Ditching
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I am afraid that I am not flying a Cirrus, but a Microlight Eurostar type. I would definitely wear a survival suit and PLB and handheld Radio!
As for landing on a ship, I don't think I would have the skill yet but watch this!
I am going to see if I can go on a course as has been suggested I would probably never need it but I would feel very foolish if I didn't do one and the donkey was to stop half way across.
I know that people can survive this, such as this man a few years ago
As for landing on a ship, I don't think I would have the skill yet but watch this!
I am going to see if I can go on a course as has been suggested I would probably never need it but I would feel very foolish if I didn't do one and the donkey was to stop half way across.
I know that people can survive this, such as this man a few years ago
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He survived that because the Sea was relatively calm and his aircraft a very slow flying type which into wind would have settled with hardly any forward motion.
The amount of times I have crossed to Northern Ireland in twins and jets and seen singles crossing over heavy seas with whitecaps and worse is horrifying even heard one with a badly misfiring engine trying to make it to Liverpool. luckily he made it.
it all depends on what level of risk you are prepared to take
Pace
The amount of times I have crossed to Northern Ireland in twins and jets and seen singles crossing over heavy seas with whitecaps and worse is horrifying even heard one with a badly misfiring engine trying to make it to Liverpool. luckily he made it.
it all depends on what level of risk you are prepared to take
Pace
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I would prefer not to take any risk, or at least weigh all the odds in my favour. A twin would be great but not a runner for now. The Eurostar or bristell have slow stall speeds, would these be slow enough?
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I've read (for the moment I don't have the reference) that statistics show that the survivability of light aircraft ditchings is quite good.
In fact so good that if you have to make an emergency landing in wooded terrain with little open ground but many lakes (such as you commonly find in Scandinavia), you should ditch the aircraft in a lake rather than take it down into the trees.
Surviving after a successful ditching at sea is of course a different matter entirely...
In fact so good that if you have to make an emergency landing in wooded terrain with little open ground but many lakes (such as you commonly find in Scandinavia), you should ditch the aircraft in a lake rather than take it down into the trees.
Surviving after a successful ditching at sea is of course a different matter entirely...
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I found this interesting when I read it a while back
EQUIPPED TO SURVIVE (tm) - Ditching Myths Torpedoed!
EQUIPPED TO SURVIVE (tm) - Ditching Myths Torpedoed!
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500ft
What a load of rubbish that article is. Yes of course a ditching is survivable! You put down into a long straight stretch of river and you have a giant runway to make sure the landing is spot on.
These guys seem to discount everything to make their argument one crossing long stretches of water!!!
survivable if one of four occupants lives etc.
I did not think we were talking about landing near the edge of a lake or river but crossing the open sea.
He discounts ferry flights as not in the realm of the PPLs but what is the difference crossing the Irish sea or a ferry if the engine goes bang other than the time taken to get to you?
If you land in the middle of winter into a sea with waves the size of barn doors wearing a T shirt your chances of survival are small Yet many pilots fly like that.
i am sure we would not have much sympathy for someone who went mountain hiking in winter with summer clothes and this is the crux.
if you do anything which carries risk you owe it to yourself and more important to your passengers to minimise those risks as much as possible.
don't fly long distance over heavy seas where you cannot glide clear.
Don't set off near the evening when its likely to get dark.(many do)
Carry a life raft with a locator and life jackets! Have a plan how to get the life raft out?
immersion suits?
Ideally be on radar or at least talking to someone giving position reports
fly as high as you can.
change tanks before leaving the shore and make sure everything is working properly.
Carry something to smash your way out if need be a mini firemen axe.
open the door before hitting the water and jam it with a coat or some other item so pressure of water does not keep it jammed shut.
I am sure others can think of loads of tips i have missed but its really no different to going skiing be prepared for the worst and with the equipment you carry.
Pace
What a load of rubbish that article is. Yes of course a ditching is survivable! You put down into a long straight stretch of river and you have a giant runway to make sure the landing is spot on.
These guys seem to discount everything to make their argument one crossing long stretches of water!!!
survivable if one of four occupants lives etc.
I did not think we were talking about landing near the edge of a lake or river but crossing the open sea.
He discounts ferry flights as not in the realm of the PPLs but what is the difference crossing the Irish sea or a ferry if the engine goes bang other than the time taken to get to you?
If you land in the middle of winter into a sea with waves the size of barn doors wearing a T shirt your chances of survival are small Yet many pilots fly like that.
i am sure we would not have much sympathy for someone who went mountain hiking in winter with summer clothes and this is the crux.
if you do anything which carries risk you owe it to yourself and more important to your passengers to minimise those risks as much as possible.
don't fly long distance over heavy seas where you cannot glide clear.
