by Mark S. Daniels
Editor
Editor
Silver State News Service (SSNS)
http://www.silverstatenews.com/
"In 1979, I sought the impossible -- to ride in an Unlimited Class Air Racer during an actual race..."
-Mark S. Daniels
At the foot of the Tehachipi Mountains, not far from Edwards Air Force Base, sits the old west town of Mojave, California.
The pioneer spirit once dwelled in this community, which marked the end of the trail for the famed, "Twenty-Mule-Teams," pulling their long wagon trains across the Mojave Desert from the mining town of Borax, California....
Today, pioneers still exist here.
Mojave is home to the only Civilian Flight Test Center in the world, and birthplace of the elegant "Voyager" aircraft, which flew around the world non-stop without refueling.
For a brief decade, Mojave was also home to "The World's Fastest Motorsport," Air Racing.
Air Racing began in Rheims, France, in August of 1909, long before coming to Mojave in 1970.
Air Racing is what brought me to Mojave in 1979, on the 70th Anniversary of the birth of this great sport. In the first week of June, Mojave was scheduled to host an event known as a closed-course, "Pylon" Air Race.
I arrived at the "California National Air Races" of 1979 working as a "stringer "--or "free-lance photojournalist--with the Los Angeles office of United Press International (UPI).
In covering the Air Races, my goal was to do what was then, only a dream amongst photographers such as myself--to ride in a high-performance racing plane during an actual "heat race." The ultimate goal: to obtain air-to-air photography of a heat race in progress--from the pilot's perspective--something the general public had yet to see in widespread print media.
This was a dangerous piece of risk-taking that needed official sanction before it would occur. Such sanction would have to come from officials in the Federal Aviation Administration (FAA), the California National Air Races (CNAR) "Air Race Management" organization, and from the one pilot who would be willing to take me along on "The Ride."
Mind you, I wasn't born unto taking risks. Risk-taking was something that I had learned over a period of time. I'm not one to gamble with my life nor take great physical risks, unless there is some greater benefit to be had.
However, Aviation had long been a love of mine, and the temptation of riding in an Unlimited Class racing plane proved too great. I believed that the odds of making it through a race safely were in my favor.
Having spent the earlier part of the week obtaining my press credentials from CNAR, I actually found my ride before I had official permission from the FAA to take it. My benefactor was John Putman, pilot of a true contender--an old fighter plane known as the North American P-51D Mustang, previously converted to racing through airframe and engine modifications.
Approval of the FAA, the greatest obstacle to be surpassed, luckily fell into my lap, purely as a result of being in the right place at the right time.
A management change at the local field office resulted in my receiving the approval of the new leadership--something I was assured by the old leadership I would not have gotten from the latter, primarily due to the extreme dangers that exist in the sport. In fact, Air Racing has since been classified as an "Extreme Sport."
Approval was mine though, and all I had to do was find a "seatpack parachute." Luck was with me, as I chose the right man at the right time--a pilot between races. I had my parachute, just as the flight was to begin.
John's "competition:"
...the Red Baron Air Racing Team and their pilot, Steve Hinton--at 26 years of age, the youngest pilot in the history of the Unlimited Class.
The Red Baron Team had arrived at Mojave ready to race, with their highly-modified, radical racing design, the famed "RB-51 Mustang" known as the "Red Baron," Race 5. Beating that 500 mile-per-hour, Rolls Royce Griffon-powered thoroughbred would prove a considerable task--not that challengers were lacking.
Endeavoring to win a Championship for themselves, several racers potentially stood in Steve's way, including John Putman and Race 86, known as "Ciuchetton" (or "Chooch-ah-toon").
Unfortunately for John and the "Banducci Air Racing Team," the Rolls Royce Merlin engine in "Ciuchetton" had begun shedding metals into her filters, and it was only a matter of time before the engine would have to go in for overhaul.
As a result, "Ciuchetton" could not compete at the RB-51's higher speeds.
Thus, another situation outside of my control found me once again thrust into the right place at the right time. When I approached him for a ride, John indicated he could take me into competition, since he now had to reduce power and slow down for the remainder of the races...
