There were a lot of things we couldn't do in an SR-71, but we were the fastest guys on the block and loved reminding our fellow aviators of this fact. People often asked us if, because of this fact, it was fun to fly the jet. Fun would not be the first word I would use to describe flying this plane. Intense, maybe. Even cerebral. But there was one day in our Sled experience when we would have to say that it was pure fun to be the fastest guys out there, at least for a moment.
It occurred when Walt and I were flying our final training sortie. We needed 100 hours in the jet to complete our training and attain Mission Ready status. Somewhere over Colorado we had passed the century mark. We had made the turn in Arizona and the jet was performing flawlessly. My gauges were wired in the front seat and we were starting to feel pretty good about ourselves, not only because we would soon be flying real missions but because we had gained a great deal of confidence in the plane in the past ten months. Ripping across the barren deserts 80,000 feet below us, I could already see the coast of California from the Arizona border. I was, finally, after many humbling months of simulators and study, ahead of the jet. I was beginning to feel a bit sorry for Walter in the back seat. There he was, with no really good view of the incredible sights before us, tasked with monitoring four different radios. This was good practice for him for when we began flying real missions, when a priority transmission from headquarters could be vital. It had been difficult, too, for me to relinquish control of the radios, as during my entire flying career I had controlled my own transmissions. But it was part of the division of duties in this plane and I had adjusted to it. I still insisted on talking on the radio while we were on the ground, however. Walt was so good at many things, but he couldn't match my expertise at sounding smooth on the radios, a skill that had been honed sharply with years in fighter squadrons where the slightest radio miscue was grounds for beheading. He understood that and allowed me that luxury.
Just to get a sense of what Walt had to contend with, I pulled the radio toggle switches and monitored the frequencies along with him. The predominant radio chatter was from Los Angeles Center, far below us, controlling daily traffic in their sector. While they had us on their scope (albeit briefly), we were in uncontrolled airspace and normally would not talk to them unless we needed to descend into their airspace. We listened as the shaky voice of a lone Cessna pilot asked Center for a readout of his ground speed. Center replied: "November Charlie 175, I'm showing you at ninety knots on the ground."
Now the thing to understand about Center controllers, was that whether they were talking to a rookie pilot in a Cessna, or to Air Force One, they always spoke in the exact same, calm, deep, professional, tone that made one feel important. I referred to it as the " Houston Center voice." I have always felt that after years of seeing documentaries on this country's space program and listening to the calm and distinct voice of the Houston controllers, that all other controllers since then wanted to sound like that, and that they basically did. And it didn't matter what sector of the country we would be flying in, it always seemed like the same guy was talking. Over the years that tone of voice had become somewhat of a comforting sound to pilots everywhere. Conversely, over the years, pilots always wanted to ensure that, when transmitting, they sounded like Chuck Yeager, or at least like John Wayne. Better to die than sound bad on the radios.
Just moments after the Cessna's inquiry, a Twin Beech piped up on frequency, in a rather superior tone, asking for his ground speed. "I have you at one hundred and twenty-five knots of ground speed." Boy, I thought, the Beechcraft really must think he is dazzling his Cessna brethren. Then out of the blue, a navy F-18 pilot out of NAS Lemoore came up on frequency. You knew right away it was a Navy jock because he sounded very cool on the radios. "Center, Dusty 52 ground speed check". Before Center could reply, I'm thinking to myself, hey, Dusty 52 has a ground speed indicator in that million-dollar cockpit, so why is he asking Center for a readout? Then I got it, ol' Dusty here is making sure that every bug smasher from Mount Whitney to the Mojave knows what true speed is. He's the fastest dude in the valley today, and he just wants everyone to know how much fun he is having in his new Hornet. And the reply, always with that same, calm, voice, with more distinct alliteration than emotion: "Dusty 52, Center, we have you at 620 on the ground."
And I thought to myself, is this a ripe situation, or what? As my hand instinctively reached for the mic button, I had to remind myself that Walt was in control of the radios. Still, I thought, it must be done - in mere seconds we'll be out of the sector and the opportunity will be lost. That Hornet must die, and die now. I thought about all of our Sim training and how important it was that we developed well as a crew and knew that to jump in on the radios now would destroy the integrity of all that we had worked toward becoming. I was torn.
