Show Of Hands
OK, where were we before we were so rudely interrupted? Oh yeah, our un-lucky aviator has survived a ditching at sea, managed to inflate and climb aboard his life raft and not lose (I’ll touch on the subject of not losing stuff later) the ELT, PLB, handheld aviation radio, and satellite phone. He’s also warm and toasty in his thick neoprene survival suit covering multiple layers of non-cotton underwear and clothes. Things are looking good! All you need to do is turn on the ELT or PLB to let everyone know where you are, contact a passing airliner on the handheld aviation radio and let them know what condition you’re in, then order a pizza on the Sat phone and wait for the rescue Uber. (If I were him I’d Opt for the Black Uber option) There’s only one problem. You’re wearing a thick Neoprene Survival suit with built-in gloves that only have two huge fingers and a fat thumb. Basically you’re wearing rubber oven mitts. Good luck doing anything that normally requires fingers. 
Now yes there are some survival suits that have removable gloves that you can take off but there are two things that I don’t like about them. First, both times I went through the open water survival course in Iceland I used a suit that had removable gloves and both times the only thing that got cold when I jumped into the ocean were my hands. The gloves don’t fit tight enough to keep water out and even though the water in the glove eventually got wormed up by my body heat my hands were still cold. (The cuffs around my wrists also let in a little bit of water but not very much) When you jump into the water in a suit with gloves that don’t come off your whole body stays DRY! Your hands are DRY! Did I make my point about liking to stay DRY while I’m floating around in the North Atlantic? And secondly, suits with integrated gloves are what you get when you rent suits in Goose Bay or Wick Scotland. You use what you get. (There are some newer/more expensive suits on the market and maybe someday I’ll buy one but that day ain’t today.)
This one has a face shield that might come in handy.
So step one, dig out the electronic devices you brought with you from the plane before it went down. How did you get them out of the plane without losing them? That’s a very important question because if you drop them or the raft getting out of the plane you’re screwed. The system I’ve developed over the years is to have my “MUST NOT LOSE!” items zipped inside my survival suit instead of in some kind of case or bag that I have to hang onto. That way I have my hands free to hang onto the raft and climb out of twisted, sinking, God damned door’s jammed, upside down pice of shit airplane…….at night.
I’ll cover exactly what I have in my “MUST NOT LOSE!” survival kit in another post but almost all the items have one thing in common, the are in individual Ziploc bags and if they’re important enough (like the electronics) they are double bagged. Because salt water = BAD. So to get at anything at all you’re going to have to open two heavy duty Ziploc storage bags for each item, ever try that wearing oven mitts? And even if you do manage to tear open the bags with your teeth you still have to turn on and operate the fancy do dad you brought with. Oh and be careful not to drop it because the bottom of the raft probably has six inches of sea water in it and if you drop something that’s not waterproof it’s now junk. I’ve practiced turning on the old ELTs’ while wearing the survival suit and even though you have to pull up on the toggle switch that activates the beacon before you can turn it on I was able to do it with the oven mitts on, sitting in my hotel room. The PLB was a little more difficult (had to use my teeth) but I still got it done, again in my hotel room, not, wet, cold, seasick, getting tossed around in a tiny raft……at night. So what’s our un-lucky aviator to do? ( I hate calling him that, I need to give this fictitious pilot a name. Hans? Roderick? Thorby? I have to be careful naming him because if I end up liking him I’ll have a hard time killing him in the end. Hmmm…..Charles? Yes, Charles it is. So Chuck, what ya gonna do? You already had to un-zip the front of your survival suit to get the “DO NOT LOSE!” kit out you might as well pull one of your arms out of the neoprene sleeve and use your bare hand to operate all the fancy toys you brought along. If I’m sitting in a covered raft that’s what I’d do. You won’t get your suit filled with sea water, it shouldn’t be THAT cold inside the raft so you shouldn’t lose too much body heat, and once you’re done doing what you need to do you can zip up again. Of course getting your arm out of the sticky rubber suit might be difficult if your arms, or shoulders, or back, or hips were injured in the crash, best not to think about such things. Oh, and it’s also best not to think about what you’d do if you lost the raft and are just bobbing in the ocean in your survival suit. Crap, now I have to tell Charles what to do in that case.
Find Me
Sorry for the interruption in my survival seminar but I get all misty and sentimental this time of year and like any proud parent I have a tendency to go on and on about my kids. I’ll try and not let that happen again but no promises.
