A special astronomy club
A group of US teenagers study the night sky.
The teenage members of the Earth to Sky Calculus Club live in and around Bishop, a mountain town in the USA surrounded almost entirely by wilderness, to the east or the Sierra Nevada mountain range. Over the last few years, this isolated group has launched over 50 balloons to the edge of space, around 35 km above the Earth's surface. It's a long-running science project but with a bit of a twist: it's part astronomy experiment, part backcountry adventure, which is possibly why teenagers get involved. I join them one weekend in late spring. They are about to release a high-altitude balloon, hoping to record shooting stars. These occur when a rock or piece of metal travelling through space enters the Earth's atmosphere, producing a trail of light.
As it gets dark, the teenagers secure a soft insulated $5 lunch box to the bottom of the balloon. Inside is a camera, an instrument to measure altitude and a thermometer to gauge the changes along the ascent. Two GPS trackers are mounted on the outside of the lunch box to help the group to find it later. A gas tank, donated by an enthusiast in a neighbouring state, is used to inflate the balloon, which slowly grows to the size of a small car. An older boy had (line 29) made a seven-hour round trip to get hold of it. ‘I didn't really mind,’ he says. Anyway, for kids in this club, that's a given.
Finally, it's time for lift-oft. ‘Five, four, three, two, one,’ they chant, and the balloon begins its ascent. Some of them run and track its path with powerful flashlights for as long as they are able, illuminating the creamy orb in the moonless sky. There is quiet, and a palpable sense of collective wonder. Then the balloon disappears into the night.
When the launch is over, most of the students go home, but a few stay to watch the shooting stars. A boy climbs into a sleeping bag and promptly falls asleep. ‘We're the only ones talking,’ says one girl in hushed tones. ‘I know, whispers another. A meteor shoots across the middle of the sky.
As a balloon rises, the air pressure lessens and the balloon expands until it's almost the size of a house. Then it pops in a dramatic explosion. A parachute helps the equipment inside the lunch box land safely back on Earth. The students will find it the following day, using the GPS trackers as a guide. Getting it back isn't straightforward, but that's part of the appeal. There is little inhabited land around Bishop, so the lunch box almost always lands somewhere in the middle of nowhere. ‘To me, recoveries are a huge part or the program,’ said the group's leader, who notes they've lost only two lunch boxes in 53 launches. ‘Part of the journey has been becoming more familiar with this landscape in a way you never normally would.’
On this occasion, the lunch box had landed 84 km west of Bishop, but to get to it, the recovery team would have to drive south of the Sierra and then back up the western side of the mountain range. Then they'd have to agree whether driving or walking would be preferable (line 58) — things could turn treacherous if the lunch box was on a high peak, or even worse, up a very tall tree. ‘It's important to keep in mind that these students are native to the Eastern Sierra,’ their leader says. ‘What may seem wild and perilous to some, is simply a way of life to others.
In the end, it took them 11 hours to find the lunch box. It was in a canyon, high on a flat rock, in the middle of a cascading waterfall. The camera hadn't recorded any shooting stars. Sure, it's a bit of a disappointment, but it's one more tale of adventure to share with anyone who asks.