No radar signal

 

Frontpage, frontpage

It is remarkable how often Perillos ends up on the front pages of the newspapers. The disaster of the crash of the Constellation on January 11, 1963 was at the time widely reported, specifically in l’Indépendant. The newspaper in fact seems to be specifically predisposed to point its readers into the direction of this small and long abandoned village. Perhaps the reason for this is that the newspaper knows or tries to highlight that not all aspects of the news it reports can be fully explained in writing.
Indeed, several question marks remain about the crash of the Constellation, which in itself is a remarkable thing to note, more than forty years after the facts. Apart from this enigmatic crash (and another, lesser-known one), there is the installation of the radar station, as well as, apparently… the installation of a base from which space satellites would be launched! Was Perillos to become the French equivalent of Cape Canaveral? It seems it was!

On Saturday, October 7, 2006, the Catalan edition of the MIDI LIBRE gave over part of its front page to news that is directly relevant to the mysteries of Perillos: “The French rockets failed to launch from Leucate”, accompanied by a photograph of a rocket launch with the legend reading “Ariane takes off in Gyana… the European space adventure could nevertheless have started in the Aude”. Further into the newspaper, we read the article, written by François Barrère:

“‘France could have had, near Leucate, a launch base for space rockets’, announced the Midi Libre on the front page, on January 12, 1963. ‘Deprived of research and test facilities in the Sahara after the independence of Algeria, de Gaulle searched for another solution.’
‘I have searched for several months, along the entire shoreline, from Montpellier to Perthus. Leucate is the only possible location: the area is totally deserted.’ More than forty years later, Pierre Chiquet has not forgotten the mission which he carried out in 1962 along our Languedoc shores. This old jet fighter pilot, who was one of the co-founders of the Centre national d’études spatiales (CNES), was tasked by the government to find a new site from where the French rockets could be launched. After the war, France used its bases in the Algerian Sahara to test chemical weapons, to do the first nuclear tests and to perfect its rockets: the military missiles that would serve as engines destined for the conquest of space. It was on the base of Hammaguir, opened in 1947, that these new technologies were explored, at the time of the Cold War, on the basis of military secrets and international rivalries. The Russians put the first Sputnik in orbit in 1957 and sent Gagarin into space in 1961. In 1962, he was followed by John Glenn, the first true American astronaut. […]
The Evian Accords gave France until 1967 to withdraw from Hammaguir. From 1962, Pierre Chiquet was tasked with finding a replacement site. ‘It required a launch field that was orientated towards the East, to benefit from the rotation of the Earth and to gain precious metres and seconds. This excluded our site in Landes. Between Leucate and Le Barcarès, there was a sandy stretch, behind which were the salt lakes, which offered a certain protective distance.’ The area had other advantages: ‘It was also a cheap solution. People could stay in Perpignan, EDF [French Electricity] was not too far, we could install a radar in Perillos, a secondary technical base near Salses, and the means to remote measure from the rocks of Leucate.’ Estimated cost of investment: 100 million francs at that time, the equivalent of 140 million Euros. On May 23, 1963, the administration of CNES agreed the sum of 40 million francs to buy the terrains and study the implantation of the site. But the project would soon run into obstacles.
Technical ones to begin with: France was testing rockets, like Véronique, derived from the German V2s, which could climb to an altitude of 200 kilometres. ‘Its guidance system was so bad that it could go anywhere. In the Sahara, this was not of any real importance, but here, it would be an embarrassment if it were to fall on Perpignan or Toulouse.’ The same problem with the Diamant rocket, the first French satellite launcher: ‘The first stage would have fallen somewhere around Corsica or Sardinia, the second towards Crete: to succeed, the angle had to be steep and it would require very effective destruction systems in mid-flight.’ Other obstacle: the project was incompatible with the Racine mission, which wanted to launch the Languedocian shoreline as a tourist attraction.

In December 1963, Pierre Chiquet took Olivier Guichard, the technical consultant to Georges Pompidou, to Leucate. ‘The weather was nice, there were no clouds drifting in from the sea. He told me: ‘We are not going to chase the tourists away from here. Have a look at Port-la-Nouvelle.’ Pierre Chiquet thus submitted a report that made a negative recommendation, citing technical reasons. ‘At a reunion, Pompidou told us: ‘As it is like that, search beyond the Hexagon [France].’’ Some fifteen sites were envisioned, before Kourou, in Guyana, was chosen. The first Véronique missile was launched on April 9, 1968. Eleven years later, it was the turn of Ariane 1. ‘It is difficult to imagine to see Ariane being launched from Leucate’, states Pierre Chiquet today. ‘We quickly saw that it was not viable.’”

