Wed Jun 29, 2011 9:41 am
#975120
Hung on the rack
Why does Pilot X break all the rules? A fine summer day and an aircraft you know like the back of your hand is no excuse, in this tale by Nick Lambert
Pilot X, standing in his back garden, was dividing his attention between flipping burgers and watching aircraft passing overhead. Not a cloud in the sky and none of the haze often associated with hot summer days. His father, following his son’s gaze, suggested an impromptu flypast for the family gathering. Before the old man had a chance to change his mind, Pilot X handed his father the tongs, and disappeared. The strip was less than five minutes down the road. He could pop into the petrol station for a can of fuel and still be buzzing the house in 20 minutes.
As soon as he swung into the car park, he could see the aircraft had already been pulled out of the hangar, probably to allow another out, although the old man may have already taken her for a spin and not mentioned it. The place was deserted; it looked like everyone had gone flying today.
G-XXXX was a Rotax-powered two-seater, which his father had built while Pilot X was at university. Pilot X had helped with the build in the holidays and knew the aircraft inside out.
He did a quick walkround, but since only he and his father flew the aircraft, he didn’t expect any surprises. Similarly, everything inside seemed in order, so he was soon calling, "Clear prop!" She started instantly. He fiddled with the switches while he waited for the temperatures to rise. Everything was fine, except the fuel pressure didn’t seem to rise when he flicked the electric pump on. This didn’t worry him unduly; he knew some Rotax installations didn’t even have an auxiliary fuel pump. Nonetheless, he made a mental note to ask his father about it.
Checks complete, he lined up on the long, westerly runway. A last glance at the windsock confirmed a stiffening southerly breeze. Holding appropriate aileron he applied full power. Despite being only one-up, acceleration was a little sluggish, which Pilot X put down to the high ambient temperature. What was more worrying was that the engine ‘coughed’ just as he was about to rotate. He paused for a second, but as normal service had been resumed, pulled back on the stick.
At 800ft, Pilot X retracted the flaps. He was just about to turn right, crosswind, when the engine stopped. Instinctively he lowered the nose to maintain airspeed. At the same time, he unsuccessfully cranked the engine. 'Pull yourself together,' he told himself. This was far too low to be messing around trying a restart; he needed to assess the options while he still had some. Ahead was a vast field that had hosted a hundred practice engine failures on take-off.... the difference now was that the field had been roughly ploughed and the ground was rock hard. It didn’t take much imagination to see the aircraft would be shorn of its landing gear and on its back within a few yards. There was a copse to the left... and the fields to the right still hadn’t been harvested.
Squandering options
The only chance of saving the little aircraft, which had had so much love and attention invested in it, was to land back on the strip. He knew a gentle turn would take him further from the end of the runway, so he banked hard. He thought he felt some buffeting and, terrified, released the back pressure. Landing on the plough might not kill him, but stalling-in definitely would. He seemed to be dropping like a stone and had not even completed half the required turn.
'What are you doing?' he screamed at himself. He knew that you never turn back, but here he was, squandering altitude and options, while trying to salvage an aircraft that was comprehensively insured. Having completed the course reversal, he found he needed to keep the turn going quite a bit before he was pointing at the strip. He was now down to 300ft and for a moment it looked like he might make it. Then slowly, inexorably, his reference point started slipping up the windscreen. He was already clean and at best glide speed, so there was nothing left to do. In desperation, he turned the engine over, but it was no use. At 200ft it was clear he would be landing in the plough, and hitting the airfield’s boundary hedge with quite some force, if by some miracle the gear didn’t collapse.
Noticing the windsock, he realised that by turning another 30° he could, at least, land into wind. Losing a bit more height now wouldn’t change a thing, so he made the turn. From 50ft the surface looked terrible. He knew his best chance was to land as slowly as possible. Belatedly he remembered the flaps. Suddenly applying flap caused the aircraft to balloon alarmingly. He applied full throttle, but predictably there was no response; his airspeed was terribly low but he didn’t dare move the stick forward so close to the ground...
As Pilot X regained consciousness, he heard a blackbird singing. The only other sound was the ticking of the cooling engine. The aircraft had indeed flipped over and he was hanging in his harness. Something was dripping onto him; his first thought was fuel, but it turned out to be blood, shorts and flip-flops not providing much protection against mangled rudder pedals and a shattered panel. As he became more aware, he noticed he was losing a lot of blood from a deep gash in his thigh. He started panicking, afraid he would bleed out. He tried to scream but produced only a whimper...
After what seemed like hours, but was actually less than 20 minutes, he heard the noise of rotors above. He wept as he recognised the lurid paint job of the air ambulance; he knew it had been a close shave.
