Endeavour Rollout to Launch Pad 39A, Aug. 8, 1995 March 20, 2014Posted by skywalking1 in History, Space.
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Space Shuttle Endeavour launched on its STS-69 mission on September 7, 1995. The orbiter and stack had rolled back to the VAB on Aug. 1 to avoid the effets of Hurricane Erin. I was one of the capcoms (astronaut communicator working in Mission Control) for the mission, and I had never seen a space shuttle stack move out to the launch pad. So I took advantage of an invitation from the STS-69 crew (Dave Walker, Ken Cockrell, Jim Voss, Mike Gernhardt, and Jim Newman) to join them for the rollout. Our pair of T-38s headed from Ellington Field near Johnson Space Center for the Cape on the afternoon of Aug. 7, 1995.
After spending the night at astronaut crew quarters, we were up the next morning to join Endeavour on her roll to the pad, which had begun in darkness at 1:55 am. We drove out to the crawlerway, once the route of Saturn V moon rockets to the pad, catching a heart-stopping view of the shuttle stack about two-thirds of the way to Launch Pad 39A. We parked along the road to step aboard the Mobile Launch Platform and get up close to the orbiter I’d flown twice in the previous year (STS-59 and STS-68).
I had never boarded the MLP while in motion, but it was easy to jump aboard the gangway at its 1 mph pace along the crushed river stone of the crawlerway and climb to the deck. Here I was within touching distance of the Endeavour stack, this time unprotected from any pad structure, as on my prelaunch visits to my ship in 1994. Endeavour was independent and self-supported, gliding toward its appointment with orbit, oblivious of the human gnats buzzing around her with a Nikon draped around their necks.
I think the focus on the above shot is a bit soft, due to the early morning light at the Cape–we got their shortly after dawn. The two tab-shaped gray structures on either side of the orbiter’s tail also belonged to the MLP. They housed the T-minus-zero umbilicals (“T-zero umbilicals” was how we said it), those clusters of gas, power, and propellant lines that fed into the ship on either side, just below the OMS pods. Through these umbilicals the external tank received its propellants, the orbiter received commands and electrical power and sent back telemetry, and its plumbing was furnished with gaseous nitrogen for purging the payload bay and engine compartment. At zero in the count, the umbilical panel was yanked away by a falling counterweight, retracted into the gray structure, and protected from the fierce exhaust blast by armored doors that slammed down over the now-recessed umbilical plate.
While pacing the MLP and craning my neck back to look up at Endeavour (as close as I’d been since my landing at Edwards on STS-68 the previous October), I had to get myself in the picture. I’d lived aboard this ship in space for three weeks in 1994, yet it was still hard to wrap my head around that reality. How is it possible that we could have hurled this entire machine into space at five miles per second, with six humans aboard, and brought it back safely to Earth? We have deliberately chosen to walk away from this national capability. Today, if we don’t choose to use these machines any longer, we must quickly–very quickly–develop an alternative national means to send our people to space. Not accelerating this development is sheer negligence on a national scale.
We dropped back to Earth again, stepping onto the crawlerway for a few more photos as the mobile launcher neared the incline to the top of Pad 39A. These views just kept me grinning and shaking my head in awe. I will be similarly amazed when a mobile launcher carries the first Space Launch System booster to its pad.
Endeavour, OV-105, began its ascent of the ramp to 39A as I took up a perch on the Rotating Service Structure, seen to the left in the photo above. This was the rail-mounted “gantry” that would swing in behind the orbiter, once it was in position, and enclose most of the orbiter for protection from the weather. It would also provide clean-room access to the payload bay, enabling technicians to transfer payloads from a mobile canister from the RSS into the payload bay. For me, the top of the RSS provided a fantastic photo vantage point for me and the Nikon F4 I’d borrowed from the photo lab at JSC.
From atop the RSS I head the constant roar of the crawler’s diesels (in turn powering electric motors that drive the tracks) as it mounted the pad elevation.
If there’s anything that will bring a grin to your face, it’s the sight of a spaceship almost imperceptibly rolling up alongside of you. The orbiter seemed to say: “Comin’ through! I’m headed for orbit. Stand aside!”
Endeavour pulls even with the pad structure as I stood, amazed, just above the orbiter White Room level on the RSS.
Here, the crawler would lower the stack onto the four massive launch platform pedestals, then drive back down the incline for its next job. Back on the MLP deck, I got a look at the base of the external tank and its structural connections to the solid rocket boosters. Each booster is held to the platform by 4 massive bolts and nuts, which shatter under explosive detonations at T-minus-zero.
I flew home later that afternoon, with Ken Cockrell at the controls. I hope he’ll be able to figure out who the crew is in T-38 #907, based on the helmet colors in the photo. STS-69 launched on September 7, 1995:
My thanks to the STS-69 crew for allowing me to share their orbiter’s rollout, and for inviting me to work with them as a capcom on their mission. Of course, Ken Cockrell and I flew together just 14 months later on STS-80. But that’s another story. See my website here for more details:
STS-68, Endeavour, Space Radar Lab 2, Sep. 30-Oct. 11, 1994 September 4, 2013Posted by skywalking1 in History, Space.
