Category: Solar Eclipses

I had never seen a total solar eclipse. That's a strange thing to admit for the skywatching writer at Space.com, but the truth is that the opportunity had simply never come up.

When it comes to eclipses, I've always been beguiled by their beauty from afar. I've always hoped to see that strange moment when a black sun manifests to extend a glowing atmosphere into the fleeting twilight of totality. But after 37 years I hadn't once found myself in the path of the moon's inner shadow, and it was starting to feel like something that simply happened to other people.

That all changed when I joined Space.com and my life became anchored in the movements of the planets, moon and stars. I was offered the chance to report on the 2026 total solar eclipse from Spain, while our skywatching editor, Daisy Dobrijevic, witnessed totality from an HX Expedition's cruise aboard MS Spitsbergen in East Greenland. In the end, my first eclipse experience would be everything I had hoped for and more. A perfect blend of science, awe, culture and faith, that I'll carry with me for the rest of my life.

I covered the Aug. 12 eclipse from the small village — or pueblo — of Valoria la Buena in central Spain. There, I joined a team of citizen scientists from the Dynamic Eclipse Broadcast (DEB) Initiative, a voluntary initiative guided by professional astronomers from Southern Illinois University and, where possible, part funded by grants from the NASA Science Mission Directorate and the National Science Foundation. For this eclipse, the DEB was tasked with capturing data on the sun's corona while transmitting a live feed to a NASA webcast from within the path of totality.

Months of preparation, writing and trading emails with the DEB team lead Charles Greenwald came and went. Before I knew it my bags were packed, my passport was in hand and I was standing in a taxi rank outside the Madrid-Barajas Airport in the heart of Spain.

Hours of mild embarrassment ensued as I used broken Spanish and hand gestures to negotiate my way across the city to the Chamartín-Clara Campoamor station. Then onto a high-speed train heading north to Valladolid — a beautiful city whose pronunciation I butchered for the entirety of my stay.

Into the path of totality

Upon arrival I was met by Charles' brother in law Santiago and nephew Andreas, who had travelled from Guadalajara, Mexico to witness the eclipse. Andreas led us on a short detour to hunt down some quality coffee beans — he's something of an aficionado. Then on to Valoria la Buena, by means of a final 30-minute car ride that would take us deep into the path of totality.

I had embraced Charles' idea of joining the DEB group not only for the citizen science, but also because of the unique opportunity to observe the eclipse with a multinational group hailing from Mexico, the U.S. and, more locally, members from Madrid and Valladolid.

Half of the group spoke fluent English while the other spoke none at all — a mix that set the stage for an intoxicating blend of meaningful conversation and rapt observation, as the group talked passionately in Spanish over magnificent home-cooked food prepared chiefly by Santiago, his wife Gaby and Andreas.

Once at the house in Valoria la Buena I finally got the chance to connect face to face with Charles, after months of sporadic video calls. In the months leading up to the eclipse Charles had dedicated precious down time to prepare his team and test new software for the solar telescopes.

As an undergraduate, Charles had studied optics and physics before ultimately pursuing a career in aviation, which nowadays sees him fly around the world for the global shipping and logistics giant FedEx. Over dinner that first night I discovered that he was also a retired colonel in the United States Air Force, and had flown some 35 different aircraft ranging from an F15 fighter to a C-17 globemaster over the course of his military career.

He had first discovered the DEB in an article from Sky & Telescope during a brief FedEx stopoff in Sydney, Australia. After heeding the call for volunteers and spent the next year assembling a team of family and students to capture the Great American Eclipse of 2024.

Several members of the group, including Santiago, Andreas and Arath — a student at the Universidad de Guadalajara — are veterans of that first campaign. For others, like myself, it would be an incredible first. But Charles' passion is what brought it all together.

1 day to totality

In the blink of an eye it was Aug. 11 — and we had just one day to go.

With prep time running short, I packed my camera gear and headed out to our eclipse site, where the DEB team was busy practicing with their solar scope.

My goal was to observe and get the lay of the land. I also needed a little time to practice with my own humble setup — a Fujifilm X-T5 camera with a XF 70-300 mm lens, plus a Manfrotto tripod and a handy solar filter courtesy of Celestron, which worked magic with the aid of a little Blu Tack.

The team had managed to convince a kindly resident to let us set up outside their villa, and to use their internet to ensure connectivity for the NASA stream.

It was a perfect spot with a near-pristine view to the west — an important feature considering that the sun would be less than 10 degrees above the horizon at totality — less than the width of a clenched fist held at arm's length.

There had been a little commotion earlier that day. Upon hearing that his parents had agreed to let perfect strangers access their internet, the son had, understandably, cautioned against letting Charles use the Wi-Fi, fearing that his story was a little too fanciful, and that he was some kind of scam! Thankfully it all got straightened out with a quick Google search, and we didn't have the ethernet plug pulled on the operation.

Charles and Arath were already getting the telescope to track the sun by the time I arrived. They'd also tested their uplink with NASA and the connection to the main DEB team 91 miles (147 kilometers) to the northwest in the city of Leon, which was looking stable.

I took the opportunity to catch up with Arath, who dreamed of pursuing a masters degree in mathematics at Cambridge University upon completing his studies at the Universidad de Guadalajara in Mexico. Nearby, Aimar and Aaron — a pair of passionate high schoolers from Spain — had their heads down as they worked on their own mathematical equations in the patch of shade cast by a solitary umbrella. They had reached out to join the group after hearing about the DEB on a university noticeboard, and later that day quizzed me on the best places to find the latest scientific studies. I'm 80% sure that they're already smarter than me.

