First look: Our printed history

The Library of Congress has you beat. Among the library’s millions of charts and maps are thousands of aeronautical charts, some dating back to the 1920s. Perusing the collection comes with a caveat: This is a rabbit hole that’s not easy to climb out of.

United States law requires that every government agency producing something such as a chart, map, book, or other publication furnish a copy to the Library of Congress. While not a guarantee of a complete collection, the requirement has resulted in the library collecting tens of thousands of aeronautical charts. When someone requests the assets be scanned for research or exhibit purposes, the library subsequently puts those scans online, which means we get to enjoy them for free.

According to Robert Morris, a cartographic acquisitions specialist at the library, of the 6 million maps in the collection, about 100,000 are scanned and on the website, and a few thousand pertain to aviation. They range from early strip charts to mid-century aeronautical charts, and more recent helicopter charts, search and rescue maps (who knew?), and more. For pilots interested in charts and aviation history, this treasure trove of primary source material is a direct window into aviation’s development.

Among the earliest charts are a series of strip maps from the 1920s. These long, narrow charts were designed to be mounted on rollers. As the flight progressed the pilot could roll the chart in order to sequence from one area to the next. First developed in Europe, they were produced in the United States by the Army Corps of Engineers, and later by the newly formed Army Air Corps and civilian Aeronautics Branch of the Department of Commerce. They were moving maps 70 years ahead of their time.

Looking at the oldest charts you can see how little information that pilots had. There’s no radio navigation; the only landmarks are a few airports, roads, and railroads; and the aeronautical information is virtually nonexistent. Courses were plotted from city to city, with the heading and distance in 10-mile increments. Some, probably belonging to an early flight instructor or student, have personal pencil or grease pencil marks with notations on preferred courses, the names of airports, and more.

Not long after, you can track the development of the radio range and its distinctive four-spoke beam emanating out from the airport. Then you can spot the lighted beacon courses of airmail pilots. The war expanded cartography and aviation in general, and soon VORs begin to pop up, along with Victor airways. Airports come and go, cities expand, first marked in red and later in yellow. Even the Earth changes as magnetic north shifts and the lines of magnetic variation change.

Among the library’s millions of charts and maps are thousands of aeronautical charts, some dating back to the 1920s. Perusing the collection comes with a caveat: This is a rabbit hole that’s not easy to climb out of.
One of the oldest charts in the library’s collection is Bielefeld by Karl Peucker, released in 1912. These early European charts were commissioned primarily by aero clubs, when no standard existed for depicting airports or topographic features. Sectional aeronautical charts as we know them today became more widespread and popular after Charles Lindbergh’s flight, according to Ralph Ehrenberg, a former head of the library’s cartography division and head of the same at the National Archives.

With digital charts now the norm, the work of collecting current charts for the next generation has become complex. The FAA is moving to a more data-centered approach, and away from being a source of printed materials. With private printers not bound by the same statutes, it’s hard to imagine someone 100 years from now going to the Library of Congress to seek out insights in the world of aviation held in today’s charts. Aided by laws that require agencies to furnish materials to the library’s collection, Morris rhetorically asked, “What is a publication in the digital world?”

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