Avspecs mosquito update

A few found work in the civilian world, but their numbers dwindled. Lewis continues to grow his group of rare machines in Texas, taking them out for public air shows like AirVenture.

Some of the yellow birch used in the Mosquitoes' wartime plywood sandwich came from mills in Wisconsin, shipped to England to meet the critical need. The Wooden Wonder had square feet of wing area; for comparison, the P Lightning had only The Mosquito stretched a tape measure several feet more in length and wingspan than did the American P fighter, but in at least some models, the Mosquito's empty weight was only 1, pounds more than the P And as a fast bomber, the Mosquito edged out the PL by one mile an hour, topping out at mph at 28, feet.

The Mosquito was no slouch in the speed department. The world of warbirds sees aircraft move in and out of flying status. The number of flyable Mosquitoes globally is about three or four, with a few other projects in the works. Warren Denholm of Avspecs told the crowd that de Havilland Aircraft had already developed a plywood sandwich process for construction when the British government issued a specification for a warplane that de Havilland chose to answer.

The Mosquito was not immediately embraced; other manufacturers were touting the virtues of aluminum structure, Denholm said. Using wood "was like turning back the hands of the clock," he added. The process for pressing the plywood in huge fuselage molds is generally a dry layup process, according to Denholm. Other wooden subassemblies could be made by British cabinet makers in small shops. This decentralized production in war-torn England and employed skilled craftspeople.

It went first to an operational training unit. By it was one of about 80 Mosquitoes purchased from England by New Zealand. This aircraft may have been part of the 60 held in storage.

Denholm told the audience that a California company bought about six of the New Zealand Mosquitoes for use in survey work in the early s. But the purchase ran afoul of import issues after only one — this one — had been ferried to the U.

The Mosquito eventually was impounded and parked outdoors at the old Whiteman airport in the greater Los Angeles area. Vandals and the weather took their toll for the next two decades. By , a new owner bought the remains of the Mosquito and stored most of the carcass inside, Denholm said. In , negotiations with the owner resulted in the sale of the Mosquito so Avspecs could begin its resurrection.

Glyn employed a tough marine grade epoxy resin for our restoration. At the same time, we glued a collection of test pieces that would ride inside the Mosquito in a small bag and measure the viability of the glue in the future. The original specification for the adhesive calls for a tensile test on a one-inch-square glue sample between two strips of American black walnut. The glue must hold 1, pounds without fail, so future operators will be able to check if our glue joints—secured in —still meet the original specification.

When finished, there were no voids in this balsa and spruce layer, which was glued, screwed, and banded once again over the first layer. When finished, the pair of triple-layer fuselage halves came together via wooden plate joints and seven main interior bulkheads. As they became one, they looked similar to the body of a typical plastic model airplane kit at the first stages of assembly. The wing and tail surfaces, generally, were more straightforward than the tri-layer cylindrical fuselage.

This part of the project recalls the common woodworkers who might have built this plane in the s—the one-piece was meant to be replicable in any wartime woodshop. You only need the plans, the proper tools, and lots of floorspace.

Where components like the engines and landing gear would be tied into the spars, we glued plates and reinforced sections of walnut and ash into the spar structure. Each spar is thickest where it crosses through the fuselage and becomes more tapered and lighter near the wingtips. Once finished, we mounted the spars in a jig and built the wing structure around them. In order to access both the top and bottom of the wing during construction, we oriented the piece vertically in the jig, with the leading edge pointing toward the floor.

Wooden structural members, side to side and front to back, mix with layers of birch plywood skin to give the wing its distinctive shape. Teardrop-shaped ribs, made from a conglomeration of birch, spruce, ash, and walnut, come first, filling out the wing-shaped cross-sections from front to back. Followed by a layer of birch plywood, long stringers made from Douglas fir extend from fuselage to wingtip, tying into each rib along the way. Over that comes another layer of plywood.

The bottom of the wing has large hatches for access to the fuel tanks. This outer covering has some minor stiffening qualities, but its main job is to waterproof the wood. Once sanded and painted, the skin of the Mosquito is clean and smooth, mostly devoid of speed-killing seams, wrinkles, or exposed rivet and fastener heads. The other aspects of the project would be familiar to an experienced World War II-era aircraft restorer: big wartime Merlin V engines encased in aluminum cowlings, hydraulics, a fuel system, flight controls, landing gear, pneumatics—compiling it all took a combination of repurposed parts from other planes, odds and ends from personal stashes, and components we fashioned ourselves from old plans.

To get everything in the right place took a lot of studying of collected manuals and drawings. We found the most peculiar thing about the Mosquito was the electrical system, or rather, how the electrical components were linked together.

In order to eliminate static interference, every metal piece of the aircraft is joined to every other metal piece with an extensive series of copper strips affixed to the wooden interior. Installation was not a particularly sophisticated task, but it was complicated and time-consuming. The de Havilland factory was very particular about bonding. They used 0. Each piece of copper has a lug soldered to it for a mounting screw or bolt to attach it to every metal fitting on the aircraft.

This ensured a pathway for the static electricity, thereby stopping any noise that might cause radio interference. We located a coil of copper sheet and found a company to cut it into the correct width. I estimate we used literally miles of copper in our build, but we had to buy such a huge coil, we still have enough copper strips left over to build a whole squadron of Mosquitos! The interior cockpit looks a little like a circuit board. This leads to a bigger overall electrical system.

But getting zapped a few times is a small price to pay when you and your crew have brought a nearly extinct warplane back into existence. About 60 percent of the aircraft, by weight, was made up of vintage Mosquito parts, including a number of components we blasted, inspected, and restored from the Canada wreck.

Every piece of wood, screw, and drop of glue is contemporary, but fabricated to World War II standards. As the plane neared completion, tests ensured that the mix of old and new worked together. We powered up the electronics to check for smoke, pressurize the hydraulics, and look for leaks. Then we tested the flaps and brakes before troubleshooting the fuel system. Once all that was sorted, the first engine runs took place.

We did a couple taxi tests, ending with a high-speed taxi almost to the point of takeoff. When it came time to fly the airplane, we gathered as many former Mosquito aircrew veterans as we could to see it take to the air for the first time.

It was a thrilling experience: I hardly took a breath for the entire 57 minutes. With the exception of a few minor bugs, everything worked exceptionally well, and we landed safely in front of the crowd of builders, onlookers, and former fliers.