Watching You Watching Me

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United Launch Alliance Delta IV carrying NROL-65 takes off

Yesterday morning, at 11:03 PST, a  Delta IV Heavy rocket took off from a launch pad at Vandenberg Air Force base. This was only the second launch from VAFB of the most powerful rocket in the U.S.’s quiver. The launch (a video is here) was visible from up to 100 miles away — in fact, I walked to the roof of my building on campus and watched it. Several minutes after the rocket had soared out of my sight, I heard a low rumble from the launch pad some 60 miles away.

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Delta IV plume over Santa Barbara (photo courtesy of Dan Failla)

Although details of the satellite are classified, enough information was circulating on aerospace-oriented web sites yesterday to give a rough picture. The missile carried a classified spy satellite mission (codenamed NROL-65) into near-earth orbit. The Delta’s payload was a KH-11 (Keyhole) optical imaging satellite, the 16th such satellite to be launched since 1976. Intelligence experts generally assume that yesterday’s launch will be the last KH-11 to be boosted into orbit. The design and configuration of the KH-11 (weighing in at about 14 ton and $3+ billion) generally resembles that of the much more familiar Hubble Space Telescope. The key difference, of course, is the direction in which they’re pointed.

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Looking up? Looking down?

Although seeing the launch (practically from my office window) was cool, two other things held my attention longer. One was seeing the patches and posters that were made to commemorate yesterday’s launch. Check out the subtlety of this:

Screen shot 2013-08-29 at 7.40.20 AMFans of spy satellites and other classified programs will recognize the ways in which artist-scholar Trevor Paglen has used ephemera like this to speculate on the secret world of military imagery, classified jargon, and various inside jokes. Paglen, in fact, made this sort of divination the basis for a fun and spooky book called I Could Tell You But Then You Would Have to be Destroyed By Me.

Consider this image:Screen Shot 2013-08-29 at 2.05.35 PMThis (mission) patch shows an American eagle holding the planet in its right wing/hand and a snake in its left. The snake’s tail is in the form of an omega, perhaps signalling the end of the Keyhole series. Imagery of an eagle with a snake is also found in origin stories and myths in both Mexico and Albania. “Buttercup” is tattooed on the eagle’s arm and it’s wearing a jacket with another patch reading “DYS.” One aerospace web site interpreted this, as well as the inscription running around the patch (the Gaelic Sheachadadh Do Rudai) as shorthand for “Deliver Your Stuff.”

Then there’s this launch patch:

Screen Shot 2013-08-29 at 11.43.46 AMIt’s just as enigmatic…the Delta IV is flying off into the sunset, right? “Victoria” (the nickname of the rocket…the previous one was called ‘Betty’) is on the left and a female archer is on the left. We also see the symbol for “delta” and the Roman number 4. It’s less clear what the stars on the patch mean. One speculation is that “the groups of three, three and two stars on that patch could represent the three old-generation radar imaging satellites still in service, the three KH-11s which will be in the west plane after this launch, and the two currently in the east plane.”

Clearly, there’s a lot of secrecy involved with such launches as well as the payload. (If you’re really interested in secrecy, especially that of the nuclear flavor, you should check out Alex Wellerstein’s Restricted Data blog) But, at the same time, it’s impossible to hide something as visible as a Delta IV launch. Even the Facebook page for VAFB had details on the launch and subsequent updates.

Once the rocket is out of sight, so is its payload, right? Not necessarily…

This takes us to the other really interesting part of yesterday’s launch. Within a few hours of the Delta IV’s ascent – the smoke plume had just drifted out over the Pacific – amateur satellite spotters were already working out the orbital details (see here, for example) of the rocket’s KH-11 payload.This information is posted on-line (and frequently updated) on the Visual Satellite Observer’s Home Page. An on-line bulletin board and mailing list called SeeSat provides more information.

