STS-93

Kennedy Space Center, FL

July 19, 1999

A recent business trip to Florida happened to coincide with the launch window for the Space Shuttle mission STS-93, and a colleague graciously shared his pass for a viewing site along the causeway, 8 miles south of the pad. We carpooled to the Cape, scanning the horizon anxiously for any glimpse of the shuttle. First we spotted the Vehicle Assembly Building, then the illuminated sky above the pad, then the gantry and tip of the external tank, peeking over low spots in the forest. Finally, as we crossed the bridge over the waterway, there was the shuttle, visible from the crawler up, awash in floodlight, pad 39B.

Oh yes!

We parked as directed, and began to set up for the 3+ hour wait until launch time. Being in town on travel and without the appropriate gear, we removed the seats from the minivan and relocated them along the shore. A game of frisbee and lots of conversation passed the time, and one of our group sat with a notebook, composing a talk for the next day. This was an event not to be missed because of work. Air Force One flew in behind us, and across the water we saw the motorcade headed closer toward the pad.

It was a beautiful night, clear and calm, and the stars filled the sky. This was a space shot.

As the last hold was completed and the count resumed, the crowd buzzed and photographers readied their cameras.
T-10, 9, 8, 7, ... and then nothing. A faulty sensor in the engine compartment had reported a hydrogen leak, and the launch was interrupted. The report came that the crew was making their egress, and the crowd took it as their cue to leave as well. Space would have to wait for 48 more hours.

July 21, 1999

Two days of heavy business followed. Word came that we'd try again to see the second attempt. Business kept us all busy, but a few coworkers who were not going saw how anxious I was and volunteered to clean up. As soon as the closing ceremony was wrapped up, I bolted. Quite unprofessionally, I ran through the convention center and down to the car waiting at the curb.

Out at the space center, traffic was lighter than the first night, a combination of scheduling and the hardship of 5 hours sleep per night. We were ushered into a parking space about half a mile from the first night, and hiked a little along the causeway to get an optimal view. The frisbee proved useful once again, at least until the field was choked by newly arriving cars and pedestrians (as we had likely done to those before us).

The sky had started off about half cloudy, with a receding thunderstorm to the west. As the lauch window approached, a cloud bank eased south, truncating the floodlight beams at the pad and heading torward us. In a few minutes the sky was completey covered. We listened in on the scanner of the group next to us. They were listening to the weather reports from the spotter plane flying around the space center. Thunderstorms off the coast were expected to clear to the south by launch time. The emergency return runway alternated between visible and obscured.

Launch Control checks the various systems, all report "go" except for weather, "no go at this time". The built-in hold at T minus five minutes is extended for weather. The spotter plane reports a thunderstorm building about 15 miles from the pad. The first report has its top at 15,000 ft. Ten minutes later it's at 28,000 ft, visible to us on the ground just to the east, and putting out lightning. It stops moving south and creeps west towards us. Launch control worries about lightning too close to the pad, and I worry about lightning too close to *us*. Lightning strikes within the safety threshold, so now now Control must wait for a fixed length of time without strikes before attempting launch. But the launch window, already extended once, is nearing its close. Control checks into extending the launch window a second time, but it proves impossible. It's about 2am when the scrub is announced and the crowd leaves, deeply disappointed though not surprised. Space will have to wait another 24 hours.

July 22, 1999

With some quick hallway meetings, a plan is figured out for the third attempt. With people heading their own ways after the conference, we all have to get there independently, then carpool from a meeting place near the base. The skies have passing showers, but it doesn't look too bad. After concluding work, a rental car is arranged, and we start packing the cargo van. We get everything loaded 5 minutes before the deadline and dash over to the car rental office just in time to catch the staff before closing. Then it's back to the hotel for a relaxed dinner (food has been at a minimum for a week now), and gathering of snacks and gear. This time, I pack my camera and scanner. The weather is improving, the pressure's off, and I know it's going to go. Again, visitor traffic is light, and we get a spot close to the spot we had the second night. I get the spotter plane radio frequency from another spectator, but tonight it's pretty quiet. Good. The sky is clear, and the stars are out, though there's some haze along the ground. An alligator (or perhaps a crocodile) swims by, and a dolphin occasionally surfaces. The time seems to pass quickly, and soon the countdown works its way through the built-in holds. It has to go this night or be delayed a month or more.

The last 5 minutes fly past, and at T minus 10 seconds the ignition sparks are visible as a bright yellow glow to the naked eye. At T-4, a dark cloud billows up silently in front of the pad. SRB ignition! Yellow light evelops the pad, backlighting the cloud from the main engines. Then the yellow spreads outward, and the shuttle emerges from behind the cloud on a tail of flame five times longer than itself. It climbs agonizingly slowly, and the sky turns from midnight to artificial dawn as the shuttle rolls and starts heading east. Forty seconds after ignition, the sound reaches us, a muted roar accented by crackling and pops. The sky darkens again quickly as the shuttle heads into thinner air, now just visible as the flame. Shortly, SRB burnout and separation is announced, and the the two points of light that are the booster's nozzles diverge to either side of the bright dot of the main engines. It's now downrange so far that it appears to be headed back toward the horizon. It fades out in the haze one minute before main engine cutoff.

Space at last!

All photos © William Adams. Click on the image for a larger version. Anticipation builds as the launch approaches.
The shuttle Columbia poised on pad 39B.
The silent liftoff!
The shuttle climbs, bringing an artificial dawn to the Cape.