Thunderstorms.
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Thunderstorms.
Part one
One summer I was flown into thunderstorms four times by three different captains, all of them ex-military, a retired Air Force Colonel, a retired Air Force Major and a former World War Two Navy fighter/furloughed cargo airline captain. Three times were at high altitude in Jet Commanders and the fourth time in the mid-20s in a Merlin II. Two of these thunderstorm encounters happened on the same day, one at high altitude in a Jet Commander and the Merlin II in the mid-20s, flown by the same guy, the retired Air Force Colonel.
Surprisingly enough, at least to me anyway, I survived all four encounters. At least physically, not too sure about mentally. Hell, after that summer I didn’t want to fly in high cirrus clouds in the middle of winter. Talk about paranoid. But I finally got over it, but kept an extremely healthy respect for thunderstorms for the rest of my career.
The first time that summer.
As with most young pilots I was poor, stupid, way too smart for myself and bullet proof. Back then most of the PICs I flew with were former military pilots, guys that flew in World War Two and the Korean War. Being raised in the Air Force, my father being an Air Force pilot, I considered these guys Sky Gods. They had survived being way too smart for themselves, bullet proof and that was with people trying to shoot them down. Conveniently forgetting about all those Colonels, Majors and Navy fighter pilots that didn’t survive being way too smart for themselves and bullet proof.
Also being a young pilot, I was a whore for turbine/jet time. I’d fly with anybody, anywhere in jet aircraft, as long as they paid me of course. Whores don’t work for free you know, not even me. One day I get a phone call, would I be the co-pilot on a Jet Commander to ferry it to MEM for a new owner, with a stop off in Kansas to drop off a Lear Jet crew where they would pick up a Lear 23 that would ferry the Lear to MEM as well, then return home in a Merlin II? How much I reply, they reply standard rate, whatever that was back then, I reply where and when.
So a couple of days later I show up on the ramp there where some used Jet Commanders were sitting. I find the right one, do the exterior pre-flight and then walk into the FBO, check the weather and to see The Colonel to ask him how much fuel he wanted. Which was usually a wasted question, as his response was always the same, regardless of how many passengers or how far we were going, fill it up. I look at the girl behind the FBO counter that we were standing in front of, requested her to tell the line crew to tow the aircraft up front, top it off and for a power unit. Don’t bother to ask why The Colonel just didn’t tell her himself, it didn’t work that way with him. About that time the crew that were going to fly the Lear 23 show up, really good friends of mine, Laurel and Hardy, well that’s what I will call them for this story, as it fitted them to a ‘T’.
Pretty soon we get loaded up, with Laurel and Hardy in the back bitching about the catering, there was none, that it was too hot, it was too cold and asking when would we get there. In other words making appear that this was a normal trip with real passengers. Ignoring them, just as we would real passengers, we fire up and depart. In about an hour we land at the airport in Kansas where the Lear 23 was waiting for Laurel and Hardy. As we refuel and have the Lear 23 fueled, I check the weather again and I am told that there is a scattered line of thunderstorms that were building between us and MEM. But the guy at the Flight Service Station said that it looked like we could work our way through them or go on top as the max height of the storms were around 350 at the time. I dutifully inform The Colonel of this fact and then walk out and tell Laurel and Hardy the same. They file for 450 and The Colonel files for 350, hmm. Again I attempt to impress on him that the line of thunderstorms are building, like getting higher. He just nods at me, not even bothering to take his ever present cigar out of his mouth.
After both aircraft are refueled we taxi out first in the Jet Commander, the field was uncontrolled so the plan was to takeoff VFR, contact center and head to Memphis. As we are taxing out I hear the Lear going to near full power, then silence, again near full power, then silence. Then Laurel and Hardy call us on Unicom, they can’t get the parking brake to release and want us to wait. The Colonel does not like to wait, but he agrees to wait for five minutes and if they have not figured out to do something as simple as releasing the parking brake, they can either jump back in the Jet Commander or we’ll leave them. The Colonel places his left arm on the top of the instrument panel so he can watch his wristwatch, as when he says five minutes, he means five minutes, not four minutes and fifty nine seconds or five minutes and one second. At three minutes and ten seconds they call us and tell us that the parking brake is released and they are moving.
Now I failed to mention one thing, as usual in these old jets, which were not old back then, it was standard practice just to start the right engine to taxi out on and start the left engine just before you take the runway to takeoff. Today was no different, we had just started the right engine and taxied out. After we hear that they are moving The Colonel starts to pull out on the runway, without starting the left engine. Now usually I would not dare to attempt to criticize The Colonel, not only had CRM not been invented back then, it would have been unthinkable to The Colonel, old school you know. Never the less, I summed up enough courage to ask him if he would like to use both engines for this takeoff. He blinks a couple of times, looks at me and says, “Yeah, uh, why don’t you start that thing, probably would help.”
I’m pretty sure the left engine was up to speed when The Colonel went to full power on takeoff and off we were heading for Memphis and the building line of thunderstorms. As we get closer to the line of thunderstorms we go IMC. The radar is paining the line which is pretty solid by now, but the northern end of the line ends about 60 miles south of the Fayetteville VOR, but there was a single cell sitting right on top of the Fayetteville VOR, about forty miles in diameter. So there is about a 20 mile gap between the line and the Fayetteville VOR, but north of that there were no radar returns. So to me we have two choices, shoot through the 20 mile gap or go 60/70 miles north of the Fayetteville miss the whole mess, which was my preference. About then Laurel and Hardy calls, who are behind us calls me to tell me that their radar in out and asks me what we are painting. So I tell them what I am seeing on the radar and they decided to take the northern choice. A wise choice as it turned out, as soon they were on top at 450 in the clear for the rest of the way to Memphis. We were not so fortunate.
Now while all this was going on, The Colonel had just been sitting in the left seat, smoking his cigar, watching the autopilot fly the aircraft directly toward the Fayetteville VOR and the thunderstorm. Now I did mention that I thought that we had two options did I not? Well, The Colonel had a third, just keep going straight ahead. So, again being the dutiful co-pilot, I pointed out that there was a cell sitting on top of the VOR and pointed out the two options, suggesting the northern one. He looks at me, a bit surprised that I would actually talk to him without being addressed first, then looked down at the radar, messed with the intensity function, range, then the tilt on the radar then said, “We’ll be on top.” And went back to watching the autopilot.
We’re now coming up to about 80 miles from the VOR, about 20 miles from the cell that had grown wider to about 60 miles. At least what we are painting on the radar of the cell. I’m not all that sure that we will be over the top of the cell, not at from what I am seeing on the radar. So, again being the dutiful co-pilot, I tell him of my doubts, he looks back at the radar, which was on the 80 mile range setting, switches it to the 20 mile setting, tilts the radar dish up and sure enough, the cell we were painting goes away. “Yeah, we’ll top it.” Famous last words, well almost last words.
