Loaded up, the XB-70 was more than a half-million pounds of pure sex appeal. With a six-pack of afterburning GE YJ-93 engines, wingtips and snout rigged to droop—the former for speed, the latter for slower speeds—the supersonic beauty-70 looked like it was busting Mach with the parking brake set and chocks snugged around the tires.

It was a doomed design before North American even started cutting metal. The design was born from the Curtis LeMay school of logic that preached speed and altitude were a bomber’s best defense. But before it even flew, missiles brought it down, figuratively at least. As evidenced by the Soviets’ shootdown of Francis Gary Powers’ U-2, altitude was no longer a defense, and as technology improved, missiles could track faster and faster targets.

Presidential candidate John F. Kennedy argued for the design while campaigning for the White House, and the Air Force issued a contract for a dozen airframes in early 1960. Later that year, President Kennedy got briefed on missile capabilities and the Valkyrie’s associated weakness, and the order was slashed to three vehicles to be used for high-altitude, high-speed research.  North American built and flew two of these birds, AV-1 and AV-2. AV-1 suffered plenty of teething issues associated with the construction process—North American was pioneering the use of stainless steel-skinned honeycomb structures, and more than once, AV-1 landed with panels missing that had peeled off at supersonic speed. AV-2, suffering significantly fewer structural issues, took flight and topped Mach 3.  Construction of AV-3 was never completed.

No longer destined to be a high-altitude supersonic bomber, the XB-70 was now a flying laboratory. As researchers played with advanced aerodynamics, Washington pulled back the curtain for an aeronautic peepshow that astounded many—including the Russians, who reportedly designed the budget-busting Mig-25 Foxbat with the XB-70 as inspiration.

No longer a fighting aircraft, the XB-70 became a showpiece instead, though that visibility wound up killing the program. A formation photo flight in June of 1966 ended in tragedy. The speedy giant was flying in formation with an F-4 Phantom, an F-5, a T-38 and an F-104. After the photographers got their pictures, the F-104, flown by NASA Chief Test Pilot Joe Walker, got caught in the vortex off the XB-70’s right wingtip and was snapped up and across the Valkyrie, clipping both vertical stabilizers and the left wing. Walker died at the controls of his F-104. The XB-70 held its line for a long moment before it began to skid and disintegrate. The XB-70’s co-pilot, Carl Cross, died in the crash. Pilot Al White managed to eject to safety, with injuries. After the crash of AV-1, AV-2 flew on for another two and a half years before it made one last flight to Dayton, Ohio, where it stands as a crown jewel in the USAF Museum’s collection.

The Valkyrie helped provide us with a deeper understanding of high-altitude, high-speed aerodynamics. North American pioneered several construction methods in the process, and a generation of pilots and pilots-to-be were inspired by the image of a machine that may have just flown a little too high and fast for its time.

Want to get deep into the XB-70’s story? We recommend Valkyrie: The North American XB-70: The USA’s Ill-Fated Supersonic Heavy Bomber by Graham M. Simons, available as a Kindle e-book on Amazon.com.

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The post This Incredible Plane: North American XB-70 Valkyrie appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

What makes an airplane beautiful—for that matter, what makes anything or anyone beautiful—is largely a matter of opinion. It’s interesting, though, that there’s so much agreement about certain people and objects that we find pleasing, because that suggests that there’s something quantifiable going on. In fact, scientists have been working for the past decade in pockets around the world to figure this out, and some have, with some success, developed computer programs to try to pick out a particularly attractive human face from a crowd of run-of-the-mill candidate faces. They speak about the golden ratio, a geometric arrangement of features that humans find pleasing in a stranger’s face, as being key to this recognition.

Were researchers to develop a program to spot aesthetically pleasing planes, I’d suggest starting with the P-51 as a model for airborne beauty. Why this is so, I can’t say for sure, but its ratios are surely golden, its lines both sharp, like its wingtips, and rounded, like its canopy, lending a feeling of strength, agility, grace and elegance to a machine that was developed to be a better way to shoot other airplanes out of the sky.

North American developed the P-51 as part of an Allied push to come up with a good fighter that could successfully escort B-17s and other heavy bombers of the day into Germany and then return to England. Time was of the essence, and North American famously turned out the first model in just over 100 days. So it seems as though beauty was closely linked to expediency and mission needs.

