E-Day!
E-day dawned windy and cool, but perfectly clear as far as the eye could
see. With totality happening at 7:41pm South Australian time (09:11 UT),
there was a still a ways to go, but I was feeling the most positive of
perhaps any of my previous five eclipses. Can't start the day without a
hearty (or heart-stopping) breakfast though, with Howard Williams, Debra,
Carolyn, and Nelson providing sterling service as a windbreak.
Of course, the bit that no-one looks forward to, but which still needed to
be done, was the washing up afterwards. Fortunately, we had a good crew,
and everyone pitched in when needed, with (L to R) Rose Allen, Carolyn,
Bill Allen, and Vince doing the honours this morning.
Getting the group to South Australia is one thing, but I breathed
a huge sigh of relief when we finally made it into the "Shadow Zone",
or the thin band barely 30 km wide in our case within which totality would
be visible. Now it wouldn't even matter if the coach broke down - we could
just stay put, and wait for the shadow to come to us. Thanks to
Fred
Espenak's predictions for the path of totality, and cross-checking the
several handheld GPS units we had at our disposal, we held a little ceremony
on the
highway once we'd reached the official spot, and asked Tim and Cam ("How
come nobody ever takes us seriously?") to share the honour. Too bad the South
Australian government hadn't seen fit to install a sign, as the
Turkish had done.
Nevertheless, there were some intriguing signs in and around Lyndhurst
itself. As the sign indicates, things are fairly quiet on a normal day,
but this was no ordinary day. For once, eclipse-chasers were outnumbered
by freaks, thanks to the 5,000 or so that showed up for a 4-day "rave"
party just outside of town. Lyndhurst marks the junction of the Strzlecki
and Oodnadatta
Tracks with the main highway to Adelaide.
Up till now, things had gone swimmingly, so it was only to be expected we'd
hit a snag sooner or later. The plan was that the manager of Witchilina
station would meet us at the Elsewhere Hotel in Lyndhurst, and escort us
on to the property. But after waiting a couple of hours, and getting a bit
bored with the freak show parading through town, there was still no sign of
him. We thought we'd head out anyway, in case he was waiting for us, but
it wasn't long before we came across the padlocked gate, and no-one to let
us in. As Nelson would say, "Bugger!".
Undeterred by such trivial hinderances, and being the resourceful people
that we are, we set about dismantling the gate, using the handy toolbox
that we coerced Tim into lending us. Simply tap out the puny bolt that served
to hold the hinge in place,...
...then everybody LIFT!...
...and away we go. No worries, mate! But wait... what's that cloud of dust I
can see coming towards us from the direction of the homestead? Umm, Tim, do
you want to handle this?
"Gate, mate? No, we didn't see any gate on the way in here. Yep, she'll be
right mate, have a good one, cheers."
Right, now that we've dealt with that slight inconvenience, time to
find this Ideyaka Hill. The more impressively-named "Termination Hill"
could be seen from Lyndhurst, but is much higher and further off the
centerline. Now we're winding our way over sandy hillocks (good thing
we chartered a 4WD), and still there's no sign of... wait - could that
be it? Or is it just a mirage?
Well, it took a lot longer to get here than we thought, but we has
arrived! And to make sure that we claim this hill for the USA, NZ,
and the UK, we did what all good dogs do, and peed on it. Right then,
who's for some lunch? Unfortunately, the howling southerly and the
lack of any shelter meant that our BBQ sausages came in only two
flavours - Dusty, and Extra Dusty.
Having sated our appetites, and ground a good 1/4" off our teeth, next
chore was setting up camp. We'd already decided we wanted to camp as
close as we could to the eclipse viewing site, to avoid any night-driving
and kangaroo-dodging. Trouble is, there wasn't anything growing more
than 3 feet high within 100 miles. Eventually, we settled on this charming,
sloping, rocky plain, and within seconds people had staked out their
prime locations. I kept expecting to walk out over a ridge, and trip over
the Sojourner
rover, the place seemed so much like the surface of Mars.
Now supposedly, only we and a group of school-kids had been given
permission to come on to the property, so what are those people doing on
OUR hill? Presumably they found the gate presented little more
challenge than we did. Never mind, it's a big hill, and besides,
they were far more likely to be blown away by the strong winds.
The one consolation of the wind was that it helped keep the
temperatures down, and keep the flies at bay.
Eventually the station manager Mark and his family did turn up to greet us,
so in order to mend fences (or gates in this case), we offered him
some beers, and showed them the now partially-eclipsed Sun through
Doug's beautiful H-alpha telescope.
After a hurried briefing from me aboard the coach about the million-and-one
things to look out for before, during, and after totality, and with a
half-hour still to go before second contact (when totality begins), we
gathered up our gear and began our ascent of Ideyaka.
