Category: Journalist Report

Sol 02 Journalist Report

Beat: Space Oddity, David Bowie

Pedro José-Marcellino

Crew 238 Journalist/XO

ALICE IN CHAINS

It’s been the longest two days here at MDRS.

Scratch that: it’s been the longest two years waiting to be here at MDRS.

Actually: it’s been the longest two years for everyone out there on planet Earth, and we are so darn lucky.

Now that we are finally in Mars, the process is slowly sinking in, and we are gently sliding into busy Martian routines.

For an international team like the Magnificent 7 (don’t ask) it’s been touch-and-go for a while. We were selected in 2019 and originally slotted to be here a year ago. Through all that, we lost an engineer, then a commander, then gained an astronomer, only to lose her again; our XO became the commander, I became the XO, and the Mag 7 became the Mag 6, but we stuck together and kept the earlier name as a memento, much as Zsa Zsa Gabor kept the rings from her seven weddings as decorative items. In case you didn’t notice that joke was deliberately Hungarian.

Over the rest of the week, I will be picking a crew member every day to inspire me and assist in telling our story at MDRS. Thus, the Hungarian joke. See, a little-known fact about my crew member of the day today, our pretty rad GreenHab Officer Kay Sandor, is that she is herself Hungarian-American. And a Master Texas Gardener — yes, that’s a thing! — who also happens to hold a PhD in nursing and be a licensed therapist. She volunteered in tall ships, and cooks a mean paprikash, as we found out over dinner today. Although the whole thing nearly devolved into World War Math when she asked an international crew of Americans, English, Continentals, and Canadians to weigh in on the trick question: “what is 1/6of half of a cup?”. What were you thinking, Kay?

At age 74, today Kay became possibly the oldest analog astronaut to ever walk an EVA here on analog Mars. She was beaming and so were we, even if we did not go too far. Mission Support suggested nearby Marble Ritual, which we can see from our window, as one does Russia. Walking with our artist-in-residence Aga Pokrywka and myself, it was certainly not lost on us that one of Kay’s objectives here on Mars is to design and have us walk a meandering meditative labyrinth, as seen on our mission patch. All very mysterious.

All very Hiroko, the green thumb character from The Mars Trilogy. We expect good things. Even Alice, the little desert mouse, seems to think so, so she’s back today to hang out

And perhaps this is where I’ll leave it today. Stay tuned.

[end]

Journalist Report
Ben Durkee, Crew 236 Journalist

Sol 01

A crew’s first day on Mars is a huge milestone. Not just for them and their list of first date talking points, but for the scientific community as a whole. A day on Mars is an infinite data set of cosmic and psychological information. The latter is the most fascinating, especially with this crew.

And [Sol 01] is the gun that starts the race. A sunrise on a new day on a new crew on a new planet ushers in a sea of new potential discoveries, friendships, and data sets. So how did it begin for Crew 236?

Absolutely frigid.

I mean I was covered head to toe in goosebumps, and I didn’t even know you *could* get goosebumps on your head. The ensemble sound of the "2001: A Space Odyssey" song (you know the one) crescendo’d through everyone’s doors ((and my lack thereof)) and woke all who were not already awake from the human popsicling process.

Luckily, turning the heater off and back on again periodically seems to do the trick. Who would’ve thought that that strategy still works on Mars. We may have to take shifts or MacGyver some sort of switch-flipping apparatus to keep it going through the cold, unforgiving nights. Until then, I suppose we’re getting the full "cryosleep" experience!

After warming ourselves externally with the space heater and internally with dubious Mars hot chocolate, we launched into our day like a well-oiled machine. A gorgeous sunrise, a hearty breakfast, and a thorough Extravehicular Activity (EVA) prep; and before we knew it, it was time to embark on our first excursion outside the confines of the Habitat.

We separated into two groups and tackled an age-old tradition: Marble Ritual. One group goes on EVA and each individual places a rock into a particular basket located in a clearing not too far from the Habitat. Meanwhile, the remaining group can babysit the basket boys from the comfort of the Hab couch. A perfect system for a first EVA, if you ask me.

