Nevada Archives - FLYING Magazine https://cms.flyingmag.com/tag/nevada/ The world's most widely read aviation magazine Mon, 15 Apr 2024 18:00:28 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.4.4 Reenacting Bombing Missions in an F-117 Nighthawk https://www.flyingmag.com/reenacting-bombing-missions-in-a-f-117-nighthawk/ Mon, 15 Apr 2024 17:06:38 +0000 https://www.flyingmag.com/?p=200360 Ride along on a Microsoft Flight Simulator journey through history in the world's first top-secret stealth aircraft.

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Today on Microsoft Flight Simulator 2020, I’m at Homey Airport (KXTA), also known as Groom Lake, aka “Area 51.” I’ve come here to the remote Nevada desert to fly one of the most iconic top secret aircraft of all time: the F-117 Nighthawk stealth fighter.

The story of the F-117 begins in 1964, when Soviet mathematician Pyotr Ufimtsev published the paper, Method of Edge Waves in the Physical Theory of Diffraction. It demonstrated that the radar return from an object depended more on its shape than size. Given the technology at the time, Ufimtsev’s insight was dismissed as impractical in Russia. But by the 1970s, given friendly aircraft losses to SAMs (surface-to-air missiles) in Vietnam and the Middle East, engineers at Lockheed’s “Skunk Works”—famous for designing cutting edge military planes like the P-38 Lighting, U-2 spy plane, and F-104 Starfighter—began taking the idea seriously.

One key to minimizing radar return was to replace conventional streamlined, rounded surfaces with flat, angled surfaces designed to scatter radar waves in different directions. The wings would be swept back at a steep angle, like an arrowhead, and the vertical stabilizer (tail fin) replaced by an angled V-tail, all to reduce its radar profile.

[Courtesy: Patrick Chovanec]

The two turbofan jet engines were placed above the wings to shield their heat signature from the ground. The flat, reflective surfaces of the turbofan itself were shielded by an intake grill (to the right).

[Courtesy: Patrick Chovanec]

The engines have special exhaust ports in the rear to shield and minimize the heat released. The F-117 has no afterburners to give it extra thrust, as this would defeat the purpose of nondetection.

[Courtesy: Patrick Chovanec]

Instead of slinging weapons and bombs outside the fuselage, they are stored in an interior bay, safe from radar detection. Even opening the bay doors dramatically increases the F-117’s radar profile, so it must only be done for a few seconds over a target. Additionally, the exterior surfaces of the F-117 are all covered in a special coating, designed to absorb and deflect radar waves. The fork-like prongs jutting from the front of the F-117 are sensors to detect airspeed, angle of attack, and other instrument readings. The F-117 has no radar, which would immediately give away its presence. The glass panel in front of the cockpit is an infrared “eye” that enables the pilot to see in the dark and guide bombs to their target.

[Courtesy: Patrick Chovanec]

The windows of the F-117’s cockpit are ingrained with gold, which allows radar waves in but not out. Examples of the F-117’s cockpit are now on display in museums, and the layout is fairly similar to other single-pilot combat airplanes.

[Courtesy: Patrick Chovanec]

Initially a “black project” funded by the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA), starting in 1975, Lockheed cobbled together two prototypes under the code name “Hopeless Diamond,” which first flew in 1977. Although both prototypes crashed, the project was a sufficient enough success to proceed with a production model, which took its first flight from Area 51 in 1981. The first airplanes were delivered to the U.S. Air Force in 1982.

[Courtesy: Patrick Chovanec]

The radar-minimizing design features of the F-117 make it quite unstable to fly. In fact, it can really only be flown with computer assistance, using a fly-by-wire system derived from the F-16. Because of its difficult aerodynamics, the F-117 quickly gained the nickname “Frisbee” or “Wobblin’ Goblin.”

The shielding of its jet engines, and lack of afterburners, also means that the F-117 is subsonic (it cannot break the speed of sound), making it much slower than most conventional fighters. In fact, despite its designation, the F-117 is not a fighter meant to intercept and dogfight with enemy airplanes. It has no guns, and though in theory it could carry air-to-air missiles, its lack of radar would render them fairly useless.

[Courtesy: Patrick Chovanec]

The “Stealth Fighter” is actually an attack aircraft or light bomber, intended to be used in covert missions or evade air defenses, mainly under the cover of night. Some say that the “fighter” designation was used to attract pilots to the program who would normally have preferred flying fighters over bombers.

