Bird Strike

As I mentioned in my last post, some captain upgrades and new hires are finally appearing at Dynamic.

For the past year and a half, things had been completely static. I was one of the last people to upgrade to the left seat, and those who were stuck as first officers eventually started to get discouraged. It’s hard to blame them. They work extremely hard for $11 an hour (yeah, you read that right) day in and day out. Thankfully, for those who stuck around, their patience has begun to pay off. And for those who haven’t upgraded yet, at least they see some light at the end of the tunnel.

The down side to this is that I have lost some of my favorite first officers. I’m glad they’ve upgraded, but today I started to realize how much I’d come to rely on their experience, not to mention the fun factor of flying with them. Then again, I get to play a part in the training of some upcoming pilots, and that’s pretty neat too.

Today I was flying with one of the “new guys”. It was an atypical day because I clocked in at 6:00 a.m. I normally get an early start, but not THAT early. We were cranking at that hour because a ceremony would be taking place later in the day to honor a soldier whose body was being returned home from Afghanistan. During the ceremony, which was to occur in the middle of our work day, the base would be on “quiet hours”, meaning no aircraft operations were permitted.

My first officer and I had taxied out to the runway for our second flight. We lined up, completed our final checks, set power, and released the brakes. Everything was normal for a few seconds. Then, as we accelerated down the runway, a very large hawk came into view. He was sitting in the middle of the runway with his back to us, wings folded majestically. He didn’t seem to be doing anything special, just sitting there.

My FO (who has only a few flights under his belt in the BE90) asked if he should abort. I said no. My feeling about birds is that they generally get out of the way. Those that don’t are not going to be avoided by maneuvering, especially in something the size of a King Air. It’s akin to a scuba diver trying to out-swim a sea lion under water. We move at a comparatively glacial pace, and if they want to avoid us, they can jink and jank in ways we can only dream of.

And in this case, I don’t think we could have stopped in time anyway, even with full reverse and hard braking. I’d rather hit the bird than try and steer around it in a 10,000 lb. King Air and end up veering off the runway.

We seem to hit birds fairly frequently at Los Alamitos. The base — along with the adjacent Seal Beach Naval Weapons Station — is some of the last open space in the area, and it attracts a lot of wildlife. Now as to why the wildlife that flies seems to enjoy hanging out around the runway, you got me.

So as I mentioned, the hawk was sitting on the runway centerline with his back to us. I’m sure he knew we were coming. A King Air with the props turning at 2200 RPM is pretty loud. Plus we have two alternating flashing landing lights on each wingtip and another one on the nose gear. In fact, I know the bird saw us coming, because he actually turned his head 90 degrees and looked at us as we approached!

By now you’ve probably guessed the hawk elected to make a stand against the five-ton turboprop, and in the words of the Knight Templar, he chose… poorly. We heard a distinctive thump as the half of the hawk which wasn’t left on the runway hit the right main landing gear leg.

We rotated, the FO called for gear retraction, and I selected… nothing. The gear handle wouldn’t move. So I pushed the downlock override, selected gear up, and was rewarded with red lights, warning horn, and no gear movement. Mmm-hmmm. I lowered the gear handle and immediately got three green lights. Down and locked.

Remembering rule #1 (always fly the plane), I elected to monitor the FO as he flew and ignore the gear until we could get to a higher altitude. Once off the coast, I briefed the FO: he would focus on flying the airplane and look for traffic; I would troubleshoot the gear and handle the radios.

There were no indications of blown circuit breakers or other failures. No reason to pump the gear manually, it was already down. There is a checklist for failure to extend, but nothing for a failure to retract. I suspected that the bird strike had done something to the squat switch, because the aircraft was reacting like I had raised the landing gear lever with the plane sitting on the ground.

I called our maintenance shop and after a few queries, they said that if it was definitely down and locked, leave it that way and return. So that’s what we did. I elected to make a fly-by of the tower just to have them look at that right gear leg and see if there was any obvious sign of damage, flat tire, or other abnormality. They didn’t see anything amiss, so we returned and landed uneventfully. Well, aside from the trail of emergency vehicles which followed us to the ramp.

We moved our load to another aircraft and had an uneventful flight. At the end of the day, I got with the mechanic who put our broken bird up on jacks, and what they found was that the hawk had bent part of the squat switch — a device which detects when the airplane’s weight comes off the wheels — in such a way that it was locked in place and always thought the plane was on the ground. An easy fix. And they also found the hawk on the runway. Or should I say, half of it. Apparently our prop cut the bird cleanly in half.

What I learned today (or should I say, re-learned) is that rule #1 really works. Fly the airplane, no matter what. When something goes wrong, there’s often an irresistible urge to do something, fix something, check for that breaker, try the gear retraction juuuuust one more time. In a busy terminal area when you’re low to the ground with the extra drag of the landing gear reducing your climb rate and a brand new low-time first officer flying the airplane, the best course of action is frequently to ignore the problem and just fly.

17 Comments

Ron, November 19th 2009 | Tags: , , , ,
Posted in Aviation, Mishaps

US Airways 1549 Damage Photos

These photos were taken by the crane operator during salvage of the US Airways Flight 1549 aircraft.

It’s remarkable how little damage there was to the fuselage of this Airbus A320. Obviously the aircraft will never fly again — even minor damage incidents can cost millions of dollars to repair — but I think these images are important for us to examine. They illustrate not just how skillful the pilots were during the landing, but also just how much punishment these aircraft are built to take.

Airliners are tough. They endure year after year of constant use, often 16 hours a day or more. They travail the -60 degree flight levels, then bake in 110 degree summer heat. They are pressurized and de-pressurized tens of thousands of times. They fly through punishing turbulence, endure lightning strikes, and even the occasional bird strike. Amazing, isn’t it?

The radome damage (on the nose of the aircraft) was probably a bird strike from the same flock that took out the engines. The right engine cowling is pretty mangled, but that could also have been at least partly from the birds.

In several of the photos you can even see one of the checklists, flight plans, or other crew documents still sitting on the glareshield. It’s almost as if the aircraft is saying, “hey, we’ve still got one more leg to fly, guys!”.

No Comments

Ron, January 23rd 2009 | Tags: , ,
Posted in Mishaps

US Airways Flight 1549

So, the plane-in-the-Hudson thing.

At the risk of tempting fate — because as more than one person has noted, many a captain has been hailed as a hero on Sunday only to be hung out to dry on Monday — it looks like Cactus 1549 was one of those rare cases where an airliner gets totaled and the flight crew’s careers don’t.

Hundreds of articles have already been written about this incident — some by people who actually know what they’re talking about. So I’d like to focus on two things which really piqued my curiosity.

Glider Training: Did It Make a Difference?

Much has been made of the Captain Chesley Sullenberger’s years of experience in the cockpit, but one thing on his resume stands out: he holds a commercial glider rating. Not only that, but according to the FAA Airmen Registry, he is also a rated glider instructor.

Glider pilots are intimately familiar with the concept of “speed-to-fly”, something power pilots never concern themselves with. But perhaps they should. For you power pilots out there, speed-to-fly can best be thought of as a variable “best glide” speed which varies depending on the kind of performance you are seeking. Do you want to stay in the air as long as possible? They your speed-to-fly is the “minimum sink” speed. Want to extract maximum energy from rising air? They you want to fly the “best L/D” speed.

Power pilots are taught that when the powerplant(s) fail and the aircraft becomes a glider, they must immediately fly a predetermined speed which results in the best possible lift-to-drag (L/D) ratio. This is often referred to as the “best glide” speed and is notated as Vg.

The problem is, a fixed Vg speed isn’t always going to extract maximum performance from the aircraft in a power-off situation. An example: assume an aircraft has a Vg speed to 70 knots. But let’s say it’s also flying into a 70 knot headwind. The resulting groundspeed is zero knots. The glide ratio at “best glide” speed is literally zero in this case. In the heat of battle, a power pilot wouldn’t likely notice this, especially at altitude. But a glider pilot would instantly recognize the need to increase the indicated airspeed by 50%, giving a ground speed of about 35 knots. Now this might not produce a spectacular glide ratio, but it’d certainly be a hell of a lot better than zero.

Glider gurus account for the effect of wind on a powerless aircraft in other situations, too. A good example of how this might save your bacon can be illustrated by considering an overwater flight from Long Beach to Catalina Island. Many pilots I’ve trained simply look at the geographic mid-point as the place where, in the event of an engine failure, they’d opt to go toward one place or the other. If the distance between Long Beach and Catalina is 40 miles, they’d turn around until their GPS said 20 nm. After that point they’d continue toward Catalina.

A glider pilot, on the other hand, would have already considered the winds aloft (both forecast and actual), the altitude burned during a 180 degree turn, as well as the terrain on Catalina Island (inhospitable to say the least) as well as the off-airport landing options on the mainland.

Glider pilots also become familiar with what we call “look down” angles. Just by looking out the window, we can tell if we’ll make it to a specific point at our current sink rate. Power pilots do this as well, but usually only on final approach and not always power-off.

Did Captain Sullenberger’s glider experience make the difference in this case? Did it even help? Perhaps not. As I recall, the elapsed time from liftoff to touchdown was only 3 minutes. But his glider experience certainly didn’t hurt. And it may have assisted him in ways even he is not fully cognizant of. When an emergency presents itself to a flight crew, they tend to fall back on their training and experience.

Inadequate Multi-Engine Training?

The most surprising thing about multi-engine training is that it doesn’t really consider the possibility of multi-engine failure. Think about it: most multi-engine aircraft don’t even have a Vg speed listed in the Approved Flight Manual. Most type rating programs, even those for airlines, don’t include all-engines-out scenarios. Thousands of Boeings and Airbuses are flying around with flight crews who don’t even know what the best glide speed for their aircraft is.

I understand this is starting to change, but I’m still surprised it isn’t a major part of initial and recurrent training on any multi-engine aircraft. I can think of quite a few incidents in recent years where an airliner lost all engines. Just off the top of my head:

  • a British Airways 747 lost all 4 engines after encountering volcanic ash.  Engines were restarted at lower altitude.  Major engine damage.
  • a KLM 747 lost all engines after encountering another ash cloud.  Same result.
  • an Air Canada 767 ran out of fuel after a conversion error while fueling.  Landed on a closed runway.
  • a Pinnacle CRJ lost both engines after the flight crew exceeded the aircraft’s limitations.  Engines core-locked and plane crashed.
  • an Air Transat Airbus A330 lost both engines after a fuel leak.  Landed safely on an island.
  • an Ethiopian Airlines 767 was hijacked and forced to an alternate destination without sufficient fuel to fly that far.  Crashed in the water.
  • this week’s US Airways Airbus landing in the Hudson River

A more complete list of unpowered jet airliner accidents is available here.  Keep in mind, that list does not include the many turboprops, bizjets, military aircraft, and other planes which have lost all engines in flight.  There are so many ways this can happen:  fuel contamination, fuel leak , fuel mismanagement, mechanical failure, sabotage, pilot error, bird strikes, hijacking, and the list goes on.  It’s baffles my mind that these scenarios aren’t considered during every multi-engine training program.

At Dynamic, we fly out of a large military base here in Southern California which also happens to be home to some of the last undeveloped land in the area.  As a result, there are a lot of birds around, and bird strikes on our King Airs are fairly common.  More than once I’ve been taxiing out in the morning only to find thousands of large geese wandering all over the field.  Thus far I’ve yet to encounter one in flight, but this US Airways accident is a reminder that it’s a possibility with every takeoff and landing.