Everything was falling into place, but too easily it seemed. --"Would the race be this easy?"-- I was about to find out.
John and I took off from Mojave Airport and headed out over the Mojave Desert. Once airborne, we soon found ourselves in the company of Robert A. "Bob" Hoover, wingman for Chuck Yeager's history-making flight through the Sound Barrier in October, 1947. Several racing planes were already joined up on his wing. Hoover traditionally flew the "Pace Plane" for the racers, gathering them into formation before leading them onto the course in an aerial, "Race Horse Start."
Seven pilots and their aircraft would be competing in our heat. Among them:
Steve Hinton, who was in the "pole position" of Bob's left wing. Steve had recently equaled an Air Racing record by winning his third individual Championship event within the period of a year. He was on a pace to set a new record with a fourth Championship win, if he finished first in Sunday's Unlimited Gold Race.
Waldo "Clay" Klabo, who had excelled in competition while flying an unmodified, stock P-51D racer, was just off Steve's wing in 2nd position.
The late John Crocker, a World Airways DC-10 pilot, was flying his hybrid P-51D "Sumthin' Else" in 3rd position.
John and I were fourth in "Ciuchetton."
Dan Martin and his immaculately restored, stock P-51D Mustang, "Ridge Runner III," were likely sitting in fifth position. I didn't see them nor even know they were in the race at that moment.
Pan Am 747 pilot Lloyd Hamilton and his Korean War-era Hawker Sea Fury were in sixth position, off Dan's wing.
Seventh was truly "Tail-end Charlie," in that "Charlie" Beck was at the controls of the famed "Miss America" racer, a hybrid P-51D Mustang whose affable pilot--Howie Keefe--was ailing. Unfortunately for Charlie, "Miss America was ailing as well.
As a group, Hoover directed us to an adequate starting speed, then we dove on the course like a flight of eagles launching after the same prey.
As heat poured into the cockpit, the first critical moment of the race was about to come. All aircraft would begin the course at the "Scatter Pylon," an aircraft-separation marker developed to prevent mid-air collisions at the start of every race.
(A "Scatter" is also used for lighter aircraft, like the Formula Ones and Sport Biplanes, when a "windshift" requires they takeoff in the opposite of course direction. At Reno, Inner Pylon 5 was so designated.)
Thousands of cheering spectators were on their feet in the grandstands as our flight came down the homestretch and across the starting line. Steve and the RB-51 were already pulling away...
I had the RB-51 in my viewfinder before we reached that first pylon, but in that moment, Steve simply "poured on the coal" and just "walked away!" I was totally prepared to take the shot, but things happened so quickly, I never got the shot off.
Having filled my viewfinder a fraction of a second earlier, the RB-51 was suddenly gone and the shot was missed. I took two shots from a distance, and never saw the aircraft again--at least, not until after we had landed.
I located several racers banking into the turn and struggled against the g-forces (1) to position and focus my camera on them. From altitude, I managed several shots of those racers beneath us, during our transition from the "Scatter" to the other pylons marking the back course.
As John descended on the course, I found that we were positioned side-by-side with Dan Martin in "Ridge Runner III," our two aircraft competing for an undeterminable position.
This was the first moment I knew that Dan was physically in the race.
Steve, Clay and Crocker were well ahead of us, while Hamilton and Beck were positioned behind.
Within the cockpit of an Unlimited Class air racer, there is a sense of speed and motion that is unusual, if not rare and unique. One just seems to glide over the terrain, like a falcon patrolling it's territory. Through the Plexiglas-bubble canopy, your view of the desert landscape is peppered by patches of sagebrush and creosote, along with the occasional pylon standing as a marker on the course.
Life exists "out there," but traveling at 400 miles per hour, you're not really aware of it.
No, life only exists in your cockpit, while everything around you is beautifully surreal. The feeling is exhilarating, even as you sweat and work away at the camera from within a very confined space.
In the moments that I had Dan and his racer in my viewfinder, spatial disorientation occurred (2), adding an abstract effect to an already "Calderesque" scene.
