Airplane Cemetery

Throughout the western United States there are large dust fields full of aircraft. Some are full of planes built for World War II, some are commercial planes currently not being used, and others are just planes that have been abandoned to time. These fields are called boneyards, and they have acres upon acres of airplanes.

If you find yourself in Tucson, Arizona on a breezy day, you can take a drive down to the Davis–Monthan Air Force Base. On this base, they have the United States largest boneyard of planes. All of the planes are unused, waiting for their time to shine with the Department of Defense. Most planes are kept in good condition, but some are in a state of disrepair. Either ready to be turned into parts, or broken beyond repair.

With a call ahead, you can get a tour, and you will find yourself walking past old Air Force Ones, fighter jets, bombers and big transport planes. Rows upon rows of dark grey planes, each identical and baking in the sun. Viewed from the sky, they look like someone had painted a houndstooth pattern across a swath of the desert. Up close, it just feels like wasteful government spending.

This is where Susan found herself on one spring day. At thirty-two, she felt she was finally learning about herself. Enough money from her Public Relations job that she felt comfortable traveling for herself, and she had been waiting for a long time for permission for this tour. When Susan explained the trip to her coworkers, they just did not understand. Arizona was a place folks were usually trying to leave, and here she was going to look at old airplanes? Why? Susan loved looking at storage facilities, warehouses, factories and more, and this was a fascinating use of American tax payer money. The Department of Defense was one of the largest consumers of things, and unless she joined the military, which she had no interest in, this was a rare chance to look inside the machine.

Despite their skepticism and confusion, Susan was undeterred. The night before she checked into a small hotel a ways from the base. She awoke early, obtained a delicious plate of chilaquiles, and drove her rental out to the base. She arrived early to her appointment in a white t-shirt, jeans, black half ankle boots, and a pair of aviators. She felt self-conscious wearing aviators here, would they make fun of her since she was not a pilot? She sat in her car worrying about all of the things at the guarded checkpoint while the guard searched his computer with her passport in his hand. Finally he handed her back her passport, and gave her directions on where to park and where to meet her guide.

Her anxiety and excitement clashed while she sat in an air-conditioned room waiting. The walls had all sorts of photos of planes from World War II until now. Finally a young man in the baggy camouflage uniform that everyone was wearing came in through a door. Introduced himself as a Private Jacob and asked her to follow him.

They went outside and Jacob showed her around on foot. Her guide showed her plane type by plane type. Big carriers, small jets, a field of helicopters, each with red and yellow tags hanging from various areas. Some with canvas wrapped around their engines, others with machines and a few people inspecting them. They walked the long sandy rows of planes. Sometimes they'd stop in the shade of a large carrier for the Private to explain something, and Susan peppered him with questions about how working in such a cool place was. He seemed mostly bored with it all, but answered questions honestly and friendly.

Near the end of her tour, the young Private in his aviators and uniform, pointed out a lone plane in the corner of the base. It was a small propeller plane, and it looked very rundown. Bleached bright white with faded red stripes on the tail. One hole on the side, which looked like a door used to be there. The cockpit windows had been smashed in, but five passenger windows and a rear door seemed to be intact. Despite all of the windows and wear, Susan could not see inside.

Susan asked to get closer, but the Private refused. Jacob explained that is was a 1978 C-27A Spartan. It used to belong to the Coast Guard, but crashed off the coast of Cuba in the 90s. It was haunted he explained, and no one has gone within five hundred feet of it for over twenty years, in respect for the dead. Susan raised her phone to take a photo, but the Private grabbed her arm, reminding her of the agreement she signed stating no photography while on the base. Apologies were made, and they walked back across the fields, with Susan constantly glancing back until the rows of airplanes blocked the old derelict from sight.

That night, Susan enjoyed a burrito soaked in Mole and a beer as she thought about that old derelict plane. She had sketched what she could remember. She never had much skill for drawing, but its image was so striking to her, she had to put it somewhere.

The next day, Susan goes for a hike, she wants to get a good view overlooking the base. She climbs a hill after sneaking through a farmer's property. The view is beautiful, and she snaps some panoramas with her phone. As she stares out, Susan notices the old plane again. She zooms in with her phone camera, and notices the fence behind the plane is damaged. She feels dragged, as she slowly walks down the hill towards the fence. It's a long walk, but she stops in a the shade of a few trees. She's quite hungry, and realizes that she has gone a long way from her car, and that it's getting late in the day. But as she stares at the old plane, she must keep going.

She finally makes it to the fence