Air Safety

I’d been given the job of ferrying the old Cessna 180 down to Moruya. A retired super-spreader, it had been refurbished back to passenger configuration for joy riding during the summer holidays when the tourists would be out in force.

I flight planned from Cootamundra to Moruya via Goulburn to avoid the Canberra CTA (the Cessna’s ancient VHF left something to be desired), with an ETA of 1330 hours local time. The forecast was for four to five octas of cu and strato-cu to 6,000 feet, with showers on the coast later in the afternoon. Allowing for the 15 knot sou-easterly off the Tasman Sea, the time interval came out at 76 minutes at 6,500 feet, so I’d be there well before any problems set in.

I was all set to go when the CFI came out of the hangar. “Boss wants to see you,” he said. “Got a passenger for you, I think. ”

I duly reported to the office. Jack was still on the telephone. It appeared that a grazier friend (we’d sold him a new 182 the year before) had got wind that we were sending the aircraft down to the coast and had rung to ask if we could give his daughter a lift. She was actually going to Merimbula, the grazier said, but once she got to Moruya it’d be easy to get on down there by coach.

Jack wouldn’t hear of it. “Not on your life, George,” he told the grazier. “We’ll see that she’s delivered to Merimbula safe and sound – no, it’ll be no trouble at all. That’s what we’re here for, George. ”

I didn’t mind- it was the boss’s time after all. And the girl was all right. Besides, the trip over all that high country would be interesting. The only trouble was that we’d be late leaving – her father had to drive her in from the property.

I replanned, this time via Tumut and Cooma, again avoiding the Canberra CTA, which gave a new time interval of 91 minutes to Merimbula, with another 27 for the run up the coast to Moruya. When I phoned it through to Wagga Flight Service, they advised me not to be any later than I had to be – conditions on the coast weren’t getting any better.

It was getting on towards 1600 when my passenger finally turned up. By this time I was a bit stroppy – any more delay and I’d be pushing it to get to Moruya before last light. But the girl turned on her charm and we got going quickly, her cases unceremoniously shoved into the luggage locker behind the rear seat. The trip was uneventful as far as Cooma, except that the radio packed up again. The cabin heater wasn’t working either and it got perishing cold over the mountains. But by Cooma we were past the worst of the high country and I could now let down to 4,500.

At 1700 hours we were over Nimmitibel, right on track, with only 23 minutes to run to Merimbula; if my turn around was a quick one, I could just about make Moruya before last light. But as the edge of the tablelands escarpment came into view, I was aghast to see the Bega Valley filled with a sea of cloud that extended eastwards into the distance. There’d be no getting into Merimbula this afternoon- that was for sure!

I did a prompt 180 degree turn and with the wind on our tail we were on the ground back at Cooma in only a few minutes. There was nothing for it but to try again in the morning. We took a taxi into town, booked into the best hotel (separate rooms of course!) and spent a pleasant enough evening at the firm’s expense.

We were out at the aerodrome again first thing after breakfast. The wind had dropped but it didn’t look encouraging. A layer of grey stratus hung low, blanketing out the sun and covering the tablelands with gloom, some of the hilltops reaching into the cloud base. But at least it looked thin, offering the hope of breaking up as the morning warmed.

Waiting for the weather to lift, I rang our man at Moruya. “It’s overcast here too”, Bill told me. “But the base is high and there’s breaks out to sea. Be much the same at Merimbula, I reckon. You shouldn’t have any trouble. ” We passed an impatient hour. By 0930 the cloud seemed to have lifted quite a bit and there were breaks where the sunlight was shafting through. It was time to have a look.

With conditions uncertain and the radio not working anyway, I decided to delay putting in a flight plan, at least until I saw if we could get through to Merimbula. But it was only when we got off that I realised how low the cloudbase still was. Scarping along just beneath it, I doubt if we were much higher than 400 feet. We set off in the direction of Nimmitibel again, but it was obvious as we approached that the higher country on the edge of the escarpment was still in cloud.

Frustrated, I turned back again, intending to land back at Cooma to wait once more. But then I saw the weather looked better to the north. There were more shafts of sunlight and the cloudbase was higher. I headed in that direction, disregarding the rugged Dividing Range country not far below the wheels, and sure enough there was a patch of blue big enough to climb through. The cloud was obviously breaking up.

We flew on north for several more minutes, heading for the break. It wasn’t as big as I’d thought- but why not give it a go? No point in wasting the day- no one would thank me for it. Selecting climb power, I lowered the first stage of flap and trimmed the aircraft to its maximum angle of climb speed.

Climbing up through the hole proved no problem. The cloud layer wasn’t very thick and on top at 7,000 feet I rolled the aircraft back on to an easterly heading and pulled the power back 2,450rpm and 23 inches. Above us the sky was a cloudbase blue vault and ahead the deck of dazzling white stretched unbroken to the horizon. Where were the breaks Bill had spoken of? I certainly didn’t fancy trying to find our way dowri through that hole again amongst all those mountain peaks behind ·us. There was nothing for it but to go on; it was hardly likely there’d be no breaks left by the time we reached the coast.

Trying to ignore my quickened heartbeat, I picked up the WAC chart. It would be best now to head straight for the coast; if my estimate was right, our heading would intercept it in the vicinity of Mt Dromedary, a few miles to the south of Narooma. I decided to play it really safe and stay on top until we were actually over the coast. If there still weren’t any breaks, then I’d let down heading out to sea. I measured the distance: 40 nautical miles at, say 120 knots, would take 20 minutes.

