YANGSHAN ISLAND, China – As the countdown began, my producer Jo Kent sighed. "This might be the most anticipated anti-climax ever." Clouds threatened to ruin the longest total solar eclipse of the 21st century, until the very last minute.

After much deliberation and intense consultation with eclipse chasers across Shanghai, we decided to post ourselves on Yangshan Island, a suburb of Shanghai. The chasers heading in this direction were very convincing. On the island, they said we'd have a lower chance of clouds and city pollution. And hundreds of them were going there. It was hard not to get swept up in the group mentality.

But by the time we arrived, it was raining. Not just raining, but thundering and lightning. I went to bed listening to thunder claps, petrified that we would miss out on the eclipse of my lifetime (and also my first ever).

Despite a dream that the heavens miraculously cleared, we woke to cloudy skies. Dark, cloudy skies. Still, the crowds there said we should stick it out.

In the elevator, one man told me: "I'm renewing my belief in God right now."

After all, the total eclipse itself wasn't happening for another couple of hours. Charles Fulco, a middle-school astronomy teacher from New York, confidently claimed he would stay optimistic until the end.

Personally, it was difficult to keep doubt from "clouding" my mind. I knew I had to stay positive for our viewers. After all, there's nothing compelling about a correspondent predicting the worst over and over again.

I was trying to put on a happy face for my next live shot when I heard "oohs” and “ahhs" in the background.

I was so flustered, I forgot to put on my eclipse glasses before I looked up. A partial eclipse was shining down on us all like a gift from Mother Nature.

The rush was undeniable. I was amazed, shocked, and most of all, relieved, that we had something to show the world.

Clouds quickly swooped in, completely eliminating any chance of seeing totality - that treasured moment when the sun is completely hidden behind the moon and its outer atmosphere (the "corona") is visible like a halo around the moon's shadow.

Nonetheless, Yangshan Island was swiftly shrouded in darkness. I mean, it happened in minutes and suddenly we were all pitched into black. The air grew cold. Hundreds of dragonflies that had been swarming for hours disappeared.

I was reporting the entire time, but wished I could take a breath and soak in this awesome, haunting feeling. The sun had literally vanished in midday.

And just as the skies started to brighten again, the clouds relented one last time. We saw another flash of light at the end of totality. It looked like a crescent moon in an evening sky, but in fact it was a sliver of the sun - the sun rising for the second time at the end of one of the most unnatural-seeming natural wonders.

Of course, there were a lot of disappointed eclipse watchers who'd traveled thousands of miles, spent thousands of dollars, to see this from beginning to end.

But these fleeting glimpses were enough for me. Our days of eclipse chasing - the cynicism, the science, the insanity of gambling to see the solar system in action - was exhilarating, even though we only witnessed a slice of astronomical glory.