I’m Kayla, and yes, I actually got a backseat ride in Blue Angel #7. It was at NAS Pensacola during Homecoming weekend. I still feel it in my neck. And in a weird way, that’s the point. For an even deeper play-by-play of this exact ride—from pre-flight jitters to the final rollout—you can skim my full flight log over on Air-Attack.
The setup: fast talk, tight straps, deep breath
Check-in was simple, but the brief was not. The crew walked me through safety. I learned the “Hick” breath. Short, hard breaths. Squeeze your legs. Keep your core tight when the Gs hit. No G-suit here. The team doesn’t wear them. For the curious, the finer points—like why the G-suit is traded for choreography—are laid out in the official Blue Angels FAQ.
They showed me the ejection seat handles. Left, right, and that bright yellow tab. We practiced where to look and what not to touch. I signed the papers with a dry mouth and tried to look chill. I wasn’t.
In the seat, they cinched me down until I could barely move. Helmet on. Oxygen mask snapped. Radio check. The cockpit smelled like hot plastic, jet fuel, and a hint of oil. The APU started with a high whine. I felt small. And lucky.
The jet itself: sharp, loud, steady
The Blue Angels fly the F/A-18 Super Hornet now. Twin engines. Big tails. It looks like a blue knife. It feels like one too—clean and precise. The stick is light. The view under that bubble canopy is wild. It’s like IMAX, but it bites back. If you ever want to see a retired Blue Angels jet without leaving the ground, the Smithsonian’s National Air and Space Museum recently chronicled the arrival of a legacy Hornet in this detailed write-up.
If you want to geek out on the Super Hornet’s specs, upgrades, and combat record, the archives at Air-Attack are a gold mine.
I saw both old-school dials and big screens. The pilot talked me through what he’d call. “Loop.” “Roll.” “Vertical.” Easy words. Not easy on your body.
The flight: 45 minutes that stretched time
We lifted off and climbed hard. The city turned into blocks. The Gulf turned into a sheet of tin. Then he pulled the first Gs. My cheeks slid. My vision narrowed. That’s not drama. It’s physics.
- We hit 7.2 G at one point. I could feel my heartbeat in my teeth.
- We did a four-point roll. It felt like click-click-click on a giant gear.
- Inverted for about 20 seconds. Pensacola looked like a postcard flipped on its head.
- A high-alpha pass practice up high. Nose high. Speed low. The jet shuddered a bit, but it held like a bulldog on a rope.
- A vertical climb that pushed me into the seat and then, just like that, light again.
I didn’t get sick. But I had the barf bag strapped to my leg, just in case. Smart touch.
How it actually feels
Here’s the thing: even when it’s calm, the jet hums through your bones. The radio is crisp. The pilot calls, and your body answers. Your legs burn because you’re bracing so much. My mask felt snug and dry. My eyes watered once when the Gs stacked up. The pilot coached me through it. “Breathe. Squeeze. Don’t quit.” I didn’t.
You know what? I grinned like a kid when we leveled at the end. Couldn’t help it.
What blew me away
- Safety culture. The crew is kind and strict, which is perfect.
- Smooth hands. Even the hard pulls felt controlled, not jerky.
- The jet has manners. It’s sharp when fast, but it doesn’t get twitchy when slow.
- That paint. Deep blue, gold trim. Looks like a hot rod, works like a scalpel.
What hurt a bit (and what might bug you)
- Neck and core burn. The next day, turning my head felt like gym day.
- Heat in the helmet on the ground. You sweat before you fly.
- Tight space. Knees under panels, cords everywhere. Not a road-trip seat.
- No phone in hand. You won’t be filming. They may record for you, but don’t count on it.
- Motion risk. If you get car-sick, tell them. They can ease the Gs. No shame.
Real tips that helped me
- Eat a light, bland meal 2 hours before. Crackers > tacos.
- Hydrate early, but not right before. You do not want a full bladder under Gs.
- Practice the Hick breath at home. Short, strong breaths. Core tight.
- Ask questions in the brief. It calms the nerves.
- After landing, stand up slow. The world feels floaty.
A small detour: how it compares
I’ve been in fast civilian jets and in one aerobatic Extra. The Super Hornet feels heavier but more stable. It doesn’t flit. It plants. At high angle-of-attack, it shudders and stays yours. The roll rate is quick but not silly. It’s grown-up fast. If you’re curious which fighters feel the most “whip-quick” in the air, I lined up several cockpit rides and ranked their agility in this write-up on Air-Attack.
Who this is for (and not)
- For: aviation fans, thrill seekers, anyone who wants a real test of grit and grin
(and if you’re eyeing the front seat someday, see what it actually takes in my attempt to meet the fighter-pilot requirements). - Not for: folks who hate tight spaces, heat, or any loss of control
Adrenaline junkies tend to flock together. If reading about 7-G pulls has you thinking it’d be fun to swap more than just stories with someone who’s equally fearless, head to FuckLocal’s fuckbuddy hub—it’s a quick way to find open-minded locals and set up a zero-pressure meetup on your own terms.
If your itinerary ever lands you beneath Montana’s massive sky and you’re craving a partner in adventure who can match your throttle-forward energy, scroll through the Backpage Bozeman personals board for spur-of-the-moment meetups, verified local profiles, and zero-drama connections that respect whatever pace you set.
My verdict
This isn’t a “buy.” It’s a once-in-a-lifetime seat in serious hardware. The Blue Angels jet is a star because the people flying it are stars. The machine is loud, exact, honest. It rewards brave breaths and clear heads.
Score: 4.8 out of 5
- I’d go again tomorrow.
- I’d also ice my neck first.
One last thing
At the end, we taxied in. Canopy slid back. The ramp air felt cool and real. The crew chief gave me a thumbs-up. I had helmet hair, shaky legs, and the dumbest smile. Was it worth it? Oh, absolutely.