Don't set off near the evening when its likely to get dark.(many do)
Carry a life raft with a locator and life jackets! Have a plan how to get the life raft out?
immersion suits?
Ideally be on radar or at least talking to someone giving position reports
fly as high as you can.
change tanks before leaving the shore and make sure everything is working properly.
Carry something to smash your way out if need be a mini firemen axe.
open the door before hitting the water and jam it with a coat or some other item so pressure of water does not keep it jammed shut.
I am sure others can think of loads of tips i have missed but its really no different to going skiing be prepared for the worst and with the equipment you carry.
Pace
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Rubbish in what sense? The article points to clear statistical evidence, not myths and emotions. That's what risk management is all about, isn't it?
I no way does it contradict (in fact, it reinforces) the fact that the biggest problem is surviving in the sea outside the aircraft until you get rescued.
I no way does it contradict (in fact, it reinforces) the fact that the biggest problem is surviving in the sea outside the aircraft until you get rescued.
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The article points to clear statistical evidence, not myths and emotions. That's what risk management is all about, isn't it?
I suppose you believe all you read in the press too like tens of thousands were going to die of bird flu a few years back.statistics are used in every walk of life to support a case or argument and most are selective statistics
its not rocket science! Pilots fly single pistons over water some long distance.
the chances of loosing the engine are small but there is a chance.
A water landing is perfectly feasible whether you survive that landing will depend on precautions you take and the sort of water and conditions you fly over.
Pace
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What are we arguing about, really? It seems that although you claim that the article is rubbish, you agree with its major points.
And could we please skip the ad-hominem arguments?
And could we please skip the ad-hominem arguments?
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A
I have done some ferry work but never in singles but have friends who do.
They are a lot braver than I am.
One was flying a Cessna single over the north Atlantic in IMC! He had a problem with fuel transfer from the ferry tank and in IMC spiralled down to break cloud some 400 feet ABSL.
He was extremely lucky in the fact that right below him was the only fishing boat in 100 miles. He survived the landing although told me the impact was much more severe than he expected and he had an immersion suit.
the fishing boat picked him up and he spent two weeks working his way on the fishing boat before being returned.
As has been said before the aircraft does not know its over water only the pilot does.
what I do not like in that article is how they discount some statistics and accept others to push a point that does not mean I do not agree with the bones of what they are saying.
pace
I have done some ferry work but never in singles but have friends who do.
They are a lot braver than I am.
One was flying a Cessna single over the north Atlantic in IMC! He had a problem with fuel transfer from the ferry tank and in IMC spiralled down to break cloud some 400 feet ABSL.
He was extremely lucky in the fact that right below him was the only fishing boat in 100 miles. He survived the landing although told me the impact was much more severe than he expected and he had an immersion suit.
the fishing boat picked him up and he spent two weeks working his way on the fishing boat before being returned.
As has been said before the aircraft does not know its over water only the pilot does.
what I do not like in that article is how they discount some statistics and accept others to push a point that does not mean I do not agree with the bones of what they are saying.
pace
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In fact so good that if you have to make an emergency landing in wooded terrain with little open ground but many lakes (such as you commonly find in Scandinavia), you should ditch the aircraft in a lake rather than take it down into the trees.
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I've heard the opposite from an instructor in BC - "if he fan stops we're going for the trees - people do strange things in cold water when their brains stop working, like trying to swim into the back of the plane".
Especially not with spruce or pine forests. First you smash into a stiff trunk one metre (3 ft) in diameter, then you fall 30 m (100 ft) to the ground. I would prefer ditching in a nearby lake or river any day.
Hypotermia is a real survival risk, of course, but it doesn't set in so quickly that it would affect your egress from the aircraft.
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AA
It would not with our slimmer healthier brothers but the shock of the cold can stop you breathing or even cause a heart attack with our plumper less healthy pilots.
But yes I too faced with landing in a forest would take a smooth lake or river anytime equally knowing that a short swim or maybe even standing up on the bottom and wading to the shore would see me safe.
A bit different to being 100-200 miles from land landing in a sea with 20 foot waves and freezing water
Pace
It would not with our slimmer healthier brothers but the shock of the cold can stop you breathing or even cause a heart attack with our plumper less healthy pilots.
But yes I too faced with landing in a forest would take a smooth lake or river anytime equally knowing that a short swim or maybe even standing up on the bottom and wading to the shore would see me safe.
A bit different to being 100-200 miles from land landing in a sea with 20 foot waves and freezing water
Pace
Historical note - The Wright J5 engine was a marvel of reliability in it's day.