"Ridge Runner III," like "Ciuchetton," was a silvery, low-winged, single-engine racer, with a sleek fuselage topped by a bubble canopy, in turn, balanced by an airscoop fitted beneath wing and fuselage. Her helmeted pilot seated within that canopy, "Ridge Runner III's" four-bladed propeller whirled away, cutting into the sky while pulling this elegant mount and its "jockey" along. On the side of the engine cover, a painted "nose art" depicting the original aircraft's combat record, topped with an ungainly, tusked, "Arkansas Razorback" (a species of boar), represented in the inevitable, angry "Charge!"
Suspended against the desert landscape like an artistic piece on a mobile, pilot and racing plane seemed to dive at the terrain one moment, then in the next, furiously climb near-vertical against the blue Mojave sky. Both pilot and aircraft were operating at the "max" --not so much "flying and competing," but rather--from my perspective--"fighting and holding on" against some invisible force that was out there, seeking to thwart their quest. Pylons were "Windmills," and here was Martin in the midst of a Quixotic joust! All the time, I am watching... I remember it well!
...Dan's P-51 racing over the Mojave landscape beneath us; John and I keeping pace with him in another P-51; Dan staying just ahead of us, low to the ground and to our right.
We started gaining on "Ridge Runner III," and closed directly over Dan in a vertical, wingtip-to-wingtip duel.
Several miles away, the perspective for others was far different than mine. The crowd watched as an aerial ballet took place between our racers. Now, both aircraft were low above the desert floor, the pylons more defined as we roared by each.
At 400 miles per hour, a wing-strike with a pylon--essentially a telephone pole topped by a 55-gallon oil drum--would be lethal. There was no room for mistakes, and Dan was closer to the pylons than us!
As we banked hard into another turn, Dan's aircraft seemed to drift upwards towards us.Again, we were instantly wingtip-to-wingtip with him. For a moment, it even appeared as though we were going to collide.
My seatpack chute beneath me was at the ready. John had Dan in sight. There was nothing I could do--there as an observer--a mere passenger in the seat behind John. Dan's P-51 veered closer and appeared to be sliding upwards. All that was left for me was to shoot pictures, since that's what I was there for.
Our proximity to Dan was no longer relevant to my mission.
Knowing prior to the flight that what was about to occur had been a possibility all along, I now had to face a real danger, still keep the camera working, and think no more about it.
I was UPI's representative seated in the middle of a dangerous event. I was finally, a photojournalist operating in his element.
Then things got worse.
Suddenly, Dan's P-51 seemed to shoot up off the course at us! Instinctively, I lowered my camera to watch, not so much fearful as surprised. Also instinctively, I clicked the shutter and took a shot as I did...
A fraction of a second passes rapidly. A fraction of a second doesn't give one enough time to sit and watch his trivial life "pass before his eyes." Nor, does it really even give one time enough to die. That's how close the three of us were about to come to death...
...a mere fraction of a second in time.
Lady Luck would either watch over us very carefully, or scatter us to the four winds!
This time, she was watching.
I say to myself, "Man! That was close! Dan must have had trouble and pulled out."
Then it's John and I in "Ciuchetton," seemingly alone on the course, though there's a race underway and other aircraft out there.
Though the engine's running at high speed, and heat continues to poor into the cockpit, making the environment around us seem like a sauna; there is a silence and a stillness within as I photograph the pylons and their crews, hoping for more racing aircraft to photograph.
Sitting there, I could tell the race was about to end.
In my headset, I hear two "Maydays." "Miss America's" engine has unraveled, and the other unidentified aircraft is a precautionary. In the Pace Plane overhead, Hoover diverts to assist the pilots.
Both aircraft make it down safely.
Then comes the announcement, "The race is over! The race is over!" John climbs for altitude and sets up for landing. I look at the grandstands as we pass and they are near empty. We were the last race of the day.
Steve won the race, then went on to win his fourth consecutive Championship within the period of a year--a new record which stands to this day, some twenty years later.
I shot one roll of black and white film, and another roll of color. I came away with very little. The shot I missed--of the RB-51 at the beginning of the race, would probably have been the one utilized.
