From the Road – Page 25

“A Telescope Opens the Mind to a Larger World”

“A Telescope Opens the Mind to a Larger World”
A TEDx talk for TEDx Frontrange, Loveland, Colorado
22 May 2014

In April of last year I was in rural Tanzania, working on a documentary film about Astronomy, how it opens the mind to a larger world.

I was fortunate to meet Chuck from the US and Mponda from Tanzania at a secondary school outside of Arusha. Through the organization Telescopes to Tanzania, they introduce hands-on science education to the classroom.

Following a series of interviews with both teachers and students, I was packing my gear when a young learner Catherine said, “Sir, may I ask you a few questions?”

I had just risen from my chair to break down my camera and tripod, and seated myself again, “Yes, of course.”

Catherine asked “Is it true, … that we live outside the Earth and not in it?”

I smiled, I almost laughed. I pointed out the window at the sun and clouds of the pending storm as assurance we were not underground. But Catherine was quite serious. Mponda, who was seated to my left, nodded, saying, “This is a serious question. You need to answer it.”

I said, “I apologize. Can you please repeat your question.”

She made the shape of a ball with her hands and asked, “Do we live on top of the ball or inside it?”

Now I didn’t know if I should laugh or cry, but I realized that she was talking about celestial spheres—an ancient concept in which the Sun, Moon, planets, and stars are all reside on multiple sphere of some unknown substance, that the entire universe is contained in a very small ball.

I confirmed that we do in fact live “on the ball” and that the Earth is in orbit around the sun, and that our sun orbits the center of our galaxy. And she was relieved. and then went on to ask questions about how we predict the weather and if she could grow up to an airplane pilot.

Catherine had looked through a telescope just one month earlier, and it had got her thinking, asking questions. Now, she was craving more. I assumed she had missed a few lectures, or was not paying attention in class.

I later interviewed a geography teacher who having looked through a telescope for the first time a year earlier, saw the moons of Jupiter in the eyepiece. He recognized that they were in orbit, like the Earth around the Sun. It was then that he realized we live outside of the Earth, not inside it.

He sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest, “I see now that the other planets move around our Sun too, and our Sun orbits around the center of our galaxy. The galaxies,” he laughed the laugh of one who is about to say something profound, “there are so many galaxies we can’t even count them all,” he continued, “It makes me realize how very small we are.”

The phrase, “I see how small we really are,” was repeated over and over again by those I interviewed during the making of this film.

Elvirdo, a secondary learner in South Africa shared, “At first I thought that the Moon was inventing its own light. Then I learned the Moon is an object which reflects light and I wondered, where does this light come from?”

Willie, a retired psychologist and astronomer in upstate New York expressed, “The kids were blown away by what they could see through the telescope. If that can kindle some interest in science, then we have really done something.”

Laure, a French PhD Astronomer at UCT shared, “Unlike a microscope which helps us look to the parts of which we are made, a telescope helps us see something much bigger, the greater universe of which we are a part.”

Why does any of this matter?

We wake up in the morning, pour a cup of coffee, drive to school or the office. Eight hours later we head to the gym or return home again, eat dinner, catch-up on Facebook and watch a few videos on YouTube. Day after day, week after week, year after year, we do this over and over again.

Knowing how the Universe was formed 13.5 billions years ago does not change the fact that our phone bills are due and taxes must be paid by April 15.

Let’s consider that right here, at the edge of this stage the earth just stopped. If I take one more step, I will drop off and never come back. What if beyond the western slope of the Rocky Mountains or off the coast of California there was a drop from which you would never return.

That world is filled with fear.

What if our entire world was in fact contained within a crystalline ball beyond which we could never travel? How would the stories we tell our children differ? What would be our hope for the future?

Fortunately, the work of Galileo, Haley and Newton proved the Earth is not contained within a celestial sphere, and that indeed, we are very small.

Astronomy is unique in that it engages all of the other sciences.

When we look through a telescope we engage engineering and physics for what we see and how we see it. Telescopes make use of some of the most advanced technology on the planet.

When we look to our closest neighbor Mars we see polar caps and massive dust storms; what we believe to be ancient river beds and deep, carved canyons. Geology helps us understand what may have happened there based upon what we know happened here, on Earth.

We look to the light of distant stars shining through nebulae and recognize the chemical signature of the elements we have here on Earth.

