We packed up all our Moon rocks and equipment and started to load our bounty into the Lunar Module. This was another endeavor that required ingenuity. I climbed into the Antares, and the two of us used an innovative rope-and-pulley mechanism for loading. Alan would hook a plastic bag holding a rock onto the line and then send it up to me. It was a simple system but worked quite well.
Before climbing up the ladder and into the Antares for the very last time, I stopped and took one last look. I had the profound realization that I’d never be here again. I then held onto the rails and leaned way back, as far back as I could go. I looked straight up to catch one last glimpse of Earth, in its beautiful crescent shape.
What a beauty, I thought. What a beauty.
I crawled into the spacecraft and Alan followed shortly thereafter. Although it wasn’t easy to leave, both of us were eager to see Stu again, and head back home.
LUNAR PLAQUES
Apollo Moon Missions 11, 12, 14, 15, 16, and 17 left honorary seven-by-nine-inch stainless steel plaques on the Moon. These plaques were attached to the landing gear of the lower part of the Lunar Modules and will remain on the Moon for all time. The first Apollo 11 Moon mission plaque was signed by astronauts Neil A. Armstrong, Michael Collins, Edwin E. Aldrin Jr., and Richard Nixon, President, United States of America. The plaque reads:
HERE MEN FROM THE PLANET EARTH
FIRST SET FOOT UPON THE MOON
JULY 1969, A.D.
WE CAME IN PEACE FOR ALL MANKIND
The Apollo 14 plaque was signed by astronauts Alan B. Shepard Jr., Stuart A. Roosa, and Edgar D. Mitchell, and reads:
APOLLO 14
ANTARES
FEBRUARY 1971
The Extraordinary Ride Home
“ … a dream that became a reality and spread throughout the stars”
—Captain Kirk, Star Trek
Covered in a light layer of Moon dust, Alan and I stood at the controls of the Antares. We were busy reviewing our flight procedures and getting ready for lunar liftoff. Everything seemed in order.
But then an uncomfortable thought occurred to me. What if ignition doesn’t work? I knew ignition failure was a remote possibility, but with any technology, problems can occur. We certainly didn’t want to be stuck on the Moon because once our oxygen was depleted, our lives would end in a very short amount of time. We also knew that if something went wrong, we would be completely on our own because Stu wouldn’t be able to fly the Kitty Hawk down here to get us.
Fortunately, there were plenty of backup procedures that Alan and I had trained for. We never wanted to be caught by surprise and not know how to handle a situation.
I looked at Alan and wondered if he was thinking the same thing. But neither of us said a word. And then, I was suddenly distracted by the loud voice of the CAPCOM. “We’re coming up now on 10 minutes until lunar liftoff.” I was glad to hear his words.
Think positive, I thought. In 10 minutes we’d be lifting off from the Moon and heading toward Stu. In my mind’s eye I could see myself sitting in the Command Module again, and that was reassuring.
“Antares, Houston. We’re coming up on four minutes,” Mission Control said. “Stand by. Mark four minutes.” The minutes passed quickly.
“Okay, the abort stage is set and the ascent engine is armed,” Alan said. “Six, five, four, three, two, one … “
“Ignition!” I called out.
Our ascent engine powered up just as it was supposed to. Great. Excellent, I thought.
I could feel a powerful surge and a jolt as the upper “ascent” half of the Antares lifted up and separated from the bottom “descent” half of the craft that was now playing a crucial role as our launch pad. Our craft started to rise up, up, and away from the Moon, and we would slowly and gradually pitch over from a vertical position to a horizontal one as we approached Stu’s orbital altitude.
“What a liftoff,” I said. I felt partly relieved, but mostly thrilled.
We then began a critical procedure called a “direct rendezvous trajectory” that flew us directly up to Stu. Stu was flying the Kitty Hawk around the Moon in the higher orbit above the lunar surface. Once we were in Stu’s orbit, we would then fly right behind him and eventually reconnect the Antares with the Kitty Hawk. That is, if everything went as planned.