[Courtesy: Patrick Chovanec]

After testing at Homey, the F-117 was assigned to a special secret unit at Tonopah Test Range, also in Nevada. A total of 64 combat-ready airplanes were eventually built. Throughout the 1980s, however, the F-117 was kept completely secret. While rumors and sightings of it abounded, the U.S. government refused to confirm that any such aircraft existed. The first acknowledged use of the F-117 in combat was during the U.S. invasion of Panama to topple dictator Manuel Noriega in 1989.

[Courtesy: Patrick Chovanec]

Before I elaborate on its combat history, I need to land this airplane. The F-117 doesn’t have any flaps or air brakes to slow it down. I pull the throttle back to nearly idle just to descend. The approach speed of the F-117 is really fast—around 250 knots—and it touches down at 180 knots. So on landing I pull a handle next to the landing gear to deploy a parachute, to slow me down in time.

[Courtesy: Patrick Chovanec]

Now let’s talk about the known combat record of the F-117. It’s 3 a.m.  on January 17, 1991. Just over a day since the coalition deadline for Saddam Hussein to withdraw his Iranian forces from Kuwait has expired. An F-117 flies over the desert just south of Baghdad.

[Courtesy: Patrick Chovanec]

F-117s are leading the first strike of the coalition air campaign in the first Gulf War, aimed at taking out key command and control installations in the Iraqi capital. With a radar reflection the size of a golf ball, the F-117 glides silent and unseen over the bends of the Tigris River toward its target. Meanwhile, Iraqi anti-aircraft guns fire blindly into the night sky—a scene I remember watching unfold live on TV as I sat in my college dorm room. Combat losses for the F-117 that first night were projected at 5 percent. In fact, every single one of them came back from their missions safely.

[Courtesy: Patrick Chovanec]

By the end of the first Gulf War, the F-117 had flown 1,300 sorties, hitting an estimated 1,600 high-value targets, with the loss of a single aircraft. Though some of its performance may have been exaggerated—initial estimates of 80 percent target accuracy were scaled back to 40-60 percent—the F-117 became a leading symbol of the U.S. technological edge that helped establish it as the world’s sole superpower going into the 1990s.

[Courtesy: Patrick Chovanec]

Fast-forward to the evening of March 27, 1999. At Aviano Air Base in northern Italy, an F-117 prepares for another night of bombing Yugoslavia, as part of NATO’s intervention to compel Serbian forces to withdraw from Kosovo. The aircraft, call sign “Vega 31,” is flown by Lieutenant Colonel Darrell Patrick “Dale” Zelko, a Desert Storm veteran. His target is a command-and-control center in downtown Belgrade, the Serbian capital. Along with several other F-117s on similar missions, he will fly east across Slovenia and Hungary before refueling midair and turning south to enter Yugoslav airspace.

[Courtesy: Patrick Chovanec]

I’ve heard the story two ways. The first has Zelko approaching Belgrade from the northwest and being picked up by Serbian radar as he opened his bomb bay doors—presumably before he could hit his assigned target. The second version, which the pilot himself tells, has him skirting Romanian airspace and coming toward Belgrade from the east. He dropped his bombs on target then continued west to head back home. (From what I can gather, Zelko was actually quite a bit higher than I’m portraying here, and there was a cloud layer about 2,000 feet above the ground.)

[Courtesy: Patrick Chovanec]

Just south of the two in Ruma in the countryside west of Belgrade, a mobile S-125 Neva SAM unit detected the F-117, despite its stealth profile, and locked on. Two SAMs were fired. The first missed the cockpit by inches, and the proximity fuse somehow failed to trigger. The second hit one wing and sent the F-117 tumbling out of control. After an initial struggle, the pilot ejected, was able to evade Serbian ground forces, and was rescued by U.S. helicopters. Years later, Zelko met the man who commanded the SAM unit that shot him down, and the two became friends.

Interestingly, the U.S. did not take any steps to destroy the wreckage of the downed F-117. The official reason was that the technology was already out of date, and there was no rationale to fear it falling into enemy hands. While the F-117 Nighthawk was used in 2001 in Afghanistan, and again in 2003 over Iraq, it became increasingly clear that it was nearing the end of its useful days, soon to be replaced by newer aircraft like the F-22 and F-35 that incorporate further advances in stealth technology. In 2006, the U.S. Air Force announced that it was retiring the F-117 and began putting the fleet into storage. A few went to museums, and others began being scrapped.

[Courtesy: Patrick Chovanec]

However, in recent years, there have been a number of sightings of F-117s flying near Edwards Air Base near California’s Death Valley. Some were reportedly painted grayish white, earning them the nickname “ghosts.” It is widely suspected that these F-117s are taking part in exercises designed to train pilots to detect and intercept enemy stealth aircraft. For fans of the iconic “Stealth Fighter,” it’s gratifying to know that some of them still appear to be flying.

