 CHAPTER XII. TRAILING THE TERRIBLE TYPHOON. THE WORKSHOP OF NATURE IN HER WILDEST MOOD, TEPERMAN. So far as anyone knows, the most furious of the typhoons of the Pacific are no bigger or more violent than the worst of the huge hurricanes of the Atlantic and the West They belong to the same death-dealing breed of storms, but the typhoons come from the bigger ocean. They sweep majestically across these vast waters toward the world's largest continent, and to the south and southeast lies a longer stretch of hot tropical seas than anywhere else on Earth. Perhaps it is the enormous extent of the environment that explains the fact that in the average year there are three or four times as many Pacific typhoons as there are West Indian hurricanes. The greater excess of energy generated in this enormous Pacific storm region by hot sun on slow-moving waters is evidently released by a more frequent, rather than a more violent, dissolution of the stability of the atmosphere. But there is something about typhoons that causes the people to look upon them with even greater terror than in the case of hurricanes. Likewise, the storm hunters tackle the job of tackling them with less confidence. Typhoons come from greater distances. Their points of origin may be scattered over a wider area. Much more often than is the case with hurricanes, there may be two or more at the same time. In their paths of devastation they fan out over a bigger and more populous part of the world. It takes more planes, more men and longer flights to keep up with typhoons than with hurricanes. For many decades the people of the Far East struggle valiantly against the typhoon menace without much interest on the part of the Western world. Native observers reported them when they showed their first dangerous signs and then came roaring by the islands in the Pacific including the Philippines as they swept a path of devastation on the way to China or Japan. Men on ships equipped with radio sent frantic weather messages to Manila, Shanghai or Tokyo as they were being battered by monstrous winds and seas. Father Charles Depperman, SJ, formerly of the Philippine Weather Bureau who did as much as any man to help people prepare for these catastrophes made an investigation to see why some of the typhoon reports from native observers were defective. He listed a few of the reasons. One observer said his house was shaking so much in the storm that he was unable to finish the observation. He added that 90% of the houses around him were thrown to the ground. Another common complaint was that the observers could not read the thermometers because the air was full of flying tin and wood. Another apologetic man put on the end of his observation a note that the roof of the weather station was off and the sea was coming in. The observer on the island of Yap fled to the Catholic rectory and looked back to see his roof, walls and doors blowing away but he sent his record to the forecast office. Another observer on Yap was reading the barometer when it was hit by a flying piece of wood and the observer was knocked to the floor. One of the observers had excuses for a poor observation because he had to run against the wind in water knee deep. In another place the wind blew two rooms off the observer's house at observation time but the most convincing excuse for failure was from another town where the observer was drowned in a typhoon before the record was finished. It is a strange fact too that one can look at all these records and the reports written by the Pacific storm hunters after they got going and seldom see a vivid description of the fearful conditions in the typhoon. The white clouds turning grayish and then copper-colored or red at sunset. The rain squalls carried furiously along. The roar of giant winds and the booming sea as the typhoon takes possession of its empire in huge spirals of destruction. With death and ruin on all sides nobody seemed to have the energy to write about it. The tumult passed, the winds subsided, the water went out slowly and the observer wrote a brief apology for the bedraggled condition of the records. In the same way the typhoon hunters let their planes down at home base too tired to do anything except compile a few technical notes. The vastness of the thing seemed to leave them speechless. The plane went out on a mission and the base soon vanished a shrinking dot on the horizon. The mind tired of thinking about the near-infinite expanse of Pacific waters of thinking about running out of fuel in an endless search of winds, clouds and waves of thinking about never getting back to that little dot beyond the horizon. Into this ominous arena the American fleet knows its way island by island in the war against the Japanese. By methods which had been handed down from older generations strengthened by all the modern improvements that could be added the Americans tried to keep track of tropical storms in this enormous region where trade winds, monsoons and tropical winds hold their several courses across seemingly endless seas but here and there run into conflict or converge in chaos. Twice when their predictions were not very good the fleet suffered and in the second instance the typhoon humbled the greatest fleet that ever was assembled on the high seas. The commander in chief Pacific demanded reconnaissance without delay. As men do in time of war the Navy aerologist moved swiftly and effectively to meet the challenge. In fact they had anticipated it in part and had plans in the blueprint stage even before the big third fleet took its brutal beating in December 1944. Most of the stimulus came from the Atlantic side where organized hurricane hunting had begun in the middle of the year but it was not long until the Japanese were driven out of the typhoon areas. In June 1945 they were being blasted out of Okinawa as typhoon reconnaissance was beginning. In fact the first men to go out to penetrate a typhoon had to be careful to keep away from Okinawa. By that time the Japanese had committed all their fading sea and air power including their vast remaining battleship to the defense of Okinawa and after June the US Navy had no real enemy except the typhoon. Beginning in June 1945 the Navy airmen and aerologists flew two kinds of missions. Almost daily they went out to check the weather and if they found a full grown typhoon or one in formation in an advanced stage special wreckos were sent out. One flight went out as soon as it was daylight and the second took off about six hours afterward early enough to make sure that the second would be completed by nightfall. This was rather tough going as one of the aerologists pointed out Pacific distances were so large that if they were considered in terms of similar distances in the United States a common mission would be like a take off from Memphis and a search of the area of a triangle extending from Washington D.C. to New York City and back to Memphis. Aircraft used by the Navy were Catalinas, PBYs, Liberators, PBY-1s and Privateers, PBY-4-Y-2s. All were four-engined land-based bombers some fitted with extra gasoline tanks for long ranges. Before leaving base in the Philippines or the Marianas the aerologist briefed the crews. In flight the aerologist directed changes in the course of the plane but the pilot could use his own judgment at any time when he thought the change might exceed operational safety. From June through September 1945 the Navy flew a total of 100 typhoon missions averaging 10 hours each. Lieutenant Paul A Humphrey, a weather bureau scientist after the war and Robert C. Fight, both of whom flew constantly on these missions gathered data from all flight crews and at the end of the season wrote descriptions of five typhoons which were more or less typical. Some of the most interesting of these missions were directed into the big typhoon which came from the east, crossed Luzon on the Philippines and roared into the China Sea in the early part of August. The fourth of the month, one of the Catalinas was checking the weather 300 miles east of Leyte and saw a low pressure system developing a small tropical disturbance. It grew, was checked daily and on the sixth blew across Luzon and reached its greatest fury in the South China Sea on the seventh. The first plane that went into the typhoon in this position was directed to the right and north of the center to take advantage of tailwinds and to spiral gradually into the center. As it approached the center the plane climbed to about 5,000 feet and the crew had a beautiful panoramic view of the clouds piled up on the outer rim of the eye. On account of the awful severity of the turbulence the plane had experienced around the eye they descended again and flew to home base at altitudes between 200 and 300 feet. On examination of the aircraft after the battered crew had let down at home base it was found that the control cables were permanently loosened, the skin on the bottom of the port elevator fin had been cracked away from the fuselage, one plexiglass window was bowed inward and the paint was removed from the leading edges. Because of the violence of turbulence on this flight the nervous crew of the second Reco plane on that day was instructed to reconnoiter but not to try to go into the center. On the 5th of September a violent typhoon formed between the Philippines and Palau and moved northwestward toward Formosa. On the 10th the Reco plane ran into trouble in this storm. Twice while flying at 2,000 feet it met severe down drafts losing altitude at 500 to 1,000 feet per minute while nosed upward and climbing at full power. The eddy turbulence was extremely severe and most of the crew members became sick. The second Reco plane on that date ran into violent turbulence also and at times it was almost impossible for the pilot and co-pilot to keep the plane under control and then disaster struck. By the end of September the Navy storm hunters had gone out on 100 missions into the hearts of typhoons and although many of them had been frightened and badly battered there had been no casualties. They made up a report as of September 30 commenting on their phenomenal good fortune on these many flights. But on the very next day October 1 one of the crews which had been making these perilous missions departed on a flight into a typhoon over the China Sea. Those men never came back. No one had any idea as to what had actually happened but the members of other crews could well imagine what might have happened and whatever it was it must have ended in typhoon swept waters where none of the storm hunters expected to have any chance of survival. It could have happened in the powerful winds around the eye or in one of those bands extending spirally outward from the center filled with tremendous squalls and fraught with danger to brave men venturing into these monstrous cyclones of the Pacific. The reports even before this sequel had stressed the hazardous nature of reconnaissance. In these Pacific missions the pilots and aerologists often without radar had become aware of the donut shaped body of the storm with squall bands spiraling outward the octopus arms. But they got very little information that they thought would help in predicting the movements of typhoons except the old rule that the storm is likely to continue on its course unchanged tending to follow the average path for the season. The explorations by aircraft as a means of getting data were far more useful in locating storms and determining their tracks however than any other methods. After the end of 1945 the reconnaissance of tropical storms both in the Atlantic and the Pacific was in trouble owing to demobilization. Many experienced men returned to civil life and it was necessary to start training all over again. The Navy set up schools for two squadrons of Pacific storm hunters late in 1945 at Camp Carney in California. The graduates were in action in 1946. After the surrender of the Japanese the Air Corps maintained a weather wing in the Pacific with headquarters in Tokyo. Part of its job was to give warnings of typhoons threatening Okinawa where the United States had established a big military base. Here they thought they had built