A little journey of Discovery

In February 2011, I was lucky enough to get my golden ticket to the Space Coast. Astronomy Now’s sister company Spaceflight Now, both run by Steven Young, is based within the press site at Kennedy Space Center. The office, affectionately known as The Fishbowl on account of its almost 360-degree view around the site, looks out on the Vehicle Assembly Building, the famous NASA countdown clock and, of course, the launch pad, 3.1 miles away. It certainly beats my UK office view of a petrol station and a car park. I’d been working at AN for around 3 years, and it was no secret that I would give my right arm (and various other body parts come to think of it) to experience a shuttle launch, so I didn’t need asking twice if I’d like to upgrade my AstroFest speaker fee into a flight over to KSC. I still couldn’t believe it was happening even when I boarded the plane to Orlando a couple of weeks later that I might get the chance to see my dream realized in the form of Discovery’s final mission, STS-133. 

I was under the impression that I was “just” going for a shuttle launch, but I was to be surprised on a daily basis with what was in store for me. On my first day I went to the pre-launch press briefing. It was so surreal being in that press room having seen numerous press conferences online. I even asked a question regarding the science experiments that were being flown on the mission, surprising many people tuned in back home! That evening I got to see Discovery closer than I thought I ever would – a few tens of metres away to watch the Rotating Service Structure (RSS) slowly swing away to reveal the orbiter on the launch pad in all her glory. 

The next day was launch day. I tried not to get too excited in case it didn’t happen (two launch attempts several months previously had been thwarted, first by relatively minor technical problems and then by a hydrogen leak, which lead to the discovery of cracks in structural components of the shuttle's external tank that required a lot of attention)...but I failed miserably :) The atmosphere was really buzzing. I even met a prototype Robonaut-2! It was really surreal meeting the Spaceflight Now webcast team, too, and I passed a lot of time talking excitedly to new friends.

My main “job” of the morning was to go to the astronaut walkout, and watch the crew members board the “astro-van” and head to the launch pad. I waited patiently along with hundreds of other members of the press, and then a cheer went up and cameras started clicking frantically as the six crew-members walked out of the Operations and Checkout Building. I was shaking with excitement and am amazed any of my photos came out!

When we got to within an hour of launch I was literally jumping up and down with excitement, much to everyone else's amusement. It was an incredibly nail-biting final few minutes as there was a last-minute “no-go” on the range, a problem which was resolved with just seconds to spare. A massive cheer went up around the press-site – for those people who were plugged into the NASA feed at least, everyone else probably wondered what had happened but at least it was cheering they were hearing. The clock moved out of its final scheduled hold and it was all systems go. 

It’s at this point that words begin to fail me. Seeing a shuttle launch really is an incredibly magical experience, and it’s really rather difficult to relay the emotions that you experience watching one for the first time, to someone who hasn’t. I feel like I’ve joined a club of people who “get it”. Two things that did totally overwhelm me that you just don’t get with watching it on TV are the sound and the brightness. You see the shuttle launching before you hear it and if you blink you have little shuttle shapes burned on your retinas. When the sound arrives, boy does it arrive. The roar totally encompasses you and it makes you feel like you should be running for cover. You feel it in your chest and as a breeze in your hair. 

I took video of the launch with my little digital camera held against my chest while I watched the launch with my eyes (a tip that everyone will tell you – leave the photography up to the professionals and just appreciate the launch with all of your senses without seeing it through a lens, which will really disconnect you). You might get a feeling for how bright it was given what it did to my pixels, but it really doesn’t do the sound justice. I’m quite shy about the video as it also captures my wide-eyed child-like reactions to the experience – you’d never know I was actually a space reporter given some of the ridiculous things I come out with – I even forgot to look out for the SRB separation! I stared at the sky for several minutes, following the tiny pin-prick of light until I could see it no more, but still remained staring at the billowing grey trail that it had painted in the sky. 

