Backcountry Pilot • SR-71 story

SR-71 story

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SR-71 story

Moderator note: This is an exerpt from "Sled Driver" by Brian Shul.
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I was forwarded this today from a landlords son who is a pilot in the Air Force.

Subject: SR71 speed is king
There were a lot of things we could’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 plan 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 “ HoustonCentervoice.” 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 Houstoncontrollers, 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 groundspeed.

Ah, Twin Beach.
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 HoustonCentervoice, 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
steve offline
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good story,

in my plane there are only two times that the numbers 1 abd 9 go together, at 19 miles an hour and at 19 knots, well before we are even air born, after we become an airplane those numbers never go together!
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That is an excerpt from a book called "Sled Driver" by Brian Shul. It is a great book, sadly out of print, except for a very special edition that he is currently trying to sell.

Brian is now retired from the Air Force, and runs a gallery in Marysville, Ca.

His work, including this quote, is copyrighted, by the way.

MTV
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That is a classic-I would like to read that book.
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I was thinking about buying one until i saw the price,427 buks.For only 25 bucks more he will give a personalized message and autograph.Do many people buy a book that expensive?
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Must be trying to supliment his retirment. For a few bucks more, you could buy a Guttenburg Bible.

Tim
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Re: SR-71 story

It is a great book. One I purchased many years ago. A few years later while home in Oregon I flew my father to McMinnville to visit the Evergreen Muesum. Brian was a guest speaker that day, and I immediately thought of my copy of Sled Driver sitting on a bookshelf in Key West. Missed opportunity. :cry:
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Re: SR-71 story

Years ago there was a TV interview with a sled crew on one of those nightly entertainment shows. After the usual platitudes the obligatory speed question was asked. I don't remember the Major's name but he said all I can do is relate a story for you.
"After takeoff from Beale AFB we hooked up with a tanker to replace the fuel used on takeoff. After topping off the tanks we headed north. 15 minutes after takeoff we had a problem that necessitated slowing to sub-sonic then turning back to Beale. It took us 2 and a half hours to get back."
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Re: SR-71 story

I met Brian at Golden West once. There was this horribly disfigured guy peddling books. It was out of pity that I even went over to talk to him. We talked about the books a bit and then I couldn't resist any more and asked him how he got the burns on his face.

He told me that he crashed his jet in Viet Nam. That he was barely alive when they pulled him from the wreckage. He was burned beyond recognition but still alive. He floated in and out of consciousness in the hospital hearing doctor tell his visitors that he wasn't going to make it. He did make it but was told he'd never regain flight status. He did regain flight status. He put in for the SR-71 and was told he'd never get selected. He did get selected. And some years later he was sitting in the cockpit of his S$-71 and could see that hospital that he lay "dying" in some years before. He was cleared to take off but his course deviated somewhat. He flew out over the hospital at fairly low level and then went full afterburner directly over it. He said was kind of an F-U to the doctors. The tower started to chide him but quickly caught themselves after they figured out what he was doing. All that came out was "um.... proceed on course."

I went to his lecture later in the day. What an inspiration. If you ever get a chance to talk to him or hear him talk, don't pass up the opportunity. His message is, don't ever let anyone tell you that you can't.
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SR-71 story

I have an autographed copy :-)
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Re: SR-71 story

svanarts wrote:I met Brian at Golden West once. There was this horribly disfigured guy peddling books. It was out of pity that I even went over to talk to him. We talked about the books a bit and then I couldn't resist any more and asked him how he got the burns on his face.

He told me that he crashed his jet in Viet Nam. That he was barely alive when they pulled him from the wreckage. He was burned beyond recognition but still alive. He floated in and out of consciousness in the hospital hearing doctor tell his visitors that he wasn't going to make it. He did make it but was told he'd never regain flight status. He did regain flight status. He put in for the SR-71 and was told he'd never get selected. He did get selected. And some years later he was sitting in the cockpit of his S$-71 and could see that hospital that he lay "dying" in some years before. He was cleared to take off but his course deviated somewhat. He flew out over the hospital at fairly low level and then went full afterburner directly over it. He said was kind of an F-U to the doctors. The tower started to chide him but quickly caught themselves after they figured out what he was doing. All that came out was "um.... proceed on course."

I went to his lecture later in the day. What an inspiration. If you ever get a chance to talk to him or hear him talk, don't pass up the opportunity. His message is, don't ever let anyone tell you that you can't.


Now that brought some tears.

Tim
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Re: SR-71 story

From his website bio:

"Pilot/Author Brian Shul was born in Quantico, Virginia, in 1948. He graduated from East Carolina University in 1970 with a degree in History. That same year he joined the Air Force and attended pilot training at Reese AFB in Texas.

Brian served as a Foreign Air Advisor in the Viet Nam conflict, flying 212 close air support missions in conjunction with Air America. Near the end of all hostilities, his AT-28 aircraft was shot down near the Cambodian border. Unable to eject from the aircraft, Brian was forced to crash land into the jungle. Miraculously surviving, he was severely burned in the ensuing fireball. Crawling from the burning wreckage, he was finally found and rescued by a Special Forces team.

He was evacuated to a military hospital in Okinawa where he was expected to die. Barely surviving 2 months of intensive care, in 1974 he was flown to the Institute of Surgical Research at Ft Sam Houston, Texas. During the following year, he underwent 15 major operations. During this time he was told he'd never fly again and just lucky to be alive. Months of physical therapy followed, enabling Brian to eventually pass a flight physical and return to active flying duty.

Two days after being released from the hospital, Brian was back flying Air Force fighter jet aircraft. He went on to fly the A-7D, and was then selected to be a part of the first operational A-10 squadron at Myrtle Beach, SC, where he was on the first A-10 air show demonstration team. After a tour as an A-10 Instructor Pilot in Arizona, he went on to instruct at the Air Force's Fighter Lead-In School as the Chief of Air-to-Ground Academics. As a final assignment in his career, Brian volunteered for and was selected to fly the super secret spy plane, the SR-71. This assignment required an astronaut type physical just to qualify, and Brian passed with no waivers.

Brian's phenomenal comeback story from laying near dead in the jungle of Southeast Asia, to later flying the world's fastest, highest flying jet, has been the subject of numerous magazine articles and an inspiration to many. "

http://galleryonepublishing.com/BlackbirdStores/Biography.html
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Re: SR-71 story

I'm thinking since most of us are interested in the other side of performance this might be of interest...
RB


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.
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Re: SR-71 story

If you are looking for a copy of Sled Driver go to your local libary and they can find a copy on loan from another libary, you may need to pay some shiping but better than mega buck for a copy been there donr that. Loan to your frinds while you have it .
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