Flight

When aviators ask, "What's it like flying the SR-71?", I usually tell them it's not like any other aircraft they might have ever flown. In normal military and civilian worlds of flying, a pilot doesn't have to concentrate and focus his attention on his aircraft's operating parameters. He concentrates on whatever his primary mission is and assumes his aircraft will fly satisfactory to allow him to accomplish that mission. Flying the SR-71 was just the opposite. You devoted so much of your concentration and flying skills to keep the aircraft running at peak efficiency, that the primary mission of reconnaissance felt very secondary.

Even as complex and highly sophisticated as the aircraft was, it went 17 years straight without an accident. That's an accomplishment equaled by very few aircraft in the Air Force inventory. I'll always remember night flying in the SR-71 and looking back at the afterburners through the aircraft's periscope. At high altitude they formed a brilliant blue flame that came to a small point, much like a gas Bunsen burner or a propane welding torch. In absolute silence inside the pressure suit, I could advance the throttles from min AB to max AB and watch the blue flame grow larger and brighter. I'd think to myself, "such unbelievable power at your fingertips, if only all the aviators in the world could live this experience!"

Lt. Viktor Belenko
Soviet pilot

"American reconnaissance planes, SR-71's, were prowling off the coast, staying just outside Soviet airspace but photographing terrain hundreds of miles inland with side-angle cameras. They taunted and toyed with the MiG-25s sent up to intercept them, scooting up to altitudes the Soviet planes could not reach, and circling leisurely above them or dashing off at speeds the Russians could not match."

"One would be remiss as a Habu not to mention air refueling. Aside from white-knuckle monitoring of the "beast" throughout the sensitive area, nothing was more demanding that the process of getting a pressure disconnect with full tanks. This was a full team effort, and the parts played by tanker and RSO can't be sufficiently lauded. These thoughts are a front seat memory merely because that's about all this 46 year old mind can recall with anything approaching clarity."

"Even a day VFR refueling over northern Nevada was potentially an aircraft handling exercise to physically drain the best pilot. Given night and weather in heavy thunderstorms over the South China Sea, and you had the recipe for an exercise which frequently left one weak in both body and mind for a considerable time. Alternatively, though the adrenaline was probably already present, nothing could beat the thrill of successfully getting the offload in the midst of crackling St. Elmo's Fire, turbulence to rival a series of your best "unstarts," and lightning which left you three-quarters blind. Throw in a Star Wars kaleidoscope of reflected lights from the cockpit and a 1960s out-of-body experience would not have been beyond the realm of possibility. But then from the back seat, "Hey, no problem pilot, you're upside down, but wings are level and almost full tanks!"

Lt. Col. Les Dyer

A rare photograph of what maintenance believed was all the TEB (triethylborane) shooting out of its tank to ignite the afterburners. The liquid chemical had the physical property of exploding when exposed to air. Preceded slightly by fuel, the TEB exploded and ignited the afterburners. The picture had been taken from several different angles and became quite popular among aviation enthusiasts. Visible moisture is seen streaming from the chine and wing.

Maj. Geno Quist

"On 13 December 1984, we were flying 974 on a sortie out of Mildenhall. The weather had been typical England winter weather, and some snow and ice were on the roads and taxiways. We were taxiing to the end of the runway when we tried to stop for the engine run- up checks, and the airplane wouldn't stop. We were on pure "black ice!" I had just seen and heard another aircraft taxi onto the active runway at the other end, so I immediately called the tower to say we may be unable to hold short - please stop the other aircraft. At the same time some of our maintenance troops were running from their vehicles to try to stop us by throwing chocks under the tires. I saw one of them fall down as his feet literally slipped out from under him. We finally stopped. Needless to say, the engine run-up checks were done during the takeoff roll. Bottom line - mission accomplished."

"Mike Smith and I were TDY (temporary duty) for our first time to Midenhall for our normal six week rotation. We went to the Det one morning to fly a routine six hour sortie - the Barents and the Baltic. During the preflight briefings, the intelligence officer said a nuclear power site (Chernobyl) in the Soviet Union had an accident a few hours earlier. They had no information on it yet. The weather briefing officer gave his normal briefing, but also mentioned they double checked with the weather service at Offutt AFB that we would not fly through any of the fall-out from Chernobyl. With the briefings done and no one concerned about our route of flight, we went to the jet and flew a normal mission."