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This month is the 19th anniversary of the Space Radar Lab 2 mission, STS-68. I was the payload commander, along with Mike Baker (CDR), Dan Bursch (MS2), Steve Smith (MS1), Terry Wilcutt (PLT), and Jeff Wisoff (MS3). An ambitious follow up to the successful STS-59, Space Radar Lab 1, SRL-2 was aimed at flying the multi-frequency, multi-polarized Shuttle Imaging Radar-C, X-Band Synthetic Aperture Radar, and the Measurement of Air Pollution from Satellites sensors in the northern hemisphere late summer, to map the Earth during a contrasting season of the year to SRL-1′s spring flight.
Our launch was planned on August 18, 1994, but at dawn on that date, when Endeavour’s main engines (SSMEs) ignited, the #3 engine violated a redline constraint, and the GPCs ordered an abort and engine shutdown. They automatically called for a shutdown when the discharge temperature on MPS SSME Main Engine #3 High Pressure Oxidizer Turbopump (HPOT) exceeded its redline value. The HPOT typically operates at 28,120 rpm and boosts the liquid oxygen pressure from 422 psia to 4,300 psia. There are 2 sensor channels measuring temperature on the HPOT. The B channel indicated a redline condition while the other was near redline conditions. The temperature at shutdown was at 1563 degrees R. while a normal HPOT discharge temperature is around 1403 degrees R. The redline limit to initiate a shutdown is at 1560 degrees R. This limit increases to 1760 degrees R. at T-1.3 sec (5.3 sec after Main Engine Start). Main Engine #3 (SN 2032) has been used on 2 previous flights with 2,412 seconds of hot-fire time and a total of 8 starts. This was the first flight for the HPOT on Main Engine (SSME) #3.
What all of this meant to me on the middeck (sitting next to Jeff Wisoff), was that as I felt the SSMEs rumble to life, I began mentally counting down the six seconds til booster ignition at T-minus-zero. Braced against the massive jolt of those SRBs exploding into life, I instead felt the engine vibration die away just as Terry Wilcutt shouted “Right engine down!”, accompanied by the blare of the master alarm. This meant serious trouble.
Out the hatch window to my left, I noted the gantry structure seeming to sway left and right under the vanished shove from Endeavour’s main engines–that was US swaying back and forth. Jeff and I hurriedly threw off our parachute straps and prepared to scoot across the middeck to open the hatch; we might all have to make a beeline to the escape slides on the far side of the gantry’s 190 foot level. We stayed on intercom, waiting for the word to egress.
Within the first minute, Launch Control had our pilots executing the pad abort checklist, entering computer commands that would stop the backup flight software from jettisoning our solid rocket boosters at T+2 minutes (embarrassing and deadly). As Jeff and I cleared our seats in the middeck and stood by to open the hatch, we heard reassuring words from Launch Director Bob Sieck’s team that the computers had executed an orderly shutdown, and no fire or explosion risk was evident.
“Damn! We’re scrubbed!” Jeff opined that we’d be set back at least three weeks by the necessary engine changeout. In fact it would take six weeks for our rollback, engine change, and rollout. STS-64 would slip ahead of us and fly in early September with its LITE laser sensor payload. Our new launch date would be Sept. 30, 1994.
The launch team did a superb job on our abort–the last pad abort in the space shuttle program, and the one that came hair-raisingly close to leaping off the pad with one engine down. That would have meant an immediate scramble to perform a Return To Launch Site (RTLS) abort, flying backward through our Mach 5 exhaust plume to attempt a dicey landing back on Merritt Island. If anyone could pull it off, it would have been Bakes, Terry, Dan, and Steve. Assuredly, no one wanted to try it first.
September 30 was set as our new launch date. STS-64 in the meantime had flown its successful LITE Earth-science mission, with the additional milestone of Mark Lee and Carl Meade test-flying the SAFER EVA jetpack. Our crew had taken a week-long vacation, then got back into simulations and recurring training to polish our space radar abilities. I thought we used the extra time to good effect, and we proceeded to the Cape even better prepared than we were in August. We were certainly more rested than on our first attempt.
One piece of bad luck befell us: on the day we entered quarantine, five of us came down with cold systems. We suffered through four days in Houston of runny noses, aches and pains, and sore throats, but with constant flight surgeon attention we slowly improved. Our flight to the Cape was on the Shuttle Training Aircraft, the Gulfstream jet, to spare our sinuses enroute.
When we arrived at the Cape, Dan Bursch stepped off the jet in his Groucho Marx disguise, telling reporters that our chances of avoiding a launch abort were better if Endeavour didn’t know he was in the launch area. Our spirits were certainly on the upswing as our three days in Florida at crew quarters drew to a close.
Our launch was timed for dawn on September 30, with Endeavour taking us into a 57-degree inclination, circular orbit, about 120 nm up. At that altitude our orbit would drift west at such a rate that we could image each of our science targets three times each day, from slightly different radar incidence angles.
The liftoff was exhilarating–this time I knew what to expect! I occupied the same seat as on SRL-1, with Jeff Wisoff to my left. No abort this time–the boosters came alive with a punch to the gut and we soared aloft. Much of the cabin dialogue we exchanged during launch is in my book, Sky Walking: An Astronaut’s Memoir. I’d asked that the side hatch window cover again be removed, so I had a terrific view of the gantry turning from gray, to red, to white-hot as the boosters lit. The following eight and a half minutes were punctuated by pyros firing to sever the boosters at two minutes, and then the attention-getting 3 g’s during the final minute of the ascent. During those final seconds I truly experienced the power of the space shuttle’s three main engines, just hurling our 100-ton orbiter toward the injection altitude and velocity. A miracle of technology and physics.
