Climbing the Walls

One of the functions of weather is to remind us about the indoor chores we've been neglecting. Today was no exception, as rain and mud once again scuttled our EVA plans, forcing us to spend the morning on psych evaluations. Psych is one of those irritating activities that real astronauts have to put up with constantly. How do extreme environments affect motor skills, or short-term memory, or your opinions about your crewmates and life in general? The skill tests make you feel stupid, and the questionnaires are phrased in confining ways, so you end up feeling not only vaguely insulted, but also forced to give a skewed account of yourself.

"How eager are you to leave this mission? Very, Somewhat, or Not At All?" There's no space to write in, "I'm having a blast, but I miss my wife and kids and there's a mountain of work piling up at the office." There's no way to tell the test that the days are weirdly long here, and the weeks weirdly short. Is it Day 8 already? Really? And remember that conversation we had the other day? It was two hours ago. The data that Psych collects may fit nicely into their graphs and theories, but I'm here to tell you, there's something essential and important about the experience that they're failing to capture. Extreme environments are about more than just reaction time. They get inside you.

Which is why we had mixed feelings when Day 7's rain continued off and on throughout the night, leaving the ground two inches deep in slimy mud. This desert doesn't lack for rain -- not in the spring, anyway -- but it lacks absorbency. The water forms a layer of wet clay at the surface that acts like a carpet of Saran Wrap, locking out any deeper soaking. Any additional moisture just rolls off. Mud oozes and slides, burying seeds and animal burrows, keeping the landscape lifeless. Which is good for purposes of the Mars Society, except that we'd really like to get outside and EXPLORE the landscape.

Our plan -- not a silly one as such things go -- was to let the morning sun and wind dry the soil back into a hard crust, so we could finally, finally EVA back up to the Rockpile and put the Remote Radio back in service. But just as we were finishing lunch, another squall line swept in from the southeast like a wall of hard rain, and the weather report was calling for "scattered showers" from here on out. Damn.

To pass the time, Bill and Alex repaired Backpack 6, while Julie experimented with the crockpot and bread machine and Peter cultured wastewater samples downstairs in the lab. As for myself, I spent the afternoon helping Jim in the GreenHab, an area I'd previously spent very little time in.

Jim Russell is a walking contradiction -- a former lifeguard and avid surfer/skier who likes things sanitary. But also likes sewage. A lot. With half an invitation Jim will talk your ear off about suspended solids and anaerobic bacteria, not because he's a bore but because his generous nature compels him to share all the best of what he has. Day after day, Jim expresses a serious concern that he's hogging all the sewage duty, keeping the rest of us from getting elbow deep in the slime tanks and really FEELING what wastewater treatment is all about. You've got to love this guy.

So anyway, yeah, I figured this was probably a good day to try my hand at the one bit of MDRS I knew nothing about. Unfortunately, the GreenHab was sick, and it reeked. Jim didn't mind the smell, but complained that it isn't the RIGHT smell, because the tanks and filters all had open tops, and the light that fell on them was encouraging algae growth. And algae are bad. In theory they produce oxygen, but they also float, and like mud they form an impenetrable slime, which prevents the tank water from interacting with the air above it. So our chore for the day was to scoop all the "bio balls" (plastic cat-toy-like objects of high surface area) out of the trickling filters and wash them in a solution of clean water and bleach, so the tanks could start clean when Jim turned the system back on with lightproof covers in place. Being resourceful explorers on a limited budget, we used garbage bags. With any luck, the light-starved algae will die off quickly, giving Peter Collins' bacterial cultures a chance to thrive when he pours them back into the filters.

There's a life-lesson buried somewhere in this experience, or maybe an off-color joke, but as afternoon gave way to evening I was just feeling sleepy and dull, and decided to read a catalog I found in the bookshelf. Not everything has to be deeply meaningful.