Of the more than 15,000 P-51s built for the war effort, there are today around 300 complete examples and around 175 airworthy planes, around 100 of which are regularly flown, much to the delight of airshow-goers who are lucky enough to witness the majesty of a P-51 in flight.

As a side note, part of the beauty of the P-51 is the magical sound of its Merlin V-12 engine. If you’ve heard it, you know what we’re talking about. But since our print edition of this magazine doesn’t yet have a soundtrack to go along with it, we’ll leave you with our gallery of stunning images of what might be the most beautiful airplane ever built.

—Isabel Goyer

The post North American P-51 Mustang Gallery appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

What makes an airplane beautiful—for that matter, what makes anything or anyone beautiful—is largely a matter of opinion. It’s interesting, though, that there’s so much agreement about certain people and objects that we find pleasing, because that suggests that there’s something quantifiable going on. In fact, scientists have been working for the past decade in pockets around the world to figure this out, and some have, with some success, developed computer programs to try to pick out a particularly attractive human face from a crowd of run-of-the-mill candidate faces. They speak about the golden ratio, a geometric arrangement of features that humans find pleasing in a stranger’s face, as being key to this recognition.

If researchers could develop a program to spot aesthetically pleasing planes, I’d suggest starting with the P-51 as a model for airborne beauty. Why this is so, I can’t say for sure, but its ratios are surely golden, its lines both sharp, like its wingtips, and rounded, like its canopy, lending a feeling of strength, agility, grace and elegance to a machine that was developed to be a better way to shoot other airplanes out of the sky.

North American developed the P-51 as part of an Allied push to come up with a good fighter that could successfully escort B-17s and other heavy bombers of the day into Germany and then return to England. Time was of the essence, and North American famously turned out the first model in just over 100 days. So it seems as though beauty was closely linked to expediency and mission needs.

Of the more than 15,000 P-51s built for the war effort, there are today around 300 complete examples and around 175 airworthy planes, around 100 of which are regularly flown, much to the delight of airshow-goers who are lucky enough to witness the majesty of a P-51 in flight.

As a side note, part of the beauty of the P-51 is the magical sound of its Merlin V-12 engine. If you’ve heard it, you know what we’re talking about. But since our print edition of this magazine doesn’t yet have a soundtrack to go along with it, we’ll leave you with our gallery of stunning images of what might be the most beautiful airplane ever built.

—Isabel Goyer

The post Vintage Flying Art: North American P-51 appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

From the second the throttle goes forward for takeoff, it’s apparent this will be a very different experience. The V12 engine out front comes to full froth in about two seconds, and the airplane accelerates as if it’s being launched off the bow of the Enterprise.

Airplanes don’t have transmissions, so there’s no way a flying machine will ever accelerate with a Corvette, but if you’re sitting behind the prop of a Thunder Mustang, you very well may wonder if someone snuck in a Borg Warner when no one was looking.

Sitting in the back of Wayne Richards’ immaculately built Thunder, it seemed the roar from up front was reminiscent of a AA fuel dragster. We were off the ground and accelerating toward the 150-knot best climb speed in about seven seconds. Wayne allowed the airplane to run to the end of Van Nuys Airport’s runway 16R before pulling into a steep climb at almost 6,000 fpm. We turned crosswind and downwind, pushed over to level at 2,000 feet MSL to avoid interfering with airline traffic inbound to Burbank, and the Thunder exited the pattern to the north for a high-speed run through the local mountains.

If you fly most of your hours behind piston engines, you’ll be hard-pressed to find a more enthusiastic airplane than this 3⁄4-scale P-51. Real Mustangs have always been iconic warbirds, generally considered the best piston military fighters ever conceived. And they had a sound like no other airplane above the planet.

Sadly, most of the P-51s were chopped into pieces after World War II. Today, there are just over 100 examples still flying or in the process of restoration, and such a limited supply has pushed prices well into seven figures. A properly rebuilt Mustang sells for at least $1.5 million, and a true jewel restoration can go for twice that.

Such realities have severely constricted the market except for the Tom Cruises of aviation, pilots for whom price isn’t an object. It has also created a demand for something that can offer the same performance for a lower price of admission and reduced hourly operating cost.