After MECO, it was off to the races, with Steve Smith and I teaming up on video and still photography of the external tank as it drifted away, below us. Then Jeff and I threw ourselves into converting the middeck into its orbit configuration, and getting the rest of the crew out of their suits and on into their orbital jobs. We had only about 5 hours until my bedtime; the Blue Shift of Steve, Dan and I were due for our first sleep period while Jeff, Mike, and Terry activated SRL-2.
Space Radar Lab 2 had some new wrinkles, added since our April flight of SRL-1. The JPL folks had added a gold decal that matched one the Germans and Italians had placed on the X-band antenna. And the Langley Research Center also added a label to their Measurement of Air Pollution from Satellites (MAPS) instrument, positioned right in front of the radar antennae. It all made for a spectacular view out the back windows of the cabin:
We also had about 160 radar imagery recording cassettes aboard, up from the hundred or so we took aloft on SRL-1. The radar imaging schedule was even more ambitious than in April–and I’d thought that was intense!
I had thought I was over my cold, but upon arrival in orbit and a night’s sleep, I ran into its aftereffects. My sinuses were clogged, and without gravity, NOTHING was coming “down” out of my nose. My head felt like a balloon, and my face was reddened as if by a sunburn. I took to the medical locker to find the decongestants, and over a week or so, I slowly improved. The rest of my crewmates also dealt with the congestion lingering from our colds, and the natural stuffiness from the fluid shift headward, caused by our transition to free fall.
Jeff Wisoff, assisted by the pilots and coordinating with Mission Control (MCC), got SRL-2 up and running on his long first shift in orbit. When I woke from my quick 6 hours of sleep and talked to Jeff, I found he’d been “running” flat out with the activation for his entire shift, barely having time to grab a drink or a quick snack. I got cleaned up in a hurry and took over with Dan and Steve as quickly as we could, to spell the Red Shift from their labors. Having been up more than 18 hours, they were understandably tired. We tucked them into bed and ran with our Science Timeline, our program of observations.
We discovered the tile damage on the first day of the flight, after opening the payload bay doors and inspecting the cargo bay. MCC determined that the heat loads on the upper half of the OMS pod were mild enough that the tile damage would not be dangerous. That greatly eased our minds. It was several days later that we discovered the source of the damage, looking up through the window and noticing a missing piece of tile just outside the outer pane. The tile tore loose during ascent and flew back to strike the OMS pod.
The radar imagery returned resulted in wonderful images, like the one below, all across the disciplines of the Earth sciences. As we woke for our first work shift, Jeff, Terry, and Bakes called us upstairs to see a spectacular volcanic eruption in Kamchatka. Everyone grabbed a camera to capture images out the windows, while the radar lab obtained thousands of detailed images, revealing details obscured by the eruption plume.
The eruption was a true serendipitous gift from nature. If we had launched in August as planned, we would have missed this rare geological event. Now we had a ringside seat.
We were able to monitor Kliuchevskoi’s eruption for a solid week, using the SRL to track eruptive phases as weather fronts came and went across Kamchatka. During a TV downlink to MCC, I described how the radar beams interacted with lavas of varying roughness, using three samples from Hawaii to illustrate the viewing geometry. I had chunks of aa, pahoehoe, and andesite lava aboard–in free fall, I had to take care to not release rock dust or slivers of lava into the cabin from their ziploc bags. The andesite sample was a more viscous, stiff lava, erupted from some of the more recent cinder cones on Mauna Kea.
Our shift work was 12 hours on, an 8-hour sleep shift, plus 4 hours for “post-sleep” and “pre-sleep”. In those periods, we talked things over with the Red Shift guys, had breakfast, dinner, and exercise, and took care of necessary housekeeping. One of the challenges was giving Jeff, Terry, and Bakes a good night’s sleep by keeping quiet in the middeck. Even opening a locker could wake up that crew in their sleeping bags, inside their bunks, so we tried to get our lunch like church mice, then eat on the flight deck. Once I dumped a chunk of scrambled eggs that I’d insecurely anchored to a tortilla–it went flying all over the flight deck, and Dan had to help me gobble up the floating egg debris. Dan’s homemade chocolate chip cookies crumbled in their ziploc–getting them out without crumbs floating everywhere required true astronaut skill.
Above, from STS-68, SRL-2, the Panama Canal Zone, seen in Oct. 1994. Note the Pacific at left, with Panama City. Colon is on the Atlantic Coast (Caribbean) at right. The dark green jungle area protects the watershed that supplies the canal with fresh water via the Chagras River and Gatun Lake, at the canal’s midpoint. We were about 120 miles up over northern S. America when we took this shot. (NASA STS068-327-099)
Just after wheels stop on Endeavour, I was to unstrap from my middeck seat and stand up. The blood pressure measurement gear would record my response to standing erect in 1-g, once again. I knew when the equipment was working when my left arm’s pressure cuff inflated, but it never recovered after touchdown. The taped data from entry, however, were good, and so was the audio tape I made as we rode back through the atmosphere. I have to give credit to the designers for creating a rig that would work inside our pressure suits, and yet still be easy enough to don and operate. After return to Houston, I sent the investigators an apology for the verbal tirade I recorded, grousing about the troubles I had getting the batteries replaced and activating the system. My only excuse was being up for a very long day…around 18 hours by the time we landed, and we still had postflight medical tests to endure.
