Before you read this story it is recommended that you check out this web page, and watch the short film on how to fly the P-40.  You'll need the latest RealPlayer, which is also available from this site.   CLICK HERE  to sit in the pilot's seat and fly a vintage P-40.

         On October 24, 1941, just weeks before the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, one of the more famous  aviation disasters took place in California’s most notable mountain range.  At 11:20 in the morning a flight of 19 P-40 pursuit planes departed March Army airfield in southern California en route to McClellan Field near Sacramento. Over the rugged Sierra Nevada Mountains the flight would encounter bad weather and become lost.  Of the 19 aircraft that departed March Field that day only five would safely arrive at Sacramento as planned.  Over the years there has been very few articles written that tell the complete story of this disastrous flight, and the events leading up to it. The information that is available is generally centered on the unfortunate pilots who met with mishap.  In the 1980s Jack West gave an interview regarding his part in this history making flight. West was one of the pilots lucky enough to have survived his ordeal in the snowy high country. This story is just a summary of the dramatic events as they unfolded in the air on that fateful day.  It is an attempt to place the reader in the cockpit of each aircraft as it began to experience trouble.  And an attempt to express the feelings and emotions that each pilot in turn must have felt when he realized that he was about to loose his ship, and possibly his own life.

    The P-40 was not an exceptional performer as a fighter plane.  It was rugged enough, but lacked the power of its soon to be adversary.  Perhaps its most well known assignment was with Claire Chennault and his American Volunteer Group (AVG).  Based in China Chennault would make the P-40 famous.  The aircraft under his command sported a menacing mouth full of teeth painted on the nose behind the air intake. Devilish eyes were also painted just behind the propeller hub and high up above the exhaust stacks. This earned them the nickname “Flying Tigers”.  Of the approximately 15,000 P-40s built only 19 are still in airworthy condition today.   There are several restoration projects underway around the world, which may someday return more to flying condition.  Even though it was ruggedly built and pleasing to the eye the Allison engine used to power the P-40 was just not up to the task at hand.  This series of accidents, and the events unfolding in the air over China drove that fact home.  The strong, rugged airframe made the aircraft heavy and underpowered.  It could absorb a considerable amount of battle damage from its Japanese counterpart, but the Japanese Zero fighter plane was far more maneuverable.  If a Zero got on the tail of a lone P-40 the outcome was generally predictable and inevitable.  Chennault would never allow his pilots to dogfight with a Japanese Zero, because he knew the P-40 was outclassed and at a disadvantage.

    Most of the aircraft that left from March Field for McClellan that morning would end up making emergency landings at other airfields in both California and Nevada. One, #41-13454 flown by a Lt. Scott, would eventually find the airfield at Tulare, California and make a safe landing just as his fuel supply was about to run out. The official crash report does not give the first names of several pilots who were not involved in accidents during this flight.  Only the rank and last names were given.  Eight pilots, including the flight leader Maj. Clayton E. Hughes, would cross the Sierra Mountains to the east and find the small landing strip at Smith Valley, Nevada.  One aircraft would be damaged when it overshot the short landing strip and nosed over into a ditch.  The pilot, Lt. Ralph D. Mathews, was not hurt in the incident, but the plane would need extensive repairs before it could be returned to service.
   
    Five of the young airmen would never make it to Sacramento.  They were lost over the mountains after being forced to bail out, or were killed when their aircraft crashed.  In some cases the wreckage would not be found for many years.  And in one case the wreckage of the vintage P-40 has never been found.  It’s still up there in the rugged high Sierra, awaiting discovery by some diligent and persistent wreck chaser.

    Lt. John H. Pease in aircraft #39-213 was forced to bail out just north of Tehachapi due to engine trouble.  Lt. W. H.  Birrell would stay with his aircraft, #39-200, until it crashed into Gray’s Mountain near Bass Lake, California.  Days after the accident Birrell’s body would be recovered from the tangled wreckage and taken to the base at Fresno.

    Lt. Richard N. Long in P-40 #39-287 would also stay with his aircraft until it crashed at the 11,200-foot level west of South Guard Lake in the high Sierra.  His aircraft and body were not located until the summer of 1959.

