Verily, I say unto you

The days spoken of in the Apocalypse are nigh!

There Is a Wisdom That Is Woe

Misgivings:

When ocean-clouds over inland hills

Sweep storming in late autumn brown,

And horror the sodden valley fills,

And the spire falls crashing in the town,

I muse upon my country’s ills—

The tempest bursting from the waste of Time

On the world’s fairest hope linked with man’s foulest crime.

Nature’s dark side is heeded now—

(Ah! optimist-cheer disheartened flown)—

A child may read the moody brow

Of yon black mountain lone.

With shouts the torrents down the gorges go,

And storms are formed behind the storm we feel:

The hemlock shakes in the rafter, the oak in the driving keel.

Herman Melville.

Писатели — инженеры человеческих душ

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It is a sunny, relatively cool, pleasantly breezy day.  Sitting in my corner of the yard, thinking about maybe motivating to mow or otherwise putter, but I'd rather just be.  Looking up at the trees moving in the light wind, I am reminded of one of my favorite short stories from the Soviet era, Yury Olesha's Love (Любовь)

First, the Russian:

Он подумал: « Деревья встречают Лелю овацией». Дальтоник ошибался, но Шувалов ошибался еще грубее.

По-английски:

He thought: "The trees are greeting Lelya with an ovation." The colorblind man was mistaken, but Shuvalov was even more mistaken.

Also reminds me of a particular shroom trip with a couple buddies in college - which in turn reminds me of the paper I wrote about The Grand Inquisitor, in Russian, whilst shrooming - but let's not get into that now.

Ahem.  So anywayz...I originally was going to use the story's last line ("Go and eat blue pears") for my post title, but decided to go for a deeper cut with "writers are engineers of human souls."  Seemed fitting for our new AI-plagued Stalinist era.

Selah.

“Man must explore. And this is exploration at its greatest.”

Meant to post about this yesterday, but I was pretty wiped from a long day battling with sandbox limitations and permissions while building out a new lab¹, not to mention a long week, month, year, uh...yeah, I'm pretty tired generally, although in better shape than astronauts after an EVA on the lunar surface.

Anyway, Dave and Jim got to bust out some new wheels on July 31.  Chaikin:

It would have been a strange sight, had anyone been there to witness it: a four-wheeled craft heading out among the craters, bearing two space-suited men. The Rover was less a car than a spacecraft on wheels, with its own navigation computer, communications system, and cargo space for such essentials as maps, geology tools—and moon rocks. 

For all its sophisticated technology, there was still a hobby-shop look to this moon car, with its antennas and folding lawn-chair seats and tool racks. It had been designed, built and tested by Boeing in less than two years; the success of the mission rode on it. 

Aboard Rover 1, the ride was more exciting than anyone, including Scott and Irwin, had banked on. Though the Rover averaged only 5 to 7 miles an hour, it seemed more than fast enough to the two men perched atop it. Every time the Rover hit a bump—and the “plain” at Hadley was all bumps and hollows—it took flight. Each new obstacle set one or two wheels off the ground for a long moment. 

As an added encumbrance, the steering on the Rover’s front wheels was inexplicably out of commission, forcing Scott to rely on the rear-wheel steering alone. The ride was especially harrowing for Jim Irwin, who felt as though he were strapped onto a bucking bronco, especially when Scott had to swerve to avoid a crater. The transmissions from the Rover were punctuated every so often with a warning from Scott—“Hang on!”—followed by Irwin’s grin-and-bear-it laughter. 

Scott and Irwin were having as much trouble gauging distance on the airless, treeless moon as everyone had before them. But they were in no danger of losing their way, thanks to the Rover’s navigation system; it clicked off readings of heading and distance as Scott drove. Irwin, meanwhile, followed along on the photo map. Aside from the usual difficulty in recognizing landmarks, the maps were misleading: 

Many of the craters and bumps that looked so prominent on the over-enhanced photos were barely noticeable on the real moon. But one landmark was impossible to miss, and as the Rover headed southwest, over the undulating mare, both men suddenly caught sight of it: “There’s the rille!” For a time, they followed the canyon’s curving edge, then stopped at Elbow crater to gather samples. Soon they were driving again, heading uphill toward St. George; Scott could feel the difference.

Scott:

Once released, the rover—our “Moon car”—slowly descended to the surface; a brilliant piece of engineering with sealed electric motors in the hub of each wheel. After securing its joints with pins, I climbed aboard to test its operation. Almost immediately, I realized that there was a problem with the front steering. 

This was perfectly manageable with rear steering and eventually righted itself. Even so it was a pretty bumpy ride. After loading a rack at the rear with the geological equipment we would need for our first day of exploration we climbed aboard—something of a challenge since the suits did not bend easily into a seated position—and started the engines. 

