The problem with flapping wings is that if they are large enough to sustain a full-grown person, they are generally too large to be flapped by a person’s muscles alone. I mean, have you seen a bird’s anatomy? They’ve got pec’s that put Chris Evans to shame (that’s the guy who played Captain America, in case you didn’t know). Plus, they’ve got TINY legs, while human legs constitute considerable dead weight, flight-wise.

In 1864, a gentleman named Breant designed the flapping contraption shown above. He cleverly added one-way valves in his wings, which let air flow through during the upstroke and thus reduced the air pressure in that direction. He also used elastic cords to provide a little extra pull in the appropriate direction.

How did that work out for him? Nobody really knows because he probably did not actually build and test the thing. However, it’s not hard to guess how things would have gone, and Octave Chanute did not hesitate to speculate, writing “it is not known whether it was ever tried, but it would have proved ineffective if it had been.” Good try, I guess.

LESSON: Even a super-soldier-serum-enhanced specimen of patriotism doesn’t have sufficient pectoral strength to flap wings like a bird. Maybe try fixed wings next time.

A Belgian shoemaker named De Groof built a combination parachute / flapping wings device, shown below, which was even less successful than Degen’s design I mentioned last week. In 1874 he was hauled up to a height of 1000 feet by a hot air balloon, and would you believe he came down safely?

It’s true, he did, but only because he never actually cut loose, and instead remained tethered to the balloon the whole time. So it was more of a dangle than a flight demonstration

A month later, he did detach from the balloon, which in hindsight was a bad idea. His wings instantly collapsed into a vertical position and he fell like a brick to his death.

In his book Progress in Flying Machines, Octave Chanute points out that De Groof might have survived if the wings had maintained their position instead of folding. He then points out that “a few prior experiments with a bag of sand instead of the man” would have revealed the design flaw and saved his life.

LESSON: Not sure the design will work? Figure out a way to test it where a failure won’t be fatal. Like, maybe using a mannequin or sandbag instead of a real person.

Continuing with the flapping-wing theme, in 1812 a clockmaker from Vienna named J. Degen amazed readers across Europe when he claimed to have flown to the breathtaking altitude of 54 feet in the apparatus shown below. Apparently he was able to wave and wiggle the umbrella-shaped wings enough to reach a pretty impressive height. It’s almost enough to make me want to build one.

BUT… there’s a catch. What Degen failed to mention, either in his drawings or his newspaper articles, was that his apparatus was also attached to a small balloon. And by “small” I mean a balloon capable of providing 90 lbs of lift. When audiences pointed out the balloon and said “Hey, what does that do?”, he tried to explain that it was only needed “as a counterpoise to maintain his equilibrium,” and was in no way responsible for his actual flights. Sure, we’ll just ignore the man behind the curtain, amirite?

This explanation was about as convincing as you might expect, and after a failed exhibition in Paris, Octave Chanute’s account says Degen was “attacked by the disappointed spectators, beaten unmercifully, and laughed at afterward.”

Beaten and laughed at? By Parisians? Bummer, man.

LESSON: Honesty matters in innovations & designs! If most of your lift comes from a balloon, don’t claim it’s from your flapping wings.

This winged carriage designed by Monsieur Gerard in 1784 was more concept than reality. That is, he drew it (see below) but did not actually build it. Which is just as well, because there was no way this thing would ever fly. Gold star for you if you can figure out why (hint: the feathers probably wouldn’t help as much as he thought they would).

BUT… the design is notable for being among the first to propose using an artificial motor instead of human muscles to make the wings go up and down. Flapping wings were still a bad idea, but at least he was clever enough to suggest using something other than manpower to make it go.

Gerard’s description does not explicitly state what type of engine he had in mind, but the drawing seems to indicate the machine would have been powered by a combination of two sources: escaping gases, like a rocket, and a gunpowder engine to make the wings flap.That’s right – a gunpowder engine. Which didn’t exist, so he would have had to invent it, but boy oh boy if he’d invented one, then look out birds!

Actually, the idea of using gunpowder as fuel is perhaps not as insane as it sounds, considering today’s aircraft use jet fuel which is far more explosive than gunpowder. Kinda makes me wonder why we don’t have jet fuel rifles, right?

LESSON: When you run up against the limits of human strength, look for an alternative power supply. Can I suggest gunpowder?

In 1678, a French locksmith named Besnier built a remarkable set of flapping wings that actually worked… sort of. As Octave Chanute explains in his brilliant book Progress In Flying Machines, Besnier never claimed he could rise from the ground or even fly horizontally, but was able to accomplish “short downward flights assisted by gravity.”

Sounds suspiciously like a euphemism for “falling” to me, but it was actually a bit more impressive than that. His first experiment involved jumping off a chair, and when the results at that altitude were promising, he progressed to jumping off a table and then out a windowsill. He eventually worked up to leaping from a second story rooftop and soaring over the cottage next door. Not bad! Unlike many other experimenters of his time, there is no record of Besnier ever injuring himself.

The apparatus was clever in its simplicity. The muslin flaps were designed to fold on the upswing, then snap open on the downswing, creating enough lifting force to slow his fall and allow him to glide modest distances. After mastering this maneuver, he sold the wings to a traveling mountebank who performed with them in fairs.

LESSON: When testing an experimental flying machine, avoid injuring yourself by flying at a low altitude. Like, dining-room-chair-seat-level low. And it might be wise to have a cash-out plan that involves selling your wings to a traveling circus performer.

BIG BLOG ANNOUNCEMENT (drum roll please): I’m starting a new series of posts to be called Weird Wing Wednesdays!

Each week, I’ll post a new short snapshot of an aviation experiment that predates the Wright brothers’ first flight in 1903. These fantastic flying machines didn’t work, but they sure did look cool. Tune in on Wed for the first one, but while you’re waiting, take a gander at this beautiful chart, published in 1880’s showing 53 different flying machines featuring various levels of whimsy and scientific rigor.