    Two other pilots bailed out of their aircraft very close together.  Once on the ground they were able to join up and eventually make it out to safety.  Lt. Leonard C. Lydon in aircraft #39-194, and Lt. Jack C. West in aircraft #39-285 came down in Sequoia National Park near the Roaring River Ranger station. Their chance meeting in the rugged high country was truly miraculous. The story of their survival and eventual rescue is a story in itself.  By chance they stumbled upon a rustic partially dilapidated log cabin, which provided some shelter from the winter’s cold.  In the cabin was a fireplace and wood supply.  They also found some canned meat left behind by the cabin’s owner.  That cabin was instrumental to their survival, and is still standing to this day.  West’s plane was eventually found and salvaged.  Little remains at the crash site today.    Lydon’s elusive P-40 remains the object of many a summertime search by wreck chasing enthusiasts from all over the country.  After more than sixty years this rare P-40 is still lying undetected just over the next hill, or at the bottom of some overgrown ravine.  The current search is centered near lofty Mt. Brewer and the Sphinx Crest.  The searchers vow to continue until the aircraft is found!

     Hughes in aircraft # 41-13338 was in command of the flight. He was responsible for completing all of the preflight planning for the entire group, and thus was solely responsible for the disastrous outcome.  His poor judgment would cost the lives of two good men, and the loss of six aircraft.  In addition there were several fatal accidents that occurred in the following days during the search and rescue efforts, and when this same group was returning from McChord Field in Washington State less than a month later.  His flight plan called for a departure from March field at about 11:30 that morning.  They were to climb up to 9,500 feet and proceed northwest so as to pass just to the right of San Antonio Peak.  Then after crossing the northeast leg of the Bakersfield radio beam, they would continue on into the San Joaquin Valley and intercept the southern leg of the Fresno radio beam.  Once established on the Fresno radio beam they would continue on up the valley to McClellan Field.  It was a good plan, except for one thing . . . the weather!
       
    As the flight neared the Tehachapi Mountains the weather began to rise up forcing a change in cruising altitude. Even though the visibility was clear under the cloud layer, Hughes felt it would be best to climb above it.  His primary reasons were twofold. His first concern was the fact that the P-40 engines were notoriously unreliable, and if one should decide to quit the increased altitude would give the pilot more time to successfully bail out.  Under the cloud layer the pilot would only be about 2,000 feet above the terrain, which would be too close for a safe bail out.  The other reason was also related to the engine in the P-40.  That particular model Allison engine (V-1710-33) was prone to overheating at lower altitudes and fuel consumption was dramatically increased at the lower altitudes.

    Hughes led the flight up to 12,000 feet in an attempt to stay on top and in the clear.  Soon the weather began to rise even higher, so Hughes continued the climb up to 16,000 feet.  At that altitude two more P-40 shortcomings came into play.  It was well known that when carburator heating was applied, due to carburator icing, the engine would more often than not stop running altogether.  Therefore the pilot was reluctant to apply any carburator heating at all.  Another critical factor at this altitude was the lack of oxygen on the P-40s.  The P-40 was designed to carry oxygen, but there was none available on these ships.  Thirty minutes into the flight, and at 16,000 feet above a solid overcast, Pease was the first to have engine trouble and drop out.  His first indication of impending doom was a sudden drop in fuel pressure.  He immediately switched fuel tanks, increased the mixture to full rich, and turned on the electric fuel pump.  When the engine began to sputter and lose all power he began to work the hand operated wobble fuel pump.  That brought partial power back to the engine.  He was not able to maintain altitude or position on reduced power, and soon lost sight of the other aircraft as he descended into the murky haze.

    Then to compound the situation even more, he lost all engine oil pressure.    Not long after that, the oil temperature and coolant temperature began to exceed their normal limits.  He opened the cooling flaps to their full open position in the hopes of getting the temperatures back into the normal range.  At that point the engine was producing just enough power to keep the aircraft under control. He was still slowly losing altitude, and needed to avoid descending into the terrain below.  He knew he was going down, but hoped he wouldn’t have to bail out over unfamiliar territory.  The situation became dramatically worse when all of a sudden the engine started to belch out blue gray smoke.  Pease slid the P-40's canopy back in an attempt to clear the smoke from the cockpit.  That only made matters worse, and added a new problem.  Now he couldn’t see and he couldn’t breathe.

