Eclipsed

I clicked on a Web page the other day and noticed that we were going to have a lunar eclipse. Furthermore, it would happen at 8:41 PM locally, just as the moon was rising. “Cool,” I thought. “Pictures of a blood-red moon over the Pacific!”

As you may know, some superstitious ancients believed that lunar eclipses were caused by a dragon eating and then regurgitating the moon. Nothing could be further from the truth; dragons have notoriously robust digestive systems. It's actually my neighbor's dog, who will eat anything and then leave its remains on your doorstep, who is responsible for this amazing celestial phenomenon. So you can understand that I am amazed that his behavior can be predicted with such precision. But who am I to question science? After all, it is science that gives us answers to difficult but important questions like when the tide will be highest, what makes cookies tasty, and exactly how hot the inside of your car needs to get to bake those cookies.

Anyway, the eclipse was not to be missed; never mind that we had relatives visiting. I planned the day carefully: we would meet our in-laws at the airport, drive them to their hotel, and quickly rush back home to catch the evening sky show.

But my wife, as wives are prone to do, put the kibosh on that plan. “Don't you think it's a bit rude to abandon them like that? They've been living on airline food for 24 hours. They're lucky to be alive!” I had to admit that she had a point, airline food being all too similar to what the neighbor's dog presents to us.

So there we were at 8:41 PM on December 21st, sitting in a restaurant with no windows. I would have been even sulkier than usual, except that it turned out to be completely overcast and we couldn't have seen the eclipse anyway.

…until the next morning, when my favorite news site proclaimed “Lunar eclipse tonight.” It seems that, like Phileas Fogg, I had forgotten about the International Date Line. I always thought it was a phone number for meeting beautiful and lonely Russians (the same ones who keep e-mailing me with their pictures and offers of marriage), but in fact it's a huge line painted on the surface of the Pacific Ocean, where everybody on the left side of the line (that's me) is already living in tomorrow. So, if you carefully account for my confusion, the eclipse was going to be today instead of yesterday!

Note: if you think you understood the above explanation, please put down your computer and phone your psychiatrist immediately.

So I had a second chance. The in-laws decided to dine by themselves, and the sky seemed to be clearing. I jumped into the car and drove to a good vantage point on a local hill. There I was about 10 minutes before moonrise with my camera, tripod, and goofy-looking hat. (If you're interested in photography, it's important to have a special hat; otherwise people won't take you seriously. If they do take you seriously, watch out, because they're only pretending until the guys with straitjackets arrive.)

As it turned out, I ran into a couple of minor problems. No, I didn't kill any sheep. But the New Zealand wind was determined to set a speed record, and I was on an exposed hilltop. I didn't much mind when I laid my tripod on the ground (sideways) and it immediately blew ten feet away. It wasn't too bad when a gust of wind knocked me off my feet. Only when my car rolled over on its side did I begin to think that it might be hard to get a picture.

But I'm tenacious. I sat down on a rock, braced myself, and waited. And waited. And waited. Eventually, half an hour after the supposed moonrise, I got a good view of the water and saw that there were thick clouds on the horizon. No way the moon was going to be visible, eclipse or no eclipse. By the time it got over the clouds, the eclipse would be finished and it would be a plain, ordinary, boring full moon. So I packed up and drove home. No sense freezing out there.

When I walked in the house, my daughter said “Pretty neat, huh?” I looked blank; she pointed out the window to where the dog was just starting to regurgitate the completely visible moon.

Oh, great: I blew it completely. But that's OK; I'm resilient. I know how to handle failure.

I hit her over the head with the tripod.