Photo Essay: Weapons Testing In the Atomic Age

While other people gamble their nights away and sleep their days away in Vegas, I try to figure out what in the world ever brought people out to the Middle of Nowhere, Nevada in the first place.

Photo: Operation Buster-Jangle -Dog test, for which troops were stationed a mere 6 miles from the nuclear blast, 1951. 

(U.S. Department of Defense, Public Domain)

And now it's clear that it wasn't just the legalized gambling—because hotel and casino owners could've been beleaguered by the atomic bomb testing that was happening above ground just 100 miles northeast of the Strip.



Instead, they turned those mushroom clouds into a tourist attraction—hosting "viewing parties" on their rooftops—and publicity stunt.



And who knows what happened to those journalists who hunkered down in the "News Nob" at Yucca Flat to watch mannequins inside various types of dwellings get blown up?



By the time I made it to the Atomic Testing Museum in Vegas this year, I'd already visited the Nevada Test Site and its Sedan Crater seven years ago. To be honest, there's a whole lot of nothing out there—because everything was blown up or subsequently removed.



So being in this museum full of artifacts—many of which were donated by former personnel stationed at the security site—really drove the experience home.



Somebody wore these exact goggles during the fifth American nuclear test series, Operation Greenhouse—though located in the middle of the Pacific Ocean and not Nevada, it was still a major event that led up to the development of the H-bomb.



The government and media alike promoted the idea that nuclear weapons could somehow be "tamed"—and they required the military and invited the public to watch them try. All they provided as protection were goggles (as above), steel helmets, and personal radiation meters.



Meanwhile, Americans were taught to be simultaneously terrified of nuclear warfare if it came from the other side. American use of these bombs, however, was considered heroic.



It's not like these guys didn't know what they were doing—they had incredibly sensitive and elaborate instrumentation to measure every single aspect of each nuclear detonation.



But if visiting the Atomic Testing Museum taught me anything, it's that the dangers to the lives of humans living nearby just came with the territory. There was no accident (like Chernobyl) or even negligence (like Santa Susana). It was deliberate.



Stray gamma rays were tracked.



Ions were analyzed.



Data was recorded.



The powers-that-be simply decided that whatever harm came to those within a certain blast radius would be less than if we didn't have nuclear weapons and got bombed by somebody else.



The best they could do was to record background radiation levels versus absorbed doses of ionizing radiation...



...and observe the effects on humans via radiation dosimetry.



You wouldn't believe how many Geiger counters were used back then and are now collected at the Atomic Testing Museum.



The entire museum is probably a radioactive isotope hotspot.




Then again, after visiting all these nuclear power plants and testing facilities and disaster sites, I'm probably already pretty contaminated.

Being born a child of the mid-1970s, the fear of nuclear war is woven into my genetic code. I remember emergency drills and bomb scares and fallout shelters in grade and middle school. I was probably taught to "duck and cover."

The Cold War didn't end until I was 14 years old. And of course now we know that the Cold War never really ended.

It just warmed up a bit.

And I would not be surprised one bit if international relations re-escalated to the point of more secret weapons testing—or worse—within my lifetime.

It may have already started.

It may have never ended entirely—though for a while, it was driven underground.

Related Posts:
Nevada Test Site: A Matter of National Security
Photo Essay: Boeing Rocketdyne Santa Susana Field Lab, Declassified & Decontaminating
Banned from Boeing? Post-Woolsey Fire Edition (Updated)

Banned from Boeing? Post-Woolsey Fire Edition (Updated)

[Last Updated 4/23/19 5:12 PM PT—Boeing official response added]

I was excited to celebrate Earth Day by taking a community hike at Santa Susana Field Laboratory, a former rocket engine and energy test center that was both historic and controversial.

I hadn't visited it since I took the public bus tour in 2014.

Photo: circa 1990, U.S. Department of Energy (Public Domain, via Wikimedia Commons)

I'd signed up for several "Rocket Walks" since then, but could never seem to wake up early enough to drive the 50 miles to the Santa Susana Mountains to get there in time for a early start. But today was different, probably because I was particularly curious to see the site in the aftermath of the Woolsey Fire.



But when I was driving up Woolsey Canyon Road towards the Boeing security checkpoint, I was greeted by masked protestors telling me to "turn back."