It’s been a few hours since then – dinner has elapsed as well, and the time for reflection has snuck up on me in the most familiar way. This ain’t my first rodeo aboard the MDRS, I was in a similar position two years ago. And I promised myself this time around I’d be much more proactive about getting the journalist reports done in a timely manner. But, alas, here we are.

The introspection just doesn’t flow the same without the impending threat of time itself, y’know?

Being here again, I don’t feel like I’ve made it. I don’t feel like a pro, or a veteran, or a college graduate, or a skilled engineer. I feel humbled – like I’m back at square one and I have to prove my mettle all over again.

I closed my eyes an ignorant college kid and opened them aboard the world’s most heavily-engineered sardine can, surrounded by people way smarter than me. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

But some of them still don’t know which way to put a toilet paper roll? Seriously, what’s up with that???

Journalist Report
Ben Durkee, Crew 236 Journalist

Sol 02

Today was one of those days where the windmills turn just a little bit slower. Contrary to yesterday, we had no EVAs planned. So instead of focusing on breaking out of the Hab, we could focus on breaking it in.

And we learned a lot about the old girl. We learned that if you think you’re drinking enough water, you’re not. The air here is synthesized but it still has the humidity of the arid Martian desert. We learned to be more careful walking up the stairs, lest you smack your knee with the force of a thousand suns. And by "we," I mean "I." I’ve made some blunders.

We also learned that our heater problem was mostly user error, and that the loft – my room – is just perpetually cold. As soon as I’m done writing, I’ll be burrowing into a mega-chrysalis of my own design in the hopes that tomorrow I emerge a beautiful (cozy) Martian butterfly. I’m not sure how the clumsiest member of the crew ended up with the room that requires a ladder to get into, but so be it! Martian boys make do.

In the vacuum left by EVA slots, we found a lot of personal time. Time we could dedicate to personal research (watching Vladimir singlehandedly tape measure the inside of the Habitat) or personal enrichment (power naps). We’re all still figuring out where we work best, but we got a lot done in our first bottle episode of many. I’m currently writing this from the comfort of the GreenHab, my eyes burnt violet from the nighttime growth LEDs.

The plants make great writing buddies! They laugh at my jokes just as much as the crew, and talk a lot less. Plus, they graced us with some gifts today: a carrot and a cucumber! It’s only Sol 02 so the yearning for fresh food hasn’t hit us just yet, but it’s nice to know the GreenHab is a solid safety net.

All in all, it’s been a day of learning experiences, productive downtime, and bountiful harvests.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some important cocooning to attend to.

Journalist Report
Ben Durkee, Crew 236 Journalist

Sol 11

Kasey:

Someone this rotation was quoted saying “if this crew had a sitcom, it would be called Fourth Rock From the Sun”. Let me tell you a little about how this sitcom would go. For starts, the cast half the time would speak in the most obnoxious British accent you can imagine. And no one is even British. We’re from places like Texas, Singapore, and like Middle of a Cornfield, Indiana. The intro for the show would be one of those 90s type intros where the camera focuses on each one of the crew members and they look up from what they’re doing and smile. Think of the intro scene from an At-Capacity-Home in San Fransisco. In the show, Ben would alway be running late. Tyler would be the one sick of everyone else’s antics. Vladimir would be the one that uses WAY too much water in the shower. Cesare would be the only serious one. Dylan would be the quiet one that delivers the killer one liners. Pavi would be the cool skater girl. And Kasey… well I’d be the single mom the show centers around, trying to get all her kids to soccer practice on time and without a fight breaking out in the back of the minivan. Every episode would end how they all do, with everyone gathering around the dinner table, sharing laughs, love, and all that ~wholesome~ stuff.

