I was raised on Star Trek TOS reruns before they were TOS (The Original Series was The Only Series until September 1987, when The Next Generation first aired). I've read Heinlein's stories of D.D. Harriman and Bradbury's tales of colonizing Mars. I watched one of the first Columbia flights launch live in my fourth grade class (I think it may have been STS-2, but can't swear to it; the only other event I can remember them rolling an AV stand into the classroom to watch coverage of was the assassination attempt on President Reagan); one of my strongest memories of my adolescence was watching Challenger disaster on TV and being convinced that somehow they had to have made it out and would be rescued.
It seemed to me that we were on the verge of erasing the line between science and science fiction. Humans were getting better at getting off the ground at an accelerating rate - it took millennia to go from grounded to hovering in hot air balloons; it took several decades for the first heavier than air flights (gliders) and 120 years to make short hops on powered aircraft; less than seven years later, the first plane took off from the deck of a ship**; in short succession, we went from wood and fabric to all metal construction and replaced the internal combustion engine and propeller with a jet engine as early as 1942 (less than four decades after the first powered flight); WWII also saw the development of rockets, which would launch the first satellite in the 50's and put men on the moon in '69; now, here we were with a reusable orbiter capable of larger crews and more cargo.
And then nothing... we won the space race and didn't want to compete any more. Shuttles kept flying until 2011 (much longer than the four decade old technology was intended for), after which we had to rent Russian rockets to get to the International Space Station.
I continued reading science fiction and watching it on television and in movies, but rather than anxiously awaiting the next big thing, all that was left to do was wish on a star that we would find enough motivation in exploring space "because it [is] there"*** and give the next generation something to fascinate them.
But despite this pessimistic state of things, there turned out to be other nations looking to make a name for themselves in reopening the extra-terrestrial domain and a few resourceful and determined people ready to step up in the spirit of the Wright Brothers tackle space without the full backing of government. There also remained a contingent at NASA committed to fulfilling their mission with whatever tools they were given (the Mars rovers, Cassini, Hubble and a number of other unmanned missions have provided us with incredible images and information, even if they did not provide us the vicarious thrill of manned flight... and of course, the fantasy of joining their ranks one day).
And now, with private American companies supplying the ISS and maybe the Orion and accompanying SLS getting off the ground in a few years, we few dreamers have something to get excited about. In addition, those of us in the mid-Atlantic don't even have to go to Florida to see launches in person, either. When I got the chance to see a live launch, I jumped on it, making a mad rush up the Eastern Shore of Virginia to Wallops Island to watch a night launch of a Minotaur rocket carrying a record 29 satellites into Low Earth Orbit with my 11 year old son.
Getting there too late to view the launch from the visitor center (they say you should arrive an hour early), we continued on toward Chincoteague and pulled off the causeway onto the parking area for the boat ramp. It was a cool night with a chilly wind off the water, but the cold did not affect our enthusiasm.
While we waited, we streamed the live feed of the countdown, explored our surroundings and took in the scenery, including this nearly full moon over one of the bridges, reflecting off the creek. The lights off to the right are Chincoteague Island. The launch site is about 3/8 of a turn to the right (3/4 pi, to the math nerds).
Our wait got extended somewhat due to communications issues, but the Minotaur had about a 3 hour window and conditions were favorable, so it was not a fatal event. As the countdown approached T-1 minute, the atmosphere at the now very crowded boat launch became very still, as everyone focused on the string of lights along the shoreline of Wallops Island. There are a number of cliches to describe the anticipation of a crowd at such a time, but the best I can describe it is that time, normally a vague concept at best and an ignored one at worst, felt tangible. Our collective focus was on a space some five miles to our south and a time that was steadily creeping toward the moment that spot of earth lost its grip on a sleek tube of metal that really should have been too heavy to go floating away.
And when it happened, it came with that unrealistic feel that Christmas morning sometimes has. It was incredibly bright, even with the full moon behind us, but silent... at first. And if I had been excited by space flight before I got there, it was nothing compared to how I felt about it at that moment.
The first image is a screen capture from the launch video I shot; the second is another capture with a filter applied; the latter is less representative of the overall scene, but I think you can see the hint of the rocket itself illuminated.
As it rose vertically and then made a turn to pass across the sky, the sound hit (I may try to upload the entire video later), a sign of the distance that is hard to gauge in such situations. The whine of an Indy car, clatter of an industrial diesel or rumble of a stock car V-8 may all convey a sense of power, but they are all of a scale that we have reference to in our everyday lives. The steady state flat-out roar of the ongoing explosion at the bottom of a launch system, determined to prove that rocks DO fly gives the sense of power of mythical proportions; you could easily place it in a fairy tale as a dragon incinerates a village with his breath.
Not long after passing what appeared to be its closest approach to us (more correctly, the point at which we stopped raising our heads and started turning them to follow), there was a flash of light from the first stage separating. From there, the second stage continued on while the first fell behind, going invisible for a few seconds and then flaring up. I managed a couple of captures of this, but the limits of the iPhone camera (a device capable of better pictures than most of the cameras I have owned in my lifetime, but still not designed with the intent of capturing night images of rockets flying across the sky) do not do justice to how clear it was in person:
And then came the obligatory, "holy cow, that was awesome", "can you believe that" and the like. And of course, the vow to be back for the next one, a much larger Antares rocket carrying supplies to the ISS, a vow we kept that will be covered in my next post, hopefully within the next day or so.
*- The quote "slipped the surly bonds of earth and touched the face of God" may be familiar to the reader, as they were used by President Reagan in reference to the loss of the Challenger and its crew 28 years ago this month. They are actually two lines (the first and last) of a poem by John Gillespie Magee, a WWII pilot who wrote it after flying above 30000 feet in his Spitfire Mk 1. He died not long after in a training flight collision at the age of 19. These two lines appear on his grave marker. His story is worth a read.
**- The story of Eugene Ely is also worth a read, especially for those from the Hampton Roads region (like myself). This flight took place not far from the largest naval base in the world, where several modern aircraft carriers are based, as well as Newport News Shipbuilding, where all U.S. Navy carriers are built.
Ely, like Magee, died in a plane crash shortly after his most noteworthy accomplishment.
***- Often attributed to Sir Edmund Hillary, it was George Mallory who said of his reason for climbing Mt. Everest, "because it is there". What more reason is needed?
No comments:
Post a Comment