structures strong enough to withstand typhoons but they learned some bitter lessons. The most violent of all the typhoons of this period was one named Gloria which almost wiped Okinawa clean in July 1949. A most unusual incident occurred over the island of Okinawa when the center of Gloria was passing. The Air Force was short of planes in safe condition for RECO but managed to get enough data to indicate the force and probable arrival of this violent typhoon. It happened that Captain Roy Ladd commander of flight number three was in the area with Colonel Thomas Moorman on board making an inspection of RECO procedures in the area. Their report gave the following information. As Gloria roared over a hopeless and prostrate Okinawa weather reconnaissance members of crew B1 circled in the eye of the big blow and watched the destruction of the island while talking to another eyewitness on the ground. That hapless human was the duty operator for Okinawa flight control who despite the fact that his world was literally disappearing before his eyes and the roof ripping off overhead nevertheless stuck to his post and eventually contacted three aircraft flying within the control zone and cleared them to other bases away from the storm's path. Describing the situation Captain Ladd stated that he had attempted radio contact with Okinawa for some time but was prevented from doing so by severe atmospheric conditions. After a connection had been established 100 miles out from Okinawa's east coast the control operator requested them to contact two other aircraft in the area and advised them to communicate with Tokyo control for further instructions. Shortly thereafter the RB-29 broke through heavy cloud formations into the comparatively clear eye of the big typhoon. The southern tip of the island became visible just under the western edge of glorious core. Gigantic swells were breaking upon the coast and the control operator advised that winds had been 105 miles per hour just 30 minutes before and had been increasing rapidly. He reported that the control building's roof had just blown off, all types of debris were flying by and aircraft were being tossed about like toys. A little later the ground operator had to crawl under a table to get shelter because nearly all the building had been blown away bit by bit. Structures of the Quonset type were crushed like matchboxes and carried away like pieces of paper. Their roofs were ripped like rags. A cook at the Air Force Base hurried into a large walk-in refrigerator when everything began to blow away. It was the only safe place I could find, he explained afterward the building blew away but the refrigerator was left behind and here I am. One of the meanest of the typhoons of this period was known as Vulture Charlie. It was dangerous to airmen because of the extreme violence of its turbulence. Ordinarily the typhoons were known by girls' names and for that reason the typhoon hunters in the Pacific were known as girl chasers. But Vulture Charlie got the first word of its name from the type of mission involved and Charlie from the third word in the phonetic alphabet used in communications. On November 4, 1948 an aircraft commanded by Captain Louis J. Desandro ran into the violent turmoil of Vulture Charlie and described it as follows. We hit heavy rain and suddenly the airspeed and rate of climb began to increase alarmingly and reached a maximum of 260 miles per hour and 4,000 feet per minute climb to an altitude of 3,700 feet. The sudden increase in altitude was brought about by disengaging the elevator control of the autopilot and raising the nose to control the airspeed. Power was not reduced because of our low altitude. After about 30 seconds to one minute of this unusual condition we hit a terrific bump which appeared to be the result of breaking out of a thunder head. The airspeed then decreased to 130 miles per hour in a few seconds due to the fact that we encountered down drafts on the outer portion of the thunder head and were momentarily suspended in air. At this point the left wing dropped slightly and I immediately shoved the nose down to regain airspeed. Before a safe airspeed was again reached we had descended to an altitude of 1,100 feet. As a result of this turbulence my feet came up off the rudder pedals. The engineer who was sitting on the nose wheel door instructing a student engineer came up off the floor like he was floating in the air. The navigator and weather observer were raised out of their seats. A coffee cup which was on the back of the airplane commander's instrument panel was raised to the ceiling and came down on the weather observer's table. Cabin airflow was being used and the airflow meter exploded and glass hit both engineers in the face. In December 1948 a crew under the command of Lieutenant David Likens was instructed to use the boxing procedure in a typhoon called Beverly. On one of their missions they flew into it on December 7. The following is based on his report. The operations office instructed the crew to climb to the 700 millibar level about 10,000 feet after takeoff penetrate the eye of the storm, take a fix in the center then make a spiral descent and sounding down to 1,500 feet and proceed out of the storm on a northwesterly heading to begin the pattern around the storm center. After the briefing the crew ate dinner while talking anxiously about the trip and returned to the aircraft to load to personal equipment. When they were airborne with the gear and flaps up they made an initial contact with Guam control. There was no reported traffic so they were cleared. The instructions were complied with and a heading of 270 degrees was taken up. Soon there was discernible on the horizon a vast coverage of high thin clouds at about 30,000 feet. This indicated the presence of the storm verified by the south wind and slight swells that were perpendicular to the flight direction of the plane. The wind was increasing and the swells were noticed to intensify. The boundary of the storm area was very distinct as they approached the edge. At this point the surface wind was estimated to be 35 knots from 180 degrees. A few minutes later they were on 100% instrument flying conditions and the moderate to heavy rain and moderate turbulence persisted until they missed the eye and flew south for 15 minutes. Because they were on instruments and could not see the surface they were unable to determine the highest wind velocity in the storm. It was estimated close to 100 knots. At this point they noticed that they had a good drift correction for hitting the center satisfactorily so they held the 270 degrees heading relying on the radar observer to be able to see the eye on the scope. Approximately 15 or 20 minutes later the radar observer reported seeing a semicircular ring of clouds about 25 degrees to the right at about 25 miles range. The same kind of ring was detected to the left about the same distance however. Figuring they had drifted to the right of the center they elected to intercept the left center seen on the radar and flew until they received an ill omen to pressure rise when it was apparent they had made a wrong choice. To make sure they were not chasing circular rings of heavy clouds or false eyes on the scope they made a turn to 180 degrees and held it long enough to enable them to see the surface wind. After about 10 minutes they saw the surface and judged the wind to be coming from approximately west northwest. They headed back for the center of the storm with the wind off their left wing allowing 15 to 20 degrees for drift. In approximately 15 minutes the radar observer reported the eye as being almost directly ahead. Lieutenant Likens said at 0906Z, 1906 Guam time we broke out into the most beautiful and well-defined eye that I have ever seen. It was a perfect circle about 30 miles in diameter and beautifully clear overhead. The sides sloped gently inward toward the bottom from 25,000 feet and appeared to be formed by a solid cloud layer down to approximately 5,000 feet. From 1,000 feet to 5,000 feet were tiers of circular cumulus clouds giving the effect of seats in a huge stadium. They descended in the eye, made their observations, and then prepared to depart. As we entered the edge of the eye we were shaken by turbulence so severe that it took both pilots to keep the airplane in an upright attitude. At times the updrafts and downdrafts were so severe that I was forced down in my seat so hard that I could not lift my head and I could not see the instruments. Other times I was thrown against my safety belt so hard that my arms and legs were of no use momentarily and I was unable to exert pressure on the controls. All I could do was use the artificial horizon momentarily until I could see and interpret the rest of the instruments. These violent forces were not of long duration fortunately, for had they been it would have been physically impossible to control the airplane. Since the updrafts and downdrafts were so severe we were unable to maintain control of the altitude. All we could do was to hold the airspeed within limits to keep the airplane from tearing up from too much speed or from stalling out from too little. After the first few seconds we managed to have the third pilot who was riding on the flight deck advance the RPM to 2400 so we could use extra power in the downdrafts and so we could start a gradual ascent from the area. Neither of us at the controls dared leave them long enough to do it ourselves. The third pilot received a lump on his forehead when he struck the rear of the pilot's seat and bruised his shoulder from another source in doing so. Since he had no safety belt he was thrown all over the flight deck. This area of severe turbulence lasted between five and six minutes and every second during this time it was all both of us could do to keep the airplane in a safe attitude and to keep it within safe airspeed limits and maintain a general heading. It is almost impossible for me to describe accurately or to exaggerate the severity of the turbulence we encountered to some it may sound exaggerated and utterly fantastic but to me it was a fight for life. I have flown many weather missions in my 30 months in the 514th Reconnaissance Squadron. I have flown night combat missions in rough winter weather out of England and I have instructed instrument flying in the States but never have I even dreamed of such turbulence as we encountered in Typhoon Beverly. It is amazing to me that our ship held together as it did. When the severest turbulence subsided the hurricane hunters found they had gained an altitude of about 6,000 feet. At this point they decided 10,500 feet and proceed directly to Clark Field. It was nighttime and since they were shaken up pretty badly this seemed the most sensible course of action to be taken. They had no way of knowing the extent of any damage they might have sustained. The engineer reported that the booster pumps had all gone into high boost. One generator had quit. The radar observer said that the rear of the airplane was a massive rubble from upturned floorboards, personal equipment, sustenance kits and such. The flight deck had extra equipment all over it. In addition the copilot had twisted off a fluorescent light, rheostat switch when the plane hit the turbulence as he was adjusting it. The radar observer reported his camera had been knocked to the floor. After his experience in leaving the eye of Beverly at 1,500 feet the lieutenant had one statement to make and he said it could not be overemphasized. An airplane with human beings aboard should never be required to fly through the eye of a typhoon at an altitude below 10,000 feet. If a pattern must be flown at 1,500 feet in the storm area it should be clearly indicated that the area of the eye be left at the 700 millibar level and the descent be made at a distance of not less than 70 miles from the center. Full use of radar equipment should be exercised in avoiding any doubtful areas. On inspection after landing the following damage to the airplane was found a bent vertical fin warped flaps, tears and faring joining the wing and fuselage, untold snapped rivets on all parts of the