Reflecting on Reno

It's been difficult for me to sort out a number of conflicting impulses in the aftermath of the crash of Galloping Ghost at the National Championship Air Races in Reno, NV. My initial reflexive reaction was to recoil from the pointless tragedy. So much death and destruction for so little purpose! In the wake of the mishap, I would not have protested a decision to end these events forever. And yet...

In another context, these words have appeared in this venue:

"...it is very good for the character to engage in sports which put your life in danger from time to time. It breeds a saneness in dealing with day-to-day trivialities which probably cannot be got in any other way, and a habit of quick decisions."

This was written by Nevil Shute Norway in his autobiography, Slide Rule. And he did engage in such sporting activities: offshore yachting, motor racing, and aerial exhibitions. Air racing fits neatly into this context and has, in fact, a long heritage in aeronautical development.

Not long ago, I acquired a copy of The Conquering Wing by Grover C. Loening. This author was a giant figure in the early decades of American aviation. He managed the Wright Aircraft factory for Orville Wright, founded his own aircraft manufacturing firm, and made important contributions to aeronautical design. But in this book, published in 1970, he chose to write a work of fiction to convey what aviation was like in the U.S. prior to the First World War. Air racing is central to Loening's plot as it was central to pushing the bounds of technology before the imperatives of combat took over that role. And Grover Loening was there!

The names of the great air race trophies resonate with us. The Thompson Trophy, the Bendix Trophy, the Schneider Trophy. In pursuit of these prizes, the great pilots and engineers advanced the state of the art. Who can say what ships "the Few" would have had to launch against the onslaught of the Luftwaffe if Spitfire designer Reg Mitchell hadn't the opportunity to design the Supermarine S.6B (and its immediate progenitors) for the Schneider Cup?

The National Championship Air Races in Reno have carried on this rich tradition – but they have not fulfilled the role. Aeronautical engineering has passed by the air race. It no longer can serve as a technology driver. The only role left to it is commemoration of the glory of a bygone era. Who can say that isn't enough, for the zealous participants who willingly assume the obvious mortal risks?

But there must be a corollary to Shute's endorsement of danger-laced sport, stipulating that the dangers must not, beyond irreducible minima, devolve upon non-participants. In many cases – mountaineering, spelunking, white-water kayaking, as examples – all of the risk is assumed by the participant. But in some cases the risk to life and limb flows outward to others. For example, there has been controversy in the offshore yacht racing community over races that were started in awful weather, with a foreseeable likelihood that air-sea rescue teams would be called on to risk their lives to recover crews in distress. And now, there is controversy in the air race community, and in the wider community surrounding the races, about the risks assumed by spectators. This issue has been confronted by other motor sports and by the related air show community. Now the air race world will have to adapt.

The argument that spectators at high-risk events have somehow "volunteered" to accept the risk by choosing to be present does not hold water. It is the obligation of the participants and the event organizers to so arrange things that the dangers to which spectators are exposed are mitigated to the greatest degree possible. No "hold harmless" printed on the back of a ticket can change this.

Motor racing and the air-shows have implemented serious risk-mitigation efforts, triggered in each case by horrific mass-casualty mishaps. Motor racing changed forever after the 1955 LeMans Gran Prix accident. Thereafter, improved barriers, track reconfiguration and performance limits (e.g., restrictor plates) led to a profound reduction in spectator risk.

For the airshow world, the triggering event was the disastrous accident at the 1988 Ramstein Airshow in Germany. Three aircraft of the Italian Frecce Tricolori demonstration team crashed into the crowd causing 67 fatalities and hundreds of injuries on the ground. This led to regulations requiring designated buffers (of sizes that depend on aircraft performance) and a ban on aerobatic maneuvers that direct kinetic energy toward the spectators. In the U.S., each airshow functions under an FAA waiver that codifies these requirements.

An air race is a somewhat different animal. Because of the oval course configuration, the notion of "no energy directed toward the spectators" has been regarded as impractical for air races. (At Reno, the Grandstand is located in the apron area across the runway at the "bottom" of the oval course (left).) Thus, the tragedy at Reno was made possible.

It has been suggested that the spectators could be relocated inside the oval course. This notion has several drawbacks: (1) The cost of relocating the race's infrastructure could be prohibitively high; (2) much of the action would take place behind the spectators; and (3) the dimensions of the oval courses for the smaller, slower classes are confining.

There may be another alternative; one that would require the abandonment of two-dimensional thinking.

