{"id":428,"date":"2018-08-04T19:56:13","date_gmt":"2018-08-05T02:56:13","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/bruceramsey.net\/?page_id=428"},"modified":"2025-07-29T09:45:11","modified_gmt":"2025-07-29T16:45:11","slug":"eclipse-at-stonehenge-1979","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/bruceramsey.net\/index.php\/eclipse-at-stonehenge-1979\/","title":{"rendered":"Eclipse at Stonehenge (1979)"},"content":{"rendered":"\t\t
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\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In December 1978, I became the new marine writer at the Seattle Post-Intelligencer. I wanted to cover the total eclipse of the sun coming on Feb. 26, 1979, but the eclipse wasn\u2019t a waterfront story. The paper sent a much more senior guy to cover it, so I took a day off and went as a tourist, taking pictures. (The one above is mine.) Mark Funk, the Everett Herald\u2019s reporter, had snagged an invitation from Goldendale\u2019s mayor to stay at his house the night before. The mayor and his wife were hospitable folks, but as good Christians, they were to share our enthusiasm for the Druid rites we witnessed at the Stonehenge memorial.<\/i><\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The Seattle Times\u2019 eclipse coverage gave prominent attention to the Druids, but the P-I\u2019s didn\u2019t, as I recall it, because their reporter had been at an observatory instead of the Stonehenge. I wrote a short version of the Druid ceremony for the P-I\u2019s editorial page, which didn\u2019t print it, and a longer one for a private newsletter, \u201cNotes from the Underground,\u201d edited by my friend Mike Dunn. This is based on the longer version.<\/span><\/i><\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t

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\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0I do not believe in magic\u2014not even after the solar eclipse of 1979. But I confess that a few more performances like the Druid rites at Maryhill and I\u2019ll begin to ponder the ancient texts.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0I went there with Mark Funk, a reporter for the\u00a0Everett Herald. <\/i>Maryhill, Washington, is on a spot overlooking the Columbia Gorge, and was to be right in the eclipse\u2019s path of totality. It was supposed to have the clearest viewing in the Pacific Northwest. Maryhill also has a curious monument, a concrete Stonehenge built a few years after the total eclipse of 1918. The concentric rings of stones officially commemorate the men of Klickitat County who fell in World War I. But the Druids, it was said, believed the monument was really built to prepare for the celestial event of February 26, 1979.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Funk and I had heard about these Druids, and set off the night before to find some. There among the gawkers with their Toyotas, Volkswagen buses and REI tents walked a bearded man in a white robe and necklace. He told us he was with the New Reformed Druids of Oakland, California. He was one of about 25; others had come from Berkeley and Redwood City, and locally, from Longview and Olympia. I pegged him as a guy with a limp handshake.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He was walking with a woman. \u201cEverybody!\u201d she said, not very loud and to nobody in particular, \u201cLet\u2019s get together some collective energies and do something about this weather.\u201d It was soggy and cool with an overcast sky\u2014an ill omen for the next morning\u2019s event.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Ten minutes later, she had us linking hands under the dark clouds. A candle flickered and threatened to go out, casting an eerie light on the stones. The inner ring, about eight feet high, had somebody sitting on each stone, witnesses to our participation.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cOmmmmm,\u201d somebody intoned, and everybody went\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cOmmmmm.\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Silence.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then again: \u201cOooooommmmmmmm.\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0People raised their handclasped arms and held them until they tingled. Silence. It was embarrassing. The group needed a leader.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The Druid man started a children\u2019s folk song about flowers and trees. None of us knew it. Then a woman said, \u201cHey, it\u2019s your birthday, Michelle.\u201d With nervous relief, the folks with the Toyotas and Volkswagens all sang, \u201cHappy Birthday to You.\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Somebody picked up the refrain from the Beatles\u2019 \u201cHey Jude,\u201d and the collective energies began to rise. \u201cNa, na-na, na-na-na-na, na-na-na-na, Hey Jude,\u201d soon changed to, \u201cSun, sun sun, su-u-u-un, su-u-u-un, sun sun,\u201d though the sun had gone down hours before.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Lit by two candles, Stonehenge looked like an old MGM set. As the chant droned on, the Druids approached the altar stone and reverently laid down a sword, a goblet and a leather boot. People sang \u201cAmazing Grace.\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0One star poked through the clouds right overhead.<\/span><\/p>

A cheer! A gray-cloaked Druid grabbed the boot and yelled:<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Goddess is alive! Magick is afoot!<\/em><\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Goddess is alive! Magick is afoot!<\/span><\/em><\/p>

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Everyone joined in. Another star winked on, and a few more glowed through a veil. The chant gave way to a rhythmic clap, clap, clap-clap-clap. A few women broke from the circle in free-form dance.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Clap, clap, clap-clap-clap.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The veil tore open and revealed a sparkling band of sky. People broke into a melee of dog-howls and cheers.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Mark and I drove back to Goldendale, satisfied. We were staying at the house of the mayor, Cy Forry. Mark had interviewed him over the phone, and wangled an invitation. Forry, a meat salesman, was married to a woman who took her Bible seriously.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Mark described the Druid chants and parting of the clouds with enthusiasm.\u00a0\u00a0\u201cPretty powerful magic,\u201d he said.<\/span><\/p>

\u201cNo, that\u2019s not so,\u201d insisted the mayor\u2019s wife. \u201cThey don\u2019t have any magic. Put this magic out of your head.\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0I changed the subject; I didn\u2019t want to give her the satisfaction of agreeing with her. Nor could I defend the Druids\u2019 yeasty brew of nature worship and feminism. These people wore the clothing of prehistoric Celts. They spoke of cleansing and redeeming the planet. Their leaders were Earth Mother-type women, and they worshipped \u201cthe feminine within all of us.\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0February 26, 1979, promised to be their day\u2014if the sun would come out. The weather reports said there was a 70 percent chance of clear sky, but you\u00a0<\/span>had to be an optimist to believe it. At first light it was cool and damp, with a thin layer of clouds.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0The long grade down to the Columbia was creeping with campers and cars. Across the river, in<\/span><\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t

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the shadow of cliffs, the headlamps of big trucks on Interstate 80N [now I-84] streamed through the last swath of night.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0We headed for Stonehenge along with crowds of the curious. There at the center of the stones a woman with long black hair and a green robe began: \u201cI am Morning Glory Zell of the Church of All Worlds.\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Four Druids faced outward. To the north, a woman held up a headless Cro-Magnon figurine of exaggerated hips, belly and breasts. To the east, a black-robed man presented a broad\u00adsword, point downward. To the south, a man held a deer skull on a forked stick. To the west, toward Morning Glory Zell and the altar, a young woman offered a brass cup. The four intoned a litany, and the woman sipped from the cup.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0The sun was half gone, but it was still obscured, and the clear sky to the west looked impossibly far away.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Morning Glory Zell lifted her arms skyward and began:<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Magickal mirror of darkness,\u00a0<\/em><\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Golden creator of light,<\/span><\/em><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Your embrace for the moment surrounds us.<\/span><\/em><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In shadow we search for insight.<\/span><\/em><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0From the flesh of the planet we grew.<\/span><\/em><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0She is our mother; let her be healed.<\/span><\/em><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0People and trees, dolphins and bees,<\/span><\/em><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0We are the children of the earth.<\/span><\/em><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Let the earth be healed.<\/span><\/em><\/p>

\u00a0<\/span>\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Your embrace for the moment surrounds us.<\/span><\/em><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In shadow we search for insight.<\/span><\/em><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0From the flesh of the planet we grew.<\/span><\/em><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0She is our mother; let her be healed.<\/span><\/em><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0People and trees, dolphins and bees,<\/span><\/em><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0We are the children of the earth.<\/span><\/em><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Let the earth be healed.<\/span><\/em><\/p>

\u00a0<\/span><\/em><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The sun was three-quarters gone, but still behind the veil. Unless it broke out, we would not see the corona at totality.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0The Druids took up a chant:\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The prophesies will come when shadow mates with sun.<\/em><\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The prophesies will come when shadow mates with sun.<\/span><\/em><\/p>

\u00a0<\/span><\/em><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The chant died. The sun was a crescent, nearer to the clouds\u2019 edge.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Next to speak was Isaac Bonewits, a curly-haired fellow in a white robe and eyeglasses, representing the New Reformed Druids of North America: \u201cNow,\u201d he said, \u201cfor the most powerful chant known to man:\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Rain, rain, go away! Come again another day!<\/em><\/span><\/p>

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Everyone joined in, some yelling \u201crain,\u201d some yelling \u201cclouds,\u201d and some just yelling.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The sun slid out into the clear.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The blinding crescent began dissolving from both ends, shrinking to a star on the lunar disk, like an unearthly diamond ring. Thousands held their breaths, and the point of light winked out. An eerie darkness fell. People shivered.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 For two and a half minutes, we dropped our mylar viewers and stared directly at the black disk framed by the shimmering corona. It was as if the moon were a clay plug on a furnace of molten steel, with the edges popping silently with white-hot power.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Too soon, one of the edges began to glow brighter than the other. The diamond ring winked on, and the sparkling stone spread outward into a crescent. The eclipse was over.<\/span><\/p>

Mark and I had stood in just about the only place in the state of Washington with an uninterrupted view. At the Goldendale Observatory, 15 miles away, the scientists, amateur astronomers and reporters who had bought $30 press passes saw the spectacle from behind the clouds.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Rational observers, including myself, may put it all down to good luck for us, bad luck for them. But then, they had no Druids beseeching Mother Earth.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0No scientists publicly commented on this, but the Christians couldn\u2019t let it pass. Minutes after totality, as folks were streaming back to their Toyotas and Volkswagens to create the biggest traffic jam in the history of Maryhill, along came a sound truck, booming:<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Do not worship cre-a-tion; worship the Cre-a-tor. This e-clipse is brought to you by Je-sus.<\/i><\/span><\/p>

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0It was the Druids’ day.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

\u00a9 Bruce Ramsey 2025<\/span><\/i><\/p>

\u00a0<\/span><\/i><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cNow I know why the Druids lost out,\u201d was the reaction of the P-I\u2019s editorial page editor, John de Yonge. He said the piece was \u201ctwice as long as it should be,\u201d and rejected it. It would be 15 years before I had a column on the P-I’s editorial page.<\/span><\/i><\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In December 1978, I became the new marine writer at the Seattle Post-Intelligencer. I wanted to cover the total eclipse of the sun coming on Feb. 26, 1979, but the eclipse wasn\u2019t a waterfront story. The paper sent a much more senior guy to cover it, so I took a day off […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-428","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/bruceramsey.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/428","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/bruceramsey.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/bruceramsey.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bruceramsey.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bruceramsey.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=428"}],"version-history":[{"count":10,"href":"https:\/\/bruceramsey.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/428\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1655,"href":"https:\/\/bruceramsey.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/428\/revisions\/1655"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/bruceramsey.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=428"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}