QUESTIONS
1 What caused the engine failure?
2 What could Pilot X have done better?
Why does Pilot X break all the rules? A fine summer day and an aircraft you know like the back of your hand is no excuse, in this tale by Nick Lambert
Pilot X, standing in his back garden, was dividing his attention between flipping burgers and watching aircraft passing overhead. Not a cloud in the sky and none of the haze often associated with hot summer days. His father, following his son’s gaze, suggested an impromptu flypast for the family gathering. Before the old man had a chance to change his mind, Pilot X handed his father the tongs, and disappeared. The strip was less than five minutes down the road. He could pop into the petrol station for a can of fuel and still be buzzing the house in 20 minutes.
As soon as he swung into the car park, he could see the aircraft had already been pulled out of the hangar, probably to allow another out, although the old man may have already taken her for a spin and not mentioned it. The place was deserted; it looked like everyone had gone flying today.
G-XXXX was a Rotax-powered two-seater, which his father had built while Pilot X was at university. Pilot X had helped with the build in the holidays and knew the aircraft inside out.
He did a quick walkround, but since only he and his father flew the aircraft, he didn’t expect any surprises. Similarly, everything inside seemed in order, so he was soon calling, "Clear prop!" She started instantly. He fiddled with the switches while he waited for the temperatures to rise. Everything was fine, except the fuel pressure didn’t seem to rise when he flicked the electric pump on. This didn’t worry him unduly; he knew some Rotax installations didn’t even have an auxiliary fuel pump. Nonetheless, he made a mental note to ask his father about it.
Checks complete, he lined up on the long, westerly runway. A last glance at the windsock confirmed a stiffening southerly breeze. Holding appropriate aileron he applied full power. Despite being only one-up, acceleration was a little sluggish, which Pilot X put down to the high ambient temperature. What was more worrying was that the engine ‘coughed’ just as he was about to rotate. He paused for a second, but as normal service had been resumed, pulled back on the stick.
At 800ft, Pilot X retracted the flaps. He was just about to turn right, crosswind, when the engine stopped. Instinctively he lowered the nose to maintain airspeed. At the same time, he unsuccessfully cranked the engine. 'Pull yourself together,' he told himself. This was far too low to be messing around trying a restart; he needed to assess the options while he still had some. Ahead was a vast field that had hosted a hundred practice engine failures on take-off.... the difference now was that the field had been roughly ploughed and the ground was rock hard. It didn’t take much imagination to see the aircraft would be shorn of its landing gear and on its back within a few yards. There was a copse to the left... and the fields to the right still hadn’t been harvested.
Squandering options
The only chance of saving the little aircraft, which had had so much love and attention invested in it, was to land back on the strip. He knew a gentle turn would take him further from the end of the runway, so he banked hard. He thought he felt some buffeting and, terrified, released the back pressure. Landing on the plough might not kill him, but stalling-in definitely would. He seemed to be dropping like a stone and had not even completed half the required turn.
'What are you doing?' he screamed at himself. He knew that you never turn back, but here he was, squandering altitude and options, while trying to salvage an aircraft that was comprehensively insured. Having completed the course reversal, he found he needed to keep the turn going quite a bit before he was pointing at the strip. He was now down to 300ft and for a moment it looked like he might make it. Then slowly, inexorably, his reference point started slipping up the windscreen. He was already clean and at best glide speed, so there was nothing left to do. In desperation, he turned the engine over, but it was no use. At 200ft it was clear he would be landing in the plough, and hitting the airfield’s boundary hedge with quite some force, if by some miracle the gear didn’t collapse.
Noticing the windsock, he realised that by turning another 30° he could, at least, land into wind. Losing a bit more height now wouldn’t change a thing, so he made the turn. From 50ft the surface looked terrible. He knew his best chance was to land as slowly as possible. Belatedly he remembered the flaps. Suddenly applying flap caused the aircraft to balloon alarmingly. He applied full throttle, but predictably there was no response; his airspeed was terribly low but he didn’t dare move the stick forward so close to the ground...
As Pilot X regained consciousness, he heard a blackbird singing. The only other sound was the ticking of the cooling engine. The aircraft had indeed flipped over and he was hanging in his harness. Something was dripping onto him; his first thought was fuel, but it turned out to be blood, shorts and flip-flops not providing much protection against mangled rudder pedals and a shattered panel. As he became more aware, he noticed he was losing a lot of blood from a deep gash in his thigh. He started panicking, afraid he would bleed out. He tried to scream but produced only a whimper...
After what seemed like hours, but was actually less than 20 minutes, he heard the noise of rotors above. He wept as he recognised the lurid paint job of the air ambulance; he knew it had been a close shave.
QUESTIONS
1 What caused the engine failure?
2 What could Pilot X have done better?
Twitter & Instagram @iancseager