I'd been thinking about the April 2024 eclipse since the eclipse in August 2017. I knew I wanted to see it, but I wasn't sure how hard I wanted to try. For about a year, I decided on Texas instead of driving to Erie or Burlington. But I knew there was a good chance I wouldn't feel like booking a flight to San Antonio and would end up in VT. A few months before the eclipse, I brought up the event with a photographer friend, and he was into the Texas idea. He had wanted to revisit Big Bend National Park, and I had wanted to see the park since my first trip to Marfa in 2016. So, we plotted a drive from San Antonio to Terlingua, to somewhere near the path of totality the night before, and then back to San Antonio.
We landed early in San Antonio, rented a car, and drove 6 hours and 45 minutes west to Terlingua. Looking at sunset times, we knew we'd arrive at the off-grid AirBnb right at sunset, with a stop for groceries and lunch. The day was ambitious, but we were up for it. Yet, something must be said for a destination two flights and a drive over 3.5 hours away (within the US). That's a serious effort. I realized this after traveling to Marfa, once from El Paso and the second time from Midland. There's "rural" America, and there's remote America. Terlingua is just outside Big Bend: a tiny, dusty, dark-sky territory town with lots of open space.
My friend planned three diverse, easy-to-moderate hikes in Big Bend: The Lost Mine Trail, Window Trail, and Santa Elena Canyon Trail. The last hike was in the Rio Grande, and we technically ate lunch in Mexico. After the hikes, we explored around Terlingua and took more photos. I'm glad I could visit Big Bend with someone who had been there before: it's massive, a little intimidating, and very dry. And, having been to a few National Parks at this point, it's certainly a unique, out-of-the-way one. If I lived in Texas, I would visit often.
The day before the eclipse, we drove to Big Lake, Texas. Because of the eclipse and generally being the middle-of-nowhere-West-Texas, it was hard to find a place to stay. I knew Big Lake would likely be full of oil rigs, pickups, tankers trucks, and smell like fracking. The hotel was built to accommodate long-term-stay workers. For some reason, the industry and the support network that has grown up around it fascinates me; the landscape is irreparably damaged, and one day, the boom towns will be deserted relics of poor environmental decision-making.
On the morning of the eclipse, we drove to a town with a 3:5-scale Stonehenge replica. While we were looking at the path of totality a few months earlier, I saw this place on Google Maps. Instantly, we agreed that was the spot. When we arrived, we found a $100-per-ticket eclipse festival around Stonehenge and a dam nearby. We staked out territory on the dam for later and then crashed the festival. I had yet to learn that eclipses have a fanbase. The people who follow and travel for eclipses are an adorable mix of friendly and quirky people. We took photos of the crowd and chatted about cameras, previous eclipse experiences, and plans for the next one. Eventually, a lovely family offered my friend extra tickets so we could stay inside the festival area.
But we wanted to be around fewer people, and I really liked the idea of being near water for the eclipse. Last October, I was in the path of totality in Florence, OR, but it was cloudy. Yet, I felt something while standing in the Pacific Ocean during totality. I wanted to be able to touch water this time, too. The day was cloudy, and it turned out that Burlington would have a clearer view than Texas. But my eclipse attitude was, "You get what you get, and you don't get upset." Luckily, we saw the first half and 4 minutes and 25 seconds of totality, and then it completely clouded over. The experience was like a drug, and I understand why people follow that feeling. I wept. We all wept.
Then, we quickly packed up, hit more traffic than I anticipated returning to San Antonio (only an hour away), and realized we wouldn't make our flight back. I'd never missed a flight, but I'd also never seen a total solar eclipse. Everything is give and take. So, another night in Texas and a flight the following day. It was all worth it: the drives, the missed flight, the photos, the feelings. How many eclipses might one see in a lifetime?
