Pilot Error

Still, each time he’d done so he’d been glad – especially when an opportunity like this came up to make some real use of his qualification and reveal himself in a new light to some of his more staid colleagues.

This weekend, with the Rotary Club convention up at Wagga, was an ideal opportunity to show off the possibilities of a modern light aeroplane – as well as to get himself the cross-country practice that he needed if he was to keep on top of his flying.

An hour later, with three prospective passengers in the car with him, Spencer was on his way to Essendon. Normally Spencer did his flying from Moorabbin, but the Cessna 182 had been offered to him at an attractive rate and Essendon was in any case a more logical jumping-off point for Wagga. Besides, it was a long time since he’d flown in controlled air­ space and the experience would be good for him.

Arriving at the aerodrome he parked the car and con­ducted his passengers out to where the 182 had been left for them on the apron.

From long-established habit, Spencer checked the fuel and oil contents visually, then walked around the aircraft to complete the external part of the pre-flight inspection.

Pausing at the tail to check the rudder and elevators, he realised he had not removed the gust lock from the control column. He took a step towards the cabin door, then thought better of it. He had still to lodge his flight plan and, with this fresh sou-westerly gusting to 15 knots, it would be wiser to leave the lock-in until he came back to the aircraft.

Leaving his friends with careful instructions as to how to load the luggage, he made his way to the operations building and climbed the stairs to the briefing office.

He paused at the operations counter: “I’m planning for a northerly departure, using Essendon Tower procedures. Will I be cleared via Yan Yean or Channel O?” he asked.

The briefing officer glanced at the clock. “Why don’t you plan directly?” he answered affably. “You’ll have no trouble getting a clearance at this time of day. ”

Spencer thought for a moment. His ATC procedures were fairly rusty and he’d need to be thoroughly on the ball, he was not to make a fool of himself. Was he biting off more than he could chew?

Yet if he declined now, he’d be even more reluctant to fly in controlled airspace next time. There was really no reason why he couldn’t handle it – he’d just need to keep his wits about him. And by going straight up to cruising altitude they’d certainly have a faster and more comfortable trip.

“Alright, I’ll do that,” Spencer answered. He amended the first two legs of his flight plan and handed it across the counter.

The briefing officer looked at the paper and frowned slightly.

“You’ve planned via Eildon but that’s the inbound track. Could you make it via Strathbogie? Here, I’ll give you the tracks and distances. ” He pencilled in the amendments.

“Just fill in your amended time intervals and it’ll be right. ”

Spencer did so, passing the plan back once more. “Good,” said the briefing officer. “I’ll just give you the notes. ”

Spencer thanked him and hurried downstairs and back to the aircraft. Hands in pockets, his colleagues were standing together with their backs to the unseasonably cold wind as Spencer reached the tarmac.

“We thought we’d lost you”, quipped Watson, the tallest and most garrulous of the three. “Where’ve you been?” Spencer said something vague about clearance problems and they climbed aboard.

“I’m the co-pilot fellers,” Watson announced as he fumbled with his seat belt. “So you’d better watch yourselves. I hope you’ve both made your wills. ”

Spencer did his best to ignore the forced buffoonery as he concentrated on his starting checks. Now, with the Con­tinental running musically in fine pitch, and the terminal in­ formation noted, he thought carefully, then called the tower.

The tower controller answered briskly: “Alpha Delta Uniform . . . Clear to taxi, time 39, cross 17. ”

Manoeuvring carefully to ensure he did not take a wrong turning, and feeling very alone, despite the forced banter of his passengers, Spencer took the Cessna out onto the long eastern taxiway, finally positioning the aircraft in one of the run-up bays for runway 26.

Applying the brakes, he glanced at the engine temperatures and pressures, then ran the engine up with deliberation, finally not forgetting the idling check as he brought the power back again.

His passengers were quiet now, watching his every move. It was certainly better without their talk, but the intensity of their concentration put him a bit on edge.

What was next now? He mustn’t forget to adjust that cowl flap after take-off – something he hadn’t to worry about in the 172s he normally flew.

Ah yes, the airway clearance. He requested and was given it, and read back his assigned altitude.

So far so good. If he just kept a good grip on himself no one would know he hadn’t flown for several months. It wasn’t the actual flying – he knew he could handle that. It was only these wretched airway procedures that made him feel so un­sure.

Something nagged elusively at the back of his mind. Was there something he still to do? He looked the instrument panel over again, trying to concentrate, but everything look­ ed as it should. He appeased his feelings by lowering 20 degrees of flap – it would give them a shorter take-off run in the gusty cross-wind and that would be an advantage.

Still slightly uneasy, but conscious that a high twin JUSt entering the taxiway might delay them further if he didn’t get going now, Spencer picked up the microphone again.

