The spirit of the eclipse

Eclipse chaser Yvette Cook reports on what it was like in the path of totality in Texas during 8 April's Great American Eclipse

- Yvette cook

As the glow of the Sun's corona cast down on me, I looked around and saw the joy on everyone's faces. We were transfixed by something familiar, looking unfamiliar. What should've been there, seemed not to be there - the only clue the Sun gave away was its pinkish-red chromosphere flaring out from behind the Moon. It's no wonder that the Choctaw Native Americans once thought that a black squirrel was eating the Sun.

The clouds rolled in and blocked my view of the corona, leaving me to focus on my immediate surroundings. The hills had disappeared in the darkness, the usual insect and duck sounds had been replaced by the 'wows' of the crowd and the goosebumps on my arms weren't just caused by the chilly air.

This was not my first eclipse, but the combination of its long duration and the joy of the festival crowd is what made it special.

A childhood dream

I grew up thinking that eclipses were only accessible to people living close to their path. So when the 1999 total eclipse passed through Cornwall, I caught the train from my home in Leicester, pitched a tent and watched in wonder as the shadow swept across the cloudy countryside. I watched eclipses on the television over the next 18 years assuming it was too expensive or too difficult to experience one outside the UK.

By chance, my family were in reach of Oregon, USA for the 2017 total eclipse and I discovered that, with a bit of research, it would be relatively easy to see it. During that eclipse I was overwhelmed by the colours of the sky - full of sparkling blues and purples that I had never witnessed before. The sight of the corona drev me in and I lay on the Oregon plains afterwards feeling like I had experienced something incredible. I vowed to return to the US for the 2024 eclipse.