Devon Island Journal by Sam Burbank
This is the journal of Sam Burbank. Sam is a filmmaker based out of San Francisco. His
company is Inverse Square Films. Sam is one of the volunteers chosen to be a part of the
2001 FMARS crew. He will be in the crew for the first rotation. The journal is copyright
Inverse Square Films.
Journal Entry
July 10-13, 2001 – Haughton Crater
07 10 01
Steve says ‘Huh,’ over.
We’re in the hab, no one else around, media or laborers or other
friends. We just had our last crew meeting, and have radioed back to
camp that weíll be coming out soon.
The most beautiful evening I’ve ever seen on Devon was the night before
our simulation began. Charlie and I went out to take some photos after
painting downstairs. It was really something, the sun was nearly at its
lowest point, but also finally appeared from behind the clouds for the
first time in days. Still lots of snow still on the ground, clouds of
varying height and colors. I got some good shots. But Charlie, shooting
through his red goggles, got a photo of the hab that is heartbreaking.
If I were back in the world and had to see this thing, I don’t think I
could stand it. Really. It’s the one with a rock in the foreground, the
hab slightly covered by it, and a radar dish to the right. Have you seen
it? And the idea, looking at that photo, that we were now in that. But
look, we must be, there’s the shadow outside. A Mars hab! How?
From the window in front of my computer I see the radar dish to our
left, base camp, far of to the right, partially snow covered hills
between. And on the way to any of it, the rocky terrain that first
interested people in using Haughton as a Mars analog site. Could be
Viking 1 or 2, a small patch of snow here or there that would sub for
Martian winter frost. We saw these rocks anew during this sim, saw how
restricted motion and vision affects using a geologist’s hammer, movie
camera, screwdriver, or air sampler.
The sun has pinwheeled around a few of times now since Charlie took his
photo, and is now behind the hab, moving our shadow across the rocks. A
big clock hand, ticking around. Could we be on Mars? No, sky too blue,
sun too bright. But those are the only giveaways. The view from here is
as Mars-like as is imaginable on Earth. I just found myself staring out,
minutes passing, hoping to find words to describe the scene, but no
luck. Maybe a slight state of shock still persists with all of this.
It that your laptop fan, Pascal? Charlie just asked. Every time I hear
that thing I think a twin otter is landing.
The time with this crew has been wonderful. It always sounds over the
top to describe the bonding that occurs between people when put into an
unusual situation, but, alas, we bonded and learned how to work together
and had an educational and elucidating hab stint. And, as was said once
or twice as we met one last time as a crew, this was an honor; we were
the first crew ever to do this on Earth. We risked the potential
ridicule of putting on canvas mock-spacesuits, of soldering our own
plumbing at the last minute, of taking our baby steps in front of
Discoveryís cameras. But itís worth it to begin learning how to do this,
so that we- humans- can begin to explore another world in earnest, can
begin to finally see the Earth for what it is- isolated and precious-
and Mars for what it is: our entrance into a universe that we and our
yearning to explore are connected to and part of.
07 12 01
This place is beautiful, the tents, the town area, the fortress rock
formation beyond camp.
But on the next ridge there the is a spaceship, an isolated, elegant,
ship, standing alone on a long ridge, always there, always surprising
you, appearing out of the corner of your eye as you are attempting to do
this or that, and just blowing your mind. It is something to see what
inspired and unrestrained people will do to attempt the exploration
another world.
The sheer will power to get that thing conceptualized and manufactured
and brought up and drooped and built, and now, finally lived in. You
have to understand: Devon Island doesnít need the hab to be Mars on
Earth. The place is just that on its own. The hab simply puts it over
the top. There are people living in that thing, studying the things that
need to be understood for people to actually live on Mars. Itís one
thing to hear about that, but itís something else to be here, doing your
work and see it by accident. There they go on an EVA: astronauts!
Crew number 1 is now back in the world, or base camp at least, though a
couple have left the crater, our two seemingly most dissimilar members,
Rainer and Frank. For years I have lamented the lack of connection
between science, and the real world of common sense and know-how. There
is such a disconnect between the mechanic and the metallurgist, the
nurse and the life scientist. Devon Island has been an exception to
that. Itís full of people with a variety of useful skills and ideas and
backgrounds. The surgeon, Rainer, and the builder, Frank, working side
by side, learning from each other.
