The Aviation thread

[Mesa]

I've just discovered thid thread, but there are some amazing pics on here that bring back some memories.
I've worked in Defence as a 'SURFIN' or spray painter for a number of years. I've been lucky enough to have worked on most types of aircraft we've had. When I first joined we started out repainting a Sabre (A94-22) and a Winjeel. I ended up in Richmond where I painted Herc's, Orion's, Caribou's, 707's and HS 748's. I was there that long that most of those aircraft came through again for their second re-paint. We also worked on the Dakota and another Sabre (A94-970) which we changed to 76 SQN markings. This aircraft at the time shared a hangar that was called 'fossil flight' where the Dakota, Sabre A94 983 and a MIG were also sitting. At the time, A94-970 was supposedly being prepared for airworthiness. We were told it was to mock fight with the MIG at air shows. I was also lucky enough to work on the flying Sabre (A94-83).
We did a short stint at Point Cook where we did a Meteor (A77-702) and IIRC, another Sabre.
I ended up at a variety of F/A 18 Hornet squadron's in the early noughties. Again, I was there that long that they were starting to come through on their second re-coat.
I was lucky (or unlucky enough) to have worked on the 'show pony' jets. Most of these jets have different paint schemes to the usual run of the mill schemes with anniversary or SQN CO aircraft markings or details (basically aircraft with different paint schemes and markings signifying an event or anniversary). I think the only one left that I did myself was A21-48 which had the 77 SQN markings re-done in a different format and enlarged on the verticals in colour. (anything that isn't grey or blue grey on those things is 'colour').
I no longer work in the industry and I don't miss the job (it's not as 'glamourous' as it sounds and as some of those early military pictures show, PPE wasn't a real high priority. It's been a sighnificant factor to my declining health), but it did feel good when somebody wandered up to you and started telling you how good the 'new' paint scheme looked.


Over the years I've been lucky enough to fly in Herc's, Caribou's, 707's, 748's and Orions on numerous occiaisons. The best flight I ever got was in a Hornet a few years back. It's something I'll never forget. Even got to 'fly' it too!!!

[74_XB_Ute]

Originally Posted by kingy351

I no longer work in the industry and I don't miss the job (it's not as 'glamourous' as it sounds and as some of those early military pictures show, PPE wasn't a real high priority. It's been a sighnificant factor to my declining health), but it did feel good when somebody wandered up to you and started telling you how good the 'new' paint scheme looked.

Working in the stripping bay definately aint glamourous.....most SURFINS hate it But you also forgot to tell us how many mates cars and trailers you painted over the years...lol

[Ausfire]

Originally Posted by 74_XB_Ute

Working in the stripping bay definately aint glamourous.....most SURFINS hate it But you also forgot to tell us how many mates cars and trailers you painted over the years...lol

Seems to be a couple of EX Raafies here, some great shots too, I have used both Surfin guys and safety equippos a few times in my 20yrs service. Cartons the unit of currency Lol.

Good to see a few of us here.

I'm still in aviation trade, work at Sydney airport so get to see some awesome stuff, will try and upload some pics!

[Mesa]

Originally Posted by 74_XB_Ute

Working in the stripping bay definately aint glamourous.....most SURFINS hate it But you also forgot to tell us how many mates cars and trailers you painted over the years...lol

Trailers and cars??? None.... not me. Don't know what your talking about.

Must admit, everytime I see one of those beer currency ads on tv I think back to the 'old military'.

I can't think of anyone who enjoyed the stripping process. Weeks at a time covered head to toe in 'yellow peril' and MEK. Even after having a shower and going home my missus could tell what we were doing that day by the toxins leaching out of my skin, even on the paint cycle.

Hornet's were no better. 2-4 weeks of heavy sanding with the dust contamination getting injested into the lungs through the dodgy face masks and getting into the eyes too. You became so dependant on the chemicals that if you had a long weekend or were on holidays you got withdrawal. I don't know how many guy's used to head straight for the paint mix room to get a wiff off MEK to get rid of the withdrawal symptoms after a weekend. Either that or a wiff of the missus nail polish remover. I don't miss it at all.

