Jetrader - November/December 2009 - 20

system would recapture the shock wave and restore normal operation. On the planned test proﬁle, we entered a programmed 35-deg. bank turn to the right. An immediate unstart occurred on Of the 50 SR-71s built, 20 crashed with most of their crews surviving. the right engine, forcing the aircraft to roll further right and start to pitch up. I jammed the control stick as far left and forward as it would go. No response. I instantly knew we were in for a wild ride. I attempted to tell Jim what was happening and to stay with the airplane until we reached a lower speed and altitude. I didn’t think the chances of surviving an ejection at Mach 3.18 and 78,800 ft. were very good. However, g-forces built up so rapidly that my words came out garbled and unintelligible, as conﬁrmed later by the cockpit voice recorder. The cumulative effects of system malfunctions, reduced longitudinal stability, increased angle-of-attack in the turn, supersonic speed, high altitude and other factors imposed forces on the airframe that exceeded ﬂight control authority and the Stability Augmentation System’s ability to restore control. Everything seemed to unfold in slow motion. I learned later the time from event onset to catastrophic departure from controlled ﬂight was only 2-3 sec. Still trying to communicate with Jim, I blacked out, succumbing to extremely high g-forces. The SR-71 then literally disintegrated around us. From that point, I was just along for the ride. My next recollection was a hazy thought that I was having a bad dream. Maybe I’ll wake up and get out of this mess, I mused. Gradually regaining consciousness, I realized this was no dream; it had really happened. That also was disturbing, because I could not have survived turbi what had just happened. Therefore, I must be dead. Since I didn’t feel bad—just a d detached sense of euphoria—I decided deta being dead wasn’t so bad after all. AS FULL AWARENESS took hold, I realA ized I was not dead, but had somehow separated from the airplane. I had no idea sepa how this could have happened; I hadn’t initiated an ejection. The sound of rushinitia ing a and what sounded like straps ﬂ apair ping in the wind conﬁrmed I was falling, but I couldn’t see anything. My pressure suit’s face plate had frozen over and I suit was staring at a layer of ice. wa The pressure suit was inﬂ ated, so I knew an emergency oxygen cylinder in the seat kit attached to my parachute harness was functioning. It not only supplied breathing oxygen, but also pressurized the suit, preventing my blood from boiling at extremely high altitudes. I didn’t appreciate it at the time, but the suit’s pressurization had also provided physical protection from intense buffeting and g-forces. That inﬂ ated suit had become my own escape capsule. My next concern was about stability and tumbling. Air density at high altitude is insufﬁcient to resist a body’s tumbling motions, and centrifugal forces high enough to cause physical injury could develop quickly. For that reason, the SR-71’s parachute system was designed to automatically deploy a small-diameter stabilizing chute shortly after ejection and seat separation. Since I had not intentionally activated the ejection sysystem—and assuming all automatic funcnctions depended on a proper ejection on sequence—it occurred to me the stabibilizing chute may not have deployed. However, I quickly determined I was as falling vertically and not tumbling. The e little chute must have deployed and was s doing its job. Next concern: the main parachute, which was designed to open automatically at 15,000 ft. Again, I had no assurance the automatic-opening function would work. I couldn’t ascertain my altitude because I still couldn’t see through the iced-up face plate. There was no way to know how long I had been blackedout, or how far I had fallen. I felt for the manual-activation D-ring on my chute harness, but with the suit inﬂ ated and my hands numbed by cold, I couldn’t locate it. I decided I’d better open the face plate, try to estimate my height above the ground, then locate that “D” ring. Just as I reached for the face plate, I felt the reassuring sudden deceleration of main-chute deployment. I raised the frozen face plate and discovered its uplatch was broken. Using one hand to hold that plate up, I saw I was descending through a clear, winter sky with unlimited visibility. I was greatly relieved to see Jim’s parachute coming down about a quarter of a mile away. I didn’t think either of us could have survived the aircraft’s breakup, so seeing Jim had also escaped lifted my spirits incredibly. I could also see burning wreckage on the ground a few miles from where we would land. The terrain didn’t look at all inviting—a desolate, high plateau dotted with patches of snow and no signs of habitation. I tried to rotate the parachute and look in other directions. But with one hand devoted to keeping the face plate up and both hands numb from high-altitude, subfreezing temperatures, I couldn’t manipulate the risers enough to turn. Before the breakup, we’d started a turn in the New Mexico-Colorado-Oklahoma-Texas border region. The SR-71 had a turning radius of about 100 mi. at that speed and altitude, so I wasn’t even sure what state we were going to land in. But, because it was about 3:00 p.m., I was certain we PHOTO COUR TE SY OF TH E U. S. AIR FORCE PHOTO COUR TE SY OF TH E U. S. AIR 20 The ofﬁcial publication of the International Society of Transport Aircraft Trading g FORCE

Jetrader - November/December 2009

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