All the while I was getting to grips with solar photography. I had — with a little help — managed to centre the sun in my frame and after 15 minutes of toying with settings had snapped my first crisp shot of the solar disk.

Everything was looking great. The weather, our greatest potential adversary, was playing nicely. As I noted earlier, the sun would be low in the sky around the time of totality, putting a lot of atmosphere between us and the eclipse for potential clouds to coalesce in.

But Charles had been tracking the forecasts closely, and everything he'd seen indicated that the western sky would be clear as the eclipse darkened the sky on the 12th. Only one unlikely threat to totality remained.

The summer had seen Europe endure an oppressively dry, hot summer, which had seen wildfires spring up across the continent. Having spent a week just north of the Spanish border in Carcassonne, France in July, I could testify to the colossal smoke clouds that billow up from such a fire, which could easily obscure the sun as firefighters worked to bring it under control on the ground below. Thankfully, no such threat materialized.

I sought a little solitude on that final night before the eclipse. The terrace was unoccupied, so I laid back on the astroturf, traced out the constellations above and allowed my anticipation to build. As I watched, a single Perseid raced through the stars of the Summer Triangle — a stunning opening act for the solar spectacle to come.

Eclipse day in Valoria la Buena

The day of the total solar eclipse had finally arrived — and with it a strange nervous energy that made me feel as if I was vibrating on a cellular level. I was hours from seeing something that had terrified and awed my ancestors, drawn adventurers half way across the globe and allowed scientists to understand the true nature of our parent star.

Charles, on the other hand, confessed to being rested and ready, despite working through a last minute technical glitch that had reared its head in the past few days.

The fan on the computer responsible for sending commands to the telescope and uplinking to NASA had simply given out. At the height of Spanish summer. In the middle of an oppressive heatwave. Ordinarily that would probably have been game over. But this is a team including physics heads, an engineer and all round brilliant people, so they came up with a plan. They built a DIY heatsink.

The gameplan went as follows: Andreas put a bunch of wet towels in the freezer overnight. Said towels were then transported in a cooler and placed at the bottom of a nice, shaded cardboard box at the observation site, with foil between the towel and the computer.

Add to that a hand fan and cooler blocks from the freezer and Viola, you've got yourself a homemade heatsink. Human ingenuity versus technology and a Spanish heatwave. We would know the victor soon enough.

In the meantime I had another first to experience. Andreas had arranged for a local Catholic priest to hold a special Mass at the local church to mark the day of the eclipse. And I'd been invited to join them.

I am not a Catholic myself, but have always been taken with the beauty of European churches and cathedrals, and was keen to experience Mass. After quizzing Andreas on theology and triple checking it wasn't an imposition, I gratefully accepted.

The church bells had been a constant companion during my stay in Valoria la Buena, chiming every hour on the hour since my arrival. They emanated from a stunning 250-year-old church located at the heart of the pueblo, which had been constructed over three distinct phases.

During Mass, the priest remarked in Spanish on the incredible nature of the upcoming eclipse as the group listened attentively while wearing specially made eclipse t-shirts. A poignant moment of religion and science in absolute harmony.

A unique eclipse

After, I disappeared to prepare while Charles and the DEB team ferried the scope and equipment to our observing site. There was time for one final communication test with NASA.

Then it was time. And it wasn't just us.

Half the town must have turned out to experience the eclipse. Citizen scientists and family mingled with friends and locals as an impromptu block party got underway in Valoria la Buena.

I set up my camera close to Charles and the DEB scope, as the DIY heatsink worked to cool the fanless laptop in defiance of the Spanish heatwave.

Aaron, Aimar, Rosa and Siempre watched on as I double-checked the solar filter and settings on my camera, while glancing paranoid at the eclipse timings on my laptop. We were quickly joined by a semi-circle of enthusiastic locals curious about everything from the eclipse and the DEB to science journalism and Space.com.

As a result I was lost in conversation as the moment of first contact arrived and the moon took its first tentative bite out of the sun. Someone shouted and I snapped to. I immediately forgot how to use a camera. Remembered. And snapped my first photograph of the eclipsed sun.

My first instinct was that something was ineffably wrong. The sight had activated an ancient and superstitious circuit in my brain that insisted the sun simply shouldn't look this way. That I should be doing something to make it whole again.

Nervous excitement waxed in time with the waning of the solar crescent, which grew thinner with each minute as the moon's silhouette sank ever deeper into the sun. It was spectacular, but in hindsight little more than a prelude to the wonder of totality.

As the last of the solar disk threatened to slip behind the moon I panicked. Alternating between eclipse glasses and my hastily retrieved solar binoculars, unsure which would provide the best experience.

The binoculars.

Shouts of awe echoed behind as the final shred of the solar disk created a magnificent Diamond ring flare effect on the trailing edge of the lunar disk. I ripped the solar filter away from my camera and lowered the binoculars from my eyes.

The moment I had envisioned for years in my mind's eye years had finally arrived, more spectacular than I could have hoped.

With my own eyes I saw the sun's atmosphere reach out from behind the moon's silhouette. A black star shining in a false twilight.

As before, the sight stroked a primal part of my psyche that told me it was all wrong. Like watching a leviathan pass just beneath the surface in a fathomless ocean. To my senses, the eclipsed sun seemed to fill the sky. Venus was visible gleaming star-like and brilliant above, but the impossible sun was our only focus.