So when we last left our unhappy ferry pilot he’d managed to get into his raft wearing a good quality survival suit and a thick layer of warm clothes that wick moisture away from the body underneath. With those two things going for him it’s unlikely that he will die immediately, even if he went down in the north atlantic or bearing straight in the middle of winter. But the clock is ticking. How much time does he have? Well that depends on a lot of factors, mostly what the air and water temperature is. There are countless stories of pilots and sailors lasting for months at sea when they happen to be lucky enough to be castaway in the tropics. But Leonardo DiCaprio only lasted long enough to over act a few lines before turning into a human Popsicle after jumping from the Titanic. And while I’m on that subject, why the hell didn’t what’s her name just move over and let him on? I mean seriously, there was plenty of room on that hatch cover or what ever it was. I’m just saying. Anyway, so if you’re sitting in a raft in the middle of the north atlantic in the middle of winter your first priority is to…….GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE!!!!!!!! Seriously, besides being in an ISIS summer camp for girls, that is the last place in the world you want to be. Now once you’re in a raft in the north atlantic the only way out is outside rescue. There is no way you are going to get the oars and row to Iceland or use a sea anchor to manage your drift and try to navigate your little ship. Nope, not gonna happen, the only out is for someone to come and get your dumb ass. Actually that might be numb ass. So step one is to let everyone know where you are. Now hopefully as soon as it looked like you might even possibly have a problem you screamed like a girl and made a mayday call on every radio you had onboard. You should have called oceanic control, any airliners you could reach on guard, the Coast Guard, and your high school guidance counselor, (it’s his fault you’re not a doctor) and told them you position. Remember the faster you call someone who cares the faster they get you out of the ocean and into a hot tub. Because like I said the clock is ticking.
So you’ve lost your engine, (it’s always in the last place you look) you managed to get someone to answer your pitiful call for help, not what? Well, besides trying to fix your broken airplane, you need to decide where to go because if you were flying at any kind of reasonable altitude you might be able to glide for fifty miles or more. So which way? Keep going on your original heading? Turn back? Pick a random heading and ditch miles off course? Probably not a good idea but easy to do if you’re not paying attention while you work on other issues. Go back and ditch in front of the big cargo ship you passed a while ago? You did mark it as a waypoint in your GPS didn’t you? Whatever you decide don’t forget to send out to the most accurate Lat Long position of your ditching position you can because the ocean is big and being off by just a few miles can be fatal.
Let’s assume you managed to contact a passing airliner who remained in contact with you all the way down and got an exact fix on your position. You’re all set, just sit back and wait for the cavalry right? Wrong. Like a said the ocean is big and if you’re out of helicopter range (and you will be) you are going to have to wait for someone in a boat to come for you and guess what? Boats are slow. Sure the nearest country might be able to send a fixed wing rescue plane like a C-130 to you’re position and they might find you in relatively short order. But all they can do is mark your position and maybe drop you a bigger raft. You’re still going to have to wait for a boat and, depending on where you are, that’s going to take a long time.
When I’m ferry flying the part of the world that bothers me most is the North Atlantic. Not only because of the horrible weather and long legs over bone chilling ocean but because of he lack of rescue resources and the long distances they would have to cover to reach you. Imagine if you had to ditch Just off the southern tip of Greenland, halfway between Canada and Iceland. Your little raft is now bobbing in the water over 600 miles from the nearest Coast Guard station and It’s going to take them almost 2 DAYS to reach your position!
After 2 days at sea your little orange life raft isn’t going to be in the same location as it was when you gave your last position report. The wind and currents will have pushed you a long way from your ditching point so we move on to our next essential items in the quest to survive. Emergency transmitters. When I started ferry flying we all carried old aircraft Emergency Locator Transmitters (ELT). They were big, the batteries were never new, and they were definitely NOT waterproof, kind of a problem when you end up in the ocean. These days the best thing to have with you is a Personal Locator Beacon (PLB) which sends out a constant signal to overhead satellites with your exact GPS position, a huge improvement over the ELT. They’re small, waterproff, the batteries last forever, and they not only send out an accurate GPS position but also broadcast on the emergency frequency (121.5) that rescuers can home in on. I also carry a small handheld aviation radio that allowes me to communicate with passing airliners and search aircraft. It would deffinatly come in handy if I could see them but they couldn’t see me. The last thing that would be really handy if you were sitting in a life raft would be a satelite phone. The ability to talk directly to the search and rescue center would be invaluable. You could also use it to call your wife to let her know you’re OK and to not sell your motorcycle just yet.
