Living in Stowe during the winter usually means two things: skiing and skiing. Staying just down the street from the mountain provides an incredible opportunity to get in a few laps every morning before clocking into my WFH “office.” This setup creates a great routine—wake up, pack the car, head to the quad for an hour’s worth of runs, then back home to shower and start the workday. Simple, easy, relaxing—routine.
Monday, April 8, was anything but routine. Our winter home was directly in the path of a Total Solar Eclipse.
An Early Start
The day started much earlier than usual—4:30 a.m.—to pack the car and stake our claim in the parking lot. We loaded up the essentials: a grill, tables, plenty of… refreshments, and enough food to feed an army at least three hearty meals. The goal was to beat the predicted crowds and insane traffic heading into town. Turns out, there was no traffic. In fact, we were the first ones to arrive—by over an hour. At least we were prepared.
After killing some time and waiting for the sun to crest over the ridgeline, we set up camp—tables, grills, and a French press for breakfast. By the time the lifts started spinning at 8 a.m., no one was hungry. Khruangbin played on the speakers as we basked like a group of seals in the mid-morning sun. Once the snow softened, we hopped on the quad for a handful of laps before lunch.
As hour seven and meal two approached, we returned to our tailgate setup to prepare for the momentous occasion just over the horizon.
Chasing the Perfect Spot
With Mount Mansfield’s Chin and Nose getting crowded, we thought outside the box for our eclipse viewing location. After a quick skin and a lot of bushwhacking, we stumbled upon the perfect spot—a clearing in the vegetation with an open view overlooking Lake Champlain, the Adirondacks, and even Mount Washington. Eclipse glasses in hand, we waited.
At first, without glasses, you wouldn’t have noticed anything unusual. Everything felt totally normal. But through the lenses, the moon was steadily staking its claim over its larger, warmer relative. We kicked back, cracked a drink, and traded thoughts on what a total eclipse might actually feel like.
Time marched on. About 20 minutes before totality, the changes became undeniable. The world looked desaturated—like shooting in a flat color profile for video. Looking across Lake Champlain, we saw the Adirondacks darkening, the shadow racing toward us at thousands of miles per hour. It grew closer and closer until we were fully enveloped in the moon’s shadow. Totality.
A Moment That Will Never Happen Again
I wasn’t sure what to expect going into this. I figured it would be something cool to tell my friends about, maybe even my kids one day. I didn’t expect it to make me feel the way it did.
Standing there, witnessing something so much bigger than myself, was humbling beyond words. Whether I was here or not, whether humans even existed or not, this was going to happen. The fact that I happened to be alive, happened to live down the street, and happened to be compelled enough to “find out” is the luckiest thing that will ever happen to me. The stars, quite literally, aligned.
My friends and I were the happiest people on Earth. Something about the experience made us all giddy and deeply emotional. The sun painted Mount Mansfield in colors I’ve never seen before—colors I may never see again. Cheers rang out from the Chin, the perfect soundtrack to the moment.
Matt, Matt, Soph, Blakely, Joe, and I cherished nearly three minutes of complete totality on top of Vermont. I snapped a few photos and videos, but for the most part, I just tried to take it all in. This was something that might never be experienced by another human again—a total solar eclipse atop Mount Mansfield.
The Hardest Part
As the moon continued on, the light evolved into something even more unrepeatable. I can’t explain it, but the colors made me feel something.
The hardest part was watching the light return to normal. Packing up felt uneasy—like there should have been something next. It felt unfinished. As we skinned back through the forest, though, those feelings started to shift.
These events are full circle in more ways than one. The celestial bodies involved—the sun, moon, and Earth—are quite literally spherical. But beyond that, the experience itself had a perfect beginning, middle, and truly fantastic end. The morning was incredible—great snow, great friends, a warm, sunny spring day. The journey to our viewing spot was an adventure of its own. And the eclipse? It was the cherry on top.
Since leaving the mountain, I’ve wished I could do it all over again for the first time. I wish I could experience that feeling of not knowing what would happen and discovering it alongside my friends. I wish I could have been in ten places at once, all over Vermont’s highest peak, seeing it from new perspectives.
But more than the desire to relive it, I feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude.
Since the eclipse, anyone who’s asked about it has gotten the same response:
“That was the most incredible experience of my life. Without question.”