3 Comments

Ron, January 19th 2009 | Tags: , , , , ,
Posted in Mishaps

MOA Flying

There are many types of “special use” airspace out there. One of the most prevalent is a Military Operations Area, or MOA. According to the Aeronautical Information Manual (Sec. 3-4-5):

a. MOAs consist of airspace of defined vertical and lateral limits established for the purpose of separating certain military training activities from IFR traffic. Whenever a MOA is being used, nonparticipating IFR traffic may be cleared through a MOA if IFR separation can be provided by ATC. Otherwise, ATC will reroute or restrict nonparticipating IFR traffic.

b. Examples of activities conducted in MOAs include, but are not limited to: air combat tactics, air intercepts, aerobatics, formation training, and low-altitude tactics. Military pilots flying in an active MOA are exempted from the provisions of 14 CFR Section 91.303(c) and (d) which prohibits aerobatic flight within Class D and Class E surface areas, and within Federal airways. Additionally, the Department of Defense has been issued an authorization to operate aircraft at indicated airspeeds in excess of 250 knots below 10,000 feet MSL within active MOAs.

c. Pilots operating under VFR should exercise extreme caution while flying within a MOA when military activity is being conducted. The activity status (active/inactive) of MOAs may change frequently. Therefore, pilots should contact any FSS within 100 miles of the area to obtain accurate real-time information concerning the MOA hours of operation. Prior to entering an active MOA, pilots should contact the controlling agency for traffic advisories.

d. MOAs are depicted on sectional, VFR Terminal Area, and Enroute Low Altitude charts.

One of my pet peeves is a misunderstanding about Military Operations Areas which leads many pilots and air traffic controllers to believe that any VFR aircraft flying inside one must be a “knucklehead” (a controller’s description!). From an ATC or military pilot perspective, perhaps this is the case. After all, what possible justification could a non-military pilot have for going into one of these MOAs when it’s active? Just go around it! Right?

Wrong.

Extra 300 flying a vertical uplineAs I said in a reply to this Jetwhine article, I fly a lot of high performance aerobatics in a south Orange County (Calif.) area known as the Blockhouse. There is no protective MOA on the chart for us, and we often have climb and descent rates which exceed 15,000 fpm. Consider: an Extra 300 pulling into a vertical upline at 180 knots TAS is traveling straight up at 18,228 fpm.

We’re out there with minimal fuel flying very high performance maneuvers while trying to teach students. I’ve seen as much as +10G on the accelerometer, and as low as -6G. Inverted flat spins. Tumbles. Rolling turns. And I’ve given and received formation and aerial interception training. So I’m quite familiar with the sort of high performance maneuvers which make it hard to watch for other traffic.

Those who say non-military pilots should simply “always stay well clear” of an active MOA irk me because it ignores many practical matters regarding this special use airspace.

First, what if I’m trying to get to Inyokern, Tehachapi, or Kern Vally airports, all of which lie in the middle of the Isabella MOA? You literally cannot get there without flying through a MOA.

Half the high desert airports around my neck of the woods are in the middle of MOAs. Pull out a sectional and look at them.

Second, what if weather dictates a deviation which takes me through a MOA? I’ve encountered this scenario several times. I’m ferrying a Pitts S-2B which has a 23 gallon fuel tank and burns ~13 gph. Should I deviate another 75 nm out of the way to go around it? Many of these MOAs are in hot, high desert areas here in the southwest, and often thunderstorms, terrain, fuel, turbulence, wind, or other factors come into play, depending on the aircraft in question.

Finally, if the activity is dangerous enough to non-participating aircraft (a gunnery range, etc.), it should be a restricted area. Now that’s an airspace I wouldn’t want to fly into if it was hot, even if I legally could. I’ve seen active restricted areas at night and the tracers were bright enough to light up the sky. The sound of the artillery could be heard even above the noise of the aircraft’s engines! But MOAs are not restricted areas. And there’s a reason for that.

Having said that, I don’t take flying into a MOA lightly. I know there are high performance military aircraft out there doing their thing. I know budgets are tight, their flying time is minimal, and I don’t want to be the cause of their having to break off some training exercise simply because I was in the way. But keep in mind, the airspace is JOINT-USE. We do have a right to be there, and there might be a darn good reason for our presence as well.

No Comments

Ron, July 12th 2008 | Tags: , , , , , ,
Posted in Mishaps

Limitations

I think Harry Callahan said it best: a man’s got to know his limitations. Loathe as we may be to admit it, we all have limitations. Our bodies can only go so long without food, water, and sleep. The mind can only process so quickly, the memory retain so much, the senses absorb so much input before they cease to function properly.

Likewise, the equipment we fly has limits, too. Airspeed, temperature, pressure, altitude, RPM, weight, center of gravity, and other limitations must be understood and respected if we want our aircraft to respond in a predictable manner. This is something every pilot learns from the very first day of training, and those limitations look him or her square in the face on every flight. From color coded markings on the gauges to those annoying placards liberally distributed throughout the cockpit, you don’t have to look far to find an advisory or warning in the aviation world.

But let’s be honest: some of these limitations might get exceeded on occasion without major catastrophe. Perhaps it’s a slight overspeed on a fixed pitch prop during aerobatics. Flying a bit over gross weight. Exceeding a duty day limit. Extending the flaps a few knots above Vfe. Flying under VFR when the visibility hasn’t quite reached the requisite level.

Normally, these minor variances don’t result in scratched paint. The problem is, once you’ve exceeded the limitations, you’re essentially a test pilot and the margin of safety built into the aircraft by the designer is now gone. How far can you push it before something bad happens? Nobody knows until it actually happens. I hope you’re as uncomfortable thinking about that as I am writing it.

Now if you actually are a test pilot — say, one flying an experimental aircraft during phase one — that’s one thing. You know what you’re getting into, and you have prepared for it with engineering data, specific training, contingency plans, and so on.

But if you’re flying a Hawker 800XP jet with six paying passengers on board, your whole raison d’etre is to ensure the airplane remains well within the documented limitations. And recently, those of us at SNA got a good look at what happens when you ignore them. I was in the lobby at Sunrise last week when I heard a loud “boom” eminate from the general direction of the runway and soon saw thick black smoke wafting up into the air. Once the smoke had cleared, I got a look at what happens when a jet’s brake system limitations are exceeded:

 

From the NTSB preliminary report:

On October 29, 2007, about 1400 Pacific daylight time, a Raytheon Corporate Jets Hawker 800XP, N800CC, was substantially damaged by a fire originating from the left main landing gear after the takeoff was aborted at the John Wayne-Orange County Airport, Santa Ana, California. The aircraft is owned and operated by CIT Leasing Corp. and was originating at the time for the 14 CFR Part 91 business flight. Visual meteorological conditions prevailed at the time and an instrument flight rules flight plan was filed. The two airline transport pilots and six passengers were not injured. The flight was destined for Denver, Colorado.

The pilot reported to the responding Federal Aviation Administration Inspector from the Long Beach, California, Flight Standards District Office that the takeoff was aborted twice before the third attempt due to an engine warning light. All three takeoff attempts were made within about a 20 minute period.

Inspection of the landing gear found that the left main landing gear tires overheated and blew during the third takeoff attempt. The hydraulic line on the left main landing gear was severed and hydraulic fluid leaked out onto the hot surface and ignited.

Jet aircraft, with their 200+ mph takeoff speeds and higher weights, can place tremendous strain on the brakes in the event of an aborted takeoff. That’s why most aircraft in that class have a time limitation after an abort. The brakes must be allowed to cool for a specified period (or, if the aircraft has brake temperature sensors, until a specific temperature is reached) so that if the second takeoff attempt also ends with an abort, the brakes don’t overheat and fail.

I don’t know what the limitation is for the Hawker, but I would be surprised if three attempts were allowed within 20 minutes. The scary part is that the Hawker has a fuselage fuel tank aft of the trailing edge of the wing, right where the skin has been burned through.

I feel for the flight crew. If brake limitations exists and the flight crew intentionally exceeded them, FAA sanctions will be difficult if not impossible to avoid. Aviation is like that. You can fly safely for 20 years and with one moment of carelessness ruin a whole career. Tough business, eh?

On the other hand, limitations don’t necessarily mean an aircraft can’t take a tremendous amount of abuse! To wit, you might be interested in this video of a brake certification test on the Boeing 777. Known as a “maximum rejected takeoff” test, the purpose is to ensure the aircraft can be stopped if a takeoff must be aborted at the worst possible moment under the worse possible conditions.

To simulate that situation, regulations state that the aircraft must, at max gross weight (660,000 lbs!), be able to accelerate to decision speed (around 210 mph) and then stop using nothing but extremely hard braking. No flaps, no spoilers, no thrust reversers.

Oh, did I mention that the brake pads must be worn down to minimum before the test starts? They must then absorb nearly ten million foot-pounds of energy in about 20 seconds without catching fire.

I’ve seen this video clip a hundred times, but it still amazes me every time I watch it. Enjoy.

5 Comments

Ron, November 9th 2007 | Tags: , , , , ,
Posted in Aviation, Mishaps

Another Reason to Fly GA

As a pilot, it’s my job to consider everything that might go wrong on a flight and have a plan of action for dealing with it. But I can honestly say I’ve never thought about this scenario:

British Airways has issued an apology to a first class passenger on a flight from Delhi to London last week who woke up to find himself next to a dead body.

The cabin crew had used an unoccupied seat in his row for the body of an elderly woman who had died in the crowded economy section about three hours after takeoff.

Paul Trinder, 54, told the Mirror and Sun tabloids that he woke at 30,000 feet to discover the flight crew strapping the body into the seat near him.

“I woke to see the cabin crew manoeuvring what looked like a sack of potatoes into the seat. Slowly, through the darkness, I realized it was a body,” the businessman told the paper.

“The corpse was strapped into the seat, but because of turbulence it kept slipping down onto the floor … It was horrific. The body had to be wedged in place with lots of pillows.”

It seems the flight crew could have done a better job handling this situation. British Airways alienated a guy who flies their airline 200,000 first class miles per year. On the other hand, I can’t think of any way of dealing with this tragedy without upsetting someone, especially when the aircraft is fairly full. An aircraft — even an airliner — is only so large.

I was shocked to read that BA experiences this ten times per year. Chalk it up as another reason to fly general aviation.

3 Comments

Ron, March 19th 2007 | Tags: ,
Posted in Mishaps

Legacy/Gol Accident: Ignorance Is Bliss

Selling crazy on the internet is nothing new, but for some reason it’s really getting under my skin as it regards the Legacy/Gol accident. I got into it the other day on an internet forum with someone who was sure the bizjet crew had to be at fault, yet couldn’t explain why.

Can anyone out there explain to me why the Legacy crew was under house arrest for two months? Whatever the suspected cause of the accident, the detainment was a violation of the International Civil Aviation Organization’s (ICAO) 1963 Tokyo Convention, something to which every ICAO signatory subscribes.

As far as I can tell, the crux of the detainment stems from the fact that “the pilots did not stick to their flight plan”. To those who are not aviators, that probably sounds like an undeniable indicator of wrongdoing. But anyone who operates under or is knowledgeable about Instrument Flight Rules will tell you that a filed flight plan means nothing. In most places, pilots virtually never make a flight exactly as it appears on a flight plan. ATC is always giving re-routes, differerent altitudes, vectors, and doing other things to account for traffic conflicts, weather, and so on.

What matters is not what was filed, but what they were assigned in their clearance. And they were assigned the same altitude as the Gol 737. ATC instructed both planes to maintain same altitude and they complied with that clearance as required by regulations. Neither one knew that the other aircraft was at the same altitude. The only party with that information is air traffic control. They have the radar screens, the flight data strips, the “big picture”. They are the ones that issue routes to fly and altitudes to maintain, and therefore it seems to me that Brazilian ATC is the most likely culprit here.