[Courtesy: Patrick Chovanec]

In its entire operational life, there was only one known F-117 shot down. Its time may have passed, but that’s a remarkable record.

If you’d like to see a version of this story with more historical photos and screenshots, you can check out my original post here. This story was told utilizing Aerial Simulations’ F-117 Nighthawk add-on to Microsoft Flight Simulator 2020, along with liveries and scenery downloaded for free from the flightsim.to community.

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Watch: RAF Tanker Carrying 80 Tons of Fuel Has Tire Blow During Takeoff https://www.flyingmag.com/watch-raf-tanker-carrying-80-tons-of-fuel-has-tire-blow-during-takeoff/ Wed, 31 Jan 2024 19:22:17 +0000 https://www.flyingmag.com/?p=194246 The air-to-air refueler was participating in the ongoing 'Red Flag' combat training exercise at Nellis Air Force Base, Nevada.

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The crew of a Royal Air Force (RAF) Voyager in the U.S. for a joint training exercise suffered a scare recently when one of the tires of the aerial tanker carrying 80 tons of fuel blew out during takeoff at Nellis Air Force Base, Nevada.

The aircraft and crew are in the U.S. participating in the large-scale  “Red Flag-Nellis 24-1” intensive fighter training underway in Nevada. The realistic combat training exercise has nearly 2,000 participants, about 100 aircraft, and personnel from 30 U.S. and allied units, including the RAF and Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF). 

The Voyager air-to-air refueler is participating in the Red Flag exercise to support British and U.S. fighter jets. 

[Courtesy: Royal Air Force]

“[While] hurtling along the runway in Nevada with a takeoff speed of around 160 mph, the tire of the 204-ton jet, laden with 80 tons of fuel, failed,” RAF said in a statement Saturday.

The aircraft, which is capable of carrying nearly 300 passengers, also had a small number of British and allied passengers on board.

“The crew felt some minor vibrations early on, as per a routine takeoff, but were unaware of the seriousness of the incident and the take-off continued safely,” RAF said.

Video footage of the incident (posted below) shows the moment the tire failed.

Voyager and Tornados over Iraq. [Courtesy: Royal Air Force]

Once airborne, the aircraft’s tire pressure sensors indicated there were faults with two tires, RAF said. The crew confirmed the damage using the Voyager’s external cameras and also contacted a U.S. Air Force F-16 in the exercise to conduct a visual inspection.

“This was my first flight in charge of the cabin with passengers onboard,” said RAF Corporal Jaz Lawton, cabin supervisor on the aircraft. “It was a shock to learn that the tire had burst, but my training kicked in, and I worked with the pilots and other crew to keep the passengers updated and reassure them.”

The crew then devised a plan for returning the aircraft to the ground.

“To minimize the risks of landing with damaged wheels, the crew extended their sortie to reduce the amount of fuel and, therefore, weight on board,” RAF said. “This also provided time for all the fighter jets to return to base before the Voyager, as it was possible that it might damage the runway when it landed.”

Tanker pilots landed the aircraft safely and—after an inspection by U.S. Air Force firefighters— were able to slowly taxi to their parking space, where they replaced the wheel. The aircraft and crew rejoined the exercise the next day.

[Courtesy: Royal Air Force]

Red Flag 24-1 is set to conclude Friday.

RAF Voyager Tire Blows Out During Takeoff

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Remember the Importance of Keeping Your Ideal Aircraft Clean https://www.flyingmag.com/remember-the-importance-of-keeping-your-ideal-aircraft-clean/ Mon, 25 Sep 2023 19:22:02 +0000 https://www.flyingmag.com/?p=180820 Smashed bugs and other bits of debris can mar an airplane’s appearance and aerodynamics.

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Recently I was scrubbing sooty exhaust residue and runway grime from the underside of Annie, our Commander 114B, when I realized I had drastically underestimated the time required for the job. Indeed, I had planned to clean the entire airplane that day, including the interior, but after a few hours of slow progress it became clear that this task would be measured in days.

I also knew that I had only myself to blame for waiting too long to address the dirty buildup. Had I taken the time to wipe down the airplane thoroughly after every flight I could have avoided the discomfort of lying underneath in a semi-stress position, rag in hand. I have a creeper that makes scooting across the hangar floor easier, but it cannot help me scrub.