Our primary goals at this point were to fly up to Stu, reconnect our two spacecraft, and head back to Earth. Of course, Mission Control, Alan, Stu, and I all had one overriding concern—would the Antares be able to dock with the Kitty Hawk? We’d had so much trouble docking six days earlier and we absolutely couldn’t afford this problem now. We knew we had to make this procedure work. Stu was our ride home.
As our two spaceships got closer, Stu spotted us and it was obvious he was happy about it. “What are you doing way down there, oh fearless ones?” he joked. “You’ve lost a little weight since the last time I saw you.”
Stu had a fun-loving sense of humor and we got a big kick out of his antics. He was making light of the fact that we had left the lower part of the Antares on the Moon after it completed its job as our launching pad.
Alan and I could also see the Kitty Hawk out our window as we approached it. “Oh, you look good,” Alan said.
Then, when we were very close to the Kitty Hawk, Stu rotated the entire craft in a large 360-degree loop so Alan and I could inspect it for any telltale signs of trouble.
“And around we go,” Stu said.
“That’s our home away from home,” I added. It was so great to see the Kitty Hawk up close again. Alan and I didn’t see any problems with the craft.
Then we heard Mission Control give us the go-ahead.
“Apollo 14, this is Houston. You’re go for the docking.”
Slowly and very smoothly, the Antares matched speeds and moved in to dock with the Kitty Hawk. We held our breath and hoped for the best.
Then with a snap, snap, and a few clicks, we connected.
“Okay, we capture,” I said loudly and clearly.
This time, we didn’t need to try and try again; we connected right away. However, in the event we couldn’t connect, we did have an extravehicular maneuver where Alan and I would have crawled outside the Lunar Module in space, then crawled inside the Command Module. But this was an extremely dangerous backup plan, and we were glad we didn’t need to use it.
“Beautiful,” the CAPCOM replied. “There’s a big sigh of relief being breathed around here.”
“And all over the world,” Stu added.
Knock, Knock
Still covered in dust, Alan and I looked a bit like cowboys coming home after a long, hard day on the range. We knew Stu wouldn’t be thrilled about it; he’d been living alone in the spotless and sanitary Command Module for the past few days. But Alan and I couldn’t wait to crawl back into the Kitty Hawk. Alan got right up to the Lunar Module hatch and knocked a few times to let Stu know we were ready to come in.
“Who’s there?” Stu joked.
Stu then opened the door and we climbed in. Without wasting even a minute, we cleaned off as best we could. We then took off our bulky spacesuits and put on our lightweight coveralls. What a relief that was.
But it wasn’t quite time to sit back and relax. For the next hour or so, Alan, Stu, and I worked hard to transfer all of our rock samples, cameras, and experimental data from the Lunar Module to the Command Module.
When this work was done, we shut and locked the hatch for one last time. We said good-bye to our trusty, bug-like Antares, which we then jettisoned to crash back on the Moon to create a small “Moonquake.” The Antares was never designed to return to Earth, but it played an important role until its very end. Once the Antares crashed at a predetermined location on the Moon, the seismic signals were picked up by the seismometer Alan and I had placed on the lunar surface, as well as a seismometer that had been left by the Apollo 12 astronauts. This data provided more information about the interior structure of the Moon.
Alan and I took
our seats again in the Command Module and buckled ourselves in. Now it was time to head back to Earth. I was sure looking forward to a home-cooked meal with my family, and I knew there’d be many great stories to share. But we needed a big boost to send us on our way. When we were on the far side of the Moon again, our engines ignited in a “trans-Earth injection” sequence. This thrust gave us plenty of power to blast us all the way home.
Last Leg of the Journey
After a few hours of work, and a dinner of ham and potatoes in a bag and eight ounces of grapefruit juice, my sleep hammock was starting to look very inviting. I was tired to the bone and anxious to get some rest. Alan and I both needed sleep and were able to nod off in no time at all.
The next morning Mission Control woke us up. “How are you all this morning?” The CAPCOM sounded chipper as ever.
“Really great, really great.” I said. “How are things there?”
