Air Safety

‘Hello . . . Charlie Hardcase. ‘

‘G’day mate. . . it’s Bernie . . . whatcha doin’?’

‘G’day Bern – just relivin’ yesterday’s footy. . . what about you?’

‘Well, it’s a great day – best it’s been for a while and you’ve been at me to get into that flying machine of yours. . What about today?’

‘Sounds good to me . . . meet me at the airfield and we’ll zip up to Moorabbin and back if you like. ‘

‘Good one, Charlie – say half an hour?’ ‘Fine. See you there. ‘

By the time Charlie combed his hair and found his shoes, the half-hour was nearly up and he arrived to find Bernie poking and prodding his way around the Skyhawk.

‘G’day mate, sorry I’m late. . . undo that tie down rope will ya and we’ll get going. ‘

Charlie himself moved like an Olympic gymnast . . . a deft flick of the wrist released the tie down under one wing, an effortless step to the strut and footrest saw him checking one tank, back on the ground to check the oil level, past the sharp end, running fingers down each side of the prop, up to the second filler cap visually checking the contents – yes, both down . . . hadn’t topped her up after last weekend.

How long was that- ninety minutes – two hours? Couldn’t have been any longer, could it??

While Bernie was still struggling under the starboard wing Charlie had done the whole bit and was opening the passenger doors.

‘Drop your tail in there mate and we’ll be off. ‘

Bernie strapped in, sat back and watched as Charlie went through his black magic – throwing switches here and there, pulling this, pushing that, tapping a dial here, turning a knob there.

Pretty impressive stuff . . . the engine coughed to life and the propeller whirred. . . how’d he do that?

‘Won’t be long now, Bern . . . a few more checks while we taxi to the runway and we’ll be committing aviation. Moorabin is about thirty minutes away. ‘

A touch of throttle and Charlie’s doing his mag checks on the run, select take-off flap and there’s just time for a quick glance left and right before they’re at the strip end, keep her rolling and full power . . . ‘ We’re off mate. . . sit back, relax and enjoy. ‘

Trimming out at two thousand, Charlie looked across to find Bernie craning his neck over the panel, taking in the approaching suburban skyline.

‘Isn’t this great, Bern . . . you ought to take it up . . . really relaxing. ‘

‘Yeah great, Charlie, really great. I’ve always worried about air pockets and whatnot but you’ve been as smooth as silk so far . . . what happens next?’

‘Well, when we get up the road a bit- around Dandenong way – I’ll get onto the radio and let the Tower know we’re coming in. They’ll clear a path for us and you’ll tie having a beer in the Club before you know it . . . soft stuff for me, of course. ‘

The Mulgrave freeway passed under the nose as Charlie dialled up Moorabbin Tower and reported ‘GMH’ inbound.

‘X-Ray X-Ray Romeo Moorabbin Tower track to Sandown Racecourse- report approaching. . . are you in receipt of the terminal information?’

Charlie hadn’t really thought about that but in an instant, he had flicked the No. 2 Comm to the ATIS just in time to copy’ . . . notify receipt of information Hotel . . . ‘

‘Uh. . . X-Ray X-Ray has Hotel . . . ‘

The tower’s reply went unheard as Charlie’s eyes riveted to the panel. . . in reaching for the radio he had glimpsed the fuel gauges out of the corner of his eye and now, after scrutinising them for a second or two, his initial frightening thought was confirmed . . . they were looking decidedly unhealthy . . . in fact they were well into the red.

The old pulse quickened as Charlie tried to recall just how much air time he had done the previous weekend. But that was past history . . . now was the problem at hand.

The frequency was fairly abuzz with chatter and a circuit seemed pretty busy as a further glance at the gauges told Charlie that any delay at all would be serious!

The thought of letting the Tower know of the problem didn’t occur to him – after all, he could see the aerodrome and he was obviously being positioned to join on a base leg – touchdown was only moments away.

He reached for the mike . . .

‘Tower X-Ray X-Ray Romeo is approaching Sandown. ‘

‘X-Ray X-Ray Romeo hold at Sandown . . . I will advise. ‘

The words were like a knife in the back. . . Charlie tightened his grip on the yoke, glanced at the gauges as if willing them to be wrong, knowing them to be correct, and still he didn’t think of requesting an immediate approach – instead he edged south of the racecourse (every inch might count) and commenced a left-hand orbit.

Turning his attention in the direction of the aerodrome Charlie tried to spot the traffic in the Eastern circuit, looking desperately for a gap into which he might be slotted.

