Inspired by our March 2016 cover story by James Fallows, “How America Is Putting Itself Back Together,” readers share their best aerial photos from across the U.S. Submit your own via firstname.lastname@example.org. (Please provide the location, the story behind the photo, and the largest file size you have. Horizontal photos with a bit of the plane visible—a wing, the edge of a window—are ideal. Terms and Conditions here.)
I saw you got a blimp, but do you have one from a seaplane? [CB note: Yep—we’ve posted twophotos from seaplanes but we posted them after this email came in, so our reader couldn’t have seen them.] This view is coming in to “land” on Lake Chelan, Washington [the largest lake in the state], from the cockpit of a Dehavilland Beaver. We did an air tour of the Glaciers of the North Cascades two years ago.
I took this photo with an iPhone 6 in June 2015 from a plane approaching Jackson airport in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. It is impossible to see these mountains from the air, or on the ground, and not be overwhelmed with their majesty and their beauty. It is tough to look at them and not constantly say “wow.”
That’s how reader Ramakrishnan describes his breathtaking shot over Playa Flamenco, on the Puerto Rican island of Culebra:
Our reader isn’t alone in calling it one of the prettiest beaches in the world:
It is known for its beautiful shallow turquoise waters, soft white sand, excellent swimming, sport-fishing, and diving sites. Stretching for a mile around a sheltered, horseshoe-shaped bay, Playa Flamenco is considered both Culebra’s and Puerto Rico’s best beach and quite possibly of the whole Caribbean. Certain discerning travel writers have suggested that it is among the top 10 in the world, including been named at the 3rd spot by Travel Advisor in March 2014.
Here’s our second view from a helicopter—and it’s much better than the one I submitted from Salt Lake City:
This was taken in October 2015. Chicago’s shoreline may be one of the best developed in the country, certainly better than my birthplace New York, NY. Recently a project to prevent flooding of Lake Shore Drive at Fullerton Parkway added 6.6 acres of parkland along the lakefront. This is just south of Montrose Beach.
I took this photo of Oahu flying from Honolulu to Washington Dulles just a couple of weeks ago. You can see downtown Honolulu, Waikiki beach, Diamond Head State Monument, as well as the Ko’olau Range in the background. A clearer day would have resulted in a better shot of the mountains, but I think the water was captured nicely. I had been scuba diving a little over 24 hours before I took this photo in the Maunalua Bay (which you can make out a tiny part of on the right side of the photo, just east of Diamond Head) and the water really is as clear and blue as it looks here.
We started “America by Air” as a month-long series of aerial photos from readers that accompanied Jim’s March cover story, “How America Is Putting Itself Back Together,” which he reported with his wife Deb over three years across the U.S. via their single-engine plane. Readers not only keep sending more and more submissions, but the quality of the photos and anecdotes are getting better and better. So we’ve now turned “America by Air” into a standard feature of Notes, posting one a day, more or less, for the indefinite future, joining the ranks of Orbital View and Track of the Day. So please keep ‘em coming. Submission guidelines here.
The latest aerial view is a real beauty, coming from reader John Zimmerman:
Every year I like to fly to the big Oshkosh air show low and slow, enjoying the view at 90 knots—after all, getting to the big fly-in really is half the fun. One of the highlights of the trip every year from my home base in Cincinnati to Wisconsin is the Chicago area. If the weather is good, there’s no better flight than the one that follows the lakefront. The route takes you past famous landmarks like Navy Pier, Wrigley Field, and Willis Tower (you can look up at some office workers and wave). The only downer is the flight over abandoned Meigs airport, which sits barren and undeveloped, a lasting reminder of political misconduct.
As is true so many places in the U.S., no special clearances or equipment is required—just keep your head on a swivel and enjoy the view. It’s one of those “only in America” moments that knocks off the cynicism just a bit.
Seattle looms large in all things aviation-related, due mainly to the presence of Boeing. It looms large in my own aviation-related life, since I got my instrument rating while living there in 1999, training with instructor Chris Baker of Wings Aloft at Boeing Field in downtown Seattle; and then in 2000 did seaplane training with instructor Chris Jacob of Kenmore Air, which flies floatplanes out of the local lakes, bays, and inlets.
