 |
The 1999 total solar eclipse from Sivas, Turkey ...
After spending two very busy days in Istanbul at the start of our
expedition, we caught our internal flight to Kayseri. The duration of
the flight was approximately two hours. Our captain cast shadows of
doubt in our minds by informing us that our destination was overcast
with cloud - the dreaded 'C'-word! As our flight progressed, his forecast
seemed accurate enough - towards the east (our general direction of
travel) lay a blanket of cloud.
At an altitude of approximately 11,000 feet, on the southern horizon stood
a single Cumulonimbus cloud like a sentinel. This cloud fascinated me,
I watched as high altitude winds teased its top into a distorted shape
resembling an anvil. Little did I know that this was the forebearer to
some very anxious moments ... As I watched the Sun set in the west, I
wondered if it would be the last time I saw it. Upon landing at Kayseri,
(a military airbase) we were escorted by armed guard to the civilian terminal
building. To my relief, when I looked toward the sky, it was clear!
Our next excursion would take us by road, on a three and a half hour journey
to Avanos - our base for the next two days. Even though by now, darkness
had fallen and I was tired, I didn't want to sleep. Instead, I pressed
my face up against the coach window to catch a glimpse of the stars. What
a lot there were! Long stretches of unlit highway through the countryside
provided a sky that was dark and transparent. There before me lay Ursa
Major, Cassiopeia and Perseus - I was sure I could see the Milky Way!
Also on view were bright Arcturus and over to the southwest Mars was hanging
low.
On arrival at our hotel, we were greeted by a rather disconcerting message
... Thunder storms were forecast for eclipse-day in Sivas - the area in
which our observation site was located. To make matters worse, we needed
to be awake the following morning at half past four! This would allow
us to travel further afield, if conditions were less than promising.
Our hotel room was hot. The air conditioning, even turned up full, just
didn't help. So after preparing our equipment for the following day, we
tried to get our three and a half hours sleep ... Four thirty soon came
around. First things first - take a look outside - thank goodness, the
sky was perfectly clear. Towards the zenith, shining extremely brightly,
was Jupiter - a lovely sight.
After breakfast we boarded our coach for the six hour journey to Sivas.
Bleary-eyed, as we drove away from our hotel, the Sun rose above a nearby
mountain and sent orangey-red light spilling on to our faces. A cheer
went up - we were on our way! It was six o'clock.
Once again, even though I was very tired, I just didn't want to sleep,
so much lay ahead. It was at this point that I made my decision to image
the eclipse on 100 ASA film. I set about writing an exposure table for
the partial phases and totality. This way I knew exactly what I needed
to do and when.
As the morning progressed, there was no sign of any cloud whatsoever.
After our third and final stop to stretch our legs, we began the last
portion of our journey. Only 120 kilometres to go. The landscape around
us was dry, parched and extremely barren. Huge plains bordered by mountain
ranges, inter-spaced with oases of green - crops of watermelon and grapes.
As the temperature rose to a dizzy mid-thirty degrees, so did the cloud.
Over on the eastern horizon, towering columns of water vapour were condensing.
Though by no means excessive, I refused to believe we were going to see
an eclipse at all. We climbed into the mountains, where we saw some breathtaking
scenery. The geology of the area was striking - I could see volcanic and
sedimentary layering in the rocks all around us - clearly, these mountains
were old!
Descending into Sivas an expectant atmosphere grew as we approached our
destination. After a short time, we turned off the main highway and travelled
down a narrow tarmac road for approximately half a mile. We had arrived!
Soon off the coach, we were able to survey our site. It was perfect. A
vast, open-space with the low lying mountains of Tecer Daglari in the
distance. We collected our belongings and walked across the fields for
quarter of a mile or so to our own observation plot, well clear of anyone
else. The stubble-like dried grass around us was full of crickets. I noticed
that when I placed my feet on the ground as I walked, they scattered in
all directions. It was quarter past twelve, just over fifty minutes before
First Contact.
Once I had set up my photographic equipment and shot two 'keyframes' of
the landscape around me, I decided to take a look at the Sun. As I manoeuvred
my equipment in the general direction, I made its shadow as condensed
as possible. Looking through my f8, 500mm mirror lens with 2x converter
and Thousand Oaks type 2+ solar filter, the Sun was nowhere to be seen.
How I struggled to find my target - it seemed so easy at home!
