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Arquivo mensal: Junho 2022
mistérios da aviação
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USAFTHE DAY AN F-106 SUPERSONIC FIGHTER LANDED ITSELF IN A CORNFIELD
1st Lt. Gary Foust was flying this Convair F-106A on February 2, 1970. When he fell into a flat spin, he ejected at 15,000 feet. The Delta Dart flew on until it landed in a Montana cornfield.
Unpiloted aircraft have taken off on their own, usually after a pilot hand-props the airplane to start it without realizing the throttle has been left wide open. The unguided missiles then charge across an airport willy-nilly, generally taking out themselves and a line of lightplanes, a hangar or a few parked cars. Sometimes, however, they obey the laws of aerodynamics and lift off, in a few cases flying for hours on their own. In December 2001, an Aeronca Champion took off empty from an airstrip in Sonoma County, California, and flew out of sight, assumedly until its fuel tanks ran dry. The crash site wasn’t found for days. In April 2009, an unpiloted vintage Stampe biplane took off during an airshow at Goodwood, England, and circled the airport for five minutes before crashing into trees.
But unpiloted airplanes that land themselves are another matter, though there are a few stories of uninhabited B-17s flying back to England after bombing raids and parking themselves unaided in a field because the entire crew had parachuted out. (We’ll mark as apocryphal the unpiloted Forts that somehow found a runway and also managed to spirit the landing gear down.)
Perhaps the most notorious ghost rider, however, was an unpiloted supersonic jet fighter that not only landed successfully but continued to play games while on the ground and was later patched up and put back into service. The infamous Cornfield Bomber, the name that has come down through U.S. Air Force lore, was a Convair F-106A Delta Dart that touched down surprisingly gently in a Montana farm field on February 2, 1970, after its pilot had punched out during a flat spin.

INCONSPICUOUS START TO THE DAY
That day started innocently enough—a slightly nonroutine three-ship training flight out of Malmstrom Air Force Base into clear but frigid Montana skies. It was originally scheduled as a two-on-two air combat maneuvering session, but the fourth ship had to abort when its drag chute popped on the ramp like spilled laundry, so the day’s task became a two-versus-one rat-racing session.
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Radar vectored, two of the F-106s turned head-to-head toward the third from 20 miles away. When they passed each other at the speed of heat, the fight was on. Instructor pilot Captain Tom Curtis, in the solo aggressor slot, described it:
I figured I could handle [1st Lt.] Gary [Foust] pretty easy, but I did not trust Jimmy [Major James Lowe]. I figured he would probably break off and come after me. With this thought in mind, I came at them in full afterburner. I was doing 1.9 Mach when we passed. I took them straight up at about 38,000 feet. We got into a vertical rolling scissors. I gave [Gary] a high-G rudder reversal. He tried to stay with me, that’s when he lost it. He got into a post-stall gyration…a very violent maneuver. His recovery attempt was unsuccessful and the aircraft stalled and went into a flat spin, which is usually unrecoverable.
The aircraft looked like the pitot tube [on its nose] was stationary with the aircraft rotating around it. Very flat and rotating quite slowly. Well, Gary rode it down to about 15,000 feet. All this time Jimmy Lowe was giving spin-recovery procedures. Part of the spin-recovery procedures is to actuate the takeoff trim button. This trims all the control surfaces to a takeoff setting, which is about the same as for landing.
Bingo.
EJECT!
Lieutenant Foust ejected at 15,000 feet—no dishonor there, as he had already cashed in four miles of altitude trying hard to prove the book wrong—but he abandoned a warm cockpit and an airplane trimmed to wings-level and a 175-knot glide at reduced power, which happens to be initial approach speed for a landing.
The F-106 then decided it had done enough flat-spinning for the day and recovered to straight-and-level flight. Which produced a memorable line: Major Lowe keyed his mike and radioed, “Gary, you’d better get back in it.”
The Delta Dart settled toward flat ground near Big Sandy, Mont. Ground effect at the last minute checked its descent nicely, and the fighter slid gently onto the snow. A local sheriff soon arrived, since the spectacular arrival had not gone unnoticed. No dummy, the cop read the name of the airplane’s main pilot under the canopy coaming—Major Wolfold—and got on the phone to Wolfold at Malmstrom for instructions on how to shut down the engine.