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Example of a SeeSat post

One of the world’s most active satellite spotters, Ted Molczan, explained the good luck amateur spotters had with NROL-65. In an email he wrote to me today, he said: “We were fortunate to have experienced observers well-placed to observe the payload in close proximity to its rocket stage (~40 km apart) as they passed over Europe, 78 minutes after launch. The rocket may already have performed the de-orbit burn that caused it to re-enter about half an hour later into the Pacific, near the equator around 154 W. One of the European observers reported venting from the rocket body.”

Some observers saw the satellite and rocket visually while others used still or motion picture cameras. Doppler radio tracking data was reported in off-list messages, Molczan said. All these observations “yielded an excellent set of initial orbital elements. The orbit is 252 X 996 km, inclined 97.9 deg, with a period of 97.25 min.” In other words, if you know where to look at the right time, you’ll probably be able to see it.

Satellite spotting today is an echo of the Cold War space race. Operation Moonwatch was a program for amateur/citizen scientists that Fred L. Whipple, the director of the Smithsonian Astrophysical Observatory, first organized in 1956 as part of the International Geophysical Year. Whipple’s initial goal was to enlist the aid of amateur astronomers and other citizens who would help “real” scientists spot satellites.

Housewife Operation Moonwatch from Chabot files

Photo from newspaper, circa October 1957.

Whipple first imagined Moonwatch as a way for citizens to participate in science and as a supplement to professionally-manned optical and radio tracking stations. But when Sputnik I and II appeared suddenly in late 1957, Moonwatchers around the world found themselves an essential component of the professional scientists’ global tracking network.  (My 2008 book Keep Watching the Skies tells the story of Moonwatch).

Satellite spotting today – the kind that Molczan and his associates do – has a very different valence.The political context in which amateur satellite spotters practice their arcane craft has changed since Moonwatch first started. In 1957, amidst the throes of the Cold War, Western scientists, politicians, and military leaders desperately needed information about the new Soviet Sputniks. In response, the American government encouraged amateurs to be vigilant and recognized their contributions in turn. More than 50 years later, with the Cold War over and the U.S. fighting the more nebulous threat of terrorism, some government officials sent a different message: Instead of contributing to national security, some have suggested that amateurs who track top-secret reconnaissance satellites might actually be thwarting it.

Ted Molczan was one of the initiates who took up satellite spotting in Moonwatch’s final years. Molczan became especially interested in monitoring clandestine spy satellites. (An on-line interview with him is here.) While the government carefully guards the technical details of spy satellites, the fact remains that they are large orbiting objects that reflect sunlight quite well. In other words, they present a tempting target for amateurs who know where to look. And given that the small yet skilled amateur community can correlate their observations with information aviation magazines and industry newspapers published about launch times, it’s relatively simple to identify the actual objects they spotted. As one spokesperson for the National Reconnaissance Office noted in Wired, “If we had our druthers, we would prefer that these things not end up on the Internet.”

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John Locker, British satellite spotter. Credit: Jonathan Player, New York Times, 2008

However small their numbers, the amateurs following spy satellites caused consternation for some in the intelligence community. In November 2000, a blue-ribbon congressional commission released a lengthy report on the status of U.S. spy satellite capabilities and the activities of the National Reconnaissance Office. When the commission unveiled its report at the National Press Club, co-chair Sen. Robert Kerrey charged that amateurs who track spy satellites and post their data on the Web aided terrorists and foreign governments wishing to hide illegal activities.1

There are at least three kinds of irony here. The first and obvious one is that a small international group of amateur spotters – using equipment one could buy at the local Kmart – can locate and track multi-billion dollar classified satellites in the first place.

The second is that, at one time, the US government sought out the participation of amateurs for programs like Moonwatch. Keeping tabs on the Soviets was part of the program. Now such activities are seen with quite the gimlet eye.

Finally, this summer has been dominated by news and debate about Edward Snowden and the leaking of information about the National Security Agency’s covert and (likely) illegal surveillance of American and foreign citizens. I see it as a modest victory of sorts for openness that amateur satellite spotters are looking back.

