A Very Calculated Risk

XLII

Just moored the Graf Zeppelin took up almost 800 feet of the runway at Mines Field, and she would need to make a running start to gain steerageway and altitude in the difficult climatic conditions of Los Angeles. The towers with their high-tension wires are not visible in this picture, but along the lower length of the photo can be seen assembled spectators with their automobiles, all come for a glimpse of the famous world-conquering airship

On the evening of August 26, 1929, less than 24 hours after touching down at Mines Field (LAX), Dr. Eckener decided to lift off and complete the voyage of the Graf Zeppelin to Lakehurst.

Immediately it was clear that there were going to be problems leaving Los Angeles. The thermal inversion that the Graf Zeppelin had encountered while landing had forced the ship to valve a lot of hydrogen lifting gas to land, and now the ship was heavy.

Usually, the problem with an airship liftoff was the ship's seeming impatience to be gone. It took a lot of hands to control a dirigible during liftoff, and ground crews had to be specially trained to handle the tricky aircraft lest they get away and go floating off irretrievably. 

Men handling the stout hemp mooring lines of airships had been injured or killed being lifted far above the ground by an errant airship and then falling helplessly far to the ground.

But not on August 26, 1929. The thermal inversion was still locked in place, and the hot air above it was making the Graf Zeppelin surprisingly sluggish. When the mooring lines were paid out, the big zeppelin rose only a few yards off the ground. There was no way that she was going to rise high enough vertically to engage the engines and attain steerageway.

The crew tried dumping water ballast and hundreds of gallons of water, carried all the way from Lake Constance, Germany, splashed to the ground, drenching the ship's handlers and many of the thousands of watching spectators, many of whom had been standing around all day just looking at the Graf Zeppelin.

The ship rose a few more yards into the sky, but still not enough to engage the engines. The idea was voiced but then vetoed to wait until morning to lift off. It was decided the sun-heated air would make leaving in daylight even more difficult.

A frustrated Dr. Eckener ordered the mooring lines pulled in and the ground crew to stand by. The Graf Zeppelin settled back onto the earth.

Eckener did some quick figuring, calculating how many hours the flight to Lakehurst would take, and then he ordered the ship shorn of extra weight. 

The ground crew rapidly unloaded cartons of champagne, crates of iced lobster and steak and other comestibles, and extra equipment like chafing dishes and pots and pans --- even shrimp forks. Most of this stuff was crated up and sent on to Lakehurst by train (but some of it became instant souvenir material).

Finally, the Graf Zeppelin was made several tons lighter yet, and she rose unwillingly into the sky above Mines Field. It was still not high enough, but Dr. Eckener had an idea. He decided that he would make a running takeoff, like an airplane's. The momentum of the running takeoff would let the ship rise higher into the sky as it moved.

It was a good idea, but it had two drawbacks, one merely irritating and one potentially fatal.

It was irritating that the runways at Mines Field were not built for big airships. They were built for small aircraft. Airplanes needed far less runway room to gain altitude than did a 776 foot airship. At nearly 800 feet, the Graf Zeppelin consumed a large fraction of runway length just sitting still. There was a good possibility that the zeppelin might run out of runway before it attained sufficient altitude.

The land around Mines Field was still farmland, and the fact that the ship might coast over farmland after running out of runway was not so much of a problem.

But what was a problem --- a fatal problem --- a nightmare really --- was that the Graf Zeppelin couldn't just coast away. The border of Mines Field was delineated by a series of 150 foot electrical towers carrying high-tension wires that provided all of Los Angeles' electricity. The Graf Zeppelin would have to clear the tops of those towers --- at night, with only the towers' own flashing red lights as a guide --- or risk tangling with the electrical wires they carried.

For anyone who remembered the Roma disaster of 1922, when that smallish hydrogen airship brushed high-tension wires becoming an instant fireball, the thought of a "heavy" flyover was paralyzing. Not only would the Graf Zeppelin explode spectacularly in front of tens of thousands of watchers, but its far greater hydrogen capacity would make the Roma explosion look like an errant skyrocket. There was no question in anyone's mind that everyone aboard would be killed. And Los Angeles would be instantaneously blacked out.

It was a very calculated risk.

Dr. Eckener ordered everyone to hold tight to the mooring lines as he redlined the Graf Zeppelin's engines. He wanted no forward momentum. Not yet.

Then the order was given to let go, the mooring lines were retracted faster than they had ever been, and the big dirigible surged forward. As it moved, the bow of the ship tilted sharply into the sky --- 45, then 50, then 60 degrees high. Everyone on board was holding on to something fixed.

The head of the Graf Zeppelin rose so high in fact that the tail fin, 776 feet to the rear, dragged a long furrow in the earth.

Spectators watched as the huge fore of the ship cleared the electrical towers with only yards to spare, but many people closed their eyes waiting for the seemingly-inevitable explosion to come. It seemed impossible that the high tension wires wouldn't make contact with the vessel amidships, or with the engine gondolas.

And then --- amazingly --- the vast ship seesawed on an invisible fulcrum. The aft of the ship rose rapidly into the sky, clearing the towers neatly.

"He's going to run her into the ground!" someone screamed. But he didn't. It looked like an optical illusion. The hugely teetertottering ship was suddenly on an even keel, safely away from danger, and sailing serenely off into the night sky as if nothing at all had happened. Liftoff was recorded at 12:14 A.M. on August 27, 1929.

The crowd on the ground burst into cheers. It was not likely that anyone on board the Graf Zeppelin heard them. But everyone connected with the liftoff had just experienced the world's finest airship pilot complete the most daring lighter-than-air maneuver ever recorded in the annals of flight.

There are no photos of Dr. Eckener’s daring and dangerous liftoff at Los Angeles, but this photo of the Graf Zeppelin over Lakehurst, New Jersey at the end of the Worldflight gives just a hint of the attitude of the airship at Mines Field (LAX)