Did you know that ten years ago we sent a spacecraft through the tail of a comet and discovered an amino acid. To date, we have discovered more than 1800 planets in orbit around distant stars. We are able to analyze their atmospheres for chemical composition and average temperature.

Now, we are talking about biology and the potential that life is not unique to our home planet. In fact, it may not even have originated here at all!

There are an estimated 11 billion Earth-like planets in our galaxy alone, and more than 100 billion galaxies in this universe. It is impossible to have this discussion without discussing philosophy.

I want to share with you a short film segment that inspired this story.

To be clear, a lack of understanding for our place in the cosmos is not unique to sub-Saharan Africa or those in under privileged school systems, but around the world with the highly educated too.

In your lifetime, we will become an interplanetary species, living, working, even reproducing on the planet Mars. This journey started 400 years ago with a very simple instrument.

I encourage you to make time to look through a telescope, and then embrace those conversations that unfold.

Thank you.

By Kai Staats|2023-03-06T16:43:20-04:00May 22nd, 2014|At Home in the Rockies, Critical Thinker, Humans & Technology|0 Comments

Homeless in Cape Town, part II

If the hippie generation were considered nearly extinct in the narrow coastal regions of the Western U.S., a derivative species prospers here in Cape Town. The rolling, white froth of waves which took form from swells hundreds of meters off shore tease from a late morning slumber those whose dreadlocks long for a salt shower.

The homeless population is omni-present too, sleeping in the doorways of restaurants and surf shops, and between stone walls whose cavities reduce the constant wind to a loud whisper.

I am unable to walk to the AIMS research centre without at least one, usually two people asking for food, money, or clothing. I give what I can, but in return I receive something too.

With the shake of a hand, the lowering of my glasses in order to make eye contact, and a polite application of sir or ma’am, I capture their stories.

Last night, a homeless man sat next to me on the long, blue wooden bench at the train station in Observatory. He talked to himself, as many people living on the street seem to (I am certain I would as well, over time), as we waited for the next, last train to return to Muizenberg. With the ticket office closed, there is no fee for the last run. A number of homeless men (and some women) find transport at this time.

He pulled from a large plastic bag four pairs of shoes: sneakers, white and black running shoes, and another pair I did not see clearly. He settled on the black shoes, placing the others back in the bag.

We sat there, without speaking or eye contact for at least ten minutes. It felt awkward to me so I broke the silence, “How was your day?”

He hesitated, still talking to himself, it seemed. He then looked up and offered a few words. His Afrikaans accent was thick and what’s more, he had a pen cap held between his lips on the right side of his mouth. I nodded, agreeing with whatever it was that he said. Then my ears and brain adjusted, as they do when I live abroad, and the rhythm of his words felt more familiar. I picked up the start of each phrase, then words, then meaning.

He removed the pen cap from his lips and we were communicating.

With my probing, his story unfolded. I nearly reached for my cell phone to record his words as the depth and meaning came clear to me. What he shared was important, for it told the story of so many people of this land.

He is working temp jobs, project to project, as a grounds keeper, painter, and carpenter in training. He has worked primarily for one man, in Cape Town, where he is given food, some clothing, and payment in Rand. He wants to open a bank account, to learn how to manage his budget, but has not yet had enough to make that happen.

I asked if he had a family. His eyes opened wider and he leaned a bit closer, while still at the opposite side of a long bench. I turned my shoulders and chest toward him, unfolded my arms to let him know I was fully listening.

“Yes. I have a son. He was born in 2006, so now he is … he is …

[he calculated the years] eight years old.”

“Wonderful,” I responded.

The man smiled for the first time, continuing, “My son, what a beautiful boy. I love his so very much. He is just eight years old, but already so clever. He, he can take my cell phone and already figure it out. No one taught him this, he just, he just knows,” nodding.

“He sounds very smart indeed.” He paused for a bit, looking at his shoes then back to me, “We were to have another child, but … but he was still-born.”

“I am so sorry. I can’t imagine the pain of that for both of you.”

“Yes, yes it was very … difficult for us.”

There was a lull. He fidgeted with his shoulder bag and I with the buttons on my cargo pant pockets. Then he continued.

“His mother and I, we want to be married. I want to marry that woman for I love her very much. We lived together, but she made me to leave. I smoke cigarettes and drink beer and will not have me.”

I listened. He continued.