It also looms large in recent photos in this series. Here is another one via Stu Smith, a colleague of Chris Jacob’s at Kenmore:
This photo was taken by a passenger (I don’t recall the name) in a Beaver [JF note: a very popular floatplane] looking to the southeast. If not for the clouds, Washington State’s iconic Mt. Rainier would be visible on the distant horizon.
When the wind dictates a south departure from Lake Union (as it did in this flight), the climbout takes us past the Space Needle. It’s a pretty spectacular departure, which I’ve yet to tire of after 12 seasons. When the wind shifts to the north, the arrival and landing direction is reversed, taking us past the Space Needle in a descent. I think that tourists looking out from the Space Needle enjoy watching our departures and arrivals as much as the passengers on the plane enjoy watching them watching us!
I got to fly this route sometimes when doing training. It’s reason enough to do pilot training, or at least to take a sightseeing flight.
Matthew Amend of Seattle, with whom I have corresponded about piloting issues for years, sends this photo. Here’s his explanation:
I just found your series. It’s great! As an 18-year paraglider pilot, I may be biased, but I firmly maintain that the best, most unobstructed way to view America by air is by dangling beneath a big kite!
Here’s my submission (of me, not taken by me—taken by Matty Senior). I’m taking a friend for a ride in my two seat (“tandem”) paraglider above Tiger mountain in Issaquah, WA. January 2015. Perfectly backed by a rainbow and low cumulus clouds with lake Sammammish in the distance. No Photoshop; that’s straight from the camera.
I wanted to share some of the images I’ve been taking of elusive plane shadows from window seats. I make sure I alway sit on the shaded side of the plane to try and capture these.
During the 9/11 attacks, I lived just a few blocks away from the WTC on Duane Street, and I heard the first plane go overhead and crash into the tower. It took a while before I wasn’t spooked by the doppler effect of a plane passing by. Taking these photos has been a cathartic process for me, even though I still find the sight of shadows of the planes over buildings fairly sinister.
Here’s the photo gallery. All but #6 and #11 were taken over the U.S., mostly on approach to LGA or ORD, a trip I take a lot.
Above is a screenshot I took of Matt’s gallery. If you have any similar shots of plane silhouettes, please send them our way: email@example.com.
This picture is looking down at the former Savanna Army Depot just South of Hanover, Illinois, this weekend. The Mississippi River is in the background. Large sections are now being used for temporary storage of rail cars, but you can see the remains of roads that were once lined by ammunition bunkers.
The U.S. Army began work there in 1917 with military weapons testing and the grounds boomed to life. During World War II it was the largest Army depot in the county. Over the years it was also used to store, manufacture and recycle munitions.
Later, it was listed for BRAC closure and the depot officially shut its doors in 2000. Today, much of the property is out-of-bounds due to environmental contaminants. The areas that are off-limits to the public today are surrounded by tall fences and posted with signs that say restricted. However, you can still get pretty close enough to see many of the old buildings.
Especially if you’re in a small plane. But the area isn’t entirely abandoned:
“It might look like a ghost town, but that’s because you can’t see the activity,” said Alan Anderson, a Wildlife Refuge Operation Specialist with the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. There is some work happening with the railroad and efforts to redevelop the area, but Anderson works there for a different reason. “The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service has been developing a National Wildlife Refuge here for actually 20 years,” he said.
The Army has transferred over about 10,000 acres that’s now called the Lost Mound Unit. Only part of it is open to visitors. “The work the military did disturbed some of the habitat that’s out here but it also preserved some of the habitat that’s out here,” added Anderson.
Yesterday Stu Smith, who flies as a seasonal pilot for Kenmore Air in the Seattle area, shared a wonderful photo of a circular rainbow.
I’m very familiar with and fond of Kenmore Air, and not simply because my wife Deb and I took some of their seaplane flights for travel around the Puget Sound area when we lived in Seattle in 1999 and 2000. It’s also because I took seaplane-flying lessons there from Smith’s Kenmore colleague, Chris Jacob.