In 1927 it got Lindbergh from New York to Paris without a cough or a splutter.
And in 1928 three of them powered the Fokker FVIII/3M with Kingsford Smith, Ulm, Warner and Lyon across the Pacific from Oakland to Brisbane.
The great engine man of the Wright Corporation who saw to the health of every donk was revered by many many airmen and women. Cecil Maidment (known as 'Doc'), was his name.
WIKI -
On 19 July 1909, Herbert Latham took off from Cap Blanc-Nez, very near Sangatte,[28] but after only 8 miles (13 km) his Antoinette IV suffered engine failure and Latham had to ditch in the Channel, thereby performing the world's first landing of an aircraft on the sea. The undamaged fuselage remained afloat, so he lit a cigarette and awaited rescue by the French torpedo-destroyer Harpon that was following.[29] After recovery of the aircraft, the engine was examined and a stray piece of wire was found inside the engine.[19] Levavasseur stated that the misfire was caused by this wire.[3
A widely circulated photo of Latham astride his ditched plane, casually smoking a fag while awaiting rescue, is one of that era's most evocative.
Apologies for this digression from the actual subject under discussion.
There is a well known ferry pilot based at Bankstown who has ditched several times. He has had rafts fail to inflate. He believes something like one in ten
are defective.
In 1927 it got Lindbergh from New York to Paris without a cough or a splutter.
And in 1928 three of them powered the Fokker FVIII/3M with Kingsford Smith, Ulm, Warner and Lyon across the Pacific from Oakland to Brisbane.
The great engine man of the Wright Corporation who saw to the health of every donk was revered by many many airmen and women. Cecil Maidment (known as 'Doc'), was his name.
WIKI -
On 19 July 1909, Herbert Latham took off from Cap Blanc-Nez, very near Sangatte,[28] but after only 8 miles (13 km) his Antoinette IV suffered engine failure and Latham had to ditch in the Channel, thereby performing the world's first landing of an aircraft on the sea. The undamaged fuselage remained afloat, so he lit a cigarette and awaited rescue by the French torpedo-destroyer Harpon that was following.[29] After recovery of the aircraft, the engine was examined and a stray piece of wire was found inside the engine.[19] Levavasseur stated that the misfire was caused by this wire.[3
A widely circulated photo of Latham astride his ditched plane, casually smoking a fag while awaiting rescue, is one of that era's most evocative.
Apologies for this digression from the actual subject under discussion.
There is a well known ferry pilot based at Bankstown who has ditched several times. He has had rafts fail to inflate. He believes something like one in ten
are defective.
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the shock of the cold can stop you breathing
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At least the water here wan't so cold:
In this Dec. 11, 2013 photo provided by pilot Josh Lang, a single-engine plane is shown in waters off the island of Molokai following a crash shortly after takeoff toward Honolulu, Hawaii. One passenger died, eight other survived, including the pilot. The pilot of the plane that crashed off Molokai said Wednesday Dec. 18, 2013, he broadcast a mayday call once he realized he wouldn't be able to sustain a glide long enough to reach land after his engine lost power. (AP Photo/Josh Lang)
Engine, wreckage of plane that crashed off Molokai recovered, transported via ship to Honolulu (12/19/13 11:29 pm)
In this Dec. 11, 2013 photo provided by pilot Josh Lang, a single-engine plane is shown in waters off the island of Molokai following a crash shortly after takeoff toward Honolulu, Hawaii. One passenger died, eight other survived, including the pilot. The pilot of the plane that crashed off Molokai said Wednesday Dec. 18, 2013, he broadcast a mayday call once he realized he wouldn't be able to sustain a glide long enough to reach land after his engine lost power. (AP Photo/Josh Lang)
The wreckage of a plane that crashed off Molokai has arrived in Honolulu.
Makani Kai Air owner Richard Schuman said Thursday that a salvage dive team was able to recover the plane's single engine.
The engine lost power soon after the plane took off from Kalaupapa last week, forcing a water landing. Hawaii Health Director Loretta Fuddy was a passenger and the only fatality of the nine people onboard.
PHOTO: In this Dec. 11, 2013 photo provided by pilot Josh Lang, a single-engine plane is shown in waters off the island of Molokai following a crash shortly after takeoff toward Honolulu, Hawaii. One passenger died, eight other survived, including the pilot. The pilot of the plane that crashed off Molokai said Wednesday Dec. 18, 2013, he broadcast a mayday call once he realized he wouldn't be able to sustain a glide long enough to reach land after his engine lost power. (AP Photo/Josh Lang)In this Dec. 11, 2013 photo provided by pilot Josh Lang, a single-engine plane is shown in waters off the island of Molokai following a crash shortly after takeoff toward Honolulu, Hawaii. One passenger died, eight other survived, including the pilot. The pilot of the plane that crashed off Molokai said Wednesday Dec. 18, 2013, he broadcast a mayday call once he realized he wouldn't be able to sustain a glide long enough to reach land after his engine lost power. (AP Photo/Josh Lang)
The wreckage and the engine arrived in Honolulu on a ship Wednesday night, Schuman said.