Like its inspiration, the Thunder Mustang has built a near-legendary reputation for performance, matching or exceeding that of the real Mustang. Additionally, they’ve captured the sound of the Mustang right down to the last decibel.

The Thunder was the long-term dream of Dan Denney, a designer from Idaho who made his initial reputation by designing and building the experimental Kitfox. This small Rotax-powered fabric-covered folding-wing, store-it-in-your-garage two-seat taildragger was wildly successful, and Denney built and sold over 1,000 kits before selling the company and initiating his concept of a 3⁄4-scale all-composite P-51.

Denny began R&D on the Thunder Mustang project outside Nampa, Idaho, in the early 1990s and had a flying prototype by the mid-1990s. The resulting airplane was a near-perfect Mustang copy, but with a fuselage scaled down to 3⁄4 of the Mustang’s, and wings reduced to 5⁄8 scale. Wingspan and area are reduced disproportionately, since the Thunder weighs only about a third of the original North American fighter. (Denny also told me the cockpit is two-and-a-half inches wider than scale. You can reduce the size of the airplane, but you can’t shrink the pilots.)

The heart of the Thunder Mustang is Ryan Falconer’s remarkable all-aluminum V12 engine. Falconer traces his engine expertise back to Roger Penske, Andy Granatelli and Galles Racing. His engines have won the Indianapolis 500 and have become standards for the Can-Am and Trans-Am racing series, and his company, RF Industries, has been building high-performance competition auto and boat engines for the last 30 years.

When Denney came to Ryan Falconer 20 years ago and proposed that the new Thunder Mustang would be the perfect vehicle for an aviation application of the Falconer V12, Falconer agreed and set to work redesigning the engine for aviation application.

In some respects, Falconer’s 600-cubic-inch power plant is reminiscent of a dramatically scaled-down Rolls-Royce Merlin, though the new mill is much lighter, significantly modernized and fitted with dual FADEC systems. Unlike the original airplane’s supercharged Merlin, however, the Falconer V12 is normally aspirated, typically configured to deliver optimum power at a density altitude of 5,000 feet rather than sea level. More than coincidentally, that’s the elevation of Stead Field in Reno, Nev., site of the annual Reno Air Races.

The engine is redlined at 4,500 rpm, geared down 2.8 times to produce 1,607 revs at the prop. The stock propeller is a four-blade composite 94-inch diameter MT, though some builders, primarily race pilots, have switched to a three-blade Hartzell that forsakes the original Mustang look, but offers slightly less drag and better speed. Racer John Parker has turned laps of 330 knots at Reno in his airplane, Blue Thunder, and currently holds the world speed record for normally aspirated piston aircraft at better than 333 knots.

Pure speed isn’t the Thunder’s only outstanding qualification, however. It’s also a remarkably quick machine coming off the ground and headed uphill. Unlike many other aircraft performance parameters, takeoff is almost directly related to power loading, and the Thunder Mustang has one of the lowest power-to-weight ratios in the business. Specifically, there’s 640 hp to lift only 3,200 pounds of airplane, so power loading is an amazing 5.0 pounds/hp. That isn’t the lowest ratio in the industry, but its close. Once established in a climb at 150 knots, Wayne Richards’ Thunder will rocket uphill at better than 5,500 fpm, nearly double the rate of a P-51D.

Richards decided to buy a Thunder exactly because of the extreme cost of an original Mustang. Like many young men who grew up around high-performance autos (Richards currently owns 10 cars ranging from antiques, classics, daily drivers and performance machines), he was drawn to aviation as the next logical step. “I grew up with high performance machines, mostly cars and motorcycles, and I was involved in racing both types through my 20s and 30s,” Richards explains.

Richards owns an auto performance shop in the San Fernando Valley north of Los Angeles, smack in the middle of the world’s busiest aviation hub, so it was perhaps only normal that he’d eventually step up to flying.

He soloed in eight hours, went on to earn his license and buy a Pitts S2A, then purchased a new S2B in 1987 that he still owns. “The Pitts is loads of fun, and I still get a kick out of flying it, but what I really wanted was something faster—a lot faster,” says Richards. “I flew several aircraft, including a T6 and a P-51, and of course, the Mustang was the ultimate, but even if you could afford the price of admission, operating costs and maintenance would be prohibitive.”