I grabbed my unfiltered binoculars for a closer look - something that can only be done when the sun's photosphere is completely masked by the moon during totality. A bright prominence glowed to the left of the lunar disk, outshining the corona that surrounded the natural satellite.

It was our eclipse. 1 minute and 37 seconds of totality. Another will follow in 2027, but it wouldn't be the same. It'll be a different corona, at a different altitude, enjoyed with different people. Utterly unique.

I triggered my camera shutter a dozen times. I'd knocked it out of focus upon removing the solar filter. It didn't seem to matter.

As the sun emerged from behind the moon I turned my eyes back to my camera, which had decided to stop talking to my phone at some point during totality. Ten minutes of berating the inanimate object later the connection was back, and my (out of focus) views of totality were on their way to our solar eclipse live blog.

Charles and the team had been diligently capturing data on the sun's atmosphere throughout totality, while streaming live views to NASA as they held their eclipse show in Leon.

It was, to me, a shining example of citizen science, which had brought family, friends, locals and students together as one to enjoy one of the most spectacular sights that our solar system has to offer.

The partially eclipsed sun set over the western horizon as Charles accepted the cheers of the DEB group. Our last night in Valoria la Buena was spent among newfound friends, discussing the Strokes, love and coffee, all while enjoying a little rum.

My return journey was a malaise of delayed trains, a cancelled flight and a sea of unfamiliar faces. But none of that mattered. I was dwelling on that magnificent black sun at the moment of totality, of the unnatural twilight and of the people I met along the way.

On Aug. 21, 1914, a total solar eclipse temporarily darkened skies across Europe and Asia. A young German astronomer and friend of Albert Einstein's, Erwin Finlay-Freundlich, led an expedition to the Crimean Peninsula of Russia, where he hoped to record observations that would verify Albert Einstein's general relativity theory.

This theory predicted that the light from distant stars appearing very close to the sun's edge should shift due to the curvature of space. Those stars would only be visible during a total solar eclipse, when the moon blocks out the sun's bright light. Unfortunately, the start of World War I just 20 days before the eclipse foiled the expedition. After Germany declared war on Russia, Freundlich and his colleagues were captured by the Russian army and their equipment was confiscated.

After the war, a solar eclipse on May 29, 1919 was used to confirm Einstein's theory of general relativity, so the experiment was ultimately a success.

Why it mattered

Today, Einstein's general relativity theory is a given. This theory is firmly cemented in our modern understanding of how the universe works (not counting fringe conspiracists). But looking back just over 100 years, it is interesting to see how hard scientists had to work to gather evidence to validate this theory and consider the way war and geopolitics played a part in postponing this work.

Scientists continue to validate the theory to this day through a variety of methods and observations, though a modern trek to witness a total solar eclipse would be a lot easier than it would have been in 1914.

This expedition, or rather the planned expedition, took place well over 100 years ago. Whether for the purposes of trying to validate Einstein's general theory of relativity or just for fun, people have experienced eclipses for as long as we can date back.

It's fascinating to look at the parallels between this planned expedition over 100 years ago and the treks that people around the world (including Space.com reporters) take in modern times to see a total solar eclipse. For example, during the 2026 total solar eclipse, people flocked from all over to locations like Spain and Iceland to experience the eclipse far from home.

When the 11,000-ton cruise ship Le Boréal set sail from Nice, France, on Thursday, Aug. 6, its 205 passengers and 136 crew members began a voyage whose success would depend not only on careful planning, but also on the ship's ability to outmaneuver clouds at the last critical hour.

The ship is owned and operated by the French cruise line Compagnie du Ponant. This eclipse cruise was the result of more than a year's planning by Ponant, and most of those who signed on were there specifically to witness the celestial spectacle; that shared purpose heightened the drama of the eclipse itself.

This was going to be a sunset eclipse, with the sun no more than three degrees above the horizon. To picture that height, make a fist and hold it out at arm's length. Place the bottom of your fist on the horizon; the top of your fist measures about ten degrees. During totality, the sun would appear only about one-third of a fist-width above the horizon. Even if the sky overhead was clear, clouds could still gather near the horizon, leaving open the possibility that the sun might be hidden at the critical moment.

I was on board Le Boréal as both a lecturer and the ship's onboard meteorologist. The main advantage of using a cruise ship to view an eclipse is its two-dimensional mobility, allowing it to maneuver around potential cloud cover. In practice, that meant working with Captain Mathieu Tsingrilaras to position Le Boréal on eclipse day in a location free of any clouds that might otherwise obscure the total eclipse.

Although the Iberian Peninsula and the adjacent waters of the Balearic Sea — a body of water between mainland Spain's eastern coast and the Balearic Islands — typically enjoy warm, dry, clear weather in August, the circumstances of this eclipse could still prove problematic.

Also serving as a lecturer for the cruise was Serge Brunier, a well-known French photographer, reporter, and writer who has specialized in popular depictions of astronomical subjects. He is also the co-author of the beautiful coffee-table book, Glorious Eclipses.

Serge would accommodate the French-speaking passengers onboard. Early in the cruise, as we were speaking with each other, a French passenger came up to Serge and asked, "Le temps sera-t-il dégagé pour l'éclipse?" ("Will we have clear weather for the eclipse?"). Serge nodded toward me and replied: "Il faudra demander à Joe ; c'est lui qui s'occupe de la météo." ("You will have to ask Joe; he is in charge of the weather.")