[Burnout]

A couple of popular quotes:

In his book, Sled Driver, SR-71 Blackbird pilot Brian Shul writes: "I'll always remember a certain radio exchange that occurred one day as Walt (my backseater) and I were screaming across Southern California, 13 miles high. We were monitoring various radio transmissions from other aircraft as we entered Los Angeles airspace. Though they didn't really control us, they did monitor our movement across their scope. I heard a Cessna ask for a readout of its groundspeed."

"90 knots" Center replied.

"Moments later, a Twin Beech required the same."

"120 knots," Center answered.

"We weren't the only ones proud of our groundspeed that day as almost instantly an F-18 smugly transmitted, 'Ah, Center, Dusty 52 requests groundspeed readout.'

"There was a slight pause, then the response, 525 knots on the ground, Dusty".

"Another silent pause. As I was thinking to myself how ripe a situation this was, I heard a familiar click of a radio transmission coming from my backseater. It was at that precise moment I realized Walt and I had become a real crew, for we were both thinking in unison." "Center, Aspen 20, you got a groundspeed readout for us?"

There was a longer than normal pause…………..... "Aspen, I show 1,742 knots"

"No further inquiries were heard on that frequency"


And further:

……."the plane was dripping, much like the misshapen model had assembled in my youth. Fuel was seeping through the joints, raining down on the hangar floor. At Mach 3, the plane would expand several inches because of the severe temperature, which could heat the leading edge of the wing to 1,100 degrees. To prevent cracking, expansion joints had been built into the plane. Sealant resembling rubber glue covered the seams, but when the plane was subsonic, fuel would leak through the joints."……

For a machine whose natural habitat that was supersonic, what a machine indeed!

[Burnout]

Originally Posted by Burnout

A couple of popular quotes:

In his book, Sled Driver, SR-71 Blackbird pilot Brian Shul writes: "I'll always remember a certain radio exchange that occurred one day as Walt (my backseater) and I were screaming across Southern California, 13 miles high. We were monitoring various radio transmissions from other aircraft as we entered Los Angeles airspace. Though they didn't really control us, they did monitor our movement across their scope. I heard a Cessna ask for a readout of its groundspeed."

"90 knots" Center replied.

"Moments later, a Twin Beech required the same."

"120 knots," Center answered.

"We weren't the only ones proud of our groundspeed that day as almost instantly an F-18 smugly transmitted, 'Ah, Center, Dusty 52 requests groundspeed readout.'

"There was a slight pause, then the response, 525 knots on the ground, Dusty".

"Another silent pause. As I was thinking to myself how ripe a situation this was, I heard a familiar click of a radio transmission coming from my backseater. It was at that precise moment I realized Walt and I had become a real crew, for we were both thinking in unison." "Center, Aspen 20, you got a groundspeed readout for us?"

There was a longer than normal pause…………..... "Aspen, I show 1,742 knots"

"No further inquiries were heard on that frequency"


And further:

……."the plane was dripping, much like the misshapen model had assembled in my youth. Fuel was seeping through the joints, raining down on the hangar floor. At Mach 3, the plane would expand several inches because of the severe temperature, which could heat the leading edge of the wing to 1,100 degrees. To prevent cracking, expansion joints had been built into the plane. Sealant resembling rubber glue covered the seams, but when the plane was subsonic, fuel would leak through the joints."……

For a machine whose natural habitat that was supersonic, what a machine indeed!

Here's a couple more nail biters concerning the SR-71.


This is another really good story from "sled driver", about the slowest he's flown:

So it was with great surprise, when at the end of one of my presentations, someone asked, “what was the slowest you ever flew the Blackbird?” This was a first. After giving it some thought, I was reminded of a story that I had never shared before, and relayed the following.

