Earthrise

by Edgar Mitchell

  And then I just dozed off for a little while.

  After 40 minutes the skies cleared, and we were finally cleared to go. Hearing countdown was incredible. I could feel the tremendous rush of excitement. “15, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, 8 … initial sequence start … 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, 0. Launch commit. LIFTOFF!”

  And suddenly we had liftoff at exactly 4:03 PM on that amazing Sunday afternoon.

  As our rocket ignited, gigantic orange clouds and white-hot fiery flames blasted from the five engines, sending us straight up amidst a powerful and deafening roar.

  “Beautiful,” Alan said.

  “Go, baby, go!” Stu called out.

  “She’s going, she’s going,” I added. “Everything’s good.”

  It took a lot of force to lift our extremely heavy rocket up from the launch pad and out into orbit. Inside our Command Module, however, it seemed eerily quiet. With our helmets on we could only hear communication from Mission Control and each other. As we lifted I felt some pressure push against my chest and back, but I focused on everything I was supposed to do and did it. Once again I remembered Grandpa Bull’s reassuring words, Steady as she goes, Edgar. Steady as she goes.

  Capsule Communicator

  During our entire mission, Alan, Stu, and I were in constant communication with the Capsule Communicator, more commonly known as the CAPCOM, who was stationed at Mission Control Center in Houston during flight and reentry. Typically, the CAPCOM was one of the support crew astronauts or one of the backup crew astronauts. Because our mission lasted nine days, we had a number of different CAPCOMS including Fred Haise (we liked to call him “Freddo”), who was the Lunar Module (LM) Checkout and Separation CAP-COM; Bruce McCandless, the Lunar Landing and Extravehicular Activity-1 CAPCOM; and Gordon Fullerton (nicknamed “Gordo”), who served as the Planning Shift CAPCOM. Deke Slayton would sometimes take over as CAPCOM, as would our backup crew astronauts.

  In addition, I was a CAPCOM for the Apollo 15 Moon mission in 1971 and the Apollo 16 Moon mission in 1972.

  Three Critical Stages of Liftoff

  Our Saturn V rocket was built with an ingenious three-part system that would take us higher and move us faster than any rocket in history. Once we lifted to a certain altitude, the lowest part of our rocket would separate and drop into the ocean. And as we continued to lift up and away from Earth, another large part of our rocket would separate and also drop into the ocean. Finally, we’d let go of a third and final portion that would be jettisoned into space.

  Everything on our spacecraft was computerized, including the three stages of liftoff, our entire flight plan, our Moon-walk, and return to Earth. Many, many computer programmers had helped make our extraordinary mission a reality.

  During liftoff, I looked over at Alan and noticed his hand was on the abort button. He was prepared to abort the mission if anything went wrong at this critical moment. Liftoff was extremely dangerous because we were sitting on top of tons of highly explosive fuel. So in the event of an emergency, the abort button would set into motion an escape procedure that would hoist the Command Module off the rocket stack so we could parachute back to Earth. Fortunately, this didn’t happen.

  For the next two and a half minutes we traveled very high above Earth at about 6,000 miles per hour. As I glanced out my window I could see the eastern coastlines of North Carolina and South Carolina, and the Caribbean. And it wasn’t long before I could see the actual curve of the planet. It was absolutely beautiful to look down at the soft white clouds and the sparkling blue waters below.

  But there wasn’t a lot of time for sightseeing. We needed to focus on flying. The second stage of liftoff used two engines and lasted about six minutes. We more than doubled our speed to 16,000 miles per hour as we sailed about 115 miles above Earth. I wasn’t looking out the window at this point; my focus was strictly on monitoring the gauges on my instrument panel. The third stage used only one engine and lasted about two and a half minutes. Now we were being hurtled through space at 17,500 miles per hour.

  But before heading out into deep space, we orbited the Earth one and a half times in a special safety measure called “Go, no go.” This gave us about two and a half hours to make sure everything was working right.

