On July 28, 2022, Ukrainians celebrated “Statehood Day” as a national holiday for the first time. Coinciding with the holiday, Ukrainian aircraft designer, manufacturer and service company Antonov announced the naming of nine aircraft to honor the heroism and resilience of the Ukrainian people following the invasion by Russia earlier that year. The aircraft involved include seven An-124s, one An-128, one An-158 and one An-178, all of which are named after fallen cities.
The An-124 Ruslan has been a frequent visitor to Paine Field Airport in Everett, Washington, as of late, where it’s been delivering large parts to The Boeing Company. The planes have typically flown in before dawn, quickly unloaded their cargo, and departed mid-morning. However, one of the massive freighters flew in mid-afternoon yesterday during some outstanding winter light. It was on the ground 2-3 hours and departed just before sunset. And let me tell you… our local community of aviation enthusiasts showed up in full force.
Yesterday’s aircraft was UR82008, “Be Brave Like Okhtyrka.” And while these large Ukrainian jets have always been known to draw a crowd, there’s something different now that the country and its people and their freedom have been attacked. To all Ukrainians: your bravery is nothing short of awe-inspiring.
They start just like emeralds, the brightest of greens
These are a few of my favorite Queens”
The Boeing 747 changed the world the second the very first airplane lifted off the runway at Paine Field in Everett, Washington, on Feb. 9, 1969. Many people doubted that an airplane two-and-a-half times the size of the 707 could even fly. Little did they know…
I was fortunate to attend the rollout of the last 747 (L/N 1574) earlier this month, and a week-and-a-half later I made it up to PAE just in the nick of time to see her first flight. Soon she’ll return to Seattle with a shiny new coat of paint, before being delivered to Atlas Air early next year. I’m grateful to be supporting the delivery event, but am quite honestly dreading the moment I wave goodbye to that big, beautiful bird.
Many of you know I meticulously track the airplanes I photograph — each one is tagged with the registration, airline, manufacturer, model, variant and airport. It takes time, but it is well worth it to me. As the 747 program comes to a close, I started to think about the many Jumbo Jets I’ve spotted over the past several years. I did a little digging and discovered I’ve shot 132 of the 1,574 747s produced (roughly 8%). Those airplanes represent 35 different airlines, with Atlas, China Airlines Cargo and Kalitta Air as the top three, with 17, 13 and 10 airframes photographed, respectively.
I’ve of course seen some of these airplanes multiple times, and all in all, I have roughly 3,500 photos of 747s in my collection. With that, I decided to celebrate and honor this remarkable airplane program by choosing some favorites to share with all of you. Of the 20 airplanes in these photos, one was written off, one was scrapped, three are in storage and seven now wear different liveries. Please know that some of these photos were taken when I was just getting started as a plane spotter, so I kindly ask that you forgive the poor quality.
I realized the other day that it’s been more than four months since I posted here, which isn’t like me. Typically, I’ve held myself to a pretty high standard when it comes to how often I post on social media: once a day on Instagram and once a month here on my blog. In fact, that high standard has typically applied to all facets of my life… I’ve always been “go, go, go!” at home, at work and here on The Great Planes. But there’s been a lot going on in my world lately, so I thought it would be best to take that pressure off myself, slow the pace and embrace more of a “go with the flow” lifestyle. It’ll take awhile to get there, but I’m trying!
With that… I suppose it’s time for a story. This one isn’t ALL about airplanes, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. I call it, “The Three Keys.”
Last month, I became the owner of a very special key. It was special not only because of the door it would unlock, but because of what it symbolized. It was the third of three keys that now hang together on the same keyring… jingling in my purse while I am out and about each day, and hanging on the wall silent and still each night while I sleep. By themselves, each one means something, but collectively they represent a sense of fulfillment in my life, and for that I am truly grateful.
Standing on top of “Red” to photograph a Boeing 727 coming into Seattle’s Boeing Field.