"The normal routine after an operational mission is to land and continue to taxi off the runway and directly into the hangar so they could download the mission take. But as we landed and turned off the runway, we were told to stop way before the hangar. We both thought this was very strange and couldn't understand why we were stopping here. Then one person, and only one, dressed in very funny looking gear, came walking up to the plane. As he got closer, we could see he was in full chemical gear and had a Geiger counter. After they had guaranteed Mike and I that we were in no danger of flying through radiation from Chernobyl, they were checking the plane before any of THEM would get close to us! Once he walked about the plane with the Geiger counter, we were allowed to continue to taxi into the hanger."

Lt. Col. Doug Soifer

The SR-71's afterburners produced perfect blow torch flames with nine highly visible, concentric, circular shock waves. The individual shock waves are formed by the supersonic air exiting the engine. As power was increased from "min" AB to "max" AB, the blowtorch grew from 20 feet long to about 30 feet.

Periodically, maintenance would test run an engine at night at their test stand facility. The AB engine noise was so loud that its sound waves caused your entire body to shake. Certain parts of the engine became translucent from the extreme heating and appeared as if you could actually see inside the engine during the run. Every visitor who saw the J58 night engine run went away overwhelmed by the sheer power and beauty of the spectacle.

Col. Roger Jacks

"With the aircraft in the "AUTO NAV" mode, and about the time the aircraft reached 38,000 feet in the descent, it would all-of-a-sudden increase its pitch attitude until I started to believe it was going to bury itself and us about 100 feet into good old mother earth. I was really proud of myself one day while in this descent situation I quipped to my pilot, Joe Kinego, "What is a nice gut like you doing in a dive like this!"

"One vivid memory that I have, and JT and I talked about, was the experience of seeing the northern lights during the night sortie flown from Beale to Mildenhall. The route went so far north that at altitude during the cruise legs, the northern lights were also south of us. It gave the illusion of flying down a dark corridor at Mach 3 with the greenish colored lights rising like a wall above us on both sides."

Col. Tom Alison

The SR-71 was not originally envisioned to be a night flying reconnaissance aircraft. It wasn't until a radar imaging system was developed for the SR-71 that we could advertise a "day/night/all-weather" reconnaissance capability.

Habus were not overjoyed about operational night flying with the SR. Cockpit visibility with the pressure suit helmet on was minimal at best. Add to that the lack of any horizon at 75,000 feet at night, the criticality of bank angles over 35 degrees, and the ever-present possibility of unstarts occurring were all real concerns to the aircrews.

The typical scenario goes something like this: It's pitch black outside the cockpit, and you're in thick, pea-soup weather, encountering moderate turbulence with St. Elmo's fire dancing all over your windshield. Lightning flashing all around you. That scenario was not too uncommon, and for me, created the worst case of vertigo I ever experienced in my Air Force career - I'm positive that's why my hair started graying!

"If you were brave enough to turn all cockpit lights off at night in a turn, you would get the most spectacular sight imaginable. It appeared as though you were looking at a 3-D picture of the stars. Some actually appeared closer than others - truly an incredible sight."

Lt. Col. Rod Dyckman

Maj. Randy Shelhorse

"On Christmas eve, 24 Dec 1988, Maj. Warren "Mac" McKendree and I flew our 42nd operational sortie. The sortie designation was "GIANT REACH" 1041, and the area of operation was the Barents Sea, near the North Pole. After an uneventful flight through the "sensitive area" and while descending for the tanker rendezvous, I was required to make an inflight report, detailing the effectiveness of the "take." During this time, I transmitted an additional "PIREP" (pilot report) to a monitoring station in Keflavik, Iceland. I reported seeing a fat, bearded man dressed in red in a sleigh being pulled by reindeer just south of the North Pole. The female controller assured me that she would pass on this special sighting."

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