I was flying the SR-71 out of RAF Mildenhall, England , with my back-seater, Walt Watson; we were returning from a mission over Europe and the Iron Curtain when we received a radio transmission from home base. As we scooted across Denmark in three minutes, we learned that a small RAF base in the English countryside had requested an SR-71 fly-past. The air cadet commander there was a former Blackbird pilot, and thought it would be a motivating moment for the young lads to see the mighty SR-71 perform a low approach. No problem, we were happy to do it. After a quick aerial refueling over the North Sea , we proceeded to find the small airfield.

Walter had a myriad of sophisticated navigation equipment in the back seat, and began to vector me toward the field. Descending to subsonic speeds, we found ourselves over a densely wooded area in a slight haze. Like most former WWII British airfields, the one we were looking for had a small tower and little surrounding infrastructure. Walter told me we were close and that I should be able to see the field, but I saw nothing.

Nothing but trees as far as I could see in the haze. We got a little lower, and I pulled the throttles back from 325 knots we were at. With the gear up, anything under 275 was just uncomfortable. Walt said we were practically over the field—yet; there was nothing in my windscreen. I banked the jet and started a gentle circling maneuver in hopes of picking up anything that looked like a field. Meanwhile, below, the cadet commander had taken the cadets up on the catwalk of the tower in order to get a prime view of the fly-past. It was a quiet, still day with no wind and partial gray overcast.

Walter continued to give me indications that the field should be below us but in the overcast and haze, I couldn't see it.. The longer we continued to peer out the window and circle, the slower we got. With our power back, the awaiting cadets heard nothing. I must have had good instructors in my flying career, as something told me I better cross-check the gauges. As I noticed the airspeed indicator slide below 160 knots, my heart stopped and my adrenalin-filled left hand pushed two throttles full forward. At this point we weren't really flying, but were falling in a slight bank. Just at the moment that both afterburners lit with a thunderous roar of flame (and what a joyous feeling that was) the aircraft fell into full view of the shocked observers on the tower

Shattering the still quiet of that morning, they now had 107 feet of fire-breathing titanium in their face as the plane leveled and accelerated, in full burner, on the tower side of the infield, closer than expected, maintaining what could only be described as some sort of ultimate knife-edge pass. Quickly reaching the field boundary, we proceeded back to Mildenhall without incident. We didn't say a word for those next 14 minutes.

After landing, our commander greeted us, and we were both certain he was reaching for our wings. Instead, he heartily shook our hands and said the commander had told him it was the greatest SR-71 fly-past he had ever seen, especially how we had surprised them with such a precise maneuver that could only be described as breathtaking. He said that some of the cadet’s hats were blown off and the sight of the plan form of the plane in full afterburner dropping right in front of them was unbelievable. Walt and I both understood the concept of “breathtaking” very well that morning, and sheepishly replied that they were just excited to see our low approach.

As we retired to the equipment room to change from space suits to flight suits, we just sat there-we hadn't spoken a word since “the pass.” Finally, Walter looked at me and said, “One hundred fifty-six knots.
What did you see?” Trying to find my voice, I stammered, “One hundred fifty-two.” We sat in silence for a moment. Then Walt said, “Don’t ever do that to me again!” And I never did.

A year later, Walter and I were having lunch in the Mildenhall Officer’s club, and overheard an officer talking to some cadets about an SR-71 fly-past that he had seen one day. Of course, by now the story included kids falling off the tower and screaming as the heat of the jet singed their eyebrows. Noticing our HABU patches, as we stood there with lunch trays in our hands, he asked us to verify to the cadets that such a thing had occurred. Walt just shook his head and said, “It was probably just a routine low approach; they're pretty impressive in that plane.” Impressive indeed.

And:

From Aviation Week & Space Technology

By Bill Weaver

Among professional aviators, there's a well-worn saying: Flying is
simply hours of boredom punctuated by moments of stark terror. And
yet, I don't recall too many periods of boredom during my 30-year
career with Lockheed, most of which was spent as a test pilot.