“I go to church. Every Sunday. I want to be a man of God. We are all people of God, you know, but I want to do his will, to do right for my son and his mother. Some day, I will come back to her ready for marriage. I promised her this … and I will. Some day … some day …” and he trailed off, talking to himself again as much as me.

He nearly had tears in his eyes, as did I. We pushed them back with a smile. He knew the challenges, he set his goals, and he is working to achieve them. But kicking alcohol and smoking are not simple processes, and no amount of attending church will cure him of these.

Again, I see patterns of basic human behaviour, which will never be correctly assessed nor managed. Addiction. Self-medication. Dealing with the pain and fear of life on the edge. How many times has he come to this realization but without guidance, without an example in his life, how can anyone know what to do next?

We boarded the train and sat across from each other.

He told me about the area where his son and his son’s mother live. A very bad part of the cape where the gangs have control. He told me that if he lived there, he would be forced to join a gang. He chose to live away from them, seeing them only on the weekends, in order to focus on earning money which he sends to them, when he can. He will see both on Saturday, for the first time in a few weeks.

He made a good choice. I was impressed, given his circumstances.

In asked, “You said you attend church often, correct?”

“Yes, yes. That I do. It is a good church. But I never tell the pastor my story. I don’t want for him to know. I only want to pray, to ask God for guidance.”

“I understand. That is very humble of you.”

“Thank you sir.”

“May I ask, however, if your church has programs to help people like you, who want to improve their life?” He did not understand my words for we had just pulled out of the station and the train was very noisy, my accent certainly foreign to him. I repeated.

“I really don’t know. I have not asked. What is this you say?”

“I don’t know about here, for I have just arrived, but some churches in the US have programs to help people like you, people without a home and a struggling family, to improve their position.”

“Oh? I did not know this.”

“I cannot promise, of course, but it might be worth asking.”

“Ok. Ok. I will ask my pastor. He does not know my story.”

I concluded, “You are a good storyteller and your story is worth telling. Tell him, as you humbly told me, ask for nothing, and simply see what he says.”

“I will do this my brother. I hope to see you next time I ride the train.” He rose from his seat, shoulder bag and plastic bag of shoes, and departed at that stop.

I forgot to ask his name.

By Kai Staats|2017-04-10T11:17:36-04:00May 15th, 2014|2014, Out of Africa|0 Comments

Humbled by the Waves

Enjoyed an apartment-warming lunch with a few of my classmates today: Lise, Michelle and her husband (my tutor) Emile, and Adriaan and Huly from AIMSEC.

Then I went surfing—and got my ass handed to me on a salty platter. Beat up. Smacked by my board. Smacked by the waves. Tumbled to the point of confusion. Just when I thought I was figuring it out, I could not even stand up. Bigger, faster than anything I had been in before, and I was once more a beginner.

I came into the beach, watching the experts, contemplating my ineptitude when my surfing instructor William walked up. He has beach blonde hair, dark skin, and bright blue eyes that seem to glow of their own accord. He is a prankster who loves a good story, shared or received. “Mister Kai! How are you today?” His whimsical, Afrikaans accent mixed with a jovial attitude always makes me smile.

I responded, “I fear I have forgotten everything you have taught me.”

“Young man, just what seems to be the problem?” He loves to taunt me with ‘young man’ to which I respond with ‘sir’ and the cycle continues.

I explained where I was failing. On the beach, he drew diagrams in the sand and walked me through a few adjustments in my stance, position on the board, and means of getting out, through the waves.

He had a free hour so we got back in the water and I followed him out, to the back line. I was exhausted, my arms without feeling. I got tossed, smacked, and tumbled. I paddled for fifteen minutes, maybe more. It was the fact that he did not wait for me, but sat comfortably on his board, always 30 meters ahead of me, waving, that I kept going. Later, he admitted to this tactic, and laughed.

William said, “Mister Kai! It’s time to stop drinking the Appleteiser and drink beer with the boys! You made it to the backline for the first time. Congratulations!” He shook my hand, both of us sitting on our boards a good 200 meters off-shore. I thought I was going to lose my lunch.

After a few minutes rest, I caught a wave (just barely) and rode it half way in. One of the seasoned pros rode a dozen waves to my one, flipping 360 over and over again on the crest. I went back out again, just once more, and then I was done. I rode a wave to shore, resting on my belly. I never tire of the sensation of flying over the water, a light mist spraying my face. The power of the water can destroy you, or carry you with a sense of grace.