Vast efforts, but for what?

The above article provides a brief and at first sight clear overview of a project that was abandoned and which could indeed have turned Leucate into France’s Cape Canaveral. It shows the enormous amount of money that would have to be spent (140 million Euros) and we note that in 1963, a first part of the money, approximately one third of the total budget was indeed approved, so that the terrains could be bought and preliminary work on the sites could be carried out. This means that the site became “state owned” and was ready for the construction of the rocket base, as outlined in the report of 1962. But then, all of sudden, “obstacles” occurred. And it is here that we are asked to believe that 40 million Euros were spent on a terrain without the major problems first having been addressed.
The technical problems that are linked with the project were elementary – basic – fundamental, but the biggest stumbling block is that we are asked to believe that tourism took precedence over the space race – and the Cold War. We note that Florida is equally popular for tourism, yet Cape Canaveral is there. Furthermore, in the 1960s, we were in the middle of a space race, France’s national prestige was at stake and a solid “show and display” was key to maintain the balance of the Cold War. So do we really believe that late on, the project was cancelled because the site was to become part of a tourist resort? This seems beyond belief.

Forgotten guardians

If we accept the official line, namely that all works were stopped and that Kourou in Guyana was opted for, then certain material in the region remains hard to explain. For example, we note that satellite imagery shows (and people flying in or out of Perpignan airport can see) the “remnants” of the first base. There are structures on the ground, such as airport strips and buildings. They do not look like they were abandoned forty years ago. If they were, we would expect that the local vegetation has since encroached on the area. That is not the case.
So, why and who is maintaining these installations and for what purpose? Could it be that this is the site of a “military installation”, largely secretive or “classified”? Was the area used for some other project after its original purpose was abandoned? Or was the story of the rocket base merely a smokescreen, and was it always the intention to seize the land for military purposes? It is, of course, far easier to have people surrender territory if it is promoted to become a space basis, whereas people are less likely to sell if it is “just” for a secretive military basis.
Still, it seems clear that the money – 40 million Euros – was, at the time, wasted. And it would be intriguing to find out whether anyone ever made a fuss over this mismanagement of funds.

From a Constellation to Keo

Let us briefly return to the intriguing crash of the Constellation on the slopes of the hills of Perillos in conditions that have never been totally and satisfactorily explained. Let us note the time: January 11, 1963, the period when Leucate is about to become a space base. Does this add certain insights into the mysterious nature of the crash? Was the nature of the flight of “national security” interests, in which rather bland explanations are given as details are not allowed to enter the public domain? Hence, the story that this was a group of people doing test recovery runs, after which “navigational errors, variations in meteorological conditions and irreversible mechanical problems” were mixed together to explain the crash of the airplane, may be a lie.
Speaking of satellites and space, let us also mention the satellite mission Kéo, which has been announced for several years – and which each year seems to be pushed back further into the future. Currently, launch is set for 2007. We note that Kéo is linked with the Chronodrome, a time travel experiment, conceived by Pascal Guillaume, which continues to run its course in Opoul, only a short distance away from Perillos. Coincidence?

Radar hazards

We will take it as read that the unfortunate cancellation of the rocket base in Leucate was just another coincidence. But we note that originally, the site was chosen for certain “geographical advantages”, as well as noting the proximity of Perpignan for lodgings and the presence of EDF (electricity). But what especially interests us is the installation of a radar in Perillos. A radar in Perillos? Is it a coincidence that more than thirty years after the initial idea to construct such a radar, Perillos actually got this radar?
Indeed, the modern and recent radar in Perillos is apparently being used for meteorological monitoring, rather than any rocket-type monitoring that the original radar was apparently going to do. Still, we do know that the Perillos radar in the 1960s would have been an addition to the list of already existing radars, such as the military radar on the plateau of La Clape, near Narbonne and a civilian installation near Perpignan. But indeed, in the 1960s, it would have been a very good idea to create a radar whose sole use would have been the rocket base.
When the project was abandoned and moved to Guyana, there was no longer any need for a radar station in Perillos and the idea was abandoned. But, surprise, surprise, four decades later, someone seemed to find these documents under a good layer of dust, and apparently decided to implement them: let’s build a radar in Perillos, and so it happened, in what seems to be a very swift and rather sudden action plan, apparently in reply to the natural disaster that struck the region, leaving towns like Durban-Corbières in a state of destruction. So Météo France builds its radar. But then… then we find that Météo France has a website, where you are able to see webcams from their various radar installations, to which you can subscribe to for a minimal fee. So let’s do so for the Perillos radar, only to find that the camera seems to be continuously unavailable! Furthermore, let’s just pass by the electrical transformer below and read that the name of the hut is “Aramis” and that this “happens” to be the name EDF uses power for military installations… but wait, Météo France is not military and neither is therefore the radar?
Does the radar sit in the same category as the somehow non-existing yet present airstrip and related infrastructure near Leucate? The radar is highly visible, but is anyone able to distinguish, from the village of Perillos in the village below, or even from next to the fence on high, what the real purpose of the radar is? Weather readings, or other readings? Or both?

