After a two-year Covid hiatus, the Bowman Aviation Festival (Bowmanfest) is back! Below you can see some of the various sights from Saturday, October 1st.

Tweety was there, but I didn't see any Puddy Tats..

Jeff Dunham's "Walter" was in attendance.. Quite the view.. Straight from the 4077.. Merica! I guess you could call this spinner shot a "stealthie"? I'm sure the category already exists, but I bet it was not defined as getting yourself into the shot by way of a reflection. Another "stealthie"..

On Saturday & Sunday, October 7 & 8, 2017, the B-17G, now known as "Madras Maiden", was at the Clark County airport in Indiana. Because they were offering rides causing the aircraft to constantly be in motion, and because the weather wasn't likely to hold up until the end of the day when they would offer tours, I tried to gets some photos of the airplane as it was taxiing in or out for the next flight.

Seen here through the interior of the classic Willys Jeep. The owner of the Jeep saw me taking this photo and said, "Hey, I never thought of shooting through the Jeep." and proceeded to take his own shots. Glad I could help!

Side view of the Madras Maiden shot against some early autumn color.

The "Ball Turret" served as a dorm room for many an eighteen-year-old during WWII. The mortality rate for B-17 belly gunners was 60%.

There is a relatively famous poem written about ball turret gunners, by poet Randall Jarrell:

From my mother's sleep I fell into the State,
And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.
Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life,
I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.
When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.

An overwing shot.

Nose art of the Madras Maiden. Named for the city of Madras in the great state of Oregon.

Four Wright Cyclone R-1820 engines powered the B-17G. They delivered around 1200 hp at 2500 rpm.

Goodyear's N3A leaving the Louisville area on a dreary day after the Kentucky Derby.

I dreamt I saw an eagle fall,

And when he landed, heard him call,

“Weep not for me, for I’m a flyer,

My dreaming calls me ever higher.”

 

I laid him down on grass so soft,

This brave young seeker from aloft.

Looking upwards to the the sky,

I held him gently, asking, “Why?”

 

I thought it safer, close to ground?

Than soaring high, where clouds abound,

Might not the lightning strike your wings?

I wonder why you do these things?

 

He slowly turned to me and said,

“You’ve never walked on ground untread?"

For this my friend, has been my task,

And now I’ll answer what you ask.

 

When first I flew some years ago,

My father took me up to show

A place where eagles never lifted,

A place where clouds had never drifted.

 

And as we flew, my feathers grasping

Air so thin my breath was rasping,

I stared above, with humbled feeling,

And gazed with awe on heaven’s ceiling.

 

Is this as high as we’re to go?

We mortal creatures from below.

Just then he called me, as we parted,

“It’s higher now, than when I started.”

 

And then I knew as not before,

The highest place that eagles soar.

And star-surrounded, I did say

A prayer for those who showed the way.

 

I know not why my wings have failed,

And thinking downward as I sailed,

In all the years that I’ve been flying,

The best of all was in the trying.

 

So leave me here among the clover,

For in the quest my part is over.

Fear not, my friend, for dreams endure,

For eagles coming, of this I’m sure.

 

by Patrick J. Phillips

I Dream Of Eagles

(Written in honor of STS-51 & the shuttle Challenger)

Where every successful flight is a "small" miracle.

Photo of a small, metal toy airplane looks like it's breaking out of the clouds during landing.