Photography 52 years ago didn’t mean whipping out your iPhone, or even grabbing for a digital single-lens-reflex camera. It was the early days of the space program, and even 35 mm film cameras weren’t considered up to the challenge. So as Wally Schirra prepared to orbit the Earth six times on Mercury 8, which would be the country’s fifth manned space mission, he had to think carefully about how to document the nine-hour flight.
Ultimately he chose a Hasselblad 500c camera for the Oct. 3, 1962, flight. Schirra reportedly purchased the medium-format Hasselblad from a Houston camera shop, and brought it back to NASA to be modified for the mission. In conjunction with fellow astronaut Gordon Cooper, the camera received a 100-exposure film magazine, and an aiming device mounted on the side. The camera’s original bright metal facing was painted black to minimize reflections.
The camera proved so successful on Mercury 8 that Cooper used a Hasselblad—and the same Zeiss lens—on the next Mercury mission.
“It was not until astronaut Wally Schirra—a known camera enthusiast—naturally sought the finest camera available at the time to accompany him on his MA-8 mission that NASA’s photographic identity began to take shape,” explained Bobby Livingston, executive vice president at RR Auction.
On Nov. 13, the Boston auction house will auction the first Hasselblad camera used in space. A 600-lot space and aviation autograph and artifact auction will follow. For more information on the auctions, see the website.
There are good reasons to assume Foley is correct. J.P. Morgan’s Joseph B. Nadoll III said last year that Gulfstream would put off a launch of its G450 replacement (code named P42) until next year. It did. Gulfstream execs began hinting in August of 2014 at the Latin American Business Aviation Conference that they might unveil the P42 project soon. It will be a family of jets. Pre-announcing is a break with the “big surprise” theory of public relations still followed by most jet companies that wait for NBAA or some other major conference to reveal the news.
What will all the other companies be doing? Foley gave this rundown. Cessna (owned by Textron Aviation to include Beechcraft) is working on previously announced jet programs, as is Dassault. Bombardier seems caught up by internal turmoil and changes in management, and may not even finish some of the projects previously announced. Embraer has its “work cut out for it,” Foley said, building previously announced aircraft. (Gulfstream, the stage is yours.)
Something to look for is a coming transformation in engine fuel efficiency (15% improvement) based on technology already in use by the airlines, Foley said. He predicted one of the airframe companies will “grab the technology and run with it.” Whether it’s this year or five years from now, it will happen, he said.
A year ago today–well, I guess technically speaking it was a year ago yesterday, Sept. 17 (thanks to that whole international date line thing, and our “groundhog day” on Sept. 15)–we concluded our epic around-the-world flight in Mike Laver’s MU-2. Again we were off before sunrise for the 1,196-nautical-mile hop back to Frederick, Md., which would require 4.2 hours of flight time.
The photographer in me really appreciated the thin, growing line of impending dawn (as in the top photo), both because of the delicate colors and also because it provided an infrequent opportunity to balance the lighting outside the cockpit with the colorful glow from our Garmin avionics…which we’ve been watching for some 94 hours over the past 24 days. It was a rare opportunity. In many countries we could not depart before the appropriate offices opened, usually well after dawn. A couple of times when we did, the sunrise was obscured by clouds. A few more photos of the sunrise can be found on my original Day 25 blog post.
On the final leg back into Frederick–well, my final leg; Mike then has to retrace his route to his home airport in South Carolina–we reflect on the trip. I record much of the interview using a GoPro video camera, which is a first for me. Mike enjoyed the chance to fly around Australia again, and I enjoyed the vistas of the Great Barrier Reef, Ayers Rock, and the adjacent Olgas (above). There’s a published aerial tour procedure here, not unlike that for the Grand Canyon in the United States.
While it was a fantastic trip, I’m very happy to get home. Most of my business travel is a week or less, and 25 days is a long time to be on the road. Without the steadfast support of my lovely wife and family, and encouragement and support from the media team at AOPA, it would not have been possible. And the interest by others in the trip was more than I ever could imagine (and this goes beyond my dad, exchanging text messages with me via satellite while we’re crossing the vast Indian Ocean, even though the clock in Kentucky shows small, single nighttime digits–he still claims he “just woke up” for a few minutes, but I also know he always powers off his PC overnight). Thanks for flying around the world with us–again!
It’s been an incredible, fantastic trip–but after 24 days, we’re both ready to be home. We take off from Fairbanks before dawn, heading southeast toward Ketchikan, Alaska. That’s the broad Yukon River curving through the landscape below.
