The "Enola Gay" is famous for being the B-29 bomber that carried "Little Boy" and "Fat Man" over Japan and dropping them on the cities of Nagasaki and Hiroshima killing millions of Japanese civilians and soldiers and crushing the Imperialists desires for world domination. In the West deserts of Utah sits a mighty airfield which still has many of hangers still standing from the WWII era including the actual hanger which housed the Enola Gay and where the atom bombs were fitted into her belly. In the 1940's, Wendover was constantly buzzing with bombing group training. The vast deserts and salt flats surrounding Wendover made this the perfect training grounds for bombing units because of its remote nature and high security requirements. In 2010, the runways that remain are much more silent with the occasional general aviation aircraft touching down and the once a day charter bringing gamblers in from Montana, Idaho, Arizona, and other nearby states for a three day stay at one of the six local casinos. Most are senior citizens looking to get away, have a Vegas style weekend, and eat until their stomachs hurt at the all-you-can-eat buffets. Most if not all these visitors have no idea their airplane just landed on the very same runway that the Enola Gay lifted off from to deliver it's deadly payload more than 65 years ago and destroy the lives of millions of people.
It was late in the day on Saturday when Blaine and I made the drive up to Ogden-Hinkley to take January out for an evening flight. There were thunderstorms lurking to the North and our first intention was to fly up to Afton and eat at the famous "Red Baron Drive In" where the car hops still walk to your car, take your order on paper pads, and give you change from those totally cool silver change hoppers strapped to their waist. By far the best shakes you'll ever have in your life and if you sit outside, the waitresses will tell you all the latest gossip on Rulon Gardner, the gold medal winner in Greko Roman wrestling who just happens to be the unluckiest man alive. From getting stranded on his snow mobile and losing his toes to frostbite to being a passenger in a Cirrus that just happened to be flying so low over the water at Lake Powell in winter time that they clipped their wing and ended up in the lake nearly losing their lives to the cold waters. More about Afton and the Red Baron and Rulon in another story.
Being that there were thunderstorms lurking, and the fact that I had never been to Wendover Airfield, Blaine convinced me we should fly the corridor through three highly active MOAs (Military Operations Areas) and visit Wendover. After January lifted off, and we made our westerly turnout, we were cleared out of class D airspace and given Salt Lake Center for flight following. After changing frequencies, we got our new squawk code and began our ascent to 8,500 for the duration of the flight. It was late in the day and looking down the vast salt flats on one side of the airplane including many bombing pits, and the highly active fighter MOA on the other side, it was inspiring to see what so many people have never seen nor will they ever see. Little has changed in the desert since the 1940s training runs by the Enola Gay and other bombers of her day. We were looking out at history and she was staring right back up at us. We flew the corridor without incident and switched to CTAF calling our position and intentions to land on 26. When I saw the runway, I was immediately taken by her size. Very wide and very long. It reminded me of my training at Camarillo, Ca which was an Air force Base many years ago and it also a 26 with a very wide runway. After calling our intention to land, we were contacted by an operator who asked us if we needed a lift into the Casinos. We told her yes, our intentions were to eat and then fly back later that night. She told us to let her know when we were ready and they would send a courtesy shuttle to pick us up.
Approaching the Enola Gay runway coming out of 8,500 feet you don't really realize how long and wide the runway is until you land and then realize you have to taxi about four hours to reach the taxi way leading to the old tower where we would tie down for a few hours. My advice on landing at Wendover, shoot for the big #5 marker on the runway which let's you have a relatively shorter taxi. She's long, very long, so unless your a bomber, keep her in the air until you see the #5 marker.
As soon as we parked beneath the original tower and opened the canopy, I knew we were stepping back in time and about to experience something special and unique.
As we made our way down the old set of hangers, I was taken by how little had been done to restore them as most of the glass was broken and the doors looked inoperable.The part I liked the most was the fact that I was looking at the same glass, although broken, that the hundreds of flyboys did who had flown in and out of Wendover during World War II and decades of military operations up until the current day. I imagined looking out through one of the panes of glass as the Enola Gay was lifting off on the runway parallel to the hangers, or better yet, the Enola Gay flying directly at the hanger and then lifting off and flying overhead. History--emotions, visuals, stories. If only those panes of glass could talk.
When we arrived at the Enola Gay hanger, I was immediately struck by it's size. Ominous, impressive, and it sent chills up my spine. A section of the wall above the sliding doors had to be cut out to accommodate her towering vertical stabilizer. She was rusty and old, but filled with the spirits of airplanes now destroyed, restored, or hanging in the Smithsonian.
There was a porta-john company with a trailer full of toilets making its way along the hangers, dropping off a few toilets here and there in preparation for some event which we later found out would be an airborne division out of South Carolina of 80 jumpers descending out of the sky with their parachutes high above carrying them safely to the airfield where they would scramble to their assigned rally points and prepare for engagement exercises. It was while the porta-john company was setting up toilets near the edges of the Enola Gay hanger that Blaine and I approached the main doors which had been opened wide enough to allow us to narrowly step inside. As we did so, I felt the immediate rush of history flow through me. The hanger was ominous, and there were no lights on inside but the skylights above allowed for enough light for us to see that we were right smack dab in the middle of a staging area for military operations which we did not have permission to see. The hanger was filled with cargo containers marked with special packaging slips detailing the contents of each container. As we looked these packing slips over we realized there were computers, works stations, electronics, and probably highly classified contents in these containers that two civilian pilots should not be seeing. Now I'm certain there were no laws broken, we didn't actually see the contents of the locked containers, but the shear number of containers and the packing slips let us know that this was not the usual weekend warrior National Guard operations for a bunch of rookies.
