Apologies for stating those 500s belonged to Jayrow when they were, in fact, Vowell machines. The website where I found the photo stated they were Jayrow, although it did seem odd that they didn't have the standard orange Jayrow paint scheme.
The crash of a Jayrow Hughes 500 during the 1973-74 season was mentioned previously here on PPRuNe and here is a first-hand account of that incident. These are the words of Andrew Turk, who, I believe, was a mapper or geologist and was a passenger on the accident aircraft.
"After about a fortnight of surveying from small nunataks and high mountains, the helicopters arrived to move my party to Burke Ridge. I had a new assistant who had lately spent time at Mt. Cresswell camp and brought stories of several aircraft 'incidents' involving one of the pilots. To reassured him, I decided that I would fly in that pilot's helicopter to lead onto the ridge, and he could follow with the other pilot.
We took off from Mt Newton early in the afternoon, circled the survey mark and took aerial photographs before heading South towards Burke Ridge, located at 65 degrees 25 minutes East longitude; 74 degrees 40 minutes South latitude.
I was always apprehensive of helicopter travel. As the fixed-wing aircraft pilot said: "Helicopters don't really fly, they just defy gravity". But my overwhelming feeling was of awe as I looked down on the towering mountainside of rock and ice. Burke Ridge was an exciting destination, viewed by previous expeditions but never occupied and this was my chance to get measurements to link the most southern rocky ridge into our growing geodetic survey network. To put it accurately on the map.
We came to the ridge, thin and steep, running roughly North-South, and assessed the prospects for a landing near the summit. We circled and I took off my helmet to take aerial photographs. There was a snow patch about five metres wide near the summit which looked like a possible landing site, but the wind howling in from the South-West made the helicopter buck. I turned to the pilot and said: "If its too hard to land I'm happy to carry the gear up the hill". He shook his head and banked the helicopter for an approach into the wind. I put my helmet back on and tightened the strap.
When we were about ten metres from the ground, the wind streaming over the ridge pushed the tail of the helicopter making it veer violently off line and to quickly lose altitude. Instead of powering forward into the wind, the pilot chose to turn the machine to the right to try to move away from the ridge.
The helicopter skid just caught the rocky edge and the machine somersaulted over the western face of the ridge. Death seemed inevitable as the tail and main rotors broke free and the engine screamed. The noise was horrific as our world tumbled down but I thought "you never know your luck", placed my left arm across my face and huddled down. The few seconds more of descent seemed like minutes as the helicopter continued to disintegrate and metal struck my helmet and left arm. Then all was still, the helicopter stuck in a rock outcrop and me hanging from my seat belt. I released the belt, climbed from the shattered bubble, and pulled the pilot out. We ran as fast as we could across the rocky hillside till about fifty metres from the remains of the helicopter. I expected it to explode as the load included several car batteries and plastic containers of fuel but it just sat there crumpled among the rocks and snow and hissed.
The pilot pulled the emergency radio from his trouser leg pocket and called the other helicopter, hovering high overhead, saying that the wind conditions were terrible, not to try to land and to radio for help. The pilot of the other Helicopter later told me that he was so overcome by watching us crash that he would have been incapable of landing to pick us up.
I thought my left arm was broken, as I couldn’t move it, so I tied it inside my coat and started searching the hillside for parts of the load that had spilled from the helicopter as it bounced and broke up. I was elated to find my field books with the records of the past fortnight's observations. Next I located the survey equipment. The tellurometer was smashed but the sturdy theodolite was still in its cast iron case, although the base was cracked. However, I could see where a bolt from the exploding engine had pierced the case, left its hexagonal impression on the telescope focussing barrel and ricocheted away, rendering the theodolite inoperative.
The pilot called me over. Manning, the survey party leader, waiting on Wilson Bluff for the measurements had heard the emergency message and was calling me on the radio. He barked three rapid-fire questions: Is anyone dead? Are you badly hurt? Can we still get the measurement?" I answered no to each. By this stage I was feeling a lot safer but very weak so I settled myself among the rocks to await developments.
The Porter fixed-wing aircraft had been taking aerial photographs about a hundred kilometres away when the pilot heard the emergency message. He quickly returned to Mt. Cresswell camp, refuelled, took on board the expedition doctor who happened to be there, and flew towards us. When we saw the Porter circling the ridge, looking for an area of ice without crevasses to land, we climbed down the rest of the hillside.
As we reached the ice we saw the Porter coming towards us on its skids. It stopped about thirty metres away and the pilot jumped from the cockpit and ran towards me opening a can of beer. "Here, get this into you" he said. Declining, I turned instead to the doctor and a syringe of morphine. The four hour flight back to Mawson and the trek down from the airstrip were mostly a blur for me and it was not until I was safely inside the small medical room at the base that I could relax. I was safe and all my defence mechanisms collapsed. I vomited and wept."
I hope this is of interest.
500 Fan.
Last edited by 500 Fan; 22nd Dec 2012 at 19:38.