Isnít that what you want for Mars? Frank would be working on a song
(collaborating with Devo through the deep space network) while Rainer
showed Darlene how to use the defibrillator, while I edited a film, and
while Charlie tuned his microscope. There was a continuous flow of
activity, and a certainty that if something broke or needed adjusting we
could fix it. Thereís something to that for building crew morale; we
knew we had the potential for a great team long before starting the sim
because we were in the hab, building it.
The camp changed while we were in the away. The snow between tent city
and base camp is gone now, and the surrounding hills look more Mars-like
with their red rock exposed. It all happened quickly. The saxifrage and
arctic poppies know the season is short, so after a reasonably warm day
or two, they were out, in some cases, like by Trinity Lake, nearly
blanketing the hillside. How do they make a living up here, with such a
short season of warmth, and such a dark winter to get through?
On top of the changing landscape was the growth in the number of tents
in tent city; at least twice what we had left. I think there is always
fear of growth and change, and it was disconcerting to arrive to so many
new faces and voices, though, of course, they were soon known as well,
just part of camp. You notice a change in personal immediately when
living with such a quantifiable group. The other day while filling up a
cup of coffee in the mess tent, I heard a voice say one word in response
to a question and knew immediately that I didnít know him, didnít even
need to look.
07 13 01 (Friday)
Midnight sun is tricky. You think youíve developed a schedule within it,
that you can ignore the light, and then while walking to your tent to
turn in you realize youíve never seen light this pretty, clouds with so
many distinct layers or so subtly colored, and thereís no one awake but
you, and you then understand right away you wonít be going to bed
anytime soon. Because the long day brings on a feeling of life, of being
alive, almost a physical expression of optimism; and because soon youíll
be back on Earth where there is more time to sleep, and more reason to;
and because the world is beautiful, and itís your job to see it for
once, to stand there and marvel at it in your soggy boots and muddy
jacket.
And then you notice that spaceship on the next ridge. Contemplative is
an inadequate word, so is awe. Help me out, what is a word for a human
standing still, joyfully unable to process thoughts fast enough, or
move, or speak, and wanting to hold onto a moment just a bit longer?
Canít think of a word.
Then there is morning, and the day to day stuff, like the calls from the
hab describing their Incinolet problems. Did I describe the Incinolet
before? Itís a toilet with a trap door on top of a high wattage
incinerator with a vent then heading outside. Itís a frightening
business, this machine. In fact, I was amused to find that very few
people in our crew had bothered- or had the courage- to ask about the
bathroom facilities before arriving on the island, I among them. And we
all had to ask twice when being told the name of this device, the second
time always being said slower and more descriptively: In-Cin-O-Let; just
like it sounds. Oh. Really?
Yes, it was real. But we actually had few problems with it. Charlie was
good enough to clean it one day (so we all owe him for life now): like
looking into the fiery bowels of hell, he joked.
But today they were having real problems with the ungodly thing, a leak,
and a shortage of the proper paper inserts the machineís makers insist
(and for good reason) must be included with each use. Enclosed hab,
plumbing problems. Trouble. How to deal with this: meetings at the hab
and at base camp, and then together on the radio. Crisis!
Of course it was resolved. There is a constant surplus of new problems
for the leaders of the HMP to sort through: getting people in and out,
access to private land, ATV shortages, etc. And now this toilet. Letís
not talk about this thing anymore. But you had to hear about it, right?
One of the many questions that need to be ironed out for a humans to
Mars exploration.
Weíre having a small Martian windstorm tonight, not severe, but enough
to ruin a tent or two. Phillip, the Discovery Canada sound man, and I
just walked tent city, checking tent ropes and stakes. The weather can
change so quickly here. And so itís a good excuse to stay in and write
and look around at the faces of this town, think about the time left
before returning home to busyness and darkness at night.
But all of the sudden I may be staying a bit longer. One of the
filmmakers here has fallen sick and has asked for a hand for the next
few days. I was honored by the invitation and said yes, so now flights
must be changed, etc. Have to recalibrate the brain as well; I had
already figured out what Iíd order at El Zocallo on Mission St. once
back home.
Iím not going to describe my current sock situation here, but suffice it
to say, itís been wet, and I had been planning to return to Resolute
tomorrow. So, viva terra firma. And midnight sun. And the lack of
appropriate words to really describe the subtlest and strongest
feelings, or to describe the joy of knowing that it was all a lie when
they said childhood would be the best part of your life.
