Eyes to the sky, heart in his throat

Opinion

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 22/08/2017 (2973 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

Last week, I chanced to be speaking with Chris Rutkowski, Winnipeg’s own expert of unidentified flying object sightings, when I asked him the obvious question.

I wondered if he was planning on watching the total eclipse of the sun? Of course he was.

And to do it he was heading for the so-called “path of totality” — due south to small-town middle America — for a chance to witness what has been described over-and-over again this week as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Except for Rutkowski — this would be his twice-in-a-lifetime chance to witness one of nature’s rarest and most awe-inspiring sky shows.

When Rutkowski was a 20-year-old University of Manitoba student 38 years ago, he didn’t have to leave Winnipeg to be in the path of totality.

But he did.

He and some pals made the two-hour drive north to Hecla Island and got rooms at the fully booked resort. Hecla Island would get more of the sky show than Winnipeg — “near maximum duration of totality” — which is why Rutkowski and his astronomy-focused friends were joined by eclipse chasers and astronomers from around the globe, including some from NASA.

Writing earlier this month in the U of M Alumni, Rutkowski recalled some of the highlights of that Feb. 26, 1979, winter morning that briefly turned to night.

“By 1979, I had already been attending courses in astronomy at the University of Manitoba, so I knew what to expect.”

“And what a beautiful setting it was,” Rutkowski wrote. “The lake was frozen and the snow-covered ice seemed to stretch forever. The resort was nestled in the trees along the shore and one could walk across the snowdrifts to a lighthouse — if you dared risk frostbite.”

The cold tended to offer the setting an added advantage for people travelling from California, England and Germany that the path of totality that started on the North American west coast didn’t have: a better chance of a clear-viewing sky.

Although, on the night before, there was a lot of nervous chatter and apprehension over concern that cloud cover could be moving in.

“I remember heading for bed at a reasonable hour (reasonable for an astronomer, anyway) and settled in for the night. But I was awakened in the middle of the night by someone pounding on the door of my room and running down the hallway pounding on others’ doors. It turned out to be an astronomer and his associates from the NASA Jet Propulsion Laboratory in California, who had been unable to sleep and had looked into the sky to discover the northern lights were putting on a great show. Not having seen them before, the Californians were blown away by the display and wanted everyone to share in the experience. It was, of course, significant for another reason: if you could see the northern lights that clearly, it meant the skies were clear. Sure enough, when dawn broke, the blue sky heralded almost perfect seeing conditions. The morning zipped by quickly, but not as fast as the eclipse itself. At about 9:30 a.m., there were many excited shouts of ‘first contact’ as the moon’s shadow first touched the bright face of the sun.”

And gradually, finally, totality.

“Everyone was completely in awe of the spectacle,” Rutkowski wrote. “One could only wonder how such a phenomenon would have been regarded by ancient peoples, who would have attributed the sun’s disappearance to an evil being’s revenge upon the Earth. It would have foretold of bad things to come and the downfall of rulers.

“But after what seemed like only a few seconds — even though it lasted almost three minutes — third contact arrived and the sun slowly began to reappear with another diamond ring of light. It was a real letdown. We all wanted more.”

Which Rutkowski would wait nearly four decades to get.

So it was on Monday Rutkowski and his wife, Donna, had driven 1,156 kilometres due south of Winnipeg chasing another total eclipse at a bed and breakfast they booked a year earlier in Fairfax, Mo. (population 591). By Monday morning, tiny Fairfax was experiencing a flash-flood of thousands of visitors. As he suggested when I contacted him and he responded via text Monday morning, “We went looking for a place to eat last night but it’s so busy that the one we managed to get a table at was running out of food. Traffic is crazy.”

Rutkowski said the town folk are full of questions, maybe because they learned he was there to witness a once-in-a-lifetime event one more time.

What kind of questions did they have?

“Will we go blind? Are my dogs safe?”

There was already something familiar about the second time; apprehension about whether the sky would be clear or cloudy. There were thunderstorms in the area.

“We’ve had some sunny breaks and are hoping for some good luck,” Rutkowski said in a text late Monday morning.

I asked if he was experiencing any difference this time as he anxiously waited. “An appreciation for the clockwork of the heavens,” he wrote.

And with that, the clockwork intervened. “Have to dash. First contact in 15 mins.”

Time passed, probably slower for me wondering what he could see and the feelings he was experiencing, than for him. Then, finally, at 1:09 p.m. another text from Rutkowski and a report.

“Amazing,” he began. “Flowers closed, dogs laid down to sleep.”

Really? “Yes.”

“360 degree sunset followed by 360 degree sunrise. It got dark. Everyone was amazed by how dark it got. The farm lights went on because it got so dark.”

I told Rutkowski he was giving me the chills. “Was it clear?” I asked, “or at least clear viewing?”

“We had about a minute of thin crescent,” he answered, “before the clouds moved in. So never actually saw totality. But it was a remarkable experience.”

I wondered if it was still worth it. If, like a first kiss, the first time is always the best.

“I think this time I had a greater appreciation to what was happening,” he wrote.

No matter.

Naturally, there was “a bit” of disappointment because of the cloud cover, but Chris and Donna Rutkowski are already planning for the next total eclipse of the sun in 2024, when he will be 65, chasing the sun again in their golden years.

Why?

Maybe because, unlike us, appreciating nature and the majesty of the heavens never gets old.

gordon.sinclair@freepress.mb.ca