Space Nomads: Meteorites in Sky, Field, and LaboratoryLaPaz, Lincoln
Science
Space Nomads: Meteorites in Sky, Field, and Laboratory
LaPaz, Lincoln
Meteorites
The forester supervising the logging crew reported that his attention
was first attracted to the sky when he noticed a strange “second” shadow
rotating rapidly about the tree that cast it. On looking up, he saw a
blindingly bright fireball, twice as large as the sun, a fiery globe
that threw off multicolored sparks as it passed. Not long after the
fireball disappeared behind the trees, the forester heard a loud noise
like nearby cannonading and saw a large dark-colored cloud—later tinged
with red—billow up over the impact point. (The members of the logging
crew were among the very few persons actually abroad near the place of
fall. It turned out that they were only about 9 miles from it.)
As soon as the many eyewitnesses of the fireball had recovered from
their fright, the questions almost everyone asked were “What could it
have been?” and “Where did it come down?” To answer the first question
was not as difficult as to answer the second. Local scientists in
Vladivostok and Khabarovsk, the nearest cities of some size, suspected
from the first that a very large meteorite fall had occurred. But
exactly where? All they could be certain of was that the impact point
lay in the Ussuri taiga, a formidable wilderness.
The Sikhote-Alin mountains lie along the Siberian coast between the Sea
of Japan and the Tatar Strait. The Ussuri taiga is a vast, low-lying,
marshy, densely forested region fronting the western flanks of these
mountains. Ordinary cedars, pines, oaks, and aspen grow in the taiga,
but the region is also noted for such rare plants and trees as the
celebrated ginseng, the cork tree, the Greek nut tree, and the black
birch. Wild grape and ivy vines intertwine the upper branches of the
thick forest, and the trunks of the trees themselves rise from an almost
impenetrable maze of brush and downed timber.
So dense is the forest that in summer, a man can see no more than 10 or
12 feet in any direction. Yet in winter, the explorer’s lot is no
easier; for, although the deciduous trees then stand leafless, the
ground is covered by three feet or more of snow. And in the early fall,
violent cloudbursts often flood the taiga, making travel impossible.
Such was the inhospitable region in which the Ussuri, or (as it is now
known in the U.S.S.R.) Sikhote-Alin meteorite, had chanced to fall. For
any search parties traveling on the ground, the likelihood that they
could find the fallen meteorite in that wilderness would have been very
small.
The impact point of the Ussuri meteorite was discovered in the only way
really practical: from the air. Fortunately, the center of impact lay
almost directly below the airlane connecting the towns of Iman and
Ulunga, so that the devastation produced by the meteorite fall in the
taiga was clearly visible to aviators following this active air route.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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