the Adventure Lifestyle magazine

"AND I IMAGINED THAT THERE I MIGHT MEET AN UNUSUAL BRAND OF TRAViEl R, THE ECLIPSE CHASER." j A solar eclipse occurs when the moon's crosses between the sun and the an umbral shadow on a portion of the is 400 times bigger than the moon, but it to be almost 400 times farther away. As a ine of the sun is covered, allowing us to see the gases that compose the sun's outer atmosphere. To cover up the nearest mountain or skyscraper with (outstl'etched thumb. As the face of the sun is consumed in swallow, the corona explodes into view, the air goes cold is nothing but a sharp black hole in the sky. It is then see tongues of flame, tens of thousands of miles nrl'm;n"'nt>'~" leaping from the surface of the sun and the force of its incredible gravity. After a lasting anywhere from a few seconds , minutes, a sliver of intense light emerges abruptly alternating bands of shadow and immering zebra-striped landscape. A rush of wind follows as the atmosphere rapidly heats final exhalation that races girth of the planet in the of the shadow. "Mindblowing," was the way I'd heard people describe a total solar eclipse. But I had never seen one, so I had no idea whether it was worth quickly rearranging my life to fly from New York to Maracaibo, Venezuela, armed with Sesame Street Spanish for an event that lasts all of three minutes and twenty seconds. Solar eclipses occur every year or two somewhere on Earth. What an amazing thing to do: follow the eclipse to wherever it takes you. Middle of the Namib Desert? Perfect. Off the coast of the last island in the Aleutians? Maybe there's a fishing boat heading in that direction. It sounded like a tradition worth starting. February 26, 1998 was the last opportunity to see an eclipse in the Americas until 2010. Known as the Great Caribbean Eclipse, or the Party Eclipse, the moon's umbral shadow would first touch the Earth in the Pacific Ocean, southeast of the Hawaiian islands, then travel northeast for three hours and 23 minutes before leaving Earth just before North Africa. Venezuela offered the best combination of scenery, duration of totality and chance of good weather. And I imagined that there I might meet an unusual brand of traveler, the eclipse chaser. Not knowing how much Venezuela had geared up for this eclipse, I was a little surprised to see the" Eclipse Information Center" at Maiquetia airport in Caracas, with little mylar glasses for sale and informational pamphlets on how to avoid cauterizing your retinas by gawking at the partially eclipsed sun. Right next to the info center was a clump of travelers, actively waiting for something. I asked them if they were there for the big E. A Japanese guy with heart-shaped sunglasses nodded and handed me a rave flyer for a total eclipse party in Patanemo, somewhere on the coast. Ravers. It figures. But a quick look at one of the maps showed that there would be only 95 percent coverage there. That may sound okay, but in 34 actuality, if it's not total, nothing really happens. It Might as well stay home and rent a movie. Apart from gathering around the wild Patanemo, where would others go? With the crossing mountains, the biggest lake in South beaches and a decent sized peninsula, where would I find Maracaibo wasn't the spot. It's an oil town with a much, and it's hard to find an available room, due to the "hourly traffic in the cheaper places. Sinamaica, a town on the southern part Lago de Maracaibo, was a well-known town on the centerline. But there was nobody at Sinamaica except a bunch of Maytag-Ionely boatmen looking to take people on a tour of the lake. Next I went to Caimare Chico, a party beach on the shore of the lake, which is basically a poor man's Daytona Beach. Come to think of it, Daytona is a poor man's Daytona Beach. There, true luck came my way in the form of a generous and adventurous Venezuelan family. Caravaning in two cars, they offered me a ride up to the human head-shaped Paraguana Peninsula, the top of which was intersected by the centerline and had one of the longest periods of totality on land. We spent the night on the shore of Puerto Escondido, near the northern tip of the peninsula where Bol, a local lobster fisherman, let us camp on his land. The next day was the Big Day. A few shots of coffee and some fish got us started. Totality was due to begin at 2:16 PM. Driving north toward Cabo San Roman, at the tip of the peninsula, we passed banners stretched over the road by Coke and Polar beer, seemingly the official sponsors of this year's eclipse. Why, thank you Coca Cola, for arranging this lovely astronomic spectacle. Up ahead we saw the point. It was beautiful. Cabo San End- of-the-Earth was open, barren and rocky, meeting the ocean abruptly with a wall of spiky ironshore. The perfect place for a mini-apocalypse. There was a group of about 50 tailgaters lined up along the ridge,

• Cover