By Kai Staats|2017-04-10T11:17:36-04:00April 27th, 2014|2014, Out of Africa|0 Comments

LIGO, A Passion for Understanding

Inspired by the LIGO Scientific Collaboration, funded by the California Institute of Technology LIGO, A Passion for Understanding celebrates the dedication of who have worked for nearly three decades on a single science experiment. In this film, we witness the installation of instruments designed to prove the last piece of Einstein’s theory of general relativity, and come to understand what scientific discovery means for us all.

Tactics for Productivity in a Distracting World

1) Exercise for at least 30 minutes each morning. This induces an increased metabolism, oxygenation of blood, focus and creative output for up to four hours.

2) Drink (a lot of) water, juice, or tea. Low sugar content. No caffeine if you can help it.

3) Have within your reach, readily available, low-calorie snack foods you can eat all day (unflavored popcorn, low-carb crackers (digestives), grapes, apple slices, etc.).

4) Turn off Facebook, Twitter, and email. Work off-line as much as possible. Sketch with a pen or pencil as much as your work will allow. Experiment with various forms of music to learn which ones support reading, research, writing, math, art, and organization / composition / publication.

5) Get up and move every 20-30 minutes. Walk around the room. Look out the window. Run a flight of stairs–unless you are in a really good grove–then keep going!

6) Switch locations when all focus is gone. Find a couch and curl up with your laptop. Head to a cafe. Sit on the beach with your notebook. Anything to bring a positive outlook back to your work paradigm.

7) If frustration / anger enter the game, do physical exercise which invokes limited pain to relieve the angst: yoga stretches, push-ups, sit-ups, pull-ups on door jams–until the frustration is simply worn out.

8) Choose from your list of tasks based upon how you feel, what looks interesting. If you force yourself to do something that does not feel right, chances are it will not get done no matter how hard you try. In the end, you’ll beat yourself up for not doing it, only adding to the downward spiral. Embrace what you can do, what your brilliant mind is capable of in that moment, and build patterns of self-praise in order to build capacity for total, quality, creative output and subsequent joy.

9) Choose activities after work / outside of school which support a strong, focused start the next day. Each and every day is just too damn important to waste a single morning, afternoon or night not fully engaged. Personally, no social activity is worth the loss of even an hour of the next day for that could be THE day in which I write my best poem or make a cognitive leap toward the end goal of my research … or invent something that truly helps humanity. Why take the risk that I may miss that opportunity?

10) Give yourself permission to just walk away. It is sometimes better to not push through a period of total distraction or lack of focus, but to embrace that part of your day as available for something totally new. Go for a swim, a run, or to your favourite cafe. Go home early, take a hot bath, watch a movie, bake a batch of cookies or fresh bread. You’ll have a fresh start the next day, clean and clear and ready to dive in again.

By Kai Staats|2017-04-10T11:17:36-04:00April 6th, 2014|The Written|0 Comments

Kalk Bay, a photo essay

The intensity of the sun and nearly silent wind inspires locals and tourists to this seaside town for what may be one of the last warm days of autumn. Shop owners stand by the front door, encouraging passers-by to venture inside for a drink, lunch, or a look around. Homeless kids welcome those with full stomach back onto the streets, asking for something to warm their insides in turn. Some simply point to their belly, their face and gestures needing no words. Others rattle sand and pebbles in an empty soda bottle, singing “Oh when the saints go marching in” out of tune and a few stanzas confused. Like fish in the sea, when one received food, the others swarm, begging, sometimes taking without asking from their friends.

The closest beach to downtown lies below the arch supported train bridge, at the bottom of the marina. That day the beach was used primarily by blacks and coloureds. A white man walked across the top, just behind me and to the left, saying “I don’t understand Why they don’t erect a fence, to keep those kids out. Just look at them.” Tents and umbrellas sheltered parents who keep careful watch over their children a play. Chicken and burgers grill over open coal fires, the smell of a meal in preparation enough to call those who wade play to shallower water. A seal breaches just off shore, a child laughs and tries to splash it. Too late, for the seal submerges again, releasing its breath an incredible distance from where it was last spotted.