Gumby Suits
When we last left our super unlucky ferry pilot he’d managed to successfully ditch his stricken aircraft, exit with his life raft, inflate it, and climb inside. This is the absolute minimum a pilot needs to do to survive when he makes a full stop landing on something other than solid surface, i.e. water. Of course where in the world that patch of water is makes all the difference in the…..well….all the difference in the world. there are many stories of pilots ditching in warm waters surviving for weeks with nothing but their underwear and a smile. If, on the other hand, our unlucky pilot finds himself in a somewhat chillier location, say, halfway between Canada and Iceland, in January, he might want his winter wooly’s on. And that’s where the survival suit comes in. Survival suits are full body suits made out of 1/4 inch neoprene and do a REALLY good job of keeping you warm in cold water. Unfortunately they also do a REALLY good job of keeping a pilot hot and sweaty in the cockpit of a small plane. And if you wear a survival suit for 8 hours or so it also has the interesting side effect of making your clothes smell exactly like a combination of wet dog and hockey bag. So to make himself more comfortable, and to allow him to get a few more days out of that pair of jeans he’s wearing, a ferry pilot has a few options.
1. Fly with the suit fully on but un-zipped. Not too risky because all you have to do is zip it up before ditching. This is the method of rookie ferry pilots and really fat guys who can barely get the suit on while standing on the ramp because it’s still hot and uncomfortable and it’s also really difficult to fly an airplane that way. Ever tried to change radio frequencies while wearing oven mitts?
2. Wear the suit pulled down to your waist. Slightly more risky because in the event of a sudden emergency a pilot might have his hands full controlling the plane while simultaneously getting his suit pulled up over his shoulders at the same time but for most pilots it’s doable.
3. Have the suit un-rolled on the pilot’s seat and just sit on it. This is pretty risky because performing the cockpit yoga required to squeeze yourself into a tight rubber suit in a tiny cockpit while getting everything you need to get done in a ditching situation, controlling the airplane, fixing your position, screaming for help on the radio, panicking, (don’t forget panicking) can be difficult. But not impossible, especially if you have enough time. And by time I mean altitude. Whenever I fly over the ocean at altitudes higher than 10,000 feet the first thing I do is strip off that damn rubber suit and sit on it because even if the engine stops making noise I’ve got over 20 minutes before splash down and it only takes me 2 seconds to get it back on. How do I know it only takes me 2 seconds you ask? Because the engine skipped a couple of beats while I was smack dab over the middle of the Atlantic ocean on only my second ferry flight ever. I don’t actually remember putting the suit on. All I know is that one second I was flying along fat dumb and happy and the next I was fully encased in orange neoprene, staring at the engine gauges and praying. Panic does have its uses.
4. Leave the suit in the back seat. Really risky because of all the reasons I listed in option 3 plus you have to reach behind you, dig out the bag the suit comes in, take the suit out of said bag, unroll the suit get on the seat under you, and then try to do the yoga trick of getting a rubber suit on over your clothes in a tiny cockpit. Although it would seem that only a moron would leave the suit in the bag and in the back seat, and I have seen such morons, I sometimes do it myself but only if I’m flying a cabin class aircraft that I can stand up in like a King Air or a Grand Caravan and even then only if I have a co-pilot to fly the plane while I get ready to ditch.
The nest thing to think about is what you’re going to wear under the survival suit. Most pilots I talk to don’t think about this at all. their thinking is that because the suit makes them hot in the cockpit it should do just fine in the water or life raft. That thinking is true to some extent. If you’re only in the water for a short time you should be fine, even in vary cold water. But what if you have to wait for hours or days for rescue? When I did my training in the cold water off Iceland we were in the water for only 30-45 minutes and I was already getting cold, especially my feet. When I fly over cold water I wear a good quality base layer of long underwear in addition to the rest of my cold weather gear and always at least have a second pair of good socks to put on before climbing into the suit. This extra layer would also come in handy if you’re forced down on land in the winter and a post crash fire prevents you from grabbing additional clothing to help keep you from freezing to death. Something to consider when flying over northern Canada or Greenland’s ice cap in January.
OK, so there you are, safe and sound in your 10 man life raft and snug as a bug in your gumby suit. Guess what? you’re not out of the woods yet.
Ocean survival course in Iceland.
