Ayla’s Voyage Blog

Publish Date: Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Location: Sand Dollar Anchorage, Georgetown, Exuma Islands, Bahamas
Coordinates: 23° 30.727′ N  75° 44.653′ W

The following are clues as to what this blog is going to be about:

1. The precise coincidental phenomenon described hasn’t happened like this since 1638—that’s 372 years ago,
2. The term for such an event is known as Syzygy—try saying that ten times fast!
3. If you were Mayan or Incan when such a anomaly occurred, it would have been an excellent opportunity to sacrifice some of your most annoying relatives.
4. It won’t happen again until 2094. I’ll be 98 by then.

Have you guessed yet? Yes, this blog is about the December 2010 Winter Solstice Lunar Eclipse. If you had clear skies last night, and braved waking up in the wee hours of the morning on winter break, then you probably had a pretty spectacular view. I know I did. This entire event—an eclipse happening on the winter solstice—was extremely magical for me, and I wanted to share it with you.

By the time darkness fell in the Bahamas, clouds had started to blow in. The horizon over Sand Dollar beach was covered  in thick, gray clouds and the wind was howling so that they continued to creep across the sky, covering the full moon entirely. It was 10:00 when I went to bed, and when I looked out the window last, I couldn’t see anything. It wasn’t looking good for eclipse viewing three hours later.

I’ve never seen an eclipse before. I’ve wanted to for ages, but we’ve just never been in quite the right place at the right time. As eclipses go, I think this was a good one to start off with. The entire event was wholly eerie: it’s the winter solstice, and during the night three celestial bodies aligned into a rare position known as syzygy, on the full moon, creating a total lunar eclipse for watchers in many parts of the Northern Hemisphere. Wow. As Astronomy magazine’s Bob Berman said “This was exactly the kind of spectacle that inspired the fun-loving Mayans to push their most annoying relatives off pyramids.” Exactly. Luckily, in 2010, astronomers are able to predict eclipses like this one, and thousands of eclipse chasers across the Northern Hemisphere were able to set their alarms for what was sure to be a stellar night.

I woke up around 1:40 AM to my mom saying “Ayla…Ayla…it’s starting!” Sleepily, I rolled over and seriously contemplated whether or not this was worth coming out of my sleepy stupor for. “Ayla, you can see Earth’s penumbra across the moon.” That did it. Seconds later, I was out of bed and running up the stairs (I slept in my jeans and sweatshirt so I wouldn’t have to waste sky-time getting dressed) towards the outside.

“Go out on the bow, it’s amazing!” Mom said in a whisper. I grabbed the binoculars from the dashboard, and ran outside. What met my eyes was amazing.

Not only had the clouds parted over the moon, but there wasn’t a smidge of cloud cover anywhere in the sky. The stars—Orion, Andromeda, Cassiopeia, and even Pleiades—were shining like beacons of protective warmth over our boat, and the most remarkable sight of all was suspended directly overhead. The once-full moon, creating a  night as bright as day time, was being eaten. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I don’t know how else to describe the eerie sense that a moon I had seen entirely full with my own eyes a mere three hours before was now missing a sliver—only a sliver—of its Oceanus Procellarum. A faintly copper flow, black without binoculars, was slowly enveloping our moon.

Despite the howling wind moaning through the sailing masts and whipping salt spray up from the crystal like water, I didn’t care how cold or how wet or how windy it was. All I cared about was the fact that I was finally seeing a lunar eclipse. The moon was creeping across Earth, timidly edging into it’s shadow, creating a rare and mysterious event, and I was getting to see it.

The last time this happened—a total lunar eclipse on the winter solstice—was the year 1638. Galileo—who would have been in his 70s when this happened—would have stood in his observatory exactly 372 years back from that moment, and witnessed the same phenomenon. It really puts time in perspective, doesn’t it? Depending on how sophisticated eclipse-predicting mathematics were in 1638, he might have realized that the next time this precise occasion would happen would be in the year 2010. I wonder what he thought of that? Did that seem too far in the future to comprehend? What did he think the world would look like? How did he perceive the possibility of us, standing in his same position, looking up at the same moon crossing the same Earth? The connections over centuries, more often than not, happen in space.

A half hour later, Mom, Dad, and I settled behind the dry stack with a blanket and steaming mugs of hot apple cider, and watched as Earth’s Penumbra continued to eat away at the moon. Through binoculars, the misty shadow appeared a very dusty color of copper. As the moon dimmed, the stars became brighter. I saw more star clusters than I ever have before, and the Orion Nebula was visible with the naked eye. It was still too bright to see the Andromeda Galaxy, but we could see the dense cloud of the Milky Way arched gracefully overhead.

The most magical part of the night came at the minute when totality was complete. The moon was completely covered in Earth’s umbra, and you could no longer see the brilliant white of the full moon—just the beautifully bizarre copper glow of Earth’s shadow hanging over the pockmarked surface. The entire family was looking up—totally awed—when the brightest, longest lasting, and biggest shooting star any of us had ever seen came darting directly under the ring of the moon’s light. I think we all gasped and jumped at precisely the same time.

I don’t know whether it was the thought of witnessing something that hadn’t happened in 372 years or simply the magic of floating out at anchor in a beautiful Bahamian cove watching Earth eat the moon, but either way, the night will be one that I always remember. Sitting with my family on the boat deck, watching the moon become a faint, reddish orb hung by invisible threads in the fabric of space, calling out shooting stars or constellations, and covered in a Christmas blanket drinking hot apple cider—an image of perfect cruising tranquility.

See you in 2094 for the next Winter Solstice Eclipse! Happy Holidays and wishing you clear skies.