Fri Jan 27, 2012 11:24 am
#1031376
One extra drag
Ian Seager looks into the mind of Pilot X - a pilot with a compulsion and a heavy aircraft...
The violent movement stopped and the chaos was replaced by silence. X sat motionless in disbelief. Wisps of smoke could be seen coming from the cowling and the left wing had crumpled as if it were made from paper. Looking out of the window, X could only see mud and grass where the undercarriage should have been. It could have been seconds or it could have been minutes, but when X finally registered the familiar smell of avgas it provided more than enough motivation. X lifted the handle and pushed the door which moved half an inch or so; he pushed harder but it wasn’t going to open, presumably jammed in place by the combination of a distorted flap and the ground.
As the heavy avgas fumes filled the cabin, X’s disbelief gave way to a sense of urgency. His door still wasn’t moving, but fortunately the passenger door opened and X clambered out while cursing himself loudly. It had gone from control to chaos very quickly. He knew that he only had himself to blame, but he still reached into his empty pocket for his cigarettes.
X was up early that morning, and while the tea brewed he fired up the laptop to check the weather. There was no TAF for his home airfield, but someone had conveniently built a military base close by and their forecast suggested the last of the overnight rain would clear through in a couple of hours. X poured himself his first cup of tea and took out his second Marlboro of the morning. Whenever he lit up on a flying day he could see his AME frowning and worse could hear himself promising the doc that the habit would be a thing of the past come his next medical – not much chance of that.
With the time pressure gone, thanks to the rain, X decided to take his time over the flight planning. He knew he wasn’t as current as he’d like to be, and, if he was honest with himself, his last flight hadn’t exactly been a demonstration of the finely-honed skill and precision he thought he once may have had, so X dragged a crumpled chart from his flight bag and set about refolding it. How was it the chart-folding fairies manage to get the destination just beyond the crease every time X flew?
X took his scale and drew a nice, fat, 40nm long red chinagraph line on the laminated surface, something he hadn’t really bothered with for a while, and even though he knew the area well he studied the chart intently, looking for obstacles 10nm each side of his track in order to work out his MSA. X was enjoying the nostalgia, and could almost smell the musty Portakabin that had been his world as a PPL student all those years ago. X managed to find an old blank PLOG and although he’d long since sold his CRP-1, he filled in the headings and times that the software on his laptop calculated for him. The planning process had been strangely satisfying and before setting off for the airfield X rewarded himself with another cup of tea which was accompanied by the mandatory Marlboro.
X stood in the clubhouse and looked out at the row of parked aircraft between him and the grass runway. So far nothing had moved that morning and the aircraft, including the C210 in which he had a share, were all sat there with their damp covers presumably protecting the paintwork and avionics from the worst of the weather. X knew that it made sense to cover the Centurion, but the thought of doing battle with the big damp canvas didn’t fill him with joy. He put off the struggle for a bit longer by making himself another cup of tea and chatting over the upcoming flight with the club’s CFI. He really wanted another cigarette but he’d left them in the car. The pair grumbled about engineers, the cost of engineering and of course the CAA – well, it was traditional. The 210 had only just returned from a lengthy Annual so it was a bit galling to have to fly it back to its maintenance base, a hangar on a grim airfield in the middle of nowhere, to get a few minor problems sorted – but X wasn’t too unhappy, it was free flying after all.
X pulled out his mobile and hit speed dial 2. X chuckled to himself; the fact that his engineer came second only to his wife in the speed dial rankings was probably not a great sign. The engineering company assured him that it had a couple of people ready and waiting, and that he’d almost certainly only have to leave it with them for a couple of hours.
He wandered over to the aeroplane to begin taking the cover off. By the time he’d put it away and completed a thorough pre-flight, not only were his feet and the bottom of his trousers soaking wet but he’d nearly fallen off the ladder when it dug into the soft ground while he was checking the fuel contents. This earth-bound stuff was starting to get very tedious indeed.
X cleaned the mud and grass from his shoes as best he could and climbed in, closing the door behind him in a symbolic gesture of moving from one world to another. He plugged in his headset and started the engine – master on, beacon on, mixture rich, throttle full, 5 bananas on the aux fuel pump, return throttle to about 50%. X turned the key, the engine started and he brought the throttle swiftly to idle.
It took a while for the Ts & Ps to come up, but as soon as they were there, X made his way to the threshold. During the power checks the brakes were holding but the tyres were sliding on the grass runway. He lined up, went to full throttle and accelerated. X could feel the extra drag each time the big Cessna crossed the softer ground. He glanced at the almost static airspeed and realised his cigarettes were still in the car. It took less than a second for him to decide to pull the power and go back for the Marlboro, but rather than decelerating the big 210 seemed to accelerate and despite pushing with all his strength, the brakes had no effect, the ditch at the end of the runway was coming towards him at about 45kt…
Questions
1 Could X have done anything differently to stop quicker?
2 What else might he have done as part of his pre-flight planning?
Ian Seager looks into the mind of Pilot X - a pilot with a compulsion and a heavy aircraft...