No need for a life jacket if you’re wearing a Gumby suit.
I’m Gumby, Dammit!
In Survival Mode
OK class, now that you’ve all had a chance to read and discuss the ditching story I’ll add my two cents. (because that’s all it’s worth)
A lot of pilots, myself included, don’t really take seriously the possibility of having to ditch when they fly over the ocean. Which in one way is not surprising because of you really thought that there was a good chance of ending up in the drink you’d have to be a certain kind of crazy to do it in the first place. Most ferry pilots lie to themselves when justifying their decision to fly a small plane over a big pond. They tell themselves things like: “The airplane doesn’t know it’s over water” “I’ve done this many times and never had a problem before.” “The government wouldn’t let us do it if it wasn’t safe” and “I’ve got hundreds of hours in small piston aircraft and have never lost an engine.” I can’t use the last one because in 7000 hours I’ve lost three piston engines in flight, the last one just last year over a combination of desert and water, at night.
Good thing I had two engines that night. Dropping oil pressure and rising oil temp = BAD
If a ferry pilot is going to be honest with himself he has accept the fact that there is a real chance that he might go down on every flight. Most pilots just sort of half heartedly give a nod to their survival equipment and how they would really use it in an emergency so I’m going to touch on a few items I bring with me and hope never to use.
THE LIFE RAFT
Like the guys who went down on the way to Hawaii most, but not all, pilots flying over the ocean carry a raft with them. But most of them don’t really have a plan or training on how to use one. There are some basic things to consider when it comes to rafts. Number one is what kind of raft are you going to bring? When I first started ferry flying my boss at Orient Air had a whole locker of rafts that us pilots could choose from and most of us grabbed the smallest one available. why? Mostly because when you were done delivering the plane you had to shlep a ton of crap back to Minnesota with you. Survival suit, life raft, HF radio, ferry tank fittings and hoses, spare tools, any other survival gear you brought with you, not much back then, and then of course all your clothes you brought with for two weeks on the road. Dragging all that stuff through airports, hotels and taxies was a pain in the ass so you cut down on space and weight where ever you can. But when I finally saw exactly how small and flimsy the supposedly 4 man raft I’d been carrying for years was I was really glad I didn’t have to use it. Hell, the damn thing didn’t even have a cover on it. That raft might be OK in the Caribbean but worthless in the north Atlantic. Now I choose the biggest one I think I can get out of the plane with, usually a 6 man with a cover. Next thing to think about is where is it going to be in the cabin during flight. Where are you going to put it when you have to ditch, what’s going to happen to the raft when you experience the sudden stop of hitting the water at 80 knots? Where is it going to go? If you’ve ever been in a car accident you know that everything that used to be in the back seat is now in the front. I call it the “snow globe effect.” If you do manage to find the raft you still have to get out of the plane how to get out of the plane with it. Remember, the plane might be sinking, in heavy seas, upside down, at night. did you remember to prop open the door before ditching? what if you have to kick out a window (very hard to do) do you try to hold it by its sides as you wiggle out? Put your hand through the tether and risk accidentally deploying it before you’re completely clear of the fuselage? Tough questions because if you loose it you’re dead.
If you do manage to find the raft and get out of the plane with it do you know how to inflate it? When are you going to inflate it? How are you going to hang on to it after it’s inflated? because if you let go of it and it drifts even a few feet away you will never catch it, even if you’re Mark Spitz (yes, I’m that old). OK let’s say you do everything right, do you know how to get into the raft? Do you know if your raft has a rope ladder hanging under the door? I didn’t. How about if you’re injured? Can only use one arm? Most pilots never even think about these things let alone get proper training in real world conditions using the real thing. Luckily I’ve been through survival suit and life raft training twice in Iceland. And just to make things as realistic as possible I did it in the middle of winter, both times, not my first choice.
Not as easy as it looks. Actually it’s pretty damn hard.
Ok, so you managed to survive an ocean ditching in a fixed wing aircraft, found your raft, managed to hang on to it as you got out of the sinking upside down death trap, inflated it without letting go and somehow dragged you waterlogged rear end inside like a dead fish. CONGRATULATIONS! You are now stranded in a small rubber raft, thousands of miles from land or any hope of rescue. Wet, cold, and alone. So what’s next?