The shots of Dan don't give the "human perspective" of a sense of "what is going on" event-wise. None of the shots were utilized by UPI. Just the same, four other shots are published by their L.A. office "over the wire," including a fine shot taken during practice laps of the late Ralph Twombly flying his SNJ Trainer.
In that wirephoto, Ralph is between myself and Outer Pylon Six at Mojave, and I'm focusing down on both. Risk to me during the practice laps was minimal.
Was the risk worth it--ignoring the dangers--to take a few photos that ultimately, never get published?
Sometimes, the odds are neither with you nor against you. One takes a risk, they stand a chance of losing. One breaks even, they get handed another chance. I don't recommend gambling--throwing one's money or their life away--but I do recommend taking risks in life.
In the end--John, Dan and I, broke even and walked away. All three of us live to race another day. John and Dan still have the opportunity before them to become "Champions."
I live to risk again and "get that photograph!" If I ever do race again my hope is that Lady Luck is always watching over me... ....and never once, turns her head. (3)
Notes:
(1) One "g" = one times the weight of gravity. Air Racers can pull between six and nine or more "g's" during a race, in a "positive" (force applied) or negative (force denied or weightlessness) direction. At nine "g's," and without a pressure suit, a pilot can begin to "gray out" when the blood in his head is forced to his feet in a positive g. In a negative g, the blood can rush to his head, causing him to begin to "red out."
(2) Another issue with "Spatial Disorientation" is "Who is doing what..." Dan hadn't drifted up towards us, rather--we had drifted down on him! In reviewing the photos afterwards, not only is Dan's aircraft closer to us (thus the effect of him drifting upwards), so too is the ground (the ground is not supposed to do that...heh...heh...) Though Dan was upset about it afterwards, he was the consummate gentleman. While waiting to speak with John, I mentioned our close call and how I had been taking pictures--and it was "just like Christmas..."--Dan looked at me, gave me that look of a kid with a new bike, and said: "Can I have a copy!?" Dan Martin is a frequent visitor to the Air Races, and the Annual "Warbird Roundup," held in Santa Maria, California, one hour north of Santa Barbara. Santa Maria show information is available through the Santa Maria Museum of Flight in the U.S. 805 area code, or the City of Santa Maria Chamber of Commerce.
(3) For what it's worth--I spoke after the race with Steve Galvin, CNAR's Official Event Photographer, who was unaware that I had completed my coordination's--let alone--been up in the race and was back again. Steve got with Scott Rayburn, who was a long-time Press Coordinator, and both only recalled one other photographer ever going up in an air race with official sanction. "Unofficially," they indicated, "this makes you the second photographer in the history of the sport to fly in a racer during a race."
Images and text of "The Ride" are Copyright 1999 Mark S. Daniels, all rights are reserved.
Reproduction of any portion of this story, without the express permission of the author, is prohibited.
Publishing rights were previously issued by the author to Airport Fence Productions, Inc. The author retains all future rights to the content.
As published in Arlene S. Usander's "A Touch of Fate."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
About The Author: Mark S. Daniels, a US Army Veteran, has worked as a contributor (stringer) for Army Times, The Fort Campbell Courier, FAA Aviation News, United Press International (UPI), Associated Press (AP), Reuters, and Pacific Flyer, among others.
For a brief period, he served as the Staff Photographer for the now defunct, Aviation Illustrated magazine. Daniels airline photography is currently featured in the British publication, "Dream Schemes," by Stuart Spicer; and his stories "The Wave," and "The Ride," are soon to be featured in a compilation of short stories about fate and destiny, by Arlene S. Uslander, of Glenview, Illinois.
Daniels, now 53, attended his first Air Race in 1976, at Mojave, California, and now lives in Reno, Nevada, not far from the site of the National Championship Air Races.
Mark now serves as President of Images Of Light Internet Press Service ; Chief Photographer, Images Of Light -- M. Daniels Photography; and Editor-in-Chief, of Silver State News Service, of Reno, Nevada.
Mark S. Daniels retains volumes of photographic and literary materials of historic and current air racing documentation.
