On Mars: Exploration of the Red Planet, 1958-1978--The NASA History

NASA maintains an internal history program for two principal reasons: (1) Publication of official histories is one way in which NASA responds to the provision of the National Aeronautics and Space Act of 1958 that requires NASA to provide for the widest practicable and appropriate dissemination of information concerning its activities and the results thereof. (2) Thoughtful study of NASA history can help agency managers accomplish the missions assigned to the agency. Understanding NASA’s past aids in understanding its present situation and illuminates possible future directions.

One advantage of working in contemporary history is access to participants. During the research phase, the authors conducted numerous interviews. Subsequently they submitted parts of the manuscript to persons who had participated in or closely observed the events described. Readers were asked to point out errors of fact and questionable interpretations and to provide supporting evidence. The authors then made such changes as they believed justified. The opinions and conclusions set forth in this book are those of the authors; no official of the agency necessarily endorses those opinions or conclusions.

Copyright

Copyright © 2009 by Dover Publications, Inc. All rights reserved.

Bibliographical Note

This Dover edition, first published in 2009, is an unabridged and slightly corrected republication of the work originally published in Washington in 1984 in the NASA History Series as NASA SP-4212 under the title On Mars: Exploration of the Red Planet 1958—1975. The color photos originally on pages 385 to 388 can now be found between pages 364 and 365 in the Dover edition. A new Introduction by Paul Dickson has been added to this edition.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Ezell, Edward Clinton.

On Mars : exploration of the red planet, 1958—1978: the NASA history / by Edward Clinton Ezell and Linda Neuman Ezell ; introduction to the Dover edition by Paul Dickson.

p. cm.

Originally published: Washington, D.C. : Scientific and Technical Information Branch, National Aeronautics and Space Administration, 1984; in series; NASA history series (NASA SP-4212).

Includes bibliographical references and index.

9780486141022

1. Viking Mars Program (U.S.)—History. I. Ezell, Linda Neuman. II. Title.

TL789.8 .U6V524 2009

629.43’543—dc22

2008052610

Manufactured in the United States of America Dover Publications, Inc., 31 East 2nd Street, Mineola, N.Y. 11501

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Introduction to the Dover Edition

Foreword

Introduction

1 - Why Mars?

2 - The Cart before the Horse: Mariner Spacecraft and Launch Vehicles

3 - The Search for Martian Life Begins: 1959—1965

4 - Voyager: Perils of Advanced Planning, 1960—1967

5 - Reorganization and the Creation of Viking

6 - Viking Orbiter and Its Mariner Inheritance

7 - Viking Lander: Creating the Science Teams

8 - Viking Lander: Building a Complex Spacecraft

9 - Safe Havens: Selecting Landing Sites for Viking

10 - Site Certification—and Landing

11 - On Mars

Epilogue

Appendixes Bibliographic Essay, Source Notes Index

Bibliographic Essay

Errata

Source Notes

Index

The Authors

List of NASA Photograph Numbers

Introduction to the Dover Edition

It seems so long ago that the first Viking images came back from Mars, and for many people—myself included—it was the moment in the pre-Internet Dark Ages that we began to understand that the analog age was about to give way to a digital one. What was hard to grasp during the summer of 1976, was that pictures from the surface of a body millions of miles away were being sent back in color in digital bits and bytes. Before the year was over more than 1,500 images came back to earth from the surface of the Red Planet, which was, according to those images, reddish brown. These were not the first digital images from space, but they were the ones that captured our imagination.

For the world, that first image (page 382, top) that came back from the Viking moments after its landing on the Chryse Planitia (Golden Plains) on July 20, 1976 was a singular moment. The picture was not as spectacular as those that would follow—it simply showed the Viking footpad on the right and vertical lines on the left caused by dust settling out of the atmosphere from disturbance by the retro-engines of the lander. But, when it showed up on the pages of our newspapers and magazines it was many things to people. America was celebrating its Bicentennial and this seemed to present a mark for the country as it moved into its third century. For NASA and the scientific community, the Viking would prove to be its most important and successful unmanned mission to date and pave the way for planetary missions to come. It also underscored the fact that humans could explore distant bodies efficiently, effectively, and economically from Pasadena, California, home of the Jet Propulsion Laboratory.

