I've loved vintage propeller aircraft since I was a little lad, my schoolbooks are Spitfire-strafed, dog fighting doodles, occasionally scarred by work. Although I don't actively pursue, or even like, flying, I find the design, elegance and engineering of these rather magnificent beasts to be irresistible.

So, after crawling all over, under and through it for a while, flight time. Strapped lightly into a webbing seat after signing a suitably dense waiver (let's face it if this goes down, nobody's going to be walking away), the engines churn noisily into life. There's no intercom, and being sat some 20 feet behind the pilots just below the tail, one has no idea what's going on, though soon, the din becomes close to skull-splitting, brakes are off, and surprisingly quickly, we are aloft. Apart from the occasional creak and groan, it's a surprisingly smooth flight, given that it's a blustery, wet Oregon day again. 2 minutes into the air and we are able to wander. This of course means positioning oneself behind the Brownings and mentally shooting down Germans.

Making my way upfront, across the narrow walkway over the bomb bay, and a short ignominious crawl between the feet of the pilots, and I'm in the nose cone. It's a startling view, the perspex gives all round vision, and the ground just rolls away underneath, it's like being suspended in space, whilst listening to what I imagine Metal Machine Music played at ear-bleeding volume sounds like. Strangely, it's rather beautifully appointed, with a finished wooden desk and bakelite trimmings giving an unmistakable 40s feel. Some wag has left a photo of a similar aircraft which has returned from a sortee, albeit minus the very portion I'm sat in.

There's very little metal between one and the outside world, indeed, you can see land through the cracks in the bomb bay and around the ball turret, however, such is the robust nature of the design, olive green ribs encircling one every few feet it feels strangely reassuring and sturdy. The mechanics are all wires and levers, a modern GPS stuck to the window and some electronic avionics betray the sheer primitive nature of this beast. 'Fly by wire' is literal - the pilot's exertions are translated into rudder and aileron activity by pulleys and thin, thin steel chord. A triumph of function, it's probably closer to a sailboat than a modern plane.

All to soon we are earthbound, for a surprisingly gentle 3 point landing, which must have been exhilarating when viewed from the ball gunners station. Now there's a job for short, brave men.

Anyway, some pics here, should any of you love the smell of AvGas in the morning. Apologies for entirely Word-unrelated interlude

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=47979&l=8f6fd33123&id=1665942523

Am officially jealous.

what a great way to spend a day.

Wide blue heaven

they are strangely compelling things!

one of the best things about this blog is the diversity of the subject material, all connected to a common interest in music (albeit quite tenuously at times). One day we're talking Fray Bentos, another day - B17Gs. Anyone see the musical connection?

...bit of a way to Oregon though...and nothing is off topic here (unless specifically mentioned in the Ts & Cs)