After my story on airships, past and present, ran Sunday, I heard from a few readers, including one who chided me for not mentioning that unlike Airship Ventures’ Zeppelin NT, which uses nonflammable helium for lift, the Hindenburg was filled with highly flammable hydrogen when it crashed in 1936. The German airship company had no choice since the United States had embargoed the import of helium to Germany.
Another reader wanted to know the difference between blimps and dirigibles. Dirigibles, including zeppelins, have internal frames. Blimps are gas-filled bags.
I was particularly interested in Don Wilson’s e-mail. A Soquel resident, Wilson served as a blimp pilot during World War I and spent time at the Watsonville base.
Here, in his own words, are his memories.
First: Did you know that in World War I, England had two types of Lighter-than-Air ships: They were Type A, Rigid and Type B, Limp (hence the term Blimp).
The U.S. Navy during World War II had a considerable number of blimps on duty in England, Northern Africa, South America and on both coasts of the United States. They were used principally for anti-submarine patrol, but also served as platforms for graduating students from the Navy’s parachute-packing school at Lakehurst, New Jersey (The final examination in the school was to jump out of an aircraft with a parachute that you had packed.)
There were two major LTA (Lighter-than-Air) centers in California: at Tustin, south of Los Angeles, and at Moffett Field. There were a number of auxiliary fields — up at Eureka, down just north of San Diego and the one you mentioned in your story: at Watsonville.
I was one of the blimp pilots who came down from Moffett Field to man the station and fly blimps out of the Watsonville field. Our principal duty there was to keep an eye and ear out for planes on training flights out of Fort Ord. If one of them crashed at sea or in Monterey Bay, we were there to pick up the crew members before they “hypered” in the cold bay waters. We also went out early to intercept ships and convoys heading for San Francisco and escort them to points where they could be picked up by airships from Moffett Field, or conversely, take a “handoff” from a Moffett Field crew and continue an escort toward the South Pacific.
Our average flight lasted 12 hours, so we worked, ate and slept on the blimps, then had the next day off (I mostly duffered around the golf course, proud to say that I got to where I could hit 90 — though I was told that that wasn’t too hot a score for nine holes).
At the field at Watsonville, there was no hangar for the blimps, so they had to be hooked to a tall mast in the center of the air field. Someone had to stay in the ship, and sort of fly it with its nose hooked onto the mast and the ship rotating with the vagaries of the wind. One night the winds got so strong they blew the blimp off the mast and onto the Pajaro Valley golf course.
For the most part, the maintenance crews stayed for about six months at the Watsonville field, with the flight crews rotating monthly.
From Moffett itself, we mostly patrolled the coastal waters and escorted ships and convoys in and out of San Francisco Bay. We did occasionally work with a Navy radar-training school (we’d go up somewhere in the area, park in the sky and see if the trainees could find us).
As the war ended and we were mustering out of the Navy, there were plans on the drawing board for a giant zeppelin whose designers envisioned a new type of tourist ship. The idea was that the airship would have a luxury deck with posh cabins, dining room, bar and all the other amenities of a surface liner — except that at some 50 knots airspeed, the zeppelin would be must faster. The plan was to have the airship fly down the coast from Seattle to San Diego, picking up passengers along the way (they would land and take off in small airplanes from the built-in flight deck under the passenger deck) and then sail on to Hawai’I. (I didn’t hear any more about the plan after I got home from the Navy).