Flight at Kitty Hawk: through hard work and private investment independent of government largesse, the Wright brothers achieved one of the greatest technical breakthroughs in human history.

Wilbur Wright sat glumly in the stern of a small, wooden dinghy watching with growing trepidation the ever-increasing amount of oily water sloshing between the ribs of the tiny craft. A thin man, lean and lanky with a square-set jaw and a penetrating gaze, Wilbur looked up from the liquid that had now soaked his shoes and peered grimly at the grizzled older man pulling on the oars. Despite the slowly increasing water level inside the boat, its disheveled commander, a certain Captain Perry, grinned unconcernedly at his anxious passenger. Wilbur, not reassured by Perry's happy-go-lucky demeanor, looked again at his sopping wet shoes before asking Perry if he was sure the dinghy was safe. "Oh," a jovial Perry said in response, jutting his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of a small, shoddy schooner, "it's safer than the big boat."

Despite its compromised condition, the dinghy held out and presently the two men clambered aboard the "big boat." The schooner was obviously in bad repair. Her paint was cracked and weathered, and her deck looked like it hadn't seen a good swabbing in many a year. Still, she was the only available means of traveling to Kitty Hawk, a tiny settlement on a remote spit of land that Wilbur and his brother Orville, who was still back in Dayton, Ohio, had agreed would be the best location to conduct their experiments.

While Wilbur looked in dismay at the conditions aboard the schooner, Captain Perry made ready to get underway. Weighing anchor, the little ship began the 40-mile voyage, but by early afternoon the September winds, proving themselves capricious, turned on the small ship. With no hope of further headway, Captain Perry steered for a safe anchorage. Wilbur, meanwhile, arms aching from bracing himself against the tossing of the violent sea, went below seeking to satisfy, at the very least, the demands of his stomach. This, though, was as futile as the voyage itself had been to that point. The galley was filthy and unsanitary, and, choosing what seemed the lesser of two evils, he decided to go hungry, at least for a while longer.

The next day they resumed the voyage, this time with more success, tying up at the wharf in Kitty Hawk Bay at about 9 p.m. The date was September 11, 1900. Wilbur, who still hadn't eaten, decided to stay on board one more night because, as of yet, he hadn't anywhere else to go. The next morning, though, a young boy came on board and offered to take Wilbur to the home of Mr. and Mrs. William J. Tate. There Wilbur found hospitality and a magnificent breakfast, just what he needed after the trying voyage with Captain Perry.

The Tates agreed to provide lodging for Wilbur for a week, until Orville could make the trip from Dayton. In the meantime, Wilbur busied himself assembling the parts and supplies he had brought with him. These included a supply of extra-fine sateen fabric from France and lengths of lumber, the longest of which stretched to 16 feet. This, though, was two feet shorter than what he had hoped to acquire, meaning that certain modifications would have to be made to accommodate this deficiency. Using a machine and sewing supplies borrowed from Mrs. Tate, Wilbur modified the fabric as needed. By September 28, when Orville arrived, the project was ready for final assembly.

Dream of Powered Flight

Four years younger than Wilbur and two inches shorter, Orville nevertheless had the same intelligent, penetrating gaze and blue-gray eyes as his brother. He also had the same inquisitive intelligence and uncanny mechanical aptitude that had contributed so much to the success of their bicycle manufacturing, repair and sales business in Dayton. While the bicycle business provided the two men a livelihood, their restless intellects sought other mechanical challenges as well. Chief among these was mankind's age-old dream of heavier-than-air mechanical flight. This fanciful vision had fascinated the brothers since the day, long ago, when their father, returning from a trip, gave them a marvelous--and fragile--toy. When set in motion, the toy would rise softly into the air, flutter briefly until the tension in its rubber bands relaxed, then settle gently to the ground. The brothers decided, and never changed their opinion, that a similar device designed to a sufficient scale ought to be able to carry a man.

The brothers' enduring intellectual curiosity and the challenge and dream of powered flight are what brought the two young men to Kitty Hawk. With Orville's arrival, the assembly begun by Wilbur could be completed quickly. Soon the two men had before them a complete glider. The wings, biplane in configuration, were covered with the light but tightly woven sateen fabric. The glider, weighing 52 pounds, had a total lifting area of 165 square feet.

This glider was not the first such apparatus to be put to the test by early air pioneers. It did, however, have two innovations that had never been tried. To the front, the glider bore a rudder, or crude "elevator." Moreover, the wing structure incorporated a system of trussing that would allow the wings to be warped. The brothers believed that by modifying the orientation of these rudimentary control surfaces the flight of their glider could be controlled to a greater degree than any previous experimental craft.