We droned on, seemingly motionless and alone in the calm sky. My passenger was ecstatic. “It’s fantastic,” she enthused as the boundless white expanse rolled steadily beneath our wheels. Anxiously I scanned the horizon, alert for any irregularity in that dazzling milky sea that would betray a break. There was none; if anything, the cloud was more opaque than ever.

Gradually the minute hand moved towards the ETA for the coast. Now that the moment of truth had come I was anxious; I’d never held an instrument rating,and what experience Ihad under the hood was pretty rusty. Worse still, this ex-agricultural Cessna’s instrumentation was pretty meagre AH or DG, though it did have a VSI.

I pulled on carburetter heat, throttled back to 17 inches, trimmed the aircraft into a 500fpm descent and concentrated on keeping the compass nailed on east. If I could just maintain a wings level attitude, all would be well.

The big hand of the altimeter was unwinding steadily now, and out of the corner of my eye I could see the white ocean of cloud rising to meet us. Resisting the temptation to look up, I glued my attention to the instruments. There was a slight bump as the brilliance of the sun was replaced by the wet opaqueness of the cloud. In the cabin it was decidedly cooler, but I was sweating profusely. Relax, I tried to tell myself. There-we’d lost 1,000 feet already and 500 feet of it in cloud. That much again and we should be almost through.

I just needed to keep my wits about me-panic could be our undoing. The manifold pressure was creeping up as we descended; I eased the throttle back a touch more and returned my gaze to the flight instruments. The compass was swinging wildly, oscillating around a southerly heading! Gingerly I ruddered the turn needle back into the centre, waited until the compass had settled down and then began a gradual turn back to 090.

There! I’d coped with that all right. But the altimeter was unwinding now towards the 4,500 mark – we’d descended another 1,000 feet while that was going on and still hadn’t broken out- if anything the cloud was getting darker. With startling suddenness, we were engulfed in rain and moderate turbulence, the water streaming off the windscreen and streaking the side windows, adding a feeling of saturation to the grey gloom chilling the unheated cabin.

My passenger turned to me, apprehension written all over her face. “Is it all right?” she inquired anxiously. I nodded, motioning her not to distract me. The rain was now affecting the pitot-static system; in unison now, both the altimeter and VSI needles were repeatedly rising then abruptly falling back to their normal indications. If I lost these instruments,I thought bleakly, we’d had it. Why had I got into this mess?

To my relief the fluctuations got no worse. But still the altimeter unwound with not the slightest sign of any break- 3,500- 3,000 – 2,500 feet. I was becoming really concerned – the coastal weather must be very different from what I’d been led to believe. Were we in fact over the sea? On times and distances we surely had to be. Why hadn’t we broken out?

Two thousand-1,500-1,000 feet. Theturbulencehad ceased but still there was nothing but that murky greyness. Had the rain affected the altimeter after all? What if the cloud extended all the way down to the sea? Would we see the waves in time to check the descent? Where were we now anyway? We’d been descending for nearly 15 minutes – that was 30 nautical at a 120 knot ground speed. What a fool I’d been to get into this situation! I had no business taking risks like this, especially in an aircraft totally unfit for instrument flying, and with a trusting young passenger with all her life ahead of her.

The altimeter unwound through 900 feet and the cloud beneath us seemed darker than ever. My fears now seemed to have been superseded by a resigned calm. Perhaps if we still weren’t visual by 300 feet we could climb up on top again and head inland once more to see if there were breaks on the far side of the ranges. The thought was daunting, but at least we still had plenty of fuel. But wait-that patchy darkness below wasn’t cloud. It was the searain flattened grey waves glimpsed through gaps in a low cloudbase!

Resisting the temptation to turn back at once, I held our heading until we had positively emerged from the ragged nimbus cloud and I’d trimmed the machine straight and level. Even then, there was no real horizon-just the dark oily ocean swell, rolling in from the southeast not far below the wheels. I eased the Cessna into a half Rate One turn, holding it until the compass had swung on to a westerly heading. Visibility was hard to estimate certainly it was less than a mile. It was impossible to tell how far out we were-in every direction there was nothing but rain swept heaving ocean.

What if the engine failed now? We’d be in the water in seconds with no hope in the world of rescue. No one would ever know what had happened to us – they’d spend hundreds of hours searching the ranges north-east of Cooma, but they’d never find a trace. Our disappearance would be as great a mystery as the Southern Cloud.

The minutes dragged on. If we were over the coast when we began the let down, we could be well out beyond the shipping lanes. Fear knotted my stomach muscles again – just let that engine keep going!

The visibility seemed to be improving. Suddenly we broke out of the rain into clear but overcast conditions. There on the horizon was the coast, discernable with the ranges beyond and Mt Dromedary a little to starboard. I gazed around and swung the aircraft to look back behind us. It was apparent that we’d descended into the middle of an extensive rainstorm -the further we’d flown out to sea, the lower had the cloudbase become!

We climbed back to a more comfortable 1,500 feet, just beneath the base. Another five minutes and I recognised the settlement and inlet at Bermagui. As if to encourage us the engine continued it’s healthy bellow; approaching the breakwater, I banked to follow the beach southwards. A quarter of an hour later we were descending cheerfully into Merimbula’s picturesque circuit.

My passenger, all her fears behind her, went off to the public telephone to ring her friends as soon as we’d shut down. I’d unloaded her bags and carried them to the little terminal building by the time she came out.

She turned on her charming smile again. “They’ll be here to get me in about 10 minutes. Thanks ever so much fpr dropping me off -would you like to stay and have lunch with us at the Black Dolphin before you go on to Moruya?”

I grinned at her. “I think I could do with it. ”

She looked at me, suddenly shamefaced. “I’m sorry I was frightened in the rain. You probably think I’m silly- I suppose it’s all in a day’s work for you. ”