Creature of Habit
by Chucky
Yogi Bera said it best and the same can be said of flying. “Ninety percent of baseball is mental. The other 50% is physical. In-flight emergencies must be addressed quickly and accurately. When a pilots mind is under severe pressure preparation and practice of procedure will serve him more than thinking. There isn’t time to think, as the following personal missive illustrates.
In 1984, my job was a routine midnight freight flight in a twin-engine plane from Southend, England to Brussels, Belgium and back. Normally, like all flights, everything went smoothly. This winter night I would earn my pay. Some would say it is a pilot's skill that enables him or her to cuddle the grandkids. Skill? In the cockpit, skill can be defined by practice and mental preparation for in-flight procedures.
The flight from Southend to Brussels, after checking the weather, filing a flight plan, passing emigration (I held a British ATP, but a USA passport and therefore was not a member of the European Community which had transparent borders), and preflight and liftoff from Southend was uneventful. I banked East at 500’ AGL, preferring ditching in the icy waters of the Channel in case of engine failure to negotiating a landing in the cement of the city. The weather was CAVU. (Clear and Visibility Unrestricted). Brussels Approach expected me and after the initial radio call gave me the altimeter setting and handed me off to the tower. After landing, I parked the aircraft in the general aviation section, set the mixtures to rich because previous experience taught me that they would be frozen in place after sitting on the ramp for the hour it took TNT to unload the freight.
The flight back is the interesting part of this story. Checking the weather I learned that the temperature-dewpoint spread was within two degrees so after takeoff from Brussels I monitored the weather continuously, and by the time I was over Manston, it had dropped to within one degree. The temperature dewpoint spread is a good indication of fog. The winds being light and variable warned me that ground fog was inevitable if the two numbers met. It wouldn’t come gradually, but would appear in the snap of a finger. I’d seen it before but not from 6000 feet.
There are a number of alternatives to the possibility of not being able to land at the intended destination. Manston, directly below me was a giant airfield with Ground controlled Radar capable of talking me down in zero-zero weather till my wheels screeched on the runway pavement. At 4 am, Manston was closed. GCA was developed by MIT in 1942 and was installed at 3 major aerodromes at the height of WWII, and still used for emergency backdoor 0/0 weather alternatives. They were Prestwick, Scotland, Lyneham, Wiltshire and Manston, Kent. Lyneham and Manston were closed and Prestwick was beyond fuel range for the Cessna Titan 404.
From Manston my destination, South End, on the southeast coast of England was 120 miles distant. About 45 minutes flying time. Chances are that I wasn’t going to make it if the temp dewpoint closed any further.
Visibility was clear and unrestricted. I continued listening to the weather radio and watching twinkling lights from street lights and automobiles slide by my side window.
About 15 miles north of Manston twinkles were barely visible through the white, fuzzy cloth covering the ground. I made a radio call to Terminal Control, deciding that my best bet was Heathrow. By then the view ahead to the city of Southend showed a blanket of ground level fog. Although visibility through ground fog appeared acceptable looking down through it from above, landing in it was impossible. Looking down its only 50’ thick. Looking ahead its miles thick. Essentially zero visibility.
London Approach, gulf delta alpha foxtrot sierra ten miles north of Manston, altitude 6000 request vector to Heathrow for full stop landing. Heathrow was my alternate. Every IFR flight requires an alternate and 45 minutes of fuel left in the tanks upon landing.
Foxtrot Sierra, approach Heathrow is accepting Cat II approaches only due to 0/0 visibility, came the reply. Altimeter two niner niner two.
Although ILS (Instrument Landing System) was developed in years subsequent to GCA( Ground Controlled Approach), ILS Cat II required highly sophisticated electronics and specially trained pilots for a 0/0 landing. GCA merely required a number of practice approaches, which I had, but useless still if the operators were home in bed; the normal procedure which, in the face of a true emergency, such as a pilot trapped over an impenetrable cloud deck with no available alternate, they would be called out by Terminal Services.
I asked approach for suitable alternative airports.
London Approach responded that Calais was reporting cavu.
Calais, France is on the coast, a short hop back across the Channel.
I immediately banked east and responded that I was descending to 5000’ and proceeding across the Channel to Calais. I pulled the approach plate from my flight bag. On the way over I did a routine scan of my instruments, checking heading, altitude, and the engine while setting a course.
Even though its cool in the cockpit, my brow beaded with nervous sweat from concentration and concern whether Calais will become socked in also before my arrival. I’m trueing out at 180 kts and can see the lights of Calais from over the Channel. I estimate 13 minutes to cover the 40-mile flight. Halfway over the Channel I spy the airport strobe and alter course slightly straight for it.
Listening to the radio for weather on the Continent, the unemotional drone from the radio announces dewpoint spread is closing.
I set up for a visual approach to 06 after crossing the runway and turning downwind, pull off some power for the decent and run through a mental checklist: Brakes tapped, gear handle down, flaps set, power check, radios set, altimeter set, auxiliary fuel pumps on, mixtures rich, props, icing check.
I did a double check of my checklist in anticipation of turning final. No greens! Three greens for the landing gear down are not lit. My mind races. I didn’t hear the gear noise. All three lights can’t be out.
The gear is still in its well. Three lights can’t be out by coincidence and they were lit before takeoff from Southend earlier. No chance of abandoning the approach and troubleshooting it further for fear of the closing dewpoint temp spread. I turn final approach, the runway lights looming larger as I close on the threshold I decided to use emergency procedures and blow the gear down, but first, one more try and I once again cycled the gear. Nothing. No sound or vibration. I placed the gear handle in the down position. Nothing, waiting for the three greens: nothing. Right! Very little time left. The fingers on my left hand count the circuit breakers on the panel by my left elbow as practiced many times previously in anticipation of the situation in a dark cockpit. Three over and four back. Without looking, I pull the circuit breaker for the landing gear motor and Immediately reached for the red handle connecting a cable attached to a compressed air bottle in the nose if the aircraft.
The compressed air from this bottle will blow the gear down. There is only one bottle. Double check: gear handle down and breaker pulled.
“Its now or never.” I am whispering to myself.
Either way I am landing at Calais as my mind races by habit to the pilots creed: the most important two questions good pilots keep asking themselves: What if and what’s next?
So what if the bottle blows and still no three greens? With the strong possibility of ground fog and not wanting to take a chance I committed to landing, gear or no gear.
I will at least save the engines and shut them down and feather the props before touchdown. I will also shut off the fuel feed having already shutdown the engines by pulling the mixtures back to full lean. By this time, I’m no longer whispering.
I ran through the checklist items mentally, power off, feather props, mixtures lean, fuel valve off, magnetos off after close enough to make the runway, fly the airplane. The adrenalin is pumping as three green lights appear and crossing the runway threshold, ease the craft down to a smooth and uneventful landing. The buildings are dark so I taxi to a nearby ramp where other small aircraft are parked and secure the aircraft.
I find a phone and call a taxi, which drives me to a hotel. I will phone the office in the morning. Another flight where the end result was never in doubt. Whew!
Oh. Burst hydraulic line.
