[CrackMonkey] [gkm@petting-zoo.net: Your tax dollars at work.]

[Nick Moffitt]

----- Forwarded message from glen mccready <gkm at petting-zoo.net> -----
Forwarded-by: Benjamin Cline <benji at haven.boston.ma.us>

http://www.sunspot.net/content/cover/story?section=cover&pagename=story&storyid=1150520223288

NSA abandons wondrous stuff
Surprises: Astronomers who took over an abandoned spy base find 
remarkable, expensive and often incomprehensible stuff at every turn.

By Laura Sullivan
Sun National Staff
Originally published Jan 5 2001

"There are things on this site you will never see anywhere else."

TRANSYLVANIA COUNTY, N.C. - Along the long, twisting road through the 
Pisgah National Forest, the first sign that something is out of the 
ordinary is a line of giant transformers. Then, around the bend, a 
barbed-wire fence, guard shack and surveillance cameras protect what 
looks like nothing more than another hill of trees and dense 
shrubbery.

It is anything but.

This is the entrance to one of the National Security Agency's former 
spy stations, a place shrouded in secrets and denials, the source of 
local lore that seems right out of "X-Files."

What is inside that giant geodesic dome that looks like a golf ball? 
Where do the tunnels snaking beneath the 202-acre site lead? Why are 
the rugs welded to the floors of the windowless buildings?

Few people have been beyond these gates, deep inside the Appalachian 
Mountains, 50 miles southwest of Asheville.

The NSA abandoned the site to the U.S. Forest Service five years ago, 
leaving behind a deserted minicity in the middle of nowhere. Now, 
some of the secrets are being revealed.

Last year, with the base boarded up and close to demolition, the 
property was transferred to a group of astronomers in exchange for a 
piece of land in western North Carolina. Over the past year, they 
have begun piecing together the site's past.

"There are things on this site you will never see anywhere else," 
said site manager Jim Powers. "I've never had someone come here that 
wasn't blown away."

The astronomers, who formed the Pisgah Astronomical Research 
Institute, were attracted by two 85-foot satellites dishes on the 
site - some of the largest in the country - which could be 
repositioned to catch deep-space radio signals and allow them to 
study the life and death of stars.

When the group arrived in January 1999, they expected a basic, albeit 
large, government facility, but as the weeks passed they realized 
little about the site was what it appeared.

As they began to install their computers, they found hundreds of 
miles of top-of-the-line cabling running under every floor. They 
discovered that the self-contained water and sewer treatment plant 
could handle tens of thousands of gallons of water at a time and the 
generator could produce 235 kilowatts of energy - powerful enough to 
light up a small city.

In a basement room of one of the larger buildings, they found the 
entrance to a 1,200-foot tunnel system that connects two of the 
site's main buildings.

Every inch of floor in more than four buildings was covered with 
two-by-two-foot squares of bleak brown carpet. When the astronomers 
tried to replace it, they discovered it was welded with tiny metal 
fibers to the floor. The result, they eventually realized, is that 
the rugs prevent the buildings from conducting static electricity.

Even the regular lighting looks different, covered by sleek metal 
grids that prevent the light bulbs from giving off static 
interference. The few windows are bulletproof.

But what fascinated the astronomers was the still-operable security 
system that, among other things, sounds an alarm in the main building 
any time the front perimeter is crossed. The group can watch on 
monitors as cars approach from miles away.

Inside the site, the agency had taken further measures. One area is 
in a small, sunken river ravine surrounded by barbed wire and an 
additional guard post. Steps, with reflective metal paneling to 
shield the identity of those walking beneath, lead down a small hill 
and wind their way to two small buildings with conference rooms 
inside - both of which once emanated "white noise" to prevent 
electronic eavesdropping.

What Powers and several others in the group find remarkable, though, 
is not just the expansive network of buildings and security, but the 
extraordinary cost of all they items they have found - items the 
agency discarded.

He said the extensive fiber optic cabling that runs for miles under 
the floors and through the tunnel system is the most expensive on the 
market.

When a state regulator came out to issue a permit for a massive 
underground storage tank with a double lining, the astronomers said 
he told them he wished he had a camera. He wanted to take a picture 
to show his co-workers because he had never seen a system so 
sophisticated.

And the agency didn't just install one water tank; it installed two. 
In a basement room, beneath a system that pressurizes wells, is 
another system just like it.

"You see this kind of thing everywhere here," Powers said. "They 
never have just one of something."

Even most of the heavy bolt locks - which every door has - are 
covered by black boxes locked with padlocks.

Despite the site's stark appearance, there are some human - and 
humorous - vestiges. A bright happy face is painted on the smallest 
of the four satellite dishes on the site, something one former 
employee said was done so that they could "smile back at the 
Russians."

Inside the tunnels, too, are chalk drawings of animals and warriors 
resembling those found in caves thousands of years ago.

Aside from the rustling of deer and the wild turkeys that run rampant 
across the hundreds of vacant parking spaces, everything about the 
place is now eerily quiet.

Paperwork in the guard shack is held in place by a stapler though no 
one has been inside the small building in years. Security cameras 
still work and alarms all still sound, though no one is listening.