(Copyright 1998 Mark S. "Bear" Daniels)
http://www.silverstatenews.com/
"In 1979, I sought the impossible -- to ride in an Unlimited Class Air Racer during an actual race..."
-Mark S. Daniels
At the foot of the Tehachipi Mountains, not far from Edwards Air Force Base, sits the old west town of Mojave, California.
The pioneer spirit once dwelled in this community, which marked the end of the trail for the famed, "Twenty-Mule-Teams," pulling their long wagon trains across the Mojave Desert from the mining town of Borax, California....
Today, pioneers still exist here.
Mojave is home to the only Civilian Flight Test Center in the world, and birthplace of the elegant "Voyager" aircraft, which flew around the world non-stop without refueling.
For a brief decade, Mojave was also home to "The World's Fastest Motorsport," Air Racing.
Air Racing began in Rheims, France, in August of 1909, long before coming to Mojave in 1970.
Air Racing is what brought me to Mojave in 1979, on the 70th Anniversary of the birth of this great sport. In the first week of June, Mojave was scheduled to host an event known as a closed-course, "Pylon" Air Race.
I arrived at the "California National Air Races" of 1979 working as a "stringer "--or "free-lance photojournalist--with the Los Angeles office of United Press International (UPI).
In covering the Air Races, my goal was to do what was then, only a dream amongst photographers such as myself--to ride in a high-performance racing plane during an actual "heat race." The ultimate goal: to obtain air-to-air photography of a heat race in progress--from the pilot's perspective--something the general public had yet to see in widespread print media.
This was a dangerous piece of risk-taking that needed official sanction before it would occur. Such sanction would have to come from officials in the Federal Aviation Administration (FAA), the California National Air Races (CNAR) "Air Race Management" organization, and from the one pilot who would be willing to take me along on "The Ride."
Mind you, I wasn't born unto taking risks. Risk-taking was something that I had learned over a period of time. I'm not one to gamble with my life nor take great physical risks, unless there is some greater benefit to be had.
However, Aviation had long been a love of mine, and the temptation of riding in an Unlimited Class racing plane proved too great. I believed that the odds of making it through a race safely were in my favor.
Having spent the earlier part of the week obtaining my press credentials from CNAR, I actually found my ride before I had official permission from the FAA to take it. My benefactor was John Putman, pilot of a true contender--an old fighter plane known as the North American P-51D Mustang, previously converted to racing through airframe and engine modifications.
Approval of the FAA, the greatest obstacle to be surpassed, luckily fell into my lap, purely as a result of being in the right place at the right time.
A management change at the local field office resulted in my receiving the approval of the new leadership--something I was assured by the old leadership I would not have gotten from the latter, primarily due to the extreme dangers that exist in the sport. In fact, Air Racing has since been classified as an "Extreme Sport."
Approval was mine though, and all I had to do was find a "seatpack parachute." Luck was with me, as I chose the right man at the right time--a pilot between races. I had my parachute, just as the flight was to begin.
John's "competition:"
...the Red Baron Air Racing Team and their pilot, Steve Hinton--at 26 years of age, the youngest pilot in the history of the Unlimited Class.
The Red Baron Team had arrived at Mojave ready to race, with their highly-modified, radical racing design, the famed "RB-51 Mustang" known as the "Red Baron," Race 5. Beating that 500 mile-per-hour, Rolls Royce Griffon-powered thoroughbred would prove a considerable task--not that challengers were lacking.
Endeavoring to win a Championship for themselves, several racers potentially stood in Steve's way, including John Putman and Race 86, known as "Ciuchetton" (or "Chooch-ah-toon").
Unfortunately for John and the "Banducci Air Racing Team," the Rolls Royce Merlin engine in "Ciuchetton" had begun shedding metals into her filters, and it was only a matter of time before the engine would have to go in for overhaul.
As a result, "Ciuchetton" could not compete at the RB-51's higher speeds.
Thus, another situation outside of my control found me once again thrust into the right place at the right time. When I approached him for a ride, John indicated he could take me into competition, since he now had to reduce power and slow down for the remainder of the races...
Everything was falling into place, but too easily it seemed. --"Would the race be this easy?"-- I was about to find out.