Because they fly so low-and-slow, and because they often land on lakes, bays, and shorelines right near cities, seaplanes generally offer a particularly striking version of the aerial view. In his note, Stu explains what we are seeing above:
I’ve flown for Kenmore for a dozen seasons in DeHavil and Beavers and Turbine Otters, all on floats. All of our flying is single-pilot, and
the company is certified to carry passengers in the copilot’s seat. I
often receive photos taken by passengers who are kind enough to share, since I tend to be occupied at the controls. Most of our flying is
low-level, typically below 5,000 feet above the ground. This is an
ideal height to see detail on the ground as well as a distant, synoptic view.
The photo above was taken by a passenger (name lost to history) sitting in the copilot’s seat. We’re flying in a Beaver on a scenic flight, southbound over Seattle’s Lake Union. Lake Union is freshwater, and is our primary takeoff and landing site. The seaplane dock, where Kenmore’s passengers embark and disembark, is just to the right of photo center (at the moment unoccupied).
Downtown is out of sight to the photo’s left, about a mile or so off our nose. Beyond the Space Needle to the southwest is Elliot Bay and then Admiralty Inlet, which are saltwater and part of Puget Sound. The plane’s right front float is just visible in the lower-left portion of the image.
“James’s performance, I’m sure, is causing grief for an accountant somewhere.”
Ken Jennings rose to fame after an unprecedented run on Jeopardy 15 years ago: Over the course of 74 episodes, he won a total of roughly $2.5 million.
Recently, a contestant named James Holzhauer has been working toward Jennings’s record at an astonishing pace. After the Friday-evening broadcast of the quiz program, Holzhauer had won about $850,000 over just 12 episodes. If he keeps up that rate, he’ll reach $2.5 million in less than half the time it took Jennings to do so.
It’s much less scientific—and more prone to gratuitous procedures—than you may think.
In the early 2000s Terry Mitchell’s dentist retired. For a while, Mitchell, an electrician in his 50s, stopped seeking dental care altogether. But when one of his wisdom teeth began to ache, he started looking for someone new. An acquaintance recommended John Roger Lund, whose practice was a convenient 10-minute walk from Mitchell’s home, in San Jose, California. Lund’s practice was situated in a one-story building with clay roof tiles that housed several dental offices. The interior was a little dated, but not dingy. The waiting room was small and the decor minimal: some plants and photos, no fish. Lund was a good-looking middle-aged guy with arched eyebrows, round glasses, and graying hair that framed a youthful face. He was charming, chatty, and upbeat. At the time, Mitchell and Lund both owned Chevrolet Chevelles, and they bonded over their mutual love of classic cars.
A lot of software developers, according to an unprecedented new analysis.
Updated on April 19 at 1:28 p.m. ET.
There has never been a town like the one San Francisco is becoming, a place where a single industry composed almost entirely of rich people thoroughly dominates the local economy. Much of the money that’s been squished out of the rest of the world gets funneled by the internet pipes to this little sliver of land on the Pacific Ocean, jutting out into the glory of the bay. The city now sits atop a geyser of cash created from what the scholar Shoshana Zuboff calls “behavioral surplus”—the natural resource created from your behavior, which is to say your mind.
Gérard Araud says that Trump is right about trade. Kushner is “extremely smart” but has “no guts.” And John Bolton’s not so bad, actually.
Gérard Araud, the charmingly blunt French ambassador to the United States, is famous for two things: the lavish parties he hosts at his Kalorama mansion, and his willingness to say (and tweet) things that other ambassadors might not even think, much less state in public.
Araud ends his nearly five-year tenure in Washington today, and when I spoke with him last week, he was, even by his usual standards, direct to the point of discomfort. He told me his view of the U.S. (“The role of the United States as a policeman of the world, it’s over”) and Donald Trump (“brutal, a bit primitive, but in a sense he’s right” on free trade), and he shared his opinions of John Bolton (he’s a “real professional,” even though “he hates international organizations”) and Jared Kushner (“extremely smart, but he has no guts”).
Better to run than to have your liver squeezed out.
The great white shark—a fast, powerful, 16-foot-long torpedo that’s armed to the teeth with teeth—has little to fear except fear itself. But also: killer whales.