Our itinerary took us to many different places during our eight-day cruise, including two towns in Corsica (Calvi and Bonifacio), the French cities of Marseille and Port-Vendres as well as Spain where we stopped at Barcelona and Palma de Mallorca in the Balearic Islands. Through it all, we experienced weather that was mainly sunny, very warm and quite humid. An upper-level ridge of high pressure acted as a heat dome over much of Europe.

Weather threat on eclipse day

The first warning came on Aug. 10, when a minor disturbance rippled through the heat ridge and produced widespread clouds, showery rains and thunderstorms across eastern Spain, spilling into the eclipse zone over the adjacent Balearic Sea. Had the eclipse taken place that day, no amount of mobility would have brought us a clear view. Fortunately, the disturbance quickly moved east, allowing high pressure to build back over the region.

By eclipse day, Aug. 12, conditions appeared to have turned in our favor. The day began beautifully sunny and continued that way into the afternoon. Our ship was docked at Palma de Mallorca, then set sail at 4 p.m. Central European Summer Time (CEST) for our preselected viewing location, heading west-northwest along the center line of the path of totality.

Shortly after departure, images from EUMETSAT, a geostationary weather satellite looking down from 22,000 miles (35,400 km) above Europe, revealed the problem we had been trying to avoid.

A large convective cloud — formed when warm, damp air rises into colder air above — began to rapidly evolve over part of Spain's coastline just inland from the Gulf of Valencia. It soon became apparent that if we did not alter course, that cloud would almost certainly block our view of the total eclipse.

After consulting with Captain Tsingrilaras, we decided to take Le Boréal southwest. That maneuver would cause the cloud, then directly ahead of us, to shift to the right of the sun as it descended the west-northwest sky, improving our odds for viewing totality.

That course correction became the turning point of the voyage.

Totality at sea

As the eclipse began, other cruise ships apparently stayed their original courses. Le Boréal's course change, however, kept us clear of significant cloudiness, aside from a few thin clouds that occasionally crossed the sun but did little to hinder the show. At 7:37 p.m. CEST, the moon took its first bite out of the lower right limb of the sun.

At 8 p.m., Captain Tsingrilaras oriented Le Boréal, so that the back of the ship (the stern) faced directly toward the sun. Crowds gathered on the top three decks of the ship, observing the sun through special eclipse glasses that had been distributed the previous evening.

Moments before totality, when only a sliver of sun remained, I told passengers that I had been asked since the start of the day about what our chances were for seeing the total eclipse. "I think our chances of seeing it are now 100 percent!" That comment was met with a resounding cheer.

What was particularly striking was the approach of the moon's shadow; a diffuse darkening accompanied by a rapid west-to-east sweep of darkness. The onset of totality was marked by a dazzling diamond ring effect which lasted a couple of seconds, then a circular corona appeared around the darkened solar disk; it appeared somewhat yellowish in color as opposed to pearly white, likely due to a layer of haze near the horizon.

An unusually large and brilliant red prominence, readily visible even with the unaided eye, appeared at the 9 o'clock position. Because the sun was so low in the sky, the famous moon illusion caused it to appear especially large. This only added to the beauty of the spectacle.

Totality lasted 95 seconds. Even at its midpoint the overall light never became so dim that the second hand on a watch was hard to see. The only other object that was plainly visible in the sky was Venus, well off to the upper left of the eclipsed sun. The air temperature did not change much, probably due to the thermal inertia of the surrounding water.

The terminal diamond ring was perhaps even more stunning than the first. The corona could be kept in view for several seconds by blocking out the emerging crescent of sunlight with one's thumb. It seems that no shadow bands were observed either before or after totality.

As the sun gradually emerged from behind the moon, it sank lower in the sky and was still about two-thirds covered when it took on the shape of an orange-red shark fin disappearing beyond the horizon — a fitting final image for a spectacular eclipse at sea.

Nothing succeeds like success

In the end, Le Boréal's successful eclipse viewing was a reminder that even the most carefully planned astronomical event still depends on swift judgment and adaptability. By combining advance preparation with a timely course correction, the voyage transformed a looming weather threat into an unforgettable view of totality.

I would also like to thank my wife, Renate, who accompanied me on this amazing adventure and for reading so much for reading my first draft of this article and to my daughter Maria and Scott Zimmerman for assisting me with my video and image selections.

Joe Rao serves as an instructor and guest lecturer at New York's Hayden Planetarium. He writes about astronomy for Natural History magazine, Sky and Telescope, The Old Farmer's Almanac and other publications.

I woke up on the morning of Aug. 12 and looked out of the window to something I hadn't dared hope for: blue sky.

After days of scrutinizing weather models that seemed determined to test the nerves of everyone aboard the HX Expeditions ship MS Spitsbergen, somehow, against the odds, the clouds had cleared. Even then, I didn't trust it (especially after my 2024 eclipse experience). We had traveled thousands of miles, crossed the Greenland Sea and ventured deep into Scoresby Sund to put ourselves in the path of the moon's shadow. Now there was nothing to do but wait — and hope the sky stayed clear.

The wind howled across the deck, but nobody seemed to mind. If anything, it was helping us, keeping the clouds at bay. The atmosphere aboard felt like Christmas Eve with a ship full of overexcited children. Some guests had chased eclipses across the world; for others, this would be their first. Either way, Aug. 12 was the date we'd been waiting years for.

But by the time we reached Scoresby Sund, something had shifted.

I had traveled all this way to look up. Instead, I found myself looking around. I'd come here for 2 minutes and 14 seconds of darkness. Instead, Greenland had spent the previous days relentlessly demanding my full attention.