The brothers had planned to fly the glider as a kite, but with a pilot aboard. They found, however, that wind conditions and the glider's specifications would not often permit such ambitious experimentation. For many of these early experiments they loaded the glider with 50 pounds of chain and flew it simply as a kite from the ground. By the end of the first season of experiments, the brothers had logged about 10 minutes of flight with a man aboard, and only about two minutes gliding.

The results were encouraging nevertheless, and the brothers returned to Kitty Hawk in 1901 for additional tests using an improved glider. This time, their glides became longer in duration and covered greater distances. More important, however, was the large amount of experimental data acquired during the tests. Still, the knowledge gained was itself somewhat disquieting as it in many respects conflicted substantially with previous scientific pronouncements on the subject of aeronautics. This was so disquieting, in fact, that at the end of the 1901 season a disheartened Wilbur Wright declared, "not within a thousand years would man ever fly!" In fact, Wilbur's may have been an optimistic opinion for the time. Simon Newcomb, an eminent mathematician and astronomer and founding member of the American Astronomical Society, argued that powered heavier-than-air flight was a practical impossibility. Most agreed with Newcomb.

Critical Encouragement

But some scientists were more optimistic about man's ability to conquer the air. One of them was Octave Alexander Chanute, author of the influential 1894 book Progress in Flying Machines. Chanute first became aware of the Wright brothers in 1900 after receiving a letter from Wilbur. A balding but distinguished looking gentleman, Chanute was among the best engineers in America, skilled in bridge construction and famed especially for building the first railroad bridge over the Missouri River. He was also keenly interested in aviation experiments and had witnessed several of the Wrights' experimental flights at Kitty Hawk during the 1901 season.

Chanute insisted that the 1901 experiments were even more successful than those of the preceding year, and he urged Orville and Wilbur, despite their discouragement, to carry on. Chanute was convinced that if the Wrights quit, it would be a long time indeed before others would be able to acquire as much knowledge of the problem.

Not stopping at encouragement alone, Chanute, as president of the Western Society of Engineers, invited Wilbur to address his group in Chicago on September 18, 1901. Wilbur's remarks, out of sync with the scientific determinations of the age, and delivered by a man who had never attended college, were bound to set off a storm of controversy. As the text of the speech was to be published and was likely to attract significant attention, Orville concluded that additional experimentation should be conducted to rule out the possibility of errors in their data.

Further experimentation of the type Orville had in mind would require the use of a new and novel device. Using materials at hand in the shop, and the technical ingenuity that marked much of the brothers' work, Orville created a small wind tunnel. A day of experimentation with this device yielded valuable data related to air pressure on curved surfaces. The findings supported the assertions Wilbur made in his speech.

Further curiosity and the success of the first, crude wind tunnel convinced the brothers to build a more elaborate and refined device. The latter, powered by a single-cylinder gasoline engine, was used to test over 200 variations in wing surfaces during the fall and early winter of 1901. These tests alone should have been enough to earn the Wright brothers everlasting fame since a wind tunnel had never been used to test the effectiveness of miniature flight surfaces.

Back to Kitty Hawk

Armed with hard-earned scientific data from their wind tunnel tests and encouraged by their ever-supportive friend Octave Chanute, Orville and Wilbur set off in August 1902 for their third set of gliding experiments at Kitty Hawk. The new glider's wingspan now reached 32 feet and reflected refinements based on the results of the wind tunnel tests conducted during the previous winter. The glider's controls were changed as well. The glider still used the wing warping mechanism employed on the first two gliders, but the controls, previously operated by the pilot's feet, now were operated by the pilot's hips which rested in a cradle. Another innovation was the addition of a tail. The new glider performed admirably, even in winds reaching upwards of 36 miles per hour. Several of the flights covered more than 600 feet, with some lasting as long as a minute or more. Dan Tate, the brother of William, who had first provided food and lodging to Wilbur two years earlier, remarked that all the glider needs "is a coat of feathers to make her light and she will stay in the air indefinitely."

The 1902 tests were a resounding success, with more than 1,000 flights made in the new glider. "The flights of the 1902 glider had demonstrated the efficiency of our system of maintaining equilibrium, and also the accuracy of the laboratory work upon which the design of the glider was based," Orville recalled. "We then felt that we were prepared to calculate in advance the performance of machines with a degree of accuracy that had never been possible with the data and tables possessed by our predecessors. Before leaving camp in 1902 we were already at work on the general design of a new machine which we proposed to propel with a motor."