Wherever you go on this planet, ATC’s primary job is to separate IFR traffic from other IFR traffic. Regulations require pilots to maintain a visual scan for other airplanes when flying in visual conditions, regardless of the flight rules under which they are operating. However, if one seeks to place blame on the Legacy crew for failure to see-and-avoid, then an equal share must fall on the Boeing’s flight crew.

Regulations aside, the see-and-avoid argument is a tough one to comply with in a place where airplanes can converge at up to 1,200 mph. That’s one mile every three seconds. This is one of the reasons airliners and business jets have Traffic Collision Avoidance Systems. TCAS systems not only alert the crew to traffic conflicts, but will actually communicate with TCAS systems in other aircraft and coordinate collision avoidance. This is known as a “resolution advisory”. One airplane’s TCAS will command the flight crew to climb, and the other aircraft’s crew will be ordered to descend.

As far as I know, there is no evidence whatsoever that the Legacy’s transponder was physically turned off by the pilots, or that the crew was doing anything improper or unusual. Mainstream media has reporting that the Legacy crew performed aerobatics, intentionally disabled their transponder, and refused to acknowledge ATC transmissions, but each of those claims later turned out to be unsubstantiated.

The one question mark is why the TCAS systems didn’t alert the flight crews to the impending conflict. The Legacy was brand new, having just rolled out of the factory shortly before the flight. Is it possible there was an avionics problem? An antenna issue? A blown circuit breaker or other fault? It’s possible. But whatever the cause, it seems likely that Brazil’s air traffic control system contributed mightily to this accident, something Brazil has been loathe to admit.

If you want to read an account of Brazilian air traffic control from someone who’s been there, here’s what a 38,000 hour pilot and former 747 captain had to say about flying in that neck of the woods:

I am not even slightly surprised that two aircraft collided while under “control” of Brazilian ATC, but I am very surprised we don’t see more such mid-airs. I flew in Central and South America, including Brazil, in the late ’50s, mostly cargo and ferry flights. In 1994, while working for JAL, I began flying three trips a month between Los Angeles and Sao Paulo until my “first retirement” in 2001. Not much had changed in the intervening four decades.

Communications are still horrible to non-existent. HF is still being used routinely, even when VHF is available. It is somewhat anachronistic to be flying near enough to Porto Velho to see the lights of the city, and still have to talk to them on HF. Call them on the VHF frequency and they may answer, but they will often ask to switch to HF for the position report, or for the next call. There is no question they prefer using HF, but I still don’t understand why. As far as I know, all ATC services are provided by the military, and by rather low-paid and poorly trained personnel. The results of that are inevitable, and many times I’ve flown through an ATC sector without being able to raise anyone, HF or VHF. If someone does respond, it is sometimes obvious they’ve just awakened. There are several sectors (Porto Velho being one) where any transmission from the ground is overwhelmed by loud music in the same room as the mike, and it sounds like the controller is across the room, yelling in the general direction of the mike. Party time, I guess, or maybe just trying to stay awake.

Even when the radio works, all communications are in Portuguese, unless no one on the aircraft can speak it. Then English will be used, but it’s very hard to understand. Of course, any transmission in English that is not absolutely standard and very common will not be understood on the ground at all, leading to “Say again?” or, worse, they will ignore further calls of any kind. The vast majority of flights over Brazil are flown by crews who do not speak either Portuguese or English as a native language, so it is the Tower of Babel all over again. It is dangerous, but heck, the same thing happens in France, Quebec, Russia and many other countries, too. We are very fortunate in the good-old United States, where we can push a button and talk to someone in English. Most of the time, anyway.

There is essentially no radar coverage in South America, except around large cities. Where there is radar, they don’t use it en route, because aircraft will soon be out of coverage again, so they are forced to fall back on timed separation at all times, and the old-fashion position reports (which most American pilots have never done). To be fair, arrivals and departures are sometimes vectored in the terminal area at low altitude.

In seven years of my operating on that route, there were five incidents where other aircraft were definitely in “my airspace” by any standards. This is made worse by those countries who consider a national airline a matter of pride, and whose crews take short-cuts. In one of those, I watched a Lan Chile aircraft cross our track a mile or two ahead, at our altitude, close enough to identify the logo at night. Both Lan Chile and ATC denied it, for the aircraft was supposed to be crossing at a VOR about 60 miles behind us. They were giving phony position reports (in Spanish), and simply taking a big shortcut. I felt it prudent to climb a few hundred feet to avoid a huge bump from the wake. File a report, and it would never see the light of day. I did anyway, and never heard a thing.

In my opinion, it would be much safer to do away with ATC entirely in areas like this. In trying to “control” aircraft with the equipment they have, and the “skill” they demonstrate, they create danger. I’d feel much more comfortable going with random routes and altitudes and using TCAS for my own separation.

2 Comments

Ron, March 14th 2007 | Tags: , ,
Posted in Mishaps

“Over The Airwaves” and the GA Fatal Accident Rate

Many of us in the aviation world have recently come to know the name Robert Miller.  Mr. Miller is an east coast CFI and the author of Over the Airwaves.  OTA’s masthead describes it as ”the bi-weekly journal for the proficient pilot”.

I’ve been reading Over the Airwaves for about a year and find that I agree with Mr. Miller on many points.  He’s obviously dedicated to the issue of flight safety and a proponent of realistic, recurrent training which exceeds the Practical Test Standards and embraces the real-world aspects of flying.

I continue to read OTA and learn a lot from it.  And I should note that his dedication to publishing Over the Airwaves is admirable.  One can’t help but stand in awe of the many hours it must take to put together each issue.  I commend him for venturing beyond the traditional CFI methods of providing information to pilots and hope he continues to publish OTA for a long time.

Having said that, I’ve noticed that OTA seems to spawn from a single raison d’etre, namely that the general aviation fatal accident rate is “worsening at an alarming rate” (OTA Vol. 3, No. 25).  Statistics, tables, and charts are proffered in support of this thesis, and I must admit the case looks compelling.  It begs the question:  have AOPA, the Air Safety Foundation, the FAA, and the NTSB been lying to us?  Are they glossing over the true story on general aviation flight safety?

I decided to look into this issue a little deeper, not to discredit Mr. Miller or his publication — remember, I’m an avid reader of Over the Airwaves - but because for some reason his theory just didn’t feel right.

I began by asking him where he got the raw data to support the claim that “We are marching down seven straight years of worsening GA fatal accident rates”, because the data I see from the Air Safety Foundation and NTSB suggest that the fatal accident rate has been in a long term hold.  In light of the fact that annual GA flight hours are estimated, the NTSB figures showing a rate hovering near 1.3 per 100,000 hours for the past decade indicate that GA fataility rates are not getting worse.  My source:  http://www.ntsb.gov/aviation/Table10.htm

Bob very kindly replied and referred me to the headline article in Volume 3, Issue 23a of OTA.  This article uses avgas sales to suggest declining flying activity.  He also pointed me to a linear regression analysis at the bottom of Volume 3, Issue 25 which suggests an increasing fatal accident rate:

After reviewing the data, I still suggest that his analysis is quite flawed.  Miller ties avgas burned to hours flown.  To be fair, the NTSB uses the same methodology.  However, the connection between the two cannot be a direct one, because the Department of Energy stats he references would then indicate that flying activity has declined 80% since 1983.  The table shows a drop from 418,000 gallons/day in 1983 to 98,000 gallons/day in 2004.

A more logical explanation is that there are various reasons for the drop in avgas fuel usage:

  • Let’s begin with the pilot popuation.  Yes, there are fewer pilots flying today than there were in the 1980s.  I don’t really care how many are in the FAA registry.  Many of them don’t fly anyway, just as they didn’t fly in the 80s.  But the number of active pilots is down, maybe 10% I’d estimate.  Even if it’s higher, there’s no way it would come close to an 80% drop.

 

  • There are fewer piston twins flying today than there were in 1983.  Who is even making piston twins these days?  The Baron, Seminole, and TwinStar sales combined total fewer than 50 airplanes per year.  Cessna is completely out of the piston twin market, and for the most part so is Piper.  No more 300 and 400 series twins, no more Twin Comanches, Apaches, Aztecs, Twin Bonanzas.  You name a piston twin, it’s pretty much been out of production for decades.  And the existing piston twin fleet is being decimated by the inevitable ravages of time, spar ADs, high operating costs, limited parts supplies, and so on.  Fewer twins flying = lower total fuel consumption per hour flown.

 

  • Single engine airplanes are more efficient.  An SR20, SR22, DA20, DA40, Columbia, or other modern airplane gets far better economy than the airplanes of the 80s.  Composite construction and advanced aerodynamics allow these planes to fly with less drag.  Any decent MFD or GPS can show you the real time NMPG efficiency of that airplane.  Especially at lean of peak operation, these planes burn a fraction of the fuel a piston twin does.

 

  • Now, consider lean-of-peak operation.  Advanced engine monitoring and fuel metering for GA has led to greater use of fuel efficient operating techniques.  We care about fuel burn now because fuel is expensive.  Even without an engine monitor, nobody goes flying around with the red knob all the way in for hours on end.  In my Pitts, I can burn anywhere between 11 and 26 gph.  Considering that I only have 23 gallons of fuel on board when I takeoff, that’s not irrelevant data.

 

  • But the biggest factor in the decline of avgas since the early 80s is the nearly 100% decline in piston twin usage by commercial operators since 1983.  The commercial operators used to fly piston airliners for freight delivery, and GA piston twins for smaller stuff.  Corporate operators used to fly executives around in piston twins, whereas nowadays nearly all those folks have moved up to turbine twins and/or jets.  The corporate/commercial operators flew a huge chunk of the total piston hours in the early 80s.  Over time, they moved to turbine equipment and therefore bought less and less avgas.

 

  • Look at the DOE statistics for jet fuel usage.  They show a 65% increase in jet fuel consumption over the same period that avgas dropped by 80%. During that same period, the total U.S. civil fleet has remained consistent in numbers, ~200,000 aircraft on the registry.

OTA’s fatal accident rate per million gallons of avgas consumed analysis is also flawed, because the GA accident rate includes all sorts of general aviation airplanes, and as previously noted, a great portion of GA flight hours are now being accumulated in aircraft with turbine rather than piston engines.

In regards to Mr. Miller’s linear regression table at http://overtheairwaves.com/vol3-215.gif, it is also deceptive.  It uses too few data points to be statistically relevant.  Increase the data to include numbers going back to 1983, as he did with avgas, and it would show a different picture, namely a) a long term decline in accident rates, and b) that the chart’s vertical axis only represents 0.14/100,000.  Zoom in far enough and you can make anything look bad just by virtue of the chart’s scale.

Even given the data as Mr. Miller presents it, there exists a variance between a fatal accident rate of 1.25 and 1.32 per 100,000 hours flown.  Think about that.  For every 100,000 hours flown, the accident rate went from 1.25 to 1.32.  That’s an increase of 0.07 accidents per 100,000 hours.  To put it another way, it’s an increase of 5%, which to be honest is probably less than the margin of error when you consider that the hours flown are merely an estimate.

OTA describes this as “worsening at an alarming rate”.  Am I crazy for disagreeing?

As I said before, my analysis is not designed to slight Mr. Miller or his publication.  I simply suggest that he is trying to have it both ways with the statistics.  He claims that the NTSB’s “hours flown” esimates are way off because of the decline in avgas usage, yet uses those same NTSB numbers for his regression analysis.

These are just one guy’s thoughts on the matter.  But from where I sit, the accident rate is holding steady over the past few years, and remains in a long term decline.

4 Comments

Ron, March 12th 2007 | Tags: , ,
Posted in Mishaps

Bells and Whistles

I perused the recent archives here at the House of Rapp and was surprised at how often I write about aircraft accidents.  It may seem morbid.  But ever since I started working as a CFI, I am conscious of the fact that with my own personal approval, pilots go hurling off into the clouds in new, high tech, 3/4 ton aircraft crusing at nearly 200 mph.