No more were those words out of his mouth when there was a brilliant flash of light on the left side of the aircraft, followed by a very loud explosion, then the left engine quits and rolls down below idle. We lose the left side of electrical power of the aircraft, including the pilot’s flight instruments and kicks the autopilot off, then we hit a brick wall. To call the turbulence severe would be an understatement of Biblical proportion. The Colonel bites his cigar in two. I’d never seen anyone ever do that before. Now we are in severe turbulence, so severe that I cannot focus on any of my flight instruments that are still functioning and my head is hitting the top of the cockpit, the right engine is still at cruise power and we are in a rapid roll to the left, starting to descend.
There is a rocker switch on the overhead panel that transfer the power from the right side instrument to the left side. I decide that if there ever was a time to use that switch, it was now. The Colonel came to the same conclusion at the same time and yelled at me to push the power transfer switch, as the pulls the right engine back to idle. It was so turbulent that it took me four attempts before I could get my finger on that switch and push it, transferring the power to the left side. This was a mistake, a big mistake. For as soon as I managed push that rocker switch, I lost all power to my flight instruments on the right side.
IMC, in a thunderstorm, one engine out and now no flight instruments.
‘Now we’re in for it I thought’, but what I said was, “Now we’re fu<ked.” But wait, we had one of those new tiny standby, battery powered attitude indicators. In fact I think this was one of the, if not the first Jet Commanders I flown with this thing installed. We’re saved! So I start yelling, “The standby, the standby!” The Colonel looks at me as if I’d lost my mind, so I yell again and point at the standby attitude indicator that was mounted on the bottom of the pilot’s instrument panel by his right knee. We both look at it, it is showing a near 90 degree left bank with the nose dropping below the horizon. The Colonel starts to roll the wings level and applies back pressure on the yoke when the standby attitude indicator flips the other direction and the red off flag pops out.
About then Laurel and Hardy calls us, telling us that they are top at 450, can see the top of the cell over the VOR is above them and asks how our ride is. Thanks a lot, rub it in, at this point in time we are trying to figure out if we can get any power to any of the flight instruments, so I don’t have time to talk to anybody. The Colonel keeps pulling on the cage knob on the standby attitude indicator as if this would make it start working again. I decide to kill everything, I turn the working generator off, the avionics master off and then the batteries off. We are still getting the crap beat out of us and now things are flying all over the cockpit, including lose items like pens coming off the floor of the cockpit and landing on the overhead panel. No matter how tight I get my seatbelt, my head keeps hitting the overhear panel and this is really starting to piss me off. I turn the batteries back on, the get the right generator back on line then turn the avionics switch back on. My flight instruments come back for just a second and then fail again. I missed a step when I turned everything off, but didn’t realize it at the time. Which considering everything that was going on right then, could be forgiven.
When the radios came back up after I turned on the avionics switch I could hear the Center and Laurel and Hardy trying to call us. The Center controller had finally woken up, noticed that we were rapidly losing altitude and then lost our transponder. Laurel and Hardy were wanting to know who was going to buy the beer that night if we got killed. Always nice to know that one has good friends looking out for you. I really cannot remember just what I told center right then, something along the lines of ‘I’d talk to them when I had the chance, but was too busy right then’. Laurel and Hardy I ignored. The Colonel somehow managed to stick another cigar in his mouth, folded his arms and said, “Let me know if you see the ground before we hit it.” I remember that to this day very clearly. Nice reassurance I thought at the time.
It seemed like we were in the thunderstorm for at least an hour, getting thrown around the cockpit, getting the crap beat out of us and my head constantly hitting the overhead panel. From what Laurel and Hardy told us later it was for only about five minutes. My, how time flies when one is having fun. Then the clouds start to get lighter and the turbulence goes from severe to mild, to light. I catch something green in the corner of my eye, look up through the overhead cockpit window and see the ground, actually a forest. I yelled “I got it.”, I grabbed the yoke, roll the aircraft toward the opening in the clouds and then pull through the hole into open clear air.
I had never seen a more beautiful sight.
Part two later.
One summer I was flown into thunderstorms four times by three different captains, all of them ex-military, a retired Air Force Colonel, a retired Air Force Major and a former World War Two Navy fighter/furloughed cargo airline captain. Three times were at high altitude in Jet Commanders and the fourth time in the mid-20s in a Merlin II. Two of these thunderstorm encounters happened on the same day, one at high altitude in a Jet Commander and the Merlin II in the mid-20s, flown by the same guy, the retired Air Force Colonel.
Surprisingly enough, at least to me anyway, I survived all four encounters. At least physically, not too sure about mentally. Hell, after that summer I didn’t want to fly in high cirrus clouds in the middle of winter. Talk about paranoid. But I finally got over it, but kept an extremely healthy respect for thunderstorms for the rest of my career.
The first time that summer.
As with most young pilots I was poor, stupid, way too smart for myself and bullet proof. Back then most of the PICs I flew with were former military pilots, guys that flew in World War Two and the Korean War. Being raised in the Air Force, my father being an Air Force pilot, I considered these guys Sky Gods. They had survived being way too smart for themselves, bullet proof and that was with people trying to shoot them down. Conveniently forgetting about all those Colonels, Majors and Navy fighter pilots that didn’t survive being way too smart for themselves and bullet proof.
Also being a young pilot, I was a whore for turbine/jet time. I’d fly with anybody, anywhere in jet aircraft, as long as they paid me of course. Whores don’t work for free you know, not even me. One day I get a phone call, would I be the co-pilot on a Jet Commander to ferry it to MEM for a new owner, with a stop off in Kansas to drop off a Lear Jet crew where they would pick up a Lear 23 that would ferry the Lear to MEM as well, then return home in a Merlin II? How much I reply, they reply standard rate, whatever that was back then, I reply where and when.
So a couple of days later I show up on the ramp there where some used Jet Commanders were sitting. I find the right one, do the exterior pre-flight and then walk into the FBO, check the weather and to see The Colonel to ask him how much fuel he wanted. Which was usually a wasted question, as his response was always the same, regardless of how many passengers or how far we were going, fill it up. I look at the girl behind the FBO counter that we were standing in front of, requested her to tell the line crew to tow the aircraft up front, top it off and for a power unit. Don’t bother to ask why The Colonel just didn’t tell her himself, it didn’t work that way with him. About that time the crew that were going to fly the Lear 23 show up, really good friends of mine, Laurel and Hardy, well that’s what I will call them for this story, as it fitted them to a ‘T’.
Pretty soon we get loaded up, with Laurel and Hardy in the back bitching about the catering, there was none, that it was too hot, it was too cold and asking when would we get there. In other words making appear that this was a normal trip with real passengers. Ignoring them, just as we would real passengers, we fire up and depart. In about an hour we land at the airport in Kansas where the Lear 23 was waiting for Laurel and Hardy. As we refuel and have the Lear 23 fueled, I check the weather again and I am told that there is a scattered line of thunderstorms that were building between us and MEM. But the guy at the Flight Service Station said that it looked like we could work our way through them or go on top as the max height of the storms were around 350 at the time. I dutifully inform The Colonel of this fact and then walk out and tell Laurel and Hardy the same. They file for 450 and The Colonel files for 350, hmm. Again I attempt to impress on him that the line of thunderstorms are building, like getting higher. He just nods at me, not even bothering to take his ever present cigar out of his mouth.
