From April, 2007
I got the chance to fly a Vultee BT-13 "Valiant" yesterday. Those who flew the type during the Second World War often called it the "Vibrator" and I'd soon find out why. The BT-13 was a basic trainer used to by both the Air Corps and the Navy. My grandfather has a fair amount of time in the type.
I was flying with Kent Ferguson, an accomplished pilot and one of the most experienced flight instructors I've ever known. He's old, looks like the tobacco leaves that he smokes profusely when not aloft, and has the general appearance of a well-worn A-2 leather flight jacket. He's also sharp as a tack when it comes to instructing. We fueled the great bird while the man running the pump took some photos. Warbirds tend to catch a lot of attention. I strapped into the front seat and began to go through the checklist while Kent crouched on the wing next to me and talked me through starting the Pratt & Whitney. One switch spools up a flywheel that sounds like a turbine engine starting up. When the flywheel reaches peak RPM, the switch below engages the engine to the spinning flywheel and the big engine coughs to life with generous encouragement from the manual fuel pump and a proper display of blue smoke.
The BT taxies as easy as any taildragger I've ever flown. The forward visibility is good, requiring only minor S-turning to see forward. At the run-up area, the procedures were normal, though the placement of all of the controls and gauges is very military and not always intuitive. If nobody told you where the fuel indicators were, you'd sit in the cockpit all day and never find them. We taxied on to the runway and got her all lined up. Kent gave me the call to increase the power to full, and the engine came to life and everything started to shake and get very, very loud. I eased to stick forward and the tail came up, greatly expanding the view forward. At about 85, we rotated and easily climbed up away from the field and out over the plains. Kent called to close the canopy and things got somewhat quieter as I slid my plexiglass shield forward and locked it in place. "This is so cool!" I thought to myself.
Kent told me just to play with her and enjoy myself. I guided the old bird north and did several steep turns to get a feel for the rudder requirements. She needed less rudder input than the Champ to make a coordinated turn, which is good because the rudders are very heavy, though the ailerons and elevators are rather light. The sound of the big radial up front was intoxicating and I couldn't keep from grinning. Looking up in the mirror on the windscreen, I could see the same reaction from Kent.
We returned to the field and entered the pattern as Kent talked me through the before landing checklist. When I moved the propeller control forward to its stop, it was like putting on the brakes as the BT decelerated nicely. I cranked in 20 degrees of flaps on downwind and another 20 on base. On final, I kept wanting to ease the power back. The engine was making far too much noise to think about landing. We also seemed fast, so I eased the stick aft. "Don't take off power, keep it fast, get the nose down. More power, more power, don't get below 80!" Kent barked from the back seat. I wasn't accustomed to flying such heavy airplanes, but once we got down over the runway, it was just a matter of holding it off and looking down to the end of the field. Just at the time I expected, the big main tires thudded down on to the ground and I eased the stick forward to keep the tail up. The BT had no notions to wander to either side of the centerline. Kent called for power, and away we went for two more. On my final approach, I was able to bring it down with adequate power and attitude without too many words from behind. We taxied her back to the hangar and shut down, and dismounted. Once we were down and I could allow my mind to wander, I thought of how many young pilots over 60 years ago had sat in the very seat I was sitting in and had instructors make them sweat as they transitioned from light-weight tube and fabric airplanes. Then, unlike me, how many of them had been sent overseas and fought for America. How many had returned and how many had not? Reflecting on these thoughts as I looked at my reflection in the polished aluminum, I realized that this was not just a new airplane to fly, not just an awesome sounding machine, but it was truly hallowed ground.