Tyler:

In many ways, the work of a Crew Scientist is easy. We risk very little, yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their research and their selves to our judgment. I neither lead the charge on our toilet troubles like our valiant engineer nor devote tireless hours to curate daily reports like our crafty journalist, yet I remain proud of my contributions, nonetheless. When I am not collating the research of my crewmates or conducting that of my own, I often find myself performing the role of apprentice to a fellow crewmate: a Green Hab Officer Jr. if you will. Immersing myself in our little pocket of nature helps ground me when the barren Martian landscape feels too stark, and the humidity reminds me of the hometown I so dearly miss. Even so, the inherent difficulties of interplanetary travel did not escape me during this mission. The cancellation and shortening of multiple EVAs due to inclement weather and system failures certainly sought to throw a wrench in my thermal imaging research. Our experienced Executive Officer came to the rescue, however, inspiring a creative redesign of my EVA scanning plan. Thus, I was able to accomplish in one EVA to Candor Chasma what took me two to Barainca Butte. In all, I have been humbled by this experience, and I would not have it any other way. Crew Scientist Out.

Pavi:

I’ve had a blast at MDRS. My duties as crew engineer especially rocketed in week 2, when everything that could break seemed to do so, just to put me to the test. On the bright side, I picked up some basic plumbing skills (thank you, Vlad!), learnt how to troubleshoot EVA suits, and how to keep our furnace from intermittently freezing us (amazing what an on/off function can do). I also successfully cooked a few dinners out of dehydrated foods that did NOT kill my fellow crew members — I’d call that a win. It has been really interesting to see our group dynamic go from "hi everyone, how’s it going?" to "somebuhdy come geederrr". I will surely miss playing mechanic on this red planet, but I think I will miss british-accenting long dead meme references with my fellow crew members just as much, if not more.

Vladimir:

MDRS has been a phenomenal experience. Being the greenhab officer has allowed me to take my mind off the normally busy and chaotic world and focus on growing edible food. It has also been a warm escape from the hab and the crew. Being able to do research for my masters thesis has been so much fun. I could not have asked for a better crew. Seriously, these last 2 weeks have been an amazing time and have far exceeded all expectations I had about what MDRS could have been.

Dylan:

I had a great time serving as the Crew Astronomer on this mission! Less astronomy happened than I would have hoped but as is so adequately stated by the finest, and only, journalist on this planet: Martian boys make do. A variety of mechanical problems in the Musk Solar Observatory needed to be solved utilizing nothing but emails with the fantastic astronomy support team. By the time these were solved, high winds and poor weather prevented usage of the solar observatory, so unfortunately no images of the Solar Chromosphere and Prominence were captured. However, nighttime observations saved the day (or night?). The robotic observatories at MDRS are not currently operational, so I was graciously allowed to use the Montana Learning Center’s robotic observatory to capture images of nebulae, open star clusters, and double stars. My favorite images are by far the Orion Nebula and Whirlpool Galaxy. Given the slow local Wi-Fi, I was not able to download all of the huge files necessary to process each image. I have many images left to complete and will be able to continue my work upon departure from the station and output some more beautiful images. Outside of astronomy, this mission was everything I hoped it could be. I truly feel like I got the life on Mars experience and contributed to humanity’s knowledge and preparedness of inhabiting other worlds. Ad Astra

Cesare:

My fourth rotation at MDRS is coming to a close and it is a good moment to think a little bit about it, now that our stomachs are stuffed with homemade pizza. After the mission was delayed by Covid, it has been two years since my last rotation. I came here, as usual, with more challenges to myself (extremely low communications with the world), but I did not know exactly what to expect, being such a seasoned veteran. As usual, MDRS did not betray my expectations: new challenges, unexpected events to deal with, a nice crew with some old friends and some new ones. The rotation felt much shorter than usual, but filled with good work, breathtaking views both from the Hab and on EVA, laughter, team-bonding moments, celebrations. It was particularly good for me to see the reactions of the new members of the crew to all the novelty of life at MDRS. I am glad that I also shared some of that awe when I visited places that I had never been before, including some place that I have been chasing for years. Like always, I am now ready to go back to meet my friends, to being able to communicate with people easily and frequently but also, like always, I will be craving for more time here.

Ben:

I can’t believe I actually got those suckers to do my job for me. It’s too bad I’m gonna miss ’em.

I’m gonna miss a lot about this place. The infinitely stretching Martian landscape. Cesare’s sensational cooking. Sneaking candid photos of the crew from my loft above the table every morning. Singing to the cuccs and the zuccs in the GreenHab to help them grow (and for my own sanity). The soreness in my shoulders the day after a good EVA. Getting my nails done in the Hab common room while yelling at the wind to stop blasting across the holes in the roof.

