SOLAR CRESCENTS & ANCIENT LOVERS

Serendipity favours the prepared, but such highly unlikely chain of favourable events that culminated that miraculous morning is beyond the orchestration of the finest minds. I typically keep a detailed calendar of celestial events, lest I risk some meteor shower pass me by unnoticed. Yet with the uncertainties of life that has recently afflicted my varied ill-meditated plans, I have all but neglected the upkeep of this personal tradition. The solar eclipse of June 10th, 2021 came to my notice less than a week prior while trawling the literature on the mass breeding on Atlantic Horseshoe Crabs (Limulus polyphemus). Since the highest incidences of shoring crabs occur during new and full moons in spring, it reminded me that my knowledge of another suite of events reserved for the full and new moons — eclipses — have fallen victim to my other preoccupations [1].

"Trilobite Stage" of horseshoe crab hatchlings fluorescing electric blue under long wave UV light. This view is less than 2 cm across.

Without the luxury of breaking fast, we made our passage from Middletown, Connecticut to the coastline at the unearthly hour of 4.20 in the morning. The brightening horizon and sparse clouds alleviated our concerns of adverse weather stipulated by forecasts. By 5.10, a short five minutes before the astronomical sunrise, we arrived at Sandy Point Bird Sanctuary at West Haven near low tide. A fine haze lazed over our heads, the air permeated with that mild familiar scent of salt and decay. Across the deserted tidal flats was a sun pillar, a delightfully rare sight usually reserved for higher latitudes and for colder months, reflected in equal brilliance in the undulating waters.

Sun pillars light this one occurs more commonly at high altitudes or during colder seasons due to the formation of ice crystal in high altitude clouds. This is a rare sight for a warm late spring morning.

The smallest spark appears above the treeline, and in a matter of moments morphed into two pointed prongs. Sol is rising. The hour is 5.19. As the eclipsed eye of the heavens crept into its domain, it became incrementally clear to the spectating that they are in the presence of such bewildering an extravaganza that howls and cries were incessant. The one other occasion when I have experienced such proclamations of wonder was in the company of several thousand for the total solar eclipse of August 21st, 2021. By 5.22, the slender crescent of the sun was emblazoned across the sky, hovering above the glimmering water.

When the "horns" came into view, our company of eight was overwhelmed by emotions. This is a much rarer sight than a total solar eclipse.

5.32 and the maximum eclipse rolled past [2], with the diminished sun naturally filtered through the clouds. Sauntering past were several early risers of the local residents, oblivious to the wonder they exist within. We basked in the warm light of that surreal sight of the crescent sun, veiled by low lying clouds, and visually magnified by its proximity to the horizon. The fiery eclipsed disk of the star tamed by the clouds was gentle to awestruck eyes. Worldly concerns of audacious correspondents dissipated, giving way to the rare exuberant sight that belonged not to this world. Whispers of measured exclamations permeated through our party of eight. By our feet, wallowing in wrack, some thirty mating horseshoe crabs glowed in the morning rays and coital bliss.

The syncing of the celestial and the biological clocks. A mating ritual as old as animal life itself with a heavenly wonder as the romantic setting.

The thin clouds passed for thick ones. The sun soon flitted behind and out of sight, staying hidden until moments before final contact. Day continued to brighten. Chirps of exalted shorebirds, indifferent to the peculiar appearance of the sun, took to the air in intense ripples around us. Terns and gulls drifted into the abundant beds of seaweed and pecked feverishly into the mud. In the tall grasses by the sand dunes, families of the dotty looking Piping Plovers (Charadrius melodus melodus) peeked curiously at us passers-by, running along in short bursts, skeptical of our intentions. Grey fluffy chicks encircled mothers with disproportionately large heads. Gaining their trust with measured movements, we earned several close encounters. The privilege of encountering these globally endangered shorebirds graced our fortunate morning with a final piece of the serendipitous puzzle[3]. This is a sunrise beach stroll like no other.

Piping Plovers can be seen passing through Connecticut shores only during a month-long window in high numbers, making this a treat to remember.

Under UV light by night, the wrack line is littered with fluorescing algae, red and orange. Egg cases of intertidal snails flash a brilliant blue.

This is the first time an eclipsed sun had arisen over the North America in 63 years. In that same period of time, the continent has witnessed six total solar eclipses. While partial solar eclipses occur at least twice and up to five times each year, eclipsed sunrises are far scarcer affairs altogether. For one to coincide spatially and temporally with the mass spawning of horseshoe crabs on the Atlantic seaboard is quite the unicorn, what more with an anomalous low-latitude late spring sun pillar to top off the show.

No amount of planning can place us in such marvellous a place to see this twin pillar of rare sights.

I have seen a total solar eclipse, an annular solar eclipse, innumerable partial solar eclipses, but this experience is like no other. Much has been written about the splendour of total eclipses, but little on the rising solar crescent. The latter is incomparable to the other eclipses in evoking an unparalleled deep connection to the perpetual cyclic workings of the universe. Every fibre of my secular hand resists writing this: to witness a sun pillar in this place at this time, a rising crescent sun, a mating ritual 540 million years old, and endangered fowls — felt like destiny.

Atlantic Horseshoe Crab Eggs near hatching. Each egg is approximately 3 mm across.

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[1] It was only a week ago when I was embroiled in a series of correspondences most peculiar and bemusing in nature. Embittered by the varied vile reasons natural spaces are roped off from naturalists past sundown by regional municipalities in the state, I wrote to seek the counsel of the Audubon Society, a historically wealthy institution knowledgeable on birding and matters, on accessing the shoreline after dark. Much to my dejection, I learned from their response that they have assigned disproportionate importance to migrating shorebirds -- Piping Plovers – that they thought it their entitlement to ordain access to public beaches, writing multiple times in brazen dismissive language to discourage us from walking the shoreline as our interest was deemed illegitimate and “personal in nature”. [2] In remote and mostly uninhabited regions of maritime Canada, Greenland and Russia, an annular solar eclipse was visible. In Connecticut, only 73% of the sun was obscured by the lunar disk at maximum eclipse. [3] At the time of writing, Piping Plovers are globally imperilled with a breeding population of less than 3,400 pairs remaining. Decades of intensive habitat recovery efforts have enabled population to recover from the brink if extinction.