I pressed the push-to-talk button on the yoke and called, “We are done, Jim. We got the photos. You are lead. Let’s go home.” Jim started a left turn, and I enjoyed the beautiful lines of his PT-19 as he crossed one more time in front of the sun—on fire, majestic.
As Ed, my safety pilot, was not rated in taildraggers, I asked him to allow me to take over—“My plane, Ed.” I was happy to have an excuse to take over as the conditions couldn’t be better. The air was still and smooth, and the fields of Michigan started the metamorphosis from yellowish green to dark blue as the sun was going down.