Two missions I’ve completed here now, and I’ve never been able to decipher why those holes are there. Feng shui, I guess.

But regardless of its quirks – and maybe as a result of them – this place has an uncanny way of bringing people together. I met some of these people just 11 Sols ago, and I feel like I know them better than I know myself. That’s the camaraderie of making do together – the synergy of shared experience on this cold, unforgiving, incredible planet. That’s the magic of Mars. Or maybe it was just us incessantly joking about the "poop stick."

This mission was a bit shorter than my last, but I’ve enjoyed every second of it. Even the part where I died.

But now, I think I’m ready.

I’m ready to have a drink or three with Vladimir and Cesare at the Denver Spaceport. I’m ready to compulsively slip back into my Martian accent and annoy everyone on Earth. I’m ready to go outside without a fishbowl on my head. I’m ready to look out the window and be greeted by colors other than red. I’m ready to sleep in a real bed with my dog curled up at the foot. I’m ready to enter the new year with a new perspective molded by my time offworld. I’m ready to hold my diploma and finally let the gravity of it all hit me. I’m ready to start the next chapter of my life.

It’s been a phenomenal ride, and I think I’m finally ready to go home.

Journalist Report
Ben Durkee, Crew 236 Journalist

Sol 09

There’s a razor’s edge between being too hot or too cold on EVA. Today was expected to be below freezing, cloudy, and the conclusion to our trilogy of windy days. So I donned a commensurate amount of layers. I looked like the Michelin man under my EVA suit.

It was 2 or 3 minutes into the airlock decompression cycle when I realized I had made a severe miscalculation. I was sweating like a Martian at a Flat Earth conference. My fears were confirmed when I was even melting on the rover ride, our short period of maximum airflow. I tried not to think about my perspirant predicament and the long hike ahead, and immersed myself in my journalistic duties.

West of our stomping grounds resides a magnificent Martian mountain. I’m not well-versed enough in my planetary geography to distinguish if it’s Olympus Mons, but it certainly is of Olympic proportion. To call it picturesque would be doing a disservice to its proud peaks and cascading crevasses. As the crew photographer, it certainly makes my job easier.

So you can imagine my dismay when Kasey, Vladimir, and I descended into Candor Chasma and the mountain faded out of view, occluded by the craggy canyon walls. Fortunately, we discovered that Mars’s valleys can contain just as much splendor as its summits.

The walls continued to grow around us as we walked for what seemed like an eternity into the bowels of the chasm. Some stretches were completely devoid of life, some rife with strange Martian flora, but all of them had lack of fauna and were overcome with a stillness only possible on another planet. We slowly realized the absolutely astronomical age of this world as we observed the diverse colors in the towering rocks surrounding us. An unbelievable quantity of layers on top of layers on top of layers. Like an onion. Or an ogre. Or me, head to toe in insulating garments.

Our goal within the belly of the beast was to scout viable locations for a potential second Habitat, a crucial part of Vladimir’s research. To cover the most ground we took a circuitous route, winding our way deeper and deeper into the abyss. Eventually, we had wandered for so long that we had reached the halfway point of our EVA’s scheduled time. It was time to turn around. It was also at this point that it dawned on me: every step we took into the pass we would have to take back out. And now it was uphill.

I learned a lot about the geology of this alien world whilst descending into Candor Chasma. But coming back out, I learned a valuable lesson about myself. I need to do more cardio.

This time, seeing the mountain wasn’t just eye candy – it was salvation. I slumped into the passenger seat of Spirit, our rover, and I’m confident that in that moment you could’ve fried an egg on my skin. I was one toasty Martian.

While we waited for the airlock to repressurize, we took a look at our path into the ravine on the GPS, and we had barely scratched the surface. What to us was a long-winded test of our endurance and stamina turned out to be an infinitesimally small foray in the grand scale of the chasm. I’m gonna need Heelys or something next time.