The NTSB initially believed the plane couldn't be recovered but it was eventually spotted off the north shore of Molokai.
The airplane was found in 70 to 75 feet of water, said NTSB spokesman Eric Weiss. Investigators reported the engine as being in "remarkably good condition," Weiss said.
The engine was hosed down with fresh water and boxed up for delivery to the manufacturer, Pratt & Whitney Canada, in Montreal, where it will be taken apart for analysis.
The rest of aircraft will be kept at a secure location on Oahu, Weiss said.
Makani Kai Air owner Richard Schuman said Thursday that a salvage dive team was able to recover the plane's single engine.
The engine lost power soon after the plane took off from Kalaupapa last week, forcing a water landing. Hawaii Health Director Loretta Fuddy was a passenger and the only fatality of the nine people onboard.
PHOTO: In this Dec. 11, 2013 photo provided by pilot Josh Lang, a single-engine plane is shown in waters off the island of Molokai following a crash shortly after takeoff toward Honolulu, Hawaii. One passenger died, eight other survived, including the pilot. The pilot of the plane that crashed off Molokai said Wednesday Dec. 18, 2013, he broadcast a mayday call once he realized he wouldn't be able to sustain a glide long enough to reach land after his engine lost power. (AP Photo/Josh Lang)In this Dec. 11, 2013 photo provided by pilot Josh Lang, a single-engine plane is shown in waters off the island of Molokai following a crash shortly after takeoff toward Honolulu, Hawaii. One passenger died, eight other survived, including the pilot. The pilot of the plane that crashed off Molokai said Wednesday Dec. 18, 2013, he broadcast a mayday call once he realized he wouldn't be able to sustain a glide long enough to reach land after his engine lost power. (AP Photo/Josh Lang)
The wreckage and the engine arrived in Honolulu on a ship Wednesday night, Schuman said.
The NTSB initially believed the plane couldn't be recovered but it was eventually spotted off the north shore of Molokai.
The airplane was found in 70 to 75 feet of water, said NTSB spokesman Eric Weiss. Investigators reported the engine as being in "remarkably good condition," Weiss said.
The engine was hosed down with fresh water and boxed up for delivery to the manufacturer, Pratt & Whitney Canada, in Montreal, where it will be taken apart for analysis.
The rest of aircraft will be kept at a secure location on Oahu, Weiss said.
An extract from "Bring Back my Stringbag"
by Lord Kilbracken
Ditching a Swordfish in the North Atlantic
We are two days' steaming from Halifax, about 500 miles, but haven't, yet reached the warmer waters of the Gulf Stream The convoy has held a north-westerly course at twelve knots, its maximum speed, since the U-boat fix was established, so its position is now south-southwest of us, some, fifty-five miles distant. Jake plotted our course using an estimated windspeed and direction, which we will check when it gets light enough. With a following wind, it will take about half an hour to reach our rectangle, which we are to spend an hour searching, covering some 1200 square miles. As we fly southwards the sky slowly brightens, white then steely blue without a cloud. One by one the stars outshone, the sea its unending expanse of emptiness. We see no sign of Flash, already out of sight to eastward.
We start our search at 0811, as the sun bursts from the ocean. Our flight plan calls for a series of parallel tracks thirteen miles apart. We cannot be sure of sighting a U-boat, even in such perfect visibility, at a range greater than seven miles, and this allows a one-mile overlap. As always hoping for that slim grey shape low on the water ahead of us. But we sight no enemy and at 0911 turn for home. With the headwind it will take us twice as long as the outward leg but by 1015 we should be safely back on board.
And then, within ten minutes, three amazing events. First near the limit of visibility, I see what appears to be., unless an apparition, a solitary vessel which a moment later I make out to be a sailing ship. Way out in the Atlantic! With U-boats known to be around!
- Jesus, boys, there's a sailing ship ahead of us!
- You're crazy, you're bloody seeing things.
- Must be the Marie Celeste, sir.
I tell them to take a look then, pointing a gloved hand fine on the port bow, my left arm out of the cockpit into the slip, lake lifts his binoculars. Moments of disbelief.
