One very dark and wet Sunday night, Far East, sitting 80 miles offshore in the left seat of a search and rescue equipped S-76 helicopter, in a roaring gale. Over a ship with the RHS pilot and the winch op trying desperately to get the winch man on board to recover a casualty. The ship was pitching and rolling hard. The winch was on the right and all I could see was an occasional glimpse of the top of the ship’s main mast, through the lower transparency.
The voice “patter” from the winch op suddenly went up in pitch. I sensed that the handling pilot had become tense and was beginning to over control. Suddenly, I saw the top of the ship’s mast pass laterally and very close underneath the aircraft. I felt we were very likely to get swiped by it so I had no option but to interrupt the winch op’s patter by declaring “UP FIVE!”. Something I really didn’t want to do because I couldn’t see the full picture.
I felt the aircraft rise, but the over controlling continued and my backside was telling me things were getting really dangerous. The only thing I could think if doing was to place my hand lightly on the cyclic and say “Steady, ******!”, addressing the pilot by his first name.
Thankfully, he did steady. We completed the job and returned with the casualty. The other pilot told me later that my input was very welcome, things were beginning to get beyond him.
Still have bad dreams about that one. Had we been hit by the mast, I’m sure I wouldn’t be here writing about it.