It was about six months after the launch that it suddenly clicked what it was about a launch that was most surreal, that I hadn’t been able to put my finger on previously. While the experience itself was amazing, it was the minutes afterwards that were the most bizarre. In a kind of dream-like state, looking around at each other, almost in disbelief at what we had just seen and at that moment, before watching all the replays, only the trail on the sky and the countdown clock counting upwards as reminders that it had really happened. Human beings were on their way into space and here the rest of us were resuming normal business – getting in cars and going home or switching over to another TV channel, and billions of people in the world totally oblivious even to what had happened. Life would never be the same again. 

Equally surreal dinner celebrations followed with the Spaceflight Now team that I was so used to watching online from my desk 4,000 miles away, but that was far from the end of the road as far as my trip went. Another pinch-me moment came during the joint shuttle-ISS crew inflight press conference – I got to talk to all twelve astronauts! It was possibly the most nervous I had ever been, and the time delay made me feel even more self-conscious. Here’s a little video of how that conversation worked out. 

While STS-133’s story continued to pan out 200 miles above my head, back on terra firma another treat was in store – Endeavour was set to back out of its hanger, the Orbiter Processing Facility (OPF) and roll over to the Vehicle Assembly Building (VAB). We were on site before sunrise to be ready in time. Members of the STS-134 crew were also there to watch their vehicle be towed out of its hanger, and even came over to say hi to us press folk. I never thought I’d be that close to a shuttle as it moved the couple of hundred metres from OPF to VAB, literally within spitting distance in front of me. 

The mission was extended by 2 days but I was lucky enough to still be in Florida to see Discovery return safely to Earth. Landing day was filled with nervous excitement. Having being following the mission closely throughout – NASA TV on at every available opportunity, in the the front room, in the car, you name it – I felt really connected to it, and the crew almost felt like friends. I joined dozens of others at the midpoint of the runway, eagerly awaiting the orbiter’s return. The building had three levels, and we headed for level 1. I wasn’t there for long, however, as Steven surprised me with a pass to the roof! A few select media crew were up there, and the view was much better with those extra few metres, looking over the trees that blocked some of the view of the runway. 

Landing has its risks, like launch, so there was an air of nervousness, as well as excitement. It looked so fragile hanging there in the sky, despite the double sonic boom announcing its arrival back into the atmosphere. Carving out a wide S-shape in the sky it didn’t take long before it was gliding down the runway in front of me to reach wheel stop. Discovery’s journey was over. A few hours later we watched as she was towed back along the runaway to the OPF, and there was a bittersweet air – we were pleased to see Discovery back safe and sound after a successful mission, but sad because she was being towed to her fate – to be dismantled and turned into a museum piece. It was even more surreal being in the post-flight news conference afterwards with the crew, having spoken to them while they were in space. I’m kicking myself for sitting there grinning and staring at them rather than thinking of an original question to ask though! 

And on top of all that, as part of the same trip I was also in the right place at the right time to see an Atlas V launch, and spend a weekend at the Kennedy Space Center Visitor Complex, including the Astronaut Training Experience (ATX). But that’s another story.

I returned to Florida briefly over Easter with hopes to see Endeavour launch, but sadly I had to return to the UK before that went ahead. It turned out to be a blessing in disguise, however, because it meant there was support available to go inside the OPF to see Atlantis being prepared for her final flight, and also inside the VAB to see the solid rocket boosters and external fuel tank waiting to be mated to the orbiter one last time. Here’s a video of that, too:

Thanks for reading! 

Still to come....The Last Shuttle Launch, the ATX, and what the shuttle program meant to me. 

Phobos-Grunt and the peculiarities of print deadlines

If you want to know everything about what the Phobos-Grunt mission was going to do once it got to Mars’ innermost moon Phobos, you should pick up a copy of the December issue of Astronomy Now to read my one-page preview article on the mission. Of course, *was* is the key word there because, with the spacecraft still stranded in low Earth orbit weeks after it launched, going to Phobos on a sample return mission now seems sadly out of the question. With an ESA ground-station finally making contact with the spacecraft in the last 24 hours, there is still an ounce of hope of getting it somewhere – maybe the Moon if not Mars – but we’re not going to get those much wanted soil samples from Phobos that might have finally laid to rest the mystery of where Mars got its moons from. 