    As he fought to see over the nose of the aircraft he was alarmed to see that the engine had stopped completely. He could now see the vertical, stationary propeller blades out in front.  The fight to save his aircraft was over.  It was now time to get out and walk.  Unbuckling his seatbelt, he then rolled the aircraft on its left side.  Literally falling through the open canopy frame, he soon lost sight of the doomed P-40 as it arched toward earth and certain destruction.  Within seconds he pulled the ripcord on his parachute.  It was a welcome relief to feel the severe jolt of the opening chute.  Pease then realized that he was descending in a snowstorm. It was very quiet and he soon began to shiver from the cold.  Fortunately he was able to see the ground below, and eventually landed safely on the side of a mountain near Wild Rose Creek in the Kern River canyon area.  After a few moments he regained his composer, and began walking downstream looking for help.  In the late afternoon he found an unoccupied miner’s cabin, which gave him shelter for the long cold night ahead. The temperature after sundown would soon be below freezing.  The cabin was indeed a lucky find, and most likely saved his life. The next day he would continue down an old road until he came to a ranch house where a Mr. Willoughby greeted him at the door.  Willoughby offered him something to eat ,and then drove him to the small town of Little Lake.   There he was finally able to contact the air base and advise them of his whereabouts.  For Pease the ordeal was over, but for the others it was just beginning.
       
    Meanwhile Hughes was leading the flight up higher and higher until he felt they could not go anymore.  The P-40s could go higher, but without oxygen he wasn’t sure the men could.  He leveled out above the clouds and tuned in the Bakersfield radio beam.  At that point he still did not know that he had already lost one plane.  He discovered that one plane was missing only after taking a visual count as he crossing the Bakersfield radio beam.  Counted the aircraft shelved up behind him he found that there was only 17 left. He didn’t know who or why, but someone had gone down, turned back, or was lost. A repeated radio call to the flight brought no response from anyone. The aircraft radios in 1941 left much to be desired.   Since they were above a solid overcast there was no chance of spotting anyone on the ground.  So he continued on course while searching for the Fresno radio beam.  If he could get on the Fresno beam, he could follow it all the way up the valley, then find a hole in the clouds and drop down.  The thought of turning back for March Field entered his mind.  But just then he noticed on the Radio Facilities Chart that Oakland Radio was at that moment broadcasting the weather in the Fresno area.  Oakland was reporting that Fresno had a broken cloud layer at 8,000 feet.  So if he could find and stay on the Fresno Beam he knew he could get under the overcast at Fresno.

    The next ship to have engine trouble and go down was Pease’s flight leader.  Lt. Leonard Clair Lydon, in ship #39-194 was leading the flight of five aircraft as they neared the Tehachapi Pass area.  When Lydon began the climb up to 16,000 feet he still had Pease on his left wing, and Birrell on his right wing.  As they approached 16,000 feet he noticed that Pease had dropped back.   Carey, who was a member of the flight, dropped back to stay with Pease as long as he could.   In a few minutes Long came up to take Pease’ place on the Lydon’s left wing.  Soon a call came over the radio in Lydon’s ship.  It was from Carey, and he call to say that he saw Pease bail out of his aircraft and that he was last seen floating down in his open parachute.  Lydon attempted to call Hughes on the radio to advise him of the situation, but there was no answer.  He then tried to call Capt. Peter R. McGoldrick who was the second in command, but again there was no response on the radio.  He tried the radio once more.  This time he tried to call a Lt. Young in the Headquarters Flight.  But it was useless!  He could not raise anyone else other than Carey.  In a few minutes Carey was back on the radio again, this time asking for the course so he could rejoin the group.  Lydon told him to fly a heading of 290 degrees and climb up to 16,700 feet.  Carey acknowledged the instructions and signed off the radio.

    Five minutes later the group started a descent into the overcast and Lydon went on instruments.  He also signaled his two wingmen to stay close in so as not to get separated.  The first sign of engine trouble for Lydon came just minutes later.  His eyes were glued on his flight instrument when suddenly the engine started to sputter and run rough. Thinking that he had run a fuel tank dry he immediately switched tanks.  That had no effect on the engine’s performance.  By using hand signals he informed his two wingmen that he was having engine trouble. He gave the signal for them to separate.  Birrell was last seen breaking off to the right, and Long was seen going to the left.  It wasn’t long before Lydon lost sight of the group in front of him and then found he was all alone in the haze.  He knew there were 18 other P-40s in there with him, but he didn’t know where.  It made for some anxious moments, and things were about to get worse for him . . . much worse!