Going Down
I know I’ve written many times about how I prepare to survive landing an airplane someplace other than an airport but a few upcoming ferry flights had me going over my survival kit and researching better ideas or gear that might come in handy if I ever find myself up the creek. For those of you who are coming late to the party I’ll try and bring you up to speed. As an international ferry pilot I’m often flying questionably maintained aircraft thousands of miles to destinations all over the world and on really long trips I could potentially go down and find myself battling for survival in any one of a dozen different climates and or echo systems, such as; huge boreal forrest, arctic tundra, alpine/mountains, Greenland’s massive ice cap, freezing cold northern oceans, boiling hot southern oceans, triple canopy rain forrest, desert, swampland, savanna/grasslands, and down town Detroit. On my recent trip delivering a Cessna Grand Caravan from St. Paul, Minnesota USA to Singapore I flew over and had to be prepared to survive in….hmm, let’s see……all of them. Except Detroit. I don’t fly anywhere that place, too dangerous. So you might ask “Hey Kerry, how do you prepare for all those potential situations when you are flying a small plane with limited space and weight available to devote to survival equipment?” And I might reply “That’s a good question.” I might have been tempted to answer ‘Very carefully” but that might give you all the impression that I have it all figured out but that isn’t the case. At all. Before I get into the nuts and bolts of my survival kit I’m going to give you a link to a story of two pilots that were forced to ditch in the ocean after engine problems forced them down short of Hawaii. The account is filled with mistakes that both the pilots and the Coast Guard made and it’s just pure luck that they didn’t turn into fish food. I’ve talked personally to pilots who’ve ditched and read every account of ditching I can find to try and learn from their mistakes because I spend long hours looking down at the big blue and it doesn’t look like a friendly place at all.
Lessons Learned
A Long Wet Night
 The following narrative was compiled from separate phone interviews with the pilot, Ray Clamback and the co-pilot, Dr. Shane Wiley, who graciously and very frankly shared their experience to benefit others, the pilots of the U.S. Coast Guard C-130s involved in this SAR case, email exchanges with Clamback’s partner Aminta Hennessy, official USCG reports, an article in the FAA Aviation News authored by U.S. Coast Guard Petty Officer 3rd Class Eric Hedaa, and news accounts of the incident. With the exception of the initial departure time, all times are Hawaii time. |
| UPDATE October 8, 2004: Ray survived two subsequent ditchings, the latest on October 5, 2004, enroute from Hawaii flying a Cessna 182. He is reported in the media to be considering retiring from ferrying aircraft. |
Just minutes after the sun peeked over the horizon, Ray Clamback pushed the throttle forward and the shiny new single-engine Piper Archer III accelerated down the runway at Santa Barbara (California) Municipal Airport (KSBA), lifting off at 6:31 am on the morning of November 20, 1999. Turning to a course of 234 degrees and climbing slowly to 6,000 ft., Ray headed for DINTY intersection, his first checkpoint on the way to Hilo, Hawaii, 2060 nautical miles distant over the blue Pacific Ocean. The extra fuel on board put him right at the allowable 10% over gross weight and it was a slow climb to cruise altitude.
Ray was flying from the right seat, as is his habit on ferry flights. With over 10,000 hours instructing in light aircraft and over 150 ferry flights under his belt, at least 120 across this same route from the U.S. to Australia, the 62-year-old Aussie pilot noted he “is more comfortable flying from the right seat than from the left…and besides, that’s where the door is.” Accompanying him on this flight was 51-year-old instrument-rated private pilot Dr. Shane Wiley, back flying again after a long hiatus and looking forward to a flying adventure. He didn’t know it yet, but he was about to get a bit more adventure than he bargained for.
Ray had picked up the new Archer from the factory in Vero Beach, Florida, just three days earlier, putting 18 hours on the 180-horsepower, four-cylinder Lycoming 0-360 engine during the two-day solo cross-country. Another 2.1 hours were accumulated in a test flight to Los Angeles picking up Shane the day before, after the ferry tanks and temporary autopilot installations and first oil change were completed. The engine still hadn’t used a drop of oil.
Passing DINTY, Ray turned a few degrees right to 238 degrees which put him on the great circle track to FITES intersection, off the coast of Hilo. He had programmed the Garmin 430 (GPS) with the flight plan, now it was time to settle back and relax as the Archer droned toward Hilo at a steady 125 knots, about 140 kts. ground speed with a light tailwind. After a while Ray turned over piloting duties to Shane and nodded off.