John and I took off from Mojave Airport and headed out over the Mojave Desert. Once airborne, we soon found ourselves in the company of Robert A. "Bob" Hoover, wingman for Chuck Yeager's history-making flight through the Sound Barrier in October, 1947. Several racing planes were already joined up on his wing. Hoover traditionally flew the "Pace Plane" for the racers, gathering them into formation before leading them onto the course in an aerial, "Race Horse Start."
Seven pilots and their aircraft would be competing in our heat. Among them:
Steve Hinton, who was in the "pole position" of Bob's left wing. Steve had recently equaled an Air Racing record by winning his third individual Championship event within the period of a year. He was on a pace to set a new record with a fourth Championship win, if he finished first in Sunday's Unlimited Gold Race.
Waldo "Clay" Klabo, who had excelled in competition while flying an unmodified, stock P-51D racer, was just off Steve's wing in 2nd position.
The late John Crocker, a World Airways DC-10 pilot, was flying his hybrid P-51D "Sumthin' Else" in 3rd position.
John and I were fourth in "Ciuchetton."
Dan Martin and his immaculately restored, stock P-51D Mustang, "Ridge Runner III," were likely sitting in fifth position. I didn't see them nor even know they were in the race at that moment.
Pan Am 747 pilot Lloyd Hamilton and his Korean War-era Hawker Sea Fury were in sixth position, off Dan's wing.
Seventh was truly "Tail-end Charlie," in that "Charlie" Beck was at the controls of the famed "Miss America" racer, a hybrid P-51D Mustang whose affable pilot--Howie Keefe--was ailing. Unfortunately for Charlie, "Miss America was ailing as well.
As a group, Hoover directed us to an adequate starting speed, then we dove on the course like a flight of eagles launching after the same prey.
As heat poured into the cockpit, the first critical moment of the race was about to come. All aircraft would begin the course at the "Scatter Pylon," an aircraft-separation marker developed to prevent mid-air collisions at the start of every race.
(A "Scatter" is also used for lighter aircraft, like the Formula Ones and Sport Biplanes, when a "windshift" requires they takeoff in the opposite of course direction. At Reno, Inner Pylon 5 was so designated.)
Thousands of cheering spectators were on their feet in the grandstands as our flight came down the homestretch and across the starting line. Steve and the RB-51 were already pulling away...
I had the RB-51 in my viewfinder before we reached that first pylon, but in that moment, Steve simply "poured on the coal" and just "walked away!" I was totally prepared to take the shot, but things happened so quickly, I never got the shot off.
Having filled my viewfinder a fraction of a second earlier, the RB-51 was suddenly gone and the shot was missed. I took two shots from a distance, and never saw the aircraft again--at least, not until after we had landed.
I located several racers banking into the turn and struggled against the g-forces (1) to position and focus my camera on them. From altitude, I managed several shots of those racers beneath us, during our transition from the "Scatter" to the other pylons marking the back course.
As John descended on the course, I found that we were positioned side-by-side with Dan Martin in "Ridge Runner III," our two aircraft competing for an undeterminable position.
This was the first moment I knew that Dan was physically in the race.
Steve, Clay and Crocker were well ahead of us, while Hamilton and Beck were positioned behind.
Within the cockpit of an Unlimited Class air racer, there is a sense of speed and motion that is unusual, if not rare and unique. One just seems to glide over the terrain, like a falcon patrolling it's territory. Through the Plexiglas-bubble canopy, your view of the desert landscape is peppered by patches of sagebrush and creosote, along with the occasional pylon standing as a marker on the course.
Life exists "out there," but traveling at 400 miles per hour, you're not really aware of it.
No, life only exists in your cockpit, while everything around you is beautifully surreal. The feeling is exhilarating, even as you sweat and work away at the camera from within a very confined space.
In the moments that I had Dan and his racer in my viewfinder, spatial disorientation occurred (2), adding an abstract effect to an already "Calderesque" scene.