My reason for tackling the cleaning project stems from a trip to the National Championship Air Races in Reno, Nevada, earlier this month. While there I spent a lot of time observing the crew of Miss Trinidad, a Russian Yak-3U Unlimited class racer. I noticed that they cleaned the airplane several times a day, not just after each flight but in between flights. Cleaning and polishing were part of the long checklist it used to make sure the Yak was always ready to fly.

Earlier I had shown a picture of Annie to the Yak’s crew chief, John Dowd, a career agricultural pilot and longtime racer I have written about before. Dowd pointed to the remains of hundreds of insects on the leading edge of the wing and reminded me that keeping the airplane clean would help aerodynamically in addition to simply being the right thing to do. He was correct, and, yes, the bugs really were visible in the photo. It was a bit shameful.

The Reno experience reminded me that owning an airplane is a major commitment, and cleaning off bugs, soot, and grass fragments is just a tiny part of the overall responsibility. After all, cleaning and checking every part of your aircraft helps ensure that you do not miss potential problems like airframe damage, corrosion, fluid leaks, or loose fasteners.

After returning from the air races, I began writing a personal checklist consisting mostly of tasks to complete at the conclusion of each flight and during nonflying time spent in the hangar. It is a living document. I add items to the list as they come to mind. You will not find them in the typical POH, but they are vital, and we tend to forget them without a checklist. 

The efficient work of the volunteer crew taking care of Miss Trinidad also illustrated the importance of taking a consistent, professional approach to aviation. While I always seek to give my family a smooth, secure, airline-style experience when we travel in Annie, I know that I need to improve my briefing style and try not to be nervous when speaking with ATC. Becoming the best PIC one can be is always a work in progress.
For now at least one thing is certain: Annie will not have to overcome the drag of accumulated insects on our next flight.

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Finding Community at Flying Eagle Airpark https://www.flyingmag.com/finding-community-at-flying-eagle-airpark/ Mon, 26 Dec 2022 14:40:05 +0000 https://www.flyingmag.com/?p=163962 Two empty nesters armed with a long-range plan find a new home in a Nevada airpark.

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Keith Barr, an instrument rated pilot and aircraft owner, just spent his third holiday season at his home in Flying Eagle Airpark (77NV) in Reno, Nevada. He reports that living at an airpark is considerably different from living anywhere else. 

Prior to building his dream hangar home in the community several years ago, Barr had eyed the airpark as a potential place to enjoy life alongside his aircraft.

“I call Flying Eagle Airpark the best kept secret. About 20 years ago we moved to northern Nevada, and I was flying a Piper Malibu at the time and was looking for a place to hangar it. A source actually had this airport on the map, and we couldn’t find it. We looked for a couple of homes out in the area here, knowing that the airport was nearby, but never found it. We ultimately found another airport nearby but wasn’t able to find this airpark. We wound up buying a home elsewhere that had hangar availability nearby, where we kept our airplanes for a long time.”

The reported airpark was always in the back of his mind though, which at the time was not as apparent to the passerby as it is today.

“My wife and I kept thinking about this place and were riding Harleys one day out to Pyramid Lake, which is about 10 minutes north of here. We saw a sign alongside the highway that said, ‘Airpark lots for sale.’ We hadn’t ever seen that sign before, so we followed the road in and sure enough, there was a big steel gate. But there was nothing built here yet. Talking to a real estate finance contact of mine shortly after this ride, I mentioned this development and he said, ‘Oh, I own that airpark!’” Barr recalled. 

The Barrs would go on to purchase a lot in the community. But they didn’t build a home there right away. They wanted their kids to finish school first and move out of the house before the couple started their airpark adventure. Unfortunately, as timing would be, their previous house was a tough sell on the slow real estate market at the time. So, they continued living the way they had before. 

A look outside Keith Barr’s front door at Flying Eagle Airpark (77NV) in Reno, Nevada. [Credit: Keith Barr]

“Once our kids [were] out of school, we [would] sell our home in Smith Valley, which is just east of Tahoe, and then build a hangar home here. Then 2007 hit, our youngest went off to college, and we couldn’t sell our house because of the real estate crash. We wound up sitting on our lot for quite a while. Eventually, in 2018, we finally sold the house and started building our hangar home.”

Once they arrived at this stage, the couple had already become acquainted with both the community, as well as some of their future neighbors.

Barr explained how their neighbors helped them out before even officially moving into the neighborhood, “By then, there were three other hangars that had been built here. We happened to meet the family at the end of the runway, the Watkins, and we all hit it off. They’re super nice people and let us stay in our RV inside of their hangar for about a year while we were building our home. We built an 80-foot by 120-foot hangar, with a three-story apartment on one end of it, and moved to Flying Eagle Thanksgiving 2019.”

