Remembering Over Exposed on Christmas Day

Описание: No festive pyjamas, no presents under the tree, no Christmas lunch waiting at home. Instead, I spent the day walking back to the crash site of the RB-29A Superfortress Over Exposed.

I usually make this walk between late spring and early autumn. Today’s weather quickly reminded me why. Freezing temperatures, ice underfoot, snow in the air, and a wind that cut straight through every layer. Normally I’d meet plenty of solo walkers out clearing their heads. Not today. Parking was easy, the hills were quiet, and I passed only the odd couple and one lad with his labrador.

The bleakness suited the place.

On 3 November 1948, Over Exposed — aircraft 44-61999 — was flying from RAF Scampton to the USAF base at Burtonwood. Built in Renton, Washington, it had been used filming atomic tests at Bikini Atoll and was now part of the 16th Photographic Reconnaissance Squadron of the Strategic Air Command. The flight carried mail and payroll for Burtonwood personnel along with thirteen crew members.

After take-off at 10.15 am, poor visibility and strong headwinds complicated the flight. Believing they had cleared the high ground, the crew began their descent too soon. At around 11 am, the aircraft struck Higher Shelf Stones on Bleaklow. Had it been fifteen feet higher, it would have cleared the ridge. All thirteen on board were killed.

The cause was thought to be navigational error, made worse by headwinds. Captain Landon Tanner, an experienced pilot, would not knowingly have descended through low cloud over high ground. Whether instruments were at fault remains unknown.

Search teams, including RAF Harpur Hill Mountain Rescue — already training nearby — were first to reach the site. The debris trail stretched 200 yards, and all thirteen crew were recovered.

The Peak District National Park records around 173 military crash sites, with the Dark Peak — including Bleaklow and Kinder Scout — accounting for over 150 incidents, and more than 300 across the wider High and White Peak areas. These were often routine flights, men who had survived the war only to die at home.

A small human detail lingers: in the 1970s, local Gerry Scarratt found Captain Tanner’s wedding ring and returned it to his daughter Jean — a quiet connection between the moor and the family left behind.

Walking there today brings all this into focus. Even with modern maps and GPS, the landscape is hostile. In 1948, in cloud, wind, and freezing air, the margin for error was almost non-existent.

Christmas Day felt like the right time to visit. Quiet, stripped back, reflective. No crowds, just wind, ice, and the remains of an aircraft slowly being reclaimed by the moor.

It’s not a cheerful story, but it’s an important one. On a day often filled with excess, it felt right to remember it.