As something of an artist in my early years, I delighted in taking crayon to butcher's paper like a madman with my tongue hanging out the side of my mouth. The subject, crudely drawn rockets and spacecraft that even adorn a plate I made in grade 1 that my proud mother displays on the kitchen wall. The next door neighbours took a holiday in the USA and returned bearing gifts - a navy blue baseball cap emblazoned with NASA in bold red stitching. I wore that cap to the brink of disintegration.

twinky-z and I sat upon a rusty gate staring vacantly down a rough asphalt road that veered not an inch far as the eye could see. It split the swamps neatly in two under a cloudy winter sky. Into the distance rotting power poles line the road, like a dead army of withered old men waiting for a good break in traffic. A chill wind spurred us to action and we dropped from the gate and began the hike. Our skateboards were sacrificed early to the Swamp Gods, deemed horribly inefficient upon the bombed out asphalt.

Removed from civilization we marched clear minded and relaxed through the marsh. The tall marsh plants rustled in the breeze and I forgot how tired I really was. On two hours sleep we'd boarded a 5am flight, missed our connection, been bumped to first class, arrived 4 hours late into Florida, lost our drivers license, sweet talked the car hire place, gotten lost, gotten found and finally arrived at the one road in the entire world we wanted to be. A white vehicle grew from a speck in the distance and approached slowly. We'd walked passed two locked gates and this was pretty odd, however he just rolled on by. We're happy to share our road to nowhere, our seemingly post-apocalyptic world for just a moment.

After a mile we reached the main cluster of buildings, the primary research site. It was loosely guarded by rocks and rusty wire. Local kids had braved these security measures and tagged the rooftops long ago. In this marshy wilderness the dozen buildings stood decayed and silent but for the birds and wildlife who had come to reclaim their lands. We pressed on.

As the cluster shrunk behind us a single outline on the horizon grew larger and larger. Over the next 3.5 miles the corrugations upon the roof became visible and slowly the harsh shape of a solitary shed grew bold. The long weeds overflow from cracked concrete and sheet metal roofing littered the ground as we approached the shed. The spacious interior is barren but for scrap metal and discarded relics of the US space program. A suspicious checkerplate circle 60ft in diameter fills the center of the floor. This is what we'd come for.

Through a small rust hole we dropped a piece of debris then 7 seconds later it clanged against metal and splashed into something liquid. The echo was immense. Clad in protective astronaut attire we snapped some shots for the history books. With ropes rigged and backups in place I harnessed up, squeezed through a tiny hole in the floor and lowered myself into the chasm below.

Supported by 11mm of kernmantel rope above a 190ft deep, 60ft wide concrete abyss I rotated slowly feeling the incredible freedom of my limbs in the stale damp air. My first view was of 2 spiral staircases affixed to the walls permitting descent into the black pit below. The turquoise hand railings contrasted strongly against the silo's grey interior. Rows of massive concrete and steel anchors protrude from the walls at 3m intervals encircling the space. Presumably the rocket engines were tied down during tests. I spun slowly towards the silo's centre and came face to face with the world largest solid rocket motor. I vainly tried to reach out and touch its smooth metallic surface. All sense of proportion and perspective was lost from my vantage point so close to the rocket.



twinky-z dropped through the hole and I laughed aloud as his eyes grew wide and jaw dropped. He was awestruck to and we fumbled for adjectives as cameras and gear filled the stairs. The silo is divided horizontally into two sections by a large hexagon of mesh floor. It's not quite as decrepit as the levels above confluence but give it another 40 years and it will be close. Opposite the stairs, on the backside of the rocket, we finally found our proof. Halfway up its length in faded red faded letters it said: NASA. Booyaa!



The rocket engines were dropped nose first into the firing pit / silo with the tail of the rocket sitting at ground level. The nozzle was attached for test firings. There were 3 such engines and I've read rumours this engine has never been fired. This is an old photo taken by Jack Levi shows a test firing of a 260inch solid rocket engine. Originally the shed was on wheels to be moved during these tests.

Below the mesh floor is what appears to be another rocket though it looks nothing like my primary school scribblings so what do I know! At least 20ft of the silo is flooded and below the dirty water one circle of anchors is visible. After a few hours of shooting, we contacted Shane to congratulate him on finding such a wicked location and jugged out of the silo. Clambering through the hole was a little tricky, the key seems to be hunch right over, get your hand ascender as high as possible then stand up through the hole. It's definitely awkward but beats the alternatives that twinky-z described in his report.



Ropes were checked for wear, derigged and stowed; lost lens caps were found and we scuttled out from the lone shed into the crisp night. Drained and weary the long walk was a little daunting. The rope bag and camera tripod never seemed so heavy. twinky-z and I paused briefly for a last look at an amazing piece of history dead and buried in the marshlands. The building itself is not forgotten but the contents largely is. I doubt many know or care what's hiding below that thick steel floor but I couldn't be happier - I'd finally seen my rocket.

With eyes closed we wandered back taking in the scent and sounds of the marshes, knowing we'd just seen something special the likes of which we may never see again. When I arrive home I'm going to dig out that old NASA cap and sport it like a G. -dsankt, 2007