The violent movement stopped and the chaos was replaced by silence. X sat motionless in disbelief. Wisps of smoke could be seen coming from the cowling and the left wing had crumpled as if it were made from paper. Looking out of the window, X could only see mud and grass where the undercarriage should have been. It could have been seconds or it could have been minutes, but when X finally registered the familiar smell of avgas it provided more than enough motivation. X lifted the handle and pushed the door which moved half an inch or so; he pushed harder but it wasn’t going to open, presumably jammed in place by the combination of a distorted flap and the ground.
As the heavy avgas fumes filled the cabin, X’s disbelief gave way to a sense of urgency. His door still wasn’t moving, but fortunately the passenger door opened and X clambered out while cursing himself loudly. It had gone from control to chaos very quickly. He knew that he only had himself to blame, but he still reached into his empty pocket for his cigarettes.
X was up early that morning, and while the tea brewed he fired up the laptop to check the weather. There was no TAF for his home airfield, but someone had conveniently built a military base close by and their forecast suggested the last of the overnight rain would clear through in a couple of hours. X poured himself his first cup of tea and took out his second Marlboro of the morning. Whenever he lit up on a flying day he could see his AME frowning and worse could hear himself promising the doc that the habit would be a thing of the past come his next medical – not much chance of that.
With the time pressure gone, thanks to the rain, X decided to take his time over the flight planning. He knew he wasn’t as current as he’d like to be, and, if he was honest with himself, his last flight hadn’t exactly been a demonstration of the finely-honed skill and precision he thought he once may have had, so X dragged a crumpled chart from his flight bag and set about refolding it. How was it the chart-folding fairies manage to get the destination just beyond the crease every time X flew?
X took his scale and drew a nice, fat, 40nm long red chinagraph line on the laminated surface, something he hadn’t really bothered with for a while, and even though he knew the area well he studied the chart intently, looking for obstacles 10nm each side of his track in order to work out his MSA. X was enjoying the nostalgia, and could almost smell the musty Portakabin that had been his world as a PPL student all those years ago. X managed to find an old blank PLOG and although he’d long since sold his CRP-1, he filled in the headings and times that the software on his laptop calculated for him. The planning process had been strangely satisfying and before setting off for the airfield X rewarded himself with another cup of tea which was accompanied by the mandatory Marlboro.
X stood in the clubhouse and looked out at the row of parked aircraft between him and the grass runway. So far nothing had moved that morning and the aircraft, including the C210 in which he had a share, were all sat there with their damp covers presumably protecting the paintwork and avionics from the worst of the weather. X knew that it made sense to cover the Centurion, but the thought of doing battle with the big damp canvas didn’t fill him with joy. He put off the struggle for a bit longer by making himself another cup of tea and chatting over the upcoming flight with the club’s CFI. He really wanted another cigarette but he’d left them in the car. The pair grumbled about engineers, the cost of engineering and of course the CAA – well, it was traditional. The 210 had only just returned from a lengthy Annual so it was a bit galling to have to fly it back to its maintenance base, a hangar on a grim airfield in the middle of nowhere, to get a few minor problems sorted – but X wasn’t too unhappy, it was free flying after all.
X pulled out his mobile and hit speed dial 2. X chuckled to himself; the fact that his engineer came second only to his wife in the speed dial rankings was probably not a great sign. The engineering company assured him that it had a couple of people ready and waiting, and that he’d almost certainly only have to leave it with them for a couple of hours.
He wandered over to the aeroplane to begin taking the cover off. By the time he’d put it away and completed a thorough pre-flight, not only were his feet and the bottom of his trousers soaking wet but he’d nearly fallen off the ladder when it dug into the soft ground while he was checking the fuel contents. This earth-bound stuff was starting to get very tedious indeed.
X cleaned the mud and grass from his shoes as best he could and climbed in, closing the door behind him in a symbolic gesture of moving from one world to another. He plugged in his headset and started the engine – master on, beacon on, mixture rich, throttle full, 5 bananas on the aux fuel pump, return throttle to about 50%. X turned the key, the engine started and he brought the throttle swiftly to idle.
It took a while for the Ts & Ps to come up, but as soon as they were there, X made his way to the threshold. During the power checks the brakes were holding but the tyres were sliding on the grass runway. He lined up, went to full throttle and accelerated. X could feel the extra drag each time the big Cessna crossed the softer ground. He glanced at the almost static airspeed and realised his cigarettes were still in the car. It took less than a second for him to decide to pull the power and go back for the Marlboro, but rather than decelerating the big 210 seemed to accelerate and despite pushing with all his strength, the brakes had no effect, the ditch at the end of the runway was coming towards him at about 45kt…
Questions
1 Could X have done anything differently to stop quicker?
2 What else might he have done as part of his pre-flight planning?