Unsurprisingly, Barr speaks highly of both his neighbors and the northern Nevada airpark. Living there has been a great way for the longtime pilot to become more ingrained in the aviation community. 

A look inside Keith Barr’s hangar at Flying Eagle Airpark (77NV) in Reno, Nevada. [Credit: Keith Barr]

“I have an Aerostar 601P, that’s been converted to a 700, that I bought about six years ago. I also have a 2005 CubCrafters Top Cub, that my son and I actually purchased from the North Carolina Department of Forestry, who was the only owner previous to us. We went out there and flew it all the way back here to Nevada; it was a lot of fun,” Barr Stated.

“There are two paved runways at Flying Eagle, 16/34 is 4,700-feet by 35-feet, and 7/25 is 4,300-feet by 25-feet. My neighbor, Lance [Watkins] has a Cessna 170 that’s modified with bigger tires and engines. He also has a Cessna 195 project that he’s restoring. Dennis, across the runway from us, has a Lancair IV-P turbine. And Pete, has a Cessna 421, a Lancair IV piston, and two canards. We do a little bit of hangar flying here. And a couple of times a month some of us will fly down for breakfast or do something else together.” 

Not only is there a good mix of aircraft (and collectible cars at the airpark), there are a number of easy-to-reach aerial getaways in the area. These destinations have both paved and unpaved runways. 

“The area surrounding us here is fun for sure. The airport kind of sits in a bowl and there used to be, probably a hundred thousand years ago, a river that ran through here. So the airpark itself is sitting in the lowest part of the valley here, but it’s a pretty flat spot called the Palomino Valley. We’re about seven minutes, by plane, to Reno-Stead (KRTS) and we have a couple of small mountain ranges nearby. Then once you get into the Sierras, there are a lot of great places to fly to. There are places like Quincy, California, which has a nice little restaurant downtown that we will fly to. There’s also Nervino Airport (O02) and Sierraville (O79), which are a couple of mountain airports nearby here, as further examples.”

But for those that want to stay clear of charted runways, there is ample opportunity to do so near Reno as well, Barr elaborated. 

Keith Barr’s Aerostar at Flying Eagle Airpark (77NV). [Credit: Keith Barr]

“Some of the most interesting terrain surrounds the airpark, with backcountry access to dozens of great off-airport landing sites. The Flying Cowboys do a lot of work out here and fly all over the area. There are all kinds of places, like hilltops, dry lake beds, and other stuff to land at. Dead Cow, which is where they do the High Sierra Fly-in, is just over a small mountain north of us and is about 10 minutes by plane.” 

Not only is the surrounding geography noteworthy and an attraction for many pilots, but the airpark’s layout also makes it unique from others in the area, Barr contends. He says that this particular fly-in community is special for these reasons, and many more. But it’s one of those kinds of places you have to experience firsthand to really get the feel for the burgeoning fly-in community, he adds.

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Warbirds in Lake Mead https://www.flyingmag.com/warbirds-in-lake-mead/ Fri, 09 Sep 2022 12:50:51 +0000 https://www.flyingmag.com/?p=154955 The post Warbirds in Lake Mead appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

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There is a saying to remember when you visit a national park: Take nothing but pictures, leave nothing but footprints. Unfortunately, some people ignore that admonishment, and that is what authorities at Lake Mead Recreation Area are concerned about as the water level drops and two World War II aircraft that have been submerged in the lake for decades become easier to access.

Lake Mead is on the border of Arizona and Nevada. At maximum capacity, Lake Mead is 112 miles long and measures 532 feet at its greatest depth. The lake supplies water for Arizona, Nevada, and California. According to park officials, the lake has been steadily shrinking since 1983 because of increased demand for water and a prolonged drought. Federal studies indicate the lake has dropped 64 feet since 2020.

The aircraft under the lake’s surface are a Boeing B-29 and a Consolidated PBY Catalina. They are considered archeological sites and can be viewed by divers, but not touched. Even stirring up the silt on the bottom of the lake can damage the wreckage. Both aircraft have been in different locations at the bottom of the lake since the 1940s. Both were located in the early 2000s.

The signature shape of the B-29’s empennage is still visible in spite of the mussel infestation. [Courtesy of Brett Seymour]

How the B-29 Ended Up in the Lake

According to Pacificwrecks.com, B-29 S/N 45-21947 rolled off the assembly line in Wichita, Kansas, in September 1945, after the end of World War II. The aircraft was modified to be a photo reconnaissance ship, then later for atmospheric weather research by having its armaments removed.