"Ridge Runner III," like "Ciuchetton," was a silvery, low-winged, single-engine racer, with a sleek fuselage topped by a bubble canopy, in turn, balanced by an airscoop fitted beneath wing and fuselage. Her helmeted pilot seated within that canopy, "Ridge Runner III's" four-bladed propeller whirled away, cutting into the sky while pulling this elegant mount and its "jockey" along. On the side of the engine cover, a painted "nose art" depicting the original aircraft's combat record, topped with an ungainly, tusked, "Arkansas Razorback" (a species of boar), represented in the inevitable, angry "Charge!"
Suspended against the desert landscape like an artistic piece on a mobile, pilot and racing plane seemed to dive at the terrain one moment, then in the next, furiously climb near-vertical against the blue Mojave sky. Both pilot and aircraft were operating at the "max" --not so much "flying and competing," but rather--from my perspective--"fighting and holding on" against some invisible force that was out there, seeking to thwart their quest. Pylons were "Windmills," and here was Martin in the midst of a Quixotic joust! All the time, I am watching... I remember it well!
...Dan's P-51 racing over the Mojave landscape beneath us; John and I keeping pace with him in another P-51; Dan staying just ahead of us, low to the ground and to our right.
We started gaining on "Ridge Runner III," and closed directly over Dan in a vertical, wingtip-to-wingtip duel.
Several miles away, the perspective for others was far different than mine. The crowd watched as an aerial ballet took place between our racers. Now, both aircraft were low above the desert floor, the pylons more defined as we roared by each.
At 400 miles per hour, a wing-strike with a pylon--essentially a telephone pole topped by a 55-gallon oil drum--would be lethal. There was no room for mistakes, and Dan was closer to the pylons than us!
As we banked hard into another turn, Dan's aircraft seemed to drift upwards towards us.Again, we were instantly wingtip-to-wingtip with him. For a moment, it even appeared as though we were going to collide.
My seatpack chute beneath me was at the ready. John had Dan in sight. There was nothing I could do--there as an observer--a mere passenger in the seat behind John. Dan's P-51 veered closer and appeared to be sliding upwards. All that was left for me was to shoot pictures, since that's what I was there for.
Our proximity to Dan was no longer relevant to my mission.
Knowing prior to the flight that what was about to occur had been a possibility all along, I now had to face a real danger, still keep the camera working, and think no more about it.
I was UPI's representative seated in the middle of a dangerous event. I was finally, a photojournalist operating in his element.
Then things got worse.
Suddenly, Dan's P-51 seemed to shoot up off the course at us! Instinctively, I lowered my camera to watch, not so much fearful as surprised. Also instinctively, I clicked the shutter and took a shot as I did...
A fraction of a second passes rapidly. A fraction of a second doesn't give one enough time to sit and watch his trivial life "pass before his eyes." Nor, does it really even give one time enough to die. That's how close the three of us were about to come to death...
...a mere fraction of a second in time.
Lady Luck would either watch over us very carefully, or scatter us to the four winds!
This time, she was watching.
I say to myself, "Man! That was close! Dan must have had trouble and pulled out."
Then it's John and I in "Ciuchetton," seemingly alone on the course, though there's a race underway and other aircraft out there.
Though the engine's running at high speed, and heat continues to poor into the cockpit, making the environment around us seem like a sauna; there is a silence and a stillness within as I photograph the pylons and their crews, hoping for more racing aircraft to photograph.
Sitting there, I could tell the race was about to end.
In my headset, I hear two "Maydays." "Miss America's" engine has unraveled, and the other unidentified aircraft is a precautionary. In the Pace Plane overhead, Hoover diverts to assist the pilots.
Both aircraft make it down safely.
Then comes the announcement, "The race is over! The race is over!" John climbs for altitude and sets up for landing. I look at the grandstands as we pass and they are near empty. We were the last race of the day.
Steve won the race, then went on to win his fourth consecutive Championship within the period of a year--a new record which stands to this day, some twenty years later.
I shot one roll of black and white film, and another roll of color. I came away with very little. The shot I missed--of the RB-51 at the beginning of the race, would probably have been the one utilized.