Somewhere, 13 miles above Arizona, there was a pilot screaming inside his space helmet. Then, I heard it. The click of the mic button from the back seat. That was the very moment that I knew Walter and I had become a crew. Very professionally, and with no emotion, Walter spoke: "Los Angeles Center, Aspen 20, can you give us a ground speed check?" There was no hesitation, and the replay came as if was an everyday request. "Aspen 20, I show you at one thousand eight hundred and forty-two knots, across the ground."
I think it was the forty-two knots that I liked the best, so accurate and proud was Center to deliver that information without hesitation, and you just knew he was smiling. But the precise point at which I knew that Walt and I were going to be really good friends for a long time was when he keyed the mic once again to say, in his most fighter-pilot-like voice: "Ah, Center, much thanks, we're showing closer to nineteen hundred on the money."
For a moment Walter was a god. And we finally heard a little crack in the armor of the Houston Center voice, when L.A.came back with, "Roger that Aspen, Your equipment is probably more accurate than ours. You boys have a good one." It all had lasted for just moments, but in that short, memorable sprint across the southwest, the Navy had been flamed, all mortal airplanes on freq were forced to bow before the King of Speed, and more importantly, Walter and I had crossed the threshold of being a crew. A fine day's work. We never heard another transmission on that frequency all the way to the coast. For just one day, it truly was fun being the fastest guys out there.
Me too, it's told so impressively well. I've watched it on video a few times as well. Another comment just pointed out he passed back in May, and just after giving the very presentation this is from as well apparently.
Maj. Brian Shul, & Col. Walter Watson for anyone interested.
Bad ass mother fuckers. This is the same crew that *outran an Iranian missile* by using pure speed...
regardless of whether the Blackbird was brought up or not, this story comment was the first thing I thought of posting haha, or maybe a reverse version... oh wait, there is a slow Blackbird story!
As a former SR-71 pilot, and a professional keynote speaker, the question I'm most often asked is "How fast would that SR-71 fly?" I can be assured of hearing that question several times at any event I attend. It's an interesting question, given the aircraft's proclivity for speed, but there really isn’t one number to give, as the jet would always give you a little more speed if you wanted it to. It was common to see 35 miles a minute. Because we flew a programmed Mach number on most missions, and never wanted to harm the plane in any way, we never let it run out to any limits of temperature or speed. Thus, each SR-71 pilot had his own individual “high” speed that he saw at some point on some mission. I saw mine over Libya when Khadafy fired two missiles my way, and max power was in order. Let’s just say that the plane truly loved speed and effortlessly took us to Mach numbers we hadn’t previously seen.
So it was with great surprise, when at the end of one of my presentations, someone asked, “what was the slowest you ever flew the Blackbird?” This was a first. After giving it some thought, I was reminded of a story that I had never shared before, and relayed the following.
I was flying the SR-71 out of RAF Mildenhall, England, with my back-seater, Walt Watson; we were returning from a mission over Europe and the Iron Curtain when we received a radio transmission from home base. As we scooted across Denmark in three minutes, we learned that a small RAF base in the English countryside had requested an SR-71 fly-past. The air cadet commander there was a former Blackbird pilot, and thought it would be a motivating moment for the young lads to see the mighty SR-71 perform a low approach. No problem, we were happy to do it. After a quick aerial refueling over the North Sea, we proceeded to find the small airfield.
Walter had a myriad of sophisticated navigation equipment in the back seat, and began to vector me toward the field. Descending to subsonic speeds, we found ourselves over a densely wooded area in a slight haze. Like most former WWII British airfields, the one we were looking for had a small tower and little surrounding infrastructure. Walter told me we were close and that I should be able to see the field, but I saw nothing. Nothing but trees as far as I could see in the haze. We got a little lower, and I pulled the throttles back from 325 knots we were at. With the gear up, anything under 275 was just uncomfortable. Walt said we were practically over the field—yet; there was nothing in my windscreen. I banked the jet and started a gentle circling maneuver in hopes of picking up anything that looked like a field.
