A Classic Example of Good Airmanship
Thread Starter
A Classic Example of Good Airmanship
The term Good Airmanship is rarely used in official documents nowadays. Certainly not in ATSB reports where only facts are published and no opinions aired. In fact with the reliability of today’s modern aircraft and their systems, we rarely hear of occasions where the pilot has displayed an example of good airmanship.
So for the benefit of readers who have never read about good airmanship, the following story is a good example of its meaning. Permission was received from Macarthur Job to use extracts from his book Air Crash Volume 2. Due to space restrictions some minor editing was needed before being presented on Pprune.
In February 1940, an Australian National Airways DC-2 (forerunner of the DC-3) was flying from Essendon to Adelaide. It had just undergone a major service at ANA’s Essendon workshops. In command was Captain Norman Croucher with First Officer Arthur Lovell in the right hand seat. There were eleven passengers and one air hostess, Mavis Matters.
10 miles NE of Horsham, Aeradio officers at both Essendon and Nhill received a transmission from the crew that they were experiencing engine trouble and were “going into Nhill on one motor.” The aircraft requested the direction and strength of the wind at Nhill. This information was transmitted to the DC-2 but it did not subsequently land at Nhill and no further transmissions were received from it. Later it was discovered the DC-2 had forced landed in a wheat field near Dimboola and that neither crew nor passengers had sustained any injuries.
The circumstances leading to the forced landing were nevertheless highly dramatic and the margin by which the horrifying airline catastrophe was averted was very slender indeed.
The trip was certainly normal in every respect until about an hour out of Essendon when, in cruising flight on the autopilot at 6,000 feet, there was an unusual noise – something like a distinct bump. The F/O went back to the passenger cabin to investigate. He could find nothing wrong, but as he returned to his seat the starboard engine suddenly lost all power. Both pilots then saw that the fuel pressure warning light had illuminated and the corresponding fuel pressure gauge reading had dropped to zero.
Believing the engine driven pump had failed the F/O used the hand operated wobble pump to try and restore fuel pressure, then opened the cross-feed cock to enable the port engine driven pump to supply the starboard engine. But even though the starboard engine was windmilling, the action had no effect in restoring fuel pressure to the starboard engine. The emergency gave the crew no real anxiety. The aerodrome at Nhill lay only 40 miles ahead and with plenty of height in hand (the DC-2’s three bladed Hamilton controllable pitch propellers did not feather), the captain expected no difficulty in making a single engine approach and landing. At this stage therefore the crew simply called Nhill and reported their intentions.
Soon after, the air hostess came into the cockpit to report a strong smell of petrol – something most unusual in the well insulated cabin of a DC-2. Again the F/O went back to investigate. Still worried, he returned to the cockpit and glancing at the starboard engine was shocked to see orange flames and black smoke streaming from around the engine’s ring cowling. “It’s on fire!” he yelled to the captain.
Though unable to see the fire from the left hand seat, Captain Crowther immediately throttled back the live port engine and threw the DC-2 into a steep, side slipping descending turn to the left to keep the flames away from the starboard wing fuel tank which was situated between the engine and fuselage.
As it happened, the aircraft had just passed over the town of Dimboola, a regional centre in the heart of Victoria’s Wimmera wheat belt. Below the DC-2 as it turned back in the direction of Horsham, stretched a vast area of flat farming country, at this time of the year much of it freshly harvested stubble paddocks. The only trees were those separating some of the fields as wind breaks.
Keeping the side slipping descent as steep as he dared as the fire intensified, Croucher quickly selected the nearest area that offered an ample landing run between one line of trees and the next. The paddock fences in between he ignored; with the fire streaming around the metal wing, every second counted – it was vital to get the DC-2 on the ground in as short a time as possible. The undercarriage meanwhile had lowered itself. The undercarriage mechanism of the DC-2 incorporated no “up” locks, the gear being held in the “up” position entirely by hydraulic pressure. As the fire burnt through the hydraulic lines in the starboard nacelle, releasing hydraulic pressure, the undercarriage simply fell into the extended position. Dimboola townspeople who happened to glance up at the aircraft passing over on the normal daily service were awed to see smoke suddenly pour from its starboard engine. One witness described tongues of fire mingling with the smoke as the aircraft swung around in a steep bank over the town, dropping swiftly.
Up in the cockpit, the increasing urgency of the situation was becoming alarmingly evident to F/O Lovell. With flames now streaming back behind the trailing edge of the wing as far as the tailplane, the entire starboard engine and firewall gradually drooped as the nacelle’s two upper longerons were affected by the intense heat, then abruptly fell forward into a horizontal position as they gave way altogether. Supported now only by the two lower longerons from the centre section spars, the engine and propeller was actually hanging directly in front of the lowered starboard undercarriage – an appalling prospect for their imminent landing.
Still holding a sideslip with hard left aileron and opposite rudder, Captain Croucher was exercising superb judgement as he guided the rapidly descending DC-2 towards the open area he had chosen. A line of trees loomed up but no sooner had the DC-2 skimmed over the trees when, at a height of about 100 feet, the starboard nacelle’s remaining supports finally succumbed to the heat and the complete engine, firewall and propeller fell from the aircraft, striking the tailplane as it did so. The aircraft lurched momentarily, straightened out, then touched down fast but smoothly on its main wheels in the stubble paddock.
With hydraulic pressure for the brakes gone also, the captain almost immediately had to give the port engine a burst of throttle to swing the aircraft clear of a lone tree in their path. This, coupled with the fact that no braking was available, precluded any hope of stopping within the confines of the paddock. Still rolling fast, the DC-2 burst through its far wire fence ‘snapping like string” as one passenger put it later.
As the aircraft finally slowed to a stop about a mile from where the fallen engine had come to rest, the captain shouted to the passengers to “Get out quickly.” They did so, the men gallantly remaining in their seats until the women and the child passenger were safely out. With the complete engine gone from the starboard nacelle, the fuel shut off, and no slipstream to fan the flames, the intensity of the flames subsided. The crew were attempting to douse it with the aircraft’s portable extinguishers when the Dimboola Fire Brigade arrived and quenched the remaining flames.
