3:00 a.m. Our
neighbors in the next room are clearly getting ready to leave.
Me:
Should we just get up now and go?
Bill: It might upset the kids.
Not long thereafter, I drop my t-shirt in the toilet,
necessitating a certain amount of swearing and a lengthy session with the blow
dryer. They’re awake now!
Of course, the roads are not nearly as crowded as we were
led to believe they would be. We drive dead
east through the dark along the Columbia, past The Dalles (pron. Dahls), then
turn south at Biggs Junction. We are out
of the populated area quickly, passing only occasionally through tiny towns
that are one street and a grain elevator, and watching a gorgeous sunrise over
a wind farm. The eclipse soundtrack
plays and it is quiet and portentous at the same time.
We consider stopping at Shaniko. There are two streets to this town, and they
are clearly gearing up for viewing – there’s a coffee stand, and donuts, and
possibly restrooms. But we have our
sights set further in totality, so we drive on, now in the early morning sun,
arriving not too long after at the City of Antelope, down in a valley, a
street, a church, an old school building and some trees.[1] While it doesn’t provide the high view that
the folks perched on hilltops outside of town will get, it does have
port-a-potties and a sign saying coffee and bake sale, 7 a.m.! Antelope, we will watch here. Thank you.
Not so fast, city slickers.
There is one field down at the far end of town, sunken and
surrounded by willow trees, designated for “eclipse parking” where a couple of
folks have set up camp sites. Everything
is covered in heavy dew, and a mist and the quiet makes it all kind of
beautiful. But the bake sale sign at the
other end seems to be where people are parking and, well, they are promising
homemade cinnamon roles, so which one would you choose? Not to mention, there is a lot of space here
in Antelope, so you kind of assume you can pull up anywhere. We park next to some other folks clearly
there for the eclipse, and pile out of the car to stretch in the early morning
chill.
All of a sudden a powerful woman emerges to tell us all that
we can’t park here, parking is down at the other lot, this is private, posted,
not permitted. An older fellow in a
blaze-orange vest confers with her and heard to say into his phone “Have you
looked out your window? You’d better get
out here.” While we parkers (there are
maybe 20 cars here now) decide amongst ourselves to just stay put, and point
out to Mrs. Antelope that the signs just say no overnight parking, the city
fathers drive around looking suspicious.
The polite argument continues even while the ladies set up the bake sale
(I don’t know who they were going to sell to if they didn’t let us park there)
and a not particularly tense standoff ensues.
Finally, it is announced that we can park here, for $20,
could we please come pay at the bake sale and write down our license plate
numbers so that the Sheriff can confirm we’ve paid. Well, we don’t mind paying - $20 seems a
small price for a good view of a possibly once-in-a-lifetime phenomenon.[2]
Now a tranquil atmosphere prevails. A few more cars pull in, but mostly people
stand around eating and drinking and in our case, playing yahtzee to pass the
time. The amount of food people have
brought suggests a coming apocalypse rather than an eclipse. The little girl in the car next to us drags
out a blanket and a pile of toys, and soon finds a friend just her age with the
same pony. The town fathers wander
around looking at the interlopers with decreasing suspicion, and much bad
coffee and mediocre but homemade baked goods are sold. Around 9, the eclipse begins! It comes over the security walkie talkies
carried by the coppers: all units be
advised, the partial eclipse phase has begun, crackle crackle.
But you wouldn’t know it unless you put your eclipse glasses
on and saw the little tiny nibble at the edge of the sun – without the glasses,
the day is perfectly clear and sunny and blue sky and golden prairie and
getting really hot. Sunscreen is loaned
around. Where-you-from’s exchanged. We meet some Packer fans (Izzy is wearing her
52 jersey so . . .) There are a bunch of vultures hanging out in a tree, which
start flying around as it warms up. Boy,
are they about to be confused, says Bill.
Now, behind the low chain-link fence next to which we are
parked, there is an old school (a.k.a. the Antelope City Hall), and around that
is a small collection of campers and folks setting up telescopes. We have been enjoined from parking in there,
told that the Tacoma Astronomical Society had rented the whole property for the
event. But a lady comes over and invites
us to check out the view from their telescopes – which is amazing! You can see sunspots and solar flares and
much bigger images of the sun than we can through our glasses. What a bonus.
A total eclipse takes a while! But we know we are getting close when the crescent
shadows start to appear under a nearby tree.
The temperature cools and the light starts to dim somehow even though
without the glasses on it still looks like a perfectly clear day. The moment is nigh.
At last: totality! The light goes out, the corona comes on, and
a cheer ripples through the assembled. It
is quiet but everyone is excited, particularly Peter and Izzy. It is dark, and a lot cooler. It is remarkable, and while I don’t fall to my
knees and weep it is distinctly goosebump-producing and not because it is cold. Many photographs are taken.
When the lights come on again, not quite two minutes later,
there is another cheer, and then people start leaving.[3] The first lady of Antelope bids a polite but
clearly relieved adieu to everyone.[4] We came from Massachusetts! I tell her. She doesn’t seem that impressed. Have a safe drive back, she says. After just a few miles, we join the long line
of cars snaking our way out of the interior and back to civilization. Here’s that traffic everyone was talking
about.
The truck stop at Biggs Junction is
packed with eclipse viewers so we use the facilities and carry on across the
river to Washington (state), to see a World War One memorial (yes!) that is
modeled on Stonehenge. Conversation
overheard while checking out the names on plaques:
Woman: Look, they all died on the same date. Do you think there was a fire or something?
Man: Well, the same year.
Woman: I wonder what happened.
Man: Wait, I think this is during a war.
Me (internally):
weren’t you people just reading the big plaque outside that explained
that this is a freaking WORLD WAR ONE MEMORIAL??!!
We make it to Portland easily after that, pulling in grimy
and dust-covered to our posh hotel where we take the longest showers ever and
collapse in heaps upon plush beds. A fun
dinner at a fire-roasting restaurant redeems the Northwest’s reputation as a
producer of fine oysters, and further confirms the one about the wine.
Here ends my part of the journal, as I had to return to
Cambridge the next morning, for work. We
came, we saw (through protective lenses), we conquered the traffic. And, we experienced a truly
once-in-a-lifetime phenomenon.[5]
In my absence, I anointed Peter as note-taker and
journal-writer. We’ll see what he has
produced.
[1] Yes, you read that correctly, this is the City of
Antelope, thank you very much. Apparently
you are a city by virtue of your form of government. Pop. 51 in the summer, 40 in the winter. It is a great place to retire! says the First
Lady of Antelope, who is running the bake sale.
[2] We do see the Sheriff eventually but he doesn’t seem
to be checking anyone’s plates.
[3] But not after visiting the port-a-potty, for which
there is a long line after the lights come back on.
[4] As our friend Winston put it, they have a long history
of dealing with interlopers in Antelope.
For a brief period in the 1980s, this town was known as Rajneeshpuram
after a cult set up on a nearby ranch.
The group grew quickly, and built its own airstrip and hotel and tried
to formally annex Antelope. There is a
quite complicated story here, that involves a mass poisoning at a salad bar in
The Dalles, which was the first act of bioterrorism in the US, and a bombing at
a hotel in Portland. It is really quite
fascinating, and we knew nothing of this when we decided to stop in
Antelope. But one gets the sense that
they have not forgotten. Just google it
for all the details.
[5] Until 2024, when we will only have to go to
Vermont. But who know what can happen
between now and then!
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