By far, the most memorable flight occurred on Jan. 25, 1966. Jim
Zwayer, a Lockheed flight test reconnaissance and navigation systems
specialist, and I were evaluating those systems on an SR-71 Blackbird
test from Edwards AFB, Calif. We also were investigating procedures
designed to reduce trim drag and improve high-Mach cruise
performance. The latter involved flying with the center-of-gravity
(CG) located further aft than normal, which reduced the Blackbird's
longitudinal stability.

We took off from Edwards at 11:20 a.m. and completed the mission's
first leg without incident. After refueling from a KC-135 tanker, we
turned eastbound, accelerated to a Mach 3.2-cruise speed and climbed
to 78,000 ft., our initial cruise-climb altitude.

Several minutes into cruise, the right engine inlet's automatic
control system malfunctioned, requiring a switch to manual control.
The SR-71's inlet configuration was automatically adjusted during
supersonic flight to decelerate air flow in the duct, slowing it to
subsonic speed before reaching the engine's face. This was
accomplished by the inlet's center-body spike translating aft, and by
modulating the inlet's forward bypass doors. Normally, these actions
were scheduled automatically as a function of Mach number,
positioning the normal shock wave (where air flow becomes subsonic)
inside the inlet to ensure optimum engine performance.

Without proper scheduling, disturbances inside the inlet could result
in the shock wave being expelled forward--a phenomenon known as an
"inlet unstart." That causes an instantaneous loss of engine thrust,
explosive banging noises and violent yawing of the aircraft--like
being in a train wreck. Unstarts were not uncommon at that time in
the SR-71's development, but a properly functioning 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 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 what had just happened. Therefore, I must be dead.
Since I didn't feel bad--just a detached sense of euphoria--I decided
being dead wasn't so bad after all.

AS FULL AWARENESS took hold, I realized I was not dead, but had
somehow separated from the airplane. I had no idea how this could
have happened; I hadn't initiated an ejection. The sound of rushing
air and what sounded like straps flapping in the wind confirmed I was
falling, but I couldn't see anything. My pressure suit's face plate
had frozen over and I was staring at a layer of ice.

The pressure suit was inflated, 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 inflated 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 system--and assuming all automatic functions
depended on a proper ejection sequence--it occurred to me the
stabilizing chute may not have deployed.

However, I quickly determined I was falling vertically and not
tumbling. The little chute must have deployed and was 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
blacked-out, or how far I had fallen. I felt for the
manual-activation D-ring on my chute harness, but with the suit
inflated 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 would be
spending the night out here.

At about 300 ft. above the ground, I yanked the seat kit's release
handle and made sure it was still tied to me by a long lanyard.
Releasing the hea vy kit ensured I wouldn't land with it attached to
my derriere, which could break a leg or cause other injuries. I then
tried to recall what survival items were in that kit, as well as
techniques I had been taught in survival training.

Looking down, I was startled to see a fairly large animal--perhaps an
antelope--directly under me. Evidently, it was just as startled as I
was because it literally took off in a cloud of dust.

My first-ever parachute landing was pretty smooth. I landed on fairly
soft ground, managing to avoid rocks, cacti and antelopes. My chute
was still billowing in the wind, though. I struggled to collapse it
with one hand, holding the still-frozen face plate up with the other.

"Can I help you?" a voice said.

Was I hearing things? I must be hallucinating. Then I looked up and
saw a guy walking toward me, wearing a cowboy hat. A helicopter was
idling a short distance behind him. If I had been at Edwards and told
the search-and-rescue unit that I was going to bail out over the
Rogers Dry Lake at a particular time of day, a crew couldn't have
gotten to me as fast as that cowboy-pilot had.

The gentleman was Albert Mitchell, Jr., owner of a huge cattle ranch
in northeastern New Mexico. I had landed about 1.5 mi. from his ranch
house--and from a hangar for his two-place Hughes helicopter. Amazed
to see him, I replied I was having a little trouble with my chute. He
walked over and collapsed the canopy, anchoring it with several
rocks. He had seen Jim and me floating down and had radioed the New
Mexico Highway Patrol, the Air Force and the nearest hospital.