Fully coached on how to pull the power lever back to idle cutoff and turn off the master switch, the sheriff climbed the cockpit steps just as the F-106, its hot engine having melted the snow under the fuselage, began a jerky slide across the field. Now it was the sheriff’s turn to bail out. He decided waiting until all the fuel had been expended made more sense than playing instant jet pilot. Ultimately, the empty Convair traveled some 400 feet on its belly before it ran out of fuel. Pilot Foust, meanwhile, who was uninjured, was rescued by snowmobilers.
RUBBERNECKERS AND REPAIRS
Fortunately, the F-106’s unpredictability persuaded all the gathering spectators to stand clear, since the powerful radar in the Convair’s nose was still sweeping back and forth with microwave-oven intensity that would have been dangerous to anybody standing in front of the nose. An Air Force recovery team soon retrieved the airplane, though one pilot reportedly said that if there had been just slightly less damage to the belly, he’d have been happy to fly it out. The Delta Dart, its wings removed, was sent to storage at Davis Monthan AFB on a railroad flatcar, and sat in the Arizona sun until the late ’70s, when it was not only repaired but given a host of avionics upgrades. It was returned to service with the 49th Fighter-Interceptor Squadron, the last Air Force unit to operate F-106s. (Its original squadron, the 71st FIS, had been disbanded.)
Today the Cornfield Bomber sits in the National Museum of the U.S. Air Force, in Dayton, Ohio. It is still painted in the colors of the 49th, and to this day some members of that unit wish it had been restored as a 71st FIS airplane, just so nobody gets the idea that it was one of their guys who jumped out of a perfectly good airplane.
Frequent contributor Stephan Wilkinson has piloted nearly 120 aircraft types, but has only parachuted from an airplane once—and he’d like to keep it that way. “I came within an ace of becoming a lawn dart,” he says of the experience
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arqueologia em Vanuatu
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ucranianos rendam-se como os polacos fizeram na 2ª guerra
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portuguese sno Havaii
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Comboio Histórico do Douro entra nos carris este sábado
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Até 29 de outubro vai realizar 37 viagens, entre as estações de Peso da Régua e Foz-Tua, ida e volta. Cinco carruagens de madeira do início do século XX são puxadas por uma locomotiva a vapor.
Source: Comboio Histórico do Douro entra nos carris este sábado
Laser air defense will ‘bankrupt’ enemies firing rockets – Bennett – The Jerusalem Post
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“The system knows how to down mortar shells, unmanned vehicles and rockets,” Bennett said of the new laser defense system.
Source: Laser air defense will ‘bankrupt’ enemies firing rockets – Bennett – The Jerusalem Post
Como a mulher do eurodeputado do PCP foi contratada pela câmara de Setúbal (CDU) – Portugal – SÁBADO
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Autarquia abriu concurso para uma vaga mas contratou três pessoas, todas com ligações ao PCP, incluindo a mulher de João Pimenta Lopes e a filha do assessor de imprensa do presidente (é já a terceira filha do PCP contratada nesta autarquia que a SÁBADO noticia).
Source: Como a mulher do eurodeputado do PCP foi contratada pela câmara de Setúbal (CDU) – Portugal – SÁBADO
as nuvens e o meu fascínio
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imagens e texto em
59.5. FUNCHAL – PORTO
FUNCHAL – PORTO
Sempre me fascinaram as nuvens. Do avião são castelos de neve, montanhas em movimentos perpétuos como algodão doce nas feiras de antigamente. Ensimesmado, fascino-me a observá-las como se pudesse pará-las, imóveis para a eternidade, como a neve perene do Kilimanjaro.
