On Wednesday, Claudia Simpson Jones and Graham Simpson received the FAA Wright Brothers Master Pilot Award during a special ceremony at the Museum of Flight in Seattle. The award is part of the agency’s recognition of safe pilots.

To be eligible for the Wright Brothers Master Pilot Award, the applicant must hold a U.S. Civil Aviation Authority (CAA) or FAA pilot certificate, have 50 or more years of piloting experience, or 50 or more years combined experience in both piloting and aircraft operations.

Applicants are required to submit three letters of recommendation from someone in the industry along with a detailed account of their aviation experiences. 

The application packets for Simpson Jones and Simpson were a little over an inch thick, and according to an FAA representative, “enjoyable reading.”

Simpson Jones, 79, started her aviation career with her first solo on December 3, 1967. As if that wasn’t enough of a memorable experience, an aviation luminary was in attendance. 

“William T. Piper was there the day I soloed,” Simpson Jones said. 

She earned her private pilot certificate in March 1968 and continued training, earning a helicopter rating, commercial certificate for airplane, seaplane rating, Airline Transport Pilot and CFI certificates, and type rating in a Boeing 737. She was one of the first women to be hired by a major airline when she became a first officer for Continental Airlines in 1977.

Eventually her career took her to Southwest Airlines and the captain’s seat as well. She became an simulator instructor for Alaska Airlines for a time, eventually retiring from aviation in 2000 with 24,000 hours logged.

Among her aviation accolades, she served as the first president of the International Society of Women Airline Pilots (ISA+21).

She didn’t learn to fly to get to the airlines, she said. Also a musician, she originally learned to fly as a means of transportation, flying her band around in a Piper Cherokee Six.

“I had maybe 40-something hours at the time, and the band would just jump in the airplane and we’d go,” she said, noting that music remains a big part of her life.

She was working as a CFI when she intercepted her younger brother Graham on his way home from high school. Ten years his senior, she was in charge, she said. Simpson said he remembers her telling him, “We’re going to the airport for an hour,” and she then gave him a flying lesson.

Graham Simpson soloed on September 23, 1970, in a Piper Colt and earned his private pilot certificate in 1971 right after his 17th birthday. Like his sister, he spent the next few years adding ratings, including commercial, helicopter, instrument, CFI, Flight Engineer, ATP, and type rating in a B-737 and Airbus A320. 

Simpson spent 41 years at the airlines, racking up more than 30,000 hours. Some of those were flown in the former Piedmont Airlines 737 now on display at the Museum of Flight. 

“The last time I was in this airplane was in 1985,” said Simpson, taking the left seat for a photo op with his sister.

The post Brother, Sister Receive FAA Wright Brothers Master Pilot Award appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Born in 1882, Geoffrey de Havilland was the second son of a village pastor. At an early age, he displayed a mechanical interest and pursued a career as an automotive engineer, building cars and motorcycles. Frustrated at work, in 1909 he received a gift of 1,000 pounds from his grandfather to build his first airplane, just a few years after the Wright brothers had made their first flight.

By World War I, de Havilland was working for Airco, where he designed a number of early warplanes, which enjoyed varying success, and flew as his own test pilot. In 1920, with the support of his former boss, de Havilland set up his own independent company and embarked on a series of aircraft named after moths, inspired by his love of lepidopterology, or the study of butterflies and moths.

• READ MORE: Reaching Uncharted Corners of the Globe in a Fokker F.VII

In 1932, he introduced the DH.82 Tiger Moth, a variant of earlier aircraft designed specifically as a military trainer for the Royal Air Force (RAF), as well as other air forces. Like many aircraft at the time, the Tiger Moth’s fuselage is constructed of fabric-covered steel tubing, while its wings are made of fabric-covered wooden frames. I’ve seen a single person lift a Tiger Moth by the tail to take it out of its hangar. The Tiger Moth was powered by a de Havilland Gypsy air-cooled, 4-cylinder in-line engine which produced 120-130 hp, depending on the version.

Like most trainers, the Tiger Moth had two seats, each with its own set of controls, with the student in front and the instructor or solo pilot in back. One of the major changes introduced to the Tiger Moth, at RAF insistence, was folding door panels that made it easier to enter and exit both cockpits. The feature was absolutely essential when a student or instructor needed to quickly bail out wearing  heavy parachutes.

The silver knobs on the left control throttle, fuel mixture, and aileron trim. The knob on the right enables “auto slots,” slats on the wings that automatically deploy like flaps to provide additional lift at low speeds and high angles of attack. Notice that there is no artificial horizon. However, there is a turn indicator (in the center) as well as a red column that indicates the aircraft’s pitch. It is currently showing nose-up because the plane is resting on its tailwheel.

The compass, situated just in front of the stick, is a bit tricky. You can either keep it pointed toward north and look to where the line is pointing, or you can rotate the compass ring to show the current heading at the top and follow that by keeping it centered.

• READ MORE: Reenacting Bombing Missions in an F-117 Nighthawk

In addition to the cockpit gauge, there’s also a mechanical airspeed indicator on the left wing. Red shows typical stall speed range (below 45 mph).

