In August of 2017 I left New York City for Washington to view my first solar eclipse. Dubbed The Great American Eclipse by savvy social media users, this was going to be the first such event since smartphones and Instagram became the staples that they are today. Thousands, possibly millions of Americans traveled to witness the event, which had a narrow corridor of 70-miles stretching from Oregon to South Carolina, and being a Pacific Northwest native myself who happens to love all things celestial, I made the voyage out west. Naively not expecting the traffic to be what it became, I never made it to Oregon but found myself on the south side of Mt. Rainer in an area appropriately called Paradise, which although was not in the path of totality we were still guaranteed partial coverage.

Witnessing that eclipse, even without totality, was bewitching. That evening I wrote in my journal, “Watched our moon slowly cover the sun from 5,400 feet on Rainer this afternoon. I feel electrified like never before. Critical to find a way to experience totality in 2024.” Fortunately for me, I live in New York City and the 2024 eclipse was set to cover several areas adjacent to my house, including Burlington, VT and Buffalo, NY. I’ve been to Burlington, a wonderful city, but Buffalo has Niagara Falls which harnesses a natural power of her own, so I committed to the 7-hour drive and patiently waited for 2024 to approach. 

Early last year I started looking at lodging, and although 2024 was months away, hotels and AirBnBs were booking up and inflated. I secured the cheapest hotel I could find, committing to a rate 3x what it would typically cost, and patiently waited for April. 13-months later the car is packed, I’ve downloaded all my favorite podcasts to catch up on, and I’m on the road somewhere between Scranton and Syracuse. In order to beat the traffic (some states had preemptively declared states of emergency) I left early Sunday morning so I could make it to Niagara Falls and scope out the scene. I’ve been to Niagara Falls several times before but I’ve never seen it so packed in my life.

After paying $25 to park in a sketchy lot, I made my way towards The Falls, past vendors selling bootleg eclipse t-shirts with slogans like “I SURVIVED THE 2024 ECLIPSE” and “TOTAL ECLIPSE OF MY HEART, BUFFALO 2024”. The scene felt a lot like a concert tailgate with a collective comradery, the difference being the crowd was eclectic and diverse in every possible way. Children and adults, hipsters and nature-nerds; what brought everyone together was bigger than us all and left me feeling encouraged and optimistic.

While on the Maid Of The Mist, an electric boat that takes you practically 200-feet under the waterfall, I asked a mother and her two children what brought them up north. They told me they watched the 2017 eclipse from South Carolina which was like a spiritual experience for them. They’re already looking into 2027 for the next total solar eclipse, torn between traveling to Spain or Morocco. 

Monday morning I got up early and headed into Buffalo to explore some different neighborhoods, ending up at Frank  Lloyd Wright’s Martin House, a marvel in itself and the largest of all other Prairie Houses. After getting scolded by a tour guide for “tagging onto the back of her tour”, I zigged and zagged through the neighboring communities, all beautiful if not occasionally in need of some love. The Buffalo suburbs remind me of some of my other favorite cities to explore, like Philadelphia, and Baltimore, and Paterson. Cities that at one time or another were homes of great innovation and industry, and which now are fading into dignified, sleepy little slices of Americana.

Monday morning I wake early in order to catch the 6-9AM window for breakfast in the lobby. The woman at the front desk, remembering I was the photographer that had been lugging around two oversized cameras, says what everyone had been thinking but no one wanted to admit - “Looking like cloud coverage all day, hun”. As much as I had hoped she was wrong, all three of my weather apps said she was right. 

I had booked a reservation at the local drive-in theatre which had converted its grounds to an eclipse-viewing party, and arrived a few hours before the event to talk with some folks and make some pictures. One woman I met had traveled across the country with her Bichon to watch the event. While framing her dog up to take a few pictures, she put the sun-safety glasses on the dog’s head as she began balancing on her rear legs while looking towards the sky, barking. The entire section witnessing the spectacle broke into laughter. Almost everyone I talked to was ecstatic to be there, aside from a local man who told me he was off work and just looking for a new place to day-drink. 

As predicted, the entire day was overcast, which was ironic as Sunday and Tuesday were sunny as could be. I’ll admit it was a bit of a bummer as it became apparent our dutifully acquired and much coveted glasses would be staying in their boxes. That said, we were still in the center of the moon’s path, and we were still prepared for mid-day nightfall, and with or without a clear view of the sun we were going to celebrate this event. 

A solar eclipse doesn’t happen all at once. In fact, it creeps up on you like a slow-moving predator. You notice your eyes are having trouble adjusting. “Is it getting darker or is it just me”?, I ask a group of goth teens sitting in the back of a pickup truck. “It’s definitely getting darker” they confirm. The air turns cold and seemingly out of nowhere, the birds that have been singing all afternoon go silent. And before you know it, the moon is completely in front of the sun. We can’t see this, of course, thanks to the thick cloud-coverage that’s been building all morning, but perhaps the clouds make the sky feel that much darker. I imagine the stars shining above, even if I’m not able to see them with my eyes. The entire area is covered in night, aside from the 5 screens which are cleverly screening the official NASA feed from a telescope. A woman wearing a ball cap with an illustration of the moon begins to cheer, followed by the 2 or 3 people that she’s with. Like The Wave at a baseball game, more and more people begin to clap and hoot. The little kids who just earlier were participating in a chaotic game of putt-putt golf begin to weave in and out of the crowd. A woman in the front row sitting on a lawn chair wipes a tear from her eye. 

And slowly, delicately, like a room with high-end LED lighting, night fades to day and the sun is shining once again. That evening, everyone in town had the same topic of conversation: “The eclipse was amazing, but what a drag that it was covered by clouds”. “Yes”, I agree, “but it didn’t really matter, right?”. Perhaps it’s the optimist in me, or maybe I’m just protecting myself from feeling let down, but I stood in the middle of a parking lot at 3PM in the afternoon, in complete darkness, surrounded by hundreds of people all flocking to watch the sky. I can’t think of many other places I’d rather have been. 

I’m sure seeing the moon crest the sun in person would have been spectacular, obviously it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Fortunately for me, that evening I saw an endless flow of eclipse photos in my Instagram feed, too many, to be honest. And as I scroll past a post from my wife who had an unobstructed view of the partial eclipse from Midtown Manhattan, I tab through pages of travel options for Spain.

-L.M.