Tag Archives: “I learned about FLYING from this”

Continued VFR

flying

Fraught with the risk, a scud running pilot conducting a flight that started out under VFR may blunder into IMC conditions. The outcome is known as and described by the catchphrase continued VFR.

In a foray to get across the Sierra my hope was to have a “look-and-see” as it was obvious from official reports as well as my observation on the ground from the flat valley floor that mountain tops were likely to be obscured. My plan was to depart and follow the North Fork of the San Joaquin which would traverse the range and lead to the Mammoth Pass. At 9,300 ft. elevation this is the lowest point at the ridge for over 250 miles. I’d crossed there many times during routine visits to the MMH airport so I knew it visually. But today it wasn’t visible from start. I launched pretending that there’d be a break in the clouds as a possibility.

There’s the option to fly VFR over-the-top [of the clouds] but this assumes the there will be a clearing or at least a hole to descend through at point B. My Centurion P210N, while very capable altitude performance wise was ill-equipped for an in-cloud icing conditions encounter so I elected to stay underneath the deck.

Barreling up the North Fork canyon it was apparent that the cloud ceiling was solid. However, I still met separation criteria from both cloud and terrain so I pressed onward. Emotional stress began to factor in. The hope for a light at the end of the tunnel was not assured and further the undercast was a grey mass. In fact, to the left and the right was plenty gloomy with the canyon walls merging with cloud. I routinely swung my vision to assess. The Centurion has a back window and this scan included looking behind to verify that my completed route was still re-traceable. I found myself becoming increasingly concerned, not so much with what was ahead, but what was behind. I was relying upon a 180 degree turn route escape. That backup was becoming less assured as I pressed forward.

Canyon flying presents the peril of getting boxed in meaning U-turn collision with canyon wall. Further, that lovely diminishing tight circle of clear daylight aft was becoming quite small. Maintaining visual with the mountainous terrain was crucial and going IMC at this juncture could not be good at all. The grey tunnel surround was bleak.

I learned about flying from this. The trap of continued VFR was raring to bite. Finding relief and dumping the anxiety, I aborted and turned back.

If you don’t like the mountain weather – wait a few minutes (hyperbole). I returned to base for re-fuel and flew an alternate mission plan. All the wiser, this was the safe course and a successful outcome. Discounting expectation bias will help a pilot to avoid a continued VFR pitfall.

One Summer Day Challenge

flying

It was a typical hot San Joaquin Valley early afternoon. My airline flew a number of routes which crisscrossed that dry flat plain which was supposed to be dryed grass and sage and treeless. It was mostly without trees but, due to ground water pumping, artificial irrigation allowed a covering patch work of rich cotton, vineyards, and alfalfa. It was late summer and the vineyards had by now produced their crop. Many of these grapes found their way onto trays layered into rows to bake in the dry hot climate. This is kind of how I felt as I climbed into the cockpit of the machine I was assigned to fly to Los Angeles on this day.

The Embraer EMB 110 Bandirante was without ground cooling of any sort. Those in the cockpit suffered heavily from the greenhouse effect. The weak cabin recirculation fan spit hot air through tiny portals called gasper vents. (The English aircraft manufactures call them Punka Louvers; named for the palm fond or strip of cloth hung from the ceiling and moved by the East Indian servants charged with fanning .) There was no relief until the aircraft climbed into the higher and much cooler atmospherics at which time the Brazilian designed air-conditioning became adequate.

Having been born and raised in this environment I was prepared to face the day. After 4 months with the company, I was a relatively seasoned First Officer. My current task, preparatory to departure, was to copy the clearance and the official weather from the aircraft radio. This was all quite routine. I calculated the aircraft performance data and made the initial remarks on the Weight & Balance form. The 100+ degree air wafting in through my open 3 X 4 inch storm window actually felt cool.

The passengers were marshaled from the climate controlled terminal across the baked black top ramp to our hot box airplane. There were 12 of them, mostly businessmen, some leisure travelers, and a woman with an infant.

A big fat yellow hose conduit with an evaporative swamp cooler on the outside end snaked in through the aft cargo hold and blew moist air forward. This was removed all to soon as the final loading process was completed. Sportcoats and other articles of clothing would begin to peel off at this point and pained expressions would begin to appear. Normally our customers would endure 5 minutes of this mistreatment before we made our timely take off. (Sometimes, if we suffered an ATC ground delay this could extend to 15 or even 20 minutes. We pilots would position the aircraft for maximum crosswind through our still open storm windows while we waited. I would sneak a look aft at our nearly wilted business men and remember thinking: “They will have to change clothes before they can go to their appointments and meetings! Our competitors may have more new business, the next time.”)