After that first image, came the second which was in color (page 385 and color section after page 364) and then some truly spectacular views including the first panoramic view (pages 382 and 383). As a member of the team put it: Mars had become a place. It went from a word, an abstract thought, to a real place.

Of course, there was more to Viking than the images, the two 1,300 pound (600 kilogram) landers were packed with experiments designed to probe and sample the Martian surface. Each lander was powered by two radioisotope thermoelectric generators to convert heat to electricity from the radioactive decay of Plutonium 238. The landers required a mere 70 watts of power, less than that needed by most conventional light bulbs.

Now, a third of a century after those landings, Edward and Linda Ezell’s narrative of the Viking’s history and the first era of Mars exploration (1958—1978) is as relevant and important today as it was when first published. They show us how this program was conceived, developed, and sold to Congress in the wake of a more ambitious program—Mars Voyager—which was not funded. Then, as now, the politics of getting support for a mission is an important matter, especially when other issues loom large and it is easier for politicians to put space exploration in the margins. The formal Mars Voyager program died, but the idea of a Mars probe continued under the radar and was reborn as Viking in the face of an expanding war in Southeast Asia. (The name Voyager was later revived as the name for a Grand Tour of the plants.)

On Mars is a story of science, engineering, politics, and teamwork told by writers who were there when the team at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory picked the landing spot for Viking. They tell the story with the drama and clarity that the Viking program deserves. It is, in the very best sense of the word, a great adventure story.

—PAUL DICKSON

Foreword

It is difficult for me to believe that there is already a written history of the Viking program. After all, the Vikings landed on Mars in 1976, just a few years ago. The Vikings 1 lander, designed for a 90-day surface mission, actually transmitted science messages to Earth for seven years. That such an extended mission was even possible is a crowning tribute to the people of Viking, in government, industry, and academia. This history is largely the story of those people of Viking, how they faced and dealt, emotionally at times, with technical problems, with adversity in the form of budget and people troubles, and with the political world. It is all too easy to forget these things in the face of gleaming, sophisticated spacecraft successfully performing their miracles in orbit around and on the surface of Mars.

This is indeed the time to capture the Viking history, for the memories of those who spent almost a decade with the program will rapidly fade, most have already moved on to new ventures, and relevant documents will disappear. The Viking history is of interest not only as the story of how the first planetary landing came to fruition or of how the first in-situ search for evidence of extraterrestrial life came about, but as a lesson on how thousands of individuals performed as a coherent team to accomplish what some believed to be impossible.

NOEL W. HINNERS

Associate Administrator for

Space Science, NASA, 1974—1979

Director, National Air and

Space Museum, 1979—1982

Introduction

For many members of the Viking flight team, the early morning hours of 20 July 1976 were the culmination of 8 years of intense activity. Several of the scientists had more than 15 years invested in preparations for the investigations that would begin once Viking safely landed on the surface of Mars. The focus of everyone’s attention on this day was the Viking 1 spacecraft in orbit around Mars. Across 348 million kilometers, the team maintained contact with the 3250-kilogram craft from the Jet Propulsion Laboratory (JPL) in Pasadena, California. JPL this night stood jewellike, its brightly lit buildings contrasting sharply with the darkened silhouette of the San Gabriel Mountains. Outside the Theodore von Kármán Auditorium, converted into a press center for the mission, mobile television vans were being readied to broadcast the news of Viking’s success or failure.

While reporters prepared stories and visitors strolled over the grounds, members of the flight team could be seen on the closed-circuit television monitors as they sat in the half-light of the control room. Elsewhere, hundreds of engineers, scientists, technicians, and support crews were at work or waiting to go to work. At 1:52 a.m., PDT, the audio circuit on the JPL television came to life, and George Sands, associate project scientist and for the moment the Voice of Viking, announced: We have separation. . . . We have engineering data indicating separation. . . . Separation is being confirmed all along the line. Eighteen minutes 18 seconds earlier, the time it took the confirming radio signal to travel from Mars to Earth, the lander had separated from the orbiter.¹