In 1947, the aircraft, then designated an RB-29 Superfortress, was assigned to Naval Ordnance Test Station at Naval Air Weapons Station Inyokern, now known as NAS China Lake. The aircraft’s mission was to study the upper atmospheric conditions for a ballistic-missile guidance system for intercontinental ballistic missiles (IBMs) in conjunction with rockets tested at White Sands Missile Range.

On the morning of July 21, 1948, the aircraft took off from China Lake with a crew of five —four military personnel and a civilian contractor.

Onboard the B-29 was a piece of equipment known as the Sun Tracker. The purpose of the Sun Tracker was to measure the intensity of light at different altitudes, including infrared light. In order to do this, the crew had to fly at specific altitudes using specific rates of climb and descent as measurements were taken.

According to the mission report, the aircraft climbed to 30,000 feet over the Grand Canyon then dove to approximately 100 to 300 feet above Lake Mead. In the flat morning light, it’s believed that the pilot could not tell how close the aircraft was to the surface of the lake. The aircraft struck the water in the Overton Arm area. The impact tore three of the bomber’s four engines off. The aircraft skipped like a stone, then came to a stop as the fourth engine caught fire.

The five crew members were able to escape from the aircraft into life rafts—the only injury was a broken arm. The B-29 sank for 12 minutes, eventually coming to rest some 280 feet below the surface.

The crew had not filed a flight plan, and realizing that no one knew where to look for them, deployed a dye canister in the water. As luck would have it, an airline pilot who had served in World War II was flying overhead, saw the dye marker and knew it meant an aircraft was down. He reported the crash to authorities. The crew was rescued several hours later by a National Park Service (NPS) employee.

Over the years, there were several unsuccessful searches for the aircraft. Eventually, the military gave up, and the B-29 in the lake became the stuff of campfire legends.

Cockpit of the downed B-29. All five crewmembers survived. [Courtesy of Brett Seymour]

The Wreckage Is Located

In 2001, a local diver using side-scan sonar—something that is illegal to do in the park without a permit, and which, according to authorities, he did not possess—found the aircraft at a depth of 230 feet.

Because the aircraft was in cold freshwater, it was fairly well preserved.

Officials from the NPS did not know the aircraft had been found until the father of one of the divers held a press conference about the find—but the finders refused to release the coordinates of the site as they intended to raise the aircraft and sell it.

The NPS turned to the Bureau of Reclamation for help, as the agency conducts surveys to assess how sedimentation is changing the water volume of the lake. Using this high-resolution data, the NPS located the aircraft in 2002.

The NPS won custody of the aircraft in a court battle that ensued and took up the challenge as to how best to protect the resource.

Protect the Aircraft

According to Christa Johnston of the Lake Mead NRA Public Affairs Office, the B-29 is a popular guided dive spot for many water recreators. 

The park has authorized two commercial dive companies, Las Vegas Scuba and Tech Diving Limited, to lead guided tours of both the B-29 and other sites. Permits and a certain level of experience are required as these are challenging dives.

Las Vegas Scuba has an informational page about the B-29 dive, warning customers that if they touch the aircraft either on purpose or accidentally, their dive is over, adding, “Due to the location and extremely sensitive nature of the B-29 site, exceptional buoyancy and fin skills are a must. If the silt on the plane or the lake bottom is disturbed it can take 24 hours for it to settle.”

Tech Diving Limited notes that they are not scheduling dives to view the B-29 at this time because the water level has dropped so much that using the boat ramp to access the site is dicey at best.

In addition to the shrinking water level, the aircraft is also being adversely impacted by an increase in water temperature. The warmer water has made the lake a more hospitable environment for the quagga mussel, an invasive species from the Ukraine. The quagga mussel is about the size of a penny, but the creatures nest in colonies. They started appearing in the lake around 2007 and have attached themselves to the wreckage, putting weight on the fragile skin of the aircraft.

The Consolidated PBY

The B-29 is not the only World War II-era aircraft in the lake. In 2007, the NPS announced that it had located the wreckage of a PBY Catalina flying boat that crashed in 1949.

PBY was the U.S. Navy designation for the American and Canadian-built flying boat of the 1940s. PB stands for Patrol Bomber, Y is the manufacturer identification for Consolidated Aircraft. These amphibious aircraft saw action in every theater of World War II.