Examination of the wing structure in the area of the starboard nacelle showed that it had been badly damaged and weakened by the fire. Indeed, with the weight of the aircraft supported on the main undercarriage, the starboard wing outboard of the nacelle was drooping slightly. Pending the removal of the wings to transport the aircraft back to Melbourne by road, the captain considered it prudent to support the starboard wing to prevent any further damage through bending and distortion. For this purpose, the farmer on whose property the DC-2 had forced landed, cheerfully carted dozens of bags of wheat to the scene stacking them under the wing at the pilots’ direction.
The loss of a wing in flight – with all the tragic consequences such a catastrophic failure would have brought – was clearly averted by a frighteningly small margin. It was suspected that, with the aircraft just out of a major servicing at Essendon, a fuel line union might not have been fully tightened. Subsequently working loose, it might have simply fallen off in flight – a theory which the airline engineering people refused to discuss, even with the aircraft’s crew.
............................................................ ...................................
Side slipping as a training exercise is rarely taught at today’s flying schools. Yet it was the effective use of the sideslip manoeuvre that saved the day in the above incident. Readers may also recall the Air Canada Boeing 767 that ran out of fuel during cruise flight near the town of Gimli in Canada. The captain made a successful dead stick flapless landing on a short runway used for drag racing. He was able to sideslip to lose height on final approach.
So there you are. Two examples of superb flying skill and good airmanship.
So for the benefit of readers who have never read about good airmanship, the following story is a good example of its meaning. Permission was received from Macarthur Job to use extracts from his book Air Crash Volume 2. Due to space restrictions some minor editing was needed before being presented on Pprune.
In February 1940, an Australian National Airways DC-2 (forerunner of the DC-3) was flying from Essendon to Adelaide. It had just undergone a major service at ANA’s Essendon workshops. In command was Captain Norman Croucher with First Officer Arthur Lovell in the right hand seat. There were eleven passengers and one air hostess, Mavis Matters.
10 miles NE of Horsham, Aeradio officers at both Essendon and Nhill received a transmission from the crew that they were experiencing engine trouble and were “going into Nhill on one motor.” The aircraft requested the direction and strength of the wind at Nhill. This information was transmitted to the DC-2 but it did not subsequently land at Nhill and no further transmissions were received from it. Later it was discovered the DC-2 had forced landed in a wheat field near Dimboola and that neither crew nor passengers had sustained any injuries.
The circumstances leading to the forced landing were nevertheless highly dramatic and the margin by which the horrifying airline catastrophe was averted was very slender indeed.
The trip was certainly normal in every respect until about an hour out of Essendon when, in cruising flight on the autopilot at 6,000 feet, there was an unusual noise – something like a distinct bump. The F/O went back to the passenger cabin to investigate. He could find nothing wrong, but as he returned to his seat the starboard engine suddenly lost all power. Both pilots then saw that the fuel pressure warning light had illuminated and the corresponding fuel pressure gauge reading had dropped to zero.
Believing the engine driven pump had failed the F/O used the hand operated wobble pump to try and restore fuel pressure, then opened the cross-feed cock to enable the port engine driven pump to supply the starboard engine. But even though the starboard engine was windmilling, the action had no effect in restoring fuel pressure to the starboard engine. The emergency gave the crew no real anxiety. The aerodrome at Nhill lay only 40 miles ahead and with plenty of height in hand (the DC-2’s three bladed Hamilton controllable pitch propellers did not feather), the captain expected no difficulty in making a single engine approach and landing. At this stage therefore the crew simply called Nhill and reported their intentions.
Soon after, the air hostess came into the cockpit to report a strong smell of petrol – something most unusual in the well insulated cabin of a DC-2. Again the F/O went back to investigate. Still worried, he returned to the cockpit and glancing at the starboard engine was shocked to see orange flames and black smoke streaming from around the engine’s ring cowling. “It’s on fire!” he yelled to the captain.
Though unable to see the fire from the left hand seat, Captain Crowther immediately throttled back the live port engine and threw the DC-2 into a steep, side slipping descending turn to the left to keep the flames away from the starboard wing fuel tank which was situated between the engine and fuselage.
As it happened, the aircraft had just passed over the town of Dimboola, a regional centre in the heart of Victoria’s Wimmera wheat belt. Below the DC-2 as it turned back in the direction of Horsham, stretched a vast area of flat farming country, at this time of the year much of it freshly harvested stubble paddocks. The only trees were those separating some of the fields as wind breaks.
Keeping the side slipping descent as steep as he dared as the fire intensified, Croucher quickly selected the nearest area that offered an ample landing run between one line of trees and the next. The paddock fences in between he ignored; with the fire streaming around the metal wing, every second counted – it was vital to get the DC-2 on the ground in as short a time as possible. The undercarriage meanwhile had lowered itself. The undercarriage mechanism of the DC-2 incorporated no “up” locks, the gear being held in the “up” position entirely by hydraulic pressure. As the fire burnt through the hydraulic lines in the starboard nacelle, releasing hydraulic pressure, the undercarriage simply fell into the extended position. Dimboola townspeople who happened to glance up at the aircraft passing over on the normal daily service were awed to see smoke suddenly pour from its starboard engine. One witness described tongues of fire mingling with the smoke as the aircraft swung around in a steep bank over the town, dropping swiftly.
Up in the cockpit, the increasing urgency of the situation was becoming alarmingly evident to F/O Lovell. With flames now streaming back behind the trailing edge of the wing as far as the tailplane, the entire starboard engine and firewall gradually drooped as the nacelle’s two upper longerons were affected by the intense heat, then abruptly fell forward into a horizontal position as they gave way altogether. Supported now only by the two lower longerons from the centre section spars, the engine and propeller was actually hanging directly in front of the lowered starboard undercarriage – an appalling prospect for their imminent landing.
Still holding a sideslip with hard left aileron and opposite rudder, Captain Croucher was exercising superb judgement as he guided the rapidly descending DC-2 towards the open area he had chosen. A line of trees loomed up but no sooner had the DC-2 skimmed over the trees when, at a height of about 100 feet, the starboard nacelle’s remaining supports finally succumbed to the heat and the complete engine, firewall and propeller fell from the aircraft, striking the tailplane as it did so. The aircraft lurched momentarily, straightened out, then touched down fast but smoothly on its main wheels in the stubble paddock.