I stopped and said hello to each group of them, requesting a photo and asking why they were telling would-be hikers not to "support" Boeing by participating in its Earth Day activities. "Give me your pitch," I said.



I, of course, knew the dangers—having already visited five years ago and having (perhaps stupidly) spent time in Chernobyl in 2017. But all they could do was tell me that it wasn't safe—and that if I insisted on going, I should wear a mask (they provided one that's perfectly suitable for dust but not radioactive material), wash my clothes as soon as I got home, and leave my shoes outside the door.



Of course, they're right. And I believed the local woman who told me about her own health issues, as well as those of her daughters. The decades of thyroid cancer, autoimmune diseases, mystery illnesses—it's all pretty well documented.

Photo: Santa Susana Community Tours

In fact, the Santa Susana site is so contaminated that I can't think of a better place to focus on for Earth Day. The event was promoted under the premise of transparency. Boeing supposedly wants to share its progress on the cleanup and update the status of wildlife and vegetation.

Photo: Parents against Santa Susana Field Lab Nuclear Disaster Facebook group

Having gotten my attention while so many other cars sped past me with my hazards on, the protestors begged me not to go. I told them not to worry: "They're probably not going to let me in anyway."



Because although I'd received my confirmation email three days ago, when I logged in to double-check the address earlier this morning, I discovered yet another email in my inbox.



This one, from two days ago, read, "We host separate site tours for community members and media representatives.  Since you are a KCET contributor, please follow up with our Environmental Communications focal...so you can schedule a media tour in the future."



I thought that was curious, since I wasn't attending as a media representative and definitely hadn't been assigned a story about the hike or Santa Susana in general. My KCET column is pretty fluffy—goat yoga, coffee culture, superblooms, and the like—and therefore innocuous.

You'd think, anyway.

I replied to their email—but it was so early in the morning, I suspected they might not receive it right away. So, I decided to show up anyway and try to clear up what must've been a simple misunderstanding.

But when I got there, my name wasn't on the list at the security checkpoint. The officers had me proceed past the kiosk and pull my car over.

One called the Boeing rep from Environmental Community Relations on his walkie. When he gave her my name, she responded, "Can you call me?"

When he returned to my car after calling her, he said, "They told me not to let you in."

There was a bit of back-and-forth after that, but it was clear that there was no getting in. So, I turned around and drive back past those protestors.

They nodded knowingly when I said that I was turned away for being "media."

Boeing couldn't possibly be blacklisting me because they didn't want journalists showing up, could they?

I mean, after all, everybody's a blogger or some kind of social media influencer these days. And although my Avoiding Regret readers are loyal, there's not a staggering number of them.

Boeing's confirmation email even encouraged photography and promoted the hashtag #SantaSusanaOpenSpace.

So what are they hiding? What would I, as a writer (or "media" person), pick up on that members of the general public would not?

What didn't they want me to see or hear?

What didn't they want me to tell?

The secret's already out about the Sodium Reactor Experiment nuclear meltdown of 1959 (one of the fourth-worst nuclear accidents in all of history, Ed 4/24/19: Though there's some dispute on how bad it was, and whether it was a meltdown, accident, incident, or intentional release of radioactive material).

And then there's the subsequent illegal disposal of nuclear waste.

What else could there possibly be?

Here's what I know from the internet:

• The Boeing Company has lined up a number of "third-party allies," including a Pennsylvania-based conservation management organization called North American Land Trust—a 501(c)(3) non-profit that holds a perpetually binding Conservation Easement on the property. 
• Boeing has been certified by another 501(c)(3) non-profit—a DC area-based conservation organization called Wildlife Habitat Council, which works with corporate landowners to use their holdings in a way that's sensitive to wildlife.
• Other organizations working with Boeing include Santa Susana Mountain Park Association, San Fernando Valley Audubon Society, Southwestern Herpetologist Society, Pollinator Partnership (which has conducted onsite studies), and the Chumash and Tataviam Native American Tribes. 
• Boeing isn't the only landowner of the former Rocketdyne site, but it's the only one to commit to permanently conserving its holdings (2,400 acres) as open space. NASA and the Department of Energy have put their parcels up for sale.
• There has been a movement to establish the site as a National Historic Monument, but no updates are available.
• Most documents and position statements available online are from 2013-17. There's nothing on the California Department of Toxic Substances Control's SSFL Document Library for 2018. It's hard to know exactly what's happening now and what's been decided—but originally, the SSFL was already supposed to be cleaned up by 2017.
• The public comment period for the the DTSC's Draft Environmental Impact Report has closed. Not sure when the final report will be released.

