This takes me back to some 20 years ago. I had a C210 charter from Darwin to Kalumburu with passengers returning home from a trip somewhere down south. The well known Father Anscar from Kalumburu mission was in the back row alone, and two locals in the middle row and one next to me. It was a wet season day, but still early and I tracked down the coast to Cape Ford(?) so that it was less than 100nm over water across to the Kimberley coast. The multi hued green floodplains were on my left and the turbid brown and aqua blotched ocean stretched away to my right.
The aircraft was a lovely 210 white with big red Cessna style stripes, very well maintained and looked after. I'd only flown it a few times before and it was the fastest in the fleet at the time.
Now like many of us, once over water or at night in a single, the engine makes odd sounds. I've been there, done that, "grown up" and was convinced that it was completely part of the imagination. Completely and absolutely.
Turning westwards from Cape Ford out over the calm but murky water, I turned around to see that pax were asleep. I was cruising at 8500, so not unexpected in the smooth air. All was going nicely, no autopilot but easy flying with a nicely trimmed straight aircraft. Nevertheless, I did take note of the trawlers and other white dots of boats in the Gulf below just in case. Not that I was worried, but basic airmanship, no different to knowing where safe landing ground is flying anywhere in a single.
It was pre GPS, and I remember checking my watch and flight plan and thinking just one more minute and I am halfway across the Joseph Bonaparte Gulf and then closer to the Kimberley on the far side. It was my first trip into the Kimberley since my lap of Australia in PPL days, so I was looking forward to it. I relaxed, and enjoyed the view. Happy that fate and coincidental timing had me landed a job in Darwin inside a week - almost unheard of in the 90's - and here three weeks later I was getting paid to fly around the outback, a place I loved, in a nice aircraft.
With happiness and a pride in my thoughts damned if I didn't hear the engine run rough for a split second. I didn't move my head from staring out the window so as not to alarm any awake pax, but my eyes were quickly fixated, sideways on the small instruments like a hawk. Fuel pressure was OK. Oil good. Fuel quantity was just fine, and I'd dipped them an hour before and knew it wasn't starvation. I started cursing myself, thinking my irrational fears were overriding my rational feelings.
I stayed motionless, pretending to stare out the window, but repeatedly scanning every thing in front of me. About 15 seconds later, she properly did cough for a second. There was no imagination there. This was real. As reflex action, fuel pump on, switch tanks. Still I had my head turned out the window, but eyes cast askew at the panel. All normal readings on everything. All 300 horses were still humming away outside. I took note of some trawlers in gliding distance and started thinking about wind and ditching direction, looking on the water for clues. Fortunately it was like a mill pond in the tropical doldrums so that made it easy.
As the engine seemed to be running just fine, the adrenaline waned, and I casually looked around to see if the pax had noticed our oh-so brief interruption to the flight. The locals' eyes were wide, like white saucers contrasted again their jet black skin. Yep, they'd noticed alright.
I turned further to see if Father Anscar had been awoken by the noise. The sight I saw I will take to the grave. There he was in the back of my aircraft, hands clasped together tightly raised in front of his chest looking towards the low ceiling of the cabin saying prayers aloud....
Last edited by compressor stall; 5th Jun 2019 at 11:41.