Draughty Days.
Sometime in the spring of 1955, a rigid (not air supported) radome was erected in a parking lot, at MIT, near Boston. When it had been proven that the pieces fitted together, the radome was disassembled, packed up and shipped to Saglek, "down the Labrador" in local parlance.
There the Lincoln Labs, MIT and the USAF people trucked the shipment from the "lower camp" landing site, 6 miles up a very rough rocky road to the "upper site". The pieces were loaded onto the ground floor of the main search radar radome and stacked up "ready to go".
The main radar was, at that time, an AN/FPS-3 "heavy" search radar, inside a 55’ air-supported radome.
This was about September, 1955 – the weather in that area was never very predictable and a few days of idleness followed, waiting for a two day "low-wind-no-snow" forecast. Eventually the word came from Goose (what a great name!) to "go ahead" and the next morning the various teams assembled.
First of all, the upper and lower beam horns had to be taken down and their fiberglass supports removed. Then the "sail" was lowered and secured. One team was assembled around the inside perimeter of the radome and was issued all the large kitchen knives from the cook house. The air pressure inside the radome was dropped and, as the radome serenely subsided, the inside crew cut off the radome at the hold down ring and the radome was lifted off the folded down antenna and pushed over the side of the tower – luckily with no-one inside the bag. Although the wind was less than 5mph, it still took the radome off the tower with a mighty rush.
The solid radome construction then began, very urgently. The design was basically large diamond shaped pieces, about 10’ long, with a 60 degree point; at the centre where 6 diamonds came together, a hub, about 18" in diameter, was bolted in. The touching sides of the diamonds were aligned and bolted together. The "diagonal", across the diamond, about 4’ long, was heavily webbed for rigidity. The resultant shape was a "geodesic" dome (a Buckminster Fuller design, I believe).
By the end of the second day, the radome was about two thirds completed, leaving an open top, somewhat less than 20’ across. The weather forecaster (in Goose - where else?) now had a change of heart and issued a high wind warning "Them’s the breaks folks". There was no way that the open top could be capped off in time, so all the loose pieces, tools and whatever were taken out. The radar antenna was secured as much as possible and the crew retired to the Officers’ mess – after all, it was a solid fiberglass radome, very heavily ribbed and bolted together, nothing much could happen in a wind, could it? Right? - Wrong!!
The wind increased steadily until, during the evening, the recording anemometers quit working, said "good-bye" and blew away, leaving recordings of gusts up to 100mph, before they left. Some while after this, the radar tower panels started to vibrate in the wind (some say this was at 110mph, but who’s to know?). The wind, blowing over the open top of the uncompleted radome, created more suction (negative pressure) than the positive pressure that had been required to hold up the air supported radome in such a wind.
The cargo hatch, about 8’ square, which originally gave access to the pressurized radome from the floor below, was being lifted up and down by the suction and it had to roped down to the floor below to stop it lifting into the space above, and still the wind increased.
There was a "man-hatch" for personnel entry into the old radome, hinged on one side. This was roped down to the access ladder with a rope falls and sheave block so that a controlled opening could be made against the suction. The hatch was (very carefully!) opened and the radome lights turned on. The top opening of the radome could be seen to be oscillating between a circle and an ellipse of various shapes…very scary!!!
The noise of the wind and various pieces under strain was quite alarming.
A quick call was made to the Officers’ mess to ask if anyone wanted to come and say a few words in benediction, before the radome departed, which it did, very soon afterwards. The breaking up noises were quite horrendous.
The diamond sections broke across the diagonals, at the webs, and the resultant hexagons (about 10’across) went skipping across the site like giant Frisbees, before they were invented, of course.
One dumped onto the operations building roof and sheared off all the UHF antennas and their 2" mounting poles. No more talking to aircraft for a while after that.
Some of the triangular pieces made like daggers and drove through the sides of the sides and roofs – very dangerous, for if a wind like that got into the buildings it would likely blow them inside out. Bad vibes, one might say, in that sort of weather, in that sort of country.
Eventually the wind died down. By morning, one could see no radome, no radar sail and all kinds of destruction all around. It was amazing that nobody was hurt, although a bit surprised, maybe.
"‘Tis an ill wind that blows nobody some good". - Say again? What was that?
Eventually the replacement pieces were shipped from the States (via Goose, of course) and the antenna assembly was reconstructed inside a newly installed air supported radome.
Then it was found that the "bull gear" that turns the whole schmeer was cracked and had to be changed, inside the radome using truck jacks and a pile of 2 x 4s instead of the crane that the manual said was necessary, for places in the deep South, that had no need for radomes - but that is another story!!
John Oliver was employed as a civilian on site Radar Technician at Saglek between June 1955 and December 1955. John also spent time at Saglek during 1956 and 1957.