STS-68 is a highlight of my speech, “Sky Walking: An Astronaut’s Journey” — contact me at http://www.astronauttomjones.com/#!tom-jones-speaking-testimonial/cfgv
STS-59, Endeavour, Space Radar Lab 1 — April 9-20, 1994 April 9, 2013Posted by skywalking1 in History, Space.
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I’ve written about the Space Radar Lab 1 mission, STS-59, in my book, “Sky Walking: An Astronaut’s Memoir.” But here I’ll add some details not included in the book, and some of the many hundreds of photos our crew returned to preserve our memories of these superb 11 days in space. I’ll add thoughts and photos during the coming eleven days, with the idea that the post can become an archive for the STS-59 crew and team.
As soon as we entered quarantine in late March in Houston, shuttle managers postponed the April 7 launch a day for engine turbopump inspections. Then our first launch attempt on April 8 was postponed because of high winds at Kennedy Space Center, violating the runway crosswind limits for the orbiter in case of an emergency return to the Cape. Our crew sat strapped in on the pad for about five hours as we waited for the winds to abate, but they never did. The parachute pack and its emergency oxygen bottles become extremely annoying after five hours strapped in the seat. The scrub under clear blue skies was a disappointment, but we were coming back the next day.
This was my first space shuttle launch, and it lived up to my expectations in every day. Jolts, rumbles, screaming slipstream penetrating the cabin walls, 2.5 g’s during first stage–I could barely register all the physical and emotional sensations during the 8.5 minutes of ascent. I was gratified to have Linda Godwin seated to my left on the middeck — a veteran and friend I could turn to for reassurance during this vibration-filled ride to orbit. We were smiling the whole time, but behind the smile is a lot of prayer. After a full minute at 3 g’s, with the Mach meter at 25, I thanked God when we arrived in orbit–Main Engine Cut-Off–and weightlessness.
Sid, Jay, Rich, Kevin, Linda, and I were about to experience an incredibly rewarding Mission to Planet Earth.
Our job on SRL-1, STS-59, was to act as the space component of the Space Radar Lab science team, deployed all over the world. We commanded the orbiter to point at our 400+ science targets, monitored the maneuver execution “flown” by Endeavour’s computers after our data entries, changed high rate recorder data tapes, and took voluminous science photography to provide “ground truth” about environmental conditions that might affect the radar return from the science targets. Our crew split into two shifts, Red and Blue, to run SRL around the clock. Linda Godwin led the activation on flight day 1. The Blue Shift woke up about 10 hours into the flight and took over for our first full science shift — Jay, Rich, and me. Linda, Sid, and Kevin went promptly to bed after a very long day. We soon settled into our 12-hour shift routines and explored the world for another ten days.
Our crew had 14 different cameras aboard to document our science targets. A big Linhof shot a 4×5-inch negative, using box magazines which we reloaded in a light-tight bag every night. We had four Hasselblads with 70mm film, each armed with a different lens for science photography (40mm, 100mm, 250mm, and an infrared filter atop a 250mm lens). We used Nikons for in-cabin photography using 35mm film. And we used payload bay video cameras to record the swath being seen by the radar with each data take. Here’s a shot of one of our “Decade Volcano” targets, the Philippines’ Mt. Pinatubo.
Each work shift on the aft flight deck was run on the clock: a constant stream of orbiter maneuvers, recorder tape changes, and intense video and still photo sessions focused on the science targets below (or above, from our point of view on the flight deck). We took turns entering the maneuvers on the flight plan into Endeavour’s computers, changing and managing the 50 Gb tape cassettes, and spotting and documenting science targets with our cameras. After each target we typed entries into a laptop documenting the weather, dust, and precipitation conditions over the science site. Night passes were a bit calmer, because the photography requirements went away for the most part. We also called down fires and other environmental phenomena of interest to the Measurement of Air Pollution from Satellites team. In between, we grabbed snacks and established comm with HAM radio operators around the globe. One generous HAM arranged to patch me through on a phone call to Liz, back in Houston. We spoke clearly across the miles; me over Hawaii, Liz with the kids back in Houston, until Endeavour carried me over the horizon. Priceless.
