Bang, zoom, straight to the moon, Diana!

If there was intelligent life on the moon, the first call it would have gotten was from New Jersey. Wall Township, specifically.

More accurately, the call was a microwave radio signal, and rather than expecting a message back, scientists were trying to create what became known as moon bounce, or earth-moon-earth (EME) communications.

The Diana antenna, made from four
existing conventional radar antennas.

Known as Project Diana, this classified work was based at Fort Monmouth's Evans Signal labs, birthplace of dozens of 20th century technological advancements. Its urgency was driven by the success of the revolutionary German V1 and V2 guided missiles during World War II. After the United States proved the effectiveness of nuclear weapons in 1945, the fear was that the USSR would combine the two technologies with disastrous results. We clearly needed a way to identify and track the missiles before they entered U.S. airspace.

Colonel John DeWitt and his Camp Evans-based team were charged with the task in the closing months of the war. Before they could work on detection, however, they had to prove that a radio signal could pierce the earth's atmosphere as the V1 and V2 could. A few years earlier, a British communications scientist had theorized that existing technology would be capable of bouncing microwave signals off the moon which, at 238,900 miles away, would serve as an ideal target.

In September 1945, Evans Signal Labs personnel got to work designing and building the necessary equipment: a sufficiently powerful transmitter and receiver along with an antenna array to capture the return signal. (If you're an engineer, astronomer or physicist, you might enjoy reading a more technical description and schematics written by one of the participants.) Three months later, their initial tests were hampered by a series of malfunctions and outright equipment failures.

A new year and heavily redesigned equipment brought better results. At moonrise on January 10, 1946, they succeeded, receiving a return signal 2.5 seconds after transmission. It took some time to determine the right conditions to repeat the achievement, but Evans professionals had made theory a reality.

The first experiment in radio astronomy, Project Diana's impact reached far beyond national defense. Many consider that first successful radio bounce to be the true birth of the space program. Had scientists not proven that human-created radio signals could leave our atmosphere, people on Earth would not have be able to communicate with astronauts in orbit or on the moon. Skylab and the International Space Station would have been pipe dreams. Nor would we have been able to receive signals from long-distance spacecraft like Voyager I and II, which have been returning information to us by radio since their launches in 1977.

And, of course, this experiment on The Big Bang Theory would have been totally impossible.

The original Diana antenna no longer exists, but a support building remains at Camp Evans, now the site of the InfoAge Science History Learning Center and Museum. As we discovered during our visit last July, the expansive yet utilitarian-looking property holds a wealth and breadth of history well worth exploring.

Refining Gloucester's Revolutionary history: Paulsboro's Fort Billings

You wouldn't know it from its neighbors, but a small park tucked between two oil refineries on the banks of the Delaware River has a very distinct place in American history. Not only is it the site of a Revolutionary War fort, it was the very first land purchase made by the United States Government. Fittingly, I decided to visit on Veterans Day.

On first glance, Paulsboro wouldn't seem to be the place for an 18th century historic site. Downtown has seen better days, houses are tightly packed together and as you get closer to the riverfront, you're addressed by the sights and smells of the refineries that sit on the shoreline. I'd heard somewhere that years ago Standard Oil had placed a monument at the site of Fort Billings on or near its own property, so I was hoping that it was now a publicly-accessible site.

That it is, and well marked. Heading westward from downtown, I reached the end of North Delaware Street to find this sign at the entrance to a park.

In the distance, beyond a small playground and pavilion, I could see a flag flying in the breeze. Getting out of the car, I was immediately hit by refinery odors, but as I walked toward the flag, the smell dissipated in the breeze. Maybe it wouldn't be so hard to imagine the fort, after all.

Fort Billings' memorial flagpole.

Fort Billings is essentially a small but integral part of the story of the little known Battle of Red Bank and, ultimately, the defense of Philadelphia during the Revolution. The site was originally purchased from the Paul family (of Paulsboro fame) by the Council of Safety of Philadelphia and billed to Congress on July 5, 1776. Less than a year later, Fort Billings (or Billingsport, depending on your source) was built under the guidance of General Thaddeus Kosciusko in his first engineering assignment from Congress. Located four miles south of Red Bank's Fort Mercer, it was one of three installations built to protect Philadelphia from a British naval invasion. Soldiers stationed at the fort submerged obstacles called chevaux de frise strategically in the river to damage the hulls of any enemy ships that might try to venture up the river. Billings also maintained a signal cannon as part of the American army's system to warn other forts of an approaching British attack.