I’m at England’s Upavon Airfield, a few miles north of Stonehenge, which was home to the RAF’s Central Flying School, founded in 1912, and where the first Tiger Moths were delivered. It is now a small army base (hence the vehicles) and is also used as a glider field. With no electrical starter, the Tiger Moth is hand-propped to get it started. The turning of the propeller, by hand, engages the magnetos that send charges to the spark plugs, starting the engine.

This particular Tiger Moth, N-6635, is based on the one on display at the Imperial War Museum at RAF Duxford, near Cambridge. It’s actually a composite that was put together with parts from different Tiger Moths.

The engine is modeled realistically. If you overstress it on full throttle for more than a few minutes, it will overheat and conk out. If you let it idle for too long, the spark plugs will foul up. With a small engine like this, the left-turning tendencies are not pronounced. However, the trickiest part of takeoff for most tailwheel airplanes is still when the tail comes up. The descent of the rotating propeller causes a gyroscopic precession to the left.

The Tiger Moth gained immediate popularity as the RAF’s primary trainer—the first airplane a would-be pilot learned to fly after ground school before moving on to more advanced fighters or bombers. It gained a reputation for being “easy to fly, but difficult to master.” In normal flight, it was forgiving of mistakes. On the other hand, the Tiger Moth required great precision from a pilot to learn aerobatic combat maneuvers, without going into a spin. However, it recovers easily from spins, which meant it highlighted a student’s shortcomings without (usually) putting them at fatal risk. Though I did notice that when flying upside down (or going through a roll), the engine sputters, probably because gravity messes with the fuel flow.

During the 1930s, between world wars, students selected by the RAF took about nine to 12 months to earn their pilot wings, building up about 150 hours of flight time, about 55 with an instructor and the rest solo. Their instruction included night, formation, and instrument flying, along with gunnery and aerobatics (for combat).

The Tiger Moth was sold to 25 air forces from different countries and proved popular to private buyers as well. It was a big commercial success for the company. A total of 1,424 Tiger Moths were produced prior to the outbreak of WWII, most of which were manufactured at the de Havilland factory in Hatfield, north of London.

Slowing down while descending to land can be difficult. I found I usually needed to cut the power to idle and glide in. Power-off landings were a very typical method in that era. It’s nearly impossible to see forward in the Tiger Moth, especially when landing. It’s best to lean your head out the side, while keeping one eye on controlling the airspeed at around 60 mph (about 15-20 mph above stalling).

• READ MORE: Exploring the Checkered History of the Lockheed F-104 Starfighter

There are also no wheel brakes. So once you do land, you just have to let friction slow you down. It’s easier in a grassy field like this.

The success of the Tiger Moth led to Geoffrey de Havilland being awarded the Commander of the Order of the British Empire (CBE) in 1934. But its story was only just beginning.

Welcome to Goderich Airport (CYGD) in Ontario, Canada, about 2.5 hours north of Detroit on the eastern shore of Lake Huron. In 1928, de Havilland set up a subsidiary in Canada to produce Tiger Moths to train Canadian airmen. This Tiger Moth, #8922 (registration C-GCWT), is based on a real plane that belongs to the Canadian Warplane Heritage Museum in Mount Hope, Ontario, and is in airworthy condition.

With the outbreak of WWII in 1939, the British government realized that Britain itself was an unsuitable location for training large numbers of new pilots. Not only is the weather often poor, the airspace over Britain was quickly becoming a battleground between the beleaguered RAF and the German Luftwaffe—the last place you’d want a student pilot to learn how to fly.

Canada, in contrast, offered vast areas far from enemy activity, where pilot training could be conducted. To take advantage of this, the British Commonwealth Air Training Plan (BCATP) was created to instruct thousands of airmen from Britain and across the Empire in safer locations like Canada, Australia, New Zealand, Bermuda, and South Africa. The yellow “training” livery was typical of the BCATP, though the real-life airplane was also equipped with a plexiglass-enclosed cockpit to permit winter training.

Many of the small airports dotted across Canada from east to west—as well as some large ones—got their start as part of BCATP, commonly referred to as “the Plan.” I selected Goderich to fly from because after it was built in Canada in 1942, this plane, #8922, was used to train pilots here at the No. 12 Elementary Flying Training School (EFTS), as part of the BCATP. The same airplane later went to No. 4 EFTS at Windsor Mills, Quebec, an airfield that no longer exists.

Eventually, there were 36 elementary flight schools across Canada, in addition to dozens more devoted to training bombardiers, navigators, and gunners. At least 131,533 Allied pilots and aircrew were trained in Canada under BCATP—the largest of any country participating in the Plan—of which 72,835 were Canadian. The program cost Canada $1.6 billion but employed 104,000 Canadians in air bases across the land. De Havilland produced 1,548 Tiger Moths in Canada, by war’s end, to help stock these flight schools with aircraft.

While training pilots in Canada was safer than in Britain, lives were still lost. From 1942 to 1944, a total of 831 fatal accidents took place, an average of five per week.

• READ MORE: The Story of the Schneider Trophy and the Supermarine S.5

BCATP training was by no means limited to Canada. I’m here at Parafield Airport in Adelaide, Australia, which was home to that country’s No. 1 Elementary Flight Training School and received its first Tiger Moths in April 1940. This particular Tiger Moth, A17-58, was built by de Havilland in Australia in 1940 and apparently still continues to fly. Australia eventually had 12 elementary flight schools (plus a host of other schools) as part of BCATP, which was known there as the Empire Air Training Scheme (EATS).