From Endeavour’s commander, USAF Col. (ret.) Sid Gutierrez:
Great! My best memories are of the crew and the Southern Aurora. It was a great group of folks to work with both on the ground and in Space. I remember the comment Linda made during an interview that generated that strange response from the ground. I would like to forget about the air in the water and everything that went with that. Chili falling asleep on the middeck while sending Emails late at night. Jay maneuvering the vehicle under Chili’s watchful eye. Rich and I waiting for anyone to get sick so we could actually give a real shot. I remember your enthusiasm at seeing all of it the first time and your incessant comments into the tape recorder so you could piece all this together later. And I remember the incredible feeling as we blacked out the lights and floated through the Sothern Aurora – like passing thorough something that was alive. But most of all I remember being able to eat a juicy hamburger with tomato and lettuce after we landed and then heading home to wives, husband and all the kids. Great memories! (April 12, 2013)
The varied science targets across the globe required all of us to learn many aspects of Earth system science: geology, volcanology, forestry, ecology, hydrology, oceanography, agriculture, pollution monitoring, desertification, and radar remote sensing theory, among others. One of my favorite “others” was archaeology, where our team used the SIR-C and X-SAR radars to probe dry sands and soils and reveal traces of ancient cultures beneath. The experiment mapped extensive “radar river” drainages beneath the Saharan sands, traced the Silk Road along the margin of the Takla Makhan desert, and zeroed in on caravan routes to the lost trading city of Ubar on the Arabian peninsula. Aboard Endeavour we carried a 200,000-year-old hand axe, recovered by USGS colleague Jerry Schaber in the 1980s from the banks of one of the Egyptian radar rivers. There aboard the most sophisticated technological tool of the late 20th century, we contemplated a floating example of the “high tech” used by Homo Erectus back when the Sahara was a grassy savannah, teeming with game. What technology will we possess in another 200 millennia? Will the space shuttle even be remembered? I, for one, can never forget it!
Just out of frame on the left of this Alaska coastline is Veniaminoff volcano, one of the many active peaks on the peninsula. Here we see ocean currents and eddies made visible by the reflected sunlight, corroboration of ocean surface features observed by the radar lab. What a visual treat as well.
An example of our crew science photography is shown below. This frame came from our 250mm lens on the large-format Linhof camera, mounted in the starboard overhead window of Endeavour’s flight deck. Sometimes we used the other Linhof body and shot handheld frames, just sighting over the lens barrel at the ground below. The Linhof magazines contained about 100 shots, and we had to reload them from film canisters while “off shift” on the middeck.
These bunks were on the starboard side of Endeavour’s middeck, stacked 4-high. Since each shift, Red and Blue, was off duty for 12 hours, we hot-bunked in the top three and used the bottom bunk for storage. Each station contained a reading light, fresh air vent, sliding privacy door, and a fleece sleeping bag. As this was my first flight, I didn’t realize that there were two bags in each bunk, clipped one atop the other, so I think I just hot-bunked in the same bag as Chili, probably. I slept in long pants, a T-shirt, and sweater, as it was a bit cool in the bunk. I even stuffed a sock in the vent to cut down on the cold breeze at “night.” I drifted off to sleep most nights with a Walkman playing a cassette for a few minutes; more than once I woke up to find the player drifting above my face, still delivering some soft music. In the morning, it would be tough to find the door in the pitch-dark compartment: turning over in the bag in free-fall meant that I had no way to determine which way was down, up, or the side that held the door. Groping around to find the reading light would usually set me straight. I had these bunks on three of my missions–they were quite comfortable, quiet, and private for sleep.
May 2013: I just returned from a trip to the Mediterranean, and viewed Mt. Vesuvius from the Bay of Naples and the lovely town of Sorrento, Italy. Here is the incredible view of this active volcano from our SRL-1 imager. Vesuvius last erupted in 1944, nearly 70 years ago. It is long overdue for another outburst. Three million people live in the Naples area. Evacuation will be a huge challenge. May the mountain sleep for a long time.
SRL-1 added to our knowledge of the Earth’s impact history, by examining scars left by collisions with asteroids and comets. Here is the Aorounga impact cratter in northern Chad. Although the main crater (shown here) is visible to astronauts from orbit, our radar scans revealed (beneath the sands) two additional candidate craters. Aorounga may be a crater chain, caused by the impact of a string of comet fragments, or an asteroid accompanied by a couple of moonlets. I spent hours searching the landscape below for the circular forms of impact craters; it’s a pattern the human eye easily locks onto from orbit.
Flight Day 9 called for a thorough pre-landing check of our reentry systems. The pilots, with Rich, our flight engineer and MS-2, stepped through hydraulic systems, flight computers, auxiliary power units (APSs), and thrusters to verify proper operation. We observed systematic thruster firings from the flight deck, and watched our elevons on the wing trailing edges rise and fall, driven by the now-awakened APU’s and hydraulic systems. Endeavour was coming fully alive; all was in readiness for entry the next day.
Landing for our STS-59 crew came too soon, after 11 days in orbit. We had planned a 9-day mission, but our flight control team anticipated that power conservation aboard Endeavour would extend our mission to ten full days. Good power management by our payload team and Mission Control (and our keeping the lights and electricity consumption to a minimum in the cabin) secured that extra day. Our reentry was planned for April 19, but Kennedy Space Center weather prevented a return to the Florida landing site. We waved off the landing and returned to limited Earth observations for a final day; my Blue Shift went to bed immediately for 6-8 hours, then took over from our Red Shift for final cabin stowage and payload deactivation.
On April 20, weather at Kennedy was still NO-GO, so we targeted Edwards AFB in California for landing. Our crew was disappointed to not be heading for our families in Florida, but satisfied to be heading back to Earth with our successful science mission completed. Reentry over the nighttime Pacific was a spectacular experience–the plasma pulsing around our cockpit windows provided a mesmerizing light show that I’ll never see equaled. I was perched upstairs in the MS-1 seat next to Rich Clifford, MS-2. We aided the pilots, Sid and Kevin, as they guided Endeavour into southern California and our line-up for landing at Edwards.
