| The Palmyra Gazette |
| Welcome to: PalmyraGazette.org Created by: Michael E. Murray January 2008 Enjoy your visit! |
1957 Lockheed 18, Serial Number (C/N): 2492A
Manufacturer: Lockheed
Model: 18 Search all Lockheed 18
Year built: 1957
Serial Number (C/N): 2492A
Mode S Code: 50177112
Aircraft Type: Fixed wing multi engine
Amateur-Built: No
Number of Seats: 17
Number of Engines: 2
Engine Type: Reciprocating
Engine Manufacturer and Model:
Wright C9HD SERIES
Owner Fred Sorenson
Registration Type: Co-Owned
Address: Aiea, HI 96701
United States
Region: Western-Pacific
Status: Wrecked on Palmyra Atoll
05 JAN 1980
Certification Class: Standard
Certification Issued: 1979-10-30
Air Worthiness Test: Unknown
Last Action Taken: 1991-07-20
Current Status: grounded
Model: 18 Search all Lockheed 18
Year built: 1957
Serial Number (C/N): 2492A
Mode S Code: 50177112
Aircraft Type: Fixed wing multi engine
Amateur-Built: No
Number of Seats: 17
Number of Engines: 2
Engine Type: Reciprocating
Engine Manufacturer and Model:
Wright C9HD SERIES
Owner Fred Sorenson
Registration Type: Co-Owned
Address: Aiea, HI 96701
United States
Region: Western-Pacific
Status: Wrecked on Palmyra Atoll
05 JAN 1980
Certification Class: Standard
Certification Issued: 1979-10-30
Air Worthiness Test: Unknown
Last Action Taken: 1991-07-20
Current Status: grounded
Photo by Mick Bajcar
Photo by Chris Markerson
Lodestar N163R was
carrying seven
Amateur Radio
operators to the
Palmyra Island atoll
in the Pacific. While
approaching the
airstrip the pilot
estimated a cross
wind gusting to 15
knots. However,
below tree level the
wind was calm. The
Lodestar swerved off
the runway and
collided with trees.
carrying seven
Amateur Radio
operators to the
Palmyra Island atoll
in the Pacific. While
approaching the
airstrip the pilot
estimated a cross
wind gusting to 15
knots. However,
below tree level the
wind was calm. The
Lodestar swerved off
the runway and
collided with trees.
| The Remnants of a beautiful ole tail dragger now marooned on a deserted atoll |
05 JAN 1980
Many sail boats have visited Palmyra but after the close of the base, not
many planes landed on the one mile airstrip. N163R pushed up into the
trees on the South West end of the runway, made the trip to Palmyra. There
are clues of other failed landings that can be found walking the beaches on
the North East side of Cooper Island. The still intact sea ramp in front of
the Palmyra Yacht Club serves as reminder for the intent of the Navy to land
PBYs on the atoll via West Lagoon. The ramp now serves as boat ramp for
the TNC mission. A number of Lockheed model 18 Loadstars still fly around
the world mostly in Africa. Left over remnants formerly used by the military
airforce USA.
To view more pictures of the Lockheed 18 Loadstar visit Airliners.net
many planes landed on the one mile airstrip. N163R pushed up into the
trees on the South West end of the runway, made the trip to Palmyra. There
are clues of other failed landings that can be found walking the beaches on
the North East side of Cooper Island. The still intact sea ramp in front of
the Palmyra Yacht Club serves as reminder for the intent of the Navy to land
PBYs on the atoll via West Lagoon. The ramp now serves as boat ramp for
the TNC mission. A number of Lockheed model 18 Loadstars still fly around
the world mostly in Africa. Left over remnants formerly used by the military
airforce USA.
To view more pictures of the Lockheed 18 Loadstar visit Airliners.net
The day God landed on Palmyra Island
Two-Block Fox Squadron, thanks especially to Dan Polino
Palmyra Island is a curious, almost fictitious, sounding place, one of
the remote and picturesque Johnson Island Group, nearly lost in the
middle of the Pacific Ocean. You may have never heard of it, but 52
men will never forget it. They were passengers on a C-46 transport
on July 4, 1945, the day God landed on Palmyra Island. I was the
airplane's pilot and this is the story of that day.