Prior to BCATP, the Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF) only trained about 50 pilots per year. By 1945, more than 37,500 Australian aircrew had been trained in Australia, though many then went to Canada to complete their more advanced training before going into combat. Most Australians in the RAAF went on to fight in the Pacific Theater, though some joined the RAF to fight over Europe. De Havilland built a total of 1,070 Tiger Moths in Australia and even exported a few batches to the U.S. Army Air Forces and the Royal Indian Air Force.

The BCATP was one of the largest aviation training programs in history, providing about half of the airmen who flew for Britain and its dependencies in WWII. The ability to train in safety, away from the combat zone, gave Allied pilots a crucial advantage over the Germans, who typically went into combat with roughly half the training hours of their  counterparts. The program was so important that President Franklin D. Roosevelt, who called the U.S. “the arsenal of democracy,” dubbed Canada “the aerodrome of democracy” as a result of its contribution to training Allied airmen—many of them in the Tiger Moth.

Tiger Moths were not only used to train pilots during WWII. Some were deployed for coastal patrols. I’m here at Farnborough, Britain’s former center for experimental aircraft development (southwest of London), to investigate another interesting purpose they served.

No, it’s not a mistake—there’s a reason why there are no pilots visible in either cockpit. This aircraft, LF858, was what was known as a “Queen Bee.” British anti-aircraft gun crews needed practice firing at real targets. But flying an airplane with people shooting at you is, well, rather dangerous. So de Havilland figured out a way to put radio equipment in the rear cockpit that could receive messages for an operator on the ground and work the aircraft’s controls accordingly. In other words, it was the world’s first “drone” aircraft.

Besides being able to fly by remote control, the main difference between a regular Tiger Moth and a Queen Bee is that instead of metal tubing for the fuselage frame, the latter used wood (like for its wings) to save money. The objective wasn’t to shoot down the Tiger Moth—that would be wasteful. Gunners used an offset to hopefully miss, so the airplane could land and be used again. But if they did hit, no pilots were at risk.

About 470 Tiger Moth “Queen Bees” were built during WWII. The term “drone” for a pilotless airplane derives directly from the Queen Bee program and refers to a male bee who flies just once to mate with a queen then dies.

By the end of WWII, nearly 8,700 Tiger Moths had been built, 4,200 of them for the RAF alone. It continued to be used by the RAF for training until it was replaced by the de Havilland Chipmunk in the 1950s.

The fact that so many people across the British Empire had learned to fly in a Tiger Moth made them immensely popular after the war, among private pilots and enthusiasts. An estimated 250 Tiger Moths are still flying, including this one based out of the small airstrip near Ranfurly on the southern island of New Zealand.

A number of Tiger Moth clubs exist around the world. The late Christopher Reeve, of Superman fame, once joined one of these clubs and learned how to fly the Tiger Moth. Reeve even made a movie about it, which you can find on YouTube. He said it took some time getting used to how slow they approach and land.

Tiger Moths have appeared in several films, often disguised as other biplanes. For instance, the plane in Lawrence of Arabia (1962) was a Tiger Moth, decked out to look like a German Fokker. The silver biplane in The English Patient (1993) was a Tiger Moth (the other, yellow biplane in that movie was a Stearman). It’s worth mentioning that the biplane in Out of Africa (1985) was not a Tiger Moth, but the earlier and very similar Gypsy Moth, also built by de Havilland. Apparently there was even a movie in 1974 called The Sergeant and the Tiger Moth (1974) about a guy and his girlfriend who aren’t even pilots but build and fly one anyway. I have no idea if it’s any good, so please find and watch it for me.

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 Ant’s Airplanes Tiger Moth add-on to Microsoft Flight Simulator 2020, along with liveries and scenery downloaded for free from the flightsim.to community.

The post Recreating the de Havilland Tiger Moth appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Would the Wrights be amazed by how far we have come or surprised that more people are not involved in general aviation? Surely the latest avionics would blow their minds. We will never know, but what is almost certain is that they would have a hard time recognizing Kill Devil Hills, the North Carolina town where they made their first powered flight.

They picked the location in part because of its strong winds, which they figured would increase the lift their machine needed to get airborne. Good call. They also liked the sandy waterfront surroundings that could soften hard landings. Perhaps the most important factor that made the area ideal for test flights was its isolation. There was barely anyone around the greater Outer Banks area, which then included neighboring beach towns Kitty Hawk and Nags Head. The brothers felt the sparse population lessened the likelihood of rival aviators learning their secrets.

Today, however, the area is a destination for thousands of vacationers and tourists, especially this time of year. Their remote airfield is now a national park where many come to see the spot where the first flight took place, walk along the Wright Flyer’s actual path, and learn more about the Wrights’ story.

Getting There

We flew the 315 nm to First Flight Airport (KFFA) from Sussex, New Jersey (KFWN), and though weather forecasts and AWOS reports called for clear skies, smoke from wildfires in Canada made conditions murky for much of the trip. Cruising at 6,500 feet msl in Annie, our Commander 114B, we could always see the ground, but scanning the horizon gave the sense of flying VFR above a solid cloud layer. Spotting traffic was more difficult, and we found ourselves checking often to make sure the surface was still visible. The smoke also hid actual clouds, some of them fairly large, that we had to dodge to remain VFR.

