Earthrise (2 page)

“We’re ready to go!” I said.

Full of anticipation, Alan and I undocked the two spacecraft and backed the Antares out into the black sea of space. It felt like being in a small boat that had been set free from a large ship in the chilling darkness of night. But we were carefully and precisely heading toward our destination.

Stu was now completely alone in the Kitty Hawk, where his job was to fly the spacecraft above us as he orbited the Moon. Stu would be busy taking photographs of the lunar surface and keeping a watchful eye as he awaited our return.

Looking at the Moon through the window of the Antares was thrilling and unlike anything I’d ever experienced. I could see the vivid dark and light shadows of the Moon’s many craters and its rocky, barren terrain that stretched for miles. It was hard to believe I was so close to the big white orb I’d looked at my entire life.

Although excitement filled the cabin, being onboard this mini-spacecraft was a challenge. It was so small that Alan and I had to stand up for almost everything. We stood up to fly the craft. We stood up to communicate with Mission Control. And we stood up to work and eat.

Our flight plan and descent to the Moon were very specific and highly detailed. After detaching from the Kitty Hawk, we were to orbit the Moon about two times to make sure everything was going as planned and all our instruments were working perfectly. Fortunately, we knew a Moon landing was possible because four astronauts had already walked on the Moon. Apollo 11 astronauts Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin had landed at a site called the Sea of Tranquility, and Apollo 12 astronauts Pete Conrad and Alan Bean had landed at the Ocean of Storms.

Now it was our turn. Alan and I were going to set down our craft in a beautiful area of the Moon called the Fra Mauro Highlands. This would be our celestial home for about two days.

Everything was functioning exactly as it was supposed to, but then something suddenly went wrong. As we flew our craft in a low orbit about 10 miles above the Fra Mauro region, a bright red light flashed on our control panel. The light delivered a straightforward, no-nonsense message: Abort! Abort!

Alan and I were stunned. Why was our spacecraft telling us to abort? Were we supposed to head back and return to Stu? After all this time and effort, was the Antares telling us to give up and go home?

My scientific mind went into overdrive as I tried to diagnose the problem. I quickly realized there were three potential scenarios. One, we would land on the Moon after solving the problem. Two, we would crash on the Moon. Or three, we would abort the mission and return to the Kitty Hawk never having set foot on the Moon.

But we’d flown nearly a quarter of a million miles to get here and we were extremely close to landing. I couldn’t imagine failing now.

Alan and I started an intense conversation with our CAP-COM, Fred Haise, in Mission Control. I felt my heart pound and wondered what the NASA doctors thought about my heart rate, which was constantly being monitored. I took a deep breath and focused my mind.

WHAT’S UP WITH THE MOON?

Formed nearly 4.5 billion years ago, the Moon is about 2,000 miles across and has an airless environment with no wind or weather and extreme temperatures ranging from +250 degrees Fahrenheit to -380 degrees Fahrenheit. The Moon’s surface consists primarily of anorthosite (the light-colored areas), and its many craters were formed from the bombardment of countless asteroids, comets, and meteorites over time. Some of these craters filled with lava that cooled to form basalt. The dark areas on the Moon are similar to the rocks of Hawaii.

About 240,000 miles from Earth, the Moon is Earth’s only natural satellite. It has one-sixth the gravitational pull of our planet and directly affects the continual rise and fall of Earth’s sea levels and tides.

The same side of the Moon always faces our planet, and it takes the Moon about one month to orbit Earth. Depending on its position in relation to the Sun and Earth, the Moon goes through monthly phases including: new moon, waxing crescent, first quarter, waxing gibbous, full moon, waning gibbous, last quarter, waning crescent, and new moon. When the Sun, Earth, and Moon are in exact alignment, the Earth blocks the reflected sunlight from the Moon and a lunar eclipse occurs. A harvest moon is a full moon that is seen closest to the date of the autumn equinox in the Northern Hemisphere, and a blue moon is the name for the second full moon in one month.

During the Apollo Moon missions, a large cache of nearly 840 pounds of Moon rocks was brought back to Earth.

We were told there was a computer malfunction in our spacecraft and a young computer whiz named Don Eyles at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology in Boston was going to help solve the problem. Don had designed the craft’s original computer software and knew the system better than anyone. In the meantime, Alan and I were directed to continue to orbit the Antares around the Moon and then wait to hear what to do next.

As we carefully flew the Antares around to the far side of the Moon, we had a complete communication blackout with Mission Control. We worried about what else might go wrong. Would we run out of fuel? Would we be able to solve this malfunction? Would we make it?

As I looked out my window again, the surface of the Moon now seemed foreboding and even a bit frightening. Minutes passed by like hours. But with my long career as a navy pilot, a test pilot, and now as an astronaut, I felt certain I could handle what was happening. In fact, I felt 100 percent wired to take on this otherworldly challenge. I knew that every experience of my life, step by step by step, from my childhood until now, had prepared me for this moment.

Would Alan and I ever walk on the Moon?

Time would tell.

From Big skies to Buck Rogers

“Looking at these stars suddenly dwarfed my own troubles and all the gravities of terrestrial life. I thought of their unfathomable distance, and the slow inevitable drift of their movements out of the unknown past into the unknown future.”

—H. G. Wells,
The Time Machine
(1895)

I
was born in a small stucco home on September 17, 1930, in the quiet rural town of Hereford, Texas. Hereford is located in the northern area of the state referred to as the Texas Panhandle. I was the first son of three children, and my grandmother, Josephine Arnold, helped my mother, Ollidean Mitchell, bring me into this world. My father’s name was Joseph Thomas, but everyone called him JT.

