Paul Elliot
January 11th 07, 11:00 PM
Larry Dighera wrote:
> Submitted by: "Martin X. Moleski, SJ" >
>
>
> Written by Brian Schul - former sled (SR-71 Blackbird) driver
>
> There were a lot of things we couldn't do in an SR-71, but we were the
> fastest guys on the block and loved reminding our fellow aviators of
> this fact. People often asked us if, because of this fact, it was fun
> to fly the jet. Fun would not be the first word I would use to
> describe flying this plane. Intense, maybe. Even cerebral. But there
> was one day in our Sled experience when we would have to say that it
> was pure fun to be the fastest guys out there, at least for a moment.
>
> It occurred when Walt and I were flying our final training sortie. We
> needed 100 hours in the jet to complete our training and attain
> Mission Ready status. Somewhere over Colorado we had passed the
> century mark. We had made the turn in Arizona and the jet was
> performing flawlessly. My gauges were wired in the front seat and we
> were starting to feel pretty good about ourselves, not only because
> we would soon be flying real missions but because we had gained a
> great deal of confidence in the plane in the past ten months. Ripping
> across the barren deserts 80,000 feet below us, I could already see
> the coast of California from the Arizona border. I was, finally, after
> many humbling months of simulators and study, ahead of the jet.
>
> I was beginning to feel a bit sorry for Walter in the back seat. There
> he was, with no really good view of the incredible sights before us,
> tasked with monitoring four different radios. This was good practice
> for him for when we began flying real missions, when a priority
> transmission from headquarters could be vital. It had been difficult,
> too, for me to relinquish control of the radios, as during my entire
> flying career I had controlled my own transmissions. But it was part
> of the division of duties in this plane and I had adjusted to it. I
> still insisted on talking on the radio while we were on the ground,
> however. Walt was so good at many things, but he couldn't match my
> expertise at sounding smooth on the radios, a skill that had been
> honed sharply with years in fighter squadrons where the slightest
> radio miscue was grounds for beheading. He understood that and allowed
> me that luxury.
>
> Just to get a sense of what Walt had to contend with, I pulled the
> radio toggle switches and monitored the frequencies along with him.
> The predominant radio chatter was from Los Angeles Center, far below
> us, controlling daily traffic in their sector. While they had us on
> their scope (albeit briefly), we were in uncontrolled airspace and
> normally would not talk to them unless we needed to descend into their
> airspace.
>
> We listened as the shaky voice of a lone Cessna pilot asked Center for
> a readout of his ground speed. Center replied: "November Charlie 175,
> I'm showing you at ninety knots on the ground."
>
> Now the thing to understand about Center controllers, was that whether
> they were talking to a rookie pilot in a Cessna, or to Air Force One,
> they always spoke in the exact same, calm, deep, professional, tone
> that made one feel important. I referred to it as the " Houston Center
> voice." I have always felt that after years of seeing documentaries on
> this country's space program and listening to the calm and distinct
> voice of the Houston controllers, that all other controllers since
> then wanted to sound like that, and that they basically did.
> And it didn't matter what sector of the country we would be flying in,
> it always seemed like the same guy was talking. Over the years that
> tone of voice had become somewhat of a comforting sound to pilots
> everywhere. Conversely, over the years, pilots always wanted to ensure
> that, when transmitting, they sounded like Chuck Yeager, or at least
> like John Wayne. Better to die than sound bad on the radios.
>
> Just moments after the Cessna's inquiry, a Twin Beech piped up on
> frequency, in a rather superior tone, asking for his ground speed. "I
> have you at one hundred and twenty-five knots of ground speed." Boy, I
> thought, the Beechcraft really must think he is dazzling his Cessna
> brethren. Then out of the blue, a navy F-18 pilot out of NAS Lemoore
> came up on frequency. You knew right away it was a Navy jock because
> he sounded very cool on the radios. "Center, Dusty 52 ground speed
> check". Before Center could reply, I'm thinking to myself, hey, Dusty
> 52 has a ground speed indicator in that million-dollar cockpit, so why
> is he asking Center for a readout? Then I got it, ol' Dusty here is
> making sure that every bug smasher from Mount Whitney to the Mojave
> knows what true speed is. He's the fastest dude in the valley today,
> and he just wants everyone to know how much fun he is having in his
> new Hornet. And the reply, always with that same, calm, voice, with
> more distinct alliteration than emotion: "Dusty 52, Center, we have
> you at 620 on the ground."
>
> And I thought to myself, is this a ripe situation, or what? As my hand
> instinctively reached for the mic button, I had to remind myself that
> Walt was in control of the radios. Still, I thought, it must be done -
> in mere seconds we'll be out of the sector and the opportunity will be
> lost. That Hornet must die, and die now. I thought about all of our
> Sim training and how important it was that we developed well as a crew
> and knew that to jump in on the radios now would destroy the integrity
> of all that we had worked toward becoming. I was torn.
