By Laurie King

If you've never seen one before, you're called an Eclipse Virgin. That's what I was on Wednesday, August 11, 1999, as I anticipated experiencing the last total solar eclipse of the millennium. My dad, an amateur astronomer, had told me it's like being in the middle of a big group orgasm (you can imagine my discomfort at hearing this from my dad), with everyone around you oooh-ing and aaaah-ing, screaming and then crying. He said it was a very emotional experience, and that it couldn't be adequately described in words.

"Sure," I thought.

But his description was fairly accurate, as it turned out. I was fortunate enough to be on board the ocean liner Marco Polo, in the Black Sea, with several hundred astronomers. First thing in the morning they had all their equipment out: tripods, telescopes, big binoculars, cameras, and camcorders -- all with very dark filters so we could look directly at the sun. They were talking about past eclipses -- obviously enjoying their reminiscences -- and there was a definite air of expectancy.

We'd had a "what to watch for" lecture from the president and publisher of Sky & Telescope magazine, plus I'd read up on eclipses and talked to some of the amateur astronomers on the cruise, so I felt well prepared. I knew to look for the corona, and especially to notice its size, shape, and streaking pattern. Sunspot activity had been low lately, so we were anticipating a relatively small and regularly shaped corona.

I was looking forward to seeing the "Diamond Ring Effect" I'd read so much about -- that's when the last little bit of sunlight peeks out from behind the last valley on the moon's surface, creating an effect . . . let's see . . . how can I describe it? Imagine the black circle of the moon's shadow is the hole in the middle of a big diamond engagement ring in the sky. There's a slender ring of golden light around it; that's the "ring." And then there's a huge, brilliant, white "diamond," at least two carats, maybe three. It's stunning. And that doesn't even begin to describe it.

Not only can words not adequately describe it, photographs can't, either. As it turns out, the exquisite human eye captures far more of the beauty and detail of an eclipse than either a still or video camera. The corona, in particular, with its delicate streaming patterns, is much more spectacular in real life than in a photo. (Don't ask me why, I think God probably has something to do with it.)

I got a little ahead of myself. During the early stages of the eclipse, you can barely tell anything is happening, unless you're looking (with protective goggles!) right at the sun. Then you see a little dark "bite" being taken out of the sun, and gradually it grows bigger and bigger until the sun is just a slim crescent. Then things start happening fast: the air gets cooler, the sky suddenly darkens, and you can see sunset colors on the horizon all around -- 360 degrees. The light changes to a kind of steely-gray color (just like the books say!).

There are also some wonderful subtle effects you can see, if you're lucky. The one I most looked forward to (and didn't observe -- this time) is the shadow of the moon on the earth as the eclipse "moves" towards you. And there are "shadow bands," which look something like the ripples of light and shadow on the bottom of a swimming pool. And there's a shadow sharpening effect, where if you look (for instance) at your own shadow, it becomes so sharp that you can easily see the shadows of individual hairs on your head. And there's another effect, just before and just after totality, where if you hold your finger perpendicular to the axis of the crescent you get a weird filmy shadow, with super-long fingernails, like a Balinese dancer. Also, the sparkles of light reflecting on the water got smaller and brighter and sparkled faster just before and just after totality, and they got "rays" like stars; it was absolutely mesmerizing to watch in the semi-darkness.

It's easy to imagine how strange and disturbing this must have been for people who weren't expecting it, and for animals, too. I'd read about birds roosting and cows heading for the barn during an eclipse, but, being in the middle of the Black Sea, I didn't have much opportunity for animal watching. The people watching was great, though. They were quietly expectant; they looked and pointed, watched and waited . . . and then they shouted and cheered and jumped and whooped and even cried at the moment of totality. I joined right in; I couldn't help myself. The sound track is one of my best memories.

So in the end, it was like Dad said -- beautiful, emotional, and ultimately indescribable. And there's another thing he was right about, he said that after a person's first eclipse, her first question is, "When's the next one?" Well, it's in June 2001 in Southern Africa. I'll be there, and I'm bringing friends!