  “Will you look at that?” I said to Stu and Alan as I looked out the window at the world below. From this unique vantage point, high above Earth, I could see entire continents and oceans from above. It was absolutely remarkable to see. “Isn’t it something?” Stu replied.

  Trans-lunar Injection—A Powerful Boost

  After about two and a half hours into the flight we heard our CAPCOM say, “You’re GO for the Moon. GO for TLI,” and we knew we were good to go. But we needed a lot more power to propel us out of Earth’s gravitational pull. So when we were flying over Australia, we ignited our engine again for a procedure called Trans-lunar Injection that sent us rocketing to the super speed of about 24,500 miles per hour. It was a powerful surge that threw us back against our crew stations. But it also gave us the enormous thrust that pushed us on our path toward to the Moon and to the point where the Moon’s gravitational pull would begin to dominate. Everything was going exactly as planned, and Alan, Stu, and I were feeling good about that. At least for a little while. Our next big step nearly ended our entire flight.

  A Terrible Time

  We’d been flying for about three hours and now it was time to retrieve and link up with the Lunar Module spacecraft that had been carefully brought along in the rocket stack.

  In a procedure called Transposition and Docking, we needed to attach the nose of the Lunar Module to the nose of the Command Module. This was Stu’s job. Stu had practiced Transposition and Docking over and over again on Earth in the Command Module simulator and had truly mastered the simulation. But now it was time to do it for real, way out in the vast sea of space.

  Using thrusters like miniature engines, Stu piloted the Command Module away from the rocket stack. Large panels of the rocket then opened up like a flower, exposing the top of the Lunar Module. Stu backed the Command Module away and slowly rotated us about 180 degrees so we were lined up with the Lunar Module. Now it was time for Stu to move the two crafts together with careful precision.

  Unfortunately, things didn’t go as planned and the next hour or so was agonizing. Stu had positioned the two spacecraft just right, but for whatever reason, the capture latches would not lock the Lunar Module with the Command Module.

  Stu kept trying and trying—one time, two times, three times, four times, and even a fifth time with absolutely no luck. His heart rate was starting to soar and it was easy to see he was getting stressed. “We’re unable to get a capture,” I told Mission Control, hardly able to believe we were having so much trouble.

  Al and I tried to reassure Stu, but everyone knew that if we couldn’t dock the two spacecraft, our mission was over. I just couldn’t believe we’d been faced with such a big problem after only a few hours. We needed to come up with a solution. And fast.

  Stu, Alan and I took a break from the Transposition and Docking procedure, and started to work on a solution with Mission Control. Nobody was sure what was wrong, but we wondered if the pre-launch thunderstorm had caused ice to build up within the spacecraft docking latches and caused the problem. Finally, Mission Control encouraged Stu to try again in a slightly different way. This time he was to use extra force with the thrusters while Alan flipped a switch to retract the docking mechanism. Stu and Alan both tried the new idea and it worked. Finally, we could hear the sweet sounds of the docking latches snapping shut.

  “We had a hard dock, Houston.” Alan exclaimed. Everybody was relieved and there was a lot of clapping back at Mission Control. I was so glad we hadn’t given up. A little ingenuity can go a long way, especially when you’re a long way from home.

  And I sure hoped this would be our last close call.

  Smooth Sailing Ahead?

  At last, after about five hours, we were well on our way to the Moon. Our Saturn V r
ocket had blasted us into space and had gone through its critical three stages. We’d had success with Trans-lunar Injection and eventually with Transposition and Docking. And now the Lunar Module was stationed at the very tip of our Command Module, just where it was supposed to be.

  As we moved farther and farther away, we could see our whole planet in its magnificence. It was a powerful sight. Earth looked like a brilliant blue and white sphere suspended in the inky blackness of space. Some people have described it as a “big, blue marble.”

