Hacker MikeD and others..
- Thread starter alphaone
- Start date
CaptBill
Well-Known Member
No stick in the back of the Tomcat. If there were, the RIO would of logged the landing fer sure. Wherever wind, clouds or darkness exist, there are flying and landing opportunities galore for my First Officers. After all, I have important captain stuff to take care of....:whatever:
Ian_J
Hubschrauber Flieger
"I hooked an 18,000lb load in the desert on my first try at night."
"But if it was night time in a featureless environment, how did you maintain a reference point?"
"I was on goggles."
"Bullsht!"
"Naw man, it was a really great move. He was wearing NVGs and hooked the load..."
:whatever:
Whatever... screw you fighter guys.
"But if it was night time in a featureless environment, how did you maintain a reference point?"
"I was on goggles."
"Bullsht!"
"Naw man, it was a really great move. He was wearing NVGs and hooked the load..."
:whatever:
Whatever... screw you fighter guys.
Hacker15e
Who am I? Where are my pants?
I forgot that this thread was here, heh. I was sorta preoccupied when it first came out.
Instead of reposting the "the day I almost died" story, I'll look in the vaults for something different of interest.
Hacker15e
Who am I? Where are my pants?
Okay, just to change it up, here's a story from UPT. Most "there I was" stories from UPT students are pretty...oh, the adjectives I could use here...boring, insignificant, mountains-outta-molehills, etc. Students can get pretty worked up about some otherwise mundane stuff.
This one is one of those stories!
This was an in-flight emergency when I was a T-38 student -- a compressor stall that turned into an engine eating itself by throwing some compressor blades. All in all, not that huge of a deal. But, at my experience level when it happened, it was a helluva big deal to me. It's a little funny to read with 10 years and 2000 hours of perspective between then and now, but has an interesting lesson nonetheless.
This one is one of those stories!
This was an in-flight emergency when I was a T-38 student -- a compressor stall that turned into an engine eating itself by throwing some compressor blades. All in all, not that huge of a deal. But, at my experience level when it happened, it was a helluva big deal to me. It's a little funny to read with 10 years and 2000 hours of perspective between then and now, but has an interesting lesson nonetheless.
chunk75
Well-Known Member
I hope they gave you an underline for that pass...
gliderboy
Well-Known Member
Brian Shul, Retired SR-71 Pilot via Plane and Pilot Magazine
As a former SR-71 pilot, and a professional keynote speaker, the question I'm most often asked is "How fast would that SR-71 fly?" I can be assured of hearing that question several times at any event I attend. It's an interesting question, given the aircraft's proclivity for speed, but there really isn't one number to give, as the jet would always give you a little more speed if you wanted it to. It was common to see 35 miles a minute. Because we flew a programmed Mach number on most missions, and never wanted to harm the plane in any way, we never let it run out to any limits of temperature or speed. Thus, each SR-71 pilot had his own individual “high” speed that he saw at some point on some mission. I saw mine over Libya when Khadafy fired two missiles my way, and max power was in order. Let’s just say that the plane truly loved speed and effortlessly took us to Mach numbers we hadn’t previously seen.
So it was with great surprise, when at the end of one of my presentations, someone asked, “what was the slowest you ever flew the Blackbird?” This was a first. After giving it some thought, I was reminded of a story that I had never shared before, and relayed the following.
I was flying the SR-71 out of RAF Mildenhall, England, with my back-seater, Walt Watson; we were returning from a mission over Europe and the Iron Curtain when we received a radio transmission from home base. As we scooted across Denmark in three minutes, we learned that a small RAF base in the English countryside had requested an SR-71 fly-past. The air cadet commander there was a former Blackbird pilot, and thought it would be a motivating moment for the young lads to see the mighty SR-71 perform a low approach. No problem, we were happy to do it. After a quick aerial refueling over the North Sea, we proceeded to find the small airfield.