Fort Billings' history was relatively brief but notable. Thinking twice about the substantial obstacles blocking their entry by water, British forces approached Philadelphia by land instead, eventually taking the city on September 26, 1777. They still had one major problem: as long as the Delaware was inaccessible, supplies couldn't reach the city. General William Howe, commanding the British forces, ordered the destruction of all American defenses along the river, and Billings was the first target.

Though New Jersey militia fought bravely, they were unable to stop the British approach on Billings a few days later. General George Washington ordered the evacuation of the fort, and on October 2, Continental Marine Lieutenants William Barney and Dennis Leary safely brought the 112-man garrison and its ammunition on board the Andrew Doria for transport across the river to Fort Mifflin.

To ensure that the British wouldn't be able to easily capitalize on the fort's strategic position, a small group stayed behind to render the cannons unusable and burn down the fort. Close to finishing their duties when the Redcoats arrived, the Americans exchanged gunfire with the enemy briefly before jumping into the last rowboat to make their way to safety.

There's not much at the site now to tell the full story or connect it with the better-curated Fort Mercer site in National Park. One memorial notes the presence of the fort, while another recognizes Leary and Barney for leading the evacuation of 112 men but says nothing of the impact in saved lives. A third plaque from the Copernicus Society notes Kosciusko's contributions as a military engineer. Though all evidence of the fort itself is gone, we can be happy the name and these few acknowledgements are on site to pique curiosity and interest among those who don't know the story.

Saluting New Jersey's military heritage: the National Guard Militia Museum

You know you're heading for a really hidden New Jersey gem when you have to stop at a guard shack to get in. I found myself doing just that the other day as I approached the entrance to the New Jersey National Guard Training Center in Sea Girt. My mission? To check out the National Guard Militia Museum of New Jersey. Assistant Curator Joe Bilby had graciously agreed to give me a tour of the museum and its impressive collection of military artifacts.

Truth be told, this was a visit I'd been anticipating for a long time, but Mother Nature had other plans. Hurricane Sandy's storm surges flooded the museum with over five feet of ocean water, affecting about 85 percent of the collection and decimating the public displays. Through the persistence of staff, volunteers and visiting specialists, the museum was ready for an official reopening in April, even as restoration and preservation work continues.

Ever see a Revolutionary-era
Loyalist soldier uniform? This is
what they wore in New Jersey.

As you walk in the door, you're addressed by a sight you'll see in no other museum in the state: an authentic Civil War cannon mounted on a sturdy carriage. Along the surrounding walls are displays that explain New Jersey's military history in chronological order, using historically-accurate uniforms and weaponry (some reproduction, some authentic). Circle the room slowly, and you'll get a new understanding of the contributions our predecessors and present-day neighbors have made to preserve our shared freedoms. You'll also get a perspective on the colonization and growth of the state that you're not likely to get at any other museum.

The exhibits cover all the big wars you learned about in high school, as well as many you might not remember as well. Whether you're a history buff or just a casual visitor, you're bound to make a few new discoveries. Want to know about what our forebears did during the Whiskey Rebellion, the War of 1812 or the Mexican War? You'll find out at the museum. I was especially impressed that the timeline starts with a discussion of the original New Jerseyans, the Lenape. Did you know that the first non-native battle casualty on soil within present-day state borders was one of Henry Hudson's Half Moon crew? To my knowledge, there isn't another museum in the state that brings that fact to light.

One of the things I really liked about the displays overall was that they include the diversity of the people who have represented New Jersey in our nation's conflicts, and the commitment of our citizen soldiers. The voices of our present-day soldiers are represented in post-September 11, 2001 timeline, complete with video footage and recollections from those who've served in Iraq and Afghanistan. Considerable space is also given to the story of the first African-American battalion, which was organized in 1930 as a militia in order to circumvent the federal military segregation orders that were then in force. Ultimately, New Jersey became the first state to fully integrate its National Guard.

