Inside the totality -- or how I learned to stop worrying and love Eclipse 2024

Donn Friedman, Albuquerque Journal, N.M.
·2 min read

Apr. 8—LEAKEY, Texas — The emergency weather and road condition signs along Interstate 10 proclaim: Find a spot and stay put.

So we did.

But the clouds, the sun and the moon didn't listen.

As the time of totality neared Monday along the eclipse pathway, the clouds parted in Leakey, in southwest Texas.

Earlier, a van with "Eclipse or bust" plastered on its window speeded along the more than 660-mile meandering route from Albuquerque.

The journey was not without its detours: a jackknifed semi on the most direct route from Carlsbad to Pecos, Texas, long lines at gas pumps and in towns like Camp Wood, which had no room in the inn and no places to camp.

A cancellation on the Texas State Parks website led me and my wife Rebeca Zimmermann to a campsite Friday at Davis Mountains State Park. There, we rolled into a spot next to a family from Albuquerque, who were en route to a next-night reservation in Camp Wood, which required a three-day minimum stay.

Saturday, we reached the Caverns of Sonora and its campground, where the owners declared its facilities never filled. So with no reservations, we slid into one of a few remaining spots.

At least a few of the vehicles proclaimed their home status with New Mexico license plates. Monday, we drove a route called the Three Sisters from Sonora to Camp Wood and then to our final resting place, Leakey, where a fellow traveler said the sheriff said we could stay the night at a Little League park.

To escape the Monday morning cloud cover, our campmates Janna and Tom Larsen, of Orem, Utah, decided to bug out to Uvalde, 51 miles away.

At T-minus 60 minutes, the Little League park in Leakey started to fill, and the sun slipped past the clouds and started to beat down upon the pop-up eclipse community.

T-minus 3: A little boy sprinted across the park screaming, "It's starting."

Jenna and Tom returned from a cloud-socked Uvalde.

And then, totality. Birds stopped singing and the sky turned as dark as a cloudy, moonlit Monday.

And then, it was over.

This being Texas and the Cowboys not playin', cheers rang out. And gunfire. A cascade of gunfire.

Our expedition was well stocked with four gallons of water, canned food for days and, as we parked, a nearly full tank of diesel for the winding trail home to New Mexico.

"Four minutes and we won't see it again for 20 plus years," Janna said.

Intrepid eclipse chaser Donn Friedman is also a longtime Journal editor.