Richards considered constructing his own Thunder Mustang early on, but the 8,000- to 10,000-hour build time was prohibitive. “I make a living working with machinery, so I wasn’t intimidated by the build process, but the time required suggested it would be eight to 10 years before the airplane would be finished. I wasn’t willing to wait that long.” Dean Holt of Mt. Vernon, Wash., currently owns all rights to the Thunder Mustang and is in process of producing a quick(er) build kit. See “To Learn More” on page 36.

As a result, Richards went shopping in the used Thunder market, a very small group of about 17 airplanes. He found his current airplane in Florida, a recent product of unlimited air racer Gunther Balz. “I think Gunther has built at least five airplanes, using every type of construction material, and he’d already put 100 hours on his Thunder when I bought it. Skip Holm and I went to Florida and flew it back to California in one day. Like any new owner of a homebuilt, I made numerous changes and improvements to bring it up to my standards, but as far as I know, it’s fairly representative of a well-built Thunder Mustang,” Richards comments.

From the outside looking in, Richards’ Thunder Mustang looks to be an extremely accurate copy, a very precise, scaled-down clone of a P-51. In fact, however, it turns out to be better than the beloved Mustang in many respects. I flew Lee Lauderbach’s near-perfect Mustang, Crazy Horse, several years ago in Florida and noted a few interesting differences.

First, despite the Thunder’s superior acceleration and climb, torque isn’t nearly as much of a problem. Sudden full-throttle application on the ground for takeoff or on short final during a go-around doesn’t result in a loss of directional control or dramatic torque roll as it might in the P-51. The real Mustang is a much heavier airplane, 11,600 pounds versus the Thunder’s 3,200 pounds. Similarly, a related problem arises when the Mustang’s airspeed builds past about 250 knots. All that inertia makes for extremely heavy pitch response, demanding both hands on the stick.

In contrast, the Thunder retains comparatively light stick forces right up through 300 knots. Neither airplane is especially difficult to land, but the Thunder may have a slight advantage, again, because it’s lighter and easier to correct.

Flying from the rear is more than a little challenging, as there are no instruments in back, and the only controls are throttle, prop, stick and rudders. The front seat folds forward to allow entrance/egress, so by definition, the rear seater must climb in first and exit last. Room in back isn’t exactly spacious, but it’s typically wide enough to accommodate most big men.

Engine start is a little different than in other aircraft. The dual FADEC ECUs take care of everything, timing, prime, mixture, so start is mostly a process of turning on the master, ignition and boost pump and hitting the start button. There’s no primer or alternate air, and mixture control is adjustable but preset for start. Compression ratio is a high 10.9 to one, and when the engine comes to life, it does so with enthusiasm. It might be a stretch to compare it to a Merlin, but the Falconer’s angry snarl as it catches and settles down to idle seems distinctly similar.

The Thunder’s deck angle during taxi is significantly nose up, so S-turns are mandatory. As with the full-size Mustang, pushing the stick forward unlocks the tailwheel for maneuvering on the ground. Holding the pole full back locks the tailwheel in the trail position with only six degrees of travel.

Just as with other high-performance aircraft, things become a little busy in the cockpit during takeoff. Once the throttle hits the forward stop, the pilot immediately lifts the tail and then has only a few seconds before it’s time to rotate at 80 knots. After that, he needs to retract the wheels quickly to avoid exceeding the gear door limit speed of 130 knots. With wheels in the wells, speed leaps to a best rate of 150 knots, and it takes at least 30 degrees nose up to hold that speed with full throttle.

One anomaly noted by test pilot Dave Morss on the prototype is that the Thunder Mustang climbs so fast, the digital manifold pressure gauge is dropping by roughly five inches a minute, so it’s hard to get a firm reading of mp during climb.