After a couple of days at sea during the crossing from Svalbard to East Greenland, our first sight of land appeared almost like a mirage on the horizon. Soon, icebergs were drifting past the ship and the scale of the landscape became increasingly difficult to comprehend. We could sail for hours through Northeast Greenland National Park without seeing a single sign of human civilization beyond our own ship. At times, moving through those immense geological landscapes felt less like traveling across Earth and more like exploring some distant, icy-covered moon.

Yet, the more otherworldly Greenland appeared, the more it made me appreciate our own planet.

At times it felt as though I'd stepped into a geology textbook. Processes and structures I'd previously seen reduced to diagrams were suddenly towering above me. And amongst all the enormity were the tiniest signs of life: lichens and miniature Arctic plants hugging the ground beneath vast mountains and glaciers.

The scale and contrast were overwhelming at times, and no view stayed the same for long.

An iceberg viewed from one side could morph into a completely different form as the ship sailed past it. A break in the clouds could transform a gray mountainside in seconds. In Scoresby Sund, even the ice seemed to echo the landscape around it as jagged peaks, flat-topped slabs and sculpted ridges rose from the water like miniature versions of the colossal mountains behind them.

The Greenland scenery was a gift that kept on giving, and I found myself increasingly reluctant to go inside. I began meticulously scanning for wildlife, because I'd learned how quickly something extraordinary could appear.

On an impromptu evening walk in Longyearbyen before we set sail, beluga whales had suddenly surfaced in the bay. Later, in Greenland, while I was distracted by a spectacular circumzenithal arc and sundogs overhead, one of a handful of people still standing on deck spotted two tiny white shapes in the water. I thought they were birds bobbing along.

Then I lifted my camera and zoomed in.

Polar bears.

It became something of a lesson for the expedition: stay curious, keep your eyes open and remember to look both up and down.

That curiosity seemed to unite everyone aboard. Guests had traveled from around the world for this eclipse opportunity. There were seasoned eclipse chasers looking to experience totality somewhere extraordinary, first-timers who had no idea how they would react and people drawn as much by the adventure and wildlife, as the eclipse itself.

HX Expeditions' onboard science and education programme gave that shared enthusiasm somewhere to go. Our days were filled with nature landings, lectures, citizen-science projects and conversations with experts, helping us do more than simply travel through Greenland. The programme encouraged us to pay closer attention — not merely to see the landscape, but to understand and truly experience it.

Conversations jumped from eclipses to wildlife, travel, geology and perhaps, inevitably for a ship full of skywatchers, clouds. We took part in the GLOBE Observer cloud citizen science project and found ourselves happily studying them — while collectively hoping they would be nowhere near the sun on eclipse day.

The eclipse had brought us together, but the journey had quickly become about much more.

Then, on Aug. 12, our attention returned to the sky.

When the moon took its first tiny bite from the solar disk, excitement rippled across the deck. For the next hour, it steadily consumed more of the sun.

As totality approached, the quality of the light began to change.

It became strangely yellow and dull, yet at the same time the landscape seemed almost unnaturally sharp. It was eerie — familiar enough to still resemble daylight, but wrong enough that your brain knew something extraordinary was happening.

What amazed me most was how long that daylight persisted.

Even when only the tiniest sliver of sun remained, Greenland was still illuminated. I knew scientifically how intensely bright the solar photosphere is, but knowing it and watching that minuscule fraction of sunlight continue to illuminate an entire landscape were two very different things.

Then the final fraction disappeared.

The world around me plunged into twilight.

And there it was.

Totality.

I knew exactly what I was supposed to see. I've written about eclipses for years. I understand the science. I had seen thousands of photographs of the corona, prominences, Baily's beads and diamond rings.

None of it prepared me for the feeling of actually seeing one.

The first thing that struck me was how large the eclipsed sun appeared to the naked eye. Photographs had never prepared me for that sense of scale, nor how much detail I could see with my own eyes.

The moon itself looked impossibly dark — a black void punched into the sky — surrounded by the pearly white corona. Long streamers stretched away from the sun and around the moon's edge I could see bright pink prominences.

I was so surprised to see this vivid pink color with my own eyes. For 2 minutes and 14 seconds, I saw the sun as I had never seen it before.

But even then, I couldn't just look up.

I looked around. Jupiter and Mercury shone clearly off to one side of the eclipsed sun, with Mercury far brighter and easier to spot than I had expected. Venus blazed on the other side.

Then I looked down. Below the eclipsed sun were icebergs. Beside us rose the immense walls of Scoresby Sund. Glaciers carved their path through the landscape.

Above it all hung that black disk and its enormous, delicate corona. My brain simply couldn't take it all in.

There was too much beauty. Too much scale. Too much happening at once.

People use words such as "mind-blowing" and "speechless" so often that they begin to lose their meaning.

But my mind was really blown. And I really was speechless. Perhaps the best way I can describe it is that my mind felt full, but quiet. Full because there was almost too much to comprehend, but quiet because for those fleeting moments, there was room for nothing else.

The intensity of the experience surprised guests who had originally joined the voyage for different reasons.

"My husband and I came to see the wildlife, and we were actually in awe of what we saw in relation to the solar eclipse," Kenya Haupt, from Colorado, told Space.com. "Truly an emotional experience"

The reasons for joining the expedition varied, but beneath the moon’s shadow, the experience became a collective one.

For Shubhada Maitra, from India, it was her first total solar eclipse.