That’s a big responsibility, and as such it occupies a lot of my thoughts.  When an incident occurs, I want to learn everything possible from it so that I — and more importantly, those I’m charged with teaching — avoid the same fate.

John’s Killing Zone article got me thinking about the recent Cirrus SR20 accident in New York City.  I’m not sure what happened there.  I’ll leave it to the NTSB to figure that out.  As John pointed out, the weather may have been marginal, the pilots were new to the area, and the route was bounded by obstacles.  And none of those things may have been factors.  What got me thinking were the questions about why the parachute wasn’t used.

I spend a fair amount of time talking to my students about the CAPS system.  For those of you who aren’t “in the know”, CAPS stands for Cirrus Airframe Parachute System.  It’s a parachute for the whole airplane.  When deployed, it lowers the whole airplane down to the ground slowly enough that the occupants can walk away without injury, although the aircraft will usually be a total loss.

Here’s an analysis of CAPS deployments to date, including a step-by-step illustration of a CAPS system in use.

When transitioning pilots into the SR20 and SR22, most initially see CAPS as a get out of jail free card, albeit a one-time use card with a high price.  They don’t understand the limitations of the system.  And more importantly, they haven’t researched general aviation accident statistics enough to know that in many — perhaps most — accidents, the CAPS system would be useless.

From what I can tell, most accident scenarios would still result in an accident even with the parachute:  low altitude stall/spin.  Controlled flight into terrain.  Poor pilot judgement (aerobatics, buzzing, etc).   Loss of control on takeoff or landing.  Taxi and other ground accidents.  The list is long, and in the end, hopefully students realize that a ballistic recovery system is no panacea.

This is true of the Cirrus’ other systems, as well.  Skywatch, TAWS, GPS, autopilot, and other cockpit tools are useless in most of these scenarios.

I applaud Cirrus Design Corporation’s emphasis on quality training.  The transition training is well thought out, and their materials and AFM are better written than any other comparable aircraft I’ve seen.  They emphasize recurrent training, use email and web technology to keep owners abreast of the latest information, and seem dedicated to keeping the accident rate low.

Despite that, I believe the Cirrus is going to be involved in more accidents than comparable aircraft.  For one thing, it’s designed and built for cross country flying.  That means pilots are going to be flying long distances and encountering weather.  They’ll also be flying in unfamiliar areas.

The other reason is statistical.  There are just a lot of them out there.  Cirrus is outselling everyone at the moment, and one of the down sides having a lot of planes in the air is that when accidents occur, they’re more likely to be in one of your planes.  That doesn’t mean the Cirrus is unsafe.  If I thought that, I wouldn’t fly it.

Finally — and this is really what I wanted to say — let’s look at the type of people flying these aircraft.  The SR22s I instruct in are about $265/hr.  A two hour flight with instructional costs will run close to $700.  I have students who will make flights like that a couple of times per week.  These guys are successful, fast pace, type-A personalities.  They’re used to getting their way, making it work, pushing through and solving problems by either working really hard or throwing money at it.

This is not always an asset in the cockpit.  In aviation, sometimes the answer is to not tackle the problem at all.  Stay on the ground.  Turn around.  Land.  Or, ask for help.  Admit you’re lost.  Declare an emergency.  This is not an easy or natural mindset for a lot of these guys.

The Cirrus is fast becoming the modern day “Bonanza”, and the high net worth / low time individuals buying them are the 21st century “doctors”.  Their bank account can easily outstrip their piloting capabilities.  Putting them in a fast, slick, complex airplane with a ton of switches, knobs, buttons and systems can be risky.  But that’s who Cirrus is marketing their airplanes to, and they’re the only ones who can afford to fly them.

Don’t get me wrong.  I’m not disparaging these guys.  They’re smart, fun, colorful personalities with whom I enjoy flying.  I’m simply analying the personality traits that don’t transition well to aviation.

When you realize that the SR22 is as high as some of these pilots can get in the food chain without running into insurance limitations which lead to professional and/or multi-pilot crews, the risk becomes clear.  I believe the risk is manageable, but it has to be countered with quality instruction, recurrent training, personal minimums, and good judgement.

I spend considerable time tailoring instructional techniques to the type of person I’m flying with.  It’s critical that they understand the role their own attitude plays in safety, because at some point I’m going to get out of the plane, and they’re going be out there on their own.

2 Comments

Ron, October 15th 2006 | Posted in Aviation, Mishaps

Forced Landing

Conventional wisdom – and statistics — tell us that a mechanical engine failure in a properly maintained aircraft is quite rare.

Engine stoppage is usually caused by the dummy in the pilot seat.  Fuel exhaustion is by far the leading cause.  Engine and fuel system mismanagement are also possibilities.  There’s no shortage of creativity in this department. 

Until recently, I didn’t know very many people who’d ever experienced a mechanical failure of a certified aircraft powerplant.  But at the last aerobatic contest I encountered no less than three people who’ve recently had one (there were also two prop strikes, but that’s a story for another time).  The reasons were varied:  cylinder failure, fuel contamination, and oil pump failure.

The last of these was in a Pitts S-2B — the same kind of airplane I fly.  It piqued my interest because an engine failure in a Pitts is a big deal.  The airplane is not terribly crashworthy, and it comes down like a rock when the engine stops turning.  It’s one of the few airplanes where my first inclination would be to leave the airplane rather than stay with it.

The pilot in question is a great guy named Yuichi.  He’s not only a talented aerobatic competitor but also an active Airframe & Powerplant mechanic.

Yuichi is has saved my bacon on more than one occasion through his willingness to work on my airplane in 100 degree heat after a long day of flying.  Sometimes I’ve even seen him skip his own practice time in the box in order to help someone else solve a mechanical issue so they could compete.

When the phrase “couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy” was coined, it must have been Yuichi they were talking about.

Here’s his story:

As most of you know I had to make a forced landing last Saturday afternoon in Pitts N117PS. I am very happy to be at my desk again and to share my experience.

June 03, 2006. I took off about 1410 local from LVK for routine practice at Mt. Diablo practice area. At about 1435, around 2500ft MSL, I noticed power loss (probably just propeller speed reduction due to loss of oil pressure) after finishing a snap roll. As all you guys do, I have a habit to look oil temp/press gauges as well as performance gauges, especially when changing positive and negative Gs. I saw oil pressure gauge was pointing 0 psi that time.

Reduction in oil pressure is not unusual on N117PS. Whenever there is prolonged 0 G load, like a top of push over humpty, or outside loop, etc. This mostly reduces oil pressure drop to about 20 psi and come back right away. But holding 0 psi for couple of seconds is not normal. I pulled throttle to protect the engine and glided at 95 MPH, and continued to push / pull, and move throttle to recover oil pressure.

A couple of things came into my head as the cause of losing oil pressure.

1) Lost engine oil because of practice maneuver, crack at engine parts, or loosen drain plug.
  (But the wind screen is clean … No oil drops at all)
2) Oil pressure gauge mulfunction. 
  (Ok but it does not explain the RPM drop.) 
3) Oil pump failed. 
  (I think it is the problem.) 
4) Gravity valve stays at inverted position. 
  (Maybe. If it is, I can do someting before I hit ground.)

Unfortunately the pull and push maneuver did not work in this case.  Occasionally the oil pressure came back to 2-3 psi, but dropped back to 0 psi very soon. There was not enough altitude to make it to the nearest airport (Byron). I have no choice, so I decided to do a off field landing down there.

I picked up a straight road (Empire Mine Road) running east to west through the box. There was no traffic. There was also a grass field right next of the road would be perfect alternative. I made a mayday call to LVK tower and 121.5, before I got too low.

Now it was easy, just do routine landing I used to. On final approach, I saw white SUV turn onto the road which would have been on a collision course with me. I could not blame the driver, because the road was not blocked at entrance, they even don’t know what happened in the air. I switched my landing site to grass field just south of the road and landed. At first landing roll was perfect, I thought “wow, this is my one of best landings I ever made!!”. But 5 second later, the landing gear caught the muddy surface and the plane then flipped over inverted.

I was so lucky, the airplane stoped after just half flip and did not tumbled. The bad thing was now the airplane was upside down and the canopy was held by the ground. I realized that I was trapped inside the airplane. I picked up my cellphone and dialed Attitude Aviation front desk. A cell phone is great tool in this situation.

I was sitting there upside down for a while, when suddenly a gentleman called me. “Are you OK?” I told him to lift the tail up and now the airplane was standing on its top wing. I got about 2 ft clearance opened the canopy and then I dropped on the ground.

The gentleman said, “I am so glad you are OK.” I looked at his car .. It was the the white SUV that I saw on short final. Soon, we saw emergency crews turned on the road, then he said “I guess you are OK. Take care!”. He was exactly like a hero. I hope I said “Thank you” to him. I wish I will find him again.

Post emergency landing review: 
(1) I asked myself why I did not try complete inverted flight, not just shaking the airplane. If the cause of problem is gravity valve, I might have some oil pressure while I was at inverted.

(2) Some people suggested to me that I jettison the canopy before touch  down. That way I do not have the risk of being trapped in the airplane. The load meter in the cockpit said I had negative 6Gs at least when the airplane flipped over. I checked my seat belt before touch down, and I had 1 inch clearance between the canopy, but I still hit canopy because my body stretched a little at the time. This means that if I had jettisoned the canopy before impact, I might hit my head somewhere. The canopy protected me from rocks and mud. I do not say to keep canopy is best idea, but the pilot has to be able to break the canopy at least. I will carry a knfe (not a small folding knife, heavy duty survival knife prefered), or axe in the future. I also have a idea how to open biplane canopy even upside down without outside help. However, I have no chance to test this technique until next time…

(3) Preview your practice area if low altitude practice is needed. 1500ft AGL is not enough to make airport in most situation. I was so surprised that practice area has many hills and power lines.

I think Yuichi’s a little hard on himself.  Even if the gravity valve was at fault, priority #1 is fly the plane, #2 is find a place to land, and then you can troubleshoot.  From 2500 AGL, I’m not sure he’d have had much of a chance to get to it. 

In this case, “any landing you can walk away from” really is a good landing.  I believe the airplane is a total loss.  The damage doesn’t sound that bad, and I’m sure it’s fully repairable, but once the airplane goes over on its back, the steel tube airframe gets bent.  At that point, the ship is probaby worth more as a collection of parts than it would be after the restoration, so the insurance company writes a check.

It’s worth noting that all three engine failures I heard about at Paso Robles were in high performance aerobatic airplanes.  When these engines are installed in normal airplanes, pilots take great care to make gentle throttle movements and generally be as nice to the engine as possible, cooling it down slowly at the end of a flight and helping it live a low stress life.

Install the same engine in an aerobatic airplane and we rapidly move from full throttle to idle and back again, over and over.  Short flights, high climb rates with little cooling air.  Lots of cycles.  We torque the prop and put tremendous stresses on the crankshaft, pulling enough Gs to move the entire engine several inches on the mounts.

When you think about all that, perhaps the real surprise is that these failures are not more common.

Anyway, I hope this is as close as I’ll ever get to re-living Yuichi’s experience.  I love how he casually states that he won’t have a chance to test his new technique “until next time”, as though it’s a foregone conclusion that this won’t be his last engine failure.

You’re probably thinking, “How about hoping there won’t be a next time?”.  The thing is, as pilots we have to plan for it anyway.

