“Is it worth it?”
I think that has been the question going round my head most often during my last years of photography. Back on March 2023, following a new Bomber Task Force of B-52 at Sevilla, the answer was not as clear as I thought.

From the moment I saw that the B-52s would be deployed on March 2023 to Morón AFB (Sevilla) again for a while, I knew I was going to head down to Seville to see them.
That was my first thought: “I need to go”

During the first few days, I studied — or tried to study — the BUFFs’ movements in an attempt to find some kind of pattern. Unsuccessfully, obviously. I knew perfectly well what I was dealing with: American strategic bombers. The perfect formula for maximum unpredictability and absolutely no chance of tracking them with 100% certainty.

Wildly different schedules, information arriving in dribs and drabs, the possibility of them not flying, cancelling, extending their missions or diverting elsewhere. Nothing too different from what I have become used to over these 13 years (at the moment of the story) of aviation photography.

And yet… I could not tear myself away from FightRadar24 and other trackers, Twitter, WhatsApp groups… constantly gathering info about the B-52s.

I had to go down to Seville. I had to do it. But that meant accepting quite a few risks:

• They might not fly.
• Take-offs or landings in darkness, or both.
• Being at the wrong runway.

The plan was clear. Whether it would work… that remained to be seen. I knew improvisation would be constant, so once I had accepted that, it was time to act.

15 March, first attempt. I had to drive there and back in the same day because of work, and the early start was beginning to look intimidating.
Four and a half hours on the road later, we were at Morón AFB. With no flight information whatsoever, it was time to keep watch. Car positioned to give us some shade, supplies ready, radio on, and then… wait. Wait, wait and wait.

After many, many hours of waiting, plus a few scares caused by unidentified traffic on the radio and strange noises — eventually you get paranoid and start hearing what you want to hear — we headed back to Madrid empty-handed.
The B-52s did not fly that day. It is a risk you accept. But, it is still a massive pain in the arse, but “it is what it is”. All the excitement, the savage early start, the good wishes and optimistic messages mean nothing. Reality turns up and gives you a proper slap in the face. But…

For reasons that can basically be summed up as me being unbelievably stubborn and needing to fix that mishap, the very next day I was booking a hotel for Sunday the 19th. The 20th was a public holiday in Madrid and I was going to — no, I had to — try again.

By this point, you start fighting your own perfectly logical demons: “Is it worth it? What if you come back empty-handed again? How would you deal with that?”. That is why I forced myself to book the hotel. Sometimes you have to let your heart take over and make the decision in the heat of the moment.

The 19th arrives. Sunday morning.
After getting myself thoroughly worked up by all the B-52 videos and photos from those days, I set off for Seville again. I wanted to arrive early because the aircraft had flown the previous weekend, but for the time being there was absolutely nothing forecast. I arrive in Arahal at 14:30, check in… and put my swimming trunks in my rucksack. Since they were not flying and there was no sign that they would, I was going to head to Rota for a swim in the sea. Might as well make something of the trip…

Until…
By sheer chance, on the way to Utrera to get something to eat, I see the base in the distance and can make out several aircraft. And my instinct went off like an iPhone alarm when you are hungover.

GET TO THE BASE.

So I turned round and went back to keep watch. To make matters worse, my instinct was practically punching me in the face when I saw one of the B-52s starting up with its beacons on.

!!!!!!!!

I was trying to keep a cool head, but it was impossible. “Is this it? Finally?”
Spoiler: no. It was an engine test. Another blow. We knew what we had signed up for. So we headed to Seville Airport and used the evening light to at least come away with something worthwhile from the day.

Saturday, the 20th.
I wake up at 4am in a roadside hostel. Every kind of noise around me, and absolutely zero rumours of B-52 flights that day. Headache. One of those moments when reality hits, you talk to yourself and start questioning absolutely everything that is going on.

“Have you really driven all that way, again, and are now sleeping in some grim place for an aircraft you already saw in 2021, when you do not even know whether you are going to see it this time? Is it really worth it?”

Sometimes you doubt yourself. A lot. That was one of those moments. Somehow I managed to fall asleep again, only to wake at 05:50 and see that two B-52s were scheduled to depart at 06:05 and return at 22:35. Local times.

I remember staring at my phone with a horrible headache, not knowing what to do. The next thing I did was tell my friend in the room next to me, with absolutely no sugar-coating. But I wanted to stick to the plan. Ibuprofen down the hatch at a roadside café, with tomato on toast and a coffee. Something hot — considerably better than the average breakfast on my usual trips. We arrive at the airbase to keep watch. At least one B-52 had already departed, because I had seen it from the room in the middle of the night. But what about the other one?

Surely it was not going to do it… was it?
Oh yes it was.

We get to the spot and hear what sounds like eight TF33s starting up and idling. I did not want to believe it. Too many disappointments already. Until… We hear those engines applying take-off power… and I start believing it a little more.

And there it was: the answer I had wanted so badly to my original question…
“Is it worth it?”
After a very, very long time — despite having seen this aircraft in 2021, three different examples of it, taking off and landing — a completely addictive feeling came back to me: nerves. Pure nerves. Like a little kid opening Christmas presents.

All I remember is my heart absolutely pounding and my breathing getting faster. I knew there were only seconds left before the B-52 appeared through the trees. That agonising wait is more powerful than the most stimulating drug. An indescribable mixture of impatience and excitement: “come on, get here already”, while at the same time thinking, “please, never let this end”.

Mixed in with the usual fears about nailing the shot, especially in those conditions: “Camera? Card? Focus? Am I shaking too much to get anything sharp?” My brain was briefing itself at the speed of sound, while I kept adjusting settings right up to the final second because there was hardly any light and a lot had to be changed.

And then, I see the B-52 appear through the trees. I was completely tense because I want to get the shot I have in my head, but also taking moments to lower the camera and actually experience it.

There it was. That was the moment. From zero to one. It was happening.
I lowered my camera, watch the aircraft disappear into the distance, and cannot avoid turning towards my friend, high-fiving him and letting out a shout that released everything I had inside me: the frustration of the failed trip, the miles, the lost sleep, the money spent.
Everything. A lot of it.

Something I had been missing for a long time came back: pure adrenaline, excitement, risk. The fuel that makes you do all the mad things I have told you about here — and plenty of others I have left out. My instinct had been right, once again. I did not make two trips for a photograph. I chose to follow my instinct and chase that adrenaline and motivation which, after so many years in aviation photography, is incredibly difficult to find and hold on to.

Do you know the worst part? If it had been easy, I would not have enjoyed it anywhere near as much. That risk, frustration and sheer stubbornness only confirm what it is that truly drives you in life, even when you fail. That is the answer you are looking for, and the only way to find it is by putting your head, your heart and your balls into it.
I had to go down there. It was not optional. Even knowing that I got the photograph I did thanks to the enormous stroke of luck that the second B-52 was delayed. In all likelihood, I could be telling you about yet another failed trip. But there would probably have been a third try.

“Is it worth it?”

Yes.
Betting on what fulfils you, chasing what drives you, will always be worth it. You cannot fool your instinct: it speaks for you, for who you really are inside. Listening to it is worth it.