The 4:35 p.m. Show

The crowd passing through Bangor Airport was mid-summer size. There was a buzz going around about the upcoming solar eclipse and today was the day. Greg was waiting curbside in my new-old Defender with a can of Twisted Tea in his lap, wedged between his legs.

“Hard ride, buddy,” he said.

“Oh sure, but the bumps go away once you get to fifth gear,” I responded, hopefully. I hadn’t been behind the wheel since it was overhauled.

“You sure went to a lot of time, trouble and money to restore this baby.”

“Yeah, but now we can offroad for those big rainbow trout we couldn’t get to before.”

The I-95 traffic going north was heavy, with trailers of all sizes and makes clogging the right lane. The license plates were from up and down the east coast. The Houlton Pioneer Times had irreverently predicted more visitors to the state for the eclipse than available toilets, as municipal planners were organizing extra tents and porta-potties for the expected crowds.

At a maximum speed of 45 mph in top gear the new-old Defender added an extra 30 minutes to the usual two-hour drive to Danforth. Fifth gear was only slightly less bumpy than the other four, but we reached camp with some time to spare before the eclipse would be visible over East Grand Lake. The weather had cleared and the snow from the April Fools storm had melted. The driveway was muddy as usual this time of year but the fat tires on the Defender helped us through the mire. I quickly changed into camp clothes – flannel shirt, jeans and rubber mud boots--and handed out the extra eclipse glasses I had brought along to share with everyone. I had no interest in joining the crowds in Houlton as I had my own viewing platform i.e. my deck. Katie had set up a few old wooden lounge chairs for us. Greg’s daughter Darcy and her toddler Grayson also joined us last minute. Of course, the dogs followed us down too, sniffing about from all the excitement. We all had a catch-up talk about the winter, which had been an especially frigid one. After the defrost, activity at camp picked up. Darcy had restrung my rods. The motor on the little runabout was refurbished. The damage to the roof on the guest cabin after a massive mid-winter storm was repaired. Most importantly, the wi-fi was working—at least for now.

Before we knew it the 4:35pm show was fast approaching. We donned our eclipse glasses and looked up. As the moon slowly moved between the earth and sun, the sky over the lake began to change, like a watercolor painting, the paper darkening brushstroke by brushstroke. The wind over the lake picked up and I buttoned my camp shirt. I turned to the others on the dock as we had all fallen silent. Interestingly, our rural Maine was the last United States stop along the 115 mile-wide path of totality. The climax only lasted three minutes and eighteen seconds, with the sun’s neon-like ring and all the night stars visible. Whoa—a total eclipse. My first.