So, why is the article in the current issue of the magazine, which hit the shelves after mission launched? Lesson one: missions and publication deadlines really don’t mix well. The December issue went to print several days before the mission was due to launch, and while it was at the printers – before it went on sale – well, you know the rest. In hindsight (a wonderful thing), it probably would have been better to print the article in the previous issue, which would have been off the shelves and out of the limelight by the time the mission mishap occurred. 

Missions and publication deadlines have hassled me before: while at the Kennedy Space Center in February for the launch of STS-133, Discovery’s final mission, I had the pleasure of writing the Mission Status column for Astronomy Now. But, I had to submit my column a few days after the mission launched, and while it was still in progress. Do I take a gamble and speculate on its safe return, which was scheduled to take place by the time the magazine went on sale? A dangerous game, and I went with the safer option of “The mission was still in progress at the time of writing....” 

Meanwhile, the December issue of AN also runs with my four-page feature on Mars rover Curiosity, which launches this weekend.... 

Click here for an excellent article on Universe Today about the current state of Phobos-Grunt, including the what-ifs and maybes surrounding launch windows.

For regular updates about the state of Phobos-Grunt (and all other missions!) stay tuned to @SpaceflightNow!

CIN bin

Following on from my blog post “Colposcopy, not to be confused with colonoscopy”....

....Last month I received a letter from the hospital saying the results of my colposcopy examination showed CIN 1 and once these results had been reviewed the consultant would be in touch in due course with what to do next. CIN 1 is not too much to worry about, and usually just involves another smear test in 6 months instead of the usual 3 years, so I felt a huge sense of relief. Last week, however, another letter arrived, saying that after review, I was in fact CIN 2, and would be required to go in for a simple procedure known as loop excision, and that it would be under general anesthetic. CIN 2 means that two-thirds of the thickness of the skin covering the cervix has abnormal cells, and loop excision involves a thin wire loop heated with an electric current to cut out the abnormal tissue. I’m wincing just thinking about it.  

I felt quite shocked, and a little cheated that the review process had elevated my results, but at the same time relieved that such a positive screening process is in place to get these misbehaving cells out of my body before they can turn into something more serious. Still, I felt all the emotions that the Macmillan cancer support website said I might: fear (I don’t want to have cancer, and I’m nervous about the intrusive nature of the procedure, even though it’ll only take about ten minutes); shame (the virus linked to CIN, HPV, has  been linked to sexual activity – had sexual behavior of the past got its revenge on me? Of course this is not the case; studies show that even women with one sexual partner can have HPV, and most women have it without even realising it. Furthermore, if you do have it, your immune system can naturally get rid of it, but I know that mine has taken quite a kicking this last year!), and embarrassment. Well, I suppose I do feel a little more awkward telling people (especially guys) that I won’t be at work/the gym/the meeting I was supposed be speaking at etc because of it, more so than say, if I was going in for an operation on my leg, and I think embarrassment can sometimes be why us girlies sometimes put off our smear tests – but here I am blogging about it trying to show that quite rightly I’m not embarrassed, and neither should you!

So even though I’m not embarrassed, know I don’t have cancer (but aware that these cells could develop into something more serious if left untreated), and realise it’s quite common to have HPV and isn’t some dirty disease, it did still knock me a little, and the list of jobs I’d plan to see through the evening I found out were exchanged for curling up in a ball on the sofa and watching tv.

Not one to wallow in self pity for long, the next day I knew there was only really one thing that would help (apart from chocolate): getting down to the gym and logging some kilometres for my 2012km Gold Challenge, which I’m taking part in to raise money for The Eve Appeal, the UK’s only gynaecological cancer charity. The fact that it’s the kind of research that The Eve Appeal (and other cancer charities) are dedicated to that means I, like millions of other women, are getting the treatment they need to prevent the spread of this disease, could not mean more to me that I’m supporting them, and makes me even more determined to complete the challenge on time. 