At the far end of the hanger there were command tents set up for the operations. Both Blaine and I love our military brothers and sisters so anything that has to do with being close to these operations was appreciated and respected. We did check out the tents and as we were checking out one of the armored plated Humvees parked inside we heard the voice of a Sergeant in the Marines calling to us from the back of the hanger. We were asked immediately what our business was and how we got inside the hanger. We politely informed him we were two pilots, appreciating the history of the airfield and meant to harm by entering the "open" hanger doors. The young man was very polite, though stern, and he asked that we not touch anything as he was staging for the arrival of his buddies later the next day. We also learned after we spoke to him for more than 30 minutes that he had been in the service for nearly 8 years, served in Afghanistan, and most recently returned from Japan, but now they were preparing to return to Afghanistan in the next few months and so the deserts of Utah were the best training ground as it felt and looked the most like the Afghan deserts. We soon thanked him for his service and then began walking back toward the old tower.
Now, everyone since 9/11 realizes how tight security is these days around any airport security check. Sad are the days when you can't even carry enough shampoo in your checked baggage for two days worth of showers. Everyone that has been "blown" or "puffed" by one of those security screening Houdini boxes give me an 'Amen!' Needless to say, TSA employees long for the day when they can find that little old woman with a sleep apnea machine or the young mother who has to beg to bring baby formula in a bottle through security and some how find the link a terrorist cell in Honeyville, Utah and find themselves being interviewed on the five o'clock news. They all take their jobs so seriously and long for their fifteen minutes of fame. The sad thing about the entire TSA implementation and Homeland Security presence is that most of the employees wouldn't be able to hold down a full time job at McDonalds let alone be able to detect a fake drivers license or boarding pass. I believe most TSA workers are paid only pennies above minimum wage. Please, don't get me wrong--I'm not bashing the good people of the TSA, I'm only saying what millions of us observe on a daily basis and how utterly ridiculous some of things we have to do in order to travel. Thanks Bin Laden--mission accomplished.
The reason I even talk about the TSA is because we all know how crazy things are now in comparison to ten short years ago. So, as Blaine and I are walking back toward the terminal to get a shuttle to one of the all-you-can-eat buffets in town, a charter jet has landed and unloaded all of the senior citizen for their weekend end getaways. And suddenly, as we two pilots, with our plane on the ground behind us, are suddenly approached, quite aggressively I'll have to say, by two employees of the Charter Service or airport, I'm not exactly sure at this point what their shirts had stitched across their chest. The way they walked I felt like I was at a home coming game in high school and two big rednecks were coming at us because they didn't like our mascot and were ready to kill us because of it. Now, let me say this, Utah has the most recognized concealed weapons permit programs in the country and is recognized by 33 other states. Now Beavis and Butthead, our two aggressive "non-TSA" employees I should add, are coming at us like we're about to get our butts kicked. I, being a permit holder, was not carrying although I normally carry some form of determent in aircraft. Whether or not Blaine, also a permit holder, was carrying I didn't know. But we soon found ourselves standing toe to toe with Beavis and Butthead and them demanding to know what we were doing. I am so grateful that God gave man the ability to not react to his first thought or instinct. Because at that moment, I wanted nothing more than to pull a serious dance move on them that would have left them painfully writhing on the ground for hours to come. But, being that I don't know any serious dance moves, although growing up with Disco and 80's bands, I'm sure I could have surprised them long enough with some strange Saturday Night Fever "finger to the ground, one to the sky" move that would have confused them long enough to do a Karate Kid 'sweep the leg' move for us to get the upper hand. But, like I said, God blessed us with common sense, most of the time and this time, it did prevail.
"We're pilots." we calmly responded as we pointed to January parked not 100 yards away. "We just need to know how to get to the all-we-can-eat buffet." We replied. Which was the perfect thing to say whenever you talk to one of the natives. Speak their language and you'll be welcome in any country my grandmother used to say. And with these two fine employees, 'Buffet' was the language they could understand. They quickly called over the the local fire chief of the airport who had been watching us for quite some time and asked him to arrange a ride into the Rainbow Room for the 'best damned buffet' in Wendover. We were then told that we should never approach their charter plane ever again and that this entire area was under tight security. Blaine and I looked around at the vast desert that surrounded the airfield and how easy it would have been to access the field. The only fence was on the terminal side of the runway. Beavis and Butthead had obviously been drinking the koolaid for far too long. We smiled and walked away. Although it would have been fun to turn on some Donna Summer and get down with our homeland boys.
We walked back toward the tower and waited for our shuttle beside an airplane called the "Jail Bird" secured to the field with cables and ties. She was used in the movie "Con Air" and had been left there as a memorial. If you haven't seen the movie, it's worth seeing. And you'll get a small glimpse of Wendover airfield.
We flew back later that night, over the bombed out desert below, although we didn't see any of it as it was pitch black outside. When we touched down at Ogden-Hinkley we both felt full. Full of good food, full of history, and full of appreciation that we were born in an age, where, although security might be a hassle at the airports, we are allowed to climb into our own small airship, sail through the same airspace where some of the most historical aircraft in the history of mankind has sailed, and have the freedoms we enjoy in this great country. Thank you to the thousands of men and women who help protect our freedom to fly and be free. And thank you God for blessing this great land. May we always be worthy to possess it.
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