Building the Flyer

Work began in earnest as soon as the brothers returned to their shop in Dayton. The first order of business was the power plant for the new craft. A steam engine would work, the brothers thought, but they preferred the simplicity of a gasoline-powered internal combustion engine. Their plans called for an engine that was light-weight yet produced at least eight horse-power. But the brothers did not feel confident in their own engine-building skills, despite having previously built the single-cylinder engine used to provide power in the bicycle shop. So they searched for an engine shop, perhaps that of an automobile manufacturer, that could be commissioned to build a suitable engine. Only one company expressed an interest, claiming that they already had an engine that produced the requisite eight horsepower while weighing only 135 pounds. After examining the specifications for this engine, however, the brothers determined that it was unlikely to produce the required horsepower. The question of motive power was settled; the brothers would build the engine themselves.

The Wright brothers determined that a four-cylinder engine would provide the performance they sought, and, with the able and enthusiastic assistance of machinist Charlie Taylor, they were able to begin testing this engine in a scant six weeks. The engine exceeded expectations, producing 12 horsepower instead of the desired eight. The extra horsepower would allow the Flyer to be a bit heavier, and the brothers used the leeway thus gained to strengthen the design of their craft.

Overall, the brothers chose a biplane design with a wingspan a bit over 40 feet. The machine's tail, an improvement over that used on the last glider, had twin movable vanes rather than a single vane. The last part of the plane's construction, and the hardest, turned out to be the design of the craft's twin propellers. After examining the available literature on prop design, the brothers found that little of use was known, despite the fact that marine screws, acting on similar principles, had been in use for decades. A useful theory of aircraft propeller design would have to be constructed.

This did not seem an insurmountable challenge. But, as Orville recalled, the solution to the problem proved evasive:

   [I]t is hard to find even a point from
   which to make a start; for nothing
   about a propeller, or the medium in
   which it acts, stands still for a moment.
   The thrust depends upon the
   speed and the angle at which the
   blade strikes the air; the angle at
   which the blade strikes the air depends
   upon the speed at which the
   propeller is turning, the speed the machine
   is traveling forward and the
   speed at which the air is slipping
   backward; the slip of the air backwards
   depends upon the thrust exerted
   by the propeller, and the amount of
   air acted upon. When any one of these
   changes, it changes all the rest, as
   they are all interdependent upon one
   another. But these are only a few of
   the many factors that must be considered
   and determined in calculating
   and designing propellers.

After months of work, the brothers finally developed a satisfactory design. In the end, their props delivered 66 percent of the power expended. With the design of the props accomplished, the craft was nearly complete. The props were then mounted on shafts about 10 feet apart to be driven by chains running over sprockets. All that remained now would be to see if this new heavier-than-air craft could be the first to carry a man in powered flight.

The Moment of Truth

Orville and Wilbur Wright arrived at their camp at Kill Devil Hill near Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, on September 25, 1903. Surveying the scene, they found that a storm had damaged the building at the camp several months earlier. They immediately began repairing the existing structure and working on a new building needed to hold the machinery that was soon to arrive.

Just before completing work on the structures, and having just received the shipment of machinery for the Flyer, one of the worst storms in recent memory set in, threatening to damage the roofs of their buildings. Setting their jaws against the storm, and determined to prevent nature from thwarting their plans, the brothers braved the winds, blowing at over 75 miles per hour, to clamber onto the roofs of their buildings to make repairs. "When I ascended the ladder and reached the edge of the roof," Orville recalled, "the wind caught under my large coat, blew it up around my head and bound my arms till I was perfectly helpless. Wilbur came to nay assistance and held down my coat while I tried to drive the nails. But the wind was so strong I could not guide the hammer and succeeded in striking my fingers as often as the nails."

Despite the storm and the damage to Orville's fingers, the buildings were saved and work could begin on the real purpose of the expedition. Several practice flights were made with the 1902 glider while preparations for powered flight in the Flyer continued. In early November, Octave Chanute arrived at the camp, but with winter setting in and weather conditions deteriorating, he left soon after. During his brief stay, he told the two inventors that they should expect at least a 20 percent loss in power through the propeller's chain drive system. The Wrights had allowed for a loss of only five percent. But it was the renowned engineer who was wrong. Further calculations and tests proved to the brothers' satisfaction that the loss was actually slightly less than five percent.

Other nagging problems, especially with the propeller shafts, dogged the Wrights and their revolutionary craft, but each was handled in turn. The weather, though, was uncooperative. Between the adverse weather conditions and the mechanical glitches, it wasn't until mid-December that actual flight operations with the Flyer became practical.

Monday, December 14, 1903 dawned a clear, beautiful day. Checking the winds, it was found that they were too light to permit an attempt to take off from level ground. Recruiting several helpers from the nearby Kill Devil Life Saving Station, the Wrights decided to move the monorail track used for the launch, and the Flyer itself, to the side of a hill located a quarter mile from the camp. Once at the hill the apparatus was positioned so that the Flyer bravely faced into the wind. The flying machine itself was ready for what Orville and Wilbur fervently hoped would be its first, historic flight.