>
> Somewhere, 13 miles above Arizona, there was a pilot screaming inside
> his space helmet. Then, I heard it. The click of the mic button from
> the back seat. That was the very moment that I knew Walter and I had
> become a crew. Very professionally, and with no emotion, Walter spoke:
> "Los Angeles Center, Aspen 20, can you give us a ground speed check?"
> There was no hesitation, and the replay came as if was an everyday
> request. "Aspen 20, I show you at one thousand eight hundred and
> forty-two knots, across the ground."
>
> I think it was the forty-two knots that I liked the best, so accurate
> and proud was Center to deliver that information without hesitation,
> and you just knew he was smiling. But the precise point at which I
> knew that Walt and I were going to be really good friends for a long
> time was when he keyed the mic once again to say, in his most
> fighter-pilot-like voice: "Ah, Center, much thanks, we're showing
> closer to nineteen hundred on the money."
>
> For a moment Walter was a god. And we finally heard a little crack in
> the armor of the Houston Center voice, when L.A.came back with, "Roger
> that Aspen, Your equipment is probably more accurate than ours. You
> boys have a good one."
>
> It all had lasted for just moments, but in that short, memorable
> sprint across the southwest, the Navy had been flamed, all mortal
> airplanes on freq were forced to bow before the King of Speed, and
> more importantly, Walter and I had crossed the threshold of being a
> crew. A fine day's work. We never heard another transmission on that
> frequency all the way to the coast.
>
> For just one day, it truly was fun being the fastest guys out there.
>
>
>
> ================================================== ================
> [ This is an excerpt from one of author Brian Schul's books:
>
> Sled Driver : Flying the World's Fastest Jet.
>
> Brian Schul, is a retired U. S. Air Force fighter pilot who was
> severely burned in the crash of an AT-28 working on a clandestine
> mission in Laos. He not only survived, but came back on flight status
> to fly again and serve as an A-10 and SR-71 pilot.
>
> While this excerpt is from a published work, and submitted by other
> than its author, I would prefer to see original works, submitted by
> their authors, appear in rec.aviation.piloting, as is implicit in the
> charter for this newsgroup.
>
> Larry Dighera, Moderator ]
Nice story Larry!
Thanks!
> Submitted by: "Martin X. Moleski, SJ" >
>
>
> Written by Brian Schul - former sled (SR-71 Blackbird) driver
>
> There were a lot of things we couldn't do in an SR-71, but we were the
> fastest guys on the block and loved reminding our fellow aviators of
> this fact. People often asked us if, because of this fact, it was fun
> to fly the jet. Fun would not be the first word I would use to
> describe flying this plane. Intense, maybe. Even cerebral. But there
> was one day in our Sled experience when we would have to say that it
> was pure fun to be the fastest guys out there, at least for a moment.
>
> It occurred when Walt and I were flying our final training sortie. We
> needed 100 hours in the jet to complete our training and attain
> Mission Ready status. Somewhere over Colorado we had passed the
> century mark. We had made the turn in Arizona and the jet was
> performing flawlessly. My gauges were wired in the front seat and we
> were starting to feel pretty good about ourselves, not only because
> we would soon be flying real missions but because we had gained a
> great deal of confidence in the plane in the past ten months. Ripping
> across the barren deserts 80,000 feet below us, I could already see
> the coast of California from the Arizona border. I was, finally, after
> many humbling months of simulators and study, ahead of the jet.
>
> I was beginning to feel a bit sorry for Walter in the back seat. There
> he was, with no really good view of the incredible sights before us,
> tasked with monitoring four different radios. This was good practice
> for him for when we began flying real missions, when a priority
> transmission from headquarters could be vital. It had been difficult,
> too, for me to relinquish control of the radios, as during my entire
> flying career I had controlled my own transmissions. But it was part
> of the division of duties in this plane and I had adjusted to it. I
> still insisted on talking on the radio while we were on the ground,
> however. Walt was so good at many things, but he couldn't match my
> expertise at sounding smooth on the radios, a skill that had been
> honed sharply with years in fighter squadrons where the slightest
> radio miscue was grounds for beheading. He understood that and allowed
> me that luxury.
>
> Just to get a sense of what Walt had to contend with, I pulled the
> radio toggle switches and monitored the frequencies along with him.
> The predominant radio chatter was from Los Angeles Center, far below
> us, controlling daily traffic in their sector. While they had us on
> their scope (albeit briefly), we were in uncontrolled airspace and
> normally would not talk to them unless we needed to descend into their
> airspace.