At dawn we were 400 miles south of Palmyra on an equally remote
island, Funi Futi. Marine Wing 111 had ordered my crew of four and I
to fly our twin-engined RSC (C-46) Curtiss Commando from Hawaii to
Malabang to pick up 25 Marines who were being harassed by fierce
Moro natives. We were to island-hop back to Hawaii. With the rescued
Marines on board we headed for home. We stopped en route just to
brief and refuel. At each stop - Manus, Guadalcanal, Espirito Santos
and Funi Futi we took on more Marines with transportation orders for
home but no way to get there. I compensated for their weight by
reducing the gas load. The longest leg would be to Palmyra. I
calculated we would have enough fuel for the flight with a 45 minute
gas reserve to reach the Christmas Islands, our alternate in case of
an emergency. Unfortunately, an equatorial front of unusually strong
intensity was building up north of Palmyra. After consultation with the
weatherman, my co-pilot and I agreed we could beat the front to
Palmyra. A hundred miles from Palmyra, well past the point of no
return, we hit the outer fringe of the front - a wall of grayish-black,
torrential rain and gusty winds. It was as though the devil himself had
opened his maw and swallowed us! Bucking headwinds cost us the
fuel reserve. Reaching Palmyra was our only hope. Christmas Island
was out of the question. Palmyra Island air base confirmed our fears.
The island was engulfed by the storm's fury. We bounced and bucked
along, trusting our navigational instruments. Visibility was zero.
Suddenly, our instruments indicated we had passed directly over
Palmyra's tower. Radio contact with the tower operator confirmed our
position. We arced around, made one pass, failing to see the ground,
then a second with the same result. Pulling up the second try, I
hurriedly informed the tower that we had enough gas for one last
attempt. If it failed, I told him, I had no choice but to turn east and
ditch in the windwhipped ocean. The tower operator's voice was calm
as he assured us that rescue boats were being dispatched to pick up
survivors in that event. He knew, as we did, that our chances of
survival in such a sea would be practically nil.
the remote and picturesque Johnson Island Group, nearly lost in the
middle of the Pacific Ocean. You may have never heard of it, but 52
men will never forget it. They were passengers on a C-46 transport
on July 4, 1945, the day God landed on Palmyra Island. I was the
airplane's pilot and this is the story of that day.
At dawn we were 400 miles south of Palmyra on an equally remote
island, Funi Futi. Marine Wing 111 had ordered my crew of four and I
to fly our twin-engined RSC (C-46) Curtiss Commando from Hawaii to
Malabang to pick up 25 Marines who were being harassed by fierce
Moro natives. We were to island-hop back to Hawaii. With the rescued
Marines on board we headed for home. We stopped en route just to
brief and refuel. At each stop - Manus, Guadalcanal, Espirito Santos
and Funi Futi we took on more Marines with transportation orders for
home but no way to get there. I compensated for their weight by
reducing the gas load. The longest leg would be to Palmyra. I
calculated we would have enough fuel for the flight with a 45 minute
gas reserve to reach the Christmas Islands, our alternate in case of
an emergency. Unfortunately, an equatorial front of unusually strong
intensity was building up north of Palmyra. After consultation with the
weatherman, my co-pilot and I agreed we could beat the front to
Palmyra. A hundred miles from Palmyra, well past the point of no
return, we hit the outer fringe of the front - a wall of grayish-black,
torrential rain and gusty winds. It was as though the devil himself had
opened his maw and swallowed us! Bucking headwinds cost us the
fuel reserve. Reaching Palmyra was our only hope. Christmas Island
was out of the question. Palmyra Island air base confirmed our fears.
The island was engulfed by the storm's fury. We bounced and bucked
along, trusting our navigational instruments. Visibility was zero.
Suddenly, our instruments indicated we had passed directly over
Palmyra's tower. Radio contact with the tower operator confirmed our
position. We arced around, made one pass, failing to see the ground,
then a second with the same result. Pulling up the second try, I
hurriedly informed the tower that we had enough gas for one last
attempt. If it failed, I told him, I had no choice but to turn east and
ditch in the windwhipped ocean. The tower operator's voice was calm
as he assured us that rescue boats were being dispatched to pick up
survivors in that event. He knew, as we did, that our chances of
survival in such a sea would be practically nil.