After recovering from our expedition, we all slipped into our regular cycle of napping, working on research, and just generally hanging out. Some of us got to talking about what we miss about Earth. We love the Hab and couldn’t imagine a better home on the fourth rock from the sun, but sometimes it’s hard not to yearn for some of the amenities only present on number three. Personally, I’d kill for a hot bath and a gin and tonic.

But we’ve got work to do here on Mars, and we’re not leaving until we see it through. In the meantime, I suppose hot chocolate and the company of friends will have to suffice!

Journalist Report
Ben Durkee, Crew 236 Journalist

Sol 10

I’m starting to think that we’re the problem children of Mars. Under our watch, the Hab’s toilet, heater, and power system have independently acted up. I’m not superstitious, but I could be convinced that we’re cursed. Maybe I’m a little superstitious.

I won’t go into the details of the toilet issue – reliving it in my head triggers my gag reflex. Just know that these Martian boys are making do.

The heater has occasionally been blowing cold air whenever we look away from it, like a playful thermal Weeping Angel. Explains why everyone’s staterooms have been comfortable at night while the loft becomes a cryogenic chamber. I always thought that heat rises, but maybe physics work differently on Mars.

The sun has been playing a one-sided game of hide-and-seek, proliferating our power predicament primarily produced by a perturbing propane paucity. I am so sorry about that sentence. I think I blacked out for a few seconds – probably from thinking about the sewage again.

But at the same time, maybe this crew’s dysfunction is our strength! We powered down all non-necessary systems and had breakfast in the dark, brought together by the camaraderie of our new Amish lifestyle. It was kinda like when you were a kid and the power went out, so you gathered around a flashlight with your family and chowed down on the ice cream before it could melt. Man, I miss ice cream. Maybe my family too, just an ounce. But mostly ice cream.

We also had our first EVA composed of all Martian rookies today! And it went off without a hitch. Take that, curse!

In the meantime, we veterans had a day at home, in which the others helped me with my outreach. By outreach, I mean me belting out ABBA’s Mamma Mia in various locations across the station. It’s hard work, you know.

Eventually, the sun overcame its cowardice and we were able to return to business as usual. We played some card games in the Hab. Dylan showed us some gorgeous photos he’s taken of various celestial bodies with the observatory. We wound down with a delicious Filipino stew made by Chef Vlad and Chef Pavi.

Later, we’ll be celebrating our newfound electricity by finishing Apollo 13. We’ve been trying for a few nights in a row now, but always get rudely interrupted by that pesky curse. Third time’s the charm, I hope.

Oh, I know what the problem is! Mars must be in retrograde – that’s gotta be it. I’ll be speaking with the crew astronomer to get this remedied right away. I bet he’s a Taurus. Classic Taurus.

Hi Mission Support,

This Journalist Report had a large typo, which I have now remedied. The fixed report is below, sorry for the inconvenience!

Journalist Report
Ben Durkee, Crew 236 Journalist

Sol 07

At 9 AM sharp we were roused from our sleep by Lionel Richie singing "Easy Like Sunday Morning," one of my selections for the daily wake-up songs. Unfortunately, this morning was anything but easy.

We could barely hear Lionel’s dulcet tones over the violent sound of the Hab being relentlessly battered by gale force winds. We were expecting some powerful gusts today, but this was a non-stop barrage of angry Martian atmosphere that peaked at a speed of 42 mph. At one point, it sounded like something massive was banging on the roof right above my loft. I am not ashamed to say that I retreated to the Hab common area and continued my work there.

On the cliffs of England, there is a unique species of seabird called Guillemots. They’re able to fly, but at random intervals they shed their flight feathers, rendering themselves temporarily flightless. So every time they leap from the cliffs, it’s a coin toss on whether or not they’re going for an unplanned swim. As a result, their anatomies have essentially evolved to become avian beanbags so they can bounce down the cliffs on a botched takeoff and reach the bottom unscathed.

Usually when I come down from my loft, I am as elegant as Rapunzel descending from her tower. He is beauty, he is grace. Not today. Today I was a Guillemot. One that lost the coin toss.

We continued our morning as planned, hoping that the weather would clear in time for our EVA slot. While we toiled away, the sky grew more and more ominous, as if it were laughing at our optimism. Suddenly, the entire Habitat shook and a thunderous bang rang out, the result of some unknown impact.

