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Top of the World

by Robert Gounley

It was a very human thing to do. No human was there to witness it. In fact, there were no humans within a hundred million kilometers. Yet it touched me very deeply.

On Mars, the Spirit rover climbed to the top of a hill. On Earth, hundreds of scientists and engineers who operated the rover cheered. I cheered. So did millions of other who charted Spirit's progress on the World Wide Web.

It's not much of a hill - only 82 meters from base to peak. The rover's progress was glacial - the ascent took over a year, much of it casting about for paths where wheel treads could grip. Atop the hill, Spirit leaves no memorial save its own wheel tracks; one day, a passing dust devil, like those recorded by Spirit's cameras from its high perch, could wipe those tracks clean.

There were good scientific and technical reasons for climbing that hill. The hilltop provides the best view of places the rover science teams may want Spirit to go. Rock formations visible from the plain below promised scientists a veritable Whitman's sampler of Martian minerals to scrape, scan, and irradiate. They could tell us much about the time when this arid surface had once been wet.

That's not why I cheered. My reasons were more basic.

Spirit's landing was an incredible feat of engineering skill and determination. Hundreds of things could have gone wrong and ended the mission instantly. Instead, landing day was nearly perfect. Those first pictures from the flat plain of Gusev Crater seemed miraculous.

Later, when Spirit was commanded to roam, every meter it moved was cautious and deliberate - it wouldn't do to send a rover all the way to Mars then steer it into a ditch. In spite of that, the rover operators had to work quickly lest the rover fail before completing its minimum science objectives. Every moment was precious.

Spirit completed everything required to declare success, yet all its systems still had lots of life left in them. Emboldened, Spirit's operators sent the rover on a long hike to a range of hills named for the Columbia astronauts. The outcrops at the base of Husband Hill alone could furnish scientific data for years of analysis. The rover's team needn't risk Spirit on a hill climb.

That would have been a cautious and, some might say, responsible decision to make. I don't know how scientists framed the merits of a bolder approach. I do know that many field geologists, like the ones operating Spirit, are rock-climbers for both work and recreation. Their wish was a forgone conclusion.

Now Spirit sits atop that hill, taking in the view. Given the chance, who amongst us wouldn't impress our bootprints alongside Spirit's tracks? I understand now why Spirit reaching the summit made me so happy. It's because I now see Spirit's mission in a completely different way.

At first, Spirit's exploring felt rushed and highly focused. It reminded me of a nervous tourist in a national park - the kind who jumps out of their car, snaps a few photos, then immediately takes off. He'd much rather be home.

Climbing a hill is the act of very different visitors.

They're the ones who want to stay.