After both aircraft are refueled we taxi out first in the Jet Commander, the field was uncontrolled so the plan was to takeoff VFR, contact center and head to Memphis. As we are taxing out I hear the Lear going to near full power, then silence, again near full power, then silence. Then Laurel and Hardy call us on Unicom, they can’t get the parking brake to release and want us to wait. The Colonel does not like to wait, but he agrees to wait for five minutes and if they have not figured out to do something as simple as releasing the parking brake, they can either jump back in the Jet Commander or we’ll leave them. The Colonel places his left arm on the top of the instrument panel so he can watch his wristwatch, as when he says five minutes, he means five minutes, not four minutes and fifty nine seconds or five minutes and one second. At three minutes and ten seconds they call us and tell us that the parking brake is released and they are moving.
Now I failed to mention one thing, as usual in these old jets, which were not old back then, it was standard practice just to start the right engine to taxi out on and start the left engine just before you take the runway to takeoff. Today was no different, we had just started the right engine and taxied out. After we hear that they are moving The Colonel starts to pull out on the runway, without starting the left engine. Now usually I would not dare to attempt to criticize The Colonel, not only had CRM not been invented back then, it would have been unthinkable to The Colonel, old school you know. Never the less, I summed up enough courage to ask him if he would like to use both engines for this takeoff. He blinks a couple of times, looks at me and says, “Yeah, uh, why don’t you start that thing, probably would help.”
I’m pretty sure the left engine was up to speed when The Colonel went to full power on takeoff and off we were heading for Memphis and the building line of thunderstorms. As we get closer to the line of thunderstorms we go IMC. The radar is paining the line which is pretty solid by now, but the northern end of the line ends about 60 miles south of the Fayetteville VOR, but there was a single cell sitting right on top of the Fayetteville VOR, about forty miles in diameter. So there is about a 20 mile gap between the line and the Fayetteville VOR, but north of that there were no radar returns. So to me we have two choices, shoot through the 20 mile gap or go 60/70 miles north of the Fayetteville miss the whole mess, which was my preference. About then Laurel and Hardy calls, who are behind us calls me to tell me that their radar in out and asks me what we are painting. So I tell them what I am seeing on the radar and they decided to take the northern choice. A wise choice as it turned out, as soon they were on top at 450 in the clear for the rest of the way to Memphis. We were not so fortunate.
Now while all this was going on, The Colonel had just been sitting in the left seat, smoking his cigar, watching the autopilot fly the aircraft directly toward the Fayetteville VOR and the thunderstorm. Now I did mention that I thought that we had two options did I not? Well, The Colonel had a third, just keep going straight ahead. So, again being the dutiful co-pilot, I pointed out that there was a cell sitting on top of the VOR and pointed out the two options, suggesting the northern one. He looks at me, a bit surprised that I would actually talk to him without being addressed first, then looked down at the radar, messed with the intensity function, range, then the tilt on the radar then said, “We’ll be on top.” And went back to watching the autopilot.
We’re now coming up to about 80 miles from the VOR, about 20 miles from the cell that had grown wider to about 60 miles. At least what we are painting on the radar of the cell. I’m not all that sure that we will be over the top of the cell, not at from what I am seeing on the radar. So, again being the dutiful co-pilot, I tell him of my doubts, he looks back at the radar, which was on the 80 mile range setting, switches it to the 20 mile setting, tilts the radar dish up and sure enough, the cell we were painting goes away. “Yeah, we’ll top it.” Famous last words, well almost last words.
No more were those words out of his mouth when there was a brilliant flash of light on the left side of the aircraft, followed by a very loud explosion, then the left engine quits and rolls down below idle. We lose the left side of electrical power of the aircraft, including the pilot’s flight instruments and kicks the autopilot off, then we hit a brick wall. To call the turbulence severe would be an understatement of Biblical proportion. The Colonel bites his cigar in two. I’d never seen anyone ever do that before. Now we are in severe turbulence, so severe that I cannot focus on any of my flight instruments that are still functioning and my head is hitting the top of the cockpit, the right engine is still at cruise power and we are in a rapid roll to the left, starting to descend.
There is a rocker switch on the overhead panel that transfer the power from the right side instrument to the left side. I decide that if there ever was a time to use that switch, it was now. The Colonel came to the same conclusion at the same time and yelled at me to push the power transfer switch, as the pulls the right engine back to idle. It was so turbulent that it took me four attempts before I could get my finger on that switch and push it, transferring the power to the left side. This was a mistake, a big mistake. For as soon as I managed push that rocker switch, I lost all power to my flight instruments on the right side.
IMC, in a thunderstorm, one engine out and now no flight instruments.
‘Now we’re in for it I thought’, but what I said was, “Now we’re fu<ked.” But wait, we had one of those new tiny standby, battery powered attitude indicators. In fact I think this was one of the, if not the first Jet Commanders I flown with this thing installed. We’re saved! So I start yelling, “The standby, the standby!” The Colonel looks at me as if I’d lost my mind, so I yell again and point at the standby attitude indicator that was mounted on the bottom of the pilot’s instrument panel by his right knee. We both look at it, it is showing a near 90 degree left bank with the nose dropping below the horizon. The Colonel starts to roll the wings level and applies back pressure on the yoke when the standby attitude indicator flips the other direction and the red off flag pops out.
About then Laurel and Hardy calls us, telling us that they are top at 450, can see the top of the cell over the VOR is above them and asks how our ride is. Thanks a lot, rub it in, at this point in time we are trying to figure out if we can get any power to any of the flight instruments, so I don’t have time to talk to anybody. The Colonel keeps pulling on the cage knob on the standby attitude indicator as if this would make it start working again. I decide to kill everything, I turn the working generator off, the avionics master off and then the batteries off. We are still getting the crap beat out of us and now things are flying all over the cockpit, including lose items like pens coming off the floor of the cockpit and landing on the overhead panel. No matter how tight I get my seatbelt, my head keeps hitting the overhear panel and this is really starting to piss me off. I turn the batteries back on, the get the right generator back on line then turn the avionics switch back on. My flight instruments come back for just a second and then fail again. I missed a step when I turned everything off, but didn’t realize it at the time. Which considering everything that was going on right then, could be forgiven.
