It was 2:30 a.m., and I was walking on a road in rural Pennsylvania — it began in a Walmart parking lot and ended 1.5 miles later in a desolate clearing. 50,000 other people were on a similar exodus. It was the wee hours of Sunday, Feb. 2 after all, and we were in Punxsutawney.
Last Sunday, I had the immense honor of celebrating Groundhog Day with Punxsutawney Phil himself. I’d like to share my experience and tips, as well as recommend it as a mandatory event for Cornell students in their time here.
Logistically and economically speaking, visiting Phil from Ithaca is easy. No need to get a hotel, or buy expensive tickets or parking passes. As a devoted Minnesotan follower of Phil, it was never practical to make that journey to see him, but it’s only a four-hour drive from Ithaca.
So Saturday night, my friend and I bundled up and left town, pulling into Punxsutawney at around 1:30 a.m. We felt a bit tired but were fueled by our mission. We stopped in town for a bit, visited a few of the 40 giant Phil statues scattered around and said good morning to Phil, his wife Phyllis and their two new children, Sunny and Shadow, in their burrow.
We suddenly realized that there was already an absurd amount of people around and hustled to the local Walmart, which, at 2 a.m., was almost completely full. Since there is no parking at Gobbler’s Knob — the bottom of a hill where Phil makes his annual proclamation — there are shuttles to deliver the guests from assorted large parking lots around the city. However, we saved our $5 and walked.
I enjoyed the 1.5-mile journey, as it both woke and warmed me up. The curvy, icy road with no sidewalk and minimal lighting made for an adventure, but there weren’t many cars at that time anyway.
At 2:55 a.m., we arrived at Gobbler’s Knob, unsure of what we were going to find. The situation was such that we had somehow beat all the buses on foot and were part of a loyal crowd waiting for the gate to open at 3 a.m. When it did, everyone began sprinting down the hill to the stage. Surprised but not averse to a bit of sport, my friend and I sprinted along with the mob and managed to get front-row seats, to both our bewilderment.
Although we didn’t plan it, I think having those seats was a game-changer. It would’ve been pretty miserable being in the middle of that crowd. It was definitely worth the extra hour of waiting outside as opposed to sitting in our car a bit longer.
Within minutes of our arrival, the shuttles arrived and thousands of people packed in behind us. The adrenaline faded somewhat, and our sense of victory was slightly dimmed with the realization we would be standing in the same spot for almost five hours, in 12-degree weather. I assumed, wrongly, that it was going to be five cold, boring hours of fighting sleep.
The Punxsutawney Groundclub Club put on a very impressive pre-show, keeping the audience so stimulated that I, at least, didn’t really feel tired. Acapella, a talent show, local bands, DJs, dance groups, local politicians and Miss Pennsylvania wielding a fire stick all made appearances and worked hard to keep the crowd engaged. I was most impressed by the emcees, who were there waiting for us at 3 a.m. in cloud-patterned suits and kept the energy high for hours.
Gov. Josh Shapiro attended the event and put on a tough front, giving a speech to the roaring crowd with more than a few digs at People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals’ attempt to replace Phil with a robot. “If they want to get rid of Phil, they’re going to have to go through me,” Shapiro boomed to the masses roaring with approval.
I really enjoyed the many original songs written about Phil based on popular pop culture songs. Lines such as “Life is short, praise the groundhog,” were belted to the tune of “Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy).” My favorite part by far was the sheer energy and enthusiasm for Phil: Many guests wore elaborate Phil costumes, hats and waved signs of adoration.
Right before Phil came on stage, there was an impressive fireworks show accompanied by dramatic music that instilled a sense of solemn reverence in the audience for what was to come.
Finally, the moment arrived. The inner circle walked onto the stage, and Phil emerged from his burrow along with the sun. His authoritative gaze pierced my soul. The creature’s stomach fat gushed over the sides of his handlers' leather-gloved hands. I could only watch in awe at such a majestic, esteemed beast.
His snout turned to the sky, he squinted and sniffed, then conferred with the president of the Groundhog Club. His prognostication, seeing his shadow (six more weeks of winter!), was announced to the crowd, which instantly erupted in emotion.
Phil looked on as his handler petted him, his rolls of fat and fur smoothing beneath the touch. He appeared alert and calm — dare I say smug — despite the estimated 50,000 people screaming in front of him and fireworks exploding behind him.
As soon as the show ended the crowd quickly dispersed. The drive back was by far the hardest part of the adventure, given our all-nighter. If I could’ve done it differently, I would have planned to nap somewhere either in Punxsutawney or on the way.
My sleep schedule is in shambles, and I’ve succumbed to whatever disease that one gets after spending a winter night outside waiting to hear the will of the groundhog. However, although the bodily experience of seeing Phil is somewhat hellish, the spiritual experience is heavenly. It really was spectacular, and I’m so glad I did it. At least once in their time here, Cornellians must make the pilgrimage to see Phil — may he enjoy his additional six weeks of napping.
Aurora Weirens is a fourth year student in the College of Arts & Sciences. Her fortnightly column The Northern Light illuminates student life. She can be reached at aweirens@cornellsun.com.
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