Meanwhile, the air quality report from 2Q 2018 shows that concentrations of at least one volatile organic compound—ethylbenzene, a possibly carcinogenic solvent used in the production of styrene—were higher at SSFL than what the EPA recommends for a residential area.

Levels of radioactive particles (a.k.a. radionuclides, like plutonium, radium, and uranium) were tested by collecting samples from glass fiber—but their method of testing introduced interference in all samples, which created a low bias in the results. 

According to publicly available materials, there are two prevailing concepts that are largely informing Boeing's approach to the cleanup:

1. That the contamination is isolated to the site, and therefore
2. That the cleanup only needs to be held to the standards of an "occasional use" open space.

And there are two problems with those arguments:

1. As we know from Chernobyl, radioactive material does, in fact, drift—with wind (which Santa Susana has plenty of), rain, and the resulting runoff. Polluted water pools at the lowest spot, which is both the "Southern Buffer Zone" (where the hike was held) and the neighboring communities below. Tests in surrounding communities have found Rocketdyne-associated contamination in groundwater and soil samples.
2. People are already living so incredibly adjacent to the SSFL site—not the least of which are two mobile home communities, Summit and Mountainview Estates, both since 1979. A more recent addition includes the "upscale" and "prestigious" residential subdivision of Woolsey Canyon View Estates. The home closest to Boeing's security kiosk is a mere 1.1-mile drive away—or 0.7 miles as the crow flies.

For Boeing's position, you can read their Backgrounder sheet and one-pager on the EIR.

To hear the protestors' side of the story, you can visit the websites of such community-based alliances as Santa Susana Field Laboratory Work Group, Protect Santa Susana from Boeing, and Rocketdyne Cleanup Coalition.

I wish Boeing had given me the chance to see the recovery myself. I'd love to see some birds and lizards and plants and bees up there.

But maybe I dodged a radioactive bullet by being unceremoniously ejected from the site.

Nevertheless, it raises a bright, red flag.

Update 4/23/19: 

Boeing Communications responded to my inquiry today with the following:



In part, it reads:

We host media events separately in order to be able to give reporters our complete attention and answer questions they have. In this case, because you are a member of the media and your personal blog is referenced on KCET’s website – the Santa Susana team provided you with the same guidance they shared with other reporters: that this tour was for community members only and that you would need to coordinate with Communications for a future media visit.  

This event was focused on allowing community members the opportunity to see the conservation efforts underway and take advantage of the significant progress that has been made to clean up the property in order to make it safe for visitors and wildlife to thrive. In fact, Boeing is committed to completing a cleanup that is fully protective of human health and the environment, consistent with Santa Susana’s future as open space habitat.

I guess that means a writer can't be a member of the community—no matter what they write about.

And I guess that means they must be Googling the names of all the registrants to make sure they're not "reporters."

This post will continue to be updated as new information comes in. 

Related Posts:
Photo Essay: Boeing Rocketdyne Santa Susana Field Lab, Declassified & Decontaminating
Photo Essay: Crashing & Bleeding on the Trails at Sage Ranch

Photo Essay: Nuclear Reactions On the Periphery of Disaster

When I signed up to go visit the Chernobyl disaster site, I was imagining the photos of the ghost towns I'd seen—or, what turned out to be the ghost town of Chernobyl, Pripyat.

I didn't really think much about the actual reactor that blew up. It didn't occur to me that we would be able to get very close to it or inside the power plant at all.

I was wrong. Boy, was I wrong. And I was not prepared mentally for what I was to experience while at Chernobyl.

And it's true, you can't go into the actual explosion site. It was quickly covered with a concrete "sarcophagus" after the accident to contain the molten and highly radioactive remains of the blast—a lethal combination of uranium, zirconium, graphite, and concrete that created perhaps the deadliest substance in the world, corium.

When that sarcophagus began to crumble and compromise the quarantine of the amalgam at the core—which had solidified into a shape dubbed "The Elephant's Foot"—several countries around the world pitched in to fund a brand-new safety containment structure.