When the radios came back up after I turned on the avionics switch I could hear the Center and Laurel and Hardy trying to call us. The Center controller had finally woken up, noticed that we were rapidly losing altitude and then lost our transponder. Laurel and Hardy were wanting to know who was going to buy the beer that night if we got killed. Always nice to know that one has good friends looking out for you. I really cannot remember just what I told center right then, something along the lines of ‘I’d talk to them when I had the chance, but was too busy right then’. Laurel and Hardy I ignored. The Colonel somehow managed to stick another cigar in his mouth, folded his arms and said, “Let me know if you see the ground before we hit it.” I remember that to this day very clearly. Nice reassurance I thought at the time.
It seemed like we were in the thunderstorm for at least an hour, getting thrown around the cockpit, getting the crap beat out of us and my head constantly hitting the overhead panel. From what Laurel and Hardy told us later it was for only about five minutes. My, how time flies when one is having fun. Then the clouds start to get lighter and the turbulence goes from severe to mild, to light. I catch something green in the corner of my eye, look up through the overhead cockpit window and see the ground, actually a forest. I yelled “I got it.”, I grabbed the yoke, roll the aircraft toward the opening in the clouds and then pull through the hole into open clear air.
I had never seen a more beautiful sight.
Part two later.
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Thunderstorms Part Two
Part two.
After we were in the clear The Colonel took control of the aircraft and I tried to see if I could restore power to the flight instruments. The only instruments that were still working were the airspeed indicators and altimeters. While we had been in the thunderstorm the airspeed had been all over the dial, from well below stall to past VNE and VMO. The altimeter had shown rapid descents followed by rapid climbs followed by descents. We entered the thunderstorm at FL-350 and when we recovered it was around 14,000 feet. As I related earlier I had tried to restore power while in the storm, but had forgotten a step. When I turned off everything, I forgot that the power transfer switch was still in the transfer position. As soon as I looked at the switch as I was turning everything back off again, I realized what I had missed. This time I returned the switch to normal prior to restoring power. After restoring power to the aircraft, the right side flight instruments came on line and stayed on line. The Colonel was impressed, but then told me that is would have been very handy to have remember that switch when we were inside the cell. I could have pointed out to him that if had not just sat there with arms crossed, between the two of us we might have not overlooked that little item, but I didn’t.
While we were in the storm and I pushed the power transfer switch, apparently there was a short on the left side electrical system that shorted out or interrupted the power to the right side flight instruments causing them to fail. At least that’s what we decided, there was a diode that was supposed to keep that from happening. Obviously it didn’t. The weather was now clear VMC and The Colonel decides to press on to Memphis on one engine and to attempt an inflight start on the left engine as we limped our way there. I was less than thrilled with this idea and pointed out that Little Rock was just off to our right. As if reading my mind, Center calls about then offering us radar vectors to Little Rock. I give The Colonel my best ‘wow that sounds like a really great idea look’, but to no avail. No by God we’re going to Memphis, as by God we were being paid to get this aircraft to Memphis and by God we are going to take this thing to Memphis, even if we have to do so on one engine, by God. ‘Even if we die in the attempt’ I think, then I say, “Even if we die in the attempt.” He looks at me and says, “Naw, we’ll make it.” Gee, where have I heard those words before?*
Of course there was no way that the left engine would start, the starter would not engage and when we increase airspeed so we would be in the wind-milling air-start envelope there was no light off. So single engine into Memphis it will be. I try one more time to talk The Colonel into diverting into Little Rock, but to no avail. Sensing that I was perhaps a bit uncomfortable continuing on to Memphis one just one engine (ya think), The Colonel tries to reassure me how safe it is, telling me that he had thousands of hours in single engine fighters from the P-51 to the F-104 and only had a couple of engine failures. While perhaps reassuring, I did point out that in those single engine fighters he flew, all had either parachutes or ejection seats, which we had neither. I know, I looked. His reply, you guessed it, “Naw, we’ll make it.” And off to Memphis we go.
Now Center had asked quite a few times if we would like to declare an emergency and every time they asked, The Colonel told me to tell them the same thing, “Not at this time.” Then when we are descending through 10,000 feet going into Memphis The Colonel tells me to declare an emergency. Why now is anyone’s guess and I knew The Colonel well enough by then not to ask him, it would not do a damn bit of good, so I declared an emergency, only to be told by Approach that Center already had declared an emergency for us and the equipment were already on station along the runway.
Carrying on we limp into Memphis on one engine and make an uneventful landing, making a right turn off of the runway, then another right turn on the parallel taxiway. All was going good until we try to turn left on the taxiway to the ramp. It will not turn left more than a couple of degrees. No matter how hard The Colonel tried to turn the nose wheel steering wheel, it would not go past a couple of degrees. Okay now what are we going to do? Oh, I forgot to mention the two dozen or so CFR trucks that were following us. They come in play is just a few minutes. We are sitting on the parallel taxiway, unable to turn left because for some reason the nose wheel steering had gotten lazy and would not let us turn left.
But wait, the right engine is working so The Colonel decides to use differential thrust in an attempt to force the aircraft to turn left. Of course being The Colonel he doesn’t bother to tell anyone what he is getting ready to do. Not me, let alone the tower so they can warn the CFR trucks behind us that the right engine on the Jet Commander they are behind will be going to full power. Then that is what he does. I am just starting to open my mouth to ask him if he would like me to call for a tow, when he shoves the right engine to full power. He has the left rudder to floor, full left brake and his left hand on the nose wheel steering tiller is turning white he is trying to turn it so hard. Within a second or two ground control is yelling at us to shut down and a second or two after that I could hear the guys in the CFR trucks just behind us yelling as well, so they are now stepping over each other on the frequency. We are slowly skidding to the left, not toward the taxiway, but toward the grass, from what I’m able to hear from all the shouting on the radio they seem to think that we have lost control of our right engine. I now have a vision of the CFR trucks letting lose with all the water and foam that they have on the trucks in an attempt to drown out the right engine with foam and water, where we will end up with the entire aircraft covered with foam except for the top of the tail, where all that can be seen of us would be the rotating beacon slowly going around. One has to remember that airport firemen don’t have a lot of action and can become very excited when they think that they can really let loose with the foam.
It is becoming quite evident that something is going to break, soon. So I decide that I will be the one that breaks. I grab the right throttle and yank it back to idle about the same time that the first shot of foam shoots across our bow, so to say. I don’t think that The Colonel has ever had anyone take control from him since he was a student pilot back in 1943. He is not amused. However, he admits defeat and tells me to call for a tow and to release the fire trucks. But for some reason, the airport fire chief does not leave, seems he wants to have a word or two with the crew. Now while all this is going on, Laurel and Hardy were on the ramp watching all this occur and are laughing their arses off. We get towed in onto the FBO’s ramp and as soon as we stop, I haul arse out of the aircraft telling The Colonel that I had to go use the toilet. No way in hell am I going to listen to the wrath of a highly pissed off fire chief. As I pass the red faced, highly pissed off said fire chief I tell him that the ‘crew’ is still in the aircraft and then join Laurel and Hardy in front of the FBO. Hell, I’m no fool.