| Cirros, cacho de cabelo, altas, delicadas, fibrosas, esbranquiçadas, aspeto de penas ou flocos de lã. Pairam a 9 km, finas e compridas formam-se no topo da troposfera, em estruturas alongadas e permitem inferir a direção do vento (geralmente W). indicam bom tempo. | Cirros-cúmulos, bolinhas pequenas e brancas, em bancos ou campos de nuvens. Constituídas por cristais de gelo, aparecem raramente, menos vistas do que os cirros. Surgem como pequenos pufes, redondos e brancos, individualmente ou em longas fileiras. Ocupam grande porção de céu. |
| Cirro-estratos, véu esbranquiçado, fibroso, mais espesso que cirros, constituído por cristais de gelo. Nuvens finas cobrem todo o céu. Como a luz atravessa os cristais que as constituem, dá-se refração, dando origem a halos. Na aproximação de uma forte tempestade, surgem muito frequentemente e, dão uma pista para a previsão de chuva ou neve em 12- 24h. | Alto-cúmulos, “carneirinhos,” novelos de gotas de água, com bordos claros e zonas sombreadas no interior, em faixas alongadas, quase nunca ultrapassam 1 km de espessura. Têm forma de tufos de algodão e distinguem-se dos cirros-cúmulos, um dos lados mais escuro que o outro. Em manhã quente de verão pode ser sinal de trovoada ao final da tarde |
| Alto-estratos, véu uniforme, cinzento-azulado, o Sol surge enfraquecido. Com gotículas de água e cristais de gelo, flocos de neve. Semelhantes aos cirrostratos, mais espessas e a base mais baixa. Cobrem o céu. O Sol muito ténue sem halos. Uma forma de os distinguir é olhar para o chão e procurar sombras. Se existirem, as nuvens não são alto-estrato pois a luz que as atravessa não produz sombras. | Nimbo-estratos, espessas nuvens baixas, cinzentas-escuras, base inferior de nuvens esfarrapadas, com chuva que pode não atingir o solo. temperaturas mais baixas que aquela em que ocorre a solidificação, são gotas de chuva, flocos e cristais de neve, ou mistura de formas sólidas e líquidas. Estão associados a chuva contínua, são em geral de um cinzento mais escuro e normalmente nunca se vê o Sol através deles. |
| Estratocúmulos, brancos ou cinzentos, arredondados, dispersos, em bancos, camada horizontal pouco espessa, partículas de gelo misturadas com gotas líquidas. Normalmente vê-se céu azul nos espaços entre elas. Produzem-se a partir de cúmulos no pôr-do-sol. Diferem dos altos-cúmulos, base mais baixa, provocam aguaceiros se se desenvolvem verticalmente em nuvens maiores e os topos atingirem -5 ºC. | Estrato, de stratus, nuvens típicas dos crepúsculos, baixas, alongadas e horizontais, em camadas uniformes, sem estrutura visível. São constituídas por gotas de água ou, se a temperatura for baixa, por partículas de gelo. Habitualmente cobrem todo o céu e lembram um nevoeiro que não toca no chão. Normalmente não originam precipitação, que, a ocorrer, é chuvisco. |
| Cúmulo, nuvens, arredondadas no topo, majestosas, como montanhas de algodão, base plana quase horizontal. Indicam bom tempo, distam 1-2 km do solo. Surgem isoladas, diferem dos estratocúmulos, têm topo mais arredondado, normalmente bom tempo, associadas a dias soalheiros. | Cúmulos-nimbos na parte superior dos cúmulos forma a bigorna, por granizo, neve ou gelo. com variedade de formas, a mais vulgar é um bocado de algodão. A base vai do branco ao cinzento claro, nuvens de tempestade, (trovoadas, aguaceiros, granizo e tornados). Estendem-se de 600 m à tropopausa (12 000 m). |
Por instantes, voam na direção oposta a fugir ao volátil destino. Há-as de todos os tamanhos e feitios. Tenho o desejo incontido de abrir a porta de emergência do avião e agarrá-las. Esfarelá-las e espalhá-las aos quatro ventos. Senti, muitas vezes, a vontade irreprimível de surfar nelas sobre o imenso oceano que separa o Funchal do Porto.
Nos céus imensos havia outras, altas e misteriosas, quase invisíveis, etéreas. Farrapos de nada arrancados à vida. Sombras quase invisíveis, talvez espíritos, quem sabe? fugazes como o tempo, sem rasto nem assinatura. Um dia, irei com elas, hoje não posso, há a viagem por acabar.
Este fascínio já o persigo desde 1973. As que vi hoje eram um encanto, acumulavam-se como uma enorme família de todos os formatos, ora crescendo, ora reduzidas a fiapos, ora engrossando como enormes planícies de melancolia esbranquiçada crescendo em montes e montanhas. Fugiam sempre. Tinham medo de serem agarradas, evitavam o meu olhar com medo de serem aprisionadas, ou devoradas por este Airbus 320, monstro tonitruante de metal que as violava, perfurando-as como a espada de S. Jorge trespassara o Dragão. Ficavam para trás, doridas, descompostas, sem dignidade, mas cedo se recompunham e recomeçavam novo ciclo.
Se alguém as apanhar, antes de mim, pode quebrar o ciclo vital, deixar de acumular o orvalho para converter em chuva que rega montanhas e fazem jorrar os rios. Sem elas não havia vida e não podemos interromper a etapa, mesmo nós caçadores de nuvens.
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