With hydraulic pressure for the brakes gone also, the captain almost immediately had to give the port engine a burst of throttle to swing the aircraft clear of a lone tree in their path. This, coupled with the fact that no braking was available, precluded any hope of stopping within the confines of the paddock. Still rolling fast, the DC-2 burst through its far wire fence ‘snapping like string” as one passenger put it later.
As the aircraft finally slowed to a stop about a mile from where the fallen engine had come to rest, the captain shouted to the passengers to “Get out quickly.” They did so, the men gallantly remaining in their seats until the women and the child passenger were safely out. With the complete engine gone from the starboard nacelle, the fuel shut off, and no slipstream to fan the flames, the intensity of the flames subsided. The crew were attempting to douse it with the aircraft’s portable extinguishers when the Dimboola Fire Brigade arrived and quenched the remaining flames.
Examination of the wing structure in the area of the starboard nacelle showed that it had been badly damaged and weakened by the fire. Indeed, with the weight of the aircraft supported on the main undercarriage, the starboard wing outboard of the nacelle was drooping slightly. Pending the removal of the wings to transport the aircraft back to Melbourne by road, the captain considered it prudent to support the starboard wing to prevent any further damage through bending and distortion. For this purpose, the farmer on whose property the DC-2 had forced landed, cheerfully carted dozens of bags of wheat to the scene stacking them under the wing at the pilots’ direction.
The loss of a wing in flight – with all the tragic consequences such a catastrophic failure would have brought – was clearly averted by a frighteningly small margin. It was suspected that, with the aircraft just out of a major servicing at Essendon, a fuel line union might not have been fully tightened. Subsequently working loose, it might have simply fallen off in flight – a theory which the airline engineering people refused to discuss, even with the aircraft’s crew.
............................................................ ...................................
Side slipping as a training exercise is rarely taught at today’s flying schools. Yet it was the effective use of the sideslip manoeuvre that saved the day in the above incident. Readers may also recall the Air Canada Boeing 767 that ran out of fuel during cruise flight near the town of Gimli in Canada. The captain made a successful dead stick flapless landing on a short runway used for drag racing. He was able to sideslip to lose height on final approach.
So there you are. Two examples of superb flying skill and good airmanship.
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As the aircraft finally slowed to a stop about a mile from where the fallen engine had come to rest, the captain shouted to the passengers to “Get out quickly.” They did so, the men gallantly remaining in their seats until the women and the child passenger were safely out.
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Engine/Wing Fires
Reading the account of the safe outcome of the ANA DC-2, after suffering an Engine fire with subsequent detachment of the engine and wing fire, I was reminded of an accident which had a very different outcome. As a young RAAF engine mechanic based at 2AD RAAF Richmond the 4th February 1958 was seared into my memory. This day the RAAF lost Neptune A89-308 and eight crew as a result of an uncontrollable engine nacelle/wing fire following the uncontained failure of one of the Power Recovery Turbines (PRT's) in the port engine. Sadly, the fire caused sufficient damage for the port wing to fail during the recovery to Richmond, with the aircraft impacting inverted into the eastern bank of the Hawkesbury River at Cornwallis near the RAAF Richmond base.
I relate this, not to cast any aspersion on the Airmanship of the pilots of A89-308, simply to reinforce how different the outcome for Capt Croucher and those aboard the ANA DC-2 could have been.
I relate this, not to cast any aspersion on the Airmanship of the pilots of A89-308, simply to reinforce how different the outcome for Capt Croucher and those aboard the ANA DC-2 could have been.
Thread Starter
In 1979, author Richard Drury published his book My Secret War which was about his flying experiences during the Vietnam War. He flew the A1 Skyraider, a massive single engine fighter bomber. I recall one chapter that had me on the edge of my seat in the comfort of my home. I am sure Richard Drury will not mind if I take edited extracts from his wonderful book and use them here on Pprune. Because here was surely the epitome of fine airmanship - the subject of the original post. In loose formation at night with a second Skyraider, Drury was on the way to attack enemy ground formations near the infamous Ho Chi Minh Trail on the border of Laos.
He wrote: "We drifted in and out of clouds all the way to the target, which was Tchephone in Southern Laos, not a very hospitable location on the Ho Chi Minh Trail. Hank (the other Skyraider pilot) turned off his position lights some fifty miles out and I was visually alone, darting through clouds without natural horizon, generally on instruments. The target was a truck park in Tchepone, defined once again in terms of distance and heading from a faint white ground marker dropped from a Forward Air Controller.
I flipped the master arm switch on simultaneously with the roll in from 8500 feet, but nothing happened. The gun-sight was cold and dark. I punched the mike button to say that I couldn’t release anything but heard a break in the static and a lifeless transmitter. The cockpit lights which I had already dimmed went out entirely. Pulling out of the dive on indistinct instruments, I tried to communicate, but the radio was lifeless.
Then the generator warning light came on bright red. I attempted to reset the generator but that also failed. I recalled the words from all night briefings: “if you have a problem, just use the manual release handles and jettison everything. The explosions will let you know you are in trouble.” I flew over the target area and pulled both the outer and inner wing station handles and felt everything drop away.
With the trim set in the down position for dive-bombing, the aircraft entered a violent dive when I pulled the manual release handles. I was nervous enough when suddenly the cockpit started filling with smoke and the instrument panel was nearly obscured. The propeller started to surge and sparks poured through the exhausts stacks.
I pulled down my clear visor to cover my eyes and tightened my straps for the exit. Fighting the nose down trim and smoke I thought about being captured once again, the vision of being lashed to a tree and skinned alive that many of our companions had faced before. Then the propeller stopped surging and the sparks went away. But the smoke was still there. It was stinging my eyes and smelled like a real electrical calamity had taken place.