For about ten minutes The Colonel and the airport fire chief yell and scream at each other, almost coming to blows, but then they seem to reach an agreement, the fire chief gets into his truck and drives off, The Colonel walks into the FBO telling us to follow him, mumbling something about ‘idiots’. He decided that we need to go get lunch and for me to arrange for ground transportation, which of course I dutifully do. As luck would have it there was a liquor store next to the restaurant where we had lunch at and Hardy runs in and buys a half gallon bottle of Scotch for the flight home, turns out that we’ll need it. We return to the FBO and The Colonel tells me to have the Merlin II brought up and have it topped off for the return flight back home. By this time I have resigned myself to the fact that the only fuel load The Colonel knows is to ‘top it off’. As we are waiting for the Merlin to be brought up and fueled, I ask who is flying the Merlin home, as I have never flown one. It turns out none of us had ever flown a Merlin II, any kind of Merlin for that fact.
Well this was an interesting development, none of us had ever flown a Merlin, we had to get home, the guy paying us was not going to pay for airline tickets and if we didn’t take the Merlin II back to him, we wouldn’t be paid. It was a hell of a situation to say the least. Okay, I had flown a Kingair 90 for a few years and had also flown MU-2s. But still. So Laurel and Hardy and I sit down to talk this over. Laurel had never flown a turbo-prop of any kind, but Hardy had a few hours of co-pilot time in a Kingair. We figured that the Merlin II was basically a Kingair with a different fuselage mounted on a Queen Air wing, just like the Kingair, with same type PT-6 engines. Hell, how different could it be, there should be checklist and a flight manual (that what POMs were called back then) on the Merlin, all PT-6s operated the same. Shoot it was just a Kingair with different fuselage. So the three of us decide that I would fly it and Hardy would sit in the right seat running the checklist and to read the flight manual if the need should arise. Laurel and The Colonel would ride in the back, drinking the Scotch and act like big shots. It was a plan, we reviewed the plan and found it a good plan. So it was said, so it was written, so it was, done. Almost.
As we were metaphorically patting each on the back for coming up with such a clever plan, the Merlin is towed up in front of the FBO where we are sitting. Right away I see a problem. It is not just a Merlin II, nope, it’s a Merlin IIB, with TPE-331 engines, not PT-6s. Right then, now we have a Queen Air wing and landing gear, upside down MU-2 engines and some other guy’s fuselage. So Laurel and Hardy and I sit down to discuss this latest predicament. We reason that we can still figure this out and get this thing home, get us home and get us paid. After all, I had flown MU-2s with TPE-331 engines, so I knew how to operate them, right side up or not, hell the engines didn’t know they were upside down, right? One more time we metaphorically pat each other on the back for coming up with another clever plan, a Plan B.
Now you may have noticed that there was an omission in our planning endeavors, The Colonel had not been included, as he had wandered off somewhere. He did this quite often and all three of us had flown with The Colonel, so this was nothing new. Never the less I was a bit concerned about his absence during our superior planning sessions. Just about the time I bring up the absence of The Colonel, he shows up and tells me to check the weather and file a flight plan back home. Before I can reply, Hardy jumps up and tells The Colonel of our clever Plan B. Hardy was kind of a suck-up at times, like this time. The Colonel thinks about our Plan Two for about one second, then announces that it sounds good to him, with one exception, he’ll fly the Merlin, Hardy will still be the co-pilot and then he tells Hardy to check the weather and file the flight plan. Then tells Laurel and me to go pre-flight the Merlin. Obviously there was a Plan C that we were unaware of.
As Hardy scurries off to do The Colonel’s bidding Laurel and I look at each other thinking the same thing, ‘has The Colonel ever flown any kind of turbo-prop?’. So I ask him, “Jim (not his real name) have you ever flown a turbo-prop, any kind of a turbo-prop?” The Colonel pauses for a second or two, looks at us and says, “Well no I have not, always wanted to so now is my chance. Matter of fact I have not flown a propeller driven aircraft since I was transitioned from the P-51 to the P-80 back in 1946.” Oh ****.
He could tell from the expression on our faces that we were not overly thrilled about this latest development. “Look you two, I flew captured MIGs and other types of Soviet aircraft when I was flying at Edwards, hell the only language that were in the cockpits of those things were either in Russian or Chinese, so this Merlin will be a piece of cake. Don’t worry, we’ll make it.” God I hated it when he said that, “We’ll make it.”
We tried to talk him out of it, but to no avail. He was flying the Merlin back home and that was final. Now we knew that he was telling the truth about flying Soviet aircraft and it was a fact that he had been a test pilot at Edwards, knew Chuck Yeager and all that stuff. Above all, he was probably the finest stick and rudder pilot I ever flew with. It was just at times one could say his judgment was a bit questionable, like flying through a thunderstorm that morning. So resigned to the inevitable, Laurel and I go out to the Merlin, pre-flight it, located the check lists and the flight manual, which we put into the cockpit. Then I filled the ice chest in bar, filled the water container in the bar and grabbed some cups from the FBO. If The Colonel was not going to sit in the back and drink Scotch, by God Laurel and I were.
The Colonel and Hardy come out and get in the aircraft, I shut the door and then go up to the cockpit to make sure that they will start the engines without blowing them up or melting them. We get the engines started and as they are getting ready to taxi out I ask Hardy about the weather, he says “Remember that line of thunderstorms, they’re still there. But don’t worry, we’ll make it.”, then he gives me this smart arse smile. I almost hit him, but instead I go back in the cabin and sit down in the left mid-forward facing seat next to Laurel. We taxi out and takeoff barely avoiding snap rolling back onto the runway because the engines were so badly out of rig that when the throttles were even at the full power positon, the right engine was at only about 70% and left at about 120%. However, after I jumped out of my seat and into the cockpit to even out the power, which resulted in a split of about two inches between the throttles we were off and running west bound back home and into a line of thunderstorms, again.
From what Flight Service told Hardy the line ended just south of Little Rock and he had flight planned accordingly. So thinking we’ll have an uneventful ride home Laurel and I setting back to enjoy the ride and enjoy the Scotch. Pretty soon we were IMC but still in smooth air and could occasionally see the ground, I moved to the left rearward facing seat and had my feet on the opposite seat. Hey, it was a sales aircraft, who cared if you put your feet on the seats.
As I am sitting there, sipping my Scotch I notice Laurel was staring into the cockpit, intensely. Pretty soon he looks at me and says, “You need to look at this.” So I switch back to the forward facing seat and look into the cockpit, at the radar to be precise. ‘Oh ****, not again.’ The radar screen is covered with returns, nearly solid returns. We just look at each other, take a big gulp of Scotch and chinch our seatbelts down as tight as we can. The Colonel flies between two cells, then turns to miss another one and flies us right into the side of another one.