As we headed roughly south by west, we set a course for Norfolk (KORF) in Virginia, which is northwest of First Flight, in order to spend less time over the ocean and avoid MOAs and other restricted military airspace. We initiated ATC contact soon after our departure from Sussex with Philadelphia Approach and continued with radar service until we were ready to descend to our destination. With so much commercial, private, and military air traffic along the Atlantic shore, maintaining contact with ATC provided an extra measure of safety and conflict avoidance. One of several blocks of military airspace was active, so we diverted slightly to stay clear.

The Airport

The barrier islands known as the Outer Banks, which now include the town of Kill Devil Hills, form an offshore strip of land that, to pilots on approach to First Flight, might seem too narrow to possibly accommodate an airport. As you fly within a mile or two, it becomes clear the islands are larger than you might have thought but still not especially large. Indeed, as Runway 3/21 comes into sight on the edge of the Wright Brothers Memorial, the park’s green lawns and forests appear to cover a larger area than neighboring Nags Head.

The runway, which is 3,000 feet long and 60 feet wide, is not what many GA pilots would consider short; however, pilots need to keep track of density altitude—especially during the warmer months—to avoid tense moments while climbing over trees and power lines just beyond the departure end of Runway 3. Near the ramp there is a small building housing restrooms and a pilot room—not quite a lounge—with a visitors’ sign-in book, desktop computer for filing a flight plan, and screens with updated weather and other airport information.

Air traffic around Kill Devil Hills has picked up significantly in the 120 years since the Wrights’ landmark flight. The Wright Brothers National Memorial property includes First Flight Airport, which can get busy on weekends. We arrived on a Friday afternoon to find the field fairly quiet with one other aircraft tied down on the ramp. The following morning the total had reached nine, with the sounds of engines carrying across the park as a variety of aircraft—from a modern high-wing Tecnam light sport to a vintage Beechcraft Travel Air—arrived and departed regularly.

While some area restaurants and hotels, like the Travelodge where we spent the night, appear on maps to be within walking distance—right across the road from the memorial—you have to remember that the park is vast and the airport is on the far side, at least a couple of miles from town. On a typically hot summer afternoon, you will want a ride. On-demand car service is available, and drivers are familiar with the airport parking lot. Myself, FLYING photographer Stephen Yeates, and my two 50-pound dogs (we could not find a sitter on short notice) had no trouble getting a lift to our pet-friendly hotel.

The Memorial

The Wright Brothers Memorial is striking. Perched on a hill with dramatic views, it reminds us that the brothers relied on common-sense trial and error to get airborne and that they must have been determined, brave, and smart to find a successful formula for controlled powered flight and to survive the process.

Visitors can see the launch point for the first flight and walk the distances, marked with large stones, flown during the initial short hop and subsequent longer flights. There is a model of the original Wright Flyer inside the park’s visitor center and nearby, in their original positions, stand replicas of the hangar and camp building the brothers used during their stay at Kill Devil Hills.

Near the base of the memorial hill are life-size sculptures of the Wrights’ aircraft taking off, with Orville at the controls and a few spectators. A woman working at the front desk of our hotel told us to look for the barefoot boy watching the airplane take off. The statue depicts Johnny Moore, who skipped school that day to help the Wrights prepare and to watch their attempt. After the flight, he ran to the telegraph office to relay the news that the flight was successful. Moore was a distant cousin to her, the woman said.

The Towns

While Kitty Hawk and Kill Devil Hills draw aviation enthusiasts, these days Nags Head is the main destination for most visitors. The beach town has a laid-back party vibe that makes it a summer tradition for many families who rent beach houses and condos along the main shore road.

A range of restaurants, bars, amusements, and fishing piers help keep vacationers entertained while historic sites such as the Bodie Island Lighthouse confirm there is more to the area’s history than aviation.

While there is a lot to do in Nags Head and surrounding Outer Banks towns, the beach, with its signature large dunes, is where most people come to spend time. I grew up in New Jersey, spending summers on the Jersey Shore during the 1970s and 1980s. During recent trips the shore seems to have become fancier while losing some of the fast and loose appeal it held when I was a teenager. You can call it nostalgia, but Nags Head reminds me of the beach towns I loved as a kid—not fancy, just fun.

• READ MORE: Finding Wilbur Wright on the Wabash

We’ll Be Back

As with many destinations we write about, I left wanting to spend a little more time in the greater Kill Devil Hills area. I would love to return sometime soon with my family, though our teenage sons are often too busy to be pinned down with their parents. Perhaps my wife and I will fly down and explore the Outer Banks more extensively and find a beach town minus the bumper cars and miniature golf. Historic Ocracoke Island, about 50 nm south, has been on our traveling wish list for a long time.

This column first appeared in the August 2023/Issue 940 print edition of FLYING.

The post First Flight Airport, Wright Brothers Memorial Double as Vacation Hot Spot appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

That’s because—just over three decades later in 1935—the auspicious date saw the first flight of the Douglas Sleeper Transport, or DST, which marked the first variant of the DC-3 series.

