Highlights From the Total Solar Eclipse’s Dark Path Through the U.S., Mexico and Canada (2024)

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A total eclipse casts a shadow of wonder across a continent.

As totality wrought its final moments of coronal blackness in Houlton, Maine, where the eclipse concluded the American portion of its journey, the crowd in the Pine Tree State quieted, couples wrapped arms around each others’ shoulders and small flocks of birds darted over the town square, as orange light glowed on the horizon.

“I would pay a million dollars to see that again,” said Sebastian Pelletier, 11, a Houlton resident.

Behind eclipse glasses or other safe means of viewing the phenomenon, they watched the moon’s shadow grow until the light was extinguished. In some places, it was dim for as long as some four and a half minutes.

Dozens of reporters and photographers from The New York Times spread out across the path of totality, bringing you live updates as the sun disappeared behind the moon. Here’s what else to know:

• The next opportunity to see a total solar eclipse in the 48 contiguous U.S. states and Canada isn’t until 2044. To see a total eclipse before then, you’ll need to travel abroad — the next event will be in August 2026 and will cross through a number of European countries including Iceland and Spain.

• While the eclipse was most impressive when viewed at totality, hundreds of millions of people experienced a partial eclipse. In Chicago, the sun was about 94 percent obscured. In Boston, 93 percent. In New York (around 3:25 p.m. Eastern time) and Philadelphia, it was a 90 percent eclipse.

• The cloud coverage seemed even better than predicted for many across the path of totality. Cirrus clouds remained thin enough across the middle portion of the path of totality to allow for a full show of the celestial event. Even places expected to be socked in with clouds, like Texas and western New York even got lucky in a few places.

• In the United States, about 32 million people live along the eclipse’s path, and countless more drove toward it (and, eventually, away from it). The authorities warned of gridlock as people drove home, and called on motorists to allow extra time, and lots of it. Traffic maps showed occasional hints of congestion around some cities. But in many locations after the event, Times reporters found the flow of traffic remained orderly.

Simon Romero, Edgar Sandoval, Jenna Russell, Ian Austen and Judson Jones contributed reporting.

Couples exchange wedding rings, and then don eclipse glasses.

They donned eclipse glasses as soon as they exchanged rings, and they repeated celestial-themed vows to love each other through even the darkest of moments.

“I promise to cherish you like this rarest of events, treasuring each moment as if it were a fleeting or shooting star,” the couples repeated, as Craig Wayne Boyd, a country singer-songwriter, officiated.

“For in my world,” they continued, “you are my sun, my moon and all my stars.”

Nearly everything a couple would need, including the wedding cake, the decorations and the officiant, was provided. And since Pope County, where Russellville is the county seat, is one of several dry counties in Arkansas, the newly betrothed toasted with nonalcoholic sparkling fruit juice.

Students from a local beauty school curled hair and painted wedding-white nails for several of the brides, whose dresses were as colorful as the couples themselves: traditional white, lilac, galaxy blues and, yes, even black. The level of formality ranged from tank tops and leggings to medieval garb, plush tulle gowns to simple sundresses.

For many of the couples, the opportunity to elope was both convenient and cost-effective. Ms. Augustine and Mr. Rice had gotten engaged in 2019, but couldn’t decide on the size of their celebration — Ms. Augustine wanted a big party, while Mr. Rice preferred something more intimate. When they heard about the eclipse event from Ms. Augustine’s mother two months ago, they agreed it would accomplish what they both wanted — while also winking to their first date.

Perhaps the cynics may point out that marrying at an eclipse, such a fleeting event, among dozens of other couples, is an odd way to celebrate eternal love. But for many couples in Russellville, the company didn’t matter — the opportunity was too unique to pass up.

“The whole total solar eclipse and then getting married before it, it just really seems like the coolest wedding that anybody could ever have,” said Carlotta Cox, who married Matthew Holloway on Monday.

After the ceremony, Ms. Cox said they intended to quickly leave to beat traffic on their way to Tunica, Miss., before heading home to Knoxville, Tenn., for their wedding reception. But they were in no rush to leave for their honeymoon.

They have delayed the trip, to Cairo, until 2027. There’ll be another eclipse to see.

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The second time was the charm for a college town at the eclipse crossroads.

A banner at one corner of the football field, referencing the total solar eclipse in 2017, read “ONCE IN A LIFETIME. AGAIN.”

But unlike the total solar eclipse in 2017, when Carbondale was mostly overcast, today was sunny and hot, with thin clouds in the atmosphere, most of them hanging close to the horizon.

Thirty minutes before totality, the ambient light dulled, taking on a dream-like quality. The winds picked up and the temperatures plunged, offering relief from the blistering sun.

