14
Waving the Canadian Flag at the World

On the last day of November 2000, Marc Garneau returned to space. He spent 240 hours there, operated the Canadarm, and directed three spacewalks at the International Space Station. Then he returned to Earth, participated in all the post-mission medical checks, debriefings, and NASA duties, then retired as an astronaut. He soon became president of the Canadian Space Agency, but his flying days were done.

Garneau’s last mission was on Endeavour. The designation this time was STS-97, with five souls on board: the Commander, Pilot, and three Mission Specialists. All had been in space before, and at fifty-one, Garneau was the oldest member of the crew. Four and a half years had passed since his previous mission.

The main purpose of STS-97 was to deliver and install the first U.S. solar rays at the Space Station. Prior to their being put in place, the facility was greatly underpowered and parts of it were essentially unusable. The solar rays themselves were folded and compact in the shuttle cargo bay prior to liftoff, but by the time they were removed in space and attached to the station, would be large, elegant, and integral to the fledgling development being constructed.

The flight to take them to the heavens was the 101st shuttle mission. It left Pad 39-B in Florida at 10:06 p.m., and the trail of fire that hurtled Endeavour from Earth could be seen for miles in every direction. Departure was on time, and entry into space was about nine minutes later. By that time, responsibility for the flight was through Mission Control in Houston, and would be for the balance of the journey. Henceforth, all bulletins about progress would be datelined Houston, and would be on Central Time. At the time of the launch, the Space Station was over the Indian Ocean, and almost eight thousand miles ahead of Endeavour. In due course, they would come together in a rendezvous in the sky. This meeting was perhaps most anticipated by three long-term residents, one American and two Russian, who were already on the station and had been for a month. For them, a few new faces would be more than welcome.

Because everyone on the shuttle had done this before, they all knew what to expect once on orbit. As always, the hours before blastoff were devoted to the last minute preparations for the flight, but each astronaut also did what he could to put himself at ease in anticipation of the always long, exciting, and tiring launch day. Shortly before the mission began, Brian Tobin, Canada’s then industry minister, phoned Marc Garneau to wish him all the best and a good flight. Afterwards, the minister told the press about the astronaut’s demeanor: “He sounded very confident, very serene, very proud to be waving the Canadian flag at the world.”1. Garneau was not only the sole Canadian on board this flight; no mission has ever carried more than one Canadian. There have, however, been several instances where the CAPCOM in Houston has been Canadian while a fellow countryman flew.

As the Endeavour streaked through space towards its link-up with the International Space Station, industry observers noted that this was the first time in almost three decades that two crewed space vehicles were under NASA’s control at the same time. Those who were old enough will recall the days when a space capsule was landing on the moon, while a second vehicle waited for the lunar travellers to return. The most vivid instance of this, of course, occurred when Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin descended in Eagle onto the lunar surface, as Michael Collins, in the command module Columbia, circled the moon and waited for them.

This time the moon was not the objective, and the rendezvous of the spaceships would be nowhere near it. In this case, the planned link-up was 230 miles above northeastern Kazakhstan. The docking would occur first; the unfurling of the huge, electricity-producing solar wings would take place second. The wings themselves were manifestly utilitarian, and on Earth they would have been capable of producing enough power for at least thirty homes. In space they would prove to be a vital component in the long-range operation of the space station, which, at the time, was projected to cost upwards of $60 billion when fully complete. By then it would also be one of the brighter objects visible in the heavens at night. These solar wings were also the largest ever carried into space.

News accounts of the same month in 2000 mentioned the flawless operation of the shuttles, and the regularity of trips into space. The missions themselves had approached routine in the wake of the increased safety precautions after the Challenger accident. Of course, this was before the equally disastrous loss of Columbia, but that was still in the future. Nevertheless, at the time that Marc Garneau was winging his way towards the space station, more and more Americans and Russians were being trained for missions. In view of this situation, there was increased anticipation that another recruitment campaign would soon be necessary in Canada as well.

At the time, Michel Vachon was general manager of the Canadian Space Agency, and reporters asked for his reaction to the speculation. He did not attempt to downplay it. In fact, he concurred with the widespread rumours and drew attention to the obvious increase in the number of missions that were being flown, and the belief that many more lay ahead. To that end, he said a new hiring program would indeed be needed.

“The big question is to know when to do it,” he said. “When we know how many flights we’ll have over the next ten years, we’ll know how many astronauts have to be recruited.”²

What Vachon did not know then, nor could he have known, was that a host of obstacles, monetary and otherwise, would hinder human exploration during the ensuing months and years. In fact, the recruitment campaign that seemed so close at hand at the time he spoke, did not become a reality for almost a decade. It finally opened in May 2008. However, the positive spin concerning such a project was not out of place when it was made, the timing was just off. But at the time of STS-97 all was well.