WHAM! We hit another brick wall. Crap in the cabin flies everywhere, thinking ahead I had put my hand on top of my cup to prevent my Scotch from departing the cup and landing all over me. Laurel was not so quick of thinking, we both watch as his entire drink, and I swear this happened, came out of his cup, paused and then fell back into his cup only spilling a few drops. As we were looking at each other in amazement we hit more severe turbulence and my head hit the ceiling of the cabin. For the next 30 or 40 minutes The Colonel and Hardy flies us in and out of thunderstorms, with me hitting my head on the ceiling, until we finally pop out into clear air, probably by accident. I yelled up to the cockpit asking them if they would like to turn around and go back, as I think they might have missed a cell or two.
With that excitement over all that was left was the landing, which proved to be very interesting as the engines were not quite in rig, providing quite a bit of amusement to the folks in the tower as the Merlin swerved from side to side of the runway as engines went in and out of reverse until The Colonel just stood on the brakes out of desperation to get us stopped.
There wasn’t much Scotch left in the bottle by the time we parked.
As it turned out this was my last trip with the Colonel, he soon left to go to work for an aircraft manufacture in St. Louis that made, you guessed it, fighter aircraft. Please do not get the wrong idea about the Colonel, he was one of the best sick and rudder pilot I ever flew with and he taught me a lot, including not what to do. It was his judgment that I would sometimes question, such as flying me through two thunderstorms on the same day.
But if you ever wanted a pilot that could get the maximum out of an aircraft, he was your man.
After we were in the clear The Colonel took control of the aircraft and I tried to see if I could restore power to the flight instruments. The only instruments that were still working were the airspeed indicators and altimeters. While we had been in the thunderstorm the airspeed had been all over the dial, from well below stall to past VNE and VMO. The altimeter had shown rapid descents followed by rapid climbs followed by descents. We entered the thunderstorm at FL-350 and when we recovered it was around 14,000 feet. As I related earlier I had tried to restore power while in the storm, but had forgotten a step. When I turned off everything, I forgot that the power transfer switch was still in the transfer position. As soon as I looked at the switch as I was turning everything back off again, I realized what I had missed. This time I returned the switch to normal prior to restoring power. After restoring power to the aircraft, the right side flight instruments came on line and stayed on line. The Colonel was impressed, but then told me that is would have been very handy to have remember that switch when we were inside the cell. I could have pointed out to him that if had not just sat there with arms crossed, between the two of us we might have not overlooked that little item, but I didn’t.
While we were in the storm and I pushed the power transfer switch, apparently there was a short on the left side electrical system that shorted out or interrupted the power to the right side flight instruments causing them to fail. At least that’s what we decided, there was a diode that was supposed to keep that from happening. Obviously it didn’t. The weather was now clear VMC and The Colonel decides to press on to Memphis on one engine and to attempt an inflight start on the left engine as we limped our way there. I was less than thrilled with this idea and pointed out that Little Rock was just off to our right. As if reading my mind, Center calls about then offering us radar vectors to Little Rock. I give The Colonel my best ‘wow that sounds like a really great idea look’, but to no avail. No by God we’re going to Memphis, as by God we were being paid to get this aircraft to Memphis and by God we are going to take this thing to Memphis, even if we have to do so on one engine, by God. ‘Even if we die in the attempt’ I think, then I say, “Even if we die in the attempt.” He looks at me and says, “Naw, we’ll make it.” Gee, where have I heard those words before?*
Of course there was no way that the left engine would start, the starter would not engage and when we increase airspeed so we would be in the wind-milling air-start envelope there was no light off. So single engine into Memphis it will be. I try one more time to talk The Colonel into diverting into Little Rock, but to no avail. Sensing that I was perhaps a bit uncomfortable continuing on to Memphis one just one engine (ya think), The Colonel tries to reassure me how safe it is, telling me that he had thousands of hours in single engine fighters from the P-51 to the F-104 and only had a couple of engine failures. While perhaps reassuring, I did point out that in those single engine fighters he flew, all had either parachutes or ejection seats, which we had neither. I know, I looked. His reply, you guessed it, “Naw, we’ll make it.” And off to Memphis we go.
Now Center had asked quite a few times if we would like to declare an emergency and every time they asked, The Colonel told me to tell them the same thing, “Not at this time.” Then when we are descending through 10,000 feet going into Memphis The Colonel tells me to declare an emergency. Why now is anyone’s guess and I knew The Colonel well enough by then not to ask him, it would not do a damn bit of good, so I declared an emergency, only to be told by Approach that Center already had declared an emergency for us and the equipment were already on station along the runway.
Carrying on we limp into Memphis on one engine and make an uneventful landing, making a right turn off of the runway, then another right turn on the parallel taxiway. All was going good until we try to turn left on the taxiway to the ramp. It will not turn left more than a couple of degrees. No matter how hard The Colonel tried to turn the nose wheel steering wheel, it would not go past a couple of degrees. Okay now what are we going to do? Oh, I forgot to mention the two dozen or so CFR trucks that were following us. They come in play is just a few minutes. We are sitting on the parallel taxiway, unable to turn left because for some reason the nose wheel steering had gotten lazy and would not let us turn left.
But wait, the right engine is working so The Colonel decides to use differential thrust in an attempt to force the aircraft to turn left. Of course being The Colonel he doesn’t bother to tell anyone what he is getting ready to do. Not me, let alone the tower so they can warn the CFR trucks behind us that the right engine on the Jet Commander they are behind will be going to full power. Then that is what he does. I am just starting to open my mouth to ask him if he would like me to call for a tow, when he shoves the right engine to full power. He has the left rudder to floor, full left brake and his left hand on the nose wheel steering tiller is turning white he is trying to turn it so hard. Within a second or two ground control is yelling at us to shut down and a second or two after that I could hear the guys in the CFR trucks just behind us yelling as well, so they are now stepping over each other on the frequency. We are slowly skidding to the left, not toward the taxiway, but toward the grass, from what I’m able to hear from all the shouting on the radio they seem to think that we have lost control of our right engine. I now have a vision of the CFR trucks letting lose with all the water and foam that they have on the trucks in an attempt to drown out the right engine with foam and water, where we will end up with the entire aircraft covered with foam except for the top of the tail, where all that can be seen of us would be the rotating beacon slowly going around. One has to remember that airport firemen don’t have a lot of action and can become very excited when they think that they can really let loose with the foam.
It is becoming quite evident that something is going to break, soon. So I decide that I will be the one that breaks. I grab the right throttle and yank it back to idle about the same time that the first shot of foam shoots across our bow, so to say. I don’t think that The Colonel has ever had anyone take control from him since he was a student pilot back in 1943. He is not amused. However, he admits defeat and tells me to call for a tow and to release the fire trucks. But for some reason, the airport fire chief does not leave, seems he wants to have a word or two with the crew. Now while all this is going on, Laurel and Hardy were on the ramp watching all this occur and are laughing their arses off. We get towed in onto the FBO’s ramp and as soon as we stop, I haul arse out of the aircraft telling The Colonel that I had to go use the toilet. No way in hell am I going to listen to the wrath of a highly pissed off fire chief. As I pass the red faced, highly pissed off said fire chief I tell him that the ‘crew’ is still in the aircraft and then join Laurel and Hardy in front of the FBO. Hell, I’m no fool.