  I could see the thin, white ring of Earth’s atmosphere, and it reminded me of the rind of a piece of fruit. Although I knew it contained all our oxygen and everything we need to live, Earth’s atmosphere just looked so thin and fragile. And as we traveled away, we saw Earth getting smaller and smaller as the Moon appeared larger and larger. I thought about Buck Rogers and all his daring space adventures. Only this time, I was the adventurer.

  At this point in the mission we could finally take off our bulky spacesuits, helmets, and boots and pack them away in bags for the time being. We always wore our spacesuits during critical parts of the mission such as liftoff, flying in the Lunar Module, and walking on the Moon. But right now, we loved being able to put on our lighter, full-body coveralls, which were a heck of a lot more comfortable.

  Although we were flying fast, it almost felt like we were standing still inside the spacecraft. Being in a weightless environment was such an unusual experience. Everything needed to be buckled or bolted down, or it would simply float around the cabin. Astronauts included. The first time I took out my pen and let it go, it was fascinating to watch it float by my eyes. Concepts like up and down didn’t seem to exist, and it was a strange sensation to unbuckle myself from my couch and float around in the cabin. Just the slightest push from the instrument panel or my seat would send me floating away. Some of the astronauts had motion sickness in zero G, but I realized that if I kept my mind occupied I didn’t feel queasy.

  Now moving ahead on our invisible path to the Moon, our spacecraft didn’t move forward like an airplane. Instead, it slowly rotated around and around in what we called the “barbeque mode.” This way, the side of the spacecraft that was facing the sun wouldn’t get too hot, and the side that wasn’t facing the sun wouldn’t get too cold. The slow rotation method, technically called passive thermal control, was the only way we could travel to the Moon and maintain our spacecraft’s thermal balance.

  The three of us settled into our individual eating, sleeping, and work routines that were carefully programmed ahead of time. We were always busy running the ship and studying our checklists and plans. Sometimes we took sightings from the stars to keep the navigation platform aligned, and we were always in constant communication with Mission Control. During downtime we’d inspect our equipment, peer out through our telescope at the stars, and sometimes we’d relax and listen to music. I brought along songs from the Broadway hit My Fair Lady, which I really liked.

  Space Food

  Traveling to the Moon took a lot of energy—the energy to launch our rocket, the energy to keep our spacecraft running, and the energy to nourish us. But finding foods we could eat in space wasn’t easy. Initially there was some worry we might choke while trying to swallow food in zero G. Scientists also wondered if the human body could digest food in a weightless environment. But our bodies functioned just as they did on Earth. Since we didn’t have a kitchen onboard and there was limited space on the craft, our foods needed to be compact, easy to prepare, and nutritious. And because we were dining in zero G, our food couldn’t float away before it ever reached our mouths.

  The NASA chefs and food scientists came up with clever ways to prepare and serve all our meals, snacks, and beverages so we were able to eat. Before liftoff, Alan, Stu, and I were given a list of about 70 different foods and beverages and asked to choose menus for our nine-day voyage. We sampled a lot of space food ahead of time. There were some tasty sounding choices like lobster bisque and peach ambrosia. But there was no getting around the fact that what we ate was freeze-dried food in plastic see-through pouches that came equipped with a straw or spoon. Long story short—it definitely wasn’t Mama’s cooking. At least we weren’t chowing down on freeze-dried frogs, lizards, or bugs we’d learned about during our desert and rain forest training.

  The process of freeze-drying removed water from our foods. It helped make everything small and easy to store, prepare, and eat. We’d simply pop open a bag and add hot or cold water. After about 10 to 15 minutes, some version of soup, pasta, or fruit drink would appear. We got our hot and cold water from a nifty squirt gun-like device located next to our couches, and we’d squirt water either directly into our mouths or into our food packets. We also used a “spoon bowl,” where food came in zip-lock bags. This food was sticky enough that it wouldn’t float off the spoon.

  I liked the cinnamon toast that came shaped like a small cube and the vacuum-packed roast beef sandwiches. I wasn’t crazy about some of the mushy stuff like beef stew in a baggie. Overall the food was fine, and I didn’t lose any weight during the entire mission.