With all that power on tap, aerobatics thrill. Roll rate is about 90 degrees/second, so a full, max stick deflection roll demands only four seconds. Loops and vertical rolls are no problem, but it’s important to keep all maneuvers positive, as there’s no inverted fuel or oil system. Push the airplane into even a slight negative G, and that big 12-cylinder engine will stagger. With a 10.9 to one compression ratio, the blades will spool down to a complete stop if you hold outside Gs for more than a few seconds. (That’s by no means a measure of the airplane’s strength, however. Denny designed the Thunder to withstand +7.3/-4.9 Gs at gross. The airplane’s structure is carbon fiber with a honeycomb core, probably stronger than an equivalent aluminum structure.)

If your mission is cruise, you’ll see 280 knots at 10,500-11,500 feet, burning 22 gph. With 102 gallons aboard, the airplane has 3.5 hours endurance plus reserve for a range of nearly 1000 nm. The pilot needs only to monitor temperatures and adjust coolant, oil doors and fuel trim as necessary to keep the engine happy. With all those cylinders firing in sequence, the Falconer engine is almost as smooth as a turbine (though some owners have actually installed Walther turbine mills).

Wing loading is just under 30 pounds/square foot, and that translates directly to a fairly smooth ride in turbulence. Like the original fighter, it plows through rough air with little trouble.

Descents are as you like them with liquid cooling out front. Shock cooling isn’t a concern, so you can descend as fast as your ears will tolerate with that big four-blade MT running interference. Redline is the same as the P-51’s top number, 439 knots, so there’s no risk of overspeeding the airplane.

At the bottom of the envelope, approaches work well at 100 knots with a wheel landing at 85 knots. Stall speed is below 70 knots, so you’re not pushing the envelope at a final approach speed of 90.

Wayne Richards’ airplane represents more than simply another immaculately constructed homebuilt work of art. It is, in some respects, an ultimate, the maximum performance you can wring from a normally aspirated, piston engine. WWII fighters needed superchargers to fly high and fast so they could outpace the bad guys. Today, jets have relegated those wonderful piston fighters to museums and occasional air shows, and the limited supply of 65-year-old Mustangs continues to diminish.

If pilots such as Wayne Richards and Dean Holt are successful at keeping the Thunder Mustang alive, however, we may continue to see a version of the airplane maintaining the legacy of the legendary P-51 Mustang forever. And no one will ever forget that sound.

The post The Sound Of Thunder appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

Thunder Mustang | North American P-51D
	Thunder Mustang	North American P-51D
Engine Make/Model:	Falconer V12	RR Merlin
Displacement (cu. in.):	601	1649
Horsepower:	640	1490
Fuel Type:	100LL	100LL
Four-Blade Propeller (in.):	94 MT	134 Ham Std
Equivalent Flat Plate Area (sq. ft.):	8.1	13.4
Landing Gear Type:	Conv/retr	Conv/Petr
Max Takeoff Weight (lbs.):	3200	11,600
Empty Weight (lbs.):	2200	7635
Useful Load, Std. (lbs.):	1000	3965
Usable Fuel, Std. (gals./lbs.):	102	180
Payload, Full Std. Fuel (lbs.):	388	2885
Wingspan:	23′ 10″	37′
Overall Length:	24′ 3″	42′ 3″
Wing Area (sq. ft.):	104	236
Wing Loading (lbs./sq. ft.):	28.8	49.2
Power Loading (lbs./hp):	5.0	7.7
Seating Capacity:	2	2
PERFORMANCE
Max Speed SL (kts.):	326	326
Max Cruise Speed (kts., 75%):	300	250
Cruise Fuel Burn (gph/lbs):	25	60
Best Rate Of Climb, SL (fpm):	5200	2800
Service Ceiling (ft.):	25,000	46,000
Stall (Vso,kts.):	68	88

The post Thunder Mustang appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

Instead, I was amazed at the airplane’s light handling. Doug had an aircraft sales company called Screaming Eagle Aviation that specialized in anything old and exotic, lots of Stearmans and Ryans and an occasional Spartan Executive, Staggerwing or Great Lakes.

Doug also dealt in a few T-6s, and whenever he had one in stock, we’d take turns carving the air, reveling in the sheer joy of caroming two-and-a-half tons of airplane around clouds and arcing effortlessly through the vertical canyons of sky. It was a friendly machine, all fun and no attitude (well, very little anyway), and possessed a sense of freedom and happiness—a joy to fly. Doug’s gone now, but the “Big Six” was one of his favorite airplanes, and I think of him whenever I see one.