At last the control tower cleared us for take off. It was the captain’s leg. I was the PNF (pilot not flying) so it was my job to run checklists, the radios, and to navigate. I acknowledged the clearance and completed the lengthy pretakeoff check. As we rolled down the runway gaining momentum, I made final tweaks to the power levers achieving the desired torque target and called out the relevant airspeeds. “V1…Rotate,” was my last call as we broke ground and flew into the wind.

There was an additional flurry of challenge and response as we completed the after takeoff checklist and then mostly just the hot silence as we relaxed a little and put our feet up to settle in. Fairly soon we would be at our final cruising altitude where it would be cooler and we would do other pilot stuff like talk about cars, boats, planes, and girls (not necessarily in that order). For now it was still sterile cockpit (non essential conversation forbidden) so we scanned the sky for conflicting traffic and I handled the more mundane chores of company required paperwork and communication.

At 4,200 feet and climbing: BAAM!!…?? What the hell was that? The aircraft yawed violently left and then again but more gently to the right as we both scrambled to get our feet back onto the rudder pedals to cancel the oscillation. It must have been only an instant, but seemed longer, that we sat there stunned in disbelief that this was happening to us. A quick look at torque and Turbine interstage temps confirmed that #1 engine was dead. In fact, it had failed violently with sudden stoppage. I suggested that the captain look out his side window and verify that the offending powerplant and wing were in one piece (or even still there for that matter!) Back to important matters at hand. The airspeed was naturally beginning to deteriorate and the PF (pilot flying) relaxed the aircraft climb slightly as we began the emergency drill that we had practiced so many times in training but only simulated. It was first necessary to secure the free wheeling propeller which was acting as a massive aerodynamic speed brake. Without such response we would surely plummet. Quickly now, from memory and without a dangerous mistake or omission, we ran the drill:

  • PF-confirm left engine fail PNF-yes fail
  • PF-left power lever PNF-confirm
  • PF-flight idle PNF-performs
  • PF-left propeller lever PNF-confirm
  • PF-feather PNF-performs
  • PF-left condition lever PNF-confirm
  • PF-fuel cutoff PNF-performs
  • PF-left firewall shutoff PNF-confirm etc..etc…

The propeller obligingly feathered and the immediate danger was passed. A slew of duties remained, however, which would keep us at 100% until we had safely diverted to our original departure point. Apart from the written emergency, descent, approach and landing checklists that were still to be run, there was a great deal of communicating to be done. ATC had to be notified. The company had to be informed and not least the passengers had to be briefed.

Ah…the poor passengers. By now they were probably ready to come out of their skins, and it was my job to calm and reassure them over the cabin P.A. So, in my steadiest, most comforting voice possible I said: “Ladies and gentlemen as you are probably aware, we are experiencing some difficulties with our aircraft…there is little cause for concern …we will be returning to the airport shortly…”

The PF was in a big hurry to get back. I only had just enough time to get everything done. The crash and rescue trucks were ready for us but the landing was without further incident. We limped back to the gate with our one remaining engine.

The passengers were deplaned and ushered inside while we did a post flight walk around. There was no evidence of external damage, fortunately, because turbine blades (at 40,000 rpm) have been known to exit protective casings during catastrophic failure and pierce aircraft cabins and fuel tanks like shrapnel. In our situation, the explosion was fully contained. When you turned the propeller by hand, though, you could hear the metallic garbage inside like some giant coffee grinder.

The adrenaline was beginning to subside and we were able to laugh a little and tell our wide eyed story to the ground crew and mechanics who had assembled there. Privately, I had begun thinking that we would probably get debriefed and released to go home soon. Right? We were heroes weren’t we?

That’s when the message from operations arrived. “Walk over to GA and preflight the spare Bandit that’s over there and taxi it over. Finish your trip.” I was astonished! Back to reality. I was so pleased with the successful outcome of the last attempt that I hadn’t concerned myself with the matter of the unfinished LAX flight. Or, with how hot it still was. Our spare airplane had been parked in the blazing sun all day with all openings sealed. It was the definition of heat soaked. Euphoria was soon replaced with more sweat.

More astonishing, when we reboarded our flight, all the passengers (save for the mother and baby) had returned! I guess people can put up with a lot! But it’s a dry heat…Maybe it’s the frequent flyer miles…I just don’t know…

1988