And in case you were wondering, the view from the top wasn't all that
different. But our experience in Mexico, and more so in Turkey, was that
an elevated position does help contribute a three-dimensional perspective,
especially if you notice the approaching or receding shadow on adjacent
mountain ranges. But seeing as how the surrounding country is so flat,
and the shadow would be coming in so fast (on the order of 45,000 km/hr!),
I didn't think it would make that
much difference. But it's become a tradition, so why break with the past?
And despite warning everybody to watch their feet as it got dark, I still
managed in all the excitement to trip over that darn fence, the only one
for miles around :-{
So after months of planning, and extensive travel by planes, trains, and
automobiles, it comes down to this. With 10 minutes to go, the light had
again taken on that strange, harsh quality, but it was hard to distinguish
from the usual fading light around sunset. Sure there was wind and dust
blowing straight into our faces, but it was probably one of the clearest skies
I've ever had for an eclipse. To my relief, the horizon showed no signs
of significant dust obscuration, so I still held some hope of seeing a
good corona, despite looking through the equivalent of 15 airmasses!
And right in the front row is my very own Mum and Dad. Let the show
begin...
Here's the classic "Diamond Ring" going into totality. One of my first
surprises was in the way the Moon's shadow arrived over us. Never having
seen an eclipse from so near the end of the eclipse path, with the Sun
consequently very low in the sky and the Moon's shadow coming in at a very
steep angle, I had naively anticipated that just before totality, we should
be able to make out the shadow as a dark triangular "Cone of Death" beneath
the Sun. But in fact it was a more uniform darkening around the Sun in the
last 3 minutes before totality. Twice I tried to anticipate the moment of
second contact, and glanced too early, but on the third attempt, I caught
it perfectly.
This digital camera image taken by Annette Knox matches my recollections
pretty well. I remember one full quadrant of the chromosphere (the crimson
lower atmosphere of the Sun) running from the 12 o'clock position (the E edge
of the Sun) to the 3 o'clock position (the N edge), which was visible
throughout the brief period of totality. I could also make out 2 prominences
(solar flares seen in projection), one at the 7 o'clock position, and one
at 8 o'clock. The most strking thing of all though is how BIG the eclipsed
Sun appeared to be. Most of us are familiar with the Moon Illusion, whereby a
Moon seen close to the horizon appears somehow bigger than when the same
Moon is observed high in the sky. I remember taking about 5 seconds to
glance at the eclipsed Sun with my 12 x 50 binoculars, but thinking I
couldn't see any more through them than I could with my naked eye. So I
put them down again, and spent a few more seconds taking in the "Big
Picture".
This is another of Richard's video images, taken about midway through
totality, and giving some idea of the extent and shape of the corona.
The really weird thing is that amongst the rush of memories I have
from this period, I have absolutely no recollection of even seeing
a corona! It could be that the low Sun angle, and the yellowish cast
of the surrounding sky washed it out somewhat, and yet others did report
a very distinct corona. I guess what it boils down to is that you can
only take in so much in such a short time. What I do recall vividly
is looking up during totality, and seeing a dark, navy-blue band of shadow
running clear across the sky, right the way from the eclipsed Sun, through the
zenith, to the northeast horizon. Again, to my surprise, it didn't converge
to a cone, like (parallel) railway tracks do as they approach the horizon.
I suspect the penumbral shadow
must make a significant contribution to darkening the sky around the primary,
umbral shadow, leading to a more "cylindrical" shadow profile. I tried
to make sure people in our group noticed this, along with all the other
things, but it was too much to take in (or perhaps they'd stopped listening
to my whooping and hollering). Curiously, several people did
report that the wind died almost completely during totality, but again
I completely failed to be aware of it.
Then all too soon, it was over. 27 seconds? That felt more like 15! It
was all I could do to get a look at the eclipse with and without binoculars,
a quick 360o sweep to take in the horizon and the shadow arching
overhead, and another quick glance at the chromosphere, before the waxing
Diamond Ring forced me to look away again. I yelled out "Filters on!"
to those who may not have been prepared for the moment. But pretty soon
we were scurrying about, swapping experiences, and embracing in sheer
exuberance at having witnessed Nature's greatest spectacle in such a surreal
location. Tim and Cam were both "stoked", and volunteered to drive for us
in Turkey in March 2006.
And yet, perhaps the strangest sight was still to come. Usually no-one
bothers to pay much attention to the partial phases after-totality; it's
just the reverse of the hour before totality, and everyone's too absorbed
in their own thoughts and celebrations. From our location, sunset would
occur just 20 minutes after totality ended, with the Sun still half-covered.
Even with the dust, it was still too bright to look at safely, but the
view through my camera viewfinder was pretty good, as this sequence shows.
Once the first horn of the crescent had set, the rest of it looked like
a shark fin sinking below the horizon. It was certainly worth sticking
around for, as a Grand Finale to an extraordinary day. In order to stave
off the inevitable Post-Eclipse Depression, we retreated to our campsite,
cracked the bubbly and broke out the finest Chateau Cardboard that AAT Kings
could supply (plus a few extra bottles we had picked up along the way), and
partied well into the night under glistening Outback skies...