Shane dutifully monitored the flight’s progress on the Garmin’s moving-map display, as the auto-pilot maintained heading and altitude, keeping a watchful eye on the engine instruments. Every ten minutes he’d log temperatures and oil pressure. “They didn’t vary by even the slightest amount,” Shane recalled.
Watch That Oil Pressure
Ten hours into the expected 17-hour flight Shane noticed the oil pressure had dropped, “though it was still in the green, it was quite a bit lower. I shook Ray awake and told him the pressure had dropped, and we were then both very wide awake as he looked at the gauges.” Shane remembers then that they “monitored the oil pressure for about fifteen or twenty minutes when the oil pressure dropped again and we knew then we really had a problem.” As Ray recalls it, they monitored the oil temperature and considered their options, “and within four to five minutes the pressure dropped again to the bottom of the green. At that point I didn’t wait, immediately called guard (emergency) frequency, 121.5 MHz, ‘anyone on guard, this is November four one four eight x-ray (the aircraft’s registration or “tail” number), I’ve got decreasing oil pressure and need assistance. I’d like the Coast Guard notified as soon as possible'” and then gave his position–longitude and latitude. “The frequency lit up with replies, which was very reassuring.” Ray also had an Iridium satellite phone with him, as back-up, but years of experience had taught him that a call on 121.5 MHz would likely do the job and that was far easier and quicker. Read More: A LONG WET NIGHT
Day 14, The Finish Line
The ride to the airport the next morning was an eye opener. The night before we could tell that the city we were driving through was not what you would call cosmopolitan but in the daylight it was even worse. Everywhere you looked you saw nothing but extreme poverty. Garbage was everywhere and thousands of shoe less and shirtless young men waded through the knee deep flood waters brought by the annual monsoon rains, dodging old trucks, buses, rickshaws, tuck tucks, (the little three wheel smokey taxis) Almost nothing was new and shiny and everyone was wet. The sobering ride was capped off by the most tragic sight I’ve ever seen. We came up to another endless pile of garbage and in the middle of it was a naked man squatting on his heels and staring off into the distance. As we passed him I could tell that he wasn’t reliving himself, he was just sitting there with a completely blank look on his face. I realized that I was looking at someone who’s life score was zero. The man had nothing, no clothes, no possessions, nothing, not even a grain of rice. Yet somehow he’d managed to survive, so far. As we left him behind I looked at Stuart and asked if he’d seen the man. He had and I could tell that the sight had affected him as well. I’ve seen sights like that all over the world and it never fails to remind me just how lucky I am.
The flight to our next stop in Thailand was a hazy, cloudy, misty, foggy mess. The entire area seemed like a big damp sponge but there were no thunderstorms so I was happy. That is until we crossed into Burma/Myanmar. Usually when you cross into another country you are handed off to that country’s air traffic control center and crossing into Burma was no different except that when I tuned into the new frequency I was surprised to hear the controller speaking a foreign language. Now it’s not uncommon for a foreign controller to speak his or her native language to a pilot who’s a fellow native. But this guy was speaking some strange language to English speaking pilots. As I waited for a break in the constant radio traffic I realized that the controller was actually speaking English! His accent was so bad that I couldn’t understand him at all and when I finally got a chance to report my position his replay was incomprehensible. The conversation that followed was so frustrating that I can’t do it justice. The bottom line was that I was routed almost one hundred miles out of my way and only saved when another controller took over and allowed me to point the Caravan in the right direction.
The rest of the trip was pretty routine. We dropped Jack off in Thailand and spent the night at his beautiful home before continuing on to Singapore. The last day was perfect for flying which was almost a let down after the challenges we’d overcome on our half way around the world trip. I tried to get Stuart to wring out his new plane a bit, you know steep banks, stalls, wing overs, because the next time he flew it I wasn’t going to be there to keep him out of trouble. Also, the best way to get used to a new aircraft is to see just what she can do, you know, push the envelope a bit. I called ATC and asked for a slight deviation around a build up and after receiving permission told Stuart to point directly at a big billowing cumulus cloud a few miles ahead of us. I wanted Stuart to fly as close to the cloud as he could before banking away sharply. (when I mean sharply I mean about a ninety degree bank) then when just clear of the cloud bank back the other way in a bank that was just as steep. The object of the lesson was to really get to know what your aircraft can do because someday you just might need to do something other than a nice easy standard rate turn. But alas Stuart wasn’t having any. His turns were nice and smooth and boring. I tried a few more times to get him to really put it over but he just kept flying nice and smooth and mellow. Oh well.