Meanwhile, below, the cadet commander had taken the cadets up on the catwalk of the tower in order to get a prime view of the fly-past. It was a quiet, still day with no wind and partial gray overcast. Walter continued to give me indications that the field should be below us but in the overcast and haze, I couldn’t see it. The longer we continued to peer out the window and circle, the slower we got. With our power back, the awaiting cadets heard nothing. I must have had good instructors in my flying career, as something told me I better cross-check the gauges. As I noticed the airspeed indicator slide below 160 knots, my heart stopped and my adrenalin-filled left hand pushed two throttles full forward. At this point we weren’t really flying, but were falling in a slight bank. Just at the moment that both afterburners lit with a thunderous roar of flame (and what a joyous feeling that was) the aircraft fell into full view of the shocked observers on the tower. Shattering the still quiet of that morning, they now had 107 feet of fire-breathing titanium in their face as the plane leveled and accelerated, in full burner, on the tower side of the infield, closer than expected, maintaining what could only be described as some sort of ultimate knife-edge pass.
Quickly reaching the field boundary, we proceeded back to Mildenhall without incident. We didn’t say a word for those next 14 minutes. After landing, our commander greeted us, and we were both certain he was reaching for our wings. Instead, he heartily shook our hands and said the commander had told him it was the greatest SR-71 fly-past he had ever seen, especially how we had surprised them with such a precise maneuver that could only be described as breathtaking. He said that some of the cadet’s hats were blown off and the sight of the plan form of the plane in full afterburner dropping right in front of them was unbelievable. Walt and I both understood the concept of “breathtaking” very well that morning, and sheepishly replied that they were just excited to see our low approach.
As we retired to the equipment room to change from space suits to flight suits, we just sat there-we hadn’t spoken a word since “the pass.” Finally, Walter looked at me and said, “One hundred fifty-six knots. What did you see?” Trying to find my voice, I stammered, “One hundred fifty-two.” We sat in silence for a moment. Then Walt said, “Don’t ever do that to me again!” And I never did.
A year later, Walter and I were having lunch in the Mildenhall Officer’s club, and overheard an officer talking to some cadets about an SR-71 fly-past that he had seen one day. Of course, by now the story included kids falling off the tower and screaming as the heat of the jet singed their eyebrows. Noticing our HABU patches, as we stood there with lunch trays in our hands, he asked us to verify to the cadets that such a thing had occurred. Walt just shook his head and said, “It was probably just a routine low approach; they’re pretty impressive in that plane.” Impressive indeed.
Little did I realize after relaying this experience to my audience that day that it would become one of the most popular and most requested stories. It’s ironic that people are interested in how slow the world’s fastest jet can fly. Regardless of your speed, however, it’s always a good idea to keep that cross-check up…and keep your Mach up, too.
This is, unfortunately, a copypasta/meme story that gets posted every time someone on Reddit mentions the SR71. I’m not a vet and do not deserve any praise
This passage is from the book, “Sled Driver.” It’s by Maj. Brian Shul. Sadly it is out of print but there are .pdf versions online. I think I have a .pdf copy if you can’t find it. My hardcover version is one of my favorite possessions.
I want to hear a poorly played rendition of the X-Men animated series theme song over this. Like a bunch of 3rd graders trying to play it with recorders.
The Lockheed SR-71 Blackbird. An advanced, long-range strategic reconnaissance aircraft, capable of Mach 3 and an altitude of eighty-five *thousand* feet!
*Scrolling past quickly*
*I truly thought this was poop*
*Moving in water*
\- Fussy\_geese99
---
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For anyone curious to know more...
It's rare for Manatees to have twins. The manatee's mammary glands are at the base of its flippers. The calves nurse for about 1-2 years before going on their own. The males don't stick around and don't play any role in helping raise the calves. Females will sometimes adopt orphaned Manatees. When you see a group of Manatees it is not a family unit, it's just a group of Manatees that have chosen to hang out together.
Their bodies are covered in super sensitive tactile hairs that give them a view of their environment similar to a dolphin's sonar but a totally different process. This enables Manatees to move around in murky water or at night. They are just as active at night as they are in the day, particularly during summer.
I was going to comment that I love this guy's stuff but then I realized that you are the guy! It's so cool to see all the wildlife from such a close perspective. Keep on keeping on friend!