Ripping over the California coast at more than Mach 5, it seemed to me that we’d never slow down enough to make the Edwards runway–I agreed with Sid’s assessment that “we’re headed for a landing in Arkansas!” But our flight computers were right on the money. Sid took control and put us gently on the concrete of Runway 22, an exhilarating touchdown for all of us aboard. Read about the entire return to Earth in “Sky Walking: An Astronaut’s Memoir.” Great landing, Sid and Kevin! Thanks a million for bringing us all home.
Post-landing, I felt laden with extra weight, as if my launch and entry suit were made of lead. That video camera feels like fifty pounds. Getting out of the seat took every bit of strength I could muster; I had to force my muscles to slide over and lower my “two-ton” body down the ladder.
The ground crew is the first to sample the interior atmosphere of our sealed spacecraft, after six people have lived in that volume for 11 days. Our noses were used to any aromas, but they no doubt smelled the combined odors of our wet trash bin, the shuttle waste control system compartment, our dirty laundry, and six bodies who hadn’t showered in more than 10 days. They may have wanted to just close that hatch up again!
Shuttle Atlantis’ New Home at KSC March 8, 2013Posted by skywalking1 in History, Space.
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Speaking to the “space-going “public at the Kennedy Space Center Visitor Complex at Cape Canaveral, FL, I find the energy level among visitors is already pretty high. But it’s about to get a tremendous boost when the Space Shuttle Atlantis exhibit opens on June 29, 2013. I visited the construction site this week and was amazed at the way Atlantis will be displayed to the public.
Atlantis was the last space shuttle orbiter I would fly, on STS-98, so even shrink-wrapped as she is, I am still moved when visiting the ship that took me to space, kept me alive to work at the International Space Station, and returned me safely to my family. Delaware North, the company that runs NASA’s visitor complex here, is spending about $85 million to give visitors an up close and personal look at the orbiter. She’ll almost be close enough to touch, and Atlantis is positioned in a steep left bank, giving guests a breath-taking sense of her impressive wingspan.
Entering the building, guests will get a capsule history of the space shuttle’s history from its designers and astronauts, then a high-def introduction to Atlantis’ storied career, beginning with her first flight in 1985. Leaving the theater, visitors will walk “through the screen” to view the orbiter as she looked when in orbit. Close at hand will be a mockup of the Hubble Space Telescope. A wide ramp will enable visitors to spiral down and around the orbiter to see Atlantis, her cargo bay, windows and cabin, wings, engines, and heat shield tiles from every angle. Beneath the orbiter will be a roomy plaza, where guests will enter the Shuttle Launch Experience simulation. With blast-off under their belts, visitors will exit to a simulation bay where a future space traveler can try one’s own hand at flying and landing the space shuttle.
You’ll have to drag me out of Atlantis’ presence–it’s going to be that good!
Remember, before leaving Atlantis’ home, pick up a copy of my story detailing my Atlantis mission to the ISS on STS-98, and my three other missions: Sky Walking: An Astronaut’s Memoir.
Saying Good-bye to Endeavour September 14, 2012Posted by skywalking1 in History, Space.
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On my week-long speaking tour at Kennedy Space Center Visitor Complex, I drove out with communicators Nick Thomas and Mark Smith to visit my first shuttle, orbiter OV-105, Endeavour. Today she was being readied for her final voyage to the West Coast and future home at the California Science Center. Hoisted atop the NASA 747 carrier aircraft, Endeavour was the center of attention as the skilled shuttle techs fastened the orbiter to her three attach points on the shuttle carrier. On Monday she’ll take flight enroute to Houston, El Paso, Edwards Air Force Base/Dryden Flight Research Facility, and finally, LAX.
Endeavour was a superb ship to live and work aboard. Our two Space Radar Lab missions, in 1994, aboard OV-105 were tremendously successful Missions to Planet Earth. (More on those research flights in the coming week as we approach the 18th anniversary of the liftoff of STS-68, SRL-2.) Read about my adventures on Endeavour in “Sky Walking: An Astronaut’s Memoir.”
I will miss Endeavour’s regular presence in space. May we Americans soon send her successors into space to fulfill her legacy.
Kennedy Space Center and Neil Armstrong September 12, 2012Posted by skywalking1 in History, Space.
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Sept. 12, 2012
I’m speaking here this week at Astronaut Encounter at the Kennedy Space Center Visitor Complex, meeting people from all over the planet, I’m energized by the enthusiasm and thirst for new discoveries in space shown by our visitors. The spirit of space exploration, pioneered by Mercury, Gemini, Apollo, Skylab, the Space Shuttle, and now the International Space Station, is captured here at the Visitor Complex. Here we come face to face with the history and hardware of the last fifty years of our work on the space frontier. I’m like a kid in a candy store.