airplane, fuselage apparently twisted and one unit in the center of the Bombay was torn from its mountings. Reports of this kind leave some doubt as to whether the typhoon actually is not more violent than the West Indian hurricane. Another typhoon of extraordinary violence which gave the storm hunters serious trouble struck Wake Island on September 16, 1952. Wake is a little island in the Pacific Ocean with a small dot on the map the only stopping place between the Hawaiian islands more than 2,000 miles to the eastward and the Marianas more than 1,000 miles to the westward. This spot, a stock for Pan-American planes was captured by the Japanese and then recaptured by the United States in World War II. When the Korean War opened military planes used this small island as a refueling place en route from the Pacific coast of the United States to Japan. Before taking off from Honolulu, the airmen wanted a forecast for this long route and a report of the weather at Wake. Also, before taking off from Wake, they asked for a forecast for the trip to the next stop at Guam, Manila or Tokyo. The military called on the Weather Bureau and Civil Aeronautics Administration to furnish the and the communications. They started operations at Wake very soon. By 1952 men from these two agencies were on the island, some with their wives and children. The Standard Oil Company and Pan-American Airways also had people there. For the most part they were housed in quonset type structures, but some old pillboxes constructed during the war still dotted the island and could be used for refuge from the typhoons if the wind driven seas did not rise high enough to flood them. There were only three concrete buildings and they were used for offices and storage. On the morning of September 11, 1952 the Weather Bureau forecaster drew a low center on his weather chart far to the southeast of Wake. His analysis was based largely on two isolated ship reports, the only information available from the Italian square mile ocean area lying to the east southeast of his tiny island station. Here was just enough data to arouse suspicion and alarm that a developing tropical disturbance was somewhere, anywhere within this vast expanse of sea and air, but not enough information to indicate a position or probable intensity or actually to confirm the existence of a well-defined form. During the next three days the question of continuing the low on successive charts and the problem of deciding its position were mostly matters of guesswork on the part of the Weather Bureau staff at Wake. There was only one ship report from the critical area during the time. Then on September 14 the existence of a vortex was established. A single ship report, together with reports from Quagelain and Inuitok gave good evidence of cyclonic circulation. From this time on, until the storm struck at daybreak on the 16th, everybody on the island worried about it and the weathermen went all out in tracking it and disseminating information. Meanwhile the typhoon, which had been named Olive, grew into the most destructive storm to hit Wake since it was first inhabited in 1935. The caster's job was a difficult one because of meager observational data. There were heartbreaking delays in securing airplane reconnaissance due to mechanical breakdown that grounded the B-29 stationed at Wake for that purpose until an engine part could be flown in from Tokyo. Early on the morning of the 16th strong winds of the typhoon began to sweep across the island. A very rough sea was breaking on the shores and debris was flying through the air. One can easily imagine the alarm of these people in the vast Pacific on a tiny island beginning to shrink as the waters rose and giving up its soil, rocks and parts of building to the various winds steadily increasing. A large power line fell across several quantsets just north of the terminal building and huge sparks began flying where they touched the weather bureau warehouse. The account which follows is condensed from the report made by the weather bureau man in charge, Walton Fallensby. The wind indicators and the weather station shorted out early and expensive radio zoned and solar radiation equipment was badly burned by the runaway power. The indicators in the tower, however, remained operative until the last weatherman abandoned it. They took turns climbing the tower steps to check the velocities calling the readings off over the interphone from tower to weather station. On Fallensby's last trip to the tower the strongest gust observed were 82 miles per hour although one of the observers had caught gusts to 90 miles per hour shortly before. The strain on the structure was severe and he was happy to get down the stairs safely. Afterward Jim Champion, observational supervisor, took full responsibility for this unwanted task. He then reported over the interphone that the wind was north northwest at 80 miles per hour with gusts to 110. Fallensby advised him to abandon the tower. He replied that he believed he was safer staying there than trying to come down the stairs which were wide open to the elements. He was told to use his own judgment since it was his life at stake. Women and children had been taken to the terminal building or other safe places than the quonsets which now began to break up. Anybody who ventured in the open was likely to be blown off his feet and that was exceedingly dangerous for the sea was close by and now and then the roof of a quonset went off and was carried dangerously across the island and out to sea. Winds of hurricane force blew the water from the lagoon which began engulfing the south and east parts of the island. The wind reached a steady velocity of 120 miles an hour with gusts up to 142 at the height of the storm. By that time most of the women and children were huddled in the operations building and they were terrified when the roof went off, leaving them exposed to the torrential rain and furious winds, but the walls held. About this time a report was received from a reconnaissance plane that had come from Guam and made its way into the center of the typhoon. The crew put the center about 35 miles northeast of Wake but said the plane was suffering structural damage and was heading for Quadjolaine. By evening the winds were subsiding and a check showed that owing to such as they had been able to make in the constant struggle of all on the island to prevent disaster not a single life was lost and no one was seriously injured. Wake Island however was a shambles and there was very little food not contaminated and practically no drinking water. The water distillation plant had been destroyed. But soon one of the Air Force B-29 planes ordinarily used in typhoon reconnaissance flew in from Quadjolaine and brought 300 gallons of water in GI cans lashed to the bomb bays and two tons of rations for distribution to the battered and hungry people of Wake Island. Before long the little island was back in business serving the big planes on the way from Hawaii to the Far East. End of Chapter 12 Chapter 13 of A Hurricane Flight which proves to be rougher than usual is known among the hunters as a Harry Hop. It is an amazing fact that there are a lot of people in the country who have never seen a hurricane before. But it is a very rare sight to see. It is a very rare sight to see. It is a very rare sight to see. It is a very rare sight to see. It is a very rare sight to see. It is an amazing fact that there are men who want to come down to the air field when a big storm is eminent and thumb a ride. Mostly they are newspaper reporters, magazine writers, photographers, civilian weathermen, and radio and television people. Usually they are accommodated if they have made arrangements in advance. Some of these rides have been quiet like a sightseers' trip over a city while others have been Harry. One of the first newspaper men to take a ride into a full-fledged hurricane was Milt Sosen of the Miami Daily News. In 1944 Milt read about men of the army and navy who were just beginning to fly into hurricanes and he became obsessed with the wish to go along. When he asked for permission the editor said no in a very positive tone. He could see no point in having a good staff correspondent during a wild ride in a hurricane. Sosen insisted and he was told to see the managing editor. He did and there was another argument. Sosen told him if I don't somebody else will and will be scooped. Reluctantly the managing editor gave permission. But when Sosen asked the immigration authorities they said no you have no passport and you don't know what country they refused. Sosen hung around and argued. He pointed out that if the plane went down at sea he wouldn't need any passport to the place he was going and they finally agreed. Milt Sosen got his wish in full measure on September 13, 1944 in the great Atlantic hurricane which had developed a fury seldom attained even in the worst of these tropical giants. It had crossed the northern Bahamas and was headed northwestward on a broad arc that was to bring its death dealing winds to New Jersey, Long Island and New England. Already we have told the story of Army and Navy planes probing this big storm including the pioneering trip by Colonel Wood and others of the Washington weather staff. At the end of this trip Sosen was glad to be back on land and vowed never again but somehow he still had the urge to see these storms from the inside and afterward was a frequent guest of the Navy and Air Force. One of Sosen's most interesting trips was on September 14, 1947 in a B-17. They took off from Miami. Al Topol also from the Miami Daily News went along to take pictures and Fred Clampett news editor of radio station WIOD was the other guest. The big hurricane was roaring down the Bahamas with steadily increasing fury and the people of Florida were worried and for good reason for three days later it raked the state from east to west killing more than 50 people and causing destruction estimated in excess of one hundred million dollars. By many observers it was eventually raided as the most violent hurricane between 1944 and 1949. They ran into it east of the Bahamas as the plane burrowed its way through the seething blasts Sosen wrote in his shaking notebook this airplane feels as if it's cracking up. Ominous crashes in the aft compartment accompany every sickening lurch and dive as buffeted by the 140 mile an hour winds and sucked into powerful downdrafts the huge bomber bores through the storm. Sosen said that the pilot, Captain Vince Weigel and the co-pilot Lieutenant Don Ketchum were literally wrestling with the hurricane in clothes sopping wet from perspiration and as soon as they came into the center began to take off their wet garments. Ketchum had appealed down to his shorts before the plane plunged back into the mad vortex. At this point they were surprised to see another plane in the storm a B-29 flying in the eye at 36,000 feet trying to discover the steering level where the main currents of the atmosphere control the forward movement of tropical disturbances such as this one. The radio man, Sergeant Jeff Thornton, was trying to contact the B-29 miles overhead but with no luck. Sosen wrote in his notebook but here at this low level he was worried about then trying to reach the other plane. We are getting an awful kicking around. Wow, that was a beaut. Al Topol was foolish enough to unfasten his safety belt and stand up for a better angle shop of the raging turbulent sea below. We must have dropped 100 feet and his head hit the aluminum ribbing of the plane's ceiling. Then trying to protect his camera he skinned his elbows and now he's given up and has even strapped a safety belt around his camera. The crew was busy plotting positions and checking on the engines. To them it was an old story except that none could recall such violent turbulence. The craft was low enough for them to get glimpses of the sea but they wanted a better view and they began to descend cautiously. Sosen wrote, the turbulence is getting worse. The sea is shaped with greenish-gray lines which look like dubs made by a child who has stuck his fingers into a can of paint. Now we are closed in. We are flying blind. Captain John C. Mayes, the weather observer, starts giving the pilot's readings from his radar altimeter while Huagel sends the plane lower and lower in an effort to establish visual contact with the sea. 500 feet, Mayes calls into the plane's intercom. OK, replies the skipper, 400 feet, Roger 350, Roger 250, OK 200 feet, Mayes' voice is still even. OK, comes Huagel's voice. It may be OK with him but it isn't with me. I just found myself tugging tentatively on the pole toggles which will inflate my May West life jacket and hanged hard enough. I checked a long time ago to make certain the CO cartridges were where they should be. Fred Clampett, WIOD news editor, is turning green. No, it's not fear. He's sweating so much that the colored chemical shark repellent in a pocket of his life jacket is starting to run. Then we sight the sea again. From this low level the waves are frightening. They are not in just one and they break against each other dashing salt spray high into the air. It's all too close. Now the ceiling is lifting and we are climbing. 