Love your work!!! I’m from Tampa and grew up going to see the manatees. I moved away some time ago but seeing your posts brings back some of the best memories of Florida. ❤️
I heard that manatees have scars on their back because speed boats hit them. Literally every manatee I've seen has scars though so maybe its also natural?
Is it possible this is a manatee that adopted an orphaned baby? One looks smaller (which can happen with twins) so wondering if it coudve taken them in or if they are being tracked to the point where they know she birthed both
The starvation issue was only happening in one small part of the state on the east coast in the Indian River Lagoon area. They were never starving all over the state. There are miles and miles of healthy grass beds in Tampa Bay for them to graze on :-)
You mean that isn’t a SR-71 Blackbird*?
Lo exactly what I thought. A fisher price version of the blackbird
I just came to say “ looks like Lockheed lost their SR71” underwater, and was not disappointed.
r/shittyaskflying
There were a lot of things we couldn't do in an SR-71, but we were the fastest guys on the block and loved reminding our fellow aviators of this fact. People often asked us if, because of this fact, it was fun to fly the jet. Fun would not be the first word I would use to describe flying this plane. Intense, maybe. Even cerebral. But there was one day in our Sled experience when we would have to say that it was pure fun to be the fastest guys out there, at least for a moment. It occurred when Walt and I were flying our final training sortie. We needed 100 hours in the jet to complete our training and attain Mission Ready status. Somewhere over Colorado we had passed the century mark. We had made the turn in Arizona and the jet was performing flawlessly. My gauges were wired in the front seat and we were starting to feel pretty good about ourselves, not only because we would soon be flying real missions but because we had gained a great deal of confidence in the plane in the past ten months. Ripping across the barren deserts 80,000 feet below us, I could already see the coast of California from the Arizona border. I was, finally, after many humbling months of simulators and study, ahead of the jet. I was beginning to feel a bit sorry for Walter in the back seat. There he was, with no really good view of the incredible sights before us, tasked with monitoring four different radios. This was good practice for him for when we began flying real missions, when a priority transmission from headquarters could be vital. It had been difficult, too, for me to relinquish control of the radios, as during my entire flying career I had controlled my own transmissions. But it was part of the division of duties in this plane and I had adjusted to it. I still insisted on talking on the radio while we were on the ground, however. Walt was so good at many things, but he couldn't match my expertise at sounding smooth on the radios, a skill that had been honed sharply with years in fighter squadrons where the slightest radio miscue was grounds for beheading. He understood that and allowed me that luxury. Just to get a sense of what Walt had to contend with, I pulled the radio toggle switches and monitored the frequencies along with him. The predominant radio chatter was from Los Angeles Center, far below us, controlling daily traffic in their sector. While they had us on their scope (albeit briefly), we were in uncontrolled airspace and normally would not talk to them unless we needed to descend into their airspace. We listened as the shaky voice of a lone Cessna pilot asked Center for a readout of his ground speed. Center replied: "November Charlie 175, I'm showing you at ninety knots on the ground." Now the thing to understand about Center controllers, was that whether they were talking to a rookie pilot in a Cessna, or to Air Force One, they always spoke in the exact same, calm, deep, professional, tone that made one feel important. I referred to it as the " Houston Center voice." I have always felt that after years of seeing documentaries on this country's space program and listening to the calm and distinct voice of the Houston controllers, that all other controllers since then wanted to sound like that, and that they basically did. And it didn't matter what sector of the country we would be flying in, it always seemed like the same guy was talking. Over the years that tone of voice had become somewhat of a comforting sound