According to the NPS, after the war the PBY in the lake was retired from military use. At the time of its demise, it was in the hands of a civilian owner, the Charles Babb Company of Los Angeles. The aircraft had taken off from Boulder City Airport (KBVU) on a test flight. The flight crew consisted of pilot Russell Rogers and mechanic Charmen Correa. There were three passengers: Clarence Masters, KBVU airport operator Ted Swift, and an associate, George Davis. Rogers was attempting to land in the Boulder Basin area of Lake Mead but did not realize that the landing gear of the amphibious aircraft was still down. The landing gear hit the water, causing the aircraft to flip over. The aircraft then caught fire. Swift and Masters were thrown clear of the wreckage but badly injured, dying the next day. Rogers and Correa were trapped and went down with the airplane. The only survivor of the crash was Davis, who suffered a broken leg.

According to the NPS, the aircraft now rests in two pieces at the bottom of the lake. In 2007, it was at 190 feet. Today, the wreck is approximately 135 feet below the surface, which is still at a depth that requires a guided dive and an increased level of skill and experience.

Like the B-29, the PBY is considered an archeological site, tampering with or removing any material or items from it is prohibited by federal law.

For more information about Lake Mead, visit www.nps.gov.

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Finally Visiting ‘The Temple of Speed’ https://www.flyingmag.com/finally-visiting-the-temple-of-speed/ Wed, 26 Jan 2022 15:39:19 +0000 https://www.flyingmag.com/?p=114527 A pilot who calls himself altitude-oriented checks out the Reno Air Races, has a ball, and starts to question things.

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One of my grand theories of life, aviation and everything, of which I have quite a few—most in some stage of refinement or rejection, few of which I believe enough to commit to paper—is that there are speed people and there are altitude people. Aviation is the rare fellowship that features both, but for different reasons. Speed people enjoy action, competition, noise, crowds, and the pulse-pounding adrenaline rush of takeoff. Altitude people prefer peaceful quietude, thinking and reading, small gatherings of close friends, and the magical change of perspective that takeoff brings.

In childhood, speed people were inching off first base, looking for the first twitch of the pitcher’s windup so they could take off and steal second. Altitude people were in right field wondering what kind of airplane just flew over and completely missing the lazy fly ball headed their way.

Once they grow up, speed people race sports cars; altitude people go on road trips. Speed people own center-console offshore fishing boats with outsize outboard engines; altitude people go sailing across far horizons at 5 knots while listening to Jimmy Buffett.

I have come to Reno, it seems, to sacrifice my dignity and identity as a lofty disciple of altitude.

Some of my best friends are thoroughgoing speed freaks. There’s a great deal I admire in them, and a surprising amount of their thrill-seeking ways have rubbed off on me (motorcycling, dirt-biking, skydiving). But from earliest childhood, I have spiritually belonged squarely in the altitude camp. 

All of which perhaps explains why I have never been to the Reno Air Races until this past year. On the face of things, overpowered P-51 Mustangs going the speed of sexiness 50 feet off the scrub-desert floor should have had me driving to Nevada the same sun-soaked summer of ’98 that my beat-up Ford Ranger first pulled into Oshkosh, Wisconsin. But as I recall, my airy altitude-oriented teenaged self was then focused on sharing that transcendent change of perspective with the girl friend I wanted to make my girlfriend. (I failed miserably; she puked in my lap on a bumpy Wisconsin afternoon and declared me a great friend as I swabbed her vomit from my lap and the Cessna 150 cockpit.) I’ve never had a strong desire to go to the races since, presuming them to be a sort of sun-blasted aerial NASCAR catering to speed tweakers of the Daytona infield set in Florida.

And yet, here I am in the top row of the grandstands at Reno for the very first time, watching intently as Jeff LaVelle’s green-winged Glasair III carves around Pylon 9 and roars across the finish line at well over 400 mph. Its double-supercharged Lycoming IO-580 engine damn near bursting with some 80 inches of manifold pressure, putting out ungodly amounts of horsepower and driving his little composite kitplane to speeds it was clearly never meant to go.

And I want to stand up and yell at the top of my lungs until my pitch matches the horrific scream of that apocalyptic powerplant. I want a giant foam No. 1 mitt to wave obnoxiously in the air. I want to spill popcorn and beer on the mild-mannered man in front of me clicking away with his $5,000 telephoto-camera rig. I want to be Jeff LaVelle, flashing a few feet above the desert scrub at reality-bending speeds, a mere misplaced wrist-twitch from disaster.

I let out an exultant whoop and a fist pump as the little Glasair roars into a steep bank around Pylon 1, and Dawn looks at me like I’ve gone completely bonkers. I have come to Reno, it seems, to sacrifice my dignity and identity as a lofty disciple of altitude on the bloodstained altar of the “Temple of Speed.” 