By 2 a.m., the noise that had been building up at the press center and in the visitor areas diminished. Mission control, a small, glass-walled room with men seated around a circular console watching data displayed on television screens, was being projected on monitors around the lab. Beyond the controllers’ desks and the consoles, through the glass walls of his office . . . [was] Jim Martin, a big man in a short-sleeved blue shirt. James Slattin Martin, Jr., had the bearing and appearance of a military man. His closely cropped iron gray hair added to the image and encouraged nicknames like the Paratroop Colonel and the Prussian General. Many members of the Viking team would attest publicly that he had run a tight project, but even those who had cursed him under their breath over the years had to admit that the incredible performance of the spacecraft during its 11-month cruise toward Mars and the normal postseparation checkout of the lander indicated that all the discipline and hard work Martin had put them through had been worth it. With a billion dollars invested in two spacecraft, someone had to have a firm grip. As the lander in its protective aeroshell fell freely toward the surface thousands of kilometers below it, Jim Martin listened to the controllers reporting tersely and calmly on the latest electronic news.²

At 3 a.m., Albert R. Hibbs, a senior advanced missions planner at JPL, relieved George Sands in the commentator’s booth. Hibbs, a veteran voice of many earlier unmanned spacecraft directed from Pasadena, had what one observer called marvelous sense of theater. Smiling, Hibbs noted that the deorbit burn of the lander’s eight small rocket motors had gone smoothly and the spacecraft had proper velocity. Impishly, he noted that it was also going the right direction.

At 2 p.m., everyone was still waiting. Hibbs reported: So far, everything that is supposed to have happened . . . has happened and right on schedule. We are rapidly approaching the surface of Mars. . . . As the craft followed its curved trajectory, Hibbs noted that it had only 11 340 kilometers to go. a

4:43:08 a.m. PDT. Less than 10 minutes to touchdown, 28 minutes to confirmation. Al Hibbs informed his audience that he and George Sands would talk the lander down, but neither they nor anyone else at the mission center had any control over the spacecraft at this point; they could only keep listeners posted on the latest news. Obeying only its preprogrammed onboard computers, the lander was inexorably going to the surface. . . . By now the lander has felt the impact of the Martian atmosphere, although we won’t know for 19 minutes.

4:53:14 a.m. PDT. Hibbs reminded the people at JPL that Viking should be on the surface by now, one way or another. A steady volume of 18-minute-old data kept flowing into the control center. The Viking team watched each new data point with increasing interest. The flight path analysis group had devised a visual display that portrayed the predicted descent curve for the lander—a single line graph that measured the lander’s altitude against time. That line, a gentle curve sweeping downward from left to right, ended at touchdown. Once the lander in its aeroshell reached about 244 000 meters, the upper limits of the Martian atmosphere, onlookers could watch on the TV monitors as the actual path of the lander (in the form of data points) was plotted against the predicted normal curve. That graph was the tangible link between the watchers gathered in Pasadena and the Viking spacecraft approaching Mars. The first data point was right on the nominal curve.

Viking Project Manager James S. Martin, Jr., works at his desk at Jet Propulsion Laboratory .

From mission control, a disembodied voice began calling out the velocity and altitude of the spacecraft. The descent progressed rapidly. At 98 707 meters, the spacecraft was traveling 4718 meters per second.

When Viking 1 reached 60 960 meters, Hibbs suggested, . . . we can now put out some of the instruments that cannot stand the temperature of entry—pressure and temperature sensors that have to stick out of the aeroshell. Calling attention to a second graph on the television screens, he said that the viewers could watch the gravity forces build up on that graph. Very violent changes in the effective combination of Mars’ gravity and atmosphere on the spacecraft. In just the few seconds that it had taken him to make that remark, the acceleration force had increased from 2.7 times to 5 times the normal Martian gravity. By the time the spacecraft reached 30,000 meters, the atmosphere was beginning to exert a braking effect, slowing the lander to only 3000 meters per second. The gravity forces continued to rise—6.8, then 8.4, the maximum force encountered. At 27 000 meters, the velocity dropped to 1820 meters per second. As the craft passed the 24 000-meter mark, Hibbs reported: Well, we’re coming down. We’re coming down. It’s a long period of glide; almost flat glide to get rid of some more of the speed before the parachute comes out. From mission control, the callout of the descent continued in a measured, emotionless tone. When the craft passed through an altitude of 22 800 meters, it was moving at 982 meters per second. The acceleration forces had been reduced to 0.8. At 5:09:50 a.m., the parachute deployed, slowing the craft even further, to 709 meters per second.