>
> We listened as the shaky voice of a lone Cessna pilot asked Center for
> a readout of his ground speed. Center replied: "November Charlie 175,
> I'm showing you at ninety knots on the ground."
>
> Now the thing to understand about Center controllers, was that whether
> they were talking to a rookie pilot in a Cessna, or to Air Force One,
> they always spoke in the exact same, calm, deep, professional, tone
> that made one feel important. I referred to it as the " Houston Center
> voice." I have always felt that after years of seeing documentaries on
> this country's space program and listening to the calm and distinct
> voice of the Houston controllers, that all other controllers since
> then wanted to sound like that, and that they basically did.
> And it didn't matter what sector of the country we would be flying in,
> it always seemed like the same guy was talking. Over the years that
> tone of voice had become somewhat of a comforting sound to pilots
> everywhere. Conversely, over the years, pilots always wanted to ensure
> that, when transmitting, they sounded like Chuck Yeager, or at least
> like John Wayne. Better to die than sound bad on the radios.
>
> Just moments after the Cessna's inquiry, a Twin Beech piped up on
> frequency, in a rather superior tone, asking for his ground speed. "I
> have you at one hundred and twenty-five knots of ground speed." Boy, I
> thought, the Beechcraft really must think he is dazzling his Cessna
> brethren. Then out of the blue, a navy F-18 pilot out of NAS Lemoore
> came up on frequency. You knew right away it was a Navy jock because
> he sounded very cool on the radios. "Center, Dusty 52 ground speed
> check". Before Center could reply, I'm thinking to myself, hey, Dusty
> 52 has a ground speed indicator in that million-dollar cockpit, so why
> is he asking Center for a readout? Then I got it, ol' Dusty here is
> making sure that every bug smasher from Mount Whitney to the Mojave
> knows what true speed is. He's the fastest dude in the valley today,
> and he just wants everyone to know how much fun he is having in his
> new Hornet. And the reply, always with that same, calm, voice, with
> more distinct alliteration than emotion: "Dusty 52, Center, we have
> you at 620 on the ground."
>
> And I thought to myself, is this a ripe situation, or what? As my hand
> instinctively reached for the mic button, I had to remind myself that
> Walt was in control of the radios. Still, I thought, it must be done -
> in mere seconds we'll be out of the sector and the opportunity will be
> lost. That Hornet must die, and die now. I thought about all of our
> Sim training and how important it was that we developed well as a crew
> and knew that to jump in on the radios now would destroy the integrity
> of all that we had worked toward becoming. I was torn.
>
> Somewhere, 13 miles above Arizona, there was a pilot screaming inside
> his space helmet. Then, I heard it. The click of the mic button from
> the back seat. That was the very moment that I knew Walter and I had
> become a crew. Very professionally, and with no emotion, Walter spoke:
> "Los Angeles Center, Aspen 20, can you give us a ground speed check?"
> There was no hesitation, and the replay came as if was an everyday
> request. "Aspen 20, I show you at one thousand eight hundred and
> forty-two knots, across the ground."
>
> I think it was the forty-two knots that I liked the best, so accurate
> and proud was Center to deliver that information without hesitation,
> and you just knew he was smiling. But the precise point at which I
> knew that Walt and I were going to be really good friends for a long
> time was when he keyed the mic once again to say, in his most
> fighter-pilot-like voice: "Ah, Center, much thanks, we're showing
> closer to nineteen hundred on the money."
>
> For a moment Walter was a god. And we finally heard a little crack in
> the armor of the Houston Center voice, when L.A.came back with, "Roger
> that Aspen, Your equipment is probably more accurate than ours. You
> boys have a good one."
>
> It all had lasted for just moments, but in that short, memorable
> sprint across the southwest, the Navy had been flamed, all mortal
> airplanes on freq were forced to bow before the King of Speed, and
> more importantly, Walter and I had crossed the threshold of being a
> crew. A fine day's work. We never heard another transmission on that
> frequency all the way to the coast.
>
> For just one day, it truly was fun being the fastest guys out there.
>
>
>
> ================================================== ================
> [ This is an excerpt from one of author Brian Schul's books:
>
> Sled Driver : Flying the World's Fastest Jet.
>
> Brian Schul, is a retired U. S. Air Force fighter pilot who was
> severely burned in the crash of an AT-28 working on a clandestine
> mission in Laos. He not only survived, but came back on flight status
> to fly again and serve as an A-10 and SR-71 pilot.
>
> While this excerpt is from a published work, and submitted by other
> than its author, I would prefer to see original works, submitted by
> their authors, appear in rec.aviation.piloting, as is implicit in the
> charter for this newsgroup.
>
> Larry Dighera, Moderator ]
Nice story Larry!
Thanks!