Camaraderie marks the competition between rivals–and friends. [Credit: Mark Loper]

How I Got Here

Characteristically, I ended up here more or less by accident. Having just recently completed our migration to the Seattle area, Dawn, Piper and I took off on a spur-of-the-moment road trip to look at a tiny house in Northern California we were interested in. Well, one thing led to another, and soon we were quaffing cab in wine country, then toasting the inimitable California sunset aboard a friend’s sailboat anchored in Sausalito, and then surveying the epic sweep of Yosemite Valley. Five days turned into two weeks as we rediscovered all the West Coast delights of our newlywed youth. We turned north to Lake Tahoe, and it seemed inevitable that we should subsequently make our way down to Reno, where our friend Joe Coraggio was set to race his nearly stock Lancair Legacy in his sophomore year with tentative hopes of flogging his steed a place or two higher in the Sport Silver Class.

The Big Day

It was Thursday, the least attended (and cheapest) day of race weekend, and the grandstands were still mostly empty as Dawn and I took our assigned seats to cheer on the early morning warriors of the Formula One and Biplane classes. These are simple single-place airplanes completely impractical for anything but aerobatics and racing (indeed, most of the Formula One airplanes arrived disassembled on trailers), and completely attainable to the old-school speed-mad garage tinkerer of modest means. You can pick up an older Cassutt Special for well under $20,000. Intriguingly, all the Formula One aircraft are powered by the same venerable Continental O-200 that powered the 150 in which I learned to fly. But despite the comparatively slow speeds (read: only twiceas fast as a 150) and the lack of adoring crowds, the racing looked really, really fun. And like something I could see myself doing, were I to ever completely ditch my fuddy-duddy altitude-pilot status. 

The Jet, T-6 and Unlimited classes are equally entertaining with considerably faster lap speeds (or in the T-6s’ case, at least higher decibel output), but I didn’t find these classes very relatable; I couldn’t see any realistic way into any of those cockpits short of winning the lottery or belatedly devoting my life to professional warbird wrangling (an unlikely development: too many varied interests—jack of all trades, master of none). And as thrilling as it should have been to see Dreadnought thundering around the course at 450 mph—or jets flashing by at another 70 knots faster—I kind of expect outrageously powerful all-metal military fighters designed to kill Nazis and subjected to 70 years of aggressive development to go stupid-fast. I especially expect jets to go fast. I’d personally like to take the Boeing 737 for a lap, and I suspect it could turn in a respectable time; though I’d definitely exceed G-limits, and the 118-foot wingspan would keep my line a bit high.

The Sport Class is what really intrigues me, and based on my cumulative Reno experience of spectating on a single Thursday, I’m ready to declare it the modern soul of pylon air racing. It’s open to all experimental aircraft of under 1,000 inches displacement capable of a 200 mph lap. That’s it. The simple entry rules have made it a hotbed of racing innovation. In its 23rd year, Sport has grown to become Reno’s largest class, with up to 40 hopeful entrants chasing 32 race slots in four subclasses. Mind you, it’s a fairly accessible class for mere mortals: near-stock RV-4s, -6s, and -8s (albeit those built light and with a bit more horsepower than Van originally envisioned) regularly qualify in Sport Medallion. And this same class fields several entrants (namely Jim LaVelle, Andy Findlay, Jim Rush and formerly Jon Sharp) who show up every year with genuinely shocking examples of what modern experimental aviation is capable of.

I use the word “shocking” here in its most literal sense that doesn’t involve considerable voltage. I feel like modern Americans have become pretty blasé to the incredible. Formerly shocking developments in politics, business, entertainment and sports fade from the headlines in 24 hours. Crime requires a triple-digit body count to be shocking anymore. Billionaires chasing each other to space in private spacecraft theirown companies developed elicits indifferent eyerolls (and outright scorn for Richard Branson—he didn’t even make the Kármán line). “Been there, done that” is today’s byline of cynical cool. 

I challenge you. Go to Reno, and watch a little composite kitplane—that you know damn well was built in someone’s garage—as it darts 50 feet above the desert with the throttle wide open, the engine putting out twice the horsepower it was designed for, and emitting a commensurately appalling scream as it flashes by at 400 mph, and then tell me you’re not shocked to your core. Tell me you don’t want to yell and wave and spill your popcorn and beer. (“Are you not entertained!?”) Tell me you don’t imagine yourself in that cockpit, straining against the Gs pushing you into your seat and fighting tunnel vision as desert scrub flashes by your left wingtip at warp speed. Tell me you don’t want that stick in your hand as you dive for the checkered flag, utterly alive and utterly in the moment with eternity in your fingertips. Tell me I’ve gone completely round the bend.

Hmm. I may have gone completely round the bend.

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