1. November 2020: The key to our first new car
For the majority of our first 10 years together, Scott and I had just one car between the two of us: a bright red 2008 Toyota Yaris that I bought used in 2010. Her name was “Littler” (for “Littler Red”) as she followed “Little Red” — a 1998 Ford Escort that was unfortunately totaled in 2010. The accident wasn’t my fault, and I suffered only minor injuries, but it was traumatic nonetheless. Also, it meant that I needed to find a new set of wheels, and that for the first time in my life I would be taking on a car payment (yikes!). Littler had no bells and whistles… She didn’t have cruise control or a sunroof, there were no powered windows and no automatic locks — she was as basic as they come. But she was special to me and to us.
In fall 2020, Scott and I came to the difficult realization that we seriously needed to consider buying a new car. Littler had been in and out of the shop, and it was no longer practical to keep fixing the seemingly endless issues that were popping up. In choosing our next vehicle, I had only one requirement: it had to be bright red to carry on the legacy of Little Red and Littler. We found a 2021 Subaru Crosstrek as bright as a brand new fire engine, and immediately knew it was the one. This car was the biggest of the three, so naturally, we just called her, “Red.” I love that car to pieces as it was our first “big purchase” as a couple and it is such a big part of our lives today — I drive it to and from work, Scott drives it all over the state to go hiking, and I climb atop it to get the best vantage point when taking photos at local airports.
Me and my Boeing Archives teammates prior to our flight on B-29 “Doc.”
2. May 2021: The key to the Boeing Archives
When I started The Great Planes almost six years ago, I really didn’t know how big a part of my life aviation would become. I’m a natural storyteller (at least I like to think I am) and I went to journalism school to build on those skills and that passion. So when I discovered my love of airplanes, I figured aviation communications was the way to go. Until that point, I had been job hopping like crazy. I felt like I had no “calling” and started to feel a bit hopeless. But aviation changed all of that… I suddenly felt hopeful. Just about the same time I started my blog, I found an industry mentor (thank you Benét!) and soon started picking up freelance writing gigs. Eventually, I began applying like mad to full-time communications positions with airlines and manufacturers.
I got my first job with Boeing in 2017, and after only a year of working in executive communications in our Chicago office, I was fortunate enough to snag a position on our Historical Services team in St. Louis. Even though Scott and I didn’t necessarily see ourselves staying in St. Louis long term, I loved my job so much that the location didn’t matter all that much. But then, after a couple years, we got our long-awaited opportunity to move to Seattle — the Mecca of commercial aviation and the home of the Boeing Archives. I’ll add that we do have three archives locations, one of which is in St. Louis, but the Seattle collection is by and large the biggest (and in my opinion, the best). I can’t explain the feeling I had when I took possession of the key to our collection… I guard it with my life!
Scott and I the day we received the keys to our first house.
3. October 2022: The key to our first house
To say the last two months were a whirlwind would be an understatement. Scott and I, along with our good friend Jiho, took a 2-week trip to South Korea in early September. A few days after returning home, Scott and I went to see a couple houses. We had been looking casually for a few months, but hadn’t seen anything that was “just right.” After living in Seattle for just over a year, we realized we couldn’t afford to rent much longer — if we were going to be spending this much on housing, it had to be going toward something.
When we stepped into the small single-family home that we now call ours, we knew it was the one. We put in an offer, took part in a small (but still stressful!) bidding war, and ultimately got the email from our realtors we had so longed to receive, “Congratulations! You got the house!” That set into motion weeks upon weeks of doing “all the things” that new homeowners do: selling old furniture that was too big, visiting the new house to take measurements, buying new (smaller) furniture, listing and showing our apartment, canceling and setting up utilities, yada yada yada. We talked with our realtors or the credit union almost daily before signing what felt like 75,000-pages worth of closing documents. But the moment we got our keys, we breathed huge sighs of relief. We knew we had done it, and we couldn’t be happier.
So… will there ever be a fourth key? Maybe a fifth? Who knows. For know, I’m happy with the ones I have. Besides, great things come in threes!