Driving the rover was actually more like flying an airplane, albeit with four wheels, than driving a car. Instead of a steering wheel, which would have been very difficult to grasp in our bulky suits, it was controlled with a joystick mounted on a control console between my seat and Jim’s. 

Despite our maximum speed of only 7 or 8 mph, the reduced gravity and very irregular surface meant one or more of the independently suspended wheels lifted away from the surface every time we hit uneven terrain. No part of the lunar surface was totally flat or even. It was all rolling and irregular with a wide variety of small and large craters, some with debris inside. 

Maneuvering around the larger craters and across this combination of rolling hummocks and fine- to coarse-grained lunar soil required intense concentration. Driving into the sun was the most difficult, since the glare caused a “wash-out” of the surface features. Though the rover could turn on a dime and had very good traction and power, the wire-mesh wheels kicked up impressive rooster-tails of dust, which were deflected by large fenders. It all made for a ride like a cross between a bucking bronco and a small boat in a heavy swell. 

“This really is a rockin’ and rollin’ ride. Hang on,” I told Jim as we headed southwest in the direction of the first of our destinations, Elbow Crater and the northeast flank of St. George Crater on the lower flank of Mt. Hadley Delta.

Why they were there (Scott):

Each stopping point on our three days of lunar traverses had been selected to allow us to examine contrasting aspects of the Moon’s complex geology, much of which was largely a mystery. Our ultimate goal was to throw light on the origin of our nearest galactic neighbor—which had long been the source of speculation and serious scientific debate. Greater knowledge about the Moon’s genesis was expected to throw more light on the origin of our own planet, of the Sun and of our entire solar system. 

Over time three competing theories about the origin of the Moon had evolved. The so-called “sister” theory held that the Earth and the Moon were born at the same time and of the same cloud of gas and dust. The “spouse” theory held that the Moon was born in another part of the solar system and had been forced into wedlock with our planet after moving into the Earth’s gravitational field. According to the “daughter” theory, the Moon was born of the Earth, splitting off very early on.

I bet even Michael Jackson would be exhausted after a moonwalk (Chaikin):

The mountains of the moon captivated Jim Irwin, just as he knew they would. That anticipation had been with him yesterday as he followed Scott down Falcon’s ladder. When he put his weight on the footpad, it tipped so suddenly that he went reeling backward, hanging on with one hand, until he was gazing almost straight up at the sparkling blue world he had left behind. Regaining his balance, he took his first buoyant steps into the valley, and could not suppress his elation. 

The Apennines were not gray or brown as he had expected, but golden in the light of lunar morning. Their rounded, dust-covered forms reminded him of ski slopes—Dollar and Half Dollar mountains at Sun Valley. He was surprised to find that a place others had called stark and desolate could feel so friendly. The mountains surrounded Hadley Base like a cradling hand. He felt at home on the moon. 

But yesterday’s exploration had taken a toll on Irwin. Not until he and Scott were back in the LM did Irwin feel the full measure of his exhaustion. Aside from the mental fatigue brought on by hours of intense concentration, and the pressure spent. The incessant glare from the sun and the bright landscape had given him a fierce headache. And he was parched; the water bag in his suit had refused to work and he’d gone more than seven hours without a drink. 

Worst of all was the pain in his fingers. By the end of the moonwalk they were so sore that when it came time to take off his gloves he had to ask Scott for help. When they had settled in for the evening, Irwin used a pair of scissors to trim his fingernails all the way back; that helped. He suggested his commander do the same, but Scott declined, reluctant to do anything that might compromise his dexterity. 

After the moonwalk Irwin had been overtired, and he had not slept well. Then, this morning he and Scott were awakened early by a call from mission control, to check on a water leak in Falcon’s cabin. When they looked behind the ascent engine cover, they found a couple of gallons of water that had leaked through a broken filter. Irwin was glad that Grumman had waterproofed the LM’s electronics. 

Thankfully, despite all of this, Irwin felt renewed as he and Scott prepared for the second traverse. Yesterday, they’d been denied the chance for real prospecting up on Hadley Delta; now they would have one more chance to find out what the mountains of the moon had to offer.

The adventure continues...

1 - Thursday morning I did a walkthrough of our extant VPC peering exercise with the re/Start crew, and my learners asked if we could do something with AWS Transit Gateway in future, so I promised to gin something up for next time.

What seemed like it would be a really quick bit of dev work ended up taking several hours because of a variety of non-obvious constraints in the lab environment.  Also, as is typical when I do this stuff, I kept going on little side quests which found their way into the architecture, tying together a bunch of different things we've explored in the last several sessions and expanding on them.  

