Eclipse brings crowds to tiny Oregon town
CAMP SHERMAN, Ore. — Surreal darkness accompanied the steady drop in temperature.
Excited shouts echoed from the neighboring homes, open fields and nearby unseen viewing places where others watched. All of them waiting, waiting, waiting for totality, the moment the moon would cover the sun.
The process that began from our eclipse viewing place in Camp Sherman shortly after 9 Monday morning seemed to suddenly accelerate.
Within a half-hour what began as a tiny nibble on the sun’s northern flank had gobbled about half its surface. Wearing our special eclipse glasses we watched, excitingly barking a series of whoops and wows.
Within another 15 minutes what remained of the sun looked like a Cheshire cat’s narrowing grin.
Alternating bands of light shimmered as the coverage continued. Points of light — Baily’s beads — appeared as streams of sunlight rolled across the moon.
Then, split seconds before totality, oohs and aahs echoed as the diamond ring effect briefly but brilliantly glowed around the blackening moon.
Shortly after 10 — no one was watching the time too closely — the moon fully covered the sun.
Totality.
Everyone cheered, some focused on the moment, others madly clicking away photos on cameras and cell phones.
The corona, a bluish white glow, emitted an ethereal fluorescent hue, its intensity seemingly evolving each second.
With totality, stars magically appeared, but the brightest point of light was the steady, brilliant glow of the planet Venus.
It lasted only about a minute, but the impact of totality was, well, totally involving.
Actually, the experience was days in the making. Friends and I had arrived in Camp Sherman, a small community near Bend, on Saturday, wanting to miss the feared bumper-to-bumper traffic. Tucked away in forestlands near the Metolius River, the community — like others in Central Oregon — had been preparing for the invasion for months.
The Camp Sherman Store was ready with eclipse glasses, T-shirts and other souvenirs. Its owners organized impromptu dinners outside the store Saturday and Sunday nights. Popular trails along the Metolius River, called by some Oregon’s most magical river, and campgrounds swelled with hikers and campers.
On Sunday morning, seasonal and year-around residents were joined by visitors like Steve, Allen and me for a special “Egg-lipse” pancake breakfast at the community hall.
Camp Sherman has a history. The first homesteaders arrived in 1891, mostly wheat farmers and their families from high desert areas of Sherman County seeking to escape the summer heat to camp, hike and fish along the Metolius. The Forest Service began leasing lands along the river for summer residences in 1916.
Legend says Camp Sherman got its name in unusual fashion. To guide other farmers to the community, it’s said someone hammered a shoebox to a tree at a fork in the road with the name, “Camp Sherman.” The name stuck.
While others stacked nearly side-by-side in freshly harvested fields in and near the suddenly populated cities of Madras and Prineville — dubbed by some television networks as the nation’s best region for eclipse viewing — we and others savored the experience with a smattering of old and new friends.
And even as the moon gradually yielded sunlight, we knew that — like millions of others across the nation — had shared a mystical experience, not only the moment the sun disappeared, but the eternity of a memory.