I miss Doc. Even though he was only in Seattle for a week, I somehow got used to him being here. I felt this strange comfort in knowing he was always nearby — whether that meant flying at 1,000 feet around Puget Sound or simply sitting out on the tarmac on the southwest corner of Boeing Field. I can’t explain it… and I’m not sure that it’s even worth it to try. I don’t understand how or why my heart can feel so full and then suddenly so empty, all because of an airplane.
Doc is one of only two airworthy Boeing B-29s in the whole world. The B-29 Superfortress was the most capable, most advanced bomber of its time. It was quite costly, too. For perspective, the Manhattan Project — the U.S. program to develop the nuclear bomb — cost about $2 billion. The B-29 program cost $3 billion, but that didn’t matter. America needed something to carry that bomb… the price wasn’t a concern. It couldn’t be.
Doc departing Boeing Field on a brief media flight, Tuesday, May 17.Doc coming into Boeing Field after one of nearly a dozen scenic flights during the airplane’s weeklong stay in Seattle.
When I heard that Doc was coming to Seattle, I was ecstatic. A couple years ago back in St. Louis, I had the opportunity to fly in a North American Aviation B-25 Mitchell, the famous bomber used in the Doolittle Raid. That was particularly special for two reasons: First, I got the invitation just minutes before the flight, giving it an element of surprise and creating a huge adrenaline rush. Second, my husband Scott was on the flight as well, and everything’s better when we’re together.
But nothing could prepare me for the B-29. Nothing could prepare me for Doc.
Highlights from the Spokane-Seattle flight, as captured via GoPro, my iPhone, and my husband Scott’s iPhone.
I still get teary thinking about it. I think of the Boeing engineers who designed the B-29’s bulbous glass nose and its long slender wing. I think of the women and men who worked at Boeing’s Wichita, Kansas, and Renton, Washington, factories. They had such pride. Such passion. At peak, each factory was churning out 4-5 planes per day. They were building them for their brothers, for their sons.
I think of the legendary Eddie Allen, the B-29 program’s chief pilot. He was a huge proponent of safety and testing, but tragically died while piloting the second XB-29 prototype on its ninth flight. An engine fire — which wasn’t an uncommon occurrence on the B-29 in its early days — spread and caused the plane to crash into the Frye Packing Company just north of Boeing Field in Seattle, killing Allen and 10 other crewmen, in addition to 20 Frye employees and a firefighter.
I think of the selfless young men who flew these planes into the unknown. Some made it home. Others died in combat. Some were held prisoner and subjected to unthinkable violence. They were brothers, sons, nephews, fathers.
Many of you know that by day I work as a historian at Boeing, though I try for the most part to avoid talking about that on The Great Planes, because I don’t represent my company here, I just represent myself and my borderline-insane love of airplanes. But, for this story, it’s impossible to not talk about my job and my team.
My colleague Mike Lombardi, Boeing’s chief historian, was first looped into Doc’s restoration in 2002. He and his team were able to provide archival documents like drawings and manuals to assist the hundreds of people working to bring the aging warbird back to life. Though he had kept up with the progress and seen photos over the years, he had never seen Doc in person. Until now.
Anxiously waiting to go board Doc for an hourlong flight to Seattle.Ready for the flight of a lifetime with my Boeing teammates. L to R: Me, chief historian Mike Lombardi, archivist Anna Italiano and lead archivist Heather Schaub.
When I got a call from Josh with “Doc’s Friends” inviting our Historical Services team to join the crew on the Spokane to Seattle repositioning flight, I just about lost it. I must have been talking loudly and seemed obviously excited while on the phone, as my coworkers started asking, “What’s happening!?” the second I hung up.
“Gather around,” I said.
We immediately started planning the trip out to Spokane. The plane was out there for several days as part of an air show at Fairchild Air Force Base, and was slated to fly into Seattle’s Boeing Field on Tuesday, May 17. We rented a car and drove the four hours to Spokane International Airport to return the car before catching a Lyft over to the base. A local KC-135 pilot, who volunteers to fly Doc now and again, picked us up and drove us out to the airplane.
The first time I set eyes on Doc, Tuesday, May 17, at Fairchild Air Force Base.What a perfect day for a fly.
