Chasing Totality: An Astrophysicist’s Lifelong Quest for Solar Eclipses

I had never driven with more determination than when I rushed away from Shelby Park in Nashville. Reaching Davidson Street, my husband shouted, “There! There’s sunlight!” I skidded into the parking lot of a printing company with barely any time to spare. We jumped out of the car, put on our dark glasses, and looked at the quickly disappearing sun. It was surrounded by clouds, but a tiny sliver of light still shone. The time was 1:27 p.m. on 21 August 2017. We had traveled from London to Tennessee to experience the Great American Eclipse – an astronomical phenomenon I had never seen before.

As an Italian-born astronomer, I had always felt at a slight disadvantage. I hold a doctorate in astrophysics focused on galaxy collisions. I have seen many celestial phenomena – comets, planetary alignments, fireballs, galaxies, northern lights – but never a total solar eclipse.

After moving to the UK in 2007, I heard many stories about the 1999 total solar eclipse. I had not witnessed it because it was not visible from Italy. Several friends mentioned they had gone to Cornwall or crossed the Channel to France for a glimpse of that once-in-a-century event. The UK will not experience another until 23 September 2090. I felt cheated by geographical fate.

For the next 18 years, I chased partial solar eclipses, telling myself the difference between 90% coverage and totality could not be that great. It turns out the difference is vast.

That morning in 2017, the sky was crystal clear. We found a hilltop park and settled in, ready for the lunchtime show. We regularly checked the sun through a small solar telescope while wearing our eclipse glasses. It is extremely dangerous to look at the sun without them: you do not want to ruin your sight for a quick glimpse at our star.

As often happens when I set up my telescope in a public space, people flocked to it. Many gathered to witness the spectacle, talking about the wonder of the universe and the imminent eclipse. I knew the theory, but I was not ready for the experience.

Finally, just before noon, we watched as the moon slowly crossed the face of the sun. Then, minutes before totality, the worst happened: clouds. Many rolling clouds from every direction. We knew we could not stay in place; if we wanted to see the eclipse, we needed to move to where the sun was shining. We jumped in the car and chased the last rays into that parking lot.

In the moment of totality, the world around you changes completely. As the moon covers the sun, you are plunged into a peculiar twilight. The outermost layer of the sun’s atmosphere, the corona, usually invisible to the naked eye, becomes apparent. We had only about 50 seconds of totality before a cloud blocked the view, but its beauty shook me to my core.

Everything went quiet as birds landed and hushed, believing night was imminent. My husband and I were moved to tears. I had expected to witness a rare astronomical event, but I gained a new appreciation for the incredible coincidences that make eclipses possible. We live on a planet where the apparent sizes of the moon and the sun are the same, so one can cover the other in the sky. You do not get this on Mars.

I understood in that moment why solar eclipses have often been viewed as omens or auspicious signs from the gods, and why astronomers have long sought to predict these events: there was power in this knowledge. Suddenly, I felt that seeing only one was not enough; I had to experience more.

In April 2024, my husband and I traveled to Mexico to see the second Great American Eclipse. On a beach in Mazatlán, we saw the moon cover the sun for over four minutes. It was very different from 2017 because the sun was at the peak of its solar cycle, so the corona was wispier. The laughter and joyful chatter of the tens of thousands of people gathered to watch immediately turned into a profound and quasi-religious silence as the sun turned black. Once again came the feeling of overwhelming appreciation for our extraordinary universe.

I now describe myself as an ‘eclipse hunter’. I have already booked trips to Spain for the total eclipses on 12 August 2026 and 2 August 2027. The latter will be the longest eclipse of the rest of the century, with totality lasting over six minutes due to an excellent alignment between Earth, the moon, and the sun – so long that one might almost get bored by it… but I know that, for me, this cosmic phenomenon will remain endlessly fascinating.

Invisible Rainbows by Alfredo Carpineti is published on 21 May by Wilton Square Books at £16.99. To support the Guardian, order your copy at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply.

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