July is the second wettest month of the year on the islands with an average of 19.7 days with rain (Table 1). It’s mostly small-scale convective precipitation, so there are usually breaks in the cloud cover. There are no sunshine measurements on the island and so we must fall back on the satellite photos over the past 23 years for enlightenment.
Ah, the joy of 37 consecutive days of sunshine! You wake up every morning to the glorious rays of the sun, birds chirping, and the sweet scent of blooming flowers in the air. It’s like Mother Nature decided to pull out all the stops and throw a month-long party in the sky just for you. You might even think you’ve moved to a tropical paradise, where the only worry is whether to apply SPF 50 or 100.
But of course, we live in a world of cosmic irony, where the universe has a sense of humor sharper than a tack. Just when you think you’ve got the weather figured out, it throws a curveball. Enter the eclipse evening. Yes, that’s right—the one night dedicated to celestial wonders, where everyone is supposed to gather, look up, and marvel at the beauty of the universe. You know, the kind of event that gets excited scientists and casual stargazers alike buzzing with anticipation.
So, what happens? After a month of sunshine, the weather decides to play the ultimate prank: it clouds over just in time for the eclipse. Because why wouldn’t it, right? Let’s face it, the universe has a knack for being a bit of a tease. It’s like the sun was shining down on you for 37 days, saying, “Look at me! Aren’t I amazing?” only to pull a disappearing act when it mattered most.
Picture this: you’ve got your glasses ready, your friends are gathered, and you’re all set to witness a cosmic event that’s supposed to be awe-inspiring. And then—bam!—the clouds roll in like that one friend who always shows up late to the party, but this time, they’ve brought their entire family and decided to stay for dinner. You can practically hear the collective groan as everyone squints skyward, hoping against hope that the clouds will part, just for a moment. Spoiler alert: they don’t.
It’s mildly infuriating, isn’t it? After all that anticipation, you’re left standing there, mouth agape, staring at a gray sky instead of a dazzling solar spectacle. You start to question your life choices. “Did I really need to cancel my plans and make a big deal out of this?” you ponder. “Why didn’t I just stay home and binge-watch my favorite show instead?”
But let’s step back for a moment and appreciate the silver lining here—because there’s always one, even if it’s clouded by disappointment. You’ve just spent 37 days bathed in sunshine, and that’s no small feat! You could have forged new friendships, developed a sun-kissed tan, or even discovered a new outdoor hobby (like napping on the grass). And while the eclipse may have been a bust, you can at least say you were part of the build-up. You were there, in the moment, sharing the collective hope of a group of people who were all equally let down by the weather.
So, while we may not have seen the eclipse as we had hoped, let’s raise a glass to those 37 glorious days of sunshine. And let’s also raise a fist (gently, of course) at the clouds for ruining the show. Here’s to the next eclipse—may it be cloud-free and full of wonder. Until then, let’s keep our sunglasses handy and our expectations in check. After all, if there’s one thing we’ve learned, it’s that the universe loves to keep us on our toes.
Inspired by: “37 consecutive days of sunshine. Eclipse evening:” (r/mildlyinfuriating)