The artifacts currently on display at the National Guard Militia Museum represent only a small portion of the overall collection. Other exhibits await the further preservation of artifacts affected by the flood. As we walked toward the museum's Civil War-era submarine, the Intelligent Whale, Joe ushered me past several tables were covered with artifacts in various stages of restoration, ranging from a portable organ to uniform boots and canteens. Another room is dedicated to several racks of vintage uniforms in the process of being reconditioned, while a documents area is stacked with archival boxes full of maps, letters and other ephemera. In fact, the museum holds the nation's largest collection of New Jersey-related Civil War research material. Joe noted that as staff members and volunteers were piecing through the the collection to assess storm damage, they'd come across interesting items they'd forgotten they'd even had. For a military historian, it had to be a dream come true.

Besides the physical artifacts and documents, the museum is amassing an impressive collection of oral histories from surviving veterans. The full interviews are available for researchers, but excerpts are also available to the public online.

While the museum is making progress on getting back to its pre-storm status, there's a lot of work to be done. Its non-profit foundation continues to accept monetary donations to fund improvements and ongoing programs. 

The National Guard Militia Museum of New Jersey is open every day from 10 a.m. to 3 p.m., except for state holidays. Whether you're a military buff, a New Jersey history enthusiast or simply looking for an interesting field trip on a rainy day at the shore, it's well worth your time to check it out!

So where did you say those warheads were?

Sandy Hook's Cold War-era Nike radar base is one of the many fascinating parts of Fort Hancock, and I've taken a few of the biweekly tours held during the spring and summer months. The big mystery for me has always been the launch site several thousand feet away, which is rarely, if ever, open for tours. Why two separate sites? Well, logistics and safety played a big role in separating the firing of these radar-guided surface-to-air missiles from the actual launch. The control center tracked potential targets and any missiles that were aimed at them, and the launch site was where the missiles were stored and would be set up and fired if needed. Given the speed of the supersonic missiles, on-site radar could only acquire and track a launched Nike from more than a mile away, and, of course, there was always the danger of portions of the rockets falling on the base or exploding during ignition.

The Nike program was decommissioned in 1974 after the advent of intercontinental ballistic missiles made them obsolete, and Sandy Hook's Fort Hancock was relinquished to the National Park Service not long afterward. Now part of Gateway National Recreational Area, the launch site is used primarily for maintenance vehicles, its barracks used for storage. The gate's usually open, but a sign warns visitors that the site is for staff only. Stand at the entry, and you can see a cracked macadam road reaching toward the beach beyond, obscured by shrubbery. The only real signs that this was a secure area are the guard shack at the entry and the Nike Hercules missile that's parked up front.

Well, and the barbed wire. Curious after finding the area on some aerial shots of the Hook, I once tried to get to the launch site from the beach side. All I could see above the dunes was barbed wire fencing and some old, busted flood lamps. The ground above was level and I noticed a hole in the fencing, but I wasn't taking my chances.

My curiosity was settled a few weeks ago when the Sandy Hook launch site was opened for rare guided tours with Nike base veterans. Ivan was on a major birding quest out of state, leaving me to explore my own obsessions, and what's more interesting than getting into restricted space? I hopped on down for a quick jaunt through the radar site, and after what seemed to be an endless wait for the first launch tour to return, I was on my way with a large group of visitors. The veteran on site was joined by the park historian, who gave an exhaustive explanation of the cold war as we stood looking at the business end of the nuclear-capable Hercules. Let's go, folks -- I wanna see the secret area!

Noticing that some of us were getting restless, the veteran took a group of us up the hill to the launch site. Along the way, he pointed out two more guard shacks and explained that each launch site had been ringed by three separate barbed wire fences, with a shack at the entrance to each. Sentries and dogs patrolled the perimeter, and the vet said that the dogs were trained to attack with force. Had he been given the choice of being shot or having the dogs let loose on him, he said, he'd go for the bullet wound. Much less painful, much less harmful.

Fort Hancock had four underground missile storage areas arranged in a square atop the hill, with elevators that lifted the missiles in a horizontal position. Once at ground level, soldiers would push a missile into place on the blast pad, all four of which are still visible. No missiles were ever fired at the base, but practice was a regular occurrence, and when they were called, the troops there never knew if they were going to a drill or experiencing the real thing.