As the Endeavour sped through space, periodic firings of the shuttle’s jet thrusters lined the ship up for the anticipated link-up with the ISS, in two days time. In the meantime, the cargo bay doors were opened, the Canadarm was checked, and the space vision system was tested to ensure that all would be ready to go as soon as they were needed. Meanwhile, the three men who waited on the space station prepared their domain for the arrival of their visitors. Their anticipation was great.

Docking day was December 2, and the actual coupling of the two spaceships occurred at 2 p.m., Houston time. Just two hours later, Mission Control announced: “Canadian Space Agency astronaut Marc Garneau maneuvered Endeavour’s Canadian-built robotic arm and grappled the 45-foot-long, 17.5 ton P6 solar array truss structure at 4:17 p.m., lifting it out of its berthing latches in the shuttle’s cargo bay, where it will remain overnight attached to the arm to properly warm its components.”³ During the docking, while Garneau worked the arm, the three spacemen inside the station strained to see what was happening on their doorstep. As they were doing this, the two Mission Specialists in the shuttle with Garneau were making their preparations for the necessary spacewalks to properly install the solar wings.

Fortunately, the wings were unveiled and installed successfully. The operation was done over two days and involved two spacewalks. On a succeeding day, fine-tuning of the operation necessitated a third trek outside of the shuttle. While those feats were being performed, back on Earth the media were posting accounts of the progress. There was joy in Houston as the maneuvering continued. In the words of an Associated Press story, picked up by other outlets, the pride of accomplishment was obvious:

Space shuttle Endeavour’s astronauts attached the world’s largest, most powerful set of solar panels to [the] International Space Station yesterday, then watched with delight and relief as the first glittering wing unfolded.

The blue-gold panels, made of silicon cells and thin Kapton layers, were folded like an accordion for lift-off. [The] wings, covering 2,000 square metres, will be the largest structure yet deployed in space. Each wing — 11.6 metres wide and covering 32,800 solar cells — has power storing batteries and radiators at the base. The combined wingspan — 73 metres — exceeds that of a Boeing 777. NASA expects the big U.S. wings to generate 65 kilowatts at peak power.⁴

The two Mission Specialists whose outside work made the installation possible were pleased that their efforts had gone well. One of the two, Joe Tanner, a year younger than Marc Garneau, had done two separate spacewalks on an earlier mission. With the addition of three on that mission, and two more six years later, he would eventually spend over forty-six hours in Extravehicular Activity (EVA). His colleague, Lima, Peru-born Carlos Noriega, eventually accumulated over nineteen hours.

While the two men were out of the shuttle they wore helmet cameras, devices that are commonplace today, but were being used for the first time on that mission. Typical of any new or revolutionary device, the camera Tanner was using stopped working before he completed his walk. The one on Noriega’s helmet functioned reasonably well. Technicians in Houston were able to follow the wing installation progress through it. From inside the shuttle, Marc Garneau was in radio contact with Noriega, and advised him how to move his head — and the camera — so that the images could be picked up by Mission Control. In a sense, Garneau functioned somewhat like a film director as he choreographed the operation. When the spacewalk was complete, the second important part of the mission began.

The shuttle and the space station flew for six days in locked position. The same link-up made it possible for the men on both spaceships to visit each other. These meetings, with the expected backslapping, laughter, and camaraderie, were not just social affairs. Various supplies and equipment were delivered, including a pair of vice grips that one of the men on the station had requested. The same man, American Bill Shepherd, was also overjoyed when another of his wishes — some fresh coffee — was handed to him. A new laptop was also delivered, as were headsets for two-way video conferencing, a new hard drive for a Russian computer, and large containers of water. In a seemingly unbalanced return gesture, containers of refuse from the station were moved to the shuttle for a return to Earth. The long-anticipated get-together was especially appreciated by the space station inhabitants. When the time came to do so, they seemed almost reluctant to say goodbye.

The space station–shuttle link-up also made possible several broadcasts from space; on the big American networks, cable news, Discovery Channel, and Canadian media outlets. As with most projects involving both television and space, the interviews were scheduled well in advance, and timed to the exact minute. For example, three separate broadcasts were done, one after the other, beginning at precisely 2:31 p.m. CST on December 4. The purpose of these exchanges was to allow the astronauts to tell viewers on Earth about the focus of the mission, and its progress at the time. Shortcomings, if any, were not mentioned. The spin that NASA wanted was, not surprisingly, to be positive. After all, it was the taxpaying viewers on Earth who were footing the bill. Reports of a mission in trouble might enhance television ratings, but such an eventuality would not ensure popular support for the costly and dangerous work being performed by the men who were circling the Earth at seventeen thousand miles an hour.

