Even Having a Great Time is Bad?

This is a belated post. A week ago today I had an experience that I really enjoyed. I can’t even find words to express how exciting and fun it was! But the very same experience plunged me into a very deep, dark depression which I am still fighting to climb out of.

One of the local ham radio operators had asked if I wanted a ride to the hamfest last weekend. A  hamfest is like a flea market and social gathering for ham radio operators. I really didn’t feel like going, but on the other hand I was tired of turning down opportunities and I did think I wanted to be there for one reason: they were launching a high altitude weather balloon carrying a (mostly)  ham radio payload. This launch was a joint project between the University of Maine and the Pine State Amateur Radio Club, sponsor of the hamfest. WABI TV did a story on the event. You can watch the raw video (minus the newscast commentary, unfortunately).

I have always found such experiments fascinating. Years ago I had supplied a radio transmitter for a friend who was doing a high altitude balloon launch. I was able to copy more than an hour of morse code transmissions from it during the flight.

Then balloon launches last weekend was carrying a video camera (no video downlink in real time but it saved a video record of th flight), a very low power voice repeater which hams could communicate with each other through, an experiment by local high school students, and more. I was standing just a few feet from the balloon when it was launched. In fact, I am one of the bystanders visible in the television footage linked above.

After watching the balloon ascend until it was but a tiny dot to the naked eye, I went inside to watch its flight tracked in real time on large map projected from a computer. This was made possible by a GPS and transmitter sending down position data every 30 seconds. This was the most fascinating part of the event for me. I stood there and watched the entire flight as it was tracked. It was incredible watching the changes in direction and speed as the balloon first encountered surface winds, then passed through the jet stream, then meandered about in relative calm above the jet stream… and the reverse of all that on the descent. You can see the path it took on a street map or satellite view by clicking the small images shown here. You may want to maximize your browser window or even go full screen with it to see more detail. The balloon was launched at the southwest end of this track, landing at the northeast end. It traveled up to 70 miles per hour while passing through the jet stream, and as slow as 2 to 3 mph while drifting generally westward (with am few small loops) above it. Relative speed can be seen in these plots. The wider the spacing between the red dots the faster it was moving. Each red dot represents one position report, which were sent at 30 second intervals. The flight lasted about two and one half hours, reaching a maximum altitude over 97,000 feet near the westward end of that slow westerly jog mid-track. That is where the balloon finally burst from the constant pressure of helium inside with decreasing atmospheric pressure outside.

After the flight I was able to listen to some (limited) communications with the payload recovery  team who went out to chase it and bring back all the stuff that went up. They only had to walk about half a mile into the forest to get this one. I’ve heard past recovery efforts have been a little more challenging! This one could have been had it come down just a little sooner, as it was flying over some remote areas with only private logging roads for access. How I would have loved to be part of the recovery team! What fun that must be! Tracking the flight, trying to figure out where it might land ahead of time so as to pre-position, sorting out the best route to get as close to the landing site as possible, walking in to hunt for it, and finally locating it! There is, I suppose, a small amount of guesswork as to exactly where it comes down. The last position report we had put it at 905 feet altitude, descending on a northwesterly heading. It probably landed about 30 seconds later, as it had been dropping near 800 feet per reporting interval.

While I thoroughly enjoyed the event, I was very depressed afterward. It reminded me of the hopes and dreams I had when I was young. I was going to have an exciting career, possibly involving research like this. For certain it would have involved electronics and technology. Now, about to turn 48, I am but a bystander observing all the things I love and once thought I could be a part of.