Extracting myself from the parachute harness, I discovered the source
of those flapping-strap noises heard on the way down. My seat belt
and shoulder harness were still draped around me, attached and
latched. The lap belt had been shredded on each side of my hips,
where the straps had fed through knurled adjustment rollers. The
shoulder harness had shredded in a similar manner across my back. The
ejection seat had never left the airplane; I had been ripped out of
it by the extreme forces, seat belt and shoulder harness still
fastened.

I also noted that one of the two lines that supplied oxygen to my
pressure suit had come loose, and the other was barely hanging on. If
that second line had become detached at high altitude, the deflated
pressure suit wouldn't have provided any protection. I knew an oxygen
supply was critical for breathing and suit-pressurization, but didn't
appreciate how much physical protection an inflated pressure suit
could provide. That the suit could withstand forces sufficient to
disintegrate an airplane and shred heavy nylon seat belts, yet leave
me with only a few bruises and minor whiplash was impressive. I truly
appreciated having my own little escape capsule.

After helping me with the chute, Mitchell said he'd check on Jim. He
climbed into his helicopter, flew a short distance away and returned
about 10 min. later with devastating news: Jim was dead. Apparently,
he had suffered a broken neck during the aircraft's disintegration
and was killed instantly. Mitchell said his ranch foreman would soon
arrive to watch over Jim's body until the authorities arrived.

I asked to see Jim and, after verifying there was nothing more that
could be done, agreed to let Mitchell fly me to the Tucumcari
hospital, about 60 mi. to the south.

I have vivid memories of that helicopter flight, as well. I didn't
know much about rotorcraft, but I knew a lot about "red lines," and
Mitchell kept the airspeed at or above red line all the way. The
little helicopter vibrated and shook a lot more than I thought it
should have. I tried to reassure the cowboy-pilot I was feeling OK;
there was no need to rush. But since he'd notified the hospital staff
that we were inbound, he insisted we get there as soon as possible. I
couldn't help but think how ironic it would be to have survived one
disaster only to be done in by the helicopter that had come to my
rescue.

However, we made it to the hospital safely--and quickly. Soon, I was
able to contact Lockheed's flight test office at Edwards. The test
team there had been notified initially about the loss of radio and
radar contact, then told the aircraft had been lost. They also knew
what our flight conditions had been at the time, and assumed no one
could have survived. I briefly explained what had happened,
describing in fairly accurate detail the flight conditions prior to
breakup.

The next day, our flight profile was duplicated on the SR-71 flight
simulator at Beale AFB, Calif. The outcome was identical. Steps were
immediately taken to prevent a recurrence of our accident. Testing at
a CG aft of normal limits was discontinued, and trim-drag issues were
subsequently resolved via aerodynamic means. The inlet control system
was continuously improved and, with subsequent development of the
Digital Automatic Flight and Inlet Control System, inlet unstarts
became rare.

Investigation of our accident revealed that the nose section of the
aircraft had broken off aft of the rear cockpit and crashed about 10
mi. from the main wreckage. Parts were scattered over an area
approximately 15 mi. long and 10 mi. wide. Extremely high air loads
and g-forces, both positive and negative, had literally ripped Jim
and me from the airplane. Unbelievably good luck is the only
explanation for my escaping relatively unscathed from that
disintegrating aircraft

Two weeks after the accident, I was back in an SR-71, flying the
first sortie on a brand-new bird at Lockheed's Palmdale, Calif.,
assembly and test facility. It was my first flight since the
accident, so a flight test engineer in the back seat was probably a
little apprehensive about my state of mind and confidence. As we
roared down the runway and lifted off, I heard an anxious voice over
the intercom.

"Bill! Bill! Are you there?"

"Yeah, George. What's the matter?"

"Thank God! I thought you might have left." The rear cockpit of the
SR-71 has no forward visibility--only a small window on each
side--and George couldn't see me. A big red light on the
master-warning panel in the rear cockpit had illuminated just as we
rotated, stating, "Pilot Ejected." Fortunately, the cause was a
misadjusted microswitch, not my departure.