“Alpha Delta Uniform, ready,” he told the tower. “Alpha Delta Uniform, line up. ” Spencer released the brakes and taxied the remaining distance to the runway entrance.

” . . . Clear for take-off, remain this frequency until ad­ vised,” instructed the tower as the Cessna approached the holding point.

The aircraft rolled onto the runway.

“All set?” he asked his passengers over his shoulder. “Here we go now. ” Edging the throttle open to full power, Spencer felt the surge of acceleration as the 182 responded.

Approaching sixty knots, he pulled back gently on the control wheel to rotate the aircraft into a climb. His back pressure hardly moved it – the 182’scontrols seemed heavier than he remembered them – but a moment later the aircraft lifted off cleanly, quickly assuming climb steeper than he in­ tended.

Instinctively he pushed on the wheel to lower the nose but again there was virtually no response. He pushed harder, but the wheel was unyielding. Unbelieving, his mind groped for an explanation as he glanced down at the trim indicator. It was slightly nose up – the normal take-off position.

Again he pushed on the control wheel, harder this time, and with both hands. Aghast, he found it locked almost solid.

The climb was becoming steeper and the airspeed, hav­ing risen to 70, was falling off again. Fearful of a power-on stall, Spencer spun the trim wheel forward. The adjustment helped and the airspeed stabilised at 65 knots, with the air­ craft still climbing steeply.

At 300 feet the Cessna encountered a gust and the port wing dropped sharply. Instinctively Spencer went to pick it up with aileron but again, apart from a slight movement, the control wheel was unyielding.

Even as he picked the wing up with the opposite rudder, the awful realisation struck him: In all his preoccupation with procedures he had forgotten his vital actions before take-off – and here he was in the air with jammed controls.

Spencer felt himself coming out in a trembling cold sweat. He took a firm grip on himself. He had his passengers to think of as well as his own wife and family, and must not give way to the overwhelming fear that threatened to numb his mind.

Suddenly he realised the throttle was still wide open. He brought it back to 25 inches, the nose lowered slightly, and the Cessna settled into a more normal climb at 70 knots. Breathing with relief, Spencer brought the rpm back to the climbing setting and, with the decrease in noise level, he began to think more clearly.

The speaker above his head crackled into life. “Alpha Delta Uniform, confirm operations normal?” Heart still thumping wildly, Spencer picked up the microphone. “Mayday Mayday Mayday – Negative, Negative; Alpha Delta Uniform is airborne after take-off with jammed flight controls. I’m climbing straight ahead to a safe height while I try and sort out the problem. ” He hoped his voice did not betray his fear.

“All other aircraft stand by – this is an emergency,” commanded the tower. “Roger your Mayday Alpha Delta Uniform – you are cleared to any height you want to the west of Essendon and south of Melbourne Airport. All other traffic will be held clear. Remain this frequency and keep us advised. We are ringing your company. ”

Spencer acknowledged the call and looked around at the tense faces of his passengers. All their bravado was gone now – they’d heard enough to know their lives were in his hands. At least he could be thankful the aircraft was still flying and he had some control, however limited.

Well, he had been in tight spots before – once long ago he’d flown a Hudson home with half its outer wing shot off, using asymmetric power as well as aileron to maintain a semblance of level flight.

With that thought, the old, confident, self-assured air­cratt captain that was still deep inside him came to the sur­ face: “As you’ve guessed we have a bit of a problem,” he told them, with authority in his voice. “But I’m confident we can deal with it. I would just ask you all to keep your seat belts on and not to talk unnecessarily – I’ll be in constant com­munication with the tower and it would be helpful if I wasn’t distracted. ”

To Watson alongside him, Spencer said, “I may need your help Dick, but don’t worry – I’ll tell you exactly what to do. ” He turned his attention back to the controls. Weaving a little erratically from time to time as Spencer sought to keep the wings level with the rudder, the aircraft was still climbing at more than 500fpm on a westerly heading, passing now through 2000 feet. The flaps were still extended, but he resisted the urge to raise them. It would be better to leave well alone.

At 3000 feet he reduced the throttle setting, brought the rpm back to 2450 and experimented until he could maintain level flight with power. With the controls jammed as they were, the elevator trim had but limited effect, apparently moving the elevators only within the limits of the “give” in the linkage.

He tried some gentle turns, using a rudder and power. Provided the turns were wide and unhurried, Spencer found he could position the aircraft on any heading – though he had to be careful not to let the nose drop.

He also tried descending, eventually finding power settings that would give him a 500fpm descent for the approach. The big difficulty would be reaching the runway threshold at the right height – any marked change in power setting would drastically alter the aircraft’s attitude and the whole ap­proach profile. There was also the problem of flaring with power alone. Too much and the aircraft would balloon dangerously, too little and it would fly straight into the runway with consequences hard to estimate without any means of correcting the resulting bounce.