Fifty four minutes past twelve, t-minus fifteen minutes. It became apparent
that the cloud we could see wasn't going to affect us as it was moving
in an easterly direction. Initially worrying, but extremely spectacular
nevertheless, a large anvil-shaped Cumulonimbus cloud, chased by two smaller
ones hung in the sky to the east. Whilst counting down the minutes and
seconds until First Contact, I remember thinking to myself that I couldn't
believe I was just about to see my first total solar eclipse!
Six minutes past one o'clock, First Contact was upon us. But it wasn't
... it was a full thirty seconds before I saw a minute portion of the
lunar disk starting to creep over the Sun. 'First Contact!' I shouted.
Click, click, click - the first three exposures of the partial phases
- 1/125th, 1/60th and 1/30th of a second. I felt so excited, this was
it - it was really happening! At five minute intervals, I continued to
record the progress of the celestial show before me. After the initial
excitement of First Contact, the passage of the Moon across the solar
disk seemed to grind to a halt. Around fifty percent coverage was indicated
by the first of a trio of sunspots to be obscured. Interestingly, each
spot was 'eaten-up' in almost precisely five minute intervals. I wondered
if it would be possible to calculate the distance between each, given
the time taken to travel between the first and last.
At half an hour before totality, it was time to load a new roll of Kodak
Elite Chrome transparency film. Before leaving for Turkey, I had calculated
that I could either leave myself eight, or two minutes before Second Contact
to change rolls. This was on the assumption that I would bracket two exposures
for the partial phases. In reality, I bracketed at three shutter speeds
for each exposure. I'm so glad I did. The whole process was probably one
of the most stressful exercises I have ever undertaken! I had taken care
to place the lenses, filter, cable release, etc., in set positions so
I could easily re-assemble my equipment. Mysteriously, everything had
become hidden from view ... where had I put everything?! What should have
taken a couple of minutes took considerably longer.
As the solar crescent waned, I thought of projecting the partial phase
onto the ground by crossing my fingers over one another to create a crude
pinhole camera. It worked!
All of a sudden, about fifteen to twenty minutes before totality, Andy,
my partner for the expedition, pointed out that the quality of the light
had changed. Indeed it had, the colour in the landscape had become quite
watery. I checked my shadow. The hard edges around the outline of my figure
were diffuse and the inner shadow had become darker. Also, the air temperature
had started to drop. It was to plummet approximately ten degrees during
mid-eclipse.
I was ready for totality. As I focussed on the last slender phases of
the Sun, at less than five minutes before Second Contact, everything around
us looked positively weird. The land had become almost semi-transparent,
as if crystalized. I felt that if I had plucked a blade of dried grass,
it would have splintered in my fingers. I noticed that the street lamps
in the nearby village of Guydun had turned themselves on. Then, somewhere
in the distance, a cock started to crow as if it were daybreak. I looked
around for the three dragonflies that had been buzzing about us since
First Contact - they had disappeared. We were surrounded by silence. It
had been quiet before, but now even more so - the stillness seemed to
have arrived in stages. I watched for shadow bands, but saw none.
I returned to my camera viewfinder for my last set of exposures, click,
click, click. I couldn't believe how slender the Suns crescent was! Andy
called ' ... about five minutes!' 'No way, it's coming, it's coming!'
I replied. I was shaking. I tried to remove the solar filter from my lens,
but in the process, lost critical focus by accidentally twisting the focussing
ring. Oh no, not now! Back on with the filter, re-focus, then carefully
remove it again ...
This really was it, the moment I had waited for, over the last thirteen
months!
The light began to fade faster than ever, as if turning down an enormous
dimmer switch. I squinted my eyes and moved them back to the camera, Baily's
beads and the diamond ring were yet to come, but I could already see the
corona! The next I remember is hearing a collective cheer from our left
hand side. I shouted, 'Diamond ring!' It looked just as I had imagined
it - a huge solitaire suspended in the sky, with a band of corona coming
into view around it. Had there not been any Baily's beads ...?
I was in awe. 'I can't believe it, I can't believe it!', I couldn't help
but repeat myself over and over. Venus was next - an easy target to the
left of the eclipsed Sun. I searched for Mercury, but couldn't see it.
I would try again later. Nothing prepared me for what I saw through my
viewfinder. Prominences - lots of them! I quickly counted six or eight,
iridescent and ruby red in colour. Amazingly, one was detached, floating
free of the solar limb. Wow! Next was the corona, a pearly blue veil,
full of incredible detail - more than I can recall. It seemed to extend
all the way to the edges of my field of view. Andy said that the corona
extended well beyond the edges of his viewfinder, and he was using a 500mm
lens - half the focal length of mine.