Long after Moonwatch ended, amateurs and professionals hailed it as a model for future amateur-professional collaboration and reflected that the long-lived program helped change the perception of what amateurs could contribute to professional science. Today, when it comes to keeping an eye (as limited as it may be) on the national surveillance state, amateurs have yet another role to perform.

  1. Vernon Loeb. “Panel Report Reveals Satellite Details.” The Washington Post, November 24, 2000: A41. []

Apprehending the Artifact

MW patch

If you were a member of the Albuquerque Moonwatch team, you might have worn one of these.

Back in 2008, NASA’s Goddard Space Flight Center invited me to give a talk. Being somewhat of a space geek, this was pretty exciting. The occasion was the recent publication of my book Keep Watching the Skies: The Story of Operation Moonwatch & the Dawn of the Space Age (to keep it simple, “KWTS”).

Moonwatch was a program for amateur/citizen scientists that Fred L. Whipple, the director of the Smithsonian Astrophysical Observatory, first organized in 1956 as part of the International Geophysical Year.

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Whipple in his Cambridge, MA office…note drawing of him in background on his bike (done by Don Menzel)

Whipple’s initial goal was to enlist the aid of amateur astronomers and other citizens who would help “real” scientists spot satellites. Whipple first imagined Moonwatch as a way for citizens to participate in science and as a supplement to professionally-manned optical and radio tracking stations. But when Sputnik I and II appeared suddenly in late 1957, Moonwatchers around the world found themselves an essential component of the professional scientists’ global tracking network. After the IGY ended, the Smithsonian maintained Operation Moonwatch (with some NASA funding) until 1975.

In the United States, enthusiasm for Moonwatch reflected was a thriving culture of amateur scientists (writer Jack Hitt has a new book on this called Bunch of Amateurs that I’ll review in a later post). During the Cold War, the United States also encouraged thousands of citizens to take part in the Ground Observer Corps, a nationwide program to spot Soviet bombers.

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Cover of The Aircraft Flash, the official ‘zine of the Ground Observer Corps during the early years of the Cold War

Finally, the enthusiasm and interest that teenagers and young adults had in science and technology – think Mr. Wizard – helped Moonwatch become a success. KWTS describes how Moonwatch brought together and combined these different facets of “Cold War culture” into a thriving activity for amateur scientists.1

Coming back to that NASA talk: one of the people who heard me speak was George Gliba, a NASA employee and amateur astronomer. George really liked hearing about Moonwatch and we exchanged some emails after my talk. A few years went by and then an email popped up in my in-box. George had found a highly desirable piece of evidence which had eluded me during the two years I was researching the book: an actual Moonwatch telescope. And he was offering it to me.

Now, one of the cool things about Moonwatch was the specially designed telescopes that team members used. Look at this drawing of one team:

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Drawing of a Moonwatch team in action; taken from E. Nelson Hayes, Trackers of the Skies (Cambridge, MA: Howard A. Doyle Publishing Co., 1968).

Because using the telescope to look up for extended periods of time could give many satellite spotters neck pains, Moonwatch telescopes were designed so that users actually looked down and aimed their telescope at a fixed mirror.


To see up, you looked down.

This mirror reflected what was visible in the sky above and presented it to the observer. Arranging a group of properly outfitted observers in a line and overlapping their telescopes’ fields of view created, in effect, a virtual picket line across which a transiting satellite would have to cross.

At least two companies made telescopes that Moonwatchers could buy. For $49.50, one could buy a Satellite Scope, complete with mounting, directly from the Edmund Scientific Corporation. Edmund’s instrument featured a special eyepiece that gave a wide field of view. Meanwhile, its objective lens magnified the view at about five and half times. While many teams purchased commercially available instruments for satellite spotting, quite a few teams used telescopes their members assembled themselves. The Smithsonian encouraged, in fact, a simple design that a person already familiar with building tools to do amateur science could make. The parts for a homemade ‘scope cost around $30 and mainstream publications like Popular Mechanics and Popular Science published detailed instructions to build one.