As the sun rises, it dramatically lights snow-covered, distant peaks before reaching into the valleys. Alaska’s vastness never fails to amaze me.
Just after sunrise seems like a good time to shoot a cockpit selfie. Mike and I are glad to be back in “civilian” clothes; our pilot uniforms are no longer needed.
Ketchikan is 820 nautical miles and a quick 3.1 hours, and our refueling there is lightning quick thanks to a fuel truck with dual refueling nozzles–which significantly speeds the process of refueling an MU-2. We’re on the ground less than half an hour, and it may have been only 20 minutes. The next leg, across Canada to Minot, N.D., is our longest of the trip at 1,232 nautical miles. Thanks to persistent headwinds, it’s also one of the slowest, with a groundspeed of only 246 knots. But it’s nice to arrive at our destination before dark. Did you know there’s a great Mexican restaurant in Minot? More details and additional photos are on the original Day 24 blog, available here.
And it is, for a couple of reasons. First, we cross the International Date Line, so for us it’s Sept. 15 all over again. Second, our two legs–from Petropavlovsk to Anadyr, Russia, and then to Fairbanks, Alaska, total 1,930 nautical miles and 6.9 hours of flight time. While this is not our longest day, it takes the most time, because things in Russia seem to move only so fast. Lots of waiting, especially at our fuel stop.
Mostly, however, it’s the short days we’ve been experiencing. We’ve been flying northeast, and while most of the trip has seen us cross one time zone a day, on average (no jet lag!), we lose 11 hours between Nagoya and Minot, N.D. Inevitably, these hours are made up by sleeping less.
There’s only one photo today (a few more appear on my original Day 23 blog, available here). I loved this mural on the airline terminal at Anadyr, and I must have snapped this frame as we parked. I ignored it, figuring I would get a better one from outside the airplane. That was not to be, however; I asked our handler if a photo would be OK and the stern man in the green military jacket said no. Then she offered to take a photo for me, and the answer again was “Nyet.” I didn’t see this frame again until reviewing photos for this retrospective blog series, and I’m glad the photojournalist in me kicked in early, before I was told no.
I don’t like the angle or the crop (or the fact that the tip tank is in the way), but the mural shows a Eskimo girl spreading her arms beneath the sun, and I’m told the inscription reads “Where the day begins.” This is a very apt description, because it would be hard to get much further east in Russia than this.
We’re late for our scheduled arrival time into Fairbanks, but the Customs man is waiting for us at the airport–it’s clear we aren’t the first airplane to arrive late from Russia. It’s also clear that we’re the last Customs customers of the day.
But there’s one more curve ball. Our hotel is oversold, so we’re put on a cab for a different hotel. The rooms are fine, but it’s nearly 11 p.m. and no nearby restaurants are open, so dinner ends up being beef sticks and Clif bars–probably just as well; we need the sleep.
When we arrived at the Nagoya airport a year ago today to fly north, our hosts presented each of us with copies of the previous day’s newspaper. Turns out our arrival was front-page news! I wish I knew what they said about us. They certainly couldn’t say we bounced the landing–Mike made a greaser here. More photos from Nagoya and more detail on this leg can be found on my original Day 22 blog post.
Alas, we couldn’t linger. The light rain that was falling was from the far outer bands of a typhoon that had been following us since we left the Philippines–stopping for a day in Japan allowed it to close with us. Like Bill Murray says in Caddyshack, “The heavy stuff won’t be coming in until later”–but a scheduled departure later in the day, and especially the following day, would have assured a delay (or a departure ahead of schedule). Besides, Russia was waiting, and we’d heard that things don’t happen quickly in Russia.
Our fuel stop in Yuzhno takes longer than average, but in comparison to tomorrow’s fuel stop, it’s like hitting the pits at a Nascar race. We’re flying along the Russian coast pretty much all day, and much of the trip is above a low cloud layer. As we approach Petropavlovsk, those clouds dissipate, and we see more of the mountainous terrain.
It turns out that Petropavlovsk is almost surrounded by mountains, and we’re racing the sun to the Earth’s surface. It’s not that we can’t fly at night, but we were hoping to see some of the landscape from the ground. By the time we landed and refueled the plane, it was beyond pitch dark. Guess there’s always tomorrow’s ride back to the airport.
I’m not sure what the rules are regarding photography in Russia. I do know that if I asked to take a photo, the answer usually was “Nyet” (no). Except after dark at Petropavlovsk, coaching the fueler through the complicated process of refueling an MU-2. Only a couple floodlights and the man’s headlamp lit the scene. When I had his attention I pointed at the camera, and then at him–he struck this pose, which must be Russian for “yes.”