We only saw the surface area because the underground portion of the base is flooded and accessible only through four manholes and of decaying metal ladders beneath. All of the elevators that lifted missiles to launch have been moved to their highest positions and are now apparently stuck at surface level, with any hope of restoration being many years in the future. However, the vet told us about a restored base in the Marin Headlands above San Francisco and some footage of its workings that give you a good idea of how it all looked in its prime. I'll wager that since the Park Service has already spent the time and money on restoring SF-88, it's unlikely they'll do the same at Sandy Hook, but I'm sure if the local vets want to make the effort, they'll be more than happy to support it.

Keeping New Jersey safe for democracy: Coastal Defenses Day at Fort Hancock

Each May, generally the weekend before Memorial Day, Sandy Hook's Fort Hancock pulls out all the stops for its annual Coastal Defenses Day. Celebrating the Fort's role in keeping New York Harbor safe from enemy attack, the National Park Service conducts tours and discussions of many of the defensive structures, much with the assistance of re-enactors from the Army Ground Forces Association. Indeed, if you didn't know better, all of the period uniforms in some places would have you convinced you'd stepped right into the early 1940's.

The unmarked entrance to the Harbor
Defense Command Post

Though none of Hancock's guns were ever fired in defense of the country, the fort played a crucial role in deterring Axis powers from attacking the New York area. It's known that several U-Boats patrolled the coast, but no naval or air attack was made, nor a serious threat incurred.

Four of the defensive batteries were open for touring on Sunday, but my big goal was to get into the inner corridors of the Mortar Battery. On its own, the battery is regularly available for wandering, with its two rear gun pits easily accessible any time the park is open. Getting to the front pits and the innards, though, is a much rarer opportunity, and, in fact, the corridors that were open for Coastal Defenses Day hadn't been accessible to the public for decades.

The Mortar Battery itself is one of the first fortifications built at the fort and is, on its own, nothing fancy to look at. However, in the early days of World War II, the army came to see its value as a strategic location for the Harbor Defense Command Post. From this protected location, the armed forces could manage all of the intelligence related to the harbor, including information coming via underwater cable from Fort Wadsworth on Staten Island, Fort Hamilton in Brooklyn and Fort Tilden in Queens.

From the outside, the door to the bunker is unmarked and looks rather unassuming. Without inside information, enemy invaders would have no indication that this is where the strategic leadership convened. Entrance to the post was restricted to a select few, with sentries posted outside who knew by sight who was permitted to enter. There was no secret password, no secret handshake -- they just knew who was in and who was out. Before getting into the main corridors, personnel would pass through an airlock that would seal the bunker in event of a gas attack.

Corridor where communications specialists would have
maintained contact with the Harbor's other forts.

The visitor today is immediately struck by how cold it is inside -- that steady ~55 degree climate you find inside caves. Right now there's nothing much to look at but a few photos and signs explaining what each of the rooms was used for, but you can imagine how frenetic the place would have been, had there been an actual attack on the harbor. It reminded me a little of Churchill's wartime bunker under the streets of London, especially when I read that the commanding officer had a bed in his office for use in event of an extended stay.

Kilroy wasn't here, but apparently Robert was.

A thin whitewash covered most of the walls, but as we explored, Ivan and I also found signs of those who'd been in the bunker well after the war. Apparently the place had either been used at some point in the last 35 years, or someone had found their way in with little trouble. The graffiti we found had been placed after the Army transferred the property to the Park Service, but who knows what kind of arrangements they might have had for additional use of some structures.

The Nike missile radar site and Batteries Potter and Gunnison were also open for touring, with plotting and gun loading demonstrations taking place at the latter, but we chose to skip them for the time being. Both are well worth a visit and open at regular intervals through the year. Check the Sandy Hook calendar for more information.

The Voodoo they do so well at Sandy Hook

Sandy Hook is rife with abandoned and decaying gun batteries and supporting structures. Look around closely enough, and you're bound to find pillboxes and quonset huts among the larger batteries and office buildings. Some of them are in pretty decent shape, while others look as if they were intentionally wrecked to prevent explorers from going within and possibly getting hurt.

Then there are the mysterious treasures you can only see with a ranger or an intrepid volunteer. Back in November 2009 I was fortunate to join a caravan of other curiosity seekers on a "Weird Sandy Hook" tour. We were promised entry into restricted areas, and I wasn't disappointed.