The shots of Dan don't give the "human perspective" of a sense of "what is going on" event-wise. None of the shots were utilized by UPI. Just the same, four other shots are published by their L.A. office "over the wire," including a fine shot taken during practice laps of the late Ralph Twombly flying his SNJ Trainer.
In that wirephoto, Ralph is between myself and Outer Pylon Six at Mojave, and I'm focusing down on both. Risk to me during the practice laps was minimal.
Was the risk worth it--ignoring the dangers--to take a few photos that ultimately, never get published?
Sometimes, the odds are neither with you nor against you. One takes a risk, they stand a chance of losing. One breaks even, they get handed another chance. I don't recommend gambling--throwing one's money or their life away--but I do recommend taking risks in life.
In the end--John, Dan and I, broke even and walked away. All three of us live to race another day. John and Dan still have the opportunity before them to become "Champions."
I live to risk again and "get that photograph!" If I ever do race again my hope is that Lady Luck is always watching over me... ....and never once, turns her head. (3)
Notes:
(1) One "g" = one times the weight of gravity. Air Racers can pull between six and nine or more "g's" during a race, in a "positive" (force applied) or negative (force denied or weightlessness) direction. At nine "g's," and without a pressure suit, a pilot can begin to "gray out" when the blood in his head is forced to his feet in a positive g. In a negative g, the blood can rush to his head, causing him to begin to "red out."
(2) Another issue with "Spatial Disorientation" is "Who is doing what..." Dan hadn't drifted up towards us, rather--we had drifted down on him! In reviewing the photos afterwards, not only is Dan's aircraft closer to us (thus the effect of him drifting upwards), so too is the ground (the ground is not supposed to do that...heh...heh...) Though Dan was upset about it afterwards, he was the consummate gentleman. While waiting to speak with John, I mentioned our close call and how I had been taking pictures--and it was "just like Christmas..."--Dan looked at me, gave me that look of a kid with a new bike, and said: "Can I have a copy!?" Dan Martin is a frequent visitor to the Air Races, and the Annual "Warbird Roundup," held in Santa Maria, California, one hour north of Santa Barbara. Santa Maria show information is available through the Santa Maria Museum of Flight in the U.S. 805 area code, or the City of Santa Maria Chamber of Commerce.
(3) For what it's worth--I spoke after the race with Steve Galvin, CNAR's Official Event Photographer, who was unaware that I had completed my coordination's--let alone--been up in the race and was back again. Steve got with Scott Rayburn, who was a long-time Press Coordinator, and both only recalled one other photographer ever going up in an air race with official sanction. "Unofficially," they indicated, "this makes you the second photographer in the history of the sport to fly in a racer during a race."
Images and text of "The Ride" are Copyright 1999 Mark S. Daniels, all rights are reserved.
Reproduction of any portion of this story, without the express permission of the author, is prohibited.
Publishing rights were previously issued by the author to Airport Fence Productions, Inc. The author retains all future rights to the content.
As published in Arlene S. Usander's "A Touch of Fate."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
About The Author: Mark S. Daniels, a US Army Veteran, has worked as a contributor (stringer) for Army Times, The Fort Campbell Courier, FAA Aviation News, United Press International (UPI), Associated Press (AP), Reuters, and Pacific Flyer, among others.
For a brief period, he served as the Staff Photographer for the now defunct, Aviation Illustrated magazine. Daniels airline photography is currently featured in the British publication, "Dream Schemes," by Stuart Spicer; and his stories "The Wave," and "The Ride," are soon to be featured in a compilation of short stories about fate and destiny, by Arlene S. Uslander, of Glenview, Illinois.
Daniels, now 53, attended his first Air Race in 1976, at Mojave, California, and now lives in Reno, Nevada, not far from the site of the National Championship Air Races.
Mark now serves as President of Images Of Light Internet Press Service ; Chief Photographer, Images Of Light -- M. Daniels Photography; and Editor-in-Chief, of Silver State News Service, of Reno, Nevada.
Mark S. Daniels retains volumes of photographic and literary materials of historic and current air racing documentation.
(Copyright 1998 Mark S. "Bear" Daniels)
Loved this post. Thanks for sharing your day!
ReplyDeletemassachusetts criminal defense attorney