- "This is so much better than Burning Man," yelped one dude chugging beers in the dusty parking lot of Oregon Eclipse Festival. The first-time event, a week-long bacchanal centered around this month's Great American Eclipse, was an unprecedented collaboration between 14 of the biggest players in the "transformational" festival scene, including Canada's Bass Coast, Costa Rica's Envision, Japan's Re:Birth and California's Lightning In A Bottle and Symbiosis. Combining forces, these crews drew a small city's-worth of new age yoga and crystals aficionados, hard-partying ravers and dreadlocked vegan hippies with naked children in tow. Noticeably absent: Silicon Valley entrepreneurs and one-percenters, thank god.
It's impossible not to see the similarities between Oregon Eclipse and Burning Man, which take place a few days apart in August, and share a predilection towards inclusive community-building, endurance partying and psychedelic music, as well as a certain disregard of social norms (and personal hygiene). Attendees were constantly drawing comparisons between the two, with several concluding that the grounds of Oregon Eclipse—a rural, 55,000-acre private ranch in the Ochoco National Forest, four hours drive from Portland—was much more bearable than the acrid desert of Black Rock City.
"At least the weather here isn't trying to kill you," agreed another shirtless guy in the parking lot. Moments later, he invited everyone to go for a swim in a nearby lake, where every afternoon, hundreds would gather for a massive day party—splashing around in neon inflatable unicorns, jumping off slides and dancing to the kind of bass-heavy house music you might hear at a Dirtybird BBQ.
Still, the environment at Oregon Eclipse Festival posed a grueling physical test. At night, as constellations of stars streaked across the sky like sequined tapestries, temperatures dropped dramatically. During the sweltering hot days, it often got so dusty that you had to wrap a scarf around your face to avoid choking while walking from the Sky stage—where house and techno DJs like Nicola Cruz, J.Phlip, Ana Sia and Patrice Bäumel reigned—to any of the other six stages, where you could catch everything from the spidery pop of CocoRosie to the deep sub wobbles of the Deep Medi crew and the jangly guitar jams of String Cheese Incident.
While Burning Man encourages radical self-reliance, Oregon Eclipse Festival mercifully provided some basic comforts: food vendors serving hot meals into the wee hours, free water fountains and shops selling dust goggles, sparkly booty shorts, biodegradable glitter, psychedelic art and even pinecones that purported to open your third eye.
There were also more than a dozen non-music tents, each hosting their own programme of eclectic activities during the day, such as yoga with Cirque Du Soleil trainers, a talk on the new psychedelic renaissance and a speed dating exercise paired with a workshop on how to make your own lube. Given the festival's sprawl and lack of cell phone service, trying to catch every workshop and performance that sparked your interest was a futile endeavour. The best approach was to throw yourself into the artful chaos and relish the moments of playful spontaneity that emerged—I joined a drum circle led by a Native American tribe, watched two strangers play rock-paper-scissors as they crossed each other on a dirt path and gazed at costumed kids hanging off the top of hippie buses against a blood-red sunset.
The festival climaxed on Monday morning, when all the stages paused the music, and the 30,000-strong crowd walked to the Solar Temples, two breathtakingly elaborate structures built from intricate wooden minarets, to watch the eclipse. Elders from ancient tribes around the world—brought together by the festival organizers as well as the One Tribe Movement—stood on a circular platform in the middle of the temples, chanting prayers in their native languages, offering blessings and speaking on the importance of protecting our environment, often referencing Standing Rock.
As the moment of totality ticked closer, we all turned towards the sun, arms outstretched or clasped in prayer, some of us wailing, others hugging or quietly meditating. Then the sky turned dark and a deep chill filled the air as everyone burst into shouts and song. For two of the shortest minutes of my life, I forgot about my scratchy dry skin, empty stomach and aching, sleep-deprived limbs. Tears involuntarily leaked down my cheeks as I relished one of the most moving moments of collective ecstasy I've ever experienced.
Photo credits /
Juliana Bernstein / Get Tiny
Jacob Avanzato
Still, the environment at Oregon Eclipse Festival posed a grueling physical test. At night, as constellations of stars streaked across the sky like sequined tapestries, temperatures dropped dramatically. During the sweltering hot days, it often got so dusty that you had to wrap a scarf around your face to avoid choking while walking from the Sky stage—where house and techno DJs like Nicola Cruz, J.Phlip, Ana Sia and Patrice Bäumel reigned—to any of the other six stages, where you could catch everything from the spidery pop of CocoRosie to the deep sub wobbles of the Deep Medi crew and the jangly guitar jams of String Cheese Incident. While Burning Man encourages radical self-reliance, Oregon Eclipse Festival mercifully provided some basic comforts: food vendors serving hot meals into the wee hours, free water fountains and shops selling dust goggles, sparkly booty shorts, biodegradable glitter, psychedelic art and even pinecones that purported to open your third eye.
There were also more than a dozen non-music tents, each hosting their own programme of eclectic activities during the day, such as yoga with Cirque Du Soleil trainers, a talk on the new psychedelic renaissance and a speed dating exercise paired with a workshop on how to make your own lube. Given the festival's sprawl and lack of cell phone service, trying to catch every workshop and performance that sparked your interest was a futile endeavour. The best approach was to throw yourself into the artful chaos and relish the moments of playful spontaneity that emerged—I joined a drum circle led by a Native American tribe, watched two strangers play rock-paper-scissors as they crossed each other on a dirt path and gazed at costumed kids hanging off the top of hippie buses against a blood-red sunset.
The festival climaxed on Monday morning, when all the stages paused the music, and the 30,000-strong crowd walked to the Solar Temples, two breathtakingly elaborate structures built from intricate wooden minarets, to watch the eclipse. Elders from ancient tribes around the world—brought together by the festival organizers as well as the One Tribe Movement—stood on a circular platform in the middle of the temples, chanting prayers in their native languages, offering blessings and speaking on the importance of protecting our environment, often referencing Standing Rock. As the moment of totality ticked closer, we all turned towards the sun, arms outstretched or clasped in prayer, some of us wailing, others hugging or quietly meditating. Then the sky turned dark and a deep chill filled the air as everyone burst into shouts and song. For two of the shortest minutes of my life, I forgot about my scratchy dry skin, empty stomach and aching, sleep-deprived limbs. Tears involuntarily leaked down my cheeks as I relished one of the most moving moments of collective ecstasy I've ever experienced. Photo credits / Juliana Bernstein / Get Tiny Jacob Avanzato