“Beautiful. Everybody’s relaxed down here and anticipating your arrival on schedule.”
Alan, Stu, and I felt the same. We had worked very hard on our lunar mission and accomplished what we set out to do. We were all in good spirits.
The Kitty Hawk stayed on its steady course and moved along at a speed that increased from about 3,500 feet per second to 6,500 feet per second. This is fast considering that there are 5,280 feet per mile. At times we were traveling nearly one mile per second.
At this point in the journey everyone’s duties were lighter and we were all unwinding. It felt great. I started to reflect on everything I had just experienced over the last six days. I thought about our launch and the thunderstorm delay. I recalled the many frustrating attempts we had made trying to dock our spacecraft at the start of the mission. I remembered the scare with the abort light and radar during our lunar landing. And of course I replayed every moment of our two Moonwalks: walking around the alien lunar surface, setting up and conducting the science experiments, and hiking toward Cone Crater.
There were thousands of things to think about. But what I remembered most was the first time I set eyes on Earth from deep space on our way to the Moon. It was a powerful experience and a beautiful sight to behold.
In preparation for our return, Mission Control gave us an update on current events. We heard about an earthquake near the Aleutian Islands of Alaska. We found out that a radio station in Moberly, Missouri, had tried to place a prank phone call to talk with us when we were on the Moon. And we learned that Golden Globe Awards went to actor George C. Scott for his lead role in the movie Patton and to Ali MacGraw for her lead role in the movie Love Story.
Sometimes Mission Control would play us tunes from films such as Camelot. We even had a deep-space news conference while flying home. Mission Control linked us in with reporters who asked detailed questions about our mission and Moonwalks. I thought this was an interesting aspect of our work. When we were about halfway home, we heard that someone had sent a bouquet of red roses to Mission Control on behalf of our return to Earth.
What in the World?
The ride home was absolutely remarkable and I’ll never forget it.
On two of the nights, I conducted two more of my ESP experiments as I had planned. But during the day, when I had more time to sit back and relax, I enjoyed peering out my window and taking in the sights. I truly felt like a cosmic sightseer.
And then something extraordinary happened to me.
As our spacecraft headed toward Earth, it was constantly rotating in the barbecue mode as it had done on the way to the Moon. These slow rotations protected the craft, but they also gave me a spectacular view. As we turned, I was able to see a breathtaking 360-degree panorama of the heavens with the Earth, the Moon, the Sun, and the many glistening stars passing by the window. And because there’s no atmosphere in space, everything looked 10 times brighter than on Earth.
It was a fantastic sight—I knew I had a ringside seat to one of the greatest shows of the universe.
Pretty soon I was hooked and couldn’t take my eyes off the view. And then, all at once, a wonderful feeling washed over me from head to toe. It was an amazing, joyful sensation, and I guess you could say it was out of this world.
On top of all the good feelings I was experiencing, I suddenly had a moment of deep insight. It was an overwhelming realization that my body and mind were connected to everything in the universe. I felt a deep, deep connection with all of life and a sense of oneness with the cosmos.
I knew Stu was asleep, but I wondered if Alan was also feeling what I was feeling. I looked over at him and could see he was busy talking with Mission Control. He didn’t appear to be experiencing anything out of the ordinary.
Confused and a bit stunned, I tried to intellectually make sense of what was happening. I knew from my studies in astronomy that all matter in the universe was originally created in ancient star systems. And right now I was keenly aware that the molecules of my body, as well as the molecules of Alan and Stu’s bodies, and even the molecules of our spacecraft, were also created in these ancient star systems.
It was a profound and ecstatic realization. First of all, I realized I was connected to the universe, and second, I realized there was a unity to everything and everyone.
To my delight, this naturally good feeling lasted for the next three days on our return to Earth. All I needed to do was look out my window and stare at the brilliant stars against the deep black sky—and there was that wonderful feeling again.
Of course, I was naturally flooded with questions. What in the heck is happening to me? Why do I feel this way? What in the world is going on?
