edgar-mitchell

Into the Vacuum 69
Though exhausted, rest would be at best fitful, as we had landed on a
slight incline. Always there was the sensation that the lunar module was
about to topple over, due to the slope and the lessened sense of “down.”
With only a sixth of normal gravitation tugging at the fabric of our bodies,
there was the phantom feeling of instability. This led to the tendency of
the imagination to run away with itself, though intellectually we knew
what caused this sensation, and that we were quite stable. But if Antares
did topple over, we would doubtless be stranded on the moon for the rest
of our brief lives, with only a few hours of oxygen and other vital supplies
at our disposal. Such thoughts produced a strange and subtle energy when
it came time to rest. Edgy half-dreams would surface. So we more or less
spent the night listening to the tiny sound of an occasional micrometeorite
colliding with our fragile home, our minds secretly turning over the knowledge
that we were the only two living creatures on this dead world. The
knowledge that survival was not guaranteed mingled with the exhilaration
of being the first to explore this place. Two extraterrestrials asleep in their
spaceship.
When it was time to arise a few hours later, we knew that our day was
centered around a trek to the rim of Cone Crater. We would command a
view that no humans had ever beheld: an ancient lunar crater 750 feet
deep and 1,100 feet across. A general fatigue from sleeplessness was surmounted
by thrilling anticipation. Again, we pulled on our extravehicular
equipment, depressurized the cabin of Antares, and walked into this
strangely lit world where sunlight left black shadows. We then loaded equipment
on the MET, or modular equipment transporter, consulted our checklist,
and set out for the rim of Cone Crater, the summit of which could be
seen on the eastern horizon.
We left Antares surrounded by a cluster of scientific equipment we had
assembled and placed in position, taking with us our MET, the first wheeled
vehicle on the moon. Stone Age technology somehow seemed fitting here:
The MET was a sort of wheelbarrow to be carried backwards, a rickshaw
with a single handle. As we set out for the summit, we would look back
from time to time to see the silvery pair of tire trails leading all the way
back to the spider legs of Antares. When looking toward the sun in the
strange glare of lunar light, the tire tracks looked like the greasy trails of
earthly slugs. The scene as a whole was so otherworldly, at once hauntingly
familiar and unfamiliar.
Embarking on a journey on the moon by foot was a more puzzling
experience than anyone had anticipated, certainly more difficult than could
be imagined by merely studying high-resolution photographs of the surface,
which were what we used to navigate by. Landmarks clearly depicted
on the photographs were obscured by larger than expected undulations of
the cratered surface. This was a terrific surprise. Though the area around