Earthrise (13 page)

This family photo was taken a few weeks before the Apollo 14 Moon mission. Louise Mitchell (left) with Elizabeth Mitchell, Karlyn Mitchell, me, and our terrier, Whiskers.
Courtesy NASA

The Rocky Road Down

“Sometimes your only available transportation is a leap of faith.”

—Margaret Shepard

I
t was day four and we’d been traveling for about 80 hours. I had a scruffy beard, I needed a bath, and a slice of non freeze-dried hot apple pie was sounding mighty good. But my thoughts were focused elsewhere. I could barely keep my eyes off the incredibly enormous object just outside our window that we were hurtling toward.

“The old Moon is sure getting big in the commander’s window,” I said to Mission Control.

“Roger, Ed.”

The flight controllers and engineers at Mission Control always enjoyed hearing from us. But they were busy with the newest part of our journey, which meant helping us slow down the Kitty Hawk and move into lunar orbit. It was an exciting time as we neared our destination.

Once we were in orbit around the Moon, there was so much to see. It was great to look out the window and be able to spot some of the craters, such as Cone Crater and Doublet, we’d learned about in our training. The major craters all had names, and as lunar explorers we wanted to share what we saw with everyone at Houston.

“Well, this really is a wild place, up here,” Alan said. “It has all the grays, browns, whites, and dark craters that everybody’s talked about before. It’s really quite a sight. No atmosphere at all.”

Alan was right. The lack of atmosphere on the Moon made the layout of the land crystal clear and easy to see. The Moon had a distinct, unusual look. The Earth is colorfully blue and white and seems to glisten in space, while the Moon looks like its polar opposite. I told Mission Control I thought it seemed as if the Moon had been molded out of grayish plaster of paris and then dusted with colors of browns and more grays.

The far side of the Moon has its own unique look with long, dark shadows and a stark, desolate appearance. Later that day as we continued to orbit, I saw my first earthrise.
Earthrise,
I thought.
I’m not looking at a sunrise; I’m looking at an earthrise.

“It’s a beautiful sight to see Earth from here,” I told Mission Control.

Finally it was time for Alan and me to put on our space-suits again and move out of the Command Module and into the Lunar Module. Alan and I grabbed our spacesuits out of the bags where we’d stowed them, and about 30 minutes later we were suited up and ready to go. The two of us pulled ourselves down into the tunnel that led from the Command Module into the Lunar Module. We opened the hatch and went inside our new lunar home. Once we’d looked over the craft to make sure everything was in order, we took our places in front of the instrument panel. I stood on the right side and Alan stood on the left.

It was a tight fit and our cabin was small because the Antares needed to be as compact and lightweight as possible. In zero gravity, there really isn’t sitting or standing, there is only floating. So we saved space and weight by standing up the entire time without the use of large seats. As we stood, special straps were used to anchor our feet.

Stu was waiting at the hatch, ready to shut and lock it. Normally Stu was cheerful and easygoing, but at this moment he looked concerned and I imagined he was thinking,
Will I ever see these two guys again?

It wasn’t easy to break up our three-man team, but this was the only way any of the Apollo astronauts could complete their missions. Two guys would fly down to the Moon while one guy remained in the spacecraft, orbiting above the Moon and waiting for the two others to return.

Stu wished us well, and then closed and locked the hatch. After all my work in the design and testing of the Lunar Module at Grumman Aircraft in Long Island, and after practicing over and over again in the Lunar Module simulator, it was now time to see if this unique flying machine would work. I sure hoped it would.

The first thing we needed to do was undock the Lunar Module from the Command Module in a procedure called Command/Service Module-Lunar Module, or “CSM-LM” Separation. To do this, Stu first flew us down into a lower orbit that was about 10 miles above the surface of the Moon.

Once we’d moved down to the lower orbit, Alan and I had to carefully back the Lunar Module away from the Command Module with Stu’s help.

“Okay, okay—you’re moving out and you’re hanging on the end of the probe,” Stu said. “Okay, we seem real steady. I’m going to back off from you.”

Then Stu added, “And, we’re free.”

Thank heavens this all went very smoothly. Once the Antares was a completely separate spacecraft, Stu then flew the Kitty Hawk back up to a higher orbit, which was about 60 miles above the Moon. At this higher orbit, Stu continued to orbit the Moon and was busy taking pictures and mapping the lunar surface for future Apollo missions.

Alan and I were now on our own in the Antares. We wore our spacesuits the entire time, but we took off our helmets, gloves, and boots to feel more comfortable during our rest periods.

Abort! Abort?

Before heading down to the lunar surface, Alan and I were directed to fly the Lunar Module around the Moon two times to make sure everything was working exactly as it should. It took about two hours to travel one orbit around the Moon, so our two orbits would equal about four hours. If we had a problem at this critical stage, we could use our abort procedure, which would automatically shoot us back up to Stu in the Command Module. Of course, this was the last thing we wanted to do. We wanted to walk on the Moon.

As we orbited, we could look down at the lunar surface, and we had excellent and highly accurate maps that showed us exactly where our Fra Mauro landing site was. From Earth, Fra Mauro is located just west of the center of the Moon.