The Mercury-Atlas rocket and capsule, a replica of the booster that sent John Glenn around the world on America’s first orbital flight, was just erected here at the Visitor Complex. The Mercury-Atlas joins the Gemini-Titan II, an actual space booster, towering over the smaller vehicles in the Rocket Garden. The Gemini Titan II was assembled and tested in Middle River, MD, about two miles from my boyhood home. As a 10-year-old boy, I visited Gemini Titans for Geminis 7 and 8, and secretly promised myself I would one day ride a rocket. The biggest booster in the Rocket Garden is the Saturn IB that stood by as the rescue launcher for our Skylab space station crews.
Mercury-Atlas 6 Replica
KSC Visitor Center Complex
Gemini IX launch (NASA)
Space shuttle Endeavour—my first ship–leaves here Monday for its final voyage to the West Coast, and Atlantis will move to the Visitor Complex this fall, to its permanent home welcoming returning astronauts and all those who love the story of spaceflight.
Visiting Endeavour, Sept. 11, 2012
Just a few miles north is the Apollo-Saturn V moon rocket, on spectacular display overlooking Banana Creek and Launch Complex 39 pads that sent Americans to the Moon (and me aloft on my four space shuttle flights). I’ve been lucky enough to meet many of the Apollo astronauts, and had the pleasure of working with several at NASA’s astronaut office, on the NASA Advisory Council, and in the educational efforts of the Astronaut Scholarship Foundation.
One of those exemplary figures was Neil Armstrong, whom we lost last month when he passed away at age 82. Neil, the first human to walk on the Moon, will be memorialized tomorrow at the National Cathedral. He was a skilled aviator, test pilot, and engineer, a committed explorer, an able spokesman on the importance of exploration to the nation, and a role model for an entire generation of astronauts.
Full credit and thanks to ©Steve Breen: San Diego Union Tribune
I most appreciated his modesty and dignity as he dealt with the celebrity that history thrust upon him. Neil made his fame serve a higher purpose. We honor his service and courage, and we will miss him.
Here at Kennedy Space Center, NASA and its partners are creating our future in space in the form of the machines that will carry our footsteps alongside Neil and his colleagues, then beyond to the nearby asteroids and Mars. Even more important, though, are leaders who will commit us to challenging goals on the space frontier, follow through with the resources needed to succeed, and inspire our young explorers to fulfill that dream.
Tom Jones is a veteran astronaut, planetary scientist, and author of Sky Walking: An Astronaut’s Memoir: www.AstronautTomJones.com.
Oh, Shenandoah… May 18, 2012Posted by skywalking1 in History, Space.
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Endeavour’s STS-59 crew took this look, on April 18, 1994, at the north and south Forks of the Shenandoah River. North is to the left. Seen in sunglint, the South Fork (top) and the North Fork (bottom) of the Shenandoah meet at upper left; Front Royal, Virginia is just above the combined rivers at the junction. Massanutten Mountain, covered by reddish-brown fallen leaves of the George Washington National Forest, separates the river forks in springtime view. Skyline Drive and the Appalachian Trail run along the Blue Ridge from upper left to mid-scene right, NE to SW. Passage Creek flows toward upper left in the interior, Fort Valley of Massanutten, finally reaching the Shenandoah’s north fork.I-66 enters this view from the top left center, from Washington.
At center left are the scars of two limestone quarries, which have now grown larger and threaten the Cedar Creek Civil War battlefield just left of the junction between I-66 and I-81. The Alleghenies form the mountain barrier to the west (bottom). Signal Knob is the promontory at the left (north) end of Massanutten; it was a critical Confederate observation point prior to the Cedar Creek battle in October 1864. Across this scene, Stonewall Jackson played out his masterful Valley Campaign in spring 1862. Employing audacity and rapid, unpredictable movements on interior lines, Jackson’s 17,000 men marched 646 miles (1,040 km) in 48 days and won several minor battles as they successfully engaged three Union armies (52,000 men), preventing them from reinforcing the Union offensive against Richmond.
Whenever one looks out the cabin window, the sweep of history and Earth’s natural beauty can nearly overwhelm an astronaut. But our work on Space Radar Lab 1 pulled us reluctantly away. Hope this view will inspire you to make time for a hike on the AT or up Massanutten.
The View from Endeavour, April 10, 1994 May 16, 2012Posted by skywalking1 in History, Space.
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From STS-59, Space Radar Lab 1, a panorama from 2 Hasselblad frames, STS-153-044/046. The scene is shot from over Arizona looking west at Baja, Mexico,the Gulf of California, San Diego, the Salton Sea, Los Angeles at upper right, Edwards AFB, and stretching toward the camera, the lower Colorado River. We were about 120 miles up in Endeavour when these images were taken. With views like these, it’s amazing the Endeavour crew (Apt, Chilton, Clifford, Godwin, Gutierrez, and Jones) got any work done inside the flight deck. Panorama by T. Jones.
Passing of a Hell Hawk April 12, 2012Posted by skywalking1 in History.
On April 1, 2012, George J. Wagasky, Jr. — “Ed” — passed away in Las Vegas, NV. Ed Wagasky was a fighter pilot during WWII, one of the men Bob Dorr and I chronicled in our book, “Hell Hawks!” He served in 1944 with the 386th Fighter Squadron of the 365th Fighter Group, the “Hell Hawks.” As a P-47 Thunderbolt pilot, Ed flew combat on D-Day, through the breakout from the beachheads, the rapid advance across France, and into the Battle of the Bulge. Later he served as a photo-recce pilot and forward air controller. I compiled the following record on Ed through an interview conducted earlier this year. We will miss him…and his many contributions to our freedom. It’s up to us today to preserve the freedom that he handed on to us.
