Walt Ray Memorial install
With some recent inquiries — and after seeing more people visiting the site where Walt Ray lost his life — I dug through some old hard drives and pulled together a small set of photos from the day we installed the metal aircraft on the pole.
The story goes like this:
I got a call one day in June, 2014 from the Strategic Beer Command letting me know they were heading toward Alamo. Their mission was to install one of the metal memorials SBC is known for. The plan was simple: drive as close to the crash site as possible, then carry the 60-pound metal sculpture up the hill and place it on a rock outcrop. SBC had been there before, so this was supposed to be an in-and-out effort.
I met them early and climbed into the Suburban painted to match the A-12 928 — the focus of the weekend’s mission. It was cramped, and the “roads” were barely roads at all. Because of that, I rode on the roof rack at times, calling out directions or hopping down to guide us through tight, washed-out sections.
After about an hour of following something that only vaguely resembled a road, we got close. SBC had previously interviewed a miner with a claim in the same little valley, so we knew the best approach to make hauling that 60-pound sculpture slightly less brutal. We took turns carrying it up the slope. Partway up, one of the girls shouted, and we all looked to the southern ridge — a group of wild mustangs stood there watching us.
It took another hour to install the memorial (the details will stay with us), and afterward we finally sat down to rest. Looking west, toward the vicinity of the Nellis Air Force Range, we spotted a pair of fighters — F-15s — mixing it up in an ACM. They were leaving contrails and tight “furballs,” and we watched the show for a good 20 minutes.
A little-known fact: we brought a GPS unit with us that day. Walt was only about 10 minutes from Groom Lake when he went down. We oriented the metal aircraft to point directly toward Groom, as if it were still on its way home.
We’d brought beers for the occasion. We sat down, opened them, raised our bottles, and toasted Walt. I’m sure he was looking down. It was a special day — the remoteness, the effort, the purpose behind it. At the time, we even joked that no one would ever visit the memorial after us. How wrong we were.
When everything was done, we started the long, difficult drive back to pavement. The area is extremely remote — about 80 miles from the nearest asphalt. Getting stuck out there would require a serious rescue effort, which is why I still try to dissuade anyone who contacts me hoping to re-create the trip.
