The Mammoth Book of Space Exploration and Disasters

Mike’s voice cut in much louder and clearer than Mission Control. “And don’t forget the one in the command module.”

Charlie told Mike to speak directly to us. “Roger, Tranquillity Base,” Mike said. “It sounded great from up here. You guys did a fantastic job.”

That was a real compliment coming from a pilot as skilled as Mike Collins.

“Thank you,” Neil said. “Just keep that orbiting base ready for us up there now.”

We were supposed to do a little housekeeping in the LM, eat a meal, and then try to sleep for seven hours before getting ready to explore the surface. But whoever signed off on that plan didn’t know much psychology – or physiology, for that matter. We’d just landed on the moon and there was a lot of adrenaline still zinging through our bodies. Telling us to try to sleep before the EVA was like telling kids on Christmas morning they had to stay in bed until noon.

I decided to begin a ceremony I’d planned with Dean Woodruff, my pastor at Webster Presbyterian Church. He’d given me a tiny Communion kit that had a silver chalice and wine vial about the size of the tip of my little finger. I asked “every person listening in, whoever and wherever they may be, to pause for a moment and contemplate the events of the past few hours, and to give thanks in his or her own way.” The plastic note-taking shelf in front of our DSKY became the altar. I read silently from Dean’s Communion service – I am the vine and you are the branches – as I poured the wine into the chalice. The wine looked like syrup as it swirled around the sides of the cup in the light gravity before it finally settled at the bottom.

Eagle’s metal body creaked. I ate the tiny Host and swallowed the wine. I gave thanks for the intelligence and spirit that had brought two young pilots to the Sea of Tranquillity.

Suiting up for the moon walk took us several hours. Our PLSS backpacks looked simple, but they were hard to put on and tricky to operate. They were truly our life-support systems, with enough oxygen, cooling water, electrical power, and radio equipment to keep us alive on the moon and in constant contact with Houston (via a relay in the LM) for four hours. On Earth, the PLSS and spacesuit combination weighed 190 pounds, but here it was only 30. Combined with my own body weight, that brought me to a total lunar-gravity weight of around 60 pounds.

Seven hours after we touched down on the moon, we depressurized the LM, and Neil opened the hatch. My job was to guide him as he backed out on his hands and knees onto the small porch. He worked slowly, trying not to jam his backpack on the hatch frame. When he reached the ladder attached to the forward landing leg, he moved down carefully.

The new capcom, Bruce McCandless, verified that we were doing everything correctly. Once Neil reached over and pulled a line to deploy the LM’s television camera, Bruce said, “We’re getting a picture on the TV.”

“I’m at the foot of the ladder,” Neil said, his voice slow and precise. “The LM footpads are only depressed in the surface about one or two inches.” The surface was a very fine-grain powder. “I’m going to step off the LM now.”

From my window I watched Neil move his blue lunar overshoe from the metal dish of the footpad to the powdery gray surface.

“That’s one small step for… man, one giant leap for mankind.”

Lunar gravity was so springy that coming down the ladder was both pleasant and tricky. I took a practice run at getting back up to that high first step, and then I hopped down beside Neil.

“Isn’t that something?” Neil asked. “Magnificent sight out here.”

I turned around and looked out at a horizon that dropped steeply away in all directions. We were looking “down sun,” so there was only a black void beyond the edge of the moon. For as far as I could see, pebbles, rock fragments, and small craters covered the surface. Off to the left, I could make out the rim of a larger crater. I breathed deeply, goose flesh covering my neck and face. “Beautiful, beautiful,” I said. “Magnificent desolation.”

Stepping out of the LM’s shadow was a shock. One moment I was in total darkness, the next in the sun’s hot floodlight. From the ladder I had seen all the sunlit moonscape beyond our shadow but with no atmosphere, there was absolutely no refracted light around me. I stuck my hand out past the shadow’s edge into the sun, and it was like punching through a barrier into another dimension. I moved around the legs of the LM to check for damage.

“Looks like the secondary strut has a little thermal effect on it right here, Neil,” I said, pointing to some engine burn on the leg.

“Yeah,” Neil said, coming over beside me. “I noticed that.”

We were both in the sun again, our helmets close together. Neil leaned toward me and clapped his gloved hand on my shoulder. “Isn’t it fun?” he said.

I was grinning ear to ear, even though the gold visor hid my face. Neil and I were standing together on the moon.