Taking off from an inclined wooden ramp installed on the bow of the cruiser USS Birmingham, a daring civilian pilot named Eugene Ely narrowly escapes the waves of Hampton Roads and makes the Navy's first shipboard launch on Nov. 14, 1910. -- Mark St. John Erickson
When the pioneering plane that made the first shipboard launch lifted off near Old Point Comfort just after 3:16 p.m. on Nov. 14, 1910, the future of naval aviation looked a little doubtful.
Civilian test pilot Eugene Ely barely survived his hair-raising 37-foot plunge into the tops of the waves, which damaged his propeller and drenched his struggling Curtiss pusher biplane with spray.
But after a few gut-wrenching seconds, the aircraft began to climb, signaling the momentous first step toward the creation of the aircraft carrier and the revolution that changed the face of naval warfare.
"Daring man-bird makes first flight," an Associated Press writer reported in the Daily Press, describing the historic test that took place 105 years ago today just a quarter mile from the verandas of the Hotel Chamberlin at Old Point Comfort.
"The aeroplane must be taken seriously in the naval warfare of the future."
Touch and go
The roots of Ely's feat reach back to October 1910, when the flying skills the former chauffeur and automobile racer demonstrated for pioneering aircraft manufacturer Glenn Curtiss at the International Air Meet in New York caught the eye of Navy Capt. Washington Irving Chambers.
A couple of weeks later they met again at an air show in Baltimore, at which time Ely — hearing that Chambers had been charged with exploring the concept of taking off from a ship — volunteered to pilot an attempt.
Fitted out with an 83-foot-long wooden ramp, the USS Birmingham left the Norfolk Navy Yard in Portsmouth on a blustery Monday morning, encountering fog, intermittent rain and even occasional small hail as it steamed across Hampton Roads in the company of two destroyers, two torpedo boats and a flotilla of other smaller vessels, the Daily Press reported.
Nearly 4 hours passed as Ely readied his 50 horsepower plane — which had been rigged with light pontoons — and waited for a break in the weather.
Then, at 3:16 p.m., the daring pilot seized a momentary opportunity between the rain showers, getting into his plane and gunning his engine without waiting for the cruiser to get underway and provide his craft with the extra lift most onlookers thought it needed.
Releasing his brakes, Ely roared down the wooden incline and went into a dive in order to gain speed, plunging to the surface of the water before he wrestled his vibrating aircraft into a climb at the last second.
Observers watching from a dozen boats gave out "an involuntary sigh" as the plane's wheels and propeller thrashed through the waves, the AP writer reported.
So punishing was the impact that another reporter later described the propeller as looking like "a heavy coarse saw had gone along its edge."
Flying spray drenched Ely's goggles, too, making it impossible for him to see as he wrenched his laboring airplane from the grip of the waves and into a tortuously long and slow climb over the mouth of Hampton Roads.
Later, Ely would tell an excited crowd that "he was not fond of the water," when, in truth, he could not swim.
"But he conquered his fears long enough to remain over it in the fog and accomplished his purpose," the AP reported.
Pioneering feats
Dogged by his chewed-up propeller, Ely changed his original flight plan immediately, circling back over the Chesapeake Bay at an altitude of about 500 feet and landing at Willoughby Spit after only 5 minutes in the air.
But every observer knew that — as with the first battle of the ironclads nearly 50 years earlier — the waters of Hampton Roads had provided the setting for a landmark moment.
"When Mr. Ely flew with such ease from a standing ship, it showed beyond doubt that his task would have been much simpler if the Birmingham had been moving," Chambers said.
In fact, the flight was much more successful than anticipated, the Navy officer added.
Just over two months later, Ely boosted his resume of aerial landmarks still further by making the first shipboard landing, touching down on a specially outfitted Navy cruiser anchored in San Francisco Bay.
"It was easy enough," he said after his plane came to a stop in the grip of the Navy's first tailhook arresting system.
"I think the trick could be successfully turned nine times out of 10."
Still, the courageous 24-year-old who took two of the most important first steps in naval aviation failed to live out the year.
Crashing into the ground during an October 1911 air show in Macon, Ga., he managed to step out of his wrecked plane.
But he died a few minutes later of a broken neck.
Nearly 25 years later, Congress recognized his achievements with a posthumous Distinguished Flying Cross.
The citation singled him out for both his "extraordinary achievement as a pioneer civilian aviator and his significant contribution to the development of aviation in the United States Navy."
Story and photos: http://www.dailypress.com
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