This is my happy place, but sometimes I just run out of cognitive space when doing deep tech dives.  Regardless, got everything worked out, and I spent a good bit of this morning testing and writing out instructions whilst drinking coffee and watching the WNBA (what a shot by Sydney Taylor to win it for the Sky!).

PS - got a chuckle when CAPCOM Joe Allen told Dave, "buckle up for safety."  When I was a wee lad, I would sing that jingle with a little twist: "buckle up for Jesus, buckle up!"

a blue dahlia, a black tulip

that's where opinions differ.

An Armed Hunter Stalking Through the Trees like a Ghost

Listening in Deep Space:

We've always been out looking for answers,

telling stories about ourselves,

searching for connection, choosing

to send out Stravinsky and whale song,

which, in translation, might very well be

our undoing instead of a welcome.

We launch satellites, probes, telescopes

unfolding like origami, navigating

geomagnetic storms, major disruptions.

Rovers with spirit and perseverance

mapping the unknown. We listen

through large arrays adjusted eagerly

to hear the news that we are not alone.

Considering the history at home,

in houses, across continents, oceans,

even in quests armed with good intentions,

what one seeker has done to another—

what will we do when we find each other?

Diane Thiel.

Pertaining...what it's meaning...regarding?

Bronson Pinchot will never not crack my shit up.

I Actually Like the Quiet

Silent is the House:

Come, the wind may never again

Blow as now it blows for us;

And the stars may never again shine as now they shine;

Long before October returns,

Seas of blood will have parted us;

And you must crush the love in your heart, and I the love in mine!

Emily Brontë.

“Sounds like we’re in business, old friend.”

I'd bet most folks likely won't want to listen to the entire stand-up EVA conducted by CDR Scott at the start of lunar surface activities.  I mean, what Dave describes is wicked amazing, but the audio is admittedly a bit dry.  Anyway, here's how he sets the scene in the book he wrote with Cosmonaut Alexei Leonov (you've met before), Two Sides of the Moon:

Though Deke Slayton and others in NASA management had initially opposed it on the grounds that it would consume extra oxygen, the plan we had finally agreed on was for me to perform a half-hour stand-up EVA, or SEVA, shortly after touchdown. By climbing up on to the cover of the engine inside the craft, and opening the upper hatch—rather as if I was in the conning tower of a submarine or the turret of a tank—I would stand up and take a good look around. 

On geology trips I had learned the value of such an initial reconnaissance. But this would be a reconnaissance like no other. So, two hours after touchdown, after slowly depressurizing the cabin, I placed a protective outer helmet—a lunar excursion excursion visor assembly, or LEVA—over my inner helmet, and clambered up to my vantage point in my bulky, but by now pressurized, spacesuit. 

Pulling my oxygen hoses and communication cables behind me, I slowly hoisted my elbows on to the rim of the hatch. I found I could support my own weight quite comfortably in the reduced gravity, and started to take in the view. What an awesome view it was.

Even with the protective filter across my visor, the sunlight reflecting off the crystal-clear features on the surface was intense, contrasting sharply with the deep, rich blackness of the sky beyond. The low sun angle of the early lunar morning laid long shadows over the spectacular scenery spread before me. 

It was like an exhibition of exquisite images by the great photographer Ansel Adams. There was no color, but great contrast between the brightly illuminated surface and the black shadow of the mountain slopes and craters where no sunlight fell. 

“Oh, boy, what a view!” I exclaimed. “Beautiful.” 

Jim handed a bearing indicator and large orientation map up to me, and I began to give a number of precise location indicators and started to take a series of high-resolution connecting photographs of the full panorama that encircled us. Shortly after we had landed I had advised Houston, “Tell those geologists in the back room to get ready because we’ve really got something for them.” 

They sure did.  And with that, happy First and Only (so far) SEVA on the Lunar Surface Day to all who celebrate!

PS - Image from here.  You know, I have a birthday coming up...

#throwbackthursday

Because the kids' supervised visits with Ericka happened on Sundays, we necessarily took a roundabout path to the facility, and always had some extra time to goof around.  This was during the final trek.  (2020)

You have a lot of verve

Look, it's Richard Grant, star of Confessions II!  Also really loved him in Hamlet Part VIII: The Revenge.

Ay, There’s the Rub

I Dreamed That I Was Old:

I dreamed that I was old: in stale declension   

Fallen from my prime, when company

Was mine, cat-nimbleness, and green invention,   

Before time took my leafy hours away.

My wisdom, ripe with body’s ruin, found   

Itself tart recompense for what was lost

In false exchange: since wisdom in the ground   

Has no apocalypse or pentecost.

I wept for my youth, sweet passionate young thought,

And cozy women dead that by my side   

Once lay: I wept with bitter longing, not   

Remembering how in my youth I cried.