As expected, Marc Garneau participated in the media exchanges, as did all of his colleagues. One of these joint sessions involved reporters at the Kennedy Space Center, the Johnson Space Center, and the Canadian Space Agency near Montreal. Despite attempts by some of the reporters to elicit complaints about STS-97, none were forthcoming. The answers from space were polished, professional, and positive.

This was in contrast to a Garneau interview that took place shortly before the mission even began. In answering a reporter’s questions then, he was completely honest, blunt, and surprisingly forthcoming. In the exchange, he talked about what it was like to be a rookie astronaut seventeen years earlier. He mentioned that when he arrived in Houston for the first time, he was looked upon as an outsider who somehow barged into the closed environment that was the U.S. Space Program at that time. He felt that he was being watched, and in an unwelcome way.

“I felt eyes burning through my back when I walked down the hall,” he explained. “It was very much an American program.” He said he had the feeling that non-Americans “weren’t quite part of [it].” He recalled that he had to be told where to stow his sleeping bag on orbit, how to warm his meals, and even how to use the zero-gravity toilet on the shuttle. Nevertheless, he persevered, but was always conscious of his actions, particularly during that first flight. “There was a lot of pressure,” he added. “I wanted to acquit myself right.”⁵

As history would show, he did. In due course, Garneau became a Mission Specialist, participated fully in NASA operations, and played an integral role in the two missions that followed. He would never again get the impression that he was performing at a level below that of his American colleagues. In essence, he had arrived, was at ease, and was fully accepted in the roles he was assigned to carry out.

At the time of Garneau’s first mission, the Canadarm was already a vital component of the shuttle. Garneau saw the arm, of course, was awed by its effectiveness, and noted the controls that were used to operate it. Yet at the same time, he could not use those controls, even though they, and the arm that they moved, were Canadian, built in Canada, and were paid for, in part, with his own tax dollars. In fact, because he was untrained to operate the arm at the time, he was forbidden to even touch the controls. That part, he found, was “especially humiliating.”

Finally, on STS-97, he was the Mission Specialist whose prime responsibility was the operation of this great Canadian invention. But, “my hand was shaking a little bit at the start,” he admitted.⁶

Among the broadcasts from space involving Marc Garneau, was a link to the Canada Science and Technology Museum in Ottawa. Gathered there were Girl Guides, navy cadets, and students from two Ontario schools. These youngsters watched, fascinated, as “their” astronaut demonstrated what it was like to be in a micro-gravity environment, and answered questions about a variety of subjects. One query dealt with space travel, and the possibilities for its future. Garneau assured his listeners that each of the seventy-five young people in his earthly audience would see unprecedented, exciting, and rewarding space travel in the years to come. They might not participate themselves, but some in their generation would.

“Within my lifetime, and certainly within your lifetime, we’re going to send humans to Mars,” he declared.⁷ Many in the audience nodded in agreement, and some no doubt envisioned themselves being part of such exciting adventures in the years to come. Meanwhile, the adventurers on STS-97 started to prepare to return to Earth.

The hatches between Endeavour and the International Space Station closed on Saturday afternoon, December 9, in preparation for the undocking. This was done over the northern reaches of the Persian Gulf. The three men remaining aloft shook hands with their visitors, said their goodbyes, and wished the departing fliers a successful and safe journey. Then the shuttle moved away from the station, and using the thrusters again, Endeavour flew once around the ISS and set course for the return. At the point of separation, the two spacecraft were approximately 240 miles above Earth. The trip home — through space, into the Earth’s atmosphere, and subsequently back to Florida — would take two days, with touchdown occurring in the December darkness of early Monday evening.

Even though no official announcement had been made at the time, in his comments during one of the news conferences from space, Marc Garneau said that he expected that this mission would be his last one. “You can’t get too greedy in life,” he pointed out. “I’ve fulfilled just about all of the things that I would have ever dreamt — even many that I didn’t even dream I could ever do.

“So I’m very, very happy to have been able to fly on three occasions and especially to finish off with an opportunity to visit the [space] station.” Then he added, in what seemed to many a somewhat bittersweet remark: “Even though this is a fantastic experience, I think it’s going to be my last flight. At some point in life, you have to make changes.”⁸

Soon afterwards, the space shuttle landed, and Marc Garneau, Canada’s first man in space, stepped off Endeavour and into history.