Stuart’s landing at Singapore was the best of the trip, only a small bounce, giving me hope that he might be able to handle the big old Caravan all by himself. Stuart asked me if I needed a night’s rest in Singapore before flying home but I assured him that I’d be OK just hopping on a plane and heading home. It would’ve been fun to spend the night but I’ve been to Singapore before, it was at Halloween, so hard to beat that party, and there was no reason to make Stuart pay me for another day and the cost’s associated with that. So after a grand total of six hours on the ground I was on the way home with another half way around the world trip under my belt and a nice tip in my pocket (thanks Stuart!) Before leaving Stuart told me that he was moving to the US next year and he’d be calling me to help him fly the Caravan back again. I told him that we’d have to take the route through Russia so that we’d make it a complete around the world trip. How many guys can say that? He looked dubious but I’ll talk him into it.
The final push.
Till next time!
Day 13 Continued
We could see the thunderheads building fifty miles ahead as the sun set behind us. It was almost like they were waiting for the sun to go down before coming out to play. Built into the multi function display and moving map the strike finder was lighting up with clusters of little green X’s of death showing the latests lightening strikes and outlining the individual cells. I could see that the line of cells were all over the place but it looked like there might be enough big gaps to between them to allow us to weave our way through. (Notice how I didn’t add the word safely) The sun set and it got dark so fast it was like someone flipped a switch. With it dark we could see the big thunderheads flashing in front of us like big Chinese lanterns.
There were a lot of cells almost directly in our path so I called radar control to request a deviation of twenty degrees south to what looked like clearer air but was denied due to restricted airspace. I could see the big restricted zone just south of our course so I cheated us as far south as I could without actually crossing into it. But even though I only drifted a few miles off course control still bitched at me to stay clear. The closer we got to the line of storms the worse things looked. The radio was busy with airliners deviating around weather and from the looks of things the thunderstorms covered most of northern India. I was hoping that the cell in my way would move clear by the time we got there but no such luck. The big cell towered far above us and was putting on quite a light show. There was no way I was going to poke my nose in there and see how bad it was. I requested another deviation but control still wasn’t in the mood to be reasonable. As we got closer I tried to find a way in between the clusters of lightening strikes on the screen but there didn’t look like there was any kind of clear path through. Things were starting to get pretty bumpy when I finally said screw it! I’m not poking my nose in there. I told control that I was coming to a new heading that would steer me clear of the thunderstorm and put me right into the restricted airspace. It was either that or turn back and that wasn’t going to happen. Control’s response was “Roger, understood. Contact when back on course.” Really? If it was that easy why couldn’t they have let me do that fifty miles ago? I spent the next two hours weaving my way through the storms. We flew into some really heavy rain and moderate to severe turbulence but eventually put the storms in the rear-view mirror and were left with nothing but heavy rain and low clouds to contend with. The approach into Chittagong airport in Bangladesh was a fun one with low clouds and rain, I really love approaches like that at night because it always looks cool when you break out and have the runway all lit up in front of you. That is if you did it right. It only took us two hours to get the Caravan fueled up, with a slight mishap of dousing some poor fuel guy with jet A when the over-fill valve under the wing let go with him standing right under it. Then it was a quick one hour ride to the hotel, (super fun when you’ve been up all night) We finally got to the brand new Radisson hotel. Unfortunately the hotel was so new that they didn’t have their liquor license yet so after what was probably one of my most challenging of flying in 30 years I couldn’t even get a damn beer.
Day 13
So when I last left off way back in July I was ferrying a brand new Cessna Caravan from St. Paul, Minnesota to Singapore with new owner and his father in law. So without further ado, Day 13, part one. I know, I know, I promised you all a lot longer post but it’s hunting season and I have to get up early and sit in a cold tree….for fun.
The paper weather chart and forecast for our flight into India that morning was of the kiss your sister kind. Not too bad but not exactly ideal either. The monsoons were still active over northern India but the thunderstorms they produced were supposed to be scattered on the leg from Pakistan to our first stop in Nagpor but it looked like the second leg across the northern part of the country to Bangladesh was going to be a bumpy one. The two legs were relatively short ones and if the fuel stop in India wasn’t too long we should land in Bangladesh while it was still light out.