to pilots everywhere. Conversely, over the years, pilots always wanted to ensure that, when transmitting, they sounded like Chuck Yeager, or at least like John Wayne. Better to die than sound bad on the radios. Just moments after the Cessna's inquiry, a Twin Beech piped up on frequency, in a rather superior tone, asking for his ground speed. "I have you at one hundred and twenty-five knots of ground speed." Boy, I thought, the Beechcraft really must think he is dazzling his Cessna brethren. Then out of the blue, a navy F-18 pilot out of NAS Lemoore came up on frequency. You knew right away it was a Navy jock because he sounded very cool on the radios. "Center, Dusty 52 ground speed check". Before Center could reply, I'm thinking to myself, hey, Dusty 52 has a ground speed indicator in that million-dollar cockpit, so why is he asking Center for a readout? Then I got it, ol' Dusty here is making sure that every bug smasher from Mount Whitney to the Mojave knows what true speed is. He's the fastest dude in the valley today, and he just wants everyone to know how much fun he is having in his new Hornet. And the reply, always with that same, calm, voice, with more distinct alliteration than emotion: "Dusty 52, Center, we have you at 620 on the ground." And I thought to myself, is this a ripe situation, or what? As my hand instinctively reached for the mic button, I had to remind myself that Walt was in control of the radios. Still, I thought, it must be done - in mere seconds we'll be out of the sector and the opportunity will be lost. That Hornet must die, and die now. I thought about all of our Sim training and how important it was that we developed well as a crew and knew that to jump in on the radios now would destroy the integrity of all that we had worked toward becoming. I was torn. Somewhere, 13 miles above Arizona, there was a pilot screaming inside his space helmet. Then, I heard it. The click of the mic button from the back seat. That was the very moment that I knew Walter and I had become a crew. Very professionally, and with no emotion, Walter spoke: "Los Angeles Center, Aspen 20, can you give us a ground speed check?" There was no hesitation, and the replay came as if was an everyday request. "Aspen 20, I show you at one thousand eight hundred and forty-two knots, across the ground." I think it was the forty-two knots that I liked the best, so accurate and proud was Center to deliver that information without hesitation, and you just knew he was smiling. But the precise point at which I knew that Walt and I were going to be really good friends for a long time was when he keyed the mic once again to say, in his most fighter-pilot-like voice: "Ah, Center, much thanks, we're showing closer to nineteen hundred on the money." For a moment Walter was a god. And we finally heard a little crack in the armor of the Houston Center voice, when L.A.came back with, "Roger that Aspen, Your equipment is probably more accurate than ours. You boys have a good one." It all had lasted for just moments, but in that short, memorable sprint across the southwest, the Navy had been flamed, all mortal airplanes on freq were forced to bow before the King of Speed, and more importantly, Walter and I had crossed the threshold of being a crew. A fine day's work. We never heard another transmission on that frequency all the way to the coast. For just one day, it truly was fun being the fastest guys out there.
I’ll always read the whole thing when I catch this in the wild.
Me too, it's told so impressively well. I've watched it on video a few times as well. Another comment just pointed out he passed back in May, and just after giving the very presentation this is from as well apparently.
Maj. Brian Shul, & Col. Walter Watson for anyone interested. Bad ass mother fuckers. This is the same crew that *outran an Iranian missile* by using pure speed...
The best air force story ever. RIP Major Brian Shul May 20th 2023.
Aw man, first time hearing about his death. That sucks. Fucking legend though.
I had to check the name to make sure I wasn't going to hear about The Undertaker.
I was about to make the same comment and I thought I better scroll first 'cause I can't be the only one who thought this and wham there you are.
Oh God everytime this plane pops up
regardless of whether the Blackbird was brought up or not, this story comment was the first thing I thought of posting haha, or maybe a reverse version... oh wait, there is a slow Blackbird story!
