From blast off to splashdown: My days following Nasa’s historic mission to the Moon

From Blast Off to Splashdown: My Days Following NASA’s Historic Moon Mission

Over the past 10 days, four astronauts have etched their names into history, reaching farther into space than any humans before them. Their journey—launching to the Moon and returning—has been a spectacle of engineering and courage. I’ve been immersed in every moment of Artemis II, from the roaring ascent to the tense final descent. Yet, for all the technical marvels, the human element has been equally compelling.

On launch day, the crew mentioned that astronauts are typically the calmest individuals present. Not me. My anticipation was electric, and as the rocket ignited its engines and soared into the sky, my reaction captured global attention. Standing near the countdown clock at Kennedy Space Center, Florida, alongside BBC News colleagues Alison Francis and Kevin Church, I felt the raw intensity of the event. The blinding light, the thunderous noise, and the force of the blast were all-consuming. It was hard to believe that four people were locked inside a 98-meter-tall vehicle hurtling toward the Moon.

As Reid Wiseman, Victor Glover, Christina Koch, and Jeremy Hansen gazed down at Earth from orbit, the view was nothing short of awe-inspiring. Victor Glover, in a moment of poignancy, said:

“Planet Earth, you look beautiful.”

Then, with a powerful engine burn, the crew departed for their 252,756-mile journey around the Moon. The cramped conditions in their capsule quickly became apparent. Life in microgravity meant they were navigating a space roughly the size of a minibus, with no privacy and constant visibility into the lives of the millions watching.

Their bathroom system, a critical piece of the mission, drew particular focus. Known as the Universal Waste Management System, it faced challenges with its plumbing. During a media briefing, questions emerged about their “number ones and number twos.” It turned out that while bowel movements were manageable, urine collection required a collapsible device—a simple bag with a funnel—deployed as a contingency. The situation was far from ideal, but the astronauts adapted with characteristic resilience.

At Johnson Space Center in Houston, the mission control team monitored every detail, from navigation to life support. Their vigilance underscored the mission’s risks. As a test flight, Artemis II carried unprecedented stakes—its crew had never traveled on the rocket or spacecraft before. This was a leap into the unknown, and the tension was palpable. Speaking to Jeremy Hansen during his quarantine, I learned he’d discussed the possibility of not returning with his family. Reid Wiseman, too, had shared honest conversations with his daughters about the dangers, a testament to his role as a single father since his wife’s passing six years ago.

One of the most touching moments came as the crew approached the Moon. A crater, visible from Earth, was named after Reid’s late wife, Carroll—a gesture that stirred deep emotion. The astronauts, visibly moved, gathered to embrace their commander. In Houston, mission control was equally emotional, with no one dry-eyed. Every person at NASA, from its leader Jared Isaacman to the scientists and engineers, had rallied behind the crew. Their dedication was evident, and the mission’s success was a collective triumph.

Artemis II has surpassed Apollo 13’s record for the farthest distance traveled. The crew’s thousands of images and audio logs of the Moon’s stark landscapes have been a bridge between past and future. The legacy of Apollo’s achievements resonates strongly, as seen in the messages from Charlie Duke and Jim Lovell—both of whom had left their own imprints long before this mission.