    Suddenly the noisy balky engine went completely silent.  The silence was deafening.  It seemed was as if someone had opened a parachute and attached it to the tail of his plane.  The breaking action of the now wind milling propeller forced him to slide forward against his seat belt.  A quick glance at the airspeed indicator showed that the aircraft was approaching stall speed.  He had to get the nose down and get the ship back under control.  More importantly he had to get the engine running again.  After putting his aircraft in a glide to maintain airspeed, he then turned to the right so as to stay out of the way of anyone coming up from behind.  He changed the throttle setting, and the mixture setting.  Then he applied carburator heat and listened for the engine to come back to life.  He tried every trick in the book while still flying on instruments.  While doing so he forgot the one most important thing while flying on instruments.  That is . . . keeping the aircraft under control!

    In an instant his aircraft stalled and went into a deadly spin.   It was useless to try and save the airplane now.  It was time for him to get out.  But first he had to get the aircraft leveled out again.  In a spin centrifugal force was keeping him pinned to his seat.  He knew the terrain was coming up fast, and he knew that there were only seconds left to get out.  Finally, after a few tense moments, he felt the forces on his body ease a bit.  And the flight instruments showed that the ship was now in a gentle glide once again.  He quickly removed his earphones, throat microphone, and goggles.  Then he released his seat belt.  There was no time to spare.  With the canopy open and the airspeed hovering around 100 miles per hour he rolled the ship over on the left wing and dove out into the frigid biting air.  After passing under the left horizontal stabilizer he pulled the ripcord on his parachute.  As the chute blossomed out above him he was jerked into an upright position and began to slowly drift towards earth.  It was cold, and very, very quiet.  Now he wondered where was he was going to land.  While looking down between his feet he was shocked to see the steep sides of a rocky cliff slowly come into view.  He would surely be killed he thought if he landed on the side of that cliff.  Fortunately he was drifting toward the summit above the cliff.  Within a few seconds he hit the hard rocky ground with a thud.  He was bruised, but alive and otherwise unhurt.

    Back in the air Hughes continued to lead the remnants of his flight through the haze.  He was still unaware that now two of his planes had gone down.  He was flying on what he thought was the Fresno Radio beam, and on a compass heading of 315 degrees.  By now he should have been very close to Fresno, or at least out over the San Joaquin Valley.  It was time for them to go down to a lower altitude so as to get a visual sighting and figure out exactly where they were.  He began his descent through the clouds with all of the other aircraft following him down.  He thought that surely by now they were out over the valley, and the flat farmland south of Fresno should come into view at about 5,000 feet.  Confident in his decision he increased the rate of descent so as to get the other less experienced pilots off instruments as soon as possible.   At 13,100 feet they suddenly broke into the clear.  But it wasn’t flat farmland beneath them!  Instead Hughes was shocked and horrified to see that they had descended into a small valley surrounded by high mountain peaks.  Suddenly there was a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.  He realized that he nearly led his entire flight into the side of a mountain, and in the clouds none of them would have seen it coming.

    It’s not clear how it happened, but Hughes had been leading the flight of aircraft right down the middle of the Sierra  Nevada Mountain range.  He was about fifty miles off course to the east.  Later, at the inquiry, he would insist that he was on course, and on the Fresno radio beam, which must have been offset to the east due to a malfunction.   Just before the group entered the top of the overcast Lt. Jack West began to experience engine trouble.  His engine began to sputter and lose power.  A quick glance at the carburator temperature gauge showed it to be in the red (icing condition).  He was not able to maintain position and he too soon lost sight of the others.  He tired everything he could think of to bring the engine back to life.  He was going down, and he knew it.  Then after a few seconds he passed through the prop wash (wake turbulence created by an aircraft in flight) of another aircraft and the engine sprang back to life, but only for a few seconds.  He hit the prop wash again, and this time he lost control of his airplane, which immediately went into an uncontrollable spin, or slow spiral.  The flight instruments “were going crazy”, and since he was not an experienced instrument pilot he could not make any sense of their display.  Fighting hard to get the ship back under control West suddenly saw trees through a hole in the cloud cover below.   His P-40 had already accelerated to nearly 300 miles per hours by the time he decided to bail out.  After fighting his way out of the cockpit and into the onrush of freezing air West was knocked senseless by the sudden opening of his parachute.  The chute opened a mere 200 feet about the point of impact of his P-40.  The P-40 had hit the side of the mountain with terrific force and was already being consumed by an intense fire.  West had a good look at the wreckage as he drifted over it and finally came down about 300 yards away.