Kasey and I flew down the stairs to investigate and sure enough, the front airlock door had been blown open by the unyielding wind. And just to add insult to injury, as we peered through the peephole we saw hundreds of icy bullets propelled into the airlock. Hail on Mars. Great. Meteorologically fascinating, but equally threatening to our collective livelihood. Now not only was our planned EVA scrubbed, but an emergency EVA to shut the front airlock would also have to wait. Before we had time to fret about all this, Tyler frantically scrambled out of the bathroom, jarred by the noise. It was just about the funniest thing I’d ever seen, and added some well-needed levity to an otherwise starkly serious situation.

The pressure differential should have held the door shut, but we weren’t taking any chances, so we reinforced the inner front airlock door. When only a single piece of metal separates you from a rapid decompressive demise, you don’t roll any dice.

We remained sheltered in the Habitat for quite some time, and the raging dust storm eventually subsided. Our outdoor visibility returned, and we assessed the damage. A little bit of cosmetic harm to the Hab’s paint, but everyone was safe and all systems were still functional. A win in my book.

The rest of the day was relatively uneventful, but I think we all took that as a blessing after the trauma of the morning’s occurrences.

We’re all set to do our EVA tomorrow instead, and the forecast looks considerably better. Regardless, I think after today’s action we can handle anything this big ball of dirt throws at us!

Journalist Report Ben Durkee, Crew 236 Journalist Sol 07 At 9 AM sharp we were roused from our sleep by Lionel Richie singing "Easy Like Sunday Morning," one of my selections for the daily wake-up songs. Unfortunately, this morning was anything but easy. We could barely hear Lionel’s dulcet tones over the violent sound of the Hab being relentlessly battered by gale force winds. We were expecting some powerful gusts today, but this was a non-stop barrage of angry Martian atmosphere that peaked at a speed of 42 mph. At one point, it sounded like something massive was banging on the roof right above my loft. I am not ashamed to say that I retreated to the Hab common area and continued my work there. On the cliffs of England, there is a unique species of seabird called Guillemots. They’re able to fly, but at random intervals they shed their flight feathers, rendering themselves temporarily flightless. So every time they leap from the cliffs, it’s a coin toss on whether or not they’re going for an unplanned swim. As a result, their anatomies have evolved to essentially evolved to become avian beanbags so they can bounce down the cliffs on a botched takeoff and reach the bottom unscathed. Usually when I come down from my loft, I am as elegant as Rapunzel descending from her tower. He is beauty, he is grace. Not today. Today I was a Guillemot. One that lost the coin toss. We continued our morning as planned, hoping that the weather would clear in time for our EVA slot. While we toiled away, the sky grew more and more ominous, as if it were laughing at our optimism. Suddenly, the entire Habitat shook and a thunderous bang rang out, the result of some unknown impact. Kasey and I flew down the stairs to investigate and sure enough, the front airlock door had been blown open by the unyielding wind. And just to add insult to injury, as we peered through the peephole we saw hundreds of icy bullets propelled into the airlock. Hail on Mars. Great. Meteorologically fascinating, but equally threatening to our collective livelihood. Now not only was our planned EVA scrubbed, but an emergency EVA to shut the front airlock would also have to wait. Before we had time to fret about all this, Tyler frantically scrambled out of the bathroom, jarred by the noise. It was just about the funniest thing I’d ever seen, and added some well-needed levity to an otherwise starkly serious situation. The pressure differential should have held the door shut, but we weren’t taking any chances, so we reinforced the inner front airlock door. When only a single piece of metal separates you from a rapid decompressive demise, you don’t roll any dice. We remained sheltered in the Habitat for quite some time, and the raging dust storm eventually subsided. Our outdoor visibility returned, and we assessed the damage. A little bit of cosmetic harm to the Hab’s paint, but everyone was safe and all systems were still functional. A win in my book. The rest of the day was relatively uneventful, but I think we all took that as a blessing after the trauma of the morning’s occurrences. We’re all set to do our EVA tomorrow instead, and the forecast looks considerably better. Regardless, I think after today’s action we can handle anything this big ball of dirt throws at us!