The crowd roared as the moon overcame the last bit of the sun. One woman pointed to the sunset at the horizon, visible through a gap in the bleachers.

“Just amazed. This is beautiful,” said Alex Leffelman, who pointed out Venus and Jupiter, visible on either side of the main attraction, to his two young children.

It was Mr. Leffelman’s first time under totality, but for most people in the crowd, it was their second — evident by the plethora of 2017 total solar eclipse T-shirts that people wore.

The crowd erupted again as the sun’s “diamond ring” poked back out from the lunar disk. Light blasted through the stadium. “Congratulations!” the announcer said. “You’re officially eclipse chasers!”

“It was so beautiful,” said Cheyenne Davis, who first experienced totality in 2017 from St. Genevieve, Missouri. “Even seeing it before, I was not prepared for the awe that came with it.”

Most people didn’t stick around for the latter part of the show, as the moon receded, ignoring warnings of heavy foot and vehicle traffic. Giddy at the sun’s return, crowds filed out to the song “Walking On Sunshine” by Katrina and the Waves.

This retiree wanted to be first in line in Canada.

“I couldn’t sleep last night because of the anticipation,” said Mr. Coles.

The day before, he drove from his hometown of Kitchener and stayed the night in Chatham, which is near the park. Monday morning, he woke up early, went to a Tim Horton’s to grab breakfast and then headed to Point Pelee to watch from its beach that poked into Lake Erie.

Asked what it would mean to be the first Canadian mainlander to experience the eclipse, he said, “It would feel good, like an accomplishment. I’ve never been the first for anything in life, so this would be cool.”

Like Coles, most visitors arrived early, lining up as soon as 5:30 a.m. in hopes of getting one of 700 spots in the parking lot. From there, it was about a mile and a half trip by shuttle bus to the beach and viewing area.

After waiting several hours, when the big moment of totality neared, a group of 11 engineering students from the University of Windsor looked upward, eyes hidden behind their eclipse glasses. When it finally happened, they all shouted, “Totality!” with an apocalyptic-sounding war cry. Everything went cold and dark. Lake Erie turned a bluish-purple color. Pretty much everyone clapped and cheered.

“It feels surreal,” said Tito Migabo Jr., a 21-year-old computer science major at Windsor. “This is actually so cool.”

In the afterglow, Mr. Coles was still down at the end of the beach. Mission accomplished, if he didn’t say so himself. To be what he considered the first person on the Canadian mainland to experience the eclipse required going past a couple who had walked to the edge of the beach at the final moment, but, he said he believed he was the southernmost person on the mainland when it mattered most.

“It was fantastic,” Mr. Coles said. “There was a lot of ambience, like at night, when the moon is shining. My fingers are cold, though.”

He added that he had just taken a selfie to send to his sister and then would probably head home to celebrate over a beer.

“I like Corona, the smoothness of it,” he said. “Then I’ll sleep.”

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Canadians and visitors alike share in the experience in Newfoundland and Montreal.

“This time of year we knew was about a one in 10 chance of having clear skies,” said Hilding Neilson, an assistant professor of physics at Memorial University of Newfoundland and an organizer of a viewing event in a parking lot at the College of the North Atlantic where a crowd of several hundred braved a windy day with near freezing temperatures.

“But you roll the dice and hope for the best,” he added.

Conveniently, the clouds parted just as the partial eclipse was underway and largely remained out of the way. But as totality came, so did a heavy dark cloud, and it remained for the roughly three-minute period.

People still found community beneath the cloudiness.

Michael Mendenhall, a nuclear physicist at the Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory in California, traveled from Maryland, where he works remotely, to Newfoundland. He had brought along a customized telescope — affixed with a homemade viewing screen fashioned out of some clamps, tape, a square of synthetic fabric and an automotive oil funnel. It made him something of a celebrity at his viewing site.

Others at the gathering included a busload of 55 people who made the three-and-a-half hour trip from St. John’s, the provincial capital, in an outing organized by the local science center.

They included Mehrin Naz, a graduate student in business administration, who has become an amateur astronomer since moving to Canada five years ago from Bangladesh and discovering Newfoundland’s dark skies.

Back home she had been rarely able to even see the moon. She traveled to Gander with two friends, Arun Kumar and Rafisa Mahroz, who are also immigrants from Bangladesh.

“I forced them to come here,” Ms. Naz said, adding that she had also educated other members of her community about the eclipse.

Earlier on the eclipse’s path in Quebec, sharing with others was also on the mind of viewers in Montreal.

Members of Atelier St-James, a nonprofit that provides support for people who are experiencing homelessness in Montreal, shared eclipse glasses alongside free meals ahead of Monday’s cosmic event.

