On a recent Saturday morning, a rocket sat motionless on a launchpad about 70 miles from Manhattan, pointed toward the November sky.
It cut the same silhouette as a basic Estes kit rocket, the sort that has been a summer camp staple since the early days of the Space Race.
But this was definitely not summer camp. The rocket was nine feet tall and fitted with an engine 2,000 times more powerful than an entry-level model rocket motor. Launching it would require a special certificate — and alerting local air traffic control.
“F.A.A.’s been contacted, so we’re open,” David Mosher announced to the assembled crowd.
Mr. Mosher is the president of the Metra Rocket Club, a group dedicated to a hobby that is somehow both old-fashioned and futuristic. The club attracts amateur rocket builders of all stripes — working engineers and retirees, students and teachers, children and their parents — who come together to test-drive their creations and enjoy in-person camaraderie.
Launch days are a chance to “get away, enjoy the sunshine and punch an occasional hole in the sky,” Andy Cook, the club prefect, said.
The previous two Metra launch weekends had been scuttled by drought-induced burn bans, but this time, conditions at the Orange County, N.Y., farm where they meet were just right: dry but not too dry.
A rocket launch at this level, however, requires more than just a clear forecast. Metra operates under the safety guidelines (and insurance policy) of the national Tripoli Rocketry Association, as well as a certificate of authorization from the Federal Aviation Administration. (Out west, in the Mojave and Black Rock Deserts, amateur rockets have blasted past 250,000 feet, practically touching outer space; Metra’s F.A.A. altitude limit is a slightly more down-to-earth 4,500 feet.)
On this morning, with all systems go, the Metra members dispersed to their makeshift labs — generally folding tables stationed in front of open car trunks bursting with rocket parts — to prep their projectiles.
N.Y.U.’s rocketry club was there to test its custom propulsion system, built from scratch. Others were hoping to advance to the next level of Tripoli’s three-step certification program, allowing them to fly more powerful engines.
For some, the focus was testing onboard tech so sophisticated it would make Alan Shepard’s Mercury-Redstone rocket blush.
Greg Huber, a Yale political science professor by day, caught the rocketry bug during the pandemic, when he started building rockets with his son. “It was the gateway drug to doing this more and more,” said Dr. Huber, 52. His latest homemade rocket — painted red with a big eye on the side and christened the Squid — featured an onboard camera, a GPS tracker and an altimeter-activated parachute programmed to deploy at 400 feet.
While a basic model rocket contains little more than a black powder engine and a parachute, high-powered rockets often rely on built-in electronics to eject the main chute closer to ground level, to increase the rocket’s odds of landing in the same ZIP code. Another key difference is the fuel itself, typically ammonium perchlorate.
“Same as the solid rocket boosters on the space shuttle,” Dr. Huber noted.
After a few rounds of successful launches (the Squid among them), Ken Liu, a retired former market researcher, headed down to the launchpads with his second rocket of the day, a red and black number he modeled on an Argentine missile.
Mr. Liu, 57, is used to the level of precision a successful flight requires. “I had a client for three years who demanded zero errors,” he said as he guided his rocket down the long metal rod that helps ensure a straight launch off the pad. “I think that’s why I like rocketry so much.”
Next to him, Alejandro Marote, 21, and Nasir Aziz, 21, seniors in Rutgers’s aerospace engineering program, anxiously worked through preflight checks for their respective rockets, with a reassuring hand from Mr. Liu. The stakes were high: They were attempting to earn their first level of certification for high-powered flight.
“This is a learning curve for me,” said Mr. Aziz after positioning his rocket on the pad.
Their rockets secured, the two looked over at Mr. Liu’s launchpad. “That rocket is beautiful,” Mr. Marote said, before thanking him again for his help.
“Hey, welcome!” said Mr. Liu. “Don’t forget the igniter.”
For such a technical hobby, dedicated mentorship is essential. Aaron Grill, a faculty adviser to the rocketry team at the Browning School in Manhattan, attended the Metra launch with eight of his students; one parent marveled that Mr. Grill once drove the team’s rocket cross-country so they could enter a competition in California.
Rob Davis, president of the Harlem Launch Alliance, the City College of New York’s rocketry club, brought two undergraduates to the launch along with a high school student who successfully completed her certification flight after a yearlong effort. Mentorship and education, said Mr. Davis, 31, turns amateur rocketry “into something beyond mere escapism.”
Back at mission control, after a pause to let a Cessna pass, the Rutgers rocketeers and their families held their breath as the countdown began. Ted Chernok, the Tripoli Technical Advisory Board member who would determine if the flights were certification-worthy, watched nearby.
One by one, the rockets shot into the sky. “Deploy, deploy,” Mr. Marote intoned, speaking directly to his rocket’s parachute.
Necks craned skyward, the families cheered as each rocket’s parachute deployed as designed. The men would earn their certification as long as they could recover their rockets undamaged (which they did).
“It feels like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders,” Mr. Aziz said.
Mr. Chernok turned his attention next to the Tufts University rocketry club’s 10-foot-long, 55-pound behemoth. One team member, Katherine Jones, explained that they were testing their onboard computer system, which had failed during their last launch, in advance of a rocketry competition next year. After an intense but good-natured grilling, Mr. Chernok wished them a smooth flight.
“You’ve got to show these young people respect,” he said, “because this stuff is no joke.”
Mr. Chernok looked on as the Tufts delegation carried its rocket down to the launchpad, and then later as it roared into the sky, momentarily disappearing into the clouds.
“What these young people are going to become, it’s unbelievable,” he said. “They don’t know, but I know. And it’s going to blow your mind.”
The post These Rocketry Hobbyists Are Not Just Playing Around appeared first on New York Times.