- By Jesus you're right, John. A three-masted schooner, bare poles, seems to be stationary. What the hell's she doing?
- Shall we have a look, sir?
- You bet we'll have a look.
In all my Atlantic patrols, this was the only time I sighted the smallest sign of human life, from the time I left the, convoy till my return. Always the empty ocean. Now this chance. vessel, located almost precisely where her presence would, so soon be indispensable if our lives were to be saved, a dozen miles ahead of us I alter course fifteen degrees to bring us directly over her. Five minutes later, Charlie's voice on the intercom.
- Hey, it's getting crowded. Isn't that a Swordfish, sir? Away on the starboard beam?
Again Jake swings his glasses (the only pair between us).
- It's a Stringbag all right. Must be, Flash and Stan. Now there's dead reckoning for you.
A remarkable coincidence or else damned fine flying. After nearly two hours of DR navigation over an empty sea with no navigational aids, Flash and I are returning abeam of each other on convergent courses, now some twelve miles distant at the extreme limit of visibility, exactly as ordered by the flight plan. Either we are both within a mile or two of our correct positions, or else we, have both run up precisely the same aggregate error. And this fortuitous chance sighting, in addition to the other, would be needed to save our lives.
The third event in this sequence, three minutes later. My beloved Peggy, my beautiful Pegasus M, the most trusted engine in the service, decides at this moment she's taken us far enough. A brief splutter, then perfect and terrible silence.
To throttle back a Stringbag at safe height so that the engine is only idling; to revel in the sudden silence, hear the airstream -whistling in the struts; to push down the nose till she is diving earthwards at 140 or more, then ease back on the stick till you are sedately soaring not far from the stall at under sixty, losing height hardly perceptibly; to soar and bank like a glider among the clouds - these wore among the darling pleasures of flying. It isn't so darling when sudden absence of power has been totally involuntary and there is now only the Atlantic 1500 feet below.
Not that we were yet for a single moment seriously apprehensive, not in fear of death. There was a hope I'd be able to coax MY Peggy to life again. If I couldn't, a Stringbag was the easiest and safest landplane to put down in the drink and would float for several minutes. Our Mae Wests in themselves wouldn't be much use, the water would be too cold, but we had our four dinghies and would at once break radio silence to send a mayday. And there anyway by such a fantastic stroke of luck was this sailing boat, now much closer, just waiting to pick us up. Nothing to be alarmed about. But one by one these doors to safety closed on us.
Holding her directly towards the schooner in the shallowest possible glide, I jiggled the throttle, played with the mixture control, tried every trick I knew to get a spark from her. To no avail. Now came Charlie's laconic voice on the intercom.
- ******* radio, sir. Packed up.
Couldn't believe it! Engine and radio packing up together I Never before had Charlie failed to establish instant contact at such close range. Well thank God for the schooner. I dived through 300 precious feet, throttle wide open, then closed, then open again, hoping increased revs would do it. Silence.
- OK, I'm going to fire all eight rockets. Charlie, keep trying.
I wanted to lighten the plane; and the rocket projectiles made such a series of screeches that the schooner couldn't help but hear them if by some impossible chance she hadn't sighted us. I dipped our nose and then fired them off in pairs, aiming slightly ahead of her - they dropped well short as I knew they would. Then having reached 150 feet I gave up trying with the engine and concentrated on ditching.
We were already headed upwind so I could continue straight ahead. At the last moment I hauled back all the way on the stick so that the tail dropped and was first to strike the sea. My forward speed over the water must have been no more than a mere thirty knots-on impact. Settle down nice and gently.
Strange as it now seems we were all in the highest spirits. My only minor worry apart from losing a valuable aircraft was that the big dinghy hadn't ejected and inflated automatically as it was supposed to do on ditching. However there was a failsafe manual release in the upper mainplane above me. Unclipping my parachute and leaving it with my one-man dinghy in the cockpit, I clambered up to work it, not even getting my feet wet. I pulled the cable release and nothing whatever happened. First twinge of anxiety. I stayed on the wing pulling and tugging that goddamn cable till the Stringbag sank under me - in 18,000 feet of water.
Only, at this instant did we begin to realise things weren't too good and five minutes later we were sure of it. Jake and Charlie were already in the ocean, shouting, come on in, it's lovely. It was lovely for thirty seconds. Till we were in it we didn't realise what a heavy swell was running, how terribly cold the water. We hadn't reached the Gulf Stream and it wasn't far from freezing. Much worse, Jake's one-man dinghy had been forced forward on impact and he hadn't been able to reach it, whilst mine had sunk with the plane. We just had Charlie's; and three into one won't go.