5:11:27 p.m. PDT. 1463 meters, 54 meters per second. At 1400 meters, the terminal descent engines started. At 5:12:07.1 a.m. PDT July 20, a voice in mission control called out, Touchdown, we have touchdown! A chorus of cheers rose for the event completed 19 minutes earlier on Mars. We have several indications of touchdown. Mars local time was 4:13:12 p.m. when Viking 1 landed on the surface.

Jim Martin, who had been watching the descent curve on his monitor, stood up abruptly. He shook hands with William H. Pickering, former director of JPL, and exchanged congratulations with his teammates who rushed into his office. But then he paused for a moment to take another look at the televised data, wanting to be very sure that it had actually happened. A critical event in the life of the Viking project had come to a successful conclusion. Controllers and support personnel who had been quietly doing their tasks let loose with a burst of backslapping, embracing, and handshaking. In the auditorium, a newly opened bottle of cold duck was passed around as NASA public affairs officers and news people shared ceremonial sips. Viking 1 was safely down on Mars.³

Nick Panagakos, public affairs officer from NASA Headquarters who had for weeks been answering questions for the press, smiled and shook his head. Like many of his colleagues, he had been telling people that Viking would land safely. But now that it had actually happened, he found it hard to believe. As the team in the control room settled back down to prepare for the reception of the first pictures of the Martian landscape, many persons around the Jet Propulsion Laboratory reflected on Viking’s amazing odyssey.

When NASA planetary investigators began planning the exploration of Earth’s closest neighbor, basic elements in their strategy were dictated by common sense. The space agency planners proposed to visit the nearest bodies first—the moon, Mars, and Venus. They planned to conduct simple projects initially and progress to more complex ones. Flyby spacecraft would be sent to take photographs and measurements and, after such basic reconnaissance had been made, heavier and more sophisticated orbiting craft would be sent to the target of investigation. After more detailed evaluations of the environment had been completed, atmospheric probes—either hard-landers (spacecraft that would crash-land) or soft-landers—would be used for further study. Different bodies would require different instrumentation. Photography, for instance, would not be suitable for cloud-covered Venus; on Mars it would be an experiment with exciting potential. During the past two decades, this strategy—flyby, orbiter, lander—has become a formalized part of NASA’s planetary exploration program.

Mars, because it is reasonably close to Earth, has been the subject of much scientific examination. The Viking project was begun by NASA in the winter of 1968 to make landed scientific investigation of biological, physical, and related phenomena in the atmosphere and on the surface of Mars. The desire to explore for possible life forms on the Red Planet was one of the earliest goals of scientists who became part of the United States space science program, stretching Viking’s roots back to the early 1960s. While NASA’s first attempts to land craft on Mars were successful, that success did not come without a struggle. Chapter 1 examines the reasons scientists wished to have a closeup look at Mars and describes the new opportunities that opened with the coming of space travel. As Chapter 2 indicates, the dream was not transformed into reality until new and reliable launch vehicles became available in the mid-1960s, but the scientific community began early to prepare for landed investigations of the planet. Modest flyby probes such as Mariner 4, using less powerful rockets than the later Viking’s, provided new if discouraging information about Mars. Despite initial photographic evidence that did not encourage the search for life, a small group of biological scientists—who called themselves exobiologists—began to develop instrumentation that would serve as the prototypes for life detectors on spacecraft that might fly in the future. These activities are related in Chapter 3, while Chapter 4 deals with the plans for NASA’s first Mars lander project. Called Voyagerb and conducted by the Jet Propulsion Laboratory, this project was ambitious, perhaps too ambitious for the times. Expansion of the war in Vietnam and demands for federal funds for many sectors of the American economy began a period of budget problems for NASA. Voyager died for a complex series of reasons in late summer 1967.

While budgetary stringencies were to remain with NASA planners from that time on, enthusiasm for a Mars lander project also continued. The focus of that spirit shifted from JPL to the Langley Research Center. The aggressive team at the Virginia center entered the Mars game just in time to see Voyager terminated. Chapter 5 chronicles the Langley entry into the planetary spacecraft business. Chapter 6 tells the story of the Viking orbiter within the context of advanced Mariner Mars spacecraft. Jim Martin and his colleagues, realizing that the JPL people had mastered the flyby and orbiter trade, persuaded them to become part of the Viking team. As Chapter 7 indicates, the Viking lander demanded many new inventions. In addition to new and complicated mechanical systems, it also required closely knit managerial, technical, and scientific teams that could come together in a cohesive organization during the data-gathering and analysis phases of the mission.