250, 300, 500, 700 and we level off. It grows less turbulent and observer Mayes looks up from his deep concentration. I may be wrong, he says but it looks to me as if it's made a little curve toward the north which is very interesting but more interesting is the fact that the day's work is over and we're on our way home. In 1947 the Air Forces were assigned to B-29s to their Kindle base in Bermuda to replace the B-17s. The big super forts had room for guests and it soon became common to have somebody hanging around Kindle to get a ride. When a big storm was spotted on the 11th of September of that year two newspaper reporters and a photographer from Life magazine Francis Miller were waiting at Bermuda for a hop. The big hurricane became even more violent as it turned toward the southwest and swept across Florida. It was September 14th when Milt Sosen of the Miami Daily News got his hairy hop in this same blow as it crossed the coast winds of full hurricane force stretched over a distance of 240 miles and the wind reached 155 miles an hour at Hillsborough Light. By this time the hurricane hunters were fully occupied and the riders were left on the ground. Miami communication lines were wiped out and control of the hunters had been shifted to Washington. In charge of a B-17 at Bermuda was Major Hawley. His co-pilot was Captain Dunn who had learned hurricane hunting in Kapler's Hurricane and other earlier storms. Late on the 17th as the storm roared across Florida with night closing in Hawley had heard nothing from Washington about his plane going into it so he gave up and told the riders to come back in the morning. Early the next morning one of the reporters, a staff writer for the Bermuda Royal Gazette was sitting around in his shorts talking about breakfast when Lieutenant Cronin rushed in and said they were ready to take off. The reporter started to get dressed but Cronin said, let's go just as you are you may drown but you won't freeze. They stopped in Hamilton got the other reporter and the photographer and found Hawley walking up and down impatiently waiting for last instructions. So the reporter took a trip of 3,350 miles in his shorts and had a bird's eye view of the Southern Seaboard, the Atlantic Ocean and Gulf of Mexico and a bad acting hurricane. It was a hairy hop. They had orders to refuel at Mobile so they put down at the airfield there all other planes having been evacuated the day before an Air Force man came out and asked, where are you going? They told him and he turned around and shouted, some dang fools will kite and can fly through a hurricane. More men came out and they got gas on the plane. One big fellow said you can have your turn trip but keep the storm away from here. In 20 minutes they were in the storm. The crew members were bare to the waist perspiration pouring down water coming through the panel joints and everything was wet and shaking. One of the reporters described it this way suddenly the plane pulled over on one side the left wing dipped down vertically and for a moment I thought the end had come. I gulped for breath as the plane dropped. The sea rushed up towards us huge waves reared up and mocked us clawing up at the wing tip as if trying to swallow us in one. A greater burst from the engines a hovering sensation for a second and then with the whole plane shattering under the strain our nose once again tilted upward. I felt weak and with difficulty breathed again. The plane had no radar and the crew had a lot of trouble trying to locate the center of the hurricane. The forecasters at Miami were anxious for an accurate position of the center. At that time airborne radars were being installed as standard equipment as rapidly as they could get around to it but the B-17s came last. Low pressure guided them and they were trying to get into the part of the hurricane where they found the pressure falling rapidly. It was a big storm and they were having little luck in the search. Lashed by winds and rain the B-17 staggered across the sky one of the reporters said afterward he went on to tell his story. I was growing sick in the bomb Amers Bay stretched over a pile of parachutes and hanging on to the navigator's chair for dear life. Some baggage roped down beforehand now they strewn across the gangway. Parachutes, life jackets, water cans and camera cases were thrown about into heaps. The photographer, trying in vain to take pictures out of the window was knocked down and sent flying across the fuselage. His arms were bruised from repeated efforts. My stomach was everywhere but where it should have been at black. The plane was thrown from side to side and the floor under my feet dropped. We emerged from a big cloud into an eerie and uncanny pink half-light. The photographer clamoured from the floor and tried to look out. He thought the reddish light was an engine on fire. Before we touched down at Tampa after four hours of flying around in the hurricane we reporters and the photographer were exhausted and even then they had failed to get into the calm centre although they had sent back to Washington a lot of useful information on the storm's position. More than anything else the preliminaries under the guest writer they tell him about the ditching procedures. That is what to do if the plane is on the verge of settling down on the raging sea. Two or three hours before takeoff they are likely to have a ditching along with the briefing on the storm and the check on the equipment. The guest is told that if they bail out he will go through a forward Bombay door. There is hollow laughter as someone that makes it clear that there is very little chance of survival but they want the guest to have every advantage. Commander N. Brango of Navy Reconnaissance says yes we get a good many requests from men who want to go along. Would you like to go on an 8 to 10 hour flight in a 4 inch and 30 ton Navy patrol plane? You will probably see some of the beautifully lush islands of the Antilles chain. Waters shading gradually from pale green to a deep clear emerald shining white coral beaches, native villages buried in tropical jungles and many other sites usually referred to in the travel advertisements. Doesn't that sound enticing? There is just one catch. You may have to spend four to five hours of your flight time shuddering and shaking around in the aircraft like an ice cube in a cocktail shaker with rain driving into a hundred previously undiscovered leaks in the plane and that's down the nearest neck. You may bump your head or other more padded portions of your anatomy on various and sundry projecting pieces of metal of which there seem to be at least a million. You may not be able to see much of anything at times since it will be raining so hard that your horizontal visibility will be nil or you may be able to catch glimpses straight down about 300 feet of mountainous waves and an ocean being torn apart by winds of 90 to 150 miles per hour. There's one thing I will guarantee you. You won't be writing postcards to your friends saying having a wonderful time which you were here because you won't be able to keep the pen on paper long enough to write much of anything. You have guessed by now that the carefully phrased invitation was just a trap to get you aboard one of the Navy's Hurricane Hunter patrol planes as it departs on a hurricane reconnaissance mission. According to Rango these flights have been described by visiting correspondents as being a thrilling, awe-inspiring, terrifying, and other equally impressive adjectives. Actually, it is difficult to find words to describe such a flight that it is hazardous, is obvious, but the feeling that accomplishing the mission may mean the saving of many lives and much property makes it seem worthwhile, not to mention the lift received from an occasional well done from up the line. Just to indicate to the prospective guest what it may be like, Rango gives Caribbean Charlie of 1951 as an example. Charlie was spawned a several hundred miles east of the Windward Island of Trinidad. The first notice the Navy had of its presence was a ship reporting an area of bad weather and almost immediately one of the Hurricane Hunter planes from the Advanced Base in Puerto Rico was in the air to get the first reports of Charlie. For the next nine days Charlie led them a wild if not merry chase. He slipped by night through the Windward Islands and into the Caribbean, loathed across this broad expanse of water, then slammed into Kingston, Jamaica dealing that city one of its most devastating blows in history. Then Charlie headed across the Yucatan Channel and over the Yucatan Peninsula where he lost some of his push. Some sixteen hours later he broke into the Gulf of Campeche with renewed fury stormed across the Gulf and into the Mexican coast at Tampico on August 22 again costing lives and millions in property damage. During his long rampage he was being invaded almost daily by Navy planes. On Tuesday, August 21, Rango had the fortune of being assigned to the reconnaissance crew for that day. They departed Miami at noon of a bright sunny day. For three hours they flew over a calm ocean, flecked with sunlight. By then they could see the looming mass of clouds ahead which indicated Charlie's whereabouts. Dropping from seven thousand feet, cruising altitude to six hundred feet they started getting into the eye. The sun had disappeared and the winds jumped rapidly to seventy miles an hour. For almost an hour they swung around to the west and south feeling for the weaker side as the winds got up to one hundred miles per hour and the rain and turbulence became terrific for about ten minutes before they broke through the inner wall and into the eye. According to Rango the eye is a pleasant place many of them have blue sky calm seas and air smooth enough to catch up on your reports and even drink a cup of coffee. Charlie's eye wasn't too good, big but cloudy still it was better than what we had just come through so we hung around for about thirty-five minutes watching the birds. There were usually hundreds of birds in the eye of a hurricane probably they get blown in there and have enough sense not to try to fly out. But not us, we want out. Soon the decision to start out was made and the order went over the intercom standby to leave the eye report when ready. This always brings the stock answer which has become a standard joke in the squadron don't worry about us mules just load the wagon. The flight out was rough sunset was nearing and in the storm area night falls rapidly for almost two hours they beat their way through one hundred mile per hour winds on the edge of the storm and in the general direction of Corpus Christi their destination. The turbulence and rain on the way out were so severe that they were unable to send out messages and position reports so someone in the crew catching a glimpse of the waves beneath came through with a scintillating remark that we're still lost but we are making excellent time. Almost nine hours after they had left Miami and at the Naval Air Station Corpus Christi Texas and hour later they were out of their dripping