Journalist Report
Ben Durkee, Crew 236 Journalist

Sol 05

We’ve begun to develop our own Martian dialect. It sounds a lot like our collective worst impressions of a cockney British accent. I’m genuinely shocked that it hasn’t become annoying yet – I think the space madness has begun to set in and it manifests in the most mysterious ways. If the Health & Safety Officer had to write psychological reports, he would have A LOT of material at this point.

On the flip side, today was a relatively slow day on Mars which was a boon to our personal projects (and sleep schedules), but doesn’t give me a lot to work with. C’mon, Ben, think! Um… lovely weather we’ve been having..?

It actually has been a gorgeous evening, but unfortunately not for long enough. We woke up this morning to the tantalizing possibility of an EVA, however last night’s inclement weather didn’t subside soon enough and the ground was left rain-soaked and wind-battered, rendering it unstable for our entire EVA slot. If you can’t trust terra firma, who can you trust?

Instead, we spent the time grinding away on our research, adjusting to our new way of life, and oscillating in and out of latke-induced food comas. Kasey told us about her unsettling Stephen King novel. Vladimir taught us Durak, a traditional Russian card game that practically encourages over-the-top card-drawing theatrics. Cesare slaved over our Christmas Eve feast in the kitchen for hours, overwhelming the Habitat with some much needed pleasant aromas. Very much needed. We haven’t showered in 5 Sols.

I’ve been fasting since this morning so I can well and truly indulge in Cesare’s handiwork, but I think my stomach has begun to self-cannibalize. At a certain point, biological needs overpower literary ones. I’ve reached that point. Plus, what kind of crewmate would I be if I missed Christmas dinner?

And so, I bid you a wonderful Christmas Eve, and a jolly good pip pip cheerio!

Crew 236 Journalist Report 23DEC2021

Journalist Report

Ben Durkee, Crew 236 Journalist

Sol 04

We had our first death in the field today. It wasn’t the engineer, she had her equipment on lock and in tip-top shape. It wasn’t the geologist, he collected a plethora of gorgeous samples without interruption. It wasn’t the scientist, fortunately for his research and for the perilous drive back, which tested his acute rover piloting skills. That only leaves one.

It’s a funny thing, losing your air. At first you don’t even notice it’s thinning. And then it’s like you’re biting into something that doesn’t have nearly as much texture or flavor as you were expecting. And then the flavor’s completely gone, and you’re left utterly lacking for a moment. You can still inhale and exhale perfectly fine, but your lungs come out of the exchange empty-handed.

I made it back to the rovers with visibility failing, but it was a 25 minute drive back to the Habitat and admittedly I hadn’t been practicing my Olympic breath-holding techniques. I let out one last wisecrack, and that was that. Not a bad way to go, honestly. My family hasn’t been notified yet, so I suppose this is how they’ll find out. Surprise!

While the four (three and a half, really) of us repressurized at Hab, sweet Hab, the rest of the crew finished preparing some kind of unconventional medicinal salve. Its technical name was something along the lines of “chicken noodle soup,” though I could be misremembering. The medical realm eludes me, but it seems to have done the trick! I retreated to my hobbit hole to recuperate and took the most bomb nap of my life (lives?). Something about departing from this mortal coil really takes it outta you, I guess!

Other than my equipment-based curse rearing its ugly head in the most morbid way possible, the EVA was a success! We made it to Barainca Butte with little tribulation. We did have to ditch the rovers at a certain point, when the trail became too treacherous, but we needed the exercise anyway. The butte blessed us with picturesque landscapes, plentiful rocks of unbelievable variety, and nooks and crannies ripe for interesting thermal imaging.

One quick dissociation from reality later, and the smell of dinner suddenly permeated through the whole Hab. Pavi and Cesare prepared a phenomenal couscous & curry concoction, as conversation vanquished the hours and the weather slowly began to sour.

I now write this as the Habitat shakes and resonates, battered by the elements. The wind whistles over the dimple in our roof like a belligerent god blowing a giant jug of moonshine. Sometimes the raw power of the Martian climate just takes my breath away.

Ooh, maybe a little too soon for that one…