When the agency withdrew in 1995, some of the 300 workers, especially 
those who grew up locally and got hired on as groundskeepers and 
mechanics, returned to the nearby towns, though many say they are 
still forbidden to talk about their work.

Most of the others - the security officers, military personnel and 
cryptologists - left the area for their next Department of Defense 
post.

The site dates back to the early 1960s, when a scaled-down version 
was carved out to support the space program. It was operated at first 
by the National Aeronautics and Space Administration, and scientists 
used the early satellite dishes to track the flights into outer space 
and kept the door open for school groups and visitors who wanted to 
learn more about space missions.

But suddenly in 1981, the NSA took over from NASA. Local hikers and 
hunters who stumbled onto some of the agency's acreage would be 
suddenly surrounded by armed guards who appeared as if from nowhere 
to escort them out of the woods. Vans with darkened windows shuttled 
past the local coffee shops, fueling rumors.

The agency's presence was hard on the local employees as well.

Don Powell began working on the site in 1967 as a car mechanic and 
spent the next three decades learning the mechanics of every inch of 
the satellite dishes for the Defense Department. He also learned to 
avoid questions about his work and to lie to his neighbors.

For 15 years people would approach him and the few other local 
workers, asking what was out there, what they did and, of course, 
what is that golf ball?

"The kids would always ask, what's in [that] giant dome?"

He would tell them it was "filled with chocolate pudding," he said. 
"I couldn't even tell my wife. I couldn't tell anyone."

The 1995 closure appears to have caught the agency by surprise. It 
had recently cleared several more areas and laid the foundations for 
additional smaller satellite dishes that were never built. One newly 
built satellite dish, which one insider says was never turned on, was 
dismantled and shipped to England.

The Forest Service tried unsuccessfully to engineer a land trade for 
three years, hampered by a site that posed many problems for the few 
interested parties - from the remote location to the expense of 
removing satellite dishes embedded 80 feet into the ground.

The agency was about to return with a bulldozer when the astronomers 
group, headed by benefactor J. Donald Cline, a scientist and former 
computer executive, offered to buy and trade 375 acres along the 
French Broad River in North Carolina for the spy station.

What made the site, shielded from interference in a natural 
bowl-shaped terrain, so perfect for the NSA made the site perfect for 
the astronomers as well. They plan to use the satellite dishes to 
read the characteristics of elements given off by dying stars.

"This area is free of light pollution," Powers said, as he stood in 
the middle of a vast, empty parking lot. "It's also clean in terms of 
electromagnetic interference like cell phone towers or things that 
create electromagnetic noise.

"And we can be sure there won't be any in the future because the 
Forest Service owns everything around here. ... It's easy to see why 
they liked this place."

Recently, in one of a dozen large empty rooms in one of four mostly 
empty office buildings where the group decided to set up shop, four 
scientists stood around a portable panel of monitors and computers, 
watching the results of a test appear on a screen.

"It's stardust," said the site's technical director, astronomer 
Charles Osborne. "This stuff is just floating around out there. It's 
the building blocks of life."

In order to use the satellite dishes, they had to spend months trying 
to slow them down. Both of the 85-foot dishes swing on two axes, an 
extravagance the astronomers suspect allowed the agency to swing the 
face around swiftly to catch up with satellites orbiting Earth. The 
astronomers need the dishes to move no faster than the speed of Earth 
itself.

But there is much on the site that the astronomers don't know what to 
do with, such as the paper-shredding building up on one hill, the 
large helicopter pad on top of another, and down in a valley of 
well-manicured grass, that giant golf ball, similar to those seen at 
NSA headquarters at Fort Meade.

Close up from the outside, the ball is a circle of triangles, no two 
identical, that feel like Gore-Tex to the touch. When one triangle at 
the bottom is pushed, several triangles around it gyrate, letting off 
a low grumbling sound of bending metal echoing throughout the ball.

Inside, past a small door less than 4 feet tall, the ball glows 
white, lighted by the sunlight outside reflecting and bouncing inside 
from one triangle to another.

In its center is a 40-foot satellite dish, cleaner and smoother than 
any of the others. It looks new, though it has been there for years. 
There are unusual numbered patterns on the dish's white panels, laid 
out like a cheat sheet to a jigsaw puzzle. The astronomers believe 
that the triangles vary in size as a clever way to minimize the 
effect of interference that comes from patterns.

Enclosing the dish under such a surface, they speculate, would 
protect it from the weather, and prevent anyone else from seeing it 
or reading the direction it is pointed.

For the astronomers, though, this curious dish is somewhat 
irrelevant. They need dishes with large faces, like the two bigger 
ones, to read the radio signals of stars millions of light-years from 
Earth.

 From far above on the perfectly level, perfectly painted helicopter 
pad with a view of miles of mountains and green trees, Powers laughed 
at the differences between the previous owners and the astronomers, a 
group short on staff and scraping for funding. He studied the golf 
ball.

"You'll go a long way before you find anything like that around 
anywhere else," he said. " ... But nothing about this place is what 
it seems."


----- End forwarded message -----

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