Month: December 2019

Journalist Report
Ben Durkee, Crew 218 Journalist

Sol 08

The snowy hill east of the Habitat delayed the sunrise just long enough for us to awaken to a sky of vibrant pink and orange. Nothing clears the morning haze from your eyes quite like gawking at the natural beauty of a Martian sunrise. We were fortunate to have such a gentle wake-up call, because the rest of the day was on a tight itinerary.

After an efficient breakfast of astronaut nutrition paste (dehydrated fruit smoothie) we promptly began preparing Shefali and LuzMa for their morning EVA. After an egress that went infinitely smoother than yesterday’s, they set off into the icy brink. The two ladies had the honor of taking our rovers "T" and "Custy" (formerly "Spirit" and "Curiosity," but some of the letters rubbed off) on their first voyage in a week.

The rovers persevered through the quagmire of snow, ice, and mud to deliver the duo to their destination unscathed. The two performed some meteorological surveys that are far beyond my pay-grade and returned to the Hab far ahead of schedule. In an effort to kill two birds with one Martian stone, LuzMa also performed her extravehicular engineer duties before they both entered the airlock for re-compression. Everything went off without a hitch, and they were inside and free of their cumbersome oxygen-backpacks with time to spare.

More time to dedicate to the most important task of the day. See, the past few sols have been consistently below freezing, and our water pipe has been an ice pipe for long enough that we are in full survival mode. The first thing to go when the water gets tight is dish duty, and by today we had a tower rivaling the wonders of the world constructed solely of dirty dishes. Our water reserve was so sparse this afternoon that we had to resort to creating a fire brigade. We spent the period between EVAs today assembly-lining water from the static tank all the way up to the accessible loft tank with our few clean kitchen pots. Our efficiency would have made Henry Ford proud – probably because we had pretty compelling motivation.

Once our liquid life reached an acceptable quantity, there was just enough time for a quick lunch before Cesare, Pat, and I had to prepare for our EVA. We raced to see who could be properly suited up first, and as expected our commander with multiple notches in his Mars belt pulled a clean victory. This time I abundantly confirmed that I was wearing the right footwear. I’m sure I’ll make many more mistakes this mission, but I will definitely not be making that one again.

While we were acting as a human aqueduct, our rovers were replenishing their batteries back to full. For good reason – we intended to use it all. We depressurized and embarked on our longest EVA yet. Our destination: as far north as we could go.

There is a clear division drawn in mud on my flight suit. A contrast between my left side: cozy within the roll cage of trusty ol’ "Custy," and my right side: exposed to the elements as I held out the antenna for some data collection on our northward exodus. We adventured far into the Martian horizon on a journey that felt like an eternity for the muscles in my right arm. We exited the zone of radio contact with the Hab, and then we pushed on even farther. Eventually Cesare’s rover read 60% battery remaining, our threshold for having to cease our migration. We pulled over right there, and the spot proved to be ideal.

It had a flat region – perfect for Pat’s seismic equipment – and a phenomenal view of the nearby mountain – a playground for me and my camera. We spent equal time setting up the equipment as we did gathering data. With our remaining time, we explored the surrounding terrain and then gave our rovers a good 20-point turn to head back home.

Naturally the journey somehow managed to be uphill both ways, but the rovers took it like champs and we were back in no time. By the time we got ourselves and our equipment back in the airlock, it was 4:00 PM sharp. A perfect three hour EVA. We raced out of our suits again, but this time it was fueled by the necessity to empty our bladders. We all parsed our data from the field and then put on some SpongeBob to turn our brains off and recover from the day. Much needed.

Through the yellow rectangle man’s uncanny ability to evaporate time, it was suddenly time for dinner and reports. As Pat slaves away in the kitchen, I’m hunched over my keyboard relaying the day’s events to the best of my ability. It took a week, but I think we’re getting the hang of this whole "Martian Living" thing. Now we wrap up today so we can do it again tomorrow, but even better.

Another sol, another dollar.

Journalist Report
Ben Durkee, Crew 218 Journalist

Sol 07

"Hydrate or die-drate!"

This was our mantra of the day as we prepared for our first EVA in a week. There’s a knife’s edge to tiptoe between under-insulating and over-bundling before heading out onto the snowy Martian terrain. The consequences of playing your cards wrong are either suffering icy numbness or heat exhaustion. Regardless of your position on the thermal spectrum, lugging around the EMU (Extravehicular Mobility Unit [my favorite acronym]) is some serious cardio. The only thing you’ll be burning more than calories is precious H2O, and you can’t drink while in EMU mode, so drink up beforehand and maybe store some in your cheeks too. But don’t forget that our EMUs don’t have lavatory functionality yet, so don’t drink too much. Basically, if your EVA is longer than two hours, godspeed.

Knowing that we were rusty with EVA procedures, we began preparing for our expedition over an hour prior. I reassembled the antenna I built for my research project and gave it one last test before its maiden voyage. Antenna is a strong word – it’s more like a haphazard amalgamation of PVC, copper wire, and coax cable. In the hopes that the electrical tape would hold together, we began suiting up. Pat, Jonathan, and Shefali helped LuzMa, Cesare, and I wriggle into our suits. We meticulously checked and double-checked every aspect of our expeditionary ensembles. Hats, gloves, bandannas, radios, microphones, EMUs on, straps tightened, helmets secured – ready to rock and roll.

Cue the fog machine and dramatic music; we stepped into the airlock. Pause the music, please allow five minutes for full depressurization. The time drags on as the 3 of us are sardine’d in the airlock cylinder with my PVC Frankenstein’s monster. Four minutes remaining. Three. As the air gets thinner our suits get tighter, something seems amiss. Why do my feet feel so… comfortable? The tape securing my microphone to my face contorts as my smile vanishes. I pretzel my spine to get downward view with the helmet on and sure enough: I’m still wearing my slippers. All of that time preparing for our first EVA in a while, and I overlooked my footwear of all things. Here we are about to embark on a monumental exploratory enterprise and I’m equipped like a middle-aged man stepping out to fetch this morning’s copy of The Martian Times.

I immediately alerted the crew and we began repressurizing the chamber. The next few minutes were slated to be agony as I had to stand there and receive infinite (deserved) ridicule over the radio. However, as if it were destiny, LuzMa’s hat jumped off of her head within the EMU helmet. She squirmed her head around the expensive fishbowl trying to reclaim her beanie, but to no avail. I’m glad the radio microphones are muted by default, because I was cackling uncontrollably in my helmet. I now stand by the claim that my shoe mishap was a noble sacrifice of dignity to rescue LuzMa from her impending headwear disaster. I’m never gonna live that down.

We re-assimilated with the Habitat air and fixed all of our wardrobe malfunctions. That was the practice round; now for the real deal. We must have shaken off all the rust on the first attempt, because our second attempt went flawlessly! We ventured out into the frozen wastes and returned to Marble Ritual, the same destination as our training EVA so many moons ago. But this time we were heading there to gather data for the first time. There was something sentimental about returning to that site one week later as full-fledged Martian survivors and scientists. We gathered geological, meteorological, and radio frequency data for our respective personal projects and returned to the Hab safe and sound (and sweaty).

We slithered out of our EMU suits accomplished and exasperated, wrapping up our EVA. With that excitement at its end, we immersed ourselves in data parsing and the energy of the day quickly waned. Before we knew it, the sun and moon had traded places and it was time for reports and dinner. I write this now through watery eyes from accidentally inhaling cayenne pepper powder. I think it’s time for me to concede that today is not my day and retire for the night. It’s bright and early tomorrow for some more potential EVAs. We’ve got a week left to make up for lost science time, let’s make the best of it!