In the Path of Totality
Journal by Susan Hanes of a trip to Clarksville, TN to see the Total Solar Eclipse of August 21, 2017. August 20-22, 2017. Photos (c) Susan Hanes and George Leonard. Cover: (c) Austin Peay State University
In the Path of Totality Sunday, August 20—Tuesday, August 22, 2017 The Great American Eclipse of August 21, 2017 was the first of its kind in nearly a century, and the first to be visible from the mainland United States since 1979. In a roughly seventy-milewide arc stretching from Oregon to South Carolina, it was the first total solar eclipse to cross the United States in ninety-nine years. With all the politically-charged rhetoric and volatility in the US since the election of Donald Trump, this heavenly event provided a national moment of silence, a two-minute break for reflection as we sense our place in our vast universe.
Sunday morning was hot and clear as we left Chicago at 8:45 am and picked up I-57 south through western Illinois to the Kentucky border. Crossing over the Ohio River at Paducah, we stopped at the Whitehaven Kentucky Welcome station, uniquely located in a restored Classic Revival 1860s mansion in its original garden setting.
Paducah, Kentucky
We drove the final 75 miles to Clarksville, Tennessee on I-24, arriving at the Best Western Atrium at 4:00. With 200 million Americans located within a day’s drive of the eclipse, we had expected a massive amount of traffic and were amazed at how little we actually encountered. I had read that Clarksville, a town of 150,000, was expecting 200,000 visitors but we had no sense of anything near that number.
After checking in, we headed out to see all we could before Sunday closing times. Two miles down the road we stopped at Beachaven Winery. Although we had not been able to secure a spot for their viewing party, we tasted Blackberry Blackout, a dark, sweet, sparkling wine bottled especially for the eclipse, and bought a couple of souvenir cups. When we looked out at the flat, hot field in front of the winery and saw the rock radio station trucks setting up, we were just as glad that the event had been sold out before we could get tickets.
CLARKSVILLE, TN
We also visited Old Glory Distillery. Only nine months old, Old Glory will produce its first batch of small-barrel whiskey in December; at the moment, they offer moonshine, rum, and vodka. We tried all three but came away with only a tee shirt.
Continuing into town, we drove to Austin Peay State University, an appealing campus of red brick buildings and leafy drives. Established in 1927, the school of nearly 10,000 is named after Austin Peay (pronounced pee), a respected Governor of Tennessee. We located Fortera Stadium and determined how we would work our eclipse viewing tomorrow. Driving along the Cumberland River, we drove into the historic center of Clarksville, stopping to photograph the Montgomery County Court House and the 1898 Customs House before putting our name on the list for dinner at Blackhorse Brew Pub. As we waited for our beeper to light up, we strolled down Franklin Street, noticing how the attractive old buildings had deteriorated since our first visit in 2013. The Roxy Theater, built in 1947, was also showing its age, but nonetheless revealed the eclipse spirit with an evening showing of 2001: A Space Odyssey. We saw several signs on local businesses announcing to customers that they would be closed for the eclipse.
Austin Peay State University
1898 Customs House Clarksville
Montgomery County Court House
Historic Franklin Street
A perfect day for an eclipse …
The motel lobby was a hub of pre-eclipse activity as multiple generations puttered around the breakfast buffet, waiting for toast to pop up and waffle irons to ding. At 9:30, we checked out and drove the seven miles into town to Fortera Stadium, arriving to find that we were practically the first ones there. Jake passed the time by working on his camera settings and I located the campus bookshop where I bought an official “Peayclipse� tee shirt. At 10:30, we stopped at the ticket window and procured our viewing glasses.
We set up our chairs in the end zone near the Jumbotron, where we could watch the NASA feed as the eclipse began its journey from Oregon along a 70-mile swath across 14 states to South Carolina. By 11:00, the stadium began to fill up, primarily with families associated with the University, although we met people who had driven in from as far north as Ypsilanti, Michigan and as far south as Gainesville, Florida.
Cheerleaders endured the humid, 92-degree temperature, standing on each other’s shoulders and shouting, “Let’s go, Peay!” There was a frozen tee shirt contest and an activity center for the kids. Sponsors handed out candy and paper fans and water sales were brisk. In the center of the field, APSU’s Physics & Astronomy Department had set up a series of filtered catadioptric telescopes aimed at the sun, bringing the eclipse into a close and clear view, from first contact to totality.
(c) Austin Peay State University
Photo through catadioptric telescope with my iPhone
We turned our attention to NASA’s live feed from APSU to New York’s Times Square on the Jumbotron, peering into our glasses to check the sun’s progression for ourselves. About five minutes before totality, the sky began to turn a strange greenish-blue and it looked like a big storm or even a tornado was brewing off in the distance. Shadows deepened. I felt a chill go down my spine and the temperature dropped ten or fifteen degrees. People stopped talking and the breeze picked up.
And then, the sky turned black. It was 1:25 pm. We took off our glasses and looked up at the sun, now a circle of bright corona. A sob involuntarily heaved in my chest. It was as if something primeval was rising deep inside. For 2 minutes and 23 seconds, I stared up in wonder, amazed at the sight and startled at the response that it invoked within me. All around, people who, like me, had looked up in silence, erupted in cheers. Children jumped up and down and screamed with delight. The cicadas, which at first must not have known what to do, started chirping wildly when they realized their call to duty. And then, it was over. We put our glasses back on and collected our thoughts. “Wow, wow, wow,� I kept saying to myself, over and over.
Monday, August 21, 2017 13:25 CST
(c) Austin Peay State University
The heavens declare the glory of God. — Psalm 19:1
Around 2:00, we gathered our things and packed up our chairs, thinking, like everyone else, that we would get a head start on the crowds. The road out of town had normal traffic, but as soon as we reached the interstate, it was gridlock. Deciding that we would take our time and meander along back roads until we found a quiet place to stop for a drink, we headed for Hopkinsville, a little over 30 miles away along the two-lane roads of Christian County, Kentucky, passing fields of soybean, tobacco, and corn, small Baptist churches, and peeling clapboard houses with folks sitting out on the stoop. Hopkinsville had actually been deemed “Eclipseville,� having, at 2 minutes and 41 seconds, the longest time of totality in the country. With that designation, I am not sure why we thought that it would be a quiet place to stop, but when we got there, we quickly learned that it was not. Seeing on our GPS that traffic on I-57 was an unbroken red line, we took US 45; apparently the rest of the world did as well. We soon realized that we had a problem. I got on the phone and felt fortunate that I was able to snag the last room in Mount Vernon, Illinois at a Motel 6. Six hours later, we found the place, in a nearly impossible location unrecognized by our GPS. A pale young woman with blue hair and long purple nails named Emily checked us in and gave me the greasy key to a room around at the back. As I paraded past a line of scruffy men waiting behind me, I felt quite smug that we had a room and they did not. A room, yes. A pleasant conclusion to our eclipse experience? No. Poorly lit and humid, with a double bed and single wooden chair, it was all we could hope for: a roof over our heads. Fortunately, the barking dog in the room next to ours finally calmed down when its owners returned. Dinner was out of the question by that time.
After a fitful night, we got an early start in the morning and, finding the traffic cleared out on I-57, were back at home by 2:00. We asked ourselves if the 1000-mile drive had been worth it.
Our answer was, predictably, of course.