So we all three clung on, hoisting ourselves as best we could from the water but immersed from the belly down. No more joking. The coldness with terrible speed took hold of us. And lake and Charlie were soon being violently seasick. Yes, you can sure as hell get seasick clinging to a dinghy in that swell, even though you've never been bothered by it in the heaviest weather on shipboard. But, at least we knew it was for only a few minutes. The schooner had finally been two or three miles distant, though to us she was now out of sight with the heavy swell running.
Just one thing we didn't know, she hadn't seen us. Was quite unaware of our existence, our growingly precarious existence.
As we discovered later, she was a fishing vessel, Kasagra, out of Lunenburg, Nova Scotia, a port not far from Halifax. She had her boats and nets out to northward, taking in the nights catch, and we had approached thoughtlessly from the south. Everyone hard at work, no lookout set, no idling crewman to see or hear us, not even those screaming rockets. So now our lives depended on the crew of the other Stringbag, trained to keep a continual systematic sweeping of the ocean. But they were young and inexperienced. Had they seen us go in, had they seen us at all? We knew within minutes as Flash Parkin roared low over us.
We owe our lives to him. He at once summed up the situation. If we had been ensconced in the large dinghy with full supplies, as he must have expected to find, no flap whatsoever. But we were half immersed in the water - we had about an hour to live unless picked up - and this crazy boat fishing. No way he could drop a dinghy to us but he could signal Kasagra to come on over and quickly. His observer, Stan Holness, got working with the Aldis lamp. it now transpired that none of the fishermen was versed in the Morse code. Thinking Stan wished to establish their nationality, they found an outsize Red Ensign, stretched it out on the -deck. No, no, no. Flash now began a series of dives on our position, returned to Kasagra, waggled his wings, returned again to our position, dropped smoke markers, waggling his wings, firing red Very lights.
Meantime the three of us in increasingly serious trouble. The sea was quickly claiming us. Every ounce of energy, a our concentration, devoted to that dinghy, four-foot by two-foot, to keeping hold of it and we were losing inch by inch. Soon it was only with our hands, we were immersed from the armpits down, then from the shoulders.
A few minutes later I felt myself at the limit of endurance. I remember telling the others I couldn't hold on any longer, that it didn't seem worth the effort. And they both looked back in silence. I guess they were feeling something of the same but I was the only one who said it. The physical exertion needed was just becoming too great. Death was so near that it was easy, the easy way out, almost welcome, certainly acceptable. And very soon, had nothing intervened, I'd have let go, drifted a few yards, then slipped quietly and not ungratefully into and under the swell.
But at just this minute: 'Look, look, oh Jesus!' And there, seen through the fine spray blowing from the swell's crest, now for the first time were the tops of the three bare masts, rising and falling from view as Kasagra rose and fell with the waves. Soon the whole vessel. She drew near and put down a boat for Us.
Afterwards we could all remember this rowing boat heading. for us. Coming alongside. Strong arms reaching down for us. Beyond that point, for all of us, oblivion. We had all held on, because we had to, far beyond our natural strength, kept going those last ten minutes (in my, case anyway) only by the sudden knowledge that rescue was at hand. The instant it was no longer necessary, no longer vital, we all three lost consciousness, those arms around us, before even being lifted in to the rowing boat. We had been fifty-one minutes in the water by Stan's stop watch.
by Lord Kilbracken
Ditching a Swordfish in the North Atlantic
We are two days' steaming from Halifax, about 500 miles, but haven't, yet reached the warmer waters of the Gulf Stream The convoy has held a north-westerly course at twelve knots, its maximum speed, since the U-boat fix was established, so its position is now south-southwest of us, some, fifty-five miles distant. Jake plotted our course using an estimated windspeed and direction, which we will check when it gets light enough. With a following wind, it will take about half an hour to reach our rectangle, which we are to spend an hour searching, covering some 1200 square miles. As we fly southwards the sky slowly brightens, white then steely blue without a cloud. One by one the stars outshone, the sea its unending expanse of emptiness. We see no sign of Flash, already out of sight to eastward.
We start our search at 0811, as the sun bursts from the ocean. Our flight plan calls for a series of parallel tracks thirteen miles apart. We cannot be sure of sighting a U-boat, even in such perfect visibility, at a range greater than seven miles, and this allows a one-mile overlap. As always hoping for that slim grey shape low on the water ahead of us. But we sight no enemy and at 0911 turn for home. With the headwind it will take us twice as long as the outward leg but by 1015 we should be safely back on board.
And then, within ten minutes, three amazing events. First near the limit of visibility, I see what appears to be., unless an apparition, a solitary vessel which a moment later I make out to be a sailing ship. Way out in the Atlantic! With U-boats known to be around!