1 Comment

Ron, July 6th 2006 | Posted in Aerobatics, Aviation, Mishaps

Keep It Flying

I spent the weekend up in Susanville with some friends.  We departed out of Oxnard Airport on Friday and apparently made the front page of the newspaper as we did so:

Warrior crash at Oxnard, with our Skylane departing in the background

That’s our Skylane in the background.  According to the newspaper article, the Warrior in the foreground had experienced an engine failure after takeoff and the pilot elected to return to the airport.  Unfortunately, he didn’t have enough altitude to make it all the way back.  The aircraft touched down in a field west of the runway and collided with an SUV as it crossed a public road.

Considering the open farm fields that litter the west end of OXR’s runway, attempting to turn around may not have been the best option.  On the other hand, I give the pilot credit for resisting the temptation — which must have been strong, considering how close he was to the runway — to stretch the glide, which could well have ended in a stall/spin situation.  He flew the Warrior all the way to the ground, and in doing so preserved his life.  He’s got some injuries, but nobody was killed.

The Ventura County Star has a slide show of the Warrior.

What can we learn from this accident?  First, determine your turn-around altitude before you takeoff, not after.  Second, have alternative landing sites picked out in advance.  And third, even a lowly GA single has a remarkable level of survivability if you just keep it flying all the way to the ground.

1 Comment

Ron, May 30th 2006 | Posted in Aviation, Mishaps

Accident Investigation Leads to TFR

FDC 6/4280 ZLA CA.. FLIGHT RESTRICTIONS 25 W PALM SPRINGS, CA. EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. PURSUANT TO 14 CFR SECTION 91.137(A)(2) TEMPORARY FLIGHT RESTRICTIONS ARE IN EFFECT WITHIN A 3 NAUTICAL MILE RADIUS OF 340223N/1165315W OR THE PALM SPRINGS /PSP/ VORTAC 281.0 DEGREE RADIAL AT 25.0 NAUTICAL MILES AT AND BELOW 11000 FEET MSL TO PROVIDE A SAFE ENVIRONMENT FOR ACCIDENT INVESTIGATION.

The TFR text says it’s for “accident investigation”. I wonder if this is the accident they’re referring to:

YUCAIPA, Calif. – Authorities have located the wreckage of a plane owned by Cessna Aircraft that crashed Tuesday in steep terrain in San Bernardino County. Both men on board, a Cessna employee and the president of an aircraft sales company, were killed.

The FAA says the Cessna Caravan disappeared off radar about 5 p.m.

The plane was en route to Ontario from Wichita, Kansas, where the Cessna company is based.

Cessna CEO Jack Pelton identified those aboard as Steve O’Neill, a regional sales manager for the company, and Rick Voorhis, president of Pacific Aircraft Sales in Reno, Nevada.

Curious.  Why would a GA aircraft accident require a TFR? I don’t recall having seen this before, especially for an accident that is not “high profile” like the crash of JFK, Jr.’s Saratoga.

This TFR is not quite as large as it seems.  It’s from the surface to 11,000 feet MSL, but the terrain is notated on the Los Angeles sectional as reaching 6,600 feet MSL in that area.

1 Comment

Ron, March 29th 2006 | Posted in Aviation, Mishaps

Eagle Flight 230

Just two days after Christmas in 2000, an American Eagle commuter flight developed pitch trim problems immediately after takeoff from Chicago’s O’Hare International Airport.  The pilots had the controls full forward, yet the aircraft was climbing at ”3000 to 6000″ feet per minute.  All pitch trim controls were inoperative.

Take it from someone who’s been there:  when one of the primary flight controls stops responding, it really gets your attention.

Eventually, the flight landed safely at O’Hare.  As a pilot, I found this incident interesting for a few reasons.  First, there’s a screen capture of the departure controller’s radar screen available, which is rare.  Along with the accompanying audio recording of communication between ATC and the flight crew, it makes it possible to see the incident from the “other side of the scope”.

Second, the NTSB report indicates that ten other identical incidents had occured on the Embraer EMB-135LR fleet.  It doesn’t address why no corrective action was implemented prior to this.

Third, although the pilots of American Eagle flight 230 followed the appropriate checklist, the Approved Flight Manual procedure was unclear.  It said to slow down, but it didn’t say how much.  Also, because the pilots thought they had a trim runaway situation, they had pulled the circuit breakers and even if they’d slowed down enough, the trim would have remained inoperative.

I have a zip archive with the Lotus screen capture here.  It contains a self-extracting .exe file.

The NTSB full narrative report is here.

There are a couple of lessons here for GA pilots.  First, this incident seems to be another one of those “think outside the box” moments when standard procedures and checklist discipline don’t cut it.  The pilots of Eagle 230 had to learn to fly all over again, experimenting with spoilers, landing gear, airspeed, and flaps to find the most controllable configuration.  It’s at critical moments like these that knowlege of aerodynamics, aircraft systems, and other academic things can pay off in spades.  This is something I try to impart to my students.

Second, you’ll notice that there are many times when the approach controller will call Eagle 230 and they won’t respond.  I’m sure the PNF (“pilot not flying” — if there was such a thing in this incident!) had his hands full.  Flying the airplane always comes first, emergency or not.  Talking to ATC is secondary.

All in all, a successful outcome due in large part to the flight crew’s ability to think quickly on their feet and prioritize the workload when it got too high.

2 Comments

Ron, March 21st 2006 | Posted in Aviation, Mishaps

Angel Flight Crash

This is very sad.  It seems that Angel Flight West has suffered the loss of one of its pilots while enroute to pick up a patient for transport to the UCLA Medical Center.

SANTA MONICA, California (AP) — A former TV game show host and his wife were killed Monday morning when their small plane crashed into Santa Monica Bay, authorities said. Rescue crews were searching for a third person also aboard the plane.

The bodies of Peter Tomarken, 63, host of the hit 1980s game show “Press Your Luck,” and his wife, Kathleen Abigail Tomarken, 41, were identified by the Los Angeles County coroner’s office.

The plane was on its way to San Diego to ferry a medical patient to the UCLA Medical Center, said Doug Griffith, a spokesman for Angel Flight West, a nonprofit which provides free air transportation for needy patients.

Griffith said the pilot was a volunteer for the group.

This isn’t the first AFW accident.  I can’t recall if there have ever been any fatal accidents while on a transport flight, but I do know that Angel Flight has an outstanding safety record covering more than two decades.

Everyone in the organization starts and ends with the mindset that cancellations are okay.  If the weather, the aircraft, or anything else is not 100%, pilots are encouraged to stay on the ground.  There’s no pressure to fly — in fact, patients are supposed to have an alternative form of transportation available just in case a flight cannot be completed due to extenuating circumstances.

I flew for Angel Flight for many years, later working as a mission coordinator, and found it to be the most rewarding part of aviation.  I’ve always thought that the pilots got more out of the deal than our passengers, a warm feeling of restored faith in one’s fellow man.  Everyone I flew with was extremely grateful, and had a unique and interesting story to tell.

I don’t think anyone can dispute the fact that Angel Flight makes our world a better place.  Much better.

My heart goes out to the Tomarken family.  Perhaps it will serve as a small comfort to them that their loved ones died while doing something that makes a real and vital difference in the lives of people suffering from terrible illnesses.

2 Comments

Ron, March 14th 2006 | Posted in Aviation, Mishaps

Fire!

I used to think that “smell” represented the least valuable sense when piloting an aircraft.  On February 8th, however, it turned out to be just the opposite, because the crew of this UPS DC-8 did smell something about 23 minutes prior to their scheduled landing in Philadelphia: smoke. 

The crew immediately declared an emergency.  Three minutes before landing, the smoke/fire warning light illuminated, and the jet burst into flames upon touchdown at Philadelphia.  The crew evacuated the aircraft via the cockpit windows using escape ropes provided for that purpose (you can see the ropes dangling from the cockpit window in the first photo).

It took more than four hours for firefighters to extinguish the blaze.

The aircraft was a complete loss, but there were no injuries.  When your aircraft catches on fire, that’s all that really matters.  Apparently there were two hazmat materials being carried aboard the DC-8:  amyl methyl ketone and tire repair kits.

Fire is one of the worst things a pilot can encounter in the air.  This accident was probably caused by the cargo, but in general aviation aircraft, fires are usually fed by electrical problems and/or fuel.  There just isn’t a whole lot else that’s flammable on board an airplane.

I teach my students that at the first sign of fire — whether that be smoke, flames, or just a burning smell — the best course of action is to kill the master switch and eliminate everything electrical.  Many electrical systems, especially older ones, have wiring insulation made out of PVC-like material.  When burned, a byproduct of combustion is cyanide gas.

Electrical fires are nothing to mess with.  If you suspect a fire, shut off the master switch immediately.  When you’re VMC, this is an easy call.  Most of us spend the vast majority of our time in visual conditions, so that’s the de facto solution.

In the soup it’s a little tougher.  Airplanes with air-driven flight instruments will continue to function, but the proliferation of all-electric glass panel airplanes has made shutting off the electrical system a bit more complicated.  The two main glass panel airplanes out there are the G1000 and the Avidyne FlightMax Entegra.

The G1000 system I’m most familiar with is the one in the DA40 DiamondStar.  Here, you can shut off both sides of the master switch with impunity, because a small emergency battery exists to power the standby attitude indicator and flood light.  In the Cirrus, however, you cannot do this.  Battery 2 powers the standby attitude indicator.

The best answer in the Cirrus is to shut off alternator 1, battery 1, and alternator 2.  Leave battery 2 on to power just the essential items.  Since battery 2 powers the essential buss directly — bypassing the Master Control Unit and the essential distribution bus — most of the electrical equipment in the airplane will have been shut off, and therefore whatever’s causing the problem will hopefully also be rendered inoperative.

If the problem does not abate, however, then battery 2 should be shut off and the ballistic recovery system deployed.

In some airplanes — and I’m thinking of the Extra 300 and Pitts S-2B here — there aren’t many electrical items.  However, you do have the main fuel tank inside the cockpit.  In fact, it sits right above the knees of the guy riding in the front seat!  An ideal place?  No.  But that’s how it is.  The Pitts is even worse because the analog fuel gauge (basically a bit of translucent tubing) brings the gas into the rear cockpit, too.

I haven’t come up with as many bright ideas for dealing with a fuel fire in a small, closed cockpit.  The best you can do is get the hell out of there.  In most airplanes this is not an option, but in aerobatic aircraft we wear parachutes.  Score one for the good guys!

In fact, a recent Sport Aerobatics article has me thinking a lot about this fuel fire issue.  An aerobatic competitor and CFI named Spencer Suderman wrote an article about the performance of various materials during exposure to fire.  He found that Nomex, the stuff most flight suits are made of, provides only 3 seconds of protection before a 2nd degree burn (blistering) is sustained.  Nomex has other serious drawbacks which Suderman details in his article:

Wearing a Nomex®  flight suit in the cockpit of an acro-mount is a waste of time and money:

1. The design and construction of most aerobatic aircraft with a fuel tank located inside the cockpit means that in a crash the probability of a fuel tank rupture and gasoline coming into contact with the pilot is virtually guaranteed.  Furthermore, lets not forget that high-tech fuel gauge consisting of a piece of clear tubing that is fastened to the instrument panel of virtually every Pitts literally inches from your body!

2.      Nomex®  absorbs liquids like a sponge.

3.      A single layer of Nomex®  carries the lowest protective rating according to SFI, http://www.sfifoundation.com/

Additionally, if you get covered in fuel, that $240 Nomex®  suit is no better than a T-shirt and jeans when it comes to fire protection.

While a pair of cotton jeans will do a reasonable job of insulating you from thermal energy for very short periods of time, natural fibers (cotton, wool) also have the property of not supporting combustion in the absence of external heat.   Natural fibers will absorb liquids such as fuel so if you get drenched you will be toast, literally.