Four hours after takeoff we touched down in Nagpor India. The flight had been and easy one except for a slight parking problem (stupid ramp rats) and with any luck we’d be in and out quickly. But of course there is no such thing as luck in the third world when it comes to aviation. Our ground handler met us on the ramp and quickly and efficiently put everything in motion to get us on our way. He disappeared with our passports into the main airport building and was back shortly telling us that everything was in order and that the fuel guys had been informed that…………Oh never mind……..I’m sick of telling you all the same story over and over again. I land at some back water third world airport, do battle with the customs/immigration/fuel/weather/security guys. They take forever to do their jobs and get me back into the air which screws up my carefully laid but, obviously over optimistic, plans. So let’s just cut through all the boring details and cut right to the chase. 3 hours on the ground waiting for fuel then back into the with no new weather forecast and a guarantee that the sun will set hours before we get into Bangladesh. Did I mention the forecast we got back in Pakistan called for strong thunderstorms along our entire route? Buckle up boys.
Day 12. Continued
Finally back in the air and on our way over the Gulf Of Oman to Pakistan. It was Jack’s turn to fly and once again he insisted on hand flying the climb to altitude which I’m sure gave the air traffic controllers a good laugh because our track wasn’t what some would call a straight line. Normally I wouldn’t care that much if we wandered a mile or so off course but not only was this particular leg was a rather long one over water, wasting fuel over the ocean really bugs me, but our course took us to within a few miles of Iranian airspace and that’s not something you want blunder into. Apparently our drunken meanderings weren’t deemed dangerous enough to comment on because the radio stayed quiet all the way to Karachi. The approach into Karachi was extremely hazy due to the heavy pollution and record heat wave that had been causing the deaths of hundreds of people over the past two weeks. Once on the ground it was time to decide weather to continue flying or call it quits for the day.
Our considerations were this:
1. We’d only flown one leg that day and that’s a pretty weak day in anyone’s book.
2. My Indian visa’s expiration date was the next day. Did that mean it was still good if we landed tomorrow or was some customs agent going to have a fit and claim that it was expired? And if that was the case what was he going to do? Kick me out of the country? OK.
3. Our landing permit was only good for today and tomorrow. If for any reason we couldn’t make it to India the next day we would possibly have to wait in Pakistan for days while we got a new permit.
4. we also didn’t have an overnight permit for our first fuel stop in Nangpor India, meaning if we took off we’d have to fly two more legs that day and make it to at least Kolkata of Bangladesh. That would be 8 more hours of flying plus however long it took us to get fuel in Nangpor which could take hours.
5. Due to the delays in Fujairah and losing an hour to time zone change it was already late afternoon in Karachi and judging by the speed that the ground crew and customs officials were moving it would be at least two hours before we could takeoff.
Seeing that Stuart was the guy paying the bills it fell to him to make the decision whether to stay or go. I told him that I’d do whatever he wanted. We had 3 pilots and if he wanted to fly all night I could hack it. I wouldn’t love it but I could do it. Stuart got on the phone to the company helping us with landing permits and was told that we “might” be OK if we stayed put but it would be best if we stuck with the plan made it through India that night. Stuart wasn’t happy with the choice we were facing. Attempt two long and difficult late night flights over India, or stop for the night and risk a very expensive time consuming delay. Welcome to ferry flying. Oh, did I mention that there had been record monsoons pounding India for the last two weeks? Just a minor detail. The weather report we’d gotten from the ground handler wasn’t very helpful but did show a large area, most of northern India in fact, of possible/occasional imbedded thunderstorms with tops up to 45,000 feet. Stuart finally arrived at the correct decision and pulled the plug on the day. I was really glad he made the right call because I didn’t want to be the bad guy and tell him that flying the night would be kind of a stupid idea, I’d have still done it of course, can’t say no disease remember?
one last bit of color, as we were making a pit stop before heading to the hotel two gentlemen sitting on folding chairs next to the building offered us a cold drink from the orange plastic cooler sitting on the table next to them. I tried to politely refuse but they were so insistent that I relented and took the paper cup full of white liquid that was being thrust into my hands. “Drink! Drink!” Sure, easy for you to say. you weren’t going to be the one sitting in a small plane for the next four days with no toilet. But once again “can’t say no disease” got he better of me and I took swig……..of………???? Tangy,milk? Gross. Yes that’s’ exactly what it was, tangy milk. The men proudly told me that they came up with this nectar of the gods by mixing milk with 7Up. Yum. Not wanting to be the only one with a stomach problem the next day I shamed Stuart into taking a swig as well. Misery loves company don’t you know.
