Days at Cape Wheeler

by John P. Adams, LUNAR # 684

It's all my Uncle Warren's fault. I was visiting him one summer out in Montana, and he thought I would like a model rocket. Of course, he was right. We launched it from his front yard, lighting the engine with some cannon fuse. Watching my blue and gold Estes kit streak skyward, I knew my life would never be the same. I had become a Rocket Nut. That first launch led to many more, but I had to wait until I got home for that.

Back in Michigan, where I grew up, I found I had a new perspective on life. For a change I had begun to think about money. If I was going to buy motors, igniters, wadding, a new launcher, and maybe even a few rockets I was going to need to find a way to get money, lots of it, at least twenty dollars. The only way was mowing lawns, so off I went into the world of lawn care. After a while my fleet began to grow, what started as a lone Starblazer X-20, grew to include a Bluebird-0 and an Astron Scout. With a few more lawns under my belt, I was able to buy a launch pad (my uncle and I had used a straightened clothes hanger) and the parts for a launch controller.

I was all set! On a clear July afternoon, I collected my equipment, and plodded off to the pasture. After a few nervous moments I had my rocket on the pad, and the igniter connected. I took a few steps back and pressed the button. WHOOSH! The rocket streaked skyward and assorted farm animals scattered in all directions. No doubt I surprised my mom, who had not yet discovered my new hobby, but as I watched the parachute deploy, and the little rocket settle gently to the ground nothing else mattered. This was the coolest thing a thirteen-year-old kid could think of in 1981. After exhausting my supply of motors, I packed up, and headed for the house. As I looked back at the launch field, something occurred to me. I was actually launching rockets. I was under staffed – there was only myself – poorly financed, and yet I was actually getting rockets a few feet off the ground. It was like I was a tiny little version of NASA, and my parent's pasture was "the Cape". "Cape Wheeler", named for the road our house sat next to.

Rocketry became a vehicle for all sorts of things when I was a kid: fair projects (where my Starblazer X-20 was eaten buy a tree), school projects, art projects, and any other project where I could apply my new hobby. Soon I was getting mail from Centuri and Estes, and mowing lawns to pay for my expenses. Like NASA, I made mistakes. I did things like paint rockets John-Deere green (I stole a can of my Dad's tractor paint), putting "A" engines in rockets meant for "C's". I launched in fog and deep snow. I forgot wadding, and once I even forgot to tighten the nut on my launcher. The rod tipped just as my Mighty Icarus thundered to life, resulting in a sub-suborbital flight. The thing nearly took my head off!!! It was GREAT!! I had flex wings that didn't open, gliders that flew like bricks, rockets that lost their motors, and chutes that did not open. It was GREAT!!

I look back at all of my early rockets. None of them are still around, but I remember all of them. Some made corkscrews through the air, some wobbled a lot, and others flew just perfectly. Back then I made my fin alignment marks against a doorframe that was out of square. I glued the kits together with whatever was around, hot glue, Elmers, crazy glue, whatever. I painted them with whatever paint my Dad left where I could find it. Now that I have read four different editions of The Handbook of Model Rocketry, have no less than three different computer programs to predict stability and performance, and mark body tubes with a precision cut piece of metal angle, my rockets fly straighter and look better. But they aren't any more fun that the ones launched at Cape Wheeler. My life was pretty simple then; mow a lawn, launch a rocket. Now things seem complicated; fix planes, pay bills, get the car fixed, buy food, and then, if I remember to check my calendar, I can get a few launches in once a month. So you will excuse me for cherishing my moments at our LUNAR launches, for one day out of every month I am no longer a thirty-year-old airplane mechanic, I'm a 13 year-old rocket scientist.

I've included a picture of my fantasy rocket, the variable geometry aero-space fighter.

(JPEG, 39KB)
Drawing. The VF-1J Valkyrie.

Information date: November 14, 1998 lk