Questioning – questionable? – games

So, in short, Météo France delivered on a project which in origin was going to be part of the rocket base facility. If the purpose of this radar is somehow military related, then it is clear that an excuse had to be found for its implantation and that excuse came about following the disaster of November 1999. But it is equally possible that the story of the rocket base in 1962 itself was a lie, an excuse to cover up other things. And we can only wonder whether this “other thing” has any relevance to the ancient mystery of Perillos, or whether it is just a coincidence.

But the list of coincidences does not end here: for example, there is the radio-active patch near Opoul, for which there equally has never been given any satisfactory explanation. Equally, we note that during the Second World War, the Germans installed an observation post near the present location of the radar. This in itself is not too surprising, but we merely note it down for the moment, for as so many innocent items are related, perhaps this one too is? We also note that in late 2005, the French government tried to militarise the entire zone of Perillos, up to the radar installation. This effort has so far failed and seems to have been abandoned for the immediate future. When asked why they were doing this – the excuse they were giving and which the local population was invited to accept – the story was that this was required so that in time of war, the radar would be defended. But wait, this is a weather radar… why would anyone want to attack such a radar, and not, for example, the military radar in La Clape? Or the airport of Perpignan? And finally, as we already noted, the state of warfare has now far improved so that no-one requires to walk up the hill to destroy this radar installation. Guided missiles, sent from different continents, can accomplish this work far more clinically and efficiently than a group of soldiers marching upwards on the slopes. So, are we faced here with the state slowly eating away at land, whereby, over the course of forty years, an area is apparently being transformed into a zone that is off-limits, with secret airstrips and a radar with no apparent purpose?

Germans

Finally, let us note that the exact location of the radar location is somewhat enigmatic. The radar may appear to be sitting on top of the hill, but is actually not sitting on the culmination. This is important, for if it were there, it would have a 360 panoramic view and sensing area, whereas now, this is not the case. In short, it is now limited in direction… some directions are deemed to be of more interest than others? But from a meteorological perspective, this does not make any sense, for weather can come from any direction.
The German station during the Second World War is equally turned into one direction and is located just under the present radar installation, but once again, its location is not ideal. Why? Instead, we end up with a situation, in the case of the German installation, that only a strip of 150 degrees, largely directed towards the shoreline, could be controlled. For sure, it is here that a possible invasion was likely going to happen, but still, why not implant the installation slightly higher and make sure you have covered 360 degrees? Guard your back… If only because the invasion might be with planes coming in from behind, in support of a naval attack force by sea? Finally, by not covering their backs, the local resistance fighters could climb the back of the mountain and attack the observation post, without the German troops aware of what was about to happen. With such bad military planning, it seems only logical that the Germans lost the war… but of course it is more likely that “outright logic” will not provide the answer as to why they defied logic, that instead something else made them act the way they did.
Let us also note that the site was almost surrounded by plants and that no anti-aircraft or artillery was installed there. Which meant that the defence of the site was largely up to men fighting and shooting with machine guns. This would only stall foot troops, but would be useless against planes. So what were the Germans expecting of this inefficient installation? Was it perhaps merely an outpost of a larger and more important complex? Perhaps… Finally, the locals remember that the site was only ever accessed by mule; no cars or other vehicles made their way up there. Of course, a mule is far superior than a vehicle, the more so if one wants to do some discrete exploration of the countryside! Let us therefore conclude by noting that the Nazi post was close to the entrance of a cave… which means that the present radar installation is very close to this cave entrance too. And that may be yet another coincidence… or perhaps not.