When the final DST configuration was settled on and the first model ready for flight, it was a cool, clear day in December. Coincidentally, it was the 32nd anniversary of the Wrights’ famous flight: December 17. In the late afternoon, around 3 p.m., the airplane rolled out, but this time the flight wasn’t turned into a company lunch break or notable event, and even few of the Douglas executives took the time out to watch. It’s assumed that Doug did, but no photo remains of the occasion (if one was ever taken) and no specific notes remain on the particular flight. [Douglas chief pilot Carl] Cover’s logbook entry is simple, as though he was just testing another DC-2 off the line.

In a sense, he was—there was little in the way of dramatic leaps in technology or performance from the DC-1 to the DST, as Doug would note later on, yet it was almost a totally new airplane from a parts standpoint. Much of the change needed to stretch and widen the airplane resulted in similar but improved handling characteristics. What Cover may have noticed were the improvements to ergonomics in the cockpit, and, as the testing went on, the more luxurious interior on the DST, required by the purpose it served as a sleeper transport and not just a day plane.

—excerpt from “Honest Vision: The Donald Douglas Story”

READ MORE: The Douglas DC-3 Changed Aviation History Forever

A Key to Winning the War

Just a few years later, the DC-3’s military versions—beginning with the C-47—would prove pivotal in World War II. The capable and forgiving twin would keep its crews safe with the numerous improvements integrated into its systems and performance, while they delivered load after load of troops and cargo across oceans and to the front lines, particularly in the European Theater.

As a result of the massive mobilization of aircraft manufacturing in the wake of the establishment of the industry-led War Production Board in January 1942, the Allied Forces had the “Arsenal of Democracy,” which exceeded the 50,000 aircraft touted by President Franklin Delano Roosevelt as an outline of the production effort.

The D-Day Squadron will honor the missions flown around the Normandy Invasion when it returns to those shores in May and June 2024—but also lend to its audience and participants the sense of what other massive operations would feel like witnessing from the air and on the ground. While several aircraft flying over from the U.S. participated in the commemorative occasion on the 75th anniversary of D-Day in 2019, at least one new entrant hopes to be flying in time: the C-47 ‘Night Fright’.

READ MORE: To Honor and Remember: D-Day

After D-Day

The Normandy Invasion marked a turning point in the war—and following the strikes in June 1944, it seemed that it would be nearing its end in Europe. But a few critical events remained. 

One would begin on the eve of the airplane’s 9th anniversary. On December 16, 1944, the German war machine launched one last large-scale offensive, amassing more than a million soldiers along a 75-mile front.

The Battle of the Bulge—known then as the Ardennes Offensive, as it spanned the Ardennes Forest along the German-Belgian border—caught the Allied forces by surprise, but they quickly mobilized a counter attack that once again hinged on the utilization of the C-47 fleets. Fighting the severe cold over the course of six weeks, more than a million Allied troops, including the 101st Airborne Division, brought their full force to bear. Defending the town of Bastogne, beginning on December 22, over the course of the next several days, “961 C-47s and 61 gliders dropped 850 tons of supplies and ammunition to Bastogne,” according to the RAF Mildenhall website.

To talk with the troops on the ground, those supplies proved not only critical from a logistical sense, but also in terms of morale. The pilots I spoke with while gathering stories for “Together We Fly: Voices From the DC-3” recalled the bitter cold—and the fact the brunt of the fighting took place over Christmas. Feeling far from home at a poignant time, soldiers witnessed the sight of one hundred C-47s at a time overhead, visible through the clearing skies.

So on this anniversary of the Wright Flyer’s first success, and that of the DC-3’s inaugural test flight, I think of those soldiers and count my blessings this holiday season.

Editor’s Note: You can win a flight in a DC-3 and a history package from the D-Day Squadron by entering here.

The post The Douglas C-47: A Christmas Story appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Actually, I stood ankle deep in water, soaked to my socks, even though I’d sought refuge in a giant tent with a few hundred other hardy souls. Winter in North Carolina came early—bringing a deluge of rain that threatened the celebration of the Centennial of Flight on December 17, 2003.

But I was there, reporting for another aviation outlet, waiting on the possibility that there would be a break in the weather long enough to allow Ken Hyde to see his carefully constructed reproduction of the Wright Flyer recreate the momentous event.

And I was trying to get up the guts to talk to Mike Seidel, from the Weather Channel, who stood a mere 10 feet from me. You could take Jim Cantore…as a true weather-focused avgeek, I much preferred Seidel’s more measured and thoughtful delivery of the meteorological news. But my reporter’s persona failed me, and I could not think of anything other to say than, “Hey, are your socks soaking too?” He was kind. 

In the end, the Flyer didn’t, really. In a bid to at least give something to the crowd, Hyde’s team fired up the engines, if such a verb could be applied to the 12-horsepower models that didn’t operate on magnetos, but ignited by the “opening and closing [of] two contact breaker points in the combustion chamber of each cylinder,” according to the Smithsonian National Air & Space Museum’s explanation. In fact, it was a jump start operation with a battery and a coil, very much like with the original.

The roar from the crowd as those spindly props began to turn sounded seriously muted by the continuing drizzle. But our spirits held fast—knowing that invention takes a lot of trial and error, testing and failing, and bringing the results back into the equation, often literally.

No, the Flyer wouldn’t make its debut that day, in any kind of ground-breaking sense, but the lessons that Hyde learned from his work at the Wright Experience have made an impact in how we understand the inherently unstable flight of the early years of powered aviation.

Looking back on it, 20 years later, we’ve gained so much just in that span of time—and looking back even further we have much to celebrate.