Stanley Kunitz.

Up, up the Long, Delirious, Burning Blue

STS-51-F launched on this date in '85.  Most folks probably don't remember the mission, so let's turn to Dark Star: A New History of the Space Shuttle:

The launch hiccup—the failure of a heat sensor that resulted in the premature automatic shutdown of one of the three Space Shuttle Main Engines (SSMEs)—was a peculiar form of emergency: serious enough to warrant special contingency measures but relatively tame in impact. In the event that one SSME failed, the shuttle would still reach Earth orbit, but lower than planned. “ 

‘Abort to orbit,’ it was called at the time,” the Post noted of the incident. In a space program that had, until that point, been relatively free of well-publicized in-flight mishaps, the failure was both a troubling warning and a metaphor for the Space Transportation System (STS). Although giving the appearance of an operational infrastructure (deploying satellites and conducting scientific work), the space shuttles’ flights from 1981 to 1986 were marred by a series of worrisome problems. 

The problem that struck STS-51F came as little surprise to those who designed and operated the shuttle: the three main engines mounted at the rear of the orbiters operated under unprecedented pressure, using one of the most energetic propellant combinations available: liquid hydrogen and liquid oxygen, each chilled to hundreds of degrees below zero. Unlike previous engines using this combination of propellants, the SSMEs were intended to be reusable for up to 100 flights, a level of performance never expected from a propulsion system devised to work for only a few minutes. 

The National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) had hoped that the engines would require little maintenance between flights, but as problems mounted, the engines required almost complete disassembly and recertification before each flight, an expensive process representative of the tremendous risks that NASA sought to control. On July 29, 1985, though, Challenger dodged a bullet: it had not failed, but neither had it quite succeeded. Procedures intended to compensate for problems had worked, but the abort had left the orbiter where nobody wished it to be. 

Abort to Orbit (ATO) was one of several contingencies scripted by NASA in the event that the shuttle suffered a serious malfunction on launch. Astronauts, to the extent possible, trained for these aborts and carried printed procedure books in the cockpit to perform the often-complex steps required for each. Each abort mode was keyed to a failure of the shuttle’s propulsion system at various points in the flight, from a relatively late, partial failure (ATO) to more crippling early failures of the main engines or solid rocket boosters (SRBs). 

A more profound propulsion system problem (or inflight emergency) required an Abort Once Around (AOA), in which the shuttle, having limped into too low an altitude to sustain multiple revolutions around the Earth, would reenter the atmosphere and land after a single ninety-minute circumnavigation. A more disabled shuttle unable to enter orbit could, alternatively, coast on a suborbital trajectory to Transoceanic Abort Landing (TAL) on a predesignated airstrip several thousand miles east of the launch site in Florida. 

More extreme and most difficult to execute would have been a Return to Launch Site (RTLS) abort, which would have been the earliest option available to the crew. The crew would jettison the shuttle’s boosters after they burned out and fire the SSMEs to try to loop the shuttle in a return trajectory that would place it on a path to land on the runway at NASA’s Kennedy Space Center (KSC). Astronauts regarded this abort mode as impossible to execute: NASA had considered attempting it during an early shuttle test flight, but astronauts refused, finding the abort more dangerous to fly than an orbital mission. 

Just presaging what would come:

The space shuttle was, simply, only half-complete: safety systems intended for the craft were shed during its tortuous development...

The peculiar dangers that the Challenger and Columbia astronauts experienced were not a feature of spaceflight generally. Rather, they were caused by specific flaws manufactured into a vehicle by engineers who knew about better alternatives and hoped the vehicles would never fly long enough to be undermined by the compromises they had made. 

The Thrust-Assisted Orbiter Shuttle (TAOS) configuration that NASA selected in 1972 lacked robust propulsion technologies, redundancies, and safety systems that would protect a crew in the event of trouble; that is what had made it cheap and why it was chosen over safer vehicles that would have cost twice as much and employed liquid-fueled boosters, escape pods, and configurations that generally offered lower risk. While NASA publicly insisted that the shuttle was safe, even the engineers and analysts who developed the TAOS configuration believed that the shuttle would be redesigned to improve its safety. 

Challenger’s loss appeared to stem principally from the fact that these upgrades came too late; indeed, most never came at all. A second fatal accident involving the orbiter Columbia in 2003 similarly failed to derail the space shuttle program, despite new evidence that the shuttle was even more fragile than the public believed. 

It's well-known that I still love the beautiful, compromised machine, but it was a fucking deathtrap all the same.  One hopes we learned those lessons written in blood as we continue to reach for the stars.

Selah.

Has he been...

Yes, after breakfast.