Before collection of scientific information could begin, landing sites for the craft had to be chosen. Data obtained from the 1971 Mariner orbiter assisted the specialists in this task but, as Chapter 8 recounts, there was considerable debate over the best places to land, given both scientific interests and engineering constraints. Despite the time and energy given to site selection, Mars held some surprises for the Viking team. The first orbiter photographs, which the team hoped would certify the suitability of the preselected landing sites, showed extremely hazardous terrain. Site certification, described in Chapter 9, became a renewed search for suitable and safe areas on Mars. For nearly a month, the project members labored to find a safe haven for the lander. Finding a site for the second lander was an equally time-consuming job.

In Viking, NASA’s most complex unmanned space project to that date, were many stories of great human effort and some of personal sacrifice. But the scientific results were the payoff. To have proved the technological capability to design, build, navigate, and land a spacecraft on Mars was not enough. Chapters 10 and 11 outline the scientific results of the Viking investigations and examine some of the unresolved questions. As so often is true in new fields of inquiry, as many questions were raised as were answered. And as earlier investigations of Mars have shown, the latest hypothesis can be upset by later, more detailed data. The Epilogue, therefore, considers possible future explorations of the Red Planet within the context of NASA’s goals and other national priorities. One adventure was completed, but the exploration had just begun.

This book is just one of many possible histories that could be written about the events surrounding the Viking project. It is the official history because it was commissioned and paid for by the National Aeronautics and Space Administration. The authors began work shortly before Viking was scheduled to land on 4 July 1976, and they were present in Pasadena while Jim Martin and his team searched for a landing site. Exposure to the site selection process allowed us to see key project personnel at work and begin to understand the many complexities of Viking. We decided very quickly that we could not tell all the stories that participants might like to have told. We also concluded that, to appreciate fully the accomplishments of the project, readers should be exposed to the Mariner flights to Mars and to other planned but unconsummated missions to send landers to another planet. Thus our book evolved. In ignoring certain aspects or in describing others only briefly, we have not intended to slight other important aspects of the Viking effort. There are just too many stories and too many participants for them all to be included in this single volume.

1

Why Mars?

Since the 16th century, learned men have recognized Mars for what it is—a relatively nearby planet not so unlike our own. The fourth planet from the sun and Earth’s closest neighbor, Mars has been the subject of modern scientists’ careful scrutiny with powerful telescopes, deep space probes, and orbiting spacecraft. In 1976, Earth-bound scientists were brought significantly closer to their subject of investigation when two Viking landers touched down on that red soil. The possibility of life on Mars, clues to the evolution of the solar system, fascination with the chemistry, geology, and meteorology of another planet—these were considerations that led the National Aeronautics and Space Administration to Mars. Project Viking’s goal, after making a soft landing on Mars, was to execute a set of scientific investigations that would not only provide data on the physical nature of the planet but also make a first attempt at determining if detectable life forms were present.

Landing a payload of scientific instruments on the Red Planet had been a major NASA goal for more than 15 years. Two related projects—Mariner B and Voyager—preceded Viking’s origin in 1968. Mariner B, aimed at placing a capsule on Mars in 1964, and Voyager, which would have landed a series of sophisticated spacecraft on the planet in the late 1960s, never got off the ground. But they did lead directly to Viking and influenced that successful project in many ways.

When the space agency was established in 1958, planetary exploration was but one of the many worthy projects called for by scientists, spacecraft designers, and politicians. Among the conflicting demands made on the NASA leadership during the early months were proposals for Earth-orbiting satellites and lunar and planetary spacecraft. But man in space, particularly under President John F. Kennedy’s mandate to land an American on the moon before the end of the 1960s, took a more than generous share of NASA’s money and enthusiasm. Ranger, Surveyor, and Lunar Orbiter—spacecraft headed for the moon—grew in immediate significance at NASA because they could contribute directly to the success of manned Apollo operations. Proponents of planetary investigation were forced to be content with relatively constrained budgets, limited personnel, and little publicity. But by 1960 examining the closer planets with rocket-propelled probes was technologically feasible, and this possibility kept enthusiasts loyal to the cause of planetary exploration.