I also feel strongly we’re on the cusp of more breakthroughs than we imagined possible. Certainly more than I could fathom, standing on that storied piste in 2003.

The post A Very Soggy First Flight Centennial appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

According to Dorothy Cochrane, the museum’s curator of the aeronautics department, the answer is a resounding “Yes!”

“The challenge is that there are lots of Wright Flyer replicas at museums around the country,” Cochrane said. Also, the famous design doesn’t look 120 years old, due in part to meticulous care taken over the decades and a recovering of the wings in the mid-1980s when the museum did conservation work on the Flyer. This work consisted of disassembling it, inspecting and cleaning the parts, and documenting its construction and the materials used. 

• READ MORE: Reenacting the First Airplane Flight via Simulator

According to information provided by Cochrane, the fabric on the airplane at this time is not the same as it was when it flew in 1903, because in 1928, when Orville Wright loaned the Flyer to the London Science Museum, he recovered the aircraft entirely. It remained in England until 1948, when it was shipped back to the U.S. and the Smithsonian took it for display.

“When the aircraft was recovered in 1985, it was done the same way Orville had done it in 1903,” said Cochrane. “Our conservation and restoration people acquired new fabric from the same company that made the original fabric that Orville put on.”

The post Where Is the Original Wright Flyer? appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

In 1969 pieces of the Wright Flyer’s wood and fabric went to the moon. They were carried by astronaut Neil Armstrong aboard Apollo 11. The relics were flown to the surface in the lunar module Eagle, so when the Eagle landed, so did the Wrights.

• READ MORE: Celebrating 120 Years of Aviation

On January 28, 1986, a note penned by Orville Wright along with pieces of wood and fabric from the 1903 Flyer were aboard the space shuttle Challenger flight STS-51-L. Sadly, the shuttle exploded 73 seconds after liftoff, killing all seven astronauts.

On July 30, 2020, a piece of fabric from the Wright Flyer was carried into space as part of the Ingenuity, a remotely controlled helicopter that rode to Mars attached to the Perseverance rover. The spacecraft landed on Mars on February 18, 2021. At first, Ingenuity was slated for five flights on the Red Planet, but according to mars.nasa.gov, the solar-powered autonomous aircraft has completed 67 flights.

• READ MORE: NASA’s Ingenuity Completes First Flight on Mars

NASA officials noted the first aircraft to achieve powered controlled flight on another planet is a “Wright brothers moment.”

The post The Wright Flyer Makes It to Space—in Pieces appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

The Wright Brothers Day event, which the organization hosts annually in partnership with the National Park Service, will take place at the Wright Brothers National Memorial in Kill Devil Hills, North Carolina, on Sunday. It will feature a flyover, band concert, and wreath-laying ceremony “by the descendants of the Wrights and witnesses to the first flight.” The celebration will also include speakers from the Beech family, American Bonanza Society, and National Park Service. The event, which offers free admission, is scheduled to run from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. EST.

The society will also honor Walter and Olive Ann Beech as part of the December 17 celebration. The couple co-founded the Beech Aircraft Company, later known as Beechcraft, in Wichita, Kansas, in 1932. They will be inducted into the Dr. Paul E. Garber First Flight Shrine, which honors “great accomplishments in the history of aviation,” and a portrait of them unveiled and presented during the festivities.

• READ MORE: First Flight Society Selects 2023 Honorees

Chartered in 1927, the First Flight Society is a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization. “We tell the story of the Wright brothers through community events, education, and the commemoration of the world’s very first powered flight, in Kitty Hawk, North Carolina,” the organization said.

Wilbur and Orville Wright’s airplane flew for the first time in 1903, in Kitty Hawk. With Orville at the controls, the initial flight lasted 12 seconds. They flew four times that day, marking the beginning of powered, controlled, heavier-than-air flight.

More information about the First Flight Society and Wright Brothers Day event is available here.

The post Society Celebrates 120th Anniversary of First Flight appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

1903

On December 17, Wilbur and Orville Wright achieve powered flight. They make a total of four flights that day in Kitty Hawk, North Carolina. Orville is at the controls for the first flight that lasts 12 seconds and marks the beginning of powered, heavier-than-air flight.

The Wright Flyer is little more than a curiosity at this point. As the decade continues, the Wrights continue to tinker with the design. With the Wright Flyer II and Wright Flyer III, the brothers work to make the aircraft more practical, meaning controllable and stable.

This is achieved in the Wright Flyer III, which manages to fly for 24 minutes with Wilbur at the controls at Huffman Prairie outside of Dayton, Ohio. He is able to bring the aircraft back to the starting point safely and land without damage.

1913

Within 10 years of the Wrights’ achievement, the airplane is being utilized by many nations for military operations. The British Navy experiments with what will become known as aircraft carrier operation, and the United States Army makes the 1st Aero Squadron into its first official aviation squadron.

The airplane will be used in combat for the first time a few years later in World War I.

1923

It’s been 20 years since the Wrights first flew, and the airplane has evolved from a curiosity to a weapon of war as air combat was developed during WWI. With the cessation of hostilities, the airplanes are declared surplus and sold to civilians. Many are snapped up by barnstormers, pilots who fly across America landing in farmers’ fields and offering rides for a price. Around the world, air circuses with stunt pilots and aviation meets (think NASCAR with wings) are held at fairgrounds, giving many people their first real-world look at an airplane.