flight suits and testing the quality of Texas draft beer. At dawn the next morning another crew and another plane from the squadron was into the hurricane only a few hours before it struck Tampico and then swirled inland to dissipate itself on the mountain range to the west of that coastal city. Shortly before the middle of September 1948 the Weather Bureau in Washington had a long distance call from the Baltimore Sun. A staff correspondent Jeffrey W. Fielding wanted to fly into a hurricane. The Weather Bureau arranged it through General Don Yates in charge of the Air Weather Service and on September 20 Fielding was authorized and invited to proceed to Bermuda at such time as necessary between that date and November 30 to go with one of the crews on a reconnaissance mission. The Air Force offered transportation to Bermuda and return at the proper time. On the day of Fielding's call a vicious hurricane was threatening Bermuda and the B-29s were exploring it but it was too late to arrange a trip. On the 13th it passed a short distance east of the islands with winds of 140 miles an hour. The next tropical disturbance was found in the Caribbean west of Jamaica and became a fully developed storm on September 19. As it raked its way across the western end of Cuba on the 20th and southern Florida on the 21st and 22nd Fielding flew to Bermuda. By the time they were ready to take off the storm was picking up force after crossing Florida and was headed in his direction. Not the worrying type, he made notes of everything. The ditching tactics, the lifesavers and parachutes, sandwiches for lunch, the weather instruments and the exact time of takeoff 12.03 pm Bermuda time. Already high thin cirrus clouds were seen spreading ahead of the storm. Southward the clouds lowered and thickened and then the aircraft commander, Captain Frank Thompson saw a tanker wallowing at the center of a mile below and everybody had a look. Big C's swept over the boughs of the ship and crashed on deck. The crew of the B-29 felt sorry for the men in the tanker. Watch that old ship roll down there, said the pilot. Those poor guys may be in this a couple of days. They make very little headway as the hurricane drives toward them. I shouldn't like to be in their place. The super fortress flew a straight to the teeth of the hurricane and low ragged rain-filled clouds soon hid the tanker from view. Increasing winds buffeted the big aircraft, which now seemed like a pygmy plane in this vast wind system. They were instructed to follow the boxing procedure and were headed for 60 knot winds in the northeast sector. Over the intercommunications suddenly came the excited voice of the navigator, Lieutenant Chester Camp. I've got them. There they are. 60 knot winds bring the plane around. The plane banked in a right turn as the pilot brought the winds on the tail and shot fuel into the engines to force the plane through the winds that would become more violent. So they started the first leg of the box. The weather officer, Lieutenant Chester Evans, was seated in the bomb-aimers position in the glass nose of the plane, practically in the teeth of the gale. In addition to keeping track of the weather, he guided the pilots by reading the altimeters to get the height of the plane above the sea. In spite of the jostling he was getting from the bouncing plane, Fielding investigated these operations and wrote in his notebook, in addition to the regular altimeter, Lieutenant Evans has a radar altimeter which works on the principle of the echo-sounding machine used by ships. A radar wave transmitted from the small instrument to the surface of the sea and bounces back again. The time elapsed between transmission and reception is computed by the gadget in feet, giving an accurate height reading. The information is passed back to the pilots who adjust their pressure altimeters. In some cases, the error of the pressure altimeter measures up to three or four hundred feet in a hurricane. At three o five p.m. and was quite short, lasting only thirty minutes before the plane had run through the low pressure and then to a place where it was six millibars higher. Low grey ragged clouds increased in this sector and the ceiling lowered. On order from the commander, called Sukhi by the crew, the plane went down to two hundred feet. Below, seen through a film of cloud, aged and boiled, huge streaks, many of them hundreds of feet long, etched white lines on the beaten water which was flatter than a pancake. The roaring, tearing wind scooped up tons of water at a time which, as it rose, was knocked flat again by the force of the wind. Sometimes the wind would literally dig into the water, scooping it out. From this huge shell-shaped waves of spume would careen across the water. At this point, someone yelled, Sukhi, take a look at the water. You'll never see this again. Wind is ninety miles an hour now. All the crew peered through the windows. The sea was absolutely flat, except for huge streaks, some of which the weather observer estimated to be at least five feet below the surface of the water. The time was three forty-five pm, according to Fielding, who kept precise notes on everything. Instead of being thrown all over the place, as he had expected, the plane was being lifted up and flopped down again in a series of sickening jolts. To stand upright called for an acrobat, not a newspaperman, he found it useless to stand anyway. It resulted only in a hard crack on the head when the plane dropped. At three fifty-five pm the navigator screeched over the interphone. It's up to one hundred miles an hour now. Gee, this is some storm! The rain came in torrents, driven by a smashing battering wind hammered on the skin of the plane. The wind joined in the noise howling and screeching outside and the roar of the engines was drowned out by the mad symphony of nature, wrote Fielding. The plane bucked and yawed, but it was designed for altitude flying with pressurized cabins for use when needed and no rain came in. They were on the third leg now and it became hotter in the plane. Everybody was sweating profusely. Fielding wrote that the storm bucked and tossed the heavy bomber through the skies like a leaf in autumn. At three fifty-eight pm the wind was up to one hundred and twenty knots. In the midst of all the noise Fielding heard a voice on the intercom and Fielding came a question. Not so good! was the miserable reply. I wish Tsuki would get the plane out of this. That blue cheese I ate in a sandwich for lunch is turning over. All I can taste is that stinking stuff. Others admitted having fluttering stomachs. The radar operator was unable to get the eye of the hurricane on the scope. The co-pilot, Captain Hoffman, commented on the scene, this is a big storm. It has really picked up in size. Hardly were the words out of his mouth before he oh hey look it's clear outside. The sun's coming through. A shaft of sunlight probed through the clouds and filled the cabin with a reassuring glow. They ran the fourth leg but there was nothing new. Fielding thought they had seen all that this hurricane could produce in the way of violence. The radio operator got Kinlier based on the 42-20 frequency and learned that all of the military planes in the area were warned to head for the nearest main land base. They asked for clearance to MacDill Field and got it at 6.25 p.m. Stars appeared in a clearing sky and the plane leveled off and roared through the darkness. It was good to be able to hear the engines again. Tens of soup were open and legs were stretched. Stomachs had settled and there was light chatter over the intercom. The plane touched down at MacDill at 10.45 p.m. The men went to bed with aching bodies but they slept. As Fielding said at the end of his notes, we had been 11 hours in the air, much of it in violent weather, and the constant strain tells on you. Finally, in 1954 the so-called Harry Hop was projected into the living rooms of people all over the country. When Hurricane Edna was headed up the coast toward New England, Edward R. Murrow and a camera crew of the Columbia Broadcasting System flew to Bermuda and the Air Force succeeded in getting the entire group, Murrow, three assistants and 1,500 pounds of camera equipment in the front of the plane. While everybody on the crew held his breath and Murrow used up the matches aboard and wore out the flint on a lighter, the big plane was skillfully piloted through the squall bands and pushed over into the center. The cameras ground away and Murrow asked endless questions. The eye was magnificent, called a storybook setup, clear blue skies above, the center being 20 miles in diameter with cloud walls rising to about 30,000 feet on all sides. The return was as skillful as the entrance through the squall bands out from under the storm clouds and back home above the blue waters and in the sunshine. The film brought to television viewers some idea of the majesty and power of a great storm. Murrow described their passage into the eye of the storm in these words. The navigator, Captain Ed Vrable, asked for a shot and in a couple of minutes the B-29 began to shudder. The copilot said I think we're in it. The pilot said we're going up, although every control was set to take us down. Something lifted us about 300 feet. Then the pilot said we're going down, although he was doing everything humanly possible to take us up. Edna was in control of the aircraft. We were on an even keel but being staggered by short, sharp blows. Then we hit something with a bang that was audible above the roar of the motors, a solid sheet of water. Seconds later brilliant sunshine hit us like a hammer. Someone shouted, there she is and we were in the eye. Calm air, calm flat sea below, a great amphitheater round as a dollar with white clouds sloping up to 25,000 or 30,000 feet. The water looked like a blue alpine lake with snow-clad mountains coming right down to the water's edge, a great bowl of sunshine. The eye of a hurricane is an excellent place to reflect upon the puniness of man and his works. If an adequate definition of humility is ever written, it's likely to be done in the eye of a hurricane. The Air Force man who made the arrangements for Major William C. Anderson said that this relatively smooth flight was the best possible testimonial to the progress the hurricane hunters had made in flying these big storms for Edna was no weakling. But he worried about it day and night until the flight was finished for many strange things can happen. When Murrow and his crew were safely back in New York, Anderson turned in for his first good night's duly thankful that it hadn't turned out to be a hairy hawk. End of Chapter 13 Chapter 14 of The Hurricane Hunters by Ivan Ray Tannehill. This Liberbox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 14 The Unexpected There is not sufficient room for two airplanes in the eye of the same hurricane. Report to joint sheets of staff. 