- Jesus, boys, there's a sailing ship ahead of us!
- You're crazy, you're bloody seeing things.
- Must be the Marie Celeste, sir.
I tell them to take a look then, pointing a gloved hand fine on the port bow, my left arm out of the cockpit into the slip, lake lifts his binoculars. Moments of disbelief.
- By Jesus you're right, John. A three-masted schooner, bare poles, seems to be stationary. What the hell's she doing?
- Shall we have a look, sir?
- You bet we'll have a look.
In all my Atlantic patrols, this was the only time I sighted the smallest sign of human life, from the time I left the, convoy till my return. Always the empty ocean. Now this chance. vessel, located almost precisely where her presence would, so soon be indispensable if our lives were to be saved, a dozen miles ahead of us I alter course fifteen degrees to bring us directly over her. Five minutes later, Charlie's voice on the intercom.
- Hey, it's getting crowded. Isn't that a Swordfish, sir? Away on the starboard beam?
Again Jake swings his glasses (the only pair between us).
- It's a Stringbag all right. Must be, Flash and Stan. Now there's dead reckoning for you.
A remarkable coincidence or else damned fine flying. After nearly two hours of DR navigation over an empty sea with no navigational aids, Flash and I are returning abeam of each other on convergent courses, now some twelve miles distant at the extreme limit of visibility, exactly as ordered by the flight plan. Either we are both within a mile or two of our correct positions, or else we, have both run up precisely the same aggregate error. And this fortuitous chance sighting, in addition to the other, would be needed to save our lives.
The third event in this sequence, three minutes later. My beloved Peggy, my beautiful Pegasus M, the most trusted engine in the service, decides at this moment she's taken us far enough. A brief splutter, then perfect and terrible silence.
To throttle back a Stringbag at safe height so that the engine is only idling; to revel in the sudden silence, hear the airstream -whistling in the struts; to push down the nose till she is diving earthwards at 140 or more, then ease back on the stick till you are sedately soaring not far from the stall at under sixty, losing height hardly perceptibly; to soar and bank like a glider among the clouds - these wore among the darling pleasures of flying. It isn't so darling when sudden absence of power has been totally involuntary and there is now only the Atlantic 1500 feet below.
Not that we were yet for a single moment seriously apprehensive, not in fear of death. There was a hope I'd be able to coax MY Peggy to life again. If I couldn't, a Stringbag was the easiest and safest landplane to put down in the drink and would float for several minutes. Our Mae Wests in themselves wouldn't be much use, the water would be too cold, but we had our four dinghies and would at once break radio silence to send a mayday. And there anyway by such a fantastic stroke of luck was this sailing boat, now much closer, just waiting to pick us up. Nothing to be alarmed about. But one by one these doors to safety closed on us.
Holding her directly towards the schooner in the shallowest possible glide, I jiggled the throttle, played with the mixture control, tried every trick I knew to get a spark from her. To no avail. Now came Charlie's laconic voice on the intercom.
- ******* radio, sir. Packed up.
Couldn't believe it! Engine and radio packing up together I Never before had Charlie failed to establish instant contact at such close range. Well thank God for the schooner. I dived through 300 precious feet, throttle wide open, then closed, then open again, hoping increased revs would do it. Silence.
- OK, I'm going to fire all eight rockets. Charlie, keep trying.
I wanted to lighten the plane; and the rocket projectiles made such a series of screeches that the schooner couldn't help but hear them if by some impossible chance she hadn't sighted us. I dipped our nose and then fired them off in pairs, aiming slightly ahead of her - they dropped well short as I knew they would. Then having reached 150 feet I gave up trying with the engine and concentrated on ditching.
We were already headed upwind so I could continue straight ahead. At the last moment I hauled back all the way on the stick so that the tail dropped and was first to strike the sea. My forward speed over the water must have been no more than a mere thirty knots-on impact. Settle down nice and gently.
Strange as it now seems we were all in the highest spirits. My only minor worry apart from losing a valuable aircraft was that the big dinghy hadn't ejected and inflated automatically as it was supposed to do on ditching. However there was a failsafe manual release in the upper mainplane above me. Unclipping my parachute and leaving it with my one-man dinghy in the cockpit, I clambered up to work it, not even getting my feet wet. I pulled the cable release and nothing whatever happened. First twinge of anxiety. I stayed on the wing pulling and tugging that goddamn cable till the Stringbag sank under me - in 18,000 feet of water.