When you see Bill Greene’s T-6, you can’t help but marvel at the time and effort some pilots will expend to create a prizewinner. Greene is currently a private investigator in Groveland, Ill., but his not-so-secret passion has always been airplanes. An A&P mechanic, Greene has owned a dozen or more airplanes over the last 30 years, all working up to his current mount, a venerable North American AT-6G.

Greene’s machine is one of about 350 North American advanced trainers still flying from a matrix of just under 16,000 built in the ’40s and early ’50s.

“The man who deserves primary credit for the restoration of my airplane is Robert Smith of Athol, Idaho,” says Greene. “I bought the airplane in 2000, but Smith had already spent something like 10 years rebuilding it from the ground up. I did some work restoring the original stenciling of placards and taking care of lots of other details, such as removing plastic tie wraps around wire bundles and installing waxed rope.”

The military airplane has a huge tandem-seat cockpit with placards, switches and levers that have been restored to their original condition.

Between Smith and Greene, the finished product is about as original as it was possible to make. The result is a proven winner that has earned praise and awards everywhere Greene displays the airplane. Greene lives right down the road from Oshkosh, so it’s only fair that he has won practically every warbird competition he has entered. Starting in 2001, Greene has taken home Grand Champion and Silver or Golden Wrench awards at Oshkosh, Sun ‘n Fun and even the Dayton Air Show. The A&P flies his airplane about 50 hours a year during the air show season.

To fly the product of such love and dedication (not to mention money) is an experience somewhere between wonderful and terrifying. The machine looks and flies far better than any stock T-6 created by North American, but don’t even think about what would happen if you broke it.

From the minute you step up to a T-6, there’s no question you’re dealing with a pure military airplane. There’s not a vestige of anything civilian about the design. It’s functional all the way, built with strength and utility as its primary goals rather than comfort or speed.

You’ll note that efficiency wasn’t mentioned above. It’s not part of the airplane’s mission, and the T-6 makes no attempt to accommodate for economy of size or operation. It’s a big, barrel-chested airplane, a massive machine by general aviation standards, nearly 12 feet tall with a wingspan of 42 feet. In the civilian world, a Cessna 421 has about the same dimensions.

Out on the nose, there’s a huge Pratt & Whitney R-1340 Wasp engine, a nine-cylinder radial rated for 550 hp (upgraded versions put out 600 hp), that’s happy to haul the T-6’s 5,600-odd pounds through the sky. This was P&W’s first engine, and though it was a product of the 1920s, it was as reliable for its time as the famous P&W PT6A turboprop mill is today.

The engine was used singly or in pairs (or even in threes) in such military and civilian airplanes as the P-26 Peashooter, Boeing F4B, de Havilland Otter, Grumman Ag Cat, Lockheed Electra, Sikorsky S-38 flying amphib, Ford Tri-Motor and even the Gee Bee R-1 racer. The engine sports a whopping 1,344 cubic inches to pump out only 600 hp, so it’s dramatically underworked in this application. (In contrast, a typical big-bore Lycoming 540 may deliver as much as 350 hp.)

Military engines pay little heed to fuel burn—your tax dollars at work—and the R-1340 is suitably overpaid. According to Greene, fuel burn at normal cruise runs about 32 gph, substantial but only half the P-51’s rate of a gallon per minute (60 gallons an hour). At today’s prices, you could expect to pay roughly $150 per hour for fuel on a T-6 at cruise. Throw in a little acro, and you could be pushing $200 per hour.

The tandem cockpits of the T-6 trainer are reminiscent of the airplanes they’re intended to train for, especially if the final product is another North American model. Back in the ’40s, the T-6 trained aviators for everything from P-40s and P-47s to P-51s and P-63s, so the cockpit was generic of military airplanes.

This restored Texan is one of just 350 T-6s still flying; less than 16,000 of the advanced trainers were built in the ’40s and early ’50s.

By the standards of some fighters, the Texan’s cockpit is huge, easily large enough to accommodate a six-foot-six-inch pilot. There are switches and levers virtually everywhere, and Greene’s airplane reflects an accurate example of the original. Placards are mounted on practically every flat space, and they warn of everything from excess manifold pressure to proper use of the pilot relief tube.