I unzipped my flight-suit pocket, took out my little flashlight, held it between my teeth and attempted to fly with what was left. The only thing that appeared workable for navigation was the magnetic compass, the one we referred to as the standby compass. It sat atop the instrument panel and pointed roughly west. I swung to the right and attempted to set out northwest. The attitude indicator started turning upside down, toppling without power, and I used every ounce of determination to avoid looking at it to keep from believing I was really turning upside down. The heavy stick began to hurt my arm since all that down trim created a series of oscillations which carried me roughly a thousand feet either side of the altitude I was trying to maintain.
It occurred to me that perhaps my survival radio would work, and I unzipped it from the little pocket in my vest and opened the canopy enough to stick out the extended aerial which was something like the whip antenna on portable radios. Alternating between voice and the emergency beeper, I received nothing. As I ended the procedures for generator failure, the smoke began to filter from the cockpit and after a short time I was once able to breathe clear air. The magnetic compass still showed northwest and I kept it in that direction.
We had flown southeast to the target for some forty minutes, which had been partially in a departure pattern; so, figuring that a three-mile-a-minute airplane would do around ninety miles in half an hour, I tossed in the forecast winds and derived thirty two minutes on my heading. It should put the airplane directly over the base. I calmed down a bit, changing from stark terror into a more relaxed frame of mind.
The weather was still there, and I tried to keep the airplane upright using the standby compass and its fluid level. It was a rather impossible task, and fortunately I would break out of cloud decks in time to accurately determine aircraft attitude, which was usually a matter of being in a steep bank. It was tiring and hard work but it was taking me home. For thirty-two minutes I kept the machine going, flying with less than precision but with brute forced and physical endurance and great amounts of willpower.
In that moment of time I was over a thin layer of cloud through which I saw lights, bright lights. I reduced power and broke out directly over the town of Nakhon Phanom. The field lights twinkled in the distance under some low clouds. I smiled, I laughed, I sat back weary yet delighted.
Skimming the cloud bottoms, I flew by the tower flashing my flashlight and moving the throttle to get some attention. As I was, I was flying a phantom ghost ship across the runway, lights out. I saw no return light, so I continued down the field until the boundary, where I made a sort of tear-drop shaped reversal and came back for a landing. The flaps wouldn’t go down, nor would the indicators indicate, since the electrical system was out, but I leaned out of the open canopy and watched the gear move forward into position, the knee caps on the struts showing I had wheels down. Blessed are the basics of aviation where a pilot can stick his head out and see things. The wind felt good and cool. Cloud drifted across the end of the runway and light drizzle sprayed the cockpit. I took the flashlight and placed it in my left hand, which also held the throttle. With quick flashes I was able to see the airspeed indicator. Over the threshold I turned out the light and made a blackout landing on the wet runway.
It was hard to believe that I had gone off into night combat over Laos, fought the weather, waged battle over enemy territory, had the emergency, almost panicked, made it back and was home
He wrote: "We drifted in and out of clouds all the way to the target, which was Tchephone in Southern Laos, not a very hospitable location on the Ho Chi Minh Trail. Hank (the other Skyraider pilot) turned off his position lights some fifty miles out and I was visually alone, darting through clouds without natural horizon, generally on instruments. The target was a truck park in Tchepone, defined once again in terms of distance and heading from a faint white ground marker dropped from a Forward Air Controller.
I flipped the master arm switch on simultaneously with the roll in from 8500 feet, but nothing happened. The gun-sight was cold and dark. I punched the mike button to say that I couldn’t release anything but heard a break in the static and a lifeless transmitter. The cockpit lights which I had already dimmed went out entirely. Pulling out of the dive on indistinct instruments, I tried to communicate, but the radio was lifeless.
Then the generator warning light came on bright red. I attempted to reset the generator but that also failed. I recalled the words from all night briefings: “if you have a problem, just use the manual release handles and jettison everything. The explosions will let you know you are in trouble.” I flew over the target area and pulled both the outer and inner wing station handles and felt everything drop away.
With the trim set in the down position for dive-bombing, the aircraft entered a violent dive when I pulled the manual release handles. I was nervous enough when suddenly the cockpit started filling with smoke and the instrument panel was nearly obscured. The propeller started to surge and sparks poured through the exhausts stacks.
I pulled down my clear visor to cover my eyes and tightened my straps for the exit. Fighting the nose down trim and smoke I thought about being captured once again, the vision of being lashed to a tree and skinned alive that many of our companions had faced before. Then the propeller stopped surging and the sparks went away. But the smoke was still there. It was stinging my eyes and smelled like a real electrical calamity had taken place.
I unzipped my flight-suit pocket, took out my little flashlight, held it between my teeth and attempted to fly with what was left. The only thing that appeared workable for navigation was the magnetic compass, the one we referred to as the standby compass. It sat atop the instrument panel and pointed roughly west. I swung to the right and attempted to set out northwest. The attitude indicator started turning upside down, toppling without power, and I used every ounce of determination to avoid looking at it to keep from believing I was really turning upside down. The heavy stick began to hurt my arm since all that down trim created a series of oscillations which carried me roughly a thousand feet either side of the altitude I was trying to maintain.
It occurred to me that perhaps my survival radio would work, and I unzipped it from the little pocket in my vest and opened the canopy enough to stick out the extended aerial which was something like the whip antenna on portable radios. Alternating between voice and the emergency beeper, I received nothing. As I ended the procedures for generator failure, the smoke began to filter from the cockpit and after a short time I was once able to breathe clear air. The magnetic compass still showed northwest and I kept it in that direction.
We had flown southeast to the target for some forty minutes, which had been partially in a departure pattern; so, figuring that a three-mile-a-minute airplane would do around ninety miles in half an hour, I tossed in the forecast winds and derived thirty two minutes on my heading. It should put the airplane directly over the base. I calmed down a bit, changing from stark terror into a more relaxed frame of mind.
The weather was still there, and I tried to keep the airplane upright using the standby compass and its fluid level. It was a rather impossible task, and fortunately I would break out of cloud decks in time to accurately determine aircraft attitude, which was usually a matter of being in a steep bank. It was tiring and hard work but it was taking me home. For thirty-two minutes I kept the machine going, flying with less than precision but with brute forced and physical endurance and great amounts of willpower.
In that moment of time I was over a thin layer of cloud through which I saw lights, bright lights. I reduced power and broke out directly over the town of Nakhon Phanom. The field lights twinkled in the distance under some low clouds. I smiled, I laughed, I sat back weary yet delighted.