There is more to Viking’s history than technological accomplishments and scientific goals, however. Viking was an adventure of the human mind, adventure shared at least in spirit by generations of star-gazers. While a voyage to Mars had been the subject of considerable discussion in the American aerospace community since the Soviet Union launched the first Sputnik into orbit in 1957, man has long expressed his desire to journey to new worlds. Technology, science, and the urge to explore were elements of the interplanetary quest.

ATTRACTIVE TARGET FOR EXPLORATION

Discussion of interplanetary travel did not have a technological foundation until after World War II, when liquid-fueled rockets began to show promise as a transportation system. Once rockets reached escape velocities, scientists began proposing experiments for them to carry, and Mars was an early target for interplanetary travel.

Mars fell into that class of stars the Greeks called planetes, or wanderers. Not only did it move, but upon close observation it appeared to move irregularly. The early Greek astronomer Hipparchus (160-125 B.C.) recognized that Mars did not always move from west to east when seen against the constellations of fixed stars. Occasionally, the planet moved in the opposite direction. This phenomenon perplexed all astronomers who believed Earth to be the center of the universe, and it was not until Johannes Kepler provided a mathematical explanation for the Copernican conclusion that early scientists realized that Earth, too, was a wanderer. The apparent motion of Mars was then seen to be a consequence of the relative motions of the two planets. By the time Kepler published Astronomia nova (New astronomy), subtitled De motibus stellae Martis (On the motion of Mars), in 1609, Galileo was preparing his first report on his observations with the telescope—Sidereus nuncius (Messenger of the stars), 1610. (See Bibliographic Essay for a bibliography of basic materials related to Mars published through 1958.)

From 1659, when Christiaan Huyghens made the first telescopic drawing of Mars to show a definite surface feature, the planet has fascinated observers because its surface appears to change. The polar caps wax and wane. Under close scrutiny with powerful telescopes, astronomers watch Mars darken with a periodicity that parallels seasonal changes. In the 1870s and 1880s during Martian oppositions with Earth,c Giovanni Virginio Schiaparelli, director of the observatory at Milan, saw a network of fine lines on the planet’s surface. These canali, Italian for channels or grooves, quickly became canals in the popular and scientific media. Canals would be

The apparent motion of Mars. When Earth and Mars are close to opposition, Mars, viewed from Earth, appears to reverse its motion relative to fixed stars. Above, the simultaneous positions of Earth and Mars are shown in their orbits around the sun at successive times. The apparent position of Mars as seen from Earth is the point where the line passing through the position of both appears to intersect the background of fixed stars. These points are represented at the right. Below are shown the locations of Mars in the sky before and after the 1965 opposition. Samuel Glasstone, The Book of Mars, NASA SP-179 (1968).

evidence of intelligent life on Mars. The French astronomer Camille Flammarion published in 1892 a 608-page compilation of his observations under the provocative title La Planete Mars, et ses conditions d’habitabilite (The planet Mars and its conditions of habitability). In America, Percival Lowell, in an 1895 volume titled simply Mars, took the leap and postulated that an intelligent race of Martians had unified politically to build irrigation canals to transport their dwindling water supply. Acting cooperatively, the beings on Mars were battling bravely against the progressive desiccation of an aging world. Thus created, the Martians grew and prospered, assisted by that popular genre science fiction. Percy Greg’s hero in Across the Zodiac made probably the first interplanetary trip to Mars in 1880 in a spaceship equipped with a hydroponic system and walls nearly a meter thick. Other early travelers followed him into the solar system in A Plunge into Space (1890) by Robert Cromie, A Journey to Other Worlds (1894) by John Jacob Astor, Auf zwei Planeten (On two planets, 1897) by Kurd Lasswitz, H. G. Wells’s well-known War of the Worlds ( 1898), and astronomer Garrett P. Serviss’s Edison’s Conquest of Mars (1898).¹ In Intelligence on Mars (1896), Wells discussed his theories on the origins and evolution of life there, concluding, No phase of anthropomorphism is more naive than the supposition of men on Mars. ² Scientists and novelists alike, however, continued to consider the ability of Mars to support life in some form.