25 years before men began flying into hurricanes, it was the main purpose of the aviator to keep out of storms of all kinds. If he ventured any distance out over the ocean in a heavier than air machine, he expected to see ships guarding the route to pick him up if he fell in the water. In 1919 when the Navy had the planes ready to fly across the Atlantic, they had a fleet of 10 destroyers and 5 ships stationed along the line of flight from Trapezee Bay, Newfoundland to Portugal via the Azores to furnish weather reports that would help the pilots to avoid headwinds, stormy weather, and rough seas, and to take part in rescue operations in case of accident. Three airplanes, the NC-1, 3 and 4 used in this flight were designed and built through the joint efforts of the Navy and the Kurtis Airplane Company. These 4-engine sea planes, the largest built up to that time, exceeded the present day Douglas DC-3 airplane in size and weight. Although sufficient fuel could be carried for a 16-hour flight, cruising airspeed was about 80 miles an hour. During the winter months of 1918 to 1919, plans were made by the Navy in cooperation with the Weather Bureau for securing as complete and widely distributed weather reports as possible for the Atlantic area immediately prior to and during the flight. Through international cooperation, observations were available from Iceland, Western Europe, Canada, and Bermuda. From this network of reports it was possible to draw fairly complete weather maps and to follow in detail the various weather changes which took place. There were several special features that required consideration. For example, because of the heavy gasoline loads aboard the planes, it was necessary that the wind at Trapezi Bay be within certain rather narrow limits, strong enough to enable them to get off the water, but not so vigorous as to damage the hulls or cause them to upset. Similarly, the planes would need the help of a moderate order to reach the Azores on the first leg of the flight, but an excessive wind would cause rough seas making an emergency landing extremely hazardous. Thus, the problem was to select a day on which reasonable favorable conditions would be encountered and to get the planes away as early as possible to minimize the cost of maintaining the fleet at their positions. After four days of careful analysis and waiting the Weather Bureau representative at Trapezi issued the following weather outlook on the afternoon of May 16, 1919. Reports received indicate good conditions for flight over the western part of the course as far as destroyer number 12, about 600 miles out. Winds will be nearly parallel to the course and will yield actual assistance of about 20 miles per hour at flying levels. Over the course east of destroyer number 12, the winds under the influence of the Azores high recently developed will be light, but mostly from the southwestern direction, they will not yield any material assistance. Weather will be clear and fine from Trapezi to destroyer number 8, about 400 miles out, partly cloudy thence to the Azores with the likelihood of occasional showers. Such showers, however, if they occur, will be from clouds at low altitudes and it should be possible to fly above them. All in all the conditions are as nearly favorable as they are likely to be for some time. It is a strange fact that the Weather Bureau forecaster on this flight was Willis Gregg, who became chief of the Weather Bureau in 1934 and the Navy forecaster for the same flight was Inc. Francis Reklderfer, who became the chief of the Bureau in 1938 after Gregg's death. In accordance with this advice the three planes departed that evening and flew the first leg of the flight almost uneventfully until the NC1 and 3 attempted to land on the water near the Azores due to very low clouds. Upon landing, although both crews were picked up by nearby ships, heavy seas damaged the planes to the extent that they could not continue the flight. Fortunately, however, the NC4 was able to make a safe landing in a sheltered bay and after a weeks delay awaiting favorable weather continued from the Azores alone arriving at Lisbon, Portugal on May 27. No one at that time would have believed it possible for this situation to be reversed. Instead of waiting to be sure that the weather is favorable, now assigned to hurricane hunting wait to be sure the weather out there somewhere is decidedly unfavorable before they take off in that direction. But even in hurricane hunting the unexpected happens and as in the old days the crews are intensively trained and all precautions are taken so that they are not likely to be caught by surprise in an emergency. In a period of years there are hundreds of thousands into dozens of tropical storms and unfortunately a few have met with disaster so the intensive training goes on without interruption. It seems strange but it is a fact that some men fly into hurricanes and typhoons without seeing much of what is going on outside the plane. They are too busy with their jobs to spend time looking around. In the first year some of them learn more about these big storms before and after missions than they do while flying. There are lists of reading matter to be consulted including books and papers on tropical storms and there are hence suggestions, advice and warnings based on the experience of other men. Also they read the reports that usually are gathered from the members of other crews after their flights are finished. At the end of the season all may be assembled in a squadron report with recommendations. New men are expected to study this material before each flight the crew gathers in front of a large map for a briefing. Here an experienced weather officer shows them a weather map, points out the location and movement of the storm center at the last report and indicates the route that seems most favorable for an approach to the storm area and for the dash into its center. Most of this training is aimed at the development of crews that will be ready for any emergency for the unexpected so far as that can be realized. Their performance in recent years shows that this special training enables them to survive most of the frightening experiences which probably would be disastrous to crews on less spectacular type submissions. Usually there has been separate training for the men most returned with each of several jobs whether hurricane reconnaissance, engineering, communications, navigation, photography, radar and maintenance. Before departure the ground maintenance men see that the plane is in good working order and that the equipment is operating properly. At the beginning of each season for example some of the navy maintenance men get the city to turn the fire hose at high pressure into the front of the plane to see how it reacts. The effects of torrential rains in high winds of the storm are simulated in this manner. After every flight the plane needs a very thorough examination. One of the troubles is that salt air at high speed causes rapid corrosion. Salt may accumulate around the engines. Also, severe turbulence causes damage to the plane. After the takeoff the pilot and copilot can see ahead most of the time but for considerable intervals they are on instruments or as they say in the navy on the gauges. They see nothing or very little of what is ahead of the plane in such cases and the sea surface being hidden from view they are uncertain as to their altitude until the weather officer or aerologist gives them a reading from the radar altimeter. Sometimes in darkness a pilot has had the bright lights turned on so that a flash of lightning will not leave him completely blinded at a time when he must know what the instruments show because of the violent turbulence that may be experienced when there is lightning. Then too they always have in mind that there may suddenly be torrential rain that will lower the cylinder head temperatures to a dangerous level. They must accelerate and heat the engines without traveling too fast. The landing gear is dropped to catch the wind by using a richer mixture to feed the engines the cooling effect may be lessened. It is always necessary to be on the alert. Altogether it is just as important and often times more so for the men to see the gauges than to see the weather. Although the air force and navy have different methods of flying into tropical storms there are certain dangers that are common to both systems. Ahead of time the pilots and others make a last-minute check to see that the crew are prepared. They also check instruments, lights, pitot, and carburetor heat, safety belts, power settings, emergency equipment, current for communications and radar, and other things. In flight the pilot does not use the throttle unnecessarily but chiefly to maintain airspeed. Actually it may be said that there are three pilots. The third one, sometimes known as George is the autopilot which may do most of the flying except in rough weather and in landing and takeoff. Keeping the plane on course on a long flight would be very tiring otherwise. The limits of airspeed vary. In the B-29s which have been used generally for air force hunting the limits are between 190 and 290 miles an hour roughly. Airspeed readings may be affected by heavy rain. Also increased humidity of the air will result in an increase in fuel consumption. There are numerous other items on the list of things that may cause trouble. But the pilots are highly competent and thoroughly trained and experienced before being put on the hurricane detail. The radio operator of course is fully occupied and seldom has much time to see what is going on in the weather. He has two main troubles. One is static. When it is bad all he can do is send a message blind and ask the ground station to wait. This may last for an hour or more. Various devices are used to reduce static interference but without complete success. As soon as the plane starts passing around he has difficulty keying the message. Not only because his body is shaking and swaying but because it produces variations in the transmitter voltage and on very high frequency a drop below a certain critical voltage is likely to render the equipment inoperative. To overcome a little of the trouble from turbulence some radio operators in the early days tried strapping one arm to the desk but radio men having just experienced a rough flight said in his report that his arm didn't do a very good job unless he was there. Besides he needed the arm to hold on with. More recently it has been necessary to carry two radio men and in fact this has become standard practice in most areas in the last year or two. It is very seldom that communications fail entirely but a plane on a storm hunting mission that was out of contact with the ground station for much over an hour usually returned to base. Some aircraft on storm missions carry extra receivers and transmitters. One navigator interviewed said that he is as busy as a one armed paper hanger. He keeps track of the position of the plane by dead reckoning and by Loran which is long range navigation accomplished by receiving post signals from pairs of radio stations on coasts or islands. It works well in the center of the storm not so well elsewhere. In some parts of the hurricane belt Loran coverage has been poor. If it fails the plane may go out to a point where the navigator can get a good fix by Loran and do the dead reckoning from the center to this point. Every few minutes the navigator writes in a log a note about drift compass heading indicated airspeed and time and when it is rough bumps his head on the eyepiece of the drift meter the radar or something else. He takes double drift readings to get the speed of the strongest winds figures the diameter of the eye and the exact location of the aircraft while in the eye and passes this information to the weather officer or airologist for his report. The duties are so numerous that the Navy usually carries two navigators to produce pinpoint accuracy with limited celestial or electronic aids while being buffeted by 100 knot winds. Two are required largely because of frequent changes in heading and the nature of the winds in the Navy low level style of reconnaissance. The Air Force do on daily weather reconnaissance and sometimes on storm missions. In many aspects though weather officer or flight airologist as they call him in the Navy is the key man on the mission. The plane is out for a series of weather reports and it is up to him to decide which is the best way to get what he wants. Within the limits of operational safety his decisions are accepted. It is his job to keep track of the weather in every detail. He has a complicated form containing many columns in which he enters figures taken from the coat tables to fit the various elements. Flying conditions, time, location, kinds of clouds, heights of cloud bases and tops, direction and distance of unusual phenomena, rain, turbulence, temperature, pressure, altitude and every other conceivable detail that might be of use to the forecaster on shore. If he put this in plain language the message would be as long as a man's arm and the radio operator might never get it off. There is an international code in figures for this purpose which makes it possible to put a very large amount of data in a brief message and this is a continuous operation. Hardly does the airologist get one message into the hands of the radio operator