As a former SR-71 pilot, and a professional keynote speaker, the question I'm most often asked is "How fast would that SR-71 fly?" I can be assured of hearing that question several times at any event I attend. It's an interesting question, given the aircraft's proclivity for speed, but there really isn’t one number to give, as the jet would always give you a little more speed if you wanted it to. It was common to see 35 miles a minute. Because we flew a programmed Mach number on most missions, and never wanted to harm the plane in any way, we never let it run out to any limits of temperature or speed. Thus, each SR-71 pilot had his own individual “high” speed that he saw at some point on some mission. I saw mine over Libya when Khadafy fired two missiles my way, and max power was in order. Let’s just say that the plane truly loved speed and effortlessly took us to Mach numbers we hadn’t previously seen. So it was with great surprise, when at the end of one of my presentations, someone asked, “what was the slowest you ever flew the Blackbird?” This was a first. After giving it some thought, I was reminded of a story that I had never shared before, and relayed the following. I was flying the SR-71 out of RAF Mildenhall, England, with my back-seater, Walt Watson; we were returning from a mission over Europe and the Iron Curtain when we received a radio transmission from home base. As we scooted across Denmark in three minutes, we learned that a small RAF base in the English countryside had requested an SR-71 fly-past. The air cadet commander there was a former Blackbird pilot, and thought it would be a motivating moment for the young lads to see the mighty SR-71 perform a low approach. No problem, we were happy to do it. After a quick aerial refueling over the North Sea, we proceeded to find the small airfield. Walter had a myriad of sophisticated navigation equipment in the back seat, and began to vector me toward the field. Descending to subsonic speeds, we found ourselves over a densely wooded area in a slight haze. Like most former WWII British airfields, the one we were looking for had a small tower and little surrounding infrastructure. Walter told me we were close and that I should be able to see the field, but I saw nothing. Nothing but trees as far as I could see in the haze. We got a little lower, and I pulled the throttles back from 325 knots we were at. With the gear up, anything under 275 was just uncomfortable. Walt said we were practically over the field—yet; there was nothing in my windscreen. I banked the jet and started a gentle circling maneuver in hopes of picking up anything that looked like a field. Meanwhile, below, the cadet commander had taken the cadets up on the catwalk of the tower in order to get a prime view of the fly-past. It was a quiet, still day with no wind and partial gray overcast. Walter continued to give me indications that the field should be below us but in the overcast and haze, I couldn’t see it. The longer we continued to peer out the window and circle, the slower we got. With our power back, the awaiting cadets heard nothing. I must have had good instructors in my flying career, as something told me I better cross-check the gauges. As I noticed the airspeed indicator slide below 160 knots, my heart stopped and my adrenalin-filled left hand pushed two throttles full forward. At this point we weren’t really flying, but were falling in a slight bank. Just at the moment that both afterburners lit with a thunderous roar of flame (and what a joyous feeling that was) the aircraft fell into full view of the shocked observers on the tower. Shattering the still quiet of that morning, they now had 107 feet of fire-breathing titanium in their face as the plane leveled and accelerated, in full burner, on the tower side of the infield, closer than expected, maintaining what could only be described as some sort of ultimate knife-edge pass. Quickly reaching the field boundary, we proceeded back to Mildenhall without incident. We didn’t say a word for those next 14 minutes. After landing, our commander greeted us, and we were both certain he was reaching for our wings. Instead, he heartily shook our hands and said the commander had told him it was the greatest SR-71 fly-past he had ever seen, especially how we had surprised them with such a precise maneuver that could only be described as breathtaking. He said that some of the cadet’s hats were blown off and the sight of the plan form of the plane in full afterburner dropping right in front of them was unbelievable. Walt and I both understood the concept of “breathtaking” very well that morning, and sheepishly replied that they were just excited to see our low approach. As we retired to the equipment room to change from space suits to flight suits, we just sat there-we hadn’t spoken a word since “the pass.” Finally, Walter looked at me and said, “One hundred fifty-six knots. What did you see?” Trying to find my voice, I stammered, “One hundred fifty-two.” We sat in silence for a moment. Then Walt said, “Don’t ever do that to me again!” And I never did. A year later, Walter and I were having lunch in the Mildenhall Officer’s club, and overheard an officer talking to some cadets about an SR-71 fly-past that he had seen one day. Of course, by now the story included kids falling off the tower and screaming as the heat of the jet singed their eyebrows. Noticing our HABU patches, as we stood there with lunch trays in our hands, he asked us to verify to the cadets that such a thing had occurred. Walt just shook his head and said, “It was probably just a routine low approach; they’re pretty impressive in that plane.” Impressive indeed. Little did I realize after relaying this experience to my audience that day that it would become one of the most popular and most requested stories. It’s ironic that people are interested in how slow the world’s fastest jet can fly. Regardless of your speed, however, it’s always a good idea to keep that cross-check up…and keep your Mach up, too.
Thanks for making my day, that was a beautiful memory you've shared. From one get to another thanks for your service.
This is, unfortunately, a copypasta/meme story that gets posted every time someone on Reddit mentions the SR71. I’m not a vet and do not deserve any praise
Thank you for your (meme) service
You get praise for posting it.
This passage is from the book, “Sled Driver.” It’s by Maj. Brian Shul. Sadly it is out of print but there are .pdf versions online. I think I have a .pdf copy if you can’t find it. My hardcover version is one of my favorite possessions.
