Lee Taylor
Excerpt from The Perilous Pursuit
Lee Taylor's Hustler was a narrow, rather conventional three-pointer. It had
no outrigger sponsons. It was three feet longer and 500 pounds lighter than [Donald
Campbell's] Bluebird and enjoyed twice the thrust behind a Westinghouse J46.
"She's really a big Banzai," said Rich Hallett, referring to a
record-setting drag boat he also designed and built. Taylor's dream almost went awry.
Testing at Lake Havasu, Ariz., he either jumped or was thrown out as Hustler
climbed an embankment. Compounding the folly, the rescue helicopter tipped back into the
lake upon takeoff. Taylor was in a coma for 18 days and spent more than six months in
hospitals. He later admitted, "None of us were really oriented to what we were trying
to accomplish at the time; we had ideas, but, technically, we weren't that swift."
Six months after Campbell's death, Lee Taylor convincingly earned the unrestricted jet
record with a two-way speed of 285.21 mph at Lake Guntersville. Taylor's fastest run was
299.18. A decade passed without serious challenge. Until Ken Warby's Spirit of
Australia. This record breaker was not unlike the narrow, low-profile Hustler.
Warby arrived at its lines and systems through intuition and common sense. The powerplant
was a Westinghouse J34. As unknown as Sayres and Jones once had been, he nudged the record
to 288.60 mph at Blowering Dam, New South Wales. By three miles per hour. Knowing that
many doubted the legitimacy of the speed, a year later Warby cracked the speed game wide
open with a firm 317.60 timing. The world's newest speed king shook off the fuss.
"After 150 mph it all looks the same," he quipped.
Persistent Taylor was convinced he had developed a tube of fire capable of dislodging
Warby. U.S. Discovery II was radical. Borrowing from land speed cars of the time,
Taylor installed a spooky 16,000-hp hydrogen peroxide rocket motor. He considered 400 mph
a mere stepping stone to the sound barrier. The bizarre, 40-foot vehicle had planing
surfaces that Taylor likened to a three-wheel motorcycle with wedge-shaped water skis
replacing the tires. Construction was largely bullet-tough titanium and stainless steel.
"With all the polyester, primer and sealants, that thing will never come apart,"
Taylor said, "and it will never sink. The only thing is, if the wrong nut or bolt
could come loose -- that's it."
Taylor was a likable, dedicated man without superstition. The night before his 1980
record attempt at Nevada's Lake Tahoe he said, "Dear God, if anything's going to
happen to me, if you're gonna do something, do it good. Either let me set the record or
let me check out with dignity." Those words were prophetic. U.S. Discovery II
skipped its way through the traps. Timers froze Taylor's speed at 269.85. But his
rocketship let him down, bounding out of control and rolling in a frightful cauldron of
spray and fragments. The largest identifiable object left afloat was a section of the
fuselage, the smallest was Taylor's helmet.
(Reprinted from "The Perilous Pursuit" by David Speer, Powerboat Magazine, June 1998)
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