July 11 is the anniversary of the great eclipse of 1991, the almost-overhead, almost central-to-Earth Sun eclipse that was the most wonderful in my experience, and that started the age of mass enthusiasm for eclipses. Some saw it in Hawaii, some on the tip of the peninsula of Baja California; I rode from Guadalajara in Mexico and saw it from a fishing village called Sayulita. I have given so much space to it in my Under-Standing of Eclipses (which I’m in process of re-editing), and in a 16,000-word account for myself, that I won’t prate any more about it here, but just show my drawing of myself about to be eclipsed the next day in a river fifteen miles to the south of Puerto Vallarta. We did some horse-riding through the forest, then I and Connie, daughter of Tom Van Flandern who led the Eclipse Edge Expedition, learned from local children how to get into the bathtub-like pool near the top of the cliff, be swirled over, and survive the cascade.
You may have to look closely for the small figure half way down, which isn’t really me but one of the boys who taught us. From my description: “You go an uncertain distance under, starting to dogpaddle up while feeling the water pummeling on your head like fists. But you are spat out a few yards down-pool, and you swim on around a couple of corners to get out. Having done it once, you do it all day, head-first for variety.”