    After landing safely and unbuckling his parachute West decided to go down and have a look at the remains of his aircraft.  Each pilot had been carrying his personal belongings in the P-40's rear compartment, and West had lost everything when he abandoned ship.   His hopes of finding something salvageable were dashed however when he reach the wreck site.  If there were any of his things left undamaged they were surely about to be consumed by the raging fire.  The drone of his Allison engine was now silent.  The engine, which had failed him at altitude, was now lying shattered in the fiery wreckage of his once sleek P-40 pursuit ship.  Now his thoughts turned to survival; Survival in an unknown land of snow, ice, rain and freezing cold nights. He felt the fear and panic welling up inside as he realized that he had survived the high speed bailout, but now may freeze to death on some bleak mountain side in the middle of nowhere.  They should have been over the flat lands of the San Joaquin Valley.  He sat there looking around for a few moments.  This certainly didn’t look like farmland to him.  Instead, he was now surrounded by tall Evergreen trees, Manzanita, Buck brush, and the terrain was rough and rocky.   Thinking that if he didn’t freeze, surely he would starve to death before he could be found.  He needed to rest for a while, to collect his thoughts. Then make a plan of action to get out of this mess.

    Hughes, who was at that very moment still leading the flight to the north, found himself in a dangerous situation.  He was oblivious to the drama being played out in the air around him or on the ground below.  There must have been a moment of shear panic when he looked down to see high peaks and very rough terrain where he expected to see flat farmland.  Later by looking at a map Hughes would conclude that they were over a small valley north of Silliman Mountain and Barton Peak.  They were in the middle of the Sierra Nevada Mountain Range, and more than thirty miles off course to the east.  To make matters worse there were many 12,000-foot high peaks in the area. They had passed just ten miles west of Mt. Whitney with its 14,500-foot summit of jagged rocks well concealed in the clouds.  His thoughts now were to get the flight to altitude, and safely out of danger.

    The first thing to do was to contact each Flight Leader and find out where they were and how much fuel they had left.   Attempting to contact each leader in turn brought no response from any of them.  Hughes didn’t know where the other aircraft were, and was unaware that some of his men had already crashed. Then he made a radio call to anybody in the entire group.  The only reply came from Scott.  Hughes could see other aircraft around him, but except for Scott he could not communicate with any of them.  Scott had become separated during the descent and was not with the Group.  Once contact with the others was lost he elected to climb back up above the clouds where the visibility was better.  It was a very wise decision indeed!  When Hughes asked him where he was Scott replied that he was on top of the overcast and in the clear at 16,000 feet.  He was totally alone up there, and felt pretty lonely.  Comforted by the sound of another human voice in his earphones, he began to relax somewhat.   Not being sure of what to do next, he asked for instructions from Hughes.  Hughes ordered the young airman to remain at altitude and in the clear.  He told him about the dangers below, and ordered him to continue on to Sacramento by his own navigation. Scott reluctantly acknowledged the orders and then set course to the northwest. At 16,000 feet he was above all of the bad weather, and could see for fifty miles in all directions.  If his aircraft didn’t fail him, he’d be all right.

    Hughes continued on the northerly heading hoping to find a safer route though the haze outside of the cockpit window.   In doing so they once again went back up to a higher altitude.  It wasn’t long before the weather started to close in once again. This time however Hughes elected to remain in the clear below the cloud deck.  Down they went once more to a mere 3,000 feet above the terrain.  This trip was becoming a real nightmare for him.   As he was trying to get oriented and decide what to do next, his second tank of fuel went dry.  After a momentary loss of power, he switched tanks and the engine sprang back to life.  That must have been quite unnerving for Hughes considering where he was.  After regaining his composure he looked once more toward the west and could see that the weather was worsening in that direction.   In front of them wasn’t much better either.  Soon reality set in and he realized that they were not going to make it to Sacramento as planned.  So he abandoned that course and turned to the east where at least the weather was clear.  No alternative airport was chosen on his flight plan, so he had to find one quick.  He had to get his flight on the ground before they too ran out of fuel.