Tristan Arsenault, co-director of the center, has been preparing for the event for weeks, “Everybody in Montreal is participating,” they said. “I don’t want somebody to miss out on it just because they don’t know where to locate glasses or they don’t have access to the internet.”

At Beaver Lake on Mount Royal in the city, David Stevenson waited for totality with his children, Adrien, 10, and Iris, 14. Schools across Montreal are all closed on Monday to let children experience the event with their families.

“I want to be an astronaut,” Adrien says, aiming a pink instant camera at the very last sliver of sun.

“We just did a school project about extraterrestrial life,” he added. “People think they know what aliens should look like, but they don’t.”

Unseasonable warmth arrives just in time in New England.

In the town’s Market Square, a statue of George Washington wore eclipse glasses, a NASA livestream was on view in the Temple Theater and performance artists dressed as aliens mingled with the crowd. Many visitors had driven hundreds of miles to Houlton from nearby states, happy to line up at local businesses selling eclipse-themed lollipops, trucker hats and Christmas tree ornaments — a welcome economic boost for a rural region that has struggled with the loss of jobs and population.

A few hundred miles away, St. Albans, Vt., also enjoyed an influx of visitors. As the eclipse approached totality and the sky began to darken, cheers rang out across Taylor Park, where vendors were selling maple kettle corn and cider doughnuts as hundreds looked skyward from camping chairs and blankets.

At the edge of the park, away from tree cover, Gregory Bakos, 67, was making final adjustments to his Newtonian reflector — a telescope-like device he was using to photograph the eclipse. The self-described amateur astrophotographer had driven up from southern New Hampshire.

“I know some of my friends had reservations to go to Texas, but that’s not working out because they’re getting so many clouds. It’s usually like that around here,” Mr. Bakos said. “We’re very lucky today.”

As memorable as the day will be for many in Houlton, few will remember it as vividly as Stephanie Sennett and Christopher Selmek. They timed their marriage vows for the moment the sun and moon aligned. The wedding party carried lanterns, and candles lined the aisle outside a snowmobile club north of the town as Ms. Sennett, 37, a Houlton native, began her ceremonial walk toward her fiancé at 3:33 p.m.

“I wouldn’t say we’re that into astrology, or astronomy, but I do remember listening to Pink Floyd’s ‘Dark Side of the Moon’ in the ’80s, on cassette tape,” Mr. Selmek, 40, said on Sunday evening as the couple headed to their rehearsal dinner. “I like that our wedding is connected to the eclipse — no power on earth could postpone this event.”

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Disappointment on the eclipse train in western New York.

The day had started sunny. But clouds rolled in around noon, obscuring the main event.

The total eclipse passed, and the sky brightened. People returned to their cars, the locomotive blew its horn and the train started to roll back toward its station, in Arcade.

Then Mr. DeCaro took to the loudspeaker again.

“Folks, if you look out the windows to the right of the train, you can see a partial eclipse,” he said. “The sun is wearing the moon like a little hat.”

And so it was. Travelers fumbled for their eclipse glasses. They struggled to hold them to their eyes as the train jumped and bounced down the uneven tracks.

“It looks like a movie!” said Joe Comacho, 54, of Easton, Penn.

Others were less impressed.

“Oh, the poetry! It’s gorgeous!” Jahya Young, 20, said sarcastically. “I don’t want to put on the glasses. I’m here for the train.”

After nearly a century of life, my father saw his first eclipse.

“It’s dark,” he said.

My father had never seen an eclipse before, or if so, he could not remember it. My mother had seen “several,” she said, and seemed to be dismissing this one even as she identified with it. “Even the sun can’t do what it wants to do,” she muttered.

“It’s darker now,” my father said. “Darker!” And it was, drastically. Totality itself was obscured, but the darkness fell like sudden night, although the clouds shone white a few miles to the south. A breath or two of utter quiet. Distant cheers and fireworks. Then the sun was back, hazy but bright.

“Now what?” he said.

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Staring down bad eclipse weather on a lawn in Dallas.

There were groans every time it went dim, cheers when it reappeared. The wealthy and powerful lying in the grass in their suits and sundresses as John Mulchaey, Carnegie’s lead astronomer, counted the minutes to totality through a loudspeaker.

Then it appeared, a bullet hole through the sky framed by dramatic clouds. Everyone cheered, mostly for the sun and its feathery ethereal corona, partly for collective fortitude in staying the course.

It was the first total solar eclipse for Margot Perot, host of the gathering and widow of Ross Perot, the entrepreneur and presidential candidate.

“It was very exciting and dramatic,” she said. “I’m only sorry that it won’t happen again for such a long time.”

In Indiana, the sun and moon may not be the biggest stars as Purdue eyes a national championship.

