Keith Koehler is a busy man. Koehler is the PR director for NASA’s Wallops Island flight facility. Nestled in the flatlands of the Eastern Shore of Virginia, Wallops is home to several launchpads, three active runways, and a multitude of R&D buildings. But this week he is busy not because of the facilities themselves, but because he’s expecting up to 20,000 visitors and guests to descend on this tiny facility. For the first time, it’s being used to send hardware away from the Earth.

Soft-spoken yet assured, Koehler has handled thousands of inquires from the public, led the media on tours of the Minotaur V launch site, and introduced visiting dignitaries and VIPs to the project directors, all with aplomb. Our first day out had us introduced to their high altitude balloon research team. I was amazed at the number of highly successful missions launched from such remote places as McMurdo station and the Marshall Islands, done for a fraction of the cost of a conventional rocket launch.

“They are an order of magnitude cheaper” he says. These super balloons can fly longer and carry larger payloads for pennies on the dollar—they’re cheap enough that many of the super balloons have carried private experiments for universities. The balloons can also be used again and again; several on display at the site have made dozens of flights. NASA is also big on recycling other technology to keep costs down. Their sounding rockets are made from retired military hardware (sans warheads, I’ve been assured). Built like LEGO, NASA stacks disparate parts into single rockets that fulfill specific needs, whether it’s bringing private research to near-earth orbit, or flying on official NASA business.

Everywhere Koehler leads us, the group of a dozen or so ‘media’ (including hundreds of ‘social media’ people who are swarming the site), we are greeted with more evidence of the recycling ethos. Fiber optic lighting, bought for pennies, has been stripped down and grafted into equipment designed to simulate the light from far away stars. Empty plastic fruit cups are in use on custom-built electronics for purposes I can only guess at. In the main flight control facility, I find an utterly ancient SGI Indigo still in use as a telemetry server.

Meet the Minotaur

But nowhere is this more evident than the Minotaur-V rocket. Repurposed from a Reagan-era Peacekeeper ICBM, the newly reformed plowshare has now been used to send LADEE to the Moon. LADEE, or Lunar Atmosphere Dust Environment Explorer, is a modular probe built in conjunction with NASA’s Ames research division and the University of Colorado. Once in orbit, it will fly close to the surface of the Moon (20 kilometers), scooping up dust from the exosphere for real-time analysis.

LADEE involves several firsts for NASA. The modularity, for example, is designed to maximize versatility and minimize costs, allowing the probe to be used for multiple purposes in the future: it’s a base platform like a motherboard, where parts are easily added or removed as needed. Laser communications are another first for NASA. Rather than relying on traditional radio communication, LADEE has on board an LLCD, or Lunar Laser Communications Demonstration. That hardware fires off a 4cm beam back to tracking stations on Earth. This laser beam will allow LADEE to transmit more information at a faster rate than ever before.

LADEE can even send out e-mails to the flight director, informing him of its status. During the press conference, the project's director announced in a humorous voice that he’d just been e-mailed by LADEE, which let him know that all systems were go.

After the press conference came the science conference, where the details of LADEE’s mission were explained. LADEE has three missions. One is to test the lunar dust in the moon's exosphere for composition and density. The second is the technology demonstration: is LLCD as effective or superior to radio (as well as superior in cost and weight)? Finally, the probe is set to analyze the process of offgassing, as material is released by the subsurface of the Moon. Once the tests are carried out and data sent home, NASA will slam LADEE into the Moon’s surface.

After the conferences were done, we, the media people, were piled into a tour bus and driven out to the launch pad. The facility's three launchpads are situated on the shoreline, well away from any other people or buildings: “Just in case,” I am told. It’s not devoid of structures, though; like giant white mushrooms, mobile telescopes dot the area.

The main road winds through a lowland marsh, and along the way I spot deer, eagles, and other wildlife. Every effort has been made to minimize the footprint of man here; the concrete launch pads are no bigger than required, buildings are modular and moveable, and walkpaths, when required, are narrow and unobtrusive.

Out the window of the tour bus, I spot the gantry long before we reach the site. Like a steel monument, remote and forbidding, it stands as the last of the launchpads. We pass through another guard gate and then wind our way slowly past the second pad, equipped with steel spires at each corner—lightning rods to protect the hardware. They also pull double duty as part of the gantry, when needed.