That one, which was completed last November, covers up most of what was left to see of the rubble. It's expected to last 100 years.

Thankfully, the accident of April 26, 1986 was isolated to just one reactor, Number 4. Reactors 1-3 still worked and were more or less untouched functionally by the accident—though Number 1 had already experienced a meltdown of its own back in 1982 (something that wasn't disclosed publicly until several years later).

The first three reactors were shut down in the wake of the disaster, but only temporarily.

In fact, Reactor 1 continued to operate through 1996. Reactor 2 only shut down in 1991 after it caught fire. And Reactor 3, the final straw for the electricity-producing capacity of the plant, didn't shut down until the year 2000.

By 2015, the State Inspectorate for Nuclear Regulation of Ukraine had ordered all three of those reactors to be officially decommissioned—typically a slow, bureaucratic process to complete.

That is to say, don't hold your breath.

But those weren't the only reactors at the Chernobyl Atomic Plant (Чорнобильська атомна електростанція).

Construction had begun on two others, Numbers 5 and 6.



And though it was never completed, there's enough of Reactor 5 to walk through and get a pretty clear sense of what Number 4 must've been like before a star called "Wormwood" (чернобыль) poisoned the waters (if you believe in conspiracies and prophecies and such).



Thank goodness we had a nuclear physicist in our group.



Our first stop was to the cooling tower of Reactor 5...



...which was so radioactive that we had to limit our meandering to the interior periphery of the hyperboloid-shaped structure.



Most cooling towers for nuclear power plants use water or steam to give off excess (or "waste") heat that's not needed in the process of producing power.



And when you've got a reactor that's designed to generate up to 1000 megawatts, you can bet it's going to get pretty hot.



After the conflagration at Reactor 4, however, its successors—both 5 and 6—were doomed to a state of arrested development, Number 5 having been halted at only 70% complete.



They have not, however, been stabilized into a state of arrested decay.



As quickly as things can fall apart when their completed versions have been abandoned suddenly...



...the abandonment of anything that was never finished leaves it particularly vulnerable.



And that which is left unfinished is even more susceptible to vandalism and the encroachment of the elements.



As the surrounding wilderness advances and consumes them, and various forms of life make their recovery (some, at a snail's pace)...

...there's a limited opportunity to witness firsthand anything that's recognizable beyond just being a radioactive ruin.



Some of the floors never got their final layer of concrete poured over their reinforcements.



Rebar is rusting and buckling. Rivets are popping out. Catwalks are wobbling. Elevator shafts are ravenous for fallen legs and dropped wallets and phones.



Standing water is collecting, stagnant, and surely irradiated.



What went up is stuck up there, and it's not coming down without a fight.



And when it does come down, it will do so spectacularly, in a cascade of red oxidation and regret.



And yet for now, it still stands there in the shadow of the newly-contained Reactor 4, which is doing its best to not only keep everything in, but also keep everybody out.



Some workers have been assigned to tend The Elephant's Foot, but their shifts last mere minutes.



Initially, the liquidators (a.k.a. the clean-up crew) could only spend a maximum of a minute or two in there—and, even then, many of them perished from radiation illness.



More than 31 years later, the maximum duration that anyone can stand inside Reactor 4 is just double what it was back then.



But since no reactions ever actually occurred inside Number 5, visitors can take their time exploring the relic.



That is, as long as they avoid the radioactive hotspots caused by the fallout, as it was in such close proximity to the epicenter of the disaster, just a mile and a half away (or so, as the crow flies).



Not only that, but every step must be watched. This place is a death trap—yet another disaster waiting to occur.



If I'd been alone, I probably wouldn't have gone in. But since I was with a group, I didn't really have the option of staying behind.

But now, I can't unsee those sights. I can't unthink those thoughts. I can't put my broken heart back together, as it shattered into increasingly tiny fragments every time I visited someplace new in the surrounding area.

And even though I've been back to LA for over a week, I can't shake the feeling that I had throughout my time in the Exclusion Zone.

I wish it would wear off. But I'm not sure that it should.

Related Posts:
Photo Essay: The Abandoned Hospital Where Radiation Illness Fills The Air
Photo Essay: The Secret Soviet Radar Base Powered By Chernobyl
Photo Essay: Boeing Rocketdyne Santa Susana Field Lab, Declassified & Decontaminating
History in the Making