“Totality”

Written by Weaver Barksdale on June 8, 2016. Posted in Ruminations.

“Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

Dylan Thomas

High on the wall of our screened porch is a mounted dorado, a game fish captured from the Gulf of California. We call him Pedro. Along his flank and on his tail blazes a yellow stripe as bright as the Baja sun. His dorsal fin is the aquamarine of his native waters. His belly is as white as the playas of California Sud. And his eye is as black as the orb of the new moon that blotted out the sun for almost seven minutes over La Paz, Mexico on July 11, 1991.

Fishing and eclipse chasing share elements of serendipity. Both require being in the right place at the right time. The difference is that with eclipses the place and the time can be predicted with precision. Fishing, thankfully, is more resistant to accuracy.

The serendipity of total solar eclipses is that they occur at all. It is a cosmic coincidence that the angular size of the sun and the moon from the earth is about one-half degree of arc. What that means is that when the moon’s orbit places it between the sun and the earth, the moon will cast a (relatively) small shadow on a portion of the earth. In the limited area where the shadow falls, most of the sun’s light will be blocked out for up to several minutes. Day briefly becomes night.

Fishing and eclipses also share atavistic qualities. People fish for many reasons, but whether recognized or not, one of those reasons is the resonance with our primordial heritage of hunting and gathering. We can buy fish at a store or a restaurant, but the sustenance of such a meal does not provide us with what we really need.

Total eclipses likewise prompt an atavistic response from those caught in the shadow of the moon. Our ancestors screamed, threw rocks and spears, and shot arrows at the apparition to scare away whatever it was that had stolen the light of day. Even today a total eclipse will turn a group of otherwise scientific, veteran eclipse chasers into raving lunatics who will whoop and holler in absolute amazement.

The 1991 eclipse was billed as “The Big One.” Totality – the period when the surface of the sun would be completely blocked by the moon – was to last an unusually long six minutes plus and be visible in a path that extended from Hawaii across the Pacific to Mexico. An abundance of frequent flyer mileage encouraged me to seize the opportunity for my family and me to witness our first total eclipse. Hawaii was a more appealing destination than Mexico, but I reasoned that the chance of clouds spoiling the show would be greater in humid Hawaii than in arid Baja California. And so it was that on July 7 of that year, my wife, two daughters and I set out for the city of La Paz near the southernmost tip of Baja.

The trip involved a three-legged journey from Nashville to DFW, and then on to Mexico City via American Airlines, followed by an Aero California flight to La Paz. My concerns were many. Would the infrastructure in a relatively sleepy locale like La Paz be able to withstand the onslaught of tourists? What would our accommodations be like? Would we have trouble with our reservations? What about communications problems? Would our bags get lost in the shuffle? Would I have trouble getting my equipment into and out of Mexico? What the heck was Aero California? On the flight to Mexico City, I downed several Bloody Marys while contemplating the possibilities of disaster.

At the Mexico City airport – which would be more aptly named “Chaos International” – we dragged our baggage to a customs counter upon which there was a fixture resembling a traffic light. I was instructed (by gesture) to push a button on the post of this contraption, and when I did so, one of the two lights, a green one, was illuminated. This apparently meant that we were free to proceed to our connecting flight. I didn’t bother to inquire about the alternative. The thought of a customs officer disassembling my telescope in search of drugs was more than I could bear. Our worst fears, however, were allayed as Aero California got us and all of our baggage to La Paz without incident. In fact, other than a long line at the hotel’s registration counter, the entire trip went without a hitch.

Although totality was to last only a few minutes, there was no way to breeze in and out of La Paz just for the event. All flights and rooms were booked well in advance by tour groups. The only way to be reasonably sure of getting there, having a place to stay, and returning was by booking a package. The latter involved a stay of five days or more, so we had three days to kill before the Great Event.

Our children enjoyed the pool and the beach but those activities weren’t going to fill three entire days. During a shopping trip, I saw a brochure about deep-sea fishing and made the necessary inquiries. Two hundred dollars seemed more than fair for a full day at sea, so I signed us up.

The agent with whom I made the arrangements met us at the hotel and drove us to a cove south of La Paz. There was no pier, only rocks from which we jumped onto the stern of the boat. With only one fighting chair, the boat would have been reasonably comfortable for two anglers. Four was definitely a crowd. We were happy, nonetheless, to find that the water was as calm as a lake even though we were full of enough Dramamine and Lomotil that nothing was likely to be coming out of us other than sweat.