It would however, be better to wear cotton or wool than synthetic fabrics because the natural fibers don’t support combustion nor do they melt into your skin when they do burn.

You don’t fly wearing polyester or nylon against your skin, do you?

The solution is to wear a suit made from a fabric called Dale Antiflame® made from 100% cotton and treated for flame and fluid resistance. (http://www.daleas.com/) 

A single layer suit of this material carries an SFI rating of 5 while a single layer Nomex®  suit carries an SFI rating of 1.  Most race car drivers are wearing this fabric either alone or in layers with other aramids such as Kevlar to gain increased fire protection. 

The problem of overheating and dehydration is addressed through the design and construction of the suit itself.   Sewing in panels of knit Nomex®  on the small of the back and shoulder areas, air circulation is achieved while minimizing the total amount of Nomex®  in the suit.

The bottom line is this:  fire is bad and if you have one, every second counts.  You can’t afford to wait until you’re smelling smoke, seeing sparks, or dodging flames before considering how you’d handle this scenario any more than you can afford to takeoff without forming a plan of action for an engine failure.

Aerobatic pilots often rehearse bailout procedures before egressing the cockpit after a flight.  Next time you fly, take a look around your aircraft.  Think about where the fuel is, where the electrical wiring is, and how you’d respond in VMC and IMC conditions.

Our intrepid UPS DC-8 crew had the benefit of recurrent Level D full-motion simulator training to prepare them for a fire.  GA pilots must take charge of their own preparation for a day we pray will never come.

2 Comments

Ron, March 6th 2006 | Posted in Aviation, Mishaps

Luck of the Irish

I’ve had a couple of eyebrow raising moments in the cockpit over the past year.  What keeps me coming back for more — besides the fact that I just love to fly — is the notion that a fair number of aviators have been through far worse, often bizzare mechanical breakdowns like the one-in-a-billion United 232 hydraulic failure.

Aside from their entertainment value, they teach a valuable lesson: keep your cool, apply good judgement, rely on your training, and you’ll be amazed at what can be overcome.

A former Navy A-6 pilot went through just such an incident during the Gulf War when his bombardier/naviagor’s ejection seat malfunctioned in spectacular fashion.  He refers to the “luck of the Irish” — I can only assume he’s not talking about a football team from North Bend, Indiana — but I think you’ll agree that for every bit of luck there was twice as much professionalism and talent from all involved which saw this thing through to a happy end.

Anyway, read through the story.  It comes with photos, video clips, audio recordings, and eyewitness accounts that take you through the incident from every angle.

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Ron, February 14th 2006 | Posted in Aviation, Mishaps

The Two Sides of Aerobatics

I just got home a few minutes ago, exhausted after spending two long days in an intensive class studying the finer points of judging competitive aerobatics.

My employer sponsored this seminar, better know as a “judges school”, where those of us who are involved in the sport can satisfy one of the requirements for becoming an accredited IAC aerobatic judge.

I came away impressed once again with the two dozen aerobatic pilots I’ve come to know over the past year.  They’re an intelligent, well-considered group who take flying upside down seriously.  People who’ve invested — and continue to invest — their time, money, and attention in this fine sport.  People who take the risks seriously, countering them with world-class training and a dedication to following the rules.

I also came home to some bad news on the AP newswire.

ROSEVILLE, California (AP) — A single-engine plane that appeared to have been performing an aerobatic stunt lost control and crashed into a suburban home Sunday, killing at least two people and sparking a fire that gutted the house, police said.

The crash left a gaping, smoldering hole in the two-story house it directly hit and set fire to an adjacent house, damaging the garage and attic, said Roseville Fire Marshall Dennis Mathisen. One body was visible in the wreckage.

The plane — which the FAA identified as a 1996 Glasair II — appeared to be doing an aerobatic maneuver when it crashed just before 11:30 a.m., Roseville Police spokeswoman Dee Dee Gunther said.

“The pilot appeared to be coming down low for some kind of maneuver that brought him to within 500 feet of the rooftops,” she said. “And then he appeared to lose control and crashed into one of the houses.”

Rick Wurster, who lives about a half mile from the crash, saw the plane attempting to make a figure eight.

“He couldn’t pull up because he didn’t have enough altitude,” Wurster said. “I saw him do two spins and then go over the tree line. A second later, I heard two booms.”

This is the other side.  Reckless behavior exhibited by the unqualified.

I firmly believe aerobatics are a safe activity, assuming they’re performed in a safe location by a properly trained pilot.  The investigation into this one is just starting, but this Glasair crash may be another case of massive error in pilot judgement.  I say “may” because initial media reports after an accident are often inaccurate.  Even preliminary NTSB reports often contain errors.

Nevertheless, I can say with certainty that no one should be performing aerobatics over homes.  It is both unwise and highly illegal.  I’ve seen footage of the crash site, and it’s definitely a congested area.

In fact, 14 CFR 91.303 prohibits aerobatics in six places:

  • over any congested area
  • over an open air assembly of people
  • within an airport surface area
  • on an airway
  • below 1500 feet above the ground
  • when in-flight visibility is less than 3 miles

Since we’re on the topic, it’s worthwhile to define aerobatics.  For the purposes of 91.303, it refers to “an intentional maneuver involving an abrupt change in an aircraft’s attitude, an abnormal attitude, or abnormal acceleration, not necessary for normal flight.”

Now I wouldn’t put too much stock in an AP news story, but if the reported eyewitness accounts are anywhere near reality, this pilot was way out of line.  He shouldn’t have been flying at 500′ over those homes, even in straight and level flight, unless he was in the process of taking off or landing.

So how dangerous is this kind of thing?  Well, there were about 1,200 general aviation accidents last year.  According to the Air Safety Foundation, “Low-level maneuvering was the leading cause [of accidents] again this year, as it has been for the last five, holding steady at about 25 percent of fatal accidents.”  Low level maneuvering is a synonym for low level aerobatics, something 99.9% of the pilot population has absolutely no business messing with.

By the same token, Sport Aerobatics magazine reported that 2005 saw only 10 airshow or contest-related mishaps, the second lowest total in the past two decades.

Ten accidents.  Is that a lot?  I don’t know.  But I do know this:  airshows are one of the most popular events on the planet.

In the 1990s, airshows were the second most popular spectator sport in North America with over 18 million people attending more than 400 airshows annually. In 1998, airshows drew nearly twice the attendance figures of NFL football.

These airshows consist almost entirely of hard core, low level aerobatics.  A year with only 10 mishaps sounds pretty good to me, especially when compared with 300 low level maneuvering accidents among the greater general aviation community.

The inescapable conclusion is that unless one has received appropriate aerobatic and  spin training from a qualified instructor, aerobatics should be avoided.  Though I’m undoubtedly talking to a brick wall, I’ll say it again:  low level aerobatics are especially deadly.  They should only be attempted by extremely experienced, highly trained aerobats flying purpose-built equipment under tightly controlled conditions.

If pilots would stick to this simple rule, fatalities would drop by 25%, the largest single killer of aviators would be eliminated, and this beleagured avocation would avoid further damage to its public image.

Wake up, people.

4 Comments

Ron, February 12th 2006 | Posted in Aerobatics, Aviation, Mishaps

Mother Nature 1, Cirrus 0

When William Congreve wrote that “hell hath no fury like a woman scorned”, the woman he had in mind was probably Mother Nature.

Despite the fact that nearly a quarter of a million people are in the air at any given minute of the day, the rarified heights we pilots traverse are Her domain.  And every now and then she reminds of that fact.  With extreme prejudice.  Take, for example, this PIREP (pilot report), courtesy of Sam:

MGM UUA /OV SCD 270004/TM 2200/FL090/TP SR22/IC SVR ICG 077-0900/RM ACFT WAS DESCENDING BY PARACHUTE DUE TO SEVRE ICG BUILDUP

If you don’t speak pilot, here’s the decoded version.

  • UUA:  “Urgent Pilot Report”
  • /OV:  Location (“4 miles west of Sylacauga, Alabama”)
  • /TM:  Time (“22:00 Zulu”)
  • /FL:  Flight Level, aka altitude (“9000 feet”)
  • /TP:  Aircraft type (“Cirrus SR22″)
  • /IC:  Icing (“Severe icing between 7700 and 9000 feet”)
  • /RM:  Remarks (“Aircraft was descending by parachute due to severe icing buildup”)

The airplane in question is a Cirrus SR22, a svelte, modern, composite design that’s taking the aviation world by storm.  I fly these every day at work.  They have tremendous performance for a general aviation aircraft, able to carry a significant load and climb at better than 1400 fpm while cruising at 180+ knots.

But even an SR22 is no match for Mother Nature when she tries to turn you into an ice cube.

Cirrus parachute deploymentOne of the big attractions of the Cirrus is that they come with a safety device known as a Ballistic Recovery System.  The BRS is essentially a parachute.  The canopy is stored in the aft section of the fuselage, and when it’s activated, a rocket pulls the ‘chute out of the aircraft and frees straps built into the fuselage.  The pilot shuts down the engine, and the entire aircraft descends to the ground at a slow enough speed to allow the occupants to walk away unharmed.

You can read about the parachute on the Cirrus site.  Also, see a video clip of a BRS deployment here.

I assume the PIREP was submitted by a controller and not the pilot, as he was undoubtedly busy trying not to soil himself.  Not to make light of the situation, but it would have been sort of funny if the pilot had deployed the ballistic recovery system and then casually asked ATC if he could change radio frequencies to submit a weather observation to Flight Watch.

“Cirrus calling Center, say again?”

“We’re declaring an emergency due to severe icing and have had to deploy the parachute… oh, and we’d like to get a frequency change to submit a PIREP.”

(20 seconds of confused silence)

“Um… hmmm.  Okay, frequency change approved and, uh, good day?”

1 Comment

Ron, January 14th 2006 | Posted in Aviation, Mishaps

Duck, Duck, Goose

Here’s another gem I found on the Cessna Pilots Association forum.  I’ve seen the darndest things discussed, uploaded, admitted to, and debated over there.  The CPA forums are a favorite haunt of mine because everyone who posts is a paid member of the association, which tends to keep out the rabble one finds in newsgroups and other ‘free’ message boards.

Anyway, this is an attempted takeoff by a Grumman Goose from what appears to be a lake.  Things go slightly awry, though I’m sure everyone walked away and I understand that the aircraft was repaired.

Grumman Goose attempting takeoff from a lake

This incident is reminder of the dangers of flying sea planes.  Beyond the fact that the runway surface is always changing, tends to hide obstructions (logs, for example), may contain obstacles like boats, and isn’t necessarily straight, there’s also a point where the aircraft is “on the step” and especially vulnerable to the sea gods.

It’s akin to the moment before a tailwheel airplane leaves the ground.  Not enough speed to fly, yet enough lift to leave the airframe light on the wheels and therefore more easily affected by the wind. Sea planes have the disadvantages of that tailwheel aircraft, plus the unpredictable effect of waves hitting the hull at the moment when it’s got just enough lift to pull the airframe partially out of the water, taking quite a bit of stability with it.

Good times, eh?

Speaking of the hazards of operating an aircraft on the water, I received my sea plane rating on Lake Havasu about five years ago.  My largest worry were the boaters traversing the lake.  For the most part, they were intoxicated, poorly trained, and totally unconcerned about the idea of a spinning metal propeller moving toward them.

When on the water, sea planes are less maneuverable than sail and power boats.  Sea planes have no brakes and the water rudders are not terribly effective at the slower taxi speeds we use when in the vicinity of other watercraft.  Sea plane therefore have the right of way over boats.  Not that you’d know it from the way these boaters would cut in front of me.