The Shock of Reentry
The Kitty Hawk was right on track in terms of its velocity and trajectory toward Earth. As our spacecraft got closer to our planet’s gravitational field, our speed got faster and faster.
Our landing site was near the Samoan Islands, which are located way out in the middle of the South Pacific Ocean. The closest town to our landing was Pago Pago (the capital of American Samoa), and it was nearly 900 miles away.
I knew there was going to be discomfort on reentering Earth’s atmosphere, and I knew the plummet into the South Pacific would be abrupt. But we couldn’t get back home without this fiery, difficult, and dangerous part of the ride.
When we were about four hours from splashdown, we were traveling about 11,000 feet per second, or nearly two miles per second. One hour before reentry, we moved even faster at a speed of nearly 20,000 feet per second.
I was glad when we heard from Mission Control.
“Apollo 14, this is Houston. All your systems are looking good from down here and we’re in great shape for the entry.”
That was great news to me. “Everything looks good from up here,” I said.
The large USS New Orleans aircraft carrier was already about five miles from our landing site and waiting for us. And there were recovery helicopters and navy frogmen set to retrieve us.
We got closer and closer and closer to Earth.
About 15 minutes before reentry, we had to complete two important procedures. First, we jettisoned the Service Module, which burned up and dropped into the ocean. Next, we needed to turn our Command Module around so that the widest part of the craft was facing the ocean. We were about to enter a fiery zone, and to protect us from the intense heat of reentering Earth’s atmosphere, our Command Module was built with a specially designed heat shield on its wide base. This heat shield was several inches thick and made of a tough resin that would melt and burn off during reentry. We depended on this heat shield for our lives; temperatures on the outside of the Kitty Hawk could get up to 5,000 degree Fahrenheit, which is hot enough to melt metals. All this heat would be generated from the friction of moving from the absence of atmosphere in space to the dense atmosphere of Earth.
Once our Command Module had turned around as it was supposed to, our backs (and not our fronts) now faced the Earth. This meant that we were looking out at space versus looking down at Earth as we returned home. In a man
ner of speaking, we were truly going “back to Earth.”
Then, with only 24 seconds left, we were bulleting toward Earth at the mind-blowing speed of 36,000 feet per second. We were literally traveling about seven miles per second!
Next on the checklist? A complete communication blackout with Earth, which would last about three and a half minutes. There was no way around it—we would need to endure this blackout once we slammed into Earth’s atmosphere.
But were we ready? Could we do it?
Thankfully, Mission Control was in contact with us at this critical time. “Apollo 14,” the CAPCOM said with a calm, reassuring voice. “It’s about eight seconds to the blackout. We’ll talk to you when you come out the other side. Over.”
“Okay, sounds good,” Alan replied.
We braced ourselves, and then—BAM!
Hurtling into Earth’s atmosphere was incredibly strong and powerful, like the wallop of a lifetime. I felt pressed against the back of my couch because the pressure was intense. Without a moment to catch our breaths, we were in the fiery three-minute inferno traveling on the most intense ride of our lives.
As the Kitty Hawk zoomed to Earth, it seemed to burst into colorful flames. Out of the corner of my eye I could see red-hot orange globules shooting past my window. Logically, I knew this was the resin melting off the heat shield, but at the time it just looked fiery.
The three and a half minutes seemed to take a heck of a lot longer than normal. But, eventually it passed, and we got through it.
Mission Control was right there when we emerged from the blackout. “Apollo 14! Apollo 14! This is Houston. How do you read? Over.”
“Pretty good here,” Stu answered. He didn’t say much; we were all feeling like we’d been on the most dynamic roller coaster of all time.
Now, at 10,000 feet above Earth, our pace slowed down dramatically when three enormous red-and-white-striped parachutes opened. I could feel the sensation of gravity now more than ever before. Having been in space for so many days, it felt unusual to go from zero G to seven Gs in just a few seconds. The tug of gravity was a reminder I was home, and I became more aware of the heaviness of my body as our capsule slowly drifted down and floated toward our landing site. And then we smacked into the Pacific waters with a forceful thud.
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