Walking into a supermarket in upstate New York doesn't usually feel like a religious experience. But if you drive into Ticonderoga and pull up to what looks like an old grocery store, you’re about to lose your mind. This is where James Cawley spent decades of his life obsessed with a single goal: rebuilding the Desilu Stage 9. Honestly, calling the Star Trek Original Set Tour a "museum" feels like an insult. It’s a time machine.
Most people think these sets were destroyed decades ago. They were. After NBC pulled the plug on Star Trek in 1969, the wood and plywood that made up the USS Enterprise were mostly trashed or repurposed. What Cawley did was different. He didn't just build "inspired" rooms. He hunted down the original blueprints. He found the exact paint swatches used by the production designers. He tracked down the specific gels for the lights. When you stand on that bridge, you aren't looking at a tribute; you are standing in a physical manifestation of 1966.
The weirdly specific magic of the Star Trek Original Set Tour
You’ve probably seen high-budget movie sets before. They usually look like junk up close. Plywood, tape, and spit. But the Star Trek Original Set Tour has this strange, tactile weight to it. The primary colors—those bold reds, yellows, and blues—pop in a way that modern HDR screens can’t quite capture. It’s loud. It’s bright. It’s incredibly small.
That’s the first thing that hits you. The bridge is tiny. On TV, those wide-angle lenses made the Enterprise look like a sprawling cathedral of technology. In reality? You could probably toss a tribble from Uhura’s station and hit Checkov without trying. It creates this weirdly intimate vibe. You realize how much the actors had to squeeze past each other. It explains the "Ship's Tilt" better than any behind-the-scenes documentary ever could.
The blueprints don't lie
James Cawley, the man behind this madness, actually secured a license from CBS. That’s a big deal. It means these aren't "fan-made" in the legal or technical sense. They are officially recognized recreations. He worked with people like William Ware Theiss and spent years chatting with the original crew to get the details right.
Take the buttons. Those colorful, jelly-bean-looking squares on the consoles. They aren't just plastic. They are backlit with the exact same intensity as the ones William Shatner used to punch while screaming about dilithium crystals. There’s a specific clack when you move a lever. It’s a sensory overload for anyone who grew up watching reruns at 4:00 PM on a local affiliate station.
Why Ticonderoga?
It seems like a random spot, right? A quiet town near Lake Champlain. But that’s part of the charm. If this were in Orlando or Hollywood, you’d be shuffled through by a teenager in a vest who doesn't know a phaser from a curling iron. In Ticonderoga, the guides are often people who helped build the thing. They know which screw is original and which one was a replacement.
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The Star Trek Original Set Tour exists here because it’s a labor of love, not a corporate mandate. It started as a home for the New Voyages fan film series. Cawley and his team needed a place to shoot, so they built the Sickbay. Then they built the Transporter Room. Eventually, they had the whole 360-degree layout. It’s one of the only places on Earth where you can walk through a doorway in the corridor and actually end up where you're supposed to be—not just a dead end with a sandbag.
Seeing the details you missed on VHS
If you look closely at the walls in the Briefing Room, you’ll see the textures. The 1960s had a specific obsession with mid-century modern aesthetics mixed with "space-age" utility. The chairs aren't just chairs; they’re Burke 115 chairs. Finding those today is like hunting for a unicorn. But they’re here.
Most fans spend their time on the Bridge, and I get it. The Captain's chair is the Holy Grail. But don't sleep on the Transporter Room. Standing on those pads, you half-expect to hear that shimmering hum. The lighting is positioned perfectly to mimic the glow from the floor. It’s a masterclass in low-budget, high-impact practical effects.
The Shatner Factor
Every now and then, the "Big Man" himself shows up. William Shatner has visited the Star Trek Original Set Tour multiple times for special events. Think about that for a second. The man who lived on those sets for three years walked into a building in New York and said it was like walking back onto the lot in 1966.
He’s not the only one. Walter Koenig (Chekov), Nichelle Nichols (Uhura), and even the designers have walked these halls. They all say the same thing: it’s eerie. It’s the "Uncanny Valley" of architecture. It shouldn't exist, yet here it is.