until he begins another one. It is his job to keep the pilot informed of the correct altitude. The weatherman is seated right out in front where the uncoming weather beats a terrific hubbub against the plexiglass. The radar operator may be one of the navigators. He keeps his eye on the scope. Many queer shapes come and go as the plane speeds along and the man has to know how to interpret them. He keeps the weather officer informed. Also it may be his job to help the navigator guide the pilot around places where turbulence is likely to be excessive. Now and then he or another crew member releases a drop sawned to get temperature, pressure and humidity in the air between the plane and the sea. The photographer has his troubles, conditions are far favorable and often times impossible for taking pictures. One of his important jobs and one that has been done exceedingly well by Navy photographers in the squadron headquartered at Jacksonville is to get photos of the sea surface in winds of various forces from 8 knots up to 130 knots. These photos are extremely useful in estimating the force of the wind by watching it on the sea. In addition there is an engineer. He looks after the overall operation of the plane and watches the many instruments on the panel. Usually he is a man of long experience who has worked up from crew chief. He adjusts power to fit the fuel load. If an engine catches on fire he knows how to put it out. If a bailout is eminent he is the man on the job. Sitting behind the second pilot he is a man of a large size concentrated on the mechanical equipment. All of these men on the plane work as a team any of them being ready to help somebody else in an emergency and alert and resourceful to take quick action when the unexpected happens and it often does. The crews are usually organized as follows. The senior pilot is in command. In the Navy he has the title of pilot is the copilot. In the Air Force the man in charge is the aircraft commander and his assistant is pilot. In any case both of these men are heavily engaged in keeping the aircraft under control when the weather is rough. The pilots together with two other men, the engineer and the crew chief, keep the plane in the air though these latter two jobs may be combined in which case the crew chief has an assistant, a flight mechanic. Under the crew chief or crew captain there is one exceedingly important duty watching the engines. On each side a man looks constantly for signs of trouble oil leaks, fire or whatever. These two men are sometimes called scanners. White smoke or black smoke as the case may be on issuing from an engine signals a dire emergency. It may be only one or two minutes from incipient fire to explosion. An action must be immediate to put the fire out or correct other troubles. It is a very definite strain on the scanners to be alert every instant on a long flight and various members of the crew may be rotated on these jobs. On routine daily reconnaissance in non-hurricane weather the Air Force flights are long the men feel decided relief on taking a hurricane mission which is rougher but usually much shorter. With this training and organization of the crews most of the emergencies are met quickly and efficiently. Now and then the unexpected happens however as is evident in the following instances. In September 1947 a number of missions by the Navy and Air Force had ordered data in Hurricane George and the big storm was headed ominously toward Florida. An Air Force crew was in it on September 16 and had been in trouble. There were gasoline leaks, several fires and engines acting up. They decided it was an emergency and set course for McDill Field. Everything went well until they approached the field for a landing. There in the middle runway sat a big turkey buzzard. In the twinkling of an eye when they were only 50 feet away the great bird took off and smashed into the leading edge of the right wing. The impact made a sizable dent and the wing dipped. After six tries the pilot skillfully got the plane down without an accident but the crew was more upset by this bird than by the average hurricane. Sometimes the unexpected leads to disaster. One of the most unfortunate of these incidents occurred at Bermuda in 1949. There was a report of a disturbance in the western Caribbean on November 3. It was late in the season but a few very bad hurricanes have struck in this region in November so the forecasters at Miami asked for reconnaissance and the request was passed to the Air Force in the early field in Bermuda. It was afternoon when the message came. A B-29 with a crew of 13 men was cleared for a flight through the storm area and then to Ramier Force Base in Puerto Rico where they were to spend the night. The plane took off at 6.17 p.m. Bermuda time climbed to 10,000 feet and leveled off. Almost immediately the crew saw an number one engine and it was feathered. The radio operator got in touch with the tower and airways and the aircraft commander prepared to return to the field. The pilot brought the plane over the island and reported at 4,000 feet descending. But just at that time a Pan American Stratocruiser was cleared to land. The B-29 circled and reported at 1,500 feet at a distance of 7 miles west of the island. Next the plane was 4 miles out coming straight in at 1,000 feet and was cleared to land on runway 12. There was a gusty crosswind and there were scattered clouds at 1,000 feet. The plane then reported that it would pass over at 1,000 feet and get lined up. But almost immediately said to disregard the last message. One half mile away the flaps were raised, the landing gear was let down and power was applied on the three remaining engines. The plane made a left turn which became steeper and altitude was lost rapidly until the left wing hit the water. This was a quarter of a mile offshore. Fire broke out as the plane hit the water and rescue boats rushed to the scene. Only three men escaped, two of them miraculously through a hole in the fuselage as was determined by a Bermuda diver who went down 60 feet in the water to examine the wreckage. The other man, captain of the aircraft, was pulled out but died later in the hospital. It was the two radar men who were fortunately in a position to get out through the hole in the fuselage and both survived. This incident at Bermuda the plane was not being affected by a storm. It is an amazing fact in consideration of the very large number of weather missions flown by the Air Force after World War II that their first plane to be lost while on reconnaissance in a tropical storm was in 1952. On November 1 a B-29 left Guam to fly into a typhoon called Wilma. The crew of the Superfort was instructed to penetrate the storm, report by radio, land at Clark Field in the Philippines and be prepared to fly through the typhoon again on the following morning. The same day, however, radio contact was lost. Seventeen rescue planes and numerous surface vessels searched the typhoon torn waters near Samar Island for survivors without success. Natives on the island of Leti reported that a 4-ingent plane was seen flying low in that vicinity but the report could not be verified. The squadron to which this plane was assigned had made more than 500 reconnaissance flights into typhoons between June 1, 1947 and the date on which it was lost. Lieutenant A. N. Fowler, an experienced Navy pilot, was the man who said that a hurricane was like going over Niagara Falls in a telephone booth. Describing one of his most dangerous trips, he told a newspaper man, I have seen the hurricane swept sea on many occasions but it never fails to impress me in exactly the same way. It would be sheer turmoil like a furious blizzard. While experiencing the jarring turbulence, the heat and drumming of torrential rain which seeps in by the gallon and tastes salty, the inside of a hurricane can be like a bad dream like having been swallowed by an epileptic whale or going over Niagara Falls in a telephone booth. On a less serious note but illustrative of the unexpected, there is the tail of the Navy crew and the hot water. They took off in a privateer to fly into the center of a hurricane, each member of the crew, having been assigned certain specific duties as is always the case on these missions. The radar operator among other jobs was given the coffee detail. After a considerable period of moderate to heavy turbulence with heavy rain leaking into the plane until everybody was thoroughly soaked, they broke into the clear in the eye of the hurricane about 25 miles in diameter. In the recording of his latest observation the radio operator was sending two messages that had accumulated and the navigator was figuring the position of the eye and computing a double drift for when. The copilot had the controls and was flying around the eye, preparatory to a descent as soon as the coffee had gone around. The pilot called for coffee, the radar man dragged out still hot and began to pour. He threw the first cup full under his seat and poured one from the other jug. Then he saw that he had brought two jugs of hot water and no coffee. What the heck, exclaimed the weather officer, why you pour blank. The navigator's words were scathing. He said that according to the Bible Noah was tossed overboard for less reason. From the very beginning of reconnaissance these missions have been coordinated according to instructions issued by a trio who serve on the Joint Chiefs of Staff and also on the Air Coordinating Committee. Today the men are Brigadier General Thomas Mormon of the Air Force, Captain J.C.S. McKellop of the Navy and Dr. Francis W. Reichender for Chief of the Weather Bureau. There have been no serious accidents on the plane when planes actually were in hurricanes and there was no confusion in assigning planes until September 1947. The men on the committee at that time were Brigadier General Donald Yates and Captain H.T. Orville in addition to Dr. Reichelderfer. They coordinated many operations in addition to hurricane reconnaissance and all had had long experience in aviation. Dr. Reichelderfer was formerly in charge of weather operations in the Navy after long experience at sea and in the air. He was weather officer for Hindenburg on his flight around the world in a dirigible. On September 18, 1947 the committee was surprised and alarmed by a report of reconnaissance. An Air Force plane out of Bermuda flew into a big hurricane which flew to the south of Bermuda and after a rough time in the outer parts of the storm finally found its way into the eye. Immediately they saw a Navy privateer flying around in the center also on reconnaissance and they got right out of the eye and returned to base. There they made an official protest that there is not sufficient room for two planes in the center of the same hurricane. New instructions for coordination were issued immediately to all concerned. It is not surprising that this has happened on at least two other occasions once with two Air Force planes and on another occasion with a commercial airliner. In 1953 there was another bad accident but not directly in a hurricane area. It resulted from a moderate hurricane named Dolly which came from the vicinity of Puerto Rico on September 8 and moved toward Bermuda with increasing intensity. On the 10th aircraft in the center estimated the highest winds at more than 100 miles an hour but on the 11th it weakened and passed directly over Bermuda. There were strong gales at Bermuda although the storm was diminishing in force so fast that no serious damage resulted. On the 10th an Air Force plane from Bermuda flew into the hurricane. A weather bureau research man Robert Simpson went along to follow up on some studies he was making of the circulation at high levels in tropical storms. He reported Dolly was an immature storm with most of the cloudiness concentrated in the northern sector. On the south and west sides clouds rose to around seven or eight thousand feet near the eye except along the main bands which encircled the eye. The plane first investigated conditions at 1500 feet in the eye where it was observed that there was a huge mound of cloud near the center with a moat or cloudless area