Skimming the cloud bottoms, I flew by the tower flashing my flashlight and moving the throttle to get some attention. As I was, I was flying a phantom ghost ship across the runway, lights out. I saw no return light, so I continued down the field until the boundary, where I made a sort of tear-drop shaped reversal and came back for a landing. The flaps wouldn’t go down, nor would the indicators indicate, since the electrical system was out, but I leaned out of the open canopy and watched the gear move forward into position, the knee caps on the struts showing I had wheels down. Blessed are the basics of aviation where a pilot can stick his head out and see things. The wind felt good and cool. Cloud drifted across the end of the runway and light drizzle sprayed the cockpit. I took the flashlight and placed it in my left hand, which also held the throttle. With quick flashes I was able to see the airspeed indicator. Over the threshold I turned out the light and made a blackout landing on the wet runway.
It was hard to believe that I had gone off into night combat over Laos, fought the weather, waged battle over enemy territory, had the emergency, almost panicked, made it back and was home
Thread Starter
Here is one more story of superb airmanship that I hope will interest Pprune readers.
In the early Fifties, it was common to see copies of military flight safety magazines in RAAF crew rooms. These included RAAF Spotlight and the latest Crash Critiques, Air Clues and Tee Emm from the Royal Air Force, as well as USAF and US Navy magazines and the occasional Royal Canadian Air Force flight safety journal. In those days, Townsville, was the home base of No 10 (Maritime Reconnaissance) Squadron, equipped with four engine Lincoln Mk 31 bombers. As an aircrew member of the Squadron, I was particularly interested in reading the USAF Military Air Command (MAC) Flyer flight safety magazine especially as the MAC operated long range four engine transports over the vast reaches of the Pacific.
As a way of introduction to the main story, in May 1956, a Pan American Airways Boeing 337 Stratocruiser was en-route from Honolulu to San Francisco when the No 1 propeller ran away creating tremendous drag. The crew were unable to feather the propeller. High power was being used on the remaining three engines to enable the aircraft to hold height, when the No 4 engine lost power and its propeller had to be feathered. The aircraft gradually lost altitude until it was flying only a few hundred feet above the ocean. When it became clear that fuel would be exhausted before reaching the destination and after flying over a ship weather station, the captain decided to ditch the aircraft near the ship. All on board the Boeing 337 were rescued.
From reading the MAC Flyer I discovered runaway propellers were not uncommon in big radial engines and I wondered if the in-line liquid cooled Rolls Royce engines of our Lincolns could face the same trouble if the pilot was unable to feather the propeller; especially during long range SAR and maritime reconnaissance flights missions over the sea. Although I had experienced several engine failures in Lincolns, we had been able to feather the propellers.
Then I read about another incident involving this time a USAF MAC Boeing C 97 Stratofreighter en-route Honolulu to Travis Air Force Base near San Francisco. If I recall correctly, the C97 had four Pratt and Whitney R4360 air cooled radial engines; the largest radials ever produced. Now I am falling back on my memory for this story so please bear with me. The following are the facts as I recall them from the magazine.
After leaving Hickham AFB on Hawaii and shortly after passing the point of no return between Hawaii and the west coast of USA, the Stratofreighter suddenly had a runway propeller on the No 1 engine which the crew were unable to feather. The drag from the huge propeller caused the aircraft to lose speed and the pilot was forced to descend even with using maximum continuous power on the remaining three engines. High power could soon lead to overheating engines.
The immediate danger was fire that could erupt in the engine caused by friction building on the propeller shaft. One of the first actions to minimise the drag from a windmilling propeller is to reduce airspeed. The crew did that but were still unable to feather the propeller. The danger was the propeller might eventually come loose and fly off causing fatal damage to the No 2 engine next to it and possibly to the aircraft.
The captain directed the flight engineer to feather the propeller of the No 2 engine so that if the No 1 propeller flew off then with a bit of luck it would not go through the arc of the No 2 propeller and cause untold damage.
All the time the C97 was steadily losing height and the crew prepared for ditching. The captain then further directed the flight engineer to pull the firewall shut-off valve to the No 1 engine which cuts off the fuel, engine oil and hydraulic oil supply. The intention was to starve the engine of oil leading to engine seizure and hopefully have the windmilling propeller fall into the ocean. The flight engineer then proceeded to pull the No 1 engine firewall shut-off valve intermittently until the friction caused by lack of oil to the propeller shaft would slow down the propeller.
Soon the reduction gear casing of No 1 engine was seen to go red hot and the propeller started to wobble. It was vital that the propeller not hit the aircraft if and when it departed.
With the No 2 propeller feathered to minimize damage if the spinning propeller of No 1 engine hit it, the time had come to force the runaway propeller to leave the aircraft. Judging when the time was right by observing the wobbling propeller and the red hot casing of the reduction gear, the captain placed the aircraft into a steep right bank and at the same time bunted by pushing hard on the control column. Gyroscopic forces caused by the combination of the direction of rotation of the runaway propeller and the direction of control column movement caused the propeller to break clear and go under the aircraft. On the way it clipped one of the feathered blades of No 2 propeller severely damaging it. The wise precaution to feather No 2 paid off.
With the No 1 propeller gone and serious damage to a blade of the No 2 propeller, it was clear to the crew that starting No 2 engine was not an option since the probability of catastrophic vibration caused by its unbalanced propeller could be fatal. As the aircraft neared sea level it was noticed that with maximum continuous power on both starboard engines the C97 could just maintain height with no further loss in airspeed. A ditching was avoided for the time being. As time passed, with the C97 holding height on two engines at 50 feet above the sea, it was noticed that airspeed was gradually increasing and it became possible to even reduce power to maintain a safe two engine airspeed. Although the crew probably were unaware of it, it was the phenomena later known as `ground effect` that had caused a reduction in induced drag and thus slight airspeed gain.
Ground effect takes place when an aircraft flies over the ground or water at a height equal to roughly half the total wing span. The wing span of the Stratofreighter was 141 feet. It meant if the aircraft could hold its current altitude of below 100 feet there was a good chance the aircraft could still reach Travis AFB. With several hours to go, the crew were able to maintain a safe cruising speed as fuel was used and even climb to a more comfortable height.