Right at dusk, we were escorted to a gate just off the main road, on the bay side of the hook. As the gate was unlocked and we drove through, our volunteer guide warned that if we chose to return to the area on our own, unescorted, we would be apprehended and arrested. The Park Service is very serious about this particular "no entry" sign. Our bus stopped at Kingman and Mills, the two bayside World War Two-era batteries that are still reasonably intact, but we weren't going there, quite yet. We had a short hike ahead of us.

Walking along the beach, an abundance of slipper shells crunched under my boots. Wood poles lined the water's edge; they were the last vestiges of the dock which once stood there. We were headed to the structures that dock served: the bunkers that held the ammunition for the nearby batteries. The sand that had once obscured the bunkers had eroded over time, leaving two brick and concrete buildings with curved roofs.  The one that lacks a door is the voodoo bunker.

Before we entered, our guide warned us that we might encounter the carcass of a sacrificed animal inside, and indeed, a several-days slaughtered chicken was decaying in the corner. But that was just the confirmation of what we'd come to see: the voodoo bunker.

Our lanterns and flashlights exposed several large pieces of spray painted artwork on the walls, all apparently done by Santeria practitioners. The creatures looked oddly pre-Columbian with a touch of Keith Haring, and undoubtedly had some sort of significance in whatever rites were practiced in the bunker. But who did them, and how did they find this isolated, virtually unreachable part of the park? Our guide posited that the artists had canoed across Sandy Hook Bay under cover of night, originating from Highlands or perhaps someplace further down the bay.  

Though the artwork was fascinating, it was also a little freaky, especially as the evening skies outside were darkening. There were probably about 40 of us inside and around the bunker, but I still had that eerie apprehension of being caught at someone's sacrificial altar.

Unfortunately my photos were less than ideal, given the lack of illumination and the difficulty in getting a clear shot with so many people milling about. These should give you at least a tiny understanding of what's out there.

As I said, the voodoo bunker is in an area of Sandy Hook that's closed to public exploration, but there's always a chance the National Park Service will run another tour. Check their events website for a quarterly schedule of activities, and call ahead for more information. There's always something interesting on their calendar!

Egrets, I've had a few: visiting the osprey and more at Sandy Hook

The history at Sandy Hook is a big draw for my repeated visits, but the real reason for my recent trip was to check in on the osprey. I've been doing this for years, stopping by the bayside observation deck across the road from the Spermaceti Cove visitor center to see if the ol' fish hawks were nesting on the usual platform. They've become more and more common since I started my vigil, but it still warms my heart to see them pairing off and cultivating their broods.

This year I've been a little impatient, hoping that some of February's warm weather spurts had somehow encouraged the osprey to show up a few weeks early, but they waited until their usual late March date to arrive. As I approached the visitor center parking lot from the access road on Saturday, I saw one of the nesting pair fly off, no doubt looking for lunch. I was hoping to get some decent photos of the pair, but the platform was out farther than my lens could get an acceptable shot. Besides, nothing interesting was happening there, beyond a squawking conversation once the second osprey returned to the nest.

Undeterred, I went to my other reliable nesting site: Officers Row. That's the group of houses on Fort Hancock, facing Sandy Hook Bay, where the base's lieutenants, captains and commanding officer lived with their families. With only a few exceptions, they've been closed up since the Army left in 1974, and they're silently deteriorating in the salt air. It breaks my heart to see them slowly rot, but at the same time it's gratifying to see a little bit of life nurtured atop the chimney of one of the houses. I only just noticed them last year, and when I checked over the winter, the nest was still there. That bodes well for continued habitation, as long as the conglomeration of sticks and detritus doesn't get blown off the chimney by a gust off the bay.

I parked my car behind one of the adjacent houses and pulled out the camera and long lens, kicking myself for not bringing the tripod. As I got out of the car, I heard the splat of bird droppings hitting the car roof. Welcome to Officers Row, Sue. This was going to be fun.

I knew from last year's observation that the osprey would probably be a bit pissed at me for getting within camera shot, which in this case is the sidewalk in front of the house. They don't seem to realize that it's a long way from there to the top of a chimney on a three-story house. I figured I'd give it five or ten minutes and take my chances.