For about ten minutes The Colonel and the airport fire chief yell and scream at each other, almost coming to blows, but then they seem to reach an agreement, the fire chief gets into his truck and drives off, The Colonel walks into the FBO telling us to follow him, mumbling something about ‘idiots’. He decided that we need to go get lunch and for me to arrange for ground transportation, which of course I dutifully do. As luck would have it there was a liquor store next to the restaurant where we had lunch at and Hardy runs in and buys a half gallon bottle of Scotch for the flight home, turns out that we’ll need it. We return to the FBO and The Colonel tells me to have the Merlin II brought up and have it topped off for the return flight back home. By this time I have resigned myself to the fact that the only fuel load The Colonel knows is to ‘top it off’. As we are waiting for the Merlin to be brought up and fueled, I ask who is flying the Merlin home, as I have never flown one. It turns out none of us had ever flown a Merlin II, any kind of Merlin for that fact.
Well this was an interesting development, none of us had ever flown a Merlin, we had to get home, the guy paying us was not going to pay for airline tickets and if we didn’t take the Merlin II back to him, we wouldn’t be paid. It was a hell of a situation to say the least. Okay, I had flown a Kingair 90 for a few years and had also flown MU-2s. But still. So Laurel and Hardy and I sit down to talk this over. Laurel had never flown a turbo-prop of any kind, but Hardy had a few hours of co-pilot time in a Kingair. We figured that the Merlin II was basically a Kingair with a different fuselage mounted on a Queen Air wing, just like the Kingair, with same type PT-6 engines. Hell, how different could it be, there should be checklist and a flight manual (that what POMs were called back then) on the Merlin, all PT-6s operated the same. Shoot it was just a Kingair with different fuselage. So the three of us decide that I would fly it and Hardy would sit in the right seat running the checklist and to read the flight manual if the need should arise. Laurel and The Colonel would ride in the back, drinking the Scotch and act like big shots. It was a plan, we reviewed the plan and found it a good plan. So it was said, so it was written, so it was, done. Almost.
As we were metaphorically patting each on the back for coming up with such a clever plan, the Merlin is towed up in front of the FBO where we are sitting. Right away I see a problem. It is not just a Merlin II, nope, it’s a Merlin IIB, with TPE-331 engines, not PT-6s. Right then, now we have a Queen Air wing and landing gear, upside down MU-2 engines and some other guy’s fuselage. So Laurel and Hardy and I sit down to discuss this latest predicament. We reason that we can still figure this out and get this thing home, get us home and get us paid. After all, I had flown MU-2s with TPE-331 engines, so I knew how to operate them, right side up or not, hell the engines didn’t know they were upside down, right? One more time we metaphorically pat each other on the back for coming up with another clever plan, a Plan B.
Now you may have noticed that there was an omission in our planning endeavors, The Colonel had not been included, as he had wandered off somewhere. He did this quite often and all three of us had flown with The Colonel, so this was nothing new. Never the less I was a bit concerned about his absence during our superior planning sessions. Just about the time I bring up the absence of The Colonel, he shows up and tells me to check the weather and file a flight plan back home. Before I can reply, Hardy jumps up and tells The Colonel of our clever Plan B. Hardy was kind of a suck-up at times, like this time. The Colonel thinks about our Plan Two for about one second, then announces that it sounds good to him, with one exception, he’ll fly the Merlin, Hardy will still be the co-pilot and then he tells Hardy to check the weather and file the flight plan. Then tells Laurel and me to go pre-flight the Merlin. Obviously there was a Plan C that we were unaware of.
As Hardy scurries off to do The Colonel’s bidding Laurel and I look at each other thinking the same thing, ‘has The Colonel ever flown any kind of turbo-prop?’. So I ask him, “Jim (not his real name) have you ever flown a turbo-prop, any kind of a turbo-prop?” The Colonel pauses for a second or two, looks at us and says, “Well no I have not, always wanted to so now is my chance. Matter of fact I have not flown a propeller driven aircraft since I was transitioned from the P-51 to the P-80 back in 1946.” Oh ****.
He could tell from the expression on our faces that we were not overly thrilled about this latest development. “Look you two, I flew captured MIGs and other types of Soviet aircraft when I was flying at Edwards, hell the only language that were in the cockpits of those things were either in Russian or Chinese, so this Merlin will be a piece of cake. Don’t worry, we’ll make it.” God I hated it when he said that, “We’ll make it.”
We tried to talk him out of it, but to no avail. He was flying the Merlin back home and that was final. Now we knew that he was telling the truth about flying Soviet aircraft and it was a fact that he had been a test pilot at Edwards, knew Chuck Yeager and all that stuff. Above all, he was probably the finest stick and rudder pilot I ever flew with. It was just at times one could say his judgment was a bit questionable, like flying through a thunderstorm that morning. So resigned to the inevitable, Laurel and I go out to the Merlin, pre-flight it, located the check lists and the flight manual, which we put into the cockpit. Then I filled the ice chest in bar, filled the water container in the bar and grabbed some cups from the FBO. If The Colonel was not going to sit in the back and drink Scotch, by God Laurel and I were.
The Colonel and Hardy come out and get in the aircraft, I shut the door and then go up to the cockpit to make sure that they will start the engines without blowing them up or melting them. We get the engines started and as they are getting ready to taxi out I ask Hardy about the weather, he says “Remember that line of thunderstorms, they’re still there. But don’t worry, we’ll make it.”, then he gives me this smart arse smile. I almost hit him, but instead I go back in the cabin and sit down in the left mid-forward facing seat next to Laurel. We taxi out and takeoff barely avoiding snap rolling back onto the runway because the engines were so badly out of rig that when the throttles were even at the full power positon, the right engine was at only about 70% and left at about 120%. However, after I jumped out of my seat and into the cockpit to even out the power, which resulted in a split of about two inches between the throttles we were off and running west bound back home and into a line of thunderstorms, again.
From what Flight Service told Hardy the line ended just south of Little Rock and he had flight planned accordingly. So thinking we’ll have an uneventful ride home Laurel and I setting back to enjoy the ride and enjoy the Scotch. Pretty soon we were IMC but still in smooth air and could occasionally see the ground, I moved to the left rearward facing seat and had my feet on the opposite seat. Hey, it was a sales aircraft, who cared if you put your feet on the seats.
As I am sitting there, sipping my Scotch I notice Laurel was staring into the cockpit, intensely. Pretty soon he looks at me and says, “You need to look at this.” So I switch back to the forward facing seat and look into the cockpit, at the radar to be precise. ‘Oh ****, not again.’ The radar screen is covered with returns, nearly solid returns. We just look at each other, take a big gulp of Scotch and chinch our seatbelts down as tight as we can. The Colonel flies between two cells, then turns to miss another one and flies us right into the side of another one.
