True Grit

Fifty years after astronauts touched down in the Sea of Tranquility, humans are moonbound once again. But before we set up lunar research stations or mining facilities, we’ll have to reckon with one of the weirdest substances in the solar system: MOONDUST.

It’s superfine. It’s sharp. It’s got a serious case of static cling. And it may very well stand in the way of our lunar ambitions.

- Ceridwen Dovey

IN THE PUBLIC IMAGINATION, the American astronauts who landed on the moon five decades ago were square-jawed superhumans, not the types to worry about something as banal as housekeeping. But they did, obsessively. Each time they got back to the Apollo Lunar Module after a moonwalk, they were shocked at how much dust they’d tracked in and how hard it was to banish. This was no earthly grime; it was preternaturally sticky and abrasive, scratching the visors on the astronauts’ helmets, weakening the seals on their pressure suits, irritating their eyes, and giving some of them sinus trouble. “It just sort of inhabits every nook and cranny in the spacecraft and every pore in your skin,” Apollo 17’s Gene Cernan said during his post-mission debriefing.

Over the course of six moon landings, the so-called Dusty Dozen fought valiantly with their foe. They stomped their boots outside, then cinched garbage bags around their legs to stop the dust from spreading. They attacked it with wet rags, bristle brushes, and a low-suction vacuum cleaner, which Pete Conrad of Apollo 12 called “a complete farce.” (He finally stripped naked and stuffed his blackened suit into a pouch.) Cernan, upon returning from his last moonwalk, vowed, “I ain’t going to do much more dusting after I leave here. Ever.” In the end, NASA couldn’t find a foolproof solution. Years after John Young commanded Apollo 16, he still believed that “dust is the number one concern in returning to the moon.”