Terminal to Totality
On the morning of April 8th, high above North Texas, I anxiously re-checked the weather forecast, just as many others in the path of the “Great North American Eclipse” did that day. While some enthusiasts had planned their viewing months or even decades in advance, my approach was somewhat more haphazard.
A one-way ticket from SFO to DFW, purchased in early February, was the first kernel of a plan. I wasn’t sure how likely it would be for me to make the trip. Work or other commitments could easily force me to cancel, but absent that scenario, Dallas seemed the best location. The combination of its location on the path of totality, as well as the onward flight connection possibilities sealed the deal. I could determine later where to go from there, but at least I knew that getting there on the morning of the 8th would guarantee an eclipse view…in theory.
The weather was a wildcard, and as the day approached, the forecast became less favorable, settling somewhere around 40–60% cloud coverage. With just a few hours to go, the dip to 20–40% cloud coverage was a glimmer of hope.
“Not great, not terrible.”
Watching the eclipse from the airport also held a special charm in my view. Airports are perhaps the ultimate liminal spaces, and DFW airport is by far the airport I’ve transited through most often, so it seemed suitable that I would watch the lunar transit across the sun from there.
After landing, as we waited to deplane, a couple seated in the next row gave away extra eclipse glasses. A gentleman on the other side of the aisle anxiously called a friend to inquire about a rental car that would take them to “wherever the weather was best.” My plan was different. With hotels in short supply and a need to be elsewhere the following day, my trip was strictly a fly-in, fly-out affair. Given the practical need to stay inside the airport, the question emerged: Where exactly should I watch it from?
The potentially obvious answer, “Just look out any window,” was complicated by the fact that the terminals I was arriving and departing from faced the wrong way and, for obvious reasons, weren’t exactly positioned to take in the Texas sun.
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Days before, I had looked through airport maps, photographs, and reviews, exploring my options (including just riding Skylink during the eclipse), and concluded that the American Airlines Admiral’s Club in satellite Terminal E was ideal. The smallest of American’s six lounges at the airport has large windows facing just the right way.
I had a scheduled one-hour video meeting after landing, leaving me just enough time to sprint from one terminal to another to catch the main event. While on the Skylink, I could see dozens of people gathering on the top floor of the airport parking structures, and in the open terminal spaces, quite a few people were peering through windows at odd angles trying to catch a glimpse of the sun. Arriving at the lounge at around 25 minutes to totality, I found mostly bright skies, then proceeded to fling open my luggage and pull out my assortment of photographic goodies.
At the lounge, anticipation was building among the few people there, although much of it seemed focused on the local newscast showing a close-up of the partial eclipse overhead. A few people were using safety glasses to look upwards, and I also had some extras to share.
Through those safety glasses and a 6-dollar photo filter, I could see the outline of the partial eclipse as totality approached. As much as I wish it were a highly precise operation, amidst the excitement, I kept fumbling through multiple devices, filters, shutter settings, and more, trying to determine which worked best in the rapidly evolving conditions.
Sometimes, even finding the sun was a challenge. As the sky darkened, clouds moved in, and seeing anything turned into trying to catch elusive glimpses between clouds. The possibility dawned on me that a thick cloud cover might be moving in at the worst possible time.
Luckily, this was not to be the case. Although clouds glided in and out, the definitive outline of totality became clearer.
As the sky went completely dark, I could no longer tell where the clouds were, but the eclipsed sun was clearly in sight.
The people nearby and I marveled at what we were looking at. The mood was jovial, punctuated by my neighbor’s vocal requests to “turn out the lights!” At one point the navigation lights of an airliner swept glided past the eclipse. Clearly, others were also having a nice view.
Totality lasted two minutes and forty-three seconds, but it felt much longer.
I have seen countless pictures and videos of solar eclipses over the years, but something that caught me by surprise and a highlight of watching this eclipse was seeing the red eruptive prominences emerge from the sun with my own eyes, making the sun come to life in a way I’d never seen before.
My less eventful transit continued once the sun and moon’s transit concluded. Mission accomplished. I couldn’t resist buying a commemorative hat just before boarding my flight out.
Watching the eclipse from the airport might not have been the most dramatic setting, but after the experience, I am even more convinced that such a place, one that leads to both temporary and long-enduring connections, made the already amazing experience particularly special.