But who would pilot the craft? Each brother was anxious to take the controls and make history, but there was only room for one pilot aboard. Standing on the sandy, barren soil of the hill, the brothers flipped a coin. Wilbur won the toss, but first the brothers and several spectators posed with the Flyer for a photo.

Without further delay, Wilbur climbed aboard a flying machine unlike any previous contraption to make a first, historic attempt at what most people, scientists included, thought impossible. The four-cylinder engine roared to life and the Flyer surged against its tether to the monorail. Orville stood beside one of the wingtips, prepared to run alongside and make sure the aircraft stayed in proper balance before takeoff. When the restraining wire was loosed, though, the Flyer roared off at such speed that Orville could only stay with if for a few feet. Orville recalled what happened next: "After a 35- to 40-foot run, it lifted from the rail. But it was allowed to turn up too much. It climbed a few feet, stalled, and then settled to the ground near the foot of the hill, 105 feet below. My stop watch showed that [it] had been in the air just 3 1/2 seconds."

This could not justly be called a flight, since it came to an end at an elevation far below where it began. Still, the brothers were greatly encouraged. After repairing the minor damage caused by the rather abrupt landing, they were ready to try again just three days later.

The fine weather of the 14th was blown away by icy December winds that swept the camp on the evening of the 16th. On the morning of the 17th, puddles of water that had been standing about the camp had frozen solid. The north wind obstinately refused to die down and continued to blow at upwards of 27 miles per hour throughout the morning. Inside their camp, the brothers debated the wisdom of making another attempt under such conditions. By 10 a.m., though, the brothers decided, conditions notwithstanding, "that we had better get the machine out and attempt a flight."

After the brothers signaled that an attempt was again to be made, several onlookers eager to help arrived on the scene, including some of the men from the nearby life saving station. Wilbur and Orville, aided by this impromptu crew of assistants, braved the freezing weather and biting wind to assemble the 100-foot-long monorail launch track on nearby level ground. The Flyer was then positioned and made ready for takeoff.

With Wilbur having been aboard for the first attempt on the 14th, the task of piloting for the second attempt fell to Orville. Climbing aboard, Orville fired the four-cylinder engine and allowed it to warm up for a few minutes. Then, slipping the re straining wire, the Flyer, with Wilbur running alongside to steady the machine, nosed into the teeth of the chill, 27 mile-per-hour wind and, after a run of 40 feet, lifted into the air. Moments after takeoff, with Wilbur still keeping up with the Flyer, and with the aircraft barely two feet in the air, one of the men from the Kill Devil Life Saving Station snapped the historic photograph that has captured for all time the famous image of mankind first daring to break the bonds of gravity.

As the Flyer crawled into the air and left the launch track behind, Orville struggled with the controls. Challenged by the newness of flight, by the uncooperative weather conditions, and by the touchy controls, Orville was unable to keep the Flyer in a steady, level flight. "As a result," Orville later wrote of the flight, "the machine would rise suddenly to about ten feet, and then as suddenly dart for the ground. A sudden dart when a little over a hundred feet from the end of the track, or a little over 120 feet from the point at which it rose into the air, ended the flight."

A New Era

The brothers fully understood the significance of those 120 feet. Powered, heavier-than-air flight had long been thought to be as impossible as the creation of a perpetual motion machine--but that would change as soon as word of their incredible success reached the world. Despite the continuing poor weather, the brothers, motivated by the excitement of their first success, could not resist making additional attempts.

A total of four flights were made on December 17. The fourth and final flight was longest. At noontime, Wilbur took the controls and guided the machine into the air. With practice the brothers had learned how to better control the Flyer, and this last flight was smoother and more majestic than the earlier flights. After 59 seconds in the air, Wilbur and the Flyer had covered 852 feet. A hard landing, though, brought the day's test flights to an end.

Hard landing though it may have been, the Flyer proved itself to be wildly successful, and the entire affair likewise proved to be a testament to the ingenuity and creative genius of Orville and Wilbur Wright. Even more noteworthy, especially when viewed from the standpoint of the current age when virtually every experimental undertaking is funded by federal grants, is the fact that the Wright brothers accomplished one of the greatest technical breakthroughs in the history of mankind through hard work and private investment and without government largesse. Their work is a moving testimonial to the power of private enterprise and initiative. With their amazing achievement, Wilbur and Orville Wright amply demonstrated that the dawn of the 20th century was the dawn of a new era.