October 2006 Feature Story:
James “Griz” Adams: A Pilot’s Pilot

Story by Andy Boquet

Griz, you’re on fire,” radioed the wingman.

I was afraid of that, thought Marine Captain James Griz Adams. Seconds earlier he had heard and felt a “thump” in his right engine, followed by a loss of thrust. Well, no biggie…that’s why the Hornet has two motors…just shut down the right one and return to Yuma. Suddenly a red fire warning light illuminated, followed by Bitchin Betty (voice warning system) calmly announcing, “Engine fire right, engine fire right.”

“Roger that,” Griz radioed to his wingman. “I’ve got fire warnings…let’s climb and return to base.”

Heading south, just east of Marine Corps Air Station (MCAS) Yuma, Arizona, at 500 knots and 200 feet above the desert, Griz turned westerly and eased his wounded jet skyward. As he shut down the right engine, Betty announced loss of hydraulic systems. “About that time the stick went limp,” Griz recalls, “and I had no flight controls.” Griz radioed, “I’m outta control.” Passing 5000 feet directly over the Mexican-American border road, the Hornet pitched up and began an uncommanded right roll. Time to go, Griz thought as his jet went inverted and the nose dropped. Hope the ejection seat works. He verified that his parachute fittings were connected, braced with his head back, and jerked hard on the black and yellow handle between his legs. As the canopy blew away and the seat fired, Griz wondered, What are my squadron mates going to think when I return without my jet?

“The ejection was violent,” Griz explains. “I tumbled about until the sixteen-foot parachute opened.” Below his feet, the $23 million jet was in a flat spin as it crashed into the desert. “The fireball was intense,” he explains, “Didn’t have any ordnance aboard, but did have over 10,000 pounds of fuel.” Worried that he might descend into the fire, he reached for the parachute steering lanyards; but they had been torn loose from the risers and were hanging above and beyond his reach. In a slow spiral towards the fireball, Griz grabbed a handful of risers, stopped the spiral, and steered the parachute away from his burning aircraft. He hit the ground hard. Slightly stunned, hours of emergency training took over as he automatically disconnected the parachute and seat pan fittings. Wrapping his parachute in a neat roll, he waved to his wingman that all was OK. “I knew he was calling Yuma and that the Search and Rescue (SAR) helo would arrive any moment,” Griz says. Overhead, a Top Gun A-4 Skyhawk circled, verified that the standard rescue procedures were being followed, then headed north to Yuma.

The “whop-whop” of the helicopter’s rotors reached his ears before he saw it appear as a dot on the horizon. Reaching the crash site, the crew waved, circled once, and then inexplicably flew away. “What the…” Griz yelled, “Where’re you guys going?” A mile away the helo began circling. Griz wondered if he should hike over to it. Five minutes later the helicopter returned, landed, and Griz climbed aboard. The crew explained that both he and his jet had landed in Mexico, and the SAR folks had contacted base operations about entering foreign airspace. “You see our pilot?” was the response. “Then go get him!”

Born in Delhi, Louisiana, in 1954, James Adams soloed on his 16th birthday. “Dad taught me in the family’s 1946 Champ,” he says, “and I still have that Champ in my hangar today.” Hoping to fly jets, he joined the Air Force Reserve Officer Training Course at Louisiana Tech in 1972. But the Air Force had too many pilots after Vietnam and upon his graduation, gave him two choices: Missile silos or the civilian world. He chose the latter. For two years, James flew corporate aircraft before landing a flying slot in the Marine Corps. During Marine infantry training, his 6'3" frame waddled like a bear while marching in formation, thus earning him the call sign of Grizzly or Griz after a television character. While in flight training, he made the Commodore’s List for his superior flight grades. Upon graduation, he was assigned as an advanced training command TA-4J Skyhawk instructor at Naval Air Station (NAS) Kingsville, Texas. In 1981, two years, 1500 flight hours, and a Flight Instructor of the Quarter award later, Griz’s exemplary record earned him a coveted assignment to the first Marine Corps F/A-18 Hornet squadron at MCAS El Toro: Marine Fighter Attack Squadron (VMFA)-314. In 1984, armed with an F/A-18, he attended the Navy’s Top Gun school at NAS Miramar. “The movie was bogus; there is no top of the class, best of the best rating at Top Gun,” Griz explains. “It isn’t about who’s number one. The purpose of Top Gun is to train instructors for fleet squadrons, since time and money constraints keep everyone from attending.”