By this time, I had begun my exposures for totality. One twenty-fifth
of a second all the way down to four seconds. Ten exposures in total.
I couldn't believe the incredible intensity and depth of blackness in
the silhouetted lunar disk. I had never seen a shade of black quite the
same. It was almost as if there was a huge void where the Sun once was
... My practice had paid-off, I had completed all the photography I required,
with a full minute of the total eclipse still to spare. I would be back
for more images as Third Contact approached.
I was now able to take in the whole spectacle 'naturally' by naked-eye.
The sky had turned a deep purple-blue. In a perfect circle all around
us, the horizon was a fiery-orange. Probably stretching to ten degrees
in altitude. From here to the zenith above us, we were in the lunar shadow.
I felt like I could really see the extent of the diameter of the Moon.
Those Cumulonimbus clouds! They looked so angry - steely-grey around the
edges and lit within by an eerie orange light. They certainly added an
extra dimension to the whole scene.
Back to totality. The corona was a delicate and pearly-blue in colour.
I expected it to be near-circular and therefore uniform in shape, given
that the Sun was approaching solar maximum. Yet I described it as being
'spiky', especially (as I recall) towards the lower left. The coronal
streamers were magnificent! The whole scene looked so different than I
had imagined. The pictures I had seen in books had seriously affected
my perception of the true 'visual' nature of the event. Strangely, I almost
felt like it's impact was anti-climatic. 'Mercury!' was next. I could
see it now that my eyes had become adapted to the half-light. It was much
fainter than I expected, situated to the lower right of the eclipsed Sun.
I was to be one of only a few people who saw it.
The end of the celestial show was fast approaching - the trailing limb
of the Moon was starting to brighten. It was time to try and capture the
diamond ring and Baily's beads again. Unfortunately, due to the extremes
in exposure time between the two, I wasn't quite as efficient as before
and fumbled my exposures. Having said this, unbeknown to me at the time,
I was lucky enough to have secured an image of Baily's beads. I don't
recall much of the second diamond ring, except that it was brighter than
the first and just as spectacular!
Once again, the light began to rise, but before my first total solar eclipse
was over, I witnessed something quite strange. Whilst at my camera during
the diamond ring, out of the corner of my eye, I saw three flashes of
light. Two white and one red. I have no explanation as to what this could
have been. Initially, I wondered if it could have been the Sun's rays
bursting through and over the lunar valleys and mountains, creating sharp
increases in the intensity of the light. Others said that it may have
been shadow bands, a flashgun firing or even Perseid meteors/fireballs.
Totality was now over, but what a long two minutes seven seconds it had
seemed to be! My mind was so full of what had happened before my eyes,
that the next twenty minutes seemed like twenty seconds. It had taken
the Moon an age to move towards Second Contact, but now it was rushing
away at an incredible pace towards Fourth. Sadly, it was time to pack
my equipment away. Unfortunately, I was unable to stay for Fourth Contact.
As I started to walk towards the coach, a Land Rover containing four armed
guards pulled up beside me. Oh no, what had I done?! They gestured for
me to climb aboard - they were offering to give me a lift back - excellent!
On the return journey to Avanos, I couldn't contain my excitement as I
watched video recordings and chatted about what we had just seen. As we
approached our hotel, once again the Sun set behind the mountains. We
hoped to see the green flash, but it didn't materialize.
I remember sometime ago, having read or been told that everyone should
make a point of watching the Sun rise and set at least once during their
lifetime ... I had seen both and witnessed the final total solar eclipse
of the Millennium. What a truly inspirational experience! I can't wait
for 2001 ...
Andrew Greenwood
Click on an image to see a larger version.
[
^ ] |
|
 |
|
 |
|
Keep up-to-date with the Society's
events ... Click
here. |
|
 |
 March
and April updates ...!
Apologies for the late updating
of the MAS website for March.
As a result I decided to put twice as much work into the update
and include April too ...
Some of us (depending on when you're reading this) will be either
getting excited at the prospect of going to see March's total solar
eclipse, or wondering when on Earth the next one will be - thinking
'I simply must see another one!' No doubt images of the beautiful
event will adorn the pages of this website in the coming weeks.
The following sections have been updated: This month's night sky,
Observations and Gallery.
 |
|
 |
|
|
Home
| The
Society | Forthcoming
lectures | Observations
| This
month's night sky | Gallery
| Links
| Contact
us