The tower operator transmitted "Wind, 65 knots, 45 degrees to the
runway." He added softly, "Make your approach and God be with
you!" Even if I got the plane's wheels on the runway, the crosswind
would probably blow the plane off it and send us ripping into the
coconut trees lining the runway. But the immediate problem was
getting the plane's wheels on the runway. From there, I could
worry about the crosswind. I told my co-pilot to switch off the fuel
and engines as soon as we touched down.
In the final approach to the runway, I strained to see it through the
deluge. I watched for it through my side window but saw only the
wet blackness of the storm. The co-pilot called off altitude as we
descended, 300 feet, 200, 100, 50. We should have seen the end
of the runway. Then, there it is! And just as quickly, it was gone for
a moment. Then we saw runway markers streaking by. Slowly, I
eased back the wheel. "Please touch down!" I said to myself. My
plea was answered by the solid "arch" of rubber tires on the
asphalt-covered coral. Now for the crosswind. Anticipating it, I
stomped the left-rudder pedal desperately hoping to swing the
plane into the wind and counter the deadly drift. It wasn't there!
Veering off to one side of the runway, I mashed the opposite
rudder pedal and the plane found the center of the runway. My
legs ached from toeing the brakes. The plane came to a halt. I was
beaded with sweat, my hands tightly clenching the wheel. My
copilot's head was back, his eyes closed. Tracks of sweat on his
face glimmered in the soft red glow of the instrument panel lights.
The sharp odor of burned brake fluid and rubber tires wafted
through the airplane. The tower operator's emotion-filled voice
crackled on the radio bringing us out of our trance. "The good
Lord was surely your co-pilot," he said. "Just before you touched
down, the wind shifted, lined up with the runway and slowed to a
steady 40 knots." Rain loudly hammered the transport as each
man on board prayed his own prayers. As a jeep's lights poked at
us through the rain, I recalled that God's only son, in the midst of a
storm centuries ago said, "Peace, be still," and the storm was
hushed. Did God hear the eternal echo of these words and
employ them on our behalf? The storm was hushed wasn't it? In
the midst of war, we saw nature as man's most formidable foe, but
we also saw God as man's mightiest ally.
runway." He added softly, "Make your approach and God be with
you!" Even if I got the plane's wheels on the runway, the crosswind
would probably blow the plane off it and send us ripping into the
coconut trees lining the runway. But the immediate problem was
getting the plane's wheels on the runway. From there, I could
worry about the crosswind. I told my co-pilot to switch off the fuel
and engines as soon as we touched down.
In the final approach to the runway, I strained to see it through the
deluge. I watched for it through my side window but saw only the
wet blackness of the storm. The co-pilot called off altitude as we
descended, 300 feet, 200, 100, 50. We should have seen the end
of the runway. Then, there it is! And just as quickly, it was gone for
a moment. Then we saw runway markers streaking by. Slowly, I
eased back the wheel. "Please touch down!" I said to myself. My
plea was answered by the solid "arch" of rubber tires on the
asphalt-covered coral. Now for the crosswind. Anticipating it, I
stomped the left-rudder pedal desperately hoping to swing the
plane into the wind and counter the deadly drift. It wasn't there!
Veering off to one side of the runway, I mashed the opposite
rudder pedal and the plane found the center of the runway. My
legs ached from toeing the brakes. The plane came to a halt. I was
beaded with sweat, my hands tightly clenching the wheel. My
copilot's head was back, his eyes closed. Tracks of sweat on his
face glimmered in the soft red glow of the instrument panel lights.
The sharp odor of burned brake fluid and rubber tires wafted
through the airplane. The tower operator's emotion-filled voice
crackled on the radio bringing us out of our trance. "The good
Lord was surely your co-pilot," he said. "Just before you touched
down, the wind shifted, lined up with the runway and slowed to a
steady 40 knots." Rain loudly hammered the transport as each
man on board prayed his own prayers. As a jeep's lights poked at
us through the rain, I recalled that God's only son, in the midst of a
storm centuries ago said, "Peace, be still," and the storm was
hushed. Did God hear the eternal echo of these words and
employ them on our behalf? The storm was hushed wasn't it? In
the midst of war, we saw nature as man's most formidable foe, but
we also saw God as man's mightiest ally.
Wings of Gold thanks the author and ANA ' Two-Block Fox
Squadron, especially Dan Polino, View the entire article here.
Squadron, especially Dan Polino, View the entire article here.
Continue ^^^
| Downed Aircraft NE Cooper |
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