    Another of the Flight Leaders, Lt. Frank H. Mears was trying hard to keep up with Hughes.  But in the first descent from 16,000 feet he lost sight of Hughes and the main body of aircraft.  When they did not reappear as expected, he elected to lead his flight back up to 16,000 feet and remain in the clear as Scott had done.  The radio receiver in his aircraft was working properly, but the transmitter was not.  Earlier, about forty-five minutes out of March Field, he heard Pease say that he was bailing out.  He could also hear Lydon calling Hughes, but did not hear Hughes answer.  Mears had become uneasy since shortly after leaving March Field.  He was somewhat familiar with the area, and knew some of the more prominent landmarks. He had been station at March Field from 1936 through 1937.  After departing March Field that morning he knew almost immediately that they were off course to the east, but he was helpless to do anything about it.  At the appropriate time after leaving the base he expected to see the familiar Tehachapi Pass below.  Instead, though a hole in the clouds, he could see that they were passing directly above the old Muroc Camp (now Edwards Air Force Base), and Rogers Dry Lake on the Mojave Desert.  At that point they were approximately twenty-five miles east of course.  A few minutes later his suspicion was proven correct when he looked down and spotted the small town of Cantil directly below.  Also recognizable was the small dry lake just to the east of Cantil.  He thought perhaps Hughes had changed his mind and decided to circumnavigate the bad weather ahead.  So he obediently continued on.

    After losing visual contact with Hughes and going back up to 16,000 feet, Mears was convinced that they were still over the mountains and decided to return to March Field.  He notified his flight by hand signals and began a 180 degree turn to set course back to March. As he came around to a compass heading of 240 degrees (magnetic) an opening in the clouds appeared directly ahead.  He decided to go have a look.  If he could find the flat land of the San Joaquin Valley, then he could get his flight to Sacramento and complete the mission.  He was concerned that some disciplinary action would be taken against him for leaving the main formation.   Surely Hughes and the entire flight, minus the lost aircraft, would be waiting for them at McClellan.  Perhaps he would catch up in the valley and rejoin before landing.   As he approached the opening in the clouds the flight began to descend in an attempt to get under the cloud layer.   At the last minute, just as he regained visual contract with the ground, he saw trees.  Big trees!  They were so close he could have counted the branches on them with ease.  Realizing the danger he pulled back hard on the control stick, advanced the throttle, and went back up to a safe altitude.  The other aircraft in trail wisely followed.  They were a little unnerved perhaps, but still in control of the situation.

    Knowing full well that they were over the mountains to the east of the valley, he changed his mind once again and decided to fly a westerly heading instead of turning back to March Field.  He would make one last attempt to find a large enough hole to let down through.  As he came around to the heading of 240 degrees once again he notices that another aircraft had joined up with his flight.  He didn’t know who it was at the time, but later after landing in Sacramento he determined that it was Lt. Carey.  Carey had dropped back to stay with Pease until Pease bailed out, and then he was attempting to catch up with the flight on the original course.  Luckily Carey decided to remain at the higher altitude while doing so.  He had just about given up hope of rejoining and was about to reverse course and head back to March Field when he saw the flight of P-40s led by Mears jump up in front of him through a hole in the clouds.  He had been pushing his engine hard trying to catch up, and now hoped he had enough fuel left to make it on into Sacramento.  If necessary there were many airfields in the valley west of the mountains where he could land and refuel.