Some people say everything is “big” in Texas, and as far as landmass, that’s true. But as a child, what looked incredibly big to me was the sky, which loomed large above the Texas prairies and plains.

The night sky was a spectacular sight because there were so many glistening stars. Sometimes on warm summer evenings my dad and I would sit on the porch or head out to the nearby farm fields to stargaze. As we walked among the lightning bugs and listened to the hum of the crickets, we’d stare up at the sky and watch for shooting stars. If I were lucky enough and saw one streak across the sky, I’d holler out, “Look, Dad! I see one!”

It wasn’t easy to find constellations in the star-speckled Texas sky, but if I tried I could usually find the Big Dipper and the Canis Major formations. And when the Moon was full and looked like an enormous dinner plate suspended in space, I would always look for the Man in the Moon.

Little did I know that one day I would be a man
on
the Moon.

Sparky, Oscar, and a Herd of Herefords

My family moved from Texas to New Mexico in 1935. I was only five years old, and I now had a younger sister named Sandra. The four of us, my mom, dad, Sandra, and I, packed all our bags and belongings into our black 1929 Buick coupe. Sandra and I sat in the car’s rumble seat as we headed due west about 170 miles to the small town of Roswell, New Mexico, located in the Pecos Valley.

In Roswell we lived on a small 100-acre farm that had elm and cottonwood trees, roses, a windmill, and a picket fence to keep cows from wandering into our yard. The Berrendo Creek ran through our property and provided us with delightful swimming holes during the rainy season. Our home was a simple brown clapboard farmhouse with a living room, a kitchen that had an icebox and a wood-burning stove, two bedrooms, a sleeping porch, and a bathroom. My mom always grew a vibrant vegetable garden in one corner of our yard. I loved our little home.

The Pecos Valley was an exciting world of rolling hills, prairies, pastures, rivers, streams, caverns, and canyons just fit for adventure. There were always plenty of things to do and places to explore in this rugged but beautiful Southwest terrain.

Over the years I grew up surrounded by many different types of farm animals and pets. I had a Shetland pony named Sparky, and my all-time favorite pet was a small black-and-white terrier I named Oscar. Oscar was a great little dog and would follow me wherever I went—around the house, out to the fields, out to the barn, the corral, or even into town. Oscar’s favorite trick was racing across the yard, jumping up onto our propane tank, and then taking a flying leap for as far as he could go. It never ceased to amaze me.

When I was about 10, Dad gave me a steer to feed and raise, and I felt grown up because he trusted me with so much responsibility. At the time I was a member of the local 4-H Club, which was a club for farm kids in the area. The four Hs stood for head, heart, hands, and health. Every year, the other 4-H members and I would take our groomed horses, calves, cows, steers, bulls, lambs, pigs, sheep, and goats to the Roswell County Fair where we’d auction off and sell our livestock to the highest bidders. Although it was always a good time and there were rides like Ferris wheels and merry-go-rounds, the county fair helped introduce me to the cattle business, which was my dad’s line of work.

Growing Up

As a boy, my world was one of hot dusty days, wide-open spaces, farmland, fences, barns, horses, and cattle as far as you could see. I grew up in cattle country.

My dad was a third-generation cattle rancher, and along with my grandfather and my two uncles, our family eventually owned a fairly large ranch where about 200 Hereford cows and calves, and a few young bulls, roamed and grazed.

But cattle ranching didn’t start out easy for the Mitchell family.

My grandfather lost everything he owned during the Great Depression, which started in 1929 and lasted about 12 years in this country. Grandpa lost his home, his farm, all his cattle, and all his money. It was an incredibly tough economic time for nearly everyone in the United States; jobs were scarce, poverty was rampant, and severe drought and dust storms made farming impossible at times.

But unlike some people, Grandpa didn’t give up. He was a clever, hardworking man and started his career all over again working on the Santa Fe Railroad in Texas as a laborer. He worked on the railroad with my dad and my dad’s two brothers, Bill and George. Grandpa carefully saved all their earnings, and when he scraped together nine dollars he was able to buy one decent, healthy-looking heifer. It was a small step, but a nine-dollar step in the right direction.

Grandpa then turned around and traded the cow for a little more money so he could buy a few more heifers. By starting small and buying and selling cows, he slowly and methodically built up his cattle business all over again.

Grandpa had a great sense of humor and was spry at an older age. He eventually moved into the business of selling bulls, and his business buddies nicknamed him “Bull” Mitchell. Grandpa would trade his registered bulls to ranchers in return for cows and calves, and then my dad would help feed and raise the cows and calves before taking them off to market to sell.

Typical Farm Days

As a farm boy I was always busy helping my parents with whatever chores needed to be done. I remember many a hot, sweaty day milking cows, fixing tractors, or mowing, baling, and raking the hay. And although we had farmhands, I’d also help with big jobs like grinding up our tough, five foot tall Hegira grain and hauling it off to our feedlots.

Most of the time, wherever I was, I looked like a typical cowboy. I wore a wide-brimmed Stetson hat, a long-sleeved denim shirt to protect my face and arms from the scorching sun, and khaki trousers. While riding our horses, I often wore chaps to protect my legs from saddle burn as well as the thick brush on our ranch. And I usually had on cowboy boots, which made it easy to move my feet in and out of the stirrups.