The radio patter did nothing for his confidence and as he listened he began to pick out the aircraft concerned. . . one . . . two . . . three on the downwind, the first approaching base with a bit of a gap to number two, one rolling for take-off and another on short final – things weren’t looking good but calling for assistance was the furthest thing from his mind . . . Charlie in fact was weighing up his chances of slipping in between the numbers one and two, helping himself to a landing and worrying about the consequences later.

The number one aircraft, a Cherokee, was halfway down the base leg with number two about three-quarters along the downwind and still there was nothing from the Tower to indicate that Charlie was going to be fitted in between the two. . .

‘It’s now or never,’ he thought and rolled out of the orbit heading straight for a point about half a mile from the threshold, descending and giving scant attention to pre-landing checks – all the time a little voice deep in the back of his mind was saying, ‘I shouldn’t be doing this . . . I know I shouldn’t . . . ‘

The Cherokee was on short final but to Charlie it appeared stationary as he rapidly ate up the distance between them. He fed in more flap and waffled on the lower end of the speed range as the radio blared to life . . . they were on to him.

‘Cessna on final One Seven left caution the preceeding Cherokee . . . go ahead your callsign. ‘

‘Here we go,’ thought Charlie, ‘he sounds a bit excited. ‘ ‘Uh , X-Ray X-Ray Romeo is a Cessna following a Cherokee,

‘X-Ray X-Ray Romeo that Cherokee is for a full stop – go ’round. . . rejoin circuit mid downwind. ‘

Now Charlie had gotten himself into this predicament because he needed to get down in a hurry and in the face of the instruction to go ’round one might feel that this would be a good time for him to come clean, to do anything except go ’round . . .

Not Charlie – instinctively he applied full power, yawed hard left and climbed, sluggishly, away to the East. Even as he trimmed the aircraft he was aware of what he’d done, mentally kicked himself and set out to make the circuit as short as possible.

Bernie was having trouble regaining his composure. One hand firmly gripped the side of his seat, his face was drained of colour and his mouth opened and closed with no words coming from it.

‘Sorry about that, Bern. . . the little bloke in front was mucking about, we were too close – better safe than sorry. ‘

Noting that Bernie didn’t look all that convinced Charlie returned his attention to the circuit – he was now in a position to make a left turn and fly a tight base leg but, as he commenced to bank, the radio came to life again.

‘X-Ray X-Ray Romeo Moorabbin Tower your number two to the Cessna turning final. . . Follow that aircraft. ‘

Charlie acknowledged and scanned the sky ahead. To his dismay, he sighted 1 50 at One O’clock. He altered heading and slowed the aircraft but it seemed an eternity before the 1 50 passed ahead and he could make the turn to final without overlapping the Western circuit.

On final, speed back, flaps out, Charlie was willing the 150 to hurry it up as the Tower cleared the aircraft to land.

Almost in the same breath the controller turned his attention to Charlie with, he thought, a note of glum resignation in his voice.

‘X-Ray X-Ray Romeo Tower you’re far too close. . . go ’round maintain runway heading. . .

‘Er . . . Tower X-Ray X-Ray Romeo ah. . I don’t have enough fuel to keep this up ah. . . all day. ‘

Pregnant pause. . .

‘X-Ray X-Ray Romeo are you declaring an emergency due to fuel starvation?’

Had that resignation turned to sarcasm?

Bernie’s eyes widened and once again he gripped the seat. . ‘X-Ray X-Ray Romeo affirmative!’

‘Foxtrot Sierra Tango Tower go ’round, go ’round . . . X-Ray X-Ray Romeo continue approach. . . clear to land. ‘

Within seconds the landing was accomplished and Charlie was, at the invitation of the Tower, parking outside the briefing Office.

This could be embarrassing. . .

‘Uh . . . listen Bern, you wait here mate while I go and do some paperwork – these blokes don’t like too many people crowding the Office. ‘

It seemed an eternity to to Bernie before Charlie reappeared from the office door but, when he did he seemed different, a shadow of his former self. . . head hung low, the normally springy gait had deteriorated to a shuffle and he purposefully tapped his thigh with the wad of yellow paper he held.

No words were spoken as Charlie regained his seat and went through the start-up sequence – his ears still rang from the questioning to which he had been subjected by the man from Air Safety.

As the engine fired he pushed the throttle, stomped on the left rudder pedal and the aircraft jerked its way towards the refuelling bowser. . .

They’d barely passed the aeroclub parking area when the engine note changed, spluttered once or twice and died!

It occurred to Bernie that Charlie was looking a bit tired and dejected as he opened the door.

‘C’mon mate-we’ll push her in from here . . . don’t want to clog up their pumps with dust and flying grit. .