which encircled this central cloud and separated it from the walls of the eye. After this low level exploration the plane climbed to 29,500 feet completing a spiral sounding in the eye. At this elevation or slightly lower a complete navigation of the storm area was made with drop sound being released in strategic quarters pressure and temperature gradients being measured along the track of the plane. There were two outstanding things observed during this flight at high levels. First the sheer beauty of the storm itself which could be viewed in excellent perspective insofar as the cloud forms were geared to the wind circulations over hundreds of miles surrounding the eye. The only obstructions to vision at this elevation were the tall cloud walls which rose from the northern side of the eye. The second was a strong cyclonic circulation nearly 30,000 feet over the eye itself which was surprising. The theorist had figured that the cyclonic circulation would cease at high altitudes and possibly at very high levels become anti-cyclonic. Simpson continued by the time the plane had returned to Bermuda it was evident that Dolly was bearing down upon the island itself and that everything had to be evacuated. All the planes were flown out to the mainland and the buildings battened down for the big blow. At most of the time in the weather station with my eyes glued to the radar scope as the storm approached and the winds rose one rainband after another passed over the station each with evidence of a little more curvature than the preceding band. Finally the scope indicated a circle with a five mile area free of any radar echos. It was bearing down directly upon Kindle Field. The pressure had not begun to fall and the wind was holding steady. Another odd thing was that during the reconnaissance the eye had been 25 miles in diameter. However, this eye was only four or five miles in diameter. The eye arrived, the rain stopped and then resumed as the eye passed over the station yet the pressure only leveled off briefly and the wind only subsided slightly without shifting. We had been tricked. This was not the real McCoy. It was a false eye. Subsequently, two other false eyes appeared on the radar scope and we had about decided that the storm had no organized central circulation left when the real thing finally showed up on the scope still 25 miles in diameter. In the reconnaissance of Hurricane Dolly, many feet of radar pictures were made of the spiral bands of the storm. When it became clear that all planes would have to be flown to the mainland because of the approach of Dolly to Bermuda, the film pack used in the reconnaissance was left in the plane so that additional pictures could be made on the flight back to the mainland. Not only was this done but also an additional eye drop-sonde was obtained during the trip to the mainland. It was agreed that as soon as the plane returned to Bermuda, after the storm had passed, the film and additional records would be mailed to Washington. On its flight from the mainland while returning to Bermuda, the plane exploded in mid-air 150 miles off the coast near Savannah, Georgia. It had the records, the radar film, the drop-sonds taken in the eye and other data. In this case, the number 4 engine had run away during its prop which struck engine number 3 and the latter exploded. The plane fell out of control. Eight of the crew were rescued but none of the records or data of the reconnaissance was saved. This plane, however, was not on a storm mission at the time. The unexpected appearance of a small eye on the radar scope is not uncommon. The Navy's instruction to its crew says during the final minutes of the run-in, radar may prove to be more of a hindrance than a help. There can be a number of open spots close to the true eye which might appear as eyes on the radar screen. You should not chase these false eyes. Out in the Pacific, the typhoon chasers say, false eyes are often found in weak storms and care must be taken not to confuse them with the true eye of the typhoon. On the radar scope they may present an appearance much like the true eye but will not remain on the scope for any length of time. By continually scanning the suspected eye with several sweeps, the radar observer will see that the false eyes are surrounded by fuzzy cloud formations rather than a heavy ring of cloud characteristic of the eye. When Hurricane Carol of 1954 was approaching the New England coast, last penetration was made by a navy plane with Lieutenant Commander R. W. Westover as pilot and Lieutenant C. W. Heinz as co-pilot. On the way into the storm circulation, Heinz was telling Westover about his family's experience in the New England hurricane of 1938. The family residence was on Cape Cod. It was blown into the water and drifted until it lodged against a bridge obstructing navigation. Finally it was necessary to dynamite the wrecked house to clear the channel. The Heinz family rebuilt their home and took out hurricane insurance. They carried the insurance until June 1, 1954 and then let it lapse. As the wrecked plane flew into the center of Carol on August 30, the crew was watching a Moore McCormick ship in the stormy seas below and sympathizing with the people on board who were suffering such rotten weather. But Heinz was saving his sympathy for his family on Cape Cod. He was sure that Carol was going to blow their home into the water again and afterward he learned that it did. Although Carol of 1954 received a great deal of publicity because of death and destruction in New England, Westover who also flew into hurricane Carol of 1953 says that it was a much more violent hurricane than the one in 1954. The first Carol was so bad that only one low-level penetration was attempted. His crew recorded pressure of 929 millibars in the center about 26.80 inches and they recorded 87.5 degree drift. But fortunately the earlier Carol remained out at sea throughout its course. Hurricane Hazel later in 1954 gave another Navy pilot, Lieutenant Max C.P. Watson, an experience of the same kind that Lieutenant Heinz had. The storm was approaching the coast of South Carolina when Watson flew his plane into it and he saw the center passing inland not far from the town of Conway which was his own. Hazel was responsible for other unexpected incidents here and there during its ravages from the Caribbean to the northeastern part of the United States. One case was on a Navy plane commanded by Lieutenant G.J. Rea. Watson was the pilot on this trip also. They took off from Puerto Rico and flew into the storm as it was turning northward and passing out of the Caribbean. Up to that time Hazel was not much of a storm. Westover flew into it after it passed Granada and found that it was not a well organized cyclone. Rea had gone into it on the first penetration and reported winds of 85 knots. Westover found the area almost cloudless but 90 knot winds in one area. However, after its northward motion began, it was a very dangerous wind system which was responsible for the only injury to a Navy crewman in these flights into this particular hurricane. Because of the severe turbulence that had developed quickly in Hazel, all the crew members on this flight were fastened in with safety belts as is usual in such cases. But the photographer wanted to get up and take a picture. So he got out of the safety belt and had another crew member unfasten himself and hold him while he took the picture. In the sudden very violent turbulence, both were thrown against the overhead. On his descent, the photographer caught his arm between the cables and the fuselage and broke his shoulder blade. The other crewman was knocked unconscious. Out in the Pacific an Air Force pilot, Captain Leo S. Belinsky had an experience which induced him to go to great lengths of experiment and ingenuity in an effort to find an easier way to track typhoons and hurricanes. It was in May 1950 when a typhoon called Doris was growing to maturity while near the island of truck and showed signs of changing its path, threatening the base at Guam. On May 8 an Reb 29 under the command of Captain Cunningham was sent out to penetrate the storm. Belinsky went along. At that time Leo had a fine wristwatch which he took much pride. A man in uniform has few things that are different from the other men but Leo secured an expression of individuality through a wristwatch. He bought a very special one for $100 and admits that he frequently looked at it when he really didn't care what time it was. On this first trip into Doris everything went smoothly. The crew members were instructed to land at Iwo Jima where the plane would take over. But before landing they found that the hydraulic system needed repairs. Cunningham brought the plane down skillfully and they worked all night making repairs with parts salvaged from another plane on the field. The plans were changed and they were assigned to the next mission. The next morning they were airborne again for another penetration. This confirmed the northwest movement of Doris which would take the most violent actions away from Guam. So they returned to Iwo Jima well worn out by two successive flights and thinking about a little rest when Commander Cunningham received the following message, unable to get relief, request you make afternoon fix. So the same crew turned around and started the third mission. The other two flights into this storm had been uneventful, they were tired and Leo didn't bother to fasten his safety belt. Wham! Suddenly he found himself floating in the air around the cockpit. Before he could get his bearings he was thrown violently against a bulkhead and slowly came to the realization that the bits of junk dangling in his face were the remains of his hundred dollar wristwatch. This bothered Bielinski more than a broken arm or a twisted vertebra. He started studying typhoons with a determination to find a better way to keep track of them. The results are described in Chapter 17. In other ways the unexpected can be serious. One experience is cited by Captain Ed Ravel who was a navigator on a flight into a hurricane in 1953. After a careful approach the aircraft suddenly popped into the eye but it was only about eight miles in diameter. It was not easy to circle a super fortress in this small eye. At one point the turning arc was a little too broad and the aircraft edged out into the winds on the border. It was instantly tossed back into the eye almost upside down and he had the worst fright of his career in the reconnaissance business. But the pilots made a skillful descent until they managed to get the plane into the correct attitude and finished the flight. In Hurricane Edna in 1954 a crew of hunters in a WB-29 in command of Captain Charles C. Whitney had an unexpected duty. They had spent part of the morning and the afternoon of September 14 in the eye of the hurricane. They flew in tight little circles dodging the wing-shattering winds on the periphery. Because the weather bureau forecasters were afraid of a repetition of a sudden speed-up like that of Hurricane Carol two weeks before they had asked for a continuous watch. Captain Whitney and his crew were in there for nine hours. And then with gas getting low they ran into the unexpected. Some eleven hours after takeoff from Bermuda the aircraft picked up a radio message that the Nantucket light ship torn from her moorings by terrific winds was adrift and at Edna's mercy. The WB-29 plunged into 145 mile an hour winds in search of the vessel. Picking up the light ship by radar the weather plane shepherded the hopelessly lost ship remaining overhead until a Coast Guard rescue plane arrived. Waves 70 feet high seemed to toss the stricken vessel into the air to meet the low-flying aircraft pressed down by Edna's raging winds. It felt the crew said later as if the plane were dancing on her tail. With the arrival of the relief plane the WB-29 turned landward. After sixteen hours in the air and with the gas gauge hitting the low side of the dial the weather plane made a landing at Dover Delaware. According to the Air Force this flight was one of the most dramatic missions in peacetime Air Force history. End of chapter 14