    Mears held the 240-degree course for a few more minutes and then far ahead he could see a second break in the clouds came into view.  This time however he could see flat farmland below.  It was the San Joaquin Valley!  It was obvious that the hole in the clouds was beginning to close up.   They pushed over hard and increased the airspeed so as to get through the hole before it disappeared.  At 8,000 feet the flight broke out of the overcast and found themselves over the low-lying foothills just east of a small town.  Mears thought he was approaching the town of Bakersfield, but once over the town he saw a sign painted on a building that read, “Visalia”.  Now he knew where they were. A sense of relief came over him for he knew that there was an auxiliary airfield just to the west of Visalia.  He also knew that there were railroad track running north and south by that airfield, and that those tracks led right up the valley to Sacramento some two hundred miles to the north.  Since they were already as far north as Visalia, and below the weather, he decided to turn north at the tracks and continue on the northerly heading.  There were many larger airfields along this route, so if need be they could land and refuel.

    Two pilots would never make it to Sacramento.  In fact, they would not survive the day.  What exactly happened to them is unclear.  When  Lydon began to experience engine trouble over the Kern River area he signaled to his wingmen to break off.  His wingmen were Lieutenants Birrell and Long.  They were last seen departing the formation and disappearing in the murky haze of the overcast.  Since neither of the radios in their aircraft was in proper working order the exact circumstances surrounding their deaths may never be known.
What is known is that at about 2 p.m. that afternoon an employee of the CCC, (California Conservation Corps) was working at his camp near Gray’s Mountain in the Bass Lake region of central California.  He reported hearing an airplane crash and seeing a flash of fire on the side of the mountain.  That crash and fire marked the death of Birrell, and the total destruction of his P-40 aircraft.  It was estimated that Birrell had remained in the air for approximately 2 hours and fifty minutes after he was last seen leaving Lydon’s flight.  The straight-line distance covered by Birrell during that time was only 80 miles.  It appears that Birrell had not experienced any engine trouble, but in fact had flown around in the mountains trying to find a way out or a place to land.  The fire at impact indicated that he had not exhausted his fuel supply, but had simply flown into the mountainside at great speed.  Today, a few small pieces of the P-40 and a small memorial stone are all that mark the spot on Gray’s Mountain where Birrell crashed to his death.

    Despite a lengthy search by dozens of aircraft, Lt. Long and his aircraft could not be found.  They simply disappeared.  In late November of 1941, just two weeks before the Pearl Harbor attack, the search for Long was called off.  Then in the summer of 1959 Long and his P-40 was finally located.   Long had met the same fate as Lt. Birrell.  When the aircraft was finally located Long’s remains were found scattered around the immediate area.  The aircraft had hit the ground in a near vertical attitude, and with such force that one of the machine guns was found sticking upright with the entire length of its barrel buried deep in the rocky soil.  Every effort was made to find and recover as much of Long’s body as possible. Unfortunately some of the bones were inadvertently left behind.  For many years the wreckage remained relatively intact and undisturbed.  Then, in the summer of 1989, much of the remaining wreckage was removed.  What human remains could be located were placed in an improvised stone memorial erected on the site.  It is indeed a lonely gravesite for this brave young airman.  The crash site is in a very remote and extremely rugged region of the Sierra Nevada Mountains just to the west of South Guard Lake.  The elevation at the site is 11,200 feet above sea level.  Snow covers the site most of the year.  The only way in is by helicopter.  That in itself is a very dangerous trip due to the high altitude.

    Only five of the pilots were able to safely get their aircraft to Sacramento that day.  After Carey watched Pease bail out over the Tehachapi Pass area, he then increased his manifold pressure to 35 inches while trying to catch up with the rest of the group.  He was pushing his engine hard and was worried that he would exhaust his fuel supply before he could find a safe place to land.  He wisely remained on top of the overcast and continued on the heading of 315 degrees.  Suddenly, after about 30 minutes, he was surprised to see the flight of four P-40s literally jump up out of the clouds in front of him.  It was the flight led by Mears.  With him were pilots Aiken, Clark, and Bilby.  They had just had that close encounter with the treetops, and were going back up to altitude and safety.  Carey felt relieved and joined the flight at the tail end.

    As stated earlier, Mears finally found a hole in the clouds near Visalia and led his flight to the north toward Sacramento.  He began to get worried about the fuel supply on the other ships, so as he approached the Army Air field at Stockton, California, he decided to land and check the fuel in all the ships.  At that point he had been in the air for exactly two hours since leaving March Field.   Carey however, continued on to Sacramento without landing.  At that time the only known bailout was Pease.  Carey fully expected to find Hughes and the rest of the flight waiting for him at Sacramento, and he wanted to report Pease’s position as soon as possible.   After checking the fuel supply, Mears was cleared to continued the flight to Sacramento.  Of the 19 P-40s to depart from March Field that morning; only these five would complete their missions more or less as planned.