While browsing on eBay, George had found a Moonwatch telescope made by a Japanese company called Micronta. These were made, as close as I can tell, starting around 1957. The Google-lator tells me that this company also made other inexpensive scientific instruments as well as clocks, slide rules and cameras. What was especially exciting to George (and me) is that a similar instrument is in the collection at Harvard’s History of Science Department. The “Harvard telescope” was none other than the one that Fred Whipple had owned for years – George was kindly offering me its sibling.

As I unpacked my “new” Moonwatch telescope, I thought of an essay that the late Princeton historian Michael Mahoney wrote in 2003. In “Reading a Machine,” Mahoney encouraged historians to think more seriously about material culture and to think about “things” as a complement to more familiar textual sources. As he put it, to think about “things is to think about society and the humans who constitute it. Disdain for visual and tactile modes of thinking can mean ignorance of ideas that vitally affect the human condition.” So – what did this particular object say?

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My Moonwatch telescope in its new home

My Moonwatch telescope arrived at my office looking both well-used and well-maintained. While the body of the ‘scope is metal, it’s attached to a sturdy wooden base that has received at least one coat of varnish. Its optics are similar to the ‘scopes that Edmund Scientific made – mine has a 6X magnification and a 12 degree field of view. The thick gnurled knobs would have made it easier for a person with gloves (or cold hands) to adjust and focus it. Meanwhile, the fixed mirror and achromatic lens at its end was protected with a hinged metal flap. The ideal telescope for satellite spotting was lightweight, small, and rugged with few moving parts. An average person could afford one. Loosening a knob on the right side of the Micronata ‘scope allows the thing to be collapsed and folded for easy transport. I can easily imagine someone packing it up and slipping it into their book bag or briefcase after spending a few hours on the Moonwatch front lines at dusk or dawn. Because not all Moonwatchers were amateur astronomers – many were initially recruited from the ranks of enthusiastic citizens but had little familiarity with telescopes – a Moonwatch telescope needed to be fairly simple and easy to repair.

Individual telescopes, however, were just one part of a much larger ensemble of people and gear. Consider this photograph which shows the Terre Haute Moonwatch team sometime in 1957:

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Terre Haute Moonwatch team, summer 1957

40 men and women sit on benches or stand around them with their telescopes arrayed nearby. The photograph’s back label attests to the diverse backgrounds that Moonwatchers came from – secretary, accountant, heavy equipment operator, plant foreman. This group started out observing on folding chairs and temporarily mounted their telescopes on cheap tables. Eventually they had the luxury of satellite spotting from one of the best equipped and most comfortable Moonwatch stations in the world. Besides the satellite observing room, the station had a small room which housed timing gear and shortwave radio equipment.

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Inside the Terre Haute station; I’m assuming this is a publicity photo given the formal dress code.

Telescopes, like the one that George gave me, have stories. In Fort Worth, Texas, Charlie Mary Noble organized a Moonwatch team composed mostly of kids and young teens. From out of her house, she operated a unique lending library – instead of books, kids could check out telescopes. For fifty cents a week allowed a child to rent a good-quality reflecting telescope with a 4-inch mirror – large enough to start doing some serious amateur astronomy. She also loaned Moonwatch telescopes. One of these – identified only as #8 in correspondence with the Smithsonian – was believed lost after floods hit the Fort Worth area in the late spring of 1957. It had been loaned to a young boy who, when told to evacuate his home due to a levee breech nearby, placed it on high shelf in his room. The telescope floated out his window and bobbed along in its wooden case until someone fished it out and returned it, none too worse for wear, to Noble’s telescope library.2

“Reading a machine” means being aware of what an artifact might say about the person who designed it and the expectations of its users. I keep my Moonwatch telescope on a table next to my desk. I enjoy seeing it there when I come to the office in the morning. I don’t know what new stories this particular artifact might be able tell me. But I’m listening.

  1. Marcel LaFollette’s new book Science on American Television covers this topic nicely []
  2. The Fort Worth Museum of Science and History later named its planetarium after Noble []