But landing on the Moon was a complex feat. We had very specific procedures to follow that would land us exactly where we needed to go. A lot was at stake and we had to get it right. There was noticeable tension in our Lunar Module, and I’m sure it was the same at Mission Control.

When we were halfway through one lunar orbit, Alan and I were flying on the far side, or the backside, of the Moon. Here we had a complete communication blackout with Mission Control because there was no way to get a radio signal. Not being able to talk with Mission Control made the journey risky, and we all knew this. But there was no way around it.

As we continued to orbit the Moon, we flew our craft right over our landing site. Alan and I were so happy to see it. Everything seemed fine and we felt like we were right on track. But then, as I talked about in the introduction, something went terribly wrong.

Suddenly and without warning, a mysterious abort signal from our computer guidance system cropped up on our instrument panel. Alan and I immediately let Mission Control know about it, but because MC always knew everything that happened at every moment during our flight, they were already aware of the problem.

Imagine being so far from Earth and so close to the Moon and seeing a bright red abort light go on. Was it a false alarm or was it the real deal? The abort mode was necessary because it provided a safety net if something went wrong and we needed to make a fast getaway. But right now, the last thing we wanted to see was an ominous-looking abort light.

At first NASA engineers wondered if the abort signal had been triggered because a floating solder ball had lodged in the abort switch. Fred Haise, our CAPCOM during this time, immediately radioed me. “Ed, tap on the instrument panel with your pen light.”

“Okay, Freddo,” I replied and tapped away. And just like that the abort light went off.

“Good work, Ed,” Fred told me. And we all felt relieved.

But then the abort light came right back on.

No need to panic,
I told myself. Alan and I waited for Mission Control to tell us what to do next. We were eventually instructed to continue flying around the Moon while Houston worked on a solution. So Alan and I continued on our orbital path.

When we were flying on the far side, I peered down at the eerie-looking craters with their intense black and white shadows and wondered what I’d gotten myself into. It was bad enough when we had so much trouble with Transposition and Docking. But now this. I knew Louise would know what was going on and I hoped she wasn’t worried. We’d solved problems before on our flight and I knew we’d solve this one too. I had faith. Plus, I knew the Lunar Module like the back of my hand, and this gave me confidence.

It was two in the morning in Houston and somebody had to come up with an idea right away.

Fortunately, the engineers at Mission Control phoned Don Eyles, the young, longhaired computer whiz from MIT in Massachusetts who had written all the guidance control software for the Lunar Module including the abort code. Don knew the program thoroughly, and just as the folks in Houston suspected, he was wide awake and paying close attention to the Apollo 14 mission.

After discussing the problem with MC, Don came up with the idea of reprogramming the Lunar Module’s onboard computer so it would be instructed to ignore the abort signal. Don got right to work; he had less than two hours to write out a whole new code and get us out of this terrible jam. To make sure his idea was sound, Don wisely tested the code in the Lunar Module simulator at the MIT lab. It worked.

Don gave the new code sequence to Mission Control in Houston, who then relayed the new code to me. As I listened to the numbers being called out to me, I ever so carefully keyed them into our computer. I didn’t have time to panic, lose control, or mess up. I had to get it right and there couldn’t be a single mistake. I calmed down by telling myself,
This is just like a simulation. You can do this.

Once the new code was punched in, it worked exactly as we hoped it would. The abort signal light went off. But there was a big hitch. We realized that if we ever did need to escape, we no longer had an automatic abort system and we’d have to perform the abort sequence manually.

Another Close Call

The abort signal malfunction had slowed us down and time was running out. Our task was now to carefully begin the descent to the lunar surface at Fra Mauro. Everything was working. We were almost there.

But then something new went wrong.

Our landing radar, which indicated how close or far we were from the lunar surface, did not go on when it was supposed to. And we simply could not land the Antares without the landing radar. I could feel my adrenaline pumping, but I was the Lunar Module Pilot and it was my responsibility to handle this new ordeal. Alan looked over at me and we just shook our heads in disbelief. I knew Alan was a solid crewmate and was glad to be with him at this critical moment.

Alan had already made history as the very first American in space aboard the Mercury program Freedom 7 flight. But after that historic flight, Alan faced big setbacks that got in the way of his dreams. An inner ear disease had grounded him from flying for years until he had delicate inner ear surgery that corrected the problem. Once Alan was okay again, he was selected to be commander for Apollo 14. Like me, Alan truly wanted to walk on the Moon and he’d worked hard to get to this point. We were so close and we didn’t want something like failed landing radar to get in our way.

Mission Control was on it. Fred radioed and informed us that rewriting the abort signal computer code had, unfortunately, interfered with the landing radar. But without this radar we had no way to accurately determine our altitude above the surface. Our Fra Mauro landing site was a rugged area filled with craters, small hills, and valleys. Plus, Mission Control rules would not allow a landing without the radar. That’s just the way it was.

“Come on, radar!” I said as if it could hear. “Lock on!”

Mission Control came up with yet another solution: Fred told Alan to cycle the circuit breaker that provided power for the landing radar. Alan cycled the switch immediately.

“Come on!” I said again, almost commanding the radar to work.

And just like that, in the nick of time, the radar started up and locked in. We looked at our computers and could see we were headed exactly where we were supposed to be. We hadn’t gotten off course at all.