WHAM! We hit another brick wall. Crap in the cabin flies everywhere, thinking ahead I had put my hand on top of my cup to prevent my Scotch from departing the cup and landing all over me. Laurel was not so quick of thinking, we both watch as his entire drink, and I swear this happened, came out of his cup, paused and then fell back into his cup only spilling a few drops. As we were looking at each other in amazement we hit more severe turbulence and my head hit the ceiling of the cabin. For the next 30 or 40 minutes The Colonel and Hardy flies us in and out of thunderstorms, with me hitting my head on the ceiling, until we finally pop out into clear air, probably by accident. I yelled up to the cockpit asking them if they would like to turn around and go back, as I think they might have missed a cell or two.
With that excitement over all that was left was the landing, which proved to be very interesting as the engines were not quite in rig, providing quite a bit of amusement to the folks in the tower as the Merlin swerved from side to side of the runway as engines went in and out of reverse until The Colonel just stood on the brakes out of desperation to get us stopped.
There wasn’t much Scotch left in the bottle by the time we parked.
As it turned out this was my last trip with the Colonel, he soon left to go to work for an aircraft manufacture in St. Louis that made, you guessed it, fighter aircraft. Please do not get the wrong idea about the Colonel, he was one of the best sick and rudder pilot I ever flew with and he taught me a lot, including not what to do. It was his judgment that I would sometimes question, such as flying me through two thunderstorms on the same day.
But if you ever wanted a pilot that could get the maximum out of an aircraft, he was your man.
con-pilot,
I have just finished reading your story - a really excellent read. You have a way with words and ought to try writing professionally.
I have never been inside a thunderstorm (thank God) but close enough between them when negotiating lines of big ones in Africa, India, SE Asia and the USA to know that what you write is the stark truth!
I remember, when I started flying, being crewed with some ex-wartime captains not unlike your 'Colonel'. It was impossible to tell them anything and they looked at you as though you were still in kindergarten!
If you have any more similar stories to tell please write them here. What about the other two?
I have just finished reading your story - a really excellent read. You have a way with words and ought to try writing professionally.
I have never been inside a thunderstorm (thank God) but close enough between them when negotiating lines of big ones in Africa, India, SE Asia and the USA to know that what you write is the stark truth!
I remember, when I started flying, being crewed with some ex-wartime captains not unlike your 'Colonel'. It was impossible to tell them anything and they looked at you as though you were still in kindergarten!
If you have any more similar stories to tell please write them here. What about the other two?
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What about the other two?
Both retired, overweight and drinking beer on their boats at the lake.
Last edited by con-pilot; 4th Jul 2015 at 17:25.
con-pilot, you said, 'One summer I was flown into thunderstorms four times by three different captains' but your story involves one captain and two thunderstorms. I was wondering about the two other storms.
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They are coming up, I'll post them later next week and I just posted another story about an earlier trip with the Colonel and fuel, as in lack of, which did help me one night coming in to Miami from San Juan in a Jet Commander late at night short on fuel due unforecasted headwinds and a fueling mistake.
That time I was the guy in the left seat telling a relatively new co-pilot not worry, ‘We’ll make it.’ But I was not a crusty retired Air Force Colonel, but a new captain/chief pilot.
I’ll post that story later as well, I do not want to hog this forum.
Thank You!
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ConPilot
I wish I had your writing skills! excellent
I have so many aviation memories like bringing back a knackered old Citation from India with a Non rated Arab Pilot who I was supposed to be carrying out an enroute SIC with but who was more interested in the status than the job.
I can remember getting there with no customs exit sorted on the aircraft. Being whisked across New Delhi and having tea in a very peaceful, plant populated office.
An Indian gentleman offered me tea and then explained that it would take 4 days to get the customs sorted.
There were potential buyers in the UK waiting for the aircraft and with horror I explained that I need the aircraft in 4 hours not 4 days.
The Indian explained that they were not the official handling agents but could help if they were.
Ok you are the official handling agents I exclaimed! On handing over $100 to bribe the customs man the customs was arranged within the 4 hours.
we took off at night in a monsoon and stuck at FL280 had to weave around CBs which were flashing like continuous light bulbs to Karachi in Pakistan and arriving into Dubai at 0300 in the morning.
My Arab FO became very useful as it was a religious holiday and we needed to land in Saudi Arabia for fuel. He visited a military base in Dubai where an Uncle arranged for us to get that clearance into a military base.
Out in the evening I wore jeans and a tea shirt my Arab FO turned up in full pilots regalia apologising profusely for the hat hat and 4 gold admiral Bars.
He strutted down the streets with his chest puffed out
hence the status
We approached the military base in the desert with 2000 meters in dust.
50 feet up almost in the flare the palm trees bent double and the wind increased to 50 KTS just as we touched.
In seconds the visibility was 50 meters in a sand storm so bad we had to shut down on the runway until a ghostly figure wrapped in white appeared from the gloom.
The sand stung every inch of exposed flesh like being in a sand blaster and we were taken by jeep to the base.
I don't have your writing skills only the memories
Pace
I wish I had your writing skills! excellent
I have so many aviation memories like bringing back a knackered old Citation from India with a Non rated Arab Pilot who I was supposed to be carrying out an enroute SIC with but who was more interested in the status than the job.
I can remember getting there with no customs exit sorted on the aircraft. Being whisked across New Delhi and having tea in a very peaceful, plant populated office.
An Indian gentleman offered me tea and then explained that it would take 4 days to get the customs sorted.
There were potential buyers in the UK waiting for the aircraft and with horror I explained that I need the aircraft in 4 hours not 4 days.
The Indian explained that they were not the official handling agents but could help if they were.
Ok you are the official handling agents I exclaimed! On handing over $100 to bribe the customs man the customs was arranged within the 4 hours.
we took off at night in a monsoon and stuck at FL280 had to weave around CBs which were flashing like continuous light bulbs to Karachi in Pakistan and arriving into Dubai at 0300 in the morning.
My Arab FO became very useful as it was a religious holiday and we needed to land in Saudi Arabia for fuel. He visited a military base in Dubai where an Uncle arranged for us to get that clearance into a military base.
Out in the evening I wore jeans and a tea shirt my Arab FO turned up in full pilots regalia apologising profusely for the hat hat and 4 gold admiral Bars.
He strutted down the streets with his chest puffed out
hence the statusWe approached the military base in the desert with 2000 meters in dust.
50 feet up almost in the flare the palm trees bent double and the wind increased to 50 KTS just as we touched.
In seconds the visibility was 50 meters in a sand storm so bad we had to shut down on the runway until a ghostly figure wrapped in white appeared from the gloom.
The sand stung every inch of exposed flesh like being in a sand blaster and we were taken by jeep to the base.
I don't have your writing skills only the memories
Pace