Pilot and passenger sit tall in the Texan. You can easily rest your arm on the side rails abeam your rib cage. Visibility is good, provided you don’t mind staring around the “birdcage” canopy structure. The view out front, past the large radial engine, is essentially nonexistent until you’re in flight.

Engine start with any radial is always fun as all those cylinders slowly vote on whether to run. The engine typically comes to life one cylinder at a time, chug-a-putting smoke and oil and churning to full contentment over 20 to 30 seconds. Starting a T-6 is often an event at most airports, sometimes even gathering a small collection of Cessna and Piper pilots who marvel at the wonder of radials.

Taxiing is no particular challenge as long as you keep it slow and stay close to the brakes. Despite the T-6’s large size, it has a deserved reputation as something of a squirrel on the ground. S-turns are the rule with alternate looks out the left and right sides of the airplane to see what you’re about to hit. The airplane isn’t a pilot-eater, but you fly it from chocks to chocks, and it will keep your adrenalin pumping most of the time, especially in any significant crosswind.

Takeoff is similarly exciting, mostly because of the decibel count. The Texan sports a huge Hamilton Standard propeller, and at full power, the tips race up near the Mach, creating that flat, blatting sound so characteristic of T-6s. The airplane is remarkably unapologetic for its noise level, and any pilot who doesn’t appreciate it should perhaps consider taking up knitting.

This is a warbird, after all, but if you’re expecting great things during climb, you’ll probably be disappointed, despite the huge 254-square-foot wing. With power back to 32/2,000, the airplane will usually levitate at 1,000 fpm, little more than you’d expect in a Bonanza or Mooney.

Bill Greene’s Texan has won practically every warbird competition it has entered, including Grand Champion at EAA AirVenture.

In contrast, the Texan’s in-flight manners are nothing less than wonderful. Acro is more fun than dogsledding. The airplane performs seemingly effortless rolls and loops, and it manifests the typical military behavior of being on the edge of a high-speed stall most of the time. Vertical reverses (where you roll to knife edge, push top rudder and pull) are loads of fun, with the airplane swapping wings from hard left to hard right in about two seconds.

Speeds aren’t that impressive in any mode, cruise or aerobatics, but so what? Fellow contributor Budd Davisson, a warbird expert and acknowledged Texan lover, once wrote of the T-6, “The Texan is hardcore military, and the only difference between a Six and a fighter is [that] the number on the airspeed gauge is much lower. Numbers are only numbers. If you don’t have telephone poles whizzing past to give numbers some scale, they’re totally abstract, so you can play fighter pilot to your heart’s content in a Six.”

Cruise numbers in a T-6 (for those strange folks who waste time cruising in this airplane) are about the same as in a Piper Arrow—140 knots—and standard tanks (110 gallons) last for a little under three hours plus reserve. Stall characteristics aren’t necessarily that much of a challenge, as long as you’ve had a proper checkout, have plenty of altitude and have an appreciation for the airplane’s peculiarities.

“Because of the off-center alignment of the tail, you do get a little aerodynamic warning in high-speed stalls to the left,” says Greene, “but practically none to the right. If you get too slow, and the airplane breaks right, it may go over onto its back, and you’ll probably need two full turns to recover. That’s one reason the catchphrase among T-6 pilots has always been ’No low, slow and pull.’ Stall characteristics could be hazardous to your health if you haven’t been properly trained—that’s the key. Once you have the feel of the airplane, the Texan’s stall is highly predictable. It’s just not necessarily gentle.”

Granted such tutelage, landings aren’t necessarily any great challenge as long as you accept that they’re not as easy as you think. Wheel or three-point “kerplunk” efforts work equally well. Just stay close to the brakes.

If you have a yen for a T-6 (and who doesn’t), there’s a limited supply available. The type was exported to some 34 countries, many of which maintained it as a trainer until a few years ago. Accordingly, the supply is sometimes aided and abetted by brokers who buy out those foreign air force inventories and return the airplanes to the United States.

Expect to pay $100,000 and up for a flyable airplane, mostly “and up.” There’s no telling what a gem such as Bill Greene’s might sell for. For better or worse, however, that’s not a problem, as Greene’s prizewinner isn’t for sale.

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