malad, ID, which had a room left at a reasonable 50.00. Sold! We declared we were taking it and began plotting a course for Malad.
It’s a tiny town—and a kind of a rundown looking motel, which didn’t take cats, but our promise to leave them in the car (where they would have been ok, with food, water, and litter) touched the soft spot in the motel manager, who installed us AND the cats in a very comfy room with good ac, so comfy we ended up staying there 3 more days, until time to drive to Bubonicon (yep, named for the plague) in Albuquerque. Where we met Paula and Michael and Serge and Sue…
Meanwhile I’d treated my arm with Epsom Salts and Hydrogen Peroxide from the store across the street…and while our cats did no damage, I ruined a washcloth. The doc sketched a 3-4″ swelling on my arm and prescribed Doxycycline, which means no dairy and no sunlight while on the med—the ink line came off on the washcloth I was using for a commpress, so we bought a pack of 4 washcloths across the street (similar quality if not identical) and saved our rep. It was such a comfy room we engaged it for our return trip, and it is now on our list of places to stop.
The arm is fine now.
Shu is quite sorry. He spent several days being super-nice.
More about trip next post or so.
Though traffic sounded awful, I hope it was worth the trip! We had a simpler approach, camping at a Missouri State Park for an extended weekend where we had 36 seconds of totality. There was 2 1/2 minutes of totality a half hour north, but this way we could carry our chairs to the group gathering site where the Park had kids activities, such as putting natural materials on photoreactive paper, cooking with solar, and etc. and not deal with traffic at all. It had rained and was cloudy up until an hour before first contact, and clouded up afterwards (and rained hard enough in Kansas City that there was record flooding), but we got to see the diamond ring, Bailey’s Beads, and the pinhole effect of leaves on asphalt that resembled chinese paintings. Looking forward to the 2024 event now!
It sounds much like we might have passed each other departing from Yellowstone/Idaho after Eclipse Day. We ran into rush hour coming down Route 15, and spent 2 hours dodging minor fender benders and heavy traffic. Our GPS (I have to insert a plug here for Waze, a crowdsourced traffic reporting app) directed us through several small towns away from the interstate, but we didn’t actually make up much time.
I had intended to write up and post our adventures on Eclipse Day, but it turned into a monster essay longer than yours and it ain’t done yet, so I will restrain myself.
Post away when you get it done. It’s an adventure worth sharing.
You may have cause to regret this 😀 …
We had tried 3 times before to see a total eclipse, and each time were stymied by weather, sometimes at the last minute. This was the most recent of our attempts to see one, and perhaps break the curse.
DH and I arrived in Yellowstone on the 18th; we had planned to make Old Faithful Inn our base for Operation Eclipse. The northern route down from Montana was under heavy construction and took several hours to drive through, so as interesting as Mammoth Hot Springs might have been, it will have to wait for a return trip. We were met at the Old Faithful Inn by our friend Thomas, who alternated between extreme appreciation for the Yellowstone trip and double-guessing all of our trip planning. He had also decided that Idaho was a good backup viewing place, but ran into the same problem as many others did with last minute price gouging; a campground just outside Rexburg was charging $100 per night per tent. We decided to go with our tested and true way of getting a good viewing spot: leave for the selected site at 3:00 a.m. and hopefully beat the traffic. Our chosen venue was a small town about 80 miles east of Jackson Hole called Dubois. Google Maps showed a local airfield just outside town, which looked promising.
We spent a couple of days tootling around Yellowstone and seeing the sights: geysers, elk, bubbling hot springs and other majestic scenery. We quickly learned that if you run into a bunch of cars pulled off or proceeding slowly, chances are good there is an animal photogenically close by. Our closest encounter was a bison ambling down the middle of the Loop Road. Luckily, on our side of the road was a small picnic turnout, which let us bypass the critter jam; we were the last car to slip by before the bison blocked traffic in both directions.
The day before the eclipse we decided to make a dry run for the route to Dubois. The southern exit from Yellowstone debouches directly into Grand Tetons National Park, which is just as magnificent. After leaving Grand Tetons, the road makes a t-junction in Moran, the right heading for Jackson Hole, the left going east to Dubois. Route 26 heading for Dubois paralleled the eclipse path all the way to Casper, gradually edging closer to maximum totality. We were hoping that publicity would drag most people towards Jackson Hole and leave the eastern route clear. As we headed east, we were pleased at the number of small turnouts along the road; this area does a booming business in winter with snowmobilers, and every few miles was a sign for snowmobile parking or scenic turnoff. Even if the road was choked with eclipse watchers, we would have no trouble finding a place to pull over. What Google Maps failed to show was that the road snaked up and down through beautiful mountains and woods. The Wind River popped from one side of the road to the other, and the river flats were full of ranches and campgrounds.