My date with the operating table is set for late January and I’m sure I will blog about the experience and my feelings again nearer the time. In the meantime I’ll be trying to get ahead of the game with my 2012km challenge so I can enjoy a couple of weeks out of my Nikes while I’m recovering!

If you’d like to see how my challenge is going so far, my fundraising page is here:  http://www.goldchallenge.org/gc/user/AstroEmz

Telescopes with altitude: There's gnome place like home

There's no doubting that astronomers have a sense of humour. Look closely... nestled in the rockery just inside the main gates of ESO's Paranal Observatory and standing guard by the security office is a garden gnome! 

Another Michael Fish moment averted

Everyone remembers the infamous words uttered by UK weatherman Michael Fish prior to the Great Storm of 1987 when he assured a viewer concerned about reports of an incoming hurricane with "don't worry, there isn't [a hurricane]."

To be fair, he did then follow up with "baton down the hatches, there’s some extremely stormy weather on the way," but it is all to easy to recall the "don't worry" quote when we are assured that something isn't going to happen.

To bring me to my point, it's a little how I feel every time I'm asked for a quote regarding the chances of an asteroid hitting the Earth, as several newspapers have done over last week regarding asteroid 2005 YU55's close pass with the Earth last night. In this case, close means slightly closer to the Earth than the Moon, and the asteroid in question is around 400 metres wide. Yes, that *is* a close pass – the closest of such a sizeable asteroid in fact since 1976 and the closest again until 2028 – which is what makes it more exciting than asteroids that mind their own business elsewhere in the Solar System. But what excites me most about a pass like this is the opportunity to get some big telescopes on it to see what's going on on the space rock's surface – how big are its craters? What can we learn about its composition? How does it rotate? – that kind of stuff and, more importantly, learn about the ingredients that went into building our own planet, since asteroids can be thought of as left-overs from the planet-building phase over four billion years ago. 

Of course, I know that the asteroid isn't going to hit us – with all the near-Earth asteroid surveys in place discovering, tracking and monitoring the paths of these rocks as they tumble through space, we are pretty clued up on what's lurking on our cosmic doorstep, and although there are still surprises (think 2008 TC3, a tiny 3-metre wide rock that was discovered less than 24 hours before it burned up in our planet's protective atmosphere, and which was also never any threat to us), I trust the predictions that the NASA asteroid experts make and I know enough about asteroid orbital dynamics and what-have-you to not go around making unfounded claims about the next armageddon (sorry 2012-end-of-the-world crackpots). But yet there is still a nano-second of minor panic when I see myself quoted – seemingly dismissive of the whole thing, for example "Expert Dr Emily Baldwin said "Asteroids do sometimes make close passes of Earth, it's nothing to worry about," as seen in the Mirror yesterday (see above) – or when a friend listening to the radio texts me to say "you've just been quoted on 6music and the DJs were saying they didn't believe your reassurances".

But as another friend pointed out, if I am wrong and the Earth is obliterated by an asteroid that I said was nothing to worry about, at least no one would be around to remind me about my gaff! Every cloud...

To read more about last night's asteroid buzz and to watch a movie of the asteroid snapped by NASA's Goldstone tracking site, click here.

Geology with altitude: the road to ALMA

The road to ALMA cuts through solidified pyroclastic flow

One of the things I didn’t have space to go into detail on in my article “Telescopes with Altitude” (November 2011 issue of Astronomy Now) was the amazing geology, flora and fauna of the area, particularly on the drive up to the ALMA high site. (If you’re new here, ALMA is the Atacama Large Millimeter/submillimeter Array, which will eventually comprise 66 antennas that will work together to track down some of the mysteries of the cold and distant Universe. See previous blog posts Telescopes with Altitude and Telescopes with Altitude: the movies!). 

To set the scene we’re starting this particular story at around 3,000 metres altitude, at the ALMA Operations Support Facility, the base camp for the observatory where the antennas are built and the scientists control the telescopes and process and analyse the data that is collected by the current twenty operational dishes. We’d just been checked out at the medical station, stowed some portable oxygen canisters in the van, and set out with 5,000 metres altitude in site. 