As we inch forward (the road is narrow and dotted with parked vehicles) toward the Minotaur V pad, I cannot see the rocket. It’s completely surrounded by a gantry that, like a giant hand, hides it from view. I am disappointed that we will get so close to the rocket and not see it, but as the bus finally pulls off to disgorge us, Keith smiles and announces they will be opening the gantry one last time so we can see the Minotaur V in full.

As we position ourselves, cameras at the ready, the gantry silently unfolds. So silently in fact, I missed the initial unsealing. Like Nosferatu emerging from his crypt, the Minotaur V rocket is revealed inches at a time. Where we stand it is difficult to gauge its size for lack of anything around to compare it to, but once the gantry is fully unsealed, we can see workers, like insects clambering about the rocket, performing final inspections and maintenance. As they help me accurately judge the size of this beast, it’s obvious that it’s huge. Even with a wide-angle lens set to 17mm, I have to step back several feet to fit it all in.

The golden light of the setting sun lends a majestic look to everything on the launchpad. The white paint gleams and the logos for NASA and other organizations shine brightly. Despite the shiny appearances, the whole project, from idea to final bolt, is built on a shoestring budget, and everyone is rightfully proud of what they have accomplished. There is a palpable joy emanating from every NASA employee I have met. The launch is set for the next day, but a party atmosphere prevails in the Center, even as countless last-minute details and procedures are checked and rechecked. As the hours count down, the anticipation rises. Big things are on the horizon.

The Launch

Eventually, launch day beckons. Stuffed with colorful brochures on every imaginable topic related to LADEE (and a few that are not) we are loaded into more tour buses to be brought to the media viewing site, a full two miles away from the launchpad we were so tantalizingly close to the day before.

Photographers are allowed first choice in spots, and they quickly fill up. I stake out my spot (one is as good as any at this distance) and prepare my gear. Never having shot a rocket launch before, I engage with others there on settings, figuring I'd treat this like a concert with high ISO and a quick shutter speed. No one seems willing to discuss what worked for them in the past, so I have to rely on my own experience. And then I have to wait.

And wait and wait and wait. We are three hours from launch, and the temperatures are rapidly dropping, from a sunny and mild 70s to a chilly and damp 50. Condensation forms on the lens and body. I re-check my focus, re-compose, and re-think my settings. Repeatedly. As the minutes tick by, and the temperature drops I wonder what I'll get. It's not like I can ask them to pause while I re-adjust my settings.

Finally, it's T-minus 10 minutes. Helicopters overhead make a final sweep for unauthorized personnel and fly away. As a good omen, a brief meteor shower streaks across the midnight sky.

Without much fanfare, a loudspeaker begins the countdown at the T-minus ten second mark. As the count hits zero, a flash of light like the birth of a sun lights up the night sky, and I immediately know my settings are off. With no chance to modify them, I shoot and hope for the best.

I have reached the limits of the frame and I sit back and watch the rest in awe, idly wondering where the roar of the engines is. Then it hits us like a slumbering dragon waking angrily. The rumble is a tactile thing, shaking the ground and vibrating our bones. A cheer erupts from the crowd, wild and jubilant, and I can no longer hear the announcers over the cheering.

The rocket's arc takes it away from us, over the curve of the Earth, which set off some worrying thoughts. Perhaps something has gone wrong, since the trail of fire seems to aim downward. Perhaps it's going to impact the Earth and explode. But no, it is just the glide time—Mission Control declares that everything is nominal.

The cheering dies down and we begin the arduous task of dismantling our gear and stumbling back to the bus. I dare not look at my camera for fear of the failure contained therein. Reflected on the faces of other photographers around me is plain evidence that their memory cards contain bad news. Back on the bus, a reporter carrying thirty grand in gear stares glumly at his laptop—every single shot is a solid wall of white, all beyond salvaging. With trepidation I ask him to look at mine, to see what I have. He does this for me, expression remaining unchanged, but he tells me my work is not a total loss.

The roads out of Wallops Island are jammed with cars, and it takes me until dawn to reach my home. As I collapse, utterly exhausted into my bed, I am reminded there is another launch soon, an Antares rocket that is calling my name, beckoning me to test my skills and endurance again.

Check out Erik Svensson's launch photos in Ars' companion gallery, LADEE launch gallery: Wallops aims for the Moon.