In July 1985, Griz and VMFA-314 flew across the country and joined Carrier Air Wing-13 aboard the USS Coral Sea (CV-43) at Norfolk, Virginia. After three months of workups, in October the ship sailed for what was scheduled to be a six-month Mediterranean cruise: The first Med deployment of the new F/A-18 Hornet.

Unfortunately, during the cruise one Hornet was destroyed in a ramp strike (pilot ejected safely), and one flew into the sea (pilot lost). During a war game operation, Griz launched in search of the “enemy” aircraft carrier: The British Harrier carrier, HMS Invincible. Flying fast and low, he was surprised when the Invincible appeared in the haze. As he attacked the carrier two British Harriers tried to intercept. “Good thing was that I shot down both Harriers and attacked and re-attacked the Invincible,” Griz recalls. “Bad thing was that our mission briefer forgot to mention that opposing forces should be on a common radio frequency for safety and control.” Griz smiles, “Guess I was sort of a no-radio, loose cannon out there, while the Invincible was trying to radio me…still it was great fun.” The admirals, however, did not appreciate Griz’s solo tactics, and -314 was grounded and rebriefed on ship operating procedures.

In March 1986, the Coral Sea was headed home after six months, when the ship was ordered back into the Mediterranean: Libyan forces had fired at U.S. aircraft. Soon Griz was involved with planning strikes against Benghazi and Tripoli. In April, the Coral Sea crossed the Atlantic and returned to Norfolk. As the ship approached the coast, VMFA-314 launched and flew home to El Toro. With 170 carrier traps, Griz was officially a Centurion (100 traps). “Daytime operating off a carrier is enjoyable,” he says, “but night ops, mainly night traps, are terrifying.”

In 1987, Griz was assigned as an instructor pilot to the Marine Aviation Weapons and Tactics Squadron (MAWTS) at MCAS Yuma. “Top Gun is a prerequisite for our Hornet pilots to attend MAWTS,” he explains. “MAWTS incorporates six-week-long programs incorporating all the aviation assets in the Corps: Hornets, Harriers, Intruders, and helicopters. Between programs, MAWTS instructors travel throughout the country to train and certify additional Marine pilots in aerial combat and low altitude tactics.” Griz was an instructor at MAWTS when he ejected from his F/A-18 over Mexico on October 9, 1987.

With 12 years in the Marines, Major Griz Adams managed to use his considerable skills to avoid career-enhancing, but non-flying, professional schools: His next assignment was to Marine Fighter Training Squadron (VMFT)-401 at Yuma. He would be just one of 18 Marines to fly the 12 F-5E Tiger IIs as an aggressor pilot.

“Aerial combat between identical aircraft,” Griz explains, “usually degrades to a fight of pilot against pilot, and that can be dangerous. But fly an F/A-18 against an F-5, and you’re forced to know and counter the other aircraft’s strengths and weaknesses.” Griz adds that, “Someone in the Corps is always trying to get rid of the F-5 adversary program, but statistics show that planes and pilots are saved through dissimilar aircraft training.”

Griz spent eight years in VMFT-401, safely flying thousands of high stress, dog-fighting missions against every aircraft type in all the services. When he retired in 1998, Lt. Col. Adams had over 5000 flight hours in fighters: His contemporaries had less than half that amount.

Airline Captain Griz Adams lives in Prescott, Arizona, with his wife and three children. He has a Flight Instructor certificate, and an Airworthiness Inspector rating. Griz hopes to rebuild his father’s Champ, when he isn’t flying 80+ hours monthly for Southwest Airlines.