Bill Weaver flight tested all models of the Mach-2 F-104 Starfighter
and the entire family of Mach 3+ Blackbirds--the A-12, YF-12 and
SR-71. He subsequently was assigned to Lockheed's L-1011 project as
an engineering test pilot, became the company's chief pilot and
retired as Division Manager of Commercial Flying Operations. He still
flies Orbital Sciences Corp.'s L-1011, which has been modified to
carry a Pegasus satellite-launch vehicle (AW&ST Aug. 25, 2003, p.
56). An FAA Designated Engineering Representative Flight Test Pilot,
he's also involved in various aircraft-modification projects,
conducting certification flight tests.

[Ausfire]

Couple of F4 Phantom Video's I took when at the Royal International Aviation Tattoo at RAF Fairford back in 2003
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bI43KIO4Cy0
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_RQTPL2Dibg

Love the pollution these thing punched out, lol.

[nipper575]

Legendary, can't help but grin from ear to ear no matter how many times I read that quote.

[smciner1]

Awesome, especially considering nothing faster has been built, and they first flew in 1964.

[Burnout]

[74_XB_Ute]

Originally Posted by Burnout

[IMG]

Nothing better than gun residue!! Time for an aircraft wash I think

[Burnout]

Originally Posted by 74_XB_Ute

Nothing better than gun residue!! Time for an aircraft wash I think

Nothing like the smell of oxidised nitrate in the morning.......

[Peuty]

Got my F-111C model from the States today. Extremely high quality unit this is.

This particular one is A8-127, which was delivered to RAAF 01/06/73. Flown to and displayed at RAF Fairford for Royal International Air Tattoo (RIAT) July 1993. Crashed, 13/09/93 near Guyra NSW on night practice. Crew of FLTLT Jeremy McNess & FLTLT Mark Cairns-Cowan of 1SQN Killed.





Pave tack pod





Pictured here with it's 6SQN mate F-4E A69-0305 which was delivered to 82 Wing 31/09/70. Served with 6 Sqn RAAF. RAAF 50th Anniversary Airshow. Returned to USAF 20/10/72 as 69-0305. Modified to F-4G. Served with 4th TFW, 52nd TFW, 414th TFW, 131st TFW, 35th TFW, 35th FW, 124th FG USAF. Flew last F-4G Sortie of Operation Provide Comfort. To AMARC as FP1044, 09/04/96. To Tracor, Mojave, CA. Converted to QF-4G (AF-170) 09/09/97. Still flying as QF-4G.





Heres some pics of the real things....

Pig -





Phantom -



In Wild Weasel configuration

[74_XB_Ute]

Should throw the GBU's up on the F-111 Peuty....a more common F-111 weapons config.... bit more of an Aussie feel

[CAMS290]

It seems even Boeing are having little dramas http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/htm...ergency10.html

[Burnout]

[Spudz27]

Another new arrival in my 1:200 fleet. It is sad I can't show all my models. I have about 40 still boxed up from when I had them on display.

TAA 727-100. Originally I bought this model in May, but my supplier sent them all back to the manufacturer for painting marone instaed of blue on the wing tips, so I have been waiting for it back.

[Burnout]

[zdcol71]

I'm sure a lot here will be familiar with this guys work, so sorry if the link is already here, but this guy has got some stunning galleries.
http://home.comcast.net/~bzee1b/home.html

[Burnout]

[Peuty]

So, who's going to the F111 Final Farewell on the 3rd of Dec?

[74_XB_Ute]

I'll be there...from what I understand there will be a media day on the 23 Nov out at the base too.

[QLD-Bluey]

Me *wink*

[Burnout]

[Mad Maxine]

Wow, awesome pics! Talk about plane porn! Love it

[Burnout]

Here's some more:

[Burnout]

[Burnout]

[Burnout]

It's Fire Season.

[Spudz27]

Finally got my cabinet. Was $169 from Ikea took me the last 2hrs to put together and fill.