Dubois is a cheery small town, with one main road, a few hotels (most with NO VACANCY signs lit), a bunch of gas stations, and the usual collection of businesses. Beyond Dubois, the road continues on into the Wind River Shoshone Reservation. The Painted Hills surround the area with a lovely backdrop of vivid rocks that a smartphone can’t hope to capture. We noted things like cafes and even checked out the airport: a small gravel road led to a clean-cut hilltop at 8000′ with a paved runway and tiny terminal building. Satisfied, we finished reconnaissance and headed back to Yellowstone, deciding to eat dinner on the way back at a restaurant we had passed and sack out early. The next day was going to be busy!
We packed the night before and loaded a lot of Thomas’ gear into our upgraded Ford Escape. The SUV was not the compact we had reserved, but with all the equipment Thomas insisted on bringing, we needed it; he was convinced the sheer volume of visitors would overwhelm most services and make it necessary to camp for a couple of days. At 3:00 a.m. we reluctantly woke and hit the highway. The first few miles we saw only a couple of cars, but by the time we were on our way out of Yellowstone, we had a chain of 20-30 vehicles headed south. Our planning paid off; at the t-junction with Route 26, all but 3 of the train headed west towards Jackson Hole. The rest of the drive was uneventful, although we were wary of deer darting across the road towards dawn.
We ate breakfast at the one tiny coffee shop that was open in Dubois at 6:30 a.m., then decided to see if conditions farther east were better; we were watching several bands of early morning clouds that had us worried. The sun rose as we drove along the Wind River into the reservation, and the Painted Hills came right down to the road, complete with warning signs about mountain goats. After several miles, it was apparent that weather was being its usual fickle self, and we might as well head back into Dubois. The speed limit along this section of Route 26 was 75 m.p.h., and most people took it as a bottom limit; spotting a likely turnaround and using it took catlike reflexes. Finally we saw a gravel drive early enough to make a left into it. The abrupt turn threw Thomas’ new GoPro camera under the seat and he dove after it, demanding we stop so he could dig it out. What Thomas couldn’t see was the rancher and his dog — and his rifle — standing just inside the gate across the road. DH waved in a friendly fashion; the rancher didn’t wave back, but the dog wanted very much to climb through the fence after us. We headed back to town as quickly as possible, ignoring Thomas, who was still grousing about his GoPro. He insisted we pull over at a turnoff by the river so he could finally get his camera and take a stroll, and probably water some bushes.
After we got back to Dubois, we moseyed about the town; at least DH and Thomas did, I topped off the gas tank then dozed in the car, because I had driven the 3 hours down from Yellowstone. Around 9:00 I started seeing light planes shooting the approach to the airport; final approach was right over where I had parked. Apparently a lot of pilots were making a day trip to an airfield along totality’s path. Then a much louder bass growl zoomed overhead; I looked up and saw a strange plane with 4 wings and 2 propellers in back, not at all the usual. DH and Thomas came pounding up to the car. “We are going to the airfield –right — now,” announced DH. That odd-looking plane was called Starship One, designed by Burt Rutan, who had also designed White Knight and Spaceship One, the first private manned spacecraft, and only 4 Starships remained in existence.
When we drove up the gravel road to the airstrip, it was much busier that the preceding day. Almost every space a plane could be parked inside the fence enclosing the runway was occupied, and if there is no word for an airfield flash mob there should be: tiny stunt planes, an Air Force Korean era trainer, a bright yellow Piper Cub taildragger from the 50s, some kitbuilt planes, a couple of private jets, Cessnas and Beechcraft of every description, and Starship One. Many pilots had brought friends and family, and they were spreading out lawn chairs and picnic baskets along the inside of the fence to wait for the eclipse. DH went inside the control booth and asked if he could take a picture of Starship One; the ladies running the booth said “Well, the pilot is right over there, why don’t you ask him?”
The pilot turned out to be one of the original stockholders for the Starship One project, and was quite friendly when DH explained his hero-worship of the plane, to the point of inviting DH aboard to take pictures of the cockpit. Afterwards, DH said that the eclipse was almost irrelevant, because he had seen his Grail up close and personal. By this time, the eclipse was beginning and a tiny bite was gone at the 2:00 position on the sun’s disc. We broke out the cheap lawn chairs we had bought several days before in Salt Lake City, and settled in to observe.