I stood from my kneeling position after taking a photo of a girl sitting among the sandstone formations (above) when a man with two small girls approached me. He asked for two or three minutes of my time. I assumed he would soon ask for money, the children a ploy. I didn’t mind the conversation, so I invited him to continue as we walked together, his young girls running forward and then waiting, criss-crossing between our legs once we caught up with them again.

He asked if there was money to be made in photography. “No,” I answered honestly, “it is far, far too hard a business to break into. I would not recommend it to anyone at this time. Too many people with high quality cameras, even if they are not the best photographers, they make it work.”

He continued, sharing his vision for a photography exhibition which tells the story of his people, the Malay, who were brought to this continent as slaves more than two hundred years ago. We continued to walk and I was engaged. I kept waiting for his request for money, but it never came. I asked questions. He shared. I learned a great deal. He was direct and well informed, his historic research impressive, to me.

I recognized the coincidence, that he should have approached me, one who is always seeking this very kind of story. As we neared the end of the beach I explained that I am documentary film maker and am interested in continuing the conversation. We exchanged contact information. I encouraged him to record his story in the coming weeks in order that we might prepare a rough script.

I then asked why he approached me. He answered, “I watched you, how you photographed. You took your time … that’s all.” Perhaps the story of his people displaced will generate something more far reaching than what he intended when he approached me. We’ll see …

By Kai Staats|2017-04-10T11:17:36-04:00March 29th, 2014|2014, Out of Africa|0 Comments

Blue Jeans and Cell Phones, From L.A. to Cape Town

Blue jeans remain the prevalent trouser. Indians, Canadians, French, and South Africans too, they all wear blue jeans. I wonder if there was ever such an international attire before denim?

A boy of three or four years of age opens a clamshell toy. There are four primary buttons, each of which cause a different song to play. A synthesized female voice speaks Chinese, and he responds. Some of the songs are what I assume to be of Chinese origin, some of European tradition, classical music which I do not recognize.

I close my laptop and watch him. He notices. His father sees that I am paying attention and directs the boy to share his toy with me. I hold my hands, palms up, waiting. He walks toward me but does not fully engaged. He plays four songs successively, each for only a few seconds. I see that our exchange may be rather limited, so I played music from my cell phone, a kind of call and response. For a moment I was reminded of the musical exchange in “Close Encounters of a Third Kind” but neither I nor the boy were willing to climb on-board the alien ship, it seemed.

A man sat across from my, carrying nothing but a candy bar style cell phone. Mid-thirties, European I believe, he reminded me of the robber I encountered in Paris, casually dressed with shiny, pointed shoes. I watched him as he looked out the glass wall to my left. Every now and again his eyes would glance at my two carry-on cases, one of which contained my Canon C100 camera, the other my lenses and 60D. Combined, there is roughly $15,000 in value. My instinct said I did not want to fall to sleep with this man in my presence, but logic said he was inside the security arena, meaning he would have had to purchase a ticket in order to steal and risk getting caught before his plane departed. Nonetheless, I packed my things and moved to another location, never revealing the contents of my Pelican case or shoulder bag.

Toddlers run like chimpanzees, their legs moving in small semi-circles more than direct, front to back motions as with adults. They attempt to keep up with their parents who better understand the urgency of making the departing gate on time.

The small woman behind the counter of a small cafe wore a tight, button down shirt. It seemed the buttons might pop from the outward pressure of her breasts. She did not smile, not even when thanked by her customers. I asked if she was having a good day and she answered honestly, “It’s ok. Just ok.”

I was again reminded of the mixed blessing and curse to have been born with English as my native language language as I could almost expect anyone selling anything in any major airport in the European Union and near East to understand my words. The downside being the reduced motivation to learn a second, third, or fifth language fluently, forever stuck in one way of seeing the world through one vocabulary and associated cultural context.

The airport in Istanbul was wonderfully devoid of power sockets, perhaps just one or two per gate waiting area. At the far end of each was a place where the carpet was replaced with tile flooring. A five man Capuera dance team was practicing. I recalled the lessons I took in Fort Collins a few years prior, and how much I enjoyed the new means by which my body could move. These guys were very good, successfully giving the roots of break-dancing a new birth.

Chinese, Japanese, Spanish, French, German, Dutch, Ethiopian, South African, Canadian and American (of the United States) all easily recognized by apparel, language, and physical interactions. Some rest in the chairs with legs open wide, full personal space taken while others minimize their presence, small, somewhat isolated. The Americans, when in groups, talking, talking, always talking. Easy to spot, most of the time.

