Author: jburk

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!

Journalist Report
Ben Durkee, Crew 218 Journalist

Sol 06

I swear these morning workouts get more and more intense every day. Sitting up has now become an ordeal, and don’t even get me started on descending our glorified ladder of a staircase. I feel like a 21-year-old going on octogenarian – perhaps we age faster on Mars? I may have to request some dentures in the next cargo resupply craft sent from Earth…

In spite of our body aches, we spent a good chunk of time today sweeping the snow from our inter-Habitat tunnels again. We still haven’t been able to locate that pesky leak that’s allowing the precipitation in. I suspect it is the Martian mouse from Sol 04 trying to take us out one by one. We haven’t been able to track him down, yet, but have affectionately named him Marvin.

It’s very interesting the way the mind wanders when given the time and space to do so.

“When Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson studies his family history, is it considered genealogy or geology?”

This is the question Pat (the crew geologist) and I pondered over lunch. After involving the rest of the crew in our whirlwind debate, the general consensus became the latter, but we welcome outside opinions on the matter.

After discussing our philosophical quandary, the curtain of clouds parted for the first time in days to reveal unfettered, unfiltered sunlight. Not only does this imply the most snow melting power we’ve had yet, but it also means the sun was finally ripe for observation. Cesare rushed out to the observatory to carpe this rare diem.

Once he had methodically set up all of the instrumentation, he invited us in individually to join in his observation. Eventually my turn rolled around, and I removed my glasses and peered into the gauntlet of mirrors and lenses. We fiddled with the knobs until I got a view of the sun. Circular, as expected. A bit more adjustment yielded better focus, and I was able to watch the surface of the sun subtly pulsate and squirm, like a colossal heart of nuclear fusion.

Cesare spent some time adjusting machinery and software far beyond in an attempt to capture some solar activity. We weren’t able to observe any sun spots or granulation, but in hindsight that may be a blessing considering Mars’s lack of shielding against such radioactive tumult.

The sun soon escaped our grasp and retreated behind the horizon, so we too retreated to the Hab. A dash of Smash Bros. to wind down, a pinch of pepper on our dinner, and the evening had escaped us in a similar fashion. We’ve a cold night ahead of us, but hopefully the sun will return unobstructed to thaw our Martian landscape. If the stars align, we may even be able to go on EVA tomorrow and launch our scientific discoveries into full swing. Fingers crossed!