Walter had a myriad of sophisticated navigation equipment in the back seat, and began to vector me toward the field. Descending to subsonic speeds, we found ourselves over a densely wooded area in a slight haze. Like most former WWII British airfields, the one we were looking for had a small tower and little surrounding infrastructure. Walter told me we were close and that I should be able to see the field, but I saw nothing.
Nothing but trees as far as I could see in the haze. We got a little lower, and I pulled the throttles back from 325 knots we were at. With the gear up, anything under 275 was just uncomfortable. Walt said we were practically over the field—yet; there was nothing in my windscreen. I banked the jet and started a gentle circling maneuver in hopes of picking up anything that looked like a field. Meanwhile, below, the cadet commander had taken the cadets up on the catwalk of the tower in order to get a prime view of the fly-past. It was a quiet, still day with no wind and partial gray overcast.
Walter continued to give me indications that the field should be below us but in the overcast and haze, I couldn't see it. The longer we continued to peer out the window and circle, the slower we got. With our power back, the awaiting cadets heard nothing. I must have had good instructors in my flying career, as something told me I better cross-check the gauges. As I noticed the airspeed indicator slide below 160 knots, my heart stopped and my adrenalin-filled left hand pushed two throttles full forward. At this point we weren't really flying, but were falling in a slight bank. Just at the moment that both afterburners lit with a thunderous roar of flame (and what a joyous feeling that was) the aircraft fell into full view of the shocked observers on the tower. Shattering the still quiet of that morning, they now had 107 feet of fire-breathing titanium in their face as the plane leveled and accelerated, in full burner, on the tower side of the infield, closer than expected, maintaining what could only be described as some sort of ultimate knife-edge pass.
Quickly reaching the field boundary, we proceeded back to Mildenhall without incident. We didn't say a word for those next 14 minutes.
After landing, our commander greeted us, and we were both certain he was reaching for our wings. Instead, he heartily shook our hands and said the commander had told him it was the greatest SR-71 fly-past he had ever seen, especially how we had surprised them with such a precise maneuver that could only be described as breathtaking. He said that some of the cadet’s hats were blown off and the sight of the plan form of the plane in full afterburner dropping right in front of them was unbelievable. Walt and I both understood the concept of “breathtaking” very well that morning, and sheepishly replied that they were just excited to see our low approach.
As we retired to the equipment room to change from space suits to flight suits, we just sat there-we hadn't spoken a word since “the pass.” Finally, Walter looked at me and said, “One hundred fifty-six knots.
What did you see?” Trying to find my voice, I stammered, “One hundred fifty-two.” We sat in silence for a moment. Then Walt said, “Don’t ever do that to me again!” And I never did.
A year later, Walter and I were having lunch in the Mildenhall Officer’s club, and overheard an officer talking to some cadets about an SR-71 fly-past that he had seen one day. Of course, by now the story included kids falling off the tower and screaming as the heat of the jet singed their eyebrows. Noticing our HABU patches, as we stood there with lunch trays in our hands, he asked us to verify to the cadets that such a thing had occurred. Walt just shook his head and said, “It was probably just a routine low approach; they're pretty impressive in that plane.” Impressive indeed.
Little did I realize after relaying this experience to my audience that day that it would become one of the most popular and most requested stories. It’s ironic that people are interested in how slow the world’s fastest jet can fly. Regardless of your speed, however, it’s always a good idea to keep that cross-check up…and keep your Mach up, too.
As a former SR-71 pilot, and a professional keynote speaker, the question I'm most often asked is "How fast would that SR-71 fly?" I can be assured of hearing that question several times at any event I attend. It's an interesting question, given the aircraft's proclivity for speed, but there really isn't one number to give, as the jet would always give you a little more speed if you wanted it to. It was common to see 35 miles a minute. Because we flew a programmed Mach number on most missions, and never wanted to harm the plane in any way, we never let it run out to any limits of temperature or speed. Thus, each SR-71 pilot had his own individual “high” speed that he saw at some point on some mission. I saw mine over Libya when Khadafy fired two missiles my way, and max power was in order. Let’s just say that the plane truly loved speed and effortlessly took us to Mach numbers we hadn’t previously seen.