A group of Asian men and women, very small in stature, sat in a double circle, barefoot, all facing out. They preferred the floor to the chairs provided, each of them wearing full body gowns on top of what I assume to be one more layers beneath. Deep red-brown skin weathered. Cracked lips and wrinkled eyes. Slight smiles which conveyed, to me, a depth of contentment more than a momentary impulse or temporarily delight.

In the Men’s toilet I was again reminded of personal rituals which seem to find foundation in cultural norms. I would never conceive to clear my nose in a public sink, and yet, this unfolded. Cup hands, splash face, blow nose. Three times followed by a quick padding of face and neck with paper towels. Not just one man, but a successive number, all the same routine. I had seen something like this in Kenya too, the Chinese construction engineers conducting a face and mouth washing routine which seemed to move in sets of three, loud and obnoxious by my standards, water splashed across the counter, mirror, and onto the floor.

I wonder if they, if any of us are truly aware of our own routines, some silent counting system in our heads telling us when we are complete. I have noticed that dogs and cats too tend to drink water in certain sets of laps, three or four quite common, if left uninterrupted.

On the plane a baby cries for what seemed like an hour. Her mother exhausted, uncertain what to do, sits down and just lets it go on. I kept thinking of this infant, lying in a wall mounted bin, unable to see her mother. The vibration of the engines and not so subtle movement of the total system certainly unfamiliar. The air pressure change alone is enough to make her scream, yet for me, the man snoring two seats to my rear is far less tolerable. I will take a crying child over snoring any day.

We are just an hour now from Johannesburg, South Africa, where this plane will stop but I will not depart. One final, third leg from Los Angeles to Cape Town, more than twenty four hours in flight, in all, another 6 in transit from Phoenix by road and six in lay-over in Istanbul.

I opened a printed novel for the first time since mid November and this, my second essay since the same time. In roughly three hours, I will land in my new home.

By Kai Staats|2017-04-10T11:17:36-04:00March 3rd, 2014|2014, From the Road, Out of Africa|0 Comments

MarsCrew134

Simulated off-world, isolated habitats (analogs) have been used by universities and government sponsored space programs for decades as a means of conducting astronaut training, psychological and food studies, and to test equipment and new technologies which will be used in real space programs.Since 2001 the Mars Society’s Mars Desert Research Station (MDRS) has hosted researchers, scientists, and engineers who work to test hypothesis, conduct simulated field work, and gain experience living and working in the physical and social confines of an analog.

Every minute of every day is spent in simulation—scientific experiments, exploration of the environment, food preparation, even delayed communication with the outside world is an analog of living on the planet Mars.

On January 18, 2014 a crew of six highly qualified scientists and engineers and one documentary film maker entered the Mars Desert Research Station (MDRS) in the high, winter desert near Hanksville, Utah, for the duration of two weeks.

Watch the films which document their experience …

By Kai Staats|2017-04-10T11:17:36-04:00February 1st, 2014|Film & Video|Comments Off

Bringing Mars Rover Design Down to Earth

As published by Space.com
January 29, 2014

Kai Staats, documentary filmmaker and member of the MarsCrew134 team, contributed this article to SPACE.com’s Expert Voices: Op-Ed & Insights.

I recall the first time I stepped into the red coveralls, pulled on the backpack, and with the help of a crew mate, closed the acrylic dome over my head to become part of MarsCrew134. Immediately, the sensation of a real expedition on the Martian terrain was suddenly made real. I could hear my own breathing, the cool air blowing across my face inside my helmet. The sound of those around me in the staging area was muffled and difficult to understand. Once outside, the glare of the Utah desert sun refracted in the scratches of the helmet’s visor, which has seen many Crews come and go over the years.

The Mars Desert Research Station (MDRS) is the second simulated Mars surface exploration habitat and analog research station, owned and operated by the Mars Society. Pioneered by Mars Society member Shannon Rupert, the society built MDRS outside of Hanksville, Utah, in the early 2000s.

NASA had used analogs for decades as a means of conducting research, testing equipment and conducting food and psychological tests to both improve methods of space travel and train astronauts — MDRS built upon that experience. In the years since Rupert envisioned the station, she has always remained fully engaged. Run entirely by a volunteer staff, it is a major endeavor, from managing the water supply, fuel, food, plumbing and generators to staffing a daily Mission Control from 7:00 p.m. to 9:00 p.m. every night. Each MDRS team delivers no less than 27 reports each day, measuring water consumption and fuel, and providing engineering, medical, and greenhouse updates.