  Way to Go

  The one question I am asked over and over again as an Apollo astronaut is “How do you go to the bathroom in space?” I always answer “very carefully,” and this gets a big laugh. But the fact is, nature calls, even on the way to the Moon.

  Getting rid of human waste in weightlessness was another aspect of space travel that definitely had to be solved. If we couldn’t capture our urine, for example, we’d have yellow globules floating around the capsule, and that would be awful. So, we used a condom-like device to collect our urine. We’d transfer it from a urine transfer tube and into a tank, before it was released out into space. Curiously enough, the urine froze and had an iridescent sparkle when it was vented out into space.

  Solid waste was a different matter and there were a number of steps we needed to follow. First, we emptied our waste into special plastic fecal bags. Then we added a capsule of blue germicide and mixed all the contents together before placing the waste in another bag. Each bag was then stored onboard in a sanitation box for later disposal on Earth.

  CAFÉ ZEROG

  Enjoying breakfast, lunch, and dinner in space required a great deal of creativity during the Apollo Moon missions. It’s not easy moving food from a variety of containers into one’s mouth in zero gravity. And because it was a tight fit in the Command Module and the Lunar Module, meals were freeze-dried and vacuum-packed to save space.

  Here was a typical Apollo 14 menu for four days in space.

  If all of this sounds unpleasant, it was. But it was a necessary procedure and it worked.

  Another hygienic challenge was bathing, or the lack of it. We couldn’t take a bath or shower during the entire nine days. But we did have wet wipes to clean our skin, and disposable toothbrushes with edible toothpaste. We’d brush our teeth, swallow the toothpaste, and then throw away the brushes.

  Sleep Time and ESP

  Sleep was also a tricky situation on the craft, and we always made sure one person was awake and on watch. While two of us slept, the other astronaut piloted the craft and communicated with Mission Control. To catch some shut-eye, I’d pull myself below my couch and climb into my sleeping bag. Because we were in zero G, we didn’t need a pillow or a mattress to rest our head or body. We’d simply float into dreamland. And fortunately, small window shades helped shut out the sunlight and give us a sense of nighttime.

  The Apollo astronauts were allowed to bring along reading material and music to enjoy during downtime or before our sleep periods. So I decided to get creative. One night when I was supposed to be sleeping while Stu was on watch, Stu called out for me. “Hey there, Ed,” he said. “What’s going on?” It was about 45 minutes past lights out, but he could see my flashlight was on.

  EXTRASENSORY PERCEPTION

  Can we know what someone else is thinking without saying a word? Those who believe in extrasensory perception, or ESP, say it�
�s possible. The concept, sometimes referred to as the “sixth sense,” became popular through the work of Dr. Joseph Banks Rhine, a psychologist from Duke University. Dr. Rhine founded the Duke University Parapsychology Lab in 1930 to study ESP, which comprises three different kinds of phenomena: telepathy (communication of thoughts from one person to another without the use of the five senses), clairvoyance (recognizing objects or events without the use of the five senses), and precognition (being able to know the future). Since Dr. Rhine’s studies, a great deal of research has been conducted to better understand extrasensory perception. Today, some scientists believe ESP is based on properties of quantum physics where information can be exchanged on subatomic levels.

  “Not much,” I replied.

  Actually, I was conducting a long-distance ESP experiment that only a few other people in the world knew about. Not even Alan or Stu knew about it.

  In addition to being a space explorer, I also wanted to explore consciousness and the mind. I was very curious about ESP, which is the ability to know or perceive something beyond the five senses. Some people refer to this as having a hunch, or having intuition. For example, if the phone rings and you think you know who is calling, this may be an example of ESP. I was especially curious about the research of scientist Dr. Joseph Banks Rhine, whose work focused on paranormal subjects. Dr. Rhine’s research suggested that ESP can work close-up, but I wondered whether this phenomenon could happen hundreds of thousands of miles away. In space!