I started planning for the April 8th, 2024, eclipse almost immediately after the 2017 event. It felt like a really long way off at the time, but as any chaser knows, time has a way of creeping up on you. My goal for this expedition was to record as much data as possible, transforming my setup into a mobile research station. I brought along my ham radio gear to participate in a global experiment monitoring atmospheric changes as the moon’s shadow took hold, alongside a comprehensive weather station equipped with a full sensor suite to track solar data, UV levels, wind, temperature, and humidity. To capture the sensory shift of the environment, I set up an acoustic experiment to record the sounds of both nature and humans before, during, and after the eclipse. My visual kit was equally extensive, featuring several motorized telescopes to track the sun with various photographic and video cameras, supplemented by new gear including a 360 camera and multiple GoPros. Of course, the most important part of the team was my dog, Biscuit, who served as my loyal co-pilot throughout the journey.

Planning the logistics was particularly difficult due to the time of year, as April is generally notorious for terrible cloud cover in Southern Canada. For a while, I was split between heading to Indiana or Quebec to find clear skies, but I felt a strong desire to stay in Canada and experience the totality on home soil. I ultimately decided to head east the day before the eclipse, staying overnight in Kingston. On the morning of the 8th, I left incredibly early—literally just before sunrise—and pushed further east toward Magog, Quebec. I arrived at Baie-de-Magog Park around 10:00 AM, and at that hour, there were only a couple of other cars in the large parking lot overlooking the beautiful Lake Memphrémagog. Knowing the crowds were coming, I went into a frenzy to get all my equipment calibrated and positioned. By the time I finished setting up around 11:30 AM, the quiet park had transformed; the parking lot was completely full and the grounds were buzzing with people.

During the 2024 eclipse, I was proud to contribute data to the Gladstone Signal Spotting Challenge (GSSC), a massive citizen science initiative coordinated by HamSCI (the Ham Radio Science Citizen Investigation). The primary objective of the GSSC is to utilize the global network of amateur radio operators to study how the Earth’s ionosphere—the layer of our atmosphere that reflects radio waves back to Earth—reacts to the sudden, localized onset of darkness caused by a solar eclipse.

Under normal conditions, solar radiation ionizes the upper atmosphere, creating the “mirrors” in the sky that allow ham radio signals to travel over the horizon. When the moon’s shadow sweeps across the continent, it effectively “turns off” the sun for a few minutes, causing the ionosphere to rapidly cool and de-ionize. This creates a temporary, nighttime-like state in the middle of the day. By participating in the GSSC, my station became one of hundreds of data points used to map these fluctuations.

The experiment focuses on measuring signal strength, fading, and Doppler shifts as the shadow passes. By logging my radio contacts and monitoring signal propagation during the event, I helped researchers visualize the “hole” the eclipse leaves in the ionosphere and how quickly the atmosphere recovers once the sun reappears. It’s a fascinating intersection of hobby and high-level physics, turning a celestial spectacle into a laboratory for atmospheric research.

As the moon begins its slow transit across the sun, I find it fascinating how quickly the atmosphere responds to the sudden loss of solar radiation. Typically, the ground absorbs shortwave radiation from the sun, heating up and subsequently warming the air directly above it. During a total solar eclipse, this primary energy source is abruptly throttled. I can actually feel the temperature drop—often by 5°C to 15°C—because the Earth’s surface stops receiving that thermal input and begins to shed its stored heat back into space. This creates a localized “mini-night” where the boundary layer of the atmosphere stabilizes and cools rapidly.

This cooling effect is the direct catalyst for the rise in relative humidity I observe. To understand why, I look at the relationship between temperature and the air’s capacity to hold water vapor. Relative humidity isn’t just a measure of how much water is in the air; it is the ratio of the current water vapor pressure to the saturation vapor pressure at a given temperature.

The eclipse itself was spectacular, following the classic, surreal progression as the bright blue sky faded into a deep black before gradually returning to the afternoon sun. While the data collection went well, the most surprising observation was Biscuit’s reaction. As the eclipse ended, he began trembling in fear, a visceral response that I really did not expect. Despite the brief scare for my co-pilot, the experience was absolutely amazing, and seeing all the planning come to fruition under clear Quebec skies was well worth the years of anticipation.