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Weird sensations in Wyoming for this eclipse first-timer

Skipping Idaho — and Interstate 15 — turned out to be a great idea for one Tribune reporter.

(Francisco Kjolseth | The Salt Lake Tribune) The sun's corona is revealed as the moon completely covers the sun during the eclipse on Monday, August 21, 2017.

Something was off.

As we sat overlooking an empty field near Bondurant, Wyo., the light dimmed. The air cooled. Shadows cast by a nearby tree appeared more crisp than usual.

It would still be 20 minutes before the sun disappeared from the daytime sky Monday. But the odd sensations already had set in as we gazed skyward and asked each other for confirmation: Are you feeling it, too?

Several friends and I decided weeks ago that we had to see this Great American Eclipse, work and school commitments be damned. A former Idaho Falls resident, I initially had several Gem State viewing spots in mind.

But I kept reading stories about the traffic nightmare expected on Interstate 15. A few people last week mentioned that they were instead headed for Wyoming — but not Jackson or Grand Teton National Park, which were certain to be packed.

So at 6 a.m. Sunday, hoping to stake out a camping spot before the last-minute looky-loos arrived, we heeded their advice and set out for the Bondurant area, about 35 miles southeast of Jackson on U.S. Highway 189.

We passed RVs set up in farm fields, including one encampment advertising $100 per night spots — what a deal! We heard on AM radio various warnings of eclipsemageddon, like some Sublette County camping areas were already so full that travelers were being turned around.

On we drove until we came upon a U.S. Forest Service road, apparently disguised to the average tourist, thanks to a barbed-wire gate to keep cattle off the highway. We bounced several miles over rutted roads and a big mud patch until we found a shady camp spot to our liking. It was a short walk from an open field for watching the show. We hadn’t seen another soul, outside the cows.

As we settled into our camp chairs Monday morning, we quickly forgot about our problems — like a car battery that had died that morning, with no cables for a jump-start. But we’d figure out those issues later. It was time for the total eclipse, a first for all five of us.

(Luke Ramseth | The Salt Lake Tribune) A small group of eclipse tourists awaits totality on a Forest Service road outside Bondurant, Wyo.

Still nobody else in sight, we tuned our senses to the sun and read aloud from one of the free guide books made for eclipse newbies. We reminded each other to look for the diamond ring, the Baily’s beads, the shadowy snakes in the grass. We were ready.

But then, suddenly, we weren’t.

Totality struck, and we stood in awe, hooting and hollering. We snapped pictures, alternating between staring at the black hole above us and a strange light from the sun shining along the horizon. Our 90 seconds of darkness felt far too short.

On the return drive, the afterglow of totality still on our brains, the smartphones came out, Googling about the next American total eclipse. The answer: 2024. A path that runs from Texas, to Illinois and up to Maine.

Let’s go, we said.