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THE TORCH
By JJ Sinclair
Very few pilots hold the distinction of being declared a BLACK ACE.
This title is awarded to only those distinguished airmen who have been
responsible for the destruction of Five of Their Own Aircraft. I am a Black
Ace, having been the first one on the scene of the following carnage: RF-4,
F-111, ASW-20, DG-300 and Nimbus-3. Let me tell you about my fourth victory,
the DG-300.
We were flying a Regional Contest at Little Field, Texas. The second day
of the contest was weak and we scratched our way around two tumpoints and
then about 6 O'clock in the evening, we were trying to make it back to the
finish line. I was with a gaggle that was working a two knot thermal when
I decided "there must be something better than this around". I headed for
some smoke that was rising from a field just a little right of course line.
I often work rice stubble fires in the Sacramento Valley and three knots
or better can be found - if you can stand the smell. As I got closer it became
clear that I didn't have enough altitude to get to the fire. I certainly
didn't want to end up landing in a field that was burning. At about 500 feet
and one field short of the fire, I reluctantly decided I would have to land.
I was over a circular wheat field and the smoke drift showed no real wind.
My field had been harvested and I could clearly see deep ruts in the ground
where the circular sprinkler wheels had been rolling in mud. I was quite
concerned with the ruts because I didn't want to roll across them on landing.
I set up my final approach with the sprinklers behind me and aimed between
the ruts. I must have unconsciously tried to follow an imaginary center line
of my circular runway. My runway was curving to the right, and following it
meant I was slightly banked to the right. I touched down with my right wing
tip about a foot lower than the left, but that was enough, the wing caught
in wheat stubble and we (me and the ASW20) ground looped to the right just
after touch down. I heard the sound a fuselage makes as it fails under a
compression load. I sat motionless for a moment, not wanting to look. Finally
I opened the canopy and saw my stabilizer and rudder laid over about forty-five
degrees. The fuselage had snapped about half way back.
Just before landing I was able to get a quick call out to my wife Patricia
and I knew she was on her way. Totally dejected, I sat in the middle of my
field and tried to figure out why this had happened. It really started in
the two knot thermal. I should have stayed there. My run for the smoke
left me with no options and no time to plan my landing when my smoke idea
didn't work out. Patience my son. To add insult to injury I was now treated
to the sight of the gaggle sailing over my field on their way home. They
were fortunate I didn't have a gun.
Pat arrived in about an hour. She has been crewing for me quite some time
now and she knew from the look on my face that we were out of the contest.
Pat drove into the field as I directed her around the ruts. I opened the
trailer and started pulling tape off the elevator. About then I thought I
smelled something. I asked Pat and she smelled something too. Then I saw a
wisp of smoke coming from under our Van. Kneeling down I saw burning wheat
stubble under the catalytic converter (the muffler). As I stood up I saw a
trail of fires we had left as we drove onto the field. What to do? What can
we do? We must move the Van very shortly or it will bum up where it sits!
Just then a farmer and his son stopped on the county road and shouted
GET OUT OF THAT FIELD, IT’S ON FIRE. I shouted back "Can you help us with
this sailplane?" As the farmer drove his pickup onto the field, I closed
the trailer and told Pat to drive out using the same path we used coming
in. The farmer had some rope and I quickly made a loop and slipped it in
the tow hook. His son grabbed the wing tip and I took off my belt and used
it to pull up on the broken fuselage. Holding the fuselage in one hand and
supporting the elevator with the other, We started to move. It was a little
caravan – the Van, Trailer, Pickup and Sailplane all in row. I shouted
to Pat DRIVE THROUGH THE FIRE IF YOU HAVE TO, BUT STAY OUT OF THE RUTS.
The farmer didn't like that "drive through the fire" business. He turned
and drove right across one of the ruts. His pickup made it OK, but then the
main wheel of my glider dropped into the rut. He pulled and the rope broke!
Pat didn't like that "drive through the fire" business either. The flames
completely blocked our tracks (because we had lit them on our way in). She
saw, the farmer turn away and she turned too. Her right front wheel dropped
into a rut and the Van didn't have the traction to keep going. I shouted
BACK UP! The wheels spun, but the Van didn't budge! Smoke started coming
from under the Van as yet another fire was lit. About this time, My sweet
wife Patricia stepped out of the Van and screamed F*** THE SAILPLANE, RUN
FOR YOUR LIFE (F*** being a four letter word that means Patricia is no longer
concerned with the well being of my sailplane).
I laid the elevator down, jumped in the Van, straightened the wheels and
was able to get across the rut. Meanwhile, the farmer had tied the rope and
together we lifted and shoved the ship out of the rut as his son drove the
pickup. Our little caravan then proceeded to the edge of the burning field
without further incident. The farmer told us not to worry about the field
we had lit, saying "we burn 'em anyway, but generally we get out of 'em
first,'
When Dick Johnson heard about this, he started calling Pat "The Torch"
and the name stuck.
I never got your name, but Thank You, West Texas Farmer, and Thank You
Torch.
JJ Sinclair,
Black Ace
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About the Author:
JJ Sinclair retired from the Air Force in 1974 after 22 years of service.
He flew as crew member on:
- B-29 (left gunner)
- KC-97 (boom operator)
- B-52 (navigator & radar navigator)
- RF-4C (navigator)
- F-111F (navigator).
After retiring, JJ established an FAA Certified Glider Repair Station in
Placerville, California, and operated that facility for over 20 years. He
has flown 1000K zig-zag in his LS-7 as well as a 1000K triangle in his Nimbus-3,
but takes more pride in having flown Silver, Gold and Diamond Badge Flights
in the wooden Duster that he constructed in 1973.
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