To catch an eclipse
Two astronomers travel mountains and jungles chasing the ultimate celestial thrill

By Anita Martin

(Photos courtesy of George Eberts and Tom O'Grady)

Dusk settles softly as Tom O'Grady tells tales of one of the sky's most unusual light shows -- the total solar eclipse.

"In ancient China," he says, addressing a classroom of students at Ohio University, "when the moon passed before the sun and cast that ring of fire in the sky, the flares around the moon looked like dragons."

Drums pounded in response, O'Grady says, and arrows shot skyward, fireworks soon on their trails. The commotion continued until the people were assured of the sun-eating dragons' retreat.

Such stories abound in O'Grady's astronomy lab night class. He and his best friend, fellow Ohio University astronomy lab instructor George Eberts, have been chasing eclipses since 1977. In class, between ancient myths and chalkboard diagrams, he shows slides they took of the solar spectacle, complete with throngs of thrill seekers.

This cosmic shadow trick is one of the globe's best shows, attracting thousands of roadies clad in sunglasses and camera equipment -- all for a thrill lasting roughly five minutes.

Aguazul, Columbia: October 12, 1977

O'Grady refers to solar eclipses as "the perfect excuse to go on the road." He and Eberts have seen the sun snuffed out in mid-day five times, each trip lasting between 10 days and two months and taking them on a tour of the Americas. As O'Grady tells his students, "somebody's got to check up on these things."

Their first eclipse led them just east of Aguazul, through the slashed jungles of Columbia. They were two-and-a-half months on the road -- spending six days on an especially rocky one.

"It's more of a sport for us than a science or just a tour," says Eberts. "Most people are not going to trek around in a funky little bus on an unpaved road, and then have to flag down trucks to get to the rest of the way to the center line."

This was precisely the route in '77. They traveled to the "center line," as Eberts calls the best viewing location, where the eclipse will appear in "totality" and the sun will be fully hidden by the moon.

As the false night descended, stars blinked on and even the gas giant Jupiter made its glittering daytime cameo. O'Grady recalls "the shivers, the goose bumps -- the hair standing up on end." The two were hooked.

"That's what I call being in the right place at the right time," Eberts says.

Cosmic quirks of scale and distance

If it weren't for a five-degree orbital difference between the moon and Earth, the sun would eclipse at each conjunction, or new moon. Instead, these orbit intersections, called nodes, are separated by 180 degrees. That means that given clear skies and a little luck, the best one can hope for in a lifetime is about 30 partial solar eclipses.

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