Doc looked stunning out on the tarmac. There were but a few clouds in the sky, and the beating sunshine was radiating off the airplane’s polished aluminum skin, to where it appeared to be glowing. We figured out where each of us would sit, climbed up the ladder through the hatch by the nose gear, buckled up and waited.
View from the bombardier’s seat, just minutes from departing the Air Force base. Pilot Mark Novak and copilot Ken Newell get ready to fly the restored warbird across the state of Washington.
I was lucky enough to sit in the coveted bombardier’s seat for takeoff. It was pretty warm with the sunshine coming through, but sweating was the least of my concerns. Feeling those radial engines start up, and bouncing down the taxiway past a row of perfectly lined up KC-135s — it was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. At that point, I knew I would get emotional.
“Keeps wanting to go left,” Novak said, as we lifted off. I could feel him correcting it. It was strange… I didn’t feel like we were climbing at all. It was as though we lifted off the ground and just cruised at a steady 50 feet over the remainder of the runway. Yes, I was crying… they were equal parts happy tears and sad tears, thinking of everything this airplane represents.
Flight engineer Don Obreiter with a picture perfect backdrop.Flying low and slow through the Cascade Mountains.
It was incredible to see the topography of Washington from just 6,500 feet. The first part of the 1-hour, 10-minute flight was flat and green, then it turned brown and mountainous with plenty of snow-covered peaks and crystal blue mountain lakes. Finally, we saw the Seattle skyline in the distance and made a sharp bank south into Boeing Field.
Looking forward through the 35-foot tunnel. Crawling through it is easy, but getting into and out of it… not so much.The secluded tail gunner’s position, which we were able to access mid-flight since the plane wasn’t pressurized.
During the flight, we had ample time to move about the airplane, all the way from the nose to the tail. During the war, the B-29 could cruise as high as 31,000 feet because the crew compartments were pressurized, hence the 35-foot tunnel connecting the forward and rear sections. The area between the tail and the rear section wasn’t pressurized, however, meaning the tail gunner could only leave his post during unpressurized flight. Doc flies so low today that it doesn’t need to be pressurized, which is why we were able to make it to the tail gunner’s spot during flight, no problem.
When we landed at Boeing Field, we were greeted by dozens of reporters and photographers, airport workers, and our own friends and family. That arrival was probably the closest I’ll ever feel to being a celebrity. Shortly after we got off the plane, the crew took a few members of the local media up for a quick 20-minute flight around Seattle, so naturally I decided to stay and photograph both the takeoff and landing.
The plane remained in Seattle for nearly a week, offering cockpit tours to the public and taking paying passengers up on 30-minute scenic flights — I photographed nearly all of them. And then yesterday, Doc left. About 2:30 p.m. the plane took off to the South heading to Minden, Nevada, the next stop on the 2022 “History Restored Tour.”
I kept obsessively clicking on the plane’s icon on Flightradar24, hoping maybe — just maybe — it would turn back. Who knows, maybe the crew had received a report of bad weather and decided to stay another night in Seattle. But after they crossed the Oregon-California border, I knew they were gone for good. Doc wasn’t coming back. And you know what…? That’s OK. That has to be OK. Now the folks in and around Lake Tahoe can experience what I experienced this past week.
This is my “so many emotions” face. I’m grateful for this opportunity.
To Doc’s Friends, thank you so much for your kindness and hospitality. This was an experience I don’t take for granted and one I won’t soon forget. To be able to experience flight in this iconic airplane has allowed me to see firsthand the engineering excellence that went into this beast of a machine, and to fully appreciate how incredible a feat it really was to build these planes at such a swift pace. It also helped me to better understand what flying felt like, what it sounded like, what it looked like and even what it smelled like 80 years ago. But most importantly, it left a lasting mark on my heart, one I’ll draw on each time I tell the B-29 story going forward. I’ll always remember what it felt like to be in that airplane, on that sunny spring afternoon. I traveled back in time.
And to the Greatest Generation… thank you. Thank you for designing, building, maintaining and flying these planes. And for those who made the ultimate sacrifice, I’m eternally grateful that I can live free today, thanks to you.
The Great Planes 