But there was nothing to be gained now by delaying the inevitable. Spencer picked up the microphone again.

“Essendon tower . . . I’ve got things reasonably under control. Can I be cleared back to the field for a wide circuit and a long final?” “Roger Alpha Delta Uniform – advise if you still have a control problem?” “Affirmative but I think I can handle it. I’d like to try an approach. ”

“Negative for an Essendon approach. We’re going to vec­ tor you for an approach to Melbourne clear of the built-up area as soon as you’re ready. ” Spencer wondered if his passengers got the significance of the controller’s remark.

“All traffic is being held and the airspace is all yours. But your chief pilot is here in the tower and would like a word with you first. Here he is. ”

“Hello Alpha Delta Uniform. Could you tell me just what the problem is?” Spencer did so, emphasising that both elevator and ailerons were locked solid except for a slight amount of give in the linkage.

“Roger,” answered the chief pilot. “If you can, I want you to take a look up behind the panel and see if there is any obvious obstruction. ” “Standby,” Spencer answered.

Then to Watson alongside him: “There’s a torch in that compartment in front of you. Take it out, slide your seat back as far as you can and see if you can find anything obviously wrong with the controls up behind the instrument panel. ”

Watson, despite his ill-concealed fear, did what was ask­ed of him, contorting himself around until, almost standing on his head, he was able to peer up into the darkness above the rudder pedals.

Breathing heavily after a minute or so, he finally shook. his head and wriggled his way back into his seat.

“I’m not familiar enough with what I’m looking for,” he gasped. “But I couldn’t see anything that looked out of place. ”

Spencer passed the information back to the chief pilot. “Roger Gil,” the chief pilot answered with the assured, taken-for-granted familiarity of one determined to see this through with him. “Now can you remember if there was anything unusual when you took out the gust lock this mor­ning? I suggest you take the gust lockout of its side pocket now and have a good look at it – especially the part that engages with the holes in the control column. From your description, it’s just as though the gust lock was still in place. And it’s just possible the pin could have broken inside the column itself. ” “Standby,” said Spencer, thinking hard.

Suddenly he sat up, startled. The gust lock . . . he couldn’t remember even seeing it this morning.

Quickly he checked the side pocket where it was usually stowed. It wasn’t there, and he got Watson to check the flight manual compartment while his other passengers felt in the seat pockets.

There was no sign of it . . . yet the controls were locked when he was making his pre-flight inspection . . .

A new thought came to him and he leaned forward to ex­amine the control column where it entered the panel. There was no hole visible for the gust lock – instead, there was what looked like the head of a small bolt.

“Alpha Delta Uniform are you still operating normally?” came the concerned voice of the chief pilot again.

Excited now, Spencer grabbed the microphone quickly.

“Affirmative – just standby a moment longer. ” Feverishly, he plucked at the top of the bolt with his fingers but it seemed rivetted in place.

He rocked the control wheel fore and aft and the bolt head moved slightly.

Spencer turned to Watson. “See that bolt?” he shouted pointing. “Try to ease it out while I move the controls to and fro. It doesn’t unscrew – it should just pull out. ” A few more oscillations of the control column and Wat­son was able to work it free. He handed it matter-of-factly to Spencer.

“Thanks. You’ve done it! Our troubles are over,” Spencer grinned at him with immeasurable relief.

“You mean . . . that’s all it was?” Watson gasped at him unbelievingly.

Joyfully Spencer called the tower again. “This is Alpha Delta Uniform, I’m happy to say our operations are now nor­ mal. The problem was a bolt instead of the gust lock in the control column. ”

“A bolt . . . ” the chief pilot expostulated back at him, swearing spontaneously on the tower frequency. Then he took hold of himself. “We’ll talk about it when you get down. You’d better bring it straight round to my office as soon as you’ve shut down. But take it quietly now – you’ve been un­der a lot of tension so just make sure you’re on top of it before you set yourself up for landing. I’ll hand you back to the tower controller now – he’s got a clearance for you.”

After they had landed, Spencer left his passengers to un-load the aircraft and walked through the hangar to the chief pilot’s office.

Standing shame-faced in front of his desk was a young pilot Spencer had seen occasionally at Moorabbin.

The chief pilot leaned back in his chair as Spencer entered, his black moustache bristling.

“I don’t know who to tear a strip off first,” he began. “This young idiot here who put the bolt in the control column last night because he’d left the gust lock at Sheppar­ton yesterday – or yourself for not picking it up in your take­ off checks. A man of your experience ought to know better than that – Squadron Leader!”

“You’re absolutely right,” Spencer grinned. “What about booking me in for some control zone revision next week?”