So. Where are you flying these days?
Last July I was supposed to be in Switzerland again, but the flight? Nope. It was Covid-canceled. So travels for me, not least by air, have since then been vicarious and virtual.
But flight! It's always magic. One "news" writer a few years back announced his disappointment with people who "still looked up at a plane flying by," as if it were an unusual sight. I think that writer must have ceased to wonder at anything in life -- at least being unable to marvel specifically at the astounding phenomenon of flight, to say nothing of what it means to be intrigued by the haunting beauty of many (not all...let's face it) aircraft.
Since I was a child, I have been fascinated by planes. I think the first plane that caught my attention was a little model (albeit missing a few pieces) of Mr. Mulligan, a racing plane of the 1930s. It was built specifically to win the Bendix Trophy (a race from the west coast of America to Cleveland, Ohio, where the National Air Races were held). That is a brilliant idea: race to the races.
Mr. Mulligan was built in 1934, but due to a mishap it only entered the Bendix in 1935. That year it won not only the Bendix but also the National Air Races' Thompson Trophy.
How fast? 238.70 mph for the Bendix (Wiki). Formula 1 cars go just that fast on the ground these days. And today, if you fly on a passenger jet, you'll travel a wee bit below three times that speed. But 238 mph -- that's pretty fast for a plane having plywood wings, a metal-tube fuselage frame with wood runners (longerons), and ceconite (doped fabric) covering. Essentially, it was a big kite with an engine.
But it's not the speed of aircraft that grabs me. Planes going low and slow are the most beautiful to watch, how some of them can literally hang in the air.
Beyond Mr. Mulligan, another very fond memory is from the late 60s and early 70s -- the Beech D-18s from my home town hauling mail: they'd go out, over my house in the morning, north -- probably to Minneapolis -- and return in the afternoon. Two throaty radials. What a sound! In the afternoon, when the summer sun was still high as the planes returned, I could often go out to the driveway and their shadow would pass over me.
Beech D-18 (C-45 in Military Parlance)
Cecil Lewis, a pilot in WWI, recounted this fabulous experience while flying with his squadron:
The wing-tips of the planes, ten feet away, suddenly caught my eye, and for a second the amazing adventure of flight overwhelmed me. Nothing between me and oblivion but a pair of light linen-covered wings and the roar of a 200-h.p. engine! There was a the fabric, bellying up slightly in the suction above the plane, the streamlined wire, taut and quivering, holding the wing structure together, the three-ply body, the array of instruments, and the slight tremor of the whole aeroplane. (Lewis, 181-182)
In another passage, he remembers flying a Sopwith triplane, with the middle of its three wings crossing the fuselage right at the open cockpit. Lewis saw, again, the slightly bellying linen over the ribs. As the middle wing was right there by him, he put out his hand, touching and pushing down on the fabric that was lifting in the negative pressure atop the wing. The moment must have been magic. When the plane is on the ground, the fabric sags (albeit stretched tightly) between the ribs. When flying, that slightly sagging fabric balloons up in the suction.
Flying: the canvas shows you the actual lift that occurs on the top of a wing. You can see the suction's effect in these two photos.
Fabric Bellying Up between the Ribs on the Wing. Tiger Moth (Top); Cub (Bottom)
Once when I was flying with a friend in a Piper Saratoga, I looked out the window to see one of the wing rivets sticking up from the aluminum (not fabric) skin into the airflow: the lift had raised the broken rivet in its hole, but the stream of air over the wing pushed its top back at an angle, so it could not lift completely out of the rivet hole and disappear. When we landed, it had slipped back down into its hole, the suction gone. We found which rivet was broken and had a mechanic replace it.
But there is just something about running your hand along the leading edge of a wing and seeing the curve of an airfoil. It is all science, but, as with a bird, the "science" of the thing is not what we love about the bird. Its beauty in flight or the way it alights on the grass...the intelligence of and in the design: that's the appeal.
And the sound. I'm not talking about jets here, which are more rockets with fins than planes with engines. In high school, I used to go to a little grass strip where I'd sit on a bench outside the line shack (in this case, literally -- a little shack with a radio and table, maps, switch for runway lights, key for the gas pump, and the torn T-shirts of those who had newly soloed -- none of our current, glitzy electronics in those days). And I'd sit there on a summer evening, watching planes do touch-and-goes just 40 or so feet from the shack. The slight whistle, the prop spinning at idle as the plane glided in, an uncanny sound -- then beautiful as she flares, stalls, a little bump on the grass, and then throttle going up, a hesitation as it gains speed, then rotate to lift the nose -- up she goes again and around.
Here's the sound of one, if you want to hear it (all the better for throaty idle of the P&W radial):
The Sound of Landing -- a DH Beaver
Low and Slow?
Yes: there is a contest every year in Alaska for STOL aircraft (Short Take-Off and Landing). World record: 14 feet 7 inches, shortest take off. 10 feet 5 inches, shortest landing [Link]. Admittedly, this purely STOL-contest bird isn't for travel from the US to Switzerland.
Among the fabulous aircraft made to actually haul goods and people about while maintaining (relatively) short take off and landing characteristics is the Dehavilland Beaver -- as in the landing video link, just above. This is an amazing plane, having a very short cord (distance from leading edge of the wing to the trailing edge -- front to back), but having a 48-feet wing span, and all with a big, chunky body (fuselage). And yet...it has incredible lift. Oh, look! Here's one now: [Link]
A Beaver I Worked on in High School, Now in Alaska
and Highly Modified Inside and Out [LINK]
The thing about it is the startup and the low growl of the Pratt & Whitney Wasp Jr. engine. Not convinced? Harrison Ford is: he bought and flies one -- incredible video here [Link]. Katheryn's Report offers this little canonization of the plane: [Link].
But undeniably the most beautiful airplane yet made -- the Spitfire. Absolutely uncanny, the aesthetics of its lines. Not merely the airfoil, but the curve of its leading edge, opposite to the curve of the trailing edge and mirrored in the curves of the horizontal stabilizer and elevator. The long nose, hiding the V12. Its sound. And when it starts? Fire.
What's in a Name?
The landing gear, unlike most other planes of the time, fold up from the center, toward the wingtips -- the tires folding outward -- and not together, one just slightly before the other. The beauty of it: running straight, lifting off slightly, wingtips staying level, the gear drawing up, then the plane climbing out steeply with a bank that lets you see her lines. Sheer grace.
Here is one of the best clips to show its beauty:
Pilots who flew (and still fly) the Spitfire comment on not so much getting into the plane to fly it, but putting it on, becoming part of it -- or it becoming a part of you. Because of the long nose that you can't see over, you land in a long, descending curve, looking just out the left or right/front windscreen. As they land -- elevator working and quick touches on the rudder -- most Spits have a nice little bounce (yes, it's OK!) upon touching down, just like a real bird taking a wee hop after touching earth. If you want to read a remarkable account of flying Spitfires, try Geoffrey Wellum's book First Light [Link].
While I have long loved the Spitfire, years ago I was given the opportunity to sit in the first one I had ever seen -- that in Manston, England, an airbase where these birds nested during WWII. It was a tight fit -- like the proverbial glove. Even the stick was modified to accommodate the narrow cockpit -- a spade handle hinged just above the knee for aileron control. I could not imagine flying it, let alone being shot at while doing so.
Flight is one of the most beautiful things I know. And during this age of Covid, dreaming of flying and looking at aircraft have been one of my most peaceful pastimes.
All this talk of planes? There's a great deal more to it. It's a part of you...if you're able to see it. Maybe this will help explain:
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