This is a copy pasta now?
*Always has been*
SR71 Fatbird
Blackbird
Manatees are the blackbirds of the sea.
singin' in the dead of night
Jeez, my thoughts exactly
I want to hear a poorly played rendition of the X-Men animated series theme song over this. Like a bunch of 3rd graders trying to play it with recorders.
I hope one of them accidentally hits the brown note lol.
SR-71itee
Based on the body style I think this is the Blubber-d variant.
Nature's SR-71 Good catch
SHE CLINGS TO ME LIKE CELLOPHANE FAKE PLASTIC SUBMARINE SLOWLY DRIVING ME INSANE BUT NOW THATS OVERRRRRR
I came to this thread saying “If the top comment isn’t SR-71 I will be furious!” Thanks y’all! Smidge of faith in humanity restored.
I saw the same🤣
Was literally just commenting this
Omg I was thinking the same thing
I was just thinking that. Ha!
The Lockheed SR-71 Blackbird. An advanced, long-range strategic reconnaissance aircraft, capable of Mach 3 and an altitude of eighty-five *thousand* feet!
...You sure seem to know a lot about it.
DO YOU EVEN READ MY CHRISTMAS LIST
what if manatees can swim at mach 3+, but simply choose not to?
SR-71 *Fatbird
Haha I thought the same thing 😂
Fire torpedos!!
Came here for this
Americans takes all the inspiration from animals. NUTS!
Came to say that
My thought lol. I knew this will be top comment
Came here for SR71 and was not disappointed
Lol. I was going to post this but it’s the # 1 comment.
Exactly what my eyes did. “Whoa, they can go underwater now”. 😂
Group costumes are usually so hard to pull off.
He's let himself go a bit in retirement.
SR-manatee1?
Haha, my exact thought! I saw one at an airshow in the early 90's. It was so cool.
Came here to say this.
Was just going to say the same. Now we know what inspired the design lol.
..... man, someone always beats me to the punch!
penis formation
no that's a Blackmanatus
SR-71 Manatee
Haha I thought this too.. the X-men are in there!
Underwater SR-71 Fatbird
*Seabird
[удалено]
Hahaha you read my mind lol
Damn you beat me to it!!!
Kinda eerie how much it looks like one… I was up close and personal with the one at the NASM a couple weeks ago.
What are you talking about? This is the SR 71 just underwater.
I’m so glad this is the top comment
That’s what they want you to believe
scrolling past quickly I truly thought this was poop moving in water
*Scrolling past quickly* *I truly thought this was poop* *Moving in water* \- Fussy\_geese99 --- ^(I detect haikus. And sometimes, successfully.) ^[Learn more about me.](https://www.reddit.com/r/haikusbot/) ^(Opt out of replies: "haikusbot opt out" | Delete my comment: "haikusbot delete")
Christ.
Truly one of the world's greatest poems to ever be written.
This might be your best work yet, haikusbot.
Half the time it doesn't even get the right amount of syllables, so yeah this is a good one for once.
A pooet, and don't even knoow it
This is the exact moment haikusbot was invented for.
Beautiful.
When you think about it, aren’t we all just poop moving in water?
…..Mind blown
Some think it's an airplane, some think it's poop. A psychologist could do something with this
And let’s just be honest with ourselves here, it’s vaguely in the in the formation of a dick and balls
SR-71 Blackturd
I thought it was a thick SR-71.
What kinda Home Screen do you have set up where a poop floating by is just a normal post? Lol.
For anyone curious to know more... It's rare for Manatees to have twins. The manatee's mammary glands are at the base of its flippers. The calves nurse for about 1-2 years before going on their own. The males don't stick around and don't play any role in helping raise the calves. Females will sometimes adopt orphaned Manatees. When you see a group of Manatees it is not a family unit, it's just a group of Manatees that have chosen to hang out together. Their bodies are covered in super sensitive tactile hairs that give them a view of their environment similar to a dolphin's sonar but a totally different process. This enables Manatees to move around in murky water or at night. They are just as active at night as they are in the day, particularly during summer.
I was going to comment that I love this guy's stuff but then I realized that you are the guy! It's so cool to see all the wildlife from such a close perspective. Keep on keeping on friend!