I got several clicks off as one of the osprey came by with lunch for the other, but much of the activity seemed to alternate between evasion and intimidation. First, the birds left the nest and flew far off behind the house, beyond the parade ground, back by the sergeants' family housing. Then after several minutes they came back closer to me, flying in front of the house, over the road and multi-use path and out to the bay. I was fortunate not just to get the photos, but to get a closer view of the pattern on the underside of their extended wings through the binoculars. I'll admit it was kind of intimidating to see them hover directly above me. Kinda made me feel the way the fish would, if they could see up to the sky to see they're being stalked. And after all, you never know if the osprey will poop on you, and osprey poop stinks, probably like fish.

Though I had positive intent, I started feeling a bit guilty for scaring them from their nest, so I packed up and hit the road. Out of habit, I looked quickly to my right just before passing the bayside platform. Distracted by a large flash of white, I was delighted to see a great egret perched atop a cedar on the side of the road. Good thing nobody was driving directly behind me; I pulled to the shoulder and grabbed the camera to squeeze off a few shots. I've seen egrets perched in deciduous trees, but never in a cedar. There's a first time for everything, I guess.

Spy vs. Spy at Sandy Hook

Given the beautiful weather this past Saturday, it was a natural to head down to Sandy Hook for some wandering. It's one of my favorite places to go, because it combines a couple of my favorite things: a great natural setting and a fascinating history. This week's jaunt was a solo Sue expedition, since Ivan had to pull some pretty heavy overtime at work. And yes, I fit in some history with the birds since two of the site's aging weapons batteries were open to visitation.

A squadron of nuclear weapons ringed major U.S. cities during the Cold War, undetected by the vast majority of Americans. Until the development of intercontinental ballistic missiles in the early 70's, the last defense America had against Soviet incursion was the Nike Ajax missile, and then the nuclear-tipped Nike Hercules. And many Nike bases were located in suburban neighborhoods, not always or entirely known by the residents of the split-level ranches nearby.

Most of the bases have been dismantled, but there's still one in pretty decent shape at Fort Hancock on Sandy Hook. The base was transferred to the National Park Service in 1974 after the Department of Defense decommissioned it.

I've visited the Nike base a few times, on tours run by veterans who served at the base. There are just two missiles on display farther down the road, unarmed, and the golfball-shaped covers aren't on the radar platforms anymore, but the control centers are still there. About the size of a small Ryder rental truck, they could easily be pulled up and trucked to another location, just like an old-time diner. Oh, and they're incredibly ugly and depressing inside, kind of like a submarine.

The Park Service is reportedly working to stabilize and restore the base, but right now they're letting visitors check out the trailers and other parts of the base in their current, crappy condition. Though the electronics have been removed, you can still get a sense of the technology that once tracked and controlled nuclear weaponry. It's pretty wild to think that there's more powerful circuitry in my smartphone than there was in that whole set up. In fact, our guide pulled out a huge floppy disc, the older, bigger brother to the 5-1/4 floppies I remember from my early computing days. Oh, and while there are still plenty of switches and dials on the control panels, someone has thoughtfully removed "the button." I guess you can never be too careful.

I also got a kick out of an old phone booth on the base. It still had a rotary phone with a 201 number, though that area code hasn't been used in Monmouth County for 20 years. It seemed weirdly out of place, a relic of normalcy in a kind of surreal doomsday environment. My thoughts turned to the scene in the satirical Dr. Strangelove, when the one sane officer left on the base is reduced to using a pay phone to contact the Pentagon during an attack ... and Ma Bell won't spot him the 55 cents for the long-distance call. You have to wonder if the Fort Hancock phone booth is there for the one reasonable thinker left. And, of course, there's always Maxwell Smart and the secret entrance to CONTROL. In any case, the Park Service is keeping it there for eventual restoration. Come to think of it, there are probably already kids who don't even know what a phone booth is, having never lived in a world without cell phones.

As I took a few photos, I realized that had I gotten into the base with a camera 40 years ago, I'd have landed in a military jail. Now photos of the equipment are posted here, for all to see, without any penalty to me. Maybe some Russian blogger like me has posted photos of nuke base phone booths, too. Glasnost.