The aircraft reached Travis safely but fate played its hand just one more time. On final approach on two engines the pilot was forced to go-around again when another aircraft entered the runway in front of it. The go-around was successful and so was the final landing. The crew were praised for displaying fine airmanship under harrowing conditions.
Reading that story in the MAC Flyer magazine at Townsville got me thinking and I wondered if ground effect applied to the Lincoln. After all, it would be useful thing for our crews to know. Trials with the Lincoln revealed that an extra eight to ten knots of indicated airspeed could be attained when flying at 50 feet over water in ground effect.
In the early Fifties, it was common to see copies of military flight safety magazines in RAAF crew rooms. These included RAAF Spotlight and the latest Crash Critiques, Air Clues and Tee Emm from the Royal Air Force, as well as USAF and US Navy magazines and the occasional Royal Canadian Air Force flight safety journal. In those days, Townsville, was the home base of No 10 (Maritime Reconnaissance) Squadron, equipped with four engine Lincoln Mk 31 bombers. As an aircrew member of the Squadron, I was particularly interested in reading the USAF Military Air Command (MAC) Flyer flight safety magazine especially as the MAC operated long range four engine transports over the vast reaches of the Pacific.
As a way of introduction to the main story, in May 1956, a Pan American Airways Boeing 337 Stratocruiser was en-route from Honolulu to San Francisco when the No 1 propeller ran away creating tremendous drag. The crew were unable to feather the propeller. High power was being used on the remaining three engines to enable the aircraft to hold height, when the No 4 engine lost power and its propeller had to be feathered. The aircraft gradually lost altitude until it was flying only a few hundred feet above the ocean. When it became clear that fuel would be exhausted before reaching the destination and after flying over a ship weather station, the captain decided to ditch the aircraft near the ship. All on board the Boeing 337 were rescued.
From reading the MAC Flyer I discovered runaway propellers were not uncommon in big radial engines and I wondered if the in-line liquid cooled Rolls Royce engines of our Lincolns could face the same trouble if the pilot was unable to feather the propeller; especially during long range SAR and maritime reconnaissance flights missions over the sea. Although I had experienced several engine failures in Lincolns, we had been able to feather the propellers.
Then I read about another incident involving this time a USAF MAC Boeing C 97 Stratofreighter en-route Honolulu to Travis Air Force Base near San Francisco. If I recall correctly, the C97 had four Pratt and Whitney R4360 air cooled radial engines; the largest radials ever produced. Now I am falling back on my memory for this story so please bear with me. The following are the facts as I recall them from the magazine.
After leaving Hickham AFB on Hawaii and shortly after passing the point of no return between Hawaii and the west coast of USA, the Stratofreighter suddenly had a runway propeller on the No 1 engine which the crew were unable to feather. The drag from the huge propeller caused the aircraft to lose speed and the pilot was forced to descend even with using maximum continuous power on the remaining three engines. High power could soon lead to overheating engines.
The immediate danger was fire that could erupt in the engine caused by friction building on the propeller shaft. One of the first actions to minimise the drag from a windmilling propeller is to reduce airspeed. The crew did that but were still unable to feather the propeller. The danger was the propeller might eventually come loose and fly off causing fatal damage to the No 2 engine next to it and possibly to the aircraft.
The captain directed the flight engineer to feather the propeller of the No 2 engine so that if the No 1 propeller flew off then with a bit of luck it would not go through the arc of the No 2 propeller and cause untold damage.
All the time the C97 was steadily losing height and the crew prepared for ditching. The captain then further directed the flight engineer to pull the firewall shut-off valve to the No 1 engine which cuts off the fuel, engine oil and hydraulic oil supply. The intention was to starve the engine of oil leading to engine seizure and hopefully have the windmilling propeller fall into the ocean. The flight engineer then proceeded to pull the No 1 engine firewall shut-off valve intermittently until the friction caused by lack of oil to the propeller shaft would slow down the propeller.
Soon the reduction gear casing of No 1 engine was seen to go red hot and the propeller started to wobble. It was vital that the propeller not hit the aircraft if and when it departed.
With the No 2 propeller feathered to minimize damage if the spinning propeller of No 1 engine hit it, the time had come to force the runaway propeller to leave the aircraft. Judging when the time was right by observing the wobbling propeller and the red hot casing of the reduction gear, the captain placed the aircraft into a steep right bank and at the same time bunted by pushing hard on the control column. Gyroscopic forces caused by the combination of the direction of rotation of the runaway propeller and the direction of control column movement caused the propeller to break clear and go under the aircraft. On the way it clipped one of the feathered blades of No 2 propeller severely damaging it. The wise precaution to feather No 2 paid off.
With the No 1 propeller gone and serious damage to a blade of the No 2 propeller, it was clear to the crew that starting No 2 engine was not an option since the probability of catastrophic vibration caused by its unbalanced propeller could be fatal. As the aircraft neared sea level it was noticed that with maximum continuous power on both starboard engines the C97 could just maintain height with no further loss in airspeed. A ditching was avoided for the time being. As time passed, with the C97 holding height on two engines at 50 feet above the sea, it was noticed that airspeed was gradually increasing and it became possible to even reduce power to maintain a safe two engine airspeed. Although the crew probably were unaware of it, it was the phenomena later known as `ground effect` that had caused a reduction in induced drag and thus slight airspeed gain.
Ground effect takes place when an aircraft flies over the ground or water at a height equal to roughly half the total wing span. The wing span of the Stratofreighter was 141 feet. It meant if the aircraft could hold its current altitude of below 100 feet there was a good chance the aircraft could still reach Travis AFB. With several hours to go, the crew were able to maintain a safe cruising speed as fuel was used and even climb to a more comfortable height.
The aircraft reached Travis safely but fate played its hand just one more time. On final approach on two engines the pilot was forced to go-around again when another aircraft entered the runway in front of it. The go-around was successful and so was the final landing. The crew were praised for displaying fine airmanship under harrowing conditions.