“Both might be a one-in-20-years event,” said Jimmy Hoover, a Purdue student who turned out for an eclipse viewing party and a 5K race in suburban Indianapolis. “One of them, I came into knowing it was going to happen,” he said. But the game, he added, he “couldn’t have expected, so that might be a little more on my mind.”

The day’s schedule allowed plenty of time to enjoy events. Jim Hoffman traveled from his home in Frankton, Ind., to run in the race and watch the eclipse at one of America’s most famous drag-racing tracks, Lucas Oil Indianapolis Raceway Park in Brownsburg, Ind.

Mr. Hoffman, a Purdue alumnus who wore a Boilermakers T-shirt and shorts, said he had faced a dilemma: Travel to Arizona to watch his team’s first Final Four appearance since 1980, or stay home in Indiana to take in the eclipse but watch the game on television.

“I didn’t feel like I could afford to go to the game, OK, so this is my sour grapes,” Mr. Hoffman said.

But it was not such a bad compromise.

“If I had gone to the game,” he said, “I wouldn’t have seen the eclipse, and I probably wouldn’t have seen the game because I would have been way up in the rafters.”

Even before Purdue clinched its spot in the championship game, Indiana was blending its love for sports with its spot in the eclipse’s path. Large viewing events were planned at Indianapolis Motor Speedway, the world-renowned site of the Indianapolis 500, and at Lucas Oil Indianapolis Raceway Park, which hosts some of the National Hot Rod Association’s biggest races.

As the sky grew dusky around 3 p.m. local time on Monday, and as a breeze made it feel suddenly cooler, two dragsters raced down the track. A few minutes later, as totality started, stars appeared briefly in the partly cloudy afternoon sky and one child yelled, “It’s nighttime.”

Mary James, a West Lafayette resident and Purdue graduate, said Indiana was enjoying its turn in the national spotlight, no matter which event residents were most excited about.

“You’ve got a lot of people here, like, ‘Come for the eclipse, stay for the Boilermakers,’” said Ms. James, who wore a Purdue Final Four shirt to the eclipse event. “Or you’re celebrating the Boilermakers and also, ‘Hey, look at this once-in-a-lifetime event.’”

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Clouds parted just in time in a small Texas town.

Canton purchased 7,000 custom eclipse glasses for a partial eclipse last fall and today’s full solar eclipse, which it started planning for several years ago. But Monday’s forecast was for heavy cloud cover, and some maps showed possibilities of hail or tornadoes.

Brent and Jamie Driggers had driven to Texas from Hillsboro, Kan., a rural area about an hour’s drive north of Wichita. Ms. Driggers wore a T-shirt commemorating the family’s trip to Nebraska to view the 2017 total eclipse. She had been drawn to that eclipse by scientific curiosity, she said. But it was a more profound communal experience than she had expected, driving her to seek it out again.

“It went dark, and there was an intake of air,” she recalled. “I hope we’ll feel that community spirit.”

In the end, only a few dozen visitors, and about the same number of city employees, had gathered at the grassy grounds around the civic center by noon. Families unfolded camping chairs, unpacked picnics and set up cameras to capture the event, if their luck would hold.

“It’s just a total crapshoot,” said Don Kelly, a retired police officer who traveled from Baton Rouge, La., with his wife, Donna. “There’s no do-overs for whatever number of years. It’s now or never for some of us.”

Edgar Peréz kept his son Evan, 13, and daughter Ariana, 6, home from school to experience the eclipse. He hoped they would recognize “the celestial side of things,” he said.

“We’re just a small part of the universe,” he added.

The children spooned colorful icees from plastic foam cups and squinted up at the cloudy sky.

Around 12:30 p.m., the clouds parted. The moon edged in front of the sun. “It’s starting, it’s starting!” someone shouted. The clouds covered the sun again, and then parted again, over and over.

Meg Veitch, a geologist in Alabama, met up with her parents, Chris and Jim Veitch, who traveled from Berkeley, Calif. She was wearing a dress with a solar-system pattern, and checking her camera that she had propped up and covered with an $8 telescope cover in hopes of capturing the moment. As the sky got darker, the family brought out a round cake decorated like a cloudy, dark sky, and quietly sang “Happy Birthday” to Chris.

At 1:41 p.m., the sky went dark. There was a hush, then a cheer as the clouds parted again to reveal the spectacular sight of the moon perfectly centered in front of the sun. Then a hush again.

“It’s one of the longest and shortest moments of your life,” Meg Veitch said.

Afterward, Mr. Kelly walked slowly across the parking lot with a smile on his face. “I’ll have driven 12 hours and change for two seconds of eclipse,” he said. “I’d do it again tomorrow.”