    Pease had gone down in the Kern River area. Lydon and West went down in the Roaring River area of Kings Canyon National Park.  They were finally reported missing, but their fate would not be known for weeks.  Long disappeared and would not be found until eighteen years later.  Birrell was most likely still in the air at that time and still heading north.  He would soon lose his fight to survive and crash to his death on Gray’s Mountain.  Scott was safely on the ground at the Tulare Auxiliary Airfield located about twenty miles southwest of Visalia.  He would land with empty fuel tanks!

    At about this same time, Hughes, who was still in the air trying to find his flight and the way north, had decided that “the boys had had enough.”  It was time to get them on the ground before their fuel ran out.  And since the weather to the west was solid overcast, he had decided to go east into Nevada.   It was fortunate that he found the small airstrip at Smiths Valley when he did.  The airstrip there was really too short to safely land a P-40, but under the circumstances it would have to do.  Hughes and pilots Truax, McGoldrick, Padovich, *Fairlamb, Thomas, and Speckman all landed without mishap

*Note: May be incorrect spelling

    As Lt. Mathews was making his approach he found that he could not retard the throttle of his P-40 to less than about 1,400 r.p.m.  This caused him to land at a higher airspeed than normal.   Since he could not get the ship stopped before it overran the end of the short strip, he elected to intentionally ground loop.  He finally came to a stop in a small irrigation ditch with moderate damage to his aircraft.  Mathew’s ship was eventually repaired, and all of the P-40s were flown out in the coming days.

    During the inquiry, Hughes would insist that the faulty navigation was due to a misplaced Fresno Radio beam.  He insisted that he was on the beam at all times.  Other aircraft, flown by pilots on the investigating board later checked the Fresno beam.  It was found to be working properly.  It is interesting to note that during the return trip from Oregon by this same flight, led by the same Major Hughes, three more P-40s would crash after getting lost in bad weather.  Lt. Truax and Lt. Speckman were killed when their planes crashed into Baldy Mountain in the vicinity of the small northern California town of San Anselmo.  Lt. Radovitch was able to bail out of his doomed P-40 near the same area.  They were all part of the remaining thirteen P-40s from the October 24th High Sierra disaster.  Of the original nineteen P-40s, five crashed in the Sierra, Mathew’s plane had not been repaired at Smiths Valley yet, and three crash near San Anselmo.  And of the original nineteen pilots; Pease had already been rescued and taken to Little Lake, Smith remained behind with his aircraft as it was being repaired, Birrell was killed on Gray’s Mountain, Long was still missing, Speckman and Truax were killed on Baldy Mountain, and both Lydon and West were trying to stay warm in a remote High Sierra log cabin.  They would not be spotted or rescued until eight days after they crashed.

    It is also interesting to note that California had many other aviation accidents during this same time period.  Not only did a B-18A crash on Twin Sisters Peak on the say day as the P-40s were dropping like flies over the Sierra, but on November 2, 1941 a B-17C fell apart in a thunderstorm near Tells Peak.  Fortunately all but one on the small tail pre-war bomber would survive. And during the search for the P-40s two more aircraft crashed.  One was a PT-17 with two onboard, and the other was a BT-13, also with two onboard.  Both were participating in the P-40 search and rescues mission.  The PT-17 crew survived, but the crew of the BT-13 did not!  History does not tell us what eventually happened to Maj. Hughes.  What disciplinary action, if any, was taken will never be known.  But there was a notable outcry from the general public in regards to so many military aviation accidents occurring.  Several editorials exclaimed that the public wants to know why so many young men were being put in harms way unnecessarily. 

An editorial in the Fresno Bee, dated November 5, 1941 would state in part:

“Why ask air corps pilots to risk their lives to prepare to defend their country, and fail to  take every precaution to see that they are not killed before they have a chance to defend it”?  “After all”, it said,  “the nation wasn’t at war”! 

    All that thought would change in just over a month’s time. On December 7, 1941, our nation was indeed thankful that these young men were as well trained as they were.


Don R. Jordan