to block my path, and John voiced his concern about it: âDonât get tangled up in that thing!â Fortunately, I didnât, and I was able to pull the experiment package free easily with one hand. Then it was time to get back to the Gemini. I decided not to use the gun, but simply to come in by pulling hand-over-hand on the umbilical. That was all right, provided I didnât get going too fast, because I had no way to slow down, and I didnât want to splat up against the side of the Gemini too violently. One gentle tug and I was on my way, although I didnât move in a straight line but swung in a great circle around the side and rear of the Gemini and eventually reached the cockpit and handed the experiment
package in to John. Then I made a sad discovery. I had lost my camera. It had been attached to my chestpack but had worked its way loose and was now out there somewhere in its own orbit. A couple of times during my space walk I had slowed down long enough to take a picture or two, and I knew I had some great ones, but now they were gone forever.
Next on our schedule was a practice test of the gun, to see how accurately I could use it. The ground called up, however, and said we didnât have enough fuel left to do that, and for me to come back inside the Gemini and lock the hatch. As I stood in the open hatch, gathering up all fifty feet of the umbilical line, I had a brief moment to rest and to look around. I felt fine; the only part of me that felt tired was my fingers, which had gotten quite a workout inside those bulky pressurized gloves. I also realized with a start that the earth was down there! I hadnât even noticed it during the time I had been outside, having been completely preoccupied with the Gemini and the Agena. My problem now was the umbilical line. Fifty feet of heavy hose, containing oxygen tubes and radio wires, is quite a bundle. In addition to its bulk was the distressing awareness that several loops of it were wound around my body. With John pulling, and me backing out of the cockpit a couple of times, we got rid of all but one last persistent loop. This was something I had never practiced in the zero G airplane, the matter of getting snarled in the umbilical, and I didnât like to think about what it meant when I tried to squeeze down far enough to get that hatch closed. I looked down inside the cockpit and could barely make out Johnâs shoulder. Loops of umbilical were everywhere!
Well, now was the time to find out. I wedged my body down through the nearly solid sea of coils, forcing my legs deep into the cockpit and jackknifing my knees so that my upper body swung downward and inward. I grabbed the hatch above me and pulled it inward. I knew it was going to hit either the hatch frame or my helmet. If hatch frame, fine, but if helmet, that meant I wasnât down far enough, and I would have to go back outside and try again.
Which would it be? Click! The best sound ever, as the hatch slid smoothly into place. Now all I had to do was unstow the locking handle, and crank, and crank, untilâfinallyâit was locked. Then I tried to be funny. âThis place makes the snake house at the zoo look like a Sunday school picnic,â I said, referring to the fact that I couldnât see much besides a jillion loops of umbilical line. John and I took a good fifteen minutes to get that umbilical and all the rest of the space-walk equipment under control. We put it all together into one large package, which we then dropped overboard, opening the hatch for the third time in two days. This time, with no umbilical, the inside of the Gemini seemed quite spacious, and it was really easy to squeeze down far enough to get the hatch locked for the final time.
After all this, it was time for a good meal and some sleep. It was suppertime, and I had missed lunch in the rush of preparing for the space walk, and I was really hungry. I unpacked a transparent plastic tube of
package in to John. Then I made a sad discovery. I had lost my camera. It had been attached to my chestpack but had worked its way loose and was now out there somewhere in its own orbit. A couple of times during my space walk I had slowed down long enough to take a picture or two, and I knew I had some great ones, but now they were gone forever.
Next on our schedule was a practice test of the gun, to see how accurately I could use it. The ground called up, however, and said we didnât have enough fuel left to do that, and for me to come back inside the Gemini and lock the hatch. As I stood in the open hatch, gathering up all fifty feet of the umbilical line, I had a brief moment to rest and to look around. I felt fine; the only part of me that felt tired was my fingers, which had gotten quite a workout inside those bulky pressurized gloves. I also realized with a start that the earth was down there! I hadnât even noticed it during the time I had been outside, having been completely preoccupied with the Gemini and the Agena. My problem now was the umbilical line. Fifty feet of heavy hose, containing oxygen tubes and radio wires, is quite a bundle. In addition to its bulk was the distressing awareness that several loops of it were wound around my body. With John pulling, and me backing out of the cockpit a couple of times, we got rid of all but one last persistent loop. This was something I had never practiced in the zero G airplane, the matter of getting snarled in the umbilical, and I didnât like to think about what it meant when I tried to squeeze down far enough to get that hatch closed. I looked down inside the cockpit and could barely make out Johnâs shoulder. Loops of umbilical were everywhere!
Well, now was the time to find out. I wedged my body down through the nearly solid sea of coils, forcing my legs deep into the cockpit and jackknifing my knees so that my upper body swung downward and inward. I grabbed the hatch above me and pulled it inward. I knew it was going to hit either the hatch frame or my helmet. If hatch frame, fine, but if helmet, that meant I wasnât down far enough, and I would have to go back outside and try again.
Which would it be? Click! The best sound ever, as the hatch slid smoothly into place. Now all I had to do was unstow the locking handle, and crank, and crank, untilâfinallyâit was locked. Then I tried to be funny. âThis place makes the snake house at the zoo look like a Sunday school picnic,â I said, referring to the fact that I couldnât see much besides a jillion loops of umbilical line. John and I took a good fifteen minutes to get that umbilical and all the rest of the space-walk equipment under control. We put it all together into one large package, which we then dropped overboard, opening the hatch for the third time in two days. This time, with no umbilical, the inside of the Gemini seemed quite spacious, and it was really easy to squeeze down far enough to get the hatch locked for the final time.
After all this, it was time for a good meal and some sleep. It was suppertime, and I had missed lunch in the rush of preparing for the space walk, and I was really hungry. I unpacked a transparent plastic tube of
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