"When I looked around me, I just had a feeling that we were one community, taking part in one of the most spectacular, perhaps once-in-a-lifetime celestial events," Maitra said. "Although we came from different countries, different nationalities, genders, all of that, that solar eclipse just bound us together."

"Without saying anything, we were just so connected in that experience."

Lisa Marie Morse, from Rhode Island, described the eclipse as both "joyous and melancholy."

"In that moment of darkness, I felt a powerful connection with all living things, to an infinite ancient rhythm locking us together for 134 seconds of shared awareness, then releasing us back into our daily slumber," Morse said. "It was magical."

Then, almost as quickly as totality had arrived, it was ending.

The first brilliant beads of sunlight appeared from behind the moon.

They were beautiful, but there was a sadness in seeing them too. The corona, prominences and extraordinary black void that had dominated the sky were about to disappear once more into the overwhelming glare of the sun.

Two minutes and 14 seconds had somehow felt both packed with experience and impossibly brief. I had just enough time to look with my naked eye, search for planets, check it out through binoculars and try to absorb the reactions around me.

Then it was gone.

For seasoned eclipse chaser Roy Tillcock from the Isle of Wight, the clear view had come as a genuine surprise.

"This was one of the most unexpected eclipses I've seen," he said. "I did not have high hopes of seeing it, and there it was. Brilliant."

And, as if to underline just how fortunate we had been, the clouds rolled in shortly after totality. A few minutes later, and this could have been a very different story.

Some skywatchers were emotional. Others were exhilarated. Many, like me, seemed to be struggling to find words big enough for what had happened.

Perhaps that is part of why eclipse chasing becomes so addictive. We can explain the science of totality in extraordinary detail. We can calculate the path of the moon's shadow years in advance, travel thousands of miles to stand beneath it and know exactly when and where darkness will fall.

But knowing what to expect is not the same as experiencing it.

The following morning, Greenland was still there, still demanding my undivided attention. Icebergs drifted past the ship. Mountains towered above the fjord. The sunlight shifted and the landscape transformed once again. I had traveled all this way to look up.

But somewhere along the journey, I had learned to truly look around. Here I was, standing on a planet of glaciers, oceans, wildlife and ancient rock, watching its moon pass perfectly across its star at a moment in Earth's history when their apparent size in our sky happened to match. How lucky are we to experience any of this? Luck, ultimately, is something no eclipse chaser can ignore.

We could calculate where the shadow would fall. We could sail into its path. We could scrutinize forecasts, prepare our equipment and position ourselves as carefully as possible.

But we couldn't command the clouds to cooperate.

Nature always has the final say. And on Aug. 12, 2026, in a remote fjord in East Greenland, nature said yes.

Editor's note: This trip was made possible by travel and accommodation provided by HX Expeditions.

This week's total solar eclipse captured the world's attention, and millions of skywatchers looked up (with the correct protective eyewear, hopefully) to experience the moon blocking out our star's light. And, as you can see in this image, even the International Space Station (ISS) itself got in on the fun.

What is it?

On Aug. 12, 2026, the moon completely blocked out the sun's light for millions of lucky skywatchers witnessing a total solar eclipse.

But the moon isn't the only thing orbiting Earth. Tons of satellites and probes do too, and that includes the ISS. This created a truly remarkable moment for some skywatchers. With the right equipment, it was possible to see the silhouette of the ISS in front of the sun.

This composite image shows eight different frames of the ISS silhouetted on the sun's face as the moon takes a "bite" out of our star to create a partial eclipse.

Why is it incredible?

Solar eclipses like this week's total solar eclipse really bring people together. It creates opportunities for humans to come together and gather for a common goal.

And while the ISS is featured in this image, we may also want to consider the astronauts aboard. In other words, people on Earth weren't the only ones who got to participate in the marvel.

The Expedition 75 astronauts on the ISS (NASA astronauts Jessica Meir, Anil Menon, and Jack Hathaway; ESA (European Space Agency) astronaut Sophie Adenot; and Roscosmos cosmonauts Pyotr Dubrov, Andrey Fedyaev and Anna Kikina) caught the show too as they orbited our planet. There they were, in between Earth and the moon, as our planet's neighbor blocked out our star.

The total solar eclipse of Aug. 12, 2026 was one for the books. And this photo, snapped just as the eclipse was about to enter totality, really captures the drama of the moment.

What is it?

On Aug. 12, 2026, millions of people around the world witnessed a total solar eclipse. This happens when the moon passes in front of the sun, completely blocking it from our perspective here on Earth. (During a partial solar eclipse, only part of the sun's face is blocked by the moon.)

Observers lucky enough to be in the narrow "path of totality" that day got an experience they'll never forget.

Why is it incredible?

The chance to observe a total solar eclipse doesn't come along very often and is truly surreal and magical. While you might logically know that it's a predictable result of orbital dynamics, it's still incredibly strange in the moment to watch the sun disappear behind a black disk.

During totality, you experience a sort of false nighttime in the middle of the day. This can trigger strange responses from wildlife, with animals that are typically nocturnal coming out to see what's going on, confused about why night arrived at what feels like the wrong time.

Space.com skywatching editor Daisy Dobrijevic traveled to the Scoresby Sund off the coast of Greenland to experience the total solar eclipse from the deck of the MS Spitsbergen on the HX Expeditions eclipse voyage, and she's been taking us all along on her journey.

"I couldn't believe my eyes. I knew exactly what to expect — I’ve written about total solar eclipses countless times and given talks about them — but nothing prepared me for the feeling of actually seeing it," Dobrijevic said about her experience watching the eclipse. "I was completely in awe. As thin clouds drifted in towards the end of totality, they only added to the drama and emotion of an already extraordinary sight."

