National Post (National Edition)
YOU MIGHT HAVE TO FIGHT WOLVES
WHAT IT MEANS TO BE A CANADIAN ASTRONAUT
This week, the Canadian Space Agency announced that it had pared down a shortlist of 72 Canadians — from more than 3,000 applicants — to become the country’s next astronaut.
To the casual observer, the job of astronaut is the epitome of adventurer, a literal voyager to the stars. But behind the glitz and glamour of space exploration there is surprising amount of meetings, paperwork and patiently enduring questions about weightlessness. Here, a look at the nitty gritty of what it actually means to be a Canadian astronaut:
YOU’D BETTER BE REALLY NICE
For those who have met one in person, there is one word that is universally used to describe Canadian astronauts: Nice. That is not an accident. The days of macho fighter jocks gunning it to the moon are long over. In this new era of extended-stay orbital flying, space agencies around the world are looking for astronaut recruits who are extremely easy to get along with. Jeremy Hansen beat out 5,000 applicants in 2009 to become one of Canada’s two astronauts, and it likely helped immeasurably that he has the “aw-shucks” optimism of a 1950s sitcom character. There will only be one chosen this time.
YOU’D BETTER LIKE KIDS
Much like the Governor General, Canadian astronauts spend a lot of their time at government-sponsored press events that nobody else wants to go to. This naturally involves a lot of school visits, telling elementary schoolchildren to “follow their dreams” and patiently answering questions about how astronauts go to the bathroom in space. It also helps if you like nerds. Jeremy Hansen’s three-day appearance at the Canadian National Exhibition in August included judging a Star Trek trivia night.
THE PAY SUCKS
To be sure, a starting wage of $91,300 is nothing to sniff at. But it’s a pittance when, like astronaut David Saint-Jacque, you’re a multilingual medical doctor astrophysicist with a commercial pilot’s licence. However, Canadian astronauts can console themselves that they at least make more than their U.S. colleagues. Even when accounting for the favourable U.S. exchange rate, an entrylevel NASA astronaut makes $6,000 less per year than their Canadian equivalent.
YOU’RE MOVING TO TEXAS
While some astronaut training is provided at the Canadian Space Agency headquarters in Saint-Hubert, Que., most of the important stuff happens at the Johnson Space Centre in Houston, Tex. There, amid all the other would-be space travellers sent by their countries’ respective space programs, it will take up to two years of training before you will even be qualified to carry the title “astronaut.”
AS WELL AS ENGLISH AND FRENCH, YOU NEED TO LEARN RUSSIAN
Until SpaceX’s rockets stop exploding, Russian Soyuz capsules are still the sole means of ferrying astronauts to space. This means that not only do Canadian astronauts have to learn how to fly a spaceship, but they have to learn how to do it in Russian. “They must master the language well enough for communication to be effortless even under the stress of a launch or in an emergency situation!” reads the Canadian Space Agency website.
YOU’LL ALSO NEED TO LEARN HOW TO FIGHT RUSSIAN WOLVES
Unlike the Americans, who landed all their space capsules on water, the Russians touch down returning Soyuz capsules on land. This usually goes off without a hitch, but every once in a while it ends with crew members being trapped in the middle of the icy Russian wilderness, listening to the ominous howls of nearby wolves. This was the fate of famed cosmonaut Alexei Leonov, whose 1965 mission landed 2,000 kilometres off target and could not be located by rescuers for two days. “We did not meet wolves or bears, but we knew that there were many of them around,” he said in 2015. Now, any astronaut riding a Soyuz must train for the possibility that their trip home from space could end with a days-long re-enactment of The Revenant. Russia used to equip their Soyuz craft with shotguns just in case, but it is not known if the practice continues.
A SURPRISING AMOUNT OF MEETINGS AND PAPERWORK
Amid flying jets and testing out spacewalk simulators, a lot of being an astronaut is showing up to work at the Johnson Space Centre to attend meetings, complete paperwork, test equipment, design protocols and otherwise engage in boring office stuff. U.S. astronaut Marsha Ivins once described her Mondays as being “from hell,” thanks to the sheer volume of meetings she had to sit through. “People think we’re tossed into centrifuges, dunked into water and thrown out of planes,” famed U.S. astronaut Sally Ride once told a biographer. “We sit behind desks and go to meetings mostly.”
NO SEX OR ALCOHOL
Your sex life is almost certainly taking a hit if you become an astronaut. Sex is prohibited aboard the International Space Station, partially because scientists are worried about the mutant baby that might result from an accidental zerogravity pregnancy. And, with lengthy stints in Houston, Star City and other training missions, you’ll necessarily be spending months away from a spouse or significant other. As for alcohol, only 10 years ago NASA faced a major public scandal following allegations that astronauts had been tipsy during shuttle launches. So space alcohol is banned and it’s safe to say that NASA is quite leery about pub night in Houston. If you’re a Russian cosmonaut, however, not only is alcohol permitted in space, but it’s encouraged as a way to “replenish one’s strength.”
YOU’LL PROBABLY GET SOMETHING NAMED AFTER YOU
Astronauts are among the last public figures in Canada who can have something named after them without generating any angry letters. So it’s a virtual guarantee that one of the schools you spoke at will end up putting your name on the building. Marc Garneau has an Air Cadet squadron and a Toronto collegiate institute. Roberta Bondar has schools in Brampton, Ont., and Calgary. Julie Payette has a school in Whitby, Ont. In the Toronto area alone, there are already two schools bearing Chris Hadfield’s name.
GOD HELP YOU IF YOU SAY ANYTHING REMOTELY POLITICAL
Canada spends an unbelievable amount of money to get its citizens a spot on the ISS. Thanks to a Russian price hike, the launch alone now costs more than $100 million. The absolute last thing the Canada Space Agency needs is an astronaut getting themselves kicked off a Soyuz launch by calling Vladimir Putin a “dictator.” Or, by generating a diplomatic incident with an ill-timed rant against Donald Trump. All told, astronauts are probably some of the most muzzled employees in the Canadian government.
YOU, UH, MIGHT NOT ACTUALLY END UP GOING TO SPACE
During the 1990s, there were 63 space shuttle missions. That’s nearly 400 seats into space — an average of 40 per year. Compare that to 2016, when a mere 12 astronauts hopped a Soyuz to the ISS. In 2018, David Saint-Jacques will become the first Canadian in space since Hadfield returned back from the ISS in 2013. There’s no mission yet slated for Jeremy Hansen, and he has cheerfully said in interviews that there may never be one. With the ISS slated for decommissioning and destruction as early as 2024, it’s not entirely clear where Canada will be putting its new astronaut.
AND IF YOU DO GET TO SPACE, GET READY FOR THE SMELL
This is the part that gets left out of Apollo documentaries and Imax films: Space travel stinks. No laundry, no showers, lots of sweat-inducing exercise and you can’t open any windows. Thus, despite hosting the world’s leading odour-scrubbing technology, the International Space Station is a little rank. And that’s if the toilet doesn’t malfunction — and the toilet does indeed malfunction. “Recently, I had to clean up a gallon-sized ball of urine mixed with acid,” U.S. astronaut Scott Kelly told a Reddit forum during his year in space.