So it was with great surprise, when at the end of one of my presentations, someone asked, “what was the slowest you ever flew the Blackbird?” This was a first. After giving it some thought, I was reminded of a story that I had never shared before, and relayed the following.
I was flying the SR-71 out of RAF Mildenhall, England, with my back-seater, Walt Watson; we were returning from a mission over Europe and the Iron Curtain when we received a radio transmission from home base. As we scooted across Denmark in three minutes, we learned that a small RAF base in the English countryside had requested an SR-71 fly-past. The air cadet commander there was a former Blackbird pilot, and thought it would be a motivating moment for the young lads to see the mighty SR-71 perform a low approach. No problem, we were happy to do it. After a quick aerial refueling over the North Sea, we proceeded to find the small airfield.
Walter had a myriad of sophisticated navigation equipment in the back seat, and began to vector me toward the field. Descending to subsonic speeds, we found ourselves over a densely wooded area in a slight haze. Like most former WWII British airfields, the one we were looking for had a small tower and little surrounding infrastructure. Walter told me we were close and that I should be able to see the field, but I saw nothing.
Nothing but trees as far as I could see in the haze. We got a little lower, and I pulled the throttles back from 325 knots we were at. With the gear up, anything under 275 was just uncomfortable. Walt said we were practically over the field—yet; there was nothing in my windscreen. I banked the jet and started a gentle circling maneuver in hopes of picking up anything that looked like a field. Meanwhile, below, the cadet commander had taken the cadets up on the catwalk of the tower in order to get a prime view of the fly-past. It was a quiet, still day with no wind and partial gray overcast.
Walter continued to give me indications that the field should be below us but in the overcast and haze, I couldn't see it. The longer we continued to peer out the window and circle, the slower we got. With our power back, the awaiting cadets heard nothing. I must have had good instructors in my flying career, as something told me I better cross-check the gauges. As I noticed the airspeed indicator slide below 160 knots, my heart stopped and my adrenalin-filled left hand pushed two throttles full forward. At this point we weren't really flying, but were falling in a slight bank. Just at the moment that both afterburners lit with a thunderous roar of flame (and what a joyous feeling that was) the aircraft fell into full view of the shocked observers on the tower. Shattering the still quiet of that morning, they now had 107 feet of fire-breathing titanium in their face as the plane leveled and accelerated, in full burner, on the tower side of the infield, closer than expected, maintaining what could only be described as some sort of ultimate knife-edge pass.
Quickly reaching the field boundary, we proceeded back to Mildenhall without incident. We didn't say a word for those next 14 minutes.
After landing, our commander greeted us, and we were both certain he was reaching for our wings. Instead, he heartily shook our hands and said the commander had told him it was the greatest SR-71 fly-past he had ever seen, especially how we had surprised them with such a precise maneuver that could only be described as breathtaking. He said that some of the cadet’s hats were blown off and the sight of the plan form of the plane in full afterburner dropping right in front of them was unbelievable. Walt and I both understood the concept of “breathtaking” very well that morning, and sheepishly replied that they were just excited to see our low approach.
As we retired to the equipment room to change from space suits to flight suits, we just sat there-we hadn't spoken a word since “the pass.” Finally, Walter looked at me and said, “One hundred fifty-six knots.
What did you see?” Trying to find my voice, I stammered, “One hundred fifty-two.” We sat in silence for a moment. Then Walt said, “Don’t ever do that to me again!” And I never did.
A year later, Walter and I were having lunch in the Mildenhall Officer’s club, and overheard an officer talking to some cadets about an SR-71 fly-past that he had seen one day. Of course, by now the story included kids falling off the tower and screaming as the heat of the jet singed their eyebrows. Noticing our HABU patches, as we stood there with lunch trays in our hands, he asked us to verify to the cadets that such a thing had occurred. Walt just shook his head and said, “It was probably just a routine low approach; they're pretty impressive in that plane.” Impressive indeed.