One genius even had the idea to come over to us after a flight and ask if there was any way we could tow a water skier using the airplane.  The best part is that he wanted to do it while the aircraft was in flight.  Imagine a half-drunk, half-dressed hooligan with a beer in each hand who uses the word “dude” waaaay to much and you’ll have a pretty good idea of what we were dealing with.

I recall being unsure of the proper etiquette for this situation.  Do I laugh at him?  Slap him?  Just shake my head and mutter, “That’s a shame”?  In the end, I believe we just said no and left it at that.

On a slightly different note, I want to wish everyone a very happy new year!  May 2006 be marked by fair skies and tailwinds for us all.

3 Comments

Ron, January 1st 2006 | Posted in Mishaps

Southwest Airlines Midway Overrun Photos

I don’t want to comment on the Southwest Airlines overrun accident that occured last week at Midway Airport in Chicago, except to say my heart goes out to everyone involved. The NTSB will have a far more accurate and informative report than anything which could be Monday morning quarterbacked here at the House of Rapp.

However, a friend who specializes in aerial photography did manage to get some shots of the scene while transiting Midway’s airspace recently, and has graciously allowed me to post them here. Photographing Chicago is his speciality, and he did a fine job here. Note that the center runway — the one on which the Southwest 737 landed — is covered by snow and almost invisible in these pictures. Since it was closed, there was no need to keep that runway plowed.

The photos are copyrighted by Allan Goldstein, Aerial Images Photography.

Southwest Airlines Midway Airport overrun accidentSouthwest Airlines Midway Airport overrun accidentSouthwest Airlines Midway Airport overrun accidentSouthwest Airlines Midway Airport overrun accident

Apparently, Allan had a tough time getting these shots. The controllers were advised not to allow anyone to transition the airspace for photos. Normally, pilots wouldn’t have an issue with that. Controllers do their thing for a reason. Unfortunately, the reason in this case had nothing to do with air safety. The order came from Chicago Mayor Richard Daley. And we all know how much he loves aviation, don’t we?

It’s unfortunate when a local politican is allowed to effect a personal preference on the national airspace system. Thankfully, my friend did not allow this to stand. He demanded contact information for whoever this order came from in the mayor’s office. Rather than provide a name, they simply cleared him to fly through the airspace!

I view this as a small but important victory in holding together our aviation infrastructure, because the day local governments are allowed to superceed federal rules and authority over airspace, chaos will reign in the skies. Imagine a world where every local city council (there are more than 30 here in the Los Angeles basin) made its own rules about the airspace above.

If you’re not a pilot, imagine the interstate highways having different motor vehicle rules, speed limits, signage, roadway markings, and enforcement standards in every township. You wouldn’t know when you crossed the borders. You wouldn’t be able to figure out the rules. Does that sound like a recipe for safety? I think not.

4 Comments

Ron, December 13th 2005 | Posted in Mishaps

Death by Control Lock

Why is it that so many pilots seem to neglect to remove the control lock before takeoff? I just don’t get it. This is the one thing that’s 100% guaranteed to kill you in an aircraft.

Take, for example, this DeHavilland DH4 Caribou. In 1992, this aircraft was being used as a testbed for the Pratt & Whitney PT-6 turboprop conversion. The pilots failed to remove the control lock before a flight, with predictable results.

It is supposed to be physically impossible to advance the throttles with the lock on. But this aircraft was being modified and was operating in the restricted category. The throttle quadrant was not properly rigged to accommodate the throttle levers for the turbine engines. Three people were on board; two test pilots and an engineer.

These sorts of accidents are especially noteworthy when you consider that it took more than just a lazy preflight. The pilot(s) also had to ignore the control check, fail to see the lock installed, and neglect to put in any sort of crosswind correction during taxi. They’d also have to exhibit a general lack of checklist discipline. In fact, they’d have to basically not touch the controls at all until rotation.

For those of you who are not pilots, the control lock is usually painted red, very visible, and located in the cockpit right in front of the pilot.

(hat tip: John Pappas at Dreamflight)

6 Comments

Ron, October 29th 2005 | Posted in Mishaps

Farewell Marta

Marta Meyer

Well, it had to happen. Sooner or later, everyone who flies loses a friend to an accident. I’ve been lucky — since 1998 there hasn’t been a single person I can think of who’s been killed in an aircraft — but that changed recently when an odd mechanical failure claimed the life of Marta Meyer.

I was in Las Vegas when I heard the news. Or should I say, read it. I received an email from IAC entitled “Memorial Service for Marta Meyer” and involuntarily yelled “What??”. That was a strange day. It was the same day that the Jet Blue flight landed at LAX with the nose gear malfunction. It was also the day that a crazy guy intentionally ran down a dozen people with his car right outside my hotel on the Strip. For hours, the Strip was closed to traffic, the fountains at Bellagio were turned off, an the center of Las Vegas was eerily quiet.

Anyway, Marta and I were not what you would call close friends. I didn’t know her extremely well, but she was the first person I ever encountered at an aerobatic competition, and the first one to make an impression on me. I will always remember the way she’d crack jokes at the early morning pilot briefings, making people laugh and helping wake everyone up.

Marta was inspirational. Chief engineer for NASA’s Dryden Flight Research Center, aircraft builder, A&P-rated mechanic, Unlimited category aerobatic pilot, highly regarded aerobatic judge, and member of the U.S. National Aerobatic Team. She was also one of only two women to have flown in the SR-71 Blackbird. Yet Marta was also down to earth, friendly, always smiling, and never too busy to lend a hand or talk to you. You’d find her out in the box, painting markers, setting up tables, and pitching in just like a first time guy (that would be me) paying his dues.

There are few women in aviation, and fewer still in competitive aerobatics, so Marta was something special for many reasons. The community is small enough that her loss is felt all around the world. For my part, when I look at Bob and Marta Meyer, I see the kind of aviator I strive to be. Knowledgeable, experienced, safety-oriented, friendly, and low on ego.

Speaking of safety-oriented, I don’t know exactly what happened on her last flight, but it appears to have had something to do with a failure of the canopy. The IAC web site noted the following:

Marta was practicing for the upcoming US National Aerobatic Championships. After about 5 minutes of practice, including several vertical maneuvers, Marta pulled vertical to do a hammerhead and the canopy departed the aircraft. No further control inputs were noted and the Giles crashed just off the airport property. Speculation is that Marta was rendered unconscious at the canopy departure. The canopy was located and found locked, with the pins also in the locked position. The cause of the crash is under investigation.

The NTSB preliminary accident report, which is available online, says basically the same thing.

I’ve always thought of competition aerobatics as a relatively safe sport, but after my excitement at Paso Robles this summer and this unexpected accident, I’m rethinking that opinion. The airplanes are very tough, and the pilots well trained, but we’re pushing these aircraft hard and mechanical things do break.

My last memory of Marta is from the Delano competition which took place last month. More than one person told me that without the Meyers’ efforts, that contest would never happen. At the awards ceremony on Sunday night, she sort of MC’d the banquet, handing out trophies for Delano and the 2004 California state championship, and having a grand time. Marta finished in first place in Unlimited at Delano, and I recall her posing for a photo with a kiss with Bob. She seemed happy, celebrating a successful contest with friends, savoring a victory, and hamming it up a bit. That’s how I’ll remember her.

I’m not sure there’s anything that can be learned from the accident. But there’s much to be learned from the legacy she leaves behind.

Farewell, Marta, and thanks for the memories.

2 Comments

Ron, October 10th 2005 | Posted in Aerobatics, Mishaps

Jet Blue 292

It’s been a few weeks since the Jet Blue 292 excitement at LAX. Now that the hoopla’s died down, I can’t help but scratch my head over the way the pilot was regaled as a hero for landing the aircraft successfully with the nosegear turned 90 degrees off center.

A hero? That word is bandied about so much these days that it’s nearly lost all meaning. It reminds me of what happens when you take a word and repeat it over and over. Eventually it stops sounding like a word at all. It devolves into this meaningless collection of sounds, the grammatical equivalent of butter melting in a hot pan.

I don’t know what a hero is, but it wasn’t the guy flying that Airbus. Don’t get me wrong, he did a great job and is to be commended. But a hero? No, sorry. He’s simply a guy who did his job, the one he’s trained and paid to do. No more, no less. You see, these guys don’t spend years training for the day when things go well. They spend all that time preparing for the day they don’t, and when that day arrives it’s only proper to expect that they’ll react properly.

I could teach anyone to fly an airplane. It would take about two minutes. In a week, you could teach anyone to fly even the most sophisticated airliner. That’s the easy part. That’s not why airline pilots (should) make the big money. They get the bucks because when things go to hell up there, you want a guy in the left seat who knows the systems, procedures, and methods for properly diagnosing the problem. He’s trained to triage the aircraft, maintain control, keep it flying, troubleshoot, consult with the maintenance people if necessary, and take the appropriate action. And that’s all our intrepid Jet Blue captain did.

Was it easy? Probably not. I’d imagine there was some stress involved, but he had the full attention and cooperation of a multi-billion dollar air traffic control system, major airline maintenance department, and a professional crew to back him up. In fact, it’s a safe bet that any pilot flying for Jet Blue — or any other airline, for that matter — would have done just as good a job.

In fact, they did do just as good a job. AVweb has photos of the rather minimal damage to Flight 292, and I’ve got some of another Jet Blue aircraft which encountered the same nose gear failure mode at Kennedy International back in 2002:

Jet Blue Flight 292 damageJet Blue Flight 292 damage

Jet Blue Flight 292 damageJet Blue Flight 292 damage

Jet Blue Flight 292 damage

I’m not attempting to denigrate the performance of Flight 292′s captain. As I said, he did a good job. I watched the landing on CNN and it appeard that the landing was as gentle and accurate as anyone could have asked for. But a hero? If you want to see my idea of an airline pilot hero, try Al Haynes. Even in his case, I’d have to say he put as much effort into landing that DC-10 as pilots whose fate was far uglier.

Some situations are salvageable, some are not. In ever case, though, the pilots put down their coffee and go to work applying all the knowledge and experience they’ve gained over the years to effect the best outcome possible. So if any one of them is a hero, then they all are.

5 Comments

Ron, October 8th 2005 | Posted in Mishaps

Lessons from Athens

The crew members of a Cypriot airliner that crashed Aug. 14 near Athens became confused by a series of alarms as the plane climbed, failing to recognize that the cabin was not pressurizing until they grew mentally disoriented because of lack of oxygen and passed out, according to several people connected with the investigation.

Dan alterted me to this International Herald Tribune article on last month’s Boeing 737 crash in Greece.

While the article has to be taken with a grain of salt — after all, when it comes to aviation the media get the story wrong more often than they get it right — it’s still quite disturbing. I hope the article turns out to be wrong. But it can’t be, can it? Something caused both members of the flight crew to continue the climb above ten thousand without pressurization.

I’m hesitant to write about this at all, because it irks me to see ‘experts’ delivering a verdict before trained investigators have had time to prepare their report. On the other hand, the issues it presents are a constant thorn in the side of aviators everywhere. I see them at work every day, so it bears discussing as a variation which has certainly taken place in many cockpits over the years.

If what’s printed in that article is accurate (and again, that’s a BIG ‘if’), there were two major problems: first, the crew couldn’t communicate. And second, they didn’t understand how the airplane worked.

Complicating the cockpit confusion, neither the German pilot nor the young, inexperienced Cypriot co-pilot could speak the same language fluently, and each had difficulty understanding how the other spoke English, the worldwide language of air traffic control.

The airlines make a big deal about CRM (crew resource management). In fact, it’s the hub around which the flight training revolves. CRM evolved from a long line of broken airplanes. In the old days, the captain was God. The copilot kept his mouth shut, filled out the paperwork, and never questioned The Man. Crew resource management is aimed at ensuring cockpit duties are efficiently and effectively shared by both pilots. If the copilot sees something amiss, he will speak up. Obviously this kind of thing doesn’t work if the two guys up front can’t communicate.