Misconceptions about the "Museum" label
A lot of people think they’re going to see props behind glass. There’s some of that, sure. There are costumes and screen-used items. But the tour is mostly an environmental experience. It’s about the space.
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- You can sit in the chair (usually for an extra fee or a special photo op).
- You can walk the curved corridors.
- You can see the engine room's forced perspective.
- You can touch the "computer" walls.
It’s an interactive time capsule. If you’re looking for a digital, high-tech VR experience, go to a theme park. If you want to feel the heat of 1960s studio lights and see the grain in the wood, you come here.
The technical genius of 1966
We forget how smart the original designers were. Matt Jefferies, the guy the "Jefferies Tubes" are named after, was an aviation guy. He didn't want the Enterprise to look like a "flying saucer" with fins. He wanted it to look like a functional vessel.
When you see the engine room at the Star Trek Original Set Tour, you realize how they faked the scale. They used "forced perspective." The pipes get smaller as they go back. The floor angles up. On a small TV screen in 1967, it looked like a massive power plant. In person, you can see the trick. Honestly, seeing the trick makes it even more impressive. It’s a testament to human creativity before CGI ruined everything.
What it takes to keep this running
Maintaining a set made of wood, plexiglass, and 1960s electronics is a nightmare. Dust is the enemy. Heat is the enemy. The staff here are basically curators of a living monument. They have to find vintage parts for things that haven't been manufactured in fifty years.
It’s also a pilgrimage. People fly in from Germany, Japan, and Australia. They don't come for the lake; they come because this is the only place where the "Final Frontier" feels like something you can actually grab with your hands.
Planning your mission to Ticonderoga
Look, Ticonderoga isn't exactly a hub of international travel. You’re going to be driving. Probably from Albany or Burlington. It’s a scenic drive, but it’s a trek (pun intended).
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- Check the schedule: They aren't open every single day year-round. They have seasons.
- Book the "Photo Op": If you’re going all that way, don’t be cheap. Get the photo in the Captain’s chair. You’ll regret it if you don't.
- Check for events: Sometimes they do "Trekonderoga," which is a mini-convention. It gets crowded, but the energy is electric.
The tour itself takes about an hour or so, depending on how much of a nerd you are. If you’re the type of person who wants to count the buttons on the helm console, you’ll want to stay longer. Most of the guides are cool with that, as long as you aren't holding up the next group.
Why it matters now
We live in an era of "Prestige Trek." Shows like Strange New Worlds have budgets that would make Desi Arnaz weep. The sets are sleek, made of metal and glass, and covered in high-res LED screens. They look amazing.
But they don't look like Star Trek.
There’s a soul in the Star Trek Original Set Tour that the new shows struggle to replicate. It’s the soul of the "Space Western." It’s rugged. It’s primary. It’s optimistic in a way that feels very specific to the mid-century. When you walk through that sliding door (and yes, they make the sound), you aren't just looking at a TV set. You’re looking at a vision of the future from a time when we actually believed we’d be living in it by now.
Actionable Advice for Visitors
- Bring a real camera: Phone cameras struggle with the saturated lighting in the engine room and the bridge. If you have a DSLR with a wide lens, bring it.
- Stay in the area: Don't try to do a 6-hour round-trip drive in one day. Stay at a local B&B. Ticonderoga is a beautiful historic town with its own Revolutionary War fort that is also worth seeing.
- Watch "The Doomsday Machine" before you go: It’s one of the episodes that uses the sets most effectively. Having those visuals fresh in your mind makes the physical reality of the tour hit much harder.
- Talk to the guides: Seriously. Ask them about the construction. Ask them about the "Jelly Beans." They have stories about the restoration process that are arguably more interesting than the tour script itself.
- Check the "Guest Stars": They frequently have original series actors come in for signings. If you can time your visit with a guest appearance, it transforms the experience from a tour into a lifetime memory.
Standing on the transporter pad, you realize that Star Trek wasn't just a show. It was a physical place. And thanks to a bunch of dedicated obsessives in a small town in New York, that place still exists. Go see it before the dilithium crystals finally give out.