Little did I realize after relaying this experience to my audience that day that it would become one of the most popular and most requested stories. It’s ironic that people are interested in how slow the world’s fastest jet can fly. Regardless of your speed, however, it’s always a good idea to keep that cross-check up…and keep your Mach up, too.
bunk22
Well-Known Member
Yes, I believe it was my one and only OK underline!!! It was something like HLURX \IM LOBIC-AR OK
Hacker15e
Who am I? Where are my pants?
ppragman
FLIPY FLAPS!
I thought that was funny too. My personal favorite aphorism when I'm describing a hairy situation is, "I was spooked, you couldn't pull a hair out of my ass with a pair of pliers."
Fez.....unfortunately, you're in the NEW USAF. That is, your career is going to be the world of all-around REMFs pushing such important things such as reflector belts, Class A uniform changes, stupid CBTs, political correctness, "asian-pacific islander" celebration months, and new cell-phone-in-uniform regs.
It is not, I repeat not.....contrary to what you've heard......a fighting force that breaks things and kills people.
Welcome!!!
frog_flyer
FredFlyer
Mission comes first!!
...after safety.
...and sexual assault/harassment briefs.
...and 42 character passwords that include chinese characters
...............that need to be changed every 12 days.
:clap:
...after safety.
...and sexual assault/harassment briefs.
...and 42 character passwords that include chinese characters
...............that need to be changed every 12 days.
:clap:
///AMG
Well-Known Member
There is a guy here who, even prior to his first BI flight, managed to pass word around the ready room that he had taken the jet on his first trunk flight and performed a 450kt break, to a perfect abeam, and managed to fly several centered ball passes right off the bat. "It really isn't hard" was supposedly his comment, and that he had gotten lots of back patting from the IP in the front. Needless to say, the story made it's way into the IP ready room as well as across the street to the sim building and all the crusty old dudes who were waiting for him on his early BI/RI flights. For a while there was a standing list on the whiteboard in his ready room, listing everyone's recommendation for callsign. I think OK may have won out, though there were certainly some harsher ones up on the board as well.
Low_Level_Hell
Well-Known Member
OK ? What does that mean?
bunk22
Well-Known Member
A student was saying this? That's classic. Yeah, those FCLP's at an outlying airfield are tough ones
irate:
bunk22
Well-Known Member
You have certain grades that are normally given for every boat landing. The primary ones are
OK --is worth 5.0 and is generally given for a perfect break, pass to touchdown or given when you have an emergency or difficult circumstances when landing. Very rarely given.
OK -- which is worth 4.0
(OK) -- which is a fair and worth 3.0
B -- a bolter which is worth a 2.0 as I recall
-- is a no-grade and is worth a 1.0 as I recall
WO -- if a performance wave-off then it's a 0
You can have a combination of grades, like a no-grade bolter which would same as a no-grade.
Is a bolter or no-grade considered a bad thing or negative? Or does it depend on the circumstance behind it being given?
///AMG
Well-Known Member
For reference to the guy who asked, even a straight OK is very uncommon in the training command (at least at the boat itself). At the field during FCLP's, you may get a couple OK's here and there if you really fly some nice passes, but overall grades tend to reside in the fair to no-grade range.......the ball itself isnt that hard to fly at the field, but getting to a good start, not overcorrecting in close, and really flying it all the way to touchdown seem to hinder myself and my fellow students the most. If the LSO does not see your little white helmet turned and looking directly at the fresnel lens as you pass by it as you touch down, he knows you are deck spotting. And if I had a nickel for every time I was long in the groove, or angling, I'd have a good piggy bank going for the LSO booze fund (all three of those things will turn an otherwise decent pass in terms of ball flying into a no grade).
The OLS is the typical VASI-type system I see at all the NAS/MCAS fields I've flown into. IIRC, they're generally set at about a 4 degree GS, and aren't coincident with the ILS GS.