It is a decade of new designs and record-setting flights. In May 1927, a 25-year-old named Charlies Lindbergh becomes the first to successfully fly solo across the Atlantic. Lindbergh’s achievement spurs an interest in global aviation and air commerce, specifically airmail. He became a champion of aviation, and the growth in the industry was referred to as “the Lindbergh Boom.”

1933

In February, the U.S. Navy launches the USS Ranger (CV-4), the first ship designed specifically to be an aircraft carrier.

Record-setting flights become a thing as pilots feel the need for speed. Frank Hawks flies the Northrop Gamma Texaco Sky Chief from Los Angeles to Brooklyn, New York, in 13 hours, 26 minutes, and 15 seconds, setting a new west-to-east speed record. Hawks’ average speed on the trip is 181 mph.

In July, Wiley Post in a Lockheed Vega makes the first solo flight around the world, starting at Floyd Bennett Field in New York with stops in Berlin, Moscow, Irkutsk, Russia, and Alaska. Post’s journey covers a total distance of 15,586 miles.

On December 17, 1935, on the 32nd anniversary of the Wrights’ first powered flight, the Douglas DC-3 takes to the skies. This hearty, versatile bird is still used in both commercial operations and airshow demonstrations around the world.

• READ MORE: First Flights

1943

WWII arrives, and once again airplanes are weaponized. But instead of being made from fabric and spruce, they are made primarily from aluminum. Aviation technology grows by leaps and bounds in all areas, including aircraft construction and navigation in hopes of ending the war more quickly.

The Navy begins development of the helicopter as a platform for anti-submarine patrol, which was being done by blimps on the West Coast.

1953

On the 50th anniversary of the Wrights’ first flight, the first meeting of the Experimental Aircraft Association (EAA) takes place in Milwaukee at Curtiss-Wright Field.

With the war over, commercial aviation grew. Aircraft formerly used to transport soldiers and war goods are repurposed to transport businessmen and vacationers.

The British introduce the de Havilland Comet as the world’s first jet airliner.

Aviation records are being set again. Aviatrix Jacqueline Cochran, who created the Women Airforce Service Pilots (WASP) in WWII, becomes the first woman to break the sound barrier, reaching over 760 mph in steep dives in a F-86 Sabre.

1963

President John F. Kennedy announces at the U.S. Air Force Academy that the government will team up with private industry to develop a commercially viable supersonic aircraft. The British and French are working on the Concorde, and the Soviet Union is working on the Tupolev Tu-144. Boeing begins its SST project in response.

1973

The Vietnam War begins to wind down as a cease-fire agreement is entered. The U.S. has had an aviation military presence in the region since 1962, using both fixed wings and helicopters.

In June, Bonnie Tiburzi becomes the first woman to earn her wings as a pilot, at American Airlines, though Emily Howell Warner was hired earlier, in January, by Frontier Airlines. Citing her as an example, little girls already bitten by the aviation bug start asking for the junior pilot wings instead of the junior stewardess wings during airline trips with the family.

1983

Just 80 years after the technical marvel at Kitty Hawk, America’s reusable space vehicle, the space shuttle Challenger glides to a landing at Edwards Air Force Base in California. Aboard it, astronaut Sally Ride returns after being the first American woman in space. The Challenger will be lost during launch in 1986, taking the lives of all seven astronauts, including Christa McAuliffe, who would have been the first teacher in space.

1993

The skies are getting more crowded, and there are some growing pains. In December an accident involving a chartered business jet upset by the wake turbulence from a Boeing 757 has both the National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) and the FAA taking a closer look at what is considered adequate distance between heavy aircraft and following light aircraft, hoping to eliminate more wake turbulence accidents. This evolves into more education for pilots on the dangers of wake turbulence and how to avoid it.

2003

Cirrus Design Corp. delivers the first glass cockpit aircraft to the training world in its SR20 and SR22 models. Within 10 years, glass panels will be the overwhelming choice of the larger flight schools in the U.S. In 2006 Cessna reports that most of the Cessna 172s it is building that year will have G1000s in them. Cirrus also has installed its Cirrus Airframe Parachute System (CAPS) into both models, another safety milestone for new Part 23 aircraft.

Tragedy strikes in February when the space shuttle Columbia disintegrates on reentry after 16 days in space. All seven astronauts are killed.

On December 17, the 100th anniversary of the Wright brothers means a jubilee celebration, and the aviation world is focused on Kill Devil Hills to watch the reenactment of the first flight by a reproduction aircraft built by The Wright Brothers Experience, founded by Ken Hyde. Unfortunately, the weather does not cooperate, and the famous flyer does not lift off as expected.

2013

In February, American Airlines and US Airways merge, creating the world’s largest airline, with 900 planes, 3,200 daily flights, and 95,000 employees.

Boeing makes the first of two test flights with its 787 Dreamliner, hoping to show the traveling public it has solved an earlier issue involving lithium-ion battery system overheating. The aircraft departs from the Boeing facility at Snohomish County Airport-Paine Field in the morning. Local flight schools with television watch the event, while general aviation pilots take to the sky, hoping for a glimpse of magnificent machines. The aircraft flies down the coast of Washington and halfway down the coast of Oregon before returning to base without incident.

