Posted on 12/20/2009 3:47:34 PM PST by The Magical Mischief Tour
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.
Good story. Enjoyed reading it :)
When I was stationed TDY at Beale AFB we used to watch them from the flight line of KC-135Qs. Take off and landings were awesome!
They would roll down the runway, afterburners on, hit the end of the runway, then pull up into a verticle and go out of sight straight up!
Saw one crash aslo. It was coming in for a landing at Beale,, got low, then when blocked by some trees in the way, a puff of smoke, then firetrucks rushing toward the end of the runway.
Ping to LucyT.
Had to go looking for this .. I think that you will get a real kick out of it!
http://www.fromtheinside.us/thinking/Groundspeed_Check.htm
I do appreciate the confirmation. That’s one story that most don’t believe.
In 1991 I had a layover at McConnel AFB and the security cops took some of us on a nice tour that concluded with us standing on the runway apron as the B-1 bomber taxied by and took off.
Loudest f’n noise I’ve ever experienced, felt like my guts were going to turn to jelly.
I made my home on Okinawa also. Two different times for a total of eight years. Most of the time I was elsewhere, but I was fortunate to see, several times, the Habu take off and return. The “word” would always get around and a small group would assemble at the small hill overlooking the runway at Kadena. Eventually, the Habu and accompanying vehicles would appear and take position for takeoff. The takeoff was an awsome sight that always amazed this lowly private pilot.
Buddy of mine used to fuel them in Guam. Said the seals were designed to not seal completely till it got up to the correct operating temp.
So if you fuel it when it’s cold, they’d have to hose down the area after because jet fuel was everywhere!
Worked flight line for P-3s at Whidbey Island in 94 when a B-1 did some touch-in-gos. Loud is an understatement!
It’s quite a coincidence that this story gets posted at the exact time I’m scanning my old negatives from the 1983 Paine Field airshow in Everett, WA. We were graced with an appearance by an SR-71.
On arrival day, the pilot did the traditional low passes over the field to announce their arrival. That cleared out the Boeing office buildings adjacent to the field almost as quick as the last big earthquake did. Since this was in the gold, old pre-9/11 days, there wasn’t much security around the field. After work, still in my coat and tie, I drove over and found the hanger that the blackbird was using and casually joined a group being given a guided tour. It was apparent that this was some sort of invitation only thing, but nobody questioned me so I just hung out with the tour.
In the course of the tour, I found out what the ETD ws going to be on Monday morning. A bunch of us took a break from work, jumped in the bed of one guy’s pickup and parked ourselves at what we figured would be the takeoff end of the runway.
We had a deeply religeous experience. The crew did several low passes in burner right over our heads. For the last pass, they came down the runway in military power, pulled vertical, hit the afterburners and pretty much vanished.
I’ve been to a lot of airshows before and since and I see a lot of aviation in my profession, but this remains the absolute best airplane epxerience I’ve ever had, seen and felt.
Amazing story I wonder if the plane was raining/dripping fuel as it flew by.
My dad was on the design and original build out team for this bird. He worked under Kelly Johnson at the Lockheed Skunk Works . After a 24 year career in the USAAF/USAF , that project was the crown gem . I don’t know if he ever got to fly in it , but he sure was proud of it . Dad passed earlier this year.
Saw it do a low speed pass over the lake at the Cleveland Air Show years ago. The engines made kind of a low-pitched hum.
I never tire of these stories. Thanks for the link.
Later
Thank you.
I spent many afternoons at Mildenhall watcing those and other birds as a kid in England. I can imagine the stunned faces of those kids as that birds knifed by on afterburner. As a pilot now, I can understand that even though they were flying Mach 3+ in many cases they were always in a small narrow nose angle that too much or too little was out of control. To throw that thing into afterburners and basically stall on edge that low is beyond wet pants territory. Those kids saw something probably no one else can claim and a sight not even Hollyweird can do well. That aircraft ROARS on afterburner.
I’d love to have seen it! Flying from Jax to Las Vegas two weeks ago, over New Mexico we saw about a mile to the north two AF jets going the other way on burners. First one, then the other 30 seconds behind. I couldn’t get a positive ID on the jet type, I’m guessing F-16s, but the flames were longer than the jets as they shot past going eastbound. No sound, but what a sight!
Kelly Johnson, now THAT was a mind and a program manager! WOW! Out of the box doesn’t come close!
What a great story! As a pilot myself, I can only imagine what a thrill it would be to fly that bird. It must be beyond description.
Amazing! Thanks for posting.
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