So is it possible that they put two people in the cockpit who don’t speak the same language? The Cypriot crash aside, are there airlines out there that do this sort of thing? It’s not a problem here in the U.S. where everyone speaks English, so it’s one of those issues I’ve never even considered.

References to the copilots youth don’t mean anything. The guys who fly F16s are young. But “inexperienced” is another story. Only time will tell just how experienced he was. The authorities already know. I’m sure they had obtained his numbers from the airline within hours of the crash. Was he too inexperienced to confront the captain when it counted? Provide all the training you want, the young guy is still going to be somewhat intimidated by the 40,000 hour captain who’s been on the airplane since it was designed.

Human factors aside, the timbre of the article leads one to conclude that the pilots didn’t understand the systems on the airplane they were flying. It’s bad enough when this happens in a general aviation cockpit. I see that every day. Is it possible this could have happened — and to this degree — on a major commercial airliner?

At 10,000 feet, or 3,000 meters, as designed, an alarm went off to warn the crew that the plane would not pressurize. However, the crew members mistakenly thought that the alarm horn was a warning to tell them that their controls were not set properly for takeoff, the officials said.

The same horn is used for both conditions, although it will sound for takeoff configuration only while the plane is still on the ground.

That’s a pretty important piece of information not to have in your noggin. It begs the question of how this was covered in the simulator. Certainly they had numerous cabin pressurization emergencies thrown at them during intial and recurrent training. The warnings must have been familiar to them.

The crew continued the climb on autopilot. At 14,000 feet, oxygen masks deployed as designed and a master caution light illuminated in the cockpit. Another alarm sounded at about the same time on an unrelated matter, warning that there was insufficient cooling air in the compartment housing avionics equipment.

The radio tapes showed that this created tremendous confusion in the cockpit. Normally an aircraft cabin is held at 8,000 feet pressure, so the crew at over 14,000 feet would already be experiencing some disorientation because of a lack of oxygen.

During this time, the German captain and the Cypriot co-pilot discovered they had no common language and that their English, while good enough for normal air traffic control purposes, was not good enough for complicated technical conversation in fixing the problem.

So they were continuing to climb with a pressurization problem. Every airline I’ve ever heard of has the same drill for this situation: the crew puts on their quick-donning O2 masks and descends to 10,000 feet.

The article mentions disorientation setting in at 14,000 feet, but that’s probably not the case. Here in the U.S., it’s perfectly legal (14CFR 91.211) to fly as high as 14,00 feet without using supplemental oxygen. It’s unlikely that the pilots would have become disoriented by the time they reached 14,000, especially considering the climb rates of a 737. They were only a few minutes removed from 10,000 feet.

It’s almost beyond comprehension that the crew could have acted this way. Either the training was criminally deficient or there’s still a piece of this puzzle missing.

As pilots, we evaluate accidents like this in order to examine our own flying for similar patterns. As I previously mentioned, there are two here. First, a lack of systems knowledge. Needless to say, this can bite you in the ass in all sorts of ways. GA pilots are notorious for poor knowledge of constant speed propellers, hydraulic and electrical systems, and advanced avionics. When an emergent situation occurrs, the pilot doesn’t detect the problem, or can’t correct it, or doesn’t know how to deal with it. They get distracted, fixated, and bad things happen.

The second issue is poor communication and a willingness to accept what you’re told whether it makes sense or not. In the general aviation world, this manifests itself when pilots accept whatever ATC tells them. They’ll read back instructions they don’t understand, won’t insist on clarification, and use confusing and/or nonstandard phraseology. For all intents and purposes, you might as well be speaking German while the controller is speaking Greek.

Nothing can be done for the 121 people who perished in Athens, but it can serve as a powerful reminder for those of us who fly: know your aircraft’s systems. Communicate clearly. It doesn’t have to happen to you.

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Ron, September 8th 2005 | Posted in Aviation, Mishaps

Aircraft Crash Videos

The Thunderbird crash entry gets about ten times as many hits as any other page on this site, so I figured these other aviation “incident” videos might be of interest. They’ve been gathered from various sites around the internet over the years.

This entry started off as a way to share an amazing slow motion video clip of a helicopter main rotor blade in flight, but I’ll save that one for another day.

737 making a gear-up landingIf the gear is going to fail on a 737, this is one of the worst ways for it to happen — one main landing gear is up, the other is down. But the pilot does a great job of keeping the aircraft on the runway. There is something to be said for fixed gear… (61 second mpeg, 1.9 mb)

Read more…

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Ron, September 21st 2004 | Posted in Aviation, Mishaps

Convertible Baron

Damaged Beech BaronMy home base airport sits in the Santa Ana canyon area of Southern California. It’s so heavily traveled by general aviation aircraft that a certain paranoia about a midair collision sets in. Everyone–and I mean everyone–keeps their eyes peeled while flying near Corona.

When flying over less populated areas, however, a certain complacency can set in. After all, midair collisions are extraordinarly rare. According to the Air Safety Foundation’s most recent (2002) Nall Safety Report, there were only 5 midair collisions for the entire year nationwide, and only three of those were fatal.

Damaged Beech Baron(Imagine a year in which there were only three fatal automobile accidents in the United States. Hard to do, isn’t it? Sixty thousand people die on the roads every year.)

But that complacency can come back to bite you in the ass just as it did to a C-180 and Beech Baron over Tehachapi in January. There are no pictures of the Skywagon, but here are a few of the Baron. Note the blood on the back of the pilots seat.

Damaged Beech BaronGotta give credit to Massive Headwound Harry, though. He got that plane on the ground in one piece–no easy feat considering the flight conditions. Despite the way it looks, I’m not sure the damage was critical. The wing spar, attach points, carry-through, control cables, wiring, and gear were all well below the affected area.

You’ve gotta love the NTSB way of phrasing things. My friend Dan pointed out that they make it sound as though the “precautionary landing” was optional. No, when there’s a 200 mph breeze in your face, you’re bleeding from the head, and your twin engine Baron has just been transformed into a convertible, continuing on to your destination is probably not an option.

2 Comments

Ron, March 8th 2004 | Posted in Aviation, Mishaps

Look Ma, No Flight Controls

Damaged Airbus A300Who says flying cargo is boring?

Certainly not the DHL Global flight crew that landed their crippled Airbus A300 at Baghdad International Airport last November. Their jet was hit by a surface-to-air missile at 8,000 feet while on descent for landing in Baghdad. The missile tore off a large chunk of the left wing, which sounds bad but is not typically fatal. Many aircraft (the B-17 and DC-3 come to mind) have sustained astounding damage and still returned safely from combat.
Read more…

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Ron, January 27th 2004 | Posted in Aviation, Mishaps

Thunderbird Crash

Last September a Thunderbird F-16C crashed just after takeoff during an airshow performance in Idaho. The pilot managed to eject 0.8 seconds before impact and walked away with only minor injuries.

As one might expect at an airshow, there were many cameras trained on Thunderbird #6 when the accident occured. Even so, this photo showing the $21 million jet just before impact is quite remarkable.

Even more remarkable is this video clip from an onboard camera showing the split-S maneuver and subsequent ejection from inside the cockpit. It’s a 4.1 megabyte mpeg, but if you can swing the bandwidth I highly recommend watching it.

As a side note, the accident investigation report was issued this week. It concluded that the accident was caused by pilot error. The pilot misinterpreted the altitude required to complete the “Split S” maneuver. He made his calculation based on an incorrect mean-sea-level (MSL) altitude of the airfield. The pilot incorrectly climbed to 1,670 feet above ground level (AGL) instead of 2,500 feet before initiating the pull down to the Split S maneuver.

It was a simple mistake. Unfortunately the stakes are very high when you’re performing low-level aerobatics.

Update – Feb 25, 2004: This entry has been receiving a lot of hits, so I thought I’d upload another video of the crash (1.3 meg, WMV format)–this time as seen from the ground. It’s every bit as dramatic as the cockpit video.

Update – Sept 21, 2004: If you liked this entry, there are a few more video clips you might be interested in.

56 Comments

Ron, January 26th 2004 | Posted in Aviation, Mishaps

Eurotrash

This fascinating photo was sent by a fellow T210 pilot:

120704-wreckage.jpg


The pilot of this (now totaled) helicopter was trying to taxi past a maintenance hangar when his rotors cut into the hangar doors. This shredded the doors, rolled the aircraft over, and blew shrapnel through the hangar into several aircraft parked inside, including a jet.

It wasn’t a small whirlybird, either. It was a 9 month-old Eurocopter AS-365 Dauphin worth more than $4 million. Lord only knows what the cost will be to repair the hangar and other damaged aircraft.

Moral of the story: most accidents happen on the ground, not in the air. In fact, I believe the worst aviation accident in history was a ground mishap (I intentionally exclude 9/11 because that wasn’t an accident). Two 747s collided on the ground at Tenerife Island in 1977, killing 583 people.

2 Comments

Ron, January 7th 2004 | Posted in Aviation, Mishaps

The Kennedy Connection

By now, the whole world knows John F. Kennedy, Jr.’s plane is missing. As of right now, they’ve found some baggage with ID tags from one of the passengers and some other wreckage which has been identified as coming from a GA (general aviation) aircraft. Not a good sign. Sad as it seems, the three on board are probably long gone, though none of the officials can say that yet of course.

So what happened? It could be any one of a million different things. Bird strike. Engine failure. Mid-air collision. Mechanical problem with the control system. If I had to guess, I’d bet that he simply lost sight of the horizon in the thick haze and couldn’t maintain level flight.

I got the news this morning from Kristina, who called as I was getting ready to head to the airport. I watched the news coverage for a while before inaccuracies in the reporting started to bug me. Why must general aviation be given such a bad name just because a celebrity has an unfortunate accident? I could sense the subtle yet ever-present lean toward branding aviation as “daredevil” and those who pursue it as extremists, mavericks who throw caution into the wind without much regard for their own lives or those around them. It does make for bigger headlines, doesn’t it? So what if it’s not the truth?

071799-plane.jpgThe Saratoga that JFK, Jr. was flying is almost identical to my Cherokee. In fact, just about everything Piper Aircraft has made in the past 35 years has been based on the original Cherokee design. And speaking of the Cherokee, my aircraft’s annual inspection is finally over. It took most of the day to get everything put back together, but around 4:00 p.m. Norm and I fired her up after a careful preflight. The engine runup showed no problems, but we shut down anyway to inspect the inside of the engine compartment. All was well, so we proceeded with a high speed taxi test, and then opened the cowling again to check for any obvious problems before taking to the air. After three or four times around the pattern, Norm had to head out, but I decided to fly over to John Wayne and give the engine a workout to circulate the oil.

I put about another hour on the Hobbs meter before getting my clearance to return to Corona. The departure seemed normal, but a few minutes out I noticed some water streaked across the bottom of the windshield. That was odd. Where the hell would water have been coming from?? Then I remembered that since the oil had just been changed, it would probably be clear. Just like water. Unbuckling the seatbelt allowed me to stretch far enough to see that oil was bubbling up between the hinges on the cowl.

I started to watch the engine gauges very closely while asking ATC for a higher altitude. No sense getting caught with your pants down if the engine were to quit, right? The landing at Corona was uneventful, but the plane sure was a mess. After spending all that time polishing the paint, it was disheartening to see oil streaked halfway back to the tail. And don’t even get me started on what the inside of the engine compartment looked like.

So after a six week long annual inspection, the plane’s status: grounded. Disappointing, to be sure. But considering the kind of day a certain Martha’s Vineyard-bound pilot just had, I think I can live with it.

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Ron, July 17th 1999 | Posted in Aviation, Mishaps



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