Reading that story in the MAC Flyer magazine at Townsville got me thinking and I wondered if ground effect applied to the Lincoln. After all, it would be useful thing for our crews to know. Trials with the Lincoln revealed that an extra eight to ten knots of indicated airspeed could be attained when flying at 50 feet over water in ground effect.
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How about this for good work, too?
While flying Supermarine Attacker F.1, WA469, to test airbrakes, Supermarine pilot Leslie R. Colquhoun makes a high-speed run over South Marston airfield, experiences a sudden nose-down pitch as the starboard wingtip folds upwards. Using only the rudder - the ailerons had jammed - he makes a wide circuit and touches down at ~200 knots (370 km/h), coming to a stop just short of the end of the runway with a burst tyre. He receives the George Medal for saving the aircraft under daunting circumstances.
While flying Supermarine Attacker F.1, WA469, to test airbrakes, Supermarine pilot Leslie R. Colquhoun makes a high-speed run over South Marston airfield, experiences a sudden nose-down pitch as the starboard wingtip folds upwards. Using only the rudder - the ailerons had jammed - he makes a wide circuit and touches down at ~200 knots (370 km/h), coming to a stop just short of the end of the runway with a burst tyre. He receives the George Medal for saving the aircraft under daunting circumstances.
Thread Starter
Superb airmanship is not just the domain of pilots flying hot ships. The venerable DH82 Tiger Moth can bite you too. This story from former wartime Hawker Typhoon pilot, Bob Birch who joined Trans Australian Airlines as a new first officer in 1950. In his book "Beer and Skittles - One Man's Fifty years of Flying" he tells the story of a Tiger Moth flight that lasted less than two minutes. He wrote:
"About six months after starting with TAA on DC-3's, I went to Mackay, Queensland, to collect a Tiger Moth to be ferried back to Melbourne for a company staff private group. A control box assembly error that could have been present for years produced a problem with elevator movement, having watched from the ground the previous day's first flight after cyclone damage repair, I failed to notice the problem.
As big drains for wet season use ran across the field, all activities were restricted to runways, something of a Tiger Moth handicap because its tail-skid made taxi control more difficult on a hard runway surface.
A young local lad who had been of considerable assistance was being given a passenger ride while I refreshed on type.
On take-off the machine waddled down the runway then leapt into the air of it own accord. At about 50 feet the aircraft nose was still rising, 38 knots `on the clock`, the top mainplane leading edge slats standing open like the clutching claws of fate, and the control stick full forward. Not a promising start to the day. Lowering the machine's nose was essential to increase airspeed and to avoid a stall. Banking the craft about 70 degrees to the left lowered the nose and increased speed, but also initiated a left turn that could not be corrected with full right rudder.
The latter was not a problem in itself as a circuit would be needed to return for landing. However, the uncontrolled turn took us towards a group of about half a dozen steel high frequency radio masts complete with guy wires. A small reduction of bank gave a hop over that obstacle, a slipping left descending turn took us back to a landing position but, as the wings were levelled for landing, the nose popped up and we were climbing again.
Second time around was a repeat of the first, except that speed was reduced for the approach.....not sufficient, so the third circuit was on. Third time around proved lucky. the aircraft completely stalled on to the runway in the landing attitude, no damage done.
Three complete circuits with the stick fully forward in something less than two minutes must have been some sort of record. Being rather annoyed at the whole business, I gave one tyre a good kick and returned to Melbourne.
To be almost brought to grief by the simplest of machines was not good for the ego! After rectification, the aeroplane flew normally and several weeks later I did the three day ferry from Mackay to Moorabbin.
Back at TAA Essendon I said nothing of the event because of the probability that one of the three licensed mechanics who worked on the machine would have been unfairly criticised. From working on Tiger Moth repair in the hangar at Ansett months earlier, I knew exactly what had happened, and that design construction would have concealed the error from normal visual inspection."
............................................................ ......................
Bob's recovery from an extreme nose high attitude at very low altitude was to immediately apply full aileron to get to 70 degrees which caused the nose to drop and pick up speed. This was normal teaching in the RAAF but rarely taught at civilian flying schools. I very much doubt if this technique is taught even now to GFPT students and cadet pilots destined for the airlines.
Yet the manoeuvre is mentioned in the Boeing 737 Flight Crew Training Manual if an unusual attitude is entered causing a very steep nose high attitude and speed rapidly reducing. The FCTM states in part: "If normal pitch control inputs do not stop an increasing pitch rate, rolling the airplane to a bank angle that starts the nose down should work. Bank angles of about 45 degrees, up to a maximum of 60 degrees, could be needed. Finally, if normal pitch control then roll control is ineffective, careful rudder input in the direction of the desired roll my be required to induce a rolling maneuver for recovery. Only a small amount of rudder is needed."
Notice in his report the pilot was forced to make a slipping left descending turn to get into the landing position. Shades of the opening post of this thread where the captain with his DC-2 engine fire went into a deliberate side slip descending turn to descend rapidly for his forced landing and to keep the flames from one engine away from the fuel tank.
Manoeuvres such as those used by the pilots of the stricken DC-2 and the Tiger Moth were taught in the old days at flying schools as part of elementary flight training. Today the accent seems to be on convoluted checklists, CRM, TEM or whatever the latest buzzword.
"About six months after starting with TAA on DC-3's, I went to Mackay, Queensland, to collect a Tiger Moth to be ferried back to Melbourne for a company staff private group. A control box assembly error that could have been present for years produced a problem with elevator movement, having watched from the ground the previous day's first flight after cyclone damage repair, I failed to notice the problem.
As big drains for wet season use ran across the field, all activities were restricted to runways, something of a Tiger Moth handicap because its tail-skid made taxi control more difficult on a hard runway surface.
A young local lad who had been of considerable assistance was being given a passenger ride while I refreshed on type.
On take-off the machine waddled down the runway then leapt into the air of it own accord. At about 50 feet the aircraft nose was still rising, 38 knots `on the clock`, the top mainplane leading edge slats standing open like the clutching claws of fate, and the control stick full forward. Not a promising start to the day. Lowering the machine's nose was essential to increase airspeed and to avoid a stall. Banking the craft about 70 degrees to the left lowered the nose and increased speed, but also initiated a left turn that could not be corrected with full right rudder.