When in the field, I knew the hardware we wore only moved outside air into our lungs — there was nothing but a mechanical connection between the helmet and the modest, home-built suits, worn and in need of repair. Yet, there was a certain excitement, an anticipation of the first, mock, extra-vehicular activity (EVA) of the day, which was amplified by the effort required to open the station’s airlock door.

I helped Ewan Reid, a Canadian electrical engineer, roboticist and member of MarsCrew134 configure the carrying deck of the RoadNarrows Kuon rover: a prototype, large-scale, multipurpose, wheeled, payload platform. The rover carried our payload, a laptop coupled with a pair of cameras that provide stereo vision for terrain mapping. Quarter-twenty bolts, zip-ties with mounting-holes, and kite string serve as mounting points and tie-downs for a machine capable of moving four hundred pounds at twenty miles per hour.

[Mock Mars Mission Photos: Life on a Simulated Red Planet ]

My gloves were thick (by design), making the use of any tools smaller than a hammer tricky — and tying knots in multi-strand, nylon cord nearly impossible. In our field excursion, the helmet visor fogged over and I was forced to wait for it to clear before completing the modification. We required more than one hour for what would have been fifteen minutes effort in a proper lab, or even a field exercise in which we were not wearing thick, simulated spacesuit gloves.

We powered on the rover, remote laptop and Xbox360 controller that served as the remote control for the rover, and … nothing. The Linux application which controls the rover provided by RoadNarrows yielded the proper response, echoing on-screen our controller key presses in succession, but the rover remained immobile.

Through hand radios, our stand-in for the remote communications that will be available to astronauts on Mars, Ewan and I discussed what we believed to be the cause of this lack of communication. We moved from hardware to operating system to application to driver, trying to determine the point of failure.

After a power cycle of both the hand-held laptop and the rover, the two hundred and seventy pound wheeled platform lurched forward with power to tow a truck (as RoadNarrows has demonstrated in the alley behind their Colorado shop). For safety, it is important to not stand near either end of this machine, for its shell is metal and wheels are designed to crawl over rough terrain.

The rover spun, hesitated and lurched forward with the push of the Xbox joystick, and then — nothing. No response, even after two power cycles. The harsh shadows of the setting sun alerted us to the little time remaining in the day, another come and gone too quickly on a simulated Mars.

Once inside the MDRS habitat — where we live, work, eat, and sleep — we communicated via email with RoadNarrows to learn the source of what is likely a wi-fi override, two devices fighting within the same frequency domain. The company instructed us on how to access the settings via the rover’s self-hosted website (the rover has its own on-board web interface), and we knew the next day we should be ready for a proper, long-range, terrain-mapping excursion.

This is field testing, where all solid systems break down and the real world steps in. This is why we are here. We cannot simply pick up our cell phones to call for assistance when there is a problem. We do not carry network-enabled tablets, nor can we overnight a part from Amazon. Outside of analogs in the polar regions, this is as real as it gets.

After the excursion, Reid and I manually rolled the rover back to its parking spot outside the green habitat and returned to the airlock, toolbox and laptops in hand. Twenty minutes later, the entire crew was walking around in indoor slippers, light shoes and flip-flops, greeting each other to learn about research and plans for the evening.

This is not faked. This is not a scripted story. This is not pretend. Each and every day we engage in real research with real challenges. Each day we learn something through our own projects, and through those of our colleagues.

The Mars Desert Research Station may be an analog, but it generates an opportunity for learning like few others on Earth … until we someday arrive at Mars.

To learn more about MarsCrew134, visit www.marscrew134.org.

By Kai Staats|2017-04-10T11:17:36-04:00January 30th, 2014|From the Road|0 Comments

Supernova SN2014J, a photo essay

A photo of the supernovae in the galaxy M82, taken my last night at MDRS, Musk Observatory. Three hours setup, alignment, hunting, and experimentation with the camera. If the scope was tracking properly, I would have preferred a 5-10 minute exposure at a lower ISO. This is 1600 ISO and 1 minute. Not bad, for 3:30 am.

By Kai Staats|2021-02-09T00:47:05-04:00January 2nd, 2014|Ramblings of a Researcher|Comments Off

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