We had solar filters saved from the Transit of Venus several years prior, but the two best viewing aids we brought were a chunk of #14 welder’s glass and a pair of Celestron solar binoculars. Thomas kept fiddling with his GoPro camera, which had a suction cup mount he attached to the SUV hood, but needed an improvised solar filter from one of our spares; he spent more time messing with getting the camera properly shielded and aligned and running than actually looking at the eclipse. With the binoculars, we could see details on the sun, like a chain of sunspots arcing down the middle, as well as the Moon’s shadow encroaching. DH offered to let the ladies in the control booth try our binocs, but they couldn’t get them pointed correctly, and gave them back after a few minutes. It turned out they had also neglected to bring any water for themselves, so we scored points by giving them some of our copious supply of bottled water. Thomas had brought not only more bottled water, but several days of freeze-dried food, camping equipment including a portable stove, a tent, cooking gear, and a rake. He declared the rake was to be used to fend off snakes, “You use the rake end to pin down the snake.” We weren’t planning to go snake hunting, so let it ride.
By 10:45, it began to dim slightly (totality where we were was at approximately 11:23). A light breeze sprang up and the temperature started to drop from a relatively balmy 70-ish degrees to the point where I got my jacket out of the car. There were no birds in evidence around the airport, so we couldn’t watch them settle in for the unusual twilight. Every few minutes we looked back at the sun, watching the Moon slowly creep over the disk, eating the sunspots one by one, dimming the light, muting colors in the Painted Hills. By 11:20, only a flake of sun remained. Chatter slowly stopped around us as the light died and a burst of Bailey’s Beads heralded totality, then the corona appeared and everyone cheered and whooped. For two minutes everyone on top of that mountain in Wyoming stared up at a black circle surrounded by ghostly white irregular streamers. Then abruptly another flash at the opposite side of the disk signaled the eclipse was ending, the corona disappeared, and sunrise happened 360 degrees around us, like lights coming up in a theater. Strangely, the horizon remained lit with a reddish glow for the duration of the eclipse.
After that, as soon as it got light enough for VFR flight, the planes started leaving as quickly as they could get lined up for takeoff. DH and I both filmed Starship One on its takeoff roll. Thomas, having spent most of the 2 hours leading up to totality trying to get his camera set up, complained that he wanted to see the end of the eclipse too, and people who were leaving now were missing half of the show. We went to the control shack again to use the facilities and thank the ladies for their hospitality; it turned out that one of the ladies was the mayor of Dubois, who is also responsible for running the airfield and “they collected a lot in landing fees today!” Thomas decided that most of the supplies he had bought were superfluous to needs, and gallantly offered the mayor many of the extras, including his rake. She accepted, “Well, I guess I can use it for weeding or straightening out gravel,” and we left Dubois, heading back west to Yellowstone. On the way back, Waze reported traffic jams, accidents, many police vehicles, and general mayhem in the vicinity of Jackson Hole. Thomas wanted to pull over and cook a celebratory freeze-dried stroganoff, but we elected to congratulate ourselves on our wise traveling plans with lunch at the same restaurant we had eaten at the day before. The curse was lifted: we had seen our eclipse.
Great account, Chondrite! Thanks for posting it.
My brother is a photographer in the Jackson Hole area (with some ce photos of the eclipse too). My Mom and I went out to visit him ten or so years ago and he took us up to Yellowstone (as well as Grand Teton, etc.) Even without an eclipse, what an amazing and varied part of our planet. Everyone should go visit!
Neat! I so love it about the starship! And we’re already planning the next eclipse-venture, down south, in 7 years!
I know that Phil Plait (the ‘Bad Astronomer’) organized a dude ranch group vacation around the eclipse, at one of the ranches very near to Dubois. I’d be willing to bet he will do one for the 2024 eclipse as well. He runs science-oriented tours once or twice a year, usually around some theme or special event, and frequently based out of a dude ranch or similar operation. If you like that sort of environment and aren’t inclined to build your own trip, it might be worth investigating.
Both interesting and well written, Chondrite. Here in southern Louisiana we did not have totality. The light reduced to the intensity of early sunrise or late sunset, but came from the wrong direction. It was the color of a fresh cut lemon, rather than the honey or golden tones at the ends of a day. It was almost as creepy as the green light just before a hurricane.
Did you get to see the “shimmer”, wavering “shadow bands”? That was exciting!