The latter was not a problem in itself as a circuit would be needed to return for landing. However, the uncontrolled turn took us towards a group of about half a dozen steel high frequency radio masts complete with guy wires. A small reduction of bank gave a hop over that obstacle, a slipping left descending turn took us back to a landing position but, as the wings were levelled for landing, the nose popped up and we were climbing again.
Second time around was a repeat of the first, except that speed was reduced for the approach.....not sufficient, so the third circuit was on. Third time around proved lucky. the aircraft completely stalled on to the runway in the landing attitude, no damage done.
Three complete circuits with the stick fully forward in something less than two minutes must have been some sort of record. Being rather annoyed at the whole business, I gave one tyre a good kick and returned to Melbourne.
To be almost brought to grief by the simplest of machines was not good for the ego! After rectification, the aeroplane flew normally and several weeks later I did the three day ferry from Mackay to Moorabbin.
Back at TAA Essendon I said nothing of the event because of the probability that one of the three licensed mechanics who worked on the machine would have been unfairly criticised. From working on Tiger Moth repair in the hangar at Ansett months earlier, I knew exactly what had happened, and that design construction would have concealed the error from normal visual inspection."
............................................................ ......................
Bob's recovery from an extreme nose high attitude at very low altitude was to immediately apply full aileron to get to 70 degrees which caused the nose to drop and pick up speed. This was normal teaching in the RAAF but rarely taught at civilian flying schools. I very much doubt if this technique is taught even now to GFPT students and cadet pilots destined for the airlines.
Yet the manoeuvre is mentioned in the Boeing 737 Flight Crew Training Manual if an unusual attitude is entered causing a very steep nose high attitude and speed rapidly reducing. The FCTM states in part: "If normal pitch control inputs do not stop an increasing pitch rate, rolling the airplane to a bank angle that starts the nose down should work. Bank angles of about 45 degrees, up to a maximum of 60 degrees, could be needed. Finally, if normal pitch control then roll control is ineffective, careful rudder input in the direction of the desired roll my be required to induce a rolling maneuver for recovery. Only a small amount of rudder is needed."
Notice in his report the pilot was forced to make a slipping left descending turn to get into the landing position. Shades of the opening post of this thread where the captain with his DC-2 engine fire went into a deliberate side slip descending turn to descend rapidly for his forced landing and to keep the flames from one engine away from the fuel tank.
Manoeuvres such as those used by the pilots of the stricken DC-2 and the Tiger Moth were taught in the old days at flying schools as part of elementary flight training. Today the accent seems to be on convoluted checklists, CRM, TEM or whatever the latest buzzword.
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Some brilliant examples of airmanship, thank you all. On the topic of sideslips; One day, while under training, I was a little high on approach (C172P). I deliberately crossed controls to lose that extra bit of altitude, which worked for me, but the instructor (for whom I had the greatest respect) commented that slips didn't really work for high-wing aircraft. My experience with that aircraft was that trying to hold inline, rather than crab, on approach in a strong crosswind always caused noticeable altitude loss--and this was effectively crossed controls? Opinions?
Sideslips are not permitted with Flaps extended is my recollection on most GA types?? Stand to be corrected though....
Something about side loads on the flap components??
( Apart from the gentle de-crab maneuver at low speed in the flare. )
Something about side loads on the flap components??
( Apart from the gentle de-crab maneuver at low speed in the flare. )
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I going to post that all examples of good airmanship seem to follow closely behind catastrophic stuff ups in maintenance. ever noticed that?
nitpicker your knowledge is slipping to the point you'd be dangerous in the air.
btw just how do you get side loads on a flap????????
please elucidate. this could be an entire new field of knowledge in aviation.
nitpicker your knowledge is slipping to the point you'd be dangerous in the air.
btw just how do you get side loads on a flap????????
please elucidate. this could be an entire new field of knowledge in aviation.
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I deliberately crossed controls to lose that extra bit of altitude, which worked for me, but the instructor (for whom I had the greatest respect) commented that slips didn't really work for high-wing aircraft.
Sideslips are not permitted with Flaps extended is my recollection on most GA types?
Other light aircraft slip very nicely, in my experience!
Doubleeight-------Thanks mate I appreciate the kind words!!
That's what sideslips do buddy, place loads on the aerodynamic surfaces that create additional drag to slow the damn plane down!! Extra side loads on the vertical fin and other components.......it's not rocket science surely?
Anyway after some research here It's not the main reason anyway, it's problems of Elevator effectiveness during the Flap down sideslips that can cause problems...
http://www.pprune.org/private-flying...question.htmlb
It's been 35 years since I learnt to fly in GA and a lot has happened since but I can clearly remember being trained NOT to do sideslips with Flaps in C172's ( you shouldn't need to anyway )
That's what sideslips do buddy, place loads on the aerodynamic surfaces that create additional drag to slow the damn plane down!! Extra side loads on the vertical fin and other components.......it's not rocket science surely?
Anyway after some research here It's not the main reason anyway, it's problems of Elevator effectiveness during the Flap down sideslips that can cause problems...
http://www.pprune.org/private-flying...question.htmlb
It's been 35 years since I learnt to fly in GA and a lot has happened since but I can clearly remember being trained NOT to do sideslips with Flaps in C172's ( you shouldn't need to anyway )
Last edited by nitpicker330; 2nd Jan 2014 at 00:04. Reason: After some research in Pprune
Thread Starter
but I can clearly remember being trained NOT to do sideslips with Flaps.
Isn't it written down in a C150 or C172 manual somewhere?
Isn't it written down in a C150 or C172 manual somewhere?
Quote: "Steep side slips should be avoided with flap settings greater than 20 degrees due to a slight tendency for the elevator to oscillate under certain combinations of airspeed, sideslip angle, and centre of gravity loadings" Unquote.
The Cessna 152 Information Manual contains no such advice, suggesting the advice is limited to only the Cessna 172.
As with a lot of instruction at flying schools, there are flying instructors who are prone to give sweeping generalised advice, such as for example NEVER side slip with flaps down in any aircraft. Impressionable students then take this as Gospel Truth throughout their flying career