Only, at this instant did we begin to realise things weren't too good and five minutes later we were sure of it. Jake and Charlie were already in the ocean, shouting, come on in, it's lovely. It was lovely for thirty seconds. Till we were in it we didn't realise what a heavy swell was running, how terribly cold the water. We hadn't reached the Gulf Stream and it wasn't far from freezing. Much worse, Jake's one-man dinghy had been forced forward on impact and he hadn't been able to reach it, whilst mine had sunk with the plane. We just had Charlie's; and three into one won't go.
So we all three clung on, hoisting ourselves as best we could from the water but immersed from the belly down. No more joking. The coldness with terrible speed took hold of us. And lake and Charlie were soon being violently seasick. Yes, you can sure as hell get seasick clinging to a dinghy in that swell, even though you've never been bothered by it in the heaviest weather on shipboard. But, at least we knew it was for only a few minutes. The schooner had finally been two or three miles distant, though to us she was now out of sight with the heavy swell running.
Just one thing we didn't know, she hadn't seen us. Was quite unaware of our existence, our growingly precarious existence.
As we discovered later, she was a fishing vessel, Kasagra, out of Lunenburg, Nova Scotia, a port not far from Halifax. She had her boats and nets out to northward, taking in the nights catch, and we had approached thoughtlessly from the south. Everyone hard at work, no lookout set, no idling crewman to see or hear us, not even those screaming rockets. So now our lives depended on the crew of the other Stringbag, trained to keep a continual systematic sweeping of the ocean. But they were young and inexperienced. Had they seen us go in, had they seen us at all? We knew within minutes as Flash Parkin roared low over us.
We owe our lives to him. He at once summed up the situation. If we had been ensconced in the large dinghy with full supplies, as he must have expected to find, no flap whatsoever. But we were half immersed in the water - we had about an hour to live unless picked up - and this crazy boat fishing. No way he could drop a dinghy to us but he could signal Kasagra to come on over and quickly. His observer, Stan Holness, got working with the Aldis lamp. it now transpired that none of the fishermen was versed in the Morse code. Thinking Stan wished to establish their nationality, they found an outsize Red Ensign, stretched it out on the -deck. No, no, no. Flash now began a series of dives on our position, returned to Kasagra, waggled his wings, returned again to our position, dropped smoke markers, waggling his wings, firing red Very lights.
Meantime the three of us in increasingly serious trouble. The sea was quickly claiming us. Every ounce of energy, a our concentration, devoted to that dinghy, four-foot by two-foot, to keeping hold of it and we were losing inch by inch. Soon it was only with our hands, we were immersed from the armpits down, then from the shoulders.
A few minutes later I felt myself at the limit of endurance. I remember telling the others I couldn't hold on any longer, that it didn't seem worth the effort. And they both looked back in silence. I guess they were feeling something of the same but I was the only one who said it. The physical exertion needed was just becoming too great. Death was so near that it was easy, the easy way out, almost welcome, certainly acceptable. And very soon, had nothing intervened, I'd have let go, drifted a few yards, then slipped quietly and not ungratefully into and under the swell.
But at just this minute: 'Look, look, oh Jesus!' And there, seen through the fine spray blowing from the swell's crest, now for the first time were the tops of the three bare masts, rising and falling from view as Kasagra rose and fell with the waves. Soon the whole vessel. She drew near and put down a boat for Us.
Afterwards we could all remember this rowing boat heading. for us. Coming alongside. Strong arms reaching down for us. Beyond that point, for all of us, oblivion. We had all held on, because we had to, far beyond our natural strength, kept going those last ten minutes (in my, case anyway) only by the sudden knowledge that rescue was at hand. The instant it was no longer necessary, no longer vital, we all three lost consciousness, those arms around us, before even being lifted in to the rowing boat. We had been fifty-one minutes in the water by Stan's stop watch.
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Romeo Tango
I think this report gives a reality to what is miles away from the snug pontificating in front of a computer as well as miles away from a snug and warm cockpit 2-3000 feet above a flat looking sea with pretty whitecaps.
If you are going to fly especially piston singles over the sea safeguard yourself as much as possible and do not play Russian Roulette.
Go into a room with a number of exits and there is a way out! Go into a room with no exits and your only door slams locked and you are stuck.
Or never do anything in aviation without an out!!!
Pace
I think this report gives a reality to what is miles away from the snug pontificating in front of a computer as well as miles away from a snug and warm cockpit 2-3000 feet above a flat looking sea with pretty whitecaps.
If you are going to fly especially piston singles over the sea safeguard yourself as much as possible and do not play Russian Roulette.
Go into a room with a number of exits and there is a way out! Go into a room with no exits and your only door slams locked and you are stuck.
Or never do anything in aviation without an out!!!
Pace