The post Celebrating 120 Years of Aviation appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

I don’t mind because I like remembering so many interesting hours (and days) in that terminal build- ing doing Part 135 flight checks and type rating rides in Rhoades Aviation Douglas DC-3 freighters. What a bunch of characters—not to mention, what a collection of hard-used DC-3s. This gig began (for me) in the 1980s when I was an inspector in the Indianapolis FSDO, and a guardian angel nudged somebody in the FAA to send me to DC-3 flight training with Hector Villamar at Opa-Locka Airport (KOPF) in Miami. But you’ve read my stories about that. As a memento, I have a nearly destroyed piston head from a Pratt & Whitney R-1830 and a box of rose petals from a bouquet those beloved ruffians sent me one Valentine’s Day.

It’s no secret that I’ve written some less-than-flattering things about the FAA (and continue to question the “sanity” of possibly appointing an administrator who knows nothing about aviation). But there are good memories of the Indianapolis FSDO where I worked with some really fine people for five years. And, yeah, there are a few less-than-fond memories about some dreadful accidents and a few scalawags I inherited as an inspector.

Del Shanks, a long-time mechanic with Ohio Aviation in Dayton, had been hired by the FAA and was now the maintenance supervisor in our office. And Del really knew his business.

It was a miserable cold winter day, and I was sched- uled to give a 135 six-month’s check in a Beech 18 to a pilot from Sky Castle Aviation. But one of the Marlatts who owned the operation called and said the pilot was returning to Sky Castle because he couldn’t get the gear down in the Beech. Del heard the conversation and, being an old Beech guy, said to relay a message to the pilot: “Tell him to lift off the red cover between the pilots’ seats and smack the clutch pedal with something substantial (like a shoe). That can release the gear motor from all the mechanical paraphernalia and allow it to free-fall into position. Then tell him to hand crank the gear/flap handle to assure it’s fully extended.”

I think it was John Marlatt who relayed the message, and…it worked! What actually happened was a piece of felt “cushioning” glued on the cover had worked loose and jammed itself around and under the clutch pedal. With some difficulty and monkey motions, the pilot was able to remove it and get the gear down.

I guess my point is that these days, damn few FAA inspectors—if you could even reach one—would stick their neck out to help a pilot with a mechanical problem in flight. But the Indy office was full of good people still in love with airplanes—and airplane people.

My assigned operators—Air Marion, Anderson Aviation, Brown’s Flying Service, Muncie Aviation, Sky Castle, Van S, Washington Aero, Indiana Airmotive, and Morgan Aviation—were also good people (despite the guy who brought out his skunk whenever I walked in the office or the operator who’d greet me with a large pistol prominently displayed on his desk). The skunk had been denatured, and the armament was purely for show. Oh, there were a few relatively minor offenders like the kid, a student who flew below the top floors of the municipal building in Connersville, pissed off and buzzing his girlfriend in a truck with her new husband. Or not-unusual situations where operators would charge passengers for flights in airplanes not on their Air Taxi (Part 135) certificates—commonly known as “Part 134 1⁄2-inch” operations.

By far the sleaziest—someone everybody relished investigating—was a guy with a Part 135 certificate using a Navajo largely in air ambulance operations. Either an inspector checked on the planned flight or, more likely, another operator (familiar with this guy’s questionable practices) alerted our office. He was flying to Houston to bring a very sick, elderly cancer patient back home to Muncie, Indiana’s Ball Hospital. Besides the woman on a stretcher, medical equipment, a nurse, at least three family members, and baggage, a legal fuel load would put the airplane well over gross on the return flight. So our office alerted the Houston FSDO, and an inspector met the flight on landing. When he questioned him, the pilot told the inspector his trip had been canceled. In reality, he called his passengers and told them to have the ambulance bring everybody to an outlying airport where they departed…well over gross.

The pilot was suspicious and worried about the FAA. So he landed somewhere en route and arranged to have an ambulance meet them at New Castle, Indiana Airport. They would deplane there and be driven nearly 30 miles on a state road to Ball Hospital in Muncie.

We received a complaint from the family, and I was sent out in a G-car to interview the pilot (who, of course, I couldn’t find), the nurse, and family (two women and a close friend). The elderly and terminally ill patient had died somewhere in this odyssey.

The family and friend were outraged. They had no idea why they had to change plans and meet the airplane at a smaller airport in Houston. And the friend, who was rid- ing in the right seat, described a frightening near mid- air collision at the nontowered Sky Castle Airport (home of my old friends, the Marlatts). I tried to reconstruct a weight and balance from passenger weights and baggage estimates, but that was iffy at best.

The nurse I located “taking care” of an elderly man confined to a wheelchair and living alone in an apartment. It was dreadful, and she—who seemed to work with this operator—was surly and uncooperative.

I don’t remember the outcome, except the operator did get a violation for operations during an airshow at Mt. Comfort Airport.

In my travels, I did stumble onto another memory: a house between Mooreland and Millville, Indiana, with a sign indicating it as the birthplace of Wilbur Wright before the bishop and his family moved to Dayton, Ohio. Turns out the bishop didn’t move his family to Dayton until after the legendary inventor’s birth.

This column first appeared in the June 2023/Issue 944 print edition of FLYING.

The post Finding Wilbur Wright on the Wabash appeared first on FLYING Magazine.