Keep the Grandstand and the Start/Finish line where they are. Run a "lap" that begins with a straight course from left to right across the front of the crowd (with an appropriate buffer distance ) at an altitude no lower than 1,200 feet AGL, After passing the crowd, there would be a tear-drop course reversal beginning with a turn away from the crowd and incorporating a descent to an altitude no higher than 1,000 feet AGL and then a second opposite direction straight pass in front of the stands. At the end of the second straight, a course reversal in the vertical plane (an "Immelman") to re-establish the aircraft on the initial straight.

This would give the spectators a good show, require a bit more of the pilots than "fly low, go fast and turn left", and enhance safety by ensuring that no kinetic energy is directed toward the crowd.

I can claim no qualification to justify my making suggestions to the air racing community at this sad time. But perhaps this sort of "out of the horizontal plane" thinking can help to bring about practical changes that will allow the Air Race tradition to continue and make the loss of Jimmy Leeward and ten others the impetus for a new era of reduced risk at Reno.

Jimmy Leeward – Gone West, 16 September 2011

Tweet

Muddy Waters

The flight from Connecticut to the DC area yesterday was thoroughly uneventful – the best kind! The adverse weather that came north with the remnants of Tropical Storm Lee had moved on leaving no trace aloft. But it's another matter at zero feet AGL.

Here (left) a look at the Hudson River from 8,000 feet, a few miles north of the Tappan Zee Bridge. Normally the entire river is the color of the waters seen at the lower left of the image, in Croton Bay. The bay is protected by the Croton Point peninsula. Outside this embayment, the river is a rich, silty brown from the massive upstream runoff that the rains of the past week generated. Upstate New York experienced almost as much flooding as Vermont and many small rural streams turned into raging torrents. Now, the Hudson is carrying the effluent to the sea.

About an hour later, this was the view of the Susquehanna from 6,000 feet. The stream flows from the bottom of the image toward the top and is usually a steely blue-gray. But with the upper Susquehanna reaching flood-stage and beyond at Binghamton and Wilkes-Barre, it isn't surprising to see it turned brown by a burden of silt headed for the Chesapeake. It may be a while before the region's rivers recover their accustomed colorations. Meanwhile, it's enlightening to see the changes induced by Mother Nature from the perspecive of a small aircraft a mile or so up.

And what happens to all that silt? Look at this NASA Landsat 5 image from 2 September. It shows (from a somewhat higher perspective) the Connecticut River depositing silt generated by runoff from Hurricane Irene into Long Island Sound. (Click here for a full description of the image.) That used to be a large part of Vermont, right there.

Tweet

Today at KBDR

The Collings Foundation WWII bombers mentioned in the previous post seem to have made it to KBDR despite the wet weather of the week. This morning they were parked on the ramp.

Witchcraft (below) is a Consolidated B-24J Liberator, one of very few left in airworthy condition.

Nine-O-Nine (below) is a Boeing B17-G Flying Fortress, a type that became more rare earlier this year when Liberty Belle burned after a forced landing (story here).

Along with Betty Jane, the P-51C Mustang, they are heading up the road to Waterbury-Oxford Airport (KOXC) for the weekend.

Tweet

Lee's Leftovers

Tropical Storm Lee arrived at the Gulf Coast a couple of days ago and has been working its way inland, losing its classic cyclonic form and devolving into a widespread, northeast-bound rain event. The precipitation field encroached on the DC area last evening and this morning N631S and I had some moisture to deal with on our trip north.

All in all it wasn't so bad. In and out of the showers all the way, with some rising to the level of "moderate." No turbulence to speak of, and for most of the trip a healthy tailwind. Just your basic rainy-day IFR flight, including a nice stretch over New Jersey (left) where the sky brightened and the rain stopped.

This pleasant interlude continued to the Coyle VOR (CYN), when McGuire Approach asked for a descent from 7,000 feet to 5,000 which was back in the schmoo...where we stayed until the final New York Approach controller took us down to 3,000 feet east of JFK. The flight ended with an easy ILS approach through a layer of few clouds at about 1,300 feet to BDR's Runway 6.

Having covered and tied down the airplane, I was walking toward the FBO when I saw the lovely machine pictured below, tucked into a hangar and out of the weather. That's Betty Jane, the Collings Foundation's North American P-51C Mustang, s/n 42-103293.

The aircraft has been modified to include a second seat with dual-controls (located where the fuselage fuel tank was). She's here for a few days – and her compatriot B-17G Flying Fortress and B-24J Liberator are also expected – for a few days of tours and warbird rides. It will be unfortunate if the wet weather forecast for the next few days dampens the event.

Tweet