Yesterday (Aug.12), millions of people enjoyed a total solar eclipse as it swept across parts of Greenland, Iceland and Spain, while a partial solar eclipse was visible across much of Europe and northwest Africa.

If all that eclipse excitement has you eager for more, the good news is you won't have to wait long, because two remarkable solar eclipses are coming in 2027. First comes a dramatic "ring of fire" annular solar eclipse on Feb 6, followed six months later by the total solar eclipse on Aug. 2 — an event many eclipse chasers are already calling the "eclipse of the century".

First up, a dazzling "ring of fire"

On Feb. 6, 2027, an annular solar eclipse will be visible across parts of Chile, Argentina and the coastal parts of West Africa, while the partial phase of the eclipse where the moon takes a "bite" out of the sun will be visible across South America and West Africa.

An annular solar eclipse happens when the moon passes directly in front of the sun when it is slightly farther away from Earth than during a total solar eclipse. As such, the moon appears a little smaller in the sky and doesn't completely cover the sun, leaving a brilliant ring of sunlight around the moon's silhouette, the "ring of fire".

The "eclipse of the century"

If the "ring of fire" eclipse wasn't enough, 2027 serves up another, even more spectacular eclipse.

On Aug. 2, 2027, the moon's shadow will race across southern Europe, North Africa and the Middle East, treating skywatchers with one of the longest total solar eclipses of the century. At its greatest point, totality will last an extraordinary 6 minutes and 23 seconds — more than twice as long as many other total solar eclipses.

Combined with favorable August weather across parts of North Africa, it's easy to see why many eclipse enthusiasts are already planning their trips in advance.

If you're thinking about experiencing the Aug. 2, 2027 total solar eclipse for yourself, now is the perfect time to start planning. We've rounded up expert travel tips to help you choose the best viewing location and avoid common pitfalls, as well as 10 unforgettable tours and experiences that will put you right in the heart of one of the greatest celestial events of the century.

And just like that, it's over.

Total solar eclipses are incredible moments in time, but they are fleeting. As the moon passes directly in front of the sun and its shadow sweeps across Earth's surface, the temperature drops and the light takes on an eerie twilight quality. Birds and other animals go quiet. It's a spectacle unlike any other. And for millions today who were lucky enough to be in the path of totality across Greenland, Iceland and Spain, that's exactly what they experienced.

"I cannot believe what I just witnessed. I knew what to expect  — I've seen thousands of photos but nothing compares to that feeling you get when you watch the sun transform before your very eyes," Space.com skywatching editor Daisy Dobrijevic said after watching the eclipse from the deck of the MS Spitsbergen on the HX Expeditions eclipse voyage in Scoresby Sund, Greenland on Aug. 12, 2026.

"It looked so big in the sky with the delicate corona streaming out into the abyss. Jupiter, Mercury and Venus even joined in the show. The huge prominence was the icing on the cake," Dobrijevic added.

"This is something I will never forget and I feel privileged to have experienced it in one of the most remarkable environments on Earth and alongside an incredible group of people aboard HX Expedition's MS Spitsbergen."

The 182 mile-wide (293-kilometer) path of totality — the line "drawn" on the face our our planet by the moon's shadow — began near Siberia over the Arctic Ocean and first arced down into eastern Greenland.

From there, the path stretched across western Iceland and then into northern Spain where millions gathered to witness the spectacle.

"It was the most incredible thing I've seen in my entire life," said Space.com skywatching writer Anthony Wood after witnessing the eclipse from Valoria la Buena, Spain alongside a team of citizen scientists from the Dynamic Eclipse Broadcast initiative. "It feels like it really shouldn't be happening. It strikes the lizard part of your brain that just tells you that this shouldn't be real."

The path then crossed the Balearic Islands just east of Spain before ending over the Mediterranean Sea as the sun set.

Eclipse-watchers inside the narrow path of the moon's shadow were given a rare naked-eye glimpse of the sun's outer atmosphere, known as the corona. Witnessing the crown-like shape of the corona stretching away from the dark shadow of the moon is one of the most breathtaking moments of an eclipse. Photographs don't do it justice, as they rarely do.

Outside of the path of totality, skywatchers throughout Europe and Scandinavia were able to catch a glimpse of a partial solar eclipse — in which the moon appears to take a "bite" out of the sun.

Space.com's Harry Bennett captured the partial eclipse from a hilltop in Somerset, England, shooting the scene with a Unistellar Equinox 2 smart telescope equipped with a solar filter.

The partial solar eclipse was also visible for much of the northeastern United States and as far west as Michigan. Much of Canada got to witness the partial eclipse too, and so did Alaska.

What causes a total solar eclipse?

A total solar eclipse happens when the moon passes directly in front of the sun as seen from Earth. When this alignment happens, the moon casts its shadow along a line known as the path of totality. Only within this stripe will you be able to experience full totality.

Another factor to consider is that the moon has an elliptical, or oval-shaped, orbit. This means that it's sometimes closer to Earth than other times. Total solar eclipses only occur when the moon is at just the right distance from Earth, making it appear the same size in the sky as the sun (or even slightly larger). This obscures the blinding light of the sun, allowing viewers to glimpse our star's outer atmosphere, or corona.