George J. Wagasky, Jr. was born June 2, 1922, in Duquesne, Penn. After initial flying training in the southeast U.S., he achieved his dream of becoming a fighter pilot and was assigned to P-47 Thunderbolts. On arrival in Europe, he was sent as a replacement pilot to the 365th FG, the Hell Hawks, in March 1944.
On D-Day, his unit, the 386th Fighter Squadron, was assigned to cut road and transportation links behind the German beach defenses in Normandy. Assigned to fly on Lt. Robert L. Shipe’s wing, he carried three 500-lb. bombs slung under his P-47, with one on the centerline in place of the drop tank. Wagasky was chagrined when, upon takeoff, the left bomb fell off on the runway at Beaulieu.
Over Normandy, he followed his leader, Lt. Shipe, on the target, an embankment at St. Sauveur de Pierre Pont. Faulty fuses on the bombs caused fatal damage to his leader’s Thunderbolt; Shipe went down in flames from his low-level run and was killed. Determined to hit the target, Wagasky dove in turn and released only his right bomb. The same fuse problem caused the 500-pounder to detonate on impact, and shrapnel from the blast shredded the right wing and fuselage of Wagasky’s P-47.
Pulling out, he could hear the slipstream whistling through the many holes perforating the Jug’s skin just behind his seat. Still, the engine ran on, and Wagasky set about nursing the plane home back across the Channel. First order of business was to climb above 1,000 feet, because aircraft below that height were considered intruders by the naval armada below.
Wagasky managed to stay above that threshold until he arrived over Beaulieu, where he shook the damaged landing gear down by rocking the wings and porpoising the airplane. Anticipating a blown tire on the right side, he made a straight-in approach with the left wing low. Upon touchdown, the damaged gear folded up and slammed the right wingtip onto the runway. Wagasky’s -47 spun to the right and almost stood on its nose before falling back on its left main and tail wheel. Despite the exciting landing, the ruggedness of the P-47’s construction protected the pilot from any injury.
With a new plane assigned, “Ed” was soon back in the air over Normandy.
On a later mission, he tangled with a long-nosed Fw 190D in a dogfight. The Focke Wulfs bounced his flight of P-47s; someone yelled “Break!” over the radio, and Wagasky pulled and rolled right. He “had a hell of a time” getting way from the enemy in his heavy Jug, nearly “nailed to a cloud” by Herman the German. His Thunderbolt shuddered as the Luftwaffe pilot put three rounds into him as he dove for the shelter of the clouds. One strike hit the tail, a second slug hit just behind the cockpit, and the third slammed into the engine cowling. After landing, Wagasky’s crew chief found an unexploded 20mm round inside the lower cowling, where it had come to rest after ricocheting from a pair of engine mount struts. He kept the “dud” slug as a souvenir, wondering since if some prisoner on a German ammo assembly line purposely sabotaged the round, later saving his life.
In the fall of 1944, Ed was assigned as a forward air controller with the 3rd and 4th Armored Divisions, flying a Piper L-4 Grasshopper observation plane. He was flying in this role at the start of the Germans’ Ardennes offensive on December 16, 1944. Shortly after the Bulge fighting, Wagasky was assigned as a “Sweepstakes” forward controller, involved in vectoring Hell Hawk and other P-47 strikes to their targets.
He later went on to fly F-6 (P-51) photoreconnaissance ships with the 109th Tactical Reconnaissance Squadron. At war’s end, he supervised the ferrying of an F-6 squadron to a field near Kassel, Germany. With the Air National Guard, Wagasky served in Korea as a forward air controller. He retired with the rank of Major, U.S. Air Force.
Clear skies and smooth air to you, George. God bless your family with great memories and His comforting grace.
– Based on an interview on Jan. 3, 2012, with Tom Jones. (www.AstronautTomJones.com)
John Glenn’s Launch Vaulted America Back Into the Space Race February 20, 2012Posted by skywalking1 in History, Space.
Today’s 50th anniversary of the launch of John Glenn aboard Friendship 7 takes me back to my 2nd grade classroom in Baltimore, MD. All classroom activity ceased as our teacher plugged in a black and white TV set at the front of the class (brought in by a parent), so we 7-year-olds could watch Glenn’s mission unfold. We were glued to the set for all five hours of the flight. And attending Our Lady of Mt. Carmel Elementary School, we were sure that our prayers helped bring him home safely.
Here are some photos I took on Feb. 3, 2012, at Glenn’s Launch Pad 14 at Cape Canaveral Air Force Station.
Out at Glenn’s (and Carpenter’s, Schirra’s, and Cooper’s) pad, most of the rusting metal and wiring has been cut away. A few years ago, the rusting flame bucket was still bolted to the concrete structure. Now only the concrete remains. Our human spaceflight program is on a similar trajectory: unless budgets are increased to enable NASA to aggressively restore a domestic launch capacity (most likely via a hybrid government-commercial system, just like Glenn’s Mercury Atlas), all that we’ll find at Cape Canaveral are the rusting and crumbling concrete monuments to what was once the world’s leading space program.