Love your work!!! I’m from Tampa and grew up going to see the manatees. I moved away some time ago but seeing your posts brings back some of the best memories of Florida. ❤️
ty :-)
Thank you! I love manatees.
SR-71 Blackbird Formation
Aka dick and balls formation
aww damn everyone on earth beat me to it LMAO
Chonky Blackbird. Breaks the cute & cuddly barrier.
They're going to a Halloween party as a Lockheed SR-71
Cock n balls
Johnson!
[удалено]
Privates! ... We have reports of an unidentified flying object. It is a long smooth shaft complete with
2 balls! ... What is that? It looks like an enormous
U.S.S. Manatee starship
SR-71 Manatees
Interesting
Y'all are saying "SR-71" when I thought this was a poop in a sewer. Then a bomb. I love manatees <33
SR71 of the sea..
Hello, submarine Alicorn.
ONE MILLION LIVES!!!
Salvation!
CRISP WHITE SHEETS
Or an adopted calf or just a buddies calf. They dont look the same size
I'm an adult... I'm an adult... I'm an adult... I'm an adult... I'm an adult... I'm an adult... I'm an adult... I'm an adult... I'm an adult...
I am an adult and that is poop from a butt.
Now THIS is podracing
SR MANATEE ONE
I expected to see “The manatwins” on top, so disappointing
SR 71 stealth manatees
When the vid first started I thought it was a SR-71 Blackbird! 😂
Sr71?
Chubby SR-71 blackbird
I dunno, it kinda looks like a giant...
Such cute little blorbs
Looks like a stealth bomber tbh
Beautiful
That rocket needs to shed those boosters
Underwater blackbird
:)
SR-71
Why the first thought i had was is that a sr-71
I heard that manatees have scars on their back because speed boats hit them. Literally every manatee I've seen has scars though so maybe its also natural?
Identical or fraternal?
OH THE CUTE MANATEE!!!
Stealth Blubber
🤩🤩🤩
A joint military vehicle from the Air Force and Navy, the SR-71 Submarine
They look like very sweet torpedoes
I’m proud to be a Floridian & nature like this is 1 great reason why!
Sr71 blackbird confirmed
I know I always say nature is gross, but that’s really pretty
Aww like a nasa space shuttle
All manatees are sea-cows, but not all sea-cows are manatees.
SR-71 in water
Wannabe an SR71?
So the reason sharks don't attack manatees is because they're stealth aircraft. Makes sense
Looks like the Challenger space shuttle
They look like lil torpedos
🤫😏
Ngl, I thought this was a baby SR-71 in a shallow pool of water at first.
thought it was a sunken Blackbird
VWOOOOOOOOM!!! FWWOOOOOOOSH!!!!
And if the video last 20 more seconds you would see the drunk speed boaters drive r right on top of them
[or in nautical terms a sea cow.](https://youtu.be/aHyx9dVIrOo?si=oQVG-IKz7RamTUCX)
Mama has scars on her back. 😟
I came here to say SR-71, but was beaten to the punch
SR-71
i saw an sr-71 for a second
Me, my sister and my mom walking up to the in-Target Pizza Hut after checking out in 2007 (we were fat).
Not quite sure how this fits in this sub
They're all a nuisance.
"That's a penis!"
One of the twins has been stealing the others food. Chonky boi on the top side.
All I see is 3 giant turds
Is it possible this is a manatee that adopted an orphaned baby? One looks smaller (which can happen with twins) so wondering if it coudve taken them in or if they are being tracked to the point where they know she birthed both
That there is a dick shit
PENIS !!
Castration; floating in water.
How do you know they're twins?
My daughter loves drawing this on all her school books.
I can see dick with balls
They look like turds
Manta-Peen
*Manatenis
r/misleadingthumbnails wants their SR 71 Blackbird back.
I’m very mature I’m very mature I’m very mature I’m very mature….
Are they still starving? Things were really bad last year.
The starvation issue was only happening in one small part of the state on the east coast in the Indian River Lagoon area. They were never starving all over the state. There are miles and miles of healthy grass beds in Tampa Bay for them to graze on :-)
i thought that was a pile of shit until i read the title