Desert life: a vicuna

Shortly after, at about 3,300 metres, our guide, ALMA project scientist Richard Hill, pointed out an old farm, which was occupied until quite recently by a family and their donkeys. How anyone could farm anything in this arid desert is beyond me but apparently they did just fine!

After that, there was very little sign of life, except for one vicuna (a little bit like a llama) which, with its orangey-brown fur took a moment to spot against the similarly coloured desert background. We also learnt that the silky wool from these animals is extremely expensive – up to thousands of dollars for a single garment made from the precious material – and as a result, and to prevent the creatures becoming extinct, it is illegal to kill them. Instead, gatherers must collect the fur from cactus or other plants that the vicuna fur has caught against.

With every 500 metre ascent there was a change in vegetation. At around 3500m there’s towering cactus plants and higher still these give way to ground-hugging bushes. Richard pointed out short spiky bushes which are somewhat tongue in cheek nicknamed “mother in laws cushion” – the group were pretty amused this humour applied even half way round the world. 

Cactus give way to ground-hugging bushes at high altitude

Over in the distance the volcano Mount Lascar was steaming away, which last erupted in 2006. We then learned that the road we were driving on cut right through solidified pyroclastic flows – the once fast-moving surge of superheated gas and debris that hugs the ground as it hurtles out of the volcano at hundreds of miles per hour. One of the group asked about the threat to ALMA by volcanic eruptions; Richard said that a problem would only arise if the wind blows south, which hardly ever happens, and that earthquakes would actually pose more of a problem. He told us that there are seismometers at the high site and the scopes are fitted with the second highest standard of quake protection, but this far from the coast the earthquakes are deep down and vibrations in the mountain are much less than would be felt on the coast.

As we continued up we looked out over boulder strewn fields, similar to the ones we’d battled through on our way to the E-ELT site. These are typically products of a once glaciated terrain – the boulders dumped in text-book U-shaped valleys as the ice retreated. But our other local chaperone had another idea – that the boulders where “shaken up” by seismic activity, causing them to rub against each other to give them their smooth characteristic, and roll downhill. It turns out that this isn’t quite as an absurd idea as I first thought, as this recent news report explains. And it certainly explains how the rocks were transported – after all, there’s not a drop of water in sight and that would be the most usual transport agent! 

Person height penitentes 

Finally, at 5,000 metres there were just vast expanses of brown with pockets of curious blade-like ice structures called penitentes, which I’d never seen before (but probably because they only exist above 4,000m!). They point in the direction of the Sun and form because the air is so dry, heat from the Sun can turn ice directly into water vapor (a process called sublimation). The ice would have once been totally smooth but depressions will result as some regions randomly sublimate faster than others. The depressions then receive more focused solar energy and the process is speeded up in a positive feedback effect, leaving the spikes towering over the deepening hollows. 

Looking down on some smaller penitentes 

And with each increment of altitude gained, the more difficult it became to breathe – atmospheric pressure is about half what it is at sea level at 5,000 metres, which gives the Everest Base Camp a good run for its money. We took blood oxygen saturation monitors with us to check how well our bodies were dealing with the altitude. Back home in the doctors surgery my reading was a healthy 99%. At 4,000 metres it was 85% and approaching 5,000m was 78%, recoverable to 80% and above with a few deep breaths. But at its worst, my reading plummeted to 74% and I wobbled with a pounding head and feeling of severe exhaustion to the medical room onsite at the ALMA high site, for ten minutes of relief via means of an oxygen tank. The best way to describe how I felt for the reminder of the day was as if I was suffering the most terrible hangover imaginable!

It was incredible to experience such extreme conditions and to please the planetary scientist in me by learning about the interesting geology of unfamiliar territory and appreciating that there is more to the desert than just brown – every different shade of brown in fact! – and, as I conclude in my feature article in the November issue of AN, I know that every time a new astronomical image lands in my inbox I will look beyond the initial wow-factor and nod in the direction of the engineers and astronomers living and working in such unforgiving, remote sites, in order for me to enjoy these images from a location where I don’t have to remind myself to breathe!