Our captain and his teenage mate soon had us under way on the waters of the Bahia de La Paz. The mate deployed teasers from the stern rod holders and spoons from the outriggers and it wasn’t long before the tell-tale snap of a rubber band indicated a strike. My daughters preferred that I go first, so I jumped into the fighting chair and the mate handed me the rod. The fish, which turned out to be a skipjack of about sixteen inches, put up surprisingly stouthearted resistance despite the heavy saltwater tackle. When the jack was boated, the mate quickly dispatched it and cut the fish into several strips that were then affixed to the outriggers.

Our day consisted of hours on end tacking to and fro, punctuated by brief outbursts of activity when one of our eagle-eyed crew spotted diving birds at what seemed to be impossible distances. Where there are birds, there are also small fish upon which the birds feed. And where there are small fish, bigger fish are usually not far behind.

During the tacking phases, the soporific effects of the droning engine and the blazing heat were periodically relieved by sightings of a variety of marine life for which the Gulf of California is noted. At one point a school of several hundred Pacific porpoises surrounded our craft in their rhythmic dance across the waves. It was a marvelous sight, and even our captain, for whom such an event was hardly a novelty, was grinning expansively.

Porpoises, often called dolphin, are mammals, as distinguished from our prey – a fish that is also called a dolphin. The Hawaiians call them mahi mahi and the Mexicans call them dorado in deference to the gold blaze on their sides. They strike aggressively and often put up a good fight, including aerial acrobatics. The first dorado of the day, however, was hooked on the heavy tackle and it was simply a matter of reeling it in. The next one was also caught on the heavy gear, but it was left in the water to attract more of his curious cousins. When they appeared, we cast to them with much lighter rods that provided greater sport.

We managed to boat four of the tropical beauties, and much to the dismay of my girls, all of them were quickly dispatched with a club by the mate and tossed into a holding chest. I would have preferred to let them go myself, but the fish belong to the boat in Baja. That much protein is quite valuable in a third world nation. Because the fate of the fish was sealed, I decided to have the most colorful one mounted as a souvenir – the first and only time I have done so. Hence, Pedro is a reminder of the stark beauty of his native land and the drama that unfolded two days later.

The day of the eclipse dawned bright and clear. I know because I was up before first light due to a severe case of cloud paranoia. I was not alone. Eclipse chasers tend toward the fanatical. The previous afternoon our group had staged something akin to the Oklahoma land rush as everyone vied to stake a claim to a favorable viewing site. The majority chose the area around the pool and laid down tape to mark their space as well as the spots where the legs of their telescopes’ piers or tripods should be placed for optimal tracking. Most participants had some sort of motor-driven device that could be aligned to track the earth’s motion and keep the sun centered in their optics.

Next in popularity after the pool patio was the beach area. Instead I chose what I considered an optimal site strategically located between our room and the bar. Why not have those amenities at hand? Although totality was only six minutes and twenty-seven seconds at La Paz, the entire event from first contact (when the limb of the moon first meets the edge of the sun’s photosphere) through fourth contact (when the moon and sun go their separate ways) would take almost three hours to complete.

Totality was to commence at 11:47:40 a.m. and it was around eleven that we noticed changes occurring. The heat of the day began to dissipate, shadows became more sharply defined, and birds returned to their roosts, chirping raucously. The sky took on a late afternoon glow. As the time for totality neared, the shadow of the moon approached rapidly from the west like a silent storm. The wind died as the shadow spread around us and someone cried, “Baily’s beads!” This phenomenon is caused by the last rays of the sun shining through lunar valleys in the last few seconds before totality. It is the signal that it is safe to view the event with the naked eye.

It is extremely dangerous to look at the sun without special filtration such as an arc welder’s lens. Viewing the sun through an unfiltered optical device such as a telescope or binoculars can cause blindness almost instantly. Anyone who has ever used a magnifying glass to focus the sun’s energy on dry grass to produce smoke and even flame will have an idea of what could happen to one’s retina without proper filtration.

This was not a problem for our group as it was made up of veterans and well-informed “newbies.” Everyone had appropriate eye protection for his or her optical instruments. I had brought along a video camera that I used at maximum zoom and a small telescope to which I attached a 35mm camera. The video camera provided an unanticipated bonus. The soundtrack recorded the commotion among the observers that started as totality approached and did not cease until it had ended. With the sun’s feathery corona flaming around it, the backlit black orb of the moon looked like some sort of winged, cosmic evil eye. Why not join our ancestors by letting out a “barbaric yawp”?

The moon is slowly moving away from the earth and, a billion or so years hence, total eclipses will no longer be visible from our planet. The moon’s angular size will be too small to completely block the sun. Perhaps by then, however, our progeny will be able to jump into their spacecraft, move into a position within the moon’s shadow, and bridge the millennia by howling with wild abandon.