For almost 15 years, Salvador Jorgensen from the Monterey Bay Aquarium has been studying great white sharks off the coast of California. He and his colleagues would lure the predators to their boats using bits of old carpet that they had cut in the shape of a seal. When the sharks approached, the team would shoot them with electronic tags that periodically emit ultrasonic signals. Underwater receivers, moored throughout Californian waters, detected these signals as the sharks swam by, allowing the team to track their whereabouts over time.
What the life of Richard Holbrooke tells us about the decay of Pax Americana
What’s called the American century was really just a little more than half a century, and that was the span of Richard Holbrooke’s life. It began with the Second World War and the creative burst that followed—the United Nations, the Atlantic alliance, containment, the free world—and it went through dizzying lows and highs, until it expired the day before yesterday. The thing that brings on doom to great powers—is it simple hubris, or decadence and squander, a kind of inattention, loss of faith, or just the passage of years? At some point that thing set in, and so we are talking about an age gone by. It wasn’t a golden age—there was plenty of folly and wrong—but I already miss it. The best about us was inseparable from the worst. Our feeling that we could do anything gave us the Marshall Plan and Vietnam, the peace at Dayton and the endless Afghan War. Our confidence and energy, our reach and grasp, our excess and blindness—they were not so different from Holbrooke’s. He was our man. That’s the reason to tell you this story.
It only took five minutes for Gavin Schmidt to out-speculate me.
Schmidt is the director of NASA’s Goddard Institute for Space Studies (a.k.a. GISS) a world-class climate-science facility. One day last year, I came to GISS with a far-out proposal. In my work as an astrophysicist, I’d begun researching global warming from an “astrobiological perspective.” That meant asking whether any industrial civilization that rises on any planet will, through their own activity, trigger their own version of a climate shift. I was visiting GISS that day hoping to gain some climate science insights and, perhaps, collaborators. That’s how I ended up in Gavin’s office.
Just as I was revving up my pitch, Gavin stopped me in my tracks.
Why don’t the two holidays always coincide? It is, to some degree, the moon’s fault.
Let’s get some things straight.
Passover is a springtime Jewish festival celebrating the early Israelites’ exodus from Egypt and freedom from slavery. Jews observe it by hosting a ritual dinner, called a seder, and then by abstaining from eating all leavened bread for about a week. (Some of us abstain from someother stuff, too.) Instead, we eat matzo, a thin, unleavened cracker.
Easter is a springtime Christian holiday celebrating the resurrection of Jesus Christ and freedom from sin and death. It is preceded by a series of holidays commemorating Jesus’s path to the cross. One of these holidays is Maundy Thursday, which, aside from being a great name for a holiday, is a remembrance of the Last Supper, which was a seder. In the United States, many Christians observe Easter by attending a ritual meal between breakfast and lunch, called a brunch.
More and more Americans are reporting near-constant cannabis use, as legalization forges ahead.
The proliferation of retail boutiques in California did not really bother him, Evan told me, but the billboards did. Advertisements for delivery, advertisements promoting the substance for relaxation, for fun, for health. “Shop. It’s legal.” “Hello marijuana, goodbye hangover.” “It’s not a trigger,” he told me. “But it is in your face.”
When we spoke, he had been sober for a hard-fought seven weeks: seven weeks of sleepless nights, intermittent nausea, irritability, trouble focusing, and psychological turmoil. There were upsides, he said, in terms of reduced mental fog, a fatter wallet, and a growing sense of confidence that he could quit. “I don’t think it’s a ‘can’ as much as a ‘must,’” he said.
Sixty-nine years ago, a new geological era may have begun on Earth.
Here is the hypothesis: Not so long ago, the very nature of planet Earth suffered a devastating rupture. The break was sudden, global, and irreversible. It happened on a Sunday within living memory. Mick Jagger, Meryl Streep, and Caitlyn Jenner were all born before this crack in time. Vladimir Putin, Liam Neeson, and Mr. T were all born after it.
That idea might soon carry the weight of scientific fact. Later this month, a committee of researchers from around the world will decide whether the Earth sprang into the Anthropocene, a new chapter of its history, in the year 1950. If accepted, this delineation will signal a new reality, that human activities, not natural processes, are now the dominant driver of change on Earth’s surface—that carbon pollution, climate change, deforestation, factory farms, mass die-offs, and enormous road networks have made a greater imprint on the planet than any other force in the past 12,000 years.