When the moon is a bit farther away from Earth, it appears relatively smaller. And when solar eclipses fall on a date when the moon is at this greater distance from our planet, the moon doesn't completely block the sun. This creates what's known as an annular solar eclipse, or a "ring of fire" in the sky.

When is the next total solar eclipse?

The next total solar eclipse will occur on Aug. 2, 2027 and will be visible throughout a 160-mile-wide (258-kilometer) path that crosses southern Spain, northern Morocco, northern Algeria, northern Tunisia, northeast Libya, central Egypt, the northeastern tip of Sudan, southwest Saudi Arabia, Yemen and the northeastern tip of Somalia.

Outside of this path, a partial solar eclipse will be visible to most of Europe, much of the African continent, the Middle East, Southeast Asia, eastern Canada and parts of Maine.

In North America, the next total solar eclipse will take place on March 30, 2033, and will be visible from Alaska. Looking farther out, the U.S. states of Montana, South Dakota, North Dakota, and areas of Canada will witness a total solar eclipse on Aug. 23, 2044.

Submit your eclipse photos! If you captured a photo of the Aug. 12 total solar eclipse and would like to share it with Space.com's readers, send photos, videos, a brief description of your experience, and your name, location and content usage permission release to spacephotos@space.com.

The first breathtaking photos of totality for the total solar eclipse 2026 are pouring in, revealing incredible views of the sun's atmosphere radiating out from behind the moon's colossal silhouette.

Eclipse chasers have spent the past few hours watching in awe, as the moon transformed the sun into an incandescent crescent in the run up to totality, before swallowing it entirely in the skies over Scoresby Sund, Greenland as seen from the deck of the MS Spitsbergen on the HX Expeditions eclipse voyage.

Read on to see spectacular photos of the sun's corona glowing in the false twilight of totality. And be sure to stay with us in the coming hours as the moon's central shadow sweeps over Europe, before ultimately disappearing from view off the north coast of Africa at 2:34 p.m. EDT (1834 GMT).

First photos of totality

The first photos of totality revealed the sun's corona, visible thanks to the moon blocking most of our star's light.

Luckily, weather cooperated for the eclipse chasers on the MS Spitsbergen on the HX Expeditions eclipse voyage in Scoresby Sund, Greenland.

Space.com's own skywatching editor Daisy Dobrijevic was onboard, capturing the first images of totality.

As the moon drifted past the sun, the first glimpses of the sun began to reveal themselves as the path of totality moved onwards towards Spain.

We'll have more coverage on our total solar eclipse live blog throughout the day, including reports from Skywatching Editor Daisy Dobrijevic as she catches the entirety of the eclipse unfolding in the skies over Greenland aboard an HX Expeditions cruise ship.

Skywatching Writer Anthony Wood will also be giving you the live updates from his vantage point in central Spain, where the eclipsed sun will set below the horizon just a few short hours from now.

Editor's Note: If you would like to share your eclipse photos with Space.com's readers, then please send your image(s), comments, name and location to spacephotos@space.com.

Today (Aug. 12), millions of people across Greenland, Iceland and Spain will witness a total solar eclipse as the moon completely covers the sun, turning day into night, albeit briefly.

It's Europe's first total solar eclipse since 1999, and with a maximum of 2 minutes, 18 seconds of totality, it will be worth the wait … weather permitting!

Even if you're not inside the path of totality, there's still plenty to see. A dramatic partial solar eclipse will be visible across much of Europe, offering millions more the chance to watch the moon take a 'bite' out of the sun. More than 90% of the sun will be covered for major cities such as London, Paris and Dublin.

Where will the eclipse be visible?

Today's eclipse will unfold over roughly 96 minutes as the moon's shadow races across Greenland, Iceland and Spain. Totality begins in Greenland in the late afternoon before reaching Spain in the evening, where skywatchers will witness the rare spectacle of a low-horizon sunset eclipse.

Not sure what you'll see from your location? Check out our where to see the total solar eclipse guide for visibility details.

What time is the eclipse?

The eclipse occurs at different times depending on your location.

Looking for a more detailed breakdown of timings? Our what time is the eclipse guide can help.

Can I watch the eclipse online?

If you can't make it to a location within the path of totality, you can still experience the eclipse from home.

We've rounded up the best ways to watch the eclipse online, including livestreams from the path of totality.

Follow the eclipse with Space.com

Our eclipse live blog will bring you the latest updates throughout the day, including weather reports, photos, videos and observations from across Greenland, Iceland and Spain.

We'll also have reporters in the field. Skywatching Editor Daisy Dobrijevic is on an eclipse expedition to Greenland with HX, while Skywatching Writer Anthony Wood is observing from northern Spain with the DEB initiative and a team of citizen scientists.

Follow along throughout the day here on Space.com and our social channels (Instagram and TikTok) as we bring you firsthand reports from the path of totality and share some of the best eclipse images.

How to observe the eclipse

Never look directly at the sun without proper eye protection.

During the partial phases of the eclipse, you must use solar eclipse glasses or a certified solar filter. Looking at the sun without appropriate protection can cause serious and permanent eye damage.

The only time it is safe to view the eclipse without eye protection is during the brief period of totality, when the moon completely covers the sun. As soon as even a small portion of the sun reappears, eclipse glasses must be worn again.

For more information, check out our guide to observing the sun safely. If you haven't been able to get hold of some solar eclipse glasses, don't fear! We also have a handy guide on how to safely view the eclipse using items from around the home.

Editor's note: If you capture a photo of the solar eclipse and would like to share it with Space.com's readers, send your photo(s), comments, and your name and location to spacephotos@space.com.