Colm O'Regan: Blown away by eclipse in a ‘this hasn’t happened in our lifetime’ sort of way

The solar eclipse over Roscommon Town. Photo: Bill Walsh

There hasn’t been this much fuss about cheap disposable cardboard glasses in Ireland in YONKS. 

You young ’uns won’t remember this, but RTÉ had a special Halloween thing in 1989 where they were going to show a few scary films with 3D bits. According to a press clipping posted by Reddit user Kno_12, they showed two films: The Mad Magician and Inferno — no, me neither — as well as an episode of The Three Stooges.

Somehow thousands of 3D glasses found their way into people’s homes. It was probably the same supply chain that brought us euro calculators, iodine tablets, and free Euro-cheese. The consensus was: 3D-day night on RTÉ in 1989 was shite — either the glasses or the content. 

I had a flashback as I put on Amazon’s finest in the Phoenix Park on Wednesday night. This was better. The conversation went something like: “Hey it’s all black. Are they meant to be? How do these yokes work? Where is the... OH WOW! OH WOW!”

Hundreds of people turned out at the solar eclipse event at Blackrock observatory. Picture: Noel Sweeney

That was how many of us were introduced to the eclipse. Not gracefully, grumbling, suspicious, but completely blown away by the sheer PHYSICS of it. The plucky little moon showing its roundness.

It was such a strange and moving experience for many reasons. Some things were recognisable. Trying to figure out when to meet up with friends was like being at a music festival. We’re all going to the main stage. The hardiness of children in 29-degree heat dictated where you ended up watching.

But the way that people walked to the locations was eerie. It’s like we were drawn there. A very broad cult. It wasn’t a match because the throw-in time was hazy and, in theory, you could watch it while on the way there. Although Mayo fans will recognise the ‘this hasn’t happened in our lifetimes’ feeling.

It was communal in the best possible way. Thanks to the foresight of a friend, we had our glasses, but many didn’t. Since you couldn’t stare at it all the time, it was easy to share. The least zero-sum game sharing possible. 

In fact, it was fun to watch their reaction. “Do these things work? How do I put them... OOH MY GOD.” I was almost jealous of the Johnny-come-latelies who went straight to ‘cosmic-banana’ shape.

Alison Miles from North County Dublin watching the eclipse streamed live from Dublin, at Bell’s Field on Wednesday, 12 August 2026 as communities across Cork gathered with experts from MTU’s Blackrock Castle Observatory, hoping to experience a once-in-a-generation deep partial solar eclipse. Picture: Michael O'Sullivan / OSM PHOTO

It was also eerie when you turned around and looked at the landscape the eclipse was eclipsing on. The shadows were normal, the definition was normal, but everything was a few shades darker.

Like in the older movies when they tried to recreate night-time by clearly shooting in the day and then just darkening it. A technique called ‘day-for-night’. One to put in your pocket for the next table quiz.

The combination of heat, drought, a crowd drifting towards a goal with a sort of euphoric look, and then the gradually darkening sun and oohing and aahing. We weren’t near the main viewing spot, but we heard the applause roll over from wherever the crowd was thickest — a strange, spontaneous ovation for the solar system, the kind of applause you’d give a murmuration, if murmurations ever showed up when you wanted them to. 

It did feel a bit end-of-world-ish at times. Even the traffic queuing on Chesterfield Avenue felt hushed. Although that might be the new phenomenon of silent traffic jams amid EV and hybrid growth.

Thankfully, one set of people kept us grounded. Small children. Because after a while they got bored. “Can we go see our friends?” You can’t explain to nine and 10-year-olds that this won